#the mommy issues really just triumph over it all

[the-dalseum-duet]

one might expect me, the teenage lesbian from the South who is likely on the autism spectrum and is physically very tiny and also very impulsive, to find Charlie the most relatable out of all of my characters

but you would be wrong. I love Charlie dearly. but it’s gotta be the 6’0” creole drag queen and part-time stripper from Southern California. god he’s just like me fr

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 4 - Lactation

For @veloursdor 💗

Nourish Me (Make Me Complete) - 1,513 Rating: E Content: Established Relationship / Lactation Kink / Mild Feminization / Mommy Kink / Mommy Issues / Nipple Licking / Nipple Play ' Character Study / Relationship Study

---

They shared a bond, unique to them and them alone.

It was special in ways that no one could really capture through words or expressions, the ties that bound them together knotted and tight, keeping them locked in one another’s orbits until it hurt to breath and swallow and sigh. One movement no matter how small, no matter how mundane, was felt by the other and held deep within, fussed over and examined until it could become a part of them as well. One love became their love, one pain became their pain, one sorrow became their sorrow, and so too their joys and successes.

But despite the tightness at which their bond was fused, the depths at which it went; despite the heartache and the ecstasy, the losses and the triumphs; despite knowing each other in all ways that a person could know another, despite it all there was something… lacking. A missing piece that couldn’t be found, a sour note that couldn’t be tuned, a moment that couldn’t be righted.

Because no matter how hard Obi-Wan tried, no matter the depths of his love for his boy, he couldn’t be her.

He couldn’t be Anakin's mother.

He couldn’t be the woman who had housed him in her body, grown him, nourished him, shared a heartbeat. He couldn’t be the woman who Anakin had shared a body with for nine months, tucked deep within and protected in a way that no one else could protect. He couldn’t be the woman who had held him when he was so very small, comforted him in a way that only a mother’s touch could, brushing away tears and fighting back the terrors of the world with a gentle kiss across a small brow.

Obi-Wan was Anakin’s mentor, his brother, a father in many respects. He was his friend, his companion, his lover. He was everything save for that one blindingly important thing:

He could never be his mother.

Though he tried. Desperately, shamefully he tried.

Caught up in the hunger and the ache he would seek Anakin in the darkness of their bond, dragging him close and laying him in his arms, cradling him against his body and asking - begging - for him to feed.

He knew it was shameful; knew that he was trying to replace a person who could never be replaced. And yet he continued with it because it felt good, and because it sated a piece of himself that he never thought would be filled. Anakin’s head cradled in his arms, his body laid across his chest, mouth hot and tongue wet along the hardened numbs of his chest, seeking for a sustenances that would never come no matter how Obi-Wan tried.

Their bond hummed in those moments, both falling into a sense of calm that made Obi-Wan’s heart squeeze and guts warm. With hands both demanding and tender along the back of Anakin’s skull and the curve of his spine Obi-Wan would hold him close, demanding Anakin perform an act that had once been between mother and son. Sacred, in many ways. Now made both base and exalted by a weak man who needed everything from his boy despite the Code and despite his morals.

The first time he’d asked Anakin, Anakin had been curious and demure, his hands at first hesitant across Obi-Wan’s chest before they turned greedy, his touch brutal as he squeezed and fondled and pinched, cheeks pink with embarrassment and lust as he ducked his head and suckled.

The second time he’d asked Anakin had rutted into the bed as he pretended to drink, hips rocking as the profane act of consuming a mother’s milk swirled with the sexual, Anakin’s desires for Obi-Wan in all ways he could have him bleeding over until Obi-Wan’s own cock strained and spilled against his belly, and he was forced to grapple with the inherent erotic nature of having his Padawan feed from him, even if it was just a pantomime.

It had taken Obi-Wan only a month to brush aside the feeling of black bile that coated his insides, and to once again beg for the intimacy he knew he shouldn’t crave.

It wasn’t always a part of their life. Most of the time they would seek each other out for other forms of connection, searching for one another in the slip-stream of the Force or in the physical reality that dictated most of their lives, tangling up both in body and soul and sharing in an affection that was more unique to just them. But then the desire would come surging back up like the swell of the tides, unending and demanding to be listened to.

There was no shame in the request now. Obi-Wan would pull Anakin to his room, shed his tunic, and lie amongst the pillows waiting for his darling boy to join him. Anakin, with eyes that were no longer downcast and a blush that no longer spread due to embarrassment, would climb into Obi-Wan’s arms and settle his head in the crook of Obi-Wan’s arm, one hand rubbing and kneading Obi-Wan’s soft peck while his lips would seek the other, tongue soft and hot across the thatches of hair and the smooth skin beneath, searching and teasing until he would latch on and pretend to drink.

His eyes would always close, golden lashes fluttering against high cheekbones, bronzed skin flush with excitement and joy. His lips, so soft and red, wrapped perfectly around Obi-Wan’s nipple, tongue swirling around to harden the nub before he could begin to suckle. The sensation of it was beyond anything Obi-Wan had experienced; the intimacy mixed with lust, of Anakin pretending to feed from him as he would his mother, taking in nourishment that didn’t feed the body but rather their bond.

An misbegotten, dangerous bond that required more and more from both of them, greedy in its taking and just as bountiful in its giving.

Eventually the pleasure would give way to a swell of pain, Anakin’s sucking turning into biting, his teeth sharp across the meat of his peck and his hardened nipple. Obi-Wan would tug Anakin away then, only for Anakin to paint a spit-slick journey across his chest to the other peck. Body cradled in Obi-Wan’s lap and arms, Anakin would resume his pantomime with the other nipple, suckling and biting, lips hot and sticky, tongue firm and wet, breath laboured and desperate as they pretended for just a moment that Obi-Wan was Anakin’s everything.

As he rested in Obi-Wan’s arms Anakin would get hard, as he always did. Obi-Wan would be caught between watching the almost innocent expression of Anakin’s face - peace and tranquility mixed with a need so primal it was written in their DNA - to the base and carnal expression of desire that rested between his legs. His cock would harden with each suck and kneading of his hand, swelling until the foreskin pulled back and the length rested across his belly. Precome would stream out like milk, thick and salty, coating the hairs at the base of his cock and the unmarred skin across his stomach.

Eventually Obi-Wan would give in and touch Anakin, his hand wrapped firm around his cock as he continued to cradle him with his other arm, locking him in place as he stroked Anakin, playing with the velvet foreskin before pushing it down, exposing the ruddy red cock-head that glittered beneath the low light. Anakin would hump up into Obi-Wan’s touch, his lips and teeth more demanding as he moaned around Obi-Wan’s abused nipple, suckling and biting.

Sometimes Anakin would pull away only to push Obi-Wan down onto the bed, legs straddling his chest as he pushed his pecs together and slipped his cock between the shallow trench. Other times he would come just as he was, held in Obi-Wan’s arms, brows furrowed and cheeks a dusty pink as he rushed toward completion, cock spilling out ribbons of milky-white sustenances while he continued to feed, mouthfuls of Obi-Wan’s peck in his mouth as he sucked and sucked, as if he tried hard enough Obi-Wan would finally be able to give him what they both craved.

And then Anakin would relax, expression softening as he nuzzled into the crook of Obi-Wan’s arm. A shared breath of release would fill the room as another desire was sated, another need seen to.

It wouldn’t last, of course. Eventually the desire to be something more to Anakin than everything he already was would reach up into Obi-Wan and hold. His heart would stutter, his guts clench, his throat constrict as the reality of all that he was lacking would set in. And then he would seek Anakin to fill that desperate part of himself that needed to be everything to him. That had to be his mother, his father, his brother, his lover.

But it was never enough.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Evergreen

Summary: Levi, Hange and their daughter spend their first holidays together and Hange teaches their daughter a thing or two about hope. Set after bitterbones fic "At the End of All Things."

Link: AO3

Notes: Birthday fic for @sordidbones. Set after the last chapter of Drew's fic "At the end of all things." Sorry in advance if I got some of the facts wrong sdfghjkl. (I hope I didn't.)

The war with Marley brought with it violence, carnage, trauma and a boatload of regrets.

And Levi would probably be thinking about it his whole life, even during those days when he swore to Hange he wouldn’t. After all, could he really control his thoughts? As selfish as it was of a thought, he allowed it some free rein in that singular moment, even as the promise he made to Hange rang in his head, overpowering the already intrusive thoughts.

Just so Hange wouldn’t notice, Levi stayed a good few feet away from Hange and Hope, as strange as it may look on Christmas day.

Christmas was apparently holiday for families. It was the first time they would be spending those holidays, with no thoughts at the back of their mind about an impending war, no thoughts that Hange or he might just not make it.

Peace. That was all they were supposed to have that that moment. Peace. Hange seemed to have mastered it, or at least mastered the skill of just enjoying their current state. Their attention was completely on a playful Hope. The young child was sitting right next to Hange, her head leaning on her mothers shoulder, one hand propped on their lap.

And Hange— No, both Hange and Hope seemed at peace.

Watching them for long enough, Levi’s own mood softened, the nagging thoughts of the war dissipated into nothing and soon, his attention was back on the dining table. He transferred the leftovers from the Christmas dinner onto tupperwares then stuffed them back into the fridge. He turned his attention back to the plates, stacked them up then dropped them on the sink.

With the clack of porcelain on the metal sink then the unfamiliar sense of achievement afterwards, realization dawned on him.

Life was quiet. Life was peaceful. Looming worries were light and soft spoken, like the wooden dining table which would have to be put away, whether or not Hope would get a few extra hours of sleep that night or more importantly, at that moment, if whether or not Hange would have a little more back pain that night.

Worries weren’t issues of life or death. Sense of triumphs didn’t so much as come from grand victories anymore. And with each new realization, Levi found, it was the small and peaceful developments lately that welled in his chest.

Plates all stacked, a mental note to clean them later that night tacked on his brain, Levi allowed himself a little break.

His first two thoughts were Hange and Hope, in no particular order. Hange had their arm around Hope and Hope had raised her hand all the way until Hange’s belly, curled up in each other. Levi stared for a little longer.

Hange's stomach was larger.  Even under her itchy Christmas sweater, it stuck out. Levi could only gratefully note that the sweater was tight enough to give the belly enough shape, but still loose enough for Levi to note, it wasn’t at all restrictive and the baby was probably fine.

The belly was also big enough that Hope seemed to be enjoying too. Her small hands brushed over the tip of her belly, her baby face lit up as she looked up at her mother. “Mommy, what’s the name?” Hope pressed, her voice shrill, excited for sure. Most days, he would have found it just a little annoying, Hange though, seemed all the more raring to engage their young daughter.

“Tell me Hopey,” Hange guided Hope’s tiny hand over their belly. “What would you like to name her?”

It was a girl, the doctors had done the necessary tests, and it was only a matter of picking a name, a good string of names that would have the same ring to it as Hope.

Hope. Levi smothered a smile at that. It had been a good long few years since they had even thought of the name, talked it out, discussed what it meant. Hope in the future, became hope in the moment.

And hope was in everything from the tiny candles by the window sill, the sweaters, the warm touches and Levi merely watching the gentle interactions of the two as he tackled his task of the day: just putting away the dishes as his partner and his daughter interacted with soft whispers, the occasional giggle from Hope and the few moments Hange’s eyes seemed to light up.

Hope hummed. “Hope?” she asked, her face lighting up. Her mouth played into a toothy smile .

“That’s your name, Hopey. You can’t have the same name as your sister.”

Hope stared at her, dumbfounded. “We can share?”

Levi stifled a wry smile.. It was an admirable characteristic of Hope’s, her first instinct was always to share. Levi wondered though, as he watched, was that a natural instinct, or just something nurtured from having to share her toys back in the orphanage.

At the end of the day, they had made mistakes as parents. Their choice to leave Hope at the orphanage to hide her existence, had left her with some penchants and tendencies, some good and some bad, some apparent, some that would be learned overtime.

And all he could do was deal with them as they came. “No need to share your name,” Levi said. “Hope, that name… it’s just for you. You were our hope.”

You were our hope. The war was over, and maybe that had explained that fatal slip.

Hope had Hange’s brain, and Hange’s sharp ears. It looked like she had figured something out at first glance. “Daddy, you don’t need hope anymore?”

“We need you Hopey,” Hange said, a quick recovery. They glanced at Levi, a look of panic on their face then glanced down at Hope then back up at him again. They had noticed it too and subtly gestured for him to come between them.

From his original angle, he didn’t see it. Walking next to Hange, settling on the sofa next to them, he only started to make sense of it when he caught a glimpse of Hope’s face.

The wounded look on Hope’s face, the wounded and confused look.

Soon, he was speaking, while barely even thinking. “We needed you during the war. You were the reason we fought so hard, you were our hope.” He kept his explanation gentle, his eyes locked on Hope and he held one hand to her cheek and he had realized then, he had spoken in past tense.

You were our hope during our war, the hope for a new family, for the happy moments post war, for the peace.

The young child by natural genius and by utter logic, she seemed to have noticed it all. “What about now?”

“You’re still our hope,” Hange said, calm and collected. “You’ll always be our hope.”

“What do you hope now?” Hope asked, a crack very apparent in her tone. She was fighting back tears.

Levi was pressured to answer. He turned to Hange, to see their eyes lowered, still deep in thought.

Both of them had spent too much time hoping for peace, for time as a family and time for each other. And when they got it, satisfaction was like a blanket, which created for them a small world, so insular from everything else. When they’ve seen the greatest suffering, small inconveniences were luxuries, and without suffering, hope wasn’t something so much more than a passing thought.

The warm ubiquitous feeling of hope didn’t prepare them to answer that burning question. “What do you hope for?” Hope pressed.

A happy family? A peaceful life? Retirement? Time with the family? For the family?  Those had been the answers Levi and Hange had discussed when they named hope.

But when they already had everything they dreamt of, was hoping still something they did?

“We have everything here,” Levi admitted. “Everything we have ever asked for. Everything we have ever hoped for… it’s already here.”

“So you don’t need hope anymore?” Hope was way too smart for her age, or maybe despite his middle age, Levi could have just been too bad with words.

He turned to Hange, an instinctive choice. After all, Hange always knew what to do and always knew what to say.

Hange didn’t look like they had a straight answer either. Still, they came up with something. “I’m always hoping,” they said. “Daddy doesn’t think he is… but daddy does too.” Hange turned to Levi and gave him a cunning smile. They put a finger to their lips, their face lit up and it was like a light bulb had went off in their head. They stood up slowly and ambled towards the entrance of the house, pulling their winter coat right from the hanger.

“Where are you going?” Levi asked.

“The weather is nice out,” Hange said. “Let’s go for a walk…” They turned to Levi, one eyebrow raised, as if they knew Levi would have said no.

Levi had been ready to reject an invitation for a walk to the dead of winter.

It was as if Hange read his mind. Hange had been ready for it, even before Levi had opened his mouth to say it out loud. We’re taking a walk…as a family.” They completed that invitation with a firm tone.

There was no room for argument.

***

It was cold, too cold. But it wasn’t especially cold. Levi was sure that wasn’t the first time he had experienced biting cold, or temperatures that seemed to play at his own natural agility.

Surprisingly, Levi didn’t feel like he was slowing down, nor did he feel like he was wasting energy.

It was a warm type of cold. And that was what kept Levi moving forward.

Despite, the relative ease at which he moved, Levi was still careful. He pulled his coat closer to himself, and held his head low. During winter, under inches and inches of snow, there were things more disorienting than biting cold or strong winds.

Under the afternoon sun, the white was flashing and his eyes ached for staring too long at the pure white of the newly fallen snow. He put his snow hat over his eyes, only keeping an opening wide enough to follow footsteps, one pair on the right, the one on the left, that of a child. Hope and Hange were quick, surprisingly unbothered by the glare of the white landscape.

In a way, Levi was pressured to occasionally glance at the road in front of him. If he relied too much on the sound of crunching under the snow and footsteps, he might just run into an accident, or more importantly, Hope and Hange might run into one.

“Slow down,” Levi shouted from behind them. The crunch of the leaves, and the sound of Hange’s voice were faint but still very much there.

They didn’t slow down though. Levi felt some responsibility to follow behind, so he forced his legs up, out of the snow, he trudged quickly but recklessly. Disoriented but in a hurry, he slipped, almost losing his balance a few times, over frozen paths, booby paths under the snow that had accumulated.

He let out a taut curse. When he looked up, Hange and Hope were still walking, trudging carefully. It was a miracle how they were able to stay upright.

“Four eyes!” Levi called out.

Hange soon stopped. Levi looked up and a closer look only proved, Hange hadn’t stopped because of him. They went towards the side of the road and crouched down.

When Levi followed behind through footsteps and sounds, he found they had stumbled upon the shade of a tree and Hange was crouching down next to a patch of bushes right under. They dug underneath, revealing sharp pines. Hope followed suit and soon, Hange's hands were guiding Hope’s over pines sticking out. “You know during the spring… flowers will bloom here, around your birthday.” Hange said with a grin. “A birthday gift maybe?

Hange’s natural burning curiosity, their inquisitiveness never seemed to falter, despite the time recovering from burns and their time in retirement. In fact, then and there, it was burning more strongly. The curiosity was contagious and Levi found himself crouching right next to them

He started digging through the snow with Hange, to find green grass, trampled over, deformed by the weight of snow, but still very much alive.

“That’s not all,” Hange said. They walked ahead, gripping Hope’s hand tightly as they reached a rough patch, an incline which could have slipped any reckless soul.

At that point, Levi was much more careful.

Hange stayed there for a second longer, giving Levi more than enough time to catch up. As he got closer, he made sense of the whispers from Hange, the meaning of Hope’s mannerisms.

Coneflower. Fern. Daffodil. Hyacinth. Hange had always loved flowers and when they started to explain everything: the process of photosynthesis, budding and shedding, how flowers turned to fruits and how the grass underneath would catch dew, during winter, they caught frost yet still grow strong, lived for another day.

From the corner of their face, Levi had only seen a glimmer of their face but it wasn’t too hard to imagine it. Hange’s face was lighting up, their smile only widening and it as no surprise. Hange had always wanted to study plants. If the war hadn’t taken over, if it had not taken them away from that life, from Hope during her formative years, what would Hange have been doing?

Hange was already doing it. Levi only had to look back through shelves and shelves of books in the house. He only had to look back at those smal moments. Hange had been coming back from the bookstore with two to three books at a time, all with pictures of different flowers and they had started to have those little sessions with Hope, curled up on the sofa pointing at pictures and diagrams.

Levi caught up to them and spoke up. “Your momma had always wanted to study plants.”

"That's why there are so many books at home... right?" Hope said.

Hange only nodded. They trudged ahead, gesturing for both Hope and Levi to follow. When there was only one clear path, and a white landscape for miles around, it wasn’t too difficult to guess where Hange was going.

Hope ran ahead, took Hange’s hand and soon, the two disappeared into the mini woods, the only green and brown for miles around.

They didn’t go far though and when Levi caught up, he found Hange looking up. The canopies of evergreen trees were still green enough, the surrounding area still dim enough that Levi could look around with little to no discomfort at all.

“Evergreen trees,” Hange said. “The majority of coniferous trees are evergreen.” They went off for a few seconds longer about pines and conifers, their voice loud enough for Levi to make up a few of the words he barely knew the meaning of.

Their main listener had been Hope though. And soon, Hope was digging through the snow then the foliage. Within seconds, Hange was digging too.

You two better wash your hands after. At that moment, Levi had wanted to come after Hange, an attempt to stop his seven month pregnant partner from endangering their health any more.

Hange though, was in their element and Hope seemed to be enjoying too. Levi decided, he could let them enjoy for a few seconds longer.

Within seconds, Hange pulled something out. “Look!” They grinned and held it in front of them, first for Hope to see. Then they handed it to Levi. “A pinecone.”

“Okay…” In truth, Levi had nothing much else to say.

“And there are lots of them. They’re still alive," Hange added.

“And?” Hope looked at both of them with wide expectant eyes.

“In spring, these will be big trees,” Hange said. They opened their arms as wide as they could in emphasis.

That was enough to coax a child-like and sing songy sound out of Hope. She mimicked her mother, putting her hands up.

“Not just that,” Hange said. They crouched down again and dug. Hange was naturally impulsive, impulsive and a good few months pregnant, a dangerous combination and an accident was waiting to happen.

Thankfully, it wasn't a bad one. Within seconds, they screamed, falling on their back.

Levi instinctively lunged forward, crouched down next to them, only to seem them laughing.

Laughing of all things. Their mouth played into a grin and they held a seed in front of Levi. “Look at this…” Hange said. “This will grow into a flower and by summer, it will be berry.”

A mundane rule in this world, yet somehow, it lit up Hange’s face. Hope grabbed that between her fingers, held it underneath a stream of light that peeked through the canopy. The seed shone a few other shades of red and purple.

Hange continued to dig, revealing a few more underneath the snow. They held one seed in front of Hope. “We’ll have white flowers by your birthday.” They put their hand on their stomach. “And she’ll be seeing it too.”

Hange always knew what to do, and it was like magic. Only when Levi got a good look at Hope under the thin streams of light, was he reminded Pink streaked cheeks, red rimmed eyes, Hope had been crying. Hange’s own passion and curiosity had somehow distracted her, improved Hope's mood.

One whisper from Hange and Hope was running ahead onto the glade digging through the inches of snow and onto the foliage.

“She never let me finish,” Hange said with a sigh.

“Finish what?” Levi asked “Your tirade about hope?” And he couldn’t blame her. He knew his partner too well. “Maybe because you took too long telling it? Like how you did every other time before?” he suggested.

“Well, I thought long and hard about this. It would have been nice if she heard my answer.”

“Wait until she’s older, and is willing to sit down and listen,” Levi said.

Hange huffed. “I guess.”

“You can tell me,” Levi suggested. He turned patiently towards Hange, digging his hands deep into his coat pockets. He had survived Hange’s long tirades about titans. That wouldn’t have been any different.

“Well.” Hange took a deep breath. Surprisingly though, Hange had started with the simplest of words. “This is my ‘hope,’” they  said. “This is my hope now.” They turned to Levi expectantly. “Right?”

“What do you mean?”

“We may have gotten what we hoped for but that doesn’t mean we stopped hoping,” Hange said. “There’s always something to look forward too.” They fell back on the snow, looked up at the gray sky and grinned. A snowflake fell lightly on their cheek, then another on the other.

“Let’s go back home?”

Hange pouted. “I would have wanted to watch the evergreens for a while longer.”

“Why?” Levi scanned his surroundings then stared expectantly back at Hange. In truth, he didn’t see something else worth the discomfort of biting cold.

“I just read about them and I thought about us.”

“About us as a family? About you and me?”

“How, we kept fighting our whole lives… and how weird it is, that now… there isn’t much else left to do but sit around and live our lives.”

“Isn’t that what we dreamt of?” Levi asked.

“It took us time to get used to it though… Right?”

“Did it?” Levi challenged.

Hange gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, you slipped up. You said we stopped hoping.”

Levi sighed. “Well, now that I think about it… We didn’t…”

“Like evergreen trees maybe…" Hange said. They positioned their hands right behind them and pressed it onto the ground, using that as a prop to look back up at the sky. “Time passes, seasons change, things constantly change… And even when we know peace and happiness already, we still continue to hope.” Hange hummed “Maybe because there are things to look forward to, and there always will be. The new books on plants, new experiments…

Levi pulled Hange back up onto a sitting a position. With a few more careful heaves, he got them back into a standing one. Around the time when they kept their balance, two feet planted on the ground, Levi saw opportunity. “Things to look forward to…” He put one hand on Hange’s stomach. “Like this?”

Hange gripped Levi’s hand, and guided it down, around a convenient area where Levi felt a soft kick.

Hope. That’s what hope felt like, even in the happiest of moments. And maybe with time and effort, he might find a way to explain it to their daughter. “So… will you answer Hope's question."

Hange shook their head. “You said it yourself, she’s too young." They chucked lightly. "Besides, she probably forgot it."

“Maybe by her next birthday. Knowing her, she'll probably remember and asked again," Levi said. “And by then, she’ll be there too… You know… Hope’s sister.”

“Evergreen,” Hange said.

Levi gave Hange an incredulous look. "Evergreen?'

"What if we name her that?"

“That’s a stupid name."

Hange hummed. “What about… Ever?”

Levi shrugged “Well, we have two more months to decide…” He trailed off. Hange didn't respond. The silence that followed was of the comfortable kind.

Soon, Hope joined them with a handful of seeds, and Hange found themselves occupied, calling each seed by name at their daughter's request.

“This seed… it will grow to a flower… This one… into a big tree," Hange said as they pointed to each.

“Big and healthy ones?” Hope asked.

“Big and healthy ones.”

Hange closed Hope’s hand and hover them over the little hole on the ground they had dug just a while ago. “First things first, best to bury let it grow…”

“And then?”

“You hope,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “You hope, then by spring, you’ll see… they've grown.”

[persimmononroll]

“The Harlan isn’t accepting visitors at this time,” comes the nasally voice on the other side of the intercom. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

Neht does not curse because she refuses to display any sign of weakness in her husband’s domain (she loves him dearly, really, but there is still a part of her that wants to destroy that man completely and utterly, especially when he hides behind his assassins when he doesn’t want to deal with something, which is often) but she does pointedly glare at the microphone as she leans out of the window closer to the speaker.

"I hardly need to make an appointment to see my own husband,” she says, perhaps a little too coldly considering that it’s hardly the Italian’s fault that her husband is an absolute trainwreck. “You will open these gates and I will talk to the Harlan and there is nothing he can do about it.”

“Hi, Uncle Stefy!” exclaims the pudgy little girl in the backseat, Jodie’s ears perking up at the familiar voice. She hasn’t been maintaining the distinction between cat and vampire very well lately and Neht frets terribly about that because however will he send her off to school if she turns back into a cat mid-lesson? He’s homeschooled her so far but he thinks she’d thrive better with more socialization.

"Oh, the baby is here! Hey, babe, wake up! The baby is here! Babe? Oh, he’s really conked out, wow. Hiiii, Jodie-Podie~” says the assassin, sing-song, before he remembers his job. “Look, ma’am, the boss is the one signing my paychecks. I’m just doing what he tells me to do. If he says no visitors, then no visitors.”

“Yes, and you’re doing a marvelous job, Stefano, I really do appreciate the work you two do for him, but...Jodie, would you be a dear and put your headphones on? Listen to a very fun song, whatever you like. Mommy and Daddy must discuss very boring things meant only for adults to hear and you won’t like it much.”

Jodie, bless her, never likes being told what to do but even still, she shifts back into a more vampiric ear configuration and slips her headphones on to listen to one of the little boy bands the children like these days.

“Harlan, I know you’re listening, you wretched old bat,” Neht hisses once he’s certain their daughter isn’t listening. He speaks in Vampiric -and not only that but the dialect of Anachrom that’s near-incomprehensible to those neither well-studied on ancient tongues or raised in the heart of the Egregorical wastelands- but even still, he's not certain how much of the language his daughter had picked up. The assassin will, of course, be spoken to in English as he only speaks their ancestral tongue as a third language at best and certainly not the variant spoken now.

“If you do not open the doors this instant, I will personally see to it that all of your holdings come to ruin, that none shall ever speak of you ever again, that your forest burns and your land is salted. I will rip out your heart with my own teeth and devour it raw. I will not give your body the dignity of the flames. I will cast your bones out for the vultures to pick over. Do not test me. Stefano, open the gates.”

"No. Absolutely not. Stefano will do no such thing. I permit only Jodie to enter,” comes the imperious voice of his husband, the former ambassador of the Daughters of Egregori to the other, less enlightened families before the great upheaval eliminated his position and rendered all his years of conditioning and training completely meaningless.

“And I’d like to see you try. You haven’t killed me yet. What makes you so certain you can do it now? Yours is the coward’s way. Fight me in righteous combat and we shall see who triumphs here.”

“Do not forget you are permitted to live under my will only. The only reason I have not driven my blade through your heart is because it pleases me to see what you’ve become. Stefano, be a dear and open the gates or I will open them for you,” growls Neht.

"...Boss, I feel like I’m getting in the middle of your marital issues. Hey, do you think I could just take a little break and maybe get a snack or something while you two figure this predicament out? A little snicky-snack? Please?”

“Our marriage holds strong and it would do you well to follow our example, Stefano. A beast tends to the needs of his base needs of his belly when the adversary beats down his door. Are you a man? Or are you a beast?”

“Stefano may enjoy a snack if he so wishes, Harlan. Stefano, my poor and sweet darling, make yourself a hot cup of spiced blood just as you like it.”

“He doesn’t need a snack. He had enough at lunch,” his husband declares. “Angel, you will not bring that thing inside. Put it back where it came from. I don’t want to look at it. Don’t leave it here.”

“...Aw, man, can we stop discussing my eating habits? I’m just trying to do my job, Boss.”

“Open the gates and I’ll fund a trip to Fisney Land, Stefano,” Neht says even though she definitely doesn’t have the money for that.

“Stefano doesn’t want to go to Fisney Land. He would like to go to the World of Fisney, which I will fund when he does not open the gates so that he may go to the second, fake Italy to be amongst his own kind.”

“Oh, oh geeze, would you look at that? Would you just look at that? It looks like there’s a threat over there somewhere. I better go investigate that. Byyyyye!”

“Stefano, you worthless scum, get back here at once and defend me! Fine. Be that way. Useless. Pointless. Ought to dock your pay. I’m going to take you back to Italy and let the Christians point crosses at you or whatever they do. Stefano! Do you hear me? You are scum. Scum. Not even fit to clean my floors.”

Jodie shrugs her headphones off, frustrated that this is taking so long.

“Mommy hates Jodie? Daddy hates her? They are cruel? They do not love her? Daddy does not let her inside? Mommy does wickedness and makes her, a baby, be in the car with not even any snacks?”

She sniffles a little for dramatic effect, though her eyes are suspiciously dry, Neht’s daughter through and through.

“My child, we do not have snacks because we have already eaten the snacks. Come on, let’s have none of that, dear girl, we-”

“Jodetha,” his Harlan interrupts because he’s a rude creature. “You are the triumph of my line and the crowning jewel of all the ancestors who came before you, radiant in your glory. Before the Fall, a child such as you would be raised in fine splendor by the strictest of tutors so that you might grow up to be the voice and will incarnate of Anachrom itself -no, why stop at that, you would speak for all that are and all that were, certainly- but sadly you must be raised by flawed creatures such as us and be denied your proper station in life. All that I can offer now is a feast. Stefano! Come back at once! Why aren’t you opening the gates for my daughter and my angel? Do you expect me to press this button myself? It has germs on it. I will not die of illness.”

Neht sighs because the thought of his child growing up to become a thoughtless tool like her father is a terrible thing (and his Harlan comes so close to realizing that at times before he abruptly shuts off that line of thought because he may be elderly now and he may be a lot better than how he used to be but that doesn’t mean he’s shrugged off all his indoctrination; everything about the man makes so much sense when you remember a cult raised him in a tower) and it’s very, very good indeed that her husband’s former position has been eliminated (because the Egregori do not communicate with other Families anymore and therefore no longer raise a non-infected child to become a carefully monitored mouthpiece, cut off from most aspects of society) but it isn’t proper to argue about such things when Jodie is paying attention, so she pulls through the gates to park in the garage of the little beige house.

Her husband doesn’t live there, of course, though his assassins maintain the decoy house and have really fixed up the place splendidly. The Harlan lives in the secret underground bunker so enemies that no longer exist won’t come after him. That might’ve included her once upon a time but considering they married, she supposes she won’t kill him after all despite all their not-very-serious threats. She could, of course. It wouldn’t even be hard. You could just push him over, honestly. She wouldn’t even have to draw her sword or even poison his tea. Really, a stiff breeze could knock the man over and she’d get all of his life insurance money.

“Jodie, can you be a very helpful girl and carry the diaper bag for me so that everyone sees how strong you are?” she asks as she helps her out of the car. She’s getting a lot bigger but even still, she seems so tiny. She wonders if that’s normal but there’s probably no normal when your daughter is a cat. She never felt like she knew what she was doing with Jesseth and she certainly feels out of her element with her youngest.

“I am mighty,” Jodie says solemnly as she accepts her burden.

Neht struggles with the car seat for a bit but then they go in at last: witch, cat, and the baby she technically kidnapped.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Five

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

It was supposed to be simple. Clear out Weston Water Treatment. Start a new settlement at Oberland Station. Backhand wrinkled her nose. Partially in irritation, and partially to ward off the foul smell of super mutant.

  “If I'd known the place was infested I wouldn't have agreed to this shit.” She grumbled to the paladin in power armor beside her. “Rob could have been a little more generous with his count, I feel.”

  Danse chuckled, “Don't try to act tough, Knight Vega. You're still here, right? It's only a couple of super mutants.”

  “A couple, he says.”

  A bullet whizzed over her head, interrupting the easy back and forth between the two of them. Danse gritted his teeth and readied his laser rifle. “For the Brotherhood!”

  They easily picked off five mutants and two hounds, and Backhand pumped her fist in victory when a sixth mutant fell to Righteous Authority . However, then she heard something that sent her into a panic. Her whole upper body jutted heedlessly out from behind cover, stealth mods deactivated from her motion while she searched frantically for the source of the beeping. “Wait, Paladin wait! ” She yelled, grabbing hold of his arm as he thundered by and barely missing getting her fingers crushed in his elbow joint. His momentum dragged her along with him and she hurriedly dug her boots into the dirt. “There's a fucking-!”

  Danse’s huge gauntlet clamped onto one of the many straps on her combat armor and without so much as a look out , he hurled her up over the road and into the deep pond beside the treatment plant. The super mutant suicider screamed in triumph, “ Die, metal man! ”

  Backhand landed in the pond with an undignified splash, brown water pouring into her nose and mouth as she sank like a rock to the bottom. The following explosion sent shockwaves through the water and Backhand struggled to hold her breath.

  Danse, oh God Danse, please be alright!

  She finally broke the surface, eyes stinging from the acrid water. “Paladin Danse!” She coughed, hauling herself back up the banking. Smoking chunks of super mutant were scattered everywhere , green flesh burned brown and black. The suit of power armor was toppled over on its front. “ Danse! ” Backhand almost fell in her haste to get to the paladin, skidding to her knees beside the power armor.

  Her Geiger counter started to click loudly.

  “Shit, Paladin, c'mon! You've dealt with worse than this, you got cooked by a fucking rocket! Don't do this to me!” She pleaded, fighting with the manual release on the back of the suit. The fusion core was shattered, otherwise she could have just half-twisted the handle and popped him out easy. Backhand was stuck doing this the hard way. “Fucking answer me Paladin, please! ”

  “That's not...soldier-appropriate language, Knight.” A choked cough came from the half-crushed helmet. “Can you get the back open? I can't really...it's very heavy in this thing.” He rose onto his knees with one hand propping him up, leaving Backhand more than a little impressed. “A Brotherhood soldier's conditioning requirements are somewhat rigorous, Knight. Now please. The back.” Despite his reassurances he sounded strained.

  Backhand tore the plate metal over her knuckles on the rivets around the manual release wheel in her haste to get it undone, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally swung the back plate up out of the way. Danse pulled his head out of his helmet, got to his feet, and promptly collapsed.

  Backhand swore again, rolling him over. It seemed like his armor had taken the brunt of the impact but he got rattled around inside it like an old world pinball. She'd griped about the lack of padding in their undersuits the very first time she’d seen them, ‘ stupid military branches, always cutting corners. ’

  “Paladin, you still with me?” Backhand Vega, shittiest knight the Brotherhood has to offer. “Why the fuck are all your jumpsuits dark orange and brown , I can't tell whether you're bleeding or not!” She yelled in frustration, mostly to herself. At least that suicider had been the last of the mutants to deal with. “Alright, okay. You're out. Oberland it is.” She sighed when he didn't reply, slinging Righteous Authority across her chest and heaving Danse onto her back. Thank God for all that conditioning work so she'd been able to move her own armor frame back in the day. She may be in shape but Danse was by no means a small man.

  Getting over the damn hill to Oberland left Backhand almost spent. Half-carrying, half-dragging him up the station stairs at the end was torment, her calves screaming bloody murder. She dropped him on the bed and left her supply satchel on the ground, rummaging through it for her Stims. Some Rad-X probably wouldn't hurt either, it had been a mini-nuke that exploded next to him.

  “Knight Vega...” Danse mumbled blearily a few minutes after she inserted the Stim needle into one of the ports in his jumpsuit, the paladin obviously coming back around.

  Backhand couldn’t stop the way she snapped at him. Now that the terror for her companion had faded somewhat, she was left feeling exhausted and irritated. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have been obliterated by that asshole!”

  “Where are we?” Danse muttered instead, trying to sit up.

  “Oberland. Lay the hell back down, stupid idiots don’t get to sit up.” She pushed his shoulder and Danse’s back hit the mattress with a wheeze of rusty springs. “Don’t move.” She growled, using one of her shoelaces to hang the bag of Rad-X from the rafters and then hitching the end of the tubing to the needle still in his arm. Danse grunted, the dazed look on his face making Backhand extremely nervous. “Paladin, stay conscious.” She waved her fingers in front of his eyes and Danse jerked to attention. “Stay with me.”

  “I am, Knight Vega.” He retorted while his eyes drifted shut. “Right here.”

  “Ah ah, no napping.” She tapped his cheek and his eyes rolled open again. “Stay with me, Danse.” Backhand repeated, a little softer this time.

  “I am , Knight Vega.” Danse murmured. “Endured worse than this, remember?”

  “Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry.”

  Danse closed his eyes just enough to squint at her. “About me? You’re the one with no power armor. I’m supposed to be managing you , Vega.”

  …

  “Yeah, frickin’ bang-up job there ked.” Backhand retorted. “Coulda’ lost a hand in your elbow joint when you whipped past me like a bat outta’ hell.”

  Danse noted with a faint flash of amusement that apparently her accent thickened when she was wound up. “My hearing is not in peak condition. Specifically, telling where the sound is coming from can be an issue in my helmet. Proctor Ingram can only tweak it so much.”

  “That would have been good to know beforehand, Paladin.” Backhand said icily, her motions sharp and angry as she shed her combat armor breastplate. Her gauntlets followed suit, discarded in a pile on the floor. She was soaked to the skin, Danse noticed hazily.

  His head was pounding again, vision slowly becoming more and more unfocused. “Tell me about what it was like, Knight. Before the…before the war.” Danse slurred, trying his hardest to change the subject and stay awake.

  Backhand bit her lip, pulling the bedroll up a little higher until it was underneath Danse’s chin. He wasn’t sure whether she intended to simply ignore his question.

  “It was green.” She said softly, putting his wondering to rest. “There was always someone in your business. People were on top of each other most of the time. I mean, I was in the military so cramped quarters were normal for me, but for civilians…it was pretty hellish. In the mornings once we’d had breakfast, I would take Shaun outside to the front lawn and he would roll around on his little blanket. The neighbors were walking their dogs or mowing the lawn or something, we would all make small talk about the weather.” Backhand stopped talking and sighed heavily, tapping at the bag of Rad-X to keep it flowing.

  “What is it, Knight?” Danse hated the cold sweat that always broke out when he took Rad-X, but right now it was a necessary evil.

  “I think a lot of folks were a little intimidated by me.” She theorized. “I mean I was a young veteran, and pretty quickly became a single mother. Unheard of. For a while after I moved in I still had the eyepatch from my discharge incident, then a pair of super dark sunglasses, which definitely didn’t defang my appearance.” Her smile was melancholy and she brought her fingers up to her eye, tapping the area beneath it.

  The silence stretched on. Danse knew he needed to be patient. It’s not as if he could go anywhere, and it was fascinating to hear about pre-war from someone who had actually been there.

  “I told the neighborhood kids that I was a pirate and showed them all how to make newspaper boats and hats so they could be pirates too.” Backhand smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I modified one of my old MLCE packs so I could carry Shaun around the cul-de-sac with me when I jogged. Didn’t have the money for one of those baby carriers or even for a stroller after the divorce, so the pack had to do. He would put his little head down on my chest and sleep. Wasn’t bothered by all the motion or anything, just like his mommy.”

  Her pain was still clearly raw, even after however much time had passed. Danse didn’t know what to do, so he wiggled a heavy arm free of the sleeping bag and rested his hand on her own. She squeezed it back wordlessly, her jaw working.

  When she spoke again, she sounded more steady. “I can’t say that it was bad . The environment was safe and quiet. Everyone in Sanctuary Hills looked out for one another. Even if it was more motivated by curiosity and nosiness than an actual desire to help.” Backhand mused dryly. “The milkman couldn’t leave an extra bottle on your doorstep without six other people knowing. So exactly like the military.”

  “Sounds similar to the Prydwen.” Danse remarked, sick to his stomach a second after he said it. How many people must know about Maxson and I? He realized, swallowing hard to fight the sudden rush of nausea. He hadn’t thought about it at all, more than content with the illusion of privacy one usually maintained in the Brotherhood. The most obvious evidence of their dalliances was the busted mouth Danse always seemed to end up with, and those instances happened far too often for everyone to write it off as Danse just being clumsy or careless when he shaved.

  I bumped it. He grimaced as he recalled his weak explanation back on the Prydwen, the way Backhand had narrowed her eyes at him.

  Besides, he knew that he’d worn his excuses thin at this point. Trying to explain away the teeth marks Arthur left on his upper arm that one time was more than enough of a chore. He had looked like he’d been savaged by a feral, so at least he could understand the concern to an extent.

  “Hey, you alright? All the color just dropped out of your face.” Backhand noticed, her brows drawn in worry.

  Danse nodded, fixing his attention on the guttering lantern beside the bed instead of the wrinkles on her forehead. “Tell me more?” He asked eventually.

  “I miss the convenience of food. Even with the shortages, there used to be a grocery store on practically every corner.” She sounded wistful. “Shaun hadn’t really started solid foods yet, he was only just beginning to leave the twenty-four-seven nursing program. Not a minute too soon, the little bugger would suck me dry.”

  “You breastfed your child? Isn’t that-” Danse stopped himself, feeling uncomfortable. Normally breastfeeding was considered incredibly dangerous, for the baby and the parent. But before, when the radiation wasn’t so prevalent…things must have been different. “It’s none of my business, I suppose.”

  “No no, I get it. I know that nowadays trying to raise a child is tough enough without the added dangers of the irradiated environment. It was simpler back then. Could just unbutton your shirt and go to town, instead of having to unbelt all your armor and find a safe spot so that Junior can get lunch in.” Backhand grinned.

  Danse flushed a little at her frank speech, sternly telling himself not to dwell on the idea of her with an infant on her knee like some housewife from the pre-war mags. He had no recollection of his own parents, or siblings if he had them. Familial musing was not familiar territory, but it never failed to leave him with a sad ache in his throat. The same ache that assaulted him when he thought of Cutler-

  Backhand hissed in pain and Danse snapped out of his slide into melancholy, watching with horror while she peeled off her other glove. “Shit, I didn’t even feel that.” She grimaced, spreading her fingers. The sheet metal on her gloves was ripped through in some areas, and it had apparently taken a few healthy chunks out of her knuckles and the backs of her hands. Blood dribbled over her palm and Danse felt… odd .

  “Knight Vega, what happened?” Danse asked in confusion.

  “I was in such a hellfire hurry to get you out of your gear and the fusion core in your suit was busted. I uh...I don’t really know.” Backhand admitted. “I went panic mode and muscled the manual release as fast as I could, basically.”

  “The manual…” Danse trailed off as she wiped some dried blood away with the hem of her undershirt. “You need to bind that. Your knuckles-”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine.” She flapped a bloodied hand at him. “I’ve had worse.”

  “It’s irrelevant whether you’ve had worse, the fact of the matter is that right now, you’re the one who needs to protect us.” Danse shot back, a little annoyed with her carelessness. “Who knows what could be lurking out there? Everything in the neighborhood must have heard the suicider explosion.”

  “Ah, okay. Sorry, I’ll…you think a Stim would put this back together? Or should I save those for later?” She asked hesitantly.

  “Did you take any Stims from the Prydwen?”

  “No, I didn't want to take any resources from you guys.” Backhand shuffled through her pack, carefully counting out everything that she had. “I only have three Stims left. Wasn't expecting this detour.”

  Danse cursed under his breath, pushing to sit up by propping his back against the wall. The Stim that she had given him was doing its job, of course, but it would be several hours before he was fit for duty again. Anything could happen in that time. “Come here.” He ordered, disliking the sideways look she gave him. “Let me see your hands.”

  “H-Hey, I'll probably be fine. It's no biggie.” She protested, putting her left hand into his own all the same and then wincing. Danse, his brain jerkily reminding him that he was probably being a little too rough, nearly dropped her hand when he tried to casually loosen his grip. Alright, maybe he did spend more time than necessary in his armor. The truth of the matter is that Danse felt like a raw nerve without the comforting weight of plate metal on his body, exposed and too… soft .

  “I'll wrap this.” He decided aloud after several moments of careful manipulation to make sure her fingers weren't broken. Danse flipped open the small pouch by his hip, tugging out a tiny roll of bandaging and a nonstick gauze to dress her knuckles. “What? A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared.” He huffed when he noticed Backhand staring at him.

  “I gotta' get one of those.” She said, gesturing at the pouch. “Is that included in the suit? Or do they come separate from the requisitions officer?”

  “I can put in a supply order for you, if you'd really like one. It has...look, there's loops here. You could hitch it to your combat armor.” Danse loosened the bag and showed her the plethora of MOLLE straps on the back, chuckling a little when she made a clumsy attempt to snatch it out of his hands. “Mm, nice try. I've been around Haylen and Rhys. You've got nothing on either of them when it comes to pilfering my supplies, Vega.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She grinned ruefully. “I really ought to be nice to you. After all, you saved me from pretty certain death.”

  “I did?” Danse thought back momentarily and then remembered gauntlet slamming shut on the strap, whichever strap, doesn’t matter, shoulder-ribs, just be enough to hold her weight --He felt his face go hot recalling the unwarranted contact between them. “It was a…reaction. Sometimes I think I move too quickly for my mind to keep up.”

  “Lucky for me, I guess! Maybe the Sarge's bandanna is rubbing off on you.” Backhand got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She had peeled her Vault suit down and tied the sleeves around her hips again, the fabric pulled tight from her motions.

  Danse forced his eyes elsewhere, the sweat on his forehead having nothing to do with the Rad-X. What the hell is the matter with you? He scolded himself. Since when do you ogle women like this?

  “Do you think we should stay here tonight, and try to get to your armor tomorrow?” Backhand asked.

  “We have to. I’m not leaving it there indefinitely.” Danse cringed as he thought of the state his armor would be in. “I would like to go after it tonight, but I am…not in peak condition.” God , that stung to say. Whether he liked it or not, it was the truth.

  “ Hell no, not tonight. I’d rather let you sleep off the Stim and Rad-X, have you in fighting shape bright and early tomorrow morning.” Backhand gave him a look that was actually fond and the ache mounted up in his throat once more. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “Put your armor on!” Danse barked as she moved to the door, his voice harsher than he had intended. “You--I-I mean, you need to be prepared, Knight.” He tried to play it off, tried to relax his posture a little. He had nearly stood, shaky fingers crushing the rotted windowsill to try and support his weight.

  She waved her bandaged hand at him, as if to say hush , but still buckled her chest plating back on. Danse knew her moments of insubordination should have been worrisome. Had he gotten too complacent, too used to the less stringent requirements of fieldwork?

  He did let Rhys and Haylen slide. He just couldn’t stand the two of them dancing around each other anymore, it was maddening. Rhys talked a great game, he always had, but Danse would have to be blind not to notice the knight’s care for their scribe. It wasn't technically against regs, of course, but Danse knew if anything he ought to put his foot down. As their senior ranking officer, if the relationship went south between them he would be dragged into it. It was hard to justify it though, when he saw the two of them all curled up with one another.

  Better that they enjoy themselves now. Life could be so incredibly short.

  …

  “Hey, what’s your deal with the muties?” Backhand asked curiously. He had gotten a boatload of pre-war nonsense out of her, she figured she had earned at least one question. “You lose one of your own to them or something?”

  Danse made eye contact and Backhand’s breath caught in her throat. He looked positively worn, fragile , like all the life had gone out of his body. With an expression like that , she expected a great (if sad) story. All she got was a soft “ Yes ,” spoken in a voice thick with emotion.

  When it became apparent that that was the end of it, Backhand cleared her throat and readjusted the dingy pipe pistol in her hands. She proceeded to methodically count her bullets, trying not to make him feel like she was waiting for the rest. The experience left her shaken. She had thought Danse to be the typical soldier, but it was obvious now that there was much more to him than that. He clearly cared deeply for the wellbeing and safety of each member of his team, possibly too much for him to escape unscathed. He was one of those , she realized, practically a kindred spirit to her dearly departed senior officer Sergeant Cathan. Courageous, firm, the shelter in the storm. A true embodiment of everything a soldier should strive to be.

  “ I could not feasibly promise anything…it was not within my power to promise. ”

  She noticed Danse pull the bedroll up around his shoulders as if he was cold. There was a sharp wind that blew through the old station on top of the hill, but Backhand, New Englander to the end, barely felt it. She leaned on the worn bannister of the stairs, her eyes squinted against the darkness as the stars brightened overhead.

  There was more rustling from behind her and she assumed that Danse was doing his best to make himself comfortable on the old mattress, his frame a bit… large for the task. Backhand snuck a peek and was relieved to see him curled up in her bedroll, his back to the wall and eyes closed.

  She hoped that Paladin Brandis made it to the Prydwen safe and sound (and that her armor was still in one piece). She may have hoped a little harder that Brandis was already giving Maxson a run for his money. The idea of Maxson being thrown off his game made her snicker quietly to herself.

  Her good humor faded all too quickly when she recalled that there was nothing keeping them out here and away from the Prydwen once they finished cleaning up Weston. If something shifty was going on between Danse and Maxson, it wouldn’t be long before they were back in the thick of it. She cast another glance at the large man after she heard him mumble something, watching him shift around in the sleeping bag. There was an odd vulnerability to him when he slept, which she remembered all too well from their time in the police station.

  The wan sunlight hadn’t woken him as she scribbled her note, but he stirred when she placed the paper down on the floor beside his head. His bedroll was bunched uncomfortably at his elbows and she took a selfish moment to kiss his forehead and then tug the fabric up around his shoulders. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned with herself. He had hummed in his sleep and snuggled down into the warm embrace of the bedroll. It made it incredibly difficult to leave, even with the two Mister Handy units cheerily patrolling the courtyard. If something happened…

  Well, it didn’t really bear thinking about. Backhand had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time she and Danse would meet.

  …

  Backhand woke him for his watch shift at almost exactly two hundred hours. She looked fatigued and Danse ignored the protest of bruises on his body in favor of more quickly freeing up the mattress. “Got it warmed up for you.” He yawned, chuckling when she poked him in the ribs.

  “I bet you did, you big furnace.” She teased, her eyelids already drooping. “Nothing to report, sir. All’s been quiet.”

  “Carry on, Knight.” Danse saluted out of habit, scooping her combat armor up off the floor and beginning to adjust it to fit his own body. Once he was in some semblance of protective equipment, he snuffed the lantern on the bedside table and took his place at the window. He borrowed Righteous Authority from her, seeing as his rifle was back with his power armor. Probably lying on the ground, covered in super mutant gore. Danse frowned unhappily.

  His night vision had always been impeccable, with or without his helmet. Danse scanned the landscape for threats, glad that they at least had the high ground. If anything tried to attack, he would know well before they arrived.

  The Commonwealth was almost peaceful at night. Once all the raiders had bedded down with one another and the ferals had retreated to their holes, a tenuous calm reigned that was usually only broken by clans of ambitious super mutants or radscorpions.

  Danse rested his weight gingerly on the wall, afraid that it may not be able to support him in its decrepit state. Thankfully it held fast and he relaxed after a moment. His pulse was still quick enough for him to be slightly anxious. It was a normal leftover from using a Stim, but he disliked the feeling; epinephrine and adrenal-sour in his mouth while his heart slammed a tattoo on his ribs.

  Danse fought the desire to shake himself, certain that Backhand wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by the percussion of poor-fitting combat armor. Though she had mentioned that her son could sleep through anything, “ just like his mommy .” He imagined being on the front lines, getting your meager rest wherever you could and going for weeks without seeing a real bed would probably do that to a person. Lord knew he had a hard time readjusting to the quiet safety of the Prydwen after clocking lengthy stints of fieldwork or skirmishes with the Enclave.

  He had dreamed of Cutler again. Danse exhaled slowly through his nose, fighting the tremble of his hands. Mercifully the dream had faded well before Backhand woke him. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to being shaken awake while still in the grasp of his memories. He shook his head, propping the barrel of Righteous Authority up on the windowsill. He couldn’t go on like this, haunted by the echoes of a man who had ceased to be. True, they had a bond. A bond which Danse had naively believed was unbreakable. But when Cutler had gone missing…

  Danse was no stranger to horrifying experiences. Centaurs, super mutants and ferals plagued his nightmares, nightmares which inevitably led to an enormous super mutant hive in the Capital Wasteland...

Part Six

[nothingtherefornow]

Well said !! Adrien himself at the end of Derision stated that many people gave Chloé the chance to change her ways, meaning that they were also willing to support her and help her better herself, and in way, help her heal from her mother's neglect and abuse. But like I said, Chloé LOVES being evil. Hurting people for her is no longer a way to deal with her mommy issues and potential trauma, it's about having "fun" to her. People wicked enough to get off and feel pleasure at harming and tormenting others do exist, and it's infuriating that many people still don't realize that Chloé is among those kind of people.

Have Chloé apologists actually seen how happy and enthousiastic Chloé was after hearing Lila's plan in Confrontation ? Chloé was actually very happy that the plan was gonna ruin not just Marinette's life, but also potentially ruin her classmates dreams and career in the future. How does having suffered from an abusive and neglectfull mother can justify such cruelty and sadism toward people who never did any harm to you ?

In Confrontation, we're in a context where Chloé's classmates are willing to give her a chance because they think she finally stopped being mean and wicked thanks to Lila's "influence". We're talking about classmates who would have been willing, or actually were willing, to become Chloé's friends. And then Chloé rejoys at the fact that she's gonna betray their trust and hurt them ?

And then how can they forget that Chloé wanted to put an harmless pregnant woman in jail and forbid her classmates's access to every high school of Paris just for the sake of hurting them even more, because they weren't desperate or unhappy enough for her sake.

To think and reson that way is the very definition of Evil, plain and simple.

Chloé is still an evil person for now, and there's nothing wrong in portraying her character that way, there's nothing wrong in keeping her as an antagonist. I personally think that Chloé's arc in season 2 ad 3 was never really about giving her a successfull redemption in the long run, but about showing us that even if a character has the potential to do some good and become a better person, it will always depend of that person's choice, and it was never an obligation to have Chloé make the right choice. Because while it can seems cruel to have "failed" or "sabotaged" her redemption, Chloé always acted in self-interest and to satisfy her own ego, even as a heroine, so for her to chose the path of evil instead of one of a hero in Miracle Queen was never inconsistent with her character, the risk of her relapsing into her faults has always been there. Because this is also how people works in real life. sometimes, people's ego and selfishness win over their potential goodness inside.

Chloé was never forced to become a good person for the show to keep her character interesting to use and follow, and while I know that many bullies characters in the history of fiction went through a accomplished and successfull redemption, I think it's actually more interresting to show us that not all bullies will chose the path to redemption.

And that scene at the end of revolution when Chloé's ends up crying after Marinette shut her off ? I don't think it was to be cruel toward her character, but instead maybe to make her understand that she ended up like that because of her own choices, that chosing to be somoene wicked and evil turned eveyrone against her, even Sabrina and her own father. Maybe it was to show her that with so many angry and resentfull people against her, her triumph and joy were always destined to be short lived, until the people she hurt gained to courage to fight back and stand up against her.

Lila was always more successfull at remaining on the top while being evil because most people never realize that she's evil until its too late. Because if the people she manipulate and advantage of don't realize that she's wicked, how can they think about standing up against her ? But for Chloé who always further demonstrated her wickedness and tyranny in broad daylight to the majority, this would inevitably trigger people's thirst for justice, rebellion, collusion and revolution.

Maybe from season 6, we will finally see a Chloe who will question her life choices, and from there, I think that two choices will be available to her : to leave her cruelty and her wickedness aside despite her mother's"teaching", or to follow more in her mother steps while becoming more like Lila, a seasoned liar and manipulator who can hurt and abuse as many people as she wants, because only a minority will realize that she is the bad guy.

Not to mention “no one gave chloe a chance”

Um.

Were we watching the same show? The gave her damn near every chance they could!

Some people don’t want to change. That’s something everyone has to learn. People CAN change, but they have to want to. Chloe didn’t want to. To her, being queen bee was never about helping others it about herself and the admiration that came with the label “superhero.”

THANKS YOU ! It's good to have reasonable fans like you sharing their opinion about Miraculous and it's character.

I'm getting tired of toxic Chloé stans excusing all her bad actions because "oh poor of her she has an horrible mother" yes, and so do Kagami and Zoé, and Adrien has an horrible father, and yet they didn't turned out into selfish entitled brat who enjoy hurting others for their sick pleasure did they ?

Even though ending up trapped in the abusive "care" of a parent does seem like a cruel fate to befall even on somoene like Chloé, because Audrey won't just make Chloé's life misrable, she'll make her worse than she already is.

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | Zack Snyder’s Justice League

by Don Hall

Mythology is fun.

As a kid I loved reading Edith Hamilton’s book on the Greek gods and the myths. Hercules, Perseus, Apollo, and Hera—this fell completely in line with my love for superhero comics. The strangely petty human traits of envy, greed, and lust combined with the power to level cities make for some great storytelling.

Zeus was basically Harvey Weinstein in the retroactive revision we’re mired in today. If Harvey could’ve changed into a golden animal and boned unsuspecting ladies looking for careers in Hollywood I’m pretty certain he would. The gods and demi-gods of the Greeks dealt with daddy issues, mommy issues, bad relationships, and fighting. Lots of fighting. Sometimes for the good of humanity but more often for the glory of winning.

Zach Snyder is in the business of tackling myths and reframing them with a style all his own. His career has become its own myth.

From Dawn of the Dead (not so much a reboot of Romero's zombie mythology but a philosophical reimagining of the genre that arguably jumpstarted The Hollywood fascination with it), 300 (a borderline homoerotic take on the myth of the Greek underdog), and Watchmen (a ridiculously ambitious attempt to put one of the most iconic takedowns on the potential fascism of the superhero legend machine ever written) to his nearly single-handed hack at answering the Marvel juggernaut with Man of Steel and Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, Snyder is in the artistic business of subverting and re-envisioning the mythologies we embrace without even seeing them as such.

Snyder's style is operatic. It is on a grand scale even in the most mundane moments. The guy loves slow motion like Scorcese loves mobsters and Italian food. When you're tackling big themes with larger than life stories, the epic nature of his vision makes sense and has alienated a good number of audience members. With such excess, there are bound to be missteps but I'd argue that his massive take on these characters he molds from common understanding and popular nomenclature elevates them to god-like stature.

Fans of Moore's Watchmen have much to complain about Snyder's adaptation. The titular graphic novel is almost impossible to put in any other form than the one Moore intended and yet, Snyder jumped in feet-first and created a living, breathing representation of most, if not all, of the source material's intent. Whether you dig on it or not, it's hard to avoid acknowledging that the first five minutes of Watchmen is a mini-masterpiece of style, storytelling, and epic tragedy wrapped up in a music video.

Despite a host of critical backlash for his one fully original take, Sucker Punch is an amazing thing to see. More a commentary on video game enthusiasm with its lust for hot animated chicks and over-the-top violence that a celebration of cleavage and guns, the film is crazily entertaining. For those who hated the ending, he told you in the title what his plan was all along.

The first movie I saw in the theaters that tried to take a superhero mythology and treat it seriously (for the most part) was Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie. Never as big a fan of the DC characters as I have been of Marvel, it was still extraordinary to see a character I had only really known in pages to be so fully realized. Then came Burton's Batman movies. The superhero film was still an anomaly but steam was gaining. Things changed with Bryan Singer's X-Men in 2000, then Raimi's Spiderman, and those of us who grew up with our pulpy versions of Athena, Hermes, and Hades were rewarded with Nolan's Batman Begins. A far cry from the tongue-in-cheek camp of the 1966 TV Batman, Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne was a serious character and his tale over three films is a tragic commentary filled with the kind of death and betrayal and triumph befitting the grand narrative he deserved.

I loved Singer's Superman Returns in 2006 because it was such a love letter to the 1978 film (down to the opening credits) but by then, the MCU was taking over the world.

Snyder's first of what turns out to be an epic storyline involving perhaps seven or eight movies was Man of Steel. It was fun and, while I had my issues with the broodiness of Kal El, the odd take on Jonathan Kent, and a redheaded Lois Lane, I had no issue with Superman snapping Zod's neck. Darker and more tragic than any other version of the Kryptonian, it was still super entertaining.

Then came Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. By 2016, Marvel had codified their formula of serious characters wrestling with serious issues of power and responsibility peppered with lots of good humor and bright colors. Snyder's desaturated pallete and angst-filled demi-gods was not the obvious road to financial competition.

I'll confess, I hated it. BvS felt half-rendered. Lex Luthor was kind of superficial and played as a kind of Joker. The whole Bruce Wayne wants to kill Superman thing felt undeveloped and the "Martha" moment was just stupid.

When Joss Whedon's version of Snyder's Justice League came out in 2017, I was primed for it to be a turd and I wasn't surprised. So much of it didn't work on any level. I dismissed it as DC trying and failing miserably and was comforted by the coming of Thanos.

Following Thanos and the time heist was COVID. Suddenly, we were internationally sidelined and the movie theater industry caved in. Streaming services started popping up like knock-off smartphones and Hollywood was reeling, doing anything and everything to find a way back. Since Whedon's disastrous helming of Snyder's third act, fans online had been demanding to #ReleasetheSnyderCut but no one was ever really taking them seriously until all movie production was shut down for a year.

The stage was set to remedy a mistake (or at least make some bucks on a do-over of a huge box office failure). Snyder had left the production in part because of the suicide of his daughter and in part due to the constant artistic fights over executives looking for the quippy fun of the MCU but he still had all the original footage. Add to that the broiling accusations that Joss Whedon was "abusive" during the reshoots, the path seemed destined. For an additional $70 million and complete control, Snyder delivered a four hour mega-movie streamed on HBOMax.

Of course, I was going to watch the thing as soon as I could.

The Whedon version opens with an homage to the now dead Superman (including the much maligned digitally erased mustache on Henry Cavill). The SynderCut opens with the death of Superman and the agony of his death scream as it travels across the planet. It's a simple change but exemplifies the very different visions of how this thing is gonna play out.

Snyder doesn't want us to be OK with the power of these beings unleashed. He wants us to feel the damage and pain of death. He wants the results of violence to be as real as he can. When Marvel's Steve Rogers kicks a thug across the room and the thug hits a wall, he crumples and it is effectively over. When Batman does the same thing, we see the broken bones (often in slow motion) and the blood smear on the wall as the thug slides to the ground.

The longer SnyderCut is bloated in some places (like the extended Celtic choir singing Aquaman off to sea or the extended narrations by Wonder Woman which sound slightly like someone trying to explain the plot to Siri). On the other hand, the scene with Barry Allen saving Iris West is both endearing and extraordinary, giving insight to the power of the Flash as well as some essential character-building in contrast to Whedon's comic foil version.

One thing I noticed in this variant is that Zach wants the audience to experience the sequence of every moment as the characters do. An example comes when Diana Prince goes to the crypt to see the very plot she belabors over later. The sequence is simple. She gets a torch and goes down. Most directors which jump cut to the torch. Snyder gives us five beats as she grabs the timber, wraps cloth around the end, soaks it with kerosene, pulls out a box of matches, and lights the torch. Then she goes down the dark passageway.

The gigantic, lush diversity of Snyder’s vision of the DC superhero universe—from the long shots of the sea life in the world of Atlantis to the ancient structures and equipment of Themyscira— is almost painterly. Snyder isn't taking our time; he's taking his time. We are rewarded our patience with a far better backstory for the villain, a beautifully rendered historic battle thwarting Darkseid's initial invasion (including a fucking Green Lantern), and answers to a score of questions set up in both previous films.

Whedon's Bruce Wayne was more Ben Affleck; Snyder's is full-on Frank Miller Batman, the smartest, most brutal fucker in the room. Cyborg, instead of Whedon's sidelined non-character, is now a Frankenstein's monster, grappling with the trade-off between acceptance and enormous power. Wonder Woman is now more in line with the Patty Jenkins version and instead of being told about the loss of Superman, we are forced to live with the anguish of both his mother and Lois Lane in quiet moments of incredible grief.

To be fair to Whedon (something few are willing to do as he is now being castigated not for racism or sexism but for being mean to people) having him come in to throw in some levity and Marvel-esque color to Snyder's Wagnerian pomposity is like hiring Huey Lewis to lighten up Pink Floyd's The Wall or getting Douglas Adams to rewrite Cormac McCarthy's The Road.

I loved Snyder's self-indulgent, mythologic DC universe.

So much so that I then re-watched Man of Steel and then watched the director's version of BvS (which Snyder added approximately 32 minutes). The second film is far better at three hours and Eisenberg's Lex Luthor now makes sense. Then I watched Zach Snyder's Justice League a second time.

After nineteen hours of Snyder's re-imagining of these DC heroes and villains, I saw details that, upon first viewing, are ignored or dismissed, but after seeing them in order and complete, are suddenly consistent and relevant. Like Nolan or Fincher, Snyder defies anyone to eliminate even one piece of his narrative no matter how long. With all the pieces, this is an epic story and the pieces left at the extended epilogue play into a grander narrative we will never see.

Or maybe we will. Who knows these days?

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Getting To Know...

The Narcotix.

The Narcotix is a West African art-folk band based in Brooklyn, with feathers all over. It is many-limbed and limber, a five-piece with voices, guitars, bass, keys and drum set. Reverb-laden vocals blur and swell in dissonant intervals, buoyed by a riverbed of shimmering Congolese guitar riffs, thumping P-bass, cavernous synths and traphouse hi-hats. The result is a compelling musical statement whose relationship to identity is as fraught, complex and ever-changing as anything else in this time.

Composers Esther Quansah (guitars, vocals) and Becky Foinchas (keys, vocals) met in an elementary school chorus class in the ghostly woodlands of Woodbridge, Virginia. The daughters of African immigrants (Quansah from Cote D’Ivoire and Foinchas from Cameroon), they soaked up influences as far-flung and varied as choral symphonies, African wedding music, and progressive math rock, distilling them through a unique lens.

Mommy Issues was recorded in a quarantine-fugue state at the exquisite GB’s Juke Joint in Long Island City (Samia, La Vida Bohème, Vicentico). It is a culmination of boyish triumph and charm, belied by mesmerizing snapshots of contemplation and isolation not specific to this time. It is a collection of spectral elegies for the living, a macabre homage to Brothers Grimm folklore through an Afromasochistic lens.

We had a chat with Esther and Becky all about Mommy Issues, their creative process and more. Read the Q&A below.

Hi guys! How are you? What a mad year this has been!

“Lovely. Thanks for asking. We’re used to not knowing how to answer that question, but today the answer is readily available. Happyyyyyy :) We’re alive! And our music is being played by more than just our moms now. What’s not to love? The year has indeed been mad, but I can’t help but focus my attention on how fortunate we’ve been to be able to record and release an EP in the midst of the madness.”

For anyone discovering you here for the first time, please tell us a bit about the band and your musical influences.

“Well. We’re extreme. The EP will tell you everything you need to know about each one of us.. I know that sounds pretentious but quite literally, each song is named after a member of the band with the intention of emulating their personality. As for influences, thiiiink...an inconceivable combination of West-African wedding music, anything with a dirty bassline, extreme choral music, music you’d play by the fire, mad scientist music, etc.”

You’re gearing up to release your debut EP Mommy Issues. What can you tell us about the record?

“The record is fear-mongering . It’s a mixture of jokes that went too far, accidents where we landed on our feet, and mistakes we didn’t know we wanted to make. A butterfly effect of sneezes and coughs that ended up in our favor. It’s a product of our still raw, still bleeding collective consciousness, making the record grossly vulnerable. It’s strange. The record is strange, colorful, a mirror for us all. It’s a paradoxical fun-house of unsettling curiosities wrapped in a tufted robe smoking a cigar full of expired lampshades. Yeah, we don’t know either.”

Please take us through your songwriting/creative process for Mommy Issues. What was your favourite part and what did you find most challenging?

“We’ve fallen into the habit of finishing each other’s sentences, spoken or otherwise. So usually the idea for a song is born through a simple riff. We’ll send each other an initial riff, then continually layer elements, and keep sending the project back and forth in a childlike dance until we just can’t anymore.

“The best way to describe the way in which this “process” commences is to say we are visited by an idea. It (the idea) will come seemingly by accident, following a stream of unconscious urges, and manifest when we least expect it. In the case of ‘Esther’, the final track on Mommy Issues, Becky was with a friend when the keyboard riff for the song visited her. She asked her friend to immediately record the riff before it left her, saying “send this riff to Esther,” thereby foreshadowing and sparking/catalyzing the concept for the entire EP to come. When she sent the riff, Esther was rightfully pissed. It was genius. A beautiful, simple, haunting yet fortifying little loop in five. So, Esther started writing “Riff to Rebecca” as a response.

“Favorite part of the writing process will always be one of us opening up a logic file and listening to what TOMFOOLERY the other one has decided to grace us with this time.

“Because we have no control over when we’re “visited” by an idea, we tend to have a lot of ideas in the backlog. As we type this, we pretty much already have the beginnings of the next album ready to go. The tough part has always been revisiting the riffs at a later time, once we’ve already long exited the state we were in when creating them. That flow state, while raw and vulnerable af, can be really fleeting. So, to go back and try to “flesh” out an idea can feel a bit like editing a journal entry you wrote while thoroughly drunk five years ago.”

Finally, what's next for you guys? I expect you're eager to get back to gigging? Do you have any dates already lined up? Any more new music on the way?

“Many of us are in relationships, and Becky is asexual so...no dates lined up. BUTT we do have an entire album in the backlog that we’re looking forward to finishing in tandem with playing some shows in Brooklyn/NYC/Virginia this summer. Check out our website or instagram for details on upcoming shows this summer :) Buns out.”

Mommy Issues is out now.

[raywritesthings]

Stay Awake

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Olivia Queen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds a good trick for putting her daughter to sleep. For @okoriwadsworth Notes: Song lyrics and title borrowed from Mary Poppins (1964) *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

“Liv, I know you wanted to wait, but it’s getting late. I promise, your daddy will come see you first thing in the morning,” Laurel said in as placating a tone as she knew how, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Sure enough, their little three year-old puffed out her cheeks and shook her head, her legs kicking and tangling the blankets. “Wait for daddy! Daddy come home!”

“Daddy will come home, but he’ll be home before you know it if you go to sleep,” Laurel pointed out. 

“No! No, no, no!”

A part of her couldn’t help looking back fondly on the days when the most difficult part about bedtime was when Liv used to wake them up in the middle of night crying. At least she’d never fought them much back then about just going to sleep.

She knew her daughter wasn’t trying to be difficult. She just loved both her parents and wanted them around more. Laurel and Oliver had had more than one talk about finally hanging up the hood and the masks to retire, but there always seemed to be some new threat around the corner, or one of the others had a crisis of some kind that left them nervous about taking a step back and leaving the city in someone else’s hands. They took turns going out at night so that someone was always home for Olivia, and when there was a situation that called for all hands on deck, Raisa volunteered her time to babysit. Laurel knew it meant so much to Ollie that his old cook and nanny had agreed to come back into their lives since Liv could never know her maternal grandmother.

Sometimes they worried about whether she’d grow up knowing both her parents, if some night one of them wasn’t lucky. Laurel was glad they’d put the argument about her coming back to field work after her maternity leave far behind them; as she’d said — or shouted — then, she’d never be able to live with herself if Oliver didn’t come home to his daughter because of some terrorist she could have helped stop.

But none of those thoughts she’d been turning over for a while now solved the issue of getting her little girl to sleep. Liv was determined and, as everyone loved to point out, she had a combination of the most stubborn genes in all of Star City. That, however, gave Laurel an idea.

She brushed some of Liv’s blonde locks back from her forehead. “Okay, you don’t have to. We’ll just stay up all night till daddy’s back.”

That quieted her, and she blinked for a moment before grinning in triumph. “Yay!”

“Mm-hm,” Laurel agreed, all the while trying to drag up the old words. It’d been ages since she’d heard this song or seen the movie, but if she could just think of it...

“Stay awake, don’t rest your head, don’t lie down upon your bed,” Laurel began, trying not to smile as Liv stared up at her, enraptured by her mother’s voice. She’d never been a bad singer exactly — at least Ollie claimed so — but ever since her meta gene had activated, she’d had an ear for perfect pitch. “While the moon drifts in the skies, stay awake, don’t close your eyes.”

While they’d watched the movie plenty of times, this particular tune called to mind memories of bedtimes long-past for Laurel, when she had been the one protesting going to sleep. She and Sara had done it together really, competing to see who could stay up longest the same way they’d used to compete for everything else. Their mother had always been so unsure how to get them to settle down until she had started to play this one track on their brand-new CD-player. The college professor in her had probably gotten a kick out of the reverse psychology of it all.

And it did appear to be just as effective now, maybe even more so with the personal touch, which Laurel found she liked more. Olivia’s eyes were drooping, and she hadn’t even gotten to the second verse. “Though the world lies fast asleep, though your pillow’s soft and deep, you’re not sleepy as you seem. Stay awake, don’t nod and dream.”

She brought the blankets up to her baby’s chin as Liv’s head fell onto the pillow. “Stay awake, don’t nod… and dream.”

Soft breaths that weren’t quite snores left in and out of her daughter’s mouth, and Laurel did let a smile grace her lips at last as she bent down and kissed Olivia’s temple. Then she flicked the bedside lamp on, leaving the Flash lightning bolt night-light as the only source of warm illumination in the room as she slowly backed up towards the door.

Two arms came around her waist, so familiar she didn’t even startle. “Was my pretty bird singing a pretty song?”

Even as she smirked, Olivia shot up in bed with a confused sound. “Dada? Mommy?”

Laurel’s head fell back against her husband’s chest. “Ollie.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head before moving further into the room. “Hey, my baby girl. How come you’re giving mommy a hard time? Usually she’s all you want when it's my turn.”

“Daddy gone all day.”

Oliver hung his head. “I know, sweetheart. But I’m home now, and me and your mom are gonna be home all day tomorrow, too. Don’t you wanna be awake for that?” He held one of Olivia’s tiny hands in his own as he spoke, then looked up at Laurel. “Maybe an encore performance, Laurel?”

She sighed and pushed away from the doorframe, coming to stand beside him, one hand rubbing over his shoulders while she opened her mouth to sing once more.

There were decisions that needed to be made soon. But as long as they could have moments like these, she thought they were doing just fine.

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 1

First installment of my Undertale fanfic.

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.

First (you’re here)

Next

Two Brothers, Many Paths

Chapter 1

-

  “Is that…?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s…so…tiny!”

“I know, isn’t he precious?”

“I still can’t believe we…we’re an actual family now…”

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I-I’ve never felt so…happy…so complete…”

“I know the feeling exactly.”

“He looks just like you, Dak.”

“And he has your eyes.”

“What shall we name him?”

“I was thinking…Sans.”

“Sans… That’s a wonderful name.”

-

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Sansy?”

“Are you ok? You were gone for a really long time…”

“Yes, of course! I’m fine, dear! Look…”

“W-what is that?”

“Here, come sit beside me. See?”

“Ooh, it’s moving!”

“Yes, my sweet. Come look.”

“Oh, wow…”

“Sans, this is your new baby brother.”

“B-brother?”

“Mmhm. His name is Papyrus.”

-

The crisp, fall wind rustled the last remaining leaves in the forest trees. At the foot of one such tree stood a tiny skeleton. He stared up through the boughs of the wooden giant, grinning as he inhaled the scent of fallen leaves and the change of seasons. Soon it would be winter, and the thought of snow made him smile.

“Sans!” his mother’s voice called out from the distance. “Dinner!”

“Coming!” he called back.

He picked up the basket at his feet, filled with forage and fruit he had collected. Heavily laden, he trundled back slowly to the house, his stomach growling as the smell of stew wafted down the leaf-strewn path. Sans found the crunching and swishing sounds of the leaves under his feet and against his shinbones relaxing and invigorating.

At the end of the path, nestled in a woodland corner, stood their home. A short, rounded cliff face protected the rear and sides while the trees hid the small wooden house from view. Hung upon the outside windowsills were small flowerboxes in which herbs and sweet-smelling golden flowers grew.

His mother stood, smiling, in the open doorway to greet him. “Sansy, did you find more supplies for us?”

Sans lifted up the brimming basket as high as his tiny arms we able as he presented his findings, his eyes shut tight in glee as he beamed. “Yup!”

“You are so helpful, Sansy,” his mother praised as she bent down and rubbed his cheek tenderly with her thumb.

She relieved him of his burden and he ambled into the house eagerly. Sans quickly shrugged off his little blue jacket and hung it upon his coat hook in the hallway and scampered into the kitchen. The room was filled with the delicious aroma of stew still bubbling excitedly on the woodstove. The heat from the hard-working stove washed away the last remaining autumnal chill Sans had in his bones.

He ran for his wooden chair at the table, climbing up as his mother inspected the basket’s inventory.

“Apples, acorns, mushrooms…” she listed, pulling contents from the basket and laying them on the counter. “My goodness, you never cease to amaze me, Sansy. And you even got more wood for the stove and fireplace. Thank you!”

Sans grinned proudly as she placed the tiny sticks and bits of bark into the firewood bucket next to the stove. His mother smiled warmly at Sans with deep appreciation and love.

“I just wanna help, Mommy!” Sans exclaimed. “That way you don’t have to work so hard while Daddy’s away.”

A pang of sadness pierced her soul at his words. She knew Sans missed his father as much as she did. She always hid her sorrow from Sans, perpetually putting on a brave, happy front.

“You are so sweet,” she said warmly. “You are a big help, especially helping me take care of little Papyrus.”

Sans looked over at the small, high crib in the corner of the kitchen. Inside, the little skeleton slept soundlessly, rolled up in his blanket snugly, oblivious to the sounds around him. Sans grinned at the adorable bundle that was his brother.

Sans turned back to his mother, who was ladling stew into his bowl. His brow furrowed, and his grin melted into a frown.

“When Daddy gets back…you have to go…right?”

His mother froze mid-ladle. She shut her eyes and sighed sadly. “Yes, Sansy. I’m sorry.”

Sans tore his eyes from his mother to stare at a potato wedge in his stew. “It’s ok, Mommy. You don’t have to be sorry. I know it’s not your fault…”

His mother returned the stewpot to the stove and sat down at the table across from Sans. She reached out her hand and he put out his own. She grasped his hand, squeezing gently.

“I know it’s hard when your father and I have to leave,” she said quietly. “This war is making things difficult for all of us. Your father is doing important work for the King, and because someone has to take care of you and Papyrus, the Guard has allowed me to stay home while your father is away. There are times I need to leave to make sure this world is safe for you and Papyrus. But once this war is over, Sansy, your father and I will be able to stay home together, and we’ll get to do all the things we want to do as a family. It will be soon, I promise.”

Sans looked up into her reassuring face and grinned weakly. “Ok, Mommy…”

“But until then, little bones,” she smiled, raising an eyebrow and taking up her own spoon. “You’ve got to eat your dinner and keep yourself strong. Ok?”

Sans giggled and grasped his little spoon. “Ok!”

They dined together, his mother listening to the harrowing tales of Sans’ brave foraging trip that day.

-

   Sans tossed another armload of leaves on the large pile.  “There!”

He looked over at his baby brother, who was sitting up on the grass next to the pile, cheering him on.

“Think that’s high enough?” Sans asked.

“Nyeh!” Papyrus giggled.

“You’re right, Pap,” Sans answered, tilting his head as he inspected the pile. “Could use a little more.”

Papyrus reached next to him and picked up a single orange leaf. He held it out for Sans.

“Oh!” Sans exclaimed. “That’s just what it needs!”

Sans took the leaf and reached on his tippy-toes to place it at the very top of the pile.

“Perfect!” Sans declared, Papyrus waving his arms in the air with triumph.

“Ok,” Sans smirked, narrowing his eyes. “You ready?”

Papyrus rocked side to side. “Nyeh!”

Sans jogged far away from the pile as his brother watched eagerly. When he had reached a fair distance, he turned around to face the pile and Papyrus. Sans broke into a sprint and, right before he reached the pile, jumped high into the air. He curled himself into a ball and hit the pile of leaves with a force that burst the pile into a shower of red, yellow, orange, and brown leaves. Papyrus laughed with joy as leaves rained down slowly over him.

Sans popped his head out of the remaining pile, a few leaves stuck to his skull. “How was that, Pap?”

“Nyeh!” Papyrus threw both arms up and waggled them excitedly.

Sans emerged from the pile and wiped the stray leaves off his jacket when his eye caught movement in the distance. Instinctively, he picked up Papyrus and quickly took him inside the house.

“Mommy!” Sans called out urgently when he had shut the door. “There’s someone out there!”

Sans took Papyrus into the living room and hid in the corner between the worn couch and the wall. It was rare for anyone to be near the house, and his parents had firmly instilled the fear of humans in him. He would never forget the time a human somehow found their home and tried to break in until their father fought him off. Sans shook off the memory as he rocked Papyrus, who was clutching him fearfully and whimpering. Sans shushed him gently as he strained his hearing.

“Greetings, knight,” their mother’s voice from the front doorway called.

Hearing the cordial greeting, Sans got up with relief and went over to the living room window, still holding Papyrus close to him. Out in the front yard was a Whimsalot, bobbing nervously in the air, the sun glinting off his armor. Sans and Papyrus stayed silent as they watched.

“Good day, Dakota,” the Whimsalot buzzed. “I bring official news from the Royal Guard.”

He pulled out a scroll of parchment and handed it to their mother. There was silence as she read the contents, then looked up at the Whimsalot.

“I-is this true?” she said. Sans detected a hint of fear in her voice that he had never heard before.

“I…I-I am afraid…so…” he stammered with great difficulty. “We have already lost thousands in the last few days alone. The humans are making a final push, and…and…” He weakly landed on the ground and looked up at her. “And it’s n-not looking good for us…”

“So the King has issued an evacuation…and I am needed in the battle…” Dakota said solemnly, looking down again at the parchment. “I understand. Thank you, good knight, for bringing me the news, dire as it is.”

“You are welcome, m’lady,” he bowed, his helmet tipping forward. “Please excuse me, I have others to give the news to.”

Dakota saluted and nodded, and the Whimsalot took off in a bobbing flight back down the path.

Sans and Papyrus watched their mother turn and enter the house and heard the front door shut. Sans, still holding Papyrus, went into the hallway. Their mother was leaning against the door with her hands over her eyes.

“M-mommy..?” Sans called quietly. He heard his own fear cutting into his voice.

Their mother immediately knelt down and hugged her two children tightly. This filled Sans with a chilling fear. Papyrus whimpered softly against his mother’s shoulder.

“M-mommy,” Sans stammered. “I-I’m scared…”

His mother pulled back to look Sans in the eyes. Her face was more serious than he had ever seen it.

“Sans, this is important,” she said, her tone grave. “We need to leave. We need to leave now.”

Sans’ eyes grew wide in terror as she continued.

“The humans are coming, so the King wants all of us to go somewhere safe. The letter I just got was to tell me to meet him and the others at Mt. Ebott where all of us will be hidden from the humans. I know this is scary, but we need to go quickly. But we will be safe, I promise you. We will be safe, and we’ll meet up with your father.”

“B-but…” tears started blinding Sans. “Y-you have to fight them…I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to get hurt…o-or...”

His mother wiped his tears with her thumbs. “Hush, now, Sansy,” she smiled gently. “I only have to fight with the others so we scare them off. The only way to make them leave us alone is to show them that we aren’t afraid of them. Then they will leave us alone, and we can return home. It will all be ok, but we’ve got to leave now.”

Sans nodded tearfully. His mother stood up and rubbed the top of his skull lovingly. “I need your help now, ok? Grab your haversack in the closet and fill it with food for us. We’re going to need to eat while we’re at the mountain, so we need enough for you, Papyrus, me, and your father, ok?”

Sans clutched Papyrus closer and nodded. “Ok, Mommy…”

“I’m going to get ready while you do that, then we’ll leave.”

“O-ok…”

She leaned down and kissed Sans and Papyrus on the tops of their heads then rushed upstairs.

Sans took Papyrus into the kitchen and sat him on the floor. He went into the hallway closet and found his little brown haversack. He rushed back into the kitchen and searched through the shelves, cabinets, and baskets for food, stuffing in as much as he could. Papyrus watched him intently, occasionally sniffling.  

“It’s ok, Pap,” responded Sans, looking over his shoulder and grinning. “Mommy says it’s only for a little bit. Then we’ll have a picnic with her and Daddy, and then we’ll get to come back home.”

Papyrus whimpered, tears brimming his eyes.

“Don’t cry, Pap,” Sans reassured with a grin. He went over to his brother and wiped his eyes with his thumbs just as his mother had. “We’ll be ok. I’ll take care of you, just like I always do.”

Their mother entered the kitchen wearing her Royal Guard armor. Sans had always thought how cool his mother looked in her gear, but now the sight of it made him sick to his stomach.

“Nearly ready?” she asked, smiling as if they were about to take a fun trip to the lake.

“Y-yeah,” Sans answered, looking down at the stuffed haversack.

“Good,” she beamed. She looked down at Papyrus for a moment and her face fell. “Oh…”

She furrowed her brow for a moment in thought, then looked down at the red cape hanging off her armor. She rushed to the counter, pulled out a kitchen knife, and quickly cut a long strip from the cape. She picked up Papyrus, sat him on the kitchen table, and, wrapping the strip around him, fashioned a make-shift sling that swaddled the baby skeleton so he could not budge.

“Here, Sans,” she said, putting the sling over Sans’ head around his shoulder. Papyrus’ head lay comfortably against Sans’ chest and he nuzzled in. Sans patted his brother’s back gently and looked up at his mother.

“You are far stronger than I am, Sans,” his mother said, patting his head. “You can carry the food and your brother while I bring us to the mountain. I might need to scare off a human or two along the way, so I can’t hold Papyrus myself.”

Sans shouldered the haversack awkwardly, Papyrus throwing off his balance. He felt enormously strong with the added weight of his brother on his front and the food on his back. “You can count on me, Mommy!”

“I know I can, Sansy,” she smiled, trying to keep the sadness off her face. “Before we go, let me check to make sure you’re both at full health.”

She put her hand on Papyrus’s tiny, bundled chest and shut her eyes. Sans watched the muted white glow of his brother’s soul under the wrappings. She smiled, “100 HP.”

She removed her hand from Papyrus and pressed it against the only portion of Sans’ chest she could touch with Papyrus against it. Sans felt his soul stir within his ribcage and watched the white glow. His mother closed her eyes again, opened them, and smiled.

“250 HP. Great, you’re both at full health. Let’s go.”

The skeletons left their home, and as their mother shut the front door she said, for the little one’s benefit, “Goodbye, home! We’ll be back soon! Be safe!”

Sans waved to his little house. “Be safe! We’ll be right back!”

His mother patted his head again, then they rushed off down the leaf-strewn path.

[blaugreen]

Nine Albums Later, Tegan and Sara Are Finally Ready to Discuss High School

In a new memoir and an album of songs they wrote as teenagers, the feminist pop stars look back at their traumas, triumphs and life as identical twins.

By Jenn Pelly and Liz Pelly Sept. 24, 2019 Updated 6:33 p.m. ET

To be a twin can be a psychological house of mirrors. And so where better to meet up with Tegan and Sara Quin — feminist pop heroes, freshly minted authors, and, like us, identical twins — than at a kaleidoscopic infinity room in Chelsea? As we left the small mirrored room at the kitschy Museum of Illusions, where our likenesses warped and refracted, we encountered a third set of twins. Reality grew ever more psychedelic, and we snapped a photograph of the six of us to commemorate it.

In their new memoir, “High School,” the Quin sisters alternate chapters to detail their teenage years. Growing up in Canada, they worshiped Nirvana, Green Day and the Smashing Pumpkins. They discovered and explored their sexuality. They sneaked out to raves, dropped acid, fought authority. When a classmate spewed homophobic statements during a lesson on STDs, Sara hurled a chair across the room. In the end, the twins competed in a life-changing battle of the bands. “If we don’t win tonight,” Tegan said onstage, “our mom is going to make us go to college.” They won.

While gathering their research for the book, Tegan and Sara found cassettes of some of their earliest songs. And so “High School” is accompanied by a new album, “Hey, I’m Just Like You,” featuring polished-up re-workings of those unearthed demos. Some of the songs evoke the ’90s indie pop of the band’s Lilith Fair era, while others could be the seeds of electronic-dance bangers. The connective thread is the unguarded emotionality of a teenage perspective.

This multimedia set is yet more experimentation from a band that, across nine albums, has moved from folky indie rock into synth-driven dance tracks and mainstream pop. Tegan and Sara sang “Everything Is Awesome” (“The Lego Movie” theme song) at the 2015 Oscars, and have performed with Taylor Swift. In 2016 they launched their Tegan and Sara Foundation, to benefit organizations committed to health, economic justice and representation for L.G.B.T.Q. girls and women.

During a conversation at a downtown cafe, Tegan was forthright and unapologetic, while Sara was analytical, using an app to astrologically survey our twin-by-twin dynamic. They frequently chipped at each other’s memories and perspectives to hone the truth and soon turned the questions on us: Did we feel ever competitive with each another, or encroached upon, as twins with the same career? These are excerpts from the conversation.

JENN PELLY As identical twins, we have strengths and weaknesses that are different but complementary. I often think: If you put us back together, we would be a perfect person. Do you relate?

TEGAN AND SARA QUIN 100 percent.

SARA I wouldn’t be as extreme, if Tegan wasn’t Tegan. I would have balanced myself differently. When Tegan would go through a dark stage, and be a little more chaotic, I would straighten up and be more disciplined. When Tegan went through a punk stage and started getting tattoos everywhere, I was like, I’m going to wear tailored clothing.

LIZ PELLY I think some twins learn early on that collaboration requires compromise and patience.

SARA A lot of people will say, “I have mommy issues” or “daddy issues.” I have Tegan issues. A lot of my hangups or dysfunctions in relationships are based on our primary relationship as children — what worked for us, what didn’t, how difficult it was to share the same face.

Most people sort of break up with their mom or their dad when they go out into the world and become adults. With us, it’s like we broke up, but decided to co-parent our music career.

TEGAN I believe there is a deep desire in Sara to define herself outside of this duo, like she’s cutting off an appendage. It’s not sad for me anymore, but it was at first. We are better together. Our songs are more developed together, and we stand out in a crowd together. It’s very complicated, to want to sever and tether at the same time, this mix of emotions that’s feuding inside of you at all times: We desperately want to be apart, and be our own people, but I need her to thrive and survive.

JENN Explain the mirror on the cover of “High School.”

TEGAN The mirror is distorted, and so is our perception of ourselves, and of the past, and of each other. In writing the book, it was like: That’s what you remember? That’s what you thought was happening? Over the years, I’ve realized there’s this unfair weight put on our shoulders to represent both of us. It’s a psychic burden; you’re responsible for each other.

JENN One passage that shocked me was when you discover you’ve both been playing music alone. Liz and I talk about cryptophasia a lot, a secret language that some twins share. Is that how it felt?

SARA When I discovered the guitar, I didn’t need to know Tegan was also discovering the guitar. When I figured out I was attracted to my best friend, I just assumed Tegan was figuring out she was attracted to her best friend. I assumed there was this parallel experience happening at all times.

TEGAN I was shocked you had been doing the same things.

SARA Discovering the guitar and writing songs felt like an epiphany, like a miracle. I had been so bad at so many things. This was the one time in my life I picked something up, and I knew how to do it. It felt like a gift, like it saved me. I wanted to protect that for a second, in that little tiny moment where I was doing it alone. But playing with Tegan, I knew it was bigger and better and more special and more seductive to people.

JENN You write about not fitting in with the punks, while also offending people in school because of the way you dressed, like outsiders among outsiders. Did you embolden each other?

SARA I felt alienated at punk shows. I walked in with that chip on my shoulder — “I don’t belong” — and Tegan threw her bag on the wall, walked into the pit, banged her head and thrashed.

TEGAN I always felt, if you want to be in that room, go in that room. If you want to be invited there, go. If you want to be a part of things, be a part.

JENN I wonder if some of this confidence comes from having a built in support system — the us against the world type thing.

TEGAN I never needed an external source to inspire me. It’s inside of me. I want to make my own rules. I don’t want to ask permission. There were long stretches of our career where I felt Sara dwelled on meaningless things. But she was finding a way to work through, and I worked my way around.

There were certain criticisms made of us, early on, that felt unfair. They did not feel like musical criticisms. They felt borderline or blatantly misogynist. My reaction was to design a T-shirt with all of the quotes — Spin magazine: “Wicca-folk nightmare.” Pitchfork: “Tampon rock.” I wanted to sell it on our website, and embrace the part of our history that made us as tough as we are now — not hardened, not bitter, but thrilled to be a part of this still. Because we got around it, and she got through it, and we’re still here.

SARA I always had a more institutional perspective. It wasn’t “tampon rock” that bothered me, it was sexism that bothered me. It was homophobia that bothered me.

The only reason I’m still making music, in this band, is because Tegan was championing me and cheering me on and trying to get me past these obstacles. But I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I felt furious at the industry, at the institutions that were inherently flawed and discriminatory. Even as a young person, I thought: If we’re the ones making it, and I feel this bad, Jesus, what does it feel like to be the artist that isn’t breaking through? I appreciated Tegan going around the obstacles, but I was like: I want to put dynamite under the obstacle and blow it up. We really have struggled with that dynamic.

A lot of that was planted early in our lives. Tegan’s coming out story is so different. She didn’t face the same type of homophobia. She didn���t have the same type of trauma as I did. Tegan holds her girlfriend’s hand on the street. I don’t. I’m afraid. I don’t care how big WorldPride is or how many cool new queer artists are on the covers of magazines. My experience informed how I react to the world. And that sometimes is hard to reconcile.

JENN I was thinking about your song “Nineteen” from “The Con,” which also describes your teenage years. Do you feel you’ve been reflecting on this part of your life for a while now?

TEGAN When we started talking about other songs that could be included [on our upcoming tour], the first song I thought of was “Nineteen.” I thought about how much of our music harkens back to that high school period. We’ve been diminished over and over throughout our careers for only writing love songs. But what we were really writing about was relationships, including the ones with ourselves — about family, friends, work. You talk about everything when you’re talking about relationships. There’s something about tethering the old songs to the modern age that becomes very cinematic for me. It starts to tell a bigger story.

LIZ You’ve described “You Go Away and I Don’t Mind,” from the new album, as being about the futility of fame. What is it like to reflect on that now that you are famous?

SARA I think that is the most strangely prophetic song. It was very surreal to read those lyrics all of these years later. Because for me, it’s very coherent. Since we were little, we had drawn undeserved or unearned attention. We would go to the mall as little kids and people would touch us. And that’s very disorienting and destabilizing as a young person. I think we did feel popular but it felt false. And in a lot of ways that echoes what it feels like to be famous or to be a celebrity in some ways. It can feel very empty.

JENN In part of the book, a friend’s brother asks you to jam, and you talk about how badly you wanted to be taken seriously. Was there a point in which you finally felt like you were taken seriously?

TEGAN To this day there’s a part of us that doesn’t feel like we’ve been taken that seriously, and I think all women probably feel that way. But we’ve now spent the majority of our adult life doing the thing we love, and we’re approached every day by people who are like, “I exist because of you.” Things like the Grammys become less important when you have an entire generation of people who are grateful you were bold and open about being gay before it was cool.

SARA We want journalists and fans, and culture at large, to reconcile how we see young women as artists — and when we begin seeing art as valuable. With our new songs, there are going to be people who say, “Oh, isn’t it cute? They released songs from when they were in high school.” But we want this music to be taken seriously. Not because we’re 38 years old and rerecording these songs, but because we were 15, 16 and 17 years old when we wrote them. And as 38-year-old women who have been around the world, who have experienced so much, I still think there is value in what I had to say. I went back and listened to that music and decided it is valuable.

TEGAN Actually I did first and then you did two months later.

SARA We are challenging people to see this work as sophisticated and mature and ahead of its time.

When we were teenagers, our music was written about as “rudimentary, but geez, there is something there.” It wasn’t rudimentary. There was something remarkable about what we were trying to say. There is something so profound about your first experiences. I fell in love multiple times. I was depressed. I was suicidal. I was passionate. I fought with my mother. I broke up with my sister. Those are some of the biggest moments of my life. How am I supposed to just write them off, like, “Oh who cares, I was a teenager.”

LIZ We’re taught that thinking in an emotionally-charged way is something for your teenage years. But actually, that sort of emotional intensity is powerful to carry with you throughout your life.

SARA I have a visceral memory of sitting down to write the song “Hello” at the end of grade 12. I had been devastated by this girl, Zoe, in the book — I loved her, and she was like, “I don’t like girls.” I was grappling with all of these big things. And I remember thinking, “I wish I was older. I wish I knew how to get through this.” I’m 38 years old, and every time I sing that line, I feel that right now. I wish I knew how to do this better. I don’t understand why I’m still suffering. I don’t understand why I’m still not better.

TEGAN It’s powerful to acknowledge that you don’t have all of the answers yet.

SARA When I sat down and listened to the demos, I just thought: I’m so glad little Tegan and Sara wrote all this music. They were better at addressing my feelings than I am right now.

[ahsporn]

Cody Fern Interview for Out Nagazine

Out: What is it like to play the Antichrist?

Cody: It’s been the greatest privilege of my acting career so far. Between this and Versace, if for some reason the apocalypse came tonight, I’d be pretty happy with what I’ve done.

Out: How much did you know going into the season?

Cody: I didn’t know anything, I didn’t even know the theme, we found out when everybody else found out. We did know obviously that there had been an apocalypse, but I found out that I was playing Michael Langdon two days before we started filming. My first scene was the interrogation with Venable. All that Ryan had told me was that I’d be wearing a long, blonde wig and that I would have an affinity for capes. I went into the piece thinking I was the protagonist.

Out: Do you think that in a way, Michael is the protagonist of Apocalypse?

Cody: I think he is, but that’s from my perspective. I understand that the witches are the protagonists, particularly Cordelia. It’s in many ways a continuation of the Coven story, but running parallel is the story of how I see Michael, which is this very betrayed, broken, lost young man who finds his way into the apocalypse because of circumstance, not because of destiny.

Out: There’s a conversation of nature vs. nurture: we know from Murder House that there was evil in Michael from birth, he wouldn’t have been murdering his babysitters if there wasn't, but it’s become clear in the latter half of the season that he’s lost and is being manipulated by people with their own agendas.

Cody: We see him at 15 when he’s grown 10 years overnight, and the way that I always played Michael was that the murders are an impulse that he can’t control and he doesn’t understand. His consciousness is that of a 6-year-old boy when he’s a teenager, but he’s struggling to come to terms with his body and his desires, but he’s not fully formed. When you follow that, to me Michael’s story is a parable. There’s two ways of looking at the story of the devil: the way that people have interpreted the bible, and this polar opposite that Lucifer so loved god that he refused to bow down before men. Here we have god’s favorite angel in this kingdom of heaven, who was then made to bow down before god’s next making, and ultimately that leads to him being cast out of Heaven, and it wasn’t like Lucifer was wrong. Man then goes about destroying the earth. That’s what we’re doing right now, we’re destroying planet Earth, and it seems that there’s no remorse for it. I really leaned into that with Michael, this young boy who was cast from the kingdom of Heaven, who was cast out of the normal rigors of society, out of what people find acceptable, and then is used and abused and abandoned and broken, and what happens when you have no love in your life, where does that energy go?

Out: One of the ways I’ve been reading this season is a commentary about the state of gender politics. The warlocks essentially bring about Armageddon by attempting to topple the matriarchal power the witches have over the coven. Michael in a way is this avatar for misogyny and male entitlement. Was that intentional?

Cody: I absolutely believe that was intentional. The thing about Ryan Murphy is he’s able to weave these incredible social commentaries into this fascinating world he’s created. Certainly in this season we are looking at bringing down the patriarchy, about what happens when a matriarchal society is enforced and the hubris of men begins to take flight. It’s not dissimilar to what’s happening in society today or what has been happening for hundreds of years. Ryan certainly weaves that into his writing. The gender battle is being fought and Michael is the avatar for it but is certainly not a part of of it. He is manipulated into this gender battle but he himself is not misogynistic, but there’s certainly something to be said for the fact that he needs a very strong mother figure in his life and has mommy issues. His mother tries to kill him in the Murder House, Constance commits suicide, Cordelia takes away Mead and he has this robot who he has to program into loving him. I think he has an enormous respect for Cordelia. He needs strong women in his life, and if he just took Cordelia’s hand when she offered it, if he just overcame his insatiable thirst for revenge, he could’ve gone another way.

Out: One of the standout episodes of the season was “Return to Murder House,” what was it like to find out that not only was Jessica Lange returning but that you’d get to act opposite her?

Cody: My ovaries exploded. I can’t begin to describe to you how overwhelmed I was. The first scene I shot with Jessica was the scene where Michael finds her dead body after she’s committed suicide, and I was so excited and nervous and afraid of that scene that I spent the whole day shaking like a life. When we got to it I was so excited and overwhelmed, it was very hard for me to drop into the chaos around what I needed to go into. Sarah, who is just the most exceptional human being in the world not to mention the hardest working and the most talented, took my hand and said, “Don’t be afraid of this, you’ve got to really go there,” and then jokingly, “Imagine that at the end of this if you didn’t get it that Jessica would think you’re a bad actor.” It was terrifying! I was certainly able to move past a wall, that’s what was blocking me, I was so afraid of judgement, that wasn’t coming from Jessica of course, it was coming from myself and my own process. Working with Jessica will go down as one of my life’s greatest achievements.

Out: What was it like to not only act alongside Sarah Paulson but to be directed by her in “Return to Murder House?”

Cody: One of the greatest joys. As an actor, to step into the director’s chair, you have a certain upper hand because you understand how actors work and how to communicate with actors. Sarah very much comes from a place of absolute respect for the emotional process of the artist. First and foremost she’s looking out for you as an artist, which elicits such extraordinary performances because you have so much trust in her, so you’re willing to give her anything and everything. She’s got such a deft hand as a director, watching it was gobsmacking, and was working under the most extreme pressures imaginable. Not only was she playing Billie Dean and Cordelia in another episode in the same time as this was filming, she had to film 72 scenes. In contrast, the episode before had 32, so she was filming almost double what any other director on the series was filming, while playing two other characters in two other episodes with under one week of preparation, it was truly a feat.

Out: She certainly wears a lot of hats...speaking of which, you had a very special hat yourself. Let’s talk about that wig.

Cody: I loved that wig. If I could wear that wig on a daily basis I would. Wearing that wig was everything.

Out: How long does it take to get into the Rubber Man suit?

Cody: It takes about 20 minutes and a lot of lube, and once you’re in it you’re in it, you can’t take it off. So I was in that suit for 16 hours. I think I held the record for being in the suit the longest.

Out: Can you settle this debate: was Michael the Rubber Man suit who has sex with Gallant?

Cody: No, not physically anyway. The Rubber Man is also a demon, so when someone is wearing the suit, they become the Rubber Man, but when nobody is wearing the suit, Rubber Man — through the power of Murder House — becomes a demon, and that demon is in many aspects controlled by Langdon. Langdon uses every means at his disposal to warp and manipulate and draw out the innermost desires in a human being, he draws out their shadow self and he’s able to play with that shadow and create scenarios that tempt a person into giving into the evil inside of them. Because the Rubber Man is there and then Gallant realizes he’s killed Evie. There’s some mind games going on there in how Michael reveals Gallant’s innermost desire, which is deeply Oedipal, because we [we wonder], is he fucking his grandmother? Because the realization is that the Rubber Man is Evie and he’s just slaughtered her in his bed. There’s so many layers of darkness there. That’s certainly how I thought about it.

Out: I’m sure you can’t reveal anything about the finale tonight, but can you tease a bit about how Michael’s journey ends?

Cody: There’s something deeply beautiful and tragic about the way that the story ends for Michael. It was genuinely one of the hardest scenes that I shot in the series. The end of the series, knowing that this was going to be the last time I — I’m getting sad about it now — I loved Michael so much, the past nine days since we finished filming it have been very hard. I loved Michael so much and I wanted so much for him, I just wanted love for him. The way the series ends for Michael is very moving.

Out: Are you open to returning for another season of AHS?

Cody: Oh my god, in a heartbeat. The experience is beyond comparison. Moving forward there will hopefully be great triumphs in my career, hopefully I’ll get to play characters that are as complex and layered as Michael, but this will forever have been the most formative experience of my acting career and of my development as an artist. To work with these extraordinary women at such an early point in my career, to work with Sarah Paulson and Frances Conroy — fuck me, Frances Conroy is one of the most talented, hard working, fierce actresses. To work with Kathy Bates and Joan Collins, the list goes on and on. To be in the same room as Billy Porter, who is an American treasure. The entire experience was so exceptional and magic. I know I’ll never have that back, that moment, it’s gone. I would come back in a heartbeat.

[butterflyinthewell]

Don’t support Autism Speaks in April. They’re a bad, damaging charity.

Every April, the autistic community rises up in protest of Autism Speaks, the juggernaut autism charity known worldwide.

Autism Speaks refuses to listen to autistic voices, dehumanizes autistic people and centers caregivers and parents instead of #actuallyautistic people. Their negative, stigmatizing rhetoric still affects autistic people to this day. As an autistic person, I implore you to listen to the autistic community about Autism Speaks. Don’t fall for the blue. Please go #REDInstead. 

Here is a bunch of links that explain why Autism Speaks is a bad charity that should never be trusted until autistic voices are 100% listened to, centered and favored over neurotypicals.

* * * WARNING: Some links include abuse, violence, murder and ABA * * *

http://goldenheartedrose.tumblr.com/post/89338501188/autism-speaks-masterpost-new-updated-62014 (collection of links)

https://medium.com/@KirstenSchultz/a-roundup-of-posts-against- autism-speaks-5dbf7f8cfcc6 (collection of links)

https://kpagination.wordpress.com/autism-resources/autism- acceptance-month-resources/ (collection of links)

https://whyiboycottautismspeaks.wordpress.com/ (collection of blog posts)

What's wrong with Autism Speaks? Before you donate, please take a moment to look into this organization and what it’s awareness and fundraising is really doing for the people it claims to support.

Autism Speaks no longer seeking a cure, and this autistic person couldn't care less. Not only does it sound like a lot of nice words couched in nice language that don’t actually mean a thing, but it’s very parent focused (still) and doesn’t actually seem to help actual autistics.

Four years. Every time a parent whose clothing is covered by puzzle pieces or autism “awareness” slogans tells me I don’t count because I can speak, even while I’m stuttering and turning red and unable to continue and they think they’ve won the fight…my heart breaks.

Autism Speaks diminishes lived experience. Autism Speaks is not a representation of autistic voices, they are a sham, intended to steal money from scared parents.

Why I am against Autism Speaks. If you are FOR humanity, you will be AGAINST Autism Speaks.

Who is your awareness really for? Autism is not about you. We don't want your awareness. We don't want your damn silent selfies. If you really want to do something for autistic people, first stop posting your kid's business all over the internet. Then listen to us. Stop doing this mommy centered 'awareness' crap that stigmatizes us.

Be aware of this. Quackery awareness month, even, but of course no one will come out and call a spade an effing shovel because autistic people don't count in this society. That's right, it's a f*ing shovel.

I'm aware of your hate. Everywhere I look you remind me that you hate us. You want us gone. A word for the history books.

Is Autism Speaks a hate group? According to the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) a hate group’s “primary purpose is to promote animosity, hostility, and malice against persons belonging to a race, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or ethnicity/national origin which differs from that of the members of the organization”.

Light it up blue isn't autism awareness, it's advertising for Autism Speaks. But every time I start thinking Autism Speaks is starting down a good path they do something that reminds me: they are not my family’s autism organization. They don’t represent my values. They don’t represent my family.

Why Autism Speaks is dangerous. Autism Speaks, frankly, has the most ironic name of any nonprofit I’ve ever heard of, because they do everything EXCEPT let autistic people speak. Their entire campaign is founded around how awful it is to be a parent of an autistic child, without paying a single thought to how it feels to be an autistic child.

Be Aware! My kids do not need people to be aware of Autism, especially when what that actually means is “beware” of autism. My kids need people to accept them, just as they are, and recognise that they are valuable and valued human beings who do not need to be changed. My kids need people to be willing to support them when the environment is causing them problems. My kids need people to see the value in diversity and look at them as people with some thing to offer, not something to be tolerated.

Autism Speaks: Hate speech and eugenics. I’m pretty pro- choice, if you don’t want a baby, don’t have one, but I take a huge issue with encouraging the termination of intended pregnancies on the grounds that you’ll get someone with a neurotype you didn’t want. Wiping out a group of people by stopping them from being born is called genocide.

Autism Speaks fails the community. In one of its controversial videos, "I Am Autism," we hear autism promise to bankrupt you, destroy your marriage and friendships and eliminate all hope from your life. Autism Speaks turns autistic people into villains and parents of autistic people the heroes — or worse — the victims.

Autism Speaks does not deserve your support. Autism Speaks’ mission statement goes on to claim that they will “find the missing pieces of the puzzle,” showing that “they don’t really value autistic people as fully human people. We are puzzles and we are missing pieces of ourselves, and we must become neurotypical in order to be respected by this group.”

Why we hijacked the #AutismSpeaks10 hashtag. Here’s the thing about the “autism advocacy” organization known as Autism Speaks – it doesn’t advocate for people with autism. In fact, if it’s said to advocate for anyone, it would be for overwrought parents of autistic children. In fact, they’ve promoted a video sympathizing with a mother who says – with her autistic daughter in the room – that she considered driving herself and her daughter off the George Washington bridge because of the enormous burden of it all.

Do not light it up blue. Did you know that autistic people are here all year long? Their struggles and their triumphs don’t begin and end in the month of April. How are you being more aware and accepting of autistic people and their families all year?

An autistic speaks about Autism Speaks. So that is why I'm posting this blog entry today. It's to get the word out from the other side of the autism debate, the one that doesn't get all the media attention. It's in the hope that someone, anyone, who participated in the walk might start to have second thoughts about it. And most of all, it is with the hope that others like myself can get the support we need to live in a sometimes frustrating society, not a cure that is forced on us without our acceptance.

Real autism. Autism Speaks was created by Bob and Suzanne Wright in 2005 as an organization that advocates for Autism. Over the years Autism Speaks has created a severe amount of controversy around their practices and policies in regards to how they promote Autism to the general public.

"Imagine, if you will, that an organization existed by the name of "Womanhood Speaks," which, on the surface, appeared to be in support of women's rights. Now imagine that the governing body of this organization only included members of the male gender, with not one female represented in its ranks. Imagine that its actual aim was to create a registry of all females and force them to become more masculine, completely disregarding the fact that a majority of females were perfectly content with their womanhood and even found it to be advantageous. Imagine that members of its leadership appeared on popular TV programs talking about the epidemic of womanhood and how it needed to be eradicated. Doesn't sound too appealing, does it?"

-- https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2007/5/19/336513/-

[Neurodiversity isn’t about pretending that autism, other developmental disabilities and psychiatric disabilities are all sunshine and rainbows. It’s about believing that we should be able to live our lives on our own terms and that our community should continue to exist, and doing whatever we can to make sure that happens. --Shain M. Neumeier, Esq.]

[getoffthesoapbox]

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Luke & Leia

Luke’s abiding love for Leia was always one of the highlights of the original trilogy for me, and The Last Jedi honors it in the best way.

This is the sixth post in my Star Wars The Last Jedi First Impressions series. The list of the topics this series covers, including links to the previous posts, is included below:

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - A Flawed Triumph

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - The Thematic Heart

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Finn & Rose

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Luke & Rey

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Luke & Kylo

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Luke & Leia  ← we are here

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Rey’s Trajectory

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Kylo’s Trajectory

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Rey & Kylo

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - The Romantic Heart

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Misleading Love Polygons

[SW:TLJ] First Impressions - Schrödinger's Futures

This behemoth grew to an impressive size despite my best efforts. =P

Before I dig into Luke and Leia, I wanted to nitpick a few things about Rian’s choices for Leia in particular (and Luke by extension). I already picked at my issues with Luke’s trajectory in my last post, so I won’t rehash that again here, but I also have issues with Leia and I’d prefer to get them out first rather than ruin a good ending (because there really is so much to love about Luke and Leia in this film). ;)

As with Luke, I love Leia’s general character development in this film. We see the heavy toll the loss of Han has taken on her--she’s no longer able to bear the weight of all the deaths around her. Han’s death changed something fundamental for her, and now she’s struggling under the burden of having to lose promising young lives and old friends. She’s clearly starting to wonder what the point of it all is and if it’s even worth it--what has she been fighting for all this time? Toward the end of the film, she even loses hope for the first time in her life--this too seems realistic to me in light of the destruction of her family and her life’s work. All her interactions with her resistance members are perfect, and the ending between her and Rey hits all the right notes.

One of my complaints with Leia in this trilogy is how passive she is about her son, who clearly places her above his father and uncle in his regard. Why is she still prioritizing the resistance rather than hunting her boy down and helping him come home? If she regrets losing him to Snoke, why is she not fighting for him? This is one of Leia’s deepest character flaws--she places her duties as a mother below her duties to the “greater good,” even when her duties as a mother were vital to ensuring the greater good. Both TFA and TLJ miss out on a great opportunity to show the greater ramifications of “small choices” like caring for your children--if you care for your children and are involved with their lives, they generally don’t go running off to join terrorist organizations in order to get your attention. This was a lesson Han seems to recognize at the end of his own journey in TFA, but too late to make a difference--had he chosen to be the parent his son needed, perhaps his son would have had a stronger framework from which to fight against his darker impulses.

So with the Leia Poppins sequence (which is an abysmal bit of filmmaking but I won’t burn your ears with my complaints), we find out Leia is clearly powerful in the force. If this is so, and given the reality that the resistance is losing badly and she knows her son is on the enemy’s side in the final sequence, why on earth is she not the one to walk out in the end sequence to face her son and buy the resistance some time to escape? I know Rian wanted this to be Luke’s film, but it honestly makes no sense that Luke is the one who does this--it should have been Leia! If her resistance members are so much more important to her than her son, she should have walked out there and taken the bullets for them from him. Why is she unwilling to face her son and put her own life on the line? Honestly, if she’d been the one who walked out there alone, as far as I’m concerned Kylo would have immediately buckled. The boy has no spine when it comes to his mommy. All she had to do was get out there and tell him to get his rear end down there right now like mother with good sense. He’d obey lickety split, and Hux would probably facepalm, and they could have at least worked out a ceasefire if nothing else. 

At the very least, I think it would have been better for Leia’s character if Leia had attempted to do this, and then perhaps have Luke stop her (that way she can be saved for the pivotal third film, which is what I know Rian and JJ wanted, because nothing beats a mother’s love). I can’t believe this got through the story group, but whatever. So many head scratchers got through the story group that at this point I can only throw my hands in the air in exasperation and wonder why they even have such a group at all.

All this being said, my complaints about Leia didn’t detract from my sheer enjoyment of Luke and Leia’s trajectory, which I felt truly matched the original trilogy’s natural trajectory just as well as Han and Leia did in TFA. But before I get into that, I’d like to step back a minute and talk about the original trilogy and my own experience with it.

Luke was one of my first crushes back when I was a kid, though I’ll freely admit I was more a Spock/Prince Phillip kind of girl on the whole. I’ve always been fiercely attached to Arthurian lore, and Luke’s narrative over the course of the three films of the original trilogy has all the hallmarks of the Arthurian tale, with Luke obviously placed in Arthur’s seat. Arthur has always been my favorite character of the original legends (with Mordred coming in a close second, perhaps unsurprisingly given who my favorite character in the sequel trilogy is, fufu), and even when I was a kid I understood clearly that Leia was “Guinevere” and Han was “Lancelot.” As such, even if Lucas hadn’t pulled the sibling reveal, Luke was doomed when it came to Leia. With the sibling reveal, something interesting happens to the Arthurian parallels--Leia becomes the embodiment of two central figures: Guinevere and Morgana. This is an element that makes the ending sequence quite interesting to me, but more on that later.

One thing always struck me in the original films was there was never a clear moment when Luke “got over” Leia. Leia easily accepted Luke as her brother, because in many ways he already was as far as she was concerned; her eyes had been only for Han since the moment she first saw him. When I first saw the original trilogy, I just wrote this off as a “nicer” variant of the Arthurian legend--Luke had to lose, and Lucas was just giving him an easy way out that wouldn’t leave him in tears, especially in the last film. But Vader still tempted him to the dark side by using Leia, even after the sister reveal, and Luke almost succumbed, which always seemed a bit over the top for a normal sibling reaction.

However, my perspective changed when I watched the prequels, many years later. Anakin attaches to Padme the instant he meets her, despite her barely taking notice of him, making clear a pattern which actually had been established by his children in the original trilogy: when Skywalkers “fall,” they fall instantaneously and forever. Anakin for Padme, Leia for Han, and Luke for Leia. Once I saw The Revenge of the Sith, my head canon (I had them even back then, go figure) for Luke solidified into the idea that Luke never “got over” Leia and that if the story had continued, he would eventually have had to separate from her and Han simply because his heart couldn’t take it and he, like Arthur in the legend, had too good a heart to cause trouble for people he loved.

Of course the EU canon didn’t support this, and I never considered myself a Star Wars fan (I’m a TOS Trekkie to the core and before the sequel trilogy would have been on the Trek side of the Star Wars vs. Trek debate XD), so I didn’t really think anything of it all. But when I heard Disney was tossing out the EU canon in the new trilogy, in the back of my mind I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they’d have the same vision for Luke that I did. With TFA, I had the first inkling that this might just be the case--Han and Leia had a clearly mutual, but realistically contentious relationship centered on their own personal friction and the loss of a son (which I loved and thought was spot on perfect for these characters--good on you, JJ), and Luke had “vanished” mysteriously. So far so good.

Along comes TLJ, and bless Rian for what he did with Luke and Leia. For this alone, I’d forgive him any flaw--this most important thing he got right. Luke’s off on the island, refusing to deal with Rey and running from Leia and Kylo, and when he finds out Rey came aboard the Falcon, he sneaks on board to revisit old memories. And R2D2 knows exactly what will move Luke and remind him of his youthful, idealistic self--the image of Leia he fell in love with during ANH. Luke may call it “cheap,” but it works like a charm--he immediately accepts the summons and goes to Rey’s side.

We see three instances in TLJ of what I consider to be the call of the eternal feminine--Rey calls Kylo (who rejects), Rose calls Finn (who accepts), and Leia calls Luke (who accepts). There is a similar thread throughout all of these moments, and that is the undercurrent of romantic tension. Traditionally, the lady giving the call would place her favor upon her chosen knight (and since Star Wars is heavily influenced by Arthurian legend and courtly tales such as Tristan and Isolde, you still see these elements sneak in every now and then even with Lucas gone). The fact that there are only two other calls from the eternal feminine, and that both of them have the romantic undercurrent, confirms for me that Luke still has a small flame in his heart for Leia, though he suppresses it because he’s a good man. Rather than hurting Leia with his feelings, he strives to honor his feelings for her by doing what he can for her.

This is, in my estimation, why there is a tinge of the romantic in their only two scenes in the film. When Luke reconnects to the force for the first time, he awakens Leia from her slumber as their minds connect. She speaks his name, and he speaks hers. It’s a scene that cuts straight to the heart of an original trilogy fan. Arthur returns to his Guinevere/Morgana in this scene, even if only via mental space, and hope arrives with him, giving her the strength to stand up again.

The big moment between them is, of course, when he arrives during Leia’s most desperate hour. Her lost son stands at the gates with all the hounds of hell at his beck and call, and her resistance is on its last legs. Who should arrive at the last hour but Arthur himself--Luke from the shadows, as once he did for Han in Return of the Jedi (great callback, Rian). Arthur has come to save his Queen from Mordred--the darkness he himself unleashed upon the world, though in this story Mordred is not his biological son.

Luke’s and Leia’s first exchange is a mirror of her and Han, but unlike Han, Luke has always had a gentle rather than biting sense of humor. She quietly teases him that she knows what he’s thinking--she changed her hair. Luke reassures her that it looks nice that way, acknowledging her attempt at levity, and then he apologizes from his heart. Leia, who is connected to him, understands immediately that he means it and extends her forgiveness and her love.

Luke announces he’s here to face Kylo. Unlike with Han, Leia doesn’t ask Luke to save her son--she instead mournfully admits she’s afraid he’s lost for good. Luke won’t let it end for her like that; he restores her hope to her when he says that no one is ever really gone--meaning both Kylo and himself. If he can return to her side, so can Kylo.

It’s fitting that she is the last person to see him before he faces his sins, and that he places the token of the man she loves in her hand before he goes--always, always, he acknowledges the love she bears Han and honors her choice. Then he honors his own feelings by placing a beautiful kiss on her forehead--a kiss containing the immortal depth of all forms of love, the parting of a King from his chosen Queen. It is the end of their story, but the beginning of her son’s, and the fight is not over.

Having said his goodbyes to Leia, he embarks to face Kylo. This moment is when the Arthurian legend begun by the original six films--from Anakin’s Uther to Obi Wan’s Merlin to Luke’s Arthur to Han’s Lancelot to Leia’s Guinevere/Morgana--comes full circle and we at last put the Arthurian story to rest in favor of the more traditional fairytale, which is the flavor of Rey’s heroine’s journey and the center of the new trilogy.

Luke as Arthur stands against Kylo, his Mordred. But because this isn’t the end of the tale, he has no intention of killing his Mordred; instead, he will do what he can to plant the seeds for Mordred’s return to the light, and he will journey to Avalon (the force) of his own free will. As in the Arthurian legend, Luke will never be truly gone, and he will always be waiting for the day when he is needed once more. He can lay down his burden, and close the curtain on the tale begun by his father. His Mordred will not die with him; by Luke’s own intention, Kylo will live on and face Rey once more--but this time, hope isn’t dead and Camelot can still rise out of the ashes once more.

Leia takes the gift Luke gives her, and with the renewal of hope burning in her heart, she plans the rebirth of the resistance through their new champion: Rey, the only person left who can take down the final Goliath.

Until next time!

[yogaadvise]

11 Ways to Heal from Emotional Stress

If you have survived this world for some time, you have possibly managed a fair share of emotionally trying experiences. In contemporary society, most of us should discover how to manage a variety of stress as well as issues, but often it all could seem very frustrating, as well as not surprisingly so.

Unfortunately, around 26 percent of Americans surveyed for a poll performed by researchers for the Harvard Viewpoint Study Program said they presently cope with high degrees of tension. If you feel you fall into the 26 percent experiencing persistent tension, you may take advantage of the following coping mechanisms.

11 Ways to Heal from Psychological Stress

1. Talk about your feelings.

Too several individuals today think that sharing feelings makes them weak and also reveals they cannot handle difficult circumstances on their very own. Consider the other side of that debate. Suppose talking concerning your sensations really makes you a solid individual due to the fact that you really feel comfy when it comes to vulnerability, as well as recognize just how to swallow your pride to admit you need help?

Don' t ever before really feel bad for asking for aid or raising "unfavorable" feelings to others - many people really can't wait to give assistance whatsoever they can.

2. Approve your present emotions.

Have you ever listened to the saying "Exactly what you resist persists?" Well, that powerful phrase definitely uses below. If you continuously combat your sensations, you will just see those exact same circumstances and emotions repeating themselves over as well as over once again till you learn how to welcome them. Nevertheless, you should recognize that on some conscious level, you developed those very difficult situations, so you must grapple with exactly what you materialized accordingly.

After you have actually accepted that you played a part in developing the anxiety, you could knowingly work with setting up preferred outcomes.

3. Meditate.

Meditation could recover a lot of aspects of an individual's life, as well as can also help you run away difficult circumstances and simply hang around when it comes to yourself for a little bit. If you have actually been dealing with a bunch of psychological tension in your life, you possibly do not get to spend much time in recovery and relaxation.

Make time for meditation in your daily program-- most importantly various other organic remedies, meditation might simply triumph since it could re-shape your mind and place you in a state of deep tranquility.

4. Come to be friends with nature.

The more time you spend outside, the much more you could make use of all the organic elegance in the world. Cherish in the frustrating marvels of Gaia, as well as thank Mommy Planet for providing so generously for you. The sunlight supplies warmth and also sustains your life every day, the trees release oxygen so you could breathe, and also bees cross-pollinate the plants so they can grow right into foods for us to eat.

Spend a mid-day merely resting outdoors as well as enjoying life unfold before you, do this constantly, and you will certainly no doubt feel the planet's healing energy permeate your soul.

5. Treat yourself to something that makes you really feel good.

How long has it been given that you got a massage therapy, baked your favored covered, or taken a getaway? If you can't keep in mind the last time you did any of these things, book a vacation or massage, and visit the shop to obtain all the mendings for your cake. You deserve it, particularly after undergoing a distressing experience.

Show on your own some love and also become your personal friend, nevertheless, nobody on the planet can provide you enjoy the means you can.

6. Offer yourself consent to begin over.

If you feel you have withstood so much discomfort that you cannot possibly make it through it, after that merely clean your slate tidy as well as start throughout once again. That could mean transferring to a new city, obtaining a brand-new work, obtaining out of a poisonous connection, or merely changing on your own. You can't create your future if you remain embeded the past, so leave it behind and bear in mind that when it comes to each new dawn, you can become whoever and also whatever you desire.

7. Exercise regularly.

Emotional stress simply suggests that you have actually been directing your power in such a way that isn't really one of the most valuable to you. Reroute that power toward something much more advantageous, such as exercise.

Scientists have actually consistently found that workout may be just one of the very best natural tension relievers on the planet, so make sure to sweat at the very least 30 minutes a day for five days a week. Also, do tasks you enjoy-- make exercise appear like an enjoyable, satisfying task, not something that you definitely dread.

8. Attempt to remove the resource of tension from your life.

Spend time alone evaluating your life as well as considering just what you can alter in order to move some of the most significant resources of stress. You could have to make some considerable changes to your day-to-day routine, or let connections go that no more serve you. This could appear uneasy and uncomfortable, but you need to do whatever you have to in order to honor your spirit.

Letting go of major stress-inducers will allow you to concentrate on creating a happier life for yourself.

9. Forgive yourself and others.

Let's face it-- a lot of us are way also difficult on ourselves. We anticipate excellence and also can't understand why we require so much time to heal from our past. You require to permit on your own to go through the needed feelings and also phases of healing prior to totally relocating on. Additionally, forgive others that have caused you discomfort. You need to understand that their pain came to be undue for them to take care of, so they had to take it out on others. Love them anyhow, as well as love yourself for giving up the need to manage your quest towards psychological recovery.

10. Recognize all discomfort is impermanent.

Without suffering, we would not understand happiness. Without pain, we wouldn't recognize enjoyment. Possibilities are, you have felt all of these feelings in your life, and you most likely noticed that they really did not last permanently. You cannot have mountains without valleys either, so remember this example following time you really feel entraped by your discomfort. You could as well as will certainly get through it, but merely enable it to run its program, and also the tornado clouds will certainly roll by much faster compared to you 'd think.

11. Load your life when it comes to fun activities.

Do you take pleasure in paddleboarding, kayaking, yoga exercise, or treking? After that include these activities into your daily program. This method, you will certainly maintain your mind and body busy when it comes to activities that make your heart absolutely pleased, and also will not have as much time to concentrate on those stressors in your life.

[missivesfromtroy]

Ten Things: ToY

SPOILERY CONTENT within, so use caution here if you don’t like knowing things about movies going into them.

As always, these are just the first ten things that come to mind looking back on the film, in no particular order, and are only representative of my own opinion. Discussion or questions are welcome.

There is a veritable cavalcade of ye olde “I’m writing about the womens now!” tropes here: all the poorer women are sex workers of some stripe, casual addiction is a major theme, there’s a rich/young/hot/successful artist main character who’s got carte blanche with what nebulous art projects she produces and on what timeline she so pleases, there’s a terminal illness looming in the background, there’s a lot of focus on “live fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse,” all the of the main character’s friends and family are doormats who just wanna help her out in every way possible despite being treated like they’re so much dirt, obsession interpreted as affection, women going braless or nude (even in front of family members) because reasons (I mean, kudos to the actresses, but c’mon now), etc. etc. etc.

The movie is beautifully shot, has excellent music, and is all in all a very polished production. For all of that though, there is a strong sense of male gaze throughout that seems very out of place in a film about two women falling in love, even with the explicit understanding that one is a prostitute and one is essentially an exhibitionist (I can think of no better excuse for how Chloe likes to stand naked on her balcony in downtown LA while taking pictures of herself, but feel free to hypothesize on this point, friends).

The strange vacuum noise employed when the film project asides are shown in the first half of the movie are either meaningful as foreboding of mortality for all these people (Chloe is seeking people headed towards death? If so, seeking out prostitutes for this suggests an ultimate disdain for Kat that the narrative plays out, though probably not intentionally), or a tonal misstep because it suggests a horror element that is not present in the remainder of the film.

The film attempts to be a study on the ripple effects people can have on each other’s lives, but doesn’t end up revealing anything more substantial than what is literally skin-deep and also seems determined to blame Kat for her actions while exonerating Chloe because she is tortured by the thought of her illness and mortality.

To the film’s credit, the most intimate sexual moments are the ones of peak emotional intimacy as well, but it seems odd to focus so much on the visceral nature of sex and not explore at least in passing why Chloe’s illness and loss of muscle control might be the reason she’s so sex-motivated.

Speaking of Chloe, she is never really a good or likeable person. Deeply selfish and destructive, petulant and childish, SPOILERS the full arc of the two women’s relationship essentially boils down to Chloe dragging Kat down with her and then triumphing over her from a distance, essentially enslaving Kat to a kind of sadistic penitence for having been so...what? Prostitute-y? Sexually confident? Financially insecure? British? I’m open to all suggestions here. /SPOILERS

There is a reverse Chekhov’s gun in action in the film where a gun is introduced by its firing, deliberately put away, and only the suggestion is made that it may have been fired again. This speaks to an interesting kind of impotency which is sadly not explored further, despite Chloe’s mommy issues and the deep preoccupation she has with Kat’s fertility.

In the end, are we supposed to agree or disagree with the model from the beginning of the film who proclaims that Chloe has never suffered? If it’s supposed to be an irony, it’s a shallow one at best because all signs do indeed point to Chloe’s only wrestling with one kind of suffering in her life and, while fascinated by others’ pain, being fundamentally unable to empathize with others’ suffering.

“[You] want someone to shit all over your world,” Kat tells Chloe. Is this the truth? Or is it the reverse of what Chloe’s influence does to Kat? It’s never fully fleshed out. Chloe seems to be set up as a sort of self-destructive, tragic masochist, but when her world does bobble, Chloe makes everyone else’s lives miserable in return. I’d be more inclined to allow that this observation is a mistake on Kat’s part and illuminates instead how Chloe seems to be determined to distract herself from her own problems by delving into someone else’s problems — and ultimately shitting all over their world — instead.

SPOILERS Chloe’s setup to “take care” of Kat in the end is deeply manipulative, controlling, and desperately, breathlessly cruel, though they bill this as a love story. Even with the promise of escaping the desperation of her lifestyle, Chloe overrides Kat’s choices, oversteps (possibly illegally) her rights, and it’s strongly implied that Chloe dictates cruel terms for Kat to retain her newfound trust (such as a forced reintroduction to the child Kat deliberately and unapologetically gave up). If there’s a meaning to the name of the movie, it ought to imply that Kat has gone from being under the thumb of a nameless man to being under the thumb of a dead woman, never actually treated like her own person in the end, despite all her bravado. And I don’t find that romantic at all. /SPOILERS