#they’re dysfunctional and codependent in the best way what can I say

[anxiouspotatorants]

Look obviously Kripke and company have full control over the story and the authority to write everyone however they want and I’m not going to pout and complain that my ship might not be endgame as if fanfiction and headcanons don’t exist.

But in my shiprotted brain there’s just no way Kimiko and Frenchie aren’t soulmates in every sense of the word

[known-as-naya]

What’s your favourite thing about the Klebekah dynamic and your fave scenes? What was it that drew you to them

Thanks Yuki for asking this, it took me hours to think of all my fav scenes but it was worth it lol ❤️

My fav thing about the klebekah dynamic:

So, klebekah. I simply love them if it isn't obvious by now lmao, their codependent and dysfunctional toxic relationship fascinates me so much. They're litteraly the most important person in each other's life and I love that, I love how they understand one another with just a look, I love how they never gave up on each other for a thousand years despite all the betrayals, I love how they adore and worship one another, I LOVE THEM.

Rebekah was the person klaus loved the most in the world (besides hope ofc) it's actually funny how most of the fandom doesn't realize the impact she always had on him, she was his humanity for a thousand years, she was his constant (along with Elijah ) and he was hers, and as we saw on the show Rebekah was the person he showed affection the most.

As for rebekah, Klaus was the man she ADORED since she was a little girl, he was her big brother, the person she wanted to be like when she gets older, her protector, soulmate and best friend. Rebekah was the only person who never actually tried to change him, she loved him as he is during a thousand years and I LOVE THAT.

-The thing that drawn me to them:

Are a lot of things but THE CHEMISTRY was what made me fall in love, fun fact: but the first time I discovered klebekah I was watching a tvd scene on YouTube a couple of years ago and coincidentally it was their 3×03 Chicago flashback scene with Stefan, and I thought they were a sort of threesome of something lmao and when I knew they were siblings I was shocked but continued to ship them anyway cause why not.

What are your fav scenes ?

Oh boy, this is a very DIFFICULT question cause I practically love all their freaking scenes, but I eventually have to choose so there you go:

-I'll begin with tvd:

-There's 3×03, of course, THIS WHOLE EPISODE IS FULL OF INCEST. the "I'm not your girlfriend", the "choose him or me" Klaus' jealousy, the eye sex, the daggering session, the hand holding, EVERYTHING SCREAMED KLEBEKAH. This ep was such a strong introduction to their strange dynamic.

-3×04: my fav thing about this ep is Klaus taking rebekah to shop and being a child about it. He was so done with her already but at the same time so happy to have her around again. I loved the surprised expression on Stefan's face the whole time, he was not used to this side of Klaus, he was not used to Klaus being wrapped around someone's little finger. I loved their little conversation when she was trying that dress and she said something about women in the 21th century dressing like prostitues and that she got dirty looks for wearing trousers and then Klaus said you wore trousers so women today could wear nothing. Lmaooo it was hilarious.

- 3×15: "I hated you when I learned that you killed our mother but after a thousand years together as a family you're the only one who never left me "

" Aren't we a pair ?" THIS MF LINE GETS ME EVERYTIME. I don't have words to describe what it does to me but I love this scene and the fact that Klaus thought that rebekah was going to show him her torturer's skills makes it better.

-3×18: " you destroyed our family" "I wanted a family they just didn't want me, and now that we're unlinked we're no longer responsible for each other" "so are you leaving ?" "As soon as a get my stakes I'm gone..... I'm gonna make a NEW FAMILY of hybrids" "and if I choose to stay ?" "Then you're just as pathetic as Finn " THIS WHOLE scene was a masterpiece, them looking at each other like that makes me wanna give them a hug:

-3×20: it wasn't really a klebekah scene cause it was Esther in Rebekah's body but the way Klaus smiled at her and agreed to go to the dance JUST for her melt my heart.

-3×22: oh gosh this one, breaks my heart but love it so much " how dare you save Caroline over me ?" " You left me !" "it's always been me, not Finn not Elijah no Kol ME, I LOVED YOU through everything and you don't even care " and then he chokes her and say something he -IM SURE- regrets immediately "you know something rebekah you're right I don't care, from this moment on you're not my family you're not my sister you are nothing " and then he breaks her neck. I HATE THIS SCENE BUT I LOVE IT. these two needed couple therapy. Klaus was horrible, she watched him die, she mourned him, her heart broke. He could've told her about his plan tho ? I'm still wondering why he didn't but I guess he was just being an asshole as usual and took her as granted. And him saving Caroline over her was not it.

-4×04: the flashback hunter scene "YOU TRUSTED HIM OVER ME " "WHAT DID HE PROMISE YOU " "TELL ME REBEKAH " it was like he caught her cheating on him lmaooo. On the same episode there's the famous line "laugh at the girl who loved too easily but I would rather to live my life than yours Nik, no one will ever sit around a table telling stories about a man who couldn't love" the way he looked down after her saying that breaks my heart, cause Klaus could love, he LOVES her, then he daggers her -cause he's a paranoid bastard- and he cries about it.

-Let's switch to TO scenes:

-1×02: this episode is one of my favs but the best scene was when Klaus was choking Hayley after he learned that she wanted to abort the baby then, rebekah slammed him against the wall (it was hot tbh lmao) and she said "it's okay to care, it's okay to want something that's all Elijah was trying to do all he's ever wanted for you, all we've ever wanted." The way he looked her deep in the eyes gets me everytime, he was trying so hard not to cry. Then they sat together, exhausted, and Klaus told her about his plan -that involved giving Elijah to marcel lol- and if she doesn't like it, there's the door.

-1×03: one of my fav episodes too and it has so many good klebekah scenes, “that depends what plan you mean love my plan for global domination or rebekahs plan to find love in a cruel cruel world”  then she giggled and threw a pen at him so lovingly lol. They were teasing and all flirty with each other in front of Hayley and they acted as nothing happened the night before and Klaus never gave Elijah to marcel, after that they teamed up and everything was going fine but Klaus happened. then there's the masquerade ball scene when Klaus called rebekah " you really are a hideously evil little thing aren't you "

and them being jealous watching marcel and cami dancing. later in  this ep theres the famous “you disgust me” scene, the tension was so thick i acually thought they were about to kiss and have sex on that damn piano lmao but klaus as usual disapointed rebekah, she trusted him against all her better instincts and he choose to act against her back cause he thought his plan was smarter.

-I'm not sure in which episode this scene is but I remember Klaus telling rebekah "you were quite resourceful today..... sometimes I think I don't give you your due little sister" it was so cute cause Klaus knows that he doesn't give Rebekah enough credits, and she was so happy to hear him say that.

-1×14: the famous "YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME REBEKAH" this episode had me crying the first time I watched it, Klaus was so angry, disappointed and hurt, he could not believe that his baby sister did this to him, that he was in denial for almost a century and he for that she must pay. "Rebekah would not call my father no matter how angry she was " "enough of your lies" even after seeing the truth from the source he still couldn't believe it cause he loved her so freaking much and he thought she did too.

Then them fighting and Klaus getting turned on by her beating his ass up

-1×15: this mf scene.

The kiss, THE FREAKING CLOSE TO THE LIPS KISS. the sexual tension in this scene was HUGE, Klaus finally "set rebekah free" and he was DRUNK doing it. "We don't have to run anymore, we've found a home" and the look on Rebekah's face is priceless, she was shocked and almost guilty cause at this time she has already called mikeal and Klaus was a little too late.

Also in the same episode, THE BLOOD SHARING. Look at them just look at them.

-1×16:

THE BABY MIKAELSON FLASHBACK !! OMG, this scene melts my heart. "Don't be afraid I won't let it hurt you " "will you stay with me till the storm ends ?" And he did stay with her no matter what. I love this scene cause it shows how close and protective they were of each other since forever. Then he gives her the wooden knight so she can be brave. I'm soft.

Then there's this one too ! I love how Rebekah was actually the only one to ever stand against mikeal, she even tried to kill him, just for Klaus. So much devotion.

I'm still not over this one, the hurt on Rebekah's voice as she says those words, Klaus's tears, the whole episode was so angsty but this scene was IT. and then he realised what he did to her, that instead of protecting her he was hurting and suffocating her so he did something he's not used to do, being selfless, and he let her go.

The 1×22 scene: LITTERALY on top of my fav scenes list ! Klaus giving hope to Rebekah proved how much he trusted her "there's no one I would trust more with my daughter's life" and the fact that she came back just for him (and hope) proved that she never really wanted to leave, she just needed a little freedom. Then when he handed her the little toy I WAS IN TEARS OKAY, it was so soft. They were so happy and relieved to see each other again.

-2×09: "if anything goes south I'll be there to pull you out" "you and I on the same team it must me Christmas" he promised to protect her at any cost and she knew he will. Them teaming up against Esther was so great, then the "take me instead" , Klaus was WILLING to sacrifice his immortal life for REBEKAH, if this isn't pure love then I don't know what it is.

-2×17: another episode losing his shit because his wife-sorry sister is in danger. He let Freya enter his mind just to save her (and he was so suspicious about it cause he didn't want her to know his strategies but in fact he was just afraid she'll know about his questionable taste in woman lmaoo)

And this mf scene is so cute, look at their smiles, the forehead touch, his hand on her neck, here on his arm, FOR YOU FOR NOW. I can't believe this is actually canon.

-2×22: "family tradition!" "Minus the family."

"Well, you're here."" In the skin of your choosing, no less."

"Well, poor you. Because that body is such a hardship."

"You would hand over your crown? And do what?" "Raise my daughter... with the help of my sisters. One big, happy family."

" Now, that does sound grand-- minus the giant, Elijah-sized hole in the room. And, whilst your sisters raise your child, what will the child's mother be doing, exactly?"

"This, dear brother, is not what happiness looks like."

This scene was so important, Klaus was wrong and he needed someone to remind him that what he did was not necessary, that he hurt most of his family, and rebekah was there for that. He wished she'd stray with him to "raise" his daughter but after this scene we see Freya offering her Eva's body so she leaves.

-3×09: "you're always leaving" "and I always come back" THEN THE DAMN HUG. their hugs are always so good, the way they close their eyes and hold each other tight and they seem like they never want to let go of each other. Then she has to leave and make Elijah dagger her without telling Nik, cause she wants Nik to be happy for once.

-3×22: "wasn't you who once told me I could talk my way out of hell " and then they smile affectionately at each other and HUG tightly. After this he took her hand and they both walk to their possible end, and she watches him getting stabbed by marcel after she was forced to say all those things she did and didn't think. The whole trial scene was a masterpiece. I love it.

-4×02: this EP was full of klebekah soft scenes. There was the reunion HUG . the way she runs to him the second she sees him and the way he reaches to her and hugs her tightly to his chest.

The kiss on the cheek after "thank you for not abandoning me" and the way he smiles at her was so SOFT OMG.

-4×03: the goodbye hug "Nik you do not need me anymore, I know that I'm your fav sibling and of course I adore you" "you were the only one who never treated me like s misfit, for centuries my only place was by your side...." AND THEY HUG TIGHTLY AGAIN. this was the first time Klaus let Rebekah do whatever the hell she wanted without fighting or daggering and it was revolutionary to her. (The fact that she's his fav sibling and she KNOWS it makes me so happy lmao).

-5×01: their phone call about Elijah. They were both so lost and devastated without him it broke my heart. "How does he look?" "Happy.."

-5×08: "ah Nik always so dramatic"

They were so happy to be reunited after 7 years of being apart, look at them hugging each other so tightly. I LOVE this scene.

-5×12: then there's the goodbye scene, Klaus gave her the cure so he can make up for a thousand years of hurt, "live the life you've always wanted to live, MY SISTER" the way he looked at her so proudly, so in love makes me cry. In my opinion he gave her the cure so they can reunite again in the afterlife. Both him and Elijah can't live or die without her, they're supposed to be together, they're meant to be together and the cure will bring her to them, to him, again. It was such a good scene, the hug, the last glances, everything.

And that's it!!! I'm sure I forgot some other scenes but those are the most important. ❤️

[kewltie]

one of the great mysteries in hogwart is izuku's strange and intimate relationship with an older slytherin boy!dabi where he's constantly on the precipice of falling to dark side and izuku is perpetually in the light and how some ppl no matter how hard you try you cant be save and how sometimes the ppl we love are capable of terrible things. this 'verse always been endgame bkdk; it started that way and will end that way, but dabi and izuku's friendship deeply fascinates me esp dabi's intense unrequited love for izuku that keeps him from completely burning the wizarding world to the ground and dance on its ashes.

dabi comes from a long line of purebloods who are wildly known to be wizards who fought against the dark so when he was discovered to have an inclination to the dark arts... dabi went from being precious first born heir to the black sheep of the family that nobody talk about. the wizarding world has a v v clear distinction between light and dark magic especially because the dark arts been repeatedly abused and misused by terrible ppl throughout history so it has a deep and troubling connotation even though magic itself is neither good or bad because it's just magic. dark and light is just a division of it; it's ppl that created 'bad' magic and link it to the dark arts but it's easier to just denounced an entire system of magic then to say, 'ah, it's really all our faults; we're corrupted magic with our selfish ways.' magic is true neutral. But because there's such a heavy society bias/prejudice against dark arts in any form that any sign of it is consider taboo, cursed, and propensity to turn evil for the user so when dabi shown to have a talent for it his father turned his back to him in order to protect his family's honor.

dabi felt abandoned by his family and the wizarding kind so he seek to burn it to the ground; his anger and hate simmers within him and for many years he nurtured them till one day he can fully unleashed upon the world but then he met izuku and for once in his life he hesitated.

izuku was born a squib, had no single drop of magic in him even as he sees everyone else around him able to do wonderful things. despite feeling like he's worthless, he didn't resent them or their magic. izuku only becomes deeply fascinated with it and all the potential it could be. so all this means that when he does finally received magic from AM (a long winded story that i will get into another day), izuku who spent most of his life a magicless in a world full of it, knows what it like to be isolated, scorn, and feels as 'others' instead as one of them but that make it all the more for him to change it for the better so nobody would ever feel as isolated and helpless like he once did.

so dabi and his ability to wield the dark arts as though it's an extension of himself?? izuku finds it interesting, something he wants to understand and study and dabi as someone who knows what it likes to be outcast because they're diff and doesnt fit in the society's neat lil box saw this boy extending a hand toward him and first he spurned it but then izuku kept persisting and never judge him and never make him feel like he’s dirt, wrong, and that he’s alone… so yea he becomes deeply attached to izuku. their friendship started because they both feels terribly alone in a world that doesn't quite understand them and even when izuku has the ability to fit in, he sees how the wizarding world in its isolation has deep muggle/dark magic prejudice and there are cracks in this 'perfect society��� so while izuku is determines to change it for the better, dabi wants to burn it all to the ground.

While they bonded over their diffs but at the same time izuku recognizing though he has been mistreated in the past (his father a muggleborn and he was a squib), this world isn't all bad. there are good ppl in it too! and he got (new) friends to prove it. just because the wizarding world been set in its ornery way for hundred of yrs and STILL HAVEN'T adapted to modern time yet, doesnt mean it's stuck in bias forever; it can be change, it will be change because izuku will do it. izuku wants to see it change because he sees the potential it could be just like he sees what dabi could be if he wasn't drowning in his own hate and anger so much. he clings to their friendship in hopes that one day dabi will see the light and just stop going down this dark and dangerous path.

dabi loves izuku. it is the most unselfish thing he ever done because he expects nothing from izuku. not his love, not his friendship, not even his kindness because dabi knows what he's about to do will only hurt izuku so it's better that he doesn't have izuku because he'll only lose him later but he also cant seem to part way with izuku because this wretched thing call love has long holds him hostage and he's fully aware that either his revenge going to burn him out first or this tired and terrible love is going to eat him alive. something got to give and it's dabi either way

izuku loves dabi very much because he feels a kindred spirit with him and they understands each other the best even more than katsuki who is his soulmate bc katsuki comes from a place of prilvage and could never understand izuku’s feelings the way dabi could but,,, it's not the same love that burn within dabi. it's not romantic but it's strong enough that izuku can't stay away from dabi for long; always coming back to him. they have this not so much toxic but it's definitely codependent and dysfunctional because they both make it v v v clear what their intentions are and how they both deeply disapproved of the others standing and is firm in their own set of beliefs but they cant let each other go.

for dabi he's already paved his path on this treacherous and dark road and he's not turning back for anything or anyone; it's him or this fucking terrible society, but if there's one thing he can save as it all burn is izuku and that's all he wants; izuku to be untouched and free. So while dabi's decision is cemented in stone, izuku has a harder time knowing what to do when it comes to his relationship with dabi because how far is too much? how far can he watch dabi ruin himself hurt others before izuku say enough is enough, i cant do this anymore; i cant support you. sometimes the ppl we love is capable of doing terrible things and when they do act upon it we have to ask ourselves is this something we're willing to compromise our morals, our character for? is love enough to stay. is love enough to change/stop them from doing something terrible that they may regret later? then if izuku does have enough, what would dabi do? is he so secured in his revenge and goals that he is willing to let izuku go? can he bear the thought of izuku cutting himself off from dabi permanently? does that not make him waver even a lil bit? does it not make him rethink?

the way their relationship pushed and pulled with dueling mentalities and goals and the way they both so drawn to each other but yet also stands firmly on opposing sides; it's interesting to see how it all unfold in the end or... not depending on how far they're willing to go for each other

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 2

The Meet Cute - Part 2

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You meet Chris Evans at a rooftop, industry party in New York, but will your awkwardness ruin the night?

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual connotations, fluff gone sour (?) Read on to know what I mean

Notes: Please check out the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

Although you had a few lightweight drinks, not wanting to get too turnt in front of strangers, you’re not really sure how you ended up here: In the middle of the dance floor, spinning, stepping and outright getting down with Chris motherfucking Evans.

It may have started with your light buzz, then a declaration of “that’s my song!!!” on your behalf, then Chris following you like a wide eyed puppy.

A mellower song plays. Yours and Chris’ energy comes down some, chemistry lingering. You simultaneously notice you’re holding hands and become all too aware of yourselves. Meaningless “ums” and “uhs” fill the air until you excuse yourself to the restroom, but not before you exchange shy smiles with Chris.

You freshen up in the mirror and take a moment to reflect on the night, on meeting Chris, with his tall, muscular frame, genuine smile, heart warming laugh, and blue eyes you could just drown in… Get a grip, SIS! You’re supposed to be meeting industry professionals, not fawning over snackable superheroes, no matter how charming. What time is it even…?

Pawing at your person for a sign of your phone, you realize you might have left it at the bar. Ugh, I hope no one took it. Who am I kidding? Rich people don’t steal phones… right?

You hurriedly rush out of the bathroom, but stop short at the sight of a boyish-looking Chris, hands tucked in his pockets. For the second time tonight, you both take a moment to take each other in. You don’t realize it, but you hold your breath as his eyes scan your hair, your eyes…her nose, her lips, her skin—

“You found it!”

“Huh?”

“My phone! Thank God! I don’t know what I’d do without it!” You say as you point to the black, sparkly device poking out of his pocket. It only became visible when Chris subconsciously went to rub his beard, under a trance at the sight of you. 

“Yeah, the bartender found it. I told her I’d give it to you.”

You go to retrieve it from his pocket, but stop short again, reminding yourself you shouldn’t be that handsy with him. He takes that as a cue, and returns the phone to its rightful owner.

You check the time. 1:39 am. Yeesh.

“I know, right?” It must’ve shown on your face. “I didn’t even notice half the party cleared out,” he says while looking at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You chuckle lightly as you take in your surroundings for the first time in God knows how many hours. Had I really lost track of time, giggling with him all night? Yes sis, you did.

Tens of people are scattered about, trash is being cleaned up, and some of the younger staff are taking advantage of the photo-op area. Meanwhile, Chris is rambling about something, cutely at that, but you don’t tune in until he asks, “Do you?”

“Do I…”

He chuckles and says, “Have a place to stay in Boston yet? I always wait until the last minute to find a place when I’m filming out of town.”

You cock your brow. “Are you offering?”

“Ha! No ma’am! I enjoy my bachelor’s pad how it is. Just me and my best boy, Dodger.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mmhmm, just a pair of dysfunctional, male codependents.”

“So, it’s a no girls allowed ordeal?”

“No, it’s just--”

“A different girl every night, and they’re on their merry way by morning?”

“No--”

“Oh, so--”

“WILL YOU LET ME TALK?! Jeez woman...” You both giggle at your antics and his feigned frustration. He rakes a hand through his hair before he begins again, but you attempt to cut him off one last time for fun. “Wow, ok!” He makes like he’s going to walk away, but you catch him by the wrist to keep him in place.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry!” You say between laughs and tugs on his arm. “Look, I’ll zip it,” Chris turns to you as you mime zipping and locking your lips. He puts his free hand out, not wanting to lose this physical contact with you, motioning for the imaginary key. You oblige. 

“Thank you, and for good measure...” he tucks the “key” in his pocket. You’re admiring the deep, rich tone of his voice when he gently places his hand over your mouth, his other hand still in your hold. Your brain is short-circuiting and your heart is skipping several beats.

“I was going to say,” wow, your eyes are just... wow.  “It’s more like a different girl every other night, gone by dawn.” 

You scoff and swat his hand away from your mouth, and now you both laugh at his antics. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he quickly reassures, as if you couldn’t tell it was a joke. 

“No, I just really value my space, ya know? Not that I don’t appreciate guests, because I really do! You should see me; I host a WICKED game night.”

“Oh, I bet.”

“I just have to be... never mind. That’s more than what you asked for.”

“No, no, what is it? You can tell me.”

“I guess, I just have to be… selective, about who I invite into my--”

“Game night?”

“You’re quite the smart ass, huh?” You smirk and shrug, but it’s true: you love to crack jokes-- good or bad, for better or for worse-- especially with people you’re comfortable with. We’re not that comfortable, though. We just met.

“I get it, though, truly. Especially in this line of work,” You pause for a moment, fiddling with your fingers before you ask, “Don’t you ever feel like you can’t tell someone’s intentions? Like, you can’t tell if someone wants to be around you for you or... for what they think they’ll get in return. It’s just easier to stay in your own, comfortable bubble sometimes. I don’t know…”

The way you asked made Chris think you were looking for some words of advice more than agreement. “Well, sussing out someone’s intentions is difficult, but gets easier with experience. And not just experience with dealing with a bunch of slimes balls, but experience in listening, trusting your gut when it talks to you.” He gives you a warm smile, and you give a half one back, the thoughts of your very recent past preventing your smile from being full, bright, the way Chris came to know it tonight. In that moment, he found himself missing it.

Sensing the heaviness, Chris changes the subject, “So, uh… have any plans after this?” 

“At damn near 2 am?”

”Clearly you’ve never hung out in New York because this is considered too early to go home. This city never sleeps, ya’know? ‘S how it got the nickname.”

“No, I didn’t know that! Thanks for the tip.”

“Yeah, yeah of course, anytime.” The sarcastic back-and-forth leave you two smiling and gazing in each other’s eyes. Why do we keep doing this?

You clear your throat, “But, uh, no… well yes. Heading back to the hotel to get some Z’s. Gonna be at iHeartRadio tomorrow for a show, and I have to be alert for it.” You serve an overexaggerated focus face, to which he laughs at.

“Well, you could always have coffee.”

“Mm-mm, nope, no coffee for me. I’m still hoping to grow a few more inches.”

He sizes you up, “I don’t know, I think you’re just about done sprouting, Kid.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

He drops his head a little and pouts his lip like a sad puppy, “Only Mackie can call you that...”

“Right! Don't make me tell you again. There won’t be a third time. Just, a consequence I have not thought of yet.” He lightly laughs as you continue, “Anyways, it’s an acoustic set, and I need real energy, real focus, ‘cos I feel like mistakes are far more noticeable when it’s stripped back, and I gotta be all here for it,” you tap your temple.

He nods, “Not only a smart ass, but quite the critic, too? Dangerous combination.” You shrug again. What can you say? You’re particular when it comes to music. “An acoustic set though— should be awesome! Who’s playing?”

...uuuummmm…  You start and stop your reply a couple of times, before awkwardly laughing. Maybe he’s just messing with me… “It’s a secret,” you say with a wink.

“Hey! Kid, Captain Little Ass! I’ve been texting both of you! Come over here for a picture!” Mackie’s booming voice bursts your bubble, and the two of you make your way over. Scott, Ansel, Jaden, and a few other people who you probably should’ve met tonight are huddled in conversation. Mackie approaches you with his phone.

“You mind snapping a few pics of me and the boys? We’ll do a couple poses and then I wanna get you in there.” 

“Oh, it would be my utmost pleasure to snap some ‘pics’ of you and ‘the boys’.” 

While they sort out their poses, you make with unlocking Mackie’s phone. It opens to Mackie’s and Chris’ text chain, and what you see sinks your heart a little bit. Well, damn. 

“Hey Kid, we’re ready,” Chris says with a smirk that quickly dissipates when you unintentionally scowl at him, stewing in your thoughts. He thinks it’s because you really don’t like the nickname, but boy is he so wrong.

Anthony was insistent on getting you in a picture, no matter how many times you declined saying you weren’t “picture ready”, when really you were too annoyed to prolong this night any longer. He waved over one of the gawking busboys, no doubt in awe of being in the same room as Shmaptin Shmerica.

As you handed the busboy the phone, he whispered he was a “big fan”, Oh. Really?, and “couldn’t believe” he was meeting you. You thanked him with a kind smile and offered to get a picture with him afterwards, Chris watching the endearing interaction. I’ll have to ask her what she’s been in so I can watch it.

Chris watched you as you scanned the group for a good spot to fit in, then go in the opposite direction of where he stood. After a few snaps, Chris yells, “EVERYBODY: NEW SPOTS, NEW POSE!!” Everyone scurries around, but you being stubborn, stay put. He inevitably finds his way to you, but you ignore his presence.

A few more pictures are taken. Everyone’s smiling their Hollywood smiles, but then there’s you on the end, just mean mugging. On the last picture, Chris puts his arm around your shoulders. The nerve, the GALL, the cologne… no, NO! Get it together! When the photos are done, you quickly go over to the busboy and make good on your promise of a picture with him. You can feel Chris’ eyes on you.

After a couple of selfies, Chris offers to take a picture for you both. When your fan is satisfied with the picture and gets back to work, Chris comes over to resume conversation with you, but you’re too in your head to hear him. You just see his plump, pink lips moving. Damn him and his good looks, and perfect lips and—

“How’s that sound?”

“How’s what sound?”

“Coffee— in Boston.”

“I’m sure there is some, but I thought y’all were more known for your tea parties.” He laughs and your breath is arrested by the beautiful sound, deepening your conflicted feelings. He seems so genuine, but the texts…

“I meant, when we’re both back in Boston, going out for coffee— with me?”

If he would text that, what does he want so badly to see me again for? *gasp* He must think I’m a quick fu— “Why?”

He’s taken aback by your curtness. What does she mean ‘why’? I thought we had a good time tonight, and I want to see her again… “Because ‘here’s to good company’, remember?” He recounts your toast from earlier in the evening, raising his hand to mime a glass in the air for emphasis. He lets his hand fall awkwardly at the sight of your unamused face.

“Good company, huh? Even for a ‘airheaded wannabe’?”

What is she talk… It hits him like a ton of bricks. 

It’s you. YOU are the musician girl Mackie and Scott wanted him to meet. YOU are the one playing the set tomorrow, and that’s why you have fans wanting pictures with you. But most of all, YOU had seen his blind judgments of you. FuuuuUUUUUUcccckkk.

“Shit. Listen, I—“

“Have to call it a night and get some rest. Wouldn’t want hot air to be the only thing coming out of my mouth tomorrow. Good night, Chris.” With that, you quickly brush past him, and walk over to say goodbyes to your co-stars. You all share your excitement for starting filming next week, and they wish you well on your show tomorrow.

You make your way to the elevator, but not before you look back for Chris, who’s nowhere to be found. You hoped you’d see his face, and there’d be a look in his eyes that would tell you that tonight wasn’t a waste, that he was as genuine as you’d read him to be and that you’d only read those texts wrong. 

But those blue eyes weren’t around for you to drown in. You figured he went somewhere to be pissed about his efforts coming up fruitless. No different than the rest.

Part 3

[medranochav]

my moms been living with us for 4 months now. her stay was initially tolerable but is now triggering and I find myself regressing in a lot of ways. Her grief has evolved into torment and per her m.o. she'd like for her issues to take first priority. Except, my sis and I are grown now, and as a therapised household (literally we've all been in counseling, babies included) though we still lean on each other for support, we ultimately don't function codependently.

And beeecause that's not how we grew up, I think my mother is now having to contend with the reality that she has to do the emotional work of surviving her many traumas (and currently her many dramas) on her own. We support her but we can't fix it for her.

Currently, it's a crisis a day and she's spiraling into mini catastrophic states everytime. Which was sufferable at first because despite my labored support, I still maintained my boundaries and didn't adopt her distress as my own. The problem now is the increasing frequency with which these crying spells are taking place. Not to mention the fact that she's been doing so in front of the kids; something that would normally be acceptable because my sis and I make space for feelings (even our own) in our home. The difference being, we do so responsibly. We listen, we talk, give affection and/or space but always with the fundamental knowledge that our emotions belong to us individually and only we can be accountable for them. A gentle reminder that though part of a unit, they still have agency and accountability.

This interdependency makes way for a more compassionate exchange. Whenever they see us cry or be vunerable, the kids have the wherewithal to approach us without attaching themselves to our emotional circumstance. It's an empathy that perceives our emotional reactions as relatable but still not their responsibility. I've seen our work proven time and time again.

One example is when my sister's [redacted] died and the boys spotted her crying on the couch. Without being prompted, they approached her independently, commiserated, hugged and kissed her and shortly after went back to playing on their electronics. It was such a graceful display of emotional validation that demonstrated their love for her without sacrificing their own desires in doing so. Truly remarkable, that at ages 5-8 they maintained boundaries while still being there for their mom.

They're also there for one another but it's seldom a sinking ship. And when emotional support is rejected they respect that as well, without taking it personally [tbh that has more to do with concepts of mandatory consent that we impart on them, but as is evident, it applies. #intersectionality] It's an ongoing practice that I'm proud to be a part of, considering the kids have codependent figureheads in both their maternal and paternal families. WE'RE TRYING TO BREAK CYCLES HERE.

Yes, our home is a safe space for emotional processing but always leveraged with the emotional balance of self reliance, awareness and resiliency. The kids have proven to have the capacity for this and through teaching them, so do we.

It's human to have outbursts, but my mother's pattern is proving to be less intrinsic and more deliberate. She needs an audience in order to experience catharsis. A potentially reasonable behavior except for it's her only one. So it's imbalanced and seeks refuge in the reliance of our total empathy.

Furthermore she's disingenuous in her emotional performances. When approached out of concern, she responds with the proverbial, "I'm ok." Like, its subtle but super manipulative to say that, when we can CLEARLY see she's not. The kids see and hear her, the least she could do is not gaslight them. And I'm not saying her tactics are successful but it exposes the bby's to unnecessary dysfunction and covertly teaches them to assume the responsibility of communicating her emotion for her. She's also non verbal and unpredictable and tho not at her best rn [like, literally who is? this year has wrecked us all] she and we deserve proper communication.

The mind games are soul sucking and triggering for me in a way that is not for my sister. Though we share a mother, the repective versions of her that we experienced as children differ greatly.

My sister's the eldest and spent the first couple years of her life as the only child to a very young mother living alone in America after being displaced by the civil unrest in her native El Salvador. By age 3, with the addition of a new baby sister (my moms 2nd) she was sent to a country fully at war. My sisters would spend the next half decade of their lives in sunny wartorn tropics, watched over and raised by our family of four women. A blissful antithesis to their future with our mom. Upon the return to their forgotten country of origin (USA) and severed from the only family and community they've ever known, the girls were whisked away by a mother they barely remembered and a baby brother they had never met... marking the beginning of my mom's descent into single motherhood.

My mom resented having a brood of kids, namely her 2nd and 3rd, who's father was abusive and absent. Don't know much of the facts outside of what she would ritualistically berate my siblings about during her brutal tantrums -as if it were their fault they simply existed. The second born, my other sister, left home at 12 and has been estranged ever since and the third, my brother, has recently severed bonds abruptly claiming a new life with a woman he's known barely a year yet now calls wife. Proving that despite being raised by the same woman we all had different mothers.

Since my siblings endured a childhood with a volatile, violent woman who managed her emotions thru physical abuse... when she wasn't, she was neglectful of them, turning her attention onto me... the youngest (four years removed from the rest of the pack). I bore witness to said abuse until I was 5, when it was litigiously exposed, forcing her to abandon corporal punishment and rely solely on mental/emotional abuse. That's the version of my mom I got.

I was 10 when my sister left for college. Just my brother and I remained. Similarly to each other we both lived in service to our mother. Whereas his duties were more physically laborious, mine consisted of full on emotional labor. I spent most of my childhood navigating a homelife that was so saturated and occupied by my mother's opera of a life, that there was no room for my feelings, thoughts, desires or identity. I was her plaything, a person sans agency. My age and vulnerability proved advantagous when grooming me. I learned to behave in ways satisfactory to her needs. I was made to react to (and collect) her emotional distress, endorse her judgements of others, perform well in school as a testament to her rearing, and accept her violations of me as normal. I was a shackled spectator, whose own emotions were mere reflections of her dramatizations. I was tailored to be the MOST convenient. So I kept secrets and coped alone. I knew just enough abt myself to remain human but lacked the vision to actualize it. And because emotional abuse is so insidious in its indoctrination, I was really none the wiser until I too moved away years later.

I'm almost 30 now and I'm a mess. I can't establish enduring relationships, I'm fat, I'm broke, I'm debilitatingly avoidant, socially inept, codependent, confused and lack significant self worth. I spent the past decade delving deep into undoing all the work done to me to keep me a reliable supply for my mother and coming to terms with all the time lost in doing so. I've had glimpses and proof of another life but this year sent me back to old coping mechanisms and devastatingly familiar relationships. I read that by its very nature, all pandemics have to end and I thought I was strong enough to share a definite time&space with my abuser for the foreseeable future.... but with no end in sight, I kind of really wish I had established a clearer version of myself and where I stand in this family, to her.

Similar predicaments flung us both to the south and having her here is like a screen forging images of the same dysfunction I exhibited upon my arrival 7 years ago. There's so much I wish I could tell my former self, namely, "it's not your fault. you're not alone. you don't have to try so hard and tomorrow is another day" And perhapz it's this layered vision of myself as seen thru her that compels me to want to save her, but doing so requires me to get too close to a flame I've yet to extinguish. Im not foundationally sound enough to go up in flames and rebuild afterwards, I need a few more rounds of therapy for all that. I'm a stitch away from coming apart at the seams. Weak construction, but I'm still standing. I have more life to live and can't risk the breeze of my mother's chaotic whims to topple what's taken years to forge. I love her, because she's the only mom I got and because she's the kids' only access to our motherland. How can I reconcile this version of me with this version of her?

[adhdeancas]

17, 19, 20, plus one you'd like to answer

 17. Do you like the brother's codependency entertainment wise? 

 yes and no. i would've loved to see them work through it and their relationship develop even more (like the stuff about sam leading and dean taking a backseat while he did that! why didn't that continue?) but unfortunately i think the writers were kinda stuck in their ways about The Boys Are Dysfunctional! Lots of shows forget their characters can grow without the show becoming boring 

 19. Best Cas/Dean, Cas/Sam, Cas/Jack scene? 

 Best Cas/Dean: that scene where they go fight the giants or whatever! both of them being bitchy, Dean being a happy dork and just waiting for Cas to laugh at him and not worrying about the death in front of him because he's with Cas. they like each other SO much 

 Cas/Sam: these guys. These insane bitches. I love them. anytime they're alone together (rare) and do something insane. I'm gonna go with them going behind Dean's back to work on MOC stuff, just in general. I loved that. Brothers-in-law 

 Cas/Jack: Cas in heaven when he takes the Empty deal - Jack being surrounded by loving parents is a weakness and I liked that Kelly got to see Cas and Jack together and I just love Cas's love. Also that scene where Cas tells Jack he's not his usefulness and admits that he's also scared? amazing parenting. amazing. i love cas. 

 20. Favourite villain? 

Okay my knee jerk is Crowley (yes ana) but i also stopped thinking of Crowley as a villain YEARS ago. after season 7? i think? he's just a delightful gay dude that hangs around. so beyond Crowley, I'm gonna say Metatron for personality and Azazel for scariness

Extra: 

I forget the number oops, but : Rank the Sam hairs.

1. Season 1: classic, cute, he looks like a normal dude! love him. this is my haircut except my hair is curly as fuck. i’m biased.

2. Season 12: this may just be a good picture but the hair framing the face is great. i love it 

3. Season 4: he looks hot. hot girl summer. boyking was hot you heard it here first

4. Season 10: luscious locks. did i spell that right. it looks like he straightens it every morning. he might.

5. Season 14: look at the style. look at the sass. hot bitch

Season 13: it’s a cute little wlw bob. i see you wlw sam

Season 15: he looks like he has bad hair. how’d they do that?

Season 2: maybe it’s my sentimentality, but i liked it. another transition phase though i was confused by it first watch through

Season 5: neutral. it’s not good, it’s not bad

Season 11: he doesn’t know what he’s doing here but he’s getting there

Season 6: ehhhhhhh

Season 9: it looks shiny and healthy but what is that style, huh? bob but make it boring.

Season 8: it was shaggy and long and weird-looking and kinda reminds me of a sheepdog but at least it was shiny

Season 3: controversial take but season 7 is worse

Season 7: look at the spikiness. gross. who told you to get muttenchops in the 2010s and then not be outwardly queer? 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Lover, I Was Lonesome || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Deirdre struggle to find a new normal

CONTAINS: brief mentions of parental abuse, dysfunctional death gals

The day after she’d screamed and fought, Morgan put herself on three different therapist’s waiting lists.‘The strain of the holiday season makes this a very high traffic time for us, unfortunately,’ one receptionist said. To which Morgan replied, ‘Gee no kidding!’ before fumbling with her Decap while the lady assured they’d get to her as soon as possible. Then came the embarrassing Google searches, followed by the books, most with not-so-fun fill-in-the-blank work sections. Between learning about her anxious attachment style and questioning some of the healing codependent advice (why shouldn’t she put her partner’s needs first as often as possible?), Morgan hit her limit within a few hours most days and spent the rest of her time cooking and trying to be normal. She made a lot of casserole, a lot of soup, and spent the quiet hours searching for a conversation that wouldn’t hurt or turn complicated. Today the special was broccoli and cheddar with a soft baguette from the grocery store. Morgan smiled hopefully as she presented the tray. “Hope this tastes as good as it looks. How’re you doing today?”

Deirdre had developed a system, or rather, had devised a plan. She was ready and willing to do whatever she needed to make things okay, and had spent her hours staring off and running scenarios in her head. She could do this, or that and each thing had its risk and success rate and for a while, for the moment, she felt confident she could fix things. She felt hopeful. Caring for Morgan was a thought she welcomed into her mind, far more desirable than the other thoughts that lingered. She straightened up and beamed at her girlfriend as she entered, soup on a tray. “Well it smells great, thank you.” In truth, she was a little tired of the soup, the constant liquid meals had started to make her feel like she didn’t have teeth. Sometimes she snuck around for an apple just to remember how to bite things. But she smiled, shifted, and welcomed Morgan to her. This was part of the plan, and the plan had been carefully thought out. It needed to be perfect. It began in a way she considered simple, with the fae. “I’m doing well, thank you. Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Mirrored District. Did I ever tell you what the fae did for Lydia?”

Morgan set down the tray and busied herself with making Deirdre more comfortable, piling and fluffing the pillows around her and elevating her legs. She didn’t mind Deirdre straining herself where exchanging comfort was concerned, but anything else seemed cruel now. Slowly, she eased herself into Deirdre’s side, resisting the urge to tangle up completely. “Where should I touch you, or is there a tense spot in your muscles I can try to work out? I’m okay with doing that for you, right now.” She gave a guilty half-smile, acknowledging there was no guarantee how long she would feel this way. “And no, or I was too upset to listen. I remember you said it was beautiful, and kind. I am glad to know that much. I’d want that to remain somewhere.” She tried to imagine something kind coming out of the fae funerary rites Deirdre had allowed her to partake in. It didn’t seem possible, but stranger things had happened in this world.

Deirdre shook her head; Morgan wasting her time worrying about her was not a part of the plan. “Oh, it’s fine. You’re tired now, and if you stop suddenly, I don’t think I’ll remember not to look hurt about it. Like that time when you were massaging my back and got that phone call?” Morgan’s back rubs were a strange occurrence; though more welcome as time progressed. So welcome, in fact, that when Morgan had paused to look at her phone, Deirdre had twisted around with such pain and betrayal in her eyes that she rivaled Anya being told she could not have the food from Deirdre’s plate. Needless to say, such a look could be a powerful thing. And her plan was important. But even so, moods to be doting should be answered, especially if it was what Morgan wanted. “Here, take my hand.” Her wrist was still wrapped from the burn (it would scar, much to her chagrin) but her nails had great luck growing back. “It feels stiff from the nails and, you know, it’s fun to hold.” And she didn’t think she’d suffer too greatly if Morgan abandoned her task. “Well, often, the fae plant trees, or flowers or whole gardens, and take great care to grow them in a certain fashion. Not all fae have the same rites, but I’ve found that practice to be the most common form of remembrance.” She closed her eyes. “There’s this beautiful tree for Lydia in the local aos sí.” She opened her eyes and turned to Morgan with a soft smile, more telling in its emotion than she meant it to be. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me to see it, one day. I’d like to take you.”

“Just in my head, my body doesn’t really, you know...” Morgan mumbled in protest, but she didn’t really mind taking on something more chaste and less charged with memory. She settled in and took Deirdre’s hand, carefully massaging the muscles in her palm and fingers. When Deirdre made her offer however, Morgan went stiff. “Are you…” Sure? That sounded so stupid. “I just mean, I know how important those spaces are to you, and what they’re probably going to think of me, and you by association. I don’t want you to get hurt or wind up in some local fae politics mess because of me when we’re not even--” Together. Us. “I don’t want to taint Lydia’s memory or the closest thing she has to a grave for you. You should be sure…” She finally lifted her eyes to meet Deirdre’s and stilled again, jaw slack, as she took in her expression, how openly she dared to want this. Morgan swallowed thick and shivered, feeling her fear rising. “I always want to be a part of your world, Deirdre,” she whispered, just as earnest. “Of course I would like to. I want you to show me everything, I just...you shouldn’t risk your world for me right now. One day when things are better with us, when you’re really, really sure…” She nodded. Yes. Please. Morgan couldn’t think of anything more precious for them to share, and Deirdre made it sound so simple, even effortless she wondered at her inability to grasp it.

“Well, when your head gets tired…” she let the sentence trail off with a kiss to Morgan’s forehead, as if she could bring life and energy back to it—or bring it rest. “We’re not even—“ Deirdre repeated, filling in the gap. She blanched. “A-are we not still dating?” Had they broken up in some silence that she wasn’t aware of? She knew their circumstance now, but even so, she continued to think of Morgan as her girlfriend. She wasn’t sure if she could think of her any other way. Her plan didn’t include it, didn’t consider it. She faltered.  “Oh, uh, I can just tell them you’re important to me then. They should understand that.” She swallowed. “And it’s us. Our world. The fae world is...yours too. You’re not fae, no, but you’re important to me and I’ve already told you that I don’t want to be where you’re not welcome. I won’t let them say anything about you.” Most fae she spoke to already knew she was in love with a non-fae, and she bore their judgement with a smile. “I’m already really, really sure, I promise. But if it’d be better shared when things between us are less….as they are now, I can wait.” She met Morgan’s eyes and grinned. Hope fluttered in her chest, and gratitude mouthed from her lips. “I’m okay with it,” she assured again. She had been okay with it for quite some time. Gone were the days of fear. She loved Morgan completely now, unrestrained. She couldn’t imagine loving her any other way. “You might still get some harsh comments though...but hopefully we can set them right.”

“I don’t know what we are right now,” Morgan said. More than friends, less than lovers in the strictest sense. They cared, deeply, and Morgan knew that the quiet days ahead of them would be spent figuring out how to be better to each other and themselves. But it didn’t seem right to call this by the same name as what they had before. For the earth’s sake, until recently, Kaden had been more of an emotional support than Deirdre in the wake of Lydia’s death. As Morgan held Deirdre’s gaze, squeezing her hand through her fear, she realized that she took a little comfort in having an escape hatch, in the freedom to think of Deirdre as whatever she needed to from one moment to the next. “I think we’re figuring that out. Or I am, at least,” she said.

But Deirdre was certain. To hear her speak of Morgan as someone to turn away from this place for, to find joy in, you’d think nothing had happened between them at all and Morgan’s choice was a foregone conclusion and everything would somehow be alright even though Morgan’s heart still throbbed with hurt, burning to run and hide. Morgan sputtered for words. “Let’s wait, please, ask me again, l-later, I-I—-” Don't understand how this is so easy for you. I just told you I could hurt you again and I have every good reason to, this shouldn’t be easy for you, but you weren’t the one dropped on her ass and shut out so maybe— Morgan shut her eyes, doing her best to block out the sudden deluge of thought. “I’m scared,” she whispered, voice tremulous. “Can we just lay here?”

“Oh.” Deirdre’s eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly. Her voice was a quiver, small enough to get lost under any other sound. It nearly did; suffocated by their ticking clock. “I understand,” she said, though she didn’t really. Not entirely, at least. There was a small chance Morgan would emerge from her thoughts, and from the passage of time, and decide that she enjoyed being unattached from Deirdre. Her stomach twisted. Her plan began to crumble. “That’s okay.” But it wasn’t really. “I can wait, no matter what conclusion you come to.” And she could, but now her waiting was plagued by strange thoughts. Did she tell people? Would Morgan? Was it wrong to hold her then? Would Morgan be kissing other people? Should Deirdre? Why did Morgan want her here then, if that was the case? What exactly was there to figure out? She asked none of them, and smiled slowly, her brows pulled together. Whatever Morgan came to, Deirdre would accept, what else was there to do? She bit her lip and willed the conversation to move on before she cried quite pathetically about the topic. It was her fault, anyway, and she needed time to parse a new plan in her head.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. For several things, but for the moment, right then, for speaking of Morgan as her love. Perhaps it was a thing to roll out cautiously now; she’d have to think about it. “We don’t have to talk about that. I’m sorry.” She held her tighter, shaking her hand from Morgan so she could clasp both around her. “It’s okay. Yeah, we can just lay here. I’ll be quiet.” She swallowed.

Morgan buried her face in the crook of Deirdre’s neck, eyes squeezed violently shut. Even if the sad puppy swell of Deirdre’s eyes didn’t give her away, she could feel the other woman hurting underneath her. Morgan considered getting up. Don’t do this, don’t make me feel guilty for what you started, don’t make me sorry for being hurt— But more frightening than Deirdre’s devotion was Morgan’s own frustration. She hurt from her loneliness, from the memory of being shut out and rejected, and from backing away from this. This world Deirdre occupied so happily was so close, Morgan could sink her hand into it, but her skin felt like it would erupt in spikes if she did. Everything was fine a minute ago, she could almost believe in sleep again, almost believe in falling into this piece without having to think about it again,  it was so, so fine. Why was she thinking about running now? Why couldn’t she get a grip and just explain herself? (Because her trust was shattered, and her faith in the future as a matter of course along with it. She knew this, but that didn’t make her prickle with something like self-loathing all the same.)

Morgan tried to distract herself with slow, stiff breaths, wrestling her panicked mind for control as she worked her words as steadily as she could get them. “You don’t have to—I didn’t mean it like—I just need a minute. You have to give me a minute, give me time…”

“I’m sor—“ The words died on Deirdre’s tongue. She loosened her grip around Morgan, freeing her to leave if she needed to, yet steady enough against her if she wanted to stay. Morgan had said a minute, and Deirdre counted dutifully in her head. She didn’t speak anymore, nothing about how it was okay or how much she loved her. Her face held a tender expression, though under her affection, she didn’t offer anything more—no pain, no sadness, no confusion. This wasn’t a part of her plan, and she imagined it, Morgan would have been soothed by the show of devotion. It was a look, I still love you, I still want you, I’m here, we can have this. It had been ten seconds when Morgan hadn’t left, Deirdre’s hold tightened. Thirty seconds, she was still there, Deirdre pulled her in again. Sixty seconds. “It’s been a minute,” she said, loosening her grip again. “Do you need another?” She paused before she started the count again. She dared to try something more bold—or in their case, more gentle. “We can go outside. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

Morgan scrambled to sit up. “Yes, I need another,” she hissed. There was no anger this time, only a clenched, earnest effort at self-control. “I need five, ten, I don’t know!” Outside sounded good. Calming. Quiet. Morgan made to rush out of the room, maybe what she needed was in the fresh air, or in more time to herself (stars, she’d had so much fucking time to herself already)—Morgan stumbled, crashing into the wall as she slipped on Deirdre’s cane. Deirdre. Right. She picked it up and fumbled to lean it against the couch within reach. Her hands were clumsy and shaking, but at least when it fell for the third time, it was somewhere close. “Ten,” she said suddenly. “You can find me in the garden in ten and ask if I’m ready.” She looked at Deirdre’s sad, giving face, and didn’t know who she was upset with more. She rushed herself back to the door, calling hoarsely behind her, “I’m not where you are right now. You pushed me away too good and I’m just not there right now, I’m—” Sorry, she wanted to say she couldn’t afford to apologize for this. Morgan ran the rest of the way out of the house. It was funny, even when she curled up on the brittle winter grass, riding out her panic with tearful gasps, she curled her hand against herself as if Deirdre’s was still in it.

Deirdre sat up with Morgan, releasing her from her arms. “I’m sor—“ the words died in her mouth again. She wanted to know what she had done, or what she could’ve. Did Morgan want longer than a minute? Should she not have counted? Her answers came tumbling at her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from apologizing again. She watched Morgan stumble, and her hands reached out and receded like it were a dance. Every time she wanted to help Morgan, she remembered that she had caused this and pulled back. But every time she pulled back, she remembered that she wanted to help her. “Ten.” She repeated; she could do ten. “I didn’t push you awa—“ She swallowed and shut that sentence down. She had been gone for days not by her own desire, and she had grieved so clumsily not by her own understanding. But the semantics weren’t important. Morgan was hurt still. And Morgan needed time. Ten minutes, to be exact. She didn’t ask where Morgan thought she was right now; the only place she’d ever been was where she loved Morgan devotedly and pure. She didn’t ask what it meant that Morgan wasn’t there. (Would Morgan be kissing other people?) She sat still, she watched Morgan leave, and she counted. After two minutes, she realized ten was a long time to be staring at their patio, and turned to the soup. Broccoli and cheddar was a nice flavour, all things considered. It occupied her until six minutes ticked by. It took another two for her to grab her cane and move outside. She leaned up against the frame, calling out, “are you ready?” She moved closer and asked again in a quieter voice.

Morgan had never timed her bouts of panic before, but she could tell a minor episode from something more serious. By the time Deirdre came out, her tremors had ceased and her mind, so tired, was floating somewhere beyond her dead eyed stare into nothing. Maybe it was with the stars. Deirdre had loved to comment on those. The world unfroze at the sound of her voice and Morgan nodded mutely before she realized it was evening and she was laying in the grass and she should probably use her words. Slowly, she pushed herself up until she was sitting. She did not meet Deirdre’s face but she did call out, “...Yes. Thank you,” with only a little embarrassment about her gracelessness.

Deirdre nodded, she had been prepared to start the count again, but wouldn’t act like she wasn’t happy to be by Morgan’s side again. She dug her cane in the ground and limped over there until she was close enough to throw her cane aside and fall to the ground. “What does it?” She asked, trying to scoop Morgan back into her arms. “Is it holding you too tight? Kissing your skin? Is it my words?” She wasn’t sure she could stop, if the answer was loving Morgan, but she could sidestep her displays of affection, if it would help. And though she might just have been asking to be run from again in trying to figure it out, she couldn’t stop until she knew how to be better for Morgan. She needed her answer, she needed her plan, and if it took another ten minutes and another after that, she’d wait. “Should we not talk about us? Whatever’s better, please tell me.” Her arms found their place around Morgan, anchoring herself against her. But loose, as she learned to, until she knew it was okay.

Morgan sagged against Deirdre without protest. It was nice here, in the curtain of her hair, the soft pillow of her chest. She didn’t rush to speak, just in case something clear and helpful came to her out of the ether. When it didn’t, she said, “It’s just so easy for you. I don’t understand how it’s so easy for you. All these plans, these things you want, just talking about them like of course it’s gonna happen and there’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing that’s gonna go wrong...” The Deirdre she’d first known wasn’t like that at all and she found herself envious at this one’s fortitude. Morgan pressed one of Deirdre’s arms harder into her body. “It’s not holding me, I felt okay when you were. Fuck, it even felt good. Everything about how we were on the couch made me feel like, maybe we can do this, maybe it won’t be so hard. We were together and I felt like I was helping you and you were so kind even after the way I’d just been—” Morgan shut her eyes, chasing the memory. “And then you tell me about this huge thing, this amazing, important huge thing you want to do like it’s already decided, or almost decided, and you were so hurt when I said I don’t know what we are, but how could I possibly know? Everything broke! I was alone for almost a week, I spent days before that thinking you would go from pushing away my hands to not wanting to touch me or be with me at all. It’s not easy for me. None of this is easy and I can’t rush it or skip it. Yes, I still have my feelings for you, but that didn’t do anything to help me before this. And yes, I actually felt safe for just a few minutes, but none of that tells me when or if I’m going to be able to trust you enough to really be with you again. I don’t have that to give. And maybe I’m being stupid, but what freaks me out is—I feel like you’re asking me for that trust that I don’t have and I get scared that my only options are to cough it up or hurt you, or else it’s already being decided for me and I’m just supposed to come around...” Morgan pressed the end of her palm to her eyes, a preemptive measure against tears. She might still be on the downslope from her panic if her avalanche of thought was anything to go by, but Deirdre asked, and Morgan wanted to be good to her.

Deirdre eased them down, against the cool grass. “Loving you has always been easy,” she said, as though that might explain it. “Accepting that love...less so, but now that I have...it’s also easy. In that it comes naturally, at least. Like instinct, like the only thing I want to do.” She stared up at the stars, she missed how easy it was to look at them all the way up there and forget what was happening down below. She’d lost that ability sometime in her youth, when looking at them, all she could think about how much it hurt her neck. But that ease had returned to her sometimes, in moments. “The ones we made,” she said after a while. “You asked me once what stars I liked. It’s the ones we made together up on that roof—the line, the squiggle. I tried to tell Lydia about it once, I don’t think she was so amused. But I like to look for them when I need it, they’re easy to find because they’re always there. It’s like that. It’s easy for me because nothing has changed in my heart or mind; it’s always there.” She closed her eyes, committing herself to the darkness without the line, the squiggle. Her heart thrummed slowly in her chest, each beat seemed to say the same thing—a song to Morgan. I love you, I love you, I love you. “I didn’t mean to make it sound that way. I just offered it. I’m just offering all of this. I don’t expect anything from you. It, um—it was sad to hear that you didn’t know what we were. I’m sorry I didn’t hide that better for you. But you don’t need to have it figured out, or trust me, I’m not asking I’m just...offering. Like you can or you can’t or you can sit in the middle it’s okay to me, all of it.” She sighed. “That’s all I meant.” The line and the squiggle, though steadfast, did not bring her answers. Her heart, though singing, did not give her the words to speak. And her mind, though hopelessly devoted, couldn’t untangle this mess. “Let’s just stay here, outside.”

Morgan shifted in Deirdre’s grasp, restless, until she flattened in the grass so the ground held as much of her as possible. For a while she didn’t speak, but stared up at the stars, trying to decide if she really did need to run again. Was it her fear making her skin itch, or was it her beast? Why did she still feel so relieved to have Deirdre next to her if she didn’t want to bundle herself off to deathly ever after? “It was easy for me too, before this,” she said at last. And it’s not a question of if I—love you.” She barely got the words out, breathing them more than speaking. Every time Morgan felt the words on her lips, she feared she was signing herself away to the unknown or admitting to something criminal. But stars above, she really did love her still, so much so it felt like a liability. There wouldn’t be anything to discuss or wait for if she didn’t. “It wouldn’t be fair to be with you without trusting you. And I don’t think I’d want to anyway, not after what we had before. But I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have your feelings either, even if—” She laughed dryly as she finally realized their completely batshit reversal. “Even if, yes, from my own experience trying to date you, sometimes stuffing feelings that frighten the woman you want to spend more time with is the way to go. You follow her cues, you take her bursts of affection and her sudden silences, you try to figure out when she needs to be followed, when she needs you to keep away…” Morgan shrugged. She couldn’t help the way she was now anymore than Deirdre had been able to back then. “I am trying to be better too. This is at least better than what we did the last time I ran out of the room, right…?” Give me some credit for effort here, she asked silently.

She couldn’t help but look up on their constellations with fondness. “You can see both the squiggles out tonight,” she murmured after awhile, leaning a little closer so she could point them out and trace them with her finger. “There’s the little one, and the big guy. And the crooked bone, the pentagram, the great line…” Morgan lowered her hand, letting it fall next to Deirdre’s. Her fingers twitched, hesitating, but eventually slipped underneath the banshee’s and cradled them. She tickled gentle caresses along her fingers and lightly scratched letters into her palm (D-E-I-R-D-R-E). They had played this game on her shoulder once. Deirdre guessed wrong no matter how fast or slow Morgan moved, and she suspected it was just so they could have another innocent excuse to be touching. She could sense that soft place they’d shared on the couch like fresh cookies from a few rooms over. Not close enough to have, but she could find the way eventually if she tried. If she coaxed Deirdre into touching her hair again, or kissing her cheek, something to thrill her out of her fear... Morgan continued to play with their fingers as she thought. Their hands fit so right, and though the touch was only a whisper on Morgan’s own skin, her heart melted and quieted at once. If their world could just be a starry sky and thin grass and flowerbeds, if they could just fall in the water of memory and things hidden and wash themselves free of the past two weeks, there would be no question of if or maybe. Why did she need these questions so badly when ‘together’ was the thought that soothed her the most? She wasn’t sure, only that she did.

Morgan rolled herself until she was nestled against Deirdre, taking the banshee’s hand to cuddle with her. “This isn’t going to be easy for me. You know my history, Deirdre. I’m going to be a mess about this...” She kissed Deirdre’s knuckles and turned to the stars again. “Maybe we need some new constellations. What do you think?”

A thought rattled around in Deirdre’s head. A desperate explanation that she hadn’t left Morgan by her own choice; those days they spent parted were unfairly stolen from her, and her grief was a new creature she didn’t know how to tame. And then wouldn’t it all be okay? Wouldn’t that make all of it one silly mistake? Did she really need to accept that this could be one long, drawn-out ending? Things should’ve been okay, shouldn’t they have? But she had grown tired of fighting for herself; all she wanted now was to hold Morgan. And if this really was the end, she didn’t want to waste precious moments talking about herself. She shifted and tightened her hold, pulling Morgan flush against her body. “But I can’t have my feelings…” she mumbled, chasing the thought away with a sigh. “No, you’re right. It wouldn’t be fair. And anyway, don’t worry about me, it’s not so bad.” No, it was terrible. It was worse than bad, worse than worse. For a moment, she was lulled into thinking the comparison of this to how Deirdre had once acted would make the weight easier to carry. But this felt personal; it was her fault. She wanted to go back and ask that Morgan if it had felt personal to her then. Then she’d say it wasn’t, and ask if this was. “You want to feel good,” she said plainly, “and I can’t do that for you, not the way you’d need it now. You could get other people to make you feel good. I’m sure you know that already...but I just wanted to say it was okay. It might just be better...so it’s less scary.” Deirdre summoned forth every piece of training she knew about keeping her emotions hidden. She prayed that the tremble in her body and the quiver in her voice was invisible. “I mean you could sleep with other people, if you want.” She thought she did a good job of sounding measured, despite the circumstance. “A-and it was better. Thank you for that. And I’m sorry.” She’d gotten to the point now that she stopped knowing what she was apologizing for—every sentence dribbled apologetically. She might as well apologize for breathing or blinking or being herself; anything to make it right. Maybe time would take pity on her and skip to the end.

But she didn’t want Morgan to feel bad, and so she shut her mouth and dug her face into the crook of Morgan’s neck. Humor bubbled inside of her—wasn’t that what Morgan had tried when she was grieving? But where humor boiled and popped, where she pulled the strength to cover her emotional tracks, guilt toiled. She didn’t like keeping herself from Morgan like this, and especially not when she’d made the commitment to be more honest. It was wrong. It felt wrong. She raked her teeth along her skin, nipping at her shoulder; a distraction that went both ways. She couldn’t tell what Morgan was drawing in her skin, and she couldn’t ask to have it again. She got lost somewhere at the fourth line, so she made her own words roughly against Morgan’s flesh. Symbolically; even Deirdre thought it would be gauche if she started moving her teeth around in the shape of letters. Some acts of devotion were better left in the mind. “I like your mess,” she mumbled there, lifting her head up to take in the stars again. “And it’s fine, however it comes out, whatever you decide…” she trailed off. Sure enough, there were both squiggles, the bone and the pentagram. “I like our old constellations,” she smiled despite the pain that thrummed along her body. “But we can get new ones.” Deirdre lifted her free hand and traced the outline of one—once part squiggle and pentagram. “That one kind of looks like roadkill. See, it’s all flat and there are the ears.”

“Oh. Right.” Morgan burrowed her face into Deirdre, trying not to pout too obviously. I don’t want to sleep with other people, she wanted to say. Which was weird, because if Deirdre wasn’t so steadfastly monogamous, there would be a few friends in town she would consider propositioning for some casual fun. But Deirdre was that way, and Morgan didn’t want to hurt her. Please don’t say this, don’t hurt yourself like this. But could she really say that when she was asking for things to stay more open ended? Wasn’t that just more confusing, more cruel? Morgan shivered. What if they made contingencies for getting through the day more easily? What if Morgan could just stop feeling the echo of her world coming apart whenever Deirdre flexed her devotion like it was this great, infallible thing? “I um...don’t really know that I could...do that with someone else,” Morgan said, doing her best not to sound too upset. “But thank you. For...offering, for what this means…” Another, more distressing thought caught her: what if Deirdre wanted this too? Did she miss being pleasured, kissed, doted on? She wouldn’t, right? She wouldn’t be trying this hard if she felt like Morgan was too much of a broken mess to be with again, right? “Y-you know, it’s not even that I need to feel good,” she tried to explain. Well, it sort of was, she was so tired of her hurt and of herself. Any kind of relief from that with someone would do so much, she couldn’t even imagine it. But she didn’t want to invest her energy into looking somewhere else. She wanted this. “I just…” Need to be less terrified of going to pieces again. Need to feel like she wouldn’t. Not like she had on those days. Morgan shrugged, haplessly. She didn’t feel like it would make any sense, or any difference.

Stupidly, she found herself flashing a wide eyed look of affection at Deirdre as she said she liked her mess. “Really…?” With all the crying and the going from cuddling to panicking because stars forbid she surrender to some euphoric safety so absurdly complete there was nothing to catch her if she fell. Morgan kissed Deirdre’s knuckles again, harder, more urgently. I know it sounds fucked up when I can’t make up my mind, but please don’t give up on me, she wanted to say. Don’t build me a road away from you, just give me time, let me figure out my time… She cleared her throat, swallowing anymore building waterworks and followed Deirdre’s finger paint a new constellation. “Oh, I see it,” she said, beaming through her distress. “And what about that cluster over there, wait, that’s just Mars, but around it, there’s...maybe a chicken foot? Or maybe it’s a funny smile?” She wanted to press herself in harder, but she worried for Deirdre’s injuries, and how much she’d hurt herself for Morgan already. If only their hurt could unstitch itself and reform in a new shape as easily as their made up patterns in the stars.

Deirdre had rolled, more or less, practically, right on top of Morgan. “Hey,” she cooed, trying to stamp Morgan’s thought out. “It’s okay.” She pushed her face against her cheek, pressing her nose there and then her lips. “You could just make out with them. Or—well, it doesn’t matter so much. Just, whatever you need. It’s okay. If you change your mind about this tomorrow, it’s still okay. Or if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you don’t—“ She swallowed, trailing a series of rough kisses back from her cheek to ear. “—stop yourself on my account. That’s all. That’s all.” She wasn’t sure why she was arguing a point that made her insides twist with fear. But by way of her instincts, she felt some manner of distress in Morgan, and moved to soothe it—even though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was soothing, or if she had. She held her lobe between her teeth, tugging gently before she pressed another firm kiss there. The desire to capture Morgan’s lips started small, so small she could ignore it as she lingered there, trying to soothe. But it spread quick and vicious, like wildfire raging up and across her body. It would have been okay if only she didn’t lean back, if only she didn’t catch Morgan’s eyes on her for the flicker they had been. Her body shook. “Fuck,” she hissed and rolled back, still pressed against Morgan as firm and tight as she could be, but now acutely aware of the places they touched; they fit. Their legs tangled, her arm around her, Morgan’s lips against her knuckles. She burned. Every injury faded away until all that was left was desire, longing, and Morgan. It was bound to happen to her again at some point, she figured. But even flush with want, she could put herself aside.

“It—um—“ Deirdre swallowed, her voice was a deep rumble, but she chased the sound away by clearing her throat. “I—I’m not sure I like the funny smile. Feels like it’s laughing at me, and I can’t ask it what’s so funny. But a chicken foot I can deal with. You mean a dead chicken foot, right?” Not that there was any other noteworthy kind of chicken foot. But like this, she could distract herself with the stars. Or so she thought. Even as she lifted her hand to point to a new design, she brushed Morgan and the fire found fuel all over again. She hated the stupidity of it; Morgan wanted time and Deirdre wanted to give it to her but her body could be strangely impatient. It didn’t understand why they couldn’t be together. Now it burned, and the fumes claimed bits of her thoughts. Her fingers curled against the cool grass, pulling it up. She could remember each time they’d laid down—when they’d just kissed, when they’d done more. Over there was where Morgan had her fire for Beltane, where she held tenderly the memory of the Morgan who wept because she’d felt good finally. And, yes, as her body wanted to remind her, where they’d had sex. “That one looks kind of like another piece of roadkill.” She pointed it out. “Maybe a raccoon though, it’s got a long tail—see there?”

Wherever Morgan’s fear lived, it wasn’t where Deirdre’s lips touched her. She pressed into the touches, mewling quietly in the back of her throat as Deirdre sank her teeth into her. She dug her hands into her arm, fastening them together. This was the place she missed, where she was unfolded so carefully, she almost didn’t feel herself letting go at all. She couldn’t stifle the needy whine that came out of her when Deirdre rolled back. Morgan was still close, and she could rest Deirdre’s fingers against her lips and take a fingertip gently to her mouth and imagine that shore in their imaginary world washing over them. She reached for Deirdre’s cheek and stroked it with great care as she spoke. Morgan didn’t need her full sense of touch to know she was hanging on by a thread. Her voice quivered out of control, her hand trembled in her grasp, and for some reason Deirdre was willing to send her off to some woman’s bed if it would make her feel better and break and keep breaking, until Morgan was whole enough to come back on her own. Stars above, she couldn’t bear for them to be like this.

Carefully, she pulled herself close until their foreheads touched, and drew her hand down until her fingers brushed along Deirdre’s lip. She smiled with all the tenderness she had in her. “I did mean a dead chicken foot,” she said with a breathless laugh. “But that’s not what I really want to say. What I want to say is…” So much. Too much. Did Deirdre really love her so much that she would offer up a freedom that would break her own heart? But Morgan knew she did, even if it didn’t make sense. It was in her eyes, in her painful restraint. Her poor banshee, conditioned to withstand so much and falling apart so horribly because Morgan had insisted so many times that her feelings were precious. Would Deirdre take back this gift, maybe? No, Morgan had made her need to choose freely. It wasn’t the outcome she was especially concerned with (her heart would come home to Deirdre’s comfort, or it wouldn’t and she would make do with something much less after all). What Morgan wanted most was to have the power, and the choice. There was comfort there, in being the one with all the cards, but she didn’t want Deirdre’s heart to be one of them. That wasn’t something she wanted to play with or deliberate like it was a neutral object. It wasn’t. Stars help her and her mess, it wasn’t. So what did she want to say? How did she ask for what they both seemed to want so desperately?

“I think what I’m most scared of right now is falling apart as badly as I did again, and I don’t know if that’s something you can be sorry for, or fix,” she said at last. “And whether that’s just this moment and being close enough to really feel you after so long and knowing you’d let me go if I asked, or if that’s how it really is, I think I want to be done punishing you for what happened. Those are different things, see? And, yes, I still want to know what you believe in after all this, what your principles are going to be now, how you want to live with what you did to those people and who you want to be, that’s a really important conversation we need to have, but I don’t want to do it right now.” She paused to brush her thumb along Deirdre’s lip and meet her gaze, trying to gauge how well she was following her. “I’m not, um, not not-scared, like I said, but what I want right now is to take away a little bit of our pain. And I want you to know where I...feel like I’m home. And I’d like to do that by kissing you. Really, really kissing you. I don’t know what to do about what’s going on with me, but I know that much. But only if you want, if it won’t hurt.” Her thumb plucked Deirdre’s lower lip as she lowered her hand to cup her chin. They were so close, they might even be touching already and Morgan just didn’t notice.”You’ve hurt enough. Just tell me…”

Deirdre was sure she was dreaming. The cool of Morgan’s forehead against hers, the feeling of Morgan’s fingers—gentle, too gentle—across her face; all of it was too good to be true. She closed her eyes and opened them again; Morgan was still there, still touching her, still gentle. She looked up to the sky with its lines and squiggles, pentagrams, roadkill and chicken feet; Morgan was still there, still touching her, so gentle. Wasn’t this too much for her? It was almost too much for Deirdre, who didn’t have the heart or capacity to run away from it. “T-the roadkill…” she tried to fill the silence. She felt like begging her; please, please, look at the stars and not me. If she couldn’t kiss her, if she couldn’t love her, this was too much. But she couldn’t summon the words to tell her to stop either. Did it help, she wondered. Did this tenderness not mean the same to her as it did to Deirdre? Questions she would not ask. Instead, she watched Morgan, waiting. Searching her eyes for the answer that would fall out of her mouth a moment later.

It would have been easy to lean in and take what her body burned to have, what Morgan seemed to want to give. But for all of her desire, her heart continued to be stuck in one place. “But what about you?” She asked, sitting up, rubbing her eyes and forcing her body to stop all of its whining and yearning. “If it’ll hurt you more to do it, if it’ll confuse you or tamper with your choices then I don’t….I don’t want to.” She turned to look at Morgan. Her lips parted and drew together into a thin line, parted and thinned, parted and thinned. “I–I understand what you’re saying, I think. But please don’t worry about my pain. It’s fine, it’ll go away. But you–you–“ Her gaze fluttered around their backyard, as if answers might’ve lurked in the shadows. When she turned to look at Morgan again, she asked this time if she was sure. If she knew exactly what she was asking and exactly what it would mean. If she was okay ignoring her fear for the moment. It was a lot for her expression to say, a whole conversation unto itself, but she needed to know. Is this okay? Would it be? Was she sure? “You don’t have to, you know that, right?” Of course she did, of course she thought about that. Maybe they needed to have their conversations first before they crossed this line. They had their practice from the past, and the hodgepodge order of romantic operations they followed. But Deirdre had always liked their mess, their freedom of affection, and she leaned back down beside Morgan, forehead-to-forehead. More than anything else, she knew this: she was tired of all the time she wasted not being with Morgan when Morgan was all she wanted. And whatever it meant to be with her—waiting, not-kissing, holding her in silence—she would do it. There was nothing else she’d rather do. “Will it be just once?” She asked. “Because I can’t—well, I can, if that’s better. But you have to tell me so I can take as much air into my lungs as possible first. If it’s just one, I’d like to make it as long as I can.” She paused. “Only if it won’t hurt you too.”

Morgan probably should have thought of Deirdre’s questions in the half second she’d played this in her mind. But in her surprise, she only went still, following Deirdre’s movements, trying to keep up with her arguments, which endeared her with their selflessness as much as it maddened her, because here they were on the same page with their desire, again, and no one was crying and Morgan’s head buzzed with want, and how could they seriously be waiting while their stars aligned this perfectly and there was no telling how many minutes or hours it would be until they fell out of place again? Impulse control had never been their strong point when they were apart.

“Where I’m at right now is wanting to kiss you more than I’m afraid of breaking because of you,” she said simply. “And yeah, that’s new, and I don’t know how long it’ll be this way but...I mean, we already have safewords and touching games, right?” They didn’t have any for this situation yet, but Morgan trusted herself to come up with one in a minute if she needed to. “We can do things to manage our comfort levels and check in and make us...more safe.” She gave Deirdre a meaningful look that she hoped expressed how much she was trying despite the impulsiveness of her idea. “Tell me to stop or pause and I will. And you’ll do the same for me. Hasn't that always been true anyway?” She knew she was flattening a complicated situation into a few measures for the here and now, but ‘now’ was all Morgan could understand with any confidence. “I don’t ask you for things I don’t want. Which, considering my last few requests, this might seem weird and confusing, but that’s what this already feels like for me! Everything I’ve said to you tonight has been true, I promise!” She laughed sadly, well aware of the contradictions at play. “Even this part, about wanting to kiss.” She brushed her nose against Deirdre’s as she laid back down, welcoming her into her arms. “You can say no, we can go inside and get you cleaned up first, you can do whatever you need, whatever you want. But I don’t feel like it’s gonna hurt.” Morgan let out a shaky breath to steady her voice, hoping desperately that she was right. “I think it’s gonna be like having you back, and having a good piece of us back, too. And I definitely want that one big, long kiss to start with, but I’m feeling very open to more after that too.”

Deirdre nodded; at some point, she’d stopped parsing what Morgan was saying and had been watching her lips. At another, the blood thrumming in her ears had grown so intense she stopped hearing her entirely. Once she understood that this was okay—through some kind of osmosis—the rest didn’t seem so important. She moved, more or less, practically right on top of Morgan, and closed the distance between them. It had been weeks since she’d last kissed Morgan like this—fierce and heady—but her body remembered it just as much as it did breathing. She knew what Morgan liked, how Morgan liked it. She had one hand pressed against the small of her back, urging them closer. And the other tangled in her hair, tugging her back. It was a system of pushing and pulling, one her body ached to explore. Morgan was right, in the end, it didn’t hurt. And it did feel like being home, being them, having a shard of their world back. For as long as Deirdre could keep her mouth to Morgan’s—she would later thank her banshee lungs for their service—she could forget why exactly she wasn’t supposed to take this in the first place. It was always like this, just the two of them. Like they carved their own pocket of space and time and curled up in it together. She kissed her like she loved her more than air. She kissed her like she was sorry for the things she’d done, and hadn’t even done yet. She kissed her like she’d forgiven her for her sins too. She kissed her like revelation and benediction. Then she kissed her like a woman whose lungs were burning, but was too stubborn to part. She imagined that having passed out because she wanted to keep kissing Morgan for longer was funny, but ultimately meant that if there were to be more kissing after, she’d miss it. Now, if her mother had said while drowning her that these were skills she could use to make out with the woman she loved for longer, she would have been notably more excited about it. But she hadn’t, and now panic and old memory threatened to bubble over if she continued.

With a whine, she parted, rolling onto her back as she heaved in air. The world drizzled back into focus. First with the grass, cool and sharp. Then the wind, sporadic and whistling. And finally the sky, brilliant and familiar. Deirdre turned to Morgan, pressing her forehead to hers again. Her lips brushed hers, as if to ask quietly if she was still feeling open to more—and if that openness meant right now. There were mistakes to correct in that other kiss, after all. Things she had to make better. “How are you?” She breathed. “Are you feeling okay?”

Morgan devoured Deirdre’s lips as they kissed. She was starving. Stars above, the ache in her chest was starving the whole time for this: her touch, hard and tender and loving and right; the tickle of her tongue; the bite of her teeth; the home built by the push-pull of her hands on Morgan’s body and Morgan’s needy sounds in reply. There was no history, no pain, and no fear. Whatever between them mingled back and forth was beyond that. Morgan whined against Deirdre’s lips in welcome as much as longing. She could tumble head first into Deirdre like this and think nothing of it til it was too late. It was so easy, the snugness of Deirdre’s hold was almost like warmth, and it had been so long since she’d been warm. With each pull, the gravity around their affection grew heavier, and Morgan couldn’t quite remember why she wasn’t supposed to make herself a wholesale offering, not when this was the best she’d felt in weeks.

When they parted, Morgan stayed where she lay on the ground, gathering her bearings. Her body was still whole, her heart was still quiet, the world was still in place. I am here, she told herself. I am here. I am. I am. I am.

The smile she gave Deirdre as she came close again grew all its own, its tenderness unbidden and unbothered. “I’m okay,” she said, pressing a chaste kiss to emphasize her point. “In fact, I just had an idea for us that I think you’ll like. The first of which involves carrying you back inside. And I’m not accepting negotiations on that one. I can already see your nose turning color from the cold.” Morgan gave it a gentle boop, then sat up, gathering Deirdre and her cane into her ams and carrying her back to the great room. She set her down with care, and, eager to stay latched to her body in case the spell of comfort was broken by distance, settled herself at her side, cheek resting against her shoulder. “This is related, but before I explain anything, can you tell me how your body feels? I know there’s a lot to negotiate between your pain and healing and wanting to be like this, but I really don’t want you to hurt right now, Deirdre.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’m turning color from the cold but—oh!” Before Deirdre could get out some clever words about the heat of her body, she was up in Morgan’s arms, laughing as they moved. It felt beautifully normal for them, and with the ease, a pang of guilt. She remembered now why her body craved Morgan’s with such intensity, and why she couldn’t ask the things she wanted to ask. I missed you, she had wanted to say. I love you. Her laughter fell off her lips just in time for her body to fall on to their couch. Should she not be so happy now, knowing Morgan was still in the place of decision? But she was made blissful by simple things and, namely, Morgan-related things; kissing her, being with her, talking to her, listening to the things she had to say. Deirdre swallowed. “It feels…” she wrapped her arms around Morgan and thought about it. Confusion crawled across her face, but she continued to answer the question. “It feels fine? Good, even...if that’s okay. Light.” Happy. But even if that part was obvious, she didn’t admit it. The body could be such a simple creature, happy when held or loved. It didn’t understand, but Deirdre did. “Uh, you mean the pain from the injuries, right? They’re okay. The more you forget about them, the less they hurt.” And she had forgotten about a great deal in moments prior. “I’m okay, I mean. Are you? Is something wrong? What did you want to say?”  

Morgan lifted her head to kiss Deirdre’s cheek once, then twice, close to the sly curve at the corner of her mouth she so loved to feel against her lips when she was alive. “I’m okay. And what I’m going to suggest we do tonight is hopefully going to help us stay okay. Or um, me, I guess.” She nuzzled her and tried to ignore the constricting feeling creeping into her chest. In their house, the world seemed real again, and she saw the ghost of her begging Deirdre to talk to her playing alongside the ghosts of them dancing and making love and wiping each other’s tears. Morgan fumbled quickly for her phone and brought up the timer app. She set it to three minutes, but didn’t start. “You once told me when I was really afraid of something good to just take it in small pieces, a little at a time. So what if we did that, but with...touching.” She met her eyes slowly, hoping this didn’t sound stupid or insulting. “We take turns, we say how we want to be touched for the next three minutes, and that’s as far as we have to think or agree to go. You could tell me you want me to play with your hair, or whisper in your ear or...anything. Anything you want me to do in three minutes, I’d like to try. And I’ll tell you, you don’t have to guess or worry, because I’ll just be telling you, for the next three minutes, I want you to hold me like you used to and kiss me slow and play with my hair. Please. A-and we can renegotiate if the other doesn’t want to do it, obviously. We don’t have to start the timer until we’ve agreed. And we can call stop at the end of an interval if we need, or before, but it’s just three minutes so I don’t think there’s going to be time for any weird surprises.” She bit her lip, balanced on the edge of excitement and embarrassment. “What do you think?”

Upon hearing this was something that would help Morgan, Deirdre perked up. She half sat up, so she could look at Morgan better, propped up on her elbows. She braced for the worst of it; actually, no more kissing ever, I hate you and your breath stinks (the last part was strange because Morgan couldn’t taste or smell, really, but she worried about it all the same). But giddy from their kiss, she felt like she could take anything--even the stinky breath bit. Still, her relief then, to hear that it wasn’t that, was palatable. Though she felt like she could laugh--did I say that? Actually I meant take the good in really large pieces, like one hour at a time. “May I?” She asked, reaching out for Morgan’s phone. She held it tenderly in her hands and stared at the timer. It took her awhile to figure out how to work the app, but once she got it, she flipped it back around to show Morgan: 00:03:01. “One second extra. Can I ask for that? Just one second more.” She held the phone back out to Morgan and smiled. By any standards, one second wasn’t a lot, but it was just enough. To hold her one second more, kiss her one second longer, feel her here just another second...that felt like its own infinity to her. A small gift, she thought, if it didn’t feel like too much for Morgan. If one second wouldn’t make the difference between good and bad. “I think it’s a fine idea, actually. I like it. If you wanted more than three minutes, you’d ask for another go? And what we’re doing right now, this would count as touching, right? And if you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t have to say anything you could just...end the timer early.” She paused, her smile grew just a little more. “I like that.”    

Morgan nodded, “We just go three minutes at a time, taking our turns, until we want to stop. We don’t have to think about how long or short it’s going to be in all. We just take our little steps. You give to me, and I give to you, whatever we’re comfortable with having. And that way...maybe this part doesn’t have to hurt, for either of us. The stopping or the...any of it.” She looked down at the extra second, frowning slightly. Three was what she trusted herself most with. Three was more than one and less than five, which was where things could start to get dicey, she felt. Was it really that measly? Couldn’t it be enough if there was another coming right after? Did Deirdre need more from her that badly? It was just a second. Behind it, yes, there were a million and one wants, but it was just a second. An extra second was a lot less to ask for than a trip to the magic fae village where they might stay an hour and come home a week later. It’s just a second. “You can have one more second, yes. That’s okay,” she said. Then, clearing her throat. “I don’t know about how much just being next to you counts, but maybe it should, or...I don’t know. I came up with this sometime in the last five minutes.” She scoffed at herself, wondering if she was just throwing in another complication. This was too much thinking, not enough kissing, or cuddling, or-- “Can we just try now? What I said before, about holding me like you used to, with me kind of in your lap, and kissing me slow, and my hair-- if that’s still okay, could you please just be doing that? And then you can tell me how you want me to touch you after that?” Her brows met in a timid plea. Her hand clenched around her phone, thumb hovered over the start. Could this be enough? Could this be simple and enough right now?

Deirdre frowned and reached back for the phone, adjusting the time back to its plain three minutes. “No,” she sighed, her voice warm with care, “not like that. Not if it sounds like it just might be too much. Not if what you’re thinking is that it’s just a second.” She eyed the time, devoid of her special second. Guilt surged; what was she thinking? “They add up. Three minutes is a time you decided on to feel safe with, I shouldn’t have asked for more. I’m sorry.” Deirdre shifted, leaning up against the arm of the couch. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember the ways in which she used to sit. She wiggled awkwardly, trying to find it. “Of course we can,” she smiled softly. Three minutes was a lot, three minutes was more than enough. Yet there was something strange about knowing it was numbered; that without fail, in three minutes, it would end. There was a comfort in uncertainty, a hope. Could hope live in three minute intervals? There was something to cling to in the extra second, but not here--not in the three minutes. “Do you want to come closer first? I’ll start the timer as soon as you’re ready.” She smiled, setting Morgan’s phone on the table, her finger hovering over the button. She waited for Morgan’s okay before she pressed it, scooping her love into her arms. Her mind kept its own time, but even with the ticking clock, she was careful not to rush herself. In these moments, she never loved Morgan like there was a number on her mind, and she wouldn’t now. She kissed her slow, as instructed; played with her hair as though she might always; and held her tight, as if she didn’t know what it meant to let her go. In three minutes, they wouldn’t have this anymore. But until then, the world was theirs.

Morgan surrendered to Deirdre’s touch, pulling herself as snugly into her lap as she could. She was everything she had asked for and more, with the care that went with each pull and stroke. The tension in Morgan’s shoulders eased just a little and she moaned little encouragements to her as they kissed deeper, harder. Her hands clenched around Deirdre’s shoulders when the alert on the timer went off. Morgan reached to silence it, then brought her hand back to its spot cupping the back of the banshee’s head. Her lips tingled from the rough pull of the last kisses and the sensation made her grin with a hint of heady satisfaction. “That was really nice,” she whispered in Deirdre’s ear, tracing the tip of her finger around the shell. “It’s your turn, if you want it. I feel okay, good even.” She pulled away to meet her eyes and gauge her response. “You just have to ask.”

Deirdre knew the three minutes would end before the alarm pierced across their air. She kept time in her head faithfully; she had always been good keeping measure. And as she had guessed, three minutes was hardly enough, and there was no extra second to cling to. She closed her eyes, knowing they often revealed far too much to Morgan, and laughed the rest of her thoughts away. Three minutes was better than none, she reasoned. And if this was what Morgan needed to feel safer, then she wouldn’t complain. In truth, Morgan was doing a lot to keep them whole and Deirdre knew she should’ve felt better about it. But it was like this:

Counting time made it real. Marking their ends and beginnings gave them life. In three minutes she would be born to die when an alarm told her to. And she would know, every time, that it would only be three minutes. Not a second more. Then she’d pick from a list of her body’s desires for the most acceptable piece of affection that could break itself to fit in three minutes. And again, she would be born to die. When she was drowned to her mother’s slow internal clock--if she said two minutes, it was never two minutes--it summoned a similar sense of dread. Knowing at the end, she’d do it again. Another three minutes.

But three minutes was better than none. And even if hope couldn’t be born then, perhaps kindness could be. Deirdre opened her eyes and smiled. Her body did thank her for this, and her lips burned with remembrance. But beside her strange distaste for the measuring of their affection, she had a stronger aversion to being made to decide things. There were a lot of things she wanted to do, one was not better than the other. One was not more important. And only a few were acceptable for the moment, even less for Morgan’s current state. “Can’t I just give you my three minutes?” She asked. “I’d rather do what you want and I just...I just want to hold you, that’s all I can think of right now. But it sounds kind of--” Like a mood killer, and more so after just making out. “I’m just a little put on the spot right now.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe you can give me my three minutes to think this over? No--don’t--don’t! That was a joke.”  

Morgan withdrew her hand to give Deirdre a break from her teasing. “That’s okay,” she said. “But I do think...I want you to feel okay asking for things, and for us to be more comfortable making adjustments without getting really sad about it. I know decisions aren’t your favorite, but you don’t have to overthink it. Whatever comes to you at the moment is good. If you wanted me to hold you or just stroke your side for three minutes, I think that would be time well-spent. If this, us, is going to work even better than it used to, we should both probably put at least a little of our energy into thinking of what we want and not just how we can serve each other, as wonderful as that can be most of the time.” She smiled kindly and picked up her phone before settling back against Deirdre’s chest. “But this is pretty spur of the moment, so I hope you know you don’t have to feel obligated to ask for anything just for my...weird game, either. Would it be okay if you just played with my ear like I was before with you and gave me little kisses all over while you hold me for three more minutes? And then we can do something else if you’d rather not keep up with this.”

“But I don’t...want...anything…” Deirdre sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, your idea is good. And it’ll help you, and it’ll be good for us I just…” Morgan settled against her and Deirdre’s arms rose up, but hovered around Morgan. If there were going to be rules, she needed them to be clear enough to follow. “C-can I hold you now or should that be timed?” She asked, arms raised and quivering. “It’s just---it’s the time. I can’t know it’ll be three minutes and not a second more. If you just make it less than three minutes, but you don’t tell me how long, that’ll be better. I could do that.” Her arms sagged, victim to gravity. “No, your ‘weird game’ is a good idea, Morgan. I’ve just always enjoyed the...freedom of our affection. Of just doing what felt good one moment to the next. But I know this will be better for you, so I want to try it. And I don’t mind, really. Ironically, it’ll take me some time to get over the three minute part. Because it ends, Morgan. It ends and you know it does and you can feel it and then you have to feel it again. And maybe that feels like a relief to you but it is tormenting to me. But not if I don’t know it. I know so many things, Morgan, but I don’t want to know how this ends.” She shifted again, finally finding her place on the couch. “If you can just let me hold you for some random amount of time under three minutes, I think I’d feel better about it.” She paused and eyed the phone. “A-and maybe if the alert wasn’t so jarring. But at that point, I’m asking for too much, and I shouldn’t, I shouldn't.” She sighed and went back to massage the bridge of her nose. “B-but I can do what you want, I don’t mind doing that. I can do that. I can play with your ear and kiss you over.”

Morgan took Deirdre’s hand from her nose and cradled it carefully. “First of all, unless I indicate otherwise, holding can be a freebie. Secondly, neither of us knows how this,” she emphasized the word meaningfully to hold the two of them and everything they were and could be, “ends. There’s so many possibilities for us, and I think more than a couple of them are pretty good. Thirdly, I will adjust the time the way you’ve asked me to, and I can lower the volume on my phone or set it to vibrate. Fourth: you are allowed to ask for things. I want you, very much, to ask for and tell me what you need and want.” She threaded their fingers together and gave Deirdre’s hand a squeeze. “I’d show you the time as proof, but that would spoil the surprise,” she said softly. “Take a little bit to collect yourself, okay? And you can tell me when to start, if you still want to.”

If she closed her eyes and just let Morgan’s words wash over her, it was like nothing had happened at all. Deirdre blinked, perplexed. Was this how Morgan had felt, earlier? But that was different because Deirdre’s heart hadn’t changed. She stayed still for a moment, watching Morgan. Then, suddenly: “why are you being nice to me?” Was this, perhaps, the moment of affection before Morgan would leave? Those she had almost come to expect now, those brought with them the familiarity of pain. But this kindness was not as habitual as the changing of bandages or cooked meals. This was a special kindness, a girlfriend-kind of nice. “You know what I want,” she said. “As for what I need that’s just...well, I don’t really know. But I don’t understand why you’re--you said that you--we’re not--” She swallowed. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.” But she had no more hands to get to her face with, claimed by Morgan’s grip. Her plea turned desperate, sincere, “what am I supposed to do, Morgan?”

Morgan’s heart sank. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for right now, Deirdre,” she murmured. “There’s no reason to be sorry, you don’t have to be. Hey--” she cupped her face and met her eyes, “I’d like to bring you close to me and wait for your breathing to steady a little. Is that okay with you?” Deirdre’s face was one big look of confusion, but she didn’t withdraw or tense, so Morgan went ahead and shifted them on the couch so she could hold her in a more comforting position. “Those are some...really big questions and I don’t know how many answers I’ve got, but I'm going to think while you breathe how we like to.” Morgan tapped the counting rhythm on Deirdre’s shoulder and tried to figure herself out.

She had thought, when the idea came to her, that their game would be the perfect blend of sentimentality and relationship building practice. Like a model student, Morgan had been attentive to her reading. Not taking disagreements and rejections personally was a little hard (they spent so much of their waking lives together, how could it not be a little personal? How could there not be something for her to change or fix to make things better? Herself better?) but it came to her mind now as she tried to coax Deirdre into breathing steady and focus on what was before her rather than thinking of all the ways she’d dug her heels into the ground about this in the first place. She probably should have cracked open a book or two about managing intimacy before trying this, but at least she was able to tell herself she didn’t really know better than this necessarily...

At last Morgan said, “So, I don’t actually know what you want right now in an immediate, tangible, practical sense. There’s that.” The only short answer she had to offer. Maybe she should’ve thrown in some more adjectives to make it last longer. Morgan sighed and let that go. Just be honest, she reminded herself. “I love you, Deirdre. I need more freedom and space than usual right now because I feel really, deeply broken and I desperately need to heal into a different shape than the one I had before. But I love you, and you are where my heart feels at home. What I want, long term, is a life with you that’s good and makes us both happy and fulfilled. What I want short term, is...kind of a mess, if you haven’t noticed.” She laughed dryly. “And you know, maybe there’s a textbook or three out there that’ll tell me it was a huge mistake, but kissing you in the grass made everything hard disappear and I actually felt strong enough to try something to help us instead of being afraid of our feelings and running or shutting down or lashing out. So, it was good for something, even if it was maybe really impulsive.” Fuck, she hadn’t answered anything outright yet. “I don’t know if I’m making much sense, but I’m being nice because you matter to me and I would rather us stay together than anything else, even if needing some of the stuff I’ve asked for makes it seem otherwise.” She pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Deirdre’s head. “What do you want to do, Deirdre…?”

Though in the moment it felt unnecessary, Deirdre breathed as Morgan had taught her months ago. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. And as she breathed, she waited and she listened and she noticed: Morgan didn’t sound angry like she had before. She didn’t sound as plagued by fear or hurt. Knowing this, Deirdre found some part of her uncorking, as if it was safe to slither out. Like they might be able to talk like they used to. “Okay,” she breathed, she reached over to the table and grabbed one of the markers she’d used for her whiteboard. She rolled up her robe sleeve and uncapped the marker, screwing it into the back. “I want to help you, Morgan,” she said. This was both simple and true, and perhaps true because it was simple. “But I can’t do that properly because I don’t know what you need.” She started writing on her arm; no touching, no kissing, no holding for too long, no declarations of love. “I don’t mind giving you what you need. If that’s space, or time, or less affection...that’s okay. That’s always been okay. But I can’t understand your boundaries because you haven’t told me. I’m not your girlfriend but you won’t see other people. And kissing wasn’t okay, and we agreed on waiting a week, and then it was. And holding you was sometimes too much but not when done for three minutes at a time? And saying I love you was bad but now it’s fine?” She scribbled around her arm, trying to make amendments until all she was left with was a black mess. She stared at it, hoping it would make sense.

“I want us too, in the long term. And I love you too. And I told you I would wait, and I don’t mind space or time or anything else...and I understand if your mind changes, or if one thing that wasn’t okay now suddenly is...but I didn’t know what was okay to begin with. I don’t.” Deirdre looked up, rolling up her other sleeve, this arm was covered with bandages but she’d write across the bumpy surface if she had to. “I just want to know what I can do; what’s good for you and what isn’t. That’s what I want for the–um–short term, the immediate. Please. I-I know you blame me for—I know it was my fault but I—“ Deirdre sighed and slumped, “I’d just like to do what’s right for us. And I’ve wanted to talk to you, like we always do, but you were so angry or sad or it was too much and I just...I can’t figure it out by myself, Morgan.”

Morgan winced at the black scrawl taking over Deirdre’s bandages. She averted her gaze, mumbling a sad, “I get it, I get it…” She waited for Deirdre to finish before saying anything else. “I swear to you, I didn’t ask for those things to be cruel or confusing,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know what my rules are, they keep changing. Letting go of some of that anger and starting to forgive you the other day helped a lot, I think, but I know that’s not a full answer. I do get it. I’m just...a mess. I don’t know how else to put it. I’m still figuring things out for myself. If I had to guess, as far as today goes, telling me to take a trip with you that might zap away weeks of our life out here was terrifying because that’s a couple’s thing, and a serious risk, and a serious commitment. But kissing only lasts as long as you want it to, and I missed feeling you so much…” she brushed back Deirdre’s hair, massaging her scalp as she did. “I thought it would be good, if I stopped running away from wanting to touch you a little. We were good at that before we were good at being girlfriends, and maybe that could be something to get back that’s not so complicated. And we’d always moved with our impulses before anyway. But if it’s not good…” Back to the drawing board. “Right now, what I know is: I love you is okay, but it feels sticky when I say it sometimes; touching is okay, especially holding, but nothing past third base; involved plans for the future scare me; you can call me whatever you want, but I’m withholding terms of endearment until we’re more settled. I don’t want them to get ruined with my indecision. Other than that…” She shrugged haplessly. “Some stuff I have to be the one to fix.” Her hand moved down to cup Deirdre’s cheek and draw her head upward. “I am sorry I haven’t been able to talk. I just...it was what you said, being angry or heartbroken or scared or whatever else, and I just couldn’t, I was just that broken, nothing that did come out was right, and so I mostly didn’t. And I don’t know if I’m going to psych myself out tomorrow and feel less...me. But I can tell you I’ll try hard not to. Is this...helping? Is this making things worse…?”

“I know.” Deirdre smiled softly, “I didn’t think you meant to be cruel. And I meant it when I said I don’t mind the mess, I just want to know how I can help. Whatever that means for the moment.” She started writing the new rules on her arms as Morgan spoke, finding trouble writing with her off-hand but powering through anyway. “And the kissing...is that only for three minutes at a time?” She looked up. “And I never understood that baseball metaphor but so you’ll have to explain that later, in case I have it wrong. Our impulses are fine, but sometimes your impulses are panicking or hurting and we’re both trying to minimize that, right?” She scribbled some tentative words about that down. “And what about if I say ‘I love you’? Or if I want to say your eyes are like the frozen skin of a corpse? Would it be better for you if I just called you Morgan then, instead of ‘my love’?” She paused. “Do you still blame me? For all of it?” Deirdre looked down at the shaky list on her bandage. “Sad you is easier to talk to, she usually just wants to be held and she nods at least, when I ask her things. Angry you is harder because she doesn’t want to talk about the things we need to, she just wants to be angry. Panicked you is strange, because you’ve always let me hold you when you’re scared, but if what you’re scared of is me holding you...then there’s nothing I can do. Tired you is the one that wants to sleep, but can’t. Most of the time they mix together; you’re sad and angry, tired and scared, sad and angry and tired and scared. Your emotions are important to me, Morgan. And they’re not new to me, even if some displays of them are. But I’ve only known what to do to help because you’ve trusted me. And now that you don’t I…” Deirdre slumped, sighing. “If you could just tell me, even if it’s just to say you don’t feel like talking or that you do feel like talking...I can stop guessing about it. If that’s something you can try to do, I think it would be good.” She closed her marker and offered a small smile. “This is helping, thank you.”

Morgan tried her best to keep up with Deirdre’s questions. Kissing could be longer, but only if she asked for it first. Third base was another way of saying no sex or heavy under the clothes action, but everything else was fine. She wasn’t sure about the terms of endearment. She didn’t know why sometimes they were a comfort and sometimes they made her feel pressured. Same with I love you and the rest, but less so.

It was around this time that Morgan’s body started to curl in on itself. Her head slumped to bury itself in Deirdre’s hair and she held on a little tighter, for her own sake as well as her banshee’s now. “I don’t mean to make you guess…” she mumbled. “I’m guessing too.” At last Deirdre ran out of words for the time being and Morgan shuddered, relieved for just a breath of a moment. “I’m getting overwhelmed…” she said. “I don’t have answers for everything. But I trust you enough to kiss you. I trust you enough to let you hold me almost whenever you want. I—” She hesitated, shuddering. When she spoke  again, her voice was careful and quiet. “I’m trying not to blame you for everything. I know I didn’t always help. I needed you so badly, I was just in pieces and reacting and that didn’t help. And I know you didn’t mean to. But sometimes I walk into a room and it just hurts all over again. And sometimes I get scared, because if you didn’t understand what you were doing then and you couldn’t hear me, what if you don’t realize something’s happening and hurting me some other way and I lose you again. If it happens before I figure things out, maybe I’ll break again. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who ends up on the floor because you won’t look at me or talk to me. That’s why I need to do things differently this time…” Her voice warbled, growing sad. “If you need more answers, we can keep going, but I need a break first. Please… I just don’t know how to explain some things good or at all. Can we do something else for a few minutes? We don’t have to go back to kissing, we can just lay down if that’s better and then pick up the talk wherever you need us to. I know if it feels like too much for me it must be worse for you, but I need a break…”

Deirdre looked at her arm list, the lines shaky but the words clear to her. In her head, finally, she’d been able to create a picture of what Morgan needed. And now that she had it, she could help. Which was all she wanted, really. “No, no,” she smiled and wrapped her arms around Morgan, tight and steady. “This is perfect, thank you. I don’t need to ask you anything else.” All she’d needed was a modicum of guidance from a version of Morgan that wouldn’t shut her out, and then say it was her fault. ‘I don’t know’ was a perfectly acceptable answer but it wasn’t a helpful one, and not all their whims could be obeyed. And not all their instincts would be good. And the thread that the two operated on, once the same, was not one they could walk again. She understood that Morgan was saying they needed better, stronger threads; not a tightrope that led to each other. But it was because of this new shift that she needed to know, and if Morgan wasn’t walking it, then Deirdre couldn’t either. But she’d figure out what was to be done with herself on her own. “No, it’s okay. Thank you, Morgan. Really. I know these were hard questions, but I needed to know, and you answered them for me, and thank you.” She put her marker down and grabbed Morgan’s phone, showing her the timer. “Do you want me to kiss you now? I could do that thing you were saying, with your ears? Or, uh, yeah, we could just lay here.” She glanced over at the timer with a fond smile, as though staring at an old enemy whom the tides of time had softened her feelings for. In reality, three minutes was less terrible when she understood everything else. It would still end, and it would still ring, and she’d still keep count in her head and loathe the rigidity of time...but it wasn’t so bad. Not anymore. She turned back to Morgan, smiling just a little bit wider. “Thank you again,” she whispered, “it means a lot. Thank you.”

Slowly, Morgan unclenched her body and unfurled her legs to stretch over the cushions. She lifted her head, eyes still shut, tried to take a long, satisfied breath. She could feel something familiar and dangerous around the edges of her heart asking, Are you sure you’re not mad? I’m sorry this isn’t better, I’m sorry… Morgan winced, knowing better than to voice that. But it begged that much harder in her silence, and Morgan couldn’t shake the desire for being comforted. At last she lifted her gaze to Deirdre’s and felt whatever sad, hesitant question she’d been working on dissolve in her mind. Her face was so affectionate and warm, her smile glowing with the beginnings of confidence. It told her already, as if it knew she would ask, it’s okay. It’s okay.

Morgan smiled back, small and tentative. Her throat relaxed, and her words suddenly fell out with ease. “I just want to stay close right now, that’s the only part that’s really important to me. But if that’s still okay with you—” Then yeah, the last thing Morgan was going to turn down was the chance to be petted and soothed. “That would be really nice. But you never said what you wanted for yourself. I’m glad that you did something to take care of us. It was good and it does make sense, even if it was a little—” Morgan shuddered and wiped the corner of her eye, still tense from the experience. “But I want to give you something for you. After this, though. Or later. Just...sometime?”

Deirdre had never been great at thinking for herself, about herself, about the things she wanted. It was not selflessness that created her confusion, but a life that refused to value her desires. For years, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have any, and she didn’t want any. And so, as Morgan mentioned it, she frowned and shifted. “I just want to take care of you; help you,” she said. Which was true, and she knew in some way she’d never be able to worry about herself if her mind was occupied with worrying about Morgan. But as she said it, she knew it wasn’t the right answer. “I—okay. We can do something for me, after. Sometime.” And as she thought about it, her ideas were either thinly veiled ways to make Morgan feel better or actions that were so inconsequential that it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t do them. She shifted again. “I just—“ She swallowed, abandoning the avenue of explaining her desires. She just wanted Morgan to be happy, and she saw nothing wrong with keeping that her singular desire. If she was disobeying her family, then she might as well put her whole heart into it. Unwavering devotion wasn’t new to her.

She lowered herself, pressing her lips to Morgan’s cheek, jaw, neck. Her mind enjoyed being occupied with the woman, and nothing else. There was nothing wrong. She didn’t need anything, and she certainly didn’t want anything. She wasn’t a person, she hadn’t been for a long time now, if ever. She worked her way back up to Morgan’s lips, mumbling there. “Thank you again,” she kissed once for each syllable. “I’m sorry to have asked it so roughly but thank you. You’re doing good; thank you.” And a dozen more for each of these. Her hand found familiarity tangling into and playing with the strands of Morgan’s hair. Her other moved to trace the bones of her features: cheek, jaw, neck. She was careful; above the clothes, chaste. She was dutiful, as asked by Morgan, as performed by all she knew of Morgan’s desires. What more was there to want? She wanted them good and okay again. She wanted what Morgan wanted. If a declaration of love was too much, she conceded: “thank you for worrying about me; I worry about you too.” Her affection was clear enough in the rest of her, all she didn’t say about loving her, wanting her, that it was all okay and that she would stay, was said in touches, breaths and kisses. She could do this, it’d be okay. And she didn’t want anything else. No, not at all.

Morgan’s icy fear melted under Deirdre’s assurances. Gradually, she flowed with her touches, pressing in, sighing, whispering the odd plaintive tease for more (I’m doing good? I am?), and ghosting her lips and hands over where she ached to touch back when she got her turn. The three minutes ended, silent this time, and Morgan thought the sting of pulling slowly back was sweet. Longing was hope in something like this, wasn’t it? Her watery eyes were softer than they had been a long time when she smiled at Deirdre. She reached out for her face, fingertips stopping just a breath away. “Thank you for helping me,” she said. “And for...assuring me, following all my strange impulses, choosing to come back home to me, trying to love me.” She was already leaning in, remembering how she’d decided that they should hold each other for free. It was as much a part of spending time together as looking into each other’s eyes. “I’m good to give to you back, if that’s something you want too,” she said. “And you could show me how you want to be touched, if you feel strange saying.” She offered her hands. “But only if...I mean, I want to be as good to you as I can be. We can just watch something, and I’ll fix dinner in a couple hours and we’ll stay here until you fall asleep, if that’s better. That’s okay. I just...I can give you my love like before right now. I can. But I’ll do whatever you want.”

Deirdre met Morgan’s fingers with her own, leading them the rest of the way, letting them greet her face. “Loving you is a choice I make glady, and not one at all--all of it, in the same breath. It’s a matter of fact.” The fondness had gone to her head, and in the moment, she’d forgotten why the Deirdre of days past refrained from such explicit words of love. “You don’t have to do that…” Her voice was warm. Tender. A no, let’s focus on you instead. Morgan had been denied her love for longer than Deirdre ever wanted, and she was keen to fill the space. “And how can I ask you to kiss me, hold me, touch me, when your heart has ached?” When three minutes was all Morgan could handle at a time and their affection had to be played like a game. How could she, when it was clear enough to her that someone else needed it more? She pressed her palm over the organ in Morgan’s chest that no longer thumped its fast, steady rhythm. “I can’t ask, Morgan. Your love is precious to me, and you needn’t strain yourself for it. Whatever it is you want, whatever it is you’d like to give, I will have gladly. But you’ve been through so much, and so much still yet lingers in you; the power it takes to remember how you once were, what you once had and could do when so much uncertainty plagues you, is too great for me to ask you for.” She thumped the old beat of Morgan’s heart against her chest. “You’re good to me just doing what you do. You don’t need to kiss me to make anything fair, you don’t need to love me like you did before when you find yourself with the energy to. I am not a plant you forgot to water. I am a woman who loves you, and I’ll be fine just like this.” She smiled, drawing her hand back. “Which is to say, I understand you’re hurting, Morgan. Your heart deserves rest. Love me as you want to, not as I ask--and if you can’t, if you find there’s no love you can give, don’t worry about me. It’s okay, Morgan. Right now, you can be selfish. All of it’s okay.”  

It took Morgan a moment to understand what Deirdre was saying. Don’t take it personally, she reminded herself, trying not to wilt too much. The more Deirdre went on, the more it became clear that her no that wasn’t a big ‘you’re taking too long and now I don’t trust you, so there’ kind of no, but something more complicated that maybe even buried a conditional yes. “But I want you to ask. I mean, not if it hurts, and obviously I’m...it must be kind of shitty, not knowing which me you’re gonna get, but the answer right now is going to be yes.” But that wasn’t everything. “It’s not like you’re a strain, I mean sometimes the stuff I carry makes other things feel hard, but--” That wasn’t the heart of it either. Morgan went quiet and leaned closer against Deirdre, chest to chest, searching for the simplest way down through her hurt. “I wanted to love you back so badly, before you disappeared,” she whispered. “For you to let me. For you to...want me. I think I went crazy trying to find the right, magic thing that would make you see me right or decide I was good enough or...I don’t know what anymore, it was stupid, but I would’ve given anything to be able to give to you and have it mean something. I know you were just hiding your injuries now, but...” She swallowed thickly and gave a resolute smile, trying to remind herself even as she coughed up more gooey, awful hurt, that she would not lose her shit and take things to heart if Deirdre decided keeping things one-sided was better. “It’s different if there’s something in you that doesn’t feel right with me touching you while I’m like this, if it hurts or it’s confusing or something else. But I don’t want you to be afraid or guilty if you want me. Because I do too. I’ve missed...I’d just really like to, and to know it’s good.” She met her gaze slowly. “Can wanting to make you feel good for a little while be selfish too?”

Vaguely, Deirdre knew she had a way of speaking that was coated in too much metaphor and thick with confusing language. It was like a fae to never say anything plainly, she was told. But Morgan had always been so good at translating her mind that there was a manner of freedom she found in speaking simply as she wanted to. She didn’t need to decode her mind, a task she often struggled with anyway. “Is it not like how I think it is?” She blinked, “to me it’s...like this: you’ve cut your hand. What kind of a person would I be if I asked you to pick something up for me? Shouldn’t you rest your hand?” Deirdre sagged as Morgan went on. No, it wasn’t like resting her hand at all. “I did love you back…” She mumbled quietly. “I was trying to let you, I just didn’t want you to worry. I did--do want you. It wasn’t ever not good.” She raised her arm, surveying her list. Being asked for what she wanted wasn’t something Morgan had told her before, and she hadn’t put it down. To say she wanted to touch Morgan was one thing, to say she wanted Morgan to touch her was another. The hand was cut, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t it rest instead? As much as Deirdre ached to give Morgan everything she asked for, this was one thing she could not do. Her desires weren’t so simple, they never found voice easily. “What am I supposed to feel, if not afraid or guilty?” She dropped her arm, and its rules that she thought were supposed to help her. “It’s not that I don’t feel right with you touching me, it’s that I don’t feel right asking for it. I don’t want to--I don’t want--I--” She paused. “I don’t want.” She shifted, frowning and deciding she might as well just say anything and move them past this. But as she opened her mouth, no desires could form on her tongue. She thought about the hand. What about the hand? Why wasn’t anyone thinking about the hand? “I do want you, and I do feel guilty, so I won’t ask. I can’t ask.” Deirdre shifted again, frown growing. “Why is it important that I ask?”

Morgan shrank inwards, her reminder playing in a loop. “You’d just never pushed me off you like that before, and you wouldn’t explain. I didn’t understand...” she whispered. But litigating the details of their mistakes wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. Morgan gathered herself and spoke more clearly. “For me it’s like I’m stuck. We were walking somewhere, holding each other like we always do, and then you fell and we both went down and let go or lost each other or something but now you’re ahead of me and I’ve got my feet stuck in a hole or tar or something and all of it hurts, staying in and sinking or trying to get out, all of it. But I want to get out. I need to. And I want you to help me get out of this stupid hole, if it won’t pull you back down with me.” She shrugged. “You could tell me instead, if thinking about it that way makes it easier.” She scoffed at herself, knowing the semantics were really not the point. “Maybe being so desperate to know anything you wanted over those weeks is part of it, but I...I really want to know when I touch you that it’s really for you, really what you want and not just another stupid wild guess or projection or a gross one-sided thing. And if we’re going to heal better, I think you really do have to come around to letting yourself want and expressing that, eventually. I’d kind of hoped this would be an easy one to start with, but we don’t have to do that tonight, okay?”

It was simple, very simple. All Deirdre had to do was say something she wanted for herself, something Morgan could give her. She opened her mouth. I want you to hold me. No, the holding was free. Her lips pulled back down into a frown before they parted again. I want you to play with my hair. No, how could she ask for something like that. It’d only be three minutes, and what if Morgan didn’t want to? What if it was too much work? Too much pressure? What if she grew too fond of the feeling of Morgan there and couldn’t bear the pain of losing her? Deirdre’s face twisted with pain. A kiss was too much to ask for, too serious. Anything else was too little, and would’ve been done anyway. And then there was the matter of the three minutes, the problems she’d had with it before arose again. This Morgan wanted her now, but what of the Morgan tomorrow? Would she resent the affection Deirdre asked for? Like the first kiss she’d wanted when coming home. Like the anger that seemed to follow the times she first asked Morgan to come to bed, before she learned to stop asking. “Couldn’t you just touch me and then I could tell you that it’s okay? Why do I have to--” She swallowed, shifted. If they were going to heal, as Morgan was saying it, then she needed to ask for things. But she didn’t want to ask for things. She didn’t want things. She didn’t want to ask. She just wanted Morgan to be okay. She opened her mouth. All she had to do was ask for something, and that didn’t seem so hard. She wanted a great many things: Morgan’s fingers intertwined with hers, absently against her skin in a way that was so soft--too soft--and just for her. Their legs tangled together where they couldn’t be told apart or undone. That easy way Morgan smiled, happy and ignorant to pain. The way Morgan looked at her, with love unspeakable, just for something she’d said or done and her own puzzling, trying to figure out what had done it this time, if it was anything at all. Where Morgan loved her just because. She wanted their lips, pressed together and pressed to skin anywhere they could, and just the places they knew the other liked. She wanted them, as they were; free and happy and timeless. But that wasn’t something she could ask for.

“I’m sorry,” Deirdre slumped, sinking to the couch and trying to curl herself between it and Morgan. Morgan had hoped, and Deirdre could not deliver. She could just say anything, she knew. Hold my hand. Squeeze my fingers. Poke my side. Just anything to make it feel like it was just for her, but none of it was honest. There was one thing she had grown comfortable with admitting she wanted, and from there all of her other desires had started to take shape. But she couldn’t have that thing anymore, and all she could do now was wait until Morgan’s foot wasn’t stuck anymore. “We can just lay here,” she said, wondering if that counted for asking for something. The defeat in her voice couldn’t have sold it as much of a desire, though. How could she want things when Morgan was hurting, and why was the concept so wrong? Morgan herself had said Deirdre was ahead of her, and the rich ought not to eat while the poor starve. Or so the metaphor went in her own head, but she couldn’t find the words to explain. “Or we can do something you want. But I can’t….I don’t want--” She closed her eyes, hissing at herself.  

Morgan sank down, hiding her face on Deirdre’s chest. She was struggling to keep her face even and confident. Deirdre would feel the tears building up at the corners of her eyes, but maybe if Morgan kept her voice even and she didn’t see, it wouldn’t make her feel worse. Don’t take it personally, don’t take it personally… She couldn’t help but feel as though her hand had been slapped away. Why was this hard and complicated? If they couldn’t feel better, they should at least get to have things be simple. Straightforward. Morgan sniffled as silently as she could and pressed timid hands around Deirdre, reminding herself that they held each other for free. (But what if Deirdre didn’t want it? What if it hurt? Would she be pushed off again, after all this?) Morgan waited until she was sure she could trust her voice and said, “I want to give to you without being in my head about it, wondering if I’m doing it wrong. I want it so badly. But not at the expense of your comfort. I don’t want you to hurt anymore, I don’t mean to. I want you to be okay. I want to make this better...” She just also wanted to feel like she was doing something good. She wanted to be loved and trusted enough to be allowed to love back sometimes and not have to makeguesses. But she could deal. Try differently. She could, at the very least, try to be fair to both of them. “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s okay. We can just lay here. Make things easy. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

A better woman could have done it. A better woman would have no trouble declaring her wants and needs, would be less wildly sensitive, always say the right things. Deirdre trembled, quietly, she begged herself not to have these thoughts; she was tired of them, and she wanted to be good. But if there was a better world, where her actions sat well and everything was okay, she hadn’t found it. And if there was hope, she’d forgotten the way. She wanted to be good now just as she had for months, when would she realize the problem was with her? Morgan’s turmoil was born out of the factors she couldn’t control, and beg herself as she did, the truth of it grew increasingly clear in her head. It was her own hand that she’d cut, and she picked things up so pathetically with it—but it didn’t heal, it hadn’t healed. If it did, it’d only bleed again. “I want to give to you without being in my head about it either,” she said. And her head was such a terrible place to be. “If I figure out how, I’ll let you know.” Focussing on loving Morgan and fixing them was as welcome a distraction to her searing self-hatred as anything else, but loving Morgan wasn’t something she did well, as it turned out. She couldn’t just say what she wanted, stupid and simple as it was. She couldn’t have risen out of her grief long enough to be good, she couldn’t pick her broken body up and run home. It all made perfect sense when it was her fault, but it didn’t offer any bit of the control she so desperately desired. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help anything—Morgan, Regan, Kaden. She was a terrible banshee and a worse person.

Deirdre shut her eyes tight, tears still escaped under her lashes, rolling down her face. The last voice that begged to be rid of these thoughts cracked and yielded. She thought she could lay still and quiet and make things easy. She thought she could do at least that much. But to lay, as Morgan said it was okay, she would’ve thought there was just one thing she could do right: nothing at all.

[leepace71]

The Political Avenger: Chris Evans Takes on Trump, Tom Brady, Anxiety and Those Retirement Rumors

Ahead of 'Avengers: Endgame,' the progressive Captain America actor and Twitter firebrand says he's ready to retire his Marvel hero for directing gigs, a new Apple show and the fight against the "dumb s—" president: “I’d be disappointed in myself if I didn’t speak up.”

It's a Friday afternoon in February, and the view from Chris Evans' house in the Hollywood Hills consists mostly of fog. He bought this place for $3.2 million in 2013, back when he was two hit movies into his seven-film stint as Marvel Studios' Captain America; there's a Zen-ish garden inside the front gate, and a stone Buddha sits by the door. Evans banishes his dog, Dodger, to the guest room, shuts off the TV in the family room (CNN on mute), cracks a can of Modelo, and takes a seat on the couch. His arms are insane, as thick as thighs.

Evans has a movie coming out in a few months — an intimate little passion project called Avengers: Endgame (April 26). It's the sequel to last year's Avengers: Infinity War, which raked in $2 billion worldwide and ended with Thanos (Josh Brolin) disintegrating half of Earth's population, including the still-bankable likes of Black Panther and Spider-Man. The moody trailers for Endgame are designed to reveal even less than usual, but it's safe to assume that Captain America rallies Earth's mightiest surviving heroes for a rematch with the mad god who finger-snapped their friends and loved ones into oblivion, which means this will be the first of the four Avengers movies to depict actual avenging.

Evans — who made $15 million for the past two Avengers films, up from $300,000 for his first stint as Captain America — has said he's done playing the character after this. It's been reported that he intends to retire from acting entirely. And yet the announcements of new work keep coming. He's in Rian Johnson's crowded-house murder mystery Knives Out, due in November. He's playing the father of a teenager accused of murder in Apple's forthcoming limited series Defending Jacob. He's in talks to star in Antoine Fuqua's Infinite as a presumably Chris Evans-ish guy who can recall his past lives. It's a crowded dance card for a newly retired 37-year-old actor, and when I bring this up, Evans gets as annoyed as he'll get all afternoon.

"I never said the word 'retire,'" he says. "It's a really obnoxious notion for an actor to say they're going to retire — it's not something you retire from."

All he said — back in 2014, as the end of his obligation to Marvel loomed on the horizon — was that he was hoping to get behind the camera more, and that he'd told one of his CAA agents, "We are turning a corner." Cut to 5,080,000 Google hits for "Chris Evans retiring."

So, for the record: He's not retiring. He'd love to direct more, but the way he talks about it makes it sound more like a five-year plan. He's been looking for a good script, except the problem with good scripts is that they tend to go to great directors, which is not a weight class Evans would put himself in, not yet. He's directed one film, the slight-but-not-embarrassing indie romance Before We Go, which grossed $37,151 in theaters in 2014, or roughly 0.01 percent of what Infinity War made on its opening weekend. When that project is faintly praised in his presence — he also starred in it, opposite Alice Eve — he waves this off, saying it mainly taught him how much he didn't know. "I'm OK with making mistakes," he says, "and I learned a lot from that one."

Once he's done helping Marvel hype Endgame, he's going to take advantage of the security provided by nearly 10 years of huge superhero movies by letting the next phase of his career unfold at a more leisurely pace. "Momentum is a real fallacy, in my opinion," he says. "But it has a really strong hold on a lot of actors' mentalities. You really believe that while the ball's rolling, you gotta keep it rolling. I could be wrong, but to me — I just don't believe in that. I don't think that's real."

I guess we'll find out.

Evans laughs. "My last cover interview."

Here are some things we learned about Chris Evans, from what may or may not be his last cover interview:

He uses the word "pretentious" a lot, usually because he's worried something he's just said sounds pretentious, which it rarely does.

He will talk at length and in detail about himself, and his neuroses, and the conversations he has with himself about his neuroses.

He keeps it closer to the vest about other people. He mentions in passing that Justin Timberlake lives around here — "I think" — without mentioning that Timberlake lives around here with his wife, Jessica Biel, who was once Evans' girlfriend. Nor does he mention his former girlfriend Jenny Slate by name, although he occasionally says things about what it's like to hang out with a bunch of comedians, something he clearly knows because he dated Slate, on and off, for a while. They are off again, per the gossip pages; on Valentine's Day, a few weeks after we meet, Evans will tweet a picture of himself nuzzling Dodger and wish the best to his 10.6 million followers "from this pair of dysfunctional codependents."

When asked how he functions in relationships, he says: "I'm the one who fears being enveloped. I was always a really autonomous guy my whole life. Camping by myself is one of my favorite things. I really like to be with someone who also has their own thing to do as well, you know? If I'm with someone who just kind of adopts my life, that can feel a bit suffocating."

Evans and actress-comedian Jenny Slate, in 2016. At her urging, he read a collection of feminist essays, The Mother of All Questions. "You have to understand that you don’t understand," he says.

When he's not working or camping by himself, you can find Evans camped out on Twitter. He is extremely online in a way that actors who headline ultra-mainstream movie franchises tend not to be; on any given day, you can find @ChrisEvans quoting Idiocracy to mock President Trump's McDonald's buffet for the Clemson Tigers, signal-boosting tweets about gay purges in Chechnya, or addressing Sen. Lindsey Graham as "Smithers."

He worries about doing too much of this sort of thing, about it seeming performative or becoming white noise — Chris Evans, back on his bullshit. He does not worry about saying something online that might inspire MAGA-minded fans to microwave their Captain America action figures. And for what it's worth, he says, "Marvel has never said anything. On the contrary — when I bump into Kevin Feige the first thing out of his mouth is 'Man, I love what you're doing [on Twitter].'"

"I don't see it as trash-talking," says Feige, Marvel's president. "I see it as very astute, very honorable, very noble, very Cap-like. Commentary and questioning. I've said to him, 'You're merging! You and the character are merging!'"

"I’d be disappointed in myself if I didn’t speak up. Especially for fear of some monetary repercussion or career damage — that just feels really gross to me."

Evans campaigned for Hillary Clinton in 2016; and while he has not decided on his 2020 candidate, his crusading use of his platform has made him a real-life superhero to a certain segment of the online #Resistance. Days after we talk, he pops up on Capitol Hill to do some bipartisan grip-and-grins with Senate Democrats Brian Schatz, Chris Coons and Jeff Merkley and Republican Lisa Murkowski. In March, he does the same at the House of Representatives. It turns out he's conducting interviews for A Starting Point, a politics website whose mission is "to create informed, responsible and empathetic citizens." He's a co-founder, along with the actor Mark Kassen and entrepreneur Joe Kiani; the launch date has yet to be announced.

While he's only visiting Congress for now, everyone jokes about him getting a job there someday. There's familial precedent; his uncle is former Massachusetts Representative Mike Capuano (who lost a hard-fought race to Ayanna Pressley, a progressive city councilwoman, in September). For now, Evans feels obligated to do what he can, even if it turns his social media mentions into a garbage fire.

"You don't want to alienate half your audience," says Evans. "But I'd be disappointed in myself if I didn't speak up. Especially for fear of some monetary repercussion or career damage — that just feels really gross to me."

His willingness to call bullshit on anyone abetting the disintegration of our republic extends to his home state's favorite sons. When we talk, Tom Brady is two days away from leading the New England Patriots to a sixth Super Bowl win; when I ask if the chance to play Brady in a biopic would bring him out of non-retirement retirement, he looks grim.

"I don't know," he says. "I really hope he's not a Trump supporter. I'm just hoping he's one of those guys that maybe supported him and now regrets it. Maybe he thought it was going to be different — and even that bothers me — but maybe there's a chance now he just thinks Trump's an absolute dumb shit, which he is. If he doesn't, if he's still on that Trump train, I might have to cut ties. It's really tough."

"I think maybe a couple of years ago," he continues, "I might have tried to pull some, like, mental gymnastics to compartmentalize, but I don't know if I can anymore. So I'm just hoping he's woken up."

Evans has a platform and he's using it. But like a lot of straight white men seeking to consciously and conscientiously navigate a tumultuous moment in the history of straight white male-dom, he's learned that shutting up is important, too. At Slate's urging, he read Rebecca Solnit's The Mother of All Questions, a collection of essays about the insidious side effects of patriarchy, and took away a great deal. "You have to understand that you don't understand," he says. It's not the most action-heroish way to look at things — but that may be the secret of his appeal as a movie star.

"At the root of it, he has true humility," says Robert Downey Jr., who's played Tony Stark against Evans five times. "I think it's the reason he was able to kind of come to the front and be our team leader in the Avengers. I think a lot of his theater experience helped, too. Because it was like, 'OK, I'm going to dress up, I'm going to go out, and I'm going to tell the truth.' It's very kind of old-school Spencer Tracy. Although I guarantee you Spencer Tracy never would've put on that getup."

Unsurprisingly, Evans blows off discussion of his own goodness. "The characters I play do a lot of that heavy lifting. If people knew me — I'm just an asshole."

He seems a little uncomfortable. I change the subject by asking him to tell me what happens at the end of Avengers: Endgame. Evans laughs. "Yeah," he says. "I wish I could. Uh, it's — I mean — it's a good one. It's a real good one. I saw, like, the first hour of it."

So you watched it up to the point where Cap dies?

"Right, exactly," Evans says. "After I die by Tony's hand, I just said, You know what? I can't watch this."

I should make it clear that this is a joke, even if it feels like the kind of joke that could turn out to be true. "I can't believe they even cut together a trailer," he says, "because so much of it is a visual spoiler. You'll see. A lot of the characters have"—

He stops, covering his mouth.

"Probably shouldn't have even said that," he says.

READ REST HERE...

[zalrb]

Htgawm review?

IF I CAN FIND A LINK WITH AN ENDING!

I finally did. I was SO irritated last night because it took me right out of the mood.

1. Honestly, what I can say about this episode is that I liked how domestic it was or maybe domestic isn’t the right word but, familial? In an odd way, I think this was an episode that actually showed how much of a family these people have become because on the one hand, you have Laurel frantic and angry and anxious about what Christopher might have seen — and I usually roll my eyes at Laurel’s frenzied rants but this time, I was like no this is valid, no one wants their child to witness a murder. On the other hand you have Annalise trying her best to take care of Nate and worried that he’s going to get himself imprisoned. You have Frank and Asher looking out for Bonnie — and when Bonnie was about to commit suicide in her car, I was literally like, “where is Frank?” and then he showed up and helped her out and it didn’t even feel like it was super convenient that we don’t see Frank all episode and then he shows up in the nick of time to stop Bonnie because of course Frank does, it’s Bonnie and it’s Frank, he’d have to show up, that’s the conceit of their relationship and that’s the conceit of Frank. Then you have Michaela saying she’s always on Laurel’s side and then opening up to her about her childhood, making them closer. And then you have Connor and Oliver sort of protecting themselves and the group from Gabriel who’s an outsider: “You were at our wedding, does that make us close?” and I think my favourite moment actually was Nate taking care of Bonnie with Annalise looking on, touched because they’re all this big, dysfunctional, codependent family now. They’re each other’s people for better and for worse and I think it was an episode that really emphasized that.

2. I found everyone’s reactions to Annalise telling them Nate’s plan hilarious. The way Asher closes his eyes like of-fucking-course we’re blaming it on the mayor, Michaela in sort of low-key beast mode like alright, these are our instructions, I get it, and Laurel and Connor and Oliver just be like, HA. SURE. WHY THE FUCK NOT.

3. I’m going to be super mad if they start something between Annalise and her boss. Tegan. #teamannaliseandtegan dammit.

4. Tegan being a foil for the Keating 5 does hurt me a bit though.

5. I did enjoy Nate’s journey this episode in the sense that I think it was a realistic way for him to deal with what he’d done and the guilt/sadness of that. Like when they killed Sam, Wes starts unraveling about Rebecca and starts looking into Rebecca and then we all know how that ends but none of them look into Sam. When Asher kills Sinclair, he’s stuck on the fact that his father is dead and just repeats over and over that he’d have had to been murdered. Nate, as a detective and, like I said, the sort of straight and narrow of the group has to find proof that what he did was justifiable in some way, it’s not enough to rationalize his motivations to people who express doubt, he has to find proof and I thought that was well done.

6. I still don’t care about Gabriel.

[beccaland]

What are your opinions on the RTD era's companions' relationship with the Doctor? 'Cos personally, they bother me a little sometimes, and I was curious what your opinion was.

Yeah, they bother me a little too. I’m actually going to share some thoughts about the characters themselves, as well as their respective relationships to the Doctor. Partly, I want to do that because not to do so would be an injustice to the characters. So, here goes.

Rose (and Mickey a bit, because you can’t really separate an analysis of their characters and he’s a companion too):

Rose is a charismatic character, and I think just right for relaunching the series. She’s young and displays many of the flaws of young people, yet in other ways is more mature than other adults, including her own mum–indeed Rose is often seen taking on a role of parenting her parent. While Jackie seems content to live off the dole, Rose has a job. It’s not a particularly good job, but she seems to be given a fair bit of trust and responsibility, probably above what her official position warrants, which suggests that she’s earned the admiration and reliance of her boss–and given her home life, that’s not surprising. Rose is clearly used to having to be more responsible than her peers. She’s vibrant, curious, compassionate, and brave.

She also takes advantage of Mickey’s affection for her, perhaps without realizing it (at least at first). She’s pretty judgy generally, and she’s not above using the Doctor as well. This suggests that despite (perhaps in part because of) being brought up by an emotionally immature parent and having to take on a lot of responsibility before she was really old enough to bear it, Rose is quite selfish.

Now, as to her relationship to the Doctor, meeting him does two things for her: it gives her an apparently easy escape from a life she feels trapped in, and it gives her the opportunity to develop a relationship with someone unlike anyone she’s ever known, who seems to see potential in her far beyond what any other person in her life has ever shown (especially Jackie and Mickey), and who is both willing and able to protect her and to care about what she feels and wants. Am I saying the Doctor started out as more of a parent-substitute than a boyfriend? Yes I am. Is that kind of creepy? I think so. But not necessarily more creepy than him being her boyfriend, given the age gap.

OK, so Rose gives Mickey a kiss and obliquely tells him “thanks for nothing” before swanning off with the Doctor. By the time she comes back, a year has passed for everyone she knows but just one day for her. This causes ENORMOUS problems for Jackie and Mickey in particular, and she does seem genuinely sorry (well, sorry to Jackie–she seems mostly annoyed with Mickey’s anger AT BEING SUSPECTED OF MURDERING HER. BECAUSE SHE RAN OFF WITH AN ALIEN). This gets swiftly brushed aside by alien shenanigans, and Rose swans off again–leaving Mickey apparently in some doubt as to their relationship status. The nature of her relationship to the Doctor is also left ambiguous at this point, but she’s clearly not thinking of him as “substitute for parental acknowledgement and affection” anymore. She flirts like crazy with Jack who flirts like crazy with both her and the Doctor and both she and the Doctor seem vaguely jealous of the other’s attention to Jack. Back to Mickey meeting them in Wales, who apparently STILL DOESN’T KNOW that Rose has basically dumped him, and does she make that clear? No, but the Doctor is acting more and more like a jealous boyfriend (and really doesn’t stop treating Mickey like garbage until the poor guy saves them and stays behind in Pete’s World, thus earning his respect, I guess, and also removing the threat), and none of this is Mickey’s fault. He’s astute enough to see, at least, that the Doctor and Rose’s relationship is destructive to others.

After the Doctor regenerates, they’re 100% in couple mode, with Rose referring to the events of S1E2 as their “first date” and the Doctor happily assenting to this characterization (has Rose actually broken up with Mickey yet? Honestly can’t remember, but I don’t think Mickey knew it if she had). The Doctor and Rose have a deeply codependent relationship. We might attribute this to her dysfunctional relationship with Jackie and the Doctor’s recent PTSD. They latch onto each other like needy puppies, and this isn’t a criticism, because there are really people who fit these profiles, and they are not bad people, and it does make for interesting characters and good storytelling, but it’s by no means a healthy depiction of a relationship.

Consider, for instance, that the Doctor tries to send her away (no doubt he felt he was making a noble sacrifice, but he did this against her clear and repeatedly expressed wishes, and with the complicity of Pete). Rose ignores the Doctor’s clearly expressed wishes and comes back, which, fair enough I guess, but it all ends in tragedy anyway. So what does he do? HE BURNS UP AN ENTIRE SUN just so he can say goodbye. I mean, I’m sure he verified it was not an inhabited solar system, but seriously. In that goodbye chat, he specifically tells her that they cannot get across the barrier between universes because “the whole thing would fracture. Two universes would collapse.”

Does Rose accept the judgment of the person who is unquestionably the foremost person in either universe able to evaluate the risk of such an attempt? No she doesn’t. We learn in series 4 that even before the stars started going out, she was having Torchwood build a DIMENSION CANNON to P U N C H. A. H O L E. IN THE UNIVERSES!!! like presumably as many as it took for her to find the right one. Just so she could get back to him. AFTER HE MADE IT CLEAR THAT IS NOT WHAT HE WANTED. BECAUSE IT WOULD DESTROY THEM. This is portrayed as romantic rather than horrific. Seriously. And then he dumps his problematic clone on her and goes back to his own universe. SO ROMANTIC. Sorry, I try not to be rude about Rose’s relationship with the Doctor. I think it’s actually an interesting dynamic that makes sense in context, but it really bugs me that so many people view it unproblematically, and it bugs me even more that people don’t imagine both Rose and the Doctor growing out of it. Like, I can’t lie: I think that’s wacked and super unhealthy, in much the same way (though to a lesser degree) as the Twilight series and its fans are, except Doctor Who is still better-written and far more interesting.

That said, I’d be willing to read a well-written fix-it fic that depicts them growing out of their unhealthy codependent dynamic while staying together romantically. TBH I’d be more interested if it were Rose and Tentoo because then it would be canon-compliant, but I’m not too picky on that point. I AM picky about it not even remotely disrespecting the relationship the Doctor had with any other companion though. And it would have to have a whole “you were so obsessed with me that you were willing to destroy an unspecified number of universes, INCLUDING THE ONE YOUR FAMILY AND BEST FRIEND WERE IN, just to see me again for a brief period of time before this universe also collapsed WITH US IN IT and honey, that’s actually CREEPY AND GROSS even though I thought it was super sweet at the time, but in my defense the universe was already ending at that point anyway and you don’t have that excuse because in your case it was PREMEDITATED” conversation because otherwise I won’t believe they’ve actually grown as people. Also it’d be nice if it were funny more than angsty (but lbr you can’t write what I’m talking about without a fair amount of angst). So, y'know, if anyone has actually written that fic lmk.

Meanwhile, there’s MARTHA.

OK so I’m on record about how awesome Martha is. This is already getting long so I won’t belabor Martha’s total awesomeness as a character, but even though I got a bit tired of dysfunctional family relationships in New Who, it was novel to see them have any ongoing family relationships at all, and Martha’s was particularly rich, partly there were so many of them for her to interact with, thus revealing lots of different facets of her character. And despite her fractious relationship with them, she remained fiercely loyal, which was an interesting source of tension between her and the Doctor, and one that diverted attention away from the dental-drill painfulness of the unrequited love subplot.

It’s super gross that the writers made her hung up on the Doctor all the way through series 3. Not because it’s ridiculous for an intelligent, perceptive, professional young woman to be hung up on an emotionally unavailable man. No, that really happens to actual human beings (and again, possibly related to serious parental issues, so it’s not even without narrative justification). Handled with any sensitivity at all, it could have made for a lovely level of complexity. What really bugs me, and I’ve also written about this before, is how the Doctor treats her like GARBAGE, and this is barely addressed as a problem that he is responsible for. In the end Martha realises her mistake in sticking around for so long, but her attempts to call out his bad behavior in the past fell on deaf ears. Martha is the rebound girl but he acts like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Which, IDK, maybe he really doesn’t know? Like for all his 900+ years the Doctor has little previous actual relationship experience and also he’s super blindingly hung up on his high school-esque sweetheart Rose. And it’s not just in regards to Martha’s romantic feelings that he treats her poorly. He also dismisses her VERY VALID CONCERNS about her own safety and well-being when traveling in the past for the sake of his own whims. And he brushes off legitimate questions about how stuff works. Anyway. This is well-trodden ground. As is the fact that RTD later inexplicably fobs Martha off on MICKEY, the only other black companion in the series up to that point, despite having already paired Martha off with a cute, sweet doctor who seemed like a MUCH better fit, and there literally being no narrative reason for them to be a couple in that scene.

Donna! Well, as we all know, Donna is among the best-developed companions ever.

She didn’t start out that way though. She started off as a Deeply Problematic (read: disgustingly misogynistic) Stereotype who was never meant to be more than a one-off, but CT and DT got along so well that they brought the character back full-time, and so we got a lot of deconstruction, exploration, and development of that first impression. And I’ll forever be happy we did. But even in The Runaway Bride, she had moments of surprising depth and pathos. Deep down, Donna was always better than she seemed. The fact that she was the last person (other than her mother) to realize that fact is part of what makes her so compelling.

Her relationship to the Doctor is also the least problematic, because they’re both on the same page about being platonic bffs. To be fair, part of the reason he does make sure this is clear from the outset is because he has finally realized how he hurt Martha (NOT THAT HE EVER APOLOGIZED TO MARTHA FOR THAT–for a guy for whom “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” was basically a second catch phrase, Ten actually sucks at apologising to the people close to him). Unlike Martha, the Doctor doesn’t overlook Donna or brush off her concerns. Unlike Rose, he is not codependent with her. Donna calls him on his BS, and he listens. She helps him to face his emotional vulnerability rather than running from/shutting out potentially scary personal relationships (like with River and Jenny). The Doctor helps Donna to see that she really is brilliant and important, and she grows to believe him.

That’s not to say that Donna’s character was handled perfectly. No, indeed. Even after her first story, we’re repeatedly subjected to jokes about her desperate need for and inability to get a man. Even the Doctor, who is otherwise kind to her, takes these jokes for granted and sometimes participates in them. At the end of series 4, we’re shown that the one person in the universe that Mr. Pansexuality Personified, JACK HARKNESS has no interest in flirting with is Donna Noble, the man-hungry middle-aged slightly overweight loud temp from Chiswick. And then, of course, the Doctor denies her agency and takes away her access to the memories of everything she saw, everything she did, everything she discovered about herself while traveling with him. Just so he wouldn’t have to see her die. It was selfish of him. She made her choice and he ignored it to spare HIMSELF pain. But, y'know, at least the Doctor cheated the lottery to make her rich as a wedding present to a very attractive, kind-looking, and clearly adoring man–right before he regenerated. So she did get a happy ending.

[susandsnell]

whaaat Hadestown sounds awesome!!! i’ll definitely check both those out but it sounds like Hadestown is like, the style of my dreams. also anything that starts as a folk opera is awesome bc i love the concept of a folk opera. follow up: i’ve seen some things about Be More Chill and somehow missed its jump to Broadway? what’s it about?

Sorry I took a day to get back to you, musical anon, but I just had to write my penultimate final first thing this morning! Hadestown is the style of everyone’s dreams, and I really hope you like it when you do check it out. It’s incredibly unique. 

As to your second query, permit me to have some obnoxious gif usage because life is short and I am now permanently on my bullshit. And, well. You just asked me, Coco, about Be More Chill.

WELCOME TO HELL. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE NOW. 

(Festive, right?) 

So! 

Be More Chill is a very loose adaptation of a (vastly different and quite offensive) 2004 novel by the same name. It did the work of my dreams, which is combine my two favourite genres, science fiction and musical theatre, in a big way, while also stealth being a narrative about mental health, recovery, friendship, love, and sexy computers.  Also, the songs are absolute bops and the music style is contemporary but still unmistakably Broadway. It’s also openly inspired by Little Shop of Horrors (while also being very much in the vein of other wacky, culty musicals like Reefer Madness, a bit of Rocky Horror thrown in, etc), which is a major plus. 

It’s a darkly hilarious, sci-fi-horror-teen drama-romance-musical, in short. 

In long??? A little gist: 

So, our leading man, Jeremy Heere, is a (canonically Jewish! Canonically Jewish! CANONICALLY JEWISH!!!) typical high school geeky outcast who struggles with severe anxiety, self hatred, and a vast panoply of other issues. He’s badly bullied, only has one friend, Michael Mell, who is quite literally the savior of the universe, and crushes on the local theatre kid (and a literal queen), Christine Canigula. In an effort to impress her, he takes the advice of the local bully, Rich, and buys a pill from the back of a Payless shoe store called a SQUIP (short for Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor), which, if ingested and activated by Mountain Dew (just go with it I promise it’s worth it), installs a computer chip in his brain that can manifest the illusion only he can see of a personification that is an intensely attractive person (has been cast as multiple genders depending on the production!!!) who will instruct him on what the right thing to do or say is so that he can overcome his perceived social and personal failings, and improve himself, and maybe get the girl. 

Of course, this thing goes evil, and absolute epic mayhem ensues. 

Where do I even start with what I love about this musical? 

The characters are incredibly true to life; literally nobody is who they seem to be in terms of typical high school, sci fi, or even theatre tropes. which is part of the ultimate message (and I love that!!!) Jeremy’s narrative is very much a subversion of the typical entitled-nerd-boy-goes-wild-trying-to-get-the-girl, because his actions and mistakes are steeped very much in long lasting mental health struggles (he literally mentions having to go to the nurse constantly due to his anxiety attacks), as well as a heartrendingly realistic and depressing home life, and the show is very clear about this, pulling no punches. He’s flawed, he’s sweet, he’s funny, he’s tragic, he’s redemptive, he’s just…wonderful. 

Michael, who in any other show would be ‘the goofy best friend’ character and that’s it gets an incredible arc showing his brilliance, and his own inner demons, including the big showstopper Michael In The Bathroom, which is famous not only for being an incredible song, but because it goes there; it depicts the entirety of a severe panic attack in gut-wrenching detail. All set to awesome music, of course. His depth is revealed in that the otherwise cheerful, happy-go-lucky best friend character whose life seems to revolve around the protagonist’s brought to the logical conclusion of this archetype; extreme codependency and other mental health struggles. This is by no means all that he is – I’d explain why, and what an incredible, positive, heroic character he is, but I won’t dare spoil where his arc ends up going. 

Christine Canigula, our leading lady, is a badass feminist and so much more than a perky theatre kid; she’s shown to struggle much in the same ways Jeremy and Michael do, she’s politically involved and dedicated, while still being desperately uncertain about what to do with her life, her entire character is dedicated to subverting expectations (all her big numbers end with a subverted rhyme to prove this!!), she’s developed so much more than other love interest characters, and is in so many ways so much more than a love interest. She’s fiercely intelligent, but tempted to take the easy route to popularity in different ways than Jeremy, while being more inclined to being true to herself, and her autonomy drives the plot. She’s also canonically a woc who has ADHD and she’s a gun control advocate. Like??? When will your faves ever?  Her romance is believable and wonderful and driven by what she wants and her arc, while subtle, is integral to the plot. 

I could do a paragraph for each character (and if you’re on my blog, I’ll probably get around to writing meta for each of them), but the popular kids, the bullies, even the apparently useless parent character…none of them are what they seem. As for the SQUIP, I don’t dare reveal the awesomeness of that particular villain, except to say that it’s a metaphor for…a number of things, while incredibly enthralling, and The Pitiful Children, the big villain song, is honestly up there with any of your Disney villains for a truly epic sci-fi experience. It’s a completely irredeemable villain whose appeal lies in its irredeemability, especially fascinating because it’s a machine, and hence gains no sadistic pleasure from it’s evildoing; it merely seeks results, which is just chilling. 

The cast is incredibly diverse, and there is a TON of LGBT+ representation, including Michael having lesbian mothers, a completely non-stereotyped bisexual male character who ACTUALLY CALLS HIMSELF BISEXUAL OUT LOUD, and who is arguably the most tragic character in the show, but that tragedy is separate almost entirely from his orientation, and more. 

While being lighthearted sci-fi fare, it deals pretty straightforwardly with a number of heavy topics, such as mental illness, suicidal ideation, extreme loneliness, self-hatred, isolation,  trauma, abuse, sexual orientation, dysfunctional families, dysfunctional friendships, existential crises, near-death experiences, brainwashing, addiction, bullying, torture (of the sci-fi variety but still pretty damn hard to watch), and even (albeit briefly, but it still bears mention) male sexual assault, and handles all of them exceptionally well, never overdoing it on any of them (they’re interwoven and sometimes entirely subtextual to the plot) but also being honest enough about the fact that some of our darkest moments include incredibly dark comedy, all while never making light of these serious issues. That being said, consider this the trigger warning paragraph if any of that’s a limit for you! They’re so wonderfully balanced by a narrative of healing and forgiveness and loyalty and love that it makes the story all the stronger; seeing everyone facing these awful things, and being able to overcome them together. 

It’s also the type of sci-fi that I love; the kind that, like Back to the Future, Weird Science, and Stranger Things embraces a retro aesthetic, and is a smaller, singular fantastical/sci-fi element contained in a setting that is otherwise very recognizable to our world; the kind of adventures you feel like you could have between your own classes. The sci-fi effects and costumes are incredible, especially in Act 2. 

AND, and and and, It’s an underdog story within an underdog story; it opened in a regional theatre in Jersey for a limited run in 2015 and closed very quickly, and everyone assumed it would never be picked up again, but in Winter 2017, it blew up by sheer word of mouth due to a combination of the original cast album being on Spotify and the popularity of certain amateur productions since it got licenced; eventually, it got a 2017 regional theatre revival at Exit 82, and that sparked an online fandom so strong that the show got a second chance with an off-Broadway run that happened this past summer, which in turn got so successful that the show is transferring to Broadway. All the way from a seemingly failed regional limited run, with most of the original cast (who are darlings, as are the creators, incredibly empathetic people bringing this wonderful, weird, warm story to the forefront). And who doesn’t love the meta of the show itself being an underdog when the cast is entirely of underdogs?

Just. Please. Do yourself a favour and check it out. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cheer.  I heard about it only peripherally since around mid-2017 ish and then only really got into it this past May/June, and….gosh. My life’s gotten so much better since. I’ve met dear friends through the fandom, dragged other dear friends into this glorious pit, and the show, as a narrative of healing, is helping to heal me, too. 

Possibly a new all-time favourite. 

[onisionhurtspeople]

i’m 100% for lainey labeling their gender in whatever way feels right for them, dressing however feels right, and using whatever pronouns feel right. i’m not gonna doubt or question their identity or anyone else’s. what rubs me the wrong way is how they emulate and almost fetishize the “teen” aesthetic. when they’ve said they look like a 12 year old boy and implied that it was attractive/hot/a good thing, i was kinda creeped out. idk how to explain it but i think it sends a really bad message.

Ah, yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been considering writing about for a while: how much Lainey seems to fetishize adolescence. Get ready for another one of my pointless tl;drs that nobody ever reads or cares about, y’all!

If Lainey was removed from the context surrounding the reasons why we all spend so much time scrutinizing her behavior in the first place, I doubt most people would have a problem with the fact that she seems almost pathologically obsessed with portraying herself as a 15-year-old girl in both style and personality, rather than as the 23-year-old wife and mother of two that she is. 

But the issue, of course, is that Lainey’s preferences do not exist in a vacuum; they mean something, and that’s what we’re here to analyze. She is married to a man who fetishizes teenage girls himself, because they’re easier to control and manipulate. She indulges in, and relates to, a culture that heavily emphasizes youth and immaturity (referring to boyfriends as “daddy”, having a DDlg (Daddy Dom/little girl) fetish, being “taken care of” by men (and treated like a little princess in bed), constantly alluding to not knowing what they’re doing in life, assuming a guileless pose in selfies that reflect a certain youthful confusion and spontaneity, constantly referencing their childlike habits (”touch my butt and buy me pizza”, “I have no idea what I’m doing”, “im a crybaby” flavors of meme), dressing like a 12-year-old in overalls, children’s Pokemon panties, and pastel-colored hair and clothing with simplistic, childlike patterns, etc - not that I think there’s anything inherently wrong with any of these things, but all of these pieces of the puzzle fit together to paint the picture of a person who is unhealthily obsessed with living out their life as a teenager. You guys know the ~aesthetic~ that I’m trying to drive at here).

She indulges in cultural trends targeted towards children and young teens. Her entire personality revolves around sensitivity, helplessness, passivity; she exudes anxiety, uncertainty, and confusion; and openly discusses being so sensitive that she becomes completely overwhelmed by even the most simple of tasks that adults are expected to be able to do. And again, I’m not saying that these are inherently negative traits (although obviously when these qualities run your life, it can become problematic); but Lainey seems almost proud of these traits. She’s more than just open about it. She brags about them. She romanticizes them. She constructs elaborate internal fantasies around them. Her entire identity revolves around being a ~smol sensitive anxious space prince daddy~. 

On top of all these things, almost everybody that she hangs out with or considers to be her friend (from Sarah, who lives with her, all the way down to the girls who she interacts with on Discord) is a teenager. She does not speak to women her own age. It’s bizarre. I used to have a friend who was quite a bit younger than me, by three and a half years - the first time we met in real life was on her 16th birthday, and I was 19, almost 20; and despite the fact that we were best friends and that I had so many other friends my own age, there was a very obvious and noticeable difference in our maturity levels. I’m not saying that uneven friendships like this can’t work or are inherently inappropriate, but again, within the context of Lainey’s life, it’s an enormous red flag that she seems to be unable to relate with women her own age, and can only form friendships with teenage girls between the ages of 15 and 21. Even outside of the context of her marriage (because let’s not forget that she’s married to a man who openly admits to having a sexual preference for young women, because they’re at “peak fertility” according to him), the fact that she relates the most with teenage girls is a huge indication that Lainey herself is either a) extremely mature, b) purposely seeks to enter uneven friendships with younger girls because it balances the friendship in her favor, giving her more power and control (which wouldn’t surprise me if true, given that she’s married to Onision - she needs to be able to exercise control in SOME way), c) is emotionally stunted and frozen at the age of ~18 due to Onision’s influence on her psychological development, or d) a sexual predator who herself prefers teenage girls. I’m sure everybody has their own theory on why this is, but personally I think it’s probably a mixture of all four, with option c being the most prominent motivation. 

I think Lainey projects herself onto teenage girls because she feels very much unprepared for this world, threatened by it, and does not trust her own ability to navigate adulthood successfully. In this regard, I think Greg managed to find almost a perfect partner for himself - a girl who is trapped in her adolescence in perpetuity (largely by choice, but partly through direction by Onision), who purposely cuts herself off from growing and learning and emerging as a young adult because it’s less dangerous and challenging for her to remain within her psychological safe zone, being coddled like a baby and completely controlled and taken care of by Greg, who looks after all of the hard things in her life that she struggles with (doing taxes, making money, going outside to get groceries, paying bills, interacting with strangers, making appointments, earning a living wage) - all of the practical, adult things that Lainey is terrified of doing, because it’s so overwhelming to her. Greg, of course, loves this. Lainey is his ideal partner: a woman who needs to be with a man like him, who defines her entire identity for her. A man who directs her, tells her what to do, is domineering and aggressive, and who makes all of her decisions for her. Tells her what to do, who to be, what to feel, how to act. A man who has complete control over every aspect of her life. A narcissist (him) and an inverted narcissist, or codependent (her). 

And so this is why Lainey is so obsessed with portraying herself as a teenager. Teenagers hit that sweet spot in between childhood and adulthood that Lainey feels trapped by in perpetuity. On the one hand, she is not a child - she is a sexual being; she has kinks, and preferences, and desires to express herself and her sexual identity. On the other hand, though, neither is she an adult - she is immature, self-absorbed, has an unstable sense of self, doesn’t know who she is, hypersensitive, anxious, gets overwhelmed easily, indulges often in her learned helplessness, and makes no attempt to change any of this - she revels in her dysfunction; she romanticizes it. And there is no age that typifies this combination of traits better than a teenage girl does. She doesn’t just relate to teenagers; she wants to be a teenager, forever–and in some ways, she really is, because the interference of Greg on Lainey’s emotional, psychological, social, and sexual growth has had a catastrophic impact on her development. She is essentially a 16-year-old girl trapped within the body of a 23-year-old mother of two. And that’s exactly what she wants. 

I think what’s ultimately going to be what destroys Greg and Lainey’s marriage is that eventually, Lainey is going to be too old for Greg, and he’s going to feel compelled to pick up another 17-, 18-, and 19-year-old girl again from his existing pool of die-hard fans. Already it’s quite apparent that Greg is bored of Lainey (as evidenced by the fact that he is still actively trying to find women to cheat on her with, even after what happened with Billie); but once the cost of maintaining her becomes more expensive than the cost of replacing her with a new, hot, young, alternative, impressionable teenage girl, he will do what he tried to do once before with Billie, and eject Lainey in favor of a new wife to manipulate. And the whole process will start all over again, until the day that either Greg dies, or he becomes incapable of drawing in new women. And at that point, sadly, the fact that Lainey is still a teenager - but only on the inside - will end up becoming the most painful struggle of her life, when she is forced to take on all of the adult responsibilities that Greg currently carries for her, and realizes that she is dangerously under-qualified to live her life as an adult woman instead of a pampered, permanent 16-year-old girl. 

(Sadly - or maybe luckily - I think that Lainey is the type of woman who needs to be in a relationship with someone like Greg (an inverted narcissist; in other words, a codependent), so I guess here’s to hoping that when this inevitably happens, she will quickly find herself a new narcissist to date and define her entire identity for her, I suppose?)

Press F to pay respects for this ridiculously, unnecessarily long fucking essay that I just wrote that NOBODY is going to read. Praise the Noodle Lord. Amen. 

[your-dietician]

How To Become A Boundary Boss, According To A Celebrity Psychotherapist

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/how-to-become-a-boundary-boss-according-to-a-celebrity-psychotherapist/

How To Become A Boundary Boss, According To A Celebrity Psychotherapist

Terri Cole

Terri Cole

Do you say “yes” at work when you want to say “no?”

Do you put in hours in the evening and on weekends?

Are you immediately responsive to every email or message you receive from your boss or coworkers?

If you’re nodding your head, then you’re in need of better boundaries at work.

Healthy boundaries are among the most powerful tools for taking charge of your time, attention, and energy. Setting limits helps you maintain balance and self-respect.

But setting boundaries is not easy, especially if you consider yourself to be someone who is highly empathetic and sensitive. You may worry about appearing rude, mean, or dismissive.

It’s time to let that unhelpful narrative go, according to Terri Cole. Terri Cole is a New York-based licensed psychotherapist and relationship expert. For two decades, Terri has worked with some of the world’s most well-known personalities from international pop stars, athletes, TV personalities to thought-leaders and Fortune 500 CEOs.

Now in her new book, Boundary Boss: The Essential Guide to Talk True, Be Seen, and (Finally) Live Free, Cole shares how women who are exhausted from over-giving, overdoing, and even over-feeling can regain their power.

I sat down with Cole to discuss her new book.

Melody Wilding: Many people have misconceptions about boundaries. Can you explain how you define boundaries?

Terri Cole: To become a boundary boss, as in to be healthy with your boundaries, you need to know what your preferences, your desires, your limits, and your deal breakers are. You have to be able to clearly and concisely communicate those boundaries if you so choose.

Wilding: Your new book is Boundary Boss, what inspired you to write it?

Cole: They often say you teach what you most need to learn. I had lots of practice and personal experience in how painful it is to have disordered boundaries and “the disease to please.” I kept trying to be everything to everyone.

I was the hero child in my family growing up, so I got into therapy when I was very young. As to why I latched onto boundaries, well that goes back to my childhood. For instance, nobody would talk about anything that was too uncomfortable or messy. We did not work stuff out. There wasn’t a lot of honest communication, it was disordered communication. Disordered communication leads to disordered boundaries. I wasn’t even allowed to be angry in the home that I grew up in. So my anger went underground, which means that if I was angry I would express it in a passive aggressive way. Rolling eyes, slamming doors, etc.

Then when I worked as a talent agent in the entertainment industry, the more I saw people’s disordered boundaries, the more I wanted to fix them. Now I have a private psychotherapy practice and I see the same things. It doesn’t matter what the presenting problem is–divorce, money, addiction–every single presenting problem connects back to the all-important skill set of boundary setting. Disordered boundaries are literally at the core level of every one of their pain points.

So I started learning more about boundaries and how to teach them. About five years ago, I created a course about boundaries and tested it with about 50 women. Now I’ve refined that course and I’ve probably now had 2,500 women in 195 countries go through it, which is mind-blowing. So that’s the book, it is basically the fruits of almost 24 years in the trenches with clients.

Wilding: What or who is a boundary boss? 

Cole: Let’s talk about the skills that you would possess if you are a boundary boss. The first is doing a deep dive into what’s okay with you versus what’s not okay with you in all areas of your life. After I describe a concept in the book, I then have a section called “back to you” to help you think about what you just learned. I’m asking you these questions: How does this strike you? How does this affect you in your life? Is this true for you? Is this different for you? This is intended to help you know who you are, to help you identify what’s not okay with you, and to give you the ability to speak it.

Another part of being a boundary boss though is about understanding how old material controls us. You have a boundary blueprint that was downloaded in your childhood right here in your unconscious mind – culture, country, family, religion – all of it comes together to inform you of how you should be.

There’s a process that I walk the reader through where we are going into the basement of your mind, which is your unconscious mind. You’re opening up some boxes and going through the material in there because so much of what happens in our lives–especially the dysfunctional parts–is driven by unconscious material.

Boundary bosses understand the different types of boundaries. Boundaries come in five general categories: physical, sexual, material, mental, and emotional. When any of these boundaries are crossed, we’re in trouble. Further, boundaries come in three types: rigid, porous, and healthy. Understanding these types will help you to see where your boundary issues might be so you can start to correct them. Are your emotional boundaries way too porous? Are your mental boundaries too rigid? Where are you flexible and balanced?

Finally, boundary bosses create a personal “bill of rights.” As in, you have the right to say no or yes to others without feeling guilty. You have the right to make mistakes, to course-correct, or to change your mind. You have the right to negotiate for your preferences, desires, and needs. You have the right to express and honor all of your feelings if you so choose. You have the right to voice your opinion, even if others disagree. You have the right to be treated with respect, consideration, and you have the right to determine who has the privilege of being in your life. You’re the bouncer of your life, so put up that velvet rope. You have the right to communicate your boundary limits and deal-breakers. You have the right to prioritize your self-care without feeling selfish, which is a huge one for women. You have the right to talk, to be seen, and to live free.

Wilding: In the book, you talk about high functioning codependency. Can you talk about how this shows up for people in a professional or work setting? 

Cole: High functioning codependency is being overly invested in the feeling states, the decisions, the outcomes of the people in your sphere. This is to the detriment of your internal experience, perhaps your health, your life in some way, your bandwidth, your energy.

Most of my clients did not identify with being codependent. I would see these high-functioning women who are literally changing the world, and I would say, “Hey, let’s talk about codependency.” They thought I was nuts because they thought of themselves as the one with all the answers, as the person everyone else depended on. They thought being codependent meant you had to be in a relationship with an alcoholic. But really if someone else’s disaster or debacle feels like your own and you feel an urgency as if it were your life, that’s codependency.

Here’s the high-functioning piece: the women in my therapy practice are so high functioning and capable that it’s as if they’re doing it all and making it look easy. So because no one sees the pain or the suffering, they are giving at the expense of themselves. In my therapy practice, I see the result–women coming in with auto-immune disorders, being bitter because they felt like everyone else was ungrateful. In reality, these clients were over-giving and blaming those people.

As women, we want to be “good girls.” We want to be nice, generous, and kind. But what we also want is the dumpster fire of that other person’s life to stop ruining our peace. We think if we could just fix their problems, then maybe we can rest.

To move past this, the first thing you have to do is to look at where your self-esteem is coming from. Perfectionism is a big part of this over-functioning and over-giving but there’s also a need that is being meet. So awareness is the first step. Then you have to do an inventory check. Where are you doing things for other people that they can and should be doing for themselves?

If you are doing work that is not yours, stop. If you’re working overtime or you’re letting your vacation days accrue instead of taking them, stop. By doing these things, you are telling people how to treat you in all ways. Our relationship with ourselves sets the bar. If you don’t think that you’re valuable enough to rest, that’s a problem. Where are you over-giving? If you want to know where you’re overdoing these things, think about the people you work with and then gauge your resentment level.

Wilding: You talk about “clean agreements.” What are those and why are they important?

Cole: Clean agreements are expressed agreements. We make no assumptions about what’s happening and we are managing expectations for all involved. The same as when you start a new job, you have a clear agreement of terms. You might compromise on one part of that agreement, but you do not start that job without a clear promise of terms. Clean and clear agreements involve anticipating everything that could go wrong and putting a proactive boundary in place.

This is can be very difficult for women. There’s still this stigma around asking for what you’re worth. The same with entrepreneurs in their own business. I can’t tell you how many of my clients say they haven’t raised my prices in five years. They don’t want their clients to think they’re greedy. However, we have to have proactive boundaries in place.

With my team, we do “rules of engagement.” This is where they’re all clear about the best way to interact with me. For instance, I’m not on tech till 11 am. I let them know the best way to interact with me whether by email, text, or voice notes. Your clients and employees need to know this, to0. How long will it take for you to get back to them, for example? Make that clear. If we’re all clear as to what the agreements are, that sets everyone up to be successful.

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[cacowhistle]

on first glance Wow that quote is misusing the term redemption arc but !! c!beeduo are certainly unhealthy. i don’t think there’s a single healthy relationship on the server, though. some are worse than others (see the current crimeboys dynamic, all of las nevadas, etc.) but even the good relationships aren’t entirely healthy because of the impact traumatic events have had on these characters!

ranboo and tubbo’s communication isn’t great. it’s better than a lot of relationships on the smp, but the bar is literally on the ground. anyone who is put into a position where they may have to fight to the death to protect someone else automatically does not have a healthy relationship with that person, but that doesn’t mean it’s their fault or that the relationship is inherently bad. c!beeduo are very good for each other! their circumstances just force them into a corner where they have to take on unhealthy behaviors to survive. and like... tubbo doesn’t treat ranboo poorly, so i’m not sure what that quote is on about? like. sure you could say tubbo experimented on ranboo but that was like. soft canon at best? dubiously canon? schrodinger’s canon. like. sure tubbo is a “gold digger” but ranboo clearly doesn’t give a shit. ranboo cares about tubbo a whole hell of a lot, and tubbo clearly reciprocates. i don’t think either of them have really hurt the other (yet)

another example of a good yet unhealthy dynamic would be c!clingyduo! they were practically codependent all the way up to the exile arc, and even now they still aren’t healthy despite the fact that they’ve managed to sort of start functioning without each other all the time. but that’s not their fault at all! they’re doing their best (and they’re doing a pretty damn good job) with the circumstances they’ve been given, and even if their communication isn’t perfect and they’re still unintentionally stepping on each other’s sensitive spots in regards to trauma, they still care for each other and are trying to do better.

the same can be said about c!beeduo, i think! they aren’t healthy, but they aren’t bad for each other, either. a relationship doesn’t have to be toxic or abusive to be unhealthy. it can just be a bit dysfunctional. c!beeduo don’t really tell each other anything, and they’d still burn the server to the ground for each other. unhealthy, but not to a point where it’d be better for them to go their separate ways. nobody needs a redemption arc, they just need to work on communicating more, and also if they weren’t in a setting where their lives are threatened constantly i think it would do wonders for their relationship and ability to work through trauma lmaooo

Hey I stole this from this questionnaire from this cool person, but I have a question because of it - do y'all think that c!beeduo are unhealthy? Particularly Tubbo to Ranboo?

[worryinglyinnocent]

A Brief And Hopefully Humorous Summary Of The 100 From Someone Who Has Not Seen It. 

So, after my weird dream earlier in the week, I was intrigued by The 100 and decided to check it out. On finding it was not available on Netflix, I decided to delve into Wikipedia, TV Tropes, Tumblr and Youtube instead for some recaps and information. 

My thoughts below. No offence is intended to the show or to people who enjoy it, this is all in the spirit of entertainment and I do really want to watch it now - I am sure I will get round to it. 

Season One

100 years after the first of what seem to be infinite nuclear apocalypses, 100 teenage delinquents are sent to a possibly uninhabitable Earth in exchange for not being blown out of an airlock, because... perhaps you won’t die of radiation sickness but you definitely will die of being blown out of an airlock?

Immediately Lord of the Flies mentality kicks in.

Lord of the Flies momentarily put on pause when it turns out that they’re not alone. 

Everyone attempts to survive. Some people do not. There’s murder and suicide within the first five episodes?

Meanwhile back in space with the adults there is Unresolved Sexual Tension. 

A supposedly important main character is in the pilot then never seen or spoken of again.

Teens make contact with adults slightly too late because some idiot broke the radio, there are explosions everywhere, and the adults decide to nope on out of space. 

Season Two

The adults arrive and their attempts to reimpose civilisation on the teens are not well received. 

There’s a not-radioactive mountain full of mutants, sort of. 

Unethical human experimentation.

Unresolved Sexual Tension now moves to the teens. Lead female character one teams up with love interest and becomes my first potential ship. 

More explosions. 

Lead female character two takes several levels in badass.

Lots of betrayal.

The mountain is now radioactive and lots of people are dead. 

Season Three

Where did female lead 1 get red hair dye from?

Former leader of the adults starts a cult. 

The badass beard arrives.

Infighting amongst everyone from space. And everyone from the ground. Charles Vane from Black Sails is also here.

The AI that caused Apocalypse 1.0 comes back for a second attempt. 

Black blood is a thing and is special.

One half of my first potential ship gets killed. 

One half of my second potential ship gets tortured. 

Mind control all over the place. 

Virtual reality skyscrapers. 

The attempt to recruit the pacifists on the oil rig to help with the cause goes about as well as can be expected. 

AI is defeated, but apocalypse 2.0 is on the way!

Season Four

So. Much. Infighting. 

So. Much. Genuine. Fighting. 

Second potential ship gets over the torture and has sexy times.

Female lead 2 turns up on a horse ready to throw down. 

The Hunger Games - pre-apocalypse edition!

The Hunt For Red October The Doomsday Cult’s Bunker.

So. Much. Fighting. Over. The. Bunker.

The teens who originally came to earth decide to nope on out of there back to space. 

Apocalypse 2.0 arrives!

Season Five

Time skip six years and the space crew come back down because they’re sick of eating algae.

At least they weren’t in the bunker. I was correct about the cannibalism but wrong on the timing... 

Sixteen year old girl goes bonkers as a result of everything she has to do to keep the human race alive, and proceeds to be stabbed in the back, thrown under the bus and demonised for it. 

Bunker Battle Royale 2.0: This Time Inside The Bunker!

Female Lead One adopts small child and spends the rest of the season protecting her at all costs to the detriment of some of her other relationships. 

Second potential ship has now become a codependent, drug dependent dysfunction junction. 

Everyone switches sides at the drop of a hat.

Sonic mining cannons!

Everyone is at war over the greenery.

It’s all for nothing because... Apocalypse 3.0 is here!

They all nope on back to space again, this time in convenient cryo-tubes. 

My back-up ship dies.

At least they got to grow old together. 

Season Six

There’s only so many apocalypses the earth can take, apparently, so they nope on out of there to a different planet altogether.

Invasion of the body-snatchers.

Second potential ship dies completely. Note to self, body-snatching is not the best way to say ‘I love you’.

Are any of the adults even left now?

(I mean they’re technically all adults now thanks to the post-apocalypse-2.0 time skip, but hey.)

Have I mentioned that I hate time travel?

Season Seven

Wormholes and time anomalies and doomsday cults and interplanetary travel via weird stones (hello Stargate?), oh my!

Despite promising to do better and not cause another nuclear apocalypse, they almost do. 

Humanity fast-tracks itself to judgement day and nearly fails.

Male lead gets stuck in a snow drift and joins a cult.

Most popular ship in the fandom gets shot down in flames. 

Humanity ascends to a higher plane of existence.

Some of them decide that the higher plane of existence is overrated and return to earth, which apparently did survive Apocalypse 3.0 after all. 

The dog lives.

[yesazea]

What’s the Best Codependency Treatment?

Codependency is usually mentioned as “relationship addiction.” It’s an emotional and behavioral condition that interferes with an individual’s ability to develop a healthy, mutually satisfying relationship.

The term codependency was first wont to describe the partner of somebody with an addiction—whose unhealthy choices enable or encourage the addiction to continue. But over the years it’s been expanded to incorporate individuals who maintain one-sided, emotionally destructive or abusive relationships and people relationships don’t necessarily need to be romantic.

Examples of Codependency

Codependent individuals have good intentions. they need to worry for a loved one who is struggling. But their efforts become compulsive and unhealthy.

Their attempts to rescue, save, and support their beloved allows the opposite individual to become even more hooked into them. The act of giving often gives a codependent individual a way of satisfaction as long as they gain recognition. They wish to “be needed.”

Their choices often backfire, however. they could feel trapped and grow resentful. they'll feel helpless yet unable to interrupt faraway from the connection or change their interactions.

The relationship tends to deteriorate over time. It's often riddled with anxiety, frustration, and pity, instead of love and luxury.

For some individuals, codependent relationships become commonplace. They hunt down friendships or romantic relationships where they're encouraged to act like martyrs.

Consequently, they devote all their time to caring for others and completely lose sight of what is important to them.

Codependency can are available in many forms. But at the basis of a codependent relationship is that the codependent individual loses sight of their own needs and needs to the detriment of themselves and therefore the other individual.

Here are some samples of what a codependent relationship might look like:

Codependency in Parent-Child Relationships

Example 1:

A parent constantly cleans up after an adult child who has moved back to the house. The parent gives the kid money and manages the child’s day-to-day affairs. They never mention why the adult child doesn’t have employment or how the cash is being spent because the parent doesn’t want to offend the kid. Giving them money and caring for them gives the parent a way of meaning and purpose.

Example 2: A parent is raising a toddler who is visually impaired. The parent insists on doing everything for the kid, albeit there are things the kid could learn to try to for themselves. the kid stays almost completely hooked into the parent for everything. The parent refuses any extra support services because they’re convinced they’re the sole one who can really assist their child.

Example 3: An adult child always drops everything the instant her mother calls to mention she’s having a nasty day. She considers it her job to require care of her mother as she knows her mother features a history of depression. She feels as if she’s the sole one who knows the way to help her mother feel better. She rarely leaves town because she never knows when her mother might need her. Her insistence that she has got to help her mother features a negative impact on her marriage.

Codependency in Romantic Relationships

Example 1:

a lady invests tons of energy into caring for her partner with a drinking problem. When he’s too hungover to travel to figure, she calls in sick for him. She then often calls in sick for herself so she will stay home and look out for him. She rarely engages in any social activities because she’s never sure when he could be drinking. And she’s afraid that if she’s not there, he might prefer to drive to the shop to shop for more alcohol. She makes excuses to friends and family about his behavior and never confronts him about his drinking for fear he’ll get angry and defensive. She schedules her life around him.

Example 2: A man’s partner features a chronic illness. She has mobility impairments and her physician has advised her to follow a particular diet. the person feels pitying her because she says she doesn’t enjoy the food on the diet plan. So he delivers her food that doctors say isn’t good for her and discourages her from doing any activity because she says traveling hurts. He makes it his life’s mission to worry about her needs.

Why It Happens

Codependency is learned by watching and imitating other relations who display this sort of behavior. It’s often passed down from one generation to subsequent. So a toddler who grew up watching a parent during a codependent relationship may repeat the pattern.

Codependency occurs in dysfunctional families where members often experience anger, pain, fear, or shame that's denied or ignored. Underlying issues that contribute to the dysfunction may involve:

- Addiction to drugs, alcohol, work, food, sex, gambling, relationships - Abuse (physical, emotional, or sexual) - Chronic physical illness or mental disease

Problems within the family are never confronted. Codependent individuals don’t mention the very fact that issues exist. relations repress their emotions and disrespect their own needs in an attempt to worry for the individual who is struggling.

All of the eye and energy goes toward the individual who is abusive, ill, or addicted. The codependent individual who usually sacrifices all of their own must look after the loved one who is struggling. they typically experience social, emotional, and physical consequences as they disregard their own health, welfare, and safety.

Risk Factors and Characteristics

While anyone might find themselves during a codependent relationship, certain factors increase the danger.

Studies show codependency is common in adults who were raised by parents with drug abuse problems, who sleep in chronic stressful family environments, who have children with behavior problems, and who look after the chronically ill. Women are more likely to be codependent than men.1

Individuals within the helping professions also are more likely to be in codependent relationships. It’s estimated that one-third of nurses have moderate to severe levels of codependency. Nurses got to be sensitive to the requirements of others and sometimes got to put aside their own feelings for the great of their patients.2 they'll also find validation in their ability to worry for others which need may spill over into their personal lives.

Researchers have identified several other factors that are often linked with codependency:1

- Lack of trust in self or others - Fear of being alone or abandoned - A need to regulate people - Chronic anger - Frequent lying - Poor communication skills - Trouble making decisions - Problems with intimacy - Difficulty establishing boundaries - Trouble adjusting to vary - An extreme need for approval and recognition - A tendency to become hurt when others don’t recognize their efforts - An inclination to try to quite their share all the time - A tendency to confuse love and pity - An exaggerated sense of responsibility for the actions of others

Assessment

While codependency isn’t something that shows up during a lab test or a brain scan, there's an assessment tool that some psychological state professionals use to work out if there’s an opportunity someone could be codependent.

It requires a private to answer questions in five basic domains: other focus/self-neglect, low self-esteem, hiding self, medical problems, and family of origin issues.

Individuals who are being assessed for codependency determine how true these statements are about them:

1. I feel compelled to assist people.

2. I attempt to control events and the way people should behave.

3. I become afraid to let people be who they're and permit events to happen naturally.

4. I feel ashamed of who I'm.

5. I attempt to control events and other people through helplessness, guilt, coercion, threats, advice-giving, manipulation, or domination.

6. I worry about having liver, bowel, or bladder problems.

7. I'm preoccupied with the thought that my body is failing me.

8. I feel compelled or forced to assist people to solve their problems (i.e., offering advice).

9. I feel that my general health as compared to my family and friends.

10. I placed on a cheerful face once I am really sad or angry.

11. I keep my feelings to myself and put up an honest front.

12. I feel ill and run down.

13. I hide myself so that nobody really knows me.

14. I keep my emotions under tight control.

15. once I was growing up, my family didn't talk openly about problems.

16. I even have stomach trouble.

17. I pick on myself for everything, including the way I feel, feel, look, act, and behave.

18. I push painful thoughts and feelings out of my awareness.

19. I grew up during a family that was troubled, unfeeling, chemically dependent, or overwrought with problems.

20. My family expressed feelings and affection openly once I was growing up.

21. I blame myself for everything an excessive amount of.

22. I'm unhappy now about the way my family coped with problems once I was growing up.

23. I'm unhappy about the way my family communicated once I was growing up.

24. I feel humiliated or embarrassed.

25. I hate myself.

The test is then scored by a licensed psychological state professional. More "true" answers increase the likelihood that somebody is codependent (except item number 20).

Treatments

Some individuals are ready to overcome codependency on their own. Learning about what it means to be codependent and therefore the harm it causes are often enough for a few individuals to vary their behavior.

Some people study their codependent tendencies through books or articles. Others stop being codependent once they experience environmental changes like a partner becomes sober or they get a replacement job that needs them to prevent care-taking.

Codependency usually requires professional treatment, however. It is often treated with talk therapy. Research shows that several different types of therapy treatments are often effective in reducing the symptoms and improving the standard of one’s life.

Group Therapy

Several different group interventions will be effective for codependency. The group dynamic gives individuals a chance to make healthier relationships in an appropriate space. group psychotherapy often involves giving regeneration and holding individuals accountable.

Group therapy methods may vary. Some involve cognitive behavioral therapy, where members learn specific skill-building strategies.

Other codependency groups follow the 12-step model. almost like the way other 12-step groups are run, individuals study their relationship addiction. Goals may include increasing self-awareness, self-esteem, and therefore the expression of feelings.

Family Therapy

Family therapy targets dysfunctional family dynamics. relations find out how to acknowledge their dysfunctional patterns and that they can find out how to enhance their relationships.

Improved communication is usually a key goal of group therapy. Issues that haven't before been discussed within the family could also be raised in therapy. Sometimes, one individual creates a change (such as getting sober or encouraging someone to be more independent) and it can change the whole family dynamic.

Cognitive Therapy

Cognitive therapy can target thoughts that contribute to unhealthy relationship patterns. for instance, a private who thinks, “I can’t stand being alone,” is probably going to travel to great lengths to take care of the connection, even when it’s not healthy to try to do so. Therapy sessions might specialize in learning the way to tolerate uncomfortable emotions and changing irrational thoughts.

The goal is probably going to make positive behavior changes and permit the opposite individual to simply accept more personal responsibility for his or her own actions.

Treatment may delve into a person’s childhood since most codependent individuals are patterning their relationships after ones they grew up seeing. Therapy may assist someone in getting into touch with their emotions and helping them experience a good range of feelings again.