#tried raising me with that my mom’s side of the family still inherently believes in

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Part 5

The Murphy family of Milo Murphy's law is in my opinion the least developed of the main families, due to the shows focus on school shenanigans and a time traveler subplot, not helped by it’s relatively short run time (H&G is already at 23 to MML 40)  But the Murphy family, tied together with the hereditary Murphy's Law is an extremely important element of the show. How the family bonds because of it and how even those who don't suffer from it make allowances in their life for those who do.

Milo values his father's advice immensely (as a fellow sufferer of EHML). Sara, while often a bit paranoid, and sometimes plans events around avoiding her father and brother, loves them dearly and makes sure to include them in things important to her. Brigette is shown to enjoy extreme sports and change, but still finds her husband and son exhausting at times.

While most of the extended Murphy family only features in the Christmas special. Beyond Milo's parents, sister and dog, he also has grandparents, an aunt, uncle, cousin and ancestors. These characters are all delightfully charming in their own right. His grandparents are constantly talking over each other so they are incomprehensible unless you're focusing on one, his aunt and uncle are somehow more positive than Milo, and his cousin is in denial about the whole thing. Sheriff Murphy’s attitude. Each member of the Murphy family showcases a different way of approaching the Law. Grandma Murphy is a bit of a badass, presumably necessary when raising two sons with Murphy’s Law. Martin became a safety inspector and chooses to be a bit more cautious, using his condition to his advantage all while managing it to the best of his ability so it causes less damage otherwise. Joey chooses to frame everything going wrong in the most positive way possible, as it can’t be things going wrong if you refuse to acknowledge the events as negative. Meanwhile Nate ignores it and tries to live his life out as best as he can without acknowledging that the things going wrong actually aren’t more than normal troubles and therefore easily manageable. Grandpa depends on family traditions and taking pride in Murphy’s Law to give it meaning, to make him feel empowered in living with it.

There's also a cousin Reggie who Milo mentions once as having painted the Mona Lisa that's hanging in the Louvre, but he's unseen and probably on his mom's side. (The Louvre is in France and there is kind of an implication of French heritage on one of his grandmother’s sides, so he could have family in France. It could easily be Grandma Murphy, which would be funny if she, a Danger married a Murphy. But there really isn’t enough information to make any assumptions and it’s probably more coincidence than anything).

Many of the episodes are about the family. For instance, there’s the family vacation episode, the roller disco derby episode and the episode where Sara and Milo go after shirts they believe to be important to their mom. And even in episodes not just about the Murphy family they still often make appearances, such as in Picture Day, Goulash, or Love Toboggan where the Murphy family may set the scene, providing motivation or the goal.

There’s something to be said about how despite the Murphy family being inherently unusual, and carrying that label with pride, how normal they really are. Brigette is shown to want normal mom things, like half-decent pictures of her son, or beating other mom’s at Goulash competitions, while knowing full well what she was getting into when she married her husband (and even otherwise may even like the excitement Murphy’s law may provide). Sara just wants teenage girl things like her date not going totally wrong, or getting to enjoy a movie premier. Even Milo and Martin are shown to be rather normal and annoyed by their condition at times. Martin likes lattes, and gets worried about their insurance premiums. Milo worries about his future and getting held back in school, gets excited when meeting celebrities or about learning. And of course Diogee may be the best dog in the world, but other than his penchant for getting himself anywhere in the world when Milo needs him, is an extremely ordinary dog. And both Milo and Martin at least are shown to enjoy skiing and really the whole family seems to enjoy just getting out and doing things. So much of Milo Murphy's Law is the Murphy family doing ordinary things just with Murphy's law throwing some curveballs in. The Murphy family is at their core, a normal family.

Even when Milo isn’t spending time with his family, he carries his family in a lot of what he does. Milo constantly brings up his fathers extremely specific sayings, and constantly making references to the wild stories his family has lived through. Milo goes out of his way to invite the Murphy’s to Christmas, he brings up his family as the thing he loves most immediately when asked. Sara carries her family in her love of Dr. Zone, a fan because of her father, and making space in her fandom for her brother and his condition.

The Murphy family is more defined by blood than the families in Phineas and Ferb due to the fact Murphy’s Law is a hereditary condition, and thus the blood relations is something that brings them together rather than relationships forged in absence of it. In Phineas and Ferb family is the similarities despite surface differences, and love despite relationship tensions. In Milo Murphy’s Law it’s the differences despite surface similarities, and love despite external problems. But that doesn’t mean that blood is the end all be all in Milo either. Far from it.

[sluttyten]

I'm not sure if this is shaking the table but I must ask- if someone's religious- and they believe that being gay is a sin-- does that make them homophobic or just religious? (now of course there are technicalities like are they just assholes to gay people or do they believe they just have to avoid the gay™?) *me personally i'm not going to rag on someone if theyre taught that their religion isnt lenient towards gayness *as long as they aren't an ass* -christian school anon

I feel like it’s both homophobic and just being religious because what their religion is teaching is homophobia. I grew up Christian, went to Catholic school since I was like 4 years old until I was 18, and in those 14 years I was taught in multiple religion classes and during homilies at church that being gay is a sin and it’s wrong, and for so long that didn’t sit right with me. It still doesn’t sit right with me. Christians love to preach love and peace, but will quickly turn on that basic principle of their faith when it comes to two men or two women being in love. They’ll say it’s disgusting and a sin, and I just feel like that’s total bullshit. Why should love be limited? And there’s not an argument that it’s unnatural, because homosexuality isn’t just a human thing, there are animals that also practice same sex bonds, so it’s actually quite natural. It’s not a modern idea born of sexual depravity, not brought about by internet culture or anything like that, because there are records of same sex love throughout history. Whether someone uses religion as a basis for them being an asshole or just being silently disgusted toward someone for being gay or suppressing their own homosexuality (or other aspects of the LGBT+ spectrum), they’re still homophobic because that religion is inherently teaching hatred. It might not be outspoken hatred, might only be internalized hatred, but it’s still homophobia. And silence in the face of homophobia, allowing it to happen, is also a form of homophobia

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

i think i’ve pretty well established by now that i like it when the fëanorians get to be monsters. the nightmares that haunt the sindarin imagination, drenched in the blood of both foe and friend, who forged their selves into weapons and turned killing into an art, ruthless and vicious and absolutely terrifying. they lead armies of blood-hungry zealots, fanatically devoted to the cause, with an attitude to outsiders more commonly found in doomsday cults. they burn all around them, and delight in the slaughter, and choke out the very light they once swore to protect

so it might surprise you to learn that i don’t think their dad is like that at all?

i mean, don’t get me wrong here, he’s still fëanor. still loud as fuck, neither can nor will stop, extremely opinionated on the most minor things possible, a self-fuelling tornado of wild ideas and mad science with the power and drive to achieve even his most impractical of dreams. he’s just. not a murderer. i mean he is, but he doesn’t revel in it the way his kids do

he’s suprisingly... not normal, because fëanor. person-like, i think is the operative thought. he’s a lot like celebrimbor in some ways, bursting with creativity and passion to make the world right. he unironically thinks his wife is the best person in the universe and was an incredibly supportive parent to the point of horrible pta mom-dom (’how dare you call my three-year-old’s singing scratchy warbling he is PERFECT’) there’s not a duplicitous bone in his body; for better and for worse, what you see is what you get. there’s hints in his character of the darkness his people fell into - he hates the people he hates just as intensely as he loves those he loves, and he’s willing to risk a lot to get what he wants - but that’s never all there was to him. people loved him back in valinor, and they had good reason to

by no means am i trying to minimise the horrible things he did here. just because you’re hurting doesn’t give you the right to hurt others. i don’t think he went into alqualondë with the intention to kill, but i do think that he could have stopped the violence once it started and consciously made the call not to. burning the ships was entirely his own dumb idea - half the reason maitimo objects to it is it’s an objectively stupid tactical decision, but fëanor is grieving and desperate and believes a lot of the bullshit melkor fed him and is drowning in the sunk cost fallacy to boot. he also should have tried to get along with his stepfamily, or proofread that goddamn oath, or just thought through the consequences of his actions at any point between the darkening and his death. this isn’t the fëanor-did-nothing-wrong train here, at least not the way that phrase is used these days. he made a fuckton of terrible decisions, and while they’re understandable that doesn’t make them excuseable. he’s just not a bloodthirsty hellbeast

but his kids are, and the obvious question is ‘why?’ in-universe, the answer varies from ‘fëanor had the good fortune to die extremely early so while his children were fashioning themselves into weapons and getting really good at killing he was going to elf afterlife therapy and working through his issues’ to ‘the murderousness actually comes from nerdanel’s side of the family’ to ‘every other generation in míriel’s line is inherently evil for some reason and fëanor is hilariously oblivious to this’ depending on how looney tunes my headcanons are that day. out-of-universe... it’s partially because i think it’s funny, i have to admit. i find both ‘guy with perfect dark lord minions has no interest in being dark lord’ and ‘fëanor is consistently out-saned by the most bloodthirsty elves in the history of arda’ to be hilarious character dynamics. but it’s also because valinor really was a paradise, and someone who died barely after leaving there, no matter how over-the-top, would find the things beleriand forged the people they loved into horrifyingly unrecognisable

by the time of the second kinslaying, fëanor, as said, has gone to therapy. he is working on his shit, he is processing his damage, it’s a long road ahead but he is making progress. by this point, he’s admitted to himself that the entire boat theft scheme was a terrible idea with terrible results, but he hasn’t quite got to the point of acknowledging the serious flaws in his whole let’s-go-to-middle-earth-and-punch-morgoth scheme. like the oath

so when his sons massacre the people of doriath, he’s as horrified as everyone else in the halls. this is intensely not what the oath was for (still in denial) alqualondë was a terrible mistake they had no reason to repeat (still in denial.) he still can’t admit that this whole thing is his fault, even partially and indirectly, so what he latches onto instead is the idea that the children he loved and raised have been replaced by- by-

when curufin goes to find his father, fëanor violently rejects the abomination before him

[seokiloquy]

Word Gets Around - Inarizaki

AU: Gang / Organized Crime 

Requested (Hopefully you’ll like it, dear requester)

Tags/Warning: GN! Reader, a little cliche...I’m running out of ideas for gang aus sjdfk, not much plot...just random times with some of the inarizaki boys, I hope you get a kick from it though (it’s a bit different than how I usually write...at least in my opinion)

Word Count: 5.2k +

The most unexpected thing to happen to you was something that you should have expected, which was kind of sad, to be honest. 

You tended to stay away from your family’s business: running one of the most powerful gangs in Miyagi prefecture, Shiratorizawa. You made that decision very early on in your life, knowing where the money for your food, house, and clothes came from made you want to vomit. 

Your father hadn’t liked your decision but didn’t actively protest it either. However, whenever he tried to talk you into it, you would walk away and then hear him mumble, “They’ll change their mind eventually.” 

You always resisted the urge to say, “I doubt it.” But even you wouldn’t provoke him like that. Not directly at least. 

Since the pressure to take over the business had started at a young age, younger you thought the only way to combat your predestined fate was to be inherently bad at all of the skills that your father had deemed “worthy”. 

He would give you a gun and you would accidentally shoot him in the foot. If he gave you reports and paperwork, you would spill your coffee or tea on them or accidentally place them in the shredder. If he gave you a group of people to manage a job—which you knew would be illegal—you would give them the day off or not show up at all. 

Your father would lecture you and yell at you, but you learned to find joy from the look on his face when it turned blue and red from all the yelling. He tried to con you into it further, only bringing you into meetings and making you sit in his office for hours on end to convince you otherwise. It didn’t work. Hearing your father’s plans and account numbers was the most boring and dull thing on the planet. 

You were great at being terrible and your father thought that you were terrible. After a while, he stopped trying.

You would spend most of your spare time doing schoolwork or helping your mom with whatever she needed to do that day. 

As you helped your mom prepare dinner for that night, one of your father’s lackeys pulled you aside. You frowned. You didn’t recognize him, which was strange because you knew almost everyone who was a part of Shiratorizawa. 

“Your father requested to see you,” he said. His face was pinched into an annoyed look. You doubted that he joined Shirtorizawa to be a messenger between parent and child.

“Okay,” you said. “Do you know what it's about?” 

He glanced at you for a brief moment and then looked away quickly. He shook his head and then walked away. 

Well, he definitely knows something, you thought. You called back to your mom and told her where you were going. 

Though you’ve lived here your entire life, your house still amazed you. It was bigger than any house on the block, the floors were white and grey marble, all of the doors were taller and wider than they need to be, and there were more pieces of art littered around than a museum. You didn’t know how they were all acquired, but something in you never asked. 

You knocked once on the door to your father’s office and let yourself in. 

Your father sat behind his desk like he always would, back straight and arms folded and balanced on the edge of the desk, but there was something different. 

A group of people sat around him. An older-looking man sat back in the chair that was across your father’s desk. You could see the edges of his glasses poke out, but he otherwise didn’t look at you. You had, however, caught the attention of the two boys that were standing on either side of the man. 

They couldn’t have been much older than you. The taller of the two had dark brown hair, parted directly down the middle with little strings at the front that stood up. He looked at you rather indifferently, giving you a glance over, narrowing his eyes slightly, and then turning back to your father as if he took a mental picture of you for him to dissect later. 

The other one had a head of grey hair with black tips on the ends. He looked at you softly, but, still, after a moment turned his attention back to your father. 

Dread filled your stomach. You mentally ticked off all of the things your father could have called you up here for. He wasn’t the type of person to yell at you for being a disappointment in front of an audience. Unless he decided to switch things up a bit.

“Am I interrupting? I can come back,” you said, steeling yourself. You clenched your jaw tightly. 

“No,” your father said. “Take a seat, (Y/N).” 

You walked through the silence and sat in the chair that was opposite to your father and beside the unknown man and boys. 

You looked between the two sets of people. “No.” 

Your father raised his brow. “Excuse me.” 

You shrugged. “Whatever is going here, I disagree, so no to what you’re going to ask me.” 

The boy with the brown hair snorted, earning him a jab in the side from the older man sitting in the chair beside you. 

Your father sighed. “You don’t really have a choice.” 

“I don’t?” you said, questioning the words as they left your mouth. 

“You don’t,” he repeated sternly. His voice was low and rough. You recognized his tone as your queue to stop talking. You learned the hard way that if you pushed past that point, it would end badly. 

You looked away. “Then why am I here?” 

“I can answer that,” the man said. He adjusted his glasses and turned to you. “Your father made a deal with us and lost. So, you will be working for us until his debt is paid off.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me?” You looked pointedly towards your father. “Is that true? You traded your own child? So you could what? Avoid whatever they threaten you with? You’re pathetic.” 

Your father glared at you, his fists tightening into balls on his desk. “Do not speak to me that way. And you will go with them.” 

“No, I won’t,” you said, “and I’m pretty sure that this is illegal.” 

“All that we do is illegal, (Y/N).” 

“All that you do is illegal,” you spat back. 

Your father bolted up from behind his desk and walked over to your side of the table. He excused himself, curtly, to his guests, then grabbed your arm roughly and pulled you outside of his office.

He closed the door and turned to you. “Go along with it.” 

“What is your problem,” you said, ignoring the pain in your arm from where his grip held on. “Even though you do shady things all of the time, I thought you’d at least draw the line at giving your kid to someone, which is definitely illegal and out of some wacky-ass fanfiction.” 

“Calm down,” your father said. “This is all a part of the plan.” 

The plan? You thought. He has officially lost it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“You’re going to go with them,” he said again, “and you’re going to gather intel about them and report back. You’ll be at the heart of Inarizaki. You’ll know everything that they do, plan, and you can come back and tell me everything that they do and plan. You’ll redeem yourself and then be ready to take over.” 

You scoffed. “The only thing that I will be doing is getting axe-murdered or worse.” 

He ignored you. “You’ll come back after a year and it’ll be like nothing happened. They aren’t going to harm you either. It’s a part of the deal that we made, they just wanted to have someone do grunt work for them and they wanted you because you’re my child.” 

Maybe you should axe murder him. When have people in his line of work ever kept promises they made? You’ve seen him make and break more promises than you could keep track of. 

“What deal did you make?” You already knew you were fighting a losing battle. “What about mom? You’re insane if you think she’ll forgive you for this.” 

“It’s nothing bad,” he said. Lie, you thought. “I made a bad bet—” 

“And I’m paying the price.” 

“You’re just going to live with them for a bit and your mother is going to think that you’re going abroad. Listen—” 

You stopped listening. You couldn’t believe it. You shook in rage and hatred for the person standing in front of you. You always knew that he did awful things to a lot of people, but you never expected that you would make it onto that list. 

At least if you were murdered in the middle of the night wherever these Inarizaki people were taking you, you’d be far away from him. 

“Fine,” you said. “Let’s lead me to my death.” 

“We aren’t going to kill you,” the man in the glasses—Kurosu, you reminded yourself, the leader of Inarizaki—said as he pulled out of your house’s driveway. 

You got some time to pack up your things and got to hug and say goodbye to your mom before leaving. Your father had offered you a smile and a knowing look, but you barely cast him a second glance. It probably never occurred to him that you could spill all of Shiratorizawa’s secrets without blinking.

Yes, you did your best to stay away from all of the technical and logistics of Shirstorizawa’s operations, but that was the sole reason that your father had been flimsy and unaware of all of the stuff he said to the members of his gang while you were in the room. 

You looked at the rearview mirror, catching the eyes of Kurosu. “And I totally believe you.” 

The boy sitting beside you, the one with the dark hair, the one who snorted at your previous comment, laughed. 

“Suna,” said Kurosu. 

“Yes?” he said. 

“Would you like to add something?” 

Suna turned to you. “We don’t axe murder people.” 

You glared at him. “And I totally believe you too.” 

Suna fixed his gaze out the window again. “Kita? Much longer until we’re back home?” 

The grey-haired boy shrugged. “10 minutes. Maybe 20 if there’s any more traffic.” 

Kita, who was sitting in the passenger seat, turned around and looked at you. His eyes drifted to your arm and then back up to your eyes. “Do you even know what you’ll be doing?” 

“Planning my funeral?” 

Kurosu sighed and made a left turn. “You will be doing what you did for your father.” 

Your eyebrows drew together. “What do you think I did for my father?” 

“You were trained to take over Shiratorizawa were you not? Paperwork, running jobs, fieldwork. Sound familiar?” 

You caught eyes with the grey hair boy again. You almost felt bad for them. Has your father really made this deal? He told you that you’d be doing grunt work, so it looks like they weren’t the only ones being lied to. 

“Unless paperwork includes shredding files; running jobs means getting groceries; and fieldwork means taking the bus to school, then my father really oversold my skills.” 

“What do you mean?” Kita asked.

Something rude to say sat at the tip of your tongue. You paused. It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know that they made a deal with a lair. But how intelligent could their organization be if they wanted the child of someone else’s gang to help them? How intelligent was your father for sending you over with them?

“I never wanted any part in Shiratorizawa,” you said. “So, I refused to learn everything that came with the job. I never did any of the things you listed and never wanted any part in it.” 

As Kurosu pulled up to a red light, he turned to look at you. You felt all three pairs of eyes on you. You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater and looked out the window. 

“Congrats,” you said dully, “you’ve hired the most skilless person for the job.” 

It wasn’t as if you were expecting a grand entrance with a red and gold carpet, but it did shock you when absolutely no one was standing at the entrance of the Inarizaki house. You could tell that the house was full of people too. There were shoes scattered along the entrance and you could hear quick footsteps and backtracks from the floor above you. At your house, there were always people patrolling and walking through the halls. 

They were completely unguarded. 

You made a note of that. Even though you were going to tell your father that they were heavily guarded and armed, you never knew when the information you took in would be of use. The unguarded doors meant that they were trying to keep people out, but they weren’t trying to keep you in. 

“Excuse me,” Kurosu muttered. He made the first left and disappeared around it. You hoped that he was going to yell at your father. Maybe he would send you back in the process. 

Suna had left quietly. You hadn’t noticed he was gone until you turned around and only saw Kita. His expression was unreadable.

So far, you had only met two of the members of Inarizaki and their leader, and you couldn’t tell if they liked you or even accepted your presence in their home. 

“Do I get a room?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer, only tipping his head to the side slightly. 

“Or am I sleeping in a barn or something?”

You took a step further into the building. From the outside, you couldn’t make out the size of the building. One thing that you could discern was that it was definitely bigger than your house. This was a place that was meant to hold a lot of people. 

A grand staircase stood at the centre of the main floor—the floor that you were on—and led to a second landing which branched off into opposite directions. 

“The second floor is where all of the rooms are,” Kita said. He walked up beside you and pointed to the left, the hallway that Kurosu had disappeared down. “That is where Kurosu’s quarters and office are. It’s not off-limits, but no one really goes there unless they need something or it’s an emergency”—he gestured to the right— “the kitchen and training room are over there. There are smaller hallways that lead elsewhere, but I’m not sure that you’ll be staying here for that long.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Kita took a step forward and then turned to face you. “I’m not sure what the deal was exactly. I overheard that picking you, specifically, was just to tick off your father. Kurosu thought that you’d be helpful in something, but since you said that you don’t have any skills for what we could use you for, he might send you back.” 

You ignored the fact that you were being spoken of as if you were talked up to be a prized cattle, only for the person who brought you to realize that you couldn’t make milk. Now, you were being sent to the slaughterhouse. 

“What do you think?” you asked. 

“About what?” 

“About this situation,” you said. “Would you have taken someone away from their family as a power move? Made them do something to settle a score?” 

Kita paused. And you waited. You didn’t know how long he was going to think for his answer, but you wanted to know and it’s not like you had anything else to do. 

“I would like to think that I wouldn’t. I’m sorry that this happened to you, but it’s not something that anyone else but Kurosu and your father had control over. I’m sure you’ll find a way to settle the score.” 

You swallowed. Oh, he had no idea what was coming to your father. 

“Does your arm hurt?” he asked calmly. 

You blinked. “My arm?” 

He pointed at your arm that your father had grabbed. Without a word, he carefully held your wrist and pushed up your sleeve. You winced when the bunched up cloth rolled over the spot where your father’s grip was the strongest. The faintest marks of a bruise were starting to form. 

Kita dropped your arm and started walking to the right of the staircase. “Stay there.” 

What was that? you thought. After a moment, you were sure that he had abandoned you. You only took a couple of steps forwards when he rounded the corner. In his hand was a blue gel pack. 

He handed it to you. “Put it on your arm,” he said. 

“Thank you.” 

Kita nodded and then started up the stairs. “I’ll show you to your room.” 

You kept your eyes busy. There was still no security of any kind, no bars on the windows, or cameras everywhere. 

He stopped in front of a door. “Can I ask you something?” 

The coolness of the gel pack made you shiver. “If I say no, are you still going to ask?” 

“Probably.” 

You sighed. “Go ahead then.” 

“What did your father tell you when he pulled you aside?” 

You squeezed the pack between your fingers. Kita’s eyes were marked on you, unwavering. You knew he wasn’t going to leave it alone until you answered. 

There was no point in lying, is there? These were the people who you’d be staying with for who knows how long—they said a year, but that could always change and it wasn’t something that you were in control of. 

“He told me to spy for him,” you told him. 

“Are you going to?” 

“I haven’t decided.” 

Kita clicked his tongue and then opened the door. “I think you have.” 

He took a step back. As you passed him, he leaned down to whisper, “I pity your father.” 

Sleep did not find you. At all. Maybe it was because the room Kita showed you was so unfamiliar—and surprisingly well-furnished—that it just made you miss your own room. But your unrested mind brought you back to the fear of being axed murdered. 

Your stomach growled. You frowned. Right, you were in the middle of preparing dinner before you were suddenly ripped away from your home, and now that it was in the middle of the night, you were nervous, anxious, and hungry. 

You opened the door to your room. The hallway was brightly lit and empty. All of the footsteps you heard on your way up to the room had gone quiet. You turned back into your room and grabbed a candle holding that was placed on one of the mantels. 

Their father’s words echoed in their brain. In an unknown place, never go without a weapon. 

At least he was good for something, you thought.

Closing the door behind you, you made your way down the hallway. You recognized the familiar landmarks in the hallway that had led to the staircase—a picture frame a few doors down, a vase that stood on the podium at the corner where you had to turn.

Soon enough, you found your way back to the grand staircase. The tall door loomed over you as you placed your hand on the doorknob. 

I could leave. 

You began to twist it. 

You jumped in alarm as a small crash sounded to the left of the hall. You glanced back at the door. It was probably locked and you didn’t have any of your stuff. How far would you have gotten? And even if you got far, where would you go? 

Despite your better judgment, you followed the sound. This is how people in horror movies get killed, you thought. This hallway was darker than the one upstairs, but a strong crack of light shone through a door. You raised the candle holder. 

Toe-ing the door opened, you straightened your spine and held the holder tighter. As your line of sight got wider, you saw a boy standing behind a long metal table. A backdrop of fridges and cabinets came into view. He had his head down, his rough grey hair fell in front of his forehead and eyes. He focused on something that was in hind hands.

The creaking of the door gave you away. The boy’s head jerked up, dropping what he was working on. His hand cautiously slid over the knife on the table. 

His eyes locked onto yours and then travelled to the candle holder in your raised hand. He frowned. “Are you (Y/N)?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.” 

The corners of his lips tugged up. “Are you going to hit me with that thing?” 

“Maybe,” you repeated.

“Okay,” he said. His eyes lingered on you for another moment before he shrugged and picked up the thing he had dropped. 

Were all of the Inarizaki members so...carefree? If you were back at your house, the slightest creak in the floorboards was enough cause to have security roaming around the halls. 

You took a step closer. The item that he dropped was rice. You glanced at the table. A bowl of rice was beside him as well as various fillings and dishes. A cutting board that was covered in pieces of cut seaweed was in front of him. His head was back down and his hands were shaping rice into triangles.

“Are you making Onigiri?” 

He met your gaze again, his eyes gleaming in a way they hadn’t before as if the topic cheered him up. “I am,” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “The finished ones are over there if you want some.” 

He watched you. “Unless you want to beat me to death with a candle holder.” 

You glared and tentatively put the holder down. “It would be a waste of a candle holder. It’s probably expensive too.” 

“It is,” he said, “it’s also stolen.” 

You scrunch your nose. “Pleasant.” 

You picked up the Onigiri closest to you. It was still warm. “It’s not...poisoned is it?” 

He scoffed and looked at you offendedly. “You can threaten me with a candle holder, but do not insult my food.” 

You raised your eyebrows, a small smile finding its way to your mouth. “I’ll take that as a no then.” 

The rice melted in your mouth. It tasted so much like your mother’s; if you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself standing back in your kitchen. Your mother would smile at you and then scold you for moulding the rice too harshly. 

“A lighter touch, (Y/N),” she would say. “Take your time. No need to rush.” 

“Are you okay?” the grey-haired boy asked.

You wiped your tears away hastily and turned to him. “These are really good,” you said, a light tone in your voice. You finished off the Onigiri in silence and then picked up another one. He didn’t pressure any more information out of you. “Do you need any help?” 

He glanced at the bowl of rice beside him. Despite the full try of onigiri, there was still quite a bit of rice left. “Do you know how to make them?” 

“My mom taught me.” 

He regarded you thoughtfully. “There are gloves under the sink,” he said, “or you can just wash your hands. It doesn’t matter.” 

Shortly after you washed your hands, you joined him at the table. The first few were done in silence. You focused on the repeated motion. 

“I am (Y/N), by the way,” you muttered. “In case you didn’t notice.” 

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.” He paused. “Miya Osamu.” 

You nodded. You slowed your pace, not wanting to go back upstairs yet. 

“I heard you think that we’re going to axe murder you,” he said. When he saw you look at him, he shrugged. “Word gets around. My brother got a kick out of it.” 

You jutted out your chin. “Maybe I should kick your brother.”

Osamu laughed, a sharp, cheerful sound that made you smile. “I would love to see that.” He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “We’re not that bad, you know.” 

“I don’t think that you’re all spawns of demons,” you said. “I just think that it would be easier if I could...hate all of you,” you admitted. “It’s obvious that I don’t want to be here, which you probably know. I have zero skills that are helpful to Inarizaki as a whole and if I hate it here then it’ll be easier to go back.” 

“To the father who gave you to us like nothing?” 

You shrugged. “My mother’s there. The little details don’t matter.” 

Osamu smiled. “Okay, but don’t say that you’re skill-less. You know how to make Onigiri and probably a lot more, if you ask me, that’s a solid skill in my book.” 

Word gets around. 

You thought about it when you parted ways with Osamu and until your eyes closed for the night. The words still lingered in your mind when you woke up. 

You washed up and changed clothes. 

When you had arrived at Inarizaki house, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours for word to get around. The members either had a way to get a message around or they were all super chatty among each other. 

You frowned. Texts messages you dumbass. 

“Why. Am. I. So. Stupid,” you muttered, banging your head against the door for each word. But if it was something else, you wanted to know how they did it. 

Your door opened and you jumped back. 

A golden-yellow head of hair popped out from the crack in the door. The boy widened the door and stood up straight. He had a lazy smirk on his face and looked like Osamu. My brother got a kick out of it.

“Did you knock?” he asked. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Were you waiting for my knock?” 

His lazy smirk grew. “I wait for a lot of things, lunch for one. I’ll walk you?” 

You hesitated. All of the people you’ve met have been kind to you, or at least didn’t harm you, but you couldn’t be sure when that would end. 

“Unless you’d rather kick me first? Word—” 

“—gets around,” you finished. “I know.” You cleared your throat. “I said that your brother could watch when I did.”

He laughed. “I bet he did. Let’s go.” 

He—Atsumu, he introduced—walked ahead of you, only glancing back every now and then to make sure you were following. “Were you just lying about not being able to do anything?” 

“I know how to make Onigiri and I’m surprisingly good at cutting out paper hearts.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

You continued, “I can also hold my breath underwater for—”

“You know what I mean,” he cut off. 

You grinned. “I know what I’m supposed to do, I’ve just never done any of it.” 

Atsumu furrowed his eyes together. “But you know what to do.” 

You matched his pace as he descended the stairs. “Is there something that you want in particular or are you just full of fun questions?

Atsumu turned around. You pulled yourself back from nearly crashing into him. He eyed you weirdly. It was reminiscent of his brother’s gaze, but it had a level of confidence and menace that made you feel like you were on the losing side. 

If I’m getting axe-murdered by anyone here, it’ll definitely be by this guy, you thought. You pulled your shoulders back. 

“Are you usually this straightforward?” he asked. 

“Are you usually this vague?”

“I want to know what you know.” 

You blinked. “Yeah, I’m not following.” 

Atsumu looked around the room. There were loud sounds coming from the kitchen, but otherwise, the main room was empty. He leaned in, smirk gone. You forced yourself not to move away. 

“Kurosu doesn’t tell us much in terms of how Inarizaki runs, like he just assumes that he’s going to live forever and won’t pass on any information to any of us. You, out of all odds, probably know more about how to run a gang than any of us.” 

“So you want me to tell you what I know?” You shook your head. “That requires the assumption that I actually know what you want.” 

“But you do,” a voice said. 

You and Atsumu whipped your heads over the banister of the stairs. Kita, Osamu, Suna, and a few other people you didn’t recognize gathered to the side of the stairs. 

Kita’s eye’s flashed as he took a step forward. “You can’t tell me that your father didn’t make you sit through meetings and forced information on you. I saw the way you looked around when I was showing you to your room, you were taking in information the way that Kurosu did when we went to your house, the way that we’re all trained to do. Even if you claim that you’re skilless, it doesn’t mean that you are.” 

“It could be a partnership,” Atsumu suggested, his eyes back on you. “Kurosu told us this morning that you’re staying until the deal is over. Your father said it was his own fault that Kurosu didn’t verify if you had the skills or not.” 

“Sounds like him,” you said. “What an ass.” 

Atsumu snickered.  

You went around Atsumu to level yourself with the rest of the Inarizaki members. They all had the same gleam in their eye of determination...and something else. You couldn’t put your finger on it. Atsumu footsteps followed behind you and then joined the side of the other members. 

You stood away from them. “Are you going to tell Kurosu?” 

“No,” Kita said.

“A partnership,” you repeated. “Doesn’t that mean we both benefit from this? Not that I really need or want anything, but there’s got to be something right? Are you going to get me a lifetime supply of ice cream?”

“We can get you that, or at least try, if that’s what you want,” Suna said, his quiet voice took over the room. “A lot can happen in a year. For instance, your father could have an unfortunate accident.” 

“You want to kill him?” 

Suna shrugged. “It can be arranged is what I’m saying.” 

You sighed. “No killing, please.” 

“Then what do you want?” Osamu asked. 

You could picture yourself clearly. A year from now you would walk into your father’s house and recite all of the things that you’ve learned from Inarizaki. You would stretch the truth until it became paper-thin. You would watch your father fall so slowly, it would be as if he willingly pushed himself off the cliff

You smiled. “I’ve got a thing or two in mind.” 

A lot could happen in a year and you would make the most of it. 

Tackling these requests slowly because my tiny peanut brain can’t come up with any ideas of how I want stories to go. 

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed - Kiwi

Posted: 16/05/2021

[pastelwitchling]

Can you do one with Flint redemption? Whether it's him defending Alex to somebody or him protecting Alex. I just really need Flint to have redemption. I know you would write something really good too.

warning; homophobia and violence.

***

               Forrest woke up to find Alex’s side of the bed empty.

               The blanket pooled at his naked hips as he sat up, looking around the airman’s bedroom. “Alex?” he croaked. He dressed in his sweats and Alex’s Air Force sweater, washed up, and padded along the corridor, the hardwood floors cold against his bare feet.

               He smelled the coffee before stepping into the kitchen to find Alex sitting at the counter, two mugs in front of him, his head in his hands.

               “Hey,” he said, kissing Alex’s temple before taking a good look at him. “You okay?”

               “Mhm,” Alex nodded and gestured at the black mug next to his own blue one. “I made you some tea.”

               “How’d you know I was awake?” he asked, and Alex shrugged a shoulder.

               “You always wake up around the same time I do.” He gave Forrest half a smile, the exhaustion evident in the dark circles around his eyes, his hollow cheeks, the way he seemed barely able to hold onto his smile for longer than a second.

               Forrest sighed, pushing his hair back. “Rough night, huh?”

               “Yeah,” Alex muttered. “Something like that.”

               Forrest was about to ask what Alex meant when Flint came in, fully dressed in his uniform. Alex watched him pull an apple out of the basket on the counter.

               “I made you some coffee,” Alex said. “Cinnamon and two sugars; your favorite.”

               “I don’t have time,” Flint said curtly and turned to leave. “I have to be at the base.”

               Alex sat up straighter in his seat as Flint disappeared into the hall. “You’re still coming to the Crashdown for lunch, right?” he called after him.

               In lieu of an answer, Flint shut the front door, and Alex and Forrest were alone. Alex’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed his eyes wearily.

               “He hates me,” he said.

               “He doesn’t hate you,” Forrest said, running a soothing hand up and down Alex’s back. “He just needs some time to adjust to all of this. You both do.”

               Alex sighed, falling against Forrest’s side, the historian always ready to catch him. Alex rested his head on Forrest’s shoulder as if the weight of his thoughts was too heavy to bear.

               “It’s because of me that dad is dead,” he said quietly. “He’s never going to forgive me.”

               “He knew the kind of man your dad was,” Forrest said into Alex’s hair. “What happened was for the best. On some level, your brother knows that. He needs to come to terms with it on his own now. Let him get there.”

               Alex said nothing a moment, then he whispered, his voice cracking, “I don’t want him to be alone.”

               Forrest’s eyes shut. He tightened his arm around Alex’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “My sweet baby.”

               “Don’t call me sweet,” Alex grumbled half-heartedly, and Forrest laughed.

               “Would you prefer it if I called you sexy?” he offered. “I mean, I could, but that always gets you going and it’s pretty early – ah!���

               Forrest doubled over, laughing harder now after Alex elbowed his stomach.

               “Why do I bother telling you anything?” Alex said, lightly hitting Forrest’s back with his fists before pressing his face against the historian’s spine. Whatever he said next was too muffled to be coherent.

               Forrest remained bent over, laughing. “What?”

               Alex turned his face so that his cheek was squished against Forrest’s back. “You smell good.”

               “I’m wearing your sweatshirt,” Forrest smirked.

               “No,” Alex said faintly, his eyes closing. “You always smell like this.”

               Forrest tilted his head. His neck ached from bending it like that, but he didn’t want to disturb Alex’s rest, even if it was against his own spine.

               “Alex,” he said. “Flint will come around. You’ll see.”

               Alex sniffed, his lips pursed. “You know, when we were kids, Flint used to let me sleep in his bed with him when mom and dad would fight. He used to cover my ears really tight and tell me to pretend it was just a storm, and soon it would stop.”

               Alex sat up and Forrest followed, scooting closer on his stool so that his shoulder was pressed against Alex’s. Alex huffed, his eyes red and glassy as he looked to Forrest. “He’s so much more than what dad taught him to be. I just wish he knew that. I already lost my brothers once, Forrest, I can’t do it again.”

               “Shh, shh,” Forrest pulled him in against his chest, and Alex tightly gripped his sweater, releasing a deep, shaky sigh. “It’s okay,” Forrest kissed him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

               Alex said nothing as Forrest held onto him. He didn’t know how to explain to Alex, how to reassure him that he believed Flint would come over to his side soon enough. How could he tell Alex that it was inevitable anyone would be willing to die for him because of who he was? How could he say that there was something so inherently pure about him that it made anyone around him eager to please him, to see him happy, to get his approval?

               Forrest couldn’t manage it. All he could do was tighten his hold on Alex and make sure the airman had his breakfast for the morning despite his unwillingness to eat, all the while thinking – not with any small amount of amusement – that Alex really didn’t know his own power over people. Flint would come around because Alex was his brother, and if anyone knew how important it was to have Alex in their corner, to have that unimaginable love and protection, it had to be another Manes man.

               It was one of Alex’s rare days off, so after breakfast, he had let Forrest lead him to the couch where they lied and watched Merlin for hours, Buffy curled at their feet, barking whenever the Great Dragon came onto the screen. Forrest combed Alex’s hair with his fingers while Alex pressed his face into Forrest’s chest, inhaling his scent until it was time for them to get dressed for lunch.

               “He’s not coming,” Alex said as he came back into the living room, fixing the collar on his hoodie. “You’ll see, he’ll find any excuse to stay at the base, and he won’t even text us.”

               “He’s coming,” Forrest assured him.

               “How do you know?”

               “I just know.”

               So, taking Forrest’s word as good enough, Alex climbed into the passenger’s seat and laughed despite himself when Buffy jumped in after him, choosing to stand on his stomach until Alex directed her into the backseat.

               As Forrest parked in the Crashdown parking lot, Alex scanned the area.

               “His car’s not here,” Alex noted.

               “He’s coming,” Forrest insisted, unlocking the doors.

               “He’s not coming.”

               “He is,” Forrest smiled. “You’ll see.”

               Alex’s brows furrowed, undoubtedly as he tried to understand what made Forrest so sure. Forrest couldn’t have told him.

               They stepped inside to the scent of tomato and cheese, meat and fries, and Forrest’s stomach growled. “Man, I’m starving.”

               “Look,” Alex pointed, “there’s a free booth.”

               As they passed the other line of booths, a man turned in his seat just as they were nearing, and he tripped Alex. The airman was too exhausted and limping far too much already to stay steady, so he fell to the ground with a gasp.

               “Alex!” Forrest crouched down beside him, helping him up. “Are you okay?”

               “Yeah,” Alex winced, rubbing his right thigh. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

               The man that had tripped him, a lanky piece of work with beady eyes and a scowl that promised nothing good, glared at Alex as if disgusted that they’d touched at all. “Watch where you’re going, freak.”

               “How ‘bout you watch who you’re talking to, cowboy,” Forrest seethed, but Alex kept a firm grip on his arm, keeping him back.

               “Forrest, it’s okay,” he said, barely shooting the man a sharp look before turning to his boyfriend. “Just forget it. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

               Forrest turned his back on the creep, and he and Alex took their seats. “Has that been happening a lot?” he asked as soon as Alex ordered for the both of them and the waitress was gone.

               Alex shrugged a shoulder. “Enough that I’ve started to notice, which isn’t often. When you’ve got a purple heart, no one has a single bad word to say to you, not around here.”

               Forrest scoffed. “And that changes because of who you like?” He shook his head at the window. “I am so over humanity.”

               Alex laughed. “There’s the emo angsty history buff I love so much.”

               A smile tugged at Forrest’s lips despite himself. “I did say pissing off the bigots and homophobes would be fun. Gotta admit,” he sighed, “never a dull moment.”

               “No,” Alex raised a brow, “‘dull’ never really was my thing.”

               Forrest held up his glass of water in salute. “You’re welcome.”

               Alex’s smile widened, his cheeks red, and Forrest could already feel the anger in his chest dissipate.

               “Oh crap,” Alex said and stood, “I forgot to ask for the milkshakes.”

               “Uh, Alex,” Forrest glanced at the table where the cowboy and his friends sat, “let me go.”

               “Stop making such a big deal out of it,” Alex said with a roll of his eyes. “I can’t be afraid to place an order because some loser gives me a funny look.”

               “But –”

               “I’ll be right back,” Alex said and pecked Forrest’s temple.

               As Alex made his way to the front counter, Forrest kept his eyes on the cowboy. He seemed to be following Alex with his eyes, his scowl carving itself even deeper as the airman completely ignored him.

               Forrest leaned over in his seat with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what they were planning to do. The cowboy nudged his friend, gestured at Alex with his chin, then muttered something. He grabbed his glass of soda, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and stood, making his way towards Alex, intent in his strides.

               That’s when Forrest realized what the cowboy was planning to do. He knew because it had been done to him before; and this guy looked like he wanted to cover Alex in more than just the drink.

               Forrest got up quickly and came around the other booths and tables, making his way to Alex. He didn’t know exactly what he would do when he caught the creep, but as he imagined Alex drenched and hurt and humiliated in front of the whole diner – the place he associated with friends and family, the place he was supposed to be safe – he knew it wouldn’t be good.

               The cowboy was catching up to Alex faster than Forrest could, trapped behind a rowdy table of teenagers. When he finally got around them, the cowboy was a mere few feet from Alex, holding his glass high over his head as if ready to throw it.

               “Alex!” Forrest called just as Flint suddenly appeared, grabbed the cowboy’s arm, and punched his jaw.

               Alex turned with wide eyes just as Forrest reached him, but Flint was relentless. He straddled the cowboy as he punched him again and again and again, until the cowboy lay there, bloodied and bruised. Finally, Flint pulled away only because Alex and Forrest grabbed his arms and pulled him back. Flint yanked himself free of their hold as the cowboy’s friends came to help him up.

               Flint stepped close to the cowboy, apparently indifferent to the fact that the entire diner was watching the events with bated breath.

               “You touch my brother again,” Flint warned darkly, “and I will kill you.”

               The cowboy did not seem able to mutter a response, but his friends quickly pulled him away as Flint glared after them.

               After they disappeared and the other customers seemed sure that Flint wouldn’t start beating up anyone else, the usual activity of the diner slowly returned.

               Flint ignored Alex and Forrest in favor of ordering a burger for himself from a startled and highly nervous waitress. Alex looked to Forrest with an expression that so clearly said, Can you believe what just happened?

               Forrest wanted to say that he not only believed it, but he’d half-wished he’d joined in and started pummeling the guy himself. Not that that would’ve been very helpful right now.

               “You’re bleeding,” Alex said as he scanned Flint’s bruised and red knuckles. He asked a waiter for ice, and Flint tore his hand away.

               “I’m fine,” he said. “You have a booth or what?”

               “Flint,” Alex said more quietly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

               “You wanted to get hit?”

               “I can look after myself.”

               Flint stared at his brother a moment before he turned away and said, “You can barely stand, Alex.”

               Alex clenched his jaw. “You think I’m weak because of my prosthetic?”

               “No,” Flint said, “I think you’re weak because you don’t sleep or eat or ever consider where you are. Ever since dad died, you’ve gotten less and less cautious. You should know, better than anyone” – Flint glanced at Forrest and their linked hands – “that a Manes man is always in danger.”

               “That can’t be true,” Alex said, but already, Forrest could hear the resignation in his voice, as if he’d always known Flint’s words were the reality and had managed to pretend otherwise for long enough.

               Flint seemed to have sensed the same thing in his brother’s tone because instead of snapping, he pulled out his wallet and paid for the plate that was handed to him, and sighed.

               “Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he said, and Alex’s brows furrowed.

               “What do you mean?”

               Flint raised a brow. “Because I’m here. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the universe doesn’t like us very much, and if you insist on making life that much harder for yourself –”

               “I do if it means I get to be with who I want to be with,” Alex said unapologetically.

               “—then that means it’s gonna be that much harder for me,” Flint finished, and shrugged a shoulder, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, only for a second. “Luckily, I’ve always been better at weathering the storm than you.”

               And Flint turned towards their booth.

               For a moment, Alex said nothing as they watched him, then, “How did you know that he was coming?”

Forrest huffed a chuckle, staring at the side of Alex’s face, watching his brother with confusion and hope and the fear of both coloring his dark eyes.

               Forrest ran a hand down the back of Alex’s neck. He really had no idea of his power.

               “Who wouldn’t come for you, Alex Manes?” Forrest said, and Alex turned to him, slightly startled by the blunt confession.

               Alex’s cheeks turned red and he looked away. Forrest’s grin widened and he brought Alex’s hand up to his lips to kiss.

               “Come on,” he said. “Always being right can make a man hungry.”

***

I really enjoyed writing this one 💙

[rocketfool]

fawks: 16, 46, 58, 64 + kass: 10, 15, 57, 69 (IF THIS IS TOO MANY, feel free to only choose a handful lmaoooo... i am just curious!!!)

FAWKS

16. what are their feelings on the people who raised them?

it’s extremely Complicated!!! I think fawks does love her family, but feels like there’s a lot of baggage there--she never felt like she was good enough for her mom and that a lot of her love was conditional on fawks’ ability to achieve and in particular to meet expectations on how she should act as a member of her well-known family. becoming a professor in the shadow of her parents’ illustrious academic careers only exacerbated that situation. I think some of the tension with her mom is based on the fact they didn’t really understand each other and that they both stopped trying after a certain point, but there is still the possibility they could reconcile someday since none of that distance came out of a place of true anger. 

fawks’ relationship with her dad is more straightforward, as her dad was much more supportive of her interests and made an effort to ensure she could pursue them. at the same time, though, he was always pulled between her and her mom, and I think fawks also never really allowed herself to be super open with him because she was afraid whose side he’d take if she ever did burn bridges permanently. 

46. what do they deprive themself of?

HMMMMM not surprising but she deprives herself of emotional intimacy, and probably even of a connection with her own feelings. she’s become very self-reliant as a coping strategy, but that does also mean she avoids dwelling on her negative emotions and tries to distance herself from them. which is! not neccessarily a healthy way to deal with them! I think she’s getting better at...trying to wrestle with them and being more open/trusting with people on her feelings, but it is still very hard for her. 

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

LMAO I think at her best fawks likes to think of herself as one of the idea people and a leader of sorts for that reason, since she has such a strong perspective and is also more than a little full of herself. in reality though, I think maybe she more contributes to like...spontaneity and a willingness to be curious and inquisitive, to follow your passions and the joy they bring you. idk what exact ~role that is, but she definitely is all about being true to yourself and I think encourages the party to be too just based on her own enthusiasm for it. 

64. do they value mercy or justice more?

JUSTICE FOR SURE. her way of thinking is very black and white. I think she has the capacity to be moved towards mercy/forgiveness, but she’s much more likely to think people deserve the consequences they are given (which has made the whole situation with the black dragon weigh on her more--she thinks she deserves some type of punishment for her mistake). 

KASS

10. how often do they lie? what situations cause them to be dishonest?

why would you ask kass, a spy, this? :) 

LMAO but in seriousness, kass does of course have a more free-wheeling approach to telling the truth than most. he has no problem with lying to achieve his own ends, particularly when he believes it’s for something important/some type of mission. he also does not neccessarily have an issue with telling white lies if he believes it will help someone (or at the very least, not do them any ill). 

THAT ALL BEING SAID, I think he holds himself to a pretty high standard of being truthful with people when he has no reason not to be. kass greatly values honesty given the nature of his profession, and he tries to be genuine with both friends/allies and strangers when he has the luxury of doing so. the only time he’d lie to someone close to him is if he thought it would protect them--he definitely does not have an inherent desire to deceive or manipulate anyone, and I think at his heart definitely prefers to engage openly with people. 

15. do they trust their party? why or why not?

not to get TOO into the weeds about his ~complicated morality since we covered that with the last question, but I don’t think think trust is very straightforward with kass. he’s used to watching his own back and holds most people at arms’ length because true friends in the zhents are hard to come by. he trusts the party insomuch as he doesn’t have any reason to believe they’d betray him at the present moment, or cut and run if things went south (since they very much did the session he almost got killed LOL). but I don’t think he trusts that this will always be the case, even though he likes the party a lot. the one exception is probably pierce, given their history--like obviously he understands pierce wouldn’t stand for him messing with the party for zhent business (like that’s valid lmao), but he trusts implicitly that pierce will stick with him through hell, since pierce already has proven he will.

57. what makes them angry?

kass is very hard to make genuinely angry! his temper has a long fuse, and when he does get upset, it’s usually a burst of emotion that he quickly gets over once the situation has been addressed. one thing that will always make him furious though, given his past, is the issue of wealth disparity (and particularly its effects on children). he generally has no love for nobles for this reason. kass also hates cruel people and bullies, which has definitely made working for the zhentarim...difficult at times. 

69. how would they describe their party members?

gwen: “gwen is one of my very favorite people I’ve met recently! she is very tenacious, to have come to the underdark with us for the first time on this mission and kept going even with everything we’ve faced. I think she does not give herself enough credit for how strong she truly is. she seems to be weighed down by her past, and I hope she can leave it behind with time--she seems freer when she does what she wants to do, rather than what is expected of her. she is also incredibly smart--I stand by the ratapult being a work of true genius.” 

jolene: “jolene is, I think, a bit more than she likes to project. she is definitely bold and a force to be reckoned with when she puts her mind to something, and both a skilled fighter and musician, which is truly enviable! but I think she tries to hide that her passion comes from a place of caring deeply about her friends like pierce...but I suppose I could be wrong, as we have not known each other for too long. what I do know? her leather jacket is far superior to any other I’ve seen, as is much of her style. oh also! I don’t understand her relationship with the void, but I have a healthy respect for it.” 

pierce: “ahhh, it is hard to come up with the best words to describe pierce. he would probably hate to hear me sing his praises, but he is definitely one of the most true men I have ever known--he is the rare breed that tries to always do what’s right for no reason but because it’s the right thing to do, who chooses what is good over what is easy. and he has been that way even since we were kids. I don’t think he values himself enough for that, and I’d like to see him one day really realize his own worth. I do want to know more about what happened to him in the time since we lost contact--he has always been an anxious person, but I wonder if something happened during those years that is still affecting him...also, on a lighter note, he died and came back as a halfling? which I am still wrapping my head around.” 

[gittetj]

by no means is this an excuse for shou's mom, and tbh you've probably sucked up all the information on her you could already, but i remember that when she had her final convo w toichirou, he said that 'shou is starting to show interest in my powers, too' so it's possible she was under the impression that shou was happier living with his father? like, we don't know shou's age at that time but i think it was before he realized his dad was kinda a shitlord. and maybe by the time he realized it 1/2

You’re most welcome to start a discussion about Shou’s mom, she’s an interesting character to speculate about! Now look, you made me go off with receipts and everything haha

Have I ever said anything about Shou’s mom here, other than that comment about how I didn’t think it was forgivable for her to leave her son behind? Well, I still don’t think it is, but she’s just a human being, I don’t consider her inherently bad or good. Even though I can’t find it in me to defend her actions I can still understand the reasoning that might have led to them and how she might have felt about it.

Anyway, it’s not so much the fact that she left that gets to me, it’s the fact that she stayed absent. Leaving I can understand, leaving for a while might have been smart, might have given her some space to consider her situation and show Touichirou that she was serious about not tolerating the path he’d gone down. And it didn’t seem like she or Shou were in danger; as far as I can read there has never been anything in canon suggesting Touichirou was violent or even particularly controlling toward his family (until he beats Shou up and tries to kill him in the WD arc of course).

Leaving Shou with his dad, who we know he looked up to at the time, seems like a pretty straightforward decision. Pulling the kid out of his normal daily routine while everything was still chaotic and his mother wasn’t sure what to do and where to go probably wouldn’t have been in his best interest.

So far so good, but, let’s consider why she left at all.

She realized that Claw was (or was turning into, there’s some timeline stuff that doesn’t add up for me) a terrorist organization, right? She realized they were using violence and breaking the law to reach their goals. She realized that Touichirou was acting increasingly distant and anti-social even long, long before she left.

There’s a scene where Touichirou remembers her taking in a stray cat while Shou was just a baby, kind of to try and coax a caring side out of him. She was already worried about it back then. I operate with the belief that Shou was 7 or 8 when his mother left, it’s debatable, but he was at the very very least 5 - so 5+ years where she most likely continued to try and continued to fail at setting Touichirou straight.

She knew he was emotionally distant and ruthless and uncaring about anything or anyone else than his idea of an esper society. Judging from that one omake where Shou dreams of his mother crying because he was using his powers, she clearly didn’t associate esper powers with anything good.

Touichirou was obsessed with his powers and he spoke about Shou like he was going to grow up and follow in his footsteps, take on the same belief that espers are superior to other people.

As a caring, non-esper mother, does that sound like a man you want to raise your child? Does that sound like a good path for an impressionable 5- to 8-year-old kid? It sure as hell doesn’t sound like one to me. Whether Shou loved and looked up to his dad is completely irrelevant. Of course he did! He couldn’t possibly know any better at that age.

From there on, it all comes down to speculation, because, again, we know so little about Shou’s mom. My personal belief is that she was so disgusted by Touichirou’s actions that it extended to Shou. She came to a point where all she could see in Shou was a mini-Touichirou, so she just… let go of him. I suppose she thought if there was no way to change Touichirou, then there wouldn’t be a way to prevent Shou from becoming like him either.

Maybe giving up on it all was a gradual thing, maybe it didn’t happen until after she left. I think leaving was a spontaneous and mildly selfish action. Staying gone was a not at all spontaneous and highly selfish action.

She put herself first and left Shou behind. It’s that plain and simple. Sure, you have to save yourself first before you can save anyone else, but again, there is nothing suggesting she was in danger and she was in a sound enough state of mind to stand her ground and have a big argument with Touichirou before she vanished. No matter how I look at it I can’t think of anything redeeming to say about it. She knowingly left her very young son behind with an emotionally absent, dangerous, bad, bad man. So, there.

The way Touichirou speaks about her, it sounds like he hasn’t talked to Shou’s mom at all since she left. He didn’t even have any idea Shou had been in contact with her.

Look at him, does that look like the face of someone who had even considered the possibility that Shou’s mom was reachable?

For that reason I don’t believe it was the mother’s initiative to search out Shou; Shou must have made that happen himself. How long have they been in contact? Who knows. Long enough for them talking to each other to become a “from time to time” thing - I’d say a year at the very least.

At least a year where she hasn’t figured out something is wrong, hasn’t tried to pull Shou away from the situation he’s put himself in? Of course, we don’t know that she hasn’t tried to do something, but it sure doesn’t sound like it.

I personally don’t think Shou let her know anything about what was going on, I think he lied to her the whole time, let his mom think everything was fine, because deep down beneath the whole tear-Claw-down-and-save-the-world hero spiel, what Shou’s really trying to do is bring his parents back together so they can be the normal, happy family he vaguely remembers they once were - or at least likes to believe they were.

But, lies or not, it’s hard to believe that there wouldn’t be any signs for Shou’s mom to pick up on the fact that something was very, very wrong. Shou says she always asks about Touichirou, but since Shou has apparently managed to keep it from her what his dad was working toward, her questions must have been very superficial.

That situation at the end of the WD arc is the hardest to wrap my head around. Shou and his mom talk on the phone, he visits her sometimes, but she apparently takes no stock of what Shou’s doing the rest of the time, does little to no mothering, asks about Touichirou but doesn’t take it any farther than that. All of it just gives me the feeling she’s still really reluctant to engage with Shou at all.

So why does she keep up with it? I suppose she’s stuck between regretting her actions and wanting to make things right, and still not knowing what to do with her son who, at least in some ways, must have drifted quite far away from how his mom attempted to raise him when he was little.

I don’t think Shou’s mom ever wanted him out of his life, but her need to cut Touichirou and Claw off is bigger than her desire to hold on to her son. I think that was true when she left and I still think it’s true at the end of the WD arc.

If I’m gonna be really mean about it, I’d say Shou came into the world as a bargaining chip for his mom to try and make Touichirou change and maybe she’s trying to distance herself from that ulterior motive, too, because man, that’s not very nice… Maybe Shou subconsciously picked up on that and that’s why he’s so hellbent on proving to her that he can make his dad see reason.

I’m sorry, this is all very awful, but Shou’s mom just hasn’t done anything to make me think she isn’t as messed up as the rest of the family. Does it make her a terrible person to purposely overlook Shou’s issues and put herself first? I don’t know, but it definitely makes her a lousy mom.

Anyway. mp100 is all about change and overcoming past mistakes, so for Shou’s sake, let’s hope that applies to his mom, too.

And of course, this is just my interpretation of the situation.

[whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer]

Could you do a Naruto fanfiction recommendation? I loved your Sakura one but I was curious if you would do one in general for the series?

1.) serendipity by stirringwinds. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Sasuke had never known Senju Hashirama in person, of course. But he had grown up hearing stories about the First Hokage at his mother’s knee—about the legend who had defeated the most powerful member of their own clan. Enough stories to recognise what he was seeing—and to know he was witnessing his teammate perform the impossible. Or, in the fight against Gaara during Suna’s attempted invasion of Konoha, the Ichibi’s attempt to kill Sakura awakens an unexpected power. It changes the destiny of Team Seven forever.

Yes, this is about Mokuton!Sakura but this is in Sasuke’s pov and, oh boy, is it so interesting in his point of view. There’s not only world building but nods to real life history that makes in the (casual) history nerd in me get really excited. So far we’ve only seen Uchiha clan politics that Sasuke remembers from when his family arrived but if this is ever continued the current politics is one of the main things  I look forward too.

2.) These Moments We Take for Granted by Applepie. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Kakashi dies to Pain’s attack and wakes up in another world. It’s a world where Kakashi hadn’t failed Obito’s final wish and sacrificed himself for Rin’s sake instead. It’s a Konoha too similar, yet so different that Kakashi can’t bear to impose. So he doesn’t – not as ‘Kakashi’, at least.

I’m dying for the next chapter of this. The cliff hanger is partially why the other reason is the story is just that good. 

3.) Yes, my weird depressed half-tree uncle by Aesoleucian. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Sarada is such a lonely kid, and Sakura has such a dissociative disorder. Where are Sakura's parents? Where is the support? Being a single mom is hard and therefore I crafted this AU where Obito survives the war and retires to help restore his clan which he helped murder. 

A good way to get me to love any fic: let characters who go through traumatic situations actually show they’re not okay afterwards. 

4.) your skeleton will carry by theformerone. On ao3. Rated E. Summary: He doesn't want to have children for the clan that murdered his father, or for the village that let it happen.

Neji and Sasuke discover that they are more alike than they think.

I’m so glad the author tagged this Anti Sandaime. That tag is the reason why I found this beautiful fic. 

5.) Just the Usual Habits by Applepie. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Sakumo has no idea where all of these habits of Kakashi's are coming from. In which five-year-old Kakashi forgets the existence of his left eye, loses his ability to lie believably, and is a little too knowledgeable about the Birds and Bees. Still, no matter what oddities went on in Kakashi's head, one thing is certain – the boy will always love his father, through thick and thin.

6.) Get Shisui by DoodlesOfTheMind. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Get Shisui. It was a common refrain throughout the Uchiha compound, though its meaning had shifted a number of times over the years.

Both beautiful and heartbreaking. 

7.) a beating heart of stone by FantasyDeath. On ao3. Rated Not Rated. Summary: During Iruka's first year teaching — on his own, because apparently there is a severe lack of teachers — he loses his curriculum, gets into a low-key fight with Shimura Danzo and accidentally creates an army. To be fair, none of this was planned.

8.) In Sound Judgement by NegativeAperture. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: The main question, she thinks, isn’t her chance at survival or whether she’ll stick to the plot. No, it’s whether she should change the inherently flawed system that has caused every single problem ever. Arguably, she’s in the best position to fix it. People are certainly more willing to listen to you when you threaten them with the giant fox demon in your gut. But what would the cost be? Her morals? Her humanity?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions after all. (In which a human rights lawyer is reincarnated into a world without morality, without logic, and most of all, without laws. Helping the world was easier when people weren’t ninjas.)

Even if self inserts or ocs are not your thing I still strongly suggest you read this.

9.) Mirage by xantissa. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Can be read as stand alone. Itachi's ANBU exam through Kakashi's eyes. Kakashi knew something wasn't right with the whole thing, he just couldn't put his finger on what exactly.

10.) Catch Me (If You Can) by BasicallyAnIdiot. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Five times the ANBU tried to catch Uzumaki Naruto (and that one time someone else did).

Why you should read this: “Knowing Naruto-kun,” Itachi interrupted from his locker as he checked his arm bracers, “If he had more than a hour, the traps were at least 2 layers deep.” He closed the locker door firmly, mask in hand, “But he can be caught.”

“Lies and hearsay.” Neko’s muffled offer came from the women’s shower area. 

“Impossible. Never happened.”

A delicate brow arched, and Itachi continued. “There is one person in the village who can successfully catch Uzumaki Naruto whenever he feels inclined to.”

Inu sat up like a shot, unheeding the bag of ice dropping to his lap with a thud. 

“Who? Is it the Commander? Hokage-sama?”

Shisui snorted, and transitioned smoothly to a new pose, “He means the only chunin in the history of chunin to turn down a full position in ANBU corps, complete with no probation and instant pay raise.”

Inu was silent for a moment. Then he declared, “I will find this chunin and make him my teacher.”

11.) Fish Stew by Masu_Trout. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: There was a bowl of stew in Kisame's lap, a cup of tea on the ground next to him, and a small blank-eyed teenager staring at him from over the rim of his own teacup.

Kisame's new partner is one of the strangest people he's ever met, and that's coming from a man with gills on his face.

12.) What A Big Heart You Have by LullabyKnell. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: In which a little red fox saves the big white wolf.

Bless this fic. 

In which Hatake Sakumo lives.

13): Autonomy by beetlebee. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: "But this Not-Sensei soulmate guy could be anybody," Naruto whines.

Sasuke narrows his eyes. "No. He tried to act like Kakashi, use his techniques. He must be familiar with him already..."

"They could be childhood friends!" Sakura gasps.

"Sensei has friends?" Naruto asks, squinting at Obito.

"Or he's a stalker." Sasuke grips the kunai he still hasn't put away.

"I'm not a stalker," Obito lies, pushing away the kunai edging towards him.

----

(A soulmate bodyswap AU)

I would kill to read a sequel of this where we see Kakashi’s in Obito’s body.

14.) Written with Heart by Brookelocks. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: "Sometimes just sharing your opinion or a conversation about something someone else enjoys, even if you have to grit your teeth through it, can be the little push of support that makes them keep pursuing their passion."

or Kakashi has a strange way of showing his support, Jiraiya doesn't mind.

15.) The Good Life by orphan_account. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: There had to be protocol for this. They were shinobi in a hidden village; there was protocol for everything. Sadly, the authors of the Konoha Mission Administration Office Employee Handbook had committed the potentially fatal oversight of not dedicating a single paragraph to the now more than hypothetical situation of your current Hokage starting a mostly one-sided screaming match with your former Hokage in front of your very desk.

16.) these chains on me won't let me be pg13. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: The first time you ever feel like a shinobi, you are ugly and messy and scared out of your mind and not even wearing your hitai-ate. — implied sakura/ino

Out of all the Sakura centric fics I’ve read - trust me I have read a lot - this is till one of my favorites.

17.) got a boy in the war by Lisse. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: Naruto's parents don't so much fall in love as accidentally trip over it.

18.) sabotage by stirringwinds. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: “Itachi,” His mentor and commanding officer says grimly, his single visible eye angry, the line of his jaw tense under the black of his mask. “You forget that I was the Yondaime’s student. I may not be as politically influential as those old codgers sitting on the council, but there is plenty I can do to try and stop this shitshow.”

The horrible, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach hasn't vanished. But, staring at the firm, unflinching expression on his captain’s face, he feels the tiniest flicker of…hope.

Or: In another universe, Itachi breaks down and ends up spilling the beans to Hatake Kakashi.

Honestly, damn it why couldn’t this have happened? 

20.) Nothing like the storm by Aesoleucian. On ao3. Rated Not Rated. Summary: There's a girl in Kushina's class at the academy, with perfect hair and perfect poise. She's nothing like loud, angry Kushina, but she's not exactly shy either.

21.) Shine Bright, Shine Far, (Oh Sun of Mine) by Applepie. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: This Konoha is not the one Himawari knows; everything is wrong, and everyone is gone. A strange man who's not Papa is claiming to be the Hokage.

22.) i have a girlfriend!? by chadsuke. On ao3. Rated G. Summary: ino wants training from the best genin kunoichi - naturally, that means tracking down tenten.

23.) Eyestealer by nirejseki, robininthelabyrinth (nirejseki). On ao3. Rated Summary: Hashirama really doesn't approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother's bright red eyes. He's sure it doesn't mean anything good for anyone.

He's right.

I just binge read this today (I haven’t even bookmarked it yet) and now I’m left wanting for more darker than canon Hashirama.

24.) Unison by Laylah. On ao3. Rated M. Summary: Kakashi knows damn well that it isn't a healthy coping mechanism.

Do read the warnings at the top of the author’s notes. 

25.) Got Nothing to Prove (but I'ma show you how I do) by GuardianMars. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: Civilians and orphans are always used as cannon fodder. Sakura’s not sure where she first came by this phrase. Whether she heard it or read it, she can’t quite remember, but it stuck in her head and it stays in the back of her mind whenever Team 7 takes a mission.

When Sakura and Tenten get placed on a temporary team looking into a series of kidnappings of local village girls, Sakura is naturally worried. She doesn't want to be cannon fodder. When the mission goes to pot, Sakura and Tenten find themselves far away from home and with only each other to rely on. As it turns out being cannon fodder is the least of their worries.

26.) Once Again by pupeez4eva. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: If you asked anyone what they thought of Sasuke Uchiha, they'd say that he was cheerful, overly-hyper, and loved glitter and sweaters WAY too much.

(Mabel Pines is reborn as Sasuke Uchiha. Unsurprisingly, this changes things a lot).

27.) Blame it on the Moon by Tozette. On ao3 (you can only see this if you have logged-in ). Rated G. Summary: Itachi likes cats. In hindsight, that's probably his first mistake.

* * *

Really? Thought Itachi dubiously. He did it anyway. "For love and justice," he deadpanned flatly.

28.) Adoption by Defenestration; or, A Family Can Be A Fox Demon, Its Jinchuuriki, and Three Dozen Highly-Trained Assassins elumish. On ao3. Rated T. Summary: He will not be the ANBU who let the jinchuuriki plummet to his death out a fourth story window. Let that be another ANBU’s legacy.

[bhaalble]

Alistair: A Defense, a Critique

I PROMISED AN ESSAY

I DELIVER AN ESSAY.

So here we go. What’s up Ferelden, its him, ya boi

So, let’s start off by clearly delineating some things that Alistair is, and more importantly, what he is not.

I think there’s a tendency with Alistair critical posts to treat the worst possible version of Alistair as the “real him”, which is more than a little unfair. Unhardened, kinda bitchy Alistair is a part of him, yes, but its a part of him that only arises when your Warden is continually a dick to him, and I think it’s fair to say that none of us are the best versions of ourselves when we’re constantly being treated like shit or ignored. Furthermore, this isn’t really something we do when we talk about the other characters. Zevran straight up tries to murder you if you don’t have his approval ratings high enough and somehow most people don’t see Zevran as inherently a backstabbing little shit.

So, let’s run down the list of common accusations and overturn them

Alistair is not stupid. He’s just…not. Morrigan jokes, yes, but Morrigan tends to see everyone as an idiot for not sharing her worldview, including your Warden. The one who jokes about Alistair being stupid more often than anyone is Alistair, but as we see time and time again, he’s rarely the most trustworthy source for his real complications.

Alistair may not be a scholar and can make some pretty boneheaded statements, yes, but he’s hardly alone in that department for the DA:O crew. His retorts show some real wit behind them at points. He can demonstrate great social awareness (e.g. catching on to the fact that the Grand Cleric sending him, an ex-templar, to interact with the Circle Mages was definitely an intentional slight). Furthermore, I’d like to point out that he managed to catch on to the Chantry’s bullshit all on his own, before he racked up dozens of counts of mage abuse (*cough* CULLEN *cough*). He still shows some effects of the templar’s training, (especially in his treatment of Jowan and Morrigan) but I’d argue that this is hardly a surprise. He’s been subjected to it 24/7 since he was a child. But he’s aware, and based on the other templars we meet throughout the game that on its own shows some serious introspection and critical thinking.

Alistair is not selfish. While he has his moments, I don’t think that’s really who he is, deep down. Take, for instance, his forgiveness of Arl Eamon. He hasn’t seen Eamon for years. The expected arc would be that he waits for Eamon to wake up, gets an apology, and then forgives him. But based on how he talks about him when you enter Redcliffe, its clear that he’s already forgiven Eamon, and is honestly more than a little ashamed of his behavior. Frankly, this is more selfless than even I would be: imagine being twelve, having lived your life as a street urchin because your adoptive father simply won’t treat you any different than he treats his paid employees, only to be sent away from the only home you’ve ever known because your presence embarrasses his wife. Frankly, I think Alistair would be justified in resenting Eamon for it, but it’s clear that he doesn’t. He calls him a good man from beginning to end.

Furthermore, I think what the Guardian says to Alistair is telling. He doesn’t just feel sad that Duncan is gone. He feels guilty. He, deep down, genuinely believes it should have been him. He wishes he could throw himself on the sword to save his mentor. Then there’s the ritual to consider. It takes some convincing (because of course it does) but with little fuss, Alistair will sleep with a woman he genuinely dislikes (which hoo boy does this make a consent conversation more than a little shaky) to conceive a child that he will never get to see. He, a bastard child cast away from his father, is essentially doing the same thing. All to ensure that he won’t risk his friends dying. Even an unhardened King Alistair casting off a non-human non-noble Warden, while it of course hurts, to me shows a sense of latent responsibility. He genuinely loves and cares about your HoF, but he has the sense that this matters more. That even though he never wanted this burden, he has to carry it as best he can.

What Alistair is is immature.

I want to draw a fine distinction here because I think we tend to use immature interchangeably with “selfish” and “stupid”, so it can sound like I’m contradicting myself. So, to explain myself: I use “immature” in the sense of a symptom, rather than a personality.

For an example of “immature as a personality”, look no further than Tony Stark in like, the first half hour of Iron Man (arguably Tony in the rest of the movies too but ashfagdkh follow me here)

Early Tony Stark is very much someone who is irrepressibly immature. He is capable of being an adult, but he chooses not to be, valuing his own desires above pretty much everyone else’s. He acts out simply because he knows no one will stop him, chases the shiniest, biggest toys he can get, and throws a fit when he doesn’t get his way. He treats other people’s time and needs with a flippant attitude, generally behaving like they are literally side characters who only matter so long as they help him get what he wants.

This isn’t to say there isn’t a reason Tony is the way he is (his relationship with his father being a big contributor), but what is important is that Tony is fully capable of being otherwise, knows it, and chooses not to. He revels in his shamelessness, believing that his immaturity is a sign of his intelligence. Everyone else acts like an adult because they have to, but Tony acts like a child because he is smart enough and rich enough to get away with it. Call it a sort of Capitalist Peter Pan syndrome.

By contrast, Alistair strikes me as immature as a symptom. First off, his age is important to factor in here. Alistair is 20 (my age, which is trippy as fuck). He is barely done being a teenager by the time you meet him.

There are further factors that have stunted Alistair’s emotional maturity, even for the average 20-year-old. He jokes about having been raised by Mabari, but its very clear there weren’t a lot of adult influences in his life at a young age. He mentions Isolde ensured that the castle wasn’t home to him long before he was sent to the Chantry. Imagine being under ten and feeling like you were unwanted by a person who has the power to make your life miserable in every imaginable way.

Then, once he was moved to the Chantry….well, if the Circle is any indication, the Chantry doesn’t exactly know how to accommodate children. Alistair made life a merry hell for the priests but it’s clear he wasn’t treated very well by them. Then straight into templar training. All of this while barely interacting with the outside world and shunned by his peers for his status as a bastard. Kids need to engage with other people in order to grow up effectively. With that in mind, it’s frankly stunning that Alistair has as much care for other people as he does.

The observation of Alistair’s immaturity is exactly groundbreaking either. Think about his dream in the Fade. We see Alistair at his most honest and vulnerable, fully convinced of the illusion. And it seems his greatest dream is to have the family he never got as a child, via his sister. Alistair behaves childlike to the point of parody in this dream. He pleads like a child and tries to entice the Warden to stay by begging his mom sister to make a special meal, his favorite. Hell, the whole “hardening” subplot is basically about the Warden forcing Alistair to let go of the childhood he never got to have and moving forward into adulthood.

His immaturity doesn’t just express itself in the obvious childlike behavior, however. Even though we tend to forget that Alistair is a junior member of the Wardens and is barely more experienced than the HoF in terms of actually fighting darkspawn, I think we can all agree that tossing the decisions on someone who’s barely past their Joining probably isn’t great behavior. Pretty much every comment he makes, about mages, blood magic, elves, even women, also read as the words of a man who simply does not have the world experience yet to really know how to engage with people who aren’t like him. It doesn’t mean these comments don’t….yanno, suck, but there is rarely any real malice behind them. Despite the hardships in Alistair’s life (of which there have been many, I grant), he has still been on the receiving end of certain privileges by virtue of being a man and being human non-mage, and it is clear he is still unlearning the prejudice inherent in that. His youth doesn’t excuse how hurtful or ignorant his comments can be, but its the unfortunate truth that, especially for those of us who grow up relatively privileged, being mindful of the Other is a learning process.

However, the main reason I view this immaturity as a symptom more than a personality is that I think Alistair has a genuine desire to grow past this. He acknowledges that he complains a lot, with an additional note that “and you haven’t been having an easy time of it either”. If you push back on his comments (or at least when the game gives you the chance to), he’ll usually apologize for it. And as I said, the hardening storyline to me indicates that Alistair is more than ready to grow up. He’s just still learning how to do it.

None of this, by the way, means that you have to love Alistair. Its more than easy to be annoyed by him, especially for a non-human and/or non-noble character. In the interest of full disclosure, it took me romancing Alistair to move past simply tolerating him. But I think its time for all of us to stop pretending Alistair is something he isn’t. He isn’t really a side character as much as he is a deuteragonist. More than any other companion (except, arguably, Morrigan), Alistair has a character arc that acts in response to your own characters. He grows and changes over the course of the narrative in a way that parallels how the story treats him, and if you create an Alistair that behaves like an asshole, well, you might want to take a look at how you’ve been treating him

to

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Homeward Bound: Chapter 13

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 |

Chapter Summary: a rush of fate brings two souls together...

Word Count: 6,946

Warnings: swearing, cheating, generally angst and fluff

Author’s Note: please send all complaints to @moonstruckhargrove-she wanted an update and I got you girl

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @hipsmcgee @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @casaharrington @thechickvic

Series Tag: @baebee35 @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @thoughstofaredhead @fear-the-reaper115 @estheflowergirl @alex--awesome--22 @onemorekissisallittakes

“Jesus you need to stop doing that!” you cried, smacking Steve in the chest roughly, earning a hearty laugh and a warm smile that stirred something in your chest and made it hard to keep a smile off your face.

“Why would I? It’s fun!” he chuckled in response, turning to look at you fully, his eyes widening as he looked you over, making you both shy and hopeful. “Your hair!” he breathed.

“Yeah, I cut it all off.” You replied, running your fingers through it. “Is it bad?”

“No! It’s cool!” he cried, ruffling it like an older brother, making your heart drop in your chest for reasons you couldn’t exactly explain. All you knew is that that little gesture made you feel incredibly small and childish. You wished your hair was long and sleek again.

“Whatever…” you muttered, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice “Shouldn’t you be at work or something? It’s like the middle of the afternoon.”

“How much crime do you really think is in Hawkins now?” he mused with a smirk “Besides, I wanted to pop by here before I go to see Joyce and the kids.” He turned his attention to Jonathan, offering him a ‘hey man’ and a stiff hug. The two were never exactly close and while time healed the wounds shared between him and Nancy, Jonathan held grudges. Specifically, he held grudges over mistakes atoned for in junior year; Nancy ‘the slut’ Wheeler still rang loud and clear in his head at even the thought of Steve Harrington.

“I’d wait, not a great time, ‘specially for a guy in full uniform.” Jonathan said, earning a tight nod from Steve, who turned back to the crowd awkwardly. All of the mothers in the room were watching him like wolves, their teeth practically glistening behind their painted smiles. Karen looked absolutely murderous in her jealousy; now seeing the inherent value of marrying her daughter into a rich family with a successful son now that her daughter was married to a less than successful son of an only recently successful family. Likewise, your mother saw the value in Steve and was watching you two with proverbial hearts in her eyes, a dreamy expression on her face.

“So…where are you two going tonight then?” your mother asked giddily, practically smirking at you and Steve.

“What is she talking about?” Steve whispered to you, maintaining a polite smile towards the moms.

You shook your head, shrugging softly as you turned to your mother “We’re not going anywhere. I meeting Jenny Stein for dinner tonight.” You said, watching Steve’s face drop as the words left your lips.

“Didn’t you already see her this trip?” you mother sighed bitterly as Karen did her damndest to hold back a snicker, obviously excited about your seeming rejection of him.

“Yeah, but I’m meeting with her, Marvin Rubio, and a few other people. The leftovers, you know?” you replied vaguely, waving your hand through the list.

“Well, I’m that will be very nice, Y/N, are you leaving on Sunday or Monday?” your mother asked testily.

“Currently my flight is booked for Monday; I can change it to Sunday if that’s a problem, though.”

“Hmm…well I would love to have to till Tuesday, but I’ll settle for Monday.”

“Well…I don’t know if I’ll go that far, I do have to go home eventually. I have to go back to work.”

“It’s alright darling.”

You could feel Steve’s eyes burning into the back of your head and you couldn’t help but glance back at him. His expression was one of hurt and burning anger; he looked as though you’d committed a giant sin against him. Maybe that would’ve been his expression if you’d cheated on him rather than the other way around. You sent him a small smile, knowing that he knew that you were lying to your mother. It made your heart ache, because you knew you had hurt him. And that thought made you feel angry; because Steve never felt that pain. When you caught him and Elaine-god you hated her name-he might’ve felt bad for a minute, at least he pretended to, and then he and Elaine became an item and you were left on the side, unofficially broken up and even more broken than you were before. When he brought her home for Christmas, the last year you ever came home for the holiday, you’d just made up your mind to drop out of college and watching them flirt and flail about, you made up your mind about Steve: he was not a good man, like everyone thought he was, he was a heartless beast inside the body of a good guy.

You glanced superficially at the clock, not really checking the time but showing the group that you were checking the time “I should get going, I have to call my boss and clear up a few things before he gets in too deep with the new pile.” You announced, picking up your purse off the couch and ruffling Holly’s hair, who’d zoned out long ago.

“Are you sure? We’ve hardly even seen you!” Karen complained “I wanna hear about your new book your mother’s been talking about, apparently it’s expected to be a hit.”

You rolled your eyes “I haven’t written anything under my own name yet Karen, although my writing is making waves. Georgia Kane’s latest trash bestseller, Not so Miss. America, was a great success on my part. Did you read it? It’s your genre. Anyway, writing that got me a raise.” You replied, watching both your mother and Karen falter, each embarrassed for different reasons. “But other than that I’m not working with much buzz.”

When neither woman responded, you pulled your bag onto your shoulder and gave Nancy and Jonathan’s shoulders tight squeezes. “Alright, I’m gonna head out. I’ll leave the car with you, ma. See you all tomorrow!” you said, waving politely to the crowd and heading quickly out the door.

The sun had hit its peak in the sky, trying in vain to beat down the cool breeze gently rustling the leaves, weather that didn’t exactly match the season, but was a welcome change to the hot, sticky weather you’d endured during your stay. You were more than happy to walk in this weather, glad to take in the sunlight and cool breeze for awhile.

Unfortunately, Steve had followed you out.

“Lemme give you a lift, Henderson.” He called from the porch and you resisted the urge to turn around to respond to him. He hadn’t called you by your last name the whole trip. This was not a good sign.

“That’s alright, Harrington, I’d like to walk.” You replied, following suit and continuing down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. That should’ve been the end, but like a happy go-lucky golden retriever, he followed behind you, nipping at your heels.

“Then lemme walk you, I wanna talk.”

“Your car’s here.” You stopped dead in your tracks, finally turning to look at him and take in his concerned expression. “It would be a waste to walk all the way back to my place and then come here again. You wanted to visit with them, so stay. I can call you later at the station.”

“No you won’t,” he replied, shutting you up instantly “So I’m gonna walk with you for awhile.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat and continuing, much slower, down the path.

“What’s up?” you asked shyly, keeping your eyes on your shoes rather than him.

“Why are you going out with Hargrove tonight?” he asked shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, watching you carefully.

“What makes you think I am?”

“Come off it, Henderson, if you’re gonna reuse a lie, don’t do it in front of the person who made it up.” You sighed, nodding softly; he got you there.

You looked up, meeting his eye for the first time as you turned off the Wheeler’s street “I’m seeing him because…he asked? And I wanted to. And that’s that.” You said.

“That’s not much of a reason.”

You huffed “Do you have deep reasons when you go out with a girl beyond wanting to?” Steve didn’t reply, only sighing softly, shaking his head, angering you further.

“No, you don’t. Cause most of the time, you don’t need a deep reason to go out with someone. So don’t hold me to higher standard than everyone else. I’m no better.”

“It’s selfish.” Steve told you harshly, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“What?” you fumed, voice no higher than a whisper.

“He’s in love with you, you said it yourself. And you don’t love him. You’re getting his hopes up.” Steve replied quickly; aggressively, angrily.

“And you haven’t done anything selfish in your life.” You bit out callously

Steve narrowed his eyes, almost sneering at you “What are you implying?”

“Did you ever love Elaine?” you snapped, silencing him immediately simply with your steely gaze. “Did you ever love me?” you pressed wishing your voice didn’t crack and your throat didn’t close.

“Y/N…” he replied and in an instant broke your heart with the heavy sigh he breathed out instead “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head, holding your lips firm to keep the lower one from wobbling pathetically. “Yeah no that’s not an answer. And you never have an answer. So don’t ask me for one now.”    

You ran off before Steve could give you a response, before he could even try. You were home and inside before you ever realized you’d ran, your heart pounding in your heaving chest as you brushed your hair away from your eyes as you tried to calm yourself and keep the tears from flowing in rivers down your cheeks.

This was the proof you need. Billy was the right choice. Steve was so desperately wrong it was insane, you couldn’t believe you thought that…no, no you never thought that. If you’d thought that, then you liked him. And you didn’t like him. Ever. Billy was a better choice-sure he was both too much and not enough emotionally, but that can be trained out. Just because he didn’t speak your love language doesn’t mean he couldn’t learn. And this date would prove it.

You found yourself growing more and confident in the idea as you went through your day. You called your agent, something you didn’t think you could do and told him the honest truth-that you couldn’t take the novel to publish if you didn’t have the blessing of the people who inspired it, and he told you the honest truth that if you didn’t give it a definitive ending, no one would buy it. That was, surprisingly, an okay thing to hear and you accepted the information easily.

Of course, ending the novel seemed impossible. Because the story itself didn’t have an ending, not really. Sure, the trial ended the labs and sent people to jail, but the scars remain. And you couldn’t pretend that they didn’t have an effect on your life now. You weren’t ashamed to admit that the main character was based on yourself and your own life in Hawkins. You couldn’t write the story from anyone else’s point of few, it wouldn’t feel whole. But that gave you a problem because your story didn’t have an ending. You were a broken person, you didn’t sugar coat that, you weren’t the same girl you were even five years ago. But that wasn’t an ending, that was just a place to stop. And you didn’t want to build one whole cloth. You didn’t know how to even justify that to yourself, but you had to and so you would.

You just wouldn’t do it now.

Instead, you decided to look as effortlessly pretty as you could. You didn’t have much makeup on you; you hadn’t planned to be seen so often, so you trekked out to the nearest drugstore and found a tiny packet of eye shadow that complimented your eyes and, out of some old instinct of preteen-hood, a pearly pink nail polish. You spent the rest of the day trying to find the beauty your mother swore was there under the sneer and sarcasm of your teen years. By the end of your hard work, you’d found an older looking girl with clear eyes lined and painted in soft shadows and framed by enhanced eyebrows and a soft smile brightened with a rosy blush and glossy lips.

You felt, for the first time in the whole trip, intentionally pretty.

Beauty was something, you felt, was not something that was felt consistently. You found yourself trying harder and harder to focus on other things-your mind, your actions, your work, your loves-rather than your looks. You’d spent so long during your teen years worrying and thinking about your looks and beauty and now, as you’d aged and grown up, it felt sillier and sillier, a coping mechanism of youth you didn’t need to use anymore. But the feeling, as we all seemed to cause it, of ugliness swept you up sometimes. Some days, you woke up bright eyed and, objectively, pretty, but other days that creeping feeling of self-loathing that could only be attributed to the reflection in the mirror. You hadn’t put any effort into your appearance during the trip thus far, save for brushing your hair and putting on the barest amount of makeup possible, and only because your mother was insistent on it. You didn’t feel the need until now.

Now, you felt as though you had someone to impress, to put in the same level of work that you were certain Billy was putting in himself. It was a mutual, shared primping process done before any date. You knew the process well, the process seemingly become more and more important as you entered your twenties. You couldn’t really compare this to anyone else-you didn’t have many friends in San Diego and the closest female friend you had was your neighbour Stella, who despite not being in a relationship, hadn’t been on a date in three years, not since her son’s father ran off when she announced the pregnancy. You didn’t know if the process was a product of aging or just something expected of you as you aged; but you did note that every girl your age was trying to top every other girl around you. Maybe that was just California.

Still, when seven o’clock rolled around, you found yourself watched the front lawn with baited breath from the bathroom window, looking for signs of the tow truck or, hopefully, the Camaro since you missed it so much. You were excited, which was odd since you kind of hated him after the whole ‘I love you’ thing, and the feeling buzzed in your veins and coloured your cheeks.

But the feeling began to die as seven turned to seven fifteen and then to seven thirty. Finally, you just decided to march yourself downstairs and out the front door. You knew where he lived and if he was pulling some payback sort of shit, you could easily find him and cut off his dick. He’d deserve it too.

“I thought you were meeting for seven?” your mother called as you headed for the front door.

You stifled a sigh “We pushed the time back to eight for Marvin, he’s working late at the restaurant.” You lied, tossing your purse over your shoulder and slipping on your shoes.

“It’s so nice that Marvin still works for the family business, especially after his selfish siblings ran off to do other things.” You mother mused aloud and you turned back to look at her, noting the flour in her hair and the large mixing bowl and wooden spoon in front of her, a model image of fifties wifehood minus the poodle skirt and beehive hairdo.

“I guess it’s nice that his siblings have a backup plan though…in case everything goes to shit for them, you know?” you replied with a shrug.

“That’s exactly my point! The Rubio’s are excellent planners! I wish I had a business to pass down to you if this whole writing thing doesn’t pan out.” Your mother sighed and you stifled an eye roll, not wanting to offend her.

“Eh, I can always marry rich.” You said, earning a snicker from your mother. You decided not to look into that response and head out, scanning the street from your porch before jumping down the steps and heading down to the end of your street with arms crossed over your chest and teeth clenched in a hardened scowl. You couldn’t stand anyone else being late, despite yourself preferring to be a little late to everything, a hypocritical stance you held onto with pride. You, with great annoyance, began the slow trek up to the only place you thought he could be hiding.

“Hey baby, where’d you think you’re going?” you heard someone holler and you turned to look out towards the road, eyes catching the rusted brown truck that had tried to pass you in the opposite direction, and Billy Hargrove leaning out the passenger side window, tongue waggling out of his mouth and eyes leering. His hair was slicked with sweat, grease swiped on his forehead and was most likely coating his hands, and while you couldn’t deny that he was certainly attractive, the gap between your levels of effort was a canyon rather than a simple pothole.  It was a significant let down, yo0u felt as though your efforts had gone to waste. Still, you put on a smirk and turned, hands planting themselves on your hips jutted to one side.

“You’re late.” You mused, watching him with a twinkle in your eye and a bemused expression.

You were always a fairly good actor.

“You gonna hold it against me?” Billy countered smoothly, watching for a change in your eyes.

Although with Billy as your audience, it wasn’t hard.

“Maybe…” you giggled, sashaying over to the car and pulling the handle and nearly knocking him out of the car to your feet. He pulled himself in, sliding across the bench and back into the technical driver’s seat, patting the seat next to him for you to take. You tried to ignore the sheer amount of garbage piled up at your feet as you smiled at him. He revved the weak engine, speeding off as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast, and you giggled the same way you did when you were a teenager, grabbing onto the handgrip to keep you steady despite your lack of seatbelt, giving Billy an unneeded ego boost.

You didn’t know where you were going, but that was par for the course with Billy; he did things on the fly and that meant flying by the seat of your pants and not questioning too much. You used to not mind, but now it planted a worried seed in your stomach. You liked to be in control, to be in charge of your own location and destination. And while you were in charge of where you were, you weren’t in charge of where you were headed and that worried you to no end.

But you didn’t bother asking. You’d only get vague nothing answers and that would only upset you more. And besides, you knew Hawkins well enough to escape any situation he could drag you into, and you knew the highways well enough to get back into town if you had to jump out of the moving car. God, Hawkins brought out the survivalist in you.

You were pleasantly surprised when he pulled up to Benny’s, as you still insisted on calling it, although you weren’t impressed by his parking job, taking over almost three parking spots with his truck, claiming that it was a necessity to keep the thing safe as it wasn’t fully his, which you thought was all bullshit. You bite your tongue, however, choosing to not get into it and letting him wrap an arm snugly around your waist, pulling you closer than necessary.

As he entered the diner, his whole demeanour changed. He stood impossible straighter, taller and took up even more room. You found yourself being held tighter and closer to his side, making it hard to walk and led you to be mostly pulled around by him. He chose a booth on the far side of the diner, despite the other side being less busy. You didn’t understand why until you saw the waitress.

She had to be a year or two younger than you and looked like a small town Brooke Shields, right up to the big, wide eyed innocent hazel eyes. She was tall and thin and her hair was bigger than her head. You wondered how she’d ended up working in a diner instead of being the next big star, and then you remembered that this was Hawkins and nobody ever seemed to make it big. When she saw the pair of you, her smile turned weary and she spent just a second too long with the table next to yours and made a beeline to the kitchen instead of coming to you next, promising vaguely to be right with you. Not that Billy seemed to mind, he was watching her dreamily.

You should’ve been annoyed, hell maybe a part of you was, but mostly you were incredibly curious. There was a story there, you could tell. And you planned to figure out what it was.

Billy didn’t turn to look at you until you cleared your throat loudly and when he did, he looked completely annoyed to be doing so. “Are you alright?” you asked softly, leaning on your elbows to look at him with a sympathetic expression you pulled out of your ass “You seem distracted…”

“I’m fine. Just wondering where our waitress went.” He replied glumly, disappointment obvious in his voice.

“She looks like Brooke Shields doesn’t she?” you watched as his expression changed, looking at you curiously, his eyebrow rising significantly as if to tell you to go on. You didn’t however, instead waiting patiently for a response.

“Who?”

“You ever see the movie Blue Lagoon?” Billy shook his head. “How about Pretty Baby?” you tried. His whole expression perked up again, not in knowing but in excited memory.

“Yeah! I remember sneaking in to see that movie in theatres. It was like a crazy sex movie or something; everyone was talking about it for awhile.” Billy announced like a giddy child in the know.

“I guess? I think that was more for Blue Lagoon, that movie just got banned in a bunch of places. Anyway, the main girl in that movie-that’s Brooke Shields. She’s also in Endless Love.” You replied with frown, already noticing how he wasn’t paying attention to you anymore. Your waitress had returned with menus in hand and Billy was watching her closely with a smirk, not so much a forced one either like he did when he was trying to establish him dominance, but a real one that seem to be pulled from deep attraction. And the girl was blushing under his gaze, squirming like a beetle flipped on its back.

“Hi, I’m Rosemary, I’ll be your waitress for tonight, get I get you guys some drinks or do you need a second to look it over?” she addressed her initial opener only to you, smiling warmly down at you, clearly glad to not have to only address the man undressing her with his eyes.

“Um…I’ll have…” you mumbled, going over the menu briefly, double checking to ensure your usual order was still on the menu. “I’ll have a chocolate shake and a cheese burger, side fries.” You said simply, smiling up at her and handing back the menu.

“You know what I like, Rosie.” Billy said, handing back his. Their hands touched briefly and his thumb caressed her fingers gently, softening her expression and darkening her blush just for a second. It was as though you’d stepped into a bad teen movie; you were the forgotten friend watching on as the love interests fell in love right before your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a second with your drinks.” She said, clearing her throat and skittering off, busying herself behind the counter and sliding the slip into the wheel of orders above the pickup window, ringing the bell. Billy watched her closely and, after he waited the right amount of time you assumed, he stood from his side of the bench and announced that he was headed to the bathroom, leaving you alone at the booth.

You’d pieced together that they were, at one point, in a relationship, but something had gotten in the way. And by the way little Rosemary was looking at him, it had been a painful end. The whole thing was playing out like Austen novel, it was all very Persuasion-love lost lovers, separated by circumstance and still lusting desperately for one another. You would pity them, if only it didn’t seem like it was one sided. Billy was watching her like she was a piece of meat and not a person, a grave difference in reaction to one another.

You didn’t know where he’d wandered off to, nor did you care. This night was not going to end where you thought it would and that thought made you just a little sad.

“I’m sorry, are you Y/N Henderson?” you heard a voice behind you ask. You turned around, meeting the wide, brown eyes of Carol Danforth, who was peering at you as though you were a figment of her imagination.

You smiled back, waving politely “Hi Carol, it’s nice to see you again.” You said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh my god it is you! Hi! How are you, what’re you doing back?” she grinned, giggling and calculating.

“I’m back for my younger brother’s graduation, I’ve been in for a week and a half.” You replied, catching the eye of the nervous girl across from Carol. You turned fully, pulling your knees up on the bench and reaching your hand over to greet her “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Wendy…” she muttered, eyes watery, not bothering to shake your hand.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just upset over your date.” Carol said softly, hand cupped over her mouth.

“Billy break your heart?” you asked, ignoring Carol pleading looks to stop talking.

She hummed, swallowing hard “He said he…loved me…” she said shakily.

You nodded “He told me the same thing when I ran into him. I think he’s forgotten the definition of the word.”

“No, he’s just in love with someone else and won’t admit it yet.” Carol said, making you turn to look at her and following her gaze to the scene unfolding before your eyes. Billy had returned from the bathroom, or maybe he’d never gone in the first place, either way he was leaning over the counter and making eyes at her and making her laugh. They looked good together, something that made your heart feel so much lighter. He didn’t love you, he never did. He loved this little thing with a sexy pout and wide, innocent eyes. And that was more than okay with you.

“What’s the story there?” you asked, watching them spellbound.

“From what I’ve heard, he met her here when he was working construction after high school and they fell for each other. They were together for a year and then he cheated on her with Wendy over here. She dumped him, and he’s been chasing her down ever since.” Carol explained.

You furrowed your brow “But wait…I thought he was living in California until a couple years ago.”

Wendy and Carol looked at each other curiously before looking back to you. “He never left town.” Carol said.

“Yeah, he’s been here since graduation. Never left.” Wendy added awkwardly, before asking “What did he tell you he was doing here?”

“He said he was living here because his father died and he was handling his affairs. That he used to live in San Diego…” you said softly, almost embarrassed by the deceit.

“His father did die, but Billy didn’t handle anything with it. He told me he was disinherited. His step-mom handled it, he didn’t even go to the funeral.” Wendy explained to you. Suddenly, the whole situation became a lot clearer. And the image forming wasn’t one you liked.

Billy was returning to the table, as was Rosemary with a tray of drinking. And if destined in the stars, she tripped on the edge of the tile and you were coated in your own milkshake. And Rosemary screamed rather than you, hands rushing to cover her mouth.

“I am so sorry! Oh my goodness!” she screamed, grabbing napkins and rushing to help you wipe your face. You found yourself grinning, laughing even at what had just happened.

“It’s alright! No harm done, honestly.” You said, standing from your seat. Billy wasn’t even fazed by what had happened, he was so happy to be looking down Rosemary’s uniform as she wiped it up the mess she’d made on the floor.

Rosemary wasn’t paying much attention to him, she took your sticky arm and pulled you away from the bench “Here, I have a spare shirt in my locker, let’s try to get the stain out of your shirt.

“It’s okay, really, you don’t have to.” You tried with a smile. If you were reading this girl right, you were going to get exactly what you wanted from her.

“No, no let me help, I feel so bad!” she cried and you relented, letting her lead you into the bathroom before rushing off and instructing you to take off your blouse and soak it in the sink.

She returned quickly with a plain cotton tee shirt marked with the label of the diner printed on the front. She shrugged softly, handing it to you “Technically, you’re supposed to pay for these, but nobody does and I won’t tell if you won’t.” she said and you found yourself nodding as you pulled it on. It was a bit snug, but you much preferred it to the wet shirt you had on before.

“Thank you so much.” You grinned, tossing your shirt in the sink and turned on the faucet.

“Here, let me see if there’s a plastic bag or something in the back for you to throw that in. I wouldn’t want to keep you in here too long, can’t keep Billy waiting on you…” she said and you noted the sad turn in her voice. Now was as good of a time as any to ask.

You grabbed her wrist gently before she could completely turn away from you. “Can I ask you a somewhat personal question?” you asked, earning a bewildered and worried look from the taller girl.

“You can, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.” she said and you liked her already.

“I noticed Billy…well, staring at you. Can I ask what the deal is there? Cause it’s a little weird if there isn’t a story.”

Rosemary sighed, her shoulders and head slumping down, her brown locks becoming a halo of curls around her head. “It’s not…it’s a long story. But it’s not weird, his staring I mean.”

“I don’t need the story, if you don’t want to tell it, but I can tell you that Billy doesn’t look at everyone like that.” Rosemary shook her head, disheartened by something in her head that you couldn’t see. “I’m serious! I use to date him and he never looked at me that way, and he used to say that he loved me.”

That might have not been the best thing to say, it seemed, as it triggered a slow, steady stream of tears down her cheeks. You quickly grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly. “He doesn’t love me…” she whispered hoarsely, trying not to sob too loudly.

“What do you mean?” you replied, looking up at her sympathetically.

“He…he…” she took a gulping breath “We dated and it got serious and I told him that I loved him and he wouldn’t say it back. He couldn’t say it back. And we broke up but…I love him.”

You found yourself smiling; there was an easy answer to this problem. “Sweetheart,” you said, shaking your head solemnly “He loves you.”

“No, no he doesn’t he would’ve-”

“No, he wouldn’t. Billy has the emotional reverence of a clogged pipe. He can’t say it to you, because you’re the person he cares about, but he can say it to anyone else. And he has-he’s been saying to every other girl he can find because he’s scared to say it to you.”

“That makes no sense.” She pouted softly, pulling her hands away to cross them over her chest.

“You say that like Billy ever makes sense. He has a logic all his own. But if you can understand even a bit of it, then you know him. I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t love me, despite the fact that he told me that he did last week. And I want to help in whatever way I can, and if that means publicly embarrassing him to help you, then I will.”

She stood silent for a good few moments, mulling over everything you’d said. You watched as her face broke into a small smile, clearly not opposed to the idea. “Can you do that?” she asked softly.

“I can do whatever I want. Now, please go and find me that bag, I’ll take care of our dummy.” You replied with a smirk, looking yourself over in the mirror. This would take an easy skill. You left your shirt in the sink and marched out into the dining room, putting on your hardest expression.

“Hargrove.” You snapped, finding him paying the bill at the counter, two Styrofoam counters stacked up on top of each other and deeply disappointed scowl on his lips. He turned and, for a brief moment, looked at you as though it was his own mundane reflection looking back at him. He found the surprised expression he needed and then let it settle into one of pity.

“There you are! I handle this, come on let’s get you home.” He said, looking around the room as though the very sight of you was embarrassing him.

“Sit.” You snapped, pointing back to the booth and nodding over when he didn’t move immediately. He relented with a groan, sliding back in with great and obvious annoyance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked, earning a bewildered look from the boy.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh don’t start with that, you know why I’m about to yell at you. What the fuck is your problem-you’re gallivanting around with every girl in sight and breaking poor Rosemary’s heart instead of just admitting that you love her.”

Billy sighed, lowering his head. When he looked up again, he didn’t look guilty-he looked tired. “I don’t…I don’t love her.”

“Well I know for a fucking fact you don’t love me like you said you did. And you sure as hell don’t love little Wendy back there, I bet you didn’t even remember her name till I said it.” you cried.

“How the hell would you know how I feel?”

“Because,” you countered, leaning in to truly hold his eye contact “I know you better than you realize. And I know you don’t say what you feel to the people that can help. You say it to anyone else.”

“So? That doesn’t mean that I love her.”

“Okay, riddle me this: why did you lie to me about living in San Diego?” you asked simply.

“Because I-” he started into another lie, but when he looked in your eyes, his dropped the sentence off, sighing softly “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a loser.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding softly “And why did you tell Wendy that you love her?”

Billy smirked “To get her in bed.” You heard the muffled gasp and moan of poor Wendy behind you, clearly falling back into tears. You didn’t look back.

“And why did you break up with Rosemary?” you asked, watching the smirk fall away and him shy away immediately.

“Don’t make me say it…” he muttered.

“No, say it cause I wanna know.” You snapped back, raising your brows.

“Because I was scared alright? God damn it Y/N, why are you interrogating me?” he cried, huffing and pouting like a child.

“Because I want an answer! Because poor Rosemary needs an answer, okay? Because you spent the whole night watching her with these big, stupid puppy dog eyes and it drove me nuts because you’re so obvious it’s not even funny!” you countered, matching both his volume and tone.

“You’re right, okay?” he relented softly “I do…you know…”

“I know you do.” You smiled, earning an annoyed scoff “Now go tell her that.” Billy stayed put, hands shaking just a tiny bit, his eyes shifted from her at the counter to you across from him. He looked so nervous, like a little boy about to admit to his first crush, and it made your heart melt just a little. You believed that he’d been in love before, but not at this level. Not in this fully adult way. You were proud of him, in that sense, for finally coming to terms with adulthood and the responsibilities you have to your partners, understanding that they becoming your family after awhile.

You took his hand gently, squeezing it softly “You deserve happiness, Bill, but you have to get it for yourself. It won’t always come to you on its own.” You murmured to him and, for once, he seemed to listen. He nodded, letting your hand go and getting up from his seat. You took the opportunity to grab your food from the pile and stand as well, finding the plastic bag with your wet blouse in it on the opposite end of the counter. You didn’t spare a glance to Carol and Wendy, although you could hear Carol’s grumbling as Wendy tried to muffle her sobs. In fact, you only turned once, when Rosemary cried out a watery ‘yes!’ from behind you. You turned just in time to see Billy pull off one of his tarnished silver rings and slip it onto her left hand. You shook your head, chuckling at the quite honestly adorable scene in front of you, watching Billy get the life squeeze out of him by his bride to be and hearing Wendy’s sobs get louder as Carol dragged her out of the booth and out the front door, flipping you off along the way. You guessed now you really weren’t invited to that wedding.

You slipped out the front door and into the cooler summer night, the sun waning in the sky as warm pinks and oranges overtook the blue and made a gorgeous cocktail of colours. A soft, warm breeze blew through the trees edging on the diner and the sound of cars driving down the interstate behind you filled the whole atmosphere with the ends of day trips with tired, sunburnt kids half asleep in the backs of cars as dad rock played softly through the speakers. It was the type of scene you knew so well from childhood.

Of course, you were in a whole different scene entirely.

You were alone in a parking lot, hair sticky and clumped with dried ice cream and whipped cream, your arms still sticky despite being wiped down and a prominent stain drying into your favourite skirt. You were alone and with no way of getting home. And there was no way in hell you’d get back in the car with Billy, not with his new fiancé, both of them itching to tear each other’s clothes off. You were going to half to walk it alone.

“Well that was a fucking waste of time…” you muttered, huffing out a sigh before trudging into the woods. You didn’t want to walk the highway in, just in case you were spotted or worse, hit. You go through the woods and hope that your anxiety didn’t get the best of you.

You spent your walk mostly running or jogging, trying to avoid roots and fallen logs. Your heart was racing and you had to avert your eyes to the now quarantined labs as you ran past, their fences still holding something inside too ominous to let free or tear down. You tried to think of positive, happy things. You would certainly get an invite to the new couples wedding, that would be lovely you hadn’t been to a wedding at all since Jonathan and Nancy’s rushed courthouse ceremony, and not a grand ceremony and reception since your mother and Richard. But thoughts of white dresses and tuxedos only distracted your mind for so long and eventually, after the sun finally set, you had to talk yourself out of the woods altogether, opting to hurry down Cherry Lane, four streets below yours.

You remembered that the Mayfield’s lived there, once even with their Hargrove counter parts, and you wondered to yourself if they still did. You got your answer almost immediately when you saw a flash of red hair hop out a window followed by two flashes of dark hair. You hadn’t noticed the bikes waiting for them below, but you recognized the faces when they appeared in the sunlight.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

[impfiltration-archive]

📃 ( for green!! )

Send a ‘📃’ for a short drabble involving our muses|| @pafallende

pidge thinks about running away from the team, but green is there to help her realize how much she means to voltron

Pidge wasn’t sure if language was enough to describe her bond with the Green Lion.

She hope she’d never have to say that; those kind of lines always felt hackneyed, like they’ve been directly plagiarized from some low-budget romcom. Something, something, “There are no words to describe our love,” blah, blah, blah. Cue the sloppy makeout session in the rain, and Pidge could already feel her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Maybe if her Dad just cried over cartoons like normal people, then Pidge wouldn’t have to rely on a bunch of vague clichés. No, no—don’t blame Dad’s movies.

PIDGE:\Mind\thoughts_>>>You wish you could still watch them with him again.

PIDGE:\Mind\emotions_>>>homesickness>heartache

Pidge feels a rumble in the back of her mind, and a new warmth sparks in her chest. She is being embraced; the sudden comfort she feels can only be translated to being held. Pidge revels in it. As satiny as these Altean blankets were, they feel too weird, or unfamiliar, for her to really enjoy. The same can be said for the pillows, her room, and this entire ““quiznacking”” situation.

Shiro crashes an alien ship into the desert, stumbling out as a walking collection of paranoia and loose-ends (Pidge doesn’t think he’s fully recognized her yet).

PIDGE:\Mind\emotions_>>>heartache

Then, Shiro and her ended up on a scavenger hunt for a “Voltron” with a handful of randos. This led them to the Blue Lion, the thing that flew them clear across the universe in seconds—all the way to Princess Allura, who immediately claimed them as her paladins of war.

That’s the part that Pidge is having some trouble processing.

She was meant for space, that’s how her family raised her. Also, this random, chain of events was better than her original plan to get herself to the stars, which was roughly: Infiltrate, investigate, try to steal a Garrison shuttle.. Continue from there. She’s off Earth, now, though, and in addition to having her own ship, she finally knows what happened to her family.

Pidge is in the perfect position to go find her Dad and Matt. So, why should she bother staying here? Sure, the Galra sound like trash, but she doesn’t want to fight them—just take back what’s hers. Allura is asking for soldiers; she wants them to offer their lives for her cause.

Like they almost did today, when Sendak came.

Forming Voltron was exhilarating, but the build-up there had been terrifying. She still hasn’t shaken off the disappointment from opening those cell doors to everyone but her family. Also, it took her being scared of dying before she could actually “give herself” to the team to form Voltron. She thought she’d never see her family again, she thought she left her Mom to rot.

Pidge couldn’t make a life out of that.

That’s why the girl has been tossing and turning in her new paladin quarters for the last hour,  just mulling everything over. How she should she break the news to everyone? It’s clear she can’t stay. Maybe she should just casually mention, “Hey, I’m already on a mission,” or maybe not say anything at all, and just leave?

Green rumbled again. This time, it was less of a reassuring purr, and something more along the line of scolding. Pidge agreed wholeheartedly; she shouldn’t run away without a word. For about the millionth time that night, she rolls side over onto her side. This time, she up bunches her blankets up around her face, as well as closes closes her eyes. Instead of all the other hectic things going on in her life, Pidge tries just focusing on Green’s energy.

The vague presence of her lion in the back of her head seems to surge, and before she knew it, Pidge was asleep.

Unconsciousness was a plummet. Straight through a black, blot of nothing (Something that just barely grazed Pidge’s sense of perception), then emerging onto an entirely new plane. It was like diving into the water, when everything had this gleam to it and went fuzzy around the edges; only, the place Pidge found herself was a forest.

Tall trees, thick grass, that undeniable earthy smell of old leaves—it all hit the girl in one go, like her little dirt-patch seat sat in the very heart of all things nature.

There’s this immediate intuition that this place is safe. After her 33rd rash from ivy and over-pollinated flowers, Pidge has developed an almost inherent revulsion for all things leafy; however, that little spark of aversion is overwhelmed by feelings of admiration and compassion. It all just resonated with the environment, letting her know she’s precious as sunlight itself.

Pidge closed her eyes and breathed it in, feeling any and all tension drain away. When she breathed out, it was a deep sigh that morphed into a burst of laughter towards the end, when something started to nose at the back of her neck. It’s Green, Pidge just knows it—as if that knowledge was directly planted in her head.

She twists around to grin all wide and buck-toothed at her lion, finding an actual lioness in place of her giant, mechatronic form. Of course, this one was green, and the proportions were off compared to an earth lion. Green had a round face and wide eyes; also, there was a ridge of fur ran up from her stomach to her front. She was like some weird, alien-version of a lion, and Pidge loved her with every fiber of her being.

Like that, the girl is smothering herself in the crook of Green’s neck, and clinging onto her like some kind of massive stuffed animal. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Green’s purr is instantaneous. Her maw doesn’t open, but Pidge feels like the reverberations of a chuckle are just sprinkled along her stream-of-thought.

TRANSMISSION:\frequency\Green_Lion>>>You’re acting like weren’t just united, little cub

Pidge pulls away as her smile goes sheepish. “Well, yeah, it’s just– I don’t know.” She made some awkward gestures as she tried to pick out the right words. “It feels like I was always suppose to find you, and l just.. I fit here. With you, I mean.”

Before she can stumble over her anymore of her words, Pidge gets another faceful of lion. Green is gentle, though, as she nudges her forehead against  the side of her paladin’s face.

>I understand. A lion of Voltron is much more sensitive tothe cosmos than your human sensibilities would ever allow. >For all those years I spent in stasis, I could still see into the universe, and sense so much potential

Pidge loses track of the forest. Her eyesight just flips channels, switching from greenery and tree roots to a stretch of space that truly embodied infinity. Comet tails burned cyan streaks into nebulas; every cosmic dust cloud was shaped, folded, and thinned-out into different abstractions that drifted around like some kind of majestic eye-floaters.

The stars dotted everything else, almost creating their own, shimmering vortex as their immensity and luster sprawled out to encompass any and all perception. As her eyes adjusted, Pidge found herself focusing on a handful of them that seemed to be twinkling brighter than the rest.

>I believed several different lifeforms could’ve been my pilot

All the sudden, that cluster of stars began to fade.

>But none of them raised to the occasion

Then, they were gone—no grand death or anything, just gone. At that, Pidge felt a vague sadness well up in her chest. She was floating out there, another body among all the heavenly and celestial beings, and she felt lonely. That is, until, she was embraced by a new energy, something so bright and warm that all the comets, stars, and nebulas were dulled.

>Then I was able to find you, little cub. >A daring child with an inquisitive mind,so ready to fight for the truth>I knew you would come to me

Pidge finally comes back to the forest landscape. There’s a tear in her eye, and she’s pressed her forehead right between Green’s brow. Honey stares into gold, creating a spectrum between vigorous youth and aged wisdom. The former crumples to the latter after a few beats, when Pidge loops her arms back around Green’s throat, then burrows her face into the thin fur of her lion’s face.

The lioness trills this time; a short, chirping sound of approval.

>I was very happy when you found me>However, now that I’ve told you all the years I spentwaiting for you.. Will you explain why you just want to leave?

Green didn’t really have a tone. It was more like she thought into Pidge’s head while giving a live-feed of her emotions along a secondary train of thought. It was weird, but Pidge knew she was being chastised either way. She let go of Green as well as scooted back some. She looked like she had just broken her mom’s favorite hand-lens.

“W-well.. I need to find my family. That’s why I came here.”

So far, Green has been sitting like Bea-bea whenever she wanted a treat; now, the lioness was standing on all fours, and began to stalk around Pidge. Anxiety ran down the girl’s back as she raised up to her feet. The air had a new staticky feel to it. She’s precious and loved, but disappointing, too—it’s teeming through the atmosphere.

A lump forms in Pidge’s throat while she shuffles around to keep her eyes on Green. She knows she’s messed up, and she’s struggling to try and explain herself. “I want to be your paladin, but I already have my own mission. Won’t we still be bonded?”

>So you wish to put me back in stasis and watch you fade away?

Pidge felt a gut drop, a little, remembering how lonely the stars were.

“No, I don’t want that– What if.. What if I took you to find my family?”

Pidge cringed at the growl of anger that burst in the back of her head. Green kept on stalking as the air turned all the more stale. She was disappointing; she was selfish.

>And now you wish to tear me away from the other lionsafter 10,000 years of separation, for a hunt youcan barely lead yourself?

Pidge wanted to point how Allura was doing the same thing by expecting her to just drop everything and go along with her war. She also wants to say, no, finding her family wasn’t some kind of “hunt”, and she does know where to look. She’s got an eyeful of nervous tears.

She’s shaking like a prey animal, not sure about what kind of stand to make. Her knees are buckling, and breathing was starting to get hard.

“B-but.. My family.”

Green stops. Her ears are flat against her head, and Pidge swears she can feel the lioness stare right through her heart and soul. There’s a sudden and very distinctive lack of friendliness to Green. She lost that kitty-allure; big eyes were slanted, now, and her poise has gone from tender to predatory. Pidge holds her breath, fearing she might be mauled. 

>And what if I were to leave you to your family?

Atop of paranoid and distressed, Pidge also finds herself confused. Although, uncertainty stews for maybe a second before she drops to her knees. It’s like someone had taken a shot; just one second and her guts had been strewn everywhere, leaving her with a gaping hole right where her ribs should be. 

That’s how it feels. Opening her eyes up is a struggle, even more so with when it comes to focusing on anything. At first, everything is just a blur of light, and when she can make out shapes, they barely process. 

There’s too much going on. Her heart is screaming in her ears, and breathing is even harder than before. Pidge is sure her lunges are gone; she’s just a gasping fish on the floor of a boat. Despite the gore, her hands fumble for her chest—it’s instinct to curl up on herself. She gropes at the ground and her legs, then finally feels her fingers twist around the fabric of her shirt. Pidge focuses on that, and finds there’s.. nothing.

No blood, no guts, no signs of any damage whatsoever—nothing. Pidge whines like a lost kitten as she sobs all wet and snooty. There had just been this sudden burst inside her; Pidge was sure her insides had been blown apart.  

There’s a tug somewhere inside her, and Pidge feels a new compulsion to look up. When she does, she finds the Green Lion looming over, and even though she’s already folded-over herself, Pidge still tries to flatten out her back like that might hide her from view.

>Shouldn’t your connection with your family be enough?>Our bond has only been suspended for a tick, and you’ve crumpled.

Pidge tries to say something. Her mouth opens and there’s noise, but it’s nothing coherent—just more whines and little, wheezy noises. For a second, Pidge thinks back to that night on the stairs, when she overheard the news report about the Kerberos. 

She was so sure that was the worse moment of her life, when she lost everything by light of the 11 o'clock news. Right now, she hadn’t lost something, but felt like apart of herself had died. Green’s presence just dissapear, cutting her off from all her love and warmth.

Now, her voice wasn’t a soft undertone to her own thoughts, but something that was drilled into her head through prying claws. Now, there was no soft grasses or trees lining a warm horizon, but someplace dark and dangerous.

She was pleading for Green to give all that back to her, but words were so hard, now, without any guidance. The girl cried even more before she finally turned over to base-instincts: rolling onto her side, to show her stomach, as a sign of submission.

Pidge was still clinging to her front, but the message was clear. She concedes; she needs to be with Green.

There’s a purring sound, and Pidge feels an instant relief. She was warm and precious again, made whole by Green’s love as it flowed through every part of her being. The crying comes to an end; although, they still left her face wet and blotchy with a sticky-coating over her lip from all the snot. Green just lowered herself to curl around her paladin, dipping her head down to lick up the side of Pidge’s face.  

It was smothering and patronizing, but Pidge didn’t protest any of it. All that fear was still draining away, and she was thankful she could cuddle up with her lion like this. She took fistfuls of Green’s fur like you would a blanket, then more or less melted into into her side. From there, she sounded muffled and slurred, like a tired child about to be tucked-in. “Please don’t ever leave me, Green.”

The tree and grasses—now restored to their warm, spring haze—were starting to fade around the edges, blotting out to Pidge’s regular unconsciousness. Green just nuzzled her paladin’s side as she poured endearment and a sense of promise through their bond. 

>We will always be at each others’ side, little cub.

[fandomshatewomen]

1) I remember an experience when I was a kid at my babysitter's house that still stuck with me. The son wanted to watch a film (don't know the title) & I think it was rated-r because the parents said that since they're there, us kids can watch it. A scene of a man raping another man in the woods while making pig sounds came up. The husband & son were laughing. My brother & I were uncomfortable but I can tell my brother was forcing himself to laugh. I ran upstairs while my brother stayed.

2) My babysitter told me it’s because I’m a girl that I didn’t find it funny. When we got home, we told our parents about it. My mom probably never saw the film before because she didn’t know what we were talking about, however my dad did. Next thing I know they told us they’re finding a new babysitter. That comment about me being a girl & not finding rape funny, even though I didn’t know what sex was at that time, got me thinking. Was it because I’m a girl that I couldn’t handle the scene?

3) Or was it because I grew up in an empathetic family? My dad tried to get us away from that family as quick as my mom did. Now that I’m older, I avoid anything that has rape at all cost. I have a few female friends who feel the same way as me. I don’t know any guys who does even though they say that they also feel uncomfortable watching rape scenes. They said it just brings suspense & drama to the story. Nothing more.

Who TF lets children, especially not their own, watch Deliverance?!?!? If you were my kid, me and that babysitter/family would have had serious words and I’d definitely be going around speaking to people about NOT letting them anywhere near anybody else’s kids. I cannot believe they thought that’d be okay. Even older kids, that is so out of line. It’s one thing to pick out a movie for your own family and not know it’s going to be like that. it’s a whole ‘nother thing to expose other people’s kids to something like that without getting their parent’s permissions. What pieces of work.

And they laughed at the rape!? The actors in that movie were uncomfortable with that scene and how far the director encourage it to go: http://www.contactmusic.com/burt-reynolds/news/reynolds-deliverance-rape-scene-went-too-far_1056945

He [Burt Reynolds] says, “All that ‘squeal, piggy, piggy’ was not in the script. Two camera operators looked away during the scene because it was getting so hairy. "Finally, it went too far and I ran into the shot. I asked John Boorman, the director, 'Why did you let it go that long?’ He said, 'I wanted to take it as far as I could with the audience, and I figured you’d run in when it got too far.’”

Even the ones who don’t seem to have talked about being off-put so much by it talk about it in a really disturbing way.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=58009

It didn’t bother me that much. It’s all work to me. I am pretty much a contemporary sexual person. But I didn’t read that much sex into it. Interesting thing about it was: even when I was beating him up in the first of it, I chase him up the hill and I’m pulling his underwear and slapping him, I’m thinking all the time about protecting him, too. It’s interesting, thinking back on those things that come to your mind. Although there’s contempt there, I’m still taking care of him. I’m not losing control. And Beatty played it. He allowed himself, as far as I can see, in his own mind and heart, to be violated. It takes a lot of courage. It takes a lot of courage for a man to do that. He’s one hell of an actor.

“He allowed himself to be violated”

And you can see from this that, however it was handled, the purpose was to show the violence and violation that rape really is:

https://www.maxim.com/entertainment/secrets-deliverance

Reynolds: Men used to throw the word “rape” around in a casual sense. In an asinine way. I remember on opening night, men, not women, men getting up and running out of the theater. They weren’t so cavalier about that word after that movie.

(Please note none of these quotes are meant to speak about the artists themselves; they’re a review on the movie and how it was handled. It is ironic that Reynold’s made the comments he did when he’s been side-eyed for potential pedophilia. But this discussion is about Deliverance.)

The fact that those people, tasked with watching over you kids, laughed at that scene is utterly horrifying. They probably shouldn’t be around people period.

I’m so sorry you had to go through that and be exposed to that. It’s not okay.

Sorry for getting off your question there, but that absolutely needed a tangent.

For your question, it’s probably a little bit of both. Women are not inherently more likely to be sympathetic to victims and survivors and/or condemn rape. However, women are def socialized in a way where rape is a very real threat, even if you don’t know the words or really understand it yet. It’s dress codes disallowing spaghetti straps and making shorts be at least to your thumb/bottom of your fingers/knees, which is done at the purpose of “not distracting boys or male staff”. It’s not being allowed to roughhouse or really play outside because that’s not how ladies act while boy’s actions are excused with “boys will be boys” and considered cute or funny. it’s being chastised for speaking too loudly, while again “boys will be boys”. It’s parents being overprotective of their teen girls dating and threatening boys out of touching them while joking around with their teen sons and telling them to have a good time. All of this is built into a system meant to shame women for sex, where sex is a celebration and a boy’s/man’s right, but it’s a girl’s/woman’s duty to her husband in order to procreate. While of course there are men who have been raped, they don’t live in the constant fear that women do: making sure you have pepper spray in your purse or car, always walking with a friend at night or at least telling your friends you’ll call them when you’re safe at home, walking with your keys sticking out through your fingers like a weapon, putting your head down and quickly walking away from catcallers… Which yes, can certainly make one more condemning of rape (though unfortunately, there’s plenty of women who excuse and deny rape and there’s even people out there who flat out think men can’t even be raped), but honestly, I would put your reaction towards seeing this on you being who you are more than your gender, though there could definitely be an argument that you were more likely to react that way due to being a woman living in rape culture. And you being you can def come down to how you were raised.

I’m glad you felt safe enough to remove yourself from that room and that movie, though, and that your parents reacted well in a manner to help keep you safe.

~Mod S

[lawchan89]

A Starco Christmas on Earth

So this is what happens when requests for “Starco in snow, Starco having Christmas on Earth, Starco holidays gifts,” and Starco fluff with a dash of my signature drama, all come together in a mishmash of holiday goodness. 

This one goes out to my chat fam @starbutterfly-diaz, @ghostgetters and my sis @pottyprismpower. Have a great holiday season, folks :)

“Eeeeeee! Marco you were right, you do have snow on Earth!” Star skipped out the door of the Cleveland airport, dragging her hot pink rolling suitcase behind her as she marveled at the piles of snow plowed up on the sidewalks. In the past couple of years, she had been disappointed to learn that snow never fell in Echo Creek, their holiday seasons being greener than she would have preferred. So when Angie announced that they would be spending Christmas that year with her relatives, Marco was quick to tell Star that Ohio winters were much colder.

“Ice patch!” Marco cried out hastily, grabbing the princess by the arm before her leaping feet flew out under her due to some slick ice covering the curb. “Watch where you’re going, we’re in a huge city.”

“I thought you said your grandma lived outside of Cleave Land.” She pronounced it as two separate words, making Rafael and Angie chuckle behind them as they hauled their own luggage to the taxis parked in a bumper-to-bumper line.

“I know but ‘til we get there, I don’t wanna lose you in a crowd,” Marco explained. And as if to emphasize his point, he wrapped her gloved hand in his and held on tight.

Star stared down at their joined hands, her heart emblems disappearing behind a blush. Giggling, she swung their hands back and forth like a little lovestruck schoolgirl. How many times had they subconsciously grabbed hands before? And now his touch flustered her? She shook her head: Being in love with your best friend was scary sometimes, a progression in their relationship she and Marco were still fumbling their way through. But nothing had ever felt more natural or more right than the moment they pledged their devotion to each other. And she knew that Marco stopping her from slipping on ice, or not wanting to lose sight of her in the bustling city, were his own little ways of saying he loved her.

“Why don’t you two take that cab, and we’ll get this one?” Rafael called, pushing the teens towards the yellow taxi ahead of theirs. “You remember the address?”

“Yes Dad, I remember,” Marco huffed out as a strong frigid gust of wind blew through, and he pulled the drawstrings of his red hood tighter around his face. “Have I mentioned how much I hate the cold?” he muttered to Star.

“Only like a thousand times between last year on Mewni and the past fifteen minutes since we landed,” she deadpanned, pecking the end of his nose underneath his nearly concealed eyes. “Let’s go, I can’t wait to meet the Phalanges.”

“I gotta warn you, they’re a little...loud,” Marco said hesitantly, throwing her bulging suitcase into the trunk beside his before the driver closed it. “I mean, most Greek families are, and it can be overwhelming for anyone not used to--”

“Marco, have you met the Johansens?” Star raised her eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “Trust me, I can handle it.”

“Touché,” her boyfriend chuckled, sweeping the car door open for her and gesturing for her to slide in. “After you, Princess.”

“You don’t have to pull the squire act here, Marco.”

“I know.” He grinned, sliding in next to her and slamming the door shut as he felt her snuggle up beside him. “But I like doing it.”

“And I like feeling safe in a strange place, so I guess we’re even.”

“Hey lovebirds, where to?” squawked the impatient voice of the cab driver, and the two of them jerked apart, blinking rapidly when they realized just how long they had been staring at each other.

“Er-- uh, 320 Sycamore,” Marco stammered out, “In Valley View.” He wrapped his arm around Star when her head dropped onto his shoulder, tuckered out from being awake and excited on the long flight. And when he was sure the cranky driver wasn’t looking, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Suddenly, he wasn’t nearly as cold as he was before.

As soon as they pulled up to the quaint little suburban house adorned in multicolored lights, they were greeted by a thin sprightly woman with greying dark maroon hair, grey eyes full of joy and wearing the ugliest reindeer sweater Marco had ever laid eyes on.

“Angela!”

“Good to see you, Mom!” Angie trilled, rushing up to kiss her mother on the cheek while struggling to balance the bags in her hands. “Thanks so much for letting us stay with you.”

“If it means I get to spend a week with my pride and joy, I couldn’t say no.” Grandma Phalange immediately turned to Rafael and grabbed his face down to her level, kissing his cheeks. “I’m of course talking about this one right here!”

“Aw, I love you too, Maralena!” the thickly built man said happily, lifting the older woman up in his arms and squeezing her to his chest.

“Rafael, not too hard,” Angie whispered as an aside, to which her husband promptly set his mother-in-law back on the ground.

“Marco?! Is that really you?”

“It’s been awhile, Nana,” Marco smiled, watching his grandma scurry over to him and letting her bestow a dozen kisses on his face.

“Look how tall you’re getting! You can’t be sixteen already, I refuse to believe it.” She poked him in the stomach, causing Marco to jump back sharply. “But you’re too thin, I need to fix that while you’re here.”

“Nana, you remember Star?” Marco gestured back to where his girlfriend stood in her bright red fur coat. “You met her a couple years ago when she was living with us as a foreign exchange student.”

“And judging from Marco’s Netbook status, I think I know why she is no longer living with you,” Grandma Phalange winked at Star before kissing both of her cheeks as well.

“You’ve been stalking my Netbook?!” Marco’s voice cracked in surprise.

“How else can I keep up with my family’s escapades?” she shrugged innocently, holding Star’s hands in hers. “I don’t blame you, she is such a pretty one.”

“Aww, thank you!” Star giggled, pressing her cold hands to her hot face to cover the blush.

“And free-spirited. You need someone like that in your life, Marco, you’re too tightly wound.” Patting his cheek, she scooped up the handle on Star’s suitcase before reaching for Rafael’s bags. “Let me show you to the guest rooms before you all freeze out here.”

“Coming, Tightly Wound?” Star joked over her shoulder at Marco.

“Go on ahead, I’m gonna grab my mom’s stuff,” Marco waved her forward as he hung back with Angie.

“You little liar,” his mother hissed once her husband and Star were out of earshot inside the house. “I know what you really wanna talk about.”

“When’s a good time to ask her?” Marco asked, jerking his head towards where his grandma had just departed.

“Tomorrow, while the cousins are here,” Angie replied, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck as a chill swept through the air. “It’ll be so hectic no one will overhear you. Take her aside privately and just...go for it.”

Marco closed his eyes and nodded. His mother tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, but to him it felt like heading for the gallows. It wasn’t everyday you asked for the promise ring that your great-grandfather had given to your great-grandmother decades ago so you could give it to the girl you loved. And he knew Grandma Phalange was really touchy about the subject.

“Are you sure Nana’s gonna let me have it?”

“I’ve already mentioned this to her, Marco,” Angie said quietly, holding him by the shoulders. “It’s not like you’re going in blind. But she did say you needed to make a pretty strong case for yourself.”

“If this doesn’t work, then I’ll have no Christmas gift for Star,” Marco sighed dejectedly. “And she bought mine three months in advance.”

“Look at me,” his mother whispered, placing a finger under his chin to raise his eyes to meet hers, soft and green and filled with maternal love. “Just tell her what’s in your heart. For once in your life, honey, don’t overthink it.”

“Do it again, do it again!” little Cassie cried out, jumping up and down clapping her hands in the snow mound piled up to her knees.

Star laughed, “Okay, one more time.” Closing her eyes, she spread her arms out to the sides and let her inherent power take over. Bright yellow wings fanned out from her back, her long hair twisted itself up into two gold protruding braids, two extra pairs of arms extended from her sides, and her clothes unfurled into a bright yellow dress with orange trim. She hovered above the ground for a few moments while the Phalange cousins gaped at her in awe. Opening her eyes, Star fluttered over to a fresh patch of snow and lay down on her back, imprinting a perfect snow angel.

“Marco, your girlfriend is so weird,” Cassie’s older brother Gene shook his head with his eyebrows raised, before he went back to staring at his phone screen. His little sister, however, was enthralled.

“She’s like a fairy princess!” she exclaimed as Star flew over to her, dusting little snowflakes into her hair. “I like her!”

“Yeah, I like her too,” Marco smirked, rubbing the top of his cousin’s head. “Aren’t you cold?” he then asked Star, eyeing her bare arms.

“Kinda,” Star admitted, flitting her moth-like wings over to him. “Gosh, if only I knew a gentleman kind enough to offer me his hoodie.”

“You’re gonna have to catch that gentleman first.”

Star snorted. “Are you challenging the princess with butterfly wings to a chase?”

“Gimme a ten-second headstart and we’ll call it even.”

“Hey!” But Marco had already taken off down the hill, and she growled before flying after him. “I didn’t agree to that headstart!” Once she was positioned directly above him, she dive bombed, hearing him yelp as she tackled him into a snowbank. Not only did she have wings to her advantage but six arms as well, and with that, she easily pinned him to the ground.

“I admit defeat!” Marco cried out, putting on a show for his cousins who had scampered down the hill after them. “Here’s your prize, Princess.” Unzipping his jacket, he pulled her closer and wrapped his coat around her, letting her lay on top of him in an embrace.

“Mmm, we’re laying in a snowbank, but I don’t feel the chill at all,” Star murmured contentedly, pressing her cold nose to his neck, and he shivered a little. “Best friend, squire, boyfriend and personal heater all in one. I hit the jackpot.”

“Get a room!” came Gene’s call, and the couple laughed before exchanging a brief kiss.

“Wanna build a snowman next?” Marco asked.

“Um no, why would I subject your little cousins to one of those horrible things?!” Star shouted as she sat up, suddenly looking terrified.

“What are you talking ab--?” And then it hit him. “Wait, lemme guess: Snowmen are bloodthirsty monsters on Mewni who, I dunno, eat children or something.”

“Of course!” Star cried out.

“Star, what’d I tell you about nature on Earth?” Marco said patiently, sitting up beside her. “It’s nice. It’s gentle. Look how beautiful the snow looks right now.”

Star had faded back into her normal Mewman form over the course of their conversation, and now turned to look off into the distance. The flakes were falling gently, landing in her hair, on her coat, and mingling with her eyelashes. It was so peaceful, so serene out here, the snow on the tree branches looking like the pictures she saw on greeting cards in the stores.

“You’re right, Marco, it is beautiful.” She turned her head back to look at him, only to be stopped by his lips, capturing hers in another deeper kiss. Marco pulled back to look at the little flakes in her lashes, the rosy patches on her nose and cheeks just above her heart emblems. There wasn’t a single sight in winter more beautiful than this, and he could stare at it forever.

“Are you guys done playing?!” came Cassie’s call.

“Coming!” Star yelled back, standing to help Marco to his feet. “Marco said we should make a snowman next!”

“Yay, snowman!” Cassie cheered, running off to gather as much snow as she could with Gene trudging behind her.

“You guys go on ahead, I’m gonna go inside,” Marco said, letting go of Star’s hand as he started back up the hill.

“Wha-- c’mon Marco, seriously?” Star whined, tugging on his arm. “We’re having so much fun! Just a little longer?”

“Nah, you know I hate the cold. Plus I need to help Nana make Christmas Eve dinner.” Star frowned when he leaned in to peck her cheek. “I’ll see you inside, okay?”

He turned away and had only made it about ten feet before something hard, cold and wet smacked him in the back of the head. Whirling around, he saw Star still frowning at him, wiping snow off of her wand crest.

“Poophead!”

“I’ll make it up to you!” Hopefully, he added to himself as the back door of the house came closer into view. His uncles and older cousins were huddled around the television watching the game. His parents had gone into town to get more groceries. That meant his grandma was alone in the kitchen. It was now or never.

“Star, what’s it like being a princess?” he heard Cassie ask excitedly. “Do you wear pretty dresses and go to balls every day and dance with princes?”

He had to snicker to himself. His cousin was in for a wakeup call when Star told her exactly what being a real princess entailed.

“Marco, while I appreciate your perfectly formed meatloaf,” Grandma Phalange remarked as her grandson pulled the pan out of the oven later that afternoon, “I have a feeling this isn’t why you came to see me. Especially while your girlfriend is still outside with the kids.”

“Nothing gets past you,” Marco laughed a little too loudly before setting the meatloaf on the counter with a clatter. Tossing the oven mitts aside, he grabbed the tea kettle off its spot on the stovetop and began filling it with water. “How about a nice cup of chai tea? Your favorite, right Nana?”

“How did you know?” she gushed, pressing a hand to her heart. In reality, she knew exactly why he was buttering her up. Her sons Damien and Nick were only a little older than he was when they came calling for the exact same thing ages ago. Every man in their family coveted it, and knew what presenting it to that special someone in their lives meant.

“The red mug is yours, right? Or the tan one?”

“Marco, stop,” his grandma insisted, laying a hand on his arm. “We both know what you want. So let’s just cut to the chase.”

Marco set the two mugs gently down on the counter and sighed, chewing on the inside of his lip as he dropped a tea bag into each one. Very slowly, he turned to face her, straightening himself up tall, brown eyes boring into grey ones.

“I want the promise ring.” He tried not to sound demanding or impatient, keeping his hands firm at his sides even when he felt the urge to shove them in his hoodie pocket. “If I could. I-I wanna give it to Star.”

“The alien princess?” his grandma raised her eyebrow at him. “You really think the two of you have a future together, with one of you living here and the other in a castle on Moonie?”

“It’s Mewni,” Marco corrected her. “And I spend a lot more time with her there than I do here, to be honest. I’m training to be a knight right now.”

“Wow, look at you. I remember when you were afraid to flush the toilet when you were first potty trained. And now you’re sword fighting in another dimension’s kingdom?”

“No offense -- actually you know what, full offense -- why are you being so cynical?” he shot back at her. The tea kettle on the stove began to whistle as if on cue and he wrenched the dial to the off position sharply. “I thought the ring was a token of love and devotion and all that other mushy stuff.”

Grandma Phalange let out a long sigh, rubbing at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. Taking up the kettle, she divided the hot water between the two mugs. “Come here, paidí mou,” she said, taking him around the shoulder and leading him to the tiny kitchen table shoved into the corner, lowering herself into the seat across from him. “You like honey, right?”

“Sure,” Marco shrugged, swirling his spoon around in the caramel brown liquid once a dollop had been poured in.

“So I guess college is still a ‘maybe’, what with the--”

“Nana, you’re stalling.”

“Marco, that ring is cursed,” the older woman blurted out, slamming her hand on the table top so hard the liquid sloshed over the side of her cup. “How do you think I still have the thing? Because it keeps getting sent back to me. Your uncles both got divorced after they gave it to their wives. One of the hussies tried to pawn it off, and I managed to snag it before it hit the shelf. It’s passed through the hands of two of your older cousins already -- neither of their partners were able to commit.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Marco challenged her.

“Nothing,” she replied despondently, her veiny hand closing over his. “You know you’re my favorite grandson, I don’t try and hide it. That Star is a sweet girl, very funny and always smiling. But what makes her so special that you wanna give her your progiagiá’s ring?”

Marco chewed on his lip, staring down at his reflection in the tea. “You don’t know everything we’ve been through, Nana. It’s a lot. I’ve put my life on the line for her, and vice versa. One time she left me, without warning or so much as a goodbye, and it was like half of me went with her. I felt...incomplete. I needed her strength, her courage, her energy, and her spirit in my life. And it turns out she needed mine, too. I’ve lost her in so many ways. But...somehow, we always found a way back to each other.”

He squeezed her hand with newfound determination. “She’s my best friend. The greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. My...my lifeline.”

“I see.” Grandma Phalange drummed her fingers on the table, taking a sip of her tea as she glanced off to the side, a faraway look in her eyes. “On the ring, there is an inscription inside of the band. Do you know what it says?”

“Um, no. I’m, uh, not really fluent in that old text.”

“It is pronounced dýo psychés syndedeménes. Which in English means ‘two souls bonded’.”

Marco felt as if he’d been smacked in the head with another snowball. It’s like the thing was made for them.

“Does that sound like a phrase in line with you and your Princess Star?”

“Yeah--yeah, I think that might fit,” he squeaked out, while silently adding to himself, You have no idea.

And as if to emphasize, he took a long slurping sip of his tea.

“Marco!”

“I’ll be back out in a minute!” he called to Cassie, who had run back inside the house to meet him in the hallway, where he was lacing up his boots. In regards to the ring, his grandma had left him with a firm “I’ll think about it”. Which was better than a flatout “no”.

“Marco, come quick!” He looked up to see his little cousin wide-eyed and frightened, her green eyes watering. “Star made a sled out of a magic shield thing and went down the hill, but there was a tree and she hit it really hard and now--!”

“Where is she?” Marco asked huskily, grabbing her by the shoulders, his blood running cold.

Cassie said nothing, but took him by the hand and pulled him out the door, his coat open and his head and hands bare against the frosty air. Jogging over to the edge of the hill, his heart stopped. Lying on the ground beneath a pine tree with a dent in its trunk was Star’s motionless body sprawled facedown in the snow. His steady jogging sped up to a sprint, not stopping until he was at her side.

“Is she dead?” Cassie wailed as her cousin dropped to the ground and gathered up Star in his arms.

“No.” He didn’t know what compelled him to answer so certainly, he just felt like he’d know it if Star was actually dead. Luckily for him, he did find a pulse in her neck. “Star...Star, are you okay?”

“Mmm…” Her face twitched once it was released from being suffocated in the snow, her lids opening slowly to reveal her clear blue eyes. “Marco? Whoa...what happened?”

“You crashed your sled into a tree,” Marco replied in a long relieved exhale. In one swift motion, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her back up the hill, Cassie running ahead of them to open the back door.

“Where is it? Me and Cassie were in the middle of a race--”

“No, we’re done playing in the snow. We need to get you inside and warm you up.”

“Marco, I’m fine,” Star insisted, her tone laced with annoyance. “You can put me down.”

“I will once we get you in bed.”

“Bed? Marco, I’m not sick! I just hit a tree!” She spluttered indignantly, “I’ve taken way worse hits than this, you know that!”

“Yeah, but I’m not risking you getting hypothermia, which your body can have a delayed reaction to--”

“Okay, stop.” She pushed herself out of his arms, causing her to drop five feet to the ground. Brushing snow off her front, Star began to stomp the rest of the way back to the house with Marco tailing her closely. “I wanted to have a fun, unforgettable Christmas with Earth snow instead of in Echo Creek, and you’re just being a--a fun sucker!”

“I’m trying to look out for you!” Marco shot back, catching the back door before she slammed it in his face. “I’m your--!”

“Squire, I know!”

“Boyfriend! Best friend! All of the above! Point is, not only would your parents kill me if anything happened to you on this trip, but I’d never be able to live with myself!”

“I’m a warrior princess!” Star shrieked, stomping her slushed wet boot against the floor. “I don’t need you to protect me!”

“Whoa, drama,” came a voice from behind them, and they whirled around to see two of Marco’s older cousins, Zoe and Nikki, ogling them as they stood there in thigh-high boots and mini skirts, slipping on their suede and leather jackets.

“Mind your own business,” Marco snarled a little more aggressively than he meant to.

“Then get outta the way, we’re heading out,” Zoe snapped back, pushing past him towards the door.

“Where you going?” Star asked, almost eagerly.

“Gonna hit up a couple bars in town,” Nikki said, tearing her eyes away from her compact mirror to eye the princess up and down. “Why don’t you come too, Star? We can show you around.”

“She just crashed headfirst into a tree, I don’t think she’s feeling up--”

“I’d love to!” Star blurted out, glaring daggers at Marco for daring to answer for her.

“Cool,” Zoe nodded approvingly, throwing the door open once again as Marco’s jaw dropped open in shock.

“Wait a sec, what about Christmas Eve dinner?!”

“Relax little cuz, we’ll be back before dinner,” Nikki said, pinching his cheek, and Marco grimaced in a way that suggested she had done this often in the past. “Nana knows we always show up fashionably late.”

“Star, do you really think this is a good idea?” Marco implored her, fearing she would faint due to a concussion or worse.

“I dunno, Marco,” his girlfriend bit out, flinging her scarf back over her shoulder as she let the two older girls lead the way. “But I’m gonna figure it out for myself -- without your input.”

“Fine,” Marco spat out. And he took the liberty of slamming the door behind her once she stepped back outside. At this rate, not only was the ring getting further and further from his grasp, but so was a possible future with Star if he kept refusing to let her figure things out for herself.

Anger faded into acceptance, and acceptance melted into guilt as Marco glumly assisted his parents in setting the table for dinner. Of course everyone in the house had overheard his fight with Star, and of course Grandma Phalange had regarded him with emotionless eyes and a deep frown -- which meant he could forget all about the promise ring.

So not only had he pissed off the girl he loved more than anything, but now he didn’t even have a Christmas gift for her. Best vacation ever, he thought to himself sarcastically.

His uncles were already on their third beer of the night, and the rest of his cousins who had arrived later that day were screaming loudly at the TV when Marco heard the back door open once again. He rushed towards it, ready to shower Star with every apology he could think of when he stopped short. Only Zoe and Nikki were in the hallway, kicking off their boots.

“Where’s Star?”

“In the patio room. She, uh, wanted to be alone.” Zoe looked apprehensive, twirling a strand of purple-highlighted dark hair around her finger. “There was an incident downtown.”

“Is she okay?” Marco’s mouth was dry, his heart plummeting to his stomach.

“Look, y-you’re gonna need to ask her yourself,” Nikki stammered out, desperate to avoid talking about anything heavy. “Girl code. What happens in Vegas, ya know?”

“Right,” he nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Tell Nana we’ll be eating later.”

Rounding the corner, he walked into the more modern addition to the house to find Star sitting on the sofa of the cabin-like living area, staring into the fireplace with her hands folded in her lap. Her head was bowed, long sheets of her luscious golden hair hiding her face from view, not even looking up when she heard someone approach her.

“Can I sit here?” She didn’t answer, and Marco took a chance, timidly lowering himself beside her on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about earlier, Star. I just get scared, it’s not that I don’t trust you--”

“It’s okay,” she whispered so quietly that he almost missed it. She shifted her legs, and only then did Marco notice a long rip in her red and white striped leggings.

Oh no, I was right...she did fall. Did she pass out from the crash earlier and was afraid to admit it to him? That know-it-all Safe Kid Marco would pull an “I told you so” and make her feel bad? He wouldn’t, of course, he would just be glad she was still here with him. Her safety was always more important to him than anything else -- even being right. Admittedly, it had taken him awhile to get to that point.

She remained silent and still, refusing to look at him, and he decided to just bite the bullet and ask. “Zoe said there was an incident?” That made her stiffen, and he slid closer to her. His heart clenched; he could see a purplish bruise around her wrist. That wasn’t from a fall.

“Star…” He reached gently for her injured hand, cupping it in both of his. She sniffled, and he watched a couple of drops fall into her lap. Now he knew for sure it wasn’t what he thought it was. It was worse. “Tell me...you can always tell me.”

Her other hand came up to swipe at her eyes, averting them from his as she remained fixated on the leaping flames, as though fascinated by them. “We were at one of the bars, and we were just about to leave,” she began in a wavering voice. “There was this guy…”

Marco froze. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t want her to finish. But now she was unloading on him and couldn’t stop.

“He must’ve overheard me say I was mad at my boyfriend. Huge guy, like, big as your dad. I told him I wasn’t interested, or available. I even thought about pulling the princess card.” She choked on a hard laugh that died into a sob in her throat, her fingers closing around Marco’s. “It didn’t matter. I...tried to walk out the door, and...he grabbed me.”

“Here?” Marco asked quietly, cradling her wrist in his hands.

“No, I mean he pushed me against the wall and he grabbed me.” Star’s other hand slid to the inside of her upper thigh, and Marco’s face hardened, a searing ribbon of anger winding its way around his heart and squeezing tight. “It all happened so fast, I couldn’t even stop him with my Wand until after he’d already--”

Her throat closed up, tightening with emotion, and she swallowed hard several times before going on. “But yeah, I blasted him back into the wall and took off down the street with Zoe and Nikki before he became conscious again.”

He’s lucky that’s all he got. Marco heard his heart pounding in his ears, felt the heat rising in his face. There were some black belt techniques he knew he would have performed without any shred of honor, moves that would’ve done that creep in if precisioned accordingly. But there was nothing he could do now. The damage was done. And that killed him more than anything. There was nothing he could do.

“And you know what’s funny? What’s absolutely hilarious?” Star raised her head at last, revealing the tears on her cheeks streaking over her heart emblems. “In that split second he had me, and every moment afterward, even though I took care of him myself, I…I was wishing with everything inside me that you were there.” Her face crumpled, her body beginning to tremble with suppressed sobs as Marco rubbed the back of her hand. “See how that works? I told you I didn’t need you to protect me, and then-- sweet Mewni, it’s such a joke. I’m a joke.”

“No you’re not.” It was all he could say. He let her take the lead, remembering from his psychology book that in terms of physical affection, it was best to let the victim determine what was best. When she saw Marco open himself up invitingly, Star broke down completely, leaning against his chest and sliding her arms around his waist. Only then did he envelope his arms around her shuddering form, rubbing little circles into her back as he let her cry it all out.

“I’m here now…” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you now.” Marco heard a slight movement from the doorway, and looked up just in time to see his grandma’s retreating form. On the table next to Star’s end of the couch, she had set a tray with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa.

And between them...his heart leapt into his throat: An aged velvet ring box.

He didn’t understand what had suddenly made her change her mind, nor knew how long she had been standing there. Maybe he’d ask her about it later. Or maybe he’d just count his blessings. As Star began to quiet against him, Marco reached for the comforter on the back of the sofa and tucked it around her.

“Here, Nana made us cocoa.” He quickly swiped the ring box from the tray before Star noticed, handing her a mug when she raised her head slowly.

“Thanks,” she mumbled thickly, staring blankly down into the brown liquid and trying to focus on Marco’s arms secured around her -- and not the horrific sensation of where she had been touched earlier that evening. “Ya know, last year we were almost killed by the Stump, and this year…” She trailed off, dashing some more tears from her face. “Honestly, I’d rather take on the Stump over this any day.”

“Me too,” Marco nodded, sipping slowly from his own cocoa. He reached up to brush her hair from her face, “Feeling any better?”

Star lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I feel safe now. I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

Marco felt that familiar tug of guilt seize him, his hand travelling down to cup her cheek. “Star, I’m so sorry this happened. You’re beautiful and brave, you can take care of yourself, and nothing that happened today was your fault.” He kissed her forehead, “I love you, Star.”

“I love you, too,” Star warbled out, trying desperately not to start crying again. But those deep brown orbs staring right through to her soul were making it impossible. As she went to embrace him once again, she felt a slight bulge poking out of his front hoodie pocket. “Marco, what is that?”

“O-oh, that.” Not exactly the best circumstances under which he wanted to offer the Phalanges’ most precious heirloom, but he knew Star wouldn’t leave it alone until he told her. Marco pulled out the box, facing it towards him before finally opening it.

It was cast in gold, polished good as new despite its age, and adorned with a brilliant ruby bordered by two tiny pearls above and below it.

“Marco?”

He removed it from the box, and sure enough, he found the black inscription on the gold band beneath the gems: δύο ψυχές συνδεδεμένες.

Two Souls Bonded

“Oh my corn, it’s a ring!” Star leapt backwards in the most spontaneous motion he had seen from her in hours, the remains of her cocoa splashing onto the floor.

“Wha--wait, Star, calm down--”

“I’ve seen the movies, Marco!” she continued in a panic, pointing frantically. “I know that’s what Earth girls wear when they’re gonna -- when someone asks them to--!”

“Star, it’s not an engagement ring,” he stated evenly. “W-we can’t get married, I haven’t even sent out my college applications yet!”

“Oh...right…” She slid back into the cushions sheepishly. “I’m sorry Marco, go on.”

Marco exhaled forcefully, more out of nerves than anything, placing the ring into her palm. Her eyes lit up, sparkling baby blue in the flickering firelight.

“Marco, it’s beautiful.” There was something raw and rough about hand-crafted Earth jewelry, something that made it more meaningful than Mewni’s magically formed precious metals that looked almost too perfect. Real effort was put into these, and Star could see it in every inch of this ring.

“It was my great-grandma’s, given to her by the man who would become her husband. It’s been a tradition for one of the Phalange men to give this ring to...the most special person in their lives.”

“And you’re giving this to me?”

He swallowed hard. “A while back, I knelt before you and took a vow to be by your side in times of peace or danger. Today, I failed to keep that vow.”

“Marco--”

“Yeah Star, I did,” he cut her off earnestly, feeling tears form in the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t there when you actually needed me most. I failed you as your squire today, and I can never fix that. It’s in the past. But now...I wanna look ahead to the future.” He turned the ring over, showing her the inscription, “In Greek, it says ‘two souls bonded’.”

Star’s eyes welled up, “Our two souls are bonded.”

Marco nodded, turning her hand over and sliding the ring up her left finger. “Starlight Destiny Butterfly, please accept this ring as my solemn promise to uphold my oath from this day forward: To be your faithful squire, your devoted lover, your loyal battle partner, and most importantly, your most cherished and dearest best friend, until the end of time.” He held his breath. “Do you accept?”

“I...do,” Star breathed out, tears pouring freely down her face as she gulped. “Marco, I...I can’t believe you think I’m worthy enough for--”

“Stop right there,” Marco whispered. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop. You are always worthy enough, and don’t you ever doubt it for a second.” He kissed the back of her ring hand, then pressed his lips to her injured wrist even more tenderly. “Merry Christmas, Star.”

“Merry Christmas, Marco,” Star whimpered, closing the distance between their lips. It was salty and gross from her tears and snot, but it sealed the deal between them once and for all. She had never been more in love with the young man in her arms than she was right now, the familiar sensation of her heart emblems glowing radiating from her cheeks.

“Star, I’ll never be able to protect you from everything that’s out there,” Marco said softly as they broke apart.

“And I don’t expect you to,” she replied, cradling his face now marred by a few glittering tear tracks. “But I’ll always have your arms to come home to when I need that protection. That’s enough for me.”

“Marcooooo!”

“What is it, Cassie?” Marco rolled his eyes, he and Star chuckling as their intimate moment was interrupted by the little girl bounding into view.

“When are you coming to eat?”

“In a minute, I’m giving Star her Christmas present.”

“See?” Star thrust her left hand out, dangling the ring in front of the child’s wide eyes.

“Pretty!” Cassie cried out, clapping her hands together. Then a sudden realization came over her face, “Wait, so does that mean Marco’s your prince now?!”

“Uhh…” Marco trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a lopsided grin. “It’s not really a--”

“That’s right!” Star nodded eagerly, grabbing Marco’s face and kissing his lips once more. “That’s right, Cassie...he’s my prince.”

And they pressed their foreheads together silently as the fire continued to crackle before them.

[thelordice]

Hi, I’m Going Mad

I have to talk about this.

This is going to be long. I’m going to ramble. Rant. Possibly even have a miniature breakdown before your very eyes as I set to words the thoughts that have hounded me for the last hour or more. Naturally, if you’re prone to being triggered by major depression, self-harm, cancer, and the like, you may want to steer clear.

Because this is me.

I desperately want to try to make someone understand who... understand what I am. It’s a long-accepted fact that I’m not human - we’ll get into the logic of that later. But I need to know what I am... to figure out what I’m missing.

My young life... I mean, it wasn’t great, but it could’ve been worse. I never got kidnapped or molested, only broke one bone - a leg over summer break being a stupid kid. But it was lonely. I was raised in a trailer park full of older folk. Occasionally they’d have grandchildren my age over and I’d be able to socialize. But that wasn’t often, and I wasn’t well liked in school. Not that it mattered, because friendships outside school were impossible - both my parents worked and alternated watching me, so I could never go anywhere. My dad was 43 when I was born, and my ‘Mom’ was an Italian alcoholic that got custody of me through a screwy situation the likes of which you’d only ever hear in Florida - she had no biological relation to me. She was my godmother by sole virtue of being my alcoholic mother’s favorite drinking buddy. I had a friend... then he moved away. And then a year later he died from an infected cut at the ripe old age of 8.

But for the most part... I had my Bionicles, I had my imagination, I had basic cable. It was okay. Mom busted her ass to keep food on the table. Never really realized how until she finally called it quits at 61. She had been getting sick for a while, but always put me first. Always refused to go to the doctor. And then she went. By then it was far too late. Stage 4 lung cancer, it had already metastasized to her brain. The X-Ray of her lungs looked like Swiss cheese. Sure, she smoked a pack a day for almost 50 years, this was bound to happen. But that didn’t make it any easier as I watched a combination of radiation therapy and chemo literally melt the woman that raised me before my very eyes. She died a month to the day after the diagnosis. When she went to the hospital, she was... not great, but she could walk. She could keep her chin up. When she died... she was hairless, so frail, and so pale... hadn’t risen from a bed in two weeks, hadn’t spoken intelligibly in a week and a half... dad pulled me out of school early one day to go see her. I guess he must’ve known. Maybe the VNA called him. I don’t know. But it was Friday, April 25, 2008. I was 14, in eighth grade. We went in, sat with her for a while. She woke up a few times, looked around... and she tried to speak. “I am not,” she said. Trying to say “I am not home.” Because she wanted to die at home. But we couldn’t take care of her, with everything going wrong. So she didn’t even have that in the end. We stayed a while longer, then my dad asked if I was ready to go, and I said yeah. We drove to the place a friend of Mom’s lived, dad told me we were staying the weekend. Unusual, we never did this. And when we got in the house...

The VNA had called her not long after we left. Fifteen minutes... she died fifteen minutes after we left. And it still hurts - the thought that I should have somehow known to stay longer, to at least not let her die alone, far from home...

Thank God I’m typing this.

Not long after that, the trailer park went under because the landlord was a cheap bastard, and we moved to the other side of town. I started high school... trends held. I had a few acquaintances, maybe even something approximating a friend or two. But I was bullied a lot, not well liked, you know how it goes. Of course, it usually doesn’t go to the point that you have a kid a grade higher than you tell you right before graduation that the only reason he started pretending to be my friend was because he thought I’d go Columbine and didn’t want to die. Senior year, I ponied up the pretty penny for a yearbook, and when it came in I set myself a task. I’d get the same few jibes yelled at me every day, from every direction, almost any time I was in the halls. So I put names to the faces, listed them all, just out of curiosity, to see how many. There were 126 that did it at least once a week - of all grades. My school had a population that year of 1,996. That’s 6.3% of the entire school population. Most kids with bully problems just have a few really nasty ones. I had dozens.

So I learned to push other people away. Because I knew I was a target, and I knew why. Because I always believed them when they said they wanted to be my friend, right up until the punchline came in. I was too gullible, too trusting. I cut myself off from everyone, walled myself off from emotion and human interaction as much as I could. I retained a circle of people I thought were friends - each wound up betraying me in the end, of course. But as I’d been building up all those nice safe walls... I had failed to know myself or my enemy, and I have lost the battle now.

Because I am an inherently loving person. I grow fond very quickly. I trust very easily. I care very deeply. And only very recently have I even started to form bonds that aren’t merely based on my being useful, or momentarily amusing. I hope.

But I’m so god damned scared. I know I’m not human. Humans are a communal species, if I were a member of them it wouldn’t have taken me 27 years to find a genuine friend... much less have been so thoroughly rejected in the one way that most hurts. Because I’m a very affectionate person. I want to love... and be loved.

I know, it sounds absurd. Stupid, silly, childish. But I’ve seen it - two of my current adoptive family have it (my brother who literally saved my life - mote on that later- and his wife), and I helped two of my friends in college meet each other - far as I’m aware they’re still together some seven years on. And... it’s what I want. It’s what I need. It’s what makes me ache when I see it, what makes me cry when I imagine myself having it because it seems so impossible. I can’t even get a human to like me, and now I expect to be genuinely loved? What fucking hubris...

But, I was naive, and gullible. I found someone I thought cared. That I thought did love me. And that led to the Four Years War. My first relationship... nearly ended with my death. My now-brother literally saved me from a death as a homeless penniless bum 700 miles from everything I’ve ever known. And now, because of that, because of the gaslighting I went through... my ex always used to throw up that I don’t know what love is. I’ve never had a real relationship, I don’t know what it’s like. What it feels like. And I thought I did. Now I’m so fucking scared that she was right. I’ve barely ever even had friends, how the fuck do I know what love feels like? And now, how can I trust what I thought was love? I’m so terrified to try and get the thing I need most because it could turn out just as bad or worse. And what if I’m just too damaged by all this shit to be loved now? What if I’m too crazy, too mentally broken for anyone to ever tolerate me? What if everything I feel is a lie? God damn it I’m praying for true love while questioning the very reality of my existence. I’m just so scared. I just want one person. I’ve been so scared to say that out loud for a long time because I don’t want bullshit pity dates that wind up hurting both parties. But there it is: I want to love. I want to be loved.

But I don’t know if that’s possible. If it will ever be possible. If I’m too far gone... or was never even close to start.

[preventsuicideco]

Diasporic & Disabled: Interview with a Queer Black USian Woman on the "Strong Black Woman" Stereotype, Misogynoir, & Mental Illness Stigma in the Black Community

This interview was originally published on May 9, 2018 on one of ⁂ hai shuixian’s other projects, ANTIHEROINE.co, a TQBIPOC-centred online magazine.

///

Diasporic & Disabled is an interview series on what it's like to be a disabled/mentally ill, especially queer or trans, person of colour in the diaspora.

I started this project because I have a deep personal hunger to see and spread more stories about disabled and mentally ill, especially queer and/or trans, people of colour. Ever since I was diagnosed with a mental illness several years ago, I went out on a search to find memoirs of people with mental illnesses like me, only to discover that the most popular ones about my diagnosis were all written by upper middle class cisgendered heterosexual white women, and that I could not relate to them at all.

[ trigger warning: suicide for the next paragraph ]

I know that personally, stigma around mental illness, disability, and going to therapy from both my Shanghainese Chinese biological family and my Asian-USian friends growing up prevented me from seeking help earlier. (I have been severely symptomatic since I was 7 years old, which is unsurprising given that I suffered severe abuse from a very young age.) Very early on, I heavily internalised the idea that it was a "white" thing to seek help; it was a "white" thing to go to therapy, and it was a "white" thing to give care and empathy to someone with disabilities and/or mental illnesses. My profound feelings of shame around being disabled and mentally ill actually played a large factor in why I attempted suicide for many years—I was suicidal about being suicidal.

[ / end trigger warning ]

One of my life missions is to help eradicate the ableism and stigma that we all internalise, especially the stigma that prevents us people of colour from seeking the help that we need. I hope that this interview series will help do just that.

Disabled/mentally ill people of colour, you're not alone. #DiasporicAndDisabled

Our first interview is with A, who requested to be anonymous.

A is a 27-year-old Black, cisgendered, able-bodied bisexual/queer woman who was born and raised in the U.S. and suffers from depression.

How long have you had symptoms of mental illness?

I have had symptoms of depression since childhood, since I was around five years old.

Have you sought professional help for your depression?

I've never taken medication because there's a particularly strong influence of religion in which I grew up where mental illness and health in general isn't talked about or taken seriously, and you're told to "just pray about it" and you'll be cured. The stigma affected me in how I've never sought professional help beyond school counseling.

Tell me more about the influence of religion where you grew up. How has it affected your mental health and how you seek help?

I grew up in a semi-strict religious household. Whenever I was sad or had questions, my mom would tell me to turn to God for answers. No matter how much I prayed, I never felt better. I was told and believed for a long time that my depression was just a spiritual battle I had to overcome, instead of something that had a medical basis that I could seek help for. I didn't talk about my depression with my family until I was well into adulthood.

When I would explain the reasons for my depression, my family wouldn't understand, and would say that it didn't make sense and I had no true reason to be depressed. I internalized this message and never sought real professional help except for talking to free counselors in high school, college, and at a place for troubled youth in my city called Bridge Over Troubled Waters. Although these seemed to help somewhat, for years I struggled with these emotions and feelings completely on my own, except when I confided in close friends.

I feel this so much. I have similar stories, though not the same. I meditated every day, did yoga every day, read tonnes of Buddhist books, and also prayed every day for years, and it never made my depression better, which made me feel even more hopeless.

I'm sorry that happened to you.

What was your experience with the counsellors in high school and college like?

My experience with the counselors in high school and college was very positive. They were always very kind and compassionate and let me speak about whatever was bothering me in my life. They allowed me to express myself and get to the heart of the matter, and they helped me delve deeper in order to figure out resolutions to situations in my life. I learned a lot about myself and was able to find healthier coping mechanisms instead of spiraling deeper into depression and self-loathing.

That's good, I'm glad it helped you.

Do your family and friends know about your mental illness? How did they respond to it?

My family was pretty dismissive in the beginning and as far as they're concerned, I'm a very happy individual who has gotten over depression.

Growing up, my family wasn't really supportive about mental health in general. We talked about our feelings sometimes, but we never put a name to certain mental health issues.

My friends have been much more supportive and validated my struggles. However, it was hard when I was very deep in my depression for people to understand what I was going through. A few people said that it just sounded like I was "occasionally sad" and not truly depressed, because I didn't feel like I needed medication to regulate my mood.

How did your friends' reactions make you feel?

It made me feel really alone and invalidated, like I was making up what I was going through. For a long time, I tried to hide and bury my feelings/emotions so as not to bother or bring down my more positive friends. It's funny, because now people look at me as the positive, sunny, optimistic friend, when before I was very dark, and it was difficult for me to see the "bright side" of things that people kept telling me to look at.

Do you feel like there is a specific stigma in the Black community that prevents people from seeking help for their mental illnesses?

I definitely feel like there's a huge stigma in the Black community when it concerns mental health. We're supposed to remain strong, especially if we are Christian/religious, and turn to God to solve our problems—and we're not supposed to talk about our struggles with other people, and especially not with doctors.

It's really damaging, because so many Black people are dealing with severe mental illness and are told not to seek counsel or help because it's "all in their heads" and that they just need to be "strong enough to withstand life's tests." Especially when it comes to marginalized genders, there's a specific stereotype of the "strong Black woman," where we're never supposed to need or even ask for help with anything and we should bear all our burdens alone. This harms everyone, and it has a lasting effect, especially on children, because damaged/traumatized children become adults who are still struggling with these issues.

Do you want to talk more about the "strong Black woman" stereotype?

It's really hard for me to talk about it because there are so many facets and nuances to it. It affects us in everything, from family, friendships, and romantic relationships, to the workplace, and even in our interactions with complete strangers. Having to put on a brave face and pretend that everything is okay all the time is exhausting. We always have to pretend we're okay, because showing weakness is pretty much impossible; we put on a mask to survive, and showing any little chip in the armor or cracks in the mask can be our downfall.

We aren't allowed the grace to simply exist and be human, as flawed as the next person.

How do you feel like this destructive stereotype affects Black women's mental health?

It affects us in that we don't seek help when we need it, and even when we do get help, we often don't have the proper resources or right people helping us. The intersection of misogyny and anti-Black racism against Black women is called misogynoir, which means we face both simultaneously.

So oftentimes, even in mental healthcare, misogynoir prevents many Black women from getting the assistance we require, because either the healthcare "professionals" have inherent biases that they let affect how they treat and talk to us, or they'll say we don't even need help, because we're supposed to be stronger, mentally and physically.

I've been fortunate to have had counselors who treat me with respect and dignity, but I know that my experience is the exception, not the norm. I've considered becoming a social worker or psychologist/therapist in the past, but I don't think I can handle the emotional stress that comes with it, despite being a very empathetic and compassionate person who actively listens to others who are going through difficult situations.

Thank you so much for being here with us, A. Any last words?

The most important thing that I've learned and that I want other people to know is that you do not have to suffer alone and in silence.

Your life is important and you matter,

no matter what you've previously used as coping mechanisms, or how many people do not support you or have let you down.

Your voice, opinions, thoughts, and feelings are just as profound and needed as anyone else's.

No matter where you are in your current battle or struggle, you are valid.

Thank you again, A.

///

This interview was conducted by ⁂ hai shuixian.

If you enjoyed this post, please share and support our work!

Follow @ANTIHEROINEco on Twitter.

[lookiemyonlinediary]

who

I was born on sunny midday to infamous high school lovers. My first two names were given to me by my godmother and the bible. I am this couple’s first daughter and was raised in a small village in our hometown.

Having parents younger than most kids of my age, I grew up joining beauty pageants because my parents had the time, effort and energy for it. Now, I do not want to think of myself as an untalented child as that is very degrading, but in every talent portion, all I could offer was modeling (excuse yourself, Kendall Jenner). But you know, it was cool. So, whatever.

Although it was not a bad thing and has not been an insecurity (because why would it be?) of mine, strutting on the runway and looking pretty are not the sole elements a young girl should possess and have knowledge of. *hair flip* I recollect memories of being stuck in traffic because of the rain while we were on our way for a VTR of a shampoo commercial. Yes, that is right. My parents also tried to test out my acting skills. I became their little Barbie doll for quite some time. I have fond memories of waking up late at night seeing my mother and father make costume and props for me. It is still one of my beloved memories as a child. The various pieces of cloth, sequins, and glitters stashed in our living room were always a pleasant view for me because those were the days that my parents were still together.

I was seven-years-old and it was New Year's Eve when my father and I had "the talk." We were in the dining area of my grandparent's house on my mother's side; it was while the whole family was having their Media Noche at the terrace, it was while I was hearing the sound of fireworks and merry laughter of people outside the house. I sat there on his lap not knowing what to say. It was a mere blank stare at a distant.

Unfortunately, my younger brother who arrived three years later after I was born was still not enough to keep their relationship together. I felt broken and shattered but there was nothing that I could do as I do not hold the lives of my parents. They are individuals as I. No one owns anyone. I do not own them nor do they own me. (I remember a similar line was spoken in the movie Out of Africa, 1986, I just cannot find an excerpt of it for the love of God)

At the age of seven, I obliged myself to constantly keep an open mind and endure the fact that I am unlike every other kid that I knew at that moment. It took some time and although I am not entirely sure how that seven-year-old girl managed it so well, I am just glad that she did.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the principal of our school asked us on one of our daily discussions with her every week. She visits us in our classroom making sure we are all learning from our teachers. She has been really a second mother to me considering I have been studying in her school since I was in the nursery. "An astronaut!" I cheerfully answered. I heard it echo through the sea of voices saying, "I want to be a doctor!" A nurse!" "A teacher!" She noticed my answer and started to become concerned.

I kind of get it. I mean, a young girl in her first grade in a third-world country living in a small town without even having the technology that we have now, when did she even discover the word astronaut? "Your principal talked to me and said that you wanted to be an astronaut when you grow up. Why?" my mother asked. "It is because I want to travel through space!" And believe it or not but that is the truth. I have always been fascinated by clouds, skies, stars, and planets. I admire her paying attention to every single one of us and having awareness with our problems at home but no, I was not going through a psychological effect from my parent's separation. I did not want to travel through space because I wanted to be alone (although, maybe now I do.) *cue tears*

The revelation is, I was flustered to say that my actual aspiration in life is to be a cashier lady (right?!) as all of the other kids were speaking up about big careers so, you know? I knew I just had to level up my answer. I cannot be the poorest aspiring bitch in the class.

I started my first schooling years in that specific school located in our village. Alongside having medals for academics, I also have awards at home for winning declamation contests and beauty pageants. I was hailed as the first Queen of Hearts of our school. Everything was great for my little life until the day came that I had to transfer to a wholly different school.

It was when I was about to enter the fourth grade in elementary that I had to shift because my school only happen to provide education for until third grade. My parents decided it was time for me to grow out of my comfort zone so they put me in a school that is a tad far away from home. I remember being timid and discouraged because I grew up in a school where the floor had tiles, the rooms had air-conditioners, and the bathrooms had light bulbs. I was not a little princess anymore. Everything good has vanished since then. It was the start of a new chapter of my life. My fairytale story ended right there because it is where I first encountered bullies.

The school I transferred to was small and although it attempted to acquire some charming and genuinely admirable teachers, it was filled with the horrors of students who do not bathe regularly and seem to be more than happy to use offensive words on an everyday basis. No, I was not transferred to a public school. My parents were still paying a heavy amount of money for that Christian school and Lord is my witness with how disgusted I was.

I was not only bullied (and punched, too) by a boy who has never seen a toothbrush in his entire existence on Earth but also by an old teacher who says "pee-cha pay" instead of "pizza pie" and gets deranged every single time for no reason at all. She was the first teacher to shame me in class for my body and also the first person who screamed cuss words at us at the top of her lungs. Aside from having a mother who is at work most of the time, a father who resides in Manila and no one to talk to about my problems at school, I started writing in my diary and pouring all my emotions in it. One day, my mom read it and she became furious that she threw it at me because she cannot accept the reality that her baby girl is starting to bear the brutality of the world and no mother was found during those instants. Since then I have not written any poem nor essay about my sentiments because I am still fearful that people will look at me uncomfortably once they see me from a different perspective. It was at that phase of my life that I had no outlet for my emotions and all I could think of was how to escape from my self.

It was hell not only at home but also at school. After a year, I learned to settle as my focus was moved onto a different matter. I had crushes, boys had crushes on me, boys from the upper grade had crushes on me and then the prettiest girl in the classroom decided to make me her best friend as she was starting to get insecure with the attention I was getting. She unquestionably failed to make me her shadow as I gracefully stood there with medals delivering our graduation speech. I was a salutatorian with a new best friend, a keen suitor and an amazing friendship with our adviser.

If my elementary years were a rollercoaster ride, my high school life can be characterized as a painfully awkward bad romantic-comedy film yet with satire humor. It was a huge insulting mess.

I started my first year in high school at an academy. Just like any other freshmen, I was excited to finally live up to my Glee and High School Musical fantasies. Sadly for me, I was thirteen and those fictional characters were not. I cannot get pregnant with a football player and ask people what time is it. I joined the English club and continued with my artistry in acting. I also wrote poems and composed songs because my father granted me a guitar as a graduation gift.

Just as my life was going well, our school principal abruptly decided to mix students with better grades among the "rotten tomatoes." Also, these are not my own words, that is how he called them. So then as fate decided it, I am going to spend my year in a class with one of those rotten tomatoes a.k.a. my old best friend from elementary. I tried to have a decent friendship with her since I am by nature a good person but then I do not know how her mother raised her as she cold-heartedly betrayed me, flirted with my crush, made the girl who despised me her new best friend and no, it does not end there, steal my brand new watch. I am still amazed at all the time she had. I was one of those students with inherent bad luck that got moved to their section. It is where all the evil students lurk. Luckily for me, I still had the best time of my life as I tried to tutor some of them at the same time associate my studies with boys and new found friends from that section. As regretful as it may sound, I guess I enjoyed their company way too much and by the end of the year, I found myself blending in by becoming a rotten tomato as well.

Onto my second year in high school, my parents decided to move me again because I was not on the honorable mention. I spent my sophomore year in a college school. It was 2012 and this is when my life turned upside down. This is when I became one of those white high school girls born from chick flicks in the 20th century that I have grown to watch on cable. I was thrilled to eventually enter a school that is larger than life and farther from home. I finally became a stereotype.

I became free; too free that I started cutting classes just to hang out with friends. Too free that I adequately used my phone inside the classroom and had to get my grandmother to school every time I get in trouble. Too free that I had extreme fights because of nasty boys. I represented our section for Miss Earth and embarrassed myself by not knowing the lyrics nor the chords to the song I was singing (although I won Miss Photogenic.) I was not a rebel nor a cool kid. I just hated everyone and had frequent arguments with my mother. I met a lot of sexually active fourteen-year-olds. I had major counseling from our adviser.  I had sexual and paranormal experiences at school and for the first time in my life, I received a failing grade. I was 72 in Algebra and I fainted when I told my mother about the bad news.

On my junior year, it was time for me to repent. I knew what I have done and now they are transferring me to a school that is embarrassingly smaller than my friend's house. #Shook is an understatement for what I have felt. Again, I was moved from one section to another. This time I was from the rotten tomatoes. Our History teacher felt pity toward her three new pretty students that she decided to adopt us onto her star section. It was another year of adjustment and God knew how mentally and physically tired I was. The only good thing that happened that year was my consistency of a considerable grade and so my parents made me stay there for the senior year.

My last two years in high school went like a harsh breeze. I fought with someone (as usual.) I was asked to prom. I had a teacher aiming to me pull me down on his level (until this day, I still have no idea why he hates me for wearing my hair in a bun.) I was perfecting quizzes again and I managed to have a steady high grade. I graduated peacefully with no zygote in my womb and it was time for me to pack my bags and finally move to the city with my father.

As someone who grew up in a city within a province, the real city overwhelmed me. Catcallers are scattered everywhere. Smoke-belching vehicles and smokers do not take consideration of your life. Backpacks are not backpacks anymore since it is placed on your chest to avoid thieves and perverts. And a jeepney can lull its passengers to sleep because of this infamous traffic in a specific avenue.

I was ready to enter either this college or that university except I have my father who wants me to enter the university he went to. And to state the obvious, I failed. I took another entrance exam for this other university only because my father said it is the second-best of what he wanted and also that he will buy me a car. No, he did not. And no, it was not the second-best.

My whole life my parents tried to protect me and made sure I am safe and comfortable so I was provided with school service. You do not get any of that once you are in a university.

My first two semesters in our college I Iearned how to drink, party and go home at six in the morning while writing love letters to my crush who is an activist including becoming a consistent Dean's Lister. The next two semesters, I learned that the subjects are not getting easier, and the professors are only getting feistier. I fully shut down and resided in a dark place on my mind for the whole year. I was at that stage that I did not know who I was or who I wanted to be. I was scared. I was forcing myself to figure out who I am before I turn eighteen because I am frightened to go older each year and not see the life I envisioned for myself. I joined a mass organization to have a new light in my life. A musical play that I starred in also freed me from my mind during that phase. Life is not getting easier and I wish I could still simply say that I want to be an astronaut so that I could travel through space. Now, I am currently in my third year of college. I recently just finished an extensive workshop on theater arts and I am more inclined now to know the lives of the masses and the struggles of being a woman in a patriarchal society.

Cruel people can prowl anywhere. Bad memories are inevitable. I welcome sadness with a big hug and accept defeat with honor. And although I am only dancing to melancholia, the Universe has still chosen this sperm with an X chromosome to see what beautiful madness the world is. I ought to seize it.