#why does surge get all the pearl clutching

[maskofnova]

Why did i get horribly attached to not only a rare pair, but one in which half of it has a more than already basically canon ship that’s really popular. If noone else draws or gets into whispurge so i can stop having to feed myself i think ill die. How do people do this.

[tadpolesonalgae]

forget club rat az, mcr hot topic az is what we need. anyway hello????!!!!!!! it's time for my cbmthy thoughts baz was LITERALLY the mvp there. The way this man stood his ground to one of the most feared warriors of Night Court, that was so fun to read. Reader has to bring him a breakfast gift basket or something when she's back! He deserves it. ~very well acquainted

Also, Azriel is the king of Being In Denial. You know she's not in that goddamn room. And I agree with Yarnball (Wool?) 🧶 that it irks me that suddenly he's only giving her a second thought now because there's a vision where he dies? Please. He has so much yearning and redemption to do. (and I can't wait to see it happen hehe! suffer, az) (but I do remember him thinking that he's scared her off too... like the others have before and she was outlasting them... hmmm... I'll love to have him elaborate on that thought)

Her trading the earrings for the ring was EVERYTHING I got an inkling she might do that while I was reading and it was amazing when it actually happened. You said that even Az would be relieved she got rid of it, but I kinda wanted him to be a little offended fdbfhdfjfbd like why was he obsessively looking for them in her room? Hmph. I hope he does clutch his pearls a little when he sees she chose a fox ring as the trade!

Now for the main, most important part: Death Surge? As in the burst of energy and vitality one gets when they're about to die? Tabby, you evil genius. I'm so excited to see the extent of her powers and what she can do with them, and why the Cauldron would give her that. Nesta took something, Elain was given... could reader have been dying when she was dumped into the magic bathtub and her powers happened as a response to this second life? Very, very interesting. I'm at the edge of my seat. the writing is beautiful as always! you're a source of inspiration for me at this point, it makes me want to experiment with my wording and sentence building. <3

(also, I think it's great that we are forming a group of besties through these anon asks, I love interacting with you all!!) love, 🥐

‘forget club rat az, mor hot topic az is what we need. anyway’

Wait hold on!! I have evidence to support this 🥹🧡💛

‘hello????!!!!!!! it's time for my cbmthy thoughts’

Let’s gooooo 🥳🔊

‘baz was LITERALLY the mvp there. The way this man stood his ground to one of the most feared warriors of Night Court, that was so fun to read.’

He’s so provocative it’s worrying 😭 like I know he had a tendency toward violence (in the casual-brawl-at-the-pub kind of way, not anything potentially dangerous to reader) but an Illyrian warrior Bas?? Please be more careful next time 😭

‘Reader has to bring him a breakfast gift basket or something when she's back! He deserves it. ~very well acquainted’

🤭🤭🤭

‘And I agree with Yarnball (Wool?) 🧶’

I love it so much when you interact with one another 🥹 it’s so sweet to see 😭

‘He has so much yearning and redemption to do. (and I can't wait to see it happen hehe! suffer, az)’

I’ve been thinking about how exactly Az’s redemption is going to go, because while I don’t think he’s done anything bad bad, I don’t think reader will be able to trust him entirely as is, even if she wants to.

Trust building exercises!!! 🔊🔊🔊

‘suffer, az’

👀🤭🤭🤭

‘(but I do remember him thinking that he's scared her off too... like the others have before and she was outlasting them... hmmm... I'll love to have him elaborate on that thought)’

Oh my gosh, that was meant to be him thinking “first I was kind of a dick to her in library, then I was more of a dick after, then I read through the volume, then I got her a bland present, then I left her unchecked when I should have spoken to her instead of giving her time and space🙄”

Sorry, I can see how that could be misinterpreted 🫣😅

‘Her trading the earrings for the ring was EVERYTHING I got an inkling she might do that while I was reading and it was amazing when it actually happened.’

I’m so happy you enjoyed it 👹

I remeber thinking so many times when I was writing part 12 “okay, you have to remember to mention that she takes the earrings with her or else what’s even the point” 😭🤦

‘I hope he does clutch his pearls a little when he sees she chose a fox ring as the trade!’

“I’m happy you got rid of them, but a fox ring? Really?” Yes, Az. Really 🤭 I think his feathers will get at least a little ruffled when he sees that finds out about it :)

‘I'm so excited to see the extent of her powers and what she can do with them, and why the Cauldron would give her that.’

I’m glad you’re excited because I’m scared—I don’t want to mess anything up from how I’ve imagined it 🫣😭

‘the writing is beautiful as always! you're a source of inspiration for me at this point, it makes me want to experiment with my wording and sentence building. <3’

😳😳😳 I’m so flattered, thank you 😭🫂

Writing is so fun for me and such a nice way to relax (most of the time) so I hope you get a similar thing out of it! 🧡💛🫂

‘(also, I think it's great that we are forming a group of besties through these anon asks, I love interacting with you all!!)’

Right? It’s so lovely to see you speaking with one another ☹️☹️🧡💛

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Guilt

Sam Winchester x Reader (x Dean Winchester, sort of?) 

Word Count: 1660 what is wrong with me why can’t I drabble

Warnings: Oh boy this one is naughty. Lust curse and the consent issues that come with the territory. Soulless Sam being kind of a dick, because that’s what he does. Filthy smut, twisty emotions, and some degradation-flavored dirty talk. 

A/N: @littlegreenplasticsoldier​: “With my remaining 5% battery, may I pls request a Dean/Sam/reader threesome but one of them is remote in some way (left a note/on the phone/gave instructions). Xo” 

This is... something like that, anyway. Kinda obsessed with the prompt, kinda want to expand on this, definitely could’ve written another couple thousand words here. 

ANYWAY. Enjoy. 

“Yeah, Dean, it’s bad,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Like, she’s about to go sit on a fencepost bad.”

I squirmed and fisted my hands in the cheap motel duvet. Sam looked me up and down, smirking. It was the feral, sharp smile that I’d gotten a little too used to since his soul went M.I.A; he looked like he was mentally undressing me, and it usually pissed me off, but in that moment I couldn’t deny how much I liked it. 

“Look, dude, I know this is the sort of thing I shouldn’t be comfortable saying, but… there’s only one option here.” He paused again, wrinkling his nose expressively. “Quit the prim and proper shit, Dean, just let me get her off.” 

He listened for a minute while I waited, rubbing my thighs together, fighting the animalistic urge to spread my legs and beg. It was only getting worse; I could feel the curse clawing at my insides, winding me up with every labored breath. 

“Don’t worry, Dean, I got this,” Sam said into the phone. “You can clutch your pearls later. Yeah, okay. Bye.” 

He strode over and passed me the phone before matter-of-factly popping the button of his jeans, and if it was physically possible for me to blush hotter, I would’ve. As it was, my entire body felt like a goddamn wildfire. 

“Hey, princess,” Dean said gruffly. I closed my eyes, basking in the warm familiar sound of his voice. “You okay with this? It’s just… I think it’ll be a good six hours, no matter how many fuckin’ traffic laws I break.” 

I still had my eyes squeezed shut, but I could feel the mattress dip as Sam sat down on the bed. 

“Can’t wait that long,” I whispered. “Can’t… fuck, Dean, I miss you so much.” 

“Yeah, you have no idea. This is so fuckin’...” He huffed out a breath. 

“Can you just… can you just talk to me for a minute?” I asked. 

I tried to wedge the cell phone between my shoulder and my ear as I fumbled with the button of my jeans. I heard a low chuckle and when I opened my eyes Sam was staring down at me, amused and unapologetic and totally naked. He batted my hands away and got my zipper down, and I closed my eyes again, listening to the staticky rush of Dean’s sigh, trying not to think about who was pulling my jeans off and settling between my legs. I still had my t-shirt on, and it felt like thick itchy wool on my oversensitized skin, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being stripped bare. 

“You gonna imagine it’s me?” Dean asked, low and growly and possessive.  

“Y — yeah.” I made a squeaky, strangled noise as Sam slid two fingers up into me without warning, but then I groaned at the tingling full-body shiver of relief, my voice loud and obscene before I bit down on the fleshy part of my palm in an effort to hold back. 

Sam started fucking me lazily with his fingers, thumb rubbing my clit every time he buried them in me, and I was trembling already, rocking my hips, trying to hold back a slutty moan. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Dean said roughly. 

“Yeah,” I whined, arching my back and seeing sparks behind my eyelids. “I — nnnnnnhhhh, fuck, Dean, I — I’m so close, this is crazy, I want — I wish it was you. I’m sorry, I can’t — can’t help it.” 

“Not your fault. Do whatever you gotta do, okay?” 

“‘Kay,” I breathed. 

“‘You gonna come for me? Let me hear you.” 

For a second I hovered on the brink, trembling and straining. 

Then I felt Sam shift, his tongue a soft smooth flicker as it curled between his fingers to taste me. I bit my lip so hard that tears stung my eyes.  

“You’re dripping all over the sheets,” Sam said, so quiet that I was sure Dean wouldn’t be able to hear it over my harsh breathing. “Making such a mess… you’ll be a mess, too, by the time I’m done with you.” 

I groaned and arched up, coming with the sort of blackout intensity that felt like a free-fall, squeezing around Sam’s fingers over and over. 

There was a moment of breathtaking relief, as it started to fade. For a split-second I thought that was it; maybe that was enough. Then Sam’s calloused fingers dragged against something hot-sweet-sharp inside me, and that feverish desire was sparking up again, rising fast. I collected myself just enough to bring the phone to my ear. 

“I’m gonna hit the road,” Dean was saying, and I knew he was trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice was grim and unhappy. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Love you.” 

“Love you, Dean,” I breathed. 

“Do what you need to do,” he echoed. 

I hung up, tossing the phone away like it had burned me, and let out a frustrated groan. Sam pulled away so that I could sit up and wrestle with my shirt. I felt so fucking empty, and the need to be touched was immediate and overwhelming. 

“Jesus,” Sam muttered. “This is gonna be a thing for the two of you, huh?” 

I let out a strangled laugh, struggling with my bra. “You’re his brother. You don’t think this is a little fucked-up?” 

“Not really,” he said casually. As soon as I was naked he was crawling up my body, slinking gracefully, caging me in with all that lithe rippling muscle and smooth skin, and for a moment I just stared up at him, incapable of logic or guilt or anything other than want. He hovered over me, smirking. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accused, clenching around nothing and trying not to look down his body. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I met you,” he said bluntly. “Are you really going to pretend you haven’t imagined it?” 

I shook my head stubbornly. “I’m in love with Dean.” 

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” he retorted. 

My heart was racing. Holding eye contact felt like having my finger in an electrical socket. “God, you can’t be — you’re not Sam. You’re not.”  

He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself.” 

“Sam wouldn’t —” I choked out, but I couldn’t take it and I couldn’t lie any more. I couldn’t hold on to coherent thought with the desperate roaring heat under my skin, like some fierce primal scream was drowning out everything else in my head. 

I grabbed at his shoulders, dragging him down against me and hooking my legs around his waist, trying to rub myself against him. He chuckled and rolled his hips, letting me feel the thick length of his cock where it was trapped against my lower belly, and I whined shamelessly, feeling like I could come if he so much as brushed against my clit the right way. 

“If you’re so sure I’m not Sam, then what’s the problem?” he pointed out calmly. “One less thing to get hung up on, if I’m not his brother.” 

And I was pretty sure there was a problem with that logic, because I shouldn’t be this wet and eager for anyone else, but I was done arguing. 

“Fuck me,” I snapped. “C’mon, just — I can’t, feel like I’m losing my fucking mind, just —” I reached down between us, shaky and uncoordinated, trying to get him inside me without putting any space between our bodies. 

He didn’t bother teasing anymore, just lined up, rubbing the head of his cock against my slick cunt, pressing in and sinking down. The sharp painful stretch of it registered along with the too-full toe-curling pleasure, splitting me open inch by inch until I wasn’t sure I could take any more. Then he snapped his hips forward the last inch, burying himself in me completely with this grinding, twisting thrust, too fucking much. 

“This isn’t how Dean fucks you, is it?” he asked, right up against my ear, hips circling, and for a moment the words didn’t make sense. 

I opened my mouth to tell him to stop talking, dimly aware that the mention of his brother should’ve made me uncomfortable, but instead what came out was a needy, blissed-out moan.

“Does that feel good?” 

“Yeah,” I gasped.  

“So stop wasting time thinking about Dean,” Sam snarled. 

“Don’t.” 

“Best thing about not having a soul? Not wasting time feeling guilty for taking what I want.” He punctuated the last word with a vicious twist of his hips, and electricity lanced up my spine. “Right now you just want someone to hold you down and fuck you until you can’t take it any more. You want it rough and hard and fucking filthy, and you’re glad Dean isn’t here to see you begging like a whore… aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re glad it’s me.” 

I knew it was fucked up and twisted and humiliating. I should’ve denied it. 

“Am I wrong?” he growled. “Look at me.” 

I tried to focus through the sting of sweat and the blurry haze of endorphins. His lip curled, contemptuous, and there was a hard flinty glitter in his eyes, but he still looked so much like Sam that I forgot how to breathe. Sizzling pressure was rising in my core, building rapidly. I couldn’t think straight. 

“You’re… you’re not wrong,” I stammered. “Please. Please don’t stop. Feels so good, just — Sam.” I caught a glimpse of his fierce, satisfied smile. 

“Are you going to waste time feeling guilty?” he murmured, voice cracking. “Or are you going to take what you want?” 

Enough. 

I let out a low, desperate groan before surging up to kiss him, and he bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

“You know what I want,” I whispered. “Shut the fuck up and give it to me.” 

I might not ever get the chance to do this again, after all. Might as well enjoy it while I could. 

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter five! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help! She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog! 

This chapter features a mention of poisoning, it’s quite brief and only about paragraph but nonetheless here’s your warning. Also, if you have any questions about swords and the reasoning behind Min-Jun’s sword having a name, feel free to ask Luna on her blog, she is great at explaining the lore behind it all and very patient to help you understand. 

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There are very subtle mentions of lore within the previous chapters so perhaps read back and see if you can catch it. 

Under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander, the included lore on different types of merfolk will as always, be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for its writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter! Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy!

If you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story Secrets of the Darkened Seas 🧜🏻‍♀️

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Chapter 5: The Sea Serpent’s Venom

Everything happened in a span of mere seconds. Regulus and Tadase both woke up in fear, the crew claimed their weapons, the boys were pulled away by Opal and hidden away, Remus drew his sword, Sirius’ sword clanged against his, and the invading pirates boarded the Dragon’s Pearl. 

Remus glared at the offending man, he stepped back when other pirates began to draw closer. One of the pirates stood next to Sirius Black. He was lean and tall, he wore round spectacles, light skin, the most unruly black hair Remus had ever seen, and a sword at the ready. 

Remus blocked the first to his head, retaliating by swinging his sword. The pirate in spectacles charged at Quinn, who only smirked in response. Easily dancing around the younger pirate, disarming him rather quickly by grabbing the spectacles of the pirate. The man yelled out in surprise, shouting at the unfairness of it all. 

Another pirate, this time a woman with bright green eyes and fiery red hair, charged after Opal. Having just joined the fray, she quickly blocked a blow to her side. She was not amused, nor did she want to deal with practical children, minus Remus of course, trying to steal their ship.

“Where is he?!” Sirius snarled out, his sword pressed against Remus’.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He snapped in return. Pushing his sword down against the Black.

“Don’t play coy, I know your captain kidnapped my brother!” Sirius pulled his sword free and twirled it with his wrist. “Kidnapped?! My captain practically saved him!” Remus widened his stance, putting the hilt of his sword to his chest.

Sirius didn’t even bother to respond to that, only frowning at the answer Remus gave him. He surged forward again, aiming for Remus’ torso. He blocked and began to advance while Sirius began to retreat to the stairs. He was heading for the Captain’s quarters. In a moment of quick thinking, Remus threw his sword. Sirius found himself pinned to the wall- Remus’ sword piercing his sleeve to the wood of the railing.

Sirius tugged his wrist, trying to pull free, he glared at Remus who only offered a smirk in return. His expression falters at the sight of a young lanky man with dusty blonde hair and grey eyes. The young man’s eyes darted around nervously, he quickly ran towards Sirius, handing the object in his arms to him. 

It was Min-Jun’s sword, the one with a dark green sheath with gold accents. Dú hǎi. Remus paled. The lanky boy had snuck into the Captain’s quarters. Sirius smirked, taking the hilt of the sword.

The crew of the Dragon’s Pearl paused, watching Sirius. With all of the attention on him, Sirius spoke. 

“I’ll be taking over this ship, unless you hand over Regulus Black. If you don’t, I’ll have the Dragon’s Pearl kill you all.” The crew merely looked at the Black in confusion.  

Sirius frowns, he lifts the sword up for the crew to see. “See this! This sword controls the ship, and I hold the sword.” 

Remus looked to Quinn, an intense desire to wring the young Black’s neck was clear upon his face. Quinn merely shook his head, sheathing his sword, and leaned against the railing. Remus only looked at Sirius as if he was watching a child wave a stick and calling it a magic wand.  

Sirius’ brows frowned further into frustration at the lack of a response from the crew, in anger, he pulls the sword from its sheath. Instantly dropping the sword, blood dripping to the deck. Sirius clutched his hand tightly, a tiny metallic gold snake with emerald eyes wrapped its body around Sirius’ wrist, its fangs piercing the skin. 

The metallic gold snake released its fangs, leaving two puncture holes, uncoiling its body, and it fell to the floor. Then slithered its way to the hilt of the sword where it fits perfectly to the deep grooves of the metal hilt that had appeared to have lost a large piece. The snake froze and became inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes shimmering. 

Sirius looked to Remus and Quinn. His vision began to fog up around the edges, his mind felt heavy. “What did you do to me? What is that sword?!”

“Us? We’ve done nothing.” Quinn replied with a shrug.

Remus sheathed his sword and walked forward. His expression was neutral as the crew began to drive out the remaining pirates who had grown in fear at the sight of the sword’s snake coming to life. “That sword, is called Dú hǎi.” 

Sirius fell to his knees, he looked up to Remus. “What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?!” 

Remus remains passive. “Dú hǎi translates to Venomous Sea.” He crouched down next to the pirate. “You were bitten by the spirit of the sword, and now have its venom running in your veins.” 

The pirate glared at Remus. “Give me the antidote!” 

“I don’t have it, only the White Sea Serpent has it,” Remus answered calmly.  

Sirius froze, he had heard that title before. The White Sea Serpent was a man who had vanquished many pirates and had a magical sword that only served one master. “Who is he?! Where can I find him to give me the antidote!?” 

“He’s my captain,” Remus smirked. “Captain Min-Jun Hua. And I doubt he would give someone like you the antidote. He doesn’t take too kindly to trespassers on his ship.”  

Sirius struggled to keep his eyes open, his heart began to slow, he fell to his side. Quinn walked forward. 

“You got bitten by the White Sea Serpent mate. You’ll become legendary if you survive. Which you won’t since its venom is hell without the antidote.” He leans down to grin at the pirate. “You’d best start praying my captain returns soon, eh?”  

Sirius couldn’t respond, he fell unconscious. Quinn tsks, shaking his head. He stood, “Take him to the infirmary, make sure he stays alive long enough for Min-Jun to arrive.” 

The crew gets to work. Remus watches them drag Sirius away, his arms crossed. “Defeated by the captain’s sword when the captain was nowhere in sight. What a terrible way to die. He doesn’t even have the honor to die with the captain present. How tragic.” 

“Well, now you know how it looks in person. This is why no one has managed to take the ship.” Quinn adds, he grabs the fallen sword, speaking quietly to it. A small hiss answers in return, Quinn resheaths the sword.  

“I’ll go check on the children. They got quite the scare.” Remus offered. He personally wanted to make sure the children weren’t harmed during the fight. 

“Alright, try to get some sleep,” Quinn adds as he looks to the ship that was sailing away. “His own crew left him, not that I blame them. They wouldn’t even be able to help him.” Quinn turned to the infirmary. Dú hǎi in his hand. 

When Remus joined the children, Brielle had taken to hiding Regulus as well. She snarled when the cabin door opened, but stopped when she saw that it was Remus. 

“How are they?” Remus asked softly, kneeling on the ground. The mermaid had not spoken once, but it was clear she could understand them. The mermaid only communicated with Remus telepathically, but even then Remus still struggled to understand the complex mer language. 

Brielle simply looked to her right, the children were huddled under a blanket. She looked back to Remus, her eyes turning silver as she spoke to Remus telepathically.

Remus instantly raised his hands to try to stop her, his head shaking. “Alright, I understand. Please stop doing that, it feels so loud my head might burst.” He looks to Brielle who’s shoulders slumped. He sighs. “At least until I know about your language.” 

Brielle looks away, her hair falling over her shoulder. Remus turned his attention to the blanket, lifting it up a tad to peek at the children underneath. Two pairs of wide eyes stared back at him. Remus couldn’t help but smile. 

“Are you both alright?” The boys nod. Tadase crawls out from the blanket, curling up to the older mer’s side. Purring contentedly. Regulus crawled out as well, hesitantly watching the two mers interact, it looked like he wanted comfort too.  

Without warning, Remus pulled Regulus onto his lap, hugging him tightly. Regulus struggled to pull himself free, but gradually came to a stop. The child’s shoulders began to shake, before he began to sob. 

Remus only rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe him. A sigh leaving his lips, he was angry. Regulus had been so small and thin, he hadn’t spoken a single word for nearly all four days. Only flinching whenever someone mentioned the Blacks. What had they done to him?

“He feels abandoned.” Remus snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked to the mermaid. She had spoken. In english!

Brielle looked undisturbed with her sudden ability to speak. She watched the boy closely. “I feel, loneliness from him. He feels abandoned.” 

Remus frowned. He wasn’t surprised. The Blacks all but unloved the frail boy in his arms. Regulus was neglected for so long, it must have felt like rejection and abandonment. Brielle tilts her head, the mer child in her arms has fallen asleep. Gently, she places Tadase down beside her. She turns to Remus, her arms stretched, reaching for Regulus. 

“I’ll sing. To help him sleep. No more nightmares.” 

Remus’ eyes widened in surprise. “Mermaid’s can be rid of nightmares?” 

Brielle nodded. “Mothers do, for their babies. I will do it for him.” She pulls the boy into her arms, her clawed hands were so gentle, it amazed Remus how such a fierce creature could become so gentle and tender to others. He had much to learn about his fellow mers it seemed. 

Once settled comfortably upon her lap, Brielle began to sing. And her lullaby soothed out the frown on his face, falling deep into sleep. Tadase curled closer to her. Her lullaby seemed to calm the rage within Remus’ own mind, and all the crew slept well for the first time in days. Even Sirius Black who was fighting for his life, the pain seemed to dull. 

Her song reached everyone aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.

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Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato

[lifeaftermeteor]

Private Island [location redacted] Fiji, South Pacific 18 August 211 

Relena stood before the mirror as her mother secured the string of pearls around her neck. 

As Mareen stepped away with an appreciative hum, Relena took a moment to study her reflection. Her honey blond hair had been twisted into soft curls and then pinned up to prevent the sea breeze catching them. Her dress was short and only came to her knees, layered with tulle and lace. Her shoes were simple but stylish, fitting for their private event and a day at the beach. She smiled and turned to face her entourage, placing her hands on her hips and striking a pose. “What do you think?” 

Amidst the unanimous approval, there was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” Relena answered, smoothing her hands down the dress.   

At the entreaty, Heero stepped into the room but stopped short, eyes wide at the sight of her. “Wow,” he managed, but didn’t move from where he stood. 

“Come in, Heero,” Mareen told him, and Heero—seemingly embarrassed, judging by the pinched look on his face—quickly shut the door as instructed. 

He took a few hesitant steps forward and opened his mouth to say something...but nothing came and so he snapped it shut once more. Relena watched the muscles in his jaw twitch a moment longer before she closed the distance that separated them. Only then did she register the glass bottle clutched in one of his hands. She smiled at it and took his free hand in hers.  

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice soft, almost reverent.  

Relena bit her lip and smiled as she felt her cheeks start to burn. “Thank you,” she said and gave his hand a squeeze.  

They studied each other for a time, both of them wound up with emotions they couldn’t name. But then Heero took a shuddering breath and seemed to gather his composure once more. “For you,” he said, passing her the bottle. 

Relena took it with a soft laugh and opened it, unfurling the message. 

---

Ich liebe dich

W

---

She read the words [1] and felt herself tearing up. Sniffling, she crossed to a nearby chair and sat down, taking several deep breaths amidst the concerned queries from her friends and family around her. They were getting married. He loved her. He loved her and they were getting married...today.  Relena looked up to find Heero’s blue eyes looking a bit tearful as well. “I love him,” she told him, “so much.” 

Heero replied, “I know. So does he.” 

Relena nodded and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm herself while the others waited quietly. She was thankful for it. She didn’t think she would be able to keep herself together if they had swarmed her with their love and assurances. Taking a deep breath, she dabbed carefully at her eyes and twisted open the pen. “Sally, Heero.  I’m going to need help with the reply.” 

***** 

Wufei glanced up as the door to their de facto dressing room opened and Heero entered, shutting it behind him and holding the glass bottle aloft. “You were gone longer than I thought you’d be. Sorry about that.” 

“No, that was on me,” Heero said, shaking his head. “Mostly.” 

“‘Mostly?’” Wufei asked, an eyebrow quirking at his runner as he approached. 

Heero gave him a secretive smile as he passed Wufei the bottle. “You’ll see soon enough.”  

Wufei watched him with wary eyes as Heero turned away and walked across the room. He took a seat near Trowa who was going over the final technical checks of his camera while Quatre hovered at his shoulder watching the process unfold. 

Left to his own devices for a time, Wufei uncorked the bottle and unspooled the note. Relena had responded to his earlier sentiment in kind. [2]

---

我爱你

R

---

They were the tentative strokes of a novice and yet Wufei couldn’t tear his eyes away, warmth spreading through his chest and into his cheeks.  She loves me, he thought, overcome. 

From behind, thin arms wrapped around his waist and a pointed chin rested on his shoulder. Wufei’s grin widened.  “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Duo echoed, clearly reading the note too.   

“She writes like you,” Wufei teased, trying to stave off the tears that pricked at the back of his eyes. 

Duo snorted.  “No awards for penmanship,” he said, giving Wufei a squeeze before withdrawing. 

***** 

The group had assembled on the first floor balcony, which overlooked the plantation gardens below. Chairs had been brought outside from the house and adorned with flowers from the landscape that surrounded them, lined up in short rows to form a makeshift aisle that led to the porch railing. The wedding party had all foregone color-coded attire, but Wufei’s entourage had dressed sharply in vests and slacks all the same.  

At the end of the short aisle that connected the house to the bannister, Wufei fidgeted and Duo smirked from where he stood beside him. The moment before the moment of truth was always infinitely more painful. And Wufei was never really one for patience. 

Duo let his eyes wander to the other guests while seconds ticked by. Trowa flitted about, snapping photos while Quatre had tucked himself in securely at Heero’s side. Hilde meanwhile was chatting amicably with Sally and Une. Mareen and Noin were presumably just inside with the bride. He smiled again and tightened his grip on the materials in his arms as a stray breeze swept across the balcony. 

As it died down once more, the double doors that led back into the house opened and Relena stepped outside into the warm afternoon sun. Dress soft and delicate, smile wide, she was a sight to see. To his left, Wufei expelled a shuddering breath and Duo chanced a glance his way. The man was starstruck, cheeks flushed and eyes tearful and Relena approached down the aisle, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands.  She had eyes only for her fiance. Duo grinned.  “Hold it together,” he hissed at Wufei, whose only visible reaction was to snap his mouth shut.  

A small eternity swept up the aisle with Relena as she walked, and yet time seemed to rush up to them like a tidal surge. What had been ‘future’ was suddenly ‘now’ and as Wufei took Relena’s hand in his, bringing her up beside him, Duo swallowed down the familiar taste of panic.  

Instead, he grinned through it and snuffed it out before it could take him.  He smiled wide and welcoming as the two lovebirds struggled to remember that there was in fact a ceremony to be had. Duo took that as his cue to begin.  “I don’t think I have to tell anyone why we’re here today, so we’ll skip that part of this morning’s daily briefing if that’s alright with you.”  The comment earned knowing chuckles from the guests and good natured eye rolls from the couple before him. 

“I will say, however, that out of everyone here to share today with you, I’m the lucky one who actually gets to marry you. That’s a high honor coming from you both—one I didn’t anticipate—so thank you, for your trust.  

“Thank you also for adding a new qualification to my resume, since I did have to get certified for this in order for it to be legal under ESUN law, after all. I took this task very seriously. I even studied! I studied harder for this than I think I ever have before,” he said and finally righted the materials he had till now clutched to his chest, revealing a stack of books. They were dog-eared with colored page markers sticking out in every conceivable direction, and included a menagerie of materials. Half a dozen religious texts intermingled with the likes of Sun Tzu, Karl Marx, and Plato.  

Incredulous laughter at the collection burst first between the couple and then outward across the guests to others. As their mirth simmered down once more, Duo said in all seriousness, “But when have any of us ever played by the book?”  In the expectant silence that followed his question, he looked first at Relena, then at Wufei….and after a beat, chucked the books over his shoulder and the balcony railing behind him to fall with much commotion into the underbrush below. 

Dusting his hands off, he settled his gaze once again at the couple before him. “So here’s the real deal…” 

***** 

“That was an excellent speech. I thought for sure Wufei would cry before he even got to his vows,” Sally said, sipping champagne as she watched the newlyweds slow dance on the stone patio in the garden, lost in their own world. 

“It was an excellent speech,” Mareen agreed. She turned to Heero then and gently probed. “Relena tells me you’re a writer.  So...be honest.  How much of the ceremony was Duo and how much did you help with?” 

Heero shook his head. “That was all Duo.”  He took a sip of his own drink and added, “He wrote four different versions. Ended up delivering a fifth.” He squinted into the empty space before him, thinking. “I’m beginning to wonder why his creative process requires such levels of improvisation.” 

Trowa chuckled where he loitered nearby. “Don’t know what you need till you get there,” he answered, hefting his camera and aiming it in their direction. “Smile you three. But not in a fake way,” he instructed, snapping the shutter closed a second later. 

***** 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” Quatre said as he took a seat on one of the garden benches next to Duo.  

Duo huffed a dry laugh. “I could say the same about you,” he said, throwing back the rest of the contents of his glass before leveling Quatre with a face that spoke to his concern. “You looked a little peaked earlier. You alright?” 

Quatre nodded with a sigh. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…” He waved his hand before him, non-committal and aimless. 

Duo watched the gesture for a bit before suggesting, “The miasma?”  

When Quatre looked his way again, he found Duo biting his lip between his teeth in a poor attempt not to laugh.  Quatre smirked. “Yes, let’s go with that.”  This did earn him a laugh from Duo and he felt the man’s tension subside somewhat. Quatre smiled. 

***** 

Noin stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and sighed, her cheeks puffing out as she did so. She had fled back into the house when she felt the tears coming and was thankful for the reprieve. And angry that she had cried at all. The one saving grace was that the light outside had finally faded with sunset and was now too dim for any of the guests to notice. 

She would not let them know. This was their day and she wouldn’t allow herself to be the source of bitterness, especially not when there was nothing any of them could do.  

Noin sighed again, her red eyes staring back at her through the mirror. She wouldn’t let them know how much it hurt...to not have a happily ever after of her own. 

***** 

Merriment made the hours bleed lazily into the evening, the wedding party surrounded by laughter and music. Food and drink and good company. But after a time the furtive glances Relena had shared with her husband were no longer scratching the growing itch.  Taking his hand in hers, she passed a look to her mother—who only smirked in acknowledgement—and fled their reception for a more...personal celebration. 

She pointedly ignored the cat calls that followed at their heels and whisked her husband off to their bedroom. 

[1] Ich liebe dich, “I love you” in German. In LAM!verse, Sanq speaks a German dialect.

[2] 我爱你 (wǒ ài nǐ), “I love you” in Mandarin

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 2)

Rain beats against the side of the lighthouse, it comes down in sheets as Zuko yanks her inside. “Zuko, no!” She calls, her voice is oddly desperate and she can’t say why it is so. “I need to go back out there.”

Zuko flinches. “For what?” He asks. She can see the concern etched on his face. She pries herself from his grasp.

“I--” She starts. “There’s someone out there.”

“Since when do you care?” He asks, “even if you do care, what do you think you can do for them?”

He is right, she knows he is, every logical part of her knows it. The ship is too distant for her to do anything but reach an arm out and roar with the wind only to have her words swept away by the storm and pulled out to sea. But the feeling, that nagging desire, isn’t of logic. It is something far less rational, something rooted wholly in instinct and yearning.

“This is about Sokka isn’t it?” He persists, he is gripping her shoulders again, trying to keep her from leaving the house again. She tries to shake his grip off. “You’ve got to stop this! He’s gone, Azula.”

“It’s not about him.” She says as the wind howls against the window and rattles the door in its frame. But it is about him, deep down she knows. Why else would it matter?

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His eyes widened. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to…”

“No!” She argues quickly. “I’m not. I don’t want to die, because he isn’t dead. Even if he was, I wouldn’t…”

“Then why are you doing this?” He gestures to the door.

“Because I saw a ship, it was…”

“There’s no one out there!” He shouts

“There is! There was...” She insists with an almost frantic gesture to the window. The wind throws the door open, her already sopping hair whips in her face and clings to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shit!” Zuko shouts before throwing himself at the door. “Help me with this.” He huffs.

With haste, Azula adds her weight. Even with the two of them leaning as heavily as they can against the door, it still threatens to bang open. “Zuzu,” she says through gritted teeth. “I told you that we needed to get a new door.”

“With what money?” He replies, voice just as strained. “Last I checked dad, spent that fund on his drinking habit.”

Azula frowns. It had been her job to keep him from doing that. Her job, because he is more inclined to listen to her than Zuko. At her own failure her body slackens. It is just enough leeway for the wind to burst the door open.

A dull ache is the last thing she registers as her body is thrown to the floor. Zuko toppled over her. She isn’t awake long enough to tell if he is also out cold. Hurricane waters rush to wet the entry room.

She wonders if dad would have wanted this. If he would change things if he’d known just how much pressure he has put upon them. If he’d known that he would be drunk in a sailor’s bar while his daughter lie sprawled on the floor with her forehead bloodied, storm kicking up a merciless howl just outside.

.oOo.

Lightning illuminates the interior of the Deep Dubloon Saloon, it is the only light to be had now that the storm has raged enough to throw power out. It’s winds shake the entire foundation of the building, not that it has a sturdy structure to begin with.

Ozai sits with a wooden tankard in his hand. He hasn’t seen a storm like this since the one that stole his wife from him. He stares unseeingly into the nearly empty mug. He almost laughs aloud, it is a storm like this that has him sitting upon the bar stool he inhabits. And it would seem that the ocean seeks to remind him of exactly why he is there.

“Help me with these, will ye?” Requests Khozen. His long silver hair is tangled by rain water and harsh wind. He pants as he chucks another sandbag outside and curses the weathermen for their short sight and lack of warning.

Ozai has known Khozen for many years. The man had been a pirate of sorts, he still has a parrot on his shoulder, though the creature is now safely secured away from the storm in a cage behind the bar. Next to it is a tank housing his iguana.

Ozai downs the rest of his drink and makes his way towards Khozen’s emergency supply of sandbags. He sees no point in it, the sandbags can only do so much for a building that is as ill prepared and rickety as the Deep Dubloon.

If Zuko and Azula could see the state of the bar… He knows that they have been wishing on stars for it to be blown to splinters. From the looks of it, they will have their wish.

“This be a mighty storm.” Khozen grumbles. “I’d hate to be at sea now.” His eyes go wide as he recalls that his ship is probably being thrashed mercilessly against the docks, sails ripping, boards splintering, perhaps a bolt of lightning has set it aflame. “The mightiest I’ve seen in…”

“Nearly a decade.” Ozai finishes as he hoists a sandbag atop the one he’d just laid down. “You’re lucky that your bar isn’t as close to the harbor as some of them.” He is lucky that his favorite bar is that much safer.

Rain pelts him mercilessly as he carries out his task. His eyes journey down the road and closer to the ocean. The lighthouse is a glow, but he can barely see its beacon through such a thick curtain of rainfall and mist. He has the decency to consider, for the first time, that he should be there. He wonders how his children are faring against the storm. His stomach lolls like those waves at the though that a storm could claim two more that he holds dear.

“C’mon yee big ass, we don’t got time fer starin’ at the sea, not when she’s a brewin’.”

A brewin’ is only scratching the surface. Palm trees bend nearly to the floor, shutters slam against windows or tear off entirely, water rushes to fill streets ready to was cars away, and lawn decor, umbrellas, and lawn chairs sail through the air as though they weigh nothing at all. He can hear from the inside, the buzzing drone of the battery powered weather radio.

He can do nothing now, an attempt to reach the siblings would be certain death. Were he any manner of good father, he would have done it anyhow. But he had been a poor husband and he is a worse father.

He picks up another sandbag and tosses it onto the pile.

.oOo.

Azula’s head throbs. There is a wetness on her face, a wetness all over. Her hair and clothes are soaked through and through. She jerks at the sound of a loud bang. She pulls herself up. The door is slamming in and out in the hands of a wind that is emitting a high pitched scream. Thunder roars, a battle cry, a warning that it is going to seal lives away again, just as it had all those years ago. Once again she and her family are on the frontlines.

She jolts again; Zuzu! At first she doesn’t think that he is moving. That he isn’t going to. She calls out to him but her words are lost beneath the unceasing torrent of raindrops, wind gusts, and thunder.

It doesn’t matter to terribly because he stirs and sits himself up, eyeing her with a measure of horror before coming to her side. They both shudder. “You almost went out there.” He mentions, nearly too quiet to be heard.

One door to the head and a nap later she fully processes the weight of what she’d almost done and she shudders all over again. “Sorry.” She mumbles. She isn’t sure to whom the apology is for, herself or Zuko.

He pulls her into a tight hug. He hasn’t hugged her in years. He holds her firmly and strokes her hair. Lightning briefly halos their silhouettes as the rain floods in.

“We have to do something about that door, Zuzu.” She comments. It highlights her point by slamming back against the wall, the bang echos with a roll of thunder.

“How?” He frowns.

Azula stands and looks about the room. She points to the sofa. “We’ll just rearrange the furniture.”

“Father isn’t going to like that.”

“Father should be here if he cares that much.” She shrugs. “Besides, we can move it, knock it over, and blame it on the storm.” She pauses. “We’ll probably have it back in place by the time he gets home.”

“You’re right.” Zuko agrees.

As she moves towards the sofa, she steals a glance out the window, at the furious ocean. Ribbons of lightning decorate the sky in faster intervals and rain slides off roofs, pushed by the wind, they fall heavier on the ground gathering in large puddles on sand and on the docs. In a particularly powerful finger of lightning, she sees it again, the ship. She can barely make it out before it plunges back into the water until only its sails are seen.

The power surges back on, flickering softly before plunging back into darkness. Azula backs away from the window and tries to put it out of her mind. Though images of Sokka’s smile play back in her mind as she heaves furniture. Interspersed between them are flashes of his face, but waterlogged by the ocean, barnacles and kelps clinging to it while fish work between eye sockets. Azula doubles her attention on securing the lighthouse.

For their efforts they have a sofa, a bookshelf, and a small table to hold the door shut as the hurricane batters the tabby walls of the lighthouse. Feeling entirely drained, Azula drops herself onto the remaining available sofa. Zuko is close behind. They sit in silence listening to the ruthless onslaught of rain and the roaring crash of the waves against the cliffside. She finds herself grateful that their lighthouse is perched upon a cliff high enough that the water can't reach them. Still, in the back of her mind, she fears that a particularly powerful strand of lighting may blast their seemingly sturdy perch into the restless tides below. She doesn’t know much about the tides, but she does know that they won’t hesitate to bash her bloody against the rocks as they tear her apart.

She thinks of the ship, overtaken and at their mercy. She clutches the sunstone starfish pendant that hangs upon her neck. She hasn’t taken it off since he’d given it to her.

“I doesn’t look like there’s too much damage.” Azula notes. The lighthouse is designed to withstand. The townsfolk are quite fond of reminding everyone that, “when the ocean takes the town, Sea Candle Lighthouse will remain.” She supposes that she should be glad that her home is allegedly secure.

“Yeah, we can worry about the flooding after the storm.” Zuko agrees.

She lays her head back and observes the spiraling staircase that lead to the uppermost part of the lighthouse. Sometimes she and Zuzu grab sleeping bags and sleep there were they can stare at the stars and the ocean. Tonight they will remain on the couch, content to ignore the storm as much as they can. Though night won’t fall for another six hours at least.

“Is your head okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula touches the knot on her head. “Yeah, I think so. Your’s?”

“I didn’t hit my head. But my elbows are bruised.”

She lights up a few candles and thinks of the stormy days when their mother had read them stories. Those days had been so brief.

“I hope father is enjoying his drinks.” Zuko scowls.

She understands his resentment and hatred. But Azula can’t bring herself to share it; frankly she feels pity for the man. Perhaps even empathy--Sokka was supposed to have returned months ago. He has been declared dead by law. Lost at sea. She doesn’t believe it, not quite. They haven’t searched long enough to say so, they haven’t found wreckage. But people at school look at her the same way the fishermen and dock workers looked at Ozai after Ursa’s death.

“Let’s talk about something else, Zuzu.”

[chillahead-bridge]

grave mistakes

inspired by @arrival-layne‘s good good angst art for jim, a mini-au about a what-if scenario about the grave sand having some... side effects on humans. (AO3 version)

TWs: body-horror, mouth horror, blood, description of injuries and violence. enjoy and stay safe!

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

Grave sand burns.

It’s bare seconds, passing in a painful flash- but Jim feels the grit scrape against his sinuses, leaving his airways raw as he hacks, lungs struggling to supply him air. And then it’s over, just like that, and a surge of energy washes over him. Like stepping into the cold depths of a pool, diving deep downwards.

“How do you feel?” Strickler asks him, watching him with sharp eyes.

“Angrier,” Jim replies, voice rough. He feels himself smile. The energy- the emotion- it’s pulsing through his veins. It’s incredible. It’s intoxicating.

“Good,” Strickler says, bursting into brilliant green arcs of light as his body twists and changes, horns curving over his skull as he raises his head. “Use that anger,” he encourages with a grin of deadly fangs.

Jim can feel himself shivering, deep inside, at the blatant challenge. An invitation to fight. The Amulet responds to his silent call- wrapping him in its armor and power, forming Daylight in his grip. Another flash of light and Jim glances over his shoulder, seeing Nomura stalk predatorily towards him with her blades.

Two highly skilled opponents. Both of whom have fought him to a standstill before. Jim feels no fear. He snarls right back at the changelings, reveling in the way he feels. He’s stronger, he’s faster, his heart races and his throat aches, and he meets his mentors’ attacks with zero hesitation.

It’s a blur, for a few euphoric moments, where there’s nothing but Jim, his weapon, and the changelings he’s beating back. Jim growls, shouts wordlessly- he kicks the larger, heavier changelings across the floor more than once, keeping up and surpassing them as they clash. Strickler has no close-range weapon, he falls back all too quickly. Nomura is brutal and unyielding, but she doesn’t expect the strength Jim has now. Her swords clatter against stone, her skull impacts against the wall he shoves her into, her claws shriek over the metal of his shield and Jim presses harder-

The interruption that comes will be something he’s grateful for, later. In the moment, however, Jim steps back from Nomura and turns to his first and dearest mentor, and all he sees is someone interfering with his victory.

Jim points his blade at Blinky. He takes swings at him, though they’re not truly meant to harm. Just intimidate. His words come between coughs, the energy in his body beginning to hum fiercely, urging him to fight more, to give it outlet-

“Master Jim, look at me,” Blinky says, holding him carefully but firmly. Jim tries to pull away, but the troll keeps talking, keeps him close and still. The words that come are warm, soothing, “-for your human heart,” and it pulls him back up from the depths.

Jim steps back, coughing harder as the corrosive enhancer in his body shifts. The Amulet’s power recedes, the armor vanishing; releasing him from the bloodthirst. He’s sickened, as his head clears, by the fact that he’d fallen so deeply into that desire.

“I’m- sorry,” Jim rasps, coughing still, “I- I lost myself.” He tries to say thank you, but the coughing won’t stop and he bends, pounding a fist against his chest.

Blinky turns on Strickler, launching into an angry conversation with him. Their clash of mentalities grows distant as Jim keeps coughing. His ears are starting to ring. His throat aches.

“Jim?” Nomura’s voice asks, a hand touching his back. Jim tries to respond but can’t get a single word out. He’s beginning to hyperventilate, but he can’t stop, coughing as the grave sand does something- else. Before it’d been flowing through him, circulating the unnatural aggression and energy. Now it’s- it feels like it’s seeping into something deeper, like it’s forcing itself into the rest of his body-

A lightning strike of agony abruptly explodes in his chest. Jim can’t even cry out, robbed of air.

“Jim!” shouts Blinky, but Jim can’t raise his head and look to him. The pain radiating from his ribcage is climbing, spreading outwards.

His fingers, his jaw, his eyes- Jim only hears the thundering of his own heart as he clutches at his mouth, deaf to whatever is happening around him. Oh god, the pressure is building, pushing to escape, make it stop, he’ll do anything, just make it STOP-

Something gives, a sweet relief of pressure for a split second, and then iron liquid fills his mouth and a new kind of throbbing pain takes the other’s place. Jim doubles over completely and heaves, red and spit splattering the stone. Jim coughs and shudders, tears blurring his vision as he gasps raggedly.

Little white pearls fall into the slurry, one by one.

Those are teeth, Jim thinks outside the pain, just as his eyes roll back and he passes out.

 -/-

 “For what it’s worth, young Atlas… we were unaware these particular side effects could occur.”

Jim doesn’t look at Strickler or Nomura. He keeps his eyes fixed on a corner of the room, focused on the rough-hewn walls of it.

“We’re already looking into a way to reverse it,” Nomura adds in a subdued tone. Jim still doesn’t answer, or acknowledge their presence.

“I swear it,” Strickler says, low and sad, “we will fix this for you, and I am deeply, deeply sorry for allowing this- to happen, to you.”

Jim curls his fists into the blanket covering his legs.

“Leave,” he manages to say, throat hoarse. “W- we’ll talk. Later. But for now…”

“Of course,” Strickler says softly, and that’s the end of it. The two changelings walk out, drawing the curtain closed; leaving Jim to sit in Blinky and Arrrgh’s bedroom, wrapped in an overlarge blanket and shadows to hide within.

Gingerly, with a hesitant hand, Jim reaches to poke at his aching jawline. The claw that’d burst from under his nail throbs in time with the teeth he presses against.

Jim hasn’t looked in a mirror, but he knows. He’s already searched his face and body- he knows about the teeth, the claws, the point to his ears, the way his vision is perfectly suited to the dark room he’s in… He knows what it all means, what it all looks like.

He drops his hands to the blanket and twists them into fists again, hunching over his knees and shaking. Tears drop onto the fabric not for the first time today, an echo of his teeth falling out of his mouth.

The parallel forces him to unlock his clenched jaw and let out a wounded cry. His voice wavers and cracks, the internal damage done by the grave sand persisting still. Jim doesn’t spare a thought of concern that he might worsen the injuries; the noise pours out of him and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

The curtain is suddenly yanked open and he hisses, flinching and covering his sensitive eyes. “Oh- shit, shit, I’m sorry Jimbo,” says a more than familiar voice, and the curtain is hastily closed again. Jim doesn’t even have time to blink the spots out of his vision before two sets of arms are thrown around him.

“Blinky told us what happened,” Claire rushes out, fingers already shifting to touch the ruined parts of him, searching, caressing- “Oh, Jim, how could they? Why- god- I’ll, I’ll strangle them both-”

“Should’ve never left you alone with them,” Toby says to the crook of Jim’s shoulder, squeezing his middle so tightly it hurts, but in a good way. “I should’ve- we should’ve been there, maybe then we’d’ve been able to steer you off this fucking- this horrible idea, what were you thinking?”

“I- I just-” Jim stutters, trying to answer both of them. His hands hover, not quite touching them, keeping the claws away from their human skin. “I need to get stronger,” he says, the mantra he’s been repeating for what feels like ages now. “They were just helping me, I asked them to, and- I’m the one who, who let Strickler- it’s my own fault.”

“Bullshit,” Claire curses, eyes blazing. “They did this, they hurt you and I’m going to- to-”

“Drop them into the shadow dimension forever?” Toby suggests in a dark tone.

“Yes,” Claire hisses vindictively.

“Guys, no, we need them, they were just doing what I- what I asked them-” Jim breaks off as he loses his voice, biting his lip and slicing into the thin skin immediately. Right, he has fangs, small but sharp fangs that jut up over his lip in an overtly inhuman way, something nothing short of removing them can fix, and oh god how will he hide this from his mom? How is he supposed to hide his ears? His eyes?

“What am I gonna tell my mom?” Jim whispers harshly, and starts crying in earnest.

Claire makes a wordless noise of anger and sadness, carding her fingers through his hair and letting a few of her own tears slip free. A tissue is pressed gently to his bleeding lip, held in place by Toby as he looks at Jim, brushing away his tears while ignoring the ones on his own face.

Jim wants to curl up and hide himself, cover up the pieces of himself he tainted, cheating for power. But he’s held between his two closest confidants and he can’t bring himself to pull away, instead slumping into the hold, burrowing into their comfort and care and clinging to that safety.

 -/-

 Sometime later: Claire holds his hand without fear of the claws that’ve grown there; Toby pokes the tips of his ears and jokes about Lord of the Rings. They beam at him pointedly until Jim will nervously smile back, not letting him sink further into his mire of self-loathing.

The adults shuffle back and forth behind the curtained entrance, unsubtly checking on the three of them. Sooner than later, they’ll be pulled out of the safely shadowed nest they’re huddling in. But not yet, as stated firmly by Claire when Blinky comes to ask after them.

Jim huffs, embarrassed by the fuss everyone is making over him, pressing his face into the softness of Toby’s sweater vest to hide his flush. Claire’s lithe arms wind around his waist and hold him like wrought iron, refusing to let him slip away even a little. Toby’s arms are warmer, stronger, wrapping around both of them best he can and helping their trio lower themselves gently onto the wide pillows that make up the bed.

Jim’s future has become even more uncertain, another trial added to his seemingly endless path to their ultimate goal. But for a moment between the three of them, tangled up and shielding themselves from that uncertain future, he can breathe easy.

[conn-verse]

colorful family - pt. 1

A fic based on some of my theories for how SUF will end. In this, White Diamond is the “ultimate” villain, Steven and Connie both receive scars on their eyes (opposite eyes), and Steven isn’t exactly corrupted, but does have a rather significant change due to his gem’s power. Whether you agree with my theories or not, I hope you enjoy!

edit: added a paragraph that i had written as the beginning of part 2, but actually makes more sense to end part 1

The Diamonds seemed to have a knack for crashing parties.

Yellow and Blue’s ships were there, as both Diamonds and even Spinel had come, but they had informed Steven that an argument had occurred with White, who would not be coming. Therefore, he and Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl, were surprised to see White’s head descending toward the shore. They exchanged confused looks, but as White left her own head in her bubble, Steven got up to greet her. “White! Blue and Yellow told me you weren’t coming… You had a change of heart?”

White knelt down, extending her hand, onto which Steven wearily stepped.

“You could say that…” White smiled as she brought Steven toward her face. Being so close sent waves of adrenaline through Steven, but he had nothing to worry about. She had changed. She was an ally now.

Blue stepped forward. Something felt off. “White… Please put him down.”

White sighed. “If you insist,” She turned her wrist and let Steven freefall toward the sand. He yelped, summoning his bubble and bouncing hard against the ground. 

“Steven!” Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl rushed to Steven’s side, all drawing their weapons.

“What was that for?” Amethyst demanded. 

“My, my… aren’t you a difficult one?” White raised her hand and a translucent white bubble formed around Amethyst, floating up and behind White’s head. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Garnet growled.

Another white bubble.

“You won’t get away with this,” Pearl said. Another bubble. 

“What do you want, White? Why are you doing this?”

“I thought you said this was supposed to be fun!” White gave her signature eerie smile. “Now, where are the rest of your little friends?”

“We’re right here, you clod!” Peridot shouted. She stood behind Steven with Lapis and Bismuth, and a crowd of gems from Little Homeschool was gathering on the beach. Some were merely watching, but others— Biggs Jasper, Snowflake Obsidian, Crazy Lace, among others— stayed behind Steven, ready to fight if needed. 

“Steven! Let’s fuse! We can take her down!” Lapis strode up to Steven confidently. He was surprised, but didn’t take the time to question her. They grabbed each others’ hands and grew into one large, frightening being. They raised their arms and chains of water grabbed at White’s wrists, but she broke free quickly. Another energy beam shot from White’s hand and the fusion fell apart. Steven looked around for Lapis, only to find her gem sitting idly in the sand. 

“Lapis!” Peridot shrieked. She picked up the Lazuli gem and ran toward Steven, who opened his arms and hugged Peridot as she crashed into him. A new fusion emerged, but unlike Steven and Lapis, it was weak— neither half knew where to go from there. The fusion split apart just before White poofed Peridot. Bismuth ran to grab the poofed gems, giving Steven a frightened look, and as she dove to scoop up Lapis and Peridot, she was poofed, too. White lifted her hand, and each gem was put in her own bubble, joining the rest of the Crystal Gems floating midair behind White’s head.

“Let them go, White. This isn’t necessary.” Yellow strode toward White, fearless. A beam of energy shot from White’s hand toward Yellow, but Yellow shot one back. Blue raised her hand and joined the attack. Steven writhed around in the sand, feeling some kind of power surging inside him, an immense power he couldn’t begin to control. He held himself up on his knees, panting and beginning to cry. 

“Nothing can ever be perfect. That’s not how Earth works, that’s not how anything works!” Steven managed to stand, trudging toward White.

“You have to go through the bad or else the good will mean nothing. I wanted this to work, White. Why can’t you see the truth? Why do you refuse to even try?” He shouted, his whole body turning pink. 

“Don’t you see, Pink? I just miss you. I want you back, and here you are! Oh, Starlight, please come home…”

“NO!” Steven screamed, pink shockwaves flying out from around him.

“I am NOT Pink Diamond. I am NOT Rose Quartz. I’m Steven Universe, and I’m a Crystal Gem. And I will protect Earth from any threat it faces.”

He raised his hand and a large, powerful beam of energy shot from it and toward White. She retaliated, sending the same thing back at him. White’s beam was stronger, and it knocked Steven to the ground. Then, he heard Lion’s roar, and his favorite voice desperately calling his name.

“Connie,” he choked on a sob. Lion slid to a halt beside Steven, bending down to let Connie dismount. She knelt beside him, frantically reaching for his hands. 

“We’re going to be okay,” she said. He wished he could believe her.

“My, Pink, this is your new pet, isn’t it?” White sighed dramatically. 

“You and your organics, always getting in the way of our perfect little world..”

She released another energy beam, this time at Connie. Steven looked up briefly to see what was happening and quickly raised his bubble, and against it, the energy built up. “Connie, run…” he struggled to hold the bubble up. It fell. Connie tried to dodge the attack, but as the bubble fell, the ball of energy directly struck her left eye. She screamed and collapsed in pain, clutching at her eye. Blue and Yellow understood what they needed to do. They looked at each other, remorseful, before raising their hands together to combat White.

Steven reached out to console Connie, but was in too much pain to properly look for her. “Connie, I have to try something, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. Please. Run.” 

“No,” her free hand reached for him shakily. She stammered through the pain. “We do this together.”

Their hands met and with a flash of white light, Stevonnie appeared on their knees, in pain and sobbing. And pink. They heaved, raising their right arm. White gasped as Yellow, Blue, and Pink’s combined power zoomed toward her, and then, there was a loud poof. 

Stevonnie blinked, and White Diamond was gone. What else was there to do? No use trying to find the energy that wasn’t there if it wasn’t needed. They let themselves collapse, and a few seconds later they fell apart. Connie clutched at her eye, using her other hand to search for Steven’s. The pair laid together in the sand, clutching each others’ hands, silently trying to console each other. Steven quickly fell asleep, and only a few moments later Connie passed out.

[hiskniight]

@dansiere said: “ the memories hurt the most, I know. And it will feel like you cannot breathe but... what matters is that you... -- you have to stay on top of it, Connie. ”

          Since Connie had STARTED, more or less LIVING AT the beach house, they started a TRADITION of WATCHING the CHEESIEST MOVIES Connie ( && Greg could find. ) Sometimes she’d set up VOICE CHATS so she && Steven would watch a movie / TV show together, ALONE, in her MAKESHIFT BEDROOM. Tonight it was a BLACK && WHITE MOVIE, but Connie was DAZED && UNABLE to FOCUS ON IT, Connie could NEVER seem to QUIET her MIND, ( or RELAX her body ) sometimes it would get so LOUD, even around Steven, ( SWEET, SOFT, CALM, Steven ) she was always THINKING / PLANNING / WATCHING for THREATS-  always being TWENTY STEPS AHEAD of ANYTHING / EVERYTHING && EVERYONE at all times. 

          She should be STUDYING, honestly, CAUGHT UP on her SUMMER READING &&--- thoughts cut short by a sudden COLD CHILL in the air, the room DRAINED of all COLOR / GROWING into hues of WHITE / GREY / BLACK. The taste of blood FILLED her mouth. No no no no no please- ‘ MY DARLING LITTLE STARLIGHT, ‘ She went STIFF, a TIGHTENING in her shoulders && down her spine, her CONSCIOUSNESS started FLICKERING IN && OUT, SUBMERGING her BRAIN with SINISTER FLASHBACKS / MEMORIES in a NIGHTMARISH kind of SLOW MOTION. A c h i l l TRICKLED DOWN her spine like ice water, a GHOST OF A WHISPER in her ear. ‘ YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER. ‘  THIN, BONY FINGERS curl around her shoulders, nails STABBING into tender flesh, breath on the back of her neck as COLD AS DEATH, himself. She’s not here she's not here she's not here ! SNAP OUT OF IT ! 

          Please… Pl- Tears well up in her eyes, BLURRING her vision with a WATERY HAZE, chest TIGHTENING with FOREBODING that SPREADS throughout her body like a FOREST FIRE. && a few, SLUGGISH SECONDS / it seems to LAST an ETERNITY, she’s PARALYZED, ROOTED to the floor. She QUICKLY excused herself, handing the bowl of POPCORN onto Peridot’s lap, standing up on legs made of RUBBER. ❝ Would you like us to pause the movie, Connie ? ❞ Pearl asked. The brunette gave a small wave of her hand. ❝ No, It’s okay. I’ve seen this a million times. ❞

‘ DID YOU HAVE FUN ? ‘ 

          The WORLD is CRUMBLING under her, bits CRACKING, PIECES BREAKING OFF, the EARTH is SWALLOWING her, PANIC / FEAR grips her, RIPPING her beating heart from her chest, blood turns to ICE WATER in her veins. Everything is BEGINNING to sound MUFFLED / DROWNED OUT, VOICES fading, shaking hands- curling fingers into TIGHT balls, digging nail into CALLOUSED PALMS. She makes it into the bathroom before her WORLD is totally SWALLOWED UP, TREMBLING fingers reach for the LIGHT SWITCH, a BURST of DIM LIGHT floods to life, STUDYING herself in the MIRROR, fingers DIGGING into the COLD PORCELAIN of the sink, NAUSEA washes over her. 

‘ THIS LITTLE GAME OF YOURS IS OVER. ‘ 

          BLINDING WHITE LIGHT, room GLOWING, LONG, JET BLACK TALONS, reaching out towards her, only to PLUCK Steven OFF THE GROUND, an ECHOING, SING-SONG VOICE. ‘ IT’S TIME TO COME OUT, PINK. ‘ The echoes of her voice FLOOD her mind, she’s back there, the COLD HANDS of her mentor WRAPPED TIGHTLY around her, fingers against her mouth, nails DIGGING, PAINFULLY into her cheeks. Making her teeth ache with the need to BITE DOWN. Watching HELPLESSLY / PITIFULLY / USELESSLY as his GEM is RIPPED / TORN OUT so easily out of his stomach, his PAINED EXPRESSION, ( a GAPING HOLE, blood spilling onto MARBLE FLOORS && coating PURE WHITE SKIN a DEEP CRIMSON. ) sweat && tears rolling down pale, hollowed cheeks, a SCREAM trapped between CLENCHED teeth. A COLD HORROR ripples through her stomach. 

          Then he’s FALLING FALLING FALLING FALLING, heart POUNDING in her ears. PINK LIGHT washing out the WHITE, ‘ ST- STEVEN ! ‘ His COLD, DYING BODY is heavy in her arms, skin GRAYING && ICE COLD against shaking hands, his BEGGING && PLEADING WHIMPERS, his TEARS STAINING her jacket. THICK, RICH, BLOOD oozing from the gaping hole where his GEM should be. She’ll never FORGET the COPPER TINGE of blood on her tongue, SICKENINGLY DRY, SWEET METALLIC TASTE / SCENT, vile pungency that SMOTHERED her SENSES && SUFFOCATES the air from her lungs. && no amount of HOW MANY TIMES she brushed her teeth / DRINKING MOUTHWASH like it was WATER, it won’t seem to LEAVE. It lingers in her nose, a lump in the back of her throat that she can NEVER swallow down. Had there really been blood ? No. No. He hadn’t bled. Had he ? 

She’s going CRAZY.

          Her eyes were WILD / UNSEEING, && she struggled to hold herself together. ‘ NOW TO DISPOSE OF- ‘ An ANIMALISTIC SCREAM / DISGUSTING, THROAT-SCRAPING SOB, curling a TREMBLING hand into a fist && SMASHING it AGAINST the BATHROOM MIRROR, again again again again-  SHATTERING her GEM, silencing her MOCKING LAUGHTER && SING-SONG VOICE once && for all; a jolt of ADRENALINE surging through her veins. It was better than any HIGH she’d ever EXPERIENCED. Blood FLOODING down her knuckles, broken glass FALLING Like STARS. She STUMBLES BACK, a HITCHED, UGLY sob escapes between CLENCHED TEETH, falling against the wall, the MIRROR was just a SLIP of the LIGHT that was all. Just her stupid MIND PLAYING TRICKS, showing her FLASHES of things she thought she had CONTROL OVER. No, that she DID have control over ! She wasn’t Steven, the gems, Lars... ANYONE. She didn’t FALL APART. The sound of fists THUNDERING DOWN against the THIN WOODEN DOOR, shaking it, ❝ What was that, Connie ? Did you hurt yourself ? ❞ 

          ❝ Unlock the door. We need to get the glass out before it can cause permanent damage. ❞ A MONOTONE VOICE ( Garnet ) spoke through the HAZE of ERRATIC of Pearl, Bismuth && Peridot. Of course, her FUTURE VISION saw a GLIMPSE of what could / would HAPPEN... Did she see she FLASHBACKS ? Shit ! Scrubbing a hand through dark curls, getting blood in her hair, biting the INSIDE of her cheek. ❝ Her hand ?! ❞ A SHRILL / PANICKED voice, shouts over all the other voices, a prickle of IRRITATION crawls under her skin... Pearl. That’s her MOTHERLY TONE, the same one she’s HEARD whenever it INVOLVES Steven. ❝ What happened to her hand ?! ❞ Before the TALLER GEM can open her mouth to REMEASURE Pearl that EVERYTHING IS OKAY. Connie braces herself against the wall, legs SHAKING like she were a NEWBORN LAMB.

          ❝ I’m not going to sat idly by when one of my babies is hurt !! ❞ The PORCELAIN GEM is about to KICK THE DOOR IN, when SUDDENLY it BURST OPEN. Then the panic let loose && she began CLUMSILY RUNNING / PUSHING PAST the gems && YANKING the door open almost HARD ENOUGH to BREAK the front door off its hinges, bare feet against WOODEN FLOORS, chest BURNING, the smell of SALT WATER, tears STINGING her eyes. DROPPING heavily onto the beach, catching her breath as the wet sand crunched beneath her. Fingers CLUTCHING / TWISTING her shirt, HEART threatening to BURST from her ribs. Is she DYING ? Why is her chest so TIGHT ? Dread is CREEPING UP her spine, SQUIRMING between her ribs, making its HOME in her heart. 

          Heat CRAWLS across her skin && a RUSH of UNKNOWN FEELINGS, of something STIRRING to life, like someone LIT a MATCH inside her && FLAMES engulfed her, SWALLOWING her, urgent && molten. SHAME festers in the pit of her stomach. A shaky breath in through her mouth && back out her nose, calm down. It’s okay. Everything passes in a blur. Soon Connie found herself sitting in the sand, watching the tide ROLLING IN. Connie doesn’t REMEMBER how she ENDED UP sitting on the beach, it’s GROWING COLDER / the sun is being SWALLOWED by the sea, the sky BURNING yellow, orange && red. She chooses to IGNORE the footsteps, she already knows who it is.

PEARL.

          SHRUGGING OFF her COMMENT. ( Garnet must have told her... ) She was okay, she was MANAGING, could FUNCTION just fine. She wasn’t going to FALL APART like Steven had. She’s too NUMB / DRAINED to even bother CARING why Pearl is standing there AWKWARDLY, hands FUMBLING in front of her. Almost like she’s WORRIED / FEARFUL that at any MINUTE Connie would JUMP UP && SHATTER her gem like the MIRROR sitting in SHARDS in the sink. ( && EMBEDDED in her knuckles. ) She doesn’t want Pearl’s HELP, her LACKLUSTER ADVICE that Connie’s read from SELF HELP BOOKS. SHUT THE FUCK UP, PEARL ! Is what she wants to say / to SCREAM- lingering on her tongue, between clenched teeth && choking sobs. 

          Begging to be set FREE. But Connie KNOWS she’s NEVER going to let those HORRIBLE, STUPID, TRUTHS crawl from a weakened tongue && TREMBLING lips. ❝ I- ❞ She swallows heavily, shoulders SHAKING. ❝ I’m not Steven. I don’t need to be babied ! ❞ Words are COMING OUT more && more AGGRESSIVELY, more FRANTIC. It's almost SICKENING how the BITTERNESS is SLIPPING IN, invading her heart. Cheeks flushed SCARLET with UNBRIDLED RAGE, teeth CLENCHED && chest HEAVING, gasping breath.

          This SICKENINGLY SWEET, OVERBEARING ( S ) MOTHER. Who was CARING, voice DRIPPING with CONCERN, WIDE, DOE LIKE EYES- shimmering with a NEED to HELP / to PROTECT. Who seemed to want to CODDLE her like a NEWBORN BABY. It leaves a BITTERSWEET TASTE that fills her mouth, like SWALLOWING a HOT BED OF COALS, BURNING her from the INSIDE OUT. She wants to SCREAM. The brunette glare DAGGERS at the gem before turning her ATTENTION back towards the ocean. Biting back the URGE to just start LAUGHING ( or start CRYING ) in her face, JEALOUSY crept up her spine, Steven had gotten the Pearl she should’ve gotten. ( He needed that SIDE OF HER more than you ! You asked for this when you CHOOSE to pick up a sword. ) A LINGERING urge to PUSH HER AWAY && close herself off from those feelings. 

           Because she doesn't know how to handle it, because she NEVER heard those words from Pearl before. ( Steven’s SOFT HEARTED, LOVING Pearl ) so it feels ODD / UNNATURAL / UNCOMFORTABLE when she does, this is WORSE than hearing a  HARSH LECTURE from her ( or her MOTHER ), but this was coming from the mouth of a NICE, CARING Pearl. Her WORDS of RECURRENCE felt like a SLAP across the face now. It sat her TEETH ON EDGE. Connie felt a familiar TWIST of JEALOUSY in her HEART, acid rushed up her throat, this wasn’t the same Pearl who TRAINED her to DIE for the boy she LOVED / the son of a DIAMOND. She was RUTHLESS, COLD, CALCULATED, Pearl / The Renegade would NEVER TALK to Steven THE WAY she SPOKE to her on the SKY ARENA. Had she wanted to think Steven ( Pearl ) was to BLAME ? Was she REALLY that jealous of her BEST FRIEND ? No, of course not… right ? ...Right ?

          Head SWIMMING with an awful ball of anger that sat HEAVILY atop her heart, she was DRUNK ON it. The words ‘ The memories hurt the most, I know. ‘ pounded in her skull as fast as her  rapid / frantic, HEARTBEAT, ‘ But… what matters is that you… — ‘ it just kept REPEATING itself OVER && OVER as every WORD from Pearl CRAWLED under her skin, surged in her veins. This was becoming as close to an APOLOGY Connie knew she’d ever get from Pearl ( from any of the gems. ) ‘ You have to stay on top of it, Connie.’ The hair on the back of her neck rose, mouth dry. Why did she KEEP talking ? She LOVED the SOUND OF her own VOICE, Connie knew Pearl could talk for HOURS ON END without taking a single breath ( not that she needed to breath. ) Hands balled into fists at her sides. ❝ I said I’m fine… I have this… myself under control, what happened in the bathroom was just a slip up. I should probably cut back on the coffee. ❞ She won’t. 

          Yet another L I E gracing her lips. it was GROWING harder each day to DISTINGUISH the LIES from the TRUTH. How would EVERYONE know ? All she does is LIE LIE LIE LIE- LYING to Steven, Pearl, friends, her own PARENTS. LYING TO HERSELF. All fake smiles && forced laughter so no one sees how BROKEN INSIDE she really is. But keep lying. It’s what you're GOOD at. The PHRASE - ‘ I’M FINE. ‘ Turns BITTER, ROTTEN on her tongue, MASHING the words between teeth, swallowing them down a BLEEDING, RAW throat. But over TIME those words STARTED to sound HOLLOW, DEVOID of any MEANING / WORTHLESS words that fall EFFORTLESSLY from lips each time the phrases are SPOKEN to life again.

‘ Are you okay ? ‘

‘ You look tired. Have you been sleeping ? ‘

Or her FAVORITE- ‘ I’m here if you need to talk. ‘ No, you’re NOT !  

          Silence creeps across the two, chocolate hues watch with GLAZED OVER eyes, tears drying on cheeks, CRIMSON DROPLETS roll down her hand && laid on wet sand, the tide SWALLOWS UP the blood, like she never EXISTED, just another drop in THE ENDLESS && vast DEEP BLUE. Glancing up from her bleeding hands, towards the water, waves crashing, tickling her bare feet, soaking the bottom of her shorts. For a SPLIT SECOND Connie’s mind FLICKERS, GLITCHING- taking her back to the SECOND TIME she almost LOST HER LIFE from DROWNING. 

          Oh, how UNFORGIVING the sea ( Lapis ) is / was, the cold, HARSHNESS of it, the salty taste of water filling her lungs / a BUBBLE wrapped around her head. The MEMORY fills her with a SOUR TASTE of DREAD in the back of her throat, a PIN-PRICK of TRANQUILITY lingers in the back of her SKULL- whispering SWEET NOTHINGS like the VOICE of a LOVER. She didn’t see her LIFE FLASH BEFORE HER EYES like how its always described in BOOKS or MOVIES. It was just this LIFELESS, HEAVY WEIGHT was lifted from her shoulders && she could finally BREATHE ( METAPHORICALLY ) for the first time in her life. A inky BLACKNESS, muffled voices && the slowing of her HEART BEAT.

          After all the VEIL between LIFE && DEATH is PAPER THIN, having ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE on that fateful day she PLUMMETED to the BOTTOM of the SEA in a PINK BUBBLE all those years ago. She’s been greeting THE GRIM REAPER with open arms / the two were like OLD FRIENDS. ( waiting / longing with BATED BREATH for his KISS OF DEATH. ) She no longer FEARED it. Feared H I M. It gave her COMFORT knowing the sea would SOMEDAY, once again claim her BODY, cradling her SOUL && taking her HOME. She WISHES those THOUGHTS scared her. ( She still gets this TWINGE of ANXIETY when she has to shower or goes to the pool ) but that DEEP LONGING for the cold embrace of saltwater in her BURNING lungs && WEIGHTLESS FEELING, unburdened by the BATTLEFIELD that is her life. The UNENDING WAR in her BROKEN MIND.

          She WISHED Lapis ( White Diamond / Topaz / Jasper ) had KILLED her, she would have GIVEN her own life for STEVEN. The boy she LOVED so much her HEART ACHES, flutters between her rib cage. && like Pearl with PINK DIAMOND- she would do it without thought for herself. Steven was her life, her EVERYTHING. Her FIRST FRIEND / LOVING BOYFRIEND. ( FOLLOWING in Pearls PATHETIC, CLINGING, FOOTSTEPS with DEEPLY ROOTED NEED for a LOVER who would GIVE themselves up in a HEARTBEAT whether it's to SELFISHLY turn to STARDUST / BECOME A BLACK-HOLE && create a NEW, BRIGHTER STAR CHILD, made from LOVE && TRAGEDY / to self-sacrifice himself to the ENEMY GEMS thinking it's the right thing. PUSHING PUSHING PUSHING PUSHING THEM HER AWAY. Like he ALWAYS DOES ! )

          Keeping her gaze straight, tears simmering in RED RIMMED eyes, mouth set in a TIGHT FROWN. A small hiss through gritted teeth, pulling a slightly bigger shard out. She doesn’t want to talk about it, && doesn't want to think about HER. About any of it. She feels like she’s SUFFOCATING, she’s been DROWNING for years && no one seems to hear her CRIES, her pleading screams. Thrashing && trying to keep herself afloat in an ENDLESS VOID OF NOTHINGNESS, emptiness. So she built a GRAVEYARD inside her GUT, she’s been BURYING the DYING && ROTTING CORPSES of HERSELF in THE DIRT for YEARS. The WEAKNESS, FEAR, LONELINESS, her slowly crumbling MENTAL STATE, everything she deemed unfit to FIGHT by && PROTECT Steven. 

          She needs to be the PERFECT BEST FRIEND / GIRLFRIEND, STRAIGHT A STUDENT, QUIET / OBEDIENT DAUGHTER, PERFECT SWORD FIGHTER. So many DIFFERENT PEOPLE for everyone in her life. ( The one who can SHATTER White Diamond ! ) Needs to be SMARTER, STRONGER, SCARIER. She needs to be what THEY ( he ! ) need her to be. && she’s ready to bury her SOUL for it. COUGHING UP black dirt && swallowing STONES / where no words reach the surface, crying out for HELP even though she's not sure she even WANTS / NEEDS or DESERVES it.

She knows she doesn't.

          With a head FILLED with GHOSTS, parts of herself that refuse to stay BURIED IN THE GROUND, crawling, UGLY, BEGGING, LITTLE THINGS / mouths open in SILENT SCREAMS. Clawing, ripping with BLOODY, BROKEN nails TRYING to rip OPEN her throat && FREE THEMSELVES from this PRISON she’s BUILT in her HEART. ❝ It’s not a big deal, really. ❞ Biting down hard on her bottom lip to STIFLE the sob TRAPPED in her throat, don’t cry ! Don’t you DARE cry ! ❝ I just need to get over myself. It was one little memory, nothing to worry about, Ma’am. ❞ She forces a TIGHT SMILE, a laugh BUBBLES UP from a dry throat, wincing as she pulls the last bit of GLASS from her WOUNDED HAND. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE IT BE. 

          This STORM has been BUILDING UP inside her for years, on the cusp of her CHILDHOOD she’d been BRANDED with a METAPHORICAL SCARLET LETTER against TENDER SKIN with the ROLE OF ADULTHOOD, while still SEEN / TREATED like a HELPLESS CHILD. && in the AFTERMATH wears her TRAUMA like a NECKLACE of RUSTED CHAINS, wrapped TIGHTLY around a soft throat && slumping shoulders, GROWING heavier with each YEAR. A GALAXY / RAINBOW of bruises peppered her hand && DARK CRUSTED BLOOD RINGED around her knuckles. 

          The LOUD ACHE was COMFORTING && SAFE, Connie UNDERSTOOD IT- the PAIN, the BUDDING ANGER. Flexing her left hand to make sure her fingers weren’t BROKEN. Chocolate hues glance down at the BLOOD STAINED GLASS, with slow, steady fingers, she picks up the bits && stuffs them into her pocket so she can THROW IT away in the beach house. ( Couldn’t risk a SEAGULL getting injured because of her MISTAKE / OUTBURST ) curling inward, pulling, shaking legs to her chest.

          TERRIFIED of opening PANDORA’S BOX && letting all those GHOSTS && ROTTING CORPSES of herself, her TRAUMA out. But it keeps LEAKING OUT through the CRACKS, ( NIGHTMARES, smashing the bathroom mirror, && so much more it HURT her head to even THINK about them ) she’s SCARED that she’ll NEVER be able to UNTANGLE IT, it'll come RUSHING OUT like WATER in an OVERFLOWING SINK. So she keeps PUSHING IT DOWN, filling up that GRAVEYARD. 

          TELL ME IT GETS EASIER ? That she won’t always feel this TIGHTENING IN her chest, PANIC flooding her VEINS when she hears the name WHITE DIAMOND, that even just WALKING around Beach City makes her want to RIP her skin off. That she can’t take a SHOWER without having a PANIC ATTACK for an HOUR… PLEASE SHE NEEDS TO HEAR THAT ! She needs to hear from the ADULTS in her life to say SORRY. SORRY SORRY SORRY- Steven ALWAYS SAYS he’s SORRY, even if it’s not his FAULT ( it’s NEVER his fucking fault ! )

‘ WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU HERE IS FOREVER ! ‘

[deathreversed]

✂

“That’s not how it works!” shouts Pearl, straining to push the haft of her spear against Death’s twin scythes. “Love isn’t like that, but that’s not a bad thing!”

Nier clutches at her head, gritting her teeth as tears flow from her eyes. “Be quiet, just be quiet,” she groans, not watching the struggle before her. “Why are you getting in my way, Pearl? Just because you think you know better…?

“It’s not like- ugh!” Pearl grunts, still trying to keep Death’s blades at bay. “It’s not like that, Nier! I only want to help, before something awful happens!”

Nier’s head snaps eyes, eyes focused on Pearl. “You’re too late,” she says, spite and rancor aimed directly at the woman still fending off her beloved Death. “If you really wanted to help me, you wouldn’t have said anything. But I see it now, you’re just like everyone else… I see it in your eyes… The way you look at me with pity and disgust…”

A failure, a monster, a murderer. They all say such cruel things to her, they don’t understand how hard she works, how much she’s struggled for something, anything resembling acceptance. Hearing stories of Pearl’s past, Nier thought the woman would’ve understood her own history, but all it earned her was that look and a lecture about what love really was.

The attack comes so naturally to her, but Pearl is a seasoned warrior, and she’s able to keep herself away from Death’s grim reach. Even as the Primal Beast surges forward, twirling her blades, Pearl keeps her distance, deflecting slashes and sidestepping swipes with an expert air. It’s entrancing, in its own way, to see the two elegant combatants locked in combat. Like a dance, with Death leading aggressively, and with Pearl as a patient partner, simply waiting for her opportunity to step forward

Her moment came soon enough. As Death twirls forward with a deadly waltz, scythes swinging wide, Pearl ducks underneath, swiping across her chest with her spear. She’s just trying to wound, not kill, Nier realizes. And as Death doubles over in pain and Nier wonders if she should lend her beloved some of her own life energy, she sees Pearl running straight at her.

Nier’s eyes grow wide; there’s no way for her to escape. She can’t outrun this woman, and she doesn’t even carry her own weapons to defend herself. All she has is her magic, but-

“Stand down, Nier,” says Pearl, face set in determination. The point of her spear is about a foot away from Nier’s chest. The girl realizes even her thoughts weren’t fast enough to keep up with this woman.

Nier stares at the spear’s tip, unflinching as her eyes glaze over with cruel indifference. “I can’t do that… Are you going to punish me, now? For all the things I’ve done, all the people I’ve killed… You think I’m a monster… don’t you, Pearl?”

Pearl’s expression wavers, though her weapon does not. Nier can’t imagine why this woman would feel pity for her after all she’s done; perhaps something in Pearl’s own history stays hr hand? “I don’t want to hurt you. But… I can’t let you do things like that, either,” she says. “If this… captain of yours found out about what you’re doing, don’t you think they’d feel the same way?”

Nier’s eyes go wide with fresh emotion, and tears begin to stream from her eyes. “N… no,” she mumbles, unable to meet Pearl’s steady gaze. “No, they… Even if they knew I was doing it to protect them, they would hate me if they knew… That’s why I can’t let them find out.”

“They wouldn’t hate you, Nier, they’re trying to help you.” Slowly, the tip of Pearl’s weapon begins to drift down, away from Nier’s face. Behind Pearl, Death merely sits on the ground, watching the scene unfold, and Nier can’t help but wonder why she won’t use this chance to attack.

“If they love you like you say, then they… they’ll see you’re trying to do better. Because you are, aren’t you? For them?”

Slowly, Nier nods. “This kind of thing is all I know… I just… I don’t want to be alone again…”

“You’re not.” Spear down at her side, Pearl offers her hand to Nier. The girl only stares at it, wide-eyed, as the tears continue to run down her cheeks. “I’m trying to do better too, you know. We all are. That’s really all we can do sometimes.”

Nier can’t understand. Why would a person like this, a self-professed defender of a planet, want to help her? It reminds her of the captain, just a little bit. Someone with so much good in them, reaching out to her, offering her solace.

Nier reaches up and takes Pearl’s hand.

And then, brow narrowing, she casts her spell.

Pearl gasps and sinks to her knees as Nier rises over her. “W-what are… what is this?”

“I told you,” says Nier, maintaining her magic. Her voice is cold, devoid of any emotion. “It’s control over life. I know your life energy is different, but… I think I’m managing it. It’s good practice.”

The only reply that comes from Pearl is ragged cries of pain. Nier’s heard them so many times before, but she doesn’t find them pleasing nor disgusting. She simply doesn’t care. 

Finally, Pearl manages to choke out a single word. “W…why?”

“I told you,” says Nier. “If you won’t love me for who I am, then I don’t need you. No one needs you.”

For a moment, it looks as though Pearl wants to respond, but a dim resignation floats across her face instead. In the next moment, her body disappears in a puff of smoke.

Nier waves away the cloud, looking from side to side. “Did she… escape?”

“No, my love…” says Death, finally rejoining her evoker’s side. “She is gone, truly… But she has left something behind. See?”

Reaching to the ground, Death picks up a shining gemstone, gently cradling it in her hands. “Ah… it’s so beautiful,” she coos. “A beautiful death… If only they could all be like this…”

Nier stares at the pearl in Death’s hands, which glitters in the setting sun. “It is very nice… Are you going to keep it?”

“The alternative is simply to leave it… But to what end, my beloved? For some other to find? Someone who would not be able to fully appreciate it…” Death clutches the gem to her chest, expression hidden behind the mask she always wore. “Who else could understand one so full of love and so rich in death but us…?”

Nier shrugs. “If it makes you happy… then that’s all that matters.”

With a long moan, Death begins to cry. “To have loved so much… and then to meet an end like this… She was so sad, don’t you think, beloved? So sad…” Still lamenting Pearl’s fate, Death disappears into the crystal at Nier’s belt, leaving the girl alone once more.

But the woman’s words, and her expression at the final moment, they still linger in Nier’s head. People who die by her hand were never fit to live in the first place, but still… she can’t help be curious. What were the final words she wished to say? What was her will, her epitaph? 

It doesn’t matter, does it? Even stones eventually are worn away into dust. Death comes for all, in the end.

[novantinuum]

Hi, I was just wondering if you had ever thought about what would have happened in your story "Hollowed Moon" if you had continued it. I always thought it was such an interesting setup that could have gone in so many different directions. And there really aren't other stories focusing on Stevonnie and Spinel, so it was unique!

Hiya!

So, I do have some half-written, half-plotted out material to share. I gave this story some consideration the other day, and came to the decision that I don't have the desire to finish it out, alas- I have far too many other active WIPs to add it to the list. There's a few good reasons why I discontinued it, anyways... intimidation over the huge surge of attention it was getting back in 2019, some rude comments from overzealous Spinel fans, (I know everyone isn't like this, but a certain segment of the Spinel side of the SU fandom kinda burned me over time, hhh), and a future chapter containing a sensitive topic that I wasn't in a good headspace to write about at the time.

But! Anyways! Below the cut is all the existing material I have for Hollowed Moon past chapter 14, consisting of a mixture of descriptions, sketchy dialogue, and prose. It honestly feels nice to finally be able to put this story to an official rest.

__

Chapter 15

“I... I saw her.”

“Who-?”

“I saw Pink Diamond. I saw you, in this exact garden, in a dream. I- it was like I was experiencing everything through her. She explained your game, tapped your nose and told you to smile, then warped away—“

“That’s it, that’s what happened, almost exactly! But how could you even know that, I never—“

“I don’t know,” they blurt out. “I have empathic abilities, and sometimes that makes dreaming a little weird, but I have no idea how or why I saw any of this.”

[Pause for Stevonnie to think]

“Spinel, I’m so, so sorry,” they whisper brokenly. “But I think... she left you here.”

“What...?”

“She said she’d return, but before she warped away she whispered goodbye, like she didn’t actually intend to make good on that promise. She was lying to you,” they choke out, voice thick.

“No. No,” she says in clear denial, “no she’s not. She can’t be! She told me she’d come back! I can wait! I just have to wait—“

“But she’s not! She... she can’t, because Pink Diamond is gone. She- she was shattered, Spinel. Five thousand years ago, on the Earth. I- I should’ve told you this from the beginning, and I didn’t, and I- I’m so, so sorry—! But she left you behind, and now she’s never coming back.”

[Silence. Tears brim in Spinel’s eyes. Her eyes grow dark, pained, and then she glares at Stevonnie with such venom it almost knocks them backwards in alarm. ]

“NO!” she screams, tears streaming down her faded pink cheeks.

[She tears her feet up from the roots and runs away, using her arms like an orangutan to vault herself forward super fast so Stevonnie can’t catch her.]

___

Chapter 16

AN: Content warning for self-shattering attempt. Part of the reason why I had to stop writing this story at the time. I considered pushing the plot another way, but it didn't feel authentic to how I believed this scenario would play out for Spinel when she didn't have a direct target for her anger. Without someone to actively be jealous and upset AT, I could only imagine her breaking inwards instead of outwards, feeling that she's utterly failed in her life's purpose. Nothing more than a description for this chapter... and it'd be a short one.

[When Stevonnie finds her, she’s smashing her fists against her gem in her sheer anguish. She’s already cracked it. She’s glitching. It looks terribly painful. She’s about to strike her gem again when Stevonnie intervenes.]

___

Chapter 17

[Post timely intervention. Spinel is still cracked at this moment, though... her form glitching as she cries.]

“I was... her best friend,” she cries, fat, glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was supposed to make her happy! Why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t she come back?“

[Spinel reasoning that maybe if Pink came back for her, she wouldn’t have been shattered in the first place]

“What did I do wrong?” she whispers hoarsely, gazing pleadingly into Stevonnie’s eyes. “Wha- what am I doing? Why do I wanna hurt myself so badly?”

“Shh, now,” they reply, tears of their own brimming at the crease of their eyes, and pull Spinel’s head to their chest. “I’ve got you...”

___

Chapter 18

They know their throat is tight, and their voice scratchy. They know they’ve never sung this song in front of another living being, since it’s something personal they composed alone on one of their late nights back on Earth, thinking about all the difficult days Steven and Connie have had to face over the months. Pair this with their active crying, and there’s no way their singing will be anything pretty.

But pretty doesn’t matter right now.

Stevonnie opens their lips, and— clutching the broken hearted Gem close, rhythmically rocking with her back and forth— lets the wandering melody emerge from within.

“I guess I have to face That in this awful place I shouldn’t show a trace Of doubt...”

“But pulled against the grain I feel a little pain That I would rather do Without...”

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

[Hoarse, Spinel starts singing with them.]

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

“Free, free Free...”

“From here...”

[Stevonnie holds her tight while crying, their tears healing it back up.]

___

Chapter 19

AN: Don't have anything but a single bit of dialogue in this chapter note- I'm assuming I intended it as being a good few hours after the events of chapters 16-18... when Spinel has calmed down a little and has a moment to reflect on the upsetting news she's just received.

“I think... I always knew,” she says, voice hoarse. “In a way. It was so obvious how she felt about me.

___

Chapter ?

AN: From here on out, the plot hasn't been split into individual chapters.

[At some point shortly after chapter 19, Lars and his crew locate Stevonnie in the garden, and pick them and Spinel up. The next few bits of dialogue and description takes place on the ship.]

Rutile twins: “I haven’t heard of Spinels being produced in over five millennia.” “Me neither!”

Rhodonite: “Yeah, I heard they stopped making them entirely after the rebellion on Pink’s colony.”

[A bit of overwhelming conversation later, no one really noticing Spinel's conflicted emotional response to so many Gems hovering around her at once.]

Padparadscha: “I predict that you’re both going to make Spinel feel very uncomfortable aboard this ship.”

Rhodonite: “I’m sorry, we don’t exactly meet new Gems every century.”

Rutile twins: “Yes!” “It’s just been us until we met our captain!”

Fluorite: “Our new huuuuman friend helped us escape the tunnels on Homeworld. Now... we’re slooowly making our way back... to Earth.”

Spinel: “Earth?? You’re going to Pink’s world? But why? I heard she... was shattered.”

___

[Spinel feeling a sense of kinship with the idea that there’s other Gems who didn’t serve their rightful purpose and are now escaping their life on Homeworld to be free of that. Because now, without her Diamond, since she was unable to keep her happy, she’s an Off Color too. She failed her given purpose same as them.]

[Discussion of Earth, and the rebellion, and how there’s Gems living free there. And how Pink’s colony was siphoning life away, and that’s what these Gems were fighting to protect. Stevonnie points out all the plants and wildlife that used to live in the garden, and asks her if she felt happier when it was around. Spinel says yes. Stevonnie says that this is what the Diamonds are destroying, with each lifeless colony they forge. Everywhere they go, dead wildlife lies in their wake.]

Spinel: “I... guess I never thought of it that way.”

[(Stevonnie adds...) And while they’re very sorry for the personal connection there, and can’t imagine how painful that must be, that’s why Pink Diamond was shattered.]

[Spinel is given an open choice... Lars gives the invitation to stay with him and the Off Colors, and Stevonnie offers for her to come with them back to Earth. It's not a hard decision for her in the end, though. She's always dreamed of seeing what was once Pink’s planet, ever since she heard the Diamonds bequeath it to her.]

___

Stevonnie: “Okay, so… before we go, I need to be honest with you about something." [deep breath] "I’m actually a fusion of two separate people who are close friends. You... know what fusion is, right?”

Spinel: “Duh, o’course! What, d’ya think I was made yesterday?”

[...]

Stevonnie: “But even with that, I can’t be together as me all the time. Steven and Connie, the two who come together to form me... they love hanging out with each other so much, but they also have their own lives! Other friends, other hobbies, their own families. They still talk when they’re apart, but they know it’s okay to do things alone, too. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

Spinel: [shakes head no] “No...?”

Stevonnie: [sighs] “I understand you’ve been left behind. Believe me, I know how bad that feels. So the last thing I wanna do is make you think I’m doing that too.”

Spinel: “Y-you— you’re going away?” Stevonnie: “Unfusing, yes.” Spinel: “But Stevonnie, you—“ Stevonnie: “Spinel. No matter what, you are my friend. Steven and Connie consider you a friend, too. And my hope is that you’ll keep making a whole bunch more on Earth, so you’ll always have people around who know and love you. But that can’t always be me, okay?“

___

[At home... on Earth. There's a bit of a close call for Pearl when Spinel arrives, and recognizes her as Pink's second pearl. This is news for Garnet and Amethyst and Steven, the first of which had somewhat suspected that Pearl used to be in the diamonds' service, but never knew for sure. Pearl, of course... can't say much on this due to her gag order... not that anyone else knows about that yet... but does manage a very concise and PD=RQ free explanation about her past in Pink's court, and her transition towards being a Crystal Gem:]

Pearl: “Rose Quartz set me free, and I’ve been a part of the rebellion ever since.”

___

[At some point between the last scene and the next, mention how Spinel had a bit of a relapse... she ended up poofing herself, and reformed differently. A little bit closer to the smudged mascara and frayed pigtails look of canon, but no rotated heart. Unlike in canon, she has a solid support system amongst the Crystal Gems, and she's working hard to recover from the heartbreak of Pink's abandonment.]

___

[Final scene is set post A Single Pale Rose. Steven and Connie fuse, and Stevonnie goes to find Spinel to check in on how she's taking the news. The final line of the fic is as follows:]

Spinel: “I know you’re not her, not really. And I know you’ll always be a better person than she ever was. But in some silly cyclical way... back in that garden... it’s almost like Pink came back for me after all.”

[smokeybrand]

Halt and Catch Fire

Man, I was really trying hard not to be so goddamn political this year but, f*ck, violence it is, I guess? Looks like we can't have anything nice because the kids in the back of the class who eat paint chips, decided to sh*t in  their hands and throw it into the front row. Idaho has one of the lowest vaxx rates in the entire country. I touched upon that the other day because it's staggering to see the actual data breakdown and how bad America's Wang is handling this sh*t. I imagine DeSantis is fudging his numbers a great deal for obvious reasons but, according to those numbers, f*cking Florida has more people vaccinated. Florida! The Delta Hot zone, itself! Because of how rough COVID is f*cking the Gem State, drastic measure had to be taken. Measures that hove dire consequences for everyone else in the entire f*cking country, if this sh*t becomes a trend and not an anomaly. As of yesterday, the entire State of Idaho has entered Crisis Standard of Care. That means every hospital in the potato boondocks is so short on resources, they have no choice but to ration what is on-hand. That means staff will have to pick and choose who gets to live or die. If you have a better shot at living, you get the last of the Penicillin. If you don't, run toward that light because the sooner you kick, the sooner awe got that space for someone else. How insane is that?

The f*cked up thing about this sh*t is that it's not just Herman Cain contenders, but everyone. You having a heart attack? Good luck. You took an arrow to the knee and can't hunt anymore? Go wait in your car for sixteen hours because the ER is filled to the brim with Delta fliers and Horse Paste Eaters. You're actually on the Delta flight, yourself? Put your affairs in order because by the time we get one of these other anti-vaxx dead men out of a bed, you might not be worth the effort and oxygen to even make an attempt. They don't have enough beds. They don't have enough nurses. They don't have enough doctors. They don't have enough respirators. They don't have enough staff. They don't have enough of anything. All because the people of Idaho refuse to do the bare minimum when it comes to this virus. These assholes have more than enough vaccine on hand to really put a dent in these numbers, because every State in the Union does, and they refuse to do so. I know people personally who live there and refuse to wear a mask or get the shot because "muh freedoms." Bro, its not about that. It ever was. Masks and shots are to help build a herd immunity. It's to help safeguard against over-stressing the healthcare system to the point where they have to institute Crisis Standards of Care because there are to many patients and not enough beds.  At that point, your “freedoms” become everyone else's problem.

This exact situation is why the Biden administration has been pushing so hard for the shots. This nightmare scenario in Idaho, St. Louis, and Alaska, is incredibly concerning. Aside from the fact that i know people whom i consider close friends living there (even if they did drink the kool-aid) and are at risk because of this foolishness, the fact that Idaho has sh*t the bed so hard combating this virus is effecting the surrounding areas. Think about it: If Idaho doesn't have room in it's own hospitals, what do they do? They ship them cats over State lines. Last week eastern Idaho saw it's major hospitals insisting Crisis protocols on case-by-case basis. Seeing as how Evergreen is close than traveling into inland Idaho, guess where these medical refugees decided to border hop? Washington is already seeing detrimental effects because the people of Idahoan selfishness. These people who refused to do the bare minimum to safeguards against just such a f*cked up outcome, these same inconsiderate degenerates who are so quick to pearl clutch the second you whisper the word mask, are now effectively stealing resources from another, Bluer, State. It's all about “choice” and “research” until you gotta drive across State lines because you decided to be a prick, instead of getting that prick. See, it's not about your freedoms. It never was. It's about lives. Everyone's lives. You might think you have the "right" not to wear a mask or to pass on the shot because you fear your balls might explode or whatever, then i have the right not to plug your choking kid into one of my f*cking respirators, right?

Seriously, why should I share the mask on my respirator with your dying child, if you selfishly refused to wear the ones proven to substantially diminish COVID risk to others because of stupid non-reasons That's all this entire sh*tshow boils down to: Selfishness. Willful ignorance and destructive selfishness. These motherf*ckers refuse to see the big picture, the toll their hubris is taking on the US as a whole. It's not about party lines or partisanship. It's about the incredibly selfish and entitled choice a minority of this country continues to make in the face of increasingly morbid reality, and how that narrow-minded perspective is literally stressing everyone else to their limits. I mean, it's definitely everything else, too, but never mind that sh*t for now, I guess? Never mind that we're up to the Mu variant (That means twelve for those of you in the back) and counting or how the economy will never get back to the highs you people tout as a Trump triumph, if cats are too sick to work. Never mind getting back to any semblance of normalcy or allowing your kids to return to safe, in-person, learning because children are cesspools of bacteria and Delta thrives in the young. Never mind all of that because we are literally at the point where entire hospitals, Statewide, can't care for any patients because the COVID assholes are getting too sick, too fast. How do you, in this, the year of our Lord 2021, with all of out scientific advancements and the collective knowledge of humanity in the palm or your hand,  overwhelm a hospital with a flu, as these idiots claim? How do you stagnate entire healthcare campuses with an illness that has a free countermeasure, FDA approved, and readily available?

I expect more and more of these Red states to pull an Idaho and just start shipping their ill or near-dead to other, more cobalt hued, neighboring States. Places that mandate the masks or shots in an effort to circumvent those Crisis Standards of Care. Places where they have beds and the resources to actually care for their sick. Places like California and New York who have seen surges in Delta cases but have somehow managed those increased numbers just fine. I fully expect my hospitals to eventually be log-jammed with Arizonans and people from New Mexico because where else are they going to go? F*cking Texas? I thoroughly expect this dystopian trajectory to continue because people are going to continue denying the science, facts, and data. Because these people don't like Biden or Dems are bad or the Bill of Rights or they are bathed in the blood of Christ or Jewish Space Lasers or whatever other ridiculous Conservative dog-whistles they want to blow. It's wild to know that, it's these same States, these same Qanon anti-mask troglodytes, that are holding back social progress because of their backward ass views, are now actively, physically, infecting the rest of us with their sick and dying for the exact same stupid f*cking reasons.

Your decision to be a f*cking idiot about the most contagious and deadly viral pandemic in a century, is directly effecting my right to exist. You're sick are starting to encroach upon my healthcare system, which mans there's a chance that i might not get the care i deserve and, more importantly in terms of the fiscally minded Conservative, f*cking pay for. If any of these motherf*cker don't have insurance and they find a bed in Cali, my taxes pay for that care;  Taxes that could go to something actually worthwhile like schools or roads or not to some asshole who refused to wear a mask. Your "right" to be an obtuse asshole is now directly effecting my right to just live a healthy life with a healthy wallet. And don't act like you dickheads won't find your way to the Best Coast. You're already in Washington. That's basically just Northern-North California. Stop being such f*cking pricks. Wear the f*cking masks. Get the f*cking shots. This is about more than just your personal inconvenience or government mistrust. This is starting to cost innocent people their lives because you f*ckers refuse to act like people in a proper society. Get your sh*t together and act like a f*cking human being.

I'm so f*cking nettled, man.

[glittergummicandypeach]

Why the Media and Democrats Should Reject the Christian Right’s Pearl-Clutching and Address Problematic Religious Views | Religion Dispatches

America is trapped in an abusive relationship—not just with the pussy-grabbing President Donald Trump, our abuser-in-chief, but also with the Republican Party, its white Christian base, the police, and the increasingly uninhibited “good guys with guns,” whose vigilante actions are evidently becoming increasingly brazen. And unless liberals, leftists, and all Americans of good conscience are willing to confront the abusive character of the authoritarian right in no uncertain terms, I frankly don’t see how we can defeat surging fascism and set this country on a healthy democratic path.

To riff on the work of retired UC Berkeley cognitive scientist George Lakoff, who documented the ways in which Americans understand politics through family-related metaphors, if the United States is a dysfunctional family, then much of the media has taken on the role of the peacemaker. 

In a dysfunctional family, the peacemaker “may become anger-phobic and attempt to smooth out differences before a healthy interchange can take place,” according to couples’ counselors Linda and Charlie Bloom. The flurry of discussion around Judge Amy Coney Barrett, the apparent frontrunner to be named Trump’s pick to fill the late Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s Supreme Court seat, neatly illustrates the dynamic in which the right gaslights the American public, and the media normalizes and perpetuates the gaslighting.

In the case of Barrett, context matters. Trump has been stacking the federal judiciary specifically with right-wing Catholics and members of the Federalist Society, which even The New York Times describes as “a legal group with views once considered on the ‘fringe.’” Barrett is a Catholic, a Federalist Society member, and a member of the high-control “covenant community” known as People of Praise, a Christian group with about 90% Catholic membership that emerged from the Catholic “charismatic renewal” that began in 1967. 

People of Praise assigns its members spiritual leaders; men are assigned “heads” and women are assigned “woman leaders” (formerly “handmaids”). In the case of a married woman, this leader is automatically her husband. Meanwhile, Barrett’s far-right bona fides are not in question. She is an acolyte of the late arch-conservative U.S. Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, but influential right-wingers are already trying to make serious discussion of her politics off limits by crying loudly with faux outrage over legitimate public scrutiny of her religious commitments:

Regardless of where anyone stands on the prudence of a SCOTUS nomination and vote during an election, the already-emerging attacks on Amy Coney Barrett's faith are utterly repugnant. Can we not separate the person from the policy and treat her with dignity and respect?

— David French (@DavidAFrench) September 22, 2020

President @realDonaldTrump hasn’t even made his pick yet and the liberal mob is already viciously attacking Judge Amy Coney Barrett for being a Christian and a working mom of seven kids. American women should be paying close attention to what Democrats really think of us.

— Sarah Huckabee Sanders (@SarahHuckabee) September 22, 2020

Of course, right-wingers loudly questioned President Barack Obama’s religion when he was a candidate, and when he was in office. But what’s good for the goose is never good for the gander with the openly hypocritical American Right, whose leaders are now working to push through a SCOTUS appointment in an election year just four years after inventing a “tradition” of leaving such vacancies open for the victor of the ensuing presidential election to fill. 

Note also that former Trump Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders, who perfected her gaslighting skills during her time working for the Trump administration, claims that “a liberal mob” is “viciously attacking Judge Amy Coney Barrett for being a Christian” when she’s knows quite well that this is patently untrue. It also smoothly juxtaposes politics and religion, falsely implying that Barrett’s Christianity is above politics.

No one is raising objections to the possible nomination of Barrett for a SCOTUS seat on the basis of her being a Christian. If anyone actually contended that Christian faith is disqualifying, that would leave very few eligible appointees to any position in a majority Christian nation. But to effectively push back on the flood of gaslighting currently being unleashed by the Christian Right, we need to flip the script. 

Lord knows (if you’ll pardon the expression), the Democratic Party is far from godless. But, while God talk in the party may sometimes annoy non-religious Democrats, no serious liberal argues that adherence to a religion itself is disqualifying for public office, which would be to advocate for an unconstitutional position. The difference is this: in the vast majority of cases, Democrats of faith understand their religious commitments as compatible with an approach to pluralism that provides robust equality for all in the public square. Right-wing Christians, on the other hand, espouse an anti-pluralist understanding of their faith, using and abusing the rhetoric of “religious freedom” to demand the right to be, as it were, “more equal than others.” 

And when Democrats object to the politics of right-wing bigotry, conservative Christians respond with moral panic, spewing flurries of concern-trolling comments on “religious freedom” and America’s commitment to apply no religious test for public office. In the case of Barrett, notably, even Catholic scholar Massimo Faggioli contends that it’s not anti-Catholic to ask questions about how her specific beliefs might shape her decisionmaking as a justice. But the Christian Right carries on with its moral panic and faux outrage in the hopes of making such questioning politically impossible. The same issue came up when Trump nominated Barrett to the federal judiciary in 2017, and this move is perennially in play with respect to the Christian Right’s attempts to ban abortion and prevent LGBTQ equality by obscuring a bigoted desire to dominate women and “sexual deviants”  behind “sincerely held religious beliefs.”

Meanwhile, as we saw in the case of Masterpiece Cakeshop, America lets “hostility to religious beliefs” stand unquestioned as a reason to overturn rulings that favor robust equality in the public square. Somehow, though, we never seem to question the Christian Right’s hostility toward progressive people of faith in any major media outlet, and we take for granted right-wing Christians’ hostility to the non-religious in general, and to atheists in particular, treating it as normal. But we should not blame members of othered groups for the presence of hostility between them and the authoritarian Christians who don’t approve of their existence,, as Trump’s new executive order effectively banning anti-racist education for all government agencies, federal grantees, and federal contractors does. 

Unfortunately, our major media outlets generally fail to consider power dynamics and let stand the widespread impression that “real” Christianity is conservative, and that critical scrutiny of conservative Christian views is strictly verboten. To do so while Christian nationalists are stacking the federal judiciary, removing protections for women and queer people in schools, and undermining our response to a deadly pandemic by refusing to wear masks and challenging public health initiatives in court, is wildly irresponsible.

As I recently argued elsewhere, criticism of religious views that are mobilized to affect those who do not share them must be on the table in a fair, democratic society:

Like freedom of the press, religious freedom is an important First Amendment right. But when believers use their faith as a bludgeon to attack othered groups and to prevent equal accommodation of members of those groups in the public square, we have moved beyond the bounds of a truly democratic approach to pluralism.

To be sure, some media coverage is directing critical attention at the red flags raised by Barrett’s affiliation with People of Praise, though with the exception of Massimo Faggioli’s excellent piece at Politico it’s mostly been unnuanced. But for the most part, we are getting hand-wringing and bothesidesism at best, and dismissiveness with a heavy dose of false equivalence at worst.

In a particularly egregious example of the latter, Fordham University theology professor Charles C. Camosy argued in Religion News Service that there is no reason to view Barrett’s desire to “advance the Kingdom of God” through law as substantially different from the devotion of liberal Christians like President Obama to their version of that ideal. “Neither is a dangerous theocrat,” Camosy tells us flatly, even claiming that “Kingdom of God” rhetoric, no matter what sort of Christian it comes from, is “not so different from the Jewish concept of tikkun olam” in its expression of a commitment to realizing justice on earth.

If one were comparing theological concepts in a vacuum Camosy might have a point, but this isn’t a theological issue so much as a cultural and political one. Theological concepts take on political meaning in a given cultural context. By ignoring both Barrett’s past comments and the way that kingdom rhetoric has often been deployed to uphold discrimination, to say nothing of the hegemonic nature of Christianity in the United States,, Camosy is gaslighting his readers. In contrast, there is no Jewish tradition in the United States of using the concept of tikkun olam as a bludgeon to control non-Jews.

While Democrats must undoubtedly be careful in how they question Barrett, assuming Trump does nominate her to fill Ginsburg’s seat, public discussion that questions the relationship between Barrett’s far-right politics and her religious views is absolutely valid, and we should not let the double standards that characterize our politics and media because of Christian supremacism prevent us from doing so. 

In addition, we would do well to remember that any nominee put up by Trump is illegitimate, as constitutional law expert Andrew Seidel recently contended here on RD, because of the GOP’s openly hypocritical power grab. The Republican Party has become an authoritarian organization, and the politics of authoritarianism is a politics of abuse. If we hope to defeat it, we must stop letting our abusers get into our heads with their bad-faith rhetoric, and we must loudly and clearly call out their gaslighting wherever we see it.

This content was originally published here.

[marymosley]

The “Nightmare” Of Authenticity: The Establishment Continues To Struggle With The Unknown

Heading into Super Tuesday, the media appears at its collective wit’s end. After the victory of Joe Biden in South Carolina, many attempted to portray a new day until the they faced polls in the morning showing Bernie Sanders again surging in states from California to Texas to even Massachusetts (where Elizabeth Warren is struggling to win her own state). Described as the “nightmare scenario,” the media and political establishment in Washington is back to clutching its pearls and speaking of a convention strategy to block Sanders, including Warren whose campaign calls such a move as the “final play.”

The continuing support win for Bernie Sanders has sent the D.C. political and media establishment into vapors. On the eve of Super Tuesday, Pete Buttigieg and Amy Klobuchar, Beto O’Rourke all lined up to endorse Joe Biden to try to stop the momentum for Sanders. Others are growing more and more shrill. Democratic strategist James Carville proclaimed the winner to be Valdimir Putin. His point was that both Sanders and Trump continue surging despite unrelenting attacks in the media. The fact is that many in Washington still cannot compute why so many voters will not listen to them about Sanders and Trump. The reason is that they are valued for the one thing that the establishment cannot offer: authenticity.

In 2016, I wrote a column on what I thought was a curious trend I was seeing in various states far outside of the echo-chamber of Washington some interesting anecdotes. On a trip to Alaska, I encountered support for the candidacy of Donald Trump in surprising numbers despite his portrayal in the media as a fringe candidate for what Hillary Clinton called a “basket of deplorables.”  More importantly, the appeal for Trump was not the racist dog whistles so often denounced in the media. Rather, voters viewed him as authentic in a way that is entirely unimaginable in D.C.  He was the outsider who would challenge the establishment and the collective opposition of the political and media elite only reaffirmed that appeal.

         I returned recently to Alaska and spoke to some of these same voters to see how they now view Trump. What I found was not just continuing support for Trump but also support for Bernie Sanders.  Both of these very different politicians shared the key element of authenticity for voters, who also resented the coordinated attacks by the political and media establishment.

         One of my stops was Mike Carpenter’s trading post on the way to Denali National Park, a shack covered in a mountain of detritus from pelts to animal traps to a human hand in a jar.  All prices are negotiable but advice comes free.  Four years later, Carpenter remains a Trump supporter, only more so.  With a MAGA hat now prominently hung over the counter, he said that Trump proved to be even better than he had hoped. He was sent to Washington to disrupt it and he did. 

         Sitting outside in front of the outpost was “Red” Cooney.  (Red said no one knows his real first name but his Mom).   Red, 75, is from Minnesota and has been in Alaska for 50 years.  He also supports Trump.  Like Carpenter, he recognized that Trump lies and engages in shady deals. However, he also viewed him as authentic in that he did not hide those traits.  He is, in a way, authentically inauthentic.  He does not ask for people to view him as a moral example, but he someone who delivers on the deal.  The other person who was the talk of the outpost was the political antithesis of Trump: Bernie Sanders.  People saw both men as not just honest, but brutally honest. Red estimated support in the rural area as “25 for Trump, 25 for Sanders, and the rest don’t care.”

         Authenticity is a word rarely applied to Trump, but it remains his greatest selling point outside Washington.  While rarely acknowledged, Trump has fulfilled many of his campaign promises with his push on immigration, the wall, taxes, Jerusalem, renegotiating NAFTA, dropping the Iran deal, rolling back regulations, opening areas like the artic to drilling, finishing the Keystone pipeline, gutting Obamacare and other promises.  More importantly, he does not try to pretend what he is not: honest or moral.  He openly talks about delivering wealth and having people vote their pocketbooks.  He is the ultimate car salesman who you don’t trust but still want to get a good deal from.

         Bernie Sanders is genuinely authentic.  Indeed, Sanders seems immune from changes from clothing or political styles.  There was never a popular time to be socialist but Sanders never budged. To the contrary, he praised Castro and spent his birthday in the Soviet Union during the cold war.  He changes his positions at the speed of tectonic plate shifts.  That is why you can hate socialism but love Sanders because you know (like Trump) exactly what you are getting.  Elizabeth Warren in comparison was known as a pro-corporate, anti-consumer academic for much of her career before being a champion of the downtrodden.  

         For the establishment, Sanders’ authenticity is precisely the problem.  He is the real deal who is unlikely to change as president any more than he did as a Senator. CNN and MSNBC have stood out in the level of open anti-Sanders bias.  Many were shocked by the hostile questions against Sanders by CNN’s Abby Phillips in the presidential debate.  Sanders may be surging across the country (and even pulling ahead of Biden in Texas), but NBC’s Chuck Todd objected to people even calling Sanders a “frontrunner.”  Others like Chris Matthews has denounced Sanders as leading the country to a socialist nightmare while James Carville has called him a “communist.” Hillary Clinton has been virtually campaigning against him, including declaring that “no one likes Bernie.”  Perhaps but many are voting for him, because, unlike Clinton, they know what they are getting with Sanders.

         While trumpeting the new “Red Scare,” the establishment is pushing Biden and Klobuchar who continue to change positions to court voting blocks.  For example, when she started to campaign in Nevada with one of the largest Hispanic populations, Klobuchar suddenly dropped her support for English being taught as a first language in public schools. She also previously supported building a wall along the Southern border until it became anathema to liberals.  Biden has notoriously changed or denied positions on the campaign trail, including denying his support for the Iraq War.

         The impression of these candidates is that what we see is merely the artificial product of image makers, pollsters, and speech writers.  It is all pre-fabricated until they are post-fabricated. Voters had the same reaction of the character Tony Stark when he dismissed Captain America in the movie Avengers by saying “Everything special about you came out of a bottle.” 

         This election is shaping up precisely in the same way. Screaming about sociopaths or socialists only convinces many that they are real threats to the hated status quo. The more that the media screams about the end-of-days with Trump and Sanders, the more people want to bring about that day.   

The “Nightmare” Of Authenticity: The Establishment Continues To Struggle With The Unknown published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

[gaiatheorist]

Choppy waters.

(No idea why I picked a maritime analogy, I loathe travel by boat, if I was meant to spend time precariously perched on flotsam, at the mercy of the waves, I’d have gills, but I don’t, I’m a human, not an axolotl. Immediate cross-over, there, because the axolotl can evolve from having gills to lungs, more easily than, say Germaine Greer and her ilk can evolve into the 21st Century.)

I hate boats. Well, not boats themselves, they’re inanimate objects, expending energy ‘hating’ boats would be a bit daft, what I mean to say is that I hate being on boats, it makes me physically uncomfortable. I can swim, and I’ve never been in any sort of boat-related accident, I just don’t enjoy the sensation of being miles from solid land, all rocking and tipping and that, completely at the mercy of whoever is in charge of the boat. It’s a really easy one to unpick, my near-phobia of boats. When I was a tiny child, my Father used to take my brother and I out fishing in a rowing boat, and I HATED not-being-able-to-see-land, stuck in a floating bath-tub, with a maniac in charge of the oars. When I started the relationship with the ex, it came to light that he enjoyed boat-travel, so I patiently explained that I didn’t. Then I commenced a 20-year journey of mollifying and appeasing him, and trying not to vomit on boats, because he didn’t ‘do’ sick, and his-needs-were-more-important. “Get over it!” said my ex, much like Germaine Greer.

My Dad, and my ex were both controlling men, not all men are controlling, Not all men want to make me feel at-risk. Not all men want to put me on a boat after I’ve said I’d really rather not be on a boat. (”But it’s not a boat, it’s a yacht, you’ll be fine!”- that one was when I was still breast-feeding the kid, have you ever tried to breast-feed on a yacht? It was horrible, insisting that ‘his’ wife and infant son go on his boss’ yacht for kudos man-points.) Not all feminists want to tell us to ‘get over it’, essentially to ‘man up.’ 

The older feminists are taking exception to this surge, this current of younger feminists, making another incremental push towards more-equal. I don’t know if I’m ‘allowed’ to call myself a feminist, with my tendency to generally-conceal my outwardly visible femininity, falling in the gap between the old, and the new, there. Sod it, there are no rules, the ‘new’ feminists can wear make-up and floaty frocks if they want, I’ll sit here in jeans and a hoodie, not-agreeing with the ‘old’ feminists, so, so many ways I’m ‘betwixt’ one thing and another. More Stig of the Dump than ‘the missing link’, fully engaged in my Crone-phase, I suppose I ‘should’ side with the old-school feminists. I don’t do ‘should’, though, do I? It’s a good thing I don’t drive, because the whole ‘pick a lane’ thing doesn’t sit well with me. (Oh, and I’d be one of those ‘women drivers.’) Maybe I am an axolotl after all, because ‘static’ isn’t really my thing.

The world got a little bit static, didn’t it? There was most-of a cultural shift way-back-when, when the ‘dusty desert dwelling gents’ mostly-stopped selling their daughters, then it slowed. My knowledge of history is mostly based on TV dramas, perhaps not so much ‘Britannia’, which is batshit insane, but I do love a good female-leader story. Boudicca-style, not Margaret Thatcher, or Theresa May. The Suffragettes did their bit, and then we had another static period, until the bra-burning and birth control advanced ‘the cause’ another notch. Here we go, ladies, gentlemen, and others, here comes another turn of the wheel, the ‘shrieking’ isn’t the ‘new’ feminists, as Ms Greer would have the world believe, it’s the ‘old’ feminists, digging in their (sensible) heels, and trying to stop the wheel turning, lest the ‘progress’ somehow undoes what they fought for. Stop resisting, old-feminists, as much as yonder orange clown, who didn’t look up what it was he was re-tweeting, wants to roll-back on the reproductive autonomy you fought for, you DID make those changes, and history won’t forget them. 

Various people are minimising the culture that still exists, in respect of the ‘Presidents Club’ furore, and the Aziz Ansari issue. That’s what needs to stop, the repression of the shudder of revulsion at a load of moneyed-men groping ‘hostesses’ just because they could, and poor old ‘Grace’ trying to find another word for ‘No.’, because Ansari didn’t hear that one. Society as a whole can’t keep falling back into the shadows of ‘boys will be boys’, or we accept the status-quo, and the foundation work really is undone. Greer and co  did that work, nobody can ever take that away, BUT, by asserting that ‘they’ had to put up with a lot of ‘handsy men’, and suggesting that the ‘new’ feminists should ‘get on with it’, I feel that a point is being missed. You know that thing, where a person says “Try one of these crisps, they’re HORRIBLE.” or “I’ve made you a cup of tea, but I think the milk is past its best.”, that’s what Greer and co are doing. “Well, this is awful, but it’s all we have, better soldier on.” No, no, and a thousand times no.

There is no denying that society and culture were more difficult for Greer’s generation, the advances they made were phenomenal, EVERY daughter is indebted to them, but to accuse these new-daughters of ‘whining’, for not just-getting-on-with the status quo they were seeking to challenge in the first place, they’re not just halting progress; they run the risk of reversing their own. Nobody is minimising the misogyny that Greer’s generation lived through, and sought to challenge, nobody is denying the progress made, but, to hold that level of progress as the apex we can aspire to isn’t enough for us ‘daughters’. Yes, we can have a career, rather than being barefoot-and-pregnant, but recent events have proved that we’re really not ‘having our cake and eating it too.’ (I’m not going to veer-off on the body-image-diet-plan tangent for once.) 

Between-generations, and without a ‘daughter’, I’m coming at this one from a bit of a tangled starting point. My parents were an utter omnishambles in terms of instilling any type of aspiration in me, I was ‘supposed to be a boy’, like every first-born on my father’s line forever, and my mother was terrified of men. She had reason to be. The ex’s family were very traditional in terms of gender stereotypes, the women might as well have had caps and aprons for all the autonomy they had in real terms. I REALLY rocked that particular boat, by refusing to be quiet and go back into the kitchen. If I had a list of aspirations, popularity wouldn’t be on it. I was “This girl can” shocking and defying the in-laws 20 years ago, and I haven’t spent 40 years defending myself and deflecting dubious digits from about my person to ‘sit down and shut up’ now.

Yes, they are difficult conversations, yes, a lot of it is quite uncomfortable, but we, as a society can’t continue to dismiss the ‘keep trying’ mentality in Ansari, or the blatant abuse of power at the Presidents Club. Yes, these things do happen, but they don’t have to. Greer and co telling us to ‘toughen up’ only stagnates progress. A certain type of older lady, clutching her pearls, and being aghast that ‘Grace’ was in that position at all runs the risk of reversing progress.

Choppy waters, it’s a cyclic thing, Greer and co are effectively Betamax, telling the rest of us that VHS will never catch on. The pearl-clutching-ladies, and the odious swines who “did not witness anything of that nature” at the Presidents Club are old-people-trying-to-use-a-computer. No, ‘we’ youngsters can’t all do long division in our heads, or recite Latin verb-endings, but we also don’t have to have twelve children by the age of 30, in case some of them die. The world is changing, it’s not 1900, or 1960, or even 2000, the pace-of-change has been ratcheting up the gears (don’t skew-off to the bloody Doomsday Clock.) it can’t ‘stop’ here, because this-is-how-it-has-always-been. We’re seeing the opposition to progress that others might have seen at the end of the Witch-trials, or the crossover between shitting in a trench and the introduction of sanitation. 

The ‘new’ feminists aren’t ‘weaker’ than the originals for complaining about issues that the older ones ‘put up with’, the point of a movement is that it keeps moving, I’m not preaching unrealistic-expectations, just progress. I’ve crafted this particular life to protect myself against some known-inequalities, my son has seen a ‘strong woman’ as a role model most of the time, he hasn’t seen all the times I’ve had to peel off wandering hands that men felt entitled to place on me. He has seen my frustration turn into resentment at his father, and that wasn’t healthy, but it kept him connected to grandparents he adores, I suppose the end justified the means there, even if his grandparents enabled a lot of my ex’s coercive and manipulative behaviours. I’m small-collateral there, I’m out of that now. 

The ‘new’ feminists AREN’T undoing the progress of the ‘old’ ones if they decide to wear make-up, or skirts, as much as I bang on about not painting my face, or wearing clothes that make me look ‘available’, the progress made by the ‘old’ feminists can’t be held-stagnant in crew-cuts and dungarees. At that point, it ceases to be progress, and becomes a plateau. What I think the ‘old’ feminists are failing to see is the element of personal choice, which was what they were fighting for all along. I joke about not wearing make-up, and mooching about the place in jeans and hoodies, I haven’t ‘had a hair-cut’ since 2014, just because I don’t buy into the aesthetic-angle, that doesn’t give me the right to criticise anyone who does. ‘Men’ are not animals, the vast majority of them don’t go around licking us because we smell nice, but that undercurrent, that perception that they will-because-they-can is what the ‘new’ feminists are, rightly, challenging. Even if ‘we’ do wear pink, or have hair-styles, that doesn’t mean we’re back-to-before, all dainty and helpless, because progress has been made. 

Right then, choppy waters to navigate, and this storm WILL get worse before it gets better, nobody ever discovered new territory by staying where they were, or turning back around to the relative safety of where they were before that. Humanity needs to start pulling in the same direction, and not be distracted by certain parties sticking their oar in where it’s not needed.  

[massthetics-blog]

New Post has been published on Alexander Mullan

New Post has been published on https://alexandermullan.com/slapping-fear/

Slapping Fear In The Face: What, Why, And How

I challenge you to find a more powerful, overwhelming, and polarizing human emotion than fear. Fear is what keeps us rooted in one spot; unable to let our branches unfurl, forever searching for peace of mind, and fear is the rod rammed through the bicycle spoke of our lives. Fear is what ties us to the expectations of others, holding us in the Little Leagues, never feeling “ready” or “good enough” to step up to bat, and swing at what comes your way. Fear is the fuel you must use to rise up to where you want to be, yet it’s the very thing that will keep you in it’s clutches, yanking at the hem of your shirt in effort to keep you stagnant. These words before you are borne from fear.

MASSthetics is 6 feet under, and the coffin is nailed shut.

After avoiding what I’ve known to be true for months, I dragged MASSthetics out into the back alley, amidst a torrential downpour I slapped a bag over his head, whipped out my pistol, and flashed the trigger, killing the business that carried me through adventures across the United States, Europe, Asia, Canada, and supported 18 months of my life.

Over the past few months it’s become clear that my lane has narrowed, and much of what I truly want to write, share, and talk would be woefully out of place had they been published under MASSthetics. While this website may look near-identical, and I’ve carried over much of the content, the winds of change are blowing, and bigger, better things are coming.

  Mullan’s Meatheads is growing, the monthly training programs are evolving, and dudes are getting JACKED.

          The 10-Week Female Fat Loss Blitz is off to the races, and the girls are crushing it.

          And I’m launching the Anti-Meathead Method as we flip the calendar over to November.

Here’s the truth…

I haven’t been this excited about how I serve the world in a long, long time.

The MASSthetics branding has slipped away, except for the logo which I love too dearly to ever let go.

You see, fitness may be my “thing”, but it’s not everything.

The bulk of my business, and experience may be rooted in the fitness industry. But, I also do freelance copywriting & consulting. I help manage and run Facebook ad campaigns for a number of heavy hitters in the fitness industry. I’m at the helm of a group of writers who all want one thing; to become better wordsmiths. I’ve lived throughout Canada, driven down the West Coast of the United States, soaked up the magic of New York City, been lulled back to the Dominican Republic, smoked weed while wandering the canals and winding streets of Amsterdam, dieted to sub-zero body fat and competed in 3 bodybuilding shows, sweated my balls off in Mexico – twice, somehow ended up in Austin, Texas on multiple occasions, and have bounced in and out of my hometown more times than I care to count – all of this in past 5 years. I don’t mean this to brag, and I sure as shit haven’t seen everything.

But I have seen some things  – nor have these been empty experiences.

Each has connected me with new people, given me a new tale to tell, shifted my perspective, and provided experiences I’ll never forget. Each trip, each adventure, all grew from slapping fear in the face, throwing caution to the wind, and as I like to say, “doing the damn thing.”

As I walked amongst trees older than I’ll ever live to be, with sticks and leaves crunching beneath my feet, lost in the solitude of the forest, allowing my thoughts to unfurl, I’ve realized that I, Alexander Mullan, am a writer above all else.

After countless walks in the woods, I’ve gained clarity on what I want to write about, the direction I want to take this “thing” I’ve built, and after months of fruitless mental masturbation, I’ve hashed out more impactful, higher-level coaching services to better serve you (The soon-to-launch Anti-Meathead Method). On top of shifting the focus of this website from MASSthetics, and placing it squarely onto “my” shoulders, I’m laying down a year-long writing gauntlet for myself. Because at the end of the day, whether it’s a sales letter, client training program, fitness article, or piece of ad copy, it’s all writing…and writers write. And so it is that I’m going to continue writing every single day, and begin publishing, every Wednesday for the next year. As for the topics you’ll find scrawled upon these walls?

While fitness will remain a mainstay, I will make no promises about what else is going to appear. Because writers write. But we don’t always know what’s going to come out until fingers strike key.

What does this mean for what’s no longer MASSthetics, but alexandermullan.com?

To quote the world’s greatest comedian, Jerry Seinfeld:

“You don’t have to buy it. You could say, that’s stupid. This is stupid.”

If you think this new approach I’m taking is stupid, moves away from what you signed up for, or you think I’m a quack, that’s fine.

To echo Jerry, you don’t have to read (or buy) it, you don’t have to like it. You don’t have to be here.

If you choose to leave, I wish you well.

If you choose to stay, I appreciate you being here, and I’ll be damn sure to make it worth your while.

Marrying yourself to an idea, no matter how much you love it, and being able to shift gears if what you’re doing isn’t serving you.

What began as my little corner of the internet to help men and women build muscle, melt fat, and transform their physique has grown into a different beast over the past year and a half. MASSthetics was no longer serving the point I’ve arrived at in my life, the overarching missions that drive my actions, thoughts, and decisions, or vibing with the value I want to bring into the world.

The image that I spent over a year honing, no longer felt like “me.”

Which is one thing I’ve learned from being in business for myself over that time. When something no longer serves you, no matter how scary it may be to do so, you must cut it loose.

I felt handcuffed in my writing.

My message was muddled.

Nor could I say with confidence that MASSthetics was a “thing” I could see standing the test of time, and still being around years down the road.

I recognized that if I wanted this to work again, and account for what I enjoy most (writing & coaching), something had to give.

Despite holding onto the rotting scraps of MASSthetics for far too many months, regardless of the fear surging through my veins, and I press “publish,” and step onward with fearful, bated excitement.

Change is frightening.

But change is necessary for growth (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, and professional) to occur.

Consider this tale before you as the first of a rebirth.

The mark of new beginnings.

The torrential downpour in a romantic comedy, where the main characters realize they must be together, no matter what. Together, let us put fear in it’s place, and leave no stone in our lives unturned.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

==========

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Ta.