#yet another instance of having to do it myself I fear

[paper--moons]

absolutely devastating when the one agere fic for a character gets deleted

[ririblogsss]

Ok so I've read that OCD, can be a by product of trauma.

So what if Danny doesn't relize he is deeply traumatized by the events that happened in his early childhood. By that I mean with all the weapons and chemicals spills around his house and of course his untimely death.

He noticed that his home has no order whatsoever and that's what made it dangerous to live in. He only found comfort in his own room because it was the only space the could truly control, and make sure it was safe.

He started associating organization and cleanliness with safety and security. He has underling fear of coming into contact with contaminants, and that it will bring his whole world to collapse if he does indeed come into contact with one.

So lets say that a revel gone wrong, and Dannys put into foster care and then handed into the Wayne family.

At this point the Bats know that Danny used to be phantom, because lets be real they would immediately figure it out. Yet Danny has no clue they are the bats. He just believes they are a really big family with too much money to know what to do with it.

So Danny someone who has no clue he has OCD but presents most if not all the characteristics.

For instance:

Danny subbing the same spot on the rug for hours trying to get rid of it. Because in his mind if that spot stays bad things will happen.

On another instance he is seen organizing and reorganizing his shelf on a very specified order and continuously going back until he is satisfied.

When he goes to eat he always asks if the food was washed and cleaned properly multiple times.

He always counts if all his cleaning supplies he keeps are there in the morning.

He has a very strict schedule in which he doesn't break and refuses to break, especially his cleaning schedule.

Now the Bats are completely aware of this, and instead of making feel bad about it they help him and reassure him every time.

Examples:

Danny found that in the living room the rug was too dirty, because of the constant influx of people bringing in dirt with them. Of course Alfred always cleans it, but Danny needs to make sure himself. So one of the siblings would help him clean the rug his way, as Danny does it in a very specific way.

Another example is when Danny started cleaning during a movie night because of all the popcorn that was dropped on the floor. The rest just stopped the movie and helped him clean the area, and then resumed the movie careful not to spill more popcorn.

At one point the family was concerned because Danny was moving into a more dangerous zone of the compulsions, such as scrubbing his hands raw because he accidentally touch something 'dirty' without his special gloves.

So they made Bruce ask him if he wanted to go to a therapist and possibly a psychiatrist for his OCD. And Danny just said he didn't have OCD he just wanted things to be clean and organized like everyone else.

in the end he was convinced to go to a therapist so he could learn to manage living with OCD, but he was endlessly happy that he had people to fall back to that didn't judge him, and instead helped him out.

note:

(I just want to say that I don't have OCD myself but a lot of my family members do have it, and ive seen how it affects their daily lives. And I wanted to bring to light that people can't control their obsessions/compulsions but they can learn to manage it so they can live calmer with less anxiety. So I hope I made it as realistic as possible and didn't sound stereotypical or offensive)

[grilledcheezy92]

Continued from yesterday's EA spoilers post

Under a cut bc it's a lot

"You fret about traffic and what to eat for breakfast." *stares at my Redactober fic that I have yet to post* well shit...

"I am asked to kill without compunction," another instance of explicitly stating what his job is and STILL NOT A SINGLE FLINCH FROM TREASURE

"You know a piece of me. The piece I’ve chosen to share. I don’t owe you more of me! Do me a favor and take a damn hint." I gasped out loud. Porter, dude, my guy. You admitted you wanted more from this relationship than sex. You are officially Boyfriend

"So talking to you about it isn’t going to help. It won’t help the problem ... and it certainly won’t help me. Or my bad attitude." IT COULD IF YOU TRIED

"You don’t know what it’s like. And to be blunt, I hope you never do." *flashing back to the Treasure Halloween angst headcanons*

"have you ever taken more than a moment to think of the chain of events that has led to us standing here in this room together? The kind of internal tumult that has led you here into the arms of a total stranger, inconceivably vast power imbalance and all? And you think I’m the only one who needs help? You think you have a leg to stand on telling me that I need to work on myself while being completely blind to your own issues?" And if Treasure knows exactly what their issues are and is choosing to be with you anyway then what? It's not like you know them any better than they supposedly know you. Unless of course you have let them tell you all about themself, given their everything to you and are still holding yourself back.

The power imbalance is only as "vast" as you allow it to be Porter.

"When I want to be false-therapized and patronized by a hypocrite, I’ll let you know." 😤

"Every association I’ve ever cultivated I find a way to turn into ash" maybe if you didn't push people away when they try to help you... 😒 Treasure's right you are a coward.

"I’ve allowed my own fear and desire for any kind of meaning to blind me to even imagining any other alternative." Crying for him tbh

"I’ll leave you to solve whatever your equivalent conundrum would be, like… should you actually do your laundry tonight or just push the pile farther over on the bed? Again?" Fucking diabolical.

I have lines from previous episodes running through my head

Getting More: "When the storm outside starts to shake the bars of the proverbial cage in your mind, what do you choose? Hmm. Interesting. I don’t know that that was the answer I was expecting." I think they choose to face/solve/fix it rather than ignore or block it out

Trying to Help: "I don’t claim to make much of anything easy. Certainly not getting to know me. The idea that someone is willing to try in spite of my misgivings is… it’s…"

Drawn In: "And maybe sometimes we inhabit the experiences that we think we deserve."

Getting More: "And you think you know me well enough to know that I don’t really believe that, is that what you’re implying? Hmm. Maybe you’re right about that."

Trying to Help: "It makes me feel everything again. And I’ve made a very prolific career out of not feeling at inopportune times."

Getting More: "we don’t… know each other very well, do we? That’s not a damning appraisal, darling, it’s just an observation ... Would you want to… change that? ... knowing more about you. I feel, in the long term, I would enjoy them even more. Provided we want there to be some kind of longer term."

Drawn In: "a relationship in which all parties care about one another. And act accordingly. It’s not about a perfectly equal ledger of favors and effort, but it is about balance and compromise and care."

Getting More: "I will warn you now, I won’t get this right. Not perfectly, not at all. I’d be a fool to suggest otherwise. But I will try. And I will learn. If I have one virtue, it’s adaptation. I can promise you that much."

[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

[queenmabsim]

prologue 2 || our old bargains

the click clack of agnes's kitten heels echoed against the damp, cavernous walls of the ancient straud mansion as they both descended the stairwell to the crypt. vlad appeared to be walking exceptionally slow for her benefit which was both saccharine and deeply vexing.

agnes crumplebottom was an exceedingly independent woman. she knew how to walk down some damn stairs on her own.

they entered the final room off of a poorly lit corridor. it was grand. curtains were draped from the ceiling to the floor which gave a lush sense of old money decadence. an ornately wrought coffin was proudly displayed in the center of the room in front of an old, well-used fireplace. mirrors placed with specific precision between the drapery reflected the candlelight in an almost celestial way. ostentatious bastard.

the silence was so thick in the air that it took vlad a moment to gather himself and brave the stillness.

"have you forgotten our-"

"oh, do be quiet. this is important." agnes snapped. "be quiet and listen." she pressed two fingers into the pounding spot on her temple and tried to take a calming breath. it did not calm her. there were a lot of moving cogs in this little scheme and one shoddy movement could rend the entire machine naught but useless, or worse... have you ever seen what happens when you stick a limb in a gear that started grinding unexpectedly? it is not pretty.

vlad startled. agnes exhaled.

"forgive me." the tension held in her former tone dissipated. it was replaced by something softer, an almost foreign fondness from a lifetime ago. that level of vulnerability immediately made the couple noticeably uncomfortable. both looked pointedly away, unable to meet the gaze of the other. agnes cleared her throat. "that was rude...

...and I fear I must ask an otherworldly favor from you."

"you expect a favor?" he grimaced.

"is that so wild a notion?"

they argued.

"no, but I-"

"are you refusing before you even hear it?"

"what? no, agnes-"

there was no denying that he tried, but vlad could not manage to get a word, much less a full sentence, in edgewise. how could he possibly know what he was or wasn't agreeing to? agnes had not been this worked up since...

"would I ask if it were not imperative?"

on second thought, the count could not recount a single instance when this particular woman seemed so... frazzled. sure, she was prone to giving a good thwack to anyone bold enough to flirt in her presence and had a general distaste for pleasantry and cheeriness, but that was a part of her acerbic charm. it was very methodical, though. every action had a reaction, but this felt different. this was... frantic.

"darling-"

agnes brushed his concern away. this was not something she had decided overnight. no. all of this was far too long coming. little did the vampire know that he had been a crucial part of her plan for some time yet. another moving cog in an abject defiance of death.

"if I do not set this right, I will never be able to look at myself again."

vlad glanced over her shoulder into a mirror with no reflection in it at all.

"oh, how could I relate to that?"

[katyspersonal]

Gideon for the ask meme. =)

(Ask from this ( x ) meme)

Favorite thing about them:

I like that he kind of subverted the trope he seemed to be going for! I already answered the same thing in your ask regarding what exactly made him turn around and abandon everything ( x ), and honestly I DID need to answer that question to myself first of all so thank you for that one! x)

He feels like the trope of a guy who is very smart with books but not a smart person, or rather, "knowledge does not equal wisdom"! Like, you know this trope! And a very pleasing trope to latch onto, because we all knew at least one person like this! One who is very well-informed, a walking encyclopedia, but either doesn't make real sense of this information or misses the main point in all these facts and details! Well... nonetheless, he understood something not even we have: Marika's true wish!

He understood the lie of "consort of Marika", and why exactly she shattered the Elden Ring! He understood she wanted to end the vicious cycle that existed as long as she does, and sure she did not want another one to start by Elden Ring being repaired! Unfortunately, "a God can't die" (though she probably hoped Hewg and someone he helps would find the way?), so the best he can offer to approximate her wish is to gatekeep the Elden Ring endlessly!

Not only he understood what we, who seek Lordship, didn't. Being the head of the Roundtable Hold was THE massive chunk of his life, his main accomplishment. He gave all this time, research and even many deals with his own integrity for the purpose that the called Tarnished were promised. He lived hell knows how long and the lie of Two Fingers was all he ever knew. And yet, as soon as he glimpsed into truth, his instant reaction was "alright then, new plan". A typical trope of this character would've had a severe cognitive dissonance at least, a pathetic reaction of rejecting the truth at most. But he just... rolled with it. No denial, no despair. Instantly embraced the fact that everything he's been working on was a lie. How many people do you know that take having their whole world shutter THIS well and simply accept the new facts?

This is commendable. He might have made many mistakes in his life and appeared arrogant and became cold, but he passed THE one trial for whether he really values knowledge that mattered the most. He, in the end, lived up to what he aspired to be with no struggle beyond "shuddering in fear".

Least favorite thing about them:

Oh, I definitely agree that it got to be the way he disowns Nepheli, but it speaks more about him. Because this is the same trait that allows him to take Ensha's death as just an inconvenience that must not distract him any longer! Ironically, it is simply the other side of the trait of his that I JUST praised above!

He is quick to adapt and bounce back from the stress, true... But he is also quick to severe the bonds if his goals or situation calls for it. I do not believe he never cared for Nepheli! The way he talks about her, both words and his voice tone, betray respect and affection.

And yet he later says he "no longer has a use for her".

The man can't get mentally staggered by anything, which is his power, but a power that comes with a price. ....that usually other people will pay. He will instantly move on from a breakup, not shed a tear at the funeral of a loved one, bounce back from betrayal as though he never expected anything to begin with, and he definitely, DEFINITELY won't hesitate to cut the ties if the hold him back! Does this man have a heart? Can truly lasting, deep bonds be formed with him, if he doesn't let anyone's hand hold his heart strings?

Strange, how the same trait can be commendable strength of the character in one instance, but a rather repulsive callousness in another, don't you think?

Favorite line:

"Despite knowing next to bloody nothing, he's so far up his own arse he won't suspect a thing. His inevitable display of arrogance will certainly be a sight to behold."

I do love all of his nerding, but him being salty about Seluvis felt sooooo satisfying! xD I don't know why, this dialogue just always makes me smile! It is both the sense of "being against the same bitch" even if briefly AND knowing that he is not wrong though. >:3

brOTP:

Him and Dolores, I think!

I was talking about his callousness that doubles like strength of the character for a while, right? I feel like he was friends with Dolores and Seluvis before he developed to be like that, in younger years!

It is not quite like Gideon that we know now, to cut the ties with someone because they've harmed a person he cared about and not because "they are no longer of use"! More than that; whatever you say about Seluvis as a person, but I'd say he is quite useful acquaintance!

I am not sure whether this experience broke Gideon's heart and he never assed to glue it back, or he simply changed over years on his own. But nonetheless, he held her dear. "Both a critic and a friend of Gideon the All-Knowing". He appreciated a person who had the balls to disagree with him, and you KNOW she had actual arguments and good points to be respected as a critic by HIM! It is another glimpse into how he really IS the man who values the truth over "being right". She must have been the type to be clever even without much knowledge or read books, and he for sure is aware that being informed doesn't mean understanding this information. Their debates must have been very productive for both of them! I can see how he valued her honesty and insight, yet back in his better days, he grieved her, not her "lost use".

OTP:

I think maybe, again, Dolores? It feels like this ship would've never came to fruition in canon! I can picture either him having a crush but never expressing it, or her not feeling the same and them bouncing back to being friends very quickly! Still, the "love" from Gideon we know these days is a treacherous kind, ready to leave you behind as soon as the situation calls for it. But, he used to be different.

I also like to think he liked Wilhelm and Vargram both! True, Vyke was the Roundtable Hold Tarnished who approached Lordship the closest! But, he respected the approach of those two more. Wilhelm is a goddamn NERD as well, peering as far as primeval current and accepting the "Insight" that told him to fight his friend! Vargram took the task put on Tarnished so seriously that he fashioned himself after a Shadowbeast! And found Gloam Eyed Queen's sword?! I could picture his respect to the two who take it as seriously as he does growing into something stronger! Don't know which guy though. 🤔 In any case, these things are from the days long past, but he wishes Tarnished at least half-way as endearing as those two joined again.

nOTP:

I think Gideon x Seluvis just doesn't hold appeal for me.. I do not mind 'hatefucking' kind of pairs at all, okay? *voice of a guy who wrote that mini speculation about Hornsent and Leda lol* They're funny! But it is the "they fell apart because of Dolores" that seals the deal for me...

It is a Serious One, to be together with someone who obliterated the free will of a person you cherished for that free will to begin with! Gideon is a different person now, but I think he reserves the younger Gideon that lost her as inseparable part of his history, and buildup to who he became. And that includes grudge with Seluvis. These days, he would've "forgiven" someone like that as long as they're "of use" as he learned to not expect any human decency, but the pillars of the past may remain untouched.

Random headcanon:

As you can see, Gideon is unprecedented case of a Nox Tarnished, something we don't get to have in character creation presets nor anything seen in any other character!

From the way he speaks of Nepheli, he is not quite blind to someone's origins or heritage! As much as he ultimately values someone's own potential, these biases he can't fully uproot, and it includes him. Deep down, he feels proud to descend from folks that angered the Greater Will itself and dared to try and do no one else would! In an oddly poetic way, it played nicely into the end of his story, where he did favor what Marika wanted rather than what Two Fingers and whatever behind them wanted! Without intending to, he lived to the mindset of his ancestors...?

Still, he always knew he was "not like other kids" for his looks, and felt glad if someone was able to recognise his kind of eyes.

Unpopular opinion:

Most (all of them) things people guilt Gideon for actually apply to Seluvis! Seluvis is the arrogant one, Seluvis is the all-books-no-wits guy! Seluvis is a disgusting scheming bastard! Seluvis is the one "coping"! Gideon IS wise and knowledgeable, Gideon DOES have principles even if he lost the struggle to uphold him on his way! STOP LIVING IN A LIE WAKE UP

Song I associate with them:

For some reason this, makes me think of him... More particularly, his gradual descent into making more and more deals with his own consciousness.

This song made me imagine Gideon constantly having to convince himself that this is "the last atrocity he commanded", that the situation simply called for it now, but surely, when he (or someone he helped) becomes a Lord, all will be fixed and redeemed? He will be back on the track to his goal to fix the world and never let oppression happen again! This is just this time, he will have better options later, eventually, for sure...

Favorite picture of them:

[jealousmartini]

hi, i sent this question to another blog a few weeks ago, but I didn’t receive a response. perhaps the person didn’t see my question or didn’t know how to help me with it… 🫤

of course, i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and it’s perfectly fine if you choose not to answer it.

i’ve been part of the community since I was 14 years old, and now, in just a few months, I’ll be 17. i’ve never shifted before or experienced any “minishift” (at least, I’ve never noticed anything different in my reality).

honestly, i’ve never really cared about age when it comes to shifting. i’ve held onto the hope that I’d shift before turning 18, so I could experience a normal teenage life in various realities I’d love to explore before reaching that milestone. take dating, for instance—not that my goal is to have a boyfriend in my desired reality. i simply want to embrace everything that reality has to offer, and I don’t judge those who choose a different path.

but with this, comes that… i have a specific script that I’ve been refining over the years so that when I shift, I can go there. while I haven’t shifted yet, I keep making adjustments to the script. In this script, I have a boyfriend who is the same age as me in that reality (16 years old). he’s been my boyfriend since I created the script, and I’ve never replaced him with anyone else.

now, I’m almost 17 years old, and I still haven’t shifted. the shifting community has this sort of ‘prejudice’ against adults shifting to a reality where they date a teenager. they believe it’s wrong to shift to a reality where your mind is that of an adult, but you’re in a relationship with a teenager. i’ve been worried about this for a week now. i keep wondering, ‘Will I shift before turning 18?’ I don’t want to leave my partner in that reality, but according to the shifting community, it’s considered wrong.

but what about me? how will I be? what if I can’t change before turning 18? Will I have to give up that reality? And before someone tries to give me a ‘magical solution,’ it’s not so easy for me to just ‘change his age.’ after all, it’s set in a school environment (everything in that reality revolves around that teenage setting). It’s strange for us to see young adults aged 19 or 21 attending a school, as they should be in college, not high school.

i’ve been torturing myself with this for days, afraid that I’ll never change, and when I finally do, it’ll be after I turn 17. And right after that, I’ll have to give up my partner because I won’t be a teenager anymore; I’ll be an ‘adult’ in that reality.

i would like to be able to ask (with all due respect), for any advice or anything. i am afraid and worried, and anything you can tell me could make a big difference for me. I have been following you for some time, and I trust your help.

i hope you can understand, as I had to use a translator since I am not a native speaker.

that’s all. i hope you have a good day or a great afternoon. may the God you believe in protect you < 3

Hi sweetheart!! I've just read through your ask and I just want you to know first and foremost, that everything you are worrying about is so so valid, but at the same time there is no need to worry about it at all. Let me explain why.

As you and I both understand about shifting is that it is everyone's own personal journey (this also goes for the law of assumption), which means everyone will experience their journey however way they believe is right. But in your case (and in many others), you've seemed to fall into the trap of taking a bunch of people's own beliefs as scripture in fears that you might violate their belief; even though a big chunk of you hungers and aches to experience a specific reality.

I can tell you I have been where you are right now, so I know how you feel, babe😭 and I also want to take that weight off your back and let you know their beliefs do not have to control you and where you want to shift to and what you want to experience. The whole "adults shifting to a reality where they are a minor is wrong" is nonsensical, stupid, and hella silly. For example, There is nothing wrong with being 23 and shifting to be a high schooler again just to relive old memories or do some things differently, because all you are doing is becoming aware of a version of you who is having a bomb ass high school life.

Okay, well, what about the situation you're going through right now. Where you are turning 17 this year, but you are worried that you won't shift before you turn 18; and your boyfriend in your desired reality is 16 but you are still suck on this rule that the shifting community has made where "it is wrong to shift to a reality where you are younger when in this reality you have the mind of an adult." First of all, please let me make sure you guys understand what the process of shifting is. Shifting is when you make the conscious or subconscious decision to become aware of a specific reality. This means you are shifting your AWARENESS. NOT YOUR MIND🙏🏾

Which means that if you are an adult in this reality but you shift to a reality where you are a minor, you will NOT be shifting your adult mind into the body of your teenself. You are shifting your awareness of this reality, into another one. Also another thing. As far as I am concerned, you awareness doesnt have an age🧍🏿‍♀️ just because you might be 32 here and you shift your awareness to a reality where you are 16, does NOT AND I REPEAT. DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE STILL GOING TO BE MENTALLY THIRTY-TWO.

Okay, so now we've debunked that👆🏾, what about your other issue. You are afraid that because you haven't shifted yet, you won't get to experience the teenage life in various different realities before you reach 18 which is your milestone. And I can already see 2 small problems. 1 is you are basing what you believe might happen on past failed attempts, and 2 is you are rushing yourself

I know how we can solve both of these issues at once. Change your mindset! And this is not hard to do, I promise, okay? I want you to do what you would normally do when you intend to shift realities, which in this case is affirming but anytime you are awake and have the time to. Literally, you could be sat doing your homework, doing dishes, having a nap, or going for a jog, and while you are doing whatever it is you are doing, affirm to yourself:

"I am a master shifter" or "I believe I am a master shifter", "I always wake up I my dr", "I am always shifting to my desired reality" "Shifting realities is easy for me" and one you can just remind yourself is "I will shift before I turn 18"/"I will shift before my milestone"

The purpose of this is to make yourself believe in yourself and your abilities. It should put your mind at ease because the more you affirm to yourself, the more you will believe what you affirm, and there for you will succeed because you believe you will.

I hope this helps you out and lots of love to you!

[actual-changeling]

Ohh 43 for the angsty prompts pls (Aziracrow)

I had to hold myself back from writing more because my brain is cursed with never being able to keep anything short, but here you go <3 It's set after season 1 but before season 2, for context

Send me a prompt! -

The first oddity is a cold, untouched cup of cocoa on Aziraphale's desk.

In itself, it is not entirely unusual; he often loses himself in whatever book he is currently devouring, and Crowley has miracled it to either stay warm or become hot again while watching him way too many times to count. When he offers this time, however, after Aziraphale had been staring at it without blinking for two minutes and thirty-four seconds, he only receives a mumbled no need as he vanishes it to the void without having tasted a single drop.

The second oddity is more of a scarlet-red alarm flag: Aziraphale, upon being asked by Crowley after a rather lovely walk in the park to go have lunch at the Ritz, declines, says his goodbyes, and disappears down the street. Crowley's first instinct is to blame himself, yet even after several nights of staring at his bedroom ceiling and tearing apart every single conversation they have had throughout the last month, he cannot find a single thing amiss.

That is to say, except for the realisation of how little Aziraphale has been eating and drinking, and while counting how many times Crowley has enjoyed a glass of wine without him, his list quickly reaches five instances, which is five too many.

Maybe confronting him about it ten seconds after storming his shop (closed, but never for him) is not the best idea, but there is a spark of panic fluttering and growing in his chest.

"Why haven't you been eating?"

Aziraphale blinks once, twice, frozen with a book in his lap, and Crowley knows him, knows the flash of defensiveness and the first words of denial shaping his lips, and takes off his glasses before he can do as much as inhale. Faced with worry-widened golden eyes, he swallows his denial like he was commanded to.

"Angel, if something is _wrong_-"

"Nothing is wrong, my dear."

His voice is heavier than usual, but it is not a rejection, so he takes it as permission to push ahead.

"You like eating. You _love_ eating. So why have you stopped?"

Closing his book, he puts it aside and instead stretches out a hand towards Crowley, who takes it, if now slightly confused. Finding himself being pulled onto the settee, he falls into his usual sprawl, the point of contact both _too much_ and _not enough_.

"If," Aziraphale begins, gaze soft, "something happens again, and we have to fight off hell, heaven, or both, I want—I'm supposed to be a _soldier_ Crowley, and Gabriel—"

"Oh, fuck him, angel, what the fuck did that asshole tell you?"

"Not the point, dearest."

"You made it the point."

Crowley clings to his hand, scared that any sudden movement will scare him away or back behind his walls.

"You're fine the way you are, angel, and that absolute dickhead can go shove his words up his angelic arse."

Watching him mull over the words in his mind, he begrudgingly accepts this issue won't be solved with one talk or another insult about the archangelic prick, but the gentle nod Aziraphale gives him is a start, and he knows exactly which fear is at the core of it all.

"Now, I will make you some cocoa, and we can. Talk." Crowley grimaces, Aziraphale laughs, small and delicate, and yeah, it's a start.

"Some cocoa would be lovely, dearest."

[a-salmon-good-time]

Hello Loaf,

I just wanted to ask about your philosophy on shading and color. I noticed some of your works have shading while others don’t. Or am I overthinking the process of coloring and shading? Sometimes I think I might be selling myself short on the on where I am at and that I might already know how to do it. I noticed in your speed paint from away back, I think you used fill coloring. Is that what you usually do?

Thanks a lot for the help.

To make this ask less of a drag. Do you have any favorite A Salmon Good Time characters or do you like them all the same?

One last thing, please let me know if these asks are too long and tedious.

For my movie scene illustrations, most of the time the characters are drawn with flat coloring. For the ones that do include shading/lighting, it's usually when there's a strong, distinct light source (like a spotlight on stage) or to convey strong emotion (joy, sadness, fear) within a scene.

Another instance I use shading is for general full illustrations, like promotional art for example (or like my current profile picture... which I feel needs a good update, so I'll most likely redraw it haha)!

But in most cases where I don't use shading, it's usually for quick sketches, character reference sheets, or small doodles for when I just wanna get the idea down and not focus much on details/light sources!

That's correct! When I get to the coloring part, I use a magic wand tool to select the areas I wanna color, and then use the fill tool to add the colors in.

Oh, don't worry about the asks being long! I'm always happy to help— I like to think someone else seeing these could find these kinds of tips/advice asks helpful to them as well! ^^

(Hmmm... my favorite A Salmon Good Time character? At this point in the project, I actually still have a few characters I've yet to reveal. But with the cast I have now, I wanna say my current favorites are Goldie and Frank!!! ❤️)

[only-omo]

ok but something ive never heard anybody talk abt ever and they should

tourettes omo

or at least tics, i understand why it may be a touchy subject bc awareness and stuff but like as someone with tourettes can i just say

i get bladder tics

and theyre luckily on the rarer side but like, it is literally ill just be doing stuff and then essentially suddenly either actually just wetting myself, or so ungodly close to it as im fighting the waves of desperation accompanying the muscle spasms and its

actually crazy

but like could you imagine your fc who has ts or some other tic syndrome (ts au ? medication ? idk man) and theyre hanging out with friends just doing whatever or something like that, and basically they just start wetting themselves out of nowhere, leading to prying questions (good naturedly or not) about why they didnt go if they had to that badly

maybe theyre peeshy and this kind of thing is semi normal already; or they arent, and they then have to delve into explanations on the fact that either they didnt know/didnt have to go, met with varying degrees of belief, or that they did know, but they also were certain it wasnt near close to bad enough to have an accident yet, and maybe through rambling even admitting straight up that they literally just pissed themselves regardless of need.

or if they didnt even wet fully, anywhere from a rather messy leak that they cant hide, similar to above; to one thats smaller and less obvious, but maybe they freeze up in a really conspicuous way, still bringing attention to themselves, and maybe they suck at playing it off, or just have really pushy/concerned friends, or both, so they end up still having to admit to just having peed themselves a little, despite there being no immediately visble/no visible damage, and then try to explain that they arent in desperate need of a bathroom despite that

or maybe they are. maybe now their body is confused and theyre teetering on the edge of a full accident all of a sudden. and of course theres the constant worry nagging in the back of their head that theyll tic again and lose it the rest of the way, but also trying not to think about it for fear that focusing on it too much will make it happen, which is an entirely real possibility

not to mention any tics that arent actually their bladder, but help just as little, for instance, i get vocal tics but they arent often real words, so like,, invlountary whines and groans that have nothing to do with anything but sound so desperate, paired with jerky/restless movements that arent a real potty dance but at this point only the one ticking themselves can tell the difference; which doesnt matter much in the end anyway, as theres still a real chance theyll wet regardless

or someone who is actually rather desperate, and theyre trying to play it off for one reason or another, but despite their control in terms of potty dancing, they continually lose focus on their tics, which eventually simulate the same thing, and they keep drawing attention to themselves anyway

the absolute confusion and misdirection it causes for everyone else because no one can ever tell when they actually have to go, and eventually they learn that it doesnt really matter if their bladder isnt already completely empty (which only really lasts for like 5 min after using the bathroom if that, so)

[darling]

To be blocked by an older friend, seemingly without reason, is a curious affair. It is a silent declaration, a severance of connection that leaves one pondering the motives behind such an act. Yet, in this instance, I find myself at peace.

The older friend, with their years of experience and supposed wisdom, has chosen to retreat into their own solitude, shutting the door on our acquaintance. It is a decision that speaks more of their own insecurities and fears than of any fault of mine. I am left with a sense of calm, an understanding that not all relationships are meant to endure.

In the grand tapestry of life, some threads are meant to be woven together only briefly, their purpose fulfilled in a fleeting moment. To be blocked is to be released, to be given the freedom to move forward unburdened by the weight of another’s expectations or judgments.

I do not harbor resentment or regret. Instead, I embrace the clarity that comes with such an abrupt end. It is a reminder that we are ultimately responsible for our own peace and contentment. The actions of others, no matter how perplexing, cannot disturb the equilibrium I have cultivated within myself.

So, let them block, let them retreat into their own world. I remain here, grounded and serene, with a heart untroubled by the whims of others. For in the end, it is not the connections we lose that define us, but the strength we find in ourselves to continue on our path, undeterred and at peace.

And perhaps, in this newfound solitude, I will discover a deeper understanding of myself, a resilience that can only be forged in the fires of rejection. For every ending is but a prelude to a new beginning, and I am ready to embrace whatever comes next with grace and fortitude.

[newbookcats]

Why Do We Love to "Hate" the Unlikable Female Heroine? | A Discussion About Every Reader's Favorite Guilty Pleasure

To read more posts like this, visit my blog: https://newbookcatsreads.blogspot.com/

A reader's favorite guilty pleasure is assuming that the sharp wits, scathing remarks, and morally questionable actions of fictional characters are aimed directly at us. These books we have associated as our safety nets do anything to catch us during jarring experiences and the emotional turmoil that typically follows.

For instance, every time I revisit Cassandra Clare's The Infernal Devices trilogy where she showcases a love triangle with only right angles, I consistently brace myself from Will Herondale's cold remarks veiling his (obvious) affection for Tessa Gray and any cruel schemes completed by Jessamine, Nathan, Magister or other villains--not that the Magister's manipulation of his soul-fueled robot army sucks away any remorse I have toward his sorrowful past lending to his desires for revenge against Shadowhunters. Still, their flaws feel personal, their choices oddly intimate, and somehow, their imperfection makes the story better.

Moreover, despite the immediate hatred we are expected to feel for villains and their callous schemes, there are surprisingly many literature heroines widely disliked by readers--and by extension, the family members of said readers who have to listen to thorough dissections of the heroine's role in the story and cry spells resulting from the heroine's ultimate sacrifice to rescue their loved ones from poisoned cake.

And, while Joey undeniably reflects every reader in this scenario, I would also like to express how not-sorry I am for my past and future actions regarding my favorite novels and character.

Still, this begs the question: why do we love to hate these unlikable heroines, particularly the sharp-tongued, self-centered, and sometimes just plain mean ones that somehow steal the spotlight and keep us turning the pages until the night turns into day?

Warning: All of the declarations written by me and featured on this blog are my opinions. I'm an amateur literature dissectionist; further, I barely know how to write a story without one or many plot holes. Please respect my opinions. Moreover, if you share an opinion in the comments, I will respect your takes--even the burning hot ones--regardless of how I personally stand on an issue. If you come across a statement that you have an issue with, I highly recommend for you to consult your local librarian or book club to discuss incidental symptoms of hotheadedness, insomnia, snarky comments, frequent book hangovers, and possible death. This post is not recommended as book therapy or associated treatment for people with high prevalence of the above symptoms, and it is recommended for all readers to proceed and share at their own risk. Thank you!

First, let’s address societal expectations. Women in fiction are often expected to be likable, relatable, or at the very least, redeemable. For example, Sansa Stark from George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones is everything expected of a young woman readied to marry the heir to the Seven Kingdoms: obedient, soft-spoken, and well-mannered albeit a rare occurrence of sass reserved for her siblings. However, throughout a series of torturous character-defining moments as Martin's story progresses, Sansa transforms into a woman that readers strongly admire yet fear. Strong-willed, resilient, and loyal in favor of Daenerys and her brother Jon's resistance against the presently-ruling Lannister family, she earns both fans and enemies; however, her power-hungry tendencies and ambitious attitude show another complexity to her character--even allowing readers to outspokenly crave a downfall in her plans.

Another instance would be when Celeste in Kiera Cass’s The Selection series is painted as the vain and ruthless "mean girl" who is laser-focused on attaining Prince Maxon's heart and the deeply coveted title as Queen of Illéa. But as the trilogy progresses, Celeste surprises readers by risking her life to protect Maxon and America, her competitor. Slowly through the trilogy, her vulnerabilities are revealed, suddenly transforming her from a villain we loved to hate to someone we grudgingly admire. Similarly, Nina Zenik from Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows is introduced as unapologetically brash and self-assured. Despite included as a protagonist of the story, she undeniably embodies traits that readers often find polarizing, making her a magnet for both admiration and critique from readers. These are classic cases of an unlikable heroine being redeemed by layers of complexity and growth.

Meanwhile, male characters, can brood, break hearts, and make all kinds of morally questionable choices while still being applauded as society's next "bookish boyfriend" and excused as “complicated” or “nuanced.” So when an author drops an unlikable female heroine into our laps, she feels refreshing.

But here’s the thing: unlikable heroines reflect real women. Not everyone is a people-pleaser or a cinnamon roll who always says the right thing at the right time. And, let’s be honest, who wants to be?

Unlikable heroines challenge the idea that women must be palatable to be worthy of storytelling. Instead, they showcase flaws in ways that resonate with readers who might see themselves in the unfiltered messiness.

Take, for instance, Cersei Lannister from Martin's Game of Thrones. Yes, despite not being a heroine, Cersei's story is a masterclass in making readers simultaneously love and hate a character. Her snark, cruelty, and morally questionable choices make her divisive. Yet, when her full intentions of keeping her family, especially her children, not only safe but alive in the midst of a dragon-led rebellion are revealed, many readers, especially those who are mothers or caretakers of a family member, suddenly see her in a new light. Still, this begs us to consider if Cersei as a bitter, vengeful, yet deeply loyal woman deserves a redemption arc or if she is irredeemable and should be punished with more than just rotten tomatoes.

Moreover, there’s a fine line between flawed and unbearable. When done well, unlikable heroines make us question our own biases. 

Why does her ambition feel “too much” to me? Am I uncomfortable with her choices because they’re immoral or because they challenge societal norms?

But when done poorly, these characters turn into nothing more than plot devices for shock value or an author’s attempt at forced edginess, becoming caricatures overdressed in universally condemned values and unlikeable personality traits. For example, Storee from Megan Quinn’s How My Neighbor Stole Christmas is a prime example of this. On the surface level, she is quirky and sarcastic, traits that easily evoke adoration. But after further reading and analysis, her incessant snark crosses into grating territory, leaving some readers (ahem, me) rolling their eyes more than rooting for her. It’s a balancing act, and when that balance is off, even the most forgiving audience may find themselves not finishing that supposed "feel-good" story in lieu of reaching for another one.

Still, I believe unlikable heroines have a place on our shelves. They force us to engage critically with our stories, question our assumptions, and maybe even confront our own unlikable traits. Moreover, as I have matured and been exposed to more complex pieces or stories including advanced topics, I have come to enjoy reading about morally gray protagonists--even so far as looking forward to their written presence. Albeit their misunderstood pasts or questionable intentions within their fictional universes, it is refreshing to encounter characters who are neither strictly virtuous or are perpetually untarnished by faults or temptations. 

Albeit not a female heroine, it's refreshing to consider that even the holiest figure of them all, Jesus, in the Bible was admittedly tempted by the devil several times throughout His life and during His preparations. Moreover, He questioned His purpose and final sacrifice. These situations and similar ones dispersed throughout the Bible remind readers that absolute perfection is unattainable for anyone...even for the son of a deity.

And, returning to non-biblical figures, morally gray characters resonate with audiences, when written correctly, because they reflect this messy, intricate reality of humanity that is complicated, often selfish, and undeniably flawed. Everyday, we face that perfection is strictly an illusion, and these characters remind us that these slight imperfections can be captivating, successfully driving a story forward and establishing a character as a timeless literary figure and, oftentimes, an inspiration for others. The complexities of these characters not only challenge us to question our own moral compass but to find empathy in the most unexpected places. And, that includes the countless number of family members and friends I entrusted to hear my most vulnerable thoughts about these characters.

And on a higher note, these characters are fun to include in thoughtful debates and deep philosophical discussions when it comes to values and beliefs--and who doesn’t love a good bookish debate with both readers and non-readers alike?

So, what’s your take? Are unlikable heroines misunderstood gems or literary landmines? Albeit YOUR literal perfection, which characters or literary scenes encouraged you to reflect on your own morals or biases? Is it possible for these unlikable heroines (like Cersei Lannister) to earn redemption from readers, or what are some common traits and actions that make this option widely opposable (such as in the case of the Magister)? Leave your hot takes below (bonus points if you can name a heroine you loved and hated at the same time). Let’s keep this discussion spicy--just like our favorite morally gray protagonists--in the comments below or via my social media accounts.

Love,

Nicole

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[theguildwriter]

1. Mine (January 3rd, 2025)

All my life, I have felt watched.

These looks varied from instance to instance. There have been loving gazes, peers of concern, disapproving glares, confused glances, leers, appraisals, sneers, and every synonym you can imagine, but above all, I always felt the presence of the twin-headed beast: judgment and shame.

I was the only offspring of two troublemakers in their own right with crimes and vices typical of their peers but unacceptable to any sane parent. And how could I blame them, being myself a parent with these hurdles on the horizon? Yet, part of me does. In their worry of transgressions that (largely) never came to pass, natural parts of me -- my essence, this wild thing that has clawed at the cage of my ribs and the boundaries of my imagination -- were stunted or, worse, snuffed out. And it was done with a single tool, not always knowingly wielded but that left deeper cuts than any blade: shame.

As I write, I feel it necessary to stress that this shame was brandished as one would a sword at invading forces. It was used out of love and concern that at times festered into judgment or, worse, control. Traits of theirs, tendencies whose venoms were all to familiar to my parents, expressed themselves boldly at first, as they do in all children. But they had yet to take their shape, had not been given the chance to shine after the diligent application of polish.

There were times the sword did its work. My habits of escapism and dramatics needed pruned before the jungle of them became untameable, entrapping any who dared get close and obscuring my own views over time. Or my tendency for a fast, hot temper that would have scorched those around me. Shame that told the truth did the work of a thousand reprimands.

I learned quickly that whatever I felt was secret, private, mine wasn't at all. My room could be searched, my journals read, online messages scoured. My friends became of interest, and their comfort around my parents was often mistaken for a kind of emotional intimacy. They knew my friends, after all, and whether there were rumors, conflicts, or secrets to be had with my friends, my parents often involved themselves through unsolicited advice and uninformed perspectives. After all, how could I think this thing of Friend A? They're a sweetheart, we've been friends for years, and maybe I'm just too harsh, too judgmental, too quick to distance myself. Never mind the careful conversations, the constant work and love I poured in when my parents were not there to see it. In their eyes, it could be common to value my friends' feelings and comfort over how I deserved to be treated.

I was watched, my relationships were watched, and I feared very quickly that my dreams, too, would feel that white-hot spotlight gaze that emanated their fear fueled by fierce, fierce love. They loved me, the product of them, yet feared the shrapnel of themselves that was inevitably embedded within my soul. The beautiful purity I saw in these shards -- evidence that my parents, too, were human just as I was -- reflected back at them only their deepest regrets and insecurities, monsters under their beds that they feared would come for me, their most precious thing. In me, they often sought to correct mistakes.

I did several dance classes when I was young. Part of me -- wild, expressive, desperate to wear another skin and give it my voice, if only for a short period of time -- loved it. Another part -- afraid, closed-off, raw to the touch -- loathed it only for the fact that it never felt mine. For all their enthusiasm and love there was also no air, never a moment of real privacy, never a movement that felt mine and mine alone, free from those eyes.

They wanted me to go and be carefree in some cases: go to dances, do karaoke, go to slumber parties, try out for teams, publish my work. What they didn't anticipate was that their involvement in my friends, my interactions, my thoughts, and their use of shame above all else would bleed into all of me. Dramatics, name-calling, and threats were all tools to carve my behavior. The shavings were burned, but the cuts were rough and left traces of what had once been. Grim reminders of what had happened, what could happen if I showed too much of me. And so, justified or not, I retreated inch by inch.

When I was seven, I told a lie and was caught. I was grounded from my room, was called "liar" instead of my name, and could have no outings or friends over. After that, I got better at lying. I lied more until it made me tired, empty, and in craving love and connection, I stopped... with everyone but my parents. I couldn't let the lies go with them. The lies, I found, gave me back privacy. Gave me back secrets. Gave me back mine. The punishments, the distrust, the distance was, at the time, worth it all.

Despite all of this, I never ditched class, never drank, never did drugs, never had sex. I was in AP and Honors, I worked after school, I had good friends. But I read books and watched movies I didn't tell my mom about, ones with the kind of gore and sex she'd hate. I had boyfriends they didn't always know about and did things they wouldn't have approved of. And when they found out, as they sometimes did, it was always the same. No questions, curiosity, or connection. Not even simply the arrows of disappointment and sorrow. Just that sword, again and again:

"I would have bet my life you'd never do this."

"This is foul. You disgust me."

"Are you fucked in the head?"

"I always thought you'd be better than me."

At some point, you don't feel it anymore. At another, you feel it all again. And at another, you feel their emotions: reactive, raw, unrestrained, unyielding, as they had to be all their lives to be heard at all. And you understand. And then you don't. You mourn the things you hid so religiously that in their captivity, they withered away.

They assured me that whenever I was ready for that crucial, adult step, the one many fear their daughters ever taking, that I could tell them. That they wanted me to tell them, and they would take me to the doctor, get me the pills I needed, get the support and education that would help me stay safe. I was sixteen and was honest with them: I wasn't ready, but I would tell them when I was.

I kept my word. There were experiments and almosts, with boys that, whether from pure luck or my own good judgment, largely turned out to be good. I didn't lose my virginity until I was nineteen with a boy that, at the time, seemed harmless but turned out to be a sleeping beast. I was petrified to tell them and barely squeaked out the words to my mother. She nodded, jaw set, eyes glued to the nothing before her as she was unwilling to look at me. In that single gesture, I was reduced to something disgusting, vile, and infinitely small.

"I was really hoping that you would wait."

At nineteen, I felt shame; at twenty-seven, with a little daughter of my own, all I can think (with a small smile) is this: "Wait for what? Retirement?"

Sex now didn't feel private. I felt watched and judged at every turn. I hid more, shared less, and therefore was oblivious when sex was anything but what it ought to have been and was turned into a weapon. In the darkness of that unknown, I was left without a guide and instead followed the only echoes that surrounded me, not knowing that they belonged to the nefarious thing that lived there, looking only to consume. As our family shattered, I felt all tethers snap and lost all that had once held me afloat and all that had once ensnared me.

I hid even my first two dates with the man I dated afterwards, the man who would become my husband. It didn't matter that my parents knew and loved him. I had spent over two years losing all that remained of me, having been chained to someone who took and broke things to feel some semblance of power and agency. This had to be mine, and after the last time, I could not -- would not -- be watched. His house became a haven, our conversations a rebirth, his touch medicinal. When our son came unexpectedly, the sword was unsheathed once more, and I was recoiled from as the disappointment I was, the grim reminder of them.

Then, months later, living at home with my partner and my mother, my world was changed with news I could have never predicted. A half-brother. He, too, was unexpected, and the delivery of the news was accompanied by tears and an expression of guilt and fear. I stood, frozen, and thought of the reaction I had gotten. That I wasn't better, couldn't be as they wished. That my beautiful baby from my pure, perfect partner was seemingly unwelcome. And though that attitude was nowhere to be found when the shock had faded, the scar of the cut was still plain to me. My son had been the beginning of my family, my life, while my poor, lovely half-brother was the evidence of the end of my old family, my old life.

That wild thing in me -- neglected, shamed, hidden, and scarred -- screamed to make her feel watched, judged, shamed. But I couldn't. Could never. Because I knew how it felt, and I would never make my brother feel unwelcome. I could not let his life start with him being watched.

But it had. Regardless of what I wanted or my mother or his father, it had. The first time we were alone, the first time he was mine, I whispered into his ear our first secret, our first ours: "Don't listen to them. Well, most of the time."

And now, years later, in a home of my own and a state of my own, this wild thing has calmed, has tasted fresh air and now tentatively steps outside of its enclosure from time to time. It will never be the same, but it's here and it's mine. I have relationships of my own, dance with my kids without feeling too silly, write things that feel honest and messy, watch shows and movies with too much gore and too much nudity, say things that are imperfect and at times crass, and have sex without inhibitions because it's all mine now. I am not watched and existing doesn't feel like being naked and being naked feels beautiful and shame is somewhere far, too far to feel its hot gaze and sharp sting.

I originally wanted to sing. I never told anyone. Not that I can remember, anyway. I was fairly decent and won a talent show once. I wrote songs in a notebook I burned when I was seventeen. My parents suggested I go out for Madrigals, and suddenly, I knew it could never be mine the way that I wanted it to be. I could never sing without fear or perform songs where I wrote about love or sex or depression or anger.

I learned to write those things but always kept a degree of separation. Never things that were really about myself. If I told the truth, it could hurt them. Could anger them. Or worse, could make them think that I resent them. The truth is, I don't. This essay focusing on a single shard of their parenting does nothing to represent the beautiful, messy, imperfect mosaic of our lives together that had twice as many happy memories for every unhappy one. For every mistake they made, there was never a doubt of their love for me. And, as my mother has told me and as I fully believe, I won't make her mistakes. But I might make her mother's. Or her grandmother's. And probably some of my own making. And hopefully, if my son or daughter writes an essay twenty years from now, I'll cringe and laugh and read it all the way through, and I'll hear them loud and clear.

For now, I try to write about love or sex or depression or anger that was mine and is mine and I feel the wild thing becoming soothed. I hope they become things my children can read and maybe get embarrassed by but also feel understood when they read them. And now I sing to my daughter when we're alone, when it's just ours, but maybe one day I'll sing with my husband when I'm sure my voice won't ruin his because I let mine wither too long. And he'll smile and I'll smile and this wild thing won't be a wild thing anymore but it will be me. All of me.

[donnerpartyofone]

Ranting, complaining.

In my admittedly limited experience something that makes for bad therapy is the reductive impulse--the approach of reducing all psychological ailment to some general, universal experience. This is supposed to make you feel like you're in good company and not beyond help, but it can also be anonymizing and condescending. For instance suicide prevention rhetoric that focuses on the idea that it's all about loneliness makes me sort of crazy; I mean certainly there are instances where alienation is the main thing, especially with younger people I'd bet, but it's infantilizing to suggest that an adult couldn't have bigger, deeper problems than the need for more phone calls and hugs. And I think this misunderstanding enables the argument that suicide is a cruel thing to do to the people in your life, which is this awful mind trick people play to convince themselves that the pain of loss is serious but whatever pain it is that compels you to actually end your own life is somehow inconsequential and bearable. Apparently you should have just made more phone calls and asked for more hugs, no problem can't be solved by that, and if you didn't do this then other people get to hate you. I've seen people get so angry at their dear friends who committed suicide, and I've been in very bad places just to be told something like "you are not alone." Like no offense but I fucking know that, you're standing right there saying it to me aren't you? Please don't treat me like some lonely teenager, I have other things going on.

Another reductive thing is the strategy of trying to convince the patient that they are "normal". There's a post I once saw here about how someone's therapist blithely tells them "I mean what even IS 'normal' anyway!" like it's this amazing revelation, and the person lists three or four patently aberrant and damaging experiences that most people would never understand in order to say "Can you just try to get on my fucking level with this please?" Maybe that person WAS tormented by feeling abnormal but it's obviously unfair of their therapist to treat them like they can't tell their circumstances are unusual. Besides which you can accept the enlightened cosmic view that there's no such thing as "normal" or that there are more people like yourself than you'll ever know, and you can still be tortured by the effects of your experiences. Universality is not much comfort if something really hurts you.

A big part of my mental health struggles have to do with what I now understand are ADHD-related problems (and I believe ASD is also involved but I don't have that diagnosis yet). Like let's say half my problem is really deep complex depression and fear, and half of it is just the fact that every day is way harder than it needs to be because I can't get a grip on basic tasks. It's the Sisyphus thing, you might think you're a pretty decent guy and that many people share your problems, but eventually you may start wishing that boulder would just squash you the next time it rolls back down because the situation is unmanageable. My first therapist treated me like I was exaggerating or making up all my practical hangups due to low self-esteem. My third therapist accepted that I was being truthful but she would say to me, "Well what if YOU'RE not wrong, what if the rest of the WORLD is wrong!" Like yes I agree the world should be more accommodating to people with different neurological conditions or whatever but whether or not I blame myself for everything, the "everything" is still wrecking my life. Doing mental gymnastics to put a positive spin on it has zero effect on what a hard time I'm having. Please don't talk to me like I'm some child who has never heard that it's OK to be different. If you do I will go insane and I will roam the streets doing Victorian madwoman behaviors and I will not get over it for a long time.

Another thing therapist #3 did that seems to be popular was to take away the words "insane" and "crazy"--and like I do understand what that's about, a generalized diagnosis of just being "fucked up" doesn't help you get to the bottom of things. But if you prevent me from saying those words that will not stop me from feeling crazy and insane. You're just arguing semantics with me when we could be talking productively about my issues and this may actually make me feel crazier.

[kuiperror]

TELL ME ABOUT THE CHIPMUNKS LORE. pretty please.

1st thank you for indulging me (even tho i asked lol) 2nd.maybe dont open this unless you want to get blasted with useless information + unimportant yet dearly held opinions + offtopic addendums + true sincerity. i tried to hold back guys im sorry. hold onto your hats im getting fucking crazy in here

firstly ill summarize and say that my "version" of the story of aatc [1] is basically just an idealized version of the "lore" the 1960s version gave us (i say "lore" in quotations bc there was. none lol).

now a lot of my ideas concerning the "lore" of story are interconnected to my opinions about the actual application of aatc media in real life . for instance, the story is set, vaguely, around the late 1950s - early to mid 1960s, like the irl "run" of the original chipmunks records. i personally believe that, as a real media franchise, aatc really has no reason to exist within our modern world with the technology we have today [2] so aatc as a fictional story is affected similarly. along with that, when the story is played out in the context of 1960s america it creates a richer thematical experience as the themes are compounded and expanded on. [3] a lot of the themes that i consider Essencial to the story deal with acceptance of differences and familial love and questioning of ones own humanity and sense of belonging, both within oneself and within the family unit and within larger society, and conservative 1960s suburban america is just a rlly good backdrop to place all of that. so basically i believe in the Contextuality of 1960s aatc and i love to allude to those contexts within the story.

another thing about my version is that i allow it to be inconsistent both with itself or with real life, just cuz it doesn't really have to be. for instance, this story has a floating timeline and i consider the chipmunk's ages to range from 8 - 10 years old— theodore is 8, alvin is 9, simon is 10. (simon is the oldest in the 1960s era idc who says what, i will die on this hill) however at the same time i think it would make the most sense for them to come from the same litter, which would make them all the same age. so i consider the chipmunks to be different ages while also considering they were born at the same time. i do have an in-world resolution for this discrepancy [4] but you get what im saying: my version of events is a little fictional story for me and me only so inconsistencies like that can be brushed over . mainly so i don't think too deeply about the logistics of things (cuz i tend to do that to avoid any possible criticism cuz i am Afraid of flaw) . like i'll catch myself being like "but how does the development of a real 8yo match theodore's behavior? 🤨" and i have to tell myself "bro.. this is a fictional cartoon world ur literally talking about a talking chipmunk its Not That Serious it doesn't have to be that realistic dude" so i just say its my own little play place and i get to do what i want :)

my version of the backstory of the chipmunks is not really all there in terms of external and internal consistency, but it mostly resembles the 1980s series' backstory where dave finds the chipmunks on his doorstep. (see [4] for entire story) i think that the months after dave took them in were honestly a p dark period for the family. i don't imagine dave had good support system and i think the mental struggle of suddenly caring for 3 incredibly strange children all the while fearing societal reactions to them (which restricted him from getting the help he needed) [5] definitely aged him. ithink hes like, early 30s when the chipmunks arrive, late 30s when the timeline "starts floating"... not as young as most (?) fans/iterations interpret him to be. i think that, before "the chipmunk song" was created, dave had raised the chipmunks for like.. 3-5ish years. what i'm saying is that dave definitely took in the chipmunks out of the kindness of his own heart and not cuz he wanted to capitalize on their singing prowess (aHEM looking at a certain movie 🤨)

also, i like to accentuate the animal-ness of the boys by taking real world information about chipmunks and applying it to them :) in general its a little bit of a pet peeve of mine when ppl just completely disregard the animal part of funny animal characters... esp with alvin and the chipmunks bc thats like. Their Whole Thing . they are chipmunks ? why do you just ignore that 😭

now i have talked a LOT about angsty stuff but i do want to make it clear that legit all this stuff is the subtext and background for interactions shown within the 1960s chipmunk media. the chipmunks are still happy kids who have fun and goof around and piss off david !! its just that they have fears and their own Issues like any real person.

so yeah! thats my chipmunk lore!! ^^ i have a whole document about my version so im definitely. fucking insane about the chipmunks. if any other aatc fans are reading this please be nice to me 😦 i feel as though i am very much a weirdo in my sandbox all alone soo dont h8 me plz :)

and just to send it off with some silly lore here are some random headcanons for each character that i have taken straight from my lore document ^^

alvin: would 100% be a leash kid . just sayin (as a former leash kid myself)

alvin: takes after david musically— when he writes his own music and makes up little songs to himself it sounds very similar to the songs dave writes. alvin doesn't recognize this but dave definitely does :,)

alvin: insecure about his height and constantly reassures himself that he will have a growth spurt when hes older

simon: loves loves LOVEs non-conventional and instrumental music! especially those set in different modes

simon: astronaut kid he loves space and wants to b an astronaut . born at just the right time B)

simon: knows better than to follow along with alvin's troublemaking + rebelliousness, occasionally tries to push back, but often is just like. fuck it we ball and goes along with it, especially if its fun ^^

theodore: LOVES the technical aspect of music + the recording process . he will tell you all about the science behind how vinyl records work unprompted.

theodore: doesnt like to sing solos as much as his brothers do bc of past childhood asthma at age 3 and also because he can not stop himself from giggling when hes singing hes just so happy :)! (THIS ONE IS CANON 💥💥💥 SOURCE: UP ON THE HOUSETOP CHRISTMAS W THE CHIPMUNKS VOL 1 ‼️)

theodore: although he is the most naive of the bunch, he is not dumb . hes just a little kid who likes being silly !

dave: before taking the chipmunks in in his early 30s he was the world's most regular guy . wrote hits for other people, continues to do that occasionally into the boys's careers

dave: literally has a song for everything . he will do everything to a beat .

dave: embroiders and cross-stitches to regulate his anger + knows how to sew really well since he has 2 make all of the boys' clothes. (CANON ⁉️😍) also it was his decision to color-code and embroider their initials onto everything they wear lmfao

FOOTNOTES (color coded for your convenience!)

[1] - in this post i refer to the media franchise as "aatc" (alvin and the chipmunks) and refer to the actual trio of characters as "the chipmunks" to avoid confusion. i just want it to be said that i personally dont like to call the media franchise "alvin & the chipmunks" on account of the whole "uuu if alvins a chipmunk why is it called alvin & the chipmunks" joke, i personally prefer to call the franchise just "the chipmunks" as it is shorter and includes the 1960s era as for most of it the franchise went by several different iterations (if we lived in a perfect world the franchise would still be called "david seville and the chipmunks" . just saying)

[2] - back in the early 60s, combining pitch-shifted vocals and character-acting was an innovative technique that took real time, effort, knowledge and skill to achieve. but nowadays not only is the concept no longer fresh but literally anyone can create their own "chipmunk" vocals in a matter of minutes. the story & characters (also nostalgia) are really the only thing keeping the aatc franchise going, esp since that's what more modern iterations of aatc focus on rather than the actual music.

[3] - in the media outside of their albums (the alvin show & the dell comics, specifically) there is always an underlying theme of comparison between david and the boys and the 1960s concept of a nuclear american family. its not exactly an "Intentional" theme, it more or less comes with the (irl) time-period the original aatc media was created in. the seville household is, inherently, a subversion of the ideal of the "perfect family" that households were compared against and strived to be, even at the expense of their own comfort, ideals, safety, etc. this subversion can be played into for drama and angst in a richer, more plausible way than it would be if the story were set in a more modern time period, u know? but yeah i believe that, as a fictional story, aatc shouldn't be divorced from the context of the attitudes and values of what mainstream society thought a family should be in the 1960s.

[4] - essentially in my version of events, dave was given no information about the boys and he basically made up their ages. when david found them in his backyard, they were oversized chipmunks as large as your average cat. they all sort of acted like young human children, but they were a lot more... chipmunk than child. they could only babble— but the sounds were recognizable as human speech. dave was obviously freaked out and resolved to keep an eye on them whenever they were in his backyard. he really only resolved to take them in due to the fact that he could literally see them change throughout a single week. how i imagine the chipmunks' biology is that they are a mixture of human and chipmunk (not literally, mind you, more as a physiological, figurative thing) so they have the intelligence and development of a human while still doing certain things like undertaking hibernation, wanting to forage and stockpile and burrow, things like that. however their growth rate is incredibly fucked up, going from the actual size of a newborn baby chipmunk to the size of a human toddler within like, a year. with this rapid growth also comes more human-like intelligence. once they were actually living in his house, dave knew there was something human about them with these creatures so he couldn't just let them return to the wild, especially since they were becoming more and more dependent on him and more and more human-like as days passed... i definitely think there was a moment of pure clarity for dave where he realized like. wow, that's a child. these things are children. and they are relying on me to provide for them. they are absolutely attached to me by now. and i think i might actually be attached to them too. and thats when he decided to name them and truly care for them like any other human child. overtime the chipmunks slowed their growth rate and matched their developing rate with the same as an average human. the chipmunks don't remember much of their early childhood and nothing can really be disputed so davids word of what happened is gospel. And yeah thats their backstory basically. if you want more on dave's view point on the chipmunks and their fucked up growth process, you can read this post here :)

[5] - he overcame this, of course. he did not want the boys to think that he was ashamed of them. public school was a different story, however, and the boys were more-or-less in a state of homeschooling before the release of "the chipmunk song." knowing that most of their peers would actually look up to them rather than down upon them extremely reassured him.

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Haven pt 3

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part 1 || part 2

The longest installment and final part of @torturingpeople's tender pathologist coming to live with my own OCs! Just three fellows being soft.

OC intros

POV: Tender Pathologist

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Angst

Hurt/Comfort

Fluff

TWs

⇾ none!

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“If you could refrain from describing what… precisely occurred in that hallway with that man, I would appreciate it.” Thomas said to me quietly as we stood outside his and Atlas’ dark wood door.

“Oh, of course.” I nodded, trying to convince myself I was agreeing out of friendship and not fear of what would be done to me if I disobeyed.

We were standing in a dim, plushly-carpeted hallway between several apartments, one of which belonged to the couple that had dared to extend affection towards me. The building we were in was large, and apparently equally ornate inside as it was outside: elaborate carvings and ornamented sconces characterized the outer and inner walls, and the carpet beneath us was of a Persian pattern heavy on whites and blues (so different to red). If the main building were not enough, the polished wood of the door and shining metal doorknob set into the middle (an odd choice, although that seemed to be common through all the residences here) did well to suggest that where Thomas and Atlas lived was far from cheap; the pair were clearly well-off.

As I mused, Thomas withdrew a set of keys from somewhere on his person and unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal an entry parlor of surprising size that still managed to have an air of coziness. As I looked around, noting the open kitchen set in the corner almost opposite of the entrance and the nearby dining table, I realized this was less of a parlor and more just the main area of the apartment.

The floor was soft and dark red, not quite reminiscent of blood, and the carpet cut off abruptly for the kitchen and table. In my direct line of sight from the door was a pair of rather opulent matching armchairs with an end table and lamp between them, all in front of a large marble hearth that had a smattering of rather expensive-looking keepsakes on the mantle, all below a gorgeous painting of a castle bathed in moonlight. Along the same wall as the hearth were bookshelves, stretching from floor to coffered ceiling, packed with tomes and the occasional barely-bound set of papers. The wall opposite of the door had a large chesterfield couch, standing lamp beside it and coffee table in front of it, that sat right next to a hallway extending further into the apartment.

In one of the armchairs sat Atlas, warmly lit by a roaring fire and book open in his lap, who had subtly jumped at Thomas and I’s entry.

“Mountain-Sherd, the pathologist is here! I have managed to wrest him from beneath that horrible man, and he has accepted a place with us.” Thomas declared happily.

Atlas quickly rose, flapping his hands gleefully as he approached us before taking my own. I noted with interest that, for the first time in my knowing him, he was not wearing gloves. The skin of his hands felt… odd, but before I could scrutinize them further an excited voice drew my attention back to his face.

“Marvelous! You can take the guest bedroom, for as long as you like! Perhaps we could change it to further suit your tastes over the duration of your stay. We shall read together every night if you wish, and take tea every afternoon. I will show you my lab, and perhaps you could resume your career.” His smile grew. “There is much to do together. I am glad you have decided to stay with us. I am glad to be your friend.”

My vision blurred, yet my immediate fear of having another seizure was promptly dissuaded by the feeling of moisture tracking down my cheeks.

I don’t think there had ever been an instance in my life that I cried from happiness before then.

I was as surprised as I’m sure Atlas was alarmed, his excited speech becoming a litany of apologies and inquiries as to what was wrong. I could only sob in response as I brought my hands to my face in a vain attempt to wipe away what was now a waterfall of tears bursting from my eyes.

“Thank you.” I barely managed to choke out, far beyond the point of feeling any humiliation over my broken voice.

I was promptly pulled into an embrace. While I could not see for the life of me, the superior height led me to realize it was Thomas who had wrapped me within his arms. My sobs only grew stronger when I realized just how alien the feeling of a warm, genuine hug was. I managed to summon the strength to wrap my own arms around the man that held me, and as I clutched at his jacket and wept into his shoulder he swayed us from side to side.

“Go on, go on.” He muttered into my ear. “You are safe now.”

Not realizing it was even possible until after the fact, I cried even harder as relief and joy and stress and fear, along with the exhaustion I never allowed myself to show, descended upon me like collapsing stone.

We stayed like that for a length of time that was impossible to determine, only measured by the weakness in my legs and the sizable damp spot I left in the fabric of Thomas’ clothing once my tears finally ran dry. 

I drew away; despite the thought of remaining enfolded within those arms forever being a rather appealing one, I knew it was equally illogical. That and, some small part of me dared to imagine, hugs would not be the scant rarity that they always were before.

Thomas’ gaze bore into mine, but it was not with the all-pervading cruelty or expectation of obedience characteristic of Dr. Hanna’s own stares– no, it simply held a tender concern, the utter darkness of his eyes providing a lovely contrast to what I was used to.

“I am alright.” 

Neither of us knew if that were true, but I imagine he dared to hope it would be as much as I. Maybe one day I would be completely rid of that writhing, rotting part of myself that was disgusted by the distance– this betrayal– of Dr. Hanna; that insisted I return, that hoped with a giddy fear and misplaced loyalty that if I went back quick enough he would show mercy, if he even noticed my absence (of course he would notice my absence).

Maybe one day.

For that moment, however, I simply did my best to brush it aside and bury it deep, refusing to acknowledge its babbling as Atlas approached with an offered mug of tea. The saucer below it held a small collection of snacks and sugar cubes, and Atlas’ own face held a comforting smile that still brimmed with nervous worry.

“You’ve said nothing wrong.” I found myself reassuring him, taking the offered porcelain. “I was simply… overwhelmed. It was a positive overwhelm though; I don’t think I’ve ever cried from happiness before.”

“It is an odd feeling, isn’t it?” Thomas piped up in a light tone as he and Atlas began shepherding me to the dining table. “My own first time experiencing such a thing was with him, as well. I still recall how terrified he was that he had done something horribly wrong.”

“Of course I was terrified!” Atlas replied as we sat– Thomas beside me, him opposite us– the choler in his tone undercut by an embarrassed amusement. “Imagine giving a gift you are unsure of, and the reaction of the recipient is to burst into tears!”

Thomas only hummed fondly before reaching across the table with an open hand. Atlas accepted.

“You give people so much joy, my heart, that they are unsure of what to do with it. You are lovelier than words can express.”

Atlas blushed, and smiled like a newlywed, before leaning forward to bring his partner’s hand to his lips.

You would be forgiven for assuming me to feel bitter, or awkward at this display, but for some reason I did not. That automatic desire to seek out Dr. Hanna was still present but significantly reduced; something about the way Thomas and Atlas treated each other, something about how they openly viewed the way Dr. Hanna treated me, helped me begin the long journey of realizing that I myself would receive far more genuine affection at the hands of this odd, besotted Victorian couple than than what was even possible from Dr. Hanna.

My heart settled, and I smiled from behind my mug of tea. Thomas’ earlier words rang in my head.

'You are safe now.'

[3/3]

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