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undertale-data · 3 years

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[Image Description: An Undertale chat box that has “WHY FANS LOVE UNDERTALE” at its center. Next to it are a line chart and an Egg from the Dating Hub on its left, and a CRIME measurer (also from the Dating Hub) on its right. End I.D.]

[Image Description: a pie chart titled, “LEVEL OF LOVE FOR UNDERTALE.” The textbox on the top right reads, “On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the least and 10 being the highest, how much do fans enjoy Undertale?” From the top going clockwise, 12 or 0% chose 5 and below; 23 or 1% chose 6; 98, or 4%, chose 7; 325, or 12%, chose 8; 529, or 20%, chose 9; and 1664, or 63%, chose 10. End I.D.]

It’s clear from all of the data analyzed so far that fans who took the time to answer our survey love Undertale. It is unlikely that they would have taken the time to answer so many questions if they had not, and even less likely that they would have come across our survey in the first place. Naturally, it comes as no surprise that 63% of our responders gave their love for Undertale a score of ten out of ten. 95% gave their love for Undertale a score of eight or higher, and only 12 responders responded with five or below, a number so small that their responses had to be lumped together to be visible on the pie chart. Of those, only 3 responders gave their love for Undertale a score of 1, and based on those responders’ other answers, it is likely that they were only intending to troll. We are very fortunate that the vast majority of responders took the survey seriously, enough so that responses like this are barely a blip in the data.

Now, for our final analysis post of the event, we will delve into the reasons that fans love Undertale so dearly.

(Essay and highlights under the cut.)

There have been countless essays on the impact that Undertale has had on people’s lives. I can hardly add more on the subject than what has already been said, but I hope this summary can provide a brief overview of what stood out among the over two thousand answers given in response to this survey. That said, due to the sheer volume of answers, I could not read every single one in depth—however, I did skim all of them, and some that stood out or were representative of several responses have been highlighted below. If you would like to see what every fan who consented to share their response had to say, you may view the full list of responses here. Note that these responses have not been edited in any way. This document may take a long time to load, as it is over 100 pages long.

(Warnings for mentions of suicidal thoughts in the following essay.)

Several responders loved the theme of choices mattering in Undertale. Whether people played the pacifist, merciless, or neutral routes, they enjoyed how the game reacted to their actions. For some, it even made them consider their own morality. One touching response explained the impact that the theme of mercy made on them. “I realized that Mercy isn't something that's given to those who deserve it. Flowey didn't deserve it. I don't deserve it myself. Shoot, we ALL need Mercy in our lives.” Many fans left similar comments about how the themes of Undertale made them better people.

Undertale changed how its fans treat others, and it also changed how fans treat themselves. The theme of staying determined and the messages of hope in the game were a light to a very large portion of fans. I cannot list all of the fans who said that Undertale helped them out of a dark place, or that they would not be alive if not for Undertale. “DETERMINATION became a metaphor for not killing myself at a really rough time in my life and I’ll always cherish that. Undertale isn’t afraid to go to really dark places but at the same time holds on so tight to its hope.”

Undertale brought fans together in unexpected ways. Some said they met friends or significant others through the fandom. “I wouldn't have met my now husband without Undertale,” one fan said. A different fan who is non-native English speaking mentioned that the game and the fan community helped them to learn English.

It would be impossible to discuss Undertale without mentioning the fan community. Whether for good or bad, many responders mentioned the fandom in their responses. Overall the feelings towards the fandom seem positive, though many made references to “toxic” parts of the fandom without specifying which parts they consider toxic. Others rejected the idea of toxicity in fandom. One response said: “[SLAMS FIST ON DESK] I KNOW MOST PEOPLE SAY THE FANDOM IS TOXIC AND CRINGE OR WHATEVER BUT OH MY GOD. The Undertale fandom, both the UTMV and the actual UT fandom, has been so much fun to be a part of. I've met countless friends because of our shared interest in something related to the game! The art people create can be breathtaking and so inspirational, and the fanfics are so so good!! I've seen people write incredible things for this fandom and it's what made me continue writing!”

One thing that makes the Undertale fandom unique is the way it embraces various AUs. Some fans are tired of AU content, but the majority of responses show a love for the creativity behind AUs. “Roll your eyes at the 50th AU Sans all you want, it's encouraging people to step outside the boundaries of fanart and pushing people to make their own ideas! I mean, hell, it was how I gained the confidence to start making my own original content.” The lack of a judgemental atmosphere seems present in the AU community, according to the responses we saw. There is an interesting balance between AU and canon (sometimes referred to as “classic”) content that another responder pointed out: “The fandom helped keep the game alive all these years, with all of its AUs. Although personally, I always enjoyed AUs that kept characters as close to the classic material as possible (dancetale, outertale) I do appreciate the creativity of the fandom. They almost created entirely new stories with new characters of their own! If it weren't for those people, the Undertale fandom would have probably not been as active as it is now. I do feel like we're getting a resurgence of classic content now too! (In 2021)”

Regardless of the many AUs the fandom has created over the years, the original game of Undertale still feels like home for many fans. They wished they could reclaim the feeling of playing the game again for the first time, but even though we can’t reset time in real life, there is still a special feeling for fans each time they play Undertale. One fan said, “Even the best fics I've read can't capture that feeling of nostalgia/almost-"coming home" that comes with hearing the music and talking to the characters.” This feeling is one that can be cherished time and time again. In the words of another responder: “It always feels welcoming like home or like comfort food that I never grow tired of no matter how many times I go to it.” Others pointed out the strength of the found family trope in Undertale, which likely contributes to this feeling of “home” as well.

As mentioned briefly earlier, the music is part of what makes Undertale feel like home for fans. Even when responses focused on other aspects of the game, many would throw in a comment about the soundtrack at the end. One comment focused on the music said “IT'S SO GOOD like I will literally go through the entire thing over and over and not be bored with it. It makes my monkey brain so happy you have no idea.” Like with the game itself, the music has incredible replay value, an amazing feat considering most of the tracks use the same few motifs. “I think what I like the most about Undertale is how the music attaches you to the story,” another responder said. “They're simple melodies that stick with you throughout the whole game, and they can remind you of both good and bad times.”

If the music sticks with fans in their hearts, then the game’s lore sticks with fans in their minds. Even six years after the release of Undertale, fans are still creating new theories and digging up new secrets. The way the game breaks the fourth wall in particular intrigued many fans and has stuck out through all these years. The awareness that the game shows for the RPG genre makes it memorable. The game plays with the player’s expectations and turns them on their heads, all while reminding the player that they’re in a game. There are few other games that do this on such a large scale, so it’s no surprise that fans cite this as one of their favorite things about Undertale.

Lastly, the LGBT+ representation in Undertale has been a huge draw for fans. Especially in 2015, the sheer volume of non-cishet characters was unprecedented, as one fan pointed out: “It's practically unheard of to see so MANY from just one source, especially during its heyday in 2015-16. Hell, you can't even GET the true pacifist ending without helping two gay couples hook up. It's really nice to see all of them being accepted for who they are and not judged for their sexuality or gender, at least in-canon.” The LGBT+ cast including Frisk, Chara, Napstablook, Monster Kid, Mettaton, Alphys, and Undyne each connected with fans in unique ways. It’s clear how important this is from responses such as: “There are canon nonbinary characters 🥺. i have never seen representation of myself before.” “It made me gay and trans so thanks for that.”

Once again I am overwhelmed with just how much there is to say about Undertale. One responder really understood when they compared Undertale to an iceberg, explaining that there are so many layers to the game that there is something for everyone: “everyone can find something to enjoy in the lore/game regardless of what kind of fan they are! Being able to appeal to various types of fans—from simple happy shipper people to deep dive lorediggers—is the mark of the coolest games!” I would have to agree with them.

It’s been six years, and despite everything, it’s still you. Thank you for reading, participating in this survey, and above all, staying determined.

Highlights:

DETERMINATION became a metaphor for not killing myself at a really rough time in my life and I’ll always cherish that. Undertale isn’t afraid to go to really dark places but at the same time holds on so tight to its hope.

I think the coolest thing was having the opportunity to watch the AU community grow from its bare roots. It's nearly insane how big and complex it's gotten, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Roll your eyes at the 50th AU Sans all you want, it's encouraging people to step outside the boundaries of fanart and pushing people to make their own ideas! I mean, hell, it was how I gained the confidence to start making my own original content.

i love how the lgbt rep is so naturalized... there are just gay people! and its nobodys business!

The music is my go to answer, but what I really really REALLY love is how the minor characters have so much personality to them when you talk to them. They aren't incredibly important to the overall story, but they're all so likeable and diverse that you just can't help but like them immediately!

I think it was the first videogame I have played that broke the fourth wall that much. Of course there has been other videogames that broke it but just for one or two tongue-in-cheek jokes. The guilt of killing mama goat was also something intense as well that I appreciated as an experience and that I didn't think a videogame could cause on someone.

I love how no character can be seen as completely bad! Everyone builds up Asgore as some horrible villain, but he turns out to be a 'fuzzy pushover' who's broken and just wants his family back by the time you meet him. Then you think Flowey's an irredeemable killer who engineered the suffering of the monsters across many timelines, and he is... but he also used to be the kind and beloved Prince Asriel Dreemurr, traumatized by his death and subsequent rebirth, projecting his best friend onto you.

The fact that choices matter in the game. Your first playthrough and getting the golden ending for the first time. I can never replicate those feelings again, wish I could erase my memories and replay the game from the start.

I wouldn't have met my now husband without Undertale.

(Toxic parts of the fandom aside) The community is possibly one of the kindest I've ever met. Cringe culture is completely dead, and I feel like I can be myself. I felt a very close connection to many of the characters, and I loved consuming content about them when I was in a rough patch in my life.

just everything, the whole game has just impacted my life so much. i know it sounds really lame, but when the game first came out, i would purposely put my hands in my pockets and sway slightly, like sans' idle animation. of course i dont do that anymore haha, but undertale still really impacts me to this day, and i wouldnt have it any other way :)

it made me gay and trans so thanks for that

I realized that Mercy isn't something that's given to those who deserve it. Flowey didn't deserve it. I don't deserve it myself. Shoot, we ALL need Mercy in our lives.

The thing I love most about Undertale is no matter how many times I play or watch a playthrough it always makes me genuinely happy. It always feels welcoming like home or like comfort food that I never grow tired of no matter how many times I go to it. Toriel still makes me feel all warm and cozy in her home, the Skelebros always make me laugh, and I still cry on the inside watching Frisk comforting Asriel. And on the flip side the No Mercy run still invokes the negative emotions in me as well. In short Undertale just feels like a second home to me and I always wish I could stay.

The reader inserts are my favorite way to decompress after a hard day

I think Undertale helped me discover my love for 8-bit games, and made me realize how IMPORTANT music is in video games.

the worldbuilding and character design are my favorite parts of the main game apart from the music! I’m also a huge fan of the random AU music- not for like underswap or underfell i like the stuff where someone makes a megalovania for a random au where gru from despicable me replaces sans as the character. i think its funny

Just... the vibe, honestly? Even the best fics I've read can't capture that feeling of nostalgia/almost-"coming home" that comes with hearing the music and talking to the characters.

there are canon nonbinary characters 🥺. i have never seen representation of myself before.

[SLAMS FIST ON DESK] I KNOW MOST PEOPLE SAY THE FANDOM IS TOXIC AND CRINGE OR WHATEVER BUT OH MY GOD. The Undertale fandom, both the UTMV and the actual UT fandom, has been so much fun to be a part of. I've met countless friends because of our shared interest in something related to the game! The art people create can be breathtaking and so inspirational, and the fanfics are so so good!! I've seen people write incredible things for this fandom and it's what made me continue writing!

There's a scene where Frisk (the player) is going towards what is presumably going to be their death. They will fight Asgore and he will use their human soul to break the barrier and free his people. The music, despite the player's impending doom, is... triumphant. You are not the triumphant one here, and yet, the score invites you to experience the monsters' joy and happiness as they tell you the tale of their subjugation. The monsters are going to be free. This is their victory, but they don't hate you or want you to die. They're just... happy. That scene has always struck me very deeply. I feel it represents the best parts of Undertale.

I loved how well thought out the Geno route was. It really made me feel like I was doing something horrible, and the characters were very obviously reacting to dire circumstances.

I dunno? I like Undertale for it's characters, story, music, secrets and many more. I am not good with Headcanons but I also like the neutral endings and how different they can depending on who you spare and kill

I was very bad at english before, i thought i couldn't progress because i was very shy and not confident. But my sibling and i wanted to have the best experience with this game so we wanted to play it in english. It's this game and the fandom which helped me to make huge progress in english !

THE SOUNDTRACK. IT'S SO GOOD like I will literally go through the entire thing over and over and not be bored with it. It makes my monkey brain so happy you have no idea.

to avoid writing an essay i will say one word. Mettaton

It is like Toby specifically made the games to fit the iceberg meme and it's awesome, everyone can find something to enjoy in the lore/game regardless of what kind of fan they are! Being able to appeal to various types of fans - from simple happy shipper people to deep dive lorediggers is the mark of the coolest games!

I love almost everything about Undertale as a game on its own. The music, the art and especially the characters and how they interact. They made me feel at home. Undertale means a huge amount to me. (I even got a tattoo of the castle when you and MK walk together!) The fandom helped keep the game alive all these years, with all of its AUs. Although personally, I always enjoyed AUs that kept characters as close to the classic material as possible (dancetale, outertale) I do appreciate the creativity of the fandom. They almost created entirely new stories with new characters of their own! If it weren't for those people, the Undertake fandom would have probably not been as active as it is now. I do feel like we're getting a resurgence of classic content now too! (In 2021)

the mystery. toby fox refused to give answers to anything and i think thats very sexy of him.

I just feel guilty for liking it so much when I'm in my 30's. But I recently got diagnosed with ASD, so I guess it explains things a bit. Many ppl consider Papyrus to be neurodivergent, and some adult fans are too, so seeing that makes me feel a bit better.

i think about "Despite everything, it's still you" everyday of my life.

I like how it's just as funny as it can be serious. All routes are this way. I laughed as much as I cried when I played the Pacifist route and then once I opened the game again and Flowey was telling me to let them be happy, I immediately turned off the game. I somehow felt bad.

The Found Family Trope

The True Pacifist Ending is just...man. And the fanworks about saving everyone even when the game doesn't let you? MANNNNNN

I think what I like the most about Undertale is how the music attaches you to the story. They're simple melodies that stick with you throughout the whole game, and they can remind you of both good and bad times.

there's honestly a LOT to love about this game, but i think one of my favorite things about it is just how many lgbt+ characters there are??? i can think of alphys, undyne, frisk, chara, mettaton, napstablook, monster kid, asgore, mad mew mew, the dress lion, the royal guards, and arguably even papyrus off of the top of my head, but im sure i'm forgetting a few from just undertale alone (there's even MORE in deltarune)!! it's practically unheard of to see so MANY from just one source, especially during its heyday in 2015-16. hell, you can't even GET the true pacifist ending without helping two gay couples hook up. it's really nice to see all of them being accepted for who they are and not judged for their sexuality or gender, at least in-canon.

[Image description: A wordcloud in the shape of the capitalized word UNDERTALE. The text is white on a black background, and uses the font found in the game. Some of the most visible words are: Game, Love, Music, Life, AU, Store, Friend, and Feel, which represent the most common words in the essays people wrote about their love for the game. End of ID]

#undertale #analysis #results #undertale fandom census

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tatticstudio55 · 4 years

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Jon and Dany – both beyond the Wall at the end?

DAY SEVEN (Sunday, August 2nd) Leadership | Free Choice | DoS: Royal Retirement / Passing the Torch

This is less meta-ish and borders more on the speculative side, but I’d like to discuss a Jon and Dany (potential) ending I’ve never seen anyone talk about before: them ending both beyond the Wall, living with the free folks/as free folks. So, basically, the ending Jon got on the show, but with Dany by his side. I would even go as far as to say that the showrunners might have considered it.

This is not by any means “my ideal” Jonerys ending. That would be Jon and Dany settling on Dragonstone with a bunch of targlings and wild dragons. I do not, alas, think this is where the story is going. I do not expect either (or both) of them on the IT either. On the other hand, an ending with them both beyond the Wall seems to me like it could work with the overall story. There is already some book evidence/foreshadowing pointing to Jon’s endgame there, notably in ASOS when he (forgive my French) “finds himself” beyond the Wall:

“On the edge of the haunted forest, where the tents had been, Jon found an oakwood stump and sat.

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset.

[…]

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. "Ghost?" He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. "Ghost!" he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run.

[…]

He had his answer then.” Jon XII, ASOS

Dany is more of a wild card, but even the show gave us SOME reasons to believe that D&D played with the idea at some point: the pregnancy bait, Dany’s comment in 7x07 about King’s Landing and how “constrictive” the Dragonpit felt, Dany’s “we could stay here a thousand years. No one would find us” line in 8x01. Most importantly, back when I was watching season 7, this is the impression I was getting (from the showrunners):

Dany is a good person at heart, but she would not make a good queen nor would she like being queen.

I do not wholly agree with this, especially if we are talking about bookDany, who would make – and is – a much better queen than she is given credit for, but it looked to me like this is where the show was going with her. Or, at least, this is the message they were trying to communicate. They were not trying to “hide” Dany’s dark turn from the audience by making her or trying to make her bad-good-bad-good-bad-good, they simply had another endgame in mind for the character. I do not want to make this about the show but had to get this out of the way.

Now onto bookDany:

A while ago, I posted a meta where I discussed a pattern in Daenerys’s story: twice she succeeded at something magical, highly dangerous and related to dragons, and twice after she ended up in a desertic environment, thirsting, starving and nearly dying from exposition. Following the rule of 3 (which is especially predominant in her arc), it will probably happen again and – since there is no Great Grass Sea in Westeros – the “desertic environment” swallowing her afterward will be the frozen lands beyond the Wall. It could mean that she will die there, but it could also mean that she will simply disappear there. Her fate could also be revealed to the reader while remaining unknown to most characters. This would fit with Dany’s current representation in the story so far: she is an enigma, a rumor; nobody really knows her whereabouts, who she is, what she is, what she wants, what she has, if she is even real.

There are numerous parallels to be drawn between Daenerys and Mance Rayder, which I covered here. I would love the irony of Dany coming to Westeros thinking she is reclaiming her family’s lands, only to settle in the only part that was never conquered by the Targaryen. There is the (disputable, ok, but) fact that the only region in all of the continent where dragons could turn up useful for tree planting would be beyond the Wall (so frozen soil can be thawed and warmed up for plants to grow there again). Martin hung a pretty riffle on the metaphorical Wall when Silverwing refused to fly across in Fire and Blood. There is this pattern of wildling women making up Jon’s romantic prospects; first a wildling “commoner” (Ygritte), then a wildling “princess” (Val), then a wildling “queen” (Dany, eventually, if this theory proves to be correct). So of course, you will ask –

If this is Martin’s intended ending, why couldn’t the d’s just go with it?

Well, because the d’s never gave Dany any incentive to go beyond the Wall, apart from a brief rescue mission back in season 7. If Dany must end up there, something has got to bring her there and the show scrapped or discarded all of it : no Lands of Always Winter, no curtain of light, no this, no that, no nothing. And once she gets there in the books, because I am quite sure she will, she will not come back. The North is Dany’s ultimate destination. No yoyoing back and forth North and South like what the show did. That was just dumb. Travel time and distances should mean something, even if you have dragons (plus, Dany’s armies would have to travel on foot, horseback or by boat, like everybody else). The closest of yoyoing we have ever gotten in asoiaf was probably with Catelyn, it spanned three books, and she never made it back North anyway.

Did the d’s consider going with that ending? They might just. The clues were certainly there (see above…) but at some point, they must have realized that it would not work with the hole they had dug themselves in.

Now about the elephant in the room

I know some people will think that Dany ending beyond the Wall does not make much sense for her story, which technically (so far) does not have much to do with the lands beyond the Wall. In a way, I agree. Some people would also find such an ending anticlimactic to her arc and a waste after everything she has learned about leadership and politics in Meereen. I also agree. On a watsonian level, an ending with, say, Dany as a queen in Westeros – I think it works. Of course, I do. Where it does not work is on a doyalist level. Dany already had her arc of becoming queen. She achieved that by the end of book 3. Then she had to learn all the nit and gritty and dirty work of ruling over the rubble of a corrupt system while trying to make the lives better for everyone. If Dany becomes queen in Westeros, the same thing will happen again. Different setting, different people, same story. Some people have criticized the underlying message of Dany’s fight against slavery as “only a preparation” for what comes next in Westeros, saying it would undermine the real value of Dany’s work in Essos. I agree. However, the same problem applies if Dany becomes queen in Westeros: then her time in Essos is reduced to a prop up, a preparation, as if ruling Essos were somewhat less important than ruling Westeros. Furthermore, I cannot imagine an ending where Dany, still in possession of significant military forces – significant enough to secure her a crown, anyway – could choose to settle in Westeros without being plagued with guilt over leaving Essos’s slaves behind. I am sorry, I just cannot.

This is also, I think, where part of the “Dany is not a peace time queen” mentality comes from. Dany will never be a peace time queen, not because she prefers war, or because she does not want peace, but because what she is trying to achieve, in these times and places, means a lifetime of war. You cannot undo and rebuild an entire system that is rotten at its core in a single lifetime (heck, even show!Tyrion said this to her, for what the show is worth now…), much less in a few years. Dany is not a peace time queen because she is not a queen that is interested in maintaining the statue quo. At least that is how her time in Meereen revealed her. Arya would not be a peace time queen either. Jon would not be a peace time king. They could never be, less they abandoned their ideals and their ethics for a more comfortable life.

Then you might say that an ending where Dany goes back to Essos works too. It does – once again, on a watsonian level. What is the problem with this on a doyalist level? It turns Dany into a deus ex machina, coming to Westeros just in time to save it, then leaving it right after, as if neither the Others, nor her had ever been there.

The two remaining options are: either she dies a queen in Westeros, most likely during the Great War, or… the queen, Daenerys Targaryen, dies, while Dany lives.

That means that all reasonable possibilities, or choices, to keep on fighting as a queen are taken from her. Maybe her forces were severely depleted during the Great War. Maybe her dragons died. Maybe both. Maybe her function, not as an individual, but as a character in a specific story called A song of ice and fire, was to destroy an old system (AND to inspire others to follow in her footsteps, ensure that her efforts were not in vain, that the first steps will not go wasted, that the work she started will be taken up by other peoples, and others after them, and others after), not to rebuild the new one. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Frodo Baggins’ role in The Lord of the Rings was to destroy something evil. His gardener Sam was the one who planted the trees and went on to become a mayor afterward. One was a destroyer and the other was a builder, but in the end, they were both heroes.

Not to mention that Frodo did not die at the end. You could say that he went on to live beyond the Wall too.

#ADOS speculation #jonerysweek2020 #jonerysweek #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #jonerys #bookjonerys

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ninaraise2020 · 3 years

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2020 Book List

For 2020, I made a new years resolution to read 52 books by the end of the year.... which is one of the first new years resolutions I’ve actually kept!! Here are some of my favorites, and my thoughts about everything I read.

As a note: I know audiobooks // ebooks aren’t everyone’s thing, but I read most of these through the Brooklyn Public Library using Libby, and through HOOPLA, the LAPL app. HOOPLA has a ton of stuff, and all you need is to write down an LA address to get a virtual library card. (And just saying, they don’t do anything to confirm that’s your actual address...)

MY LIST with favorites bolded (in the order I read them)

The first bad man, Miranda July

Can’t we talk about something more pleasant, roz chast

Killing and Dying, Adrian Tomine

The Idiot, Elif Batuman

Bad Friends, Ancco

Fully coherent plan: for a better society, David Shrigley

Through a Life, Tom Haugomat

A Body Worth Defending, Ed Cohen

The Hospital Suite, John Porcellini

Excuse Me, Liana Finck

Ongoingness, Sarah Manguso

The Romance of Tristan, Beroul

Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso

Unfinished Business, Vivian Gornick

300 Arguments, Sarah Manguso

No one belongs here more than you, Miranda July

Anti-Diet, Christy Harrison

Women, Chloe Caldwell

Romance or the End, Elaine Kahn

How to Murder Your Life, Cat Marnell

Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown

A Body Undone, Christina Crosby

Delta of Venus, Anaïs Nin

Sick, Porochista Khakpour

Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

Eros the Bittersweet, Anne Carson

Norma Jean Baker of Troy, Anne Carson

Hunger, Roxanne Gay

Grief Sequence, Prageeta Sharma

The Undying, Anne Boyer

Illness as Metaphor, Susan Sontag

Gut Feminism, Elizabeth A. Wilson

Come as You Are, Emily Nagoski

Practicalities, Marguerite Duras

The Soft Life, Bridgette Talone

Look at Me, Anita Brookner

The Cancer Diaries, Audre Lorde

Zami, Audre Lorde

Fearing the Black Body, Sabrina Strings

Unbearable lightness, Portia di Rossi

The Art of Cruelty, Maggie Nelson

The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides

The Red Parts, Maggie Nelson

Jazz, Toni Morrison

The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides

Motherless Brooklyn, Jonathan Lethem

Pain Studies, Lisa Olstein

The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula k. Le Guin

Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, Ross Gay

Coeur de Leon, Ariana Reines

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong

TOP 10 Books (in no order)

The Cancer Diaries, Audre Lorde

Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Eros the Bittersweet, Anne Carson

Unfinished Business, Vivian Gornick

The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides

Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

Zami, Audre Lorde

Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, Ross Gay

Come as You Are, Emily Nagoski

Coeur de Lion, Ariana Reines

Favorite queer books

Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown

The Cancer Diaries, Audre Lorde

Zami, Audre Lorde

Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong

Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, Ross Gay

Favorite books about illness

Sick, Porochista Khakpour

A Body Undone, Christina Crosby

The Cancer Diaries, Audre Lorde

The Undying, Anne Boyer

Gut Feminism, Elizabeth A. Wilson

Pain Studies, Lisa Olstein

Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso

Favorite graphic novels

Through a Life, Tom Haugomat

The Hospital Suite, John Porcellini

Excuse Me, Liana Finck

Can’t we talk about something more pleasant? Roz Chast

Killing and Dying, Adrian Tomin

Favorite nonfiction

Fearing the Black Body, Sabrina Strings

Anti-Diet, Christy Harrison

The Art of Cruelty, Maggie Nelson

Gut-Feminism, Elizabeth A. Wilson

Come as You Are, Emily Nagoski

A Body Worth Defending, Ed Cohen

AND..... if you’re interested in seeing my thoughts on each book.....

A Complete List of Every Book I Read in 2020 and My Thoughts (listed in the order read)

The first bad man, Miranda July

This book is absolutely wild, and I greatly enjoyed it – I don’t think it’s everyone’s cup of tea, but if you’re looking for something very funny, surreal and visceral, I’d recommend. I described it to my friend as like if my psyche wrote a book, or like a very true dream. I enjoyed her collection of short stories, No One Belongs Here More Than You, more - but they’re both excellent.

Killing and Dying, Adrian Tomine

This was the first graphic novel I read this year. Zadie Smith said about this book, “Adrian Tomine has more ideas in twenty panels than novelists have in a lifetime,” so I was very intrigued. It reminds me a lot of Nick Drnaso’s Sabrina which is one of my favorite (if not my favorite) graphic novels. I love the book’s minimalist style, and bits of it felt like getting punched emotionally – so I’d recommend if you’re looking for that!

Can’t we talk about something more pleasant? Roz Chast

Roz Chast’s memoir about her parent’s final years is incredibly funny and beautifully done. I think New York Jews will especially enjoy – but I’d recommend to anyone!

The Idiot, Elif Batuman

For whatever reason, this book really grated on my nerves and I was not a fan. Batuman writes about a freshman at Harvard studying linguistics and writing emails to this man I wanted to punch. A lot of people love this book, so I definitely wouldn’t say not to read it – perhaps it just triggered too much of my anxiety from freshman year of college to be pleasurable. I find it similar to Jeffrey Eugenides’ The Marriage Plot, but I liked The Marriage Plot significantly more.

Bad Friends, Ancco

Content warning for abuse/violence – this graphic novel is really dark, and the violence is quite graphic. But overall, I thought it was beautifully done – and I really love the author’s drawing style.

Fully coherent plan: for a better society, David Shrigley

I love David Shrigley – this book is really silly, and I honestly just picked it up from the library because the outside looks fun. It’s a quick read mostly made up of minimalist drawings – so if you want something not-too-serious that will make you laugh, I’d recommend.

Through a life, Tom Haugomat

I also grabbed this from the library because it looked pretty (oops). I absolutely love this illustrator (he’s worth following on Insta even if you don’t read this book). It’s a series of illustrations of a boy that wants to be an astronaut, and it’s one of the most astoundingly beautiful things I’ve read this year. There are no words, and I nearly cried at the end.

A Body Worth Defending, Ed Cohen

This book discusses the history/construction of autoimmunity, and how the idea of a body “attacking itself” is inherently biopolitical. As someone with an autoimmune disorder, I found this book fascinating, but it’s also really dense so I’d just recommend if you have a particular interest in autoimmunity.

The Hospital Suite, John Porcellini

Done by the author of King Cat, this graphic novel follows the protagonist through a series of different severe medical problems. I thought it was really well done and would recommend if you’re interested in art about chronic illness.

Excuse Me, Liana Finck

I’m obsessed with everything Liana Finck does – if you don’t follow her on Instagram you should! – and this book was no exception. It’s very funny and poignant – if you like her cartoons, you’d definitely enjoy!

Ongoingness, Sarah Manguso

My friend recommended this to me a few years ago, and I recently reread. Sarah Manguso writes about her lifelong pursuit of keeping a hyper-meticulous diary, which fascinated me as someone who used to do this, too. It’s a very quick read and made me think more deeply about the desire to constantly record ones’ life as a protection against passing time.

The Romance of Tristan, Beroul

This book is wild – I read it for a class. It’s a medieval book that doesn’t really make sense and I do not think you should read it unless you are also taking a class on Medieval Drugs.

Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso

Here, Manguso writes about her autoimmune blood disorder, and her suicidal depression, relating the experience of her first flare when she was in college. Big content warning for graphic depictions of hospitals/illness/needles etc., as well as depression. I found it interesting, but I cannot overstate how graphic and upsetting this book is.

Unfinished Business, Vivian Gornick

Absolutely one of the best books I read this year. I saw Vivian Gornick talk at Pomona and was floored. Here, Gornick writes about being a chronic-re reader, and discusses some of her favorite books and how her relationship changed with them throughout time. I found myself underlining everything, her prose is just so wonderful. I think everyone should read this.

300 Arguments, Sarah Manguso

I like Sarah Manguso, so I ordered this. It’s a set of interconnected aphorisms like “Bad art is from no one to no one.” Manguso is clearly brilliant and this book is very well written – it’s just a bit too minimalist for me. I would definitely recommend Ongoingness if you want to read something by her.

No one belongs here more than you, Miranda July

I am obsessed with this short story collection. Again, don’t think Miranda July is everyone’s cup of tea, but the stories were so viscerally weird in a way that really resonated with me.

Anti-Diet, Christy Harrison

I’ve listened to Christy Harrison’s podcast Food Psych for a while now, so was very excited when her book came out. The book focuses on (in Harrison’s words) “Reclaim[ing] your time, money, health, and happiness from our toxic diet culture.” As someone in ED recovery, this book/Harrison’s work in general have changed my life (which I do not say lightly!) – anyone who struggles with body image/their relationship with food should absolutely read this.

Women, Chloe Caldwell

I read this because a girl on Tinder told me too (lol) – it’s about a woman’s sexual awakening and relationship with this woman, Finn, who reminds me of a lot of hot women I follow on Tik Tok that wear suits and look mean. It takes a minute to get into. I overall enjoyed it, and was touched by the book at the end, but found a lot of the prose to be pretty clunky. So, would I recommend – I don’t know, maybe?

Romance or the End, Elaine Kahn

My friend recommended this book of poetry to me. Elaine Kahn is so talented and writes so beautifully – another book where I found myself underlining everything. Would definitely recommend!

How to Murder Your Life, Cat Marnell

Cat Marnell’s memoir recounts her struggles with bulimia and addiction while working as a beauty editor. I found it enthralling and hard to put down. I recommended it to a friend who had to put it down because it was too stressful. I think it’s a great book, but not for everyone.

Rubyfruit Jungle, Rita Mae Brown

If the meaning of the title intrigues you, I would definitely recommend. This coming-of-age story follows Brown’s childhood, and relationships with women. I thought I liked Women by Chloe Caldwell until I read this book. Very gay, very good!!!! I could not put it down!

A Body Undone, Christina Crosby

In this memoir, Crosby writes about queerness/disability through the lens of her experience after a bicycle accident that left her paralyzed. If you want something gay with lots of theory, this book is for you! Fun fact: Crosby is the friend Nelson writes about in The Argonauts. As a heads up, though, the descriptions of pain can be pretty graphic/triggering.

Delta of Venus, Anaïs Nin

I wanted to read something by Anaïs Nin and this is absolutely NOT what I should have read. Nin wrote this erotica for a man who didn’t like romance and wanted her to skip to the sex – the foreword is basically her ranting about the man who commissioned her to write this work. There’s a lot of (unsurprisingly) incest, as well as depictions of rape/assault. I do not recommend.

Sick, Porochista Khakpour

Sick is a memoir about Khakpour’s experience living with lyme disease, and her struggle to attain a diagnosis and proper treatment. I didn’t know anything about lyme, so found this book very enlightening. I’d add it to your list if you’re interested in memoirs of chronic illness.

Eros the Bittersweet, Anne Carson

I read this book because a character in the L Word talked about it (oops….). But wow, this is truly one of the best things I’ve ever read (thanks Marina!). Even Carson’s prose is breathtakingly poetic – she stitches together Sappho’s writing, Greek myths & critical theory so seamlessly. I felt like a different person when I finished.

Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

I absolutely loved this book. Autobiography of Red is a love story between two men based on a Greek myth. It feels surprisingly epic, despite being a pretty short read. It feels a bit like the long-form-poem version of Song of Achilles. (If you read this book and enjoyed it, absolutely read Song of Achilles).

Norma Jean Baker of Troy, Anne Carson

I love Anne Carson, but I didn’t enjoy this book as much as the others. Maybe it’s because it’s a performance piece and I read it rather than watching it be performed, or maybe I just didn’t get it.

Hunger, Roxanne Gay

In this memoir, Roxanne Gay writes about her rape (so content warning for that, as there are very graphic descriptions), and her relationship with her body. This is one of the most brutally honest books I’ve encountered about food, body image and eating disorders – Gay does not sanitize her self-blame and self-hatred – and it’s an important counternarrative to how fatness is commonly represented in the media. I would not recommend it if you’re in the depths of an ED or early on in ED recovery because it’s pretty triggering. I think it’s an important read, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable just telling anyone to read it off the bat.

Grief Sequence, Prageeta Sharma

Prageeta Sharma is a Pomona professor who is wonderful, so I was very excited to read her book. Grief Sequence is an evocative, moving, and incredibly powerful story of Sharma losing her husband to cancer. It made me even more excited to work with her, and I would definitely recommend especially if you go to the 5cs!

The Undying, Anne Boyer

I’m not sure exactly what to call The Undying – maybe memoir, maybe autofiction? But Boyer combines narrative about her own experience with breast cancer with cultural criticism, drawing on both her experience as a poet and an essayist. This book was definitely one of my favorite works about illness I’ve read this year.

Illness as Metaphor, Susan Sontag

I found this book interesting, but not my favorite of what I’ve read about chronic illness. Sontag writes about how tuberculosis and cancer take on particular cultural symbolism – did you know that tuberculosis was associated with sexual desirability? I did not! Perhaps the piece wasn’t as interesting to me because people don’t tend to get tuberculosis anymore. If you’re particularly interested in TB/cancer, or if you’re writing your thesis about chronic illness I would read, but otherwise, not sure I I’d recommend.

Gut Feminism, Elizabeth A. Wilson

This book discusses depression through the lens of the gut, arguing for feminists to incorporate biological data into their analysis. It’s pretty dense, so I’d only recommend if depression, anti-depressants, and the politics of the gut are particularly interesting to you. But as someone interested in those things, great read!

Come as You Are, Emily Nagoski

Here, Nagoski discusses female sexuality and arousal in a way that made me realize I actually knew nothing about how female arousal works. For example, did you know wetness ≠ arousal? I didn’t! This book truly revolutionized how I think about sex/sexuality. The only caveat is that the book does center on the experiences of cis women (which the author does admit in a disclaimer at the beginning), so I hope that there are future works that touch on the same ideas in more inclusive ways.

Practicalities, Marguerite Duras

I really like Marguerite Duras – The Lover is one of my favorite books – but this book didn’t really do it for me. Duras is brilliant, but parts of it felt a bit mundane/dated. A lot of people love this book, though, so I feel like it’s just me!

The Soft Life, Bridgette Talone

I made a goal for myself to read more poetry this year, since I usually read mostly prose. This is an example of the kind of poetry I struggle reading – l am less drawn to poetry that completely strays away from narrative – and this book was a bit too abstract for me. There’s beautiful imagery, it just felt like it went over my head. But it was recommended by a friend whose taste I greatly respect, so maybe it’s for you and just no for me!

Look at Me, Anita Brookner

This book took me a while to finish. Look at Me follows a librarian and aspiring novelist in her friendship with a glamorous couple. It’s very dry, witty, observant, and brilliantly satirical. I’m very glad I finished it, but it took a while to get pulled in.

The Cancer Diaries, Audre Lorde

Lorde writes about loving women, and her experience with breast cancer. It’s a collection of entries from her journal, combined with meditations on these entries. So, so very beautiful! Also very heartbreaking. This might be my favorite book I’ve read about illness.

Zami, Audre Lorde

Lorde’s wonderful coming-of-age novel covers her life growing up in New York, and her relationships with different women. It took me a bit to get into it, but once I did it was addictive to read. Certain scenes are just so breathtakingly vivid, and I don’t think I’ve read anyone who writes as well as Lorde about loving women. Also, she went to my high school, so that part was very wild to read – definitely recommend in particular to fellow Hunterites!

Fearing the Black Body, Sabrina Strings

I’ve wanted to read this book ever since listening to Strings on one of my favorite podcasts (FoodPsych). This book discusses the historical construction of thinness as an ideal tied to whiteness – it’s very well written and illuminating. I feel like the idealization of thinness is something that is often really tolerated and encouraged in liberal spaces (*cough* Claremont colleges *cough*), so definitely recommend. If you don’t have time for the book, I’d definitely suggest checking out the podcast episode!

Unbearable Lightness, Portia di Rossi

This memoir discusses di Rossi’s experience with anorexia/bulimia, and her relationship with her queerness. I read it in a day, I was so engrossed. However, I wouldn’t recommend to anyone in early stages of ED recovery, or in the thrust of an eating disorder.

The Art of Cruelty, Maggie Nelson

If you have read other works by Maggie Nelson and enjoyed them, and are interested in literature about cruelty, I’d recommend! It’s more theoretical than her other works and it’s pretty dense – I’ll definitely have to read it again to fully ‘get’ it. But Nelson is such a brilliant cultural critic that it’s a pleasure to read anything she writes. Like “truth in art is but a feeling”?? Yes!! Go off!!

The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides

This is definitely top five of the books I’ve read this year. I was floored when I was finished. It’s set at Brown, but so many of the descriptions of campus life really resonated and amused me. The end was heart-wrenching. The prose is so evocative. I loved it.

The Red Parts, Maggie Nelson

This book focuses on the trial for the brutal murder of Nelson’s aunt by a stranger – it’s very gruesome but enthralling. I couldn’t put it down.

Jazz, Toni Morrison

I listened to the audiobook which Toni Morrison reads, which is great. Jazz is set in Harlem in the 1920s, and though it’s pretty short, it’s incredibly vivid and haunting. It’s one of the most original and intriguing narratives I’ve encountered (not even including the beauty of the prose), and unlike anything else I’ve read.

The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides

I read this because I loved The Marriage Plot so much. I didn’t like this as much as I liked The Marriage Plot or Middlesex. After I finished, I thought I didn’t like it, and then I listened to this podcast called Sentimental Garbage and decided I did like it after all. I was frustrated throughout the book at how obtuse the women are, but after getting over my sadness that we never figured out why the girls killed themselves, I have more appreciation for Eugenides’ vision.

Motherless Brooklyn, Jonathan Lethem

Motherless Brooklyn is different from what I usually read – it’s the only detective novel on this list – but I loved it. It’s set in my neighborhood in Brooklyn, which is particularly exciting (and why my Dad is a big Lethem stan). It’s one of the most original books I’ve ever read, and the descriptions are astoundingly innovative and vivid. It’s also really funny! And he’s a Pomona professor! My mom is reading it too for the WNYC book club, which I believe you can still join if you want.

Pain Studies, Lisa Olstein

Another illness book! Olstein writes about her experience with migraines, and also theorizes about pain. I haven’t read any book exclusively focused on pain, so this was cool! It didn’t resonate with me as much as other stuff I’ve read, but still very good.

The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula k. Le Guin

I was very excited for this book, which is a work of sci-fi written in 1969 about a world where everyone is gender-fluid and has no sexual prejudice. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had expected to – perhaps because the main drama of the book is finding out whether this world is going to trade with another world, and I am just not very interested in trade. Sci-fi is also not really a genre I read often, so I wouldn’t do much with the fact that this book didn’t resonate.

Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

I’ve cried maybe six times this year and finishing this book was one of them. It’s gay. It’s Greek. It’s epic. If you liked Percy Jackson and now, you’re part of the LGBTQ community you have to read it. This is the kind of book that made me worried it had ruined all other books. I think this is a perfect book, or at least the closest I can imagine.

Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, Ross Gay

This book is astoundingly beautiful. A friend recommended it and said it made his writing a lot happier - which was exactly what I needed! – and this description rings true. I definitely have more trouble reading poetry than prose but found this book very powerful and engaging. I read it in one sitting.

Coeur de Leon, Ariana Reines

Absolutely one of my favorite books of poetry! Coeur de Leon embodies the exact kind of poetry I really like – the language is accessible, it’s visceral, it has a narrative – and also made me feel seen. I feel like it’s also one of those books made for people that like to write, especially about love. Very much recommend.

On Earth, We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong

It took me a while to get into this one, and I felt for a while that everything was too depressing to enjoy it. While I do definitely want to revisit in post-pandemic times, I still was deeply moved. Big content warning though for drug abuse, death, and probably some other stuff I’m forgetting.

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matildainmotion · 3 years

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Extreme Times, Transitions and Your Extreme Powers for 2021

This time last year I wrote a piece entitled ‘An Encouraging Blog about Despair’ – this was in early January, before the pandemic. My son loves that moment in a story when someone says, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse,” and then, right on cue, a whole lot of worse-ness happens. This year I am not going to attempt to be encouraging – I think we need something else, to match the gravity and uncertainty of the times, that recognises all the worse-ness that has happened. But what? Right now I am not sure. Let me see if I can write my way to find it.

The thing that has saved my sanity through the year has been the working on and writing of a novel. It has kept me sane but also driven me mad, but at least it has been my madness, of my own making as opposed to the world’s. It has been astonishingly difficult. Often, I have felt more articulate about the toughness of the process, than about the story I am trying to tell. The images I have used to describe it have included marathon running, mountaineering, white-water rafting and tightrope walking. I am struck by the extremity of these metaphors. I have done none of these things in real life, and yet I have had a visceral sense of their accuracy. Most of my writing has taken place where I am now, crouched on the children’s bedroom floor. I do not look like I am engaged in anything wild or dangerous, but I like the idea that both my making and my mothering – activities that are often seen as domestic, docile – are in fact extreme sports.

Photo credit: Viola Depcik, as part of the online exhibition: Portraits in Motherhood and Making during lockdown.

For now, I have come off the mountain of the book. Come January I will set about editing it – an attempt to turn the manuscript into something someone might actually want to read. This morning, I am in a moment of transition. What to write in the dark bedroom, before the children wake? Christmas wish lists and new year’s resolutions are the traditional seasonal texts, but I notice I have two counter impulses to these – two very different lists I want to write.

The first is not a wish list, but a list of the unwished-for. A backwards-looking list of some of the worse-ness of the year, not as a plea for sympathy, empathy, not out of a need to confess, or because I am looking for advice, but because it feels important to name it. In these last months, on those precious trips out of the house, I have had many two-metres-apart exchanges of the “How are you doing?” kind. “Okay. We’re surviving,” I reply, and then come away, with my groceries in hand, my mask hanging round my neck, feeling desolate, surprised that I should feel it so deeply, when I was not expecting any more from the exchange. I think it is because I want to lay bare the utter ugliness of the year, like when you pull the fridge out and expose the amazing accumulation of dirt underneath. I know that we have been lucky, so when I list some of our un-wished for times, I do it in full recognition that others have had it worse, much worse.

Here is a selection of my unwished-for list:

Easter – everyone in the house either shouting or crying or both. Still ill. My husband and son red in the face. My mother and daughter, white.

Then the times – more than one -when my son, who is on the autistic spectrum, needed a play fight, to channel the aggression he displays when he feels threatened (and a threat may be as slight as a joke he did not understand, a small change of plan). I offer to fight him, and as I face him, hold his wrists, the energy in his body, but also in mine, is far from playful.

A recent one - a double meltdown – my daughter screaming whilst we are Xmas shopping because she and I cannot remember something I said three days ago about her and a bauble she was hanging on the tree. Meanwhile it is raining. She is refusing to wear a coat. She runs away from me, up the pavement, beside a busy road, whilst my son, who cannot bear loud noise, lays down on the concrete and puts his hands over his ears. I am caught between the two of them – one on the run, the other on the ground. Masked people watching me, the rain coming down, the dark coming on.

Three in the morning and no one is screaming or sobbing but me – the children are sleeping peacefully, and I am not.

There is an edge to this – it is allowed to be hard, but it feels dangerous to expose the difficult details. It has not all been like this, but I do not want to sweep these times aside and hurry on. So I set them down, one by one, on the page. Then I can begin list number two.

This is a list not of changes I resolve to make in the new year, but ones that came on their own, and are ongoing, unresolved. A list of the transitions already underway. Because these arrive unbidden, this is a list of the moments when I understood that change is happening:

When I find I cannot read the instructions on the side of the ‘stuffing mix’ and I realise I need reading glasses.

When my period is two weeks late one month, and two weeks early the next. The skin on my eyelids grows dry. I read this too can be a symptom of the perimenopause.

When my daughter is at last weening (shhhh, don’t tell her, or she will object) and her favourite game is to play at being a ‘dumb baby’ who cannot remember where its mummy’s boobies are. She runs about the room, looking behind bookshelves and under covers, until eventually the baby realises that the boobies and the milk are on its mother’s chest. She does not want the milk now, she wants to play at being the silly baby, because she is turning into such a competent ‘medium big girl’ (her current definition of her size).

When my mother (granny) no longer wants to cook meals for us, but would rather that I cook for her.

When my son starts to grow a greater awareness of his separateness to me and I find him in tears one night because earlier in the day he heard The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” and grew afraid that this might happen to him – that he would leave one day, leaving only a note behind.

When my husband and I realise we are going to need to move again, find somewhere we both want to be, to settle, where we can grow older.

When the children wait for snow, go out keen to find the ice on top of puddles to crack and splinter, but the winter stays mild, wet.

And then there is the ‘transition period’ the whole of the UK is supposed to be undergoing, moving out of the EU, whether we like it or not. Lorries, stationary, but in long lines of transit, waiting to cross the border. And then there are the transitions- endless- from one tier to another to try to control the virus.

I think of others’ transitions too, of friends, and friends of friends: people waiting for a baby to be born; waiting for a loved one to recover, or die; transitions of age, gender, status.

What to do in response to these unchosen changes? I almost admire my daughter’s wish to fight them. Her maxim is not ‘to keep calm and carry on,’ but rather to keep screaming, whilst being carried. I am impressed by the volume of rage in her four-year-old frame as she attempts to stop things:

“You have to stop the car now,” she cries from the back seat, when we are in the middle of the road, “Right now. You have to do it. You have to, you have to, you have to…Mummy stop! Now! You have to stop!” It is a work-out of the will that can go on for hours and which leaves us both exhausted. It is extreme, and it makes me think back to the extreme metaphors for which I found myself reaching in trying to describe my writing process with the novel.

I counsel her in acceptance, but I recognise my own desire to scream against the times, to stop the world. Perhaps I need to flip things round - to harness the power of the scream, even as I accept the ways things are. Often I think of acceptance as passive, equanimity as cool and quiet. But I am not sure balance, as figured in this way, is the right metaphor for our times. The feat of balancing required now is that done by the tightrope walker, cliff face climber, white-water rafter – an athletic equanimity, a muscular form of acceptance that takes all our might, all our will.

Maybe it is time to reclaim the male image of the superhero. I like the way in the film of The Incredibles, the superheroic is recognised as a form of divergence from the norm, a daring difference, how the super ability can become a disability if the surrounding culture judges it as such. The image helps me to see my differences as potential superpowers.

A third and final list then comes to mind, a forwards-looking one, that might support me through the transitions of this time, and on into 2021 – a list of my extreme powers. If it comes to needing to grow food, hunt, light fires – wilderness survival skills – I will be useless, but I can do the following:

I can survive on little sleep.

I can hold onto the thread of a creative project or conversation through multiple interupptions and across many days.

I can imagine disaster, very fast, in almost any situation.

I can mother two intense children, both often awake till midnight.

I can name the elephant in any room.

I can write a novel in the hour per day when my children are watching TV (this is a slight exaggeration - when school was happening I had a little more time, but on a list like this you are allowed to exaggerate).

That’s it for now. I do not think we need to know or understand how our superpowers, our athletic abilities, can be put to good use. I do not think it is our job to calculate this, but rather only to keep in training. Ready. Skills honed. And also to notice, name and honour one another’s skills. I think I should write a list of my children’s superpowers too. As I write this, the children have woken and my husband is now showing my daughter the trailer for the latest Wonder Woman movie. My daughter likes her outfits, especially the golden bracelets. A glittering dress sense will be on my daughter’s list of wondrous powers.

The other day my husband shared with me a quote, from a Hopi leader in the year 2000, which seems relevant to my three lists as 2021 begins:

“There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore…..The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.”

Writing a novel has felt like white water rafting, but actually being alive right now feels like that too. This year I offer, not encouragement amidst despair, but something more extreme - a call to arms, to your arms, my arms, arms that can carry children, stir soups, make stories - superhero arms strong enough, not to grip, but to let go of the shore. Mid river as we are, I want to celebrate each other’s extreme, extraordinary abilities. So, tell me your lists: the list of things you did not wish for, the list of changes underway, unresolved, and then the list of the superpowers you are hiding, honing, as we are swept along. What powers, however ordinary, bizarre, or seemingly superfluous, do you have to offer?

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crysta-cub · 5 years

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Caught in a Blind. Chapter 5: Stretch.exe Has stopped working

All Stretch wanted to do was to check on Edge. He wasn't expecting this.

**Caution with descriptions of Injuries and, well, Red's humor may not be in good taste for everyone**

Also Sorry for the long wait, got a bit busy with life and minor writer's block.

AO3

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The next few days passed rather uneventful. Lots of food and rest, almost like a vacation with Blue overly fretting over him. His bones no longer felt like lead and he was beginning to feel energetic. After convincing his brother, Stretch was up and walking over to the door of their guest bedroom. After a classic nails and a haircut knock, Stretch waited for a gruff, “come in” before opening the door and stepping in. “hey, Red, how’s...” Stretch stopped in his tracks once he got a good look inside. There on the bed was Edge, unconscious and bandaged from head to toe, his left arm and both legs in casts. Pale red magic glowed over the bruises around Edge’s face, tracing along the bandages, what little magic the injured skeleton had was trying to heal the multiple wounds. Two IV bags hung above the unconscious skeleton. A maroon glowing bag contained the concentrated raw magic that was gifted from Blue. The line going directly to Edge’s soul, conveniently covered by the blanket. It was a breath of fresh air to hear that Edge’s magic was accepting the concocted mixture of magic of Blue and the Undyne from Underfell. The bag looked half empty, the slow integration potentially aiding in giving Edge the chance to gain the raw magic he lost.

The second bag, a thick and rich crimson that could only be marrow, ran a line to an uncomfortably large needle that bore right into the bone of Edge’s right ulna. Marrow, the life support of a Skeleton monster. The current bag wasn’t going to be enough to completely replace what Edge lost but would help while his body produced more as he recovered. Blue’s already is talking about possibly donating his own as well.

From what Blue had told him, Stretch already knew Edge’s injuries where server, but it was another thing seeing them for the first time. “tsk, take a picture, it’d last longer.” Red’s voice pulled Stretch out of his stupor. Stretch mentally shook his head before closing the door and walking towards the bed. “is nice ta see ya up an’ ‘bout, honeybun.” “thanks… how’s he doing?” Stretch kept his voice low, standing by the bed, unable to keep his eyelights off of the unconscious monster. “eh, out of any danger. he’s woken up a few times but the meds and healin’ magic keeps him loopy. he’s just been sleepin’, which is good, he needs it.” Red sounded tired as he shifted in his chair. Stretch looked down, noticing the shadows under his sockets. Stretch wondered when he last slept. “you did good kid. got him home.” “heh, i can’t take all the credit, Edge lead me back most of the way. he fucking saved my life. least i could do was to get him home.” Stretch sadly smiled at Red who only hummed back. Red rubbed at his face, giving out a sigh. “do me a favor, watch him for a bit, need to step out.” “yea, no prob. take your time, you look a little bone tired.” Stretch chuckled. Red chuckled tiredly “you have no idea.” and with that he slid off of the chair and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

Stretch took a deep breath before looking back down at Edge, taking a closer look at the injuries he sustained during his rescue. Blue had given Stretch the low down, but now he can see it all himself.

Edge sustained most of his injuries to his left side of his body. A few minor cracks to his skull that would heal over but had definitely threatened the socket. Like Edge really needed more scars to that socket.

The bones of his left arm and wrist had cracks and minor fractures, as if he used it to block a force. His clavicle was separated where the ball joint of his humerus had been popped out of the socket. A pang of guilt hit Stretch as he thought of his attempt to help Edge to his feet.

Three broken and two cracked ribs, it was a wonder Edge struggled to breathe only at the end of the journey. His pelvis had a few cracks in it, nearly breaking the ischium. He was lucky with his spine, a few inflamed disks but nothing broken or ruptured.

Traveling down the the right femur a wicked fissure fracture where the knife had been, nearly going straight through the bone had it been any longer. Blue mentioned their luck that the knife wasn’t poison, which tends to happen in Underfell. Blue also mentioned that it was the site Edge’s marrow had bled most out of. There had to be a lot of force for the knife to go that far, more than just a stab and if it was when he dropped Edge… Stretch soul clenched at the thought.

Then came the fibula and the tibia on the left leg, both with a spiral fractures and the patella was not where it was supposed to be. Just remembering feeling the ankle’s positioning made him shudder. Apparently there were a few dislocated bones there too. Stretch hugged himself, thinking of the mess of injuries.

Stretch jumped at the sound of a groan. Stars, why was he so jumpy?

Edge’s browbones crinkled as he slowly began to wake up, blinking slowly. Stretch wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but it seemed Edge may have murmured something. Stretch leaned forward, to try to hear what the fell monster had tried to say, when those hazy crimson eyelights landed on his face.

“Beautiful.”

Stretch eyes widen in surprise. That wasn’t what he had expected at all. Just as he didn’t expect Edge’s uncasted hand shooting up and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, only to pull him down into one hell of a passionate kiss, Stretch was thrown off balance, as he struggled not to fall onto the surprisingly strong, injured skeleton. Luckily it didn’t last long as Edge’s strength faded quickly. As Edge slid back to the bed, Stretch watched the content, pleased smile shift to a sadden forlorn smile, Stretch never wanted to see that despairing look on him again. As his eyelights drifting away from Stretch, Edge let out a resigned sigh. “It’ll Never Happen.” Slowly those sockets fluttered closed and Edge’s breathing evened out once again as he drifted back to sleep. Stretch brought his fingers up to his mouth, lightly touching where Edge had planted that kiss. ‘did he just…”

Stretch felt his soul freeze at the growl from the doorway. “mind tellin’ me what yer doin’ wit my brother.”

Stretch spun around, his hand flew behind his back as if hiding something, facing Red. Those eyelights darken as he glared at Stretch, the bag from Grillby’s crinkled in his grip. Magic and intent crackled in the air. “i, uh, um, i.” Ah, words of eloquence, next he’ll spout poetry. “think ya can take advantage of my bro while he’s doped up on pain meds?” Red’s voice was low and dangerous as he slowly stalked closer to him. Stretch’s soul pounded in his chest.

“no, i, i mean, its not....” Stretch feels the bed at the back of his legs preventing him from backing away from the advancing fell monster.

“ya know what happ’ns to those who mess wit my brothra?” The growl that rumbles from Red’s chest is low and threatening, Stretch could feel his metaphorical throat close as Red loomed up at him. He gulped.

“It’s not what it looks like… if anything he took advantage of me!” Stretch squeaked, hands up in a plea for mercy.

A bark of laughter and a snap of magic as intent vanished without a trace. “ah, yer great to fuck around wit’. the look on yer face. oh that was priceless.” Red laughed as he reclaimed his chair.

“what?” Stretch crumpled with shock and relief. ‘what just happened?’

“saw the whole thing, yer good. told ya he’s been out of it. probably thought it was a dream.” Red glanced over at Edge, Stretch followed his gaze. Edge looked to be content, almost peaceful in his sleep. “ah good one at that.”

Stretch turned a confused look at Red. “does… does Edge li... does he have a cru… is he infatuated with me?!” Stretch’s hands flailed as his mind tried to process what just happened, first pointing to Edge then to himself as he was filled with disbelief of the question he had just asked.

Red leveled an amused gaze at Stretch before taking a bite of his burger, taking his time to chew before speaking with the mouthful. “ain’t my peace to tell.”

Stretch threw up his hands in the air before running them down his face.

“let me level wit ya.” Red took an unusual serious tone, causing Stretch to focus on him.

“once we got Edge out of immediate danger and that mask shit off ya. i had to trace back ta where ya were attacked, found that the marrow didn’t start completely spillin’ out of mah bro til part way thru yer walk, i’m guessin’ ya fell or somethin’. recalibrated that trap you walked thru. cleaned up yer trail.” Red took a bite out of his burger, motioning for Stretch to sit down at the foot of Edge’s bed.

Stretch glanced at the offered spot before sitting, making sure to steer clear of Edge’s legs.

“there’s no point in sayin’ that this could ‘ave been prevented. so i’m gunna skip that part. what happ’n happ’n. let me fill you in on somethin’s.” Red continued to stuff fries in his mouth, before he took a swig of mustard.

“my bro. he’s tactical. he plans ahead, he sees ‘alf a dozen moves in any givin’ situation. he’s always thinkin’. i’ve seen him fight so many times, i can read his fights in the snow.” Teeth sunk back into the burger, not once but twice before Red gave Stretch the mercy of continuing. “ta say my brother was distracted is an understatement. ya tale ‘verses have him all worked up.”

Another bite and a short laugh. “He’s always been doing what he hopes is best fer the underground. endin’ fights wit’ his mere presence if he can. trainin’ those who are weaker ta defend themselves or escape. doesn’t kill unless he has ta.”

Another bite and a swig of mustard. “so he’s got it in his head ta better himself. he’s worried about gainin’ LV, findin’ ways to ‘void EXP. not wantin’ ta show this side of our lives. he’s doin’ things differently and this ain’t the first time it’s nearly got him or someone else killed. this time is just the worst one.”

Red finished off the burger, licking his fingers. “it should have been an easy an’ clean fight, ya know.” Red grabbed a fist full of fries and engulfed them, watching as Stretch wrung his hands. “He didn’t need to get hit either.” Stretch gave a worried glance at Edge then back at Red. “he wasn’t in line with the spiked log that is released when that trap was triggered, but from what I could tell, yer was.”

Stretch flinched a bit at Red’s words, fingers gripped and dug into the side of the bed. “wait, you’re saying that…”

Red eyelights met his, stern and steady. “he ran in front of the log to block it from hittin’ ya.”

Silence filled the room as that statement was left to sink into Stretch’s skull, eye sockets opened wide. Red finished off his fries and crumpled up the bag in his hands. Stretch swallowed harshly before looking back at Red.

“what I suggest for the future.” Red rubbed his grease coated hands over his pants. “lay off of his LV, ya seem to affect him the worse about it. ya don’t understand our world and what we hafta do to survive it. ya don’t know ta sacrifices he’s had ta make. ya don’t even know him.”

Red slid off the chair and grabbed the mustard. “do me a favor and keep an eye on him. i need ta get some sleep. just need to make sure nothing goin’ in him ends up not reactin’ well, project some nice feelin’ if his dreams goes south and shit. don’t need him flailin’. He ain’t goin’ anywhere, so ya should be alright, just holla if anythin’ happens, ya?”

Stretch nodded as he watched Red walked over to the door, giving his pelvis an obligatory scratch before he reached for the door knob. He paused at the door frame before letting out a sigh, an invisible weight settled on his shoulders. Red’s voice was unusually soft, “Stretch, one more thing.” A breath of a pause before a glimmer of crimson eyelight peaked over the shorter skeleton’s shoulder. “Whatever ya plan on doin’ wit’ him, go easy on him. whatever that is, he’s never dealt wit’ it before. i ain’t gonna threatin’ ya if ya hurt him. but if ya toy with my bro, what ya saw earlier, that’s yer warnin’.”

Red closed the door, ending the tension and leaving Stretch alone with Edge and his thoughts.

#Caught in a Blind #spicyhoney #pre-relationship #injury #Temperary blinding #bickering #violence #puns #dusting #minor character death #near death experience #hurt/comfort #awkward moments #accidental first kiss #Red has an odd sense of humour #Red gives the big lecture #Stretch wake the fuck up #Red knows Edge can take being hurt (aka heart broken) he just doesn't want anyone toying with his bro.

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

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Day 10: “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Hawthorne/Zavala

Warnings: Executor Hideo is still a jerk. Emotions.

Suraya Hawthorne only lies to him about one thing.

Until that point, she had been open and honest, committed to working with him. They had gotten to talking about the City and the lands outside of it and he had been curious. How old was she when she stepped into the wilds from the safe harbor of the City? Seventeen, she'd said. His eyes narrowed on her, and she looked away.

Lie. She was younger.

How long did she prepare? Oh, for a while, she brushed him off. Generalizing to prevent herself from lying to him further because he, she’d learned and learned quick, would know. She’s intelligent, but he’s unlike many she’s dealt with. She kept up with his moves, tried to change the subject.

Zavala let her do it, maneuvered around the conversation skillfully, patient. When they came full circle, as he’d masterfully planned, he asked her one question.

“Why?”

She plays it off coolly, almost with a Hunter’s sense of comedic self-depreciation. "I wanted to see what was out there. Y'know, just stretch my legs."

"Really?" He asks, interested. Gut churning.

"Yeah."

"There’s more to it than that,” He presses a bit further, touch and go.

She nods. The movement is too fast. She's blinking more. This answer will be flippant and generalized. "What is there to say? There’s a great big world out there, Zavala. The City is only a tiny part of it.”

The Commander does not push her. There is an animal sort of desperation laced into her posture, an anxiety that coils in the darkness of her gaze.

It’s enough intel to form a working theory: Suraya Hawthorne did not leave the Last City entirely by choice.

When she comes into the Farmhouse, he watches her shrink back. Two men in red stand beside him, speaking in hushed tones of the survivors of New Monarchy. They pause, only to look at her with open disdain.

“Is something the matter?” Zavala asks, careful to keep neutrality in his tone.

“Nothing at all,” They reply. After that, they talk softer with her down at the other end of their makeshift command center, and when they leave, he hears one of them say something as they pass her. Even if he hadn’t heard what it was, the tone is soft and scathing.

“What did they say to you?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “Nothing important.”

Zavala coughs, deciding to try and untangle what he can. “It sounded like a slur.”

“It wasn’t.” Lie.

“New Monarchy is safe in a western portion of the City. They have bunkers, supplies, food. Their scouts monitor the flight patterns and do their best to stay hidden. Their casualties seem to be relatively low.”

Suraya nods. “Good.”

“They made the insinuation that they tried to make contact before,” He mentions, when she returns to looking at a map and he’s pretending to check inventory of available munitions.

Tense isn’t the right word to describe her posture. Uneasy or wary are better more appropriate, he thinks. “They did reach out,” She hedges, speaking quietly.

“And?”

“I offered to setup evac.”

“And?”

“They refused.” She’s looking out the window now. Thinking about how she can escape.

“Why?”

She shakes her head. Does not look at him. She’s hiding something. “You’d be better off asking them. They seemed rather chummy with you.”

She does not speak to him for the rest of the day, and the entirety of the one after that. His gut tingles.

This response is local to New Monarchy. She deals with FWC and Dead Orbit nearly daily, without issue.

When she comes around following her walk in on his briefing by New Monarchy’s field scouts, he tries again, asking her why she left the City.

She walls herself off completely.

“I need to know, Suraya,” He tries, watching her in earnest. Pleading with her on a personal level rather than professional.

“I already told you.”

“You were lying and we both know it,” Zavala scoffs. “The truth. Please.”

Hawthorne shakes her head, and instead of anger, defensiveness - as he expects - she surprises him. She only sounds tired. “Listen, I can’t explain it.” She closes her eyes. “You’ll have to trust me.”

She does not expect him to stop there. It's clear she's drawing a line before he starts banging on the walls she's drawn around her heart. She underestimates his patience, and clearly is not used to her limits being respected. He has to give in order to get.

It's fair, he thinks. After all, look what she's giving to everyone. She, someone who left the City, who has no desire to return (she'd been honest there), did return in their darkest hour. She's been doing so much good, and fighting so hard to keep them all safe and be a good, inspiring leader.

"Okay," Zavala answers, careful not to let anything that might insinuate irritation bleed into his voice. "I won't pry."

His eyes search hers, and somehow, that crippling anxiety he sees reflected in them is only worsened by his acquiescing. He has some ideas about that, with regards to her.

She's afraid of making attachments to people, he gathers. She's been alone for a long time. Cooperation, communication, trust… it sounds almost like friendship. Falcon excluded, she does not have companions. She expects to leave or be left - he's not sure which upsets her more - after this war is over. This distance she keeps, this social awkwardness (to an extent), this aloof persona… it's all a defense mechanism.

Months later, Suraya only accepts his offer of a position within the City hierarchy for those she would be serving, guilted by their people's pleading. He does not love the idea that she does it out of guilt, but another leader not obsessed with power is a boon they will always need.

Their first Consensus meeting falls on a cold, rainy day that reminds him far too much of Towerfall.

Even so, decisions must be made. Tower reconstruction is to be abandoned in lieu of reappropriation of space and resources to a more habitable part of the wall. Whatever could be salvaged, would be salvaged eventually, but the majority of the structure is not safe for exploration much less removal of weighty supplies.

"Next order of business is appointing a new member of our council," He explains to the room. "It was agreed upon that we required a Clan liaison to consult both the Vanguard and City Government with the massive rise in unionization amongst the population in its entirety. Formally, that ambassador would become a member of the Consensus."

"New Monarchy objects," Hideo immediately presses, even though he knows Zavala is not done speaking. "I know who you want, and we do not want that woman's ideas in our City. She is an outsider. She is not needed here."

"And why is that? Your nose still sore?" Lakshmi says, with narrowed optics. Arach Jalal laughs beside her. "I oppose, but not because I'm afraid someone will find out my underhanded dealings," She and the Arach share matching - as much as Lakshmi's build will let her - grins.

“Now, now,” Jalaal croons, “He’s the one who threw her out, so of course he doesn’t want her back in.”

Ikora looks to Zavala, Hideo scoffs but swallows hard, and Cayde smacks his palm on the table because he'd lost control of his motor skills as he'd nodded off Zavala isn’t sure he’d feel better about things if Hideo lied, trying to deny it. The Executor’s flippancy makes his blood boil.

It's like an avalanche, the way his feelings all seem to roll downhill, landing squarely on his back, dragging him down with them. This is a rarity, that he doesn't know which of his emotions to feel first, only that they're demanding to be felt with a vigor he's not used to.

Normally, he'd will himself to control and then speak. But what comes out is a rolling thunderclap of, "He exiled you!"

"He didn't."

Zavala is beyond uncomfortable. He's furious. Furious the City - his City - failed her. The City he's spent centuries protecting. The City that was torn down by enemies in an instant.

The City they'd never have been able to reclaim without her.

"Look," She says, sounding tired. How many times has she played this conversation out in her mind, he wonders, "I'd been thinking about leaving, he just forced my hand."

"You weren't even the age of majority. It's unethical. Immoral You might have known what you wanted but you shouldn't have been able to make that choice. You were a child."

"I understand that," Suraya agrees, "But-"

The real issue isn't what's been done. That cannot be changed, it's happened, etched into time without the ability to go back and change it. No, the real issue is something else entirely.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why lie about it?"

"I am who I am, Zavala," She says, and those deep dark eyes land on him, rooting him to the spot. "I wanted your trust because of what my decisions made me. Not because you felt bad. I'm proud of my choices. Even the dumb ones." Her lips turn into a smile, and how she finds grace in this moment astounds him. He's just so, so-

"Don't be angry on my behalf," Suraya urges him. It's like something between them shifts, has shifted. They aren't who they were back when this was a war for survival. They are more. "Just don't let him do it to someone else."

"Help me do that," He manages, hoarse, unable to look away from the openness of her gaze.

She nods, and he sees her usual sarcasm smothered by sincerity. A metaphorical wall between them destroyed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Thankfully," He admits, equally as honest. Her shoulders come back and her chest rises, as if she's been pulled to full height by an invisible thread. Confident.

It strikes pride into his chest to be the one to make her feel this way. He endeavors to do it more often.

#destiny fanfiction #suraya hawthorne #commander zavala #zavala x hawthorne #steelponcho #fictober 2019

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burlybanner · 5 years

Text

Syzygy - 3

Syzygy - An AU of Infundo (post-Infundo Chronicles).

Chapter 3: Indulgences and Definitions

Chapter 3 Summary: Bruce has two individual epiphanies with his partners.

Link to Chapter 1, 2

Author notes: Sorry for the last minute late post - but yes, still keeping the posting schedule to Tuesdays for the most part.

Bruce stirred from sleep still a bit stuffed and rubbed his belly. He was sore all over from everything they'd done but it was a good feeling; he felt warm, loved, and safe...and maybe a little hungry? Was it possible he felt hungry and stuffed at -- he glanced at the clock -- 3:30 in the morning?

He pondered it before preparing to roll himself from the bed. In the beginning of their relationship he'd slept between Steve and Tony, but as big as he’d gotten he clung to their bed’s edges now, becoming the big or (not-so) little spoon to them. Because he was so huge it was impossible not to wake Tony or Steve if he got up in the middle of the night.

He loved their ridiculously comfortable bed though, and had second thoughts about leaving it despite his hunger pangs. A tiny smirk teased his lips. We'll need a sturdier bed later. Random future thoughts of bed-bound joy shot tiny, happy currents of electricity through his body. It took longer than average to do every day tasks like getting out of bed or sitting down despite being mostly mobile now. But future him wouldn't need to worry about such nonsense things.

Bruce’s gut rumbled and groaned, echoing his greedy, lustful appetite. Giving his stomach a small placating pat, Bruce rocked, scooted and shifted his demanding body off the mattress. When Tony softly grunted and Steve's breathing hitched Bruce froze, wondering if he'd woken them. But no. He sighed softly as they returned to their regular sleeping patterns after a beat. Besides, if they did wake for whatever reason they'd know where he'd be and they could join him in the kitchen.

He grabbed his robe (a robe that barely fit, the same robe Tony and Steve swaddled on cold nights) and slowly shuffled to the closest kitchen. He'd be out of breath halfway, but no matter; he had a feeling Tony would cobble together a kitchenette off their bedroom, once walking became too bothersome.

Humming, Bruce grabbed fried chicken, gravy, mashed potato leftovers and the corn casserole from the fridge and loaded his plate. For good measure he also grabbed ice cream, chocolate cake, and a spoon, nibbling on the sweets while the dinner foods warmed in the microwave. His mind wandered as he waited. A nightly feeding routine had merit. Doing would exhaust him, but he’d consider it. He could sleep during the day. Or catnap.

Alternately, he could modify a sumo wrestler’s diet to fit his needs, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was already consuming more calories than the average sumo, just to maintain his weight.

Steve was right. The answer was in front of them, somewhere. So maybe, if he combined Tony and Steve's ideas with his own, and reexamined the Hulk threshold, maybe adding a nightly feeding schedule to boot...

Hmm. It might work.

"Muffin?"

Bruce smiled at Steve's sleepy grin and popped another spoonful of chocolate cake and ice cream in his mouth. "Just got a little peckish."

"So I see." Steve's sleepy grin morphed into something diabolical. "Sit," he said, gesturing at a bar stool at the kitchen island. "You shouldn't waste extra energy by preparing your own meals." Bruce's stool was a little more squat than the others and heavily reinforced. Tony threatened to make the other stools the same for symmetry's sake but he'd never gotten around to it. Bruce honestly didn't mind. He liked having his "own" kitchen seat.

He snorted at Steve's quip and calmly watched the man grab a bowl from the cabinet; Steve wouldn't let him off the hook until he sat and obeyed him.

"So, Bruce. What's got you up at this hour, besides food?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"More than." He grabbed the hot food from the microwave as Bruce piled ice cream into a bowl and added his toppings - the "good" ice cream toppings, according to Tony.

Steve put the ice cream back in the freezer and gestured to Bruce's food. "Eat up. And tell me what's bothering you."

Bruce hummed appreciatively. He took time to answer, though. He wolfed down half his food before gently clearing his throat. "The pros and cons, I suppose," he murmured.

"Of what Tony's proposing?"

Nodding, Bruce took a few big bites from the chicken before loading up his spoon with the corn dish. "That, and more. I have some ideas, and I think I have something that might work."

"Oh?"

Bruce smirked and shoveled the corn casserole into his mouth. "Mmf," he said, mouth half full. "It's half of what's bugging me."

Steve watched him finish his chicken and casserole before silently piling more mashed potatoes to his plate. "Thanks."

Steve went to the fridge and dumped shredded cheese and butter pats to the rest of Bruce's heated mashed potatoes. "What's the other half, then?"

Bruce twirled his fork through the cheese and fluffed it together, and as he ate small contented noises rose from his throat. "Ooh, yeah. Perfect," he snuffled before scarfing it. "Mm. 'Kay. So...it's cosmetic."

"Cosmetic?"

"Yeah." Bruce’s fork scraped across his empty plate and he mechanically dug into the cake and ice cream, missing Steve slyly replenishing his dessert whenever Bruce looked close enough to finishing. "It took me this long to appear 'human' to people; to be normal. Sure, I'm pretty hefty, but I'm still functionally normal." He belched behind a curved fist before returning to his plate. He tucked into his next helping of cake and spoke with his mouth full. "I get a few odd stares now, but they're the stares guys my size normally get. I kinda get a kick out of that, to be honest."

Steve chuckled right along with him and grabbed chocolate sauce from the fridge. "So? What's the real issue?"

"The real issue," Bruce sighed, loading up his fork. "Is the monster I see myself bec...oh, that is amazing." He finally realized Steve heated up the chocolate sauce, then poured it over his cake and ice cream. His double chin quivered as he shoved giant bites in his mouth, trying to get in every last crumb of deliciousness.

"Don't choke yourself," Steve teased. But his small smile quickly faded. "You're not a monster. You know that."

Bruce shrugged, but he didn't say anything else until his fork clattered across the empty dessert plate. "Not consciously, no. But I've gotta ask myself, am I coming to terms with it? Is it so bad to be one, really? To own it? I'm not a hundred percent human - and neither are you," he amended, when Steve tried interrupting. "Or half of the Avengers, if we really think about it. Even Tony's genius puts him out of the human category, into something more like super...hm. Super humanity."

"Super human?"

"No. That phrase is trite and beyond overdone. Super humanity has more heart, and creates a space for people like us, as well as others." He pat his full stomach, feeling more at ease, momentarily mesmerized at how his huge belly jiggled with each pat. "I've begun owning the word 'fat,'" he mumbled, squeezing his rolls beneath his strained pajama top. "Maybe I can reclaim the word 'monster,' too."

"I'm sure you can, if anyone can do it," Steve said. He opened the freezer back up and took out the ice cream, and grabbed a fresh spoon. "But you're still my Muffin regardless. So let me make sure you're good and full before you wake up again, because you’re hungry."

Bruce smiled softly and opened his mouth as Steve spoon fed him the rest of the ice cream.

***

Still, that night got Bruce thinking; the key wasn't one individualized goal. Maybe, like a monster, he could go all out. Let the journey take flight on its own. He could hang on for the ride and chart its progress.

Dangerous thinking, Banner, he cautioned. The last time he metaphorically let it ride, he had a Hulk for his trouble. But maybe having three consciences would bring out better circumstances. Among the three of them he had a brain, a heart, and a moral compass...which was a darn sight better than just a brain.

"Earth to Bruce. Again."

"Hm?" Bruce snapped up from the book he wasn't reading. His head was nestled in Tony's lap, while Tony played with his curls. Steve had risen from the other end of the couch to gather snacks from the kitchen, so their dog occupied the warm divot Steve's butt left behind.

"You were saying?"

"I said," Tony murmured, kissing Bruce's forehead. "That I noticed you and Spangles made a small night of it. Without me."

"I wouldn't go that far," Bruce said honestly. "I got hungry and Steve and I talked over a few things."

"Oh, really?" Bruce could feel Tony's jealous streak rearing up. He put his book down, and took Tony's hand.

"Nothing major, promise. I told him I wanted to reclaim the word 'monster.' To use it, but in my own way."

"You're not--"

"No, wait. Hear me out." He'd already made peace with the word after his discussion with Steve, but he should've told Tony sooner. It was wrong of him not to. "I'm going to become someone 'otherworldly.' Monstrously huge’, as it were. But I want the opportunity to put my humanity on equal footing with the Hulk. It sounds...weird, but I don't know how else to describe it." He sighed, suddenly wanting another plate of cookies. "I guess I'm making peace with the Other Guy by becoming more like him, in human form. I'm almost excited at the prospect, to be honest. Maybe it'll help us understand one another more."

"Huh," Tony murmured after a long beat. A crooked smile passed on his lips. "I never thought about it that way."

"So...it's not such a crazy idea?" Bruce grunted. Some of his apprehension drained away with Tony’s approval. "There's merit to it, right?"

"Absolutely." Tony squeezed his shoulder. "But now that we're all on the same page, it's time to kick this into full gear. It's been a while since you used yourself as a live test subject - and I know your concerns," Tony interrupted, seeing the deepening crease across Bruce's brow. "But we've got this, babe. Let's pour through your notes and come up with some cool ideas."

* *

Part four: https://burlybanner.tumblr.com/post/186177528669/syzygy-4

#chubby bruce #chubby bruce fic #IFverse #infundofic #chubby bruce banner #steve rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #polyamory #stark spangled banner #chubby!bruce #bhm #chubby kink #chub love #infundo headcanons #syzygy #chapter three syzygy #post-Infundo AU #starkspangledbanner syzygy

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quowreadspact · 6 years

Text

“Mm hmm,” he said.

“Let’s start from the initial deal my partner proposed. You would be bound until… shall we say five minutes after midnight, two nights from now, as a starting point?”

“Hm. I haven’t accepted.”

So little time.

“Then let’s talk in terms of the hypothetical, and discuss when we’re done. We could say that no term or written word shall be considered binding until both of us agree and sign.”

“Outside of the inviolable rules,” Pauz said. He hopped down onto the table, picking something out of a piece of raw meat. He opened his mouth, let it dangle and wriggle for a second, then dropped it into his mouth.

“Which rules?” I asked. “The rules of binding oaths?”

1. Ew, eating a maggot

2. Yes, please let us go back over these rules.

“Those laws, which were established in the emergence from void and chaos, and the fundamental structures and forces of existence your practice, my power, or practice and power combined can’t alter,” Pauz said, chewing far too much, considering the small size of the thing he’d popped into his mouth.

If we’re talking about rules my practice or your existence can’t alter, why even mention them?

I thought about it for a minute, turning the words over in my head.

Trap?

No. Couldn’t see a trap.

Not unless the trap was to throw so many terms and ideas at me that I’d stop being careful.

“I could accept that,” I said, finally. “With further consideration.”

“Then we agree to talk about terms,” he said. “With nothing binding until we sign and verbally agree.”

More words, more terms and ideas to complicate matters.

I guess he could maybe exploit some rule that is inviolable but hurts Blake and not him? I don’t know enough about the rules to say, and neither does Blake.

I was making the wish to the genie that was hellbent on twisting the terms of the wish to screw me over. More than that, I was dealing with something very inhuman, in a context I didn’t fully understand.

Here we went. Dealing with a devil. “Sign by putting pen to the very set of pages I’ve outlined the terms on?”

Thats what your family does.

And not scrawling your name on Dowght or the underside of the table?

“Yes.”

“And your statements can be considered verbal agreement, even if you aren’t human, or if you aren’t technically there and speaking in the conventional sense?”

“Point conceded.”

“Then we agree to define anything you say as verbal? Anything you write as written by you?”

“Agreed.”

Circular reasoning, to agree to the terms of ‘agree’, but fuck it.

Tricky tricky.

Where to start? How did a contract normally go?

Basics first.

“The terms of this contract exist between me, Blake Thorburn, and…”

“Pauz, given of the Marquis Andras, both of the fifth choir, feral and foul.”

I scribbled it out, leaving the names blank. “Spell. Your name?”

“In the Dutch tongue-”

“In English,” I interrupted.

“P-A-U-Z,” he said.

Huh. Not the spelling I’d anticipated. It rhymed with ‘ooze’ when heard.

Was he just gonna through the different spellings in different languages? Why Dutch first? Weird...

Also wtf, it rhymes with ‘ooze’? Not how I imagined the pronunciation at all, but ok.

“And your…”

“My sire, my lord, the metaphorical tree that bore me as fruit. Andras. A-N-D-R-A-S.”

“I bear no risk by inscribing his name or yours?”

“No. Andras is bound, and only those bearing the saber he was bound to may call him forth. I am a lowly imp, and my name has no power, spoken or written.”

I scribbled out the paragraph defining myself and Pauz as the individuals the contract referred to.

I used the spine of Black Lamb’s Blood to push the various dishes and bits of food to the floor, clearing the table in front of me, then tore that half of the page off the pad, tore it so the section of paper with the paragraph was the only thing on the page, and slapped it down onto the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Outlining,” I said. “Conceptualizing.”

If I was going to write a contract, I’d do it like I was putting something together for work. Start crude, confirm direction, refine, polish.

Deep breath (but not too deep cause it smells here) Blake, you can do this! Also I looked up Andras:

“Grand Marquis of Hell. He appears to have the body of an angel and the head of a wood owl, and to be riding a black wolf and carrying in his hand a pointed saber. He teaches those whom he favors to kill their enemies, masters and servants. He stirs up trouble and dissension. He commands thirty legions.”

So um. Yikes.

I needed to bind him, I needed to bind him very fucking carefully, and I didn’t have the background of hundreds or thousands of years of trial and error in diabolism to back me up.

“The goal of the contract,” I said. “Is that we bind you for a term ending five minutes after midnight, two nights from now.”

“At which point I am given over to the Incarnation’s possession,” Pauz said. “Or you are forfeit.”

“Forfeit what?” I asked.

“Your word, your being. Whatever I desire,” Pauz said.

To hell with that, I thought.

“Firstly,” I said, “I am absolved of responsibility once I bring you, bound, to the Lord. I’m not going to suffer consequences if he or you do anything after that point.”

“You give me to him,” Pauz said. “A transfer of possession, with no intent to immediately reclaim me.”

“I’m not under the impression he’d give you up once he had you,” I said, looking up from the paper I was writing on. “But yes.”

“And you make some attempt, overt or otherwise, to ensure he keeps me until such a time that the contract’s terms end and I am free.”

“Unless such an attempt would work against your goals and mine?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“If he obviously intends to keep you, and pushing him further would look suspicious.”

“Granted,” Pauz said.

I wrote it down.

Careful about saying the ‘Incarnation’s possession”. I’d be a hell of a lot more specific than that... so many ways this could go wrong.

#text #collateral 4.7 #4.7

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charlenelouise-gdc · 4 years

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3.4 — FMP:

Initial Ideas for FMP

When the time came to draft my initial ideas of what my Final Major Project could be, there are a few that I thought of. I used the personal creative manifesto I made as guidance. I’ve always wanted to create things based on girl-culture and women. As media open up to more female centric stories, I wanted to be part of this conversation. Also, I would like to do one, specifically through the Asian lens. Here are some sample stories I would like to tell:

1) The Catholic Girl School Experience

I thought this would an interesting topic to explore since it has its own specific traditions and rituals unlike any other. Almost all girls who went to a girl school experience the same thing and its unique to them only. It’s almost a “sub-culture” of its own. As a girl who came from this kind of education, I can testify to this and have plenty of material I can work with.

I had an initial draft for story with a working titled “On your knees”. It’s based on the routine skirt checks that took place in school. In a way, I wanted to use this as a setting to challenge the sexism that women experience and the way women’s bodies are patrolled from a very young age. I thought it would interesting to explore this in this setting. Even in an all girls school, men’s comfort is prioritised and “modesty” is still held as the standard.

I proposed this last year as one of my ideas in the Year 2. However, I decided against it in the end as I favoured the other idea at the time. Also, I was advised to do this project when I have more experience. A year later, I gained more experience on set and improved my filmmaking a lot. This would be a good time to pick this project up.

References: Angèle - Balance Ton Quoi (music video)

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2) The “Packed Lunch”

This story is specific to the Asian immigrant lens or Third Culture kids. I would like to use food as a motif to explore the challenges that comes with this identity. The narrative I want to follow is based on my own experience. The story goes:

In primary school, my mother would make me lunch. It often involves rice and traditional asian food. I remember when I brought it once into school. When I opened it up at the lunch table, my meal was met with looks of disgust from my classmates and other invasive questions. It was the first time I felt disgust and hate for my own culture. I then asked my mother to stop giving me Asian food to bring to school. Since then, I’ve suffered through a lot of internalised racism. Now I know better and learned to undo everything, I take pride in the Asian food. Now, I look to Asian food as a sense of comfort and identity. Through the simple appreciation of Asian food, I’ve learned to love myself and accepting who I am.

Through research, I realised that this experience is not unique to me. A lot of Asian kids has gone through the same (e.g. Rina Sawayama interview with I-D Magazine). Food is so central to Asian culture: from the making to the eating. Also, its a way of staying in touch with a distant culture. Most importantly, its a very specific love language which Asian parents have; they do not say “I love you” verbally, but they do so in action - by asking if you’ve ate or providing food for you. In the story I just told, I didn’t disappoint myself, but I also disappointed my mother.

I would like to see more stories based on the diasporic experience and this what I have to offer. It also explores culture, identity and love (love for oneself and parental love - something that is not usually shown on screen); I think this can be something refreshing in the film landscape. As we look for more Asian led stories, I think it has its place and potential.

References: Pixar’s short film “Bao”, Nike’s “The Great Chase” Lunar New Year campaign, and “The Farewell” by Lulu Wang (Feature Film).

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3) “Fangirl” Culture

Like I said earlier, I’ve always wanted to champion women or pursue female centric stories in my work. Out of all the things out there regarding the feminine experience, nothing speaks more of it other than boybands and fandom culture. Its always been a persistent part of girl culture; whether it’ll be a pop band or a rock band. I think this would be an interesting world to explore.

There’s already a preferred narrative around fangirls - the rabid, crazy kind. Although that is true in some extreme cases, it would be unfair to only present this as the only side of the story. I would like to show the other, more wholesome side. Fandom culture goes beyond the band and the music; in fact, they are only mere catalysts. Fandom culture is ultimately about identity and community; through the band and music, many young girls across the world is given the opportunity to own something and begin to have a good sense of themselves - ultimately forming an identity. Also, its about community; they’re able to connect with others and form strong bonds simply because of the band/music. You can see this, in the queues before gigs or the excitement they discuss their favourite member. Above all, it speaks about a different kind of joy that is often belittled.

At present, a lot of the coverage around fandom culture are often done by people outside the community (with negative preconceived ideas which already suggest a bias). It would be interesting to see it from the people in the community themselves. I want to give the girls the voice and and let them reclaim the narrative. Ultimately, tell it from a loving lens.

Also, I believe this is quite telling on how female passion is portrayed and what is acceptable, depending on the demographic. Football fans chanting? Perfectly fine. Girls screaming at concerts? Insane. This is aligned with women’s negative and dangerous relationship with hysteria throughout history. I think there is an interesting window to explore the social implications around fan culture. Additionally, I like the challenge of taking something from pop culture and considered as low art, and give it context and background. After all, it deserves to be studied carefully as much as its high art counterparts (From Stuart Hall’s theory Representation: feminine taste = low art, Masculine taste = high art).

Above all, I think it would be equally as fun as well to do. It’s would be cool to celebrate fan culture, where its alive and present. Not just through a nostalgic lens. References: BTS’ documentaries: Bring The Soul (2019), “I used to be Normal” Documentary on fangirls across the ages (2018).

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I will think about the following and see which one feels the most right to explore for my Final Major Project. Also, I feel confident in the stories because they’re all quite original and I feel quite secure about pursuing them as I have proximity to the topic, whether culturally or through experience. Most importantly, I think the topics I’ve discussed have a lot of depth and tackle wider issues, despite being quite “small” or may feel “superficial”.

Idea 1: Skirt checks is about the patrolling of women bodies, at the expense of the patriarchy.

Idea 2: Lunchbox as a metaphor for identity: rejecting and accepting culture.

Idea 3: Fangirls have more to offer than screams. They’re actually full of love: for themselves and their respective community.

Moreover, they’re all equally challenging, depending how I try to channel them. At this present moment, I can imagine Idea 1 and 2 as written scripts. Wheres as Idea 3, feels more like a documentary. They require different skills. For example, Idea 3 is heavily reliant on research, while Idea 1 and 2 asks for good scriptwriting. With all of that in mind, there’s definitely room to take things further for each individual idea and accept the challenges it brings.

Ultimately, I think for my Final Major Project, I would like to give it my all and be ambitious too. I think its time to channel that energy to the correct idea.

#FMP 2020

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wonkyuna-blog · 7 years

Text

Save Myself

Genre: Fluff, M / M

Im Changkyun x Yoo Kihyun Summary: When you’re so used to caring and emotionally providing for someone else you often lose sight of who you are and what you want for yourself. Changkyun, forced from the relationship he carried on his own shoulders, now seeks to reclaim his individuality and rebuild a life for himself.

Word Count: 7.2k+

Warnings: Toxic relationship

/// Author’s Note /// My piece for @mxnetwork for the Lyrical Writing thingy! I chose Save Myself by Ed Sheeran

Changkyun rolled back to his side of the bed, panting and chasing after his breath. He looked back towards you, sweat gleaming off your skin almost glittering in the moonlight shining through the open window. It was sweltering in the middle of July. Too hot to function but Changkyun would never pass up makeup sex. He felt really guilty that y/n had been home all day with the broken ac unit while he was at work. When he had returned home to your shared apartment you ripped into him about not calling someone earlier while you basically melted from the heat.

“I’m sorry baby, I had no idea or else you know I would have taken care of it immediately. Did you try calling anyone from the HVAC place?”

“No, obviously not. That’s your job. I haven’t had the time to do much of anything all day since I was practically dying of heat exhaustion!” You huffed at him.

“Ah, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I’ll call someone in the tomorrow and get it fixed as soon as possible, okay?”

You took a deep breath, content. “You had better, or I’m leaving.”

“No, please! Listen, I’ll send the company an email right now then wake up first thing in the morning and call so they get my message either way, okay? Everything will be fine y/n, I promise.” Changkyun waited for your answer while he fidgeted nervously. The tension was growing too much and he felt like bargaining anything just to have you calm down.

“Fine, but you’re still going to have to make this up to me.” You turned to face him and gave him a look he knew all too well.

“Whatever you need baby, let me make it better.”

You looked so beautiful under the moonlight. The room was painted blue from the softness of it caressing every surface unhidden from shadow. Changkyun had hoped this would quell the fire in your heart from him letting you down, again. He wanted to make everything better for not taking care of you like he should have been. Checking the AC unit before he walked out the door in the first place had been on the back of his mind but he didn’t think to actually look. He had been running late anyway trying to clean up the house so you could relax comfortably while he was gone. You had both been together for almost three years now and he knew that as long as you were happy, you both were. He tried pulling you into him so you could fall asleep together, wrapped up and safe; but you pushed him away and grunted, “too hot.” You flipped to your side facing away from him and remained silent.

That following morning Changkyun woke up early to contact someone that could come out and work on the cooling unit. It was only a small dent in everything he had planned today, though he knew he could work through it with little issues. Today was the third anniversary of your relationship together and Changkyun had taken off work for the entire day to spend it with you. He excited himself thinking about holding your hand and going to your favorite places, eating the most delicious food, and spending the day reconnecting with one another. He started the day off with making you breakfast. Changkyun was waiting for the food to finish cooking as he set the table. You stepped into the dining room after just waking up, puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“Y/n! I hope you’re hungry because I’m cooking us a huge breakfast.”

You stood where you were and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “Changkyun…”, you sighed.

“Yes?” He beamed up at you while setting the last fork down next to an empty plate.

“We have to talk.” You wore a blank expression and withheld any emotion you may be feeling.

“Oh? You aren’t still mad about yesterday, are you?” Changkyun’s heart began to race as he felt stress building in his head. He started to walk back towards the kitchen to tend to the food cooking on the stove as he continued. “I called the guy to come out before you woke up, so he should be here at some point in the afternoon. Plus, I’ve got a plan to completely make up for it by the end of-”

“Changkyun”, you interrupted, “we need to break up.”

He stopped where he was, back turned to you, and stood there while he processed what you had just said. “What?” His voice cracked and he slowly spun around to face you.

“I can’t do this anymore Changkyun.” You were being incredibly vague, so Changkyun was having a really hard time understanding.

“But… y/n it’s our anniversary… did I do something wrong?” He began to fidget, his fingers searching for anything to relieve the anxiety creeping into his chest.

“No… I-… yes. This just isn’t enough for me. I don’t know how to make this work and I shouldn’t have to. It just… should.” You threw your hands up and let them fall hard. You didn’t want to continue the conversation any longer.

“Y/n, whatever it is we can work on it and I can fix it. You just have to tell me-” Changkyun began to beg, he didn’t want it to end like this. Especially not today.

“It’s done, Changkyun. I’m done.” You turned to walk away and locked yourself in the bedroom. Changkyun wanted to fight so badly, but a bigger part of him felt defeated. He didn’t know what went wrong. You were both so happy. The fire alarm began to sound off.

Changkyun woke up in a sweat. He had been having the same nightmare for two weeks now, and was awakened each time by the alarm sounding off in his mind. The piercing shrill of it burned like a metaphor into his memory. It was dawn, so he decided to recollect himself with a shower and head downstairs to make himself a cup of coffee to get his day started. He bounced down to the bottom step to see his mother at the kitchen table having breakfast. He had come to live with her again after the breakup since Changkyun let y/n stay in their apartment. A choice he was scolded by his mother for, since in her opinion they decided to leave the relationship so they should be the one to actually leave and not Changkyun. Still, she welcomed him home with open arms and warm meals every night. She was happy to have him back.

“Good morning! How are you feeling today?” She also took the time to check up on his recovery. His mother knew how hard of a breakup this had been for Changkyun, and she wanted to make sure that he was taking the right steps to come out of it okay.

He walked over towards the coffee maker and prepared a brew for himself. “Had the nightmare again.”

His mother looked him up and down, his disheveled appearance causing her body language to slump too. “You take all the time you need to recover dear. I know how much they meant to you, and no amount of time taken to get past this makes you any less of what you are.”

“I know mom, thanks.” After the brew was finished Changkyun silently filled his cup and shuffled back upstairs to his room.

He had been doing nothing but lay in bed since being back with his mother the past week. The week before was filled with awkward co-habitation with you. Even now, though, all that filled his head was y/n. He couldn’t shake it, he didn’t know what to do. He had gone through all the emotional stages but was still a heavy mix of angry and hopeless. Though he felt he was lucky enough to still have his mother in his life, during Changkyun’s relationship he had lost ties with all his friends and most family members. He was completely alone in the world because of y/n since you wanted him all to yourself constantly. Any attention you were stripped of sent you into emotional turmoil. Changkyun knew he had to break out of the shell he had put himself into. He sat down at his computer and pulled up a local classified ad to make his first step: get a new job. There was no real use thinking about the past anymore and he knew he needed to move forward. It was worth it to distract himself, he thought.

He had finished applying for a grocery store and a pastry shop before seeing an offer that actually pulled his attention. He had never thought about working in a book store before, but he imagined it being peaceful and positive. That’s what you needed to recover with, right? So he filled in for the shop called Blue Moon Books, and anxiously awaited a possible phone call.

Two days later Changkyun’s mother visited him while he lay in his bed moping. It was morning and there had been no phone call from any job he applied for thus far, and he was trying his best to remain patient. The only problem was that he felt incredibly lonely, and sitting with his thoughts to himself wasn’t the best right now. He’d stare into the ceiling and think about those nights where he and y/n would sink into each other on the living room couch. You would fight with him over what to watch and tell him what he liked to watch was stupid, but Changkyun could only see the glow of the television illuminating the beautiful features of her face as she offered only an annoyed expression at him. Anything you wanted to make you happy, he would provide for you. “Honey, can I come in?” He heard a quiet rasping outside his door, his mother had come home from her late night shift.

“Sure thing, mom.” He sat up to make room for her on his bed as she took a seat next to him.

“I really want to talk to you about all of this that’s been going on with you lately. It’s been almost 3 weeks now, and I don’t want to press but I think it’d be good for you to talk about this. You’ve been kinda mopey lately and I thought we were making good progress. I don’t want you to get discouraged though, you can have set backs. I’m just… I’m just worried about you sweetie.” She fidgeted with her hands, nervous. Clearly she was uncomfortable pushing Changkyun when she wasn’t sure if he was ready yet.

Changkyun looked to his feet and stared silently into space for a while. He actually wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the reality - at least talking about it made what happened seem more real than it should anyway. His mother was right though, it was time to talk about it and there was no one better than her.

“I just… I don’t know where to start mom.” He couldn’t look at her or he knew he’d start crying. “I just don’t know what happened, ah.” His voice began to crack. “We got in a little fight about the AC unit, and I took care of everything but then this still happened.” He circled with his hands to make a visual representation of, ‘all this’, then let them fall as he felt completely defeated.

“Changkyun, if you can walk through what did happen that day with me, please. I want to understand just like you do.” She reached over and rubbed his back in a figure eight motion to try and get him to relax.

He let out a deep sigh and squeezed his temple between his fingers. His mother was all he had left in the world. She had let him live there again with her, so it seemed only fair to let her hear what her son had gone through. “I don’t know mom, it was mostly a lot of confusion. I came home that night from work and y/n hadn’t spoken to me all day. I didn’t bother them, felt they needed some space you know, and I was fine with that. The second I walked through the door though, they absolutely blew up on me. It was like a bomb went off. Screaming incoherent sentences, I just wanted them to calm down so I could fix whatever was wrong. They finally brought it down enough to tell me the air conditioner had been broken all day with them in the apartment basically melting, and they were upset that I hadn’t done anything about it.”

Changkyun’s mother nodded. “Did you know about it before coming home?”

“Well… no, but I just felt so bad for them and I understand why they were mad but….” Changkyun began to fidget with his hands then when his mother continued talking.

“You shouldn’t feel bad for them being a lazy piece of shit.”

“Mom!” He had never heard her curse before.

“I’m sorry hun, I just don’t think that was handled right at all. On their end, anyway.”

“Well, they broke up with me the next day anyway so it doesn’t matter anymore.” He felt himself growing distant when this discussion became uncomfortable. His mother was protective of him, and obviously held a grudge for y/n isolating her only son from everyone else in the world. Just then Changkyun’s phone began to ring, and to his joy interrupted their conversation. “Hello?”

“Hello! I’m calling for a… Changkyun?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Hey! My name is Shownu, I’m calling from Blue Moon Books about your application? I’ve just finished reviewing it and was wondering when you might be available for an interview?”

Changkyun had to recover his heart from his stomach after hearing his quick speech. “Y-yes! When would be best for you? I’m free all this week actually.”

“Great! Come by the shop around 2pm today and we can get you all set up!”

“I’ll be there, thank you so much!” The call ended and Changkyun looked back to his mother who was giving him a confused expression.

“Mom, I have an interview with that book store I was telling you about.” He almost couldn’t believe the words that spilled from his mouth. It didn’t exactly seem like that big of a deal, but he was proud of himself for taking some first few steps at getting his life back up and going.

“That’s great! Well, go get washed up for it I won’t keep you!” His mother rushed out of the room, all smiles.

Main-street was busy and bustling. The smell of fresh bread hung in the air from the bakery Changkyun walked past, he was almost tempted to go in but he had his mind focused on meeting Shownu. It was a beautiful, bright day and he felt more confident than usual about his budding opportunity. Changkyun arrived at the shop twenty minutes before his interview since wanted to look around for a bit and see how he felt about the atmosphere of the store. He was able to walk there because it was only a few minutes away from his mother’s home settled on a calmer street section in the city, down further from the claustrophobic feeling the beginning of main street held. The building, marked with large blue lettering that of course read 'Blue Moon Books’, had single pane front windows with book displays and popular character models in an attempt to draw in curious eyes. As soon as he walked in the aroma of pressed espresso had washed over his senses. It was rather quiet in the store aside from the barista preparing coffee with quick hands. He was a tall, brilliantly tanned man with golden blonde hair pulled into a short pony tail. His gaze was fixated on his task and one could tell he held a certain passion for the job he performed. The store itself was impressively organized with volumes upon volumes of whatever genre one would be in the mood for. Mystery, drama, comedy, love, it was all here and categorized by the genre itself, then by the author. Two more men stood at the counter as Changkyun continued deeper into the store. One with a rounded face and eyes that held their own kind of smile, he looked genuine. He was speaking with a larger, broad shouldered man whom Changkyun assumed must be the manager, Shownu, that he spoke on the phone with. He carried himself high and looked to be giving direction. The first man looked to Changkyun and broke their conversation.

“Is there anything I can help you with sir?” He leaned on the counter, propped up by his elbows.

“Yes, actually. I’m here for an interview.” Changkyun straightened his back out and tried his best to look what he felt was professional.

As if it were rehearsed the man presumed to be Shownu stepped forward with a large smile. “That would be me! And you would be Changkyun? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir.” Changkyun felt incredibly at ease then, even though he was speaking with an employer. He felt good about this. Shownu stepped from behind the counter to extend his hand in greeting. Changkyun took this opportunity to look him over and was slightly amused by his visage. Shownu looked like someone that should be at the gym right now or at a fighting match proving his own strength. Instead, this hulking mass was managing a quiet book shop on main street. Nothing wrong with that, of course, Changkyun thought to himself. Rather amusing in the simplest means. It was humbling if nothing else.

“Let’s take a walk around while you tell me about yourself.” Shownu placed a gentle hand on Changkyun’s shoulder as the two of them began to walk the shop together.

“I’ve never seen a shop so spacious yet so filled before.” Changkyun marveled. He had hoped that didn’t come out as an attempt of flattery. Maybe he was nervous after all.

“Tell me, why do you want this job?” Shownu kept his eyes forward, listening intently.

Right to it, then. “Well, truthfully sir… I just got through a pretty rough breakup… and I’m looking for something not so stressful and where I can grow into myself again. Just… I guess something to focus on.” He had hoped it wasn’t painfully obvious that he had rehearsed that line over and over on his way to the shop that day. Even though he did hesitate a few times. Shownu was mostly quiet, they had stopped walking while Changkyun awaited a response.

“Well Changkyun, we are a small family here. I’ll be straight forward with you, I need an extra hand with the register and with organization. Business is really picking up and I need more people at the counter than just one person. I’ve been through the other interviews today and you’re the first that has been pretty laid back instead of attempting to flatter me with business speak and talking out their ass the whole time. Plus, if you’re going through a tough time who am I to turn down someone looking to bring purpose and structure back to their life?” He paused, cleared his throat, and extended his hand towards Changkyun. “If you can start tomorrow, the job is yours.”

“I’ll even start today if you need me to.”

Shownu chuckled at his response. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, kid. Just go rest up and be here tomorrow by 8am.”

“Absolutely! Thank you so much.” Changkyun, ecstatic, ran out the door to go prepare and tell his mother the good news. Main street had died down by this point, so he decided to burst into a full on sprint back up the walkway. He hadn’t felt this excited in weeks.

“I’m so happy for you!” His mother was almost squealing with her own excitement. “Oh, this is going to be so good for you, I know you’re going to love it. Read too while you’re there, okay? You used to love reading so much.” She cooed.

“I will, mom.”

The next morning, Changkyun tossed himself awake reacting to the loud screams of fire alarms, again. He lifted himself out of bed, covered in sweat, looking around for any sign of the blaze. Nothing. “Dammit.” He sighed to himself. He wasn’t sure how long the nightmares would last, but at least today they woke him in time to get ready for his first day at work. He showered then ran downstairs after getting dressed to find his mother standing near the dinner table. She had a cup of coffee for him and the biggest smile he’s ever seen her wear. He walked over and embraced her tight. She rubbed his back and said, “this is going to be good for you, like I said. A new fresh start. You’re such a strong person Changkyun, I know you’ll get where you need to be. And I’m always here for you. Remember this.”

He thanked her and headed out towards the shop. Walking in he saw the man at the counter from yesterday, greeting him with a warm smile.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself since you ran out so fast yesterday. I’m Jooheon.” Jooheon held his hand out to formally greet Changkyun.

“Right, sorry about that. I’m Changkyun.” He returned the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Jooheon giggled. “You don’t have to be super formal here, we’re all like a family anyway. So, to kick things off let me run down what you’ll be doing.”

Jooheon walked Changkyun around the sales floor, front counter, then the back room telling him how to use the register and check inventory.

“Customers can order books through us too if we don’t have exactly what they’re looking for in stock.” Jooheon explained while showing him the public kiosk set up for people to use freely on the sales floor. “So”, Jooheon turned to face Changkyun, “since I’m finished with the basics why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? I can only eavesdrop so much, you know.”

Changkyun thought for a second before answering. “There’s not much to tell, truthfully.” He shrugged. “I’m just pretty much looking to find myself. Like, who I am and what I want essentially. I figured this would be something new and relaxing for me.”

“Bad breakup?” Jooheon interjected.

“W-what?” Changkyun felt embarrassed.

“Shownu mentioned it, but I won’t bring it up if it’s still sensitive. So don’t sweat over it.”

“Heh, I’m sure I’ll talk about it soon, it’s only just been about a month anyway – probably less. I’m trying not to keep track.” Changkyun rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, trying to show he was uncomfortable without really saying it.

“Relax, man. You’re going to like it here just fine.”

A man walked up to them as they stood at the counter talking. Jooheon greeted him first, likely demonstrating what was expected of Changkyun.

“What can we help you with?” Jooheon flashed that brilliant smile of his.

“Mmm, well…” The man was shorter than the both of them and looked rather timid while he gathered his thoughts. Though, Changkyun caught himself thinking only about how adorable he is. He had black strands of hair cascade down his forehead in protest against the gel that was supposed to hold it back and wore ripped jeans with a tight fitted t-shirt around his small body. “I was wondering if either of you had any good recommendations? I’m usually a pretty avid reader but I love seeing what other people pick up so I can try it too.”

Changkyun realized that Jooheon was staring at him, waiting for him to take this opportunity for himself. Surely for the job experience only.

“I… um… well…” The man stared intently at Changkyun, waiting for his answer. Changkyun released the air he held captive in his lungs as a deep sigh. “I actually haven’t been able to read much lately… and I just started here so I’m sorry that I can’t be of much help.”

The man began to quietly giggle. “I appreciate the honesty, darling.” He beamed up at Changkyun. “How about…” he pulled a pen and paper from his bag, “you get a recommendation from me, instead, and the next time I see you we can talk about it.” He smiled big as he handed over the paper, offered a quick wave, then turned and almost bounced his way out the door. Changkyun felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Jooheon very amused.

“You know you cant fall in love with every customer that comes in right? You might want to calm down a bit before someone thinks you were sitting in the sun too long. Your face is so red!” He teased and Changkyun hid his face behind his hand and with the other passed the paper to Jooheon.

“Do we have this in stock?”

Jooheon busted out laughing “I don’t know if we have a book titled 'Kihyun’ with a kissy face, or maybe that’s the author? Oh but see here… the other line, that must be the book title we can look up. Just another thing I can show you, come on.”

Another week had passed since Changkyun first started at Blue Moon Books. He and Jooheon were becoming close friends quickly and he had learned a lot from him about different novels that had become popular over the past couple of years. He felt he missed out on so much. Though the one book he was most invested in was the one recommended to him by the man he met his first day there. Changkyun had finished reading it and was waiting around to see him walk through the front door so they could talk about it, but each day came and went without seeing his face.

“He’ll come in eventually man, it’s only been a week anyway. That’s not the first time I’ve seen him come in.” Jooheon gave Changkyun a rough pat on the back “Besides, with the way you’re so worked up over it this is probably good for you anyway. Didn’t you just come out of a long term relationship?”

“Yeah…”, Changkyun sighed, “you’re right, and…. I don’t know I guess I’m just a little lonely is all. Three years is a long time with someone. Not to mention I haven’t even thought of the possibility of being with someone new? And he’s just so cute I….”

“How did that end anyway? If… you don’t mind me asking.” Jooheon was a bit uneasy asking this question. He knew it could be sensitive.

Changkyun gave in, though, and told him everything about y/n that had happened in those last two days they were together. “And I’m not sure if I have the right to be angry you know? A big part of me is, but I have no one to blame but myself anyway.”

Jooheon stood where he was and held his concerned expression for a while, thinking, before finally speaking. “Dude, you do realize this person was using you, right?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Changkyun certainly wasn’t expecting those words from him.

“You were in an emotionally manipulative relationship with them. They used you for everything. Tell me, didn’t you say when you first got here that you were trying to find yourself? Why do you that is, exactly?”

“I mean I…”, Changkyun hadn’t thought of the reason, honestly. He just knew he wasn’t himself. “I had to care for them you know? And… in doing that I kind of lost sight of who I was or what I wanted.” Yeah, that sounded about right. “That’s just natural though, I did what I needed to-”

“Changkyun, come on man. That’s not normal. Y/n is an adult, and they should be able to handle themselves and their own life. Listen, the cooling unit is a thing that happens, not someone asking you to take the responsibility for their every mishap or emotion for three whole years. That a lot of shit to carry on your shoulders.”

Changkyun was silent, unsure of what to say exactly. He was starting to think that maybe Jooheon was right, and that he did deserve better than what happened between them. But then he wondered how you un-do three years of all that combined.

Jooheon could tell he was troubled. “I didn’t mean to make you feel negatively at all, nothing you did was wrong and you didn’t deserve what happened. I hope you know that… I want you to know that. You’re a good person, Changkyun. Karma will do wonders, just watch.”

Changkyun offered a small smile. “Thank you Jooheon”

“Don’t sweat it, let’s get back to work and get our mind off this, yeah?”

Changkyun went about his day organizing shelves, doing inventory for a new books, and selling merchandise. They were getting close to locking the doors when one last customer ran up.

“I’ll be quick, I promise!” Jooheon let them inside and then ran over to Changkyun.

“Um, you’ll want to be ready at the counter for this.” He was smiling big… too big.

“What?”

“Just go!” Jooheon pushed him towards the register. Changkyun watched as the customer darted inbetween shelf after shelf, like they had been here a hundred times. They gently pulled each selection from their place, giving them a once over before finally picking two and walking briskly towards the counter where Jooheon and Changkyun stood waiting. Changkyun then recognized him as he approached. Kihyun.

“Oh! I’ve been waiting for you to come back around! I finished that book you recommended.”

“Oh, yeah?” A flash of red crept in his cheeks and he broke eye contact. “You know I realized how dumb I was for not even giving you my name before. I’m Kihyun.” He was half looking to the side, half looking at Changkyun’s chin. He wondered why Kihyun seemed embarrassed.

“Ah”, Changkyun rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “yeah, I saw on your note actually. I’m Changkyun.”

Kihyun slid the books he picked onto the counter and took a breath. “Um, would you like to hang out with me sometime? We can… talk about that book.” His face was even more red now, changing hue by the minute it seemed. Changkyun, frozen with the product scanner in his hand, was shocked at the sudden invitation. He felt Jooheon lightly pinch his arm in encouragement.

“Yeah, that sounds great actually. I know of this arcade in town we can go to, if you’d be interested in something like that?”

“Are you kidding?!” Kihyun seemed excited at the suggestion. “I love arcades! I didn’t even know there was one in town. Are you free tomorrow?” He was practically bouncing on the soles of his feet awaiting Changkyun’s response.

“He is!” Jooheon answered for him, but Changkyun was confused. He wasn’t free tomorrow, he had to work.

“Great! We can meet up around noon then. How much do I owe you guys?” He stood waiting, wallet in hand, and the most lovely smile painted on his mouth.

Changkyun cleared his throat. He was trying so hard not to feel awkward, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s fifteen seventy-nine.”

Kihyun paid for his new books and handed Changkyun a slip of paper. “Feel free to text me whenever. See you tomorrow!”

The moment the door closed behind Kihyun, Jooheon turned to place his hands on Changkyun’s shoulders. “Dude, relax. You two are just hanging out, and I’m gonna cover your shift. Besides, you’ve been working every single day so you could use a good break."

"You’re right.” Changkyun exhaled. “Thanks, man.”

“Just because you think he’s cute doesn’t mean you have to add pressure to this, you know.” Jooheon walked to the backroom laughing before Changkyun, mouth agape, could protest.

That night back home, before going to bed Changkyun decided he would try and text Kihyun to start conversation and hopefully make himself feel less anxious about them hanging out tomorrow. He sat on the edge of his bed writing, deleting, and then rewriting text after text before finally gathering the courage to send him something. Just before hitting send Changkyun’s phone began to vibrate as it received a call. He hadn’t recognized the number at first, but after answering and hearing the voice on the other line his heart dropped into his gut.

“Changkyunniieee!” Y/n was basically purring his name on the other end.

He didn’t answer right away. “Did you miss me? Hmm? I-I miss-d you by like… just a lil bit ya know.” “Y/n are you drunk right now? What do you want.” His shock transgressed into a slow burning infuriation.

“I dunno I just wan-ne-ted to hear your voice, maybe? And no! Sill-by, I only drank a lil cup. I’m fiiinne. You’re acting like we barely know-”

“You told me to leave you alone, and I respected your wishes. So this is me, asking you to respect mine and return the favor.” Changkyun hung up and tried to recollect himself. Where in the hell did they get off thinking they could just call like that? He looked back down to his phone to see three new messages.

The first two: -UNKNOWN (11:28 PM): YOU THIBNK YOU CANA JUST HANG UP ON ME HWEN IM SPEAKING TO YOU?? FUCK YOU -UNKNOWN (11:34 PM): ok im sorry haha im jst kidding call me

“Ugh.” Changkyun was hoping this wouldn’t begin to be a thing, and would remain a one-time occurrence. Then he checked the third message: -KIHYUN (11:07 PM): Hey!~ I’m looking forward to our hang out tomorrow. Be ready to bring your competition on! >:D

That text alone removed the bitter feeling from his heart. He was moving on.

Changkyun arrived at the arcade far too early. It was just now eleven when they had agreed to meet around noon. Yet, here he was, eagerly waiting for Kihyun to show. Not too long after he had made it there, his phone began to ring. As he looked down to see the caller ID it lit up as the number y/n had called him from the previous night. Against his better judgement, he answered.

“Hello.”

“Oh! Changkyun! Thank god, listen… you’ve got to help me.” Y/n sounded panicked and was breathing heavy.

“With?” He couldn’t believe this.

“My boyfriend he uh… kicked me out. I have nowhere to go.” They seemed to be on the verge of tears, or at least that’s what the acting came off as.

“And how is that my problem.” He forced a stern tone in his voice, he wasn’t interested in helping them whatsoever.

“Well, that’s rude… but, we got into a fight and he told me to get out. Long story short. So I went out for a few drinks until he calmed down but when I came back the door was locked.”

“Wait, wait. Where were you staying?” The other end stayed silent. “Y/n!” He tried pushing.

“Uh-I… our apartment?”

“Are you serious right now? This is some major irony, isn’t it?” Changkyun was kicked from his own apartment from the person who decided to end their relationship, and now the same was happening to them. Jooheon was definitely right about karma, and it came bearing teeth.

“Changkyun you’re being really mean.” He could almost hear that stupid pout through the whining. “I need help and you’re just going to critici-”

“You’re damn right I’m going to criticize you. You think that you’d just call me up, so sure that I’m still wrapped around your fucking finger and that I’ll just drop everything that I’m doing just to coddle you. Well, you ensured that will never happen again, and I gotta say y/n… I thank you for it.”

“What are you even fucking talking about?”

“Ah, there’s the snake.” Changkyun looked up to see Kihyun waving and towards him. “I’ve got to go. Don’t call me again, and find someone else to leech off of. It sounds like your new toy isn’t so easily swayed anyway. Good luck.” He turned his phone off and shoved it inside of his pocket. Changkyun felt immensely proud of himself in this moment. He did something he never in a million year dreamed that he would, and he had never felt more free.

“What are you all smiley about, huh?” Kihyun pushed Changkyun’s arm in a playful manner.

“Just… I dropped something from my life and I feel a lot better. Let’s go inside?”

“Oh! Yes please!”

They stepped inside and Kihyun began to marvel at everything he saw. “Oh, my god! It’s video game heaven!”

“Well, that is kinda the point.” Changkyun teased.

“Tsk, I told you that I’ve never been here before. Let my inner child have a sugar rush, will you?” Kihyun giggled and picked out games for them to play together. Changkyun felt they were there for days with how much fun he was having. Kihyun demolished him at racing games, but Changkyun had the upper hand with shooters. He felt as if the world, including the past and future, melted away. It was only him and Kihyun genuinely enjoying each other and having fun. Nothing else mattered, and that’s when Changkyun thought to himself that nothing else would. “Kihyun?” His stomach knotted up into ways he didn’t think were possible.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for today.”

“Oh, you’re welcome! But… what do you mean, what for?” He was beaming from ear to hear. His smile lit up his whole face. Curious, but happy still.

“It’s just..” Changkyun stammered, “I don’t feel any pressure being around you. Like… I’m not walking on egg shells, you know? I just… thank you.” He was having a hard time maintaining eye contact. There was something he had to get off his chest.

For a moment Kihyun was confused, but slowly seemed to gather Changkyun’s meaning and let it go. “Like I said dear, you’re very welcome. I’m having a lot of fun too!” They stood in awkawrd silence for a short while before Kihyun pressed. “Shall we play more, or…?”

Changkyun exhaled hard, and took a step towards Kihyun. “Kihyun can I…” He couldn’t bring himself to look up, but he heard Kihyun grant him a small giggle.

“Why are you acting so silly?”

“Can I kiss you?” He felt like he had been punched in the gut, but for some reason it was more satisfying than painful.

“I…” Changkyun finally looked up to find Kihyun with a surprisingly relaxed expression, searching for something to say. As he gave a slow nod time stopped for Changkyun. He gently reached forward and cupped Kihyun’s cheek in his palm, then drew him close to kiss him deep. He felt Kihyun’s little fingers tighten around his biceps as if to brace himself, and his lips were outrageously soft. They tasted of strawberries and that was something Changkyun knew he would never forget. Kissing Kihyun felt just right, like they were designed for each other. Then, Kihyun pulled away.

“I just… I had to know.” Changkyun confessed. “I felt something and… I don’t know, kissing you sounded like a way to solidify that.” He nervously rubbed his arm, unsure of what Kihyun was feeling.

“Changkyun I…” He looked conflicted, like he held his own secret. The tiny child in him that was just running around the arcade, hiding.

“If… if this is to become something… more…” He was having a tough time searching for the words again it seemed. He had hoped that Kihyun knew he could trust him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Changkyun I wasn’t born… how you see me now. I need to know you’re comfortable with who I am. I was… born a female, not as me. Not as… Kihyun.”

Changkyun’s heart swelled. “You’re Kihyun to me. You are who you say you are, and to me? You are Kihyun, the boy I met a week ago that has made me develop the biggest, most horrendous crush on.”

Kihyun couldn’t help but laugh.

“And I’m scared as hell but… I want to know all of you. I mean you.”

Kihyun shoved himself into Changkyun’s embrace then.

“We’ll both grow into ourselves. You can learn to trust me, and I can do the same for you.” He lifted his chin up and placed small, wet kisses along Changkyun’s jaw line. Standing on the tips of his toes Kihyun whispered into Changkyun’s ear, “We learned how to save ourselves.”

#mxnetwork #mxwriters #changkinet #mxlyricalwritings #kwriterskollection #save myself #changki fluff #monsta x fluff

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succorcreek · 5 years

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What is a Strong Women???? GOT knows http://bit.ly/2UX7EzH Well, I'm not a woman. But, I am a feminist and functioned in a heavy face time role with women as a clinical therapist for 35 years. Now, retired, I tend to write about that lots, because: 1. I don't see the plight of women having improved much in that time. In fact, there's an incredible campaign to disse women, patronize them, joke about them. It does come in many forms, that may surprise us all: It shows up still in job pay: women are forced to handle two jobs or suffer in lifestyle, while men relish their entitlements It shows up in our schools and groups, in kids athletics where boys hear the downing of women by the phrase, "Ok, lets get going Girls, or are you soccer players". It shows up when we see what a president does to women (how he directs his wife's thinking and frequently calls women fat, slobs, insane, weak, mental, losers (and plays into our own acceptance of these words as we have no reaction or shock). Indeed, this leads to the acceptance that the PLACE and VOICE of women are discounted, ignored, and often laughed at. Do you sit back and accept that "norm" or see those reactions as "normal" and tend to ignore them? If you do, and you ignore one neighbor, co worker, or EVEN a Feminist dissing comment by a female Fox reporter, then you've allowed it all! (isn't that shocking, women selling out against women**). If you allow it once, yes, once, without confronting and standing, then you've allowed, and then promoted it, because: Your Silence Speaks UP for Your Acceptance of The Idea or Joke Bullies. Your silence makes you one... 10 powerful women moments in Game of Thrones: Women Not Having Balls, but Soul...Not rampant greedy aggression, but powerful even hidden forces..... : https://abcn.ws/2Paoe9Q Carl Jung, great psychoanalyst, and bullied by Sigmund Freud to the point of insanity and suicide, reclaimed his life. He then said that only the Feminine Energy and Very Roles of Women could save a society given to rampant male energy of destruction, entitlement, and personal greed. If he lived today, he would have more social, world and environmental information and would also now pair this with: The plight of women is a metaphor for ALL of society. As women go, so go all other matters. And, only the energy and roles of women can save society and even the world: Women would have equal leadership in all social, government, and business roles.....and bring forward their forces and most importantly, SOULS, and 1. lead people away from the culture of violence, punishment of social outcasts with mass shootings (or taking out anger on innocent adult or school children). 2. find ways to not just stop global warming, but promote healthy environments and expanding greens: every person deserves they're vacations in Nature, and healing cities (there's been several articles out this month on pollution hindering child development, causing teen psychosis due to poor brain development, leading to much more.....whether that is Denver or Mongolia). It's this energy of women that is connected with: The Humanity of All The essential need to protect Mother Earth Are men totally off track? People tell me that every day. But, I think it's that men reject the inside feminine part. It's not a part that acts feminine, it's this mysterious Goddess within role. It's like Yin and Yang: without both parts, each human is just a Half person. There are vast books on this, including older books often ignored now, by Robert Bly. These are short books, an easy read....get one and then pass it on to a male you know..... Robert Bly was a progenitor of the US Men's movement, which eventually became laughed down by rampant male force and joking men. 3. How we function together is changed by the force of women. It becomes cooperation, understanding, and mutual solutions. For instance: a. this force would look not at a Paternalistic, Military Jet, aggression approach of attacking the Palestinians and upping aggression by moving an embassy to Jerusalem: it would look at the plights and needs of humanity....... each person deserves to live, be healthy, AND THRIVE in PEACE. Wow, as I follow world news daily from many resources.....the world is at great tension due to rampant male aggression. In fact, the last 10 years proves that male energy alone doesn't develop, evolve, mature: we've seen some of the worst world genocides in history this decade. So, this becomes a new paradigm for local and distant problems: 1. why are Africans in revolt today? If you follow African news, this is very pan-African.....there are wide spread protests, revolts, mass shootings, and bombings TODAY from top to bottom and East to West Africa! (there are two groups, as I see it, there are the disenfranchised always trying to get to a place to live, but then there are the psychopaths and angry PTSD victims that are ok with the killing of others because they have: psychopaths: have no sense of humanity, remorse, or compassion in their brains the PTSD Victims: have sold out to violence and anger, and the portion of their brain that produces senses of compassion, understanding, remorse, and fairness has been inhibited by their PTSD brain disorder 2. What is the plight in Guatemala that is causing the flood of refugees? It is murder, lack of jobs, lack of food...... Donald Trump cuts off aid of food to Guatemala and Honduras hoping that will punish them and stop the flow. But, the female force asks What is the problem? Then, what answers may fit? 3. Male energy can be this impulsive, vindictive and revengeful role. It's the elephant that never forgets a slight.....while the female force is completely different. The male force is like: a. Donald Trump in teen-age punishment manner is going to send refugees to Sanctuary Cities: punishing American cities will be a first event for a President, who's role is actually supposed to be one of the "shepherd" to cities. b. Trump moves on years of snubs from gays: uses a method from our playbook, listed at http://bit.ly/2VFEIKe to Divide and Conquer all via different methods, like Start Small and then keep under attach. (See the above for male methods of war). This comes from his pandering to South East States far right fundamentalist Christians of how to Divide and Conquer. This is also the methods of the gigantic Koch Brother's foundation of getting legislation passed. Trump moves against gays this week in Transgender Military Restrictions, the first steps in a "campaign" to come, in order for him to shore up votes from that conservative religious sector. Well, I could go and and need to mostly stop here......you know I can keep going on, typing, adding...... **But, I'd like to address one other matter with Strong Women. THE CURRENT CULTURE EITHER DISSES WOMEN OR PROMOTES WOMEN THAT ACT LIKE THE PSYCHOPATHIC MEN. That is, as a movie recently said, "Woman, you got one big set of balls". When women don't own their power, they can be conned into become this male energy only force. Then, they are decisive, angry, and directive persons, who just like many men these days, is soul-less......a vampire among vampires. I see this lots in Idaho where a women with full balanced male and female forces is not accepted. But, women who act aggressively and with rampant force, get things down, steam rollering all: men and women our legislation, agencies nature, forests, reserves, city parks rights of others needs of the marginalized: blacks, Hispanics, all races, LGTBQ, children, and hey....me, the elderly Muslims, atheists, agnostics, and more Women with Soul and Power, or Women with Balls? Game of Thrones knows: both good and bad female roles are demonstrated. Those with powerful feminine force accomplish, those with big balls male narcissist force....eventually succumb. Now being into rap, I still follow the trends of what they talk about......here, an example of the rights of all, including the forgotten Indigenous: divine feminine, equal rights, feminist, native americans and world indigenous http://bit.ly/2PaoeGS

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vox · 7 years

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I trained myself to be less busy — and it dramatically improved my life

I am a robot, programmed to obliterate my to-do list. During the day, I direct a research laboratory, write papers, and teach classes as a professor of psychology at the University of Arizona. Come 4:30 pm, I run a kid limousine service, shuttling between various activities, preparing dinner, helping with homework and the evening routine. I scurry through these activities — often missing the moments of joy embedded in everyday life — until I have some sort of nightly electrical shortage, then crash out on the couch. I reboot in the morning and do it all again.

I am addicted to busyness. I am embarrassed to say it, largely because I am lucky to have a wonderful life, a great career and, to be fair, the struggles, demands, and slings-and-arrows are all of my own doing (especially the part about having kids; I know I was there for that).

I created this mess — a life at breakneck speed from the moment I wake until I finally watch 30 minutes of Netflix before drifting off. But, I recently hit rock bottom, feeling as if I was going through the motions of my life rather than truly living it.

I’m not the only one who feels overwhelmed — you probably do too

I don’t think I am alone in my feelings about busyness, nor do I think these feelings are especially new for the average working adult. I might be alone at my rock bottom, but there are many indicators that we are feeling more over-committed, over-scheduled, over-tired, and over-burdened than ever before.

Brigid Schulte, in her 2014 book, Overwhelmed, writes incisively about this trend, “So much do we value busyness, researchers have found a human ‘aversion’ to idleness and need for ‘justifiable busyness.’” My favorite example from her book: Researchers can track the rise of busyness in holiday cards dating back to the 1960s. In holiday cards, Americans used to share news about our lives (the joys and sorrows of the year), but now we’re more likely than ever to mention how busy we are as well.

As a clinical psychologist, I have worked with many people who are trying to make substantial changes — from improving a marriage to overcoming generalized anxiety or depression. The idea that these changes begin with acknowledging that there’s a problem is a truism. Personal responsibility is the vehicle for behavior change. When it came to my busyness, though, I had what might be described as extreme difficulty looking beyond the hamster wheel. (Professionally, people in my line of work call this “very little insight.”)

I don’t think I am busier than anyone else. My wife and friends are just as busy as me. I think the difference is that I became aware of my busyness and started hating it. I was feeling claustrophobic in my own life. I asked my wife if I could retire and get some time back in the day. (She said no.) Then, I started to wonder about the opposite of busyness. I thought immediately of the slow food movement. I needed a slow food movement in my everyday life.

I realized busyness had devoured my values

The first change took root for me about 18 months ago when the graduate program that I direct started teaching Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (pronounced as the single word ACT) to our doctoral students, who are future clinical psychologists. ACT is a scientifically-validated psychotherapy treatment for a range of mental health problems. Basically, it’s a form of talk therapy.

A central tenant of ACT is that emotional pain is driven in large part by getting over-involved in difficult experiences and thoughts (that is, going over-and-over things in our mind; getting stuck in our experiences; and being unable to create any psychological distance between yourself and the terribleness of things). Consequently, when we become stuck on or in our emotional pain, we go through each day in a way that is disconnected from our core values — the essential principles that, ideally, come to guide our lives. In ACT, value-centered living is paramount, and a big part of the treatment is to help people separate themselves from the painful language in their heads (“This is so awful. I feel so terrible.”) to get on with the business of living a meaningful life.

As I learned more about ACT and started incorporating its methods into my psychotherapy practice with clients, something important dawned on me: Busyness devoured my values. I was working, parenting, loving, emailing, and exercising in a sort of mindless way, just doing and doing. Busyness is not, nor was it ever, a guiding principle in my life. Yet, I had let the inertia of doing take deep root without realizing what was happening to me. To get more out of life — more meaning, more joie de vivre — I needed to start doing less and to become more conscious about my choices.

How I started to reclaim my life from busyness

I started with a simple value: being outside. I am a regular exerciser, but I was losing touch with being outside and moving my body through space. I began walking more, that’s all. It was not a hard change to make — I just park a little further from work and hoof it a bit more or I go for a nice stroll during lunch. It would not be an overstatement to say that an additional 40 minutes a day of walking just two or three times a week has changed me in a profound way. Walking provides time to think, to be energized by nature, and to feel less frenzied. Quite dramatically, I am much less of a robot and much more of a human being.

Next, I focused on valuing idleness. I do not mean being a sloth, only that I was coming to see the value of doing as little as possible for long periods of time. I just finished Tim Kreider’s incredibly thoughtful and hilarious book of essays, We Learn Nothing. The audiobook includes a bonus chapter entitled Laziness: A Manifesto. Kreider writes, “This busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness. Obviously your life cannot possibly be silly, or trivial, or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked every hour of the day. All this noise, and rush, and stress seem contrived to cover up some fear at the center of our lives.”

I cannot say if I my busyness was a hedge against some sort of existential emptiness, but all the doing certainly left me feeling empty in the end. Now, with idleness in mind, I just park myself on the couch as often as possible and see what happens. Mostly, I am looking for an opportunity to enjoy the moments of life in an unstructured way; I am looking for more play. In my idleness last night, I spent a long time just tickling my 5-year-old daughter, pretending to scare her, and lying on my back with her in “airplane position” while she perfected a move she called the hummingbird. That was the best half-hour of my year so far. What is more, I’ve found that the less I work, the better my work actually is in the end, from the ability to attend to students and clients to the creative energies needed for doing science.

As part of my effort to create time and space for doing less, I also got off Facebook. At first, I was simply trying to escape the toxicity of the election on social media. In time, though, I realized I was also escaping an attentional black hole, one with an incredible gravitational pull. I would never willfully stand in the middle of a room noisy room with everyone screaming for my attention, yet this is best metaphor I can think of to describe my mind on Facebook. I was weak and could not resist its forces, fair enough, but I also started to see it as filler and fluff. When I got past my FOMO and let it go, I gained many moments back in my day.

I’ve also tried to get serious about laughing more. For me, busyness’s neighbor is seriousness. Seriousness is over-rated, and I feel much healthier and even childlike when I am not taking myself so seriously, and when I am trying to make other people laugh.

Finally, my relationships. In my days of busyness, I loathed the work pop-in; too many unscheduled interruptions. Now, I’m coming to appreciate people dropping by to say hello and to joke around (see: laughter). My door is a little more open, so to speak. I am also focusing on my local drinking club, where a few friends have been going for beers together for several years. Sometimes, I am too busy and have to miss, but that really bothers me now. Friendships are sustenance, just like food.

Have I sustained these changes? Sort of. I am working as much as ever and find it hard to not get sucked into the trappings of busyness. Sometimes, I look at my schedule shout to myself, “Too much, too much!” When this is the case, I just go for a walk. Or, I just get on the floor and mess with my kids. Or, I follow the mantra of our club, “Relax, have a homebrew.” (If my busyness freak-out is in the morning, I do wait for the homebrew, in case you’re wondering. At least until lunch.)

By and large, though, I am feeling better than I have in a long time — more deliberate in the choices I make, more connected to the people around me, and more energized for the demands of the day. The surprising irony here, for me at least, is that by doing less, I am getting way more out life. I have banished my inner robot.

David Sbarra, PhD, is a professor of psychology at the University of Arizona. His new ebook, Love, Loss, and the Space Between, is available on Amazon.

#writing #essay #first person #stress #anxiety #health #mental health #science

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seansaboutacity · 5 years

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#2 collaboration - Eileen

It’s a great pleasure for me to collaborate with Eileen Gbagbo. Eileen’s been a wonderful friend that I’ve got to know since first year, and ever since she’s inspired me to be creative and write poetry, whilst maintaining a close interest in social justice issues.

I asked Eileen to collaborate with me and write a poem about the theme of ‘desire’.

So without further ado, here is Eileen’s poem followed by discussion:

East London nights

Last night the Thames flooded And the underground broke The sky looked like an iPhone on power saving mode My room, an influencer’s Friday night. We drank sangria and sung fuck Boris Two times and louder for the people at the back - Ha, we were going to hell.

Buttons flung off in iambs Our tongues danced in trochees And thus began our descent. One thousand and one nights of seven sensual sins Feeding on insatiable desire, uncontrollable explosion, excessive pursuit of the erogenous with sloth like strokes your personal became my prerogative shea butter breasts for your indulgence we came to the flames like Icarus – pray for us, that was devilish.

Comments

My first impression of the poem is a hedonistic, pleasure-seeking vibe. How do you relate this with your ideas of desire?

Desire is such a primal thing and it manifests itself in lust, jealousy etc. So when I was thinking about this poem, it reminded me of Dante’s seven steps to hell and so just took it to the extreme.

Straight off the bat, you use the imagery of the Thames. It’s a funny coincidence that I also mention the Thames in my poem - before I even saw yours. What did you intend by using the Thames as imagery?

Haha yeah, when I read yours, I got so excited by the Thames imagery! There are many iconic things about London to tourists, but for the locals, we’ve got the Thames - which is great. It’s a source of regional pride even though its quite possibly one of the most unstable rivers in the UK. And so, using the Thames was to root down the sense of place but also set the feel of the poem as quite messy.

I feel like I’m in the scene when I read your poem - the rowdiness, drunkenness, chaos. What do you think poetry can do to capture the experience of being somewhere? Are there limits to this?

This is quite an interesting question. Because my favourite poems through history have been used as a form of resistance, and they have endured and are still relevant today because of the intricate ability to abstract individuality and create consonance between the subject(s) and reader of the poems. For example, Pablo Neruda in his later political poetry does this so well. But there are also limits. Language does have boundaries unfortunately and so it can never be truly universal.

I love the juxtaposition between swearing and drawing on ‘high culture’ like Icarus - it’s rude, in your face but flows. It’s like your breaking down distinctions between high and low culture - anyone’s welcome in poetry. What do you think about that?

There’s something seductive about ‘high culture’ which I think is quite interesting. It’s almost like in Hollywood movies when everyone’s attracted to the British guy that speaks like the queen and uses unnecessary posh lexicon. But it’s funny that London actually invites you to both simultaneously. Take LSE for example, you have some of the world’s most brilliant minds interacting with each other, dissecting complex theories, but on a Wednesday night, we go to Zoo. And so, poetry that doesn’t encompass all of that is quite reductive.

My poem on the theme of ‘desire’:

waterloo bridge, after sunset

I think I'm going to fly why else do my legs feel like wings better yet birds unfurling flapping in the gusts of wind in the afternoon we played with the plain ignorance of friends under the table the same legs had whispered secrets told stories folded flipped over like chopsticks dividing dishes into bites of food

look at the Thames at dusk the water looks oily and slick like the collar of your leather jacket but you are more slick my oil that greases wheels no abandons them like stabilisers on a child's bicycle

do you know how I’ve longed for this for longer nights my days spent chasing faraway sights or snatches of air now my wind you could take me away roll me into tumbleweed but one cleansed of dust swept up from the past

so take me away dark waters you fill me as we cross into Waterloo the sun replaced by the twilight blue

let strange things come out to play at night

Comments

First of all, I love your poem! I love the use of both natural and quite industrial imagery. What did you intend with this?

Thank you! I like to use both natural and industrial imagery because I think London is made up of both - you can see big skyscrapers right next to residential areas or green space, which makes London so unique as a mix of influences.

I think ultimately London’s messy that way - London’s really a big town which swallowed up surrounding areas in an unplanned way, so different parts of London still retain their original character.

Your poem on desire is so different from mine, what was your interpretation of the theme, and what inspired this reaction? And also, the imagery of Waterloo bridge… I don't think I've ever seen it that calm before, but you also transported me into that world. Why did you use perhaps a not so popular image of Waterloo bridge?

I think desire is a very personal experience for me. But I wanted to explore the contradiction of having such intimate and sensitive feelings shared with someone else, and it removes the distance and detachment we sometimes feel from others.

Waterloo bridge served firstly as a physical reminder that the narrator in the poem is crossing boundaries, and for him it’s an exhilarating experience. I think I’m trying to reclaim some personal identity from how anonymising living in London can feel. Waterloo bridge is crossed by hundreds if not thousands of commuters everyday who stay strangers to us living their own lives. Being able to narrate a personal story means resisting that anonymity, and how it can whitewash our experiences into something dull and functional. But there’s also some vulnerability, because the anonymity can feel overwhelming and drowning.

I didn’t notice the calmness actually - that wasn’t intended. But thinking about it that way, I think I wanted the poem to be centred on the narrator’s experiences - so perhaps the exterior calmness contrasted with how wild his inner emotions were.

General comments

Sean asking questions for Eileen:

We first met each other, I think, in our political theory class. There’s an idea generally in social sciences that we can’t be subjective, but Plato and other theorists regularly use metaphoric analogies like Plato’s cave. What do you think about the distinction between objective and subjective?

I think trying to achieve objectivity is so hard and not worth it. The human experience is too varied to try and form some order to truth or justice etc. This really goes back to the production of knowledge which is hierarchical and colonial and so even with something that we claim to be universally true like ‘Shakespeare is the greatest English writer of all time’, is actually enforced by the powerful. So personally, I think we must do more to celebrate the individual rather than seeking this optimal collective objectiveness. Because by doing so, we don’t run the risk of erasing histories and identities in favour of one which is no more universal than the other. I guess that’s why I like poetry as a medium because it gives you the freedom to do both in such an intricate way.

I’ve also written a piece for Black History Month for the Beaver - which you did an amazing job editing. I wrote about the intersection between race and sexuality, using the film Moonlight to help illuminate my ideas. What are your thoughts on the intersection between gender, race and sexuality?

I absolutely loved your piece! It was one of the best reviews and commentary on the film I've read. I think I should ask you this question, because nothing I could say would be as nuanced as what you wrote.

I had a discussion with friends about ‘when do become a man/woman’. I had initially thought that it was a combination of physical and societal factors, ie you go through puberty and you are now considered a woman, or you have certain mannerisms which are gendered as feminine. But actually, that's still quite binary and not universal at all. So, I’m still learning more about these intersections.

Sometimes I’ve found it hard to connect my cultural interests with my political interests - I could watch a really interesting movie which comments on society like Moonlight, but find it hard to make a difference in the real world afterwards. What do you think about doing social activism in cultural interests?

Me too! Social activism is quite fulfilling personally. Especially if it is an issue that is close to home, but you find yourself in the privileged position to offer help. And this can take various forms including protesting, writing think pieces, mentoring, to name a few. But I think we need to tread carefully and evaluate the sentiments behind our convictions to go ahead with social activism in cultural interests. Or else, we run the risk of becoming compassion fatigued, in which we are outraged by an issue because its close to home or we can empathise, and then we pursue activism only to pat ourselves on the back or to make us feel better. I think that is quite dangerous and unsustainable really.

You write poetry yourself, and you showed me through your work that you can be creative, but also passionate and political about what you write. What’s the next step for you with poetry or creative writing?

Thank you! Your poetry is incredible too. For me, I want to perform more. But in terms of writing, I am experimenting with poetry from the Ghana & the Volta region. So using more Ewe and incorporating more historical knowledge into poetry. I’m really excited!

Eileen’s questions for Sean:

When we first spoke about this project, you mentioned ‘sense of place’. What do you love about London and why did you want to capture that?

My first answer is a cynical one. I love London because I don’t know anything else. I’ve grown up in London from a really small age and I’ve studied at uni here for two years. Now I’m leaving London to study abroad, even though I know I’m coming back, I feel emotional and feel like this is the end of a chapter for me.

My friends have really helped to make my experience in London. The crucial thing is that they chose to be my friends, and so stay there with me through thick and thin. I’ve been through difficult times at uni, navigating and generally trying to ‘adult’. But it’s been so comforting to know that my friends are there - and I could never express sufficiently enough how grateful I am for that.

Maybe this poetry project is a nice leaving gift for London, and for my friends. It’s really my way of saying goodbye. I hope you enjoy!

In the creative field, there is a lot of talk about representation. What are your thoughts on this, and where do you think poetry can fit in?

I think representation is so important. I think there has to be representation everywhere - on screen, but also decision-makers and people at the top. I think there has to be a whole cultural shift where we have everyone’s stories being told and represented, so audiences can see themselves and feel included in the things they see.

With that said, I think there’s a limit. I think discussion about representation can make us ignore wider structural change that we should see in society. If we limit discussion of social change to cultural issues, then we could construct an us v them dynamic, which is counter-intuitive to the cause of social diversity if we imagine our differences as rooted in fixed or essential characteristics. When I think about social problems, I try to find a common-denominator solution - what would make everyone happy? And I think the case for representation is that it would help to lift up under-represented social groups onto an equitable level with traditionally over-represented groups. I recognise this approach might seem reductive and smooth over historic social divisions which continue to disadvantage minority groups. But we should agree on one thing - diversity is the future, so the challenge and the opportunity now is to figure out how to harness it, so that everyone feels like they belong in society.

Poetry’s seeing a revival. I’m excited about getting more involved in it. I think friends like you and who I’ve collaborated with have really helped to boost my confidence and make me think seriously about doing poetry more in the future. I don’t think my story’s been told before, and that’s really sad if people from similar ethnic or cultural backgrounds as me are funnelled into careers their parents want them to do without really exploring alternative creative stuff. So I’m happy to just show up and speak up. And things happen if they will. It reminds me of a quote from my favourite book called ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho - if you want something, the world conspires to help you get it.

I would love to hear more about your thoughts on the intersection between race, gender and sexuality?

That’s a really big question!

I think conversations about it relate with intersectionality. It’s so important to keep highlighting intersectionality, how inter-connected disadvantages or social groups can be.

But I think there’s a chance to restore agency to individuals who share minority status in multiple categories. I think sometimes social categories can be reductive, like figuring out how oppressed you are becomes this social arithmetic.

But we should remind ourselves that these terms are nominal anyway - they’re socially constructed, to sound like a broken record. So while we should be aware of different ways we can socially relate with others, we shouldn’t feel held back by these terms either from stopping us from doing what we want to do in life. The danger is that if we define ourselves solely by these labels, we put ourselves in boxes and fix ourselves, allowing these labels to become a self-fulfilling prophecy if we perform to their expectations.

I think we should feel empowered by our social identities. We should balance two needs fulfilled by them - to feel solidarity with people with similar grievances, but to build the emotional resilience to be ourselves and resist conforming with others.

But specifically about sexuality? I think I’ve been interested in sexuality because it crosses the public/private dichotomy, the interior/exterior dichotomy which many of our social institutions are built on. Sexuality is subversive, radical and it can be transformative - it has the potential to be a creative and productive force in society if we relaxed our attitudes towards it.

For me, sexuality is like a Mobius strip. You walk along it long enough and you eventually talk about other issues, like politics, family or the economy. Sex is constructive of many discourses of power. And power runs through everything.

I’m so excited about your writing journey! Where did it begin and where are you hoping to take it to next?

Thank you!

It began really when I was a small child in primary school. I was really shy growing up and I would read a lot of books. As a child, I even wanted to grow up and become an author. I didn’t write poems but I wrote short stories and even a novel which wasn’t any good but was nice trying to write.

I don’t know where I’ll go with my writing! The most challenging but most exciting part of writing is that I pull a lot of it from my life experiences. I feel like the more I test myself with life experiences and learn who I am from them, the more I have to say in my writing. And that annoys me because I get bored of writing and feel like I run out of things to say, but it excites me because it tells me to get out in the world more and explore.

Put it this way - life is a journey, and writing is just a way of putting my experiences on the road on paper. I’ve got a long way to go, but it definitely feels like I’m getting there.

#collaboration #desire

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wolfarmystories · 6 years

Text

A Version of AU

(So I wrote this for my Creative Writing class; it’s a form of an crossover I wanted to do but never did (mainly because it’s so big with a LOT of fandoms). In the spirit of Never Before Seen, I present my Final Piece for that class X3

Fandoms: Power Rangers, Gotham, Hetalia, Numb3rs, Whedonverse, Harry Potter, Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Oswld Cobblepot, Ivan Braginski, Charlie Epps, Tommy Oliver, Kimberly Ann, Tsuki Kokuryuu, Sabrina Nightshade

Category: Crossover AU

Summary: See Introduction

Introduction:

The city of Hyperion is a strange city, full of strange people and strange situations. Almost a sentient being in and of itself, the city contains all sorts; gangsters and police, angels and demons (both literal and metaphorical), gods and mortals (also both in the literal sense and in the metaphoric sense), those who are happy and those who are unhappy. Four libraries, one of which no one knows about. A high school. An university. The mansion owned by the Penguin Gang. The old estate kept by the Braginski Russian Mafia family. The police station and city hall and the Iceberg Lodge. And The End Bar.

This is the starting point: Ivan Braginski has lost his prized songbird and the thief? Oswald Cobblepot.

This is the problem: Ivan leads the Braginski family, one of the two most powerful families in Hyperion. Oswald is the master puppeteer who commands the Penguin Gang, the other powerful group.

This is the situation: In anger Ivan has declared war and split Hyperion down the middle. If his bird is not returned? Then he will destroy half of Hyperion and with it the despicable pest who took her.

This is the truth: Oswald wants power. And to get it he steals away the girlfriend of Ivan, the blind songstress Sabrina. And in doing so has started a war that threats all of the city. School is at a standstill as children, teens and adults alike cannot get to the university, high school, junior high, elementary without passing through warlines. The people making the laws are under Ivan's control but the people who would uphold those laws are Oswald's. The streets are unsafe. The people are afraid and confused. And in the middle of it, the only neutral ground is the bar owned by Sabrina's cousin, Tsuki. No one dares fights at The End. No one dares piss off Oswald by trying to take it for Ivan. No one dares claim it for Oswald under Ivan's watchful eye. And no one wants Tsuki or her workers to beat them to a bloody pulp by trying anything.

Peace is a forgotten dream...or is it?

With the tensions in the air...

And the chance for change standing on the shoulders of five individuals specifically...

Let us bring up the curtain and see how this grand old play will continue tonight; let the players take their stage and tell us their stories.

Begin the tale and with it, The End....

Ivan:

(Songs: This Means War (Avenged Sevenfold, especially important), Legion of Evil (OFF!), Throne (Bring Me The Horizon), The Red (Chevelle), Dark Side of Me (Coheed and Cambria), Destruction (Joywave), Never Giving Up (Of Mice and Men), This is War (Thirty Seconds to Mars), Angel of Darkness (Alex C))

Toris knew from the sound of breaking glass that things were not going to be easy or good today. Walking down the eastern hallway of the old manor he happened to glance at servants and allies, even Borsche the cat, running from the inner rooms. And it left him feeling more and more cold as he made his way inward; he didn't really want to do this but he really had no choice. Ivan was in the middle of picking the last of his priceless antique Russian lamp up off the table and shattering it like its kin when the door opened. Started to open; the lamp, originally meant for the western wall, made contact with the wood instead and there was a familiar shriek that told him Toris was on the other side. Normally terrorizing him amused the large Russian, making Toris squeal and cry, but it didn't amuse him now. Nothing was going to amuse him until he got his way and completely destroyed his enemy. "S-sir," Toris stuttered, sticking his head tentatively through the door, fear clear on his face. Ivan glared at him and put a hand on the heavy bible kept on the same table as the lamp used to. "Did you need something, Toris?" Toris frowned and bit his lip some before gulping and walking in. "Y-yes, s-s-sir-" "Toris," Ivan said and the smile that slipped onto his face did nothing to make Toris feel more calm. "Y-yes?" "You do realize what I will do to you if you don't stop stuttering right now, da?" Toris paled and nodded vigorously; the smile fell then. "What is it then?" "It's about, um," Toris said and hesitated; he knew what he said next might get him killed but Ivan himself had told him to inform him of any developments pertaining to the current situation. He gulped again, "The Penguin Gang." He barely evaded the book that came flying at his head and with wide eyes he stared at Ivan. The man was visibly fuming, his eyes narrowed and his form, still in the stance to throw the book relaxed only after another minute and he breathed through his nose, "Yes Toris? What about them?" "In light of your declaration of half of the city being blocked against them," Toris started, "Including the high school, university and food stores, the Penguin Gang has..." "Yes?" He sighed and put his hands behind his back, trying to stand at attention. "The Penguin Gang has attempted to break the blockade and in return have blocked our men from the hospital." There was a silence for a moment then a noise, more beast than man, more primal than human, erupted. Toris was shaken and could only look on with abject horror as Ivan once more resumed destroying his room. The Mafia boss kicked the table, demolishing it easily; curses and threats, all spoken in a quick Russian, filled the air, only joined with English near the end. "That little crippled pigeon; him and his entire gang of bastards, as if taking my songbird from me was not crime enough for them. Who does he think he is, a petty little jester trying to bite the king?" He growled and turned on Toris and suddenly it struck him that Ivan meant for him to reply. He tried, grasping at words but before any could leave his lips Ivan was on him, grabbing him by the throat and heaving him up pressed him hard again the wall. Toris winced and gasped for breath but it was difficult, so very difficult, and Ivan, smiling once more with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, spoke gently. Too gently. "Well then, Toris, if the deformed bird wants a war than who are we to say no to him, da?" He tightened his grip and Toris could feel his face heat up as his inability to breathe got worse with the pressure. Tears welled up in his eyes but Ivan did not notice; his attention was elsewhere. "Yes, we will teach that damned pest why I rule this city and he is but a fool, running around my feet." With that he finally dropped Toris and the underling gasped and gulped down air as much and as fast as he could. Ivan paid him no mind, walking back into the room. He made his way to the only standing chair and sitting down he continued to smile at Toris. "Tell our men this: Let no one through the borderline. No one. We have obviously been far too lenient. From now on anyone coming from the Southern portion of the city is considered an ally of Cobblepot and his Penguin Gang." Toris spoke before thinking, "Sir? Um, a few of the kids from the elementary, junior high and high school live below the border; what about-" "They are enemies of our family, Toris," Ivsn said with a sharp but kind tone; he smiled more, "You wouldn't want our family to be hurt more, do you? Not after they stole our lovely songbird." Toris paled but shook his head obediently. He had to ask though, "And, um, what of Tsuki and The End? It is-" He didn't know where the bottle came from but making contact with his face and shattering he screamed, falling to his knees in pain, trying to pull out the glass. Ivan spoke smoothly, "Do not speak of that woman. Now go get cleaned up; you look unsightly." Toris cried but managed, bleeding and weak, to get back to his feet and retreated from the room. Leaving Ivan on his own and the man brooded in his chair for a moment. Another bottle hit the wall and he growled to himself. He clenched the arms of his chair then getting up he threw it too. "I will win this war," he roared and resumed his destruction "I will reclaim what is mine and no one, not Cobblepot, not his damned gang, and certainly not that bitch Tsuki will stop me!"

Charlie:

(Songs: 21 Guns (Green Day), Imagine (The Beatles, especially important) I Wish You Peace (The Eagles), Dead Hearts (Stars), This is War (Thirty Seconds to Mars), Angel of Darkness (Alex C), War (Edwin Starr), Stop Children What's That Sound (Buffalo Springfield), Life on Mars (David Bowie))

Charlie was many things; he was a professor at Hyperion University, he was a consultant for the FBI, he was a math genius and he was friends with a lot of strange and interesting figures and he was bad at spelling (though he hated the mere idea of admitting to that) and he used to not believe in ghosts until one took up office next door to him at the University. One thing he wasn't was a soldier. The disagreements between the Braginski family and the Penguin Gang had always been there; two powerful mafia families in one city, it wasn't a stretch to assume they would be naturally at odds with each other. Territory disputes, arguments over rights, the occasional shootout; he wouldn't say he liked them, at all, but faced with the current situation Charlie found himself wishing for those days when things were somehow easily. But no, Oswald had to make things personal and now Charlie was witness to things that made the shootouts tame. Making his way from his home in the residential parts of the city, he passed: a member of Ivan's family holding down a teenaged boy wearing a suit and holding a gun to his head; a long line at one of the few groceries stores in what was now Northern Hyperion with shaking children clinging to their parents hands; the city hall boarded up but with windows ablaze with light as those inside tried to "wait it out"; Ivan's men patrolling Main Street where the border was designated, all to keep out their enemies, while in the background a young man looks around with fear in his eyes as he crossed the line, clenching a philosophy textbook to his chest for dear life. He almost felt like a monster for it but his heart hurt the most at the sight of the boy and he watched as the boy was seen and with wide eyes approached by the patrollers, guns held up. The boy dropped his book and Charlie moved to help him but felt a hand grab his wrist and looking at the owner, Amita pulled him along, dragging him really away. Her expression was stern but in her eyes was sadness no less than his. The University was in no better state.

In truth it could almost be called worse. There were a good number of students who lived in the nearby apartments and student housing yet the campus felt like a ghost town. Only a few came, only a few were brave enough even to try, and they scurried across the lands like frightened mouse. Not half because of the presence of the men who wandered the grounds with barely disguised intention.

Charlie was reminded of how most of the lecture halls had been "graciously and gladly offered to the Braginski family for use in first aid services and medical treatment". Translation as Charlie understood it; they took over the lecture halls, for tending to the injured yes, necessary with the hospital in Southern Hyperion, but notably it was for the members of the family. No civilian interestingly had been brought there... "Amita," Charlie spoke, his voice a bit a hoarse; having loud, angry discussions with the dean of the University for hours on end tended to do that, even if it was last night, tended to have an effect.

“Hmm,” she said; she knew without him speaking, “Charlie...”

“This isn't right.” He said this a lot. This wasn't right, this wasn't fair, this couldn't be. Hyperion University was supposed to be a bastion of knowledge, a sanctuary for those who wanted knowledge; he could still remember the noise of the campus only a few weeks before with all the students about and the excitement and the feeling of being in front of class and dealing with that. He remembered how it felt to watch his students be startled by some strange demonstration about some fact of life, like his lecture involving roulette and black jack....

But no, this was not how it was now. His school, his students, this was not what he wanted to see. And knowing that the dean did nothing but let it, allowed in the cause of the trouble...

Well, not the full cause. There was more and his chest started to tighten as he thought to himself something he didn't really much like himself. He didn't want to blame it on them, it wasn't their fault as more than it was his. Then that student from that morning shone in his face again and he looked at Amita, “We should have helped him.”

“He'll be fine,” she tried to reassure him, smiling in her gentle way, in her loving way; she kissed his cheek but it didn't make him feel any better, “They'll give him a warning and he'll find his way here.”

Warning huh? Like what; a lost finger? An arm? Maybe a bullet to the stomach, throw him back into the southern half, leave him to die, assume that he would be found and taken to Universal Hearts General. He didn't like the idea of the warnings and he shook his head, continuing to walk.

He walked down the halls. He walked through the buildings. He walked to his office and he walked to his table and Amita tried to follow until he grabbed a piece of chalk; he was starting to lose himself and he knew it wouldn't help any longer, having her there, “Go.”

His words were harsh but she knew they meant no harm; giving him a sad look she left the room, closing the door behind her. With that he started the same cycle.

P = NP.

P does not equal NP.

P versus NP.

The powers to which N is raised is made to be propotional to the set of problems known by the collective P.

But this was confusing.

Charlie didn't find math confusing. Charlie found math beautiful and simple and easier than humans and this problem, as complex as it really was, made his mind settle. He was not alone in his mind, there were thousands, countless numbers, but he counted them all and he tried to count them all. He put them in order and he tried to make order of chaos.

This was chaos. The warring was chaos and he hated that, because he couldn't count the humans and problems and situations and put them back in order and he couldn't fix any of it as easily as he found it easy to put together the numbers into a line. Even if P versus NP still refused to be solved.

It occurred to him he had class; he always had class. But he had so few students now; only one or two managed to get to the University now. Soon it would be none. Would he just do the problem then? Should he drown in the numbers?

He wanted to, he really did. He wanted to drown. But he remembered Amita.

No, not enough.

He remembered the school and the students. He liked them a lot; he loved the school. That's why he had yelled at the dean after all. That's why he had fought so much; he wanted the dean to tell the Braginski to get lost or at least help out the students who kept getting hurt too and he wanted them to let the students come to school. And no one listened.

That just made him dive deeper.

What about The End then? Not the end in the general, The End as the specific, the bar. He also liked the bar.

He didn't want to blame Tsuki for not talking to Oswald and telling him to fix things.

He wanted to go listen to come good music.

He wanted to do his math problems and listen to the music and talk to Tsuki and Tommy and everyone and see his brother...

Don had gotten hurt too; he wondered if Don had been taken to Universal Hearts or if he was forced to survive with what little was at the FBI medical wise.

This was getting out of hand.

He turned around and threw the chalk at the wall, breaking it. The chalk, not the wall. His mind was not focused, he was wild and uncertain and too many things were getting through and not enough was getting resolved and it hurt. He just wanted things to go back to how it was. And he wanted to help fix things. He liked that; he liked to help people. He liked helping Don with his cases. And he liked advising his friends about things in their life. And he liked being able to use his math skills to help others.

But nothing seemed to come to him; how can he quantify a conflict? How can he solve a war?

He rubbed his head, feeling it pound as too much was coming in and nothing seemed to be coming out, muttering to himself, “I can't handle this, I just can't.”

It all had to end. It just did. Grabbing his bag he ran out of the room, managing to open his door first of course; he'd try with the dean again, get him to understand, to see how this whole thing, just letting the family walk in and on them, was not helping anyone and especially the students. And then maybe he'd just go rest in Amita's office; she was soothing. And go to The End too, after work. Get everything in order and then the problem could be solved.

Right, that's how it's supposed to be, he told himself.

Tommy:

(Songs: Stronger (Kelly Clarkson), Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance), The Plagues (Prince of Egypt), Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons), I Will Not Bow (Breaking Benjamin), Dead Hearts (Stars), This is War (Thirty Seconds to Mars), Angel of Darkness (Alex C), Warriors (Imagine Dragons), Icarus (Bastille), Who We Are (Imagine Dragons), Ready Aim Fire (Imagine Dragons), You Want A Battle (Bullet for My Valentine, especially important))

Tommy got the feeling waking up that morning today was going to be a very exciting day. Kim was already when he got up and while part of him simply told him that it was because she had to go to the studio for early practice, he couldn't help revisit the night before. He threw the sheets off him and walking to the bathroom to shower before getting dressed for the day, his mind went over their conversation. Well maybe not conversation; more halfway argument. The two Rangers had tried the night before to help with some peacekeeping with their fellows and the police officers who weren't fearing Oswald or Ivan too much; the result was nothing that surprised him. A lot of fighting, a lot of temptations to call the Dragonzord on some idiots, and a lot more nothing; Kim was the one with the latter opinion. Tommy thought it a success that they managed to help some civilians and even broke up one fight between Ivan's men and Oswald's, but returning to their shared loft Kim was unhappy and Tommy was worried about her. The argument came of the same thing it always did though and standing in the shower he groaned, letting the hot water try to clear away the tension. It wasn't that he didn't agree with her on a level, it was hard not to, but no, he also didn't agree. As much as Kim was frustrated and anxious, with the barricades and fighting and violence and problems with getting anywhere or getting enough food, he refused to blame it all on.... From what felt far away a phone rang and snapped from his thoughts he quickly finished his shower, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around himself he walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the phone from its cradle, almost dropping, "Yea?" "We need you to come in early, Dr. Oliver," said the familiar voice; Principal Randall always sounded the same, like she was two seconds from going for the throat, "Get here by nine." Tommy frowned and checked the nearest clock; 8:30. He cursed silently, when leaving right then that was cutting it close but knew better than to argue. He was too tired to argue with someone else so soon. "Fine, I'll try." "Mmhm." With that the line went dead and he sighed. Yup, very exciting day. Tommy got dressed far more sloppily than he normally preferred; still struggling with his tie, why did he even wear these things anyway?, he got downstairs and fished his keys out of his pocket, climbing into his Jeep. Normally driving in was no trouble, he could get there easily in fifteen minutes but with the war going on... He got to Main Street and stopped. It always went like this: He would get stopped by one of Ivan's men, sometimes Oswald's on the way back, and asked what he was doing. He was tempted, strapped for time as he was, to just snarkily say "You know who I am, I'm the same science teacher you see everyday, that you will continue to see everyday and will likely never stop seeing everyday until either this squabble ends or I finally get killed in the madness." But that was not what he ever said; instead hr flashed his faculty ID, like he always did, and was allowed through, like always, and driving towards the high school, today more than ever, he wondered why. Why didn't he just tell them that? Why didn't he tell Randall to piss off when she asked for what she knew to be at the very least very difficult? He was Tommy Oliver, Power Ranger Extraordinaire, mentor as much as fighter; he stood down much scarier yet his tongue was stayed every time. Why was he feeling so subdued when he would rather be fighting tooth and nail? No answers, but of course; what answers could silence bring? And with that he drove into the parking lot of Solaris High School and tried as always to just find his damned parking spot. He managed to run inside with a few minutes to spare; Randall was waiting for him, but of course she was, and looking at him she raised an eyebrow before shaking her head. She approached him and from behind her he could catch Vice Principal Synder snickering, the little toad. Tommy straightened up as Randall fixed his tie for him. "You are to take over the in-school suspension room today." Tommy blinked, confused. "Something happen to Mr. Giles?" The librarian was usually in charge of that, being as he was one of the teachers who didn't teach a class regularly. In addition unlike Synder and Randall, also teachers without classes, he actually liked the students. "He said he had a medical emergency," Synder said with a sneer, "Probably faking it to avoid the students, not that I can blame him." Tommy really hated Synder, but he bit his tongue and looked at Randall; she was often no less unfriendly but she at least was more manageable. "I'm assuming you already got someone to fill in for me." She nodded. "Severus agreed to take your students for the day." Tommy winced, not sure if that was a good idea but knew it was better than perhaps others they could have chosen; he just hoped the foul tempered potions master didn't do anything to his poor students. He nodded and both the principal and vice principal left. He sighed; very exciting day. For whatever reason there were more students in in-school suspension today than he ever expected. Usually one or two, maybe three or four; ISS was after all a rather harsh punishment, only treated as a step below the final punishment of long-term suspension. Despite the wishes of the administration, expulsion was not something Solaris High School indulged in, something that made Tommy feel at peace at least; in his experience none of their students were capable of anything that could really make them worth really expelling. They could be troublesome, but full out criminals was not in them.

But this? By the time third period came around he had gotten what seemed like almost a full class of students and they ranged:

Kira had been playing outside, again, without permission. ISS for her, being her twentieth infraction of the same thing.

Conner had skipped class and upon being caught, getting into trouble with Ethan who also had skipped, both boys were sent directly to Tommy.

There was Buffy whose only crime seemed to be crossing Synder's path, like it was every day. Along with her was her friend Xander, looking mostly bored, and her friend Willow, who looked mostly scared.

Tommy was a bit surprised to see Kyoya, the head of the disciplinary committee, in there as well and the note he was handed, with a vicious glare from the young man, stated it involved violence. But of course it did.

There were students from all over the school and even a junior high student or two, like Kyoya; the junior high, Helios, was kept on the ground behind the high school so they did often share. But still by Tommy's count there were at least twenty students, almost enough to be the bare minimum for a class, a startling thought. He wondered what it was that was going on.

He was in the middle of telling Willow about the advancements in dinosaur DNA and categorization he had managed to make the other say over at the University when... BAM! The explosion shook the building and bits of the roof rained on them lightly; Willow almost was thrown to the ground but Tommy managed to grab her, watching as the rest of his students nearly fell out of their seats, the few sitting on tables clinging to their tables since there was really not enough chairs for this many students in the ISS room. Ethan, who had been working on some computer program on his laptop, and Kira, who had been practicing in the back, and Conner, who had been sleeping, all looked up and staring at him for a moment ran to the window. Tommy righted Willow and joined them.

It was not a monster attack, the four Rangers realized that immediately; it was much worse. Tommy paled and turned to the students, screaming, “Get out of the room, now!”

The students, startled by their teacher's sudden aggression, just blinked at him for a moment before rushing for the door.

All too late; as Buffy tried to open the door to let the others follow she was suddenly and unceremoniously grabbed. They wrapped their arms around her, holding her tight and Tommy was a bit surprised they even could hold the Slayer so well; more of the invaders rushed in and pointing guns at the students, managed to round up those who tried to run. Tommy felt his heart fall then another explosion and the wall he stood by started to crumble. Conner grabbed Ethan and Kira, pulled them back, only to end up in the huddled circle in the room where their classmates were; Tommy watched as more arrived.

They were dressed in black clothes, like the SWAT team uniforms but more military; he recognized the emblem on their outfits and paled. The Braginski family; it made his blood run cold looking at them, thinking about this. The family who ruled the northern half of the city right now, who should be protecting the school, was attacking it.

One man, official looking and heavily scarred, walked up to Tommy. He was taller than Tommy. He was bigger than Tommy. And he had a big gun in his hands unlike Tommy. Everything about him oozed intimidation and fear; everything in the glare Tommy gave him spoke of the utter lack of impression he felt at the giant before him.

With a sneer the man moved to hit him with the gun but Tommy moved to avoid it. He heard behind him the click of guns and turning his head he saw the guns of a few of the men in the school itself, who had entered the room, pointed. At his students. His heart fell again and he felt the gun of the big man slam into his head.

His vision swam. He could swear he tasted blood in his mouth, and for a moment he wondered if he was dead already. But no, there was still noise; he hear yells, orders and the sound of at least one student, he thought it was Kira but it might have been Ethan or Willow or maybe Kyoya, call out his name, “Dr. Oliver!”

“Insolent fool,” the man said, spitting and kicked Tommy over.

Tommy groaned but after a second was able to see again and after another second managed to get up, if only to sit up; he looked up and the giant was even more giant. “What do you want?”

“This place allows in the spawn of those flightless freaks,” the man said; of course he was talking about the Penguin Gang, Tommy thought to himself. Of course he knew it to be false but the problem was that the majority of the students did come from what was the southern half of the city now, and that was just as bad as being their kids in the Braginski's eyes, “The king says we should give you all a little lesson.”

“I wasn't aware of a change in curriculum,” Tommy muttered and got a kick to the head; now that hurt. But he was good at taking hits; he just spit out the blood, luckily no teeth, and looked up at the man.

He sneered, “You Southerners are all the same.”

“We Hyperions are the same,” said the meek voice of Willow and Tommy's eyes widened; he turned quickly, “No! Leave her alone!”

One of the men cocked his gun, pointing it directly at Willow's head and the young girl's face revealed the utter terror. Buffy started to scream and struggle but being slammed into the nearest wall in response she stopped, going limp; she was unconscious but it did not make Tommy feel better. Conner and Xander both moved to try and grab Willow but got their own set of guns pressed against the back of their heads and had to stop. Kyoya fumed and looked ready to pounce but one of the other students,sweet and timid Chrome, managed to get him to stop.

Tommy wanted to help them but he couldn't move from where he was; he couldn't morph with his morphers all in his bag by the teacher's desk. He couldn't even get up without knowing that they would likely shoot the students before he could do anything. He was powerless. And being a Power Ranger that was the worst feeling he had had in a long time.

He turned back to the leader of the group and looked up at him, “Tell them to leave my students alone.”

“They're worthless little birds, all from that jester's court; why should we?” the man said, “What is in it for us?”

Tommy did not have an answer to that. The man gave him one, smirking. “You. You're the leader of the Rangers in the city, aren't you? You're friends with Tsuki Kokuryuu.”

That did not sound good. “Tell you what; we'll leave your precious little students and your little school alone but you have to do one thing for me.”

“What?” Tommy asked, regretting it immediately.

“You will go and tell that woman to force the leader of the Penguin Gang to give back the girl,” the man said and crouched down to him, “I know she can do that; everyone knows that Tsuki and him are friendly. And rumor has it so are you and her.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment. But it was not because he was thinking. It was always this; even Kim thought it. Tsuki was the key, Oswald needed to give the girl he took back to Ivan, Tommy needed to tell Tsuki to do it... yet more than any of that he felt his blood boil more hearing the implications in the man's voice.

Screw safety; in a swift and angry movement he headbutted the man as hard he could, knocking him over. He then jumped up and turned to try and make sure his students were okay.

The other men had been distracted. Long enough for Conner to use his super speed to slam two of them into a wall. Long enough for Kyoya to grab his tonfas from his bag and beat another five to a bloody pulp within seconds. Long enough for Buffy to regain consciousness, or maybe she'd been awake all along, and getting free assist in the collective butt kicking. Kira grabbed a chair and smacked someone with it and Ethan used his armor skin to block some bullets before helping Conner slam into people, alongside a rather excited Xander screaming “Viva la Problem Children!”

Tommy could only stare. And after a second, laugh. The students were fighting back. The students he had worried about protecting only moments before were defending themselves. And he had been worried about not doing anything, had thought not to do anything. And for just that morning he'd been feeling subdued when students much younger, much less experienced, fought.

He kept laughing even as they took down all their enemies and the students stared at him. He then wiped an eye and walked over, walking over bodies, not the dead but throughly broken, and spoke, “Come on kids, we should probably take back out school.”

Tsuki:

(Songs: Angel of Darkness (Alex C), Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance), Icarus (Bastille), It's My Life (Bon Jovi), Daughter of the Moon (Adriana Figueroa), Demons (Imagine Dragons), This is War (Thirty Seconds to Mars), I Will Not Bow (Breaking Benjamin), Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons), Pompeii (Bastille), Our Solemn Hour (Within Temptation), Dead Hearts (Stars), Wine Red (Hush Sound), Truth Beneath the Rose (Within Temptation, especially important))

Jason had not yet come in for work when the others arrived. Roderich was helping Tsuki with some early housekeeping details and both looked up from their seats at one of the far tables to see Kim walk in first. Or rather stalk angrily; behind her Tommy followed, looking equal parts exhausted, worried, and upset, and not far behind Charlie and Amita brought up the rear. The former was looking drained and it left Tsuki wondering what was going on. Not that visits by her favorite teachers, and their lovely girlfriends, were uncommon; Tommy and Charlie often were the first customers she had of the night but this was different, that much was obviously. Tsuki stood up, brow furrowed in concern for the tension her friends brought with them. "Kim, Amita, boys wha-" Her sentence was cut short as Kim slapped her. The noise reverberated through the otherwise quiet room and Roderich got to his feet with wide eyes. "Kim!" Tommy yelled and grabbed her arm before she could do more, dragging her back. Kim simply glared at Tsuki who stood there, hand to her cheek, surprised and staring back at her as the pink Ranger spoke, "Fix this." Tsuki lowered her hand and as Roderich tried to move she held it up once more, this time to stop him. She directed Kim, "Fix what?" Her words were crisp and punctuated but she was angry; she knew what Kim was going to say before she could say it. It was pretty obvious; turning her gaze to the others she noted their own expressions. Charlie's surprise at Kim getting violent, the concern on Amita's face, and the anger in Tommy's eyes; it occurred to her that something was different in each of them, a decisiveness that made their emotions only more clear to her eyes. Something had happened in the last twenty-four hours. "Make that man stop this fighting," Kim said to her and Tsuki raised an eyebrow at her, "I know you can, Tsuki." "Roderich, could you give us a few minutes?" Tsuki asked head turned only slightly to address the pianist; he blinked then nodded his head before bowing out the room by way of the side door. Once the five were alone she sighed and took her seat again, pushing up her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "Now...I assume by 'that man' you mean Oswald?" "We know you're in communication with him," Kim said and frowned, "Tell him to just give the woman back and get this ended." "The woman," Tsuki started her gaze cold, "has a name." Spitting venom with her words Kim stepped back into Tommy in surprise of the aggression; he put a hand on her shoulder for a second then pulled away, walking over to stand between the two women. "Hey, lets be civil about this okay?" "But Tommy," Kim said. "No buts," he responded, head turned to look at her, "Now apologize for hitting Tsuki." Kim looked startled by this and she simply stared for a moment before sighing. "Fine, I'm sorry." Tsuki waved it off; honestly the violence had been far less annoying than Kim's calling Sabrina "the woman". Tommy smiled some and patted Kim's head, letting Charlie speak next, "Tsuki probably is in contact with Cobblepot-" "I am, I won't lie." He frowned her interrupting and she gave him a sheepish smile. He went on. "She is in contact with him but that doesn't mean she can just tell him to end this war and give Sabby over to Ivan." "My cousin is no bargaining tool," Tsuki said, taking a lollipop from her pocket and popping it in her mouth, "I'm not going to ask him to treat her like one." Kim frowned and stepped towards her, barred from actual close contact by Tommy. "Ivan and Oswald certainly seem to think of her as some prize, enough to turn the city into a war zone. Tsuki, you have to do something, anything! Everyone knows you're the only neutral zone, there has to be a reason for it." "Because I'll shove a pool cue up a place the sun don't shine if they try to start anything here?" Tsuki offered, eyebrow raised; no one laughed at her bad joke and she groaned, rubbing her head, "Look why would you think Oswald would do anything other than laugh if I tried to tell him what to do?" "You're friends aren't you?" Amita asked, speaking up finally and looked to Charlie for a moment, "He'd at least take your counsel to mind." "Yeah, what Amita said," Kim said, "Come on, at least talk to him; besides wouldn't you rather see the city at peace? Just tell him to give Sabby back to Ivan; I'm sure she'll be happier with her beloved than as a hostage." Tsuki's hand clenched and Tommy, noting, looked to Charlie before turning to Kim again. "Kimmy, maybe not that..." She looked at him in confusion. "What? She would be I'm sure; I mean it would be like taking me from you. I'd want to come back to; honestly I would fight to get back but I guess Sabby being the way she is-" "Shut up, Kimberly," Tsuki said her voice sudden ice; Tommy frowned and looking to Charlie the two men realized a danger the girls were not as aware of. Kim was taken aback by the harsh words and blinking she then turned back on her own coldness. "No, I won't shut up. I know she's your cousin and all but if letting her go back to Ivan will end all this fighting-" "I will not condone her being forced to go back to that monster!" Tsuki screamed, slamming her hand down on the table and the four jumped. She glared, though it was not for Kim or Tommy or anyone there; Charlie knew though, Tommy knew, and rubbing her head again in frustration Tsuki sunk into her chair, "Go." "Tsuki," Amita started, stepping forward but Charlie stopped her. She looked at him and he gave her a gentle smile, "Go on, wait in the car." "What about you Charlie?" She asked. "We'll try to reason with her," Tommy said and pushed Kim outside, Charlie leading Amita after him, "You two just leave it to us." Kim frowned and looked ready to argue but he closed the door and locked it. She stalked away from the door and Tommy sighed. "You're going to get an earful about that," said Tsuki's voice softly. He laughed bitterly. "Yeah well I'll worry about that later. Charlie, lets have a drink." The college professor blinked at his high school colleague and then followed him to the bar; Tommy jumped the counter and grabbed a bottle from behind. He didn't really care which bottle; he just wanted a drink. He was pouring it out when Charlie sat down and Tommy spoke, "Tsuki, get your grumpy butt over here and drink with us." She frowned and huffed, arms crossed. "No thanks, I don't want anything." "Wasn't an offer." "Not your alcohol to offer anyway." Yet she got up and dumping herself onto one barstool she grabbed the bottle from Tommy, the man hanging a glass to Charlie at that moment. "This is my good vodka," she said semi-sullenly. Charlie downed the glass in one gulp and winced. "That's really strong." "Tsuki likes it strong," Tommy said and making his way back to the other side of the bar he took a seat between the two and grabbed back the bottle; he poured out two more glasses, and refilled Charlie's. He picked his up, "Cheers." Tsuki and Charlie did the same and blinked their three glasses together before taking a drink. The Russian water barely burned her throat on the way down, or maybe she just didn't notice it as much; she stared at her drink and Tommy continued to use up her good vodka. Finally she spoke again, "I can't." "Can't what, buttercup?" Tommy asked pouring out another glass. "He hurt her," she said, continuing as if he hadn't spoken, "I can't just tell Oswald to give her back to him; Kim is wrong. She's safer with Oswald..." "I know," Tommy said nodding. Charlie frowned. "Tsuki, outside of the three of us and those three no one knows about what happened, of what Ivan did to her; Kim and Amita still think it was just an accident." Tsuki frowned too now and she stared at her glass for a moment, swirling it around; seeing the tears forming in her eyes neither man really thought. Tommy leaned over and wrapped an arm around her, Charlie getting up out of his seat to do similar. She held back any sobs very well. “That monster made my cousin....he is a monster and I do not care what Kim or Amita or anyone says. I am not telling Oswald to give her back to Ivan, not now, not ever.”

“We know, Tsuki,” Charlie said and awkwardly rubbed her back, “I know.”

Tommy sighed and pulled away, letting Charlie take over the physical comfort; he looked at the bottle for a moment before taking a big swig. The vodka stung a lot but it didn't much matter. “You do care, Tsuki. We both know you do; you love this city and you love its people and you love singing in this little hole in the ground you call The End and you love-”

He stopped then shook his head, “Kim thinks you are in charge here though which we both know is bullshit. You're not, any more than I am, any more than Charlie is. You're just a player.”

There was silence for a moment before with a solemn nod Tsuki shook off Charlie and grabbed the bottle from Tommy; she took a swig too then coughed. “Oswald's the one with power here; it's his choice.”

Frowning as he watched them Charlie then moved and took his place as the third member; he took his own large gulp of the potent vodka and muttered in the end, “Let's hope he makes the right one then...”

Oswald:

(Songs: Angel of Darkness (Alex C), Angel With a Shotgun (The Cab), Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance), You Want a Battle (Bullet For My Valentine), Absolute Beginners (David Bowie), Demons (Imagine Dragons), For the Heart I Once Had (Nightwish), This is War (Thirty Seconds to Mars), Warriors (Imagine Dragons), Ready Aim Fire (Imagine Dragons), Cantarella (Miku and Kaito), Hand of Sorrow (Within Temptation), Memories (Within Temptation), Our Solemn Hour (Within Temptation), Dead Hearts (Stars), Swan Song (Within Temptation), The Plagues (Prince of Egypt), Oni to Musume/The Ogre and the Maiden/Demon and Daughter (Kaito, especially important))

It was time. Victor of course wanted to be the one to go; the master assassin was always itching for a fight and more so against the enemies of their gang. Or the allies. Or civilians; really anyone he came across. Of course he was a little twitchy because some time during the conflict he'd been commanded by the boss that no civilians were to be harmed, the bloodshed was to be kept to a minimum and to only fight if the other side initiated it. Personally he blamed the songbird. Oswald was frowning at himself in the mirror, taking stock of himself. He was short. His right foot was awkwardly oriented, a fact that made Oswald bristle. His hair, despite not having showered yet, looked wet and stuck to his head in awkward spikes. Dressed in one of his suits, not the finest he had of course but one of the nicer ones, he looked a little too much like a... "Penguin," he muttered to himself and scowling hobbled his way away from the offending thing. This would never work, it wasn't going to work. "Oswald?" A voice called out to him and he snapped away from his thoughts, head turning towards the doorway to his bedroom. Sabrina was standing there, holding onto the door frame. It occurred to him she still didn't know her way around the mansion yet and that she even made it here on her own was impressive. In addition he ended up noting the fact she wasn't wearing the short cut dress Ivan had her in back at his place; with a tinge of amusement and irony she wore instead a black suit, tailored to her form, her black hair braided over one shoulder. She reminded him of Tsuki in a way. He didn't realize he was smiling until she tried to walk over to him and stumbled over the slight hitch in the couch; it was then he frowned and moving fast as he could with his bad leg he tried to catch her. She landed against him and he, despite his own displeasure and the pain it caused, put enough pressure on his injured leg to keep both standing; he winced but of course she wouldn't see that. She turned her head up from his chest to look at him and blinked, "Oswald?" "You shouldn't be wandering around without an escort," he said trying to sound tough; why did she have to appear now of all times? Maybe it was a good sign... She pouted and pulled away. "I'm not a child; I do not need a babysitter." No, he said in his mind but not aloud, watching as she crossed her arms only for the mildest sign of panic to cross her face and she reached out to grab his arm, blank red eyes searching blindly for something she would never see; you're not a child. He smiled instead at her, in his awkward Oswald way and put a hand on hers, seeing relief wash over her face. No, she wasn't a child but she was a bit helpless. "Where are you planning on going?" She asked him, running her fingers over his sleeve. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere?" He inquired already guessing the answer. She smiled at him and slid her hand up to his shoulder. "This isn't one of your normal suits; it feels different, softer. Are you going somewhere fancy?" Fancy was not the word he was thinking of and he watched as her fingers moved to the small gem on his cross tie. She chuckled and stroked it gently, "What color?" He blinked then spoke, "Red." He saw her face light up and smiling lightly he went on, "A deep vibrant red, bright and shimmering in the light, akin..." Oswald caught himself and she looked confused. Biting his lip he spoke, "Blood. It looks like solidified blood, a tiny little blood stone." It wasn't entirely a lie, it really wasn't. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the full truth. Sabrina though seemed to believe it anyway and smiled happily, "Bloodstones aren't pure red though, silly." "You have me there; its cuprite," he said and put a hand over hers, "I should get you back to your room." "You didn't answer where you're going," she said, blinking as he gripped her fingers. "Out; I'll be back soon," he said and pulled on her, leading her out of the room, "You just...stay in your room. Don't leave it again until I come back." He knew that wouldn't go over well; she made a soft whine and tightened her hold on his hand before speaking, "Can't I come with you?" "No!" He yelled it before he could think and turned on her; she was frightened by his voice, he could see it. And he thought back, back to when he first met her, when the thought to take her had first crossed his mind; that look in her eyes as Ivan had dragged her out of The End that night, sadness and a forced smile and fear. She was afraid of him now too and while only a few months before he wouldn't mind it, what did he care of the prize being afraid, no let her be afraid of him, now... Now it was empty and it hurt. He didn't want to scare her; he was going to go bring the war directly to the king's doorstep and it would not be for a prize, for the songbird or a woman or Tsuki's cousin. It would be for Sabrina. He pulled her to him, awkward, uncertain, but still and he entangled his fingers in her braid. "No, you stay here. Victor will watch out for you, I told him to guard the manor while I'm gone but you have to stay inside. Once I'm back..." Once this was over.... "Don't go," she muttered and he froze; her fingers clenched the front of his shirt, tight as she could but still so weak, "Please don't go. Don't go to him, don't give him what he wants; just stay here, please. I don't...want you to go, Oswald." Ivan didn't want him, Oswald thought though; he knew, she knew it. What the mad king wanted was not the jester who bit his legs and made him a fool but the songbird the jester stole, the princess with the quiet stare. And no, he had no intention of giving that to Ivan. Still his arms held her close and he did wish, a cowardly part, the part of him that was forever there and strong, to not go. To stay there with her. "I'll be back soon. You just listen to Victor and stay in your room; once I'm back we'll go to The End. We'll go see Tsuki and Tommy and Charlie and Jason and Alex and Roderich and everyone and you can sing for them and things will be...”

Better. He let go of her and before she could argue against his words, an argument he was not so sure right now he could win or would really want to deep down, he pushed her into her room. Locking the door he did his best to ignore her, to ignore her cries, to ignore her please. This had to be done and turned down the hall he noticed Victor approaching, the bald assassin looking at him with slight amusement. Oswald frowned, “Do not let her out of the room.”

“And don't let any of Ivan's peons near her room, right,” Victor recited by memory; as Oswald walked by him he spoke again, “I don't normally really care but I will say this I guess; be careful, boss.”

Oswald was stricken for a second by the concern, the sort of concern, then shaking his head he continued, calling back, “Tell the chefs to have dinner ready by four. I will be back shortly.”

Victor chuckled under his breath. He really didn't believe that, but if it made Oswald feel better, walking off to war as he was, to face down the big bad himself, then more power to him. It was finally time; could a flightless wobbling bird really take a mad king?

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