#dad also apparently had an epiphany or something while he was down out of state and grandmoms funeral

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Janus Anker: identity

To be a teenager is to learn more about yourself. But does it have to be all at once?

Please leave a comment on this one? I usually don't ask but I would really like feedback on this one.

Masterpost

Summer before freshmen year, Janus was a wreck.

He always kind of hated the way he looked. But lately there were days where he didn’t even like to look at the normal half of his body. When nothing in his closet felt comfortable. The first day of summer, he went over to the neighbor’s house to hang out with Virgil. He was having a bad day and needed his friend. “Janus. Good to see you my boy,” Virgil’s dad greeted as he opened the door. Janus forced a smile. “Hi uncle Lo. Is Virgil up yet?” he asked. “He’s in his room. You know the way,” uncle Logan told him kindly. Janus nodded and rushed up the stairs. He opened the door to Virgil’s bedroom and froze. Virgil was standing in front of his mirror a pen in his hand and his hoodie and t-shirt on the bed. He looked up and smiled at him. Why was his hair purple? And since when did he do his eyeshadow so immaculate? Did he paint his nails purple too? Was that lipstick? And why was there an intricate pattern running up his arm, over his shoulder and fading out at his chest? “What do you think? Looks pretty sick right?” he asked as he showed off his work. Janus wasn’t sure which part of Virgil’s drastically changed appearance he meant. But it looked very… very… God he could not be having a gay panic right now. Not with Virgil. He’d never had a crush before! He never cared for any of the girls in class. Not in the way Virgil sometimes expressed interest in them. Like Anna from their class. Virgil had had a small crush on her at the start of last year. Out of curiosity Janus had asked what it was like. To see if maybe he was crushing on someone without realizing it. Sadly Virgil’s explanation hadn’t brought an epiphany. Which made this even more confusing. If he was simply gay and crushing on Virgil this whole time, then he should have realized it then right? He’d known him all his life! He didn’t feel like this last week though. He forced himself to drop that train of thought. He wasn’t here for any of this. “Yeah. Looks good. Though I doubt uncle Lo will let you actually get a tattoo. Ever,” he said, trying to play it cool. Virgil chuckled and nodded as he tossed the pen on his desk and put on his shirt and hoodie. The latter was new. Black with purple patches. It looked hand made. In a good way. Janus couldn’t focus on it though. He was still reeling from the unexpected rush of feelings that had just been dumped on him.

Maybe it was just because Virgil had looked so different? Some sort of shock? That must be it. Right? Anyway it was mostly over now and he was back to feeling wrong in his own skin. “I know, but I wanted to try it out anyway. I’ll wash it off later. After I take a picture.” Virgil then studied Janus’ face. “One of those days?” he guessed. Janus nodded. He’d never been able to express to Virgil how it felt exactly. But his friend managed to make him feel better anyway. He’d help him relax by messing around with his hair or helping him pick something nice to wear. Or some general self-care stuff. “I’ve got just the thing. Sit down I’ll be right back.” Janus proceeded to throw himself face first on Virgil’s bed, doing his best not to think back to the fake tattoo he had drawn. Or not the part where it made him feel things anyway. Virgil was good at art. Good enough to make others envious, or make people try and get something from him. Janus felt his stomach twist in knots at the mere thought of it. Virgil was too kind to deny anyone if they’d ask. It would be very hard to keep him safe in high school though, when they weren’t guaranteed to be together for every class. Janus had been thinking a lot about ways he could protect them from bullies and fake friends. The best he could come up with was seem scarier and stick together. The coward was going to scare off the bullies. Janus was very aware of how ridiculous that sounded. He was going to try though. And then there was still the matter of Roman Castile. That pompous brat never stopped trying to get Virgil to trust him and steal him away. Janus still couldn’t figure out why he went through so much effort. Was it because he didn’t get told ‘no’ often? Was Virgil a challenge? Roman couldn’t possibly really know or appreciate the kind of person Virgil was. So what was the plan? “Get up. I can’t work my magic if you hide away like that,” Virgil instructed as he entered the room once again dropping something on the bed. Janus sighed and sat up. “Give me your hand. We’re doing make overs,” Virgil instructed as he got on the bed with him. Janus was about to protest, but Virgil had that look. There was no arguing. “Fine,” he sighed. Virgil took his hand and started doing his nails with a golden polish. “I bought this one for detailing,” he explained. Janus looked at Virgil’s hand and saw there were little stars in the purple polish. He couldn’t help a smile. It looked pretty. Virgil had started using make up the last few months. Just some dark smudges under his eyes and black polish on his nails to look extra edgy. Maybe the new look held the same intention? A high school upgrade? With a little detail to hint at a softer nature for those who looked close. “You’re in the mood for makeovers today,” he observed. Virgil chuckled. “I suppose,” he nodded as he blew over Janus’ nails, finishing of his right hand. “Next,” he instructed. Janus gave him his left hand, holding his right up so nothing could mess up the still wet paint. “What’s with all the shades of purple anyway?” he asked. “Just felt right,” Virgil muttered casually as he finished off Janus’ other hand. “There,” he stated satisfied as he let go. Janus shook both hands for a bit trying to get them dry. “We’ll find the look that feels right for you too. Just you wait,” Virgil assured him as he dug through the bag Janus had heard him put down earlier. “What are you planning?” he asked. “Relax, I’m not going to make you go home with a face full of make-up. We’re just trying something different okay?” Virgil assured him. Janus let out a sigh and nodded. He trusted him. “I wouldn’t go for a dark lipstick for you. It looks cool but it’s… Not something even I would want for an everyday look. And the goal is making you feel good not shock you,” he joked. Janus’ eyes fell to Virgil’s lips as he mentioned lipstick. The dark color made every movement stand out even more. They looked very kissable. And that brought Janus mind to a screeching halt. The image of kissing his best friend made him feel all sorts of ways. But not quite the way Virgil once described. He felt nervous and excited, and flustered. But not… Not love. He didn’t think of sweet nothings and dates and holding hands. Or he did, because part of him wanted to run those down to figure out if this was a crush. But none of that fit how he felt about Virgil. The thought of it was just weird to him. Virgil was movie nights and stupid jokes and teasing. But also kissing. Apparently. Suddenly he was yanked out of his thoughts by Virgil carefully taking hold of his face. For a second he thought Virgil’s mind had gone to the same place his had. But when his eyes shot up to V’s they were just amused. “Relax. And stop biting your lip. I haven’t even done anything and you’re already trying to ruin my masterpiece.” “Sorry,” Janus muttered. Relieved that Virgil had no clue what just happened. What was wrong with him? “It’s fine,” Virgil assured him as he started applying whatever color he’d decided on to Janus’ lips. It did not help with his crisis. And it was just a stellar crisis to have when the object of your attraction was literally holding your face and had his lips a breath away from yours. “There. Now, I’m going to need you to trust me for a sec here,” Virgil warned ominously. Clearly having fun. Janus couldn’t help a chuckle. Now that Virgil wasn’t so close anymore the attraction subsided to a not all consuming level and he could kind of enjoy the fact that Virgil was trying to make him feel like a movie star or whatever he was going for here. “Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked dryly. Virgil chuckled. Janus thought back to how Virgil had said that Anna’s laugh made his heart skip, back when he liked her. But while the sound made Janus feel comfortable and happy, his heart did nothing special. He was just happy and relaxed because the sound was familiar and safe. “You have a point,” Virgil agreed. “Close your eyes for me.” Janus did as he was told. Virgil’s hand was on his face once more and he could feel his breath drift over him. The fact that he couldn’t see a thing as a brush drifted over his eyelids only intensified the new feelings. “Did you know the principle of our high school is childhood friends with uncle Thomas?” ‘Uncle’ Thomas was an old school friend of Uncle Logan. Janus had met him a few times over the years. He was a nice guy. If a bit high energy. “Really?” he asked a little surprised. “Yeah. Joan Stokes. They use they/them pronouns. According to uncle Thomas.” Janus couldn’t help the confused frown. “What do you mean?” he asked. “They’re non binary. They don’t identify as a man or a woman. Like they were born in a male body, but their gender is not male or female.” “People can do that?” Janus asked. “Just decide they aren’t what they are?” “That’s not it. Uncle Thomas says that Mx. Stokes… Mx. Is the neutral version of Mr. or Mrs. by the way… Anyway he said that they are their authentic selves. They were always non binary. They just didn’t know it until they were in their teens or something. I looked it up. There are people who are born in a male body but discover they are female later in life. Like. It’s proven that their brains even work more like that of a female. And the other way around can happen too. So why wouldn’t there be people who are in between?” Janus tried to wrap his head around it. Being a man but not being a man… or a woman. “So is… are they…? Did I say that right?” It felt kind of weird. He’d never heard of this until now. “That was exactly right.” Janus could swear he heard some pride in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, so are they both or neither?” he asked. Virgil’s hand stilled. “You know… I didn’t ask. Hm… I suppose… Maybe it depends on your perspective?” he mused as he continued working. “Look up for a bit please,” Virgil muttered. Janus opened his eyes and felt Virgil start applying some eye liner. “I don’t have mascara, so I’m almost done,” he told him. Janus felt relieved. He was enjoying this, truly. And he was curious to find out how he looked. But he also needed some distance between himself and Virgil. And maybe some time to try to look up what all of these feelings were about. Because he wanted to know what this thing was that threatened his friendship with Virgil. Was this a crush? If it was, then why didn’t he feel any of the stuff he was supposed to feel. Except for a very dumb and dangerous wish to kiss his best friend. “And done! Turn around I’m going to fix your hair a bit.” Janus sighed and turned to face the window. He’d let his hair grow the past few years. It came past his shoulders now and he liked the way it looked. He usually wore it up to the side. But Virgil liked to play around with it sometimes. And Janus secretly liked it when he did. “Okay so I’m not going too wild here. I’m keeping it simple,�� Virgil assured him as he started brushing Janus’ hair. Janus hummed in acknowledgement, already lost in the feeling of the brush. This was relaxing. And over much too soon. “Done!” Virgil announced as he hopped off the bed. Suddenly Janus was dragged in front of the mirror. “Well, you look hot, if I do say so myself.” Janus was so shocked that he barely registered the complement. He looked… The person in the mirror was… That was him… If he forgot about his clothes for a minute and just looked at his face. The feeling of wrongness was gone. In it’s place was a strange sort of euphoria. “Is this a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Virgil wondered. Janus was pulled away from marveling at how Virgil had managed to go for a natural look in spite of his birthmarks making it harder to pick a color that looked good on both sides. He wanted to hug him. Thank him for making him look beautiful. He'd never appreciated the shape of his eyes until Virgil made them stand out. His lips looked elegant and full. And now it was down, Jan's hair framed his face so nicely. Virgil was amazing. But when he looked at him, the euphoria subsided. Slowly replaced by dread. He looked like a girl. He realized. If he switched out his clothes a little, he could easily be mistaken for a girl… and he liked looking like this. This was too much. Did Virgil know that this would happen? Was that the point of bringing up pronouns? Was this a test? He couldn’t let him know. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even know what there was to know. He needed time. “You are getting way to good at this. I almost didn't realize it was me,” he said while he was trying to find an excuse to get the make-up of and go home. Virgil smiled. “I'll take that as a complement. It looks good on you. Thanks for letting me try it out,” he offered as he went back to his bag. “I’ve got some sponges to clean up. Dad wouldn't care, but I get it if you don't feel like explaining that we're just messing around.” Janus relaxed a little at that. Virgil didn’t know. Good. He accepted the sponge and with a heavy heart went to the bathroom to clean up. He left his hair down though, finding a little comfort in that. He also left his nails as they were. When he got back Virgil was sitting cross legged on the bed sketching. He looked up and smiled. Janus smiled back and let himself drop in his usual spot. He probably should go. But if he hurried home now, it would be even more suspicious. And as long as they didn’t get too close again, he could ignore at least half of his crisis. “Hey, I’m probably not going to use the lipstick or most of the eyeshadow anymore. You think your mom can use it?” Virgil wondered absentmindedly after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Janus shrugged. “I'll ask her. You sure? Isn't make-up very expensive?” “It’s all either sale or stuff Uncle Thomas gave to me. One of his friends is a make-up artist who gets stuff like that all the time for free. and I wanted to experiment,” Virgil explained casually. “But like I said I’m not a lipstick kind of emo and other than black, purple and maybe blue I don't think I’ll use any of the eyeshadow.” Janus nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t mention that he might make his own selection first. To test out if it was just novelty that made him feel good, or if he was really… a she. Virgil put the sketchbook aside and got out of bed digging through the bag. He put a bunch of stuff on his desk before coming back and handing the bag over. “I’ll need the bag back though. Have her select what she likes and do with the rest whatever you want.” Janus nodded as he accepted the bag. They listened to music for a while, Virgil sketching absentmindedly. “Is being with a man who’s actually a woman gay?” Janus wondered out loud all of a sudden. Virgil looked up. “Does it matter?” he asked. “I mean… A little?” Janus didn’t know how to explain where the question came from. He knew. But he couldn’t say without giving himself away… herself? No. He was not ready to try out the pronoun. Not even in his mind. “Well… I don’t know… Do you mean someone who’s born male but identifies as female?” Janus nodded. “And we’re talking about us as guys right?” Janus nodded again. “Then. If they identify as female, it’s not gay I suppose. They’re a woman. At least that’s what I got from what I looked up. I didn’t do a whole indebt study.” Janus hummed absentmindedly. “I don’t know if I could make out with someone who’s like that,” he admitted. He didn’t mean to sound insensitive. He might be ‘someone like that’ himself. It just felt all so complicated and confusing right now. He didn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t know for sure until he was put in that position. He thought back to the past few years and his failed attempts at trying to feel interested in girls the way Virgil was. He thought he was just picky. That he needed to be really into someone to even consider putting his mouth on theirs. And the argument could be made that this was true for Virgil too. But he only liked him as a friend. Not as someone he wanted to start a family with. Though he could imagine them jokingly making a pact to settle with each other if they were still single when they turned 30 or something like that. Could people just want to kiss someone without being in love? They did that right? One night stands and all that stuff happened all the time. If they could not be a guy or a girl, or be the opposite of what they were born as. Or seemed to be born as at first glance. His head was spinning. He had too much to think about. “Well, I don’t think I’d care. If I like them, and they’re cute. Then I’d be down I think…” Once again Janus hummed vaguely. It was a bit of a relief. One less thing to worry about for him. They sat in silence after that, listening to music. Virgil sketching, Janus trying to compile a plan. When Virgil was called in for lunch Janus left for his house. He had made a decision. He had lunch with his dad, his mom was at work and his dad had to go present a project. Which meant that by some miracle, Janus would have the house to himself. A rare occurrence. Normally he’d invite Virgil over. But this time, he needed some time for himself. He took the make-up bag up and then dug through his mother’s closet. He took out a skirt and a shirt that sat loose so he wouldn’t ruin them. He wasn’t going to take risks with her shoes. He’d have to make due. Once in his room he searched the bag for the right colors. They’d been shades of yellow and brown, he recalled. He saw that Virgil had kept the eyeliner, which made sense. Virgil wore it almost daily. It was fine. This was just an experiment anyway. He wasn’t as good as Virgil. He figured out that he had used slightly different shades, or blended or something on either eye to make up for the different skin tones. He didn’t get it exactly right but close enough. He’d borrowed his mother’s mascara and prayed he was putting it on right. He put on a shade of lipstick that looked close enough to the one Virgil used, wishing he’d paid more attention to what he said rather than panic about how much he wanted to kiss him in that moment. In any case he was done with his make-up. It wasn’t until he was about to put on his mother’s shirt that he realized he probably should have started with the clothes and ended with the hair and make-up. Live and learn. Very carefully, he put on the shirt and then the skirt. He closed his eyes as he stepped in front of the full length mirror glued to his closet door. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s just… try,” he whispered to himself. He opened his eyes… She looked great. Virgil had done a better job, but still. The outfit was… It helped. Janus felt a giddy laugh escape. She played with her hair and held out her hand as if she was greeting someone. “Hi,” she said, making her voice higher. “I’m… Janice. Nice to meet you.” Janice. Familiar but more fitting. Her heart was racing, her stomach in knots. Now this was closer to what Virgil described as falling in love. She was just so happy to meet herself. The pronoun felt much less scary in the privacy of her own room. She was going to have to do more research. Why was she only starting to feel this way now? What was that thing with Virgil earlier? Why did she only feel bad about her body on some days and others she was completely fine with being Janus. Was that normal? But for this moment she let herself be happy. Everything else could wait just a bit longer. The rest of summer, Janus did every chore they could. Their parents and uncle Lo had implemented a system that allowed Virgil and Janus to raise their allowance if they did chores. It was meant to teach them that a good work ethic got rewarded or something along those lines, Janus was sure. But all they cared about was that they’d be able to buy themself some make up and an outfit to wear when they needed it. They were still a mess. The good news was, they now knew why. They were gay. That much was clear. Or well they were exclusively into men. But after talking in some online chat groups, they’d figured out that they weren’t a trans woman, as they’d initially thought. They were, in fact, gender fluid. Some days, he was just Janus. Other days she was more comfortable as Janice. They were okay with they/them on any given day. That is, they’d figured that out in their head. But they weren’t out to anyone yet. They were terrified of telling any adult in their life. Even if they were fairly sure that Uncle Lo, at the very least, was fine with the whole gender thing. But still. They wanted to tell Virgil so badly. But… There was one more thing they’d figured out  that they weren’t ready to share. They were aromantic. Or at least on that spectrum. So… They did and didn’t have a crush on Virgil. There was definitely, attraction they felt for the boy now sitting next to them in the car, singing loudly with them to the songs of one of their favorite bands as they were headed off for a weekend in New York for a P!ATD concert. They were having fun. It was a Janus day, so they felt okay when Uncle Lo and Virgil used male pronouns and stuff like that. Virgil grinned at him. “You better be prepared, I’m going to make you fit in with the crowd tomorrow,” he promised. Janus rolled their eyes and laughed. Setting in the next song with him. About an hour later they got to their hotel. “We have two adjacent rooms. I trust you boys can be responsible enough to be left to your own devices after dinner?” Uncle Lo asked sternly. Virgil and Janus exchanged a glance. “You can trust that we won’t do anything that could make you decide to go back home tomorrow. Making us miss the concert.” Janus assured his honorary uncle, who chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is very sound reasoning. I’ll let you two unpack. We’ll have dinner in the hotel restaurant in an hour,” he reminded them. “Okay, dad,” Virgil grinned as he opened the door to their room and they brought in their luggage. Virgil dropped his as soon as he closed the door. He took a running start and flopped on the bed. Or beds. It was a two bed room, but the beds were pushed together. “This bed is awesome! You have to try this Jan!” Virgil’s tendency to shorten Janus’ name was actually a blessing on their feminine days. Janus smirked and dropped his bags too and dove onto the bed next to Virgil. Oh, they were soft and comfortable. “It’s going to be a pain pushing them apart,” they muttered. “Eh, worries for later,” Virgil said dismissively as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we get to do this. It feels like forever since we’ve just hung out you know?” Janus felt a little bad. They’d been very tense lately, which had put a damper on every time they’d visited Virgil or invited him over. They hoped things would get better soon. Once they got over their attraction, they could tell him everything. And then they could get back to normal. They just… Most of the time they were fine. But there were moments when Janus had a gay panic around Virgil and his instinctive reaction was to push away. Which obviously confused Virgil. And rightfully so. Rationally they knew that if they explained themselves, Virgil would understand he didn’t do anything wrong here and everything would be fine again. But they were afraid he’d be weirded out by it. He might be okay with their pronouns bouncing around the way they did. He might be okay with him being attracted to guys. And maybe even with him being aromatic… But him being attracted to him might be too much. “Yeah… Sorry. I’m just…” Janus tried to figure out how to explain some of what he’s going through. Virgil was his best friend. He should tell him. “Hey, I get it. High School has me pretty stressed out too. But even if we don’t have all classes together, there’s lunch, and we’ll see each other outside of school hours to. I mean, we live next to each other. There’s no getting rid of me.” He turned his head and smirked at Janus at the last part. Janus smiled a little. Feeling a little better knowing that Virgil had no intentions of leaving him behind. He never had turned away from him just because some other kids told him he could hang out with them. People had even stopped trying to separate them. With one annoying exception. But he wasn’t going to give that guy the satisfaction of taking up space in their summer. They stared at the ceiling for a while, just talking no sign of any awkwardness. They made it through a fun dinner and when they got back to the room they played a game of truth or dare. It was harmless stuff. Just acting silly and nothing too challenging. Until… “Janus, truth or dare?” Virgil chuckled as he sat down after dancing to ‘barbie girl’. “Dare,” Janus replied carelessly. “Okay… I dare you to…” Virgil bit his lip and played with his sleeve as he thought about a good challenge. Janus knew that these were nervous habits of his but they couldn’t dwell on it very much as suddenly Virgil smirked and leaned in. “I dare you to kiss me.” It was a joke. Very clearly he only meant to take Janus by surprise and tease them about their reaction. But Janus was tempted. He could do it. Kiss him like he’d wanted to and Virgil couldn’t be mad because he’d literally told him to do it. It was the only rule they had for this game. Don’t dare anyone to do something if you are not prepared for them to actually follow through. Because they could be competitive enough to do very dumb stuff just to prove a point. So… If he kissed him now, he could maybe finally get the thought out of their head. And try to gage Virgil’s reaction to see if he was ready for them to come out. They’d hesitated too long though. Virgil was falling back and chuckling. “Relax I was just joking. Besides I never specified where you had to kiss me or anything. No need to stress out about it. Though…” Virgil looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. “You’re pretty cute. I wouldn’t hate kissing you I suppose,” he smirked, making heat flood Janus’ body. He wouldn’t? “You know, if I had to,” he added as he stuck out his tongue. Janus felt his embarrassment turn into annoyance. Virgil had gotten into the habit of complementing him like that. Wrapped up in casual teasing. He couldn’t know that it got Janus’ hopes up and Janus knew that getting upset at him would only hurt them both. But he often found himself powerless to stop it. He tossed Virgil a pillow. “You’re impossible,” he huffed. Hoping Virgil wouldn’t spot the frustration in his tone. Which of course he did. “J?” he asked gently as he got up. Laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Janus just curled in on himself, too embarrassed to face him. “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean anything with it okay?” Virgil assured him. “It’s just… I know you are kind of hung up on your skin sometimes�� And you know I am terrible at expressing myself… All I wanted to do was like… Let you know I think you look cool and stuff. I know that it probably means nothing coming from me…” God, they were a terrible person. Virgil was trying his best to help them, to lighten the mood that plagued them even though they never let him in on what they were thinking. “You’re wrong,” they muttered into their knees. “It means a lot. It really does… I’m just being an ass hat,” they admitted. Virgil chuckled, their reply enough to let him relax it seemed. “Yeah, but I love ya anyway,” he assured them. There was a pause. “It’s getting late we should split the beds and get some sleep. Big day tomorrow,” Virgil noted. Janus uncurled themselves and nodded. They got up and each pulled one of the beds to the side. They dug through their suitcases for their PJs and Janus worried about whether it would be weird to go to the bathroom to get changed. In the past they just got dressed in front of one another when they stayed over. But that was all before… Before Janus could even finish their thoughts Virgil was heading to the bathroom. They relaxed, not even stopping to wonder why Virgil was suddenly shy about getting dressed in the same room as them. They just got dressed and in bed. They looked up when Virgil got back in the room. “Night J,” he bid as he turned off the lights. “Night V,” Janus replied. It took them a while to get to sleep. Try as they might they couldn’t keep themselves from imagining what it could’ve been like if they hadn’t hesitated. Those thoughts quickly turned to despair though. Virgil had never once expressed attraction to one of their male classmates. Not to mention that despite his whole broody aesthetic, their friend definitely wanted a romantic relationship. Their dreams were plagued with the fear of being found out and rejected. When they woke up Virgil was grinning down at them. Dressed and ready for the day. “Get up sleepy head. Time to get dressed. Breakfast is in one hour,” he informed them as he tossed them color shampoo. Right. They were going to be turned into a real emo kid for the concert today. Janus groaned and got up. Since when was Virgil a morning person? He was usually the last to fully wake up. He must be really looking forward to today. When they got into the bathroom they finally woke up enough to realize that not sleeping well wasn’t the only thing that had them feeling like crap. It was a Janice day. They let out a sigh and were grateful that they packed something they were comfortable in no matter how they felt for the concert. After their shower, they wrapped their hair up in a towel and pulled on the skinny jeans and the baggy band shirt Virgil gave them when he told them they were going to the concert. Apparently it being a few sizes to large added to the look. To Janice, it kind of felt as close as they dared to get to wearing a dress in public. “J? You done yet? Come on! I want to make you pretty!” Virgil’s teasing voice came through the door. Janice wished they could let their friend know how much they appreciated his make overs. “Yeah, I’m ready,” they replied, trying to sound slightly reluctant. Virgil got in with a grin, dragging a chair from the room along with him. He sat Janice down and dashed out of the room to get his make-up bag. When he returned his grin had not faded even a little. He immediately got to work. “You want to wear your hair down or up today?” he asked as he took out a hairdryer and started drying their hair for them. “Down,” Janice replied. Always down on Janice days. Virgil nodded. “Okay. I’m going to pull it out of the way for a bit though,” he informed them as he turned off the hairdryer and tied their hair together on the top of their head. “Close your eyes. It’s going to be a surprise,” he told them. Janice took a deep breath and relaxed as they closed their eyes. They felt Virgil apply something to their face with a sponge. Then a soft brush applied something powdery. Then he made quick work of their eyes and lips. “Okay. It should be warmed up now,” they heard Virgil murmur as he let down their hair again. Before they could ask they felt Virgil start to brush their hair. Pulling up locks and holding something warm against their scalp, moving upwards slowly. Wait was he… Straightening their hair? “Okay…” Virgil mused as he readjusted their shirt. “You can look.” Janice could hear the pride in Virgil’s voice. Clearly he was satisfied with the result. They opened their eyes and felt their mouth drop in awe. “Tragically beautiful I’d say,” Virgil smirked. Their birthmarks… They were gone. Or hidden at least. “What do you think?” Virgil pressed, sounding a little nervous. “It looks great,” they agreed. The waves were out of their hair and the black color actually looked pretty good. Their eyes and lips were accented with dark make-up. They looked good. A little sad but… Also cute? Virgil had rearranged their shirt. Janice had tried to center it, but Virgil had made it so that one of their shoulders was bare. They had never felt this good about how they looked on a Janice day while there were others around. “Awesome. Give me a minute to fix myself and then we’ll head to breakfast,” Virgil told them, clearly relieved that they liked their look. Uncle Lo was okay with Janice’s make over as soon as Virgil assured him that the color wouldn’t stick. And even that was probably only because he didn’t want Janice’s parents to get upset about it. They spent the day sightseeing. Janice got addressed as ‘miss’ at a few stores and while he and Virgil chuckled about it, in secret Janice was very happy with those instances. The concert itself was amazing. For a little bit they could pretend that they didn’t have massive secrets and that things would be okay.

everything to lose

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#sanders sides #ts sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #hero au #tw: mention of atraction #tw: mention of kissing #lgbtq+ #genderfluid #aromantic #tw: self depriciation #Janus angst

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​ for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4​ and @cssns​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled. 

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. 

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight. 

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing). 

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?” 

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side. 

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing. 

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what. 

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order). 

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver. 

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious. 

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again. 

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long. 

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right. 

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.” 

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.  

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat. 

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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#cs ff #cssns20 #cs vampire au #even death won't part us now #my ff #cssns 2020

[dekuinthelake]

Happy Birthday Bloodborne

Seeing as it’s the 5th year Bloodborne has graced this mess of a planet with it’s omnipotent light I figured write a little thing about how much the game means to me. I’m going to get fairly personal so if you don’t like that kinda thing feel free to skip.

The first time I beat BB I didn’t think much of it, honestly. I’d had a rather basic playthrough where I didn’t see pretty much any of the optional bosses or do any of the story. I did as Gehrman suggested and just hunted some beasts. I took a break from it for a while and didn’t return to it until my life started getting... Difficult. 

My parents a year prior had gone through a rather turbulent divorce. In the wake of this, my sister and her boyfriend moved in so we could all help my dad pay for his house if only just barely. At the time we all knew even with four of us we didn’t make the type of money to help make payments and the inevitability of him loosing the house was a constant and looming stress. Worse still, my sister only agreed to move in if she was added to the mortgage, meaning she could threaten to sell on a whim, a privilege which she started using to strong arm me and my dad in to behaving a certain way. Her boyfriend was verbally abusive towards everyone, but especially condescending to her. Tension grew between all four of us, but especially between me and the boyfriend. I could ask my sister if she wanted to go out to lunch and catch up and she’d respond, “Let me ask my BF”. His control over her became apparent and the wedges he was intentionally drawing between her and our family was impossible to ignore.

All the while I was working a 4AM shift at a Zoo in the winter and barely getting any daylight or human contact since I had to be in bed so early to wake up for the drive. I cleaned a mile of glass in the dark every day non stop, only to have it be dirtied the moment the park opened. No matter how hard I worked to keep the park as clean as I could, even to the point of putting on dust masks to knock down spider, the higher ups weren’t happy with our companies work. As our contract was rapidly coming to an end, rumors began to circulate that we might not have it renewed if things didn’t improve. Worse still, someone had been stealing from the supply closet. Supposedly only the managers knew the code, and this sparked massive distrust in the Zoo staff towards our department to the point keys were taken away and our lives were made harder by no longer having access to vital shortcuts around the park which made getting from place to place take even longer in the miles long local. 

This futility and rage sparked the most obsessive play through of a game I’ve had to date. Undeniably, these situations were hopeless and lonely, and Bloodborne is a game that understood exactly how I was feeling. The Hunt is, after all, an eternal nightmare. No matter how many beasts, kin, or humans you kill, it’s an unending loop of uncertainty and oppressive danger. The tenuous state of things in Yharnam was uncomfortably familiar. Only in the game, it was far easier to focus on the things I could control.

The weapon I wielded. The stats I chose to upgrade. Which path I wanted to explore. The fluid combat enabled more split second choices every second, helped in large part by a generous stamina bar. More so than Dark Souls, Bloodborne expects you, the player, to take charge. You either commit to an aggressive plan and kill the beasts, or you die. 

When I first started, I played extremely cautiously and likewise did not have a lot of success. On new game +1, however, I began to realize that vital element. Hesitate and you die. Commit entirely and live. The more I played, the more I meditated on the very nature of what this game was communicating to me. 

In my actual life, I hadn’t come out as trans yet and it was something I was viciously debating internally. Earlier that year I tried to commit suicide. I half came out in the hospital, telling the ICU nurses my name was Mike. But even in the psych ward I was terrified to speak to social workers and groups about those feelings... Being that I had 6 hours completely alone and in the dark, it gave me time to listen to a lot of media by trans people. I distinctly remember one video where a trans woman was describing what dysphoria feels like and openly sobbing. I was starting to understand the core of why I hated myself, my body, and my current situation so much. 

But I was afraid. Even after the epiphany that I wanted to come out, I had a lot of doubt on if I could afford HRT, if I could commit to it, and what people would think. I worried starting T and in turn second puberty would bring back my horrible temper that I had going through it the first time. When I say I had rage problem, that’s putting it mildly. I’ve punched people before just for touching me when I was younger, and with the situation between me and my sister’s boyfriend getting more tense by the day I was rightfully concerned it might erupt in to actual physical violence. 

And so... I continued to come home from being alone all to spend most of my time alone playing Bloodborne. It was a great game to keep my mind off of things because of how much focus it demands to play. Funny enough, once you get good at it, the beasts are also a great punching bag.

A lot can be said about how Blood Vials aren’t the best method of healing. Having to stop boss attempts because you need to go farm some red Estus isn’t great design. However, running around that first part of Yharnam with the beast claws just shredding through citizens like a wild animal is possibly the most cathartic thing in my life at the time. It made me feel powerful, unstoppable, and like I was in complete control. I knew exactly how to handle the big pats one by one, and eventually I got skilled enough to just run into that big mob by the tree and stop people anyway because of how good the audio queues are at letting you know when you gotta dodge. I spent hours in both this location AND Chalice Dungeons farming for Echoes and consumables to the point that controlling my character in Bloodborne feels as natural as walking. 

I started beating the game faster and faster. I was on +5 difficulty and working on the DLC by myself when things escalated... 

At this point, I knew staying at my dad’s house wouldn’t be possible. The verbal fights between me and my sister were getting more and more prevalent. More than that, I knew it was time to come out and I didn’t feel secure doing that in an environment that was actively hostile. The plan was to save up, move out with two friends... But moving out came far faster than I had anticipated. 

A few days after my birthday, we had a family meeting. I don’t remember what sparked it, but we all sat around and voiced our complaints with each other. When it was my turn to speak, I brought up the fact my sister’s boyfriend had been intentionally isolating her on top of in general just being a jackass to her. He’d make her get things for him, call her stupid when they played games... The works. I don’t remember what he said that sparked it, but I remember the feeling... A really familiar feeling I hadn’t had in years. My pulse thundered in my neck so hard I couldn’t hear anyone over it. I started yelling incoherent shit. My sister stood in front of him because I was aggressively stepping forward. It was that temper I thought I’d knocked coming back. If she hadn’t gotten in the way, I’m absolutely sure I would have pummeled that man. I hadn’t felt that way since I strangled a kid in school to the point he nearly passed out.

 It was then I knew I had to leave. By nature, I’m violent. I hate it. But the decisiveness which I’d slowly been building helped me find the courage to admit this.

I took off in my car and just hauled ass to the highway. I had a bloodborne CD I’d been playing on my way to and from work. It sounds silly, but larping I was just a hunter during those crushing morning shifts was helping me keep going. Sure it was hopeless, but I felt bad ass to keep trying. I needed to have an unbreaking will to deal with this dilemma. Having so recently made a second attempt to kill myself, I had this powerful urge that no matter what I couldn’t end up there again. So, I decided not to beat myself up about it and just accept that I had to move on and away from what little family I had left.   I remember not really thinking words. I listened to Gehrman’s music on repeat with the windows rolled down going 78 miles an hour and just... Screaming. Literally screaming as loud as I could in to the night. Over and over again until it hurt just to breathe. 

Even though I felt betrayed by the people I thought were closest to me there wasn’t anything I could do but endure. 

Eventually I arrived my current roommate’s parent’s place where they were living at the time. I told her and her husband what happened. We went to the store for something. I got a call from my dad saying my sister was threatening to move out and apparently had yelled at him for not keeping me in line despite the fact at one point he’d physically gotten up and started yelling in my face to calm down. That was it. I asked my friend’s parents if I could move in temporarily and... That was that. 

The next day we gathered up all my things. I had to leave my dogs which was possibly the most agonizing part. 

But that night? I beat the orphan of Kos by myself on +5 on my computer monitor plugged in the wall and set on a box. Doing that was this weird extreme elation. It’s like I’d defeated two massively difficult, seemingly impossible tasks in one day. I’m glad I had help with the moving, though. Unlike Kos, that would have been impossible alone haha.

That weekend passed and I went back to work at the Zoo as normal. After I finished my shift, however, every employee in my company was called to a meeting. This was it. We all knew what was coming. We were to be laid off in December, giving us 3 months to find new work or apply to the company that was taking over the contract. 

In the wake of this news, moral plummeted. No one really tried that hard. I was coming in high to work every day and drinking with a coworker during our shift while we tired our best to continue work. That last month I worked there was a weird drug addled haze of extreme emotions mixed with ignoring them in favor of listening to VaatiVidya lore breakdowns of Bloodborne. 

I was going home and spending hours on art inspired by the general vibe of the game and my impossible to digest feelings. I’d lost my job, home, and family. I don’t know if I would have survived without both Bloodborne and my art as an outlet.

In the following months, I had gotten to New Game +7 and started recording myself trying to kill bosses without healing. Even though to this day no one watches these attempts but me, making them was frankly vital to keeping me distracted and focused on something I could control. 

There was a time where I didn’t think Ludwig +1 was beatable but... Here I am two years later happily having 100% Bloodborne and beaten every boss on +7, most of them without even needing to heal. 

The biggest lesson I took away from this game was persistence and decisiveness. The Souls series in general made me realize something huge that to this day has helped me fight my depression back. I’m a stubborn fuck who will grind and grind and grind until I finally achieve victory.

Fight for the progress you want to make. Things seem hopeless a lot, but you have to keep going. With effort, you can change anything you want to in your life.

Two years later, I’ve been doing HRT for 1 year and 3 months. I just had top surgery done. I’m working a job I like that’s got normal daytime hours and pays more than any work I’ve ever had with benefits. I don’t think I would have had the tenacity to stick to these things without realizing a fundamental aspect about my personality thanks to the help of Bloodborne specifically. 

I can endure, learn, grow, adapt. 

Thank you, Fromsoft. I hope this conveys a shred of what this dumb little game means to me. I needed Bloodborne so much when I moved out. I’m so glad it exists.

#Bloodborne #long post #personal

[sweeneytoddblog]

ALL THE LYRIC CHANGES TO SWEENEY TODD, 1979

And now for a post I have been meaning to do since the inception of this blog!

This post compiles all of the lyric changes from when Sondheim and Hal Prince first played the show for potential backers in 1979. All of the information here is obtained from a YouTube video (which I will link if I don’t forget). I am also including a list of interesting facts.

NOTE: This isn’t necessarily correct all the way through. It’s entirely possible that I missed or misheard something in a video this long. It was hard to make things out sometimes, as you will see. Also, I didn’t include any additional or changed dialogue, just song lyrics.

Interesting facts:

The organ music at the beginning is supposed to be like funeral music (that may have been obvious to some but it’s news to me). 

The judge was supposed to appear completely naked in Poor Thing.

During the “alms, alms” part of “Ah, Miss” the beggar woman was meant to emerge from a huge heap of garbage that is apparently always next to Judge Turpin’s house.

Toby is described as: “A young boy, rather demented but lovable” and 1 5 y e a r s  o l d (funny right? wonder when that changed).

There was a deleted scene where during Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir, an 8 year old boy pickpockets Mrs. Lovett, who causes a scene and gets him arrested by Beadle Bamford, and the crowd yells “terrible implications” at him as he’s dragged away. Which is REALLY interesting because Burton chose to include a scene in the movie where a little boy gets sentenced to death by Judge Turpin, remember???

Originally, the audience was supposed to see Toby put on the wig in the background before the crowd did.

The Judge was supposed to get as far as his hand on the door in Kiss Me, although Anthony and Johanna didn’t know it.

Kiss Me was also supposed to be interrupted with scenes of the judge in his courtroom at certain points. One of the scenes being where Judge Turpin sentences the little boy to death!!! (It was in the show!!!)

Then, as Kiss Me ends, the body of the 8 year old boy is supposed to drop simultaneously. Kinda dark huh?

Sweeney did his first demonstration with Mrs. Lovett on how the chair works using a stuffed alligator that he has in his tonsorial parlor. (Why an alligator? I don’t know, maybe Bond has an answer.)

During God That’s Good, the crowd was supposed to be singing “Yummmm” over and over while Toby had his little solo.

At one point in Johanna Quartet, Sweeney has to slam the lid down again on the trapdoor to get someone’s hat to go down.

Lyric changes:

Ballad of Sweeney Todd: Sweeney heard music that no one heard

Alms, Alms: A little jug jug, it looks to me, dear, like you’ve got lots of it to push

Alms, Alms: Alms, alms for a poor helpless creature

Worst Pies in London: Not as hard though as the worst pies in London

Worst Pies in London: All soggy and gritty

Poor Thing: (This was an added part, not a lyric change) He had this mouth, you see, had to open his mouth, couldn’t leave him at large so they trumped up a charge and they shipped him out south, poor fool. But of course it was pretty had on the wife and kid, I could hear em sob themselves silly for weeks they did, they was left with nothing but memories and half a quid

Ballad of Sweeney Todd (after My Friends): He rarely smiled and never laughed / His voice was soft but he knew his craft / His hands were wicked, his fingers strong / It tingled a bit but it wouldn’t take long (?)

Ah, Miss: Or any other raunchy youth with mischief on his mind

Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir: Gentlemen, gentlemen may I have your attention please / Do you open your eyes there in morning to stare at a pillow enroiling? with divets? of hair

Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir: Well ladies and gentlemen, let me put your ??? at ease, there’s no reason for shame, no cause for despair, I’ve a miracle here that is marvelous, rare

Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir: You can take your pick sir, boys or girls (instead of, you can have your pick sir, of the girls)

Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir: (Another added part that has to do with the aforementioned deleted scene w/ the 8 year old boy) Wanna chop this hand off little snit, taking food from honest people’s mouths, ??? earn a living, what about the money they turned back on ???

Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir: Get Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir, shoulda done the trick sir, as it should, trust Pirelli’s, soon’ll make it thick sir, then you’ll have a lick sir???, have you good.... know it’s fresh??? (curse this unintelligible song)

Ladies in Their Sensitivities: Your pardon my lord, I have a thought my lord / A notion my lord at worst / But may I my lord, suggest my lord / Young ladies should not be pressed my lord / They tend to become distressed my lord / Whenever they feel coerced / You must reassure ‘em first

Ladies in Their Sensitivities: Forgive me my lord, I have a note my lord so clumsy my lord begin (?) / But if I my lord, may state my lord / You’re looking below your peak my lord / There’s stubble upon your cheek my lord and bristle upon your chin / She’ll not see the man within

Pretty Women: What more can man require than love sir? More than love sir? Pretty women (instead of just “what sir” and “women!”)

Epiphany: (Just a brief note, the line “even you, Mrs. Lovett, even I” was originally in there, so I don’t know why it isn’t like that in the OBC. Anybody??)

A Little Priest: No the clergy is really too limp and too mealy / Then try actor, much compacter (can you believe the “with or without his privates” line isn’t in there yet?!)

God, That’s Good!: And I’ll be there, I’ll be there / But they’ll never be sold if I let them get cold

By the Sea: Oooh Mr. Todd, you’re so lovely

By the Sea: (Sweeney has a lot more lines originally, such as...) “God, the woman’s mad” “Absolutely crap / Have to face the fact”

By the Sea: Growing old together (instead of “we’ll grow old together”)

By the Sea: By the sea, we’d be free of the city’s fumes / Maybe rent out a couple rooms, By the sea / Single men required / By the sea / Merry and retired

By the Sea: By the sea Mr. Todd that’s the life I fancy / You agree Mr. Todd it’s a lot less chancy / And in times we’d get sad we’d go dad and mother (?) / We would always have each other

Not While I’m Around: (Mrs. Lovett’s part) Nothing’s gonna harm you, baby? maybe? / Not while I’m around

Not While I’m Around: But in time / Nothing will harm you (the whole “two quid” part of this song wasn’t there initially)

And the rest of the show hadn’t been written yet so it ends there!

P.S. I know I don’t say where these lyric changes are, but I didn’t want the post to look too complicated or get too long, so if you want to know for a part I can give you a time on the video or something!

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF3HK0l_MY4&t=6295s

#thank the lord that the contest had no lyric changes #that's all i have to say #sweeney todd #if anyone notices something i didn't PLEASE #let me know #i'm so happy #i thought i'd never get around to this

[jordan202]

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 6

Thank you @jia911 for your help!

I will add the link to previous posts tomorrow because now I am on my phone.

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon – Chapter Six

Owen finished the knot on his tie and grabbed his things, ready to go downstairs to have a quick breakfast. It was early in the morning and he couldn’t be late to an important meeting with a supply company, even though it was Saturday. 

He left his bedroom and strode down the hall, supposing all kids were enjoying the opportunity to sleep in a little later during the summer. But the door to Megan’s room was opened and as he peaked inside, he noticed his daughter standing in front of the mirror, apparently too focused to notice his presence.

“Are you looking for any flaws?” Owen asked with a smile, startling the teenager. “Because you won’t find any.”

“Dad!” Megan censored the way he had sneaked inside and scared her, but quickly smiled widely when she noticed his presence behind her through the mirror. “You’re up early.”

“It is me who should be saying that,” he pointed out. 

“I promised Tommy I’d join him for tennis this morning at the club,” Megan clarified. “It’s his last weekend before his intern rotations start and he wants to make the most of it.”

“You are a good sister,” Owen affirmed with conviction. It was a little past seven in the morning and he knew how the kids cherished not waking up with the alarm during their vacation. Looking at the teenage girl through the mirror, he added, “now that your brothers are back I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“Aww, are you jealous?” Megan turned around on her stool with a teasing smile on her lips. “There is enough Megan for everyone.”

Owen looked at his daughter up and down. Unlike his sons, who had all grown up to his height or up, Megan had barely made it to her mother’s already small size. He raised his eyebrows in doubt and saw how she chuckled in response, giving in to his provocation.

“Alright, fine, maybe not that much, but I can still manage,” she said. 

“I know how busy you’ve been, but maybe,” Owen suggested with a playful voice, “maybe you can find time in your extremely busy schedule to have dinner with your father every once in a while?” he looked deeply into her eyes.

“I promise,” Megan said, touched by the importance he gave to her company and spending time together.

“Okay, kiddo,” Owen leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You have a good day. I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

.

Amelia was busy checking her schedule for the following week on the phone at the same time she served hot fresh coffee on an indecently big mug. 

“Are you planning on leaving some for me?” Owen asked with a friendly smile as he made his way to the kitchen, not surprised to find her awake that early on a Saturday.

His wife rewarded him with a mischievous grin and a kiss before he took a seat on the stool near the kitchen isle with his own coffee mug. Owen took his time briefly checking the news on the morning newspaper and once he was nearly done with the sports section, proud to see Lucas’ picture stamped on it, he heard his wife’s voice.

“Did you know that Emily’s mom was at the hospital?”

“Huh?” Owen looked up, surprised with the random question. “Emily as in Lucas’ Emily?”

“Yes,” his wife confirmed. “I didn’t know either…” Amelia sighed. “She passed away a few days ago. From what I gathered, Tom ran into her and found out. I’ve been thinking about maybe calling, checking up on her?” the neurosurgeon suggested, unsure of what to do. “You know, just to let her know we’re here if she needs anything.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Owen suggested with a smile, still trying to process the news. “I’d hate to think she is dealing with this alone, if that is the case.”

He saw as his wife focused back on the dirty mug inside the sink and figured Amelia didn’t look so stressed about the issue anymore once she had talked to him about it and made a decision. So Owen decided to share what was on his mind too.

“So… next weekend I have the Medtronic thing that I need to attend,” he started.

“Oh, is it next weekend already?” Amelia turned over from the sink to face him. “Are you going to Minneapolis?”

The neurosurgeon knew that the medical technology company was one of the largest providers of surgical equipment to their hospital, so it was often that as chief of surgery, her husband had some kind of meeting or conference with them. Their headquarters was situated in Minneapolis and at least once or twice a year Owen traveled there for a couple of days.

“Actually, no,” he said, finishing his coffee under her curious gaze. “They are hosting this event here in Seattle this year and it’s not a formal meeting, it’s more like a gala to promote this new line they are launching,” Owen explained. 

“Oh, so you don’t have to fly there,” Amelia realized with a genuine smile, finishing storing the coffee pot back inside the cabinet and collecting the things she’d used to make breakfast. “That’s good.”

“It is,” Owen smiled mysteriously.

Something in his enigmatic and yet obviously satisfied expression made Amelia stop what she was doing.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Can you guess in which hotel this event is taking place?”

Amelia was distracted for a moment, wondering why he was talking about the business event as if it meant anything. But then she realized his question had been about the location and instantly had an epiphany, which became evident in her wide smile. 

Many years before, a few months after she’d moved to Seattle, the  neurosurgeon had slowly come to fall madly in love with Owen. At the beginning of everything, they had struggled for a while to even manage to go out on a proper date. It wasn’t until Amelia had discharged Nicole Herman, one of the biggest cases of her career, that she and Owen had really been given the opportunity to focus on each other.

And the result had been extremely gratifying. Back then, the grandfather of a young child Amelia had operated on had showed his gratitude by taking Owen to meet several businessmen who weeks later had injected a lot of money in the hospital. Back then, as chief of surgery, Owen had done a brilliant job turning a low potential situation into one that had brought amazing gain to the hospital. Not only that, but he had also taken Amelia as his company to the event, making it their first official date. At the time, Owen had secretly booked a room for them, but their plans to spend their first night there hadn’t exactly worked out the way both had wanted to. 

The following evening, after a misunderstanding was resolved, Owen had taken Amelia to his trailer and there they’d finally been together for first time. Amelia didn’t regret anything that had happened between them at any time, because it had taken their relationship to the exact place it was at today, and she loved everything about it.

“Oh my God, really?” she went around the kitchen isle and stood closer to him. “Don’t tell me they are having an auction again! Are they?”

Owen laughed heartily, assaulted by the same memories as she. At the time of their first date, the hotel was hosting a benefit auction and he had bought Amelia the ugliest painting they had ever seen. 

“I wish we still had that painting,” he commented, looking straight into her eyes as her laughter slowly subsided. 

Weeks later, after their relationship had gone through a darker time and Amelia’s brother had died, Owen had left on a tour with the Army. Finding herself in perhaps one of the worst states of mind she’d ever been in, after an entire day of agony for hearing uncertain news about Owen being caught in a gunfire situation and not being able to know if he was alive or dead, Amelia had gone home and smashed the painting against the wall in a fit of rage. 

“We do,” Amelia confessed with a playful smile.

“No way,” Owen gave her a doubtful look. “Really?” he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer, seeing on her face that she was telling the truth.

“I still have it stored upstairs somewhere,” Amelia leaned in on his embrace and looked into his eyes. Owen was sitting on a kitchen stool and that leveled their heights. She splayed her hands on his shoulders, fixing an imperceptible wrinkle on his shirt. “I tried to glue it all back together. Of course it didn’t work out. It looks even uglier now.”

“Like that time in Connecticut when Robbie and Danny tried to glue back together a moth?” Owen relived the memory, laughing along his wife. “God, that was memorable… I still remember the look of horror on your face when the thing came flying in your direction.”

“It wasn’t at all that funny,” Amelia pretended to be censoring him, failing to convince her husband. “You keep laughing at my expense and I won’t accompany you to your fancy gala,” she smirked proudly. “Yeah, that’s right, I know you’re going to ask me to.”

“I was not,” Owen lied, his smile making it obvious.

“Oh really?” Amelia played along, laughing as he bent over and kissed the column of her neck, burying his face on the crook of her shoulder. “I guess I can continue with my plans of scheduling a trip to Pittsburgh for a lecture at the-”

Amelia’s words were interrupted when Owen sneakily kissed away the rest of the sentence. Unable to hold her amusement, she watched as he stared into her eyes with a loving expression.

“No Pittsburgh for you because next weekend you’re mine,” he decided, tightening the grip around her waist. 

“Only next weekend?” Amelia raised an eyebrow in defiance, testing him.

“Don’t test me,” Owen spoke possessively. He gently pulled a lock of brown hair away from her ear before he whispered, causing a shiver to run through Amelia’s spine at his seductive tone, “and I’ll make damn sure no one interrupts us there this time.”

“So you’re determined to make the best of that hotel bed?” Amelia cracked a joke, causing her husband to close his eyes to control his chuckle.

“I absolutely am,” Owen notified her with a wink, giving his wife one last peck on the lips before he finally left for work. “I’ll even make sure to book us the exact same room.” . Megan tried to control her laughter as she was challenged on a silly cell phone game. Each time she lost a round, Aaron would lean over and attack her with kisses.

“This party is pretty boring.”

Megan straightened herself on the seat as her smile died down. The girl lifted her eyes to gaze at the author of such negative comment.

“Marianne, what’s wrong?” she asked with genuine interest. “You have been expecting this date for weeks now,” Megan pointed out. They were at Claire’s boyfriend’s birthday party and everyone from their school seemed to be there too. 

Steve was an only child to very wealthy parents and his house was every teenage boy’s dream, with a large outdoors swimming pool, a fancy backyard area and a huge game room right across the yard inside the pool house.

“I am fine,” Marianne lied. 

“You clearly are not,” Megan sighed, preoccupied. The obvious conclusion came to her mind. “What did that son of a bitch do?”

“Nothing,” Marianne was quick to answer. She looked into Megan’s eyes and repeated reassuringly, “JD did nothing, that’s the problem.”

Megan knew Aaron was present, making it impossible for her to address Marianne’s intimate life out loud, so she settled for asking the question with her eyes. Marianne then gently nodded affirmatively, letting Megan know that she had indeed had sex with the guy like she’d planned.

“So he just didn’t say anything after?” Megan was confused. She had no idea what to expect in a situation like that, but the guy doing nothing certainly seemed like the wrong option. “Hasn’t he called you or…?” she shook her head, hoping to encourage her friend to talk. “Marianne?”

Megan realized things were probably much worse than what she’d initially imagined when her friend broke down crying. Aaron looked at her with an expression of absolute alarm, as if he wanted to help but had no idea what to do.

“Aaron, do you think you can get Marianne some Pepsi or something like that?”  

It was obvious the look of relief on his face when the boy was given something concrete to do. Once alone with her friend, Megan supposed the girl would feel more comfortable to talk.

“What happened?”

Marianne turned her head up, struggling to contain her tears.

“I saw him talking to these other girls…” she confessed, hesitating to look across the pool. Megan instinctively did it and she noticed JD was surrounded by a group of students that included boys who played in the team and girls who were in their year and younger. One of them was standing on the tip of her toes to whisper something in his ear and the guy seemed pleased enough. “I passed by him earlier and all he did was to say hi. He didn’t even ask me how I am feeling…”

Megan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it, thinking of what she should do. Deep down, she wanted to go to the guy and tell him off, but at the same time, she knew it would probably expose Marianne to ridicule. And she didn’t want to see her friend hurting any more than she already was.

After noticing one of her friends was in distress, Claire left the pool and went to join the girls, having the same reaction as Megan once she found out that just days later after losing her virginity to JD Callaghan, the guy was now treating Marianne like they were mere acquaintances. 

After hearing words of encouragement for a few minutes, Marianne finally calmed down enough. Aaron came back with the soda as requested and subsequently left. Megan nodded her head in gratitude for his thoughtfulness to leave the girls alone for the time being.

“You know what…” Marianne sniffed, looking from one friend to another. “I am tired of always being the victim.”

Megan and Claire looked at each other, positively surprised by the girl’s unexpected empowered comment.

“I am sick of people treating me like this and walking all over my feelings,” she said, rising to her feet with determination. “I am going to let him have it.”

Once again, Megan and Claire exchanged looks of surprise. But this time around, Megan was growing preoccupied.

“What, you’re doing it now?” Megan read Marianne’s thoughts, unable to believe it.

“Hell, yeah,” Marianne replied, devoted to using that bravery that she knew could go away at any second.

“He is with his friends now,” Claire tried to reason why the girl’s decision shouldn’t be made on an impulse. “Everybody is there! You don’t need an audience for that, Marianne, wait!”

Megan and Claire got up too, promptly following the girl.

“Marianne… what are you doing, get back here!”

By the time Megan said the words, the girl was furiously walking in the opposite direction. Judging by Claire’s wide eyes, she supposed her best friend was just as alarmed about Marianne’s impulsive, potentially stupid decision. But the minute the two of them caught up with the girl, she was already standing in the middle of the students group, defiantly facing the guy who’d hurt her feelings.

Megan didn’t realize she held her breath at the same time a thick silence involved them. The sounds of conversations all around ceased immediately as all eyes were now focused on Marianne and her strange attitude. Megan noticed her friend’s lips trembled as she seemed to hesitate. She took a step forward to stand right behind Marianne and hopefully stop her from having that confrontation in such an exposed place, but it was already too late.

“JD! I just wanted to say,” Marianne started and Megan wished her friend’s voice didn’t sound so unsure, “that it’s absolutely awful the way you are behaving, pretending nothing has happened.”

Around them, a large of group of teenagers looked from one to the other, expecting some sort of response.

“What?”

Megan frowned, just as confused as her friend seemed to be. Because she was standing just behind Marianne, she had a clear vision of JD’s face and she could tell he really seemed to have no idea what she was talking about. 

“I am talking about the way you’re pretending nothing has happened and how you’re avoiding talking to me.”

Megan didn’t notice exactly when, but Aaron materialized near her, and his voice was clear as he intervened.

“Marianne, your cell phone is ringing, I think it’s your dad,” he lied. 

Megan looked at him and realized he had made up a lie to get her friend from the uncomfortable spotlight and for that she was extremely grateful.

“I don’t think we fully understand each other here,” JD’s voice resonated, ignoring Aaron’s words and interrupting Megan’s thoughts. It was the first time she was listening to him speak and the calm, controlled way with which he pronounced each word with his deep voice was intimidating enough. “I am not pretending anything. Nothing has really happened.”

“What?” It was Marianne’s turn to gasp and Megan noticed how she faltered, looking like she was about to cry.

Everyone had at some point heard Marianne talking about the guy, be it at the school football practices or when the teenagers hung out in smaller groups. So it became instantly obvious that while the girl had obviously gotten romantically attached, JD didn’t reciprocate her feelings. And worse than that, he was acting like her emotions didn’t mean anything and were in fact an inconvenience. Marianne stood there for a second longer, looking the guy in the eyes, secretly hoping for a recertification. But JD settled for staying completely in silent, sustaining the girl’s gaze with no emotion in his mysterious eyes.

Megan didn’t clearly see when her friend broke down in tears and ran away as fast as she could, being promptly followed by Claire. She also didn’t notice how the people around them started to whisper, immediately fueling the new hot gossip that was about to be spread to the entire school. All Megan could focus on was the despicable person in front of her, who looked like the entire scene had done nothing but bore him.

“Wow,” her voice resonated loudly, involuntarily recapturing people’s attention. “What a great person you are,” Megan added with sarcasm, not making an effort to contain her anger. “I can’t begin to imagine how pathetically insecure you must be to treat people like that.”

Megan’s insult had the desire effect because everyone around them seemed perplexed, although not exactly surprised that Megan had stood up for her friend. And yet people were absolutely baffled by the way she was fearlessly calling out the new guy with the worst reputation without even flinching and showing any signs of retreat.

But unlike their classmates, who looked anxious and bewildered, JD Callaghan seemed slightly amused. Did he look like he was… approving of her? The discreet smirk on his lips served only to infuriate Megan even more. 

“You’re the worst kind of person there is,” she decided, looking at him with absolutely disgust. “I bet deep down you know that too, but you don’t want to admit it, so you treat people like crap to make you feel better about yourself, don’t you? Since you know you’re not enough, I mean,” Megan sustained his gaze, unable to hold the words and insults that poured out of her mouth. “So what was it?” she scoffed, oddly taking pleasure in insulting him. “Didn’t your mom go to your ballet recitals?” Megan tilted her head to the side, failing to see the shock on people’s face at the scene she was making. “Or was it your dad who never wiped your butt and left you with a daddy complex?” 

The girl stopped, unaware of how worked up she really was. Her cheeks were flushed with rage and her blue eyes were sparkling like bright jewels as she couldn’t control the words coming out of her mouth. 

Instead of getting angry and insulting her back like Megan expected he would, JD settled for a light chuckle as he continued to stare into her eyes. His reaction irritated the girl even more.

“Either way, you have to seriously get over yourself and start behaving like a human being,” Megan finalized, seeing she wasn’t getting anything from him and probably wouldn’t. “Be a man. And stop walking around with that I don’t give a damn about anything look on your face because all it does is make you look like a freaking cliché. And you’re already pathetic enough.”  

Megan turned around to leave. She was already a few steps away from him when JD finally decided to talk.

“Does the look on my face really bother you?” 

The girl turned around and when she noticed the smug smile on his lips, she decided it wasn’t worth it. People around them were whispering even more than before. A few had even gotten their phones to text friends, but Megan was oblivious to all of that. The most pressing thought on her head was Marianne, so Megan resumed her way, determined to check on her friend and forget all about that confrontation with the most obnoxious guy she’d ever met. .

Thomas flipped the phone in his hands, debating whether or not he should make the phone call he’d been dying to make. Hell, he didn’t even know if Kate would pick it up.

Reaching out for his wallet, Thomas opened it and easily found the picture he had been looking for. A few months before, Kate had given him a small photo strip with a collage of several of their pictures. The first one showed the two of them around age five or six, on their last day of kindergarten. Thomas was smiling widely to the camera with one arm wrapped around Kate’s shoulder as she stared lovingly at him. On the second image, they were about fourteen and wearing matching T-shirts as they finished eighth grade, both scowling and making funny poses. The third picture showed the two of them with large graduation caps on their last day of high school, their faces glued together as they celebrated the excitement that was about to come when they left together for college. And then on the fourth one, a picture taken recently at a Harvard pub, Kate was sitting on her side on Thomas’s legs, both her arms tightly wrapped around his neck clinging to him with her eyes closed and a large smile that was Thomas’s favorite sight. This time around, Kate was the one facing the camera as Thomas looked at her like she was the only thing present in the room, even though there were lots of other people around them.

The young doctor kept examining each scene, reminiscing about them. His heart felt constricted and it had been for weeks. At times, it got so bad that he felt like a part of himself was missing. 

Kate was the love of his life. Throughout their entire lives they had stumbled upon people who had doubted their connection or even suggested that what they had between them was nothing but a silly puppy love and that they’d grow out of it soon. Others praised and encouraged their relationship, confessing them too wish they had a love story like the young couple. But none of that mattered to Thomas at the moment because without Kate, there simply was no story to tell.

She had been there in absolutely every moment he could remember. And he’d never gotten tired of it. Not once. Kate was his best friend, his cherished half, his favorite person in the entire world. He loved the wrinkle on her nose when she laughed, the light freckles on her face that were only evident under the sun, the way she always whistled when she was nervous about something and how he could tell which mood she was in just by the tone with which she pronounced his name.

Thomas could still remember the last time he’d seen her right before she’d left for London. At the time, he had tried to convince her to stay, but Kate was determined to be away from everything. Thomas knew how hard their last year of med school had been, particularly on her. And he wished for nothing but for Kate to be happy.

Unfortunately, Thomas couldn’t be happy with her. Not if that meant being away from his dream. But also, after weeks without her, he was starting to realize he didn’t think he could be happy without her either.

The following morning, his first shift as a surgical intern would begin and for the first time since Thomas could remember, Kate wouldn’t be there to share a first with him. He had no idea where she was or what she was up to and not knowing it was killing him. His old bedroom in his parents’ house was filled with so many memories that reminded him of her that at that moment, Thomas made a decision.

A few days before, his brother had signed the lease agreement on a penthouse apartment just a few blocks from the training field where he would spend most of his time. Lucas had insisted that Thomas went to live with him because the place was too big for one person. And Thomas knew his brother hated being alone. For the young doctor, it was a great deal because the place was also very close to the hospital and he’d save a lot of time in traffic. On top of that, Thomas also knew that he couldn’t live with his parents for much longer. Almost as if intuitionally summoned by his thoughts, Amelia knocked twice on his bedroom door before walking in.

“There you are,” she cheered with a smile. “You look so calm, I think I am more excited about tomorrow than you are!”

“Mom!” Thomas frowned, “are you trying to make me nervous?”

“I am saying you don’t look nervous,” the neurosurgeon pointed out with a teasing smile. Thomas had already put the photograph back in his wallet he’d been staring at, so it was only fair that his mother really had no idea why he looked so disconnected from the world. 

“I am thinking about moving in with Luke,” Thomas confessed with a sympathetic nod. “I know what you are going to say,” he anticipated her reaction, knowing he was right by the obvious way his mother shut her mouth right after immediately opening it to reply to his news. “I know you’d love having me here but mom,” Thomas reasoned, raising his eyebrows with a mirthful look on his face. “Just think about it. I can’t really live with my boss.”

“What?” Amelia shook her head, completely dismissing that as a reasonable argument. “Of course you can.”

“And my boss’s boss,” Thomas added. 

“That is not a good enough reason for you to move out,” Amelia insisted, holding back a smile as she tried to convince him. “I do it. I live with my boss.”

Thomas thought about it for a moment and had to acknowledge she was right.

“But well… To be fair, I do sleep with him too, so your dad being my boss is the least of my problems,” she added, laughing at the way Thomas scowled when she mentioned sleeping with his father.

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Thomas replied with a smile, but still averse to the reference his mother had made. “So, what do you think about what I said?”

“I think…” Amelia took a deep breath and tried to be fair, “I think it’s an excellent idea, baby,” she did her best to be supportive. It made sense, considering how close Lucas apartment was to the hospital. 

Their oldest son had taken Owen and Amelia to the penthouse apartment a few days before to show them the place and ask for their opinion about the rental agreement. Owen had then taken the document for one of the hospital lawyers’ to have a look on and after everything was settled, they had helped Lucas choose and buy new furniture for his new place.

“I think it’s going to do Luke some good to have you around as well,” Amelia wisely pointed out. “You keep an eye on him and make sure he takes care of himself and he keeps an eye on you to make sure you’re not overworking yourself.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” Thomas smiled back at his mother, glad he could count on her support.

Amelia then gave him a kiss on the head and wished him good luck on his first day the following morning. As she went downstairs, Thomas was once again left alone with his own thoughts, trying to make sense of his confused feelings. With his mind made up, Thomas picked up the cell phone again, ready to text his brother an affirmative answer. He tried to ignore how anxious and scared he felt about what the following day would mean for his life and his career. But most of all, he tried to ignore the fact that not having Kate there was the main source for all of those unwelcome feelings.

.

Emily felt disoriented and as it had been becoming quite often lately, unsure of what to do. 

“What’s up with you? You’ve been so quiet since we got here.”

The young journalist looked up to find the eyes of her fiancé. Peter had flown in to attend her mother’s funeral that morning and for that she was extremely grateful. Emily knew he was on a deadline, so unfortunately for her, Peter would have to fly back to New York in just a few hours. At the moment, he was sitting with her in the kitchen of her parents’ old home, the place Emily would announce in the market soon. 

“I don’t know, I just got the strangest news today,” Emily shared. Taking her time to process what was happening, the young journalist elaborated, “I spent the last three days dealing with organizing my mom’s funeral and trying to locate my sister that I barely had any time to do anything else,” she stated, seeing on Peter’s face that he understood what she was saying. “But then, when we left the cemetery and I asked you to drive us back to the hospital, I did it because I wanted to have a first look on the billing for my mother’s case… You know, just to start thinking of a plan on how I’d come up with the money” Emily looked astonished, but she leveled her eyes with Peter as she shared. He could nearly see her brilliant mathematical mind adding up figures and calculating interest rates to see what was the best solution available to get her out of that financial mess. “And they told me that there is no debt.”

“Huh?” Peter frowned, just as confused. For the past week, Emily had filled him in on the details of what her sister had done and how much money they now owed the hospital for the many procedures and days in the ICU her mother’s treatment had required. “I thought you said the insurance company refused to pay for anything.”

“They did refuse it,” Emily confirmed it. “At first, when I got the news, I was expecting something like that too, but they said the cost for my mother’s treatment had reached over three hundred thousand dollars… and yet it was already covered,” she blinked repeatedly, trying to make sense of what could have possibly happened.

“Maybe the insurance company people changed their minds?” Peter asked with furrow, knowing that possibility was extremely unlikely.

“They said the money came from an anonymous donor,” Emily shared, not quite sure why the term bothered her so much. “I tried to think about it, but I really can’t think of anyone who’d care so much about my mother to clean up her name like that.”

Peter stayed in silence, just as curious as she was. For the next half hour, he drank coffee with Emily as she tried to think of who could have done that, or how it could have happened. The hospital had refused to disclose the name of the generous anonym who’d helped, claiming it was against their policy. But as the journalist she was, Emily was too intrigued to let it go so easily.

Soon enough, it was time for Peter to leave to the airport. Emily kissed him goodbye, hoping that the house sale would happen soon enough. She was grateful for the generosity of whoever had it been, but too proud to simply settle for that. The house probably wasn’t worth a third of the money they’d need to cover the expenses, but if she donated to the hospital whatever amount she got from selling it, at least she wouldn’t feel so bad about not having any control over a stranger’s overbearing generosity.  Or even about how she didn’t have a way to properly thank them.

With that thought in mind, Emily felt a little more hopeful for the first time since that nightmare had begun. As if hearing about her sister’s backstabbing betrayal hadn’t been enough, she had lost her mother way too quickly. And then there was the other thing that Emily refused to think about, because unlike her sister and her mother, who Emily would never again see, Lucas’ face would still pop on the TV or cover the front page of the newspaper every now and then. And each time it did, her heart would shatter with all the mean, cruel words he’d said to her the last time they were together.

Deciding that Lucas Hunt wasn’t worth any more seconds of her thoughts, Emily decided to be practical and get back to work. She was still mourning her mother, and her editor at Seattle Times had been kind enough to give the journalist a couple of days off, even though she was new there. But he had made it clear that since the paper’s sport section wouldn’t properly cover Lucas Hunt’s millionaire transfer from LA Galaxy to the Seattle Sounders on the immediate moment it happened, they should at least devote a proper segment to talk about him in one of the followings days. 

It was still early in the evening so even though she was physically and mentally exhausted, Emily decided not to go to bed until she got a message from Peter saying he was in the airplane. With the TV noise on the background, the young journalist sorted through the mail, seeing a couple of expired bills and two folders with discount coupons. Next to them, she spotted a much larger folder that she’d gotten at the office earlier that day, with all the material her colleagues had judged important for her to take a look at before resuming her activities the following day.

Knowing she was about to get bored with so many sports info, Emily took off her shoes and kicked back on the couch, instantly remembering how uncomfortable that thing was. Her back was still protesting the lumps when she finished reading a two page description of a baseball match and a extensive chronicle about what the teams should expect with the latest NFL draft and how much it would cost each to keep their new players.

After wondering if writing about how poorly the teams were conducting their many six digits contracts would geut her fired, Emily proceeded to sort through the rest of the papers, for the first time noticing a small white envelope. It contained nothing but her name and work address, which was unusual for business mail, that generally had a return address.

But the moment Emily opened the envelope and saw the picture it contained, she realized that letter might not be entirely professional, after all. On the background of Lucas Hunt’s very familiar childhood picture, in which he was fully dressed with the Seattle Sounders uniform while holding a soccer ball and smiling to the camera, she identified a yellow post with it in his familiar handwriting, dated from three days before.

 I am sorry about the mean things I said to you today. I know this picture won’t take back what I did, but I hope it serves you to know I regret the way I treated you. Feel free to use it on your article if you still want to. I know for sure that you won’t share anything about my life that I wouldn’t feel comfortable with and I am sorry that I suggested otherwise. 

Emily read the small note three times. The fact that there wasn’t one single spelling error only wasn’t more impressive than the actual content of the note. She could swear Lucas had been wishing that that was the last he’d seen of her the minute she furiously walked out of the door on their last encounter. She could still see the look of anger on his face and remember the despise in his voice as he’d made accusations against her.

Why had he changed his mind? He’d seemed so insulted when Emily had merely suggested using a childhood picture for a piece. Lucas had refused it instantly, looking at her as if the girl had made him a personal threat. Yet now, he had actually mailed her the picture himself, authorizing the journalist to use it.

Emily frowned once again, unable to concentrate on any other task anymore. That entire day, everything, it was just wasn’t making any sense. She took her hand to her temple, realizing that the minute Lucas Hunt walked back into her life, once again she began losing control over things. It really couldn’t be a coincidence.

At first, the thought came as an innocent supposition in her head. But the gut feeling she had once she realized that prerogative actually did make sense was enough to make her get up and pace back in forth, immersed in her own web of reasoning. 

Emily had a very logical mind and it was automatic that she tried to combine all facts. 

She had grown up in a very poor family and fought her way up throughout most of her life. The only few times someone had ever given her anything had been six years before, when an anonymous donor had magically funded her Ivy League school trip, unexpectedly allowing Emily to finally see Yale for the first time and become sure that studying journalism there was what she wanted. At the time, she had asked the principal where the money had come from and he had told her the information was confidential. And now, when once again an anonymous donor had covered perhaps the most expensive bill of her life overnight.

Emily was still in denial about the whole situation, but if she gave it proper thought, the only common denominator for both situations was that she had met Lucas not long before both. The idea that he could have somehow found out about her debt and paid for it seemed ludicrous, comical even, considering how much he hated her.

But then Emily thought about the picture sent and the message it contained, and just like that, she realized it was the obvious explanation. It was all linked. Somehow, she supposed through his brother, Lucas had found out about her mother. It couldn’t have been anyone else. Emily had spent a big portion of her evening learning about salaries of high profile athletes. What other person that she knew would easily have at his disposal over three hundred grand like that? And because Emily’s mind was so logical, it kept thinking about why on Earth would Lucas ever do anything like that. When realization finally hit her, she felt the worst she’d been all night.

He pitied her.

That had to be it, Emily told herself. Her stomach churned inside her abdomen and she felt nauseated. It really couldn’t be it, she hoped with all her heart she was wrong about her supposition. But deep down, Emily knew she probably wasn’t. Feeling disgusted at the thought, the journalist looked around, searching for her cell phone. On their first encounter, Thomas had said he still had the same number as always. She supposed she still had his contact saved. If anything, Emily would force him to give out his brother’s current location, so that she could find him and let him have it.

Because of one thing, Emily was sure. No one pitied her. 

And she was going to pay Lucas Hunt back every cent of that money. Even if it meant staying in Seattle for longer than she’d planned.

#omelia #myboys #myboysfanfiction #omeliafics #omeliafanfic #omeliafic #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #greysanatomy #greys anatomy #greys anatomy fanfiction

[pxrtgasdace]

(in an AU situation where Roger was in the picture, how different of a character do you think Ace would be?)

♠ @xfaucheuse. munday.

You once asked me something about Roger, but that was for me to answer in character. For the second time in a row I feel forced to cheat but… It does depend on what criteria play in this inclusion of Roger’s.

Meta under the cut.

Firsly, it’s fair to break down just which types of loathing Ace feels for Roger, even if for a bit.

One, Roger had the gall to, as the world’s most infamous pirate, sully a pure lady and condemn her to a bad fate (for we must remember Rouge was searched after), purely by associating with her. Roger’s sin begins with this contact. Of course had he not done so, Ace would not exist in the first place and it’s not smart to defend a mother who might have not been a mother had things been different, but Ace can be so fiery and protective of Rouge as to ignore reason.

Two, Roger was partly responsible for Rouge’s death, though Ace places himself first as his mother’s murderer. If contact was not enough, he left her with child while aware his time was running out, which is a despicable thing to do. I have no idea what contraceptive methods exist in the world of OP but, from Ace’s POV, no good man who knows he’ll die soon one way or another - illness or gallows - leaves a woman who’s alone in the world with an extra mouth to feed. As a pregnant woman, Rouge was chased - which Ace would at some point learn from Garp - and while this event speaks volumes of Rouge’s will, to Ace it also speaks volumes of Roger’s carelessness to “walk around Baterilla as though he were but a civilian”. (I am paraphrasing some character, possibly Sengoku; I’m afraid I do not have notes on this).

Three, there’s a feeling of abandonment here on the behalf of himself and of Rouge too, for the aforementioned reasons. If Roger meant to have a family, he left his family behind, arguably doing nothing for its sake. (We do not know whether Roger took some preventive measure for Rouge’s sake but, if he did, it must have been ineffective, as she survived just enough by her own merit). The one measure he took was to ask Garp to adopt and raise the baby. Ace would have mixed feelings about that, on one hand feeling it’s the only good think the bastard made (not ignoring the bittersweet taste of what his existence is); on the other finding it all the more reason to hate Roger, as though he treated his son like a poor puppy who’d otherwise die without a carer. And what did Garp do? Raise Ace as his own father? No. He’s not even in the role of father but of grandfather, and at some point would little Ace think Garp doesn’t actually want to be so, if he left a baby with mountain bandits.

Then of course we leave Rouge aside and enter Ace’s particular existentialism. Roger is the root of all (of Ace’s) evil(s). Piracy is in his blood and so is anger, rebellion, which happen to be the things he can pride himself about. He loves and hates the way he is, if it comes from Roger. It’s best if he doesn’t think much about his personality in connection with Roger!

In the end, all of these nuances amass themselves in a big ball of loathing (and a smaller one of self-loathing too), and while might not seem important - just nuances, as I said - to me it is important, especially if the question is the exact one you asked. As I said, it depends of a number of terms.

If Roger survives and stays with Rouge, then it’s safe to assume Ace would love him, for they would be a happy family. Perhaps not happy, proper, as Roger’s infamy would make them WG prey or force them into hiding, but at least Ace would be a boy with two parents who love each other very much and, to a kid, that might be enough. Ace’s call to piracy would either be forbidden (if the circumstances make it so) or applauded and one day Ace might become Roger’s fist-hand man. Ace would take up a civilian profession if he had anonymity and be, as a whole, happier with a humble life than he is in canon.

I could link this to how I envision things had Rouge survived and raised Ace but I’d be going way off topic.

If Roger survives but doesn’t stay with Rouge, then Ace’s feelings would be based on whether they know Roger’s alive. Say he and Rouge do, because ‘the criminal Roger is still at large’, Ace would hate him for the reason he never calls him. He’d still be a bit of a brat, a headstrong one at that, and blame the man he would accept as his father for not caring about the family. His mind would understand Roger’s being chased and all that but he’d refuse to believe it. In time, growing up with Rouge while Roger remains alive, not visiting Baterilla where they live, Ace would stop considering Roger as his father, as chances are he would see how fathers and sons interact in the locals, and decide Roger can’t be a father if he’s absent. He would stay quiet seeing such talk upset Rouge, but he would hate Roger all the same. If Roger died on the run and the news reached them, then he would blame him even more at seeing Rouge’s suffering but nothing else would have changed - Ace would have cared for and protected his mother since infancy in this context, “the (little) man of the house”. If, on the other hand, Roger returned, there would be an argument starting with “You’re not welcome here”

But say Rouge dies, Ace is taken to Dawn Island and Dadan WHILE Roger is alive? Pretty much the canon biography we know but with Roger present in the background? Ah, then, again, I have to say it depends on when Roger becomes part of the picture. 

While Ace wouldn’t run to him calling ‘daddy!’, I say the younger Ace is, the higher Roger’s chances of setting things right are. There would be a confrontation still, should Roger come to Mt. Colubo during Ace’s childhood. After all, Ace is something like a hand-me-down son, given by Roger to Garp and by Garp to Dadan, and that to a child should translate as “father didn’t want me / no one wants me”. It would take Roger a lot of time and convincing but, in this state, he could still turn Ace around if he knew how - getting closer step by step, day by day, enchant Ace with stories of the seas and faraway lands and all those fairytale things a little boy would marvel at. He could, in time, accept Roger as his father and once that’s settled, they might stay together or go separate ways, with the promise of meeting on high seas once Ace is a grown-up man.

My view on this might change but, right now, I am inclined to say that, if Roger appared and redeemed himself during Ace’s childhood, that pride he has got in him - the one that makes him snap at anyone who badmouths Pops, for instance - might channel into him liking the idea of being ‘Pirate Prince’. Not in the sense of him acting he’s got a crown on his head, but as in feeling pride in being Roger’s son and wanting to sail with him - I don’t doubt the WG would dub him ‘Pirate Prince’ then. Somehow they tend to empower pirates by giving them epithets that make them legitimate enemies rather than stand superior to them.

But say, in this context, it’s not during childhood that Roger comes to Ace but much later? I am proud to say I have a taste of it thanks to the great nonny who came here to roleplay this situation with me. Something I did not know I wanted and needed so bad! Now that… That would be the Ace we all know and love but an arguably worse one at meeting his dad. It’s the catharsis.

For the first time in a long time, Ace would feel a will to kill. One that has nothing to do with the dangers of the sea and the confrontations they raise. A very selfish - though not totally so, as part of it would be in the name of Rouge - unrestrained, animalistic want to kill. If that ever got animated, I am sure that would be the first time audiences would see a truly dangerous Ace who’s closer to being the likes of a villain than a good guy.

This being said, I do not believe Ace would get to kill Roger. Yes, the Roger nonny plays is in a wheelchair so he can’t fight back, naturally that changes things a bit - however I find it brilliant of nonny to play with Roger’s disease like so. 

It’s not in Ace’s core. In a ‘real life’ kind of way, people can lose control, lose themselves, and say see ya to their core for the sake of feelings and emotions impossible to control. However, from an author’s standpoint, there’s enough calm for a character to remain true to their core, because fiction allows us to control that which we, as flawed humans, can’t. 

And what’s Ace’s core, do you ask? Protection. He’s an older brother. A pirate captain. A commander. He’s responsible for lives and would blame himself for Thatch’s death, even if Thatch’s life was not on his hands - but Marshall D. Teach was one of his men, therefore, blame reflects on the commander. Yes he’s angry. Yes, he is violent. But he is not about being destructive of others, otherwise Oda would have made a villain out of him.

This is why Ace’s “element” is fire. It’s dangerous, passionate, can be untamable but, once tamed, it’s an element of protection, warmth and light, a beacon, which is exactly what Ace is to those he loves and, arguably, to the series itself.

Therefore, in this confrontation, we would be scared of Ace but he would not be able to and have an epiphany or two, That he’s Roger’s blood, not Roger himself. That he has the power to decide whether he’s a monster or not - it’s not blood that dictates it.

I hope I have answered the question though chances are I used it to talk lengths about nothing.

#xfaucheuse #✕ set the world on fire [answer] #✕ [ooc answer] #[munday meme] #[thanks so much for the ask allie ;-;] #✕ [headcanon]

[jessi-31days-blog]

Day 3, Tuesday, October 3rd

I wake up at 9:30 am, attack my phone alarm with a vigorous "fuck that" and set it again for 10:30 am. My alarm goes off at 10:30 am, and I officially wake up.

I fell asleep around 1:00 am last night, and I mentioned yesterday how I love my 9 hours. I'll try to go to bed earlier tonight. I had a dream that someone was trying to force me to drink blood, so if any of you super cool dream interpreters can guess what that means, let me know.

Yoga class - "Pranayama Yoga To Move Energy" - 12:34:

SIKE!

 Apparently while doyogawithme.com has lots of free classes, but a few videos are subscription only. So when I click on the link to this video and see "subscription only" I simultaneously roll my eyes and harshly exhale out of both nostrils at this minor inconvenience. Ah, yes, minor inconveniences; the bane of any millennial's existence. The same video is provided for tomorrow, so I will have to find yet another replacement for it for day 4. Okay, now for real this time...

Yoga class - "3 Yoga Breathing Exercises for Anxiety" by Caren Baginski on YouTube - 7 mins:

If you try this video, you'll noticed I picked a pretty easy video for today. It was very helpful, especially the switching nostrils one (forgot what that one was called). I'll need to remember these when I have anxiety.

Guided Meditation - "Transform Yourself" - 15 mins:

Okay guys, I have a confession to make on this one. My brain could not shut off and I was too restless, so I only made it through 8 minutes of this guided meditation. I tried to follow the imagery of imagining light flowing through my body, and I did my best but it didn't help much. One thing the speaker said that I will mention is that you choose how you think and feel about yourself, your life, and your surrounding. And while people with mental illness such as myself can often think the opposite, that you can't control how you feel or think, in many ways you actually can. More often than not it's within the means of actually forcing yourself to replace the negative intrusive thoughts with positive or realistic thoughts than actually making yourself feel something, but if and when you continue to make yourself think healthily, you'll start to feel better emotionally. This is easier said than done, but it is true.

Read a Proverb - Proverbs 3:

This is a pretty famous chapter of Proverbs for Christians and Catholics of the world. In it are these verses, 5 & 6: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take." I first read these verses in early 2010. The fact that I can actually remember the year is pretty cool, since my memory pretty much sucks. Actually, my memory basically works of it's own will, selecting at random what information I will and will not remember. Anyways, these verses have always had a lot of meaning to me. It pretty much sums up God's intended experience for a person who believes in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and His salvation. That's why I don't worry too much about how my life goes and the way I choose to live it. As long as I'm saved, and I believe I am, regardless of what happens to me, I know how things will turn out for me in the very end.

The rest of the chapter reiterated the theme of Proverbs, which is to delight in wisdom, knowledge, and understanding, so that you live a good life. It ends with some good general pieces of advice for life: use common sense, when you see someone who needs help, don't hesitate to help them, don't hurt people, don't pick petty fights with people, don't act like violent people act, and if you dedicate your life to wisdom, you will "inherit honor".

Blog post - TWLOHA - "Beyond Shades of Gray" by Sharleigh Thomson:

At the beginning of this article, Sharleigh defines how we as a society talk about something clear and defined. "You've either attempted or you haven't." But then she begins to describe what she calls a gray zone as the place where you desperately want to escape from the pain and being willing to die to do so. "A place where you might have the means, the will, the plan, the note—everything but the follow through." And good fucking god, I know what the gray zone is like. I instantly identified with the author of this blog post. She proceeded to describe how she was once unable to find the words to truly explain her experience and her pain. That there weren't enough syllables in the English language to describe just how hard what she was going through was. She started talk therapy, but had trouble opening up and finding the words to explain herself to her therapist. He suggested that she start writing down how she was feeling. My therapist told me to do the same thing, and I reacted the way Sharleigh did: with stubbornness. At that time she believed that writing was some sort of cop out. I used to believe that if I couldn't find a way to say it out loud, how the hell can I get it one paper? Well, as I've discovered, the opposite is true sometimes. If I can get my thoughts, whether they are complete sentences or not, out on paper (or most likely, the notes app on my computer), then I can form the way to say it out loud. As a matter of fact, writing down my train of thoughts has lead me to more epiphanies than I ever expected... I've got to start doing it again.

Finally, after another suicidal episode, Sharleigh gave in and began writing. She said that it started out dark and emotional, but eventually became something personal, beautiful, and hopeful. She found a way to break down her problems in her writing. Then she began to write plays, poetry, and blog posts about her experiences with mental health and suicide. Hey, I'm doing that last thing now! What a coincidence.

I haven't written poetry since I was a teenager. My poetry back then varied in quality, a good portion of them being angsty emo depression poetry about how much I hated my life. But I'm sure if I looked back into my old journals (which I somehow still have after losing the rest of my belongings over the course of a few months before moving to Florida), I could find two or three good ones. I wish I remembered how to write poetry. Not that it's all that hard, so long as you're good with words. But I have no idea what to write a poem about. I don't want to write one about my depression or anxiety, because I have grown to enjoy poetry that ends on a positive note, and I have yet to find a positive note for a poem about depression. It's not that I'm this huge pessimist, I know there's a light at the end of this dark ass stanky ass tunnel, but I just don't know how to end a poem anymore. I don't like writing poems about nature, because those are boring. I have a sense of humor, but for some reason I'm put off by funny poems. Oh well, maybe I'll find something to write a poem about someday.

As the blog post starts to near it's end, Sharleigh tells of how she rebuilt herself through writing, and how while she still feels darkness, she's still willing to keep creating things and searching for hope when times get hard. I'm trying to have that same attitude. Practice makes perfect, I suppose. She ends the post with some encouragement to stay alive, to find a way to make your voice heard, and most importantly, to find what you were made for. I appreciate the encouragement she offered, and I hope others who read that article find comfort in them, but more often than not I read inspiring words and ideas and they have little to no affect on me. It's the reading equivalent of "in one ear, out the other" (in one eye, out the other? I don't know). But when push comes to shove, I do get it. Really, I do. And she's not wrong. I suppose one day I'll find myself smack dab in the middle of what I was made to do. Maybe I'm doing it now. Regardless, though I don't feel encouraged, I'm choosing to be encouraged. I'm making it my state of mind rather than waiting to feel warm and fuzzy. It's all I've got right now.

Encouraging someone on reddit - r/anxiety:

I found an easy one. And when I say easy, I mean I had the experience to give to this person who was nervous about increasing their dosage of their antidepressant. They said they were afraid that increasing their dose from 10mg to 20mg would make them feel "weird". I let out a light chuckle when I read that, because if any psychiatric drug is gonna make you feel "weird" (or in my case, a fucking zombie), it's not the antidepressants; it's the antipsychotics. I told them about how I was misdiagnosed a year ago during my mental breakdown and was put on some VERY HEAVY antipsychotic drugs, which made me act like a robot. Ask my dad, he saw me a lot at that time. I had no emotions. My mother, who at this point lived across the country from me, even noticed that I was different. Now I'm not saying antipsychotics are bad, because some people really do need them. But if you don't need them, they definitely make you more numb than anyone needs to be, and not the "high" kind of numb, but the "I feel literally nothing; good or bad" kind of numb. I then told this person that I have had times in my life where I was only on an antidepressant. I've tried a bunch, and coincidentally, along with my vast experience with psychiatric medications, I've also experienced being on Lexapro alone. So I told them it doesn't make you feel weird, and that it is more likely to help them than anything. Or a bit less likely (but still possible), it could just not work for them at all and they need to try a different antidepressant. All in all, I hope I at the very least encouraged them not to be afraid to increase their medication, so long as the doctor says it's best.

Walk:

The neighbors came by today to let us know a few sex offenders live in our neighborhood. One guy even lives just a few houses down. Fortunately, all the ones closest to us are child sex offenders, so I'm pretty sure I'm too old for them to want to assault. Regardless, my mom made me take her stun gun with me while I went for my walk. I listened to another one of my favorite bands, Gazpacho, this time. It was nice and peaceful. On my way back a dog started following and barking at me for a few yards, until its owner got it to go back to its house. I laughed as this was quite amusing. Instead of getting followed by creepy sex offenders as my mother fears, I was getting followed by a medium sized brown yapping dog. When I got home I felt refreshed, and my depression went from like a 8 down to a 6, so there was some improvement. End of Day Notes: I don’t know if I feel any different yet. But then again, it’s only the end of day 3. Any noticeable improvements seem small: the morning pranayama yoga centers and calms me for the day, I’m starting a routine which always brings a sense of accomplishment, I’m learning a few things from what I’m reading, and I’m getting better at giving encouragement or advice. So at least it’s something. P.S. I promise I’ll make this blog look pretty at some point. I could have done it today, but along with all my goals, I spent 3 hours cleaning to whole house, so I didn’t have time to work on this blog’s appearance. 

#self improvement #jessi-31days #mental health #yoga #meditation #challenge #depression #anxiety #change

[bluegreenamber]

The Prince (4/4)

((AN: So um. Hi? Here’s the ending to the story that literally no one ever wanted nor asked for. It only took me like two years to finish the last chapter. Oof. Sorry about that. Completely lost my inspiration and my obsession with the fandom. Not really an excuse, but I doubt anyone will really read this soooo. If you do read this, I hope you enjoy the story at least. It’s kind of a mess of two different writing styles cuz me and my writing have changed so much since 2017. Regardless, this is probably the last fanfiction I’ll post here, especially for EW. Idrk why I’m doing it now after so long of a hiatus, but I kind of wanted some sort of finality I guess. I honestly hated having an unfinished work published. Whatever, I’m rambling into empty space. I’ll cya ‘round. Who knows, maybe I’ll find another reason to dive back into a fandom here someday. But for now, Kat out.))

One of my dads would have nightmares sometimes.

No one had ever really been surprised by this. Most people with PTSD ended up with a couple of bad dreams at some point. 

My dad’s were very serious. Often, he would wake up in the middle of the night paralyzed or panicked or even violent. He’s sleepwalked once or twice. The medicine he takes helps, but there's nothing better for him during all those times than my other dad. 

My dads have always loved and cared for each other deeply and unconditionally. They have always been each other’s everything, their support and advisor and comforter and partner. They've always been able to solve each other’s problems, when they themselves weren't the problem, that is. 

We kids tried to help best we could, and we succeeded to some extent. Our parents loved us as much as they did each other. But they kept some things from us. We didn't know all the things they were going through, so of course we couldn't do as much as they could for each other. 

But there was the rare occasion when we had to step in. 

My dad hated the war. He hated talking about it, dreaming about it, thinking about it. It was the source of a lot of his problems, so naturally he despised it. The only thing he owned that could have reminded him of that time was the medals he had earned, and even those he kept locked in a small box hidden in the bottom of a dresser drawer. 

That's why we were all so surprised when he bought a rifle. 

When questioned about it, he excused it as wanting to “finally face his fears head on” and “not letting his past trauma keep him from all the possibilities of his future.” 

We bought it for the moment, but we all kept a close eye on him. And we were not disappointed.

He started acting funny, doing things he never would've normally done. He stopped taking his medicine. He took his medals out from their spot and laid them out on the mantle. He could regularly be found cleaning his gun, paying it a lot of attention and caring for it. He watched the news, specifically political things, and even war documentaries. He barely talked to any of us anymore, even my other dad. 

This was going too far for a simple epiphany. 

Then, he started disappearing. He just left sometimes, not telling anyone when or where he was going. And he had always told my other dad everything when he went out. 

I had to find out what was going on. 

I watched my dad very closely in the following days. Finally, I saw him sneaking out the door while everyone else was gone or in their rooms and decided to follow him. He took the car out towards town, and I followed him secretly on my bike. 

After about twenty minutes, we arrived at a strange building. It didn't look neglected, but it certainly wasn't new. It didn't have any labels or decorations on it, despite it being in the middle of the city. 

My dad parked right in front of it and walked up to the door confidently. He looked like he was definitely comfortable here. 

I chained my bike around the corner, watching him from the shadows. He opened the door without any hassle. Apparently it was just unlocked already. 

After a beat, I slipped inside as well. The interior was dark, the hallway I had stumbled into plunging into a twilit darkness as soon as the door clanged shut behind me. I realized then that I had no plan, no idea what I was doing, and no way to navigate this strange place. The only thing guiding me at this point was the fairly straightforward hallway illuminated only by a few flickering bare bulbs… and the faint sound of voices coming from the other end. 

When I finally crept up to the room where the voices originated from and peeked in, what I saw made me do a serious double take. The first thing I zeroed on was my dad, who was standing at a long, round table with several other people. All of them looked a little rough around the edges, though some had more subtle tells that only a child of a war veteran could really see. I knew instantly, instinctively that all of these people had served in the military. That should have been reassuring, should have made me think that my dad had just started going to some sort of veteran group meeting, but something felt off. Maybe it was the guy at the head of the table, the obvious leader of the group. He had a metal arm. 

Normally, prosthetics wouldn’t affect me. I had seen enough of them amongst my dad’s war buddies and viewed them with a sort of respectful reverence. But this… this was not a normal extension to work as a helpful tool for those in need. This looked like something straight out of a Marvel movie. This metal arm was a weapon, period.  

It also didn’t help that the owner of the arm was practically shouting his impassioned speech, his face radiating pure hatred and raw power. I had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn’t stop me from noticing the spittle flying from his rapidly-moving lips. His eyes seemed almost to glow red from utter rage. 

And my dad was listening with rapt attention. He was nodding and even loudly chiming in his agreement at some points. I felt vaguely sick. This wasn’t my dad. The man who had raised me to always be compassionate and patient and loving towards everyone and everything would never in a million years agree with whatever vile, twisted things were escaping this metal-armed man’s mouth. There must be something more to this. 

I took another look around the room to try to find the “something else.” The others around the table were much like my dad: listening to and agreeing with everything that the leader was saying, without question. Like soldiers to their commander. Was that it?

Before I could further ponder the state of these people’s minds, I felt rough hands grab onto my arms and lift me into the air. I cried out in surprise, kicking at my captor. It was no use, however. The person’s grip was like iron, and they effortlessly dragged me into the meeting room, stunning everyone within to silence. 

After a moment’s pause, the armless leader smiled at me with little warmth. “Well, well, well, what have we caught today?” 

“Let go of me,” I snarled, tacking on a few more choice words at the end that described exactly how I viewed the people currently holding me hostage. My protests were futile. 

The leader continued to stare at me, evaluating me, seeming to search my very soul with his piercing eyes. “You seem like a smart one. Which means that you know too much. Which, of course, makes you a loose end. A very disposable loose end.” 

A shiver of fear traveled down my spine. I couldn’t help it. Despite my desire towards defiance, I was in unknown (and quite possibly hostile) territory. What he was insinuating… I felt my stomach sink with dread. 

The best plan would most likely be to stall for time, maybe appease him just a little. “I don’t know anything! I don’t know where I am or what’s going on. I don’t know what this is or who you are.” And I didn’t even have to lie. 

He chuckled lightly. “Why, how rude of me. I am Red Leader, and this is the beginning of my army.” He swept his arm across the room, indicating all of the others gathered.

I narrowed my eyes at him, determined to play his game if it bought me any time. “Okay then. Does ‘Red Leader’ have an actual name?”

He seemed to find humor in me, at least, if his smugly amused smile was anything to go by. “Of course. This vessel was called… hm, I believe it was Nick. But you may call me Tord.”

The name immediately set off a million bells inside my head. This was the final one of the four boys in the photograph. Tord. Could he be The Soldier? Or something else? 

Also, did he say “this vessel”? Could he have meant… his body? Was he possessing someone else, someone named Nick? Questions whirled around in my mind, but they were interrupted when Tord raised his hand at the person still holding me.

“So now, I believe that you know too much,” he said to me before turning his attention back to my captor. “Motley, you know what to do.” 

My indignation at having been so blatantly tricked quickly turned into fear as I heard an actual growling sound come from the humanoid thing behind me that I still hadn’t gotten a good look at. Squirming desperately, I was about to resign myself to my fate when a shout rang out among the otherwise silent room. 

“Stop!”

Everyone’s head simultaneously turned towards the source of the loud cry. It was, of course, my father. His protective parental instinct must have broken whatever spell Tord had over him when he realized that my life was in danger. 

Something seemed to twitch in Tord’s smirk. “Oh? Is that insubordination I hear, soldier?”

My dad physically flinched. I started struggling again in the arms of who I assumed to be Motley. Whether it was out of anger for my dad or in an effort to draw attention away from him, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, it did nothing. There was no way I could escape by myself, and all eyes remained on my dad. 

The brief flash of fear in my dad’s eyes faded quickly into defiance. He only had to take a single glance at me, and his entire face contorted with the protective rage only a parent can truly experience. Tilting his chin up determinedly, he declared, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Tord’s expression was utterly unreadable, and that was even more terrifying than the violent anger I was expecting. He opened his mouth to say something--perhaps to order the rest of his army to attack my dad, perhaps to order Motley to finally finish me off, perhaps to deliver a long-winded speech only storybook villains are capable of, perhaps even to grant us mercy--but never got the chance. Even from here, the entire room could hear the giant clang! as the door to the outside of the building swung open and hit the wall with great force. In the utter silence that followed, the rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway were almost as loud. 

To my somewhat surprise, my other dad burst into the room with all the grace of a hurricane. With me out of the line of sight, his eyes immediately locked onto his partner for life, and he rushed with open arms towards the collision of awkward limbs tangling. It was only when they were both wrapped up in each other that I realized that he was crying. I knew that there was going to be a hell of a conversation later, but it seemed that this moment required no words. 

The most interesting part, though, was Tord’s face. His mouth was open in a comedic “o” of surprise. In fact, he almost seemed close to tears himself, strangely enough. “Pat?” he whispered, his eyes locked on my tear-streaked dad. There was no acknowledgment of his quiet, almost fearful voice, but there was no need for it. 

Before anyone could react, Tord collapsed to the ground, glowing red eyes rolling into the back of his head. I watched in numb horror as a strange mist the same color as his eyes escaped out of his mouth and nose. Instead of rising like mist normally does, however, it sank into the floorboards. When the last of it had dissipated, I felt the huge arms encircling me finally loosen and release me. 

I dropped heavily onto the ground, my knees buckling underneath me from lack of use. At the loud thud, my dads finally unlocked their embrace properly and, at the sight of me on the floor, rushed over towards me. It felt like heaven when their arms wrapped around me--a sharp contrast to the arms that had been slowly crushing me not moments ago--and even them fussing over me incessantly was comforting instead of the usual annoying. 

Over their shoulders, I could see the rest of the army coming out of a sort of a daze. Many were blinking rapidly as if waking up from a dream. Many were reaching out and finding their own forms of comfort in human physical contact. Many were speaking lowly with one another, confused expressions on their faces. A few were even wandering out of the door already. Overall, though, it felt like things were going to be alright. Tord’s powerful influence had disappeared with the mist.

Speaking of which, I watched as Tord’s body rose from the ground, groaning and eyes widening with bewilderment. Nick, I think was his name. I half-expected the others in the room to remember what his body had done as Tord and be afraid of him, but they accepted him as fast as any other soldier. The moment I saw his first smile, I decided that things would most certainly work out after all. 

When we all gathered the strength to stand up, my dads practically carried me outside the dreaded building. They settled me in the backseat of the car while they put my bike on the car’s bike rack, speaking softly to one another as they did. I was so utterly happy to see their reconnection, the renewed spark of love between them, the one that had been missing for weeks now as my one dad descended into a war-crazed madness driven by otherworldly forces. 

We drove home to be greeted by my very worried brothers who had been waiting impatiently ever since my one dad had told them he was going out to track down the other. All of us exhausted, we ordered delivery and spent the evening on the couch in a great family pile. After what had happened that day, it felt like bliss. 

It wasn’t until I returned to my room to turn in for the night and saw the picture on my bedside table that I realized that the last of the four boys wasn’t in fact The Soldier. I almost laughed as I stared down at the finally clean photograph. My English teacher would be so disappointed in me; we had read through Machiavelli’s entire book during her class. Of course, the guy who craved power, who used fear to enforce it, was The Prince. 

Tord was grinning up at me, his hair pointed up into twin devil horns and a small crown insignia on the gun he was holding….

I was suddenly shaken out of my thoughts by muffled screaming. I was moving in an instant, speeding over to the other side of the house in the direction that the sounds had come from. Sticking my head out of the kitchen window, I couldn’t help but be surprised at what I saw.

The house next to us had a glowing green light spilling out of it, lighting up the entire neighborhood in the dark of night. 

I grinned, the small part of me not completely exhausted filling with relief. The adventure wasn’t over yet.

Because it seemed that our neighbors were having a bit of… paranormal trouble.

#writing kat #ew fanfiction

[the-vinedresser]

Hmm. Life. Literally this post is just sad so please don’t read if you don’t want to be sad. I just needed to dump emotions somewhere for my own sanity.

1. I’ve broken down the past couple days. But at least I’m getting emotions out.

2. The first night I felt like everyone was going to move on without me and be happy while I was still confused about how to be happy. Then I thought of the few times I’ve asked for help in times of need.

2a. The first one I remember was when I was alone in my room freshman year and was so stressed about turning in a paper. I walked next door and knocked and my friend hugged me, brought me to her bed and stroked my head and I knew everything was fine and I was completely overreacting.

2b. The next thought that came to mind was actually on New Years this year. I had this epiphany that in my drunk haze I was totally being comforted in the same way. My friend let me rest on him after one too many cigarettes and he also informed me that he removed throw up on me in the car. What did I do to deserve such lovely friends. I just remember being comforted because they kept saying, “It’s ok, Chung, you’re doing great. You’re fine.”

3. And then I realized the one thing those situations had in common was I made it apparent I wasn’t doing ok. I let myself be completely vulnerable, whether it was intentional or out of my control. That’s when it clicked — how are people supposed to know I need their help if I don’t tell them? I know it sounds like common sense, but I’ve been bottling up things for so long, I honestly really did forget what it’s like to open up to someone. Just without a filter and completely raw.

4. So I stopped myself from feeling bitter for expecting people to help me and somehow know what I’m going through, get my ass up, wake my mom up from her deep sleep, and cry next to her like I was a fetus back in the womb. LOL but no honestly sometimes you have to do that. It could be your mom, dad, sibling, dog, significant other, you just sometimes got to do it. It felt terrible because it didn’t feel real, but if also felt so good. Didn’t know I needed it so much.

5. But then I actually had a legit panic attack. I thought all this time I had panic attacks but nope those were not it. Losing feeling in your hands and feet, pounding headache, nausea, just losing touch of reality. But I was so exhausted and I wanted to sleep. So I slept through the nausea but kept waking up multiple times with a terrible dream that didn’t even make any sense and wanting to puke. But all I knew was that my body was not in it’s natural state and there was enough adrenaline to fight a bear. I had to keep telling myself none of this is real, it’s not real, it’s all in my head. Breathe. And then I eventually drifted into a sustainable sleep.

6. I woke up, tried to eat, watched Friends. It was really nice. Went out to sushi with the family. I was able to feel like myself again, even for just a little bit. I was starting to think that letting it out really was a huge step forward.

7. But later that night something triggered something. My brother just made a curt comment to me for being to loud and shutting the door on me and all of a sudden got really sulky and quiet. I was just like ok Megan you are being way to sensitive right now. Just go upstairs and figure your shit out. But then all of a sudden my sadness quickly turned into blinding anger. I wanted to punch something or break something. And I guess most of all, I was filled with this desire for other people to realize my anger too. So I went downstairs and brought down dishes and slammed them in the sink and stomped upstairs and slammed my door. Reminds me of seventh grade…

8. Eventually I just got louder and angrier and my mom came into my room to calm me down and I just talked about everything. Eventually I found out the reason why I was so angry was because I realized how upset I’ve been from past internship interviews with guys… basically sexually harassing me. Not looking at me or speaking to me in a way they would treat their own daughters. And I was just angry because my own brothers hate-talk strong women in movies and all these little things that made me explode. I know the only women they respect are ones that are rather and compliant and at the time, I didn’t see it as a matter of preference, I just jumped to misogyny.

9. But I just got angry because I was just angry with society for having women go through shitty things and then making them seem like they’re the crazy ones. Why do women get stuck with the depression and anxiety? Yes, partly hormonal, but there is no denying that social constructs play a role into it as well. And for that, I was just angered and saddened by the harsh reality ~*~that is life~*~ YAY

10. I calmed down more and realized that I like to over analyze things and that will lead to my downfall. Talking things out with someone really helps you filter through the crap in your head. But I also think an unanalyzed life is not worth living. Where else would I draw inspiration from?

11. I compartmentalize people when I meet them, just into two simple categories: bingo people and adventurers. And I know it’s pretty harsh, but honestly I love both sides equally. Bingo people are the people who dream about having kids and then having play dates with their friends’ kids and just living a very quaint, happy, life. Almost everyone I hang out with is in this category. And I’m secretly jealous of them. My entire family is like this. They find the simple joys in life. Versus the adventurers, who are rebellious, would travel the world alone, live on a boat for a little bit, maybe like horror movies, stuff like that. They’re just more individualistic and openminded I guess. I kind of miss hanging out with people like this. It makes me feel more inclusive. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty alone and like a freak because I don’t think the way most people do.

12. Like I watched a movie with my brothers last night and it was a horror film and I loved it. The symbolism and the underlying meanings and the composition of it was just so interesting to me, but my brothers were silent and honestly pretty psychologically scarred for a little bit and didn’t want to talk about it. They then switched to a corny adventure comedy. One of the genres I hate the most. But I know that my brothers’ reaction is the majority in just like a random pool of people so I felt like a bit of a freak for laughing at gore and people dying in unspeakable ways. It’s great.

13. But my mom and I did face masks and just talked until 3am and she slept in my bed and it was nice.

14. It’s weird though because this morning I woke up the most depressed I’ve ever been. I just felt like a crazy person because although I know there are tons of people out there who have depression and have experienced a million times worse than I do, they always know how to put on a good act in public, so I never know until they tell me. I can’t do that so I was just a zombie who refused to eat, couldn’t really talk or laugh at jokes and went up to her room to cry.

15. “Megan, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I’m just sad.” “Ok, get up. We’re going to the mall right now.” So we went but as you may predict, it did not end up well. I need to listen to my body more. Insane fatigue ensued, even after sleeping 8 hours. Just a ball of anxiety. Couldn’t talk or eat or drink it was terrible. Everything moves so slowly and you just look at people more and wonder how they’re feeling.

16. We got home, ate pizza, painted our nails, and watched a movie and SNL re-runs. I’m glad we were able to laugh and spend time with each other.

17. Ugh I’m so negative but I have to say the worst part about all of this is seeing anxiety and sadness spread to the people you spend time with because you can’t control how you’re feeling. That’s the worst part of it all.

18. I thought I was doing ok but my mom slept and I was alone with thoughts and all that unpleasant stuff so I messaged my friend. It helps. She told me that almost everyone has depression and anxiety at some point and productivity is the best way to manage it. This sucks and I feel bad for people who have been through this for a majority of their lives. I have zero fight in me right now but I know it’s going to come back. It’ll just take a little bit.

[the-vinedresser]

Hmm. Life. Literally this post is just sad so please don’t read if you don’t want to be sad. I just needed to dump emotions somewhere for my own sanity. 1. I’ve broken down the past couple days. But at least I’m getting emotions out. 2. The first night I felt like everyone was going to move on without me and be happy while I was still confused about how to be happy. Then I thought of the few times I’ve asked for help in times of need. 2a. The first one I remember was when I was alone in my room freshman year and was so stressed about turning in a paper. I walked next door and knocked and my friend hugged me, brought me to her bed and stroked my head and I knew everything was fine and I was completely overreacting. 2b. The next thought that came to mind was actually on New Years this year. I had this epiphany that in my drunk haze I was totally being comforted in the same way. My friend let me rest on him after one too many cigarettes and he also informed me that he removed throw up on me in the car. What did I do to deserve such lovely friends. I just remember being comforted because they kept saying, “It’s ok, Chung, you’re doing great. You’re fine.” 3. And then I realized the one thing those situations had in common was I made it apparent I wasn’t doing ok. I let myself be completely vulnerable, whether it was intentional or out of my control. That’s when it clicked — how are people supposed to know I need their help if I don’t tell them? I know it sounds like common sense, but I’ve been bottling up things for so long, I honestly really did forget what it’s like to open up to someone. Just without a filter and completely raw. 4. So I stopped myself from feeling bitter for expecting people to help me and somehow know what I’m going through, get my ass up, wake my mom up from her deep sleep, and cry next to her like I was a fetus back in the womb. LOL but no honestly sometimes you have to do that. It could be your mom, dad, sibling, dog, significant other, you just sometimes got to do it. It felt terrible because it didn’t feel real, but if also felt so good. Didn’t know I needed it so much. 5. But then I actually had a legit panic attack. I thought all this time I had panic attacks but nope those were not it. Loosing feeling in your hands and feet, pounding headache, nausea, just loosing touch of reality. But I was so exhausted and I wanted to sleep. So I slept through the nausea but kept waking up multiple times with a terrible dream that didn’t even make any sense and wanting to puke. But all I knew was that my body was not in it’s natural state and there was enough adrenaline to fight a bear. I had to keep telling myself none of this is real, it’s not real, it’s all in my head. Breathe. And then I eventually drifted into a sustainable sleep. 6. I woke up, tried to eat, watched Friends. It was really nice. Went out to sushi with the family. I was able to feel like myself again, even for just a little bit. I was starting to think that letting it out really was a huge step forward. 7. But later that night something triggered something. My brother just made a curt comment to me for being to loud and shutting the door on me and all of a sudden got really sulky and quiet. I was just like ok Megan you are being way to sensitive right now. Just go upstairs and figure your shit out. But then all of a sudden my sadness quickly turned into blinding anger. I wanted to punch something or break something. And I guess most of all, I was filled with this desire for other people to realize my anger too. So I went downstairs and brought down dishes and slammed them in the sink and stomped upstairs and slammed my door. Reminds me of seventh grade... 8. Eventually I just got louder and angrier and my mom came into my room to calm me down and I just talked about everything. Eventually I found out the reason why I was so angry was because I realized how upset I’ve been from past internship interviews with guys... basically sexually harassing me. Not looking at me or speaking to me in a way they would treat their own daughters. And I was just angry because my own brothers hate-talk strong women in movies and all these little things that made me explode. I know the only women they respect are ones that are rather and compliant and at the time, I didn’t see it as a matter of preference, I just jumped to misogyny. 9. But I just got angry because I was just angry with society for having women go through shitty things and then making them seem like they’re the crazy ones. Why do women get stuck with the depression and anxiety? Yes, partly hormonal, but there is no denying that social constructs play a role into it as well. And for that, I was just angered and saddened by the harsh reality ~*~that is life~*~ YAY 10. I calmed down more and realized that I like to over analyze things and that will lead to my downfall. Talking things out with someone really helps you filter through the crap in your head. But I also think an unanalyzed life is not worth living. Where else would I draw inspiration from? 11. I compartmentalize people when I meet them, just into two simple categories: bingo people and adventurers. And I know it’s pretty harsh, but honestly I love both sides equally. Bingo people are the people who dream about having kids and then having play dates with their friends’ kids and just living a very quaint, happy, life. Almost everyone I hang out with is in this category. And I’m secretly jealous of them. My entire family is like this. They find the simple joys in life. Versus the adventurers, who are rebellious, would travel the world alone, live on a boat for a little bit, maybe like horror movies, stuff like that. They’re just more individualistic and openminded I guess. I kind of miss hanging out with people like this. It makes me feel more inclusive. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty alone and like a freak because I don’t think the way most people do. 12. Like I watched a movie with my brothers last night and it was a horror film and I loved it. The symbolism and the underlying meanings and the composition of it was just so interesting to me, but my brothers were silent and honestly pretty psychologically scarred for a little bit and didn’t want to talk about it. They then switched to a corny adventure comedy. One of the genres I hate the most. But I know that my brothers’ reaction is the majority in just like a random pool of people so I felt like a bit of a freak for laughing at gore and people dying in unspeakable ways. It’s great. 13. But my mom and I did face masks and just talked until 3am and she slept in my bed and it was nice. 14. It’s weird though because this morning I woke up the most depressed I’ve ever been. I just felt like a crazy person because although I know there are tons of people out there who have depression and have experienced a million times worse than I do, they always know how to put on a good act in public, so I never know until they tell me. I can’t do that so I was just a zombie who refused to eat, couldn’t really talk or laugh at jokes and went up to her room to cry. 15. “Megan, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I’m just sad.” “Ok, get up. We’re going to the mall right now.” So we went but as you may predict, it did not end up well. I need to listen to my body more. Insane fatigue ensued, even after sleeping 8 hours. Just a ball of anxiety. Couldn’t talk or eat or drink it was terrible. Everything moves so slowly and you just look at people more and wonder how they’re feeling. 16. We got home, ate pizza, painted our nails, and watched a movie and SNL re-runs. I’m glad we were able to laugh and spend time with each other. 17. Ugh I’m so negative but I have to say the worst part about all of this is seeing anxiety and sadness spread to the people you spend time with because you can’t control how you’re feeling. That’s the worst part of it all. 18. I thought I was doing ok but my mom slept and I was alone with thoughts and all that unpleasant stuff so I messaged my friend. It helps. She told me that almost everyone has depression and anxiety at some point and productivity is the best way to manage it. This sucks and I feel bad for people who have been through this for a majority of their lives. I have zero fight in me right now but I know it’s going to come back. It’ll just take a little bit.