#emotionally drained for some reason vs me having to put up with my parents and my depression vs me wondering if my parents are actually- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovedsammy · 5 years

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stars in my black and blue sky -(sam & castiel)

Coda to 14.13. The events of the altered timeline leave a profound effect on Sam and Castiel, one that neither of them can seem to shake without reopening - and healing - old wounds.

Note: I know I’m not the only one that was horrified about the fight that prev!timeline!Cas had with Sam in 14.13, right? Castiel has never physically harmed Sam like that before, and it disturbed me quite a bit. I figured it might’ve bothered Sam, too, and that was the reason for that anxious look he had when Cas came into the bunker at the end of the episode. I used this scenario to bring up instances where Cas HAS hurt Sam by breaking his wall or when Lucifer used his body to hurt Sam, and how this event triggered some of those memories for Sam. Because one thing about PTSD that is common is sometimes things happen, and they can be either completely unrelated or semi-related to the previous trauma, and it can bring it all back. Sam’s behavior in this fic is a result of that.

I also feel like it’s worth mentioning that some of these darker, self-deprecating thoughts are Sam’s, not mine. I disagree with how he views himself. But Sam has a habit of keeping his emotions inside, and trying to placate others when it comes to them. He brushes it off with “the problem’s me”; he’s said before, and that’s the tone I went with in this fic. Sam’s come a long way from his s5 self-blame days, but he still tends to make issues be his problem vs others who want to help him. That’s what people who’ve experienced PTSD and Depression do (I’m guilty of it), and it’s a very real mindset I wanted to address.

Here you go, guys! @avalonsilver @wendibird @sealionfoam @flightoftheseraph @stargazingbros @avacynangell @spectaculacularmooseketeer @winchestersoldiersblog @casquecest @sastiel-daily

Also on Ao3:

Sam’s barely had a moment to gather himself, to try to slow the tremors in his still shaking hands, when he hears the bunker’s metallic door open. His mother and Dean, both blotchy-faced and red-eyed, exchange a quick glance with each other, and then at Sam. And as if on instinct, as though they are all thinking the same thought, they head into the main room. Sam’s heart lurches, and he tells himself not to cling to any half-hopes. They’d just seen John disappear minutes ago, and the temporal paradox should have corrected itself with him returning to the past. But maybe something went wrong, Sam reasons. Maybe it was already too late to change things back. And maybe, some selfish part of him hopes, they could really have Dad back for good. Maybe the universe, maybe God, was finally giving them a win for all that they’d sacrificed, maybe…

A whirlwind of beige and a flash of dark hair appears from behind the door, coming to a stop at the guard rail. It’s not John, but Cas. The presence of the angel was usually one that, for Sam, bestowed upon him a sense of peace and calming. He was his best friend, his family. A constant, gentle wave that always kept him afloat above the surface when Sam otherwise would’ve drowned. All of those long days and nights without Dean, stretching on into weeks and months…. Cas was the only other person besides his mother that Sam could remember being by his side for almost the entire time. Cas always had his back, and apart from Dean, he was the only other person to be involved in Sam’s life for as long as he had.

But instead of being a welcome sight, Sam finds that this time… he isn’t. And it takes him a moment to figure out why. It isn’t that he’d been wishing for his father instead; it’s something else entirely.

His body still aches from the earlier altercation with the angel - or the previous version of him, anyway, well before Cas had met him and Dean. But even with knowing the difference between the two, Sam can’t help the shudder of discomfort that radiates down his frame, and he is only half-aware of acclaiming a defensive stance, his expression wary.

“Mary. Sam, Dean,” Cas greets them, his eyes roving over each of them pleasantly, and displaying a softness that had been absent in the other Castiel. Nevertheless, Sam’s guard stays up, palms clammy at his side. He flexes his fingers, whether or not it’s to reach for an angel blade for protection or just out of nervousness, he’s not sure. Because if he looks hard enough, he can see that version of Cas still, and if he looks even harder… he can almost see Lucifer.

Castiel notices, because of course he does. His angelic powers could surely pick up on the mood of the room. It’s not just Sam that’s feeling apprehensive at his arrival, but Dean and Mary as well. Yet, Cas’s fixation lingers on Sam, his brows furrowing worriedly.

“What happened?” He asks.

“What happened,” Sam scoffs, and God, he feels so emotionally drained, still reeling from it all, that he can’t quite bring himself to speak. He looks to his brother for explanation, and he’s so damn grateful that Dean knows him so well, knows when Sam has reached his limit.

“Well, there’s a story,” Dean says. “Come on, let’s go talk in the kitchen. Where’s Jack?”

Cas gestures over his shoulder. “He’s getting our things from the trunk.”

“I’ll go help him,” Mary says hurriedly, and she brushes past her sons, giving each of them a gentle, comforting caress as she does. And Sam doesn’t know how she does it. How she can comfort them, her children, when she’s just lost the love of her life. How she could be so strong for them when she was coming apart at the seams herself. They were supposed to be the ones comforting her right now. It wasn’t the first time they’d lost Dad. For her, it was.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean’s hand on his shoulder pulls Sam from this thoughts, and he nods, realizing that Cas has joined them at the base of the stairs. He can feel the angel’s gaze on his back, but he doesn’t make any attempt to address him.

A few minutes later, Jack and Mary come find them sitting at the table in the kitchen, and the boy is just as concerned as Cas is about what transpired. He asks Sam outright, but Sam only shakes his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He wants to comfort Jack, to assure the kid that it was okay, that nothing was wrong, but he can’t. And he thinks that must make him a failure of a co-parent. All of this time, through everything that had happened, Sam had been strong enough to console Jack, to be there for him and encourage him. But right now it was like all of that strength that he’d somehow managed to conjure up through the past few months had all been drained out of him, leaving him fragile and withering, weakened.

Sam had thought he’d reached his breaking point the night with Dean outside the hospital after Donatello’s recovery, when he’d launched his fist into his brother’s face and clutched onto the back of his jacket in Dean’s arms. But it was just a precursor to this. He’s cried more in the past six months than he’d cried in his entire life, it seemed.

They remain there for a long, long time, well into the night.

It’s Dean who does most of the talking. Sam manages to chime in every once in a while, and Mary does so even less than her sons. When Sam does muster the courage to look at her, his mother’s expression is distant, faraway, reliving the past twelve hours. She holds on to her can of beer as gingerly as if she were still clutching onto John’s hand, afraid for the moment that she’ll have to let go. It’s a painful realization, that he and his mother were alike in that way, that they both tended to close off when dealing with things that hurt them.

At a quarter past two, Mary retreats back to her bedroom. Probably to cry her eyes out, Sam thinks. He’s not confident that he won’t do the same. Part of him wants to get up and escape back to his room, too, but he quells the urge down. He doesn’t think he’d be able to sleep, anyway. He’d only lie awake with his thoughts, the desires and regrets, especially of his father. But more than likely it would be the other, much darker corners of his mind, the thoughts that he was barely avoiding to succumbing to, that would haunt him. And he was going to put off facing those as long as he could. So he stays, finding some solace in being among his friends and family. Even with how conflicted he was feeling about being near Cas, it paled in comparison to the pain that he’d feel of being alone.

He reminds himself that this Cas, their Cas, has never done what the other version of him had done. He didn’t deserve the blame that Sam was indirectly casting at him. The angel had healed, protected, and safeguarded him, almost from the moment they’d met. Castiel had fought off Lucifer to keep Sam safe, and even his own brethren at times. So, Sam’s issues - they were his own, and he didn’t need to drag Cas into them.

“Your father,” Castiel murmurs around his bottle of beer, awestruck. “I still can’t believe it. I wish I’d been here. I’d have liked to have met him.”

Dean snorts, getting up to toss out the empty beer cans. “Oh, yeah, buddy, believe me, I wish it’d been you, too. Not the asshat version of you with that dickbag Zachariah. You really were Heaven’s soldier. He tells you to kill, and damn, man, you listened.”

At the mention of the other Cas, Sam stiffens, clenching his jaw. “Dean -” He cuts in, warningly. But he must go unheard, because the angel speaks at the same time.

“What version of me?” Cas inquires, tilting his head. “Was there more to it than your father showing up? You said the timeline had changed, but… me and Zachariah…?”

Jack’s curiosity is once again piqued, as it had the entire time they had been explaining what happened. “Wait. Who’s Zachariah?”

Dean waves a hand absently. “Ah, he was just some jackass head honcho angel that we killed who wanted us to start the Apocalypse and really had it out for us. He was Cas’s boss. Anyway, uh, yeah…. I’m guessin’ time was trying to fix itself, like Sam said. You and Zach showed up to try and fix it, found out it was us, and tried to kill us. Almost did, too.”

“Kill you?” Cas demands, incredulous, and for a second, the angel catches Sam’s eye, and it all seems to click in place. “That’s where all of those cuts and bruises on the two of you are from. I did that to you. I… I’m so sorry, I -”

Dean gives a one-shouldered shrug, finishing off his beer with one swig. “Nah. Hey, man, no hard feelings. You had a stick up your ass back then. It isn’t the first time you’ve beat the hell outta me. Besides, you’ve changed for the better, all right?” He reaches over to pat Sam’s face gently, and Sam soaks it up, amazed that even after all of these years, his big brother’s touch can still soothe him so easily. “Anyway, I’m gonna call it. ‘Night, Sammy. You know where I am if you need me.”

“Yeah. Night, Dean.”

He watches his brother leave, mouth going dry, and chugs the rest of his now warm beer. It burns the back of his throat, and he forcibly clears it. He wants to try and make conversation with Jack and Cas, but without Dean and his mother here, he suddenly feels exposed. Maybe he just needed the night to cool off, to reign in this state of panic he seemed to be in, and get a handle on it. That usually did the trick. If he managed to get some rest, he’d be good again in the morning. And he’d be able to brush off this - whatever this reaction was to his friend, and Castiel would be better off for it.

“You know, I, uh…” Sam says after a long moment, “I should… I should probably go to bed, too.” He flicks them a strained smile, and clamors to his feet. They’d gone slightly numb from sitting for so long. “Sorry if I… um, see you in the morning.”

Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t feel so weird, so raw, and like something had broken in him. He gets to the doorway before Jack’s voice sounds from behind him, sad and desperate.

“Sam, wait,” The boy calls, and it makes Sam pause. Sam hates that it does. He can’t refuse the kid anything, even if it was at the expense of himself. “Sam… are you all right? I’m worried about you. Please… just tell me if you’re not okay. Tell me how I can help.”

The question makes Sam open and close his mouth several times, and he surprises himself when he answers, “I… I don’t know, Jack. I don’t… ”

He feels lost, in a haze, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. He just stands there, staring at the floor, for what feels like an infinitely long time, in pregnant silence with nothing but the ticking of the clock. For a second, he wonders if he’s dissociating again, like during his post-wall days, unsure if Cas and Jack are even there, and resists the urge to finger the scar on his palm. This was real.

“Jack, can you give a moment to talk to Sam?” Castiel implores the nephilim after the pause, but his eyes are on Sam, who finally meets Castiel’s gaze guiltily, shamefully. Jack appears hesitant, his eyes glossed over and sorrowed, but a nod from Sam encourages him, and he leaves the two of them alone.

Sam wants to say something. Anything. “Cas - ” He tries.

“Sam… it’s not just what happened with your father that’s bothering you, is it? It’s much more than that.” Castiel appraises the younger Winchester, his features pained. “It’s about what happened in the alternate timeline. With the other me.”

Sam stiffly nods. “Yeah,” He says, hoarsely. There was no point in being dishonest, not when Cas could already tell that something was going on with him.

Cas knowingly returns the gesture. “I understand. I hurt you, and I tried to kill you, as well as Dean.”

“Yeah. Well, not you-you,” Sam quickly amends, because damn it all if he was going to let Cas carry the burden for this. “It was the you before you met us. Or, from another dimension or something. But it wasn’t you. And that’s… that’s something that I need to keep telling myself, because it’s so damn stupid that I can’t seem to stop myself from - from reacting like this. It’s not your fault that I can’t deal with my own bullshit.”

“Don’t,” Cas interjects sternly. “Don’t you dare turn this on yourself. Whatever it is that you’re feeling, whatever it is that you need to express, do it. If you need to hurt me back, do it.”

Sam pales, stunned. How could Cas even suggest that? “Cas, I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to you, man. I’m not gonna hurt you just to make myself feel better. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never hurt me, so why would I -”

“Now we both know that’s not true,” Castiel disagrees kindly. “I may not have splintered your bones or drawn your blood, but I’m no less guilty of hurting you than that version of me had. I tore down your wall and made you relive the horrors of the cage, and experience all of that suffering all over again.”

The admission makes Sam’s chest clench in remembrance. He practically chokes out, “Cas, I… I’ve forgiven you for that. You know that. It’s not the same thing.”

Castiel sighs. “Yes, maybe you have. Even when you shouldn’t have, you have. But what about how I hurt you when I let Lucifer possess me, and he drove his fist - my fist - into your chest cavity? Was that not a horrible violation to you?”

“Yeah, but you saved me,” Sam answers, readily. “You fought back, you took control, and you stopped him.”

Castiel takes a couple of steps towards him, and Sam has to fight the urge to flinch. “Sam... let me ask you… right now, do you see me? The other me? Or do you still, at times, see Lucifer?”

The question is still spoken in that soft, empathetic tone that Cas has used so many times with him, and yet it leaves Sam breathless. At his reaction, Castiel continues.

“You’ve experienced a great deal of trauma, Sam, and some of it has been at my hand. I am truly sorry for that. This was yet another instance. You need time to process it, and hopefully come to terms with it and be even stronger for it. But that isn’t something you can make yourself do over night. And you never need to feel sorry for reacting to something that has affected you, especially if it involves me.”

Sam’s vision blurs with wetness, and he quickly swipes at his eyes and exhales hollowly. “I thought I was past it. Or at least the worst of it. After Lucifer died, and I confronted Nick, I thought… I thought maybe the fear wouldn’t be as bad, you know? That maybe all that he’d done would just leave like he did.”

“Often, a completely unrelated - or even related - event can trigger a fear response to a situation,” Castiel tells him gently. “The human mind is incredibly resilient, but also very fragile if it’s hurt enough. Your strength amazes me everyday, Sam, but even the strongest people have their breaking point. With everything that has happened recently with Dean, and your father, and now this. It’s no surprise that your mind and body are reacting this way. It takes its toll.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Castiel understands, and that was all that he needed from him.

The angel finally approaches Sam further, and this time, Sam doesn’t flinch away. “I am truly sorry for what happened, Sam. I’m sorry that I hurt you, no matter which version of me it ended up being. I’m sorry for this - and all the other times.”

The younger Winchester feels a weight lift off of him. Not enough, but a bit. “It’s okay, Cas. I don’t blame you. Not really. I forgive you. I just… you needed to know, I guess. But… don’t feel guilty about it, okay? I’m glad, so glad, that despite what happened, despite Dad, and everything… that you’re who you are now. Like Dean said: you’ve grown. You’ve changed. And man, even… even with who you were back then. It wasn’t bad then, either. You weren’t. It was the situation, just like this time.”

“And the reasons for those changes are down the hall and standing right here in front of me,” Castiel smiles. “You and Dean, and now Jack - you’ve made me who I am. You saw it. I was just another, obedient, mindless soldier who had very little regard for my father’s creation. I was merely emulating what my brothers and sisters believed, and did what my superiors directed. Heaven is my family, Sam, but it’s not my only family. And while on the subject of family… I am so glad that you were able to speak with your father. I know you’ve wanted that for so long.”

“Me too,” Sam croaks. “We said some things that, uh… needed to be said. For years. I feel like we finally understood each other. And I feel…” He considers. “I feel lighter, when I think about him, you know? Like some part of me has finally healed.”

“You got closure.”

“Yeah. Closure.”

“Sam. May I?”

The question is readable on Castiel’s face, and after a few seconds, Sam closes his eyes in assent. The fingers that tickel his forehead are warm and so is the grace as it flows through him, leaving his skin unblemished and no longer painful, healing.

Sam feels himself start to relax for the first time that day.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Castiel asks.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can try.”

The angel nods. “All right. In that case, I’ll go talk to Jack. He’s probably still worried.”

“Let him know that I’m okay,” Sam says. “And that… tomorrow, I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him everything. It’s time that he knew.”

He knows by the look on Castiel’s face that he understands what Sam means, and that it wasn’t just what transpired over the past day, but a lifetime of events that lead up to this. His friend jerks his head in response.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your rest. Good night, Sam. If you need anything… just let me know.”

“‘Course,” Sam smiles, and this time, it’s genuine. “Night, Cas.”

He heads to his bed room, shaking his head with amusement at the sound of deep-rumbling snores coming from Dean’s room, and plants face first down onto his bed. He falls asleep within minutes, and there are no nightmares that night to plague him.

#supernatural #spn #sastiel #samcas #i tried to tag everyone lol #fic #*mine #14.13 #ep: lebanon

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the-kiwi-is-not-a-pewee · 5 years

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3 of Sadie’s arcs throughout TKC - a mapping

@jurakan I might’ve missed some things but this is as comprehansive as I could make it:

Responsibility/Parents Arc -

This arc revolves around Sadie realizing that when she has to choose between what she wants and saving millions of lives she has to accept that she has to make that sacrifice (this is different from the birthday and dance thing, because she has a third option to do both without a lot of people dying. Is there risk? Yes, more so for the former than the latter because there’s a hard deadline, but it’s not a decision she has to make on the spot like “free your dad and the world will bear the consequences” vs. “bear the consequences and millions of lives will be saved”.) It’s also intertwined with her grief over her mom and the blame she places on her dad for her death and the catharsis she gets from emotionally spilling to him at the climax of The Red Pyramid.

*Red Pyramid*

- “I was determined not to be like them, living in the past. I barely remembered Mum, after all, and nothing could change the fact that she was dead. But I did keep the one picture... But the main reason I’d kept the photo was because of the symbol on Mum’s T-shirt: one of those life symbols - an ankh. My dead mother wearing the symbol for life. Nothing could’ve been sadder”(33). Our first peek into how Sadie feels about her mother’s death. Despite her saying that she was determined to not live in the past like her grandparents, the photograph betrays that she hasn’t quite completely moved on from it.

- “’...Young man, your father has committed a criminal act. He’s left you behind to deal with the consequences-’ ‘That’s not true!’ I snapped, my voice trembling with rage. I couldn’t believe Dad would intentionally leave us at the mercy of the police, of course. But the idea of him abandoning me - well, as I might have mentioned, that’s a bit of a sore point’”(41). Sadie says it herself here, she’s not quite over what she perceived as her dad abandoning her.

-” “I realized I was crying. I hated to, but shock and fear were starting to overwhelm me. Where did I want to go? Home, of course! Back to my flat in London—back to my own room, my grandparents, my mates at school and my old life. But I couldn’t. I had to think about my father and our mission”(236). This kinda also fits here because she’s putting the mission over what she wants: to go home.

-”’All right,” I relented. “If I had to, then I suppose...I suppose I would save the world.” Horrible guilt crushed down on me. What kind of daughter was I? I clutched the tyet amulet on my necklace—my one remembrance of Dad. I know some of you lot will be thinking: You hardly ever saw your dad. You barely knew him. Why would you care so much? But that didn’t make him any less my dad, did it? Or the thought of losing him forever any less horrible. And the thought of failing him, of willingly choosing to let him die even to save the world— what sort of awful person was I?”(392). This bit doesn’t so much imply she learned how to put the world above her personal wants, but that she already would. Not without hesitation and horrible, emotional conflict, but she’d still do it in the end. It’s more of her discovering this of herself.

-”’To die?’ I demanded. “Isis should’ve helped her. You should’ve helped her. I hate you!” As soon as I said it, something broke inside me. I started to cry. I realized I’d wanted to say that to my dad for years. I blamed him for Mum’s death, blamed him for leaving me. But now that I’d said it, all the anger drained out me, leaving me nothing but guilt... ‘To save the world, would you sacrifice your father?’ ‘I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘Please’”(471). The arc culminates here, with Sadie releasing her pent-up feelings about her mother’s death and accepting that she has to sacrifice her father, that there is no third option this time. She gets her catharsis and overcomes her reservations that were there when she first admitted to Anubis that she’d sacrifice her dad to save the world.

*Throne of Fire*

-”I simply said, “It’s a bad idea.” And yes, it felt quite strange being forced to play the responsible sibling”(216). Sadie being the responsible sibling here... ironically. Trying to stay on track, but at the same time makes the third option so Carter gets what he wants and they also get what they need, even though they’re cutting it close. This isn’t exactly the same situation as her father in a coffin as this isn’t one way or the highway, but it’s her staying on task.

Balancing Old and New Life + Where She Belongs Arc -

This particular arc is more of a slowburn because it spans all 3 books as opposed to the Responsibility/Dad Arc. Sadie grapples with trying to fit her old and new lives together because she doesn’t want to let go of her old one but her new life won’t let her go back. They both bleed into each other in different ways, thus why the balance is necessary. Her old life leaks into her new life in the form of missing her life in London, her grandparents, her friends, etc. Her new life intrudes by, well, not leaving her alone (examples: Babi and Nekhbet ambushing her in London, the deadline, Anubis and Shu showing up at the school dance). The culmination is at the end of The Serpent’s Shadow, when she summons Ma’at out of necessity instead of desperation and doesn’t die from it.

*Red Pyramid*

- “I just stared at him. I couldn’t remember any home except this flat. My mates at school, my room, everything I knew was here. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’”(43). Good establishing point for the start of this particular arc and the attachment she has to her home in London. It’s all she ever knew.

- “I realized I was crying. I hated to, but shock and fear were starting to overwhelm me. Where did I want to go? Home, of course! Back to my flat in London—back to my own room, my grandparents, my mates at school and my old life. But I couldn’t. I had to think about my father and our mission”(236). The first point I could find where Sadie really expresses that she’s still attached to her old life and missing it is bleeding over into her new life to the point she’s getting emotional. But her new life is preventing her from going back because she and Carter have their mission and she recognizes it as more important. Most of the “missing home” moments are most frequent in the first book, and recording them would just be repeating myself. There’s some on pages 196, 400, and 432 though.

*Throne of Fire*

-”’It’s more than that.’ Emma studied my face as if I was turning into something quite frightening. ‘You seem older. More mature.’ Her voice was tinged with sadness, and I realized my mates and I were growing apart. It was as if we stood on opposite sides of a widening chasm. And I knew with gloomy certainty the breach was already too wide for me to jump back across”(118). A display of how Sadie feels she’s too far gone into her new life to return to her old life with no consequence. It’s here she realizes this, with her new life intruding with Babi and Nekhbet and later her old life having to be left behind when her friends can’t come along for the rest of the mission.

*Serpent’s Shadow*

- “She immediately understood what I needed. Together, we tried to find calm in the Chaos. I focused on the most peaceful, well-ordered moments of my life—and there weren’t many. I remembered my sixth birthday party in Los Angeles with Carter, my dad and mum—the last clear memory I had of all of us together as a family. I imagined listening to music in my room at Brooklyn House while Khufu ate Cheerios on my dresser. I imagined sitting on the terrace with my friends, having a restful breakfast as Philip of Macedonia splashed in his pool. I remembered Sunday afternoons at Gran and Gramps’s flat—Muffin on my lap, Gramps’s rugby game on the telly, and Gran’s horrible biscuits and weak tea on the table. Good times, those were. Most important, I faced down my own chaos. I accepted my jumbled emotions about whether I belonged in London or New York, whether I was a magician or a schoolgirl. I was Sadie Kane, and if I survived today, I could bloody well balance it all”(348). The culmination of the arc is right here, when Sadie finally accepts that she can balance both her lives and who she is. She can be belong both in London and New York, she can be both a schoolgirl and a magician. She can reconcile both parts of her life.

Understanding Carter Arc -

Sadie is the one who understands their sibling the least. And probably holds the most resentment over envying the other’s situation. Both of the siblings have the initial problem of not understanding each other and envying each other for different reasons, but it’s more important for Sadie to understand how much pressure Carter felt, to be strong for his dad and keep up with his expectations. Also Carter isn’t quite so hung up on Sadie getting to spend time with their grandparents, unlike Sadie with their dad.

*Red Pyramid*

- “When you only see each other twice a year, it’s like you’re distant cousins rather than siblings. We had absolutely nothing in common except our parents”(8). Establishes Carter and Sadie don’t really know each other well and thus don’t really understand each other. It’s to the point that they feel their bond is only by blood. Of course, they grow closer as the series progresses, but this is their initial starting point that they have.

- “I sighed in exasperation. ‘Poor boy, forced to travel the world, skip school, and spend time with Dad while I get a whole two days a year with him!’ ‘Hey!’ Carter turned on me with surprising force. ‘You get a home! You get friends and a normal life and don’t wake up each morning wondering what country you’re in! You don’t-’ The glass case next to us shattered, spraying glass at our feet”(133). This technically goes both ways. They both want each other’s lives and it’s a touchy subject for both of them, given how the glass shattered and things only start breaking around them when emotions are high (like the birthday cake). They both only see the pros of the other’s life and not the cons, or they don’t understand the cons.

- “After our last argument in New York, I wasn’t sure how I felt about my brother. The idea that he could be jealous of my life while he got to travel the world with Dad—please! And he had the nerve to call my life normal? All right, I had a few mates at school like Liz and Emma, but my life was hardly easy. If Carter made a social faux pas or met people he didn’t like, he could just move on! I had to stay put. I couldn’t answer simple questions like “Where are your parents?” or “What does your family do?” or even “Where are you from?” without exposing just how odd my situation was. I was always the different girl. The mixed-race girl, the American who wasn’t American, the girl whose mother had died, the girl with the absent father, the girl who made trouble in class, the girl who couldn’t concentrate on her lessons. After a while one learns that blending in simply doesn’t work. If people are going to single me out, I might as well give them something to stare at. Red stripes in my hair? Why not! Combat boots with the school uniform? Absolutely. Headmaster says, “I’ll have to call your parents, young lady.” I say, “Good luck.” Carter didn’t know anything about my life”(170). A display of how Sadie is clearly more hung-up on this than Carter is, considering he doesn’t have an internal rant like she does or even linger on it long. For Sadie, it’s clearly a far more touchy subject but nowhere in here does she consider why Carter wants her life or what he said before the glass shattered. She’s starting to understand him on a surface level as they bond better, but understanding him on a deeper level is not something she’s nailed yet as this shows.

-”Carter had spoken about Dad as if their travels together had been a great thing, yes, but also quite a chore, with Carter always struggling to please and be on his best behavior, with no one to relax with, or talk to. Dad was, I had to admit, quite a presence. You’d be hard-pressed not to want his approval. (No doubt that’s where I get my own stunningly charismatic personality.) I saw him only twice a year, and even so I had to prepare myself mentally for the experience. For the first time, I began to wonder if Carter really had the better end of the bargain. Would I trade my life for his?”(278) This is when Sadie admits that she’s doubting her previous assertion about how great Carter’s life must’ve been. She begins to understand why Carter wanted her life and how it affected him to be with their dad all the time. It’s a very significant step in understanding him.

*Throne of Fire*

-”And yes, I know that was wrong —but I’d just been inside Carter’s head. I now understood how important Zia was to him. I knew how badly any information about her would rattle him... One of his darker secrets? Deep down, Carter still resented our father for failing to save our mum, even though she had died for a noble cause, and even though it was her choice to sacrifice herself. Carter simply could not fail Zia in the same way, no matter what the stakes. He needed someone to believe in him, someone to save—and he was convinced Zia was that person. Sorry, a little sister just wouldn’t do”(215). Sadie understands why Zia is so important to Carter, a direct contrast to when he saw her off on her birthday, when he didn’t quite understand why Sadie was so insistent on taking a break. But of course, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some resentment in either situation.

*Serpent’s Shadow*

-”A year ago, even six months ago, the idea of my brother’s being given that kind of responsibility would’ve horrified me as well... When I had learned his secret name, I’d seen one very clear trait woven into his character: leadership”(327-328). Here Sadie learning Carter’s secret name circles back to her supporting him for a role he doesn’t feel ready for. She almost understands him better than he does himself, and while she does abuse it for some slapstick occasionally, she helps him step up to the role.

#sadie kane #tkc #arcs #The Serpent's Shadow #The Throne of fire #The Red Pyramid #carter kane #the Kane Chronicles #kane chronicles

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ritamordio19 · 6 years

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The Idea of a Love Triangle in ACOTAR 4.0 vs. Nessian

So I’ve been much more active in the last two days on my Tumblr than I have since like....well, ever, to be honest (considering this is my first post), and I’ve been seeing a lot of mentions of a possible love triangle between Cassian and Nesta/Emerie, which I heavily disagree with, so I wanted to dissect Cassian’s character quite a bit in this post. I won’t touch Nesta’s character since, as much as I love her, I don’t think I could possibly do a better job than rhysand-vs-rowan did on the one reblog I have on my wall (seriously, read that one too; it’s amazing!!). But Cassian is just as important (and real) to me as Nesta, and I think people don’t realize quite how large his main character trait drives his actions, which is to say: He has to help every female character in distress. And it’s true. He literally cannot help himself whenever there is a woman in any type of problematic situation, which I factor largely due to how his own mother was treated when he was a young child and the helplessness he felt at that time when he couldn’t stop her from being killed. Now I’m not saying this is a character “flaw” per se-- he certainly does quite extraordinary deeds at times, sometimes at great personal cost, to help out these various women in his life -- but it isn’t really a choice for him and can cause serious emotional exhaustion for him when he’s overburdened (often the case when dealing with the Illyrian camps). I see a helper’s complex in him where he can’t feel complete or satisfied as long as he knows a woman is burdened, causing emotional drainage until he’s fixed the issue. The reason I bring this up is because people are looking at how Azriel or [especially] Rhysand treat women they love/have romantic interest in and saying “Cassian treats X girl this way too, therefore there might be a love triangle.” But they’re not comparable situations. Rhysand --only-- put in the amount of effort he put in with Feyre because she was Feyre. You do not see him draining himself to the bone to help Nesta now, and you did not see him draining himself to the bone to help Elain earlier either. At best, he offered them positions in his court, a very low-energy offering, and he left almost all of the grunt work to Cassian, Azriel, and Feyre. This is not to say he doesn’t -care- about their pain, but he is not the type to go out of his way to help while he’s busy being High Lord. He is much more of a passive resource, available to help if asked for, which Elain only uses to a small extent and Nesta is incapable of using (as it would require her to ask for help, something she is currently not capable of and possibly/probably does not believe she deserves at the moment, with the amount of trauma she is dealing with). Azriel we have less information on, but he puts exactly zero work into helping Nesta, while putting in a noticeably larger effort with Elain. And were Morrigan to ever have another traumatic event, it is almost assured that Azriel would be there for her as well. Cassian, on the other hand, has been like this with every woman he has encountered in the story who has been hurt, regardless of [lack of] romantic interest. He put in emotional work with Feyre during their initial training, and he constantly, CONSTANTLY fights for the rights of Illyrian women to remain unclipped and holds these rights and their rights to be trained as his #1 and #2 priorities when in Illyrian camps during non-war times. In addition, while he admits doing so due to jealousy and claims he regrets it, I don’t think he truly would reverse his decision to sleep with Morrigan if that decision had come five years ago instead of 500 years ago. I do strongly believe that, even with age/wisdom/”maturity”, he would’ve risked sacrificing his friendship with Azriel to save her from a life in the Autumn Court with who he believed Eris to be (who Eris truly is?), not having advance knowledge of what her parents would do to her. Yes, he has gone overboard emotionally with Nesta as a result of his interest in her, mainly in terms of their mutual verbal jabbing, but remember this really crucial line, when Cassian realizes she’d been sexually assaulted, from their small story in the back covers of ACOMAF:

“She hadn’t answered him. ‘Would it change anything if someone had? Would it make you see me differently, treat me differently?’

‘It’d make me hunt them down and shatter every bone in their body.’ A shiver went down her spine -- not at the fear of him, but at the truth in the promise. The sincerity. ‘You don’t know me,’ she said. ‘Why bother?’ Cassian snarled, inching closer, his hand gripping hers -- then paused. As if the question sunk in. As if reality sunk in. He blinked. ‘I’d do it for anyone.’ She knew he meant it -- and that he would.”

In terms of him acting as the protector/helper figure that he is, he would go to the ends of the earth for anyone. So the pain he feels at Emerie’s wings being clipped, the anger he feels that the entire village is ignoring her store because a female Illyrian is running it -- that would’ve been the same for any female he encountered. In fact, he demonstrates the same exact internal dialogue/speech with Emerie that he does with literally any female character in the cast other than Nesta. While he may make comparisons to Nesta, these are still passive thoughts from his first impression of a new face (and daughter of an old friend), and they have no emotional baggage or romantic obsessiveness behind them. I want you to compare this to his attitude towards Nesta, far different than with any other member of the cast. In their first and second meetings, he has a very low view of her due to her treatment of Feyre and insults her [protecting Feyre], earning a fairly large backlash from her as well. Importantly, at no point does he see her in any way as vulnerable or burdened until he finds out her past trauma from sexual assault in their second meeting. He doesn’t know about her starving herself (and by proxy her other sisters) in order to try to force her father to do something and the subsequent guilt she faces. He doesn’t know about the trauma she faced watching her mother die. He doesn’t know about Tomas until mid-second meeting. He doesn’t even know about her loneliness/feeling of madness at being the only one to know the truth in their entire household in the midst of Tamlin’s glimmer on their household. He doesn’t know how she braved the forest for weeks in order to try to rescue Feyre. Yet, importantly, he says this in his inner monologue before meeting her the second time to deliver Rhysand’s message:

“Cassian surveyed the estate, the muddy, thawing grounds, the distant village, and looming, budding forest. He’d left their first encounter not entirely sure where he’d stood, or who’d had the upper hand. And, Mother damn him, in the past few weeks, he’d found himself turning over every word and look he’d exchanged with her, over and over.

None of it had been pleasant, every syllable from her mouth barbed and vicious, and...Cassian huffed a breath, hot tendrils ripping away in the wind. He couldn’t tell what was worse: that he’d thought so much about it, or that he’d run here so damn fast. And was now...dawdling.

The thought sent him into a swift, reckless dive for the green-roofed estate.

Nesta is the only character in the entire series that Cassian feels this way towards. She is the only character who gets under his skin -- Emerie included. And remember, this started from their first meeting, whereas his meeting with Emerie was the very definition of platonic, even as he felt the need to solve her shop’s financial crisis. Seriously, could you imagine the following:

He’d had lovers, some for a night and some for months, and Mor had never cared, but...

This woman standing before him like a pillar of steel and flame...Cassian didn’t want to tell Mor about her. About how he’d touched her neck.

...being said about any other female character in the series, even Emerie? Cassian would likely help any woman in distress the way he helps Nesta, but would he freak out about them, constantly replaying their conversations in his head? Would he find himself drawn, time and time again, to any other woman that he views with as much disdain as he did Nesta in their early days? He literally calls her a bitch at least three times in their second meeting alone, and that’s not counting the large number of other insults he sends her way, whether stated out loud or not, all with full intent.

Conclusion

Now, I will temper my comments to a small degree at the end here, which is that, despite being a huge Nessian shipper, I do think it is possible that they do not end up together despite believing, without a doubt in my mind, that they are mates. I just do not think that this would ever be due to Cassian’s end, which is what an Emerie love triangle would entail.

On the other hand, Nesta is dealing with quite heavy emotional trauma post-war, and she is [very understandably] pissed off that literally everyone sees her as Cassian’s. She is free to do whatever she wants, and she may choose to take her own path as Cassian (and the rest of the Court) reminds her too much of the reasoning for various aspects of her trauma (the Cauldron, the war, her father dying). And that is absolutely okay -- she has the right to make her own choice, even if it isn’t Cassian, even if the person she chooses isn’t her mate (are you hearing me Feyre about Elain?????).

But I 100,000% believe with my entire heart that Cassian would rather go single another 500 years than ever give his heart to anyone but her. Thanks for reading my way-too-long comments on Cassian. Let me know if you agree/disagree -- I’d be interested to know why the love triangle theorists believe Emerie to be in play for Cassian’s emotions and am open to having my mind changed. Until then, I’m straight Nessian trash though~~.

#acotar #nessian #nesta #cassian #acotar theory #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight

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trekwiz · 6 years

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Love, Simon - Consolidated Reflections

Love, Simon is an incredible film that I had no idea I still needed. My boyfriend and I went in expecting cheesy humor and Nick Robinson eye candy, but six theater trips later and we're certain it's the most important movie of our lives.

Even though I'm a very different person from Simon's character, I never felt more represented on the screen before. I have my own stories for nearly every scene in the film, and it's made me reflect deeply about what it was like to grow up as a gay 90's kid in New Jersey, and as a student of Johns Hopkins' CTY "Smart Camp".

I’d like you to take a moment and put yourself in a specific frame: think of how you feel when your media doesn’t represent you. You don’t see people like you on mainstream TV, you don’t see people like you in mainstream movies, you don’t see people like you in mainstream advertising, you don't see people like you on the news, except in murder stories. You're invisible in pop culture.

Now imagine that it wasn’t JUST your media.

Imagine that it was your whole world: you don’t see anyone who looks like you anywhere. Not your family. Not your neighborhood. Not your school. Not your media. You are completely erased.

Growing up in that environment was really difficult, in a way that non-gays really don’t have a frame to understand. It stole a lot of my life from me.

It was somewhere around 2nd grade that I realized the world was hostile towards normal people for no good reason: irrational hostility was present in everything at all times.

Some of it was tangible. Hearing “that’s so gay,” or “fag” as an insult, or hearing classmates brag about beating up a gay kid made it clear that the world really was out to get me. While other stuff was more abstract, like the complete absence of people like me on the screen. Or worse, the token representations of people like me that were poorly written, the butt of jokes, or just irrelevant props.

There are more gay characters today, but often it’s still superficial and sometimes worse, with companies like Bioware using disrespectful and offensive caricatures as a money making strategy.

As a kid, I closed myself off. I became a “turtle”--I hid both from my toxic, abusive family and the anti-gay world around me, behind the locked door of my bedroom. After school I had Star Trek, Legos, and videogames, alone. I stepped away from my friendships in 2nd grade--I didn’t stop talking with classmates, I just didn’t let them get close. I didn’t hang out after school. I kept those relationships superficial.

I didn’t get the option to be a mall rat. I didn’t go see movies with other kids. I didn’t get to hang out at the arcade. I didn’t have friends to go on bike rides with. I didn’t have an SNES player 2 outside of my family.

I was afraid that if I had friends, they’d catch me checking out another guy and either attack me, or out me. I tried to convince myself that I was “alone but not lonely,” but I wasn’t. The only thing that kept me going was the belief that if I worked hard, I could get away from the toxic family and the toxic culture, to make my own life.

When I talk about the experiences that were stolen from me, there’s a reason I have a high level of confidence that it wasn’t merely the way my life would have developed anyway.

I have fairly wild swings between shy/quiet, and outgoing/expressive. I’ve always described myself as an “introvert communicator” because I value my alone time, and I do feel drained from many social interactions, but I also have a lot to say and the need to communicate it. It really shows when you compare how I was in front of a classroom or with clients now, vs how I am in a gathering of 5 or more people. Sometimes even one on one chatting, I’m aware that I'm struggling to do my part.

I wasn’t always an introvert. I wasn’t always socially awkward. I wasn’t always anxious in social situations. Before turtling, I was actually fairly normal, socially--despite the geek tendencies.

Many such memories are lost forever because of how young I was. Before I started kindergarten, I had a best friend--I don’t remember much about him, except that his name was Damien. We did normal kid stuff, including sleepovers. When my family moved for Kindergarten, I adapted quickly: I made friends with two of the neighbor girls. I remember even less about them because we moved back after the school year ended. My family recounted stories of me having a group of my own friends at the time; we were into Ghost Busters, of course.

When we moved back, I still have some memories of good social experiences in first grade. It was a fairly slow process between the end of first grade, up through third grade where I started pulling away. I vaguely recall instigating arguments with friends so I’d have an excuse to play alone at recess. Until that became the norm.

I know what society took from me, because I watched it slip away.

Being in the closet meant going through every day knowing that it’s “your fault” that you're isolated. That you erased yourself and that other people just like you, will never see that they’re not alone, either. Just because you wanted to get through your day without being harassed, or assaulted. That your own defense mechanism is isolating you.

It’s a deep isolation that comes with terror, and (justifiable) paranoia. Going through every day knowing that if you slip just a little bit--say something in a “funny” way, walk in an awkward way, or get caught checking someone out--you might end up in the hospital.

It means that if you're lucky enough to see someone who’s willing to express that they’re just like you, you can never talk with them: if someone sees you, they’ll suspect you. If they suspect you, they may hurt you. It means trying hard to find subtle hints that someone else is like you, and knowing that it’s too risky to say anything if you’re right. That the representation you need in your world, is dangerous to you.

Can you imagine how isolating that is for an 8 year old to know the world hates them, with no where to turn to for safety? To know that there’s no one in the world that they can ever trust? I was terrified: there was no way to know who was an enemy.

People who otherwise pass as nice can still be homophobic; they pretend to be good people, but even that seemingly sweet teacher could be a fatal liability. Complain about the slurs and risk the real, well-meaning teacher telling parents; as a teen, I became aware of groups like NARTH and Exodus International and was terrified that I could be forced into one of their torture camps if anyone found out.

How much anxiety would you have if you couldn’t trust anyone around you? How depressing would that be? How stressful? How would you feel about the culture that did it to you?

To some extent, our society understands what it means to hide: it’s what makes horror-thriller so compelling. Think about the iconic kitchen raptors scene from Jurassic Park. The visual of a person hiding for safety resonates with us all; it’s emotionally very complex.

Really look at the emotion involved in the scene: the kids are stressed. They’re off balance, completely terrorized. And they’re aware that they have to keep moving: that the safety provided by hiding is temporary, and fragile. That if they don’t find new ways to hide, their safety is gone. What is their mental state like? When things settle down, how do you think they’re going to feel when they can reflect on their experience?

Think about that for a minute. Imagine that temporary, fragile safety in hiding exists not for minutes, but for years. Not just in the kitchen, but in all aspects of your life; that it continues not just when you escape the raptors (like Billy Graham, Pat Robertson, et al), but also when your parents return because they’re just as dangerous.

What happens to someone psychologically who must constantly hide in fear; who can trust no one, when the world confirms it’s out to get them? When their whole identity has been erased from the world, while their allies hide, too? How sustainable is it, to be in that heightened state of stress and terror?

That’s what it means to be in the closet. You may be able to hide the target on your back, but it comes at a price.

To a 14 year old closeted gay kid, the internet was a taste of freedom. In fact, the internet is exclusively responsible for the totality of my dating life--my boyfriend of six years is no exception.

About.com had fairly good resources before Google was a thing--it gave me a chance to access information about who I was, and to learn about the things they "didn't have time" to address in sex education. I'll never forget the teacher, who went by "Vivacious Vicki," who communicated that my existence was so unimportant that I had to sit through a class that would never be relevant to me even if I asked on-topic questions that I needed answers to.

Answers and information that I couldn’t just get in the library: being seen looking for it was just too dangerous. The internet opened access to message boards like Delphi Forums. That gave me a space to counteract my erasure; to show that I exist and to fight for my existence in a way that didn’t risk my safety.

It gave me a chance to interact with other gay people. People my whole world taught me didn’t exist, or taught that they would disappear when “they got over” their “phase.” It gave me a safe place to talk about celebrity crushes; I was able to talk with other teens about how cute David Gallagher, and Erik von Detten were. And Xanga allowed me to write about my experiences on my own terms, to connect with others who felt empowered by my words.

It gave me a space to learn that we really are in every population; that anyone in the world really could be just like me. The internet also gave me the means to test coming out.

After I aged out of smart camp, I used AIM to come out to friends. I was able to choose one of the most important people first: my best friend across multiple years of camp. The internet ensured there was no risk--we wouldn’t be back at camp, we didn’t live nearby, and he didn’t have my phone number. That meant that we had no common proximity, or potential for common proximity, for a bad reaction to affect me. And because it was unlikely that we’d see each other again, losing that friendship was low risk.

In contrast, because of the danger involved, my first in-person coming out was very calculated. Much like Simon, in Love, Simon, I had found inspiration and strength from the internet--his nervous retreat from the computer and “FUCK! I can do this…” motion is one I had a lot of practice with. I had come out multiple times online, but saying those words out loud for the first time required a safety net.

I waited until the very end of my senior year of high school. I made that choice because if it went poorly, it wouldn’t matter: I’d be gone from the school, so I wouldn’t have to live with a higher daily risk of assault. I wouldn’t have to go through extended ridicule, or torment because I’d have an easy exit.

That wasn’t enough, though. It had to be in my room--it was my sanctuary, the place I hid from the world for safety. It also meant there wouldn’t be strangers passing by to overhear. It meant there weren’t extra variables to track; I didn’t have to watch my environment to make sure I wasn’t going to be blindsided by someone else who didn't like what I had to say. It meant no risk of embarrassment if my message was repeated.

It also had to be someone that wouldn’t treat it like a joke. Not in the sense of thinking I’m joking; it was important that it be someone who wouldn’t go back to others and laugh about it, as if what I was saying wasn’t serious and important. It was a huge weight I had to release from my shoulders, and I was conveying something very deep and essential about who I am, so it had to be someone who could hear it the same way I was saying it.

And most importantly, it had to be someone that I knew was physically weaker than I was. I knew I was risking being attacked and if I had to fight, I wanted to be confident that I could win. I’ve taken my punches before, but this time it was especially important that insult not be compounded by injury.

So, for the first time in my life, I’d invited someone over to hang out--I think it was about a week after graduation, but it’s a little fuzzy this long after. It was a high school chess club friend, under the guise of playing chess.

For all appearances, it was pretty underwhelming: I came out, he reacted well, and we played chess. But internally, that was huge for me; there was a battle to become comfortable enough to say the words, and a massive sense of relief after. As they put it in Love, Simon, I could “finally exhale.” That interaction gave me the confidence to join Allies in college, and to stop hiding who I am from the newer people to enter my life.

I still used the internet as a means to test the grounds before college. And a bit later, too. Some people acted weirdly right after--they wondered “aloud” why I was telling them, not realizing that I just wanted to stop hiding; some acquaintances even “disappeared” afterwords. But without the internet for practice, and as a shield, I don’t think I’d have found the courage to do it in person.

This is something that non-gay people have a hard time understanding. In any context, no matter how young you are, you can just start talking about the eye candy you see around you. Your biggest worry is that your friend will think your eye candy is ugly and make a joke about it until you see more eye candy cross your path.

That’s a normal part of teen and slightly pre-teen life that I didn’t get to have until my 20’s, AFTER college. It's profoundly sad, but authentic, that Simon's character didn't even start learning how to talk about attractive guys until the end of high school.

It’s such a little thing you can take for granted, that poses serious danger to people like me. You have the luxury of not coming out, the luxury of not having to think about these quality of life issues wrapped up in the process.

When I finally wanted to take baby steps out of hiding and make friends again, I didn’t really have the social skills to do it. I remember someone in 8th grade gym class who tried to be friends, but I no longer knew how how to go from daily chatting, to actually hanging out away from school.

I never got to have a best friend outside of smart camp, and I was terrified of going to school dances, so I didn’t--not that there’d have been a reason to, there was no way to find a suitable dance partner, anyway. One of the most obvious differences between Simon in Love, Simon and me is that I never did go to any high school parties--I was never invited, and I probably would have been afraid to go if I had been.

Smart camp was certainly a lot better in some ways. It was a social oasis. I had friends who are still important to me today, and I was able to go to the dances; mostly, I played cards with my friends because it wasn’t just a dance. But even that didn’t offer me a reprieve from the damaging culture around me.

Friends kept pushing me to dance with girls, and it was too dangerous to say why I didn’t want to. I delayed them by pointing out that I didn’t even know how to dance. In response, my best friend, my real crush, offered to show me how to slow dance. Not by telling me, but by actually dancing with me right then and there. In front of everyone. This was the first time in my life that I experienced bullet time as I scrambled to figure out how to react.

I panicked a little. I said no, and lied: I claimed it was only “fast dancing” that I didn’t know how to do, but that I could slow dance. I couldn’t do either, though. I was worried that if I let him show me how to dance, my friends would have noticed how much I was enjoying it; I was afraid that other onlookers would notice; I was afraid that my safety would be at risk, and that rumors would spread.

And so I rebuffed the chance at dancing with a guy, and in so doing, kept up the facade of heteronormativity. The survival mechanism that allowed me to hide from potential enemies also hid me from suitors and allies; that is the paradox of being in the closet.

I really missed out on something exceptional: I could have had my first dance with a real crush, and I could have learned to dance from a friend who cared about me enough to not even worry about being judged for dancing with a guy friend.

Instead, I completely embarrassed myself when they setup a dance for me, after being pressured to name a female crush. My humiliation was compounded by my attempt to use this fake crush as a means of denial; I was desperate to hold onto the facade of being just like everyone else.

In 2000, my last year at smart camp, a girl asked me to dance. I had said no, and after repeating myself about a dozen times, I retreated to the makeshift movie theater. She followed and kept asking; when everyone stared at me because of the disruption, I left, again.

I had nowhere else to go, since we weren’t allowed to go back to the dorms until later, so I actually hid in the bathroom. I don’t think I can convey how frustrating that is--I literally hid in the bathroom because it was too dangerous to say, “please stop, I’m gay.” Needless to say, the bathroom scene after the dance in Love, Simon really hit home.

That story doesn’t even end there. She asked an instructor for help; he came in a few minutes later to "persuade" me, too. I was backed in a corner with no place to escape, and the authority figure, the one who’s job was to protect me, insisted that I should dance with her. Because being in the closet meant I was perceived as merely being a shy non-gay kid who needed a nudge.

I felt powerless, disgusted, and terrified. Knowing my safety was on the line, I became her default dance partner for a couple weeks. Until she asked for a kiss. I was “lucky” that I only had to say no once before she moved on. Meanwhile, there was a guy in my group who, thanks to the benefit of hindsight, I know was interested--I missed it at the time, and lost the only opportunity I had for any kind of dating life in my teen years.

My hair was freshly cut that summer; it's so thick that the natural spikes of a flattop drew a lot of attention. Some of the staff loved patting my hair, and so did the girls in my group, including the one who compelled me to dance with her.

Our group was sitting in a booth playing card games, and the girls were playing with my hair as usual. There were 3 other guys at the table: I never got the name of the important one, but someone from the alumni association suggested it may be Nathan. Aaron is the second, and I don’t recall the name of the third. Aaron was grumpy and obnoxious in general, and he expressed disbelief that anyone could actually be so fascinated with someone’s hair.

Because of his reaction, the girls tried to convince Aaron to touch my hair--he got really awkward about it, and refused vehemently. The third guy sat there quietly, just watching in amusement as Aaron squirmed.

Nathan ignored the ongoing argument and started playing with my hair without saying a word; not just a quick pat, he let his hand linger on this and another occasion. I remember feeling really happy that I had received attention from a guy for the first time, but for twenty years I've been angry with myself for not having the courage to say anything at all.

In the moment, I didn’t realize Nathan was flirting, so I completely missed out on my only chance to explore dating at an only slightly delayed age. Instead, I didn't have my first date until months before graduating college. Many people underestimate just how much it hurts to watch others engage in normal social activities, while being left behind.

What was especially painful was that I missed out on a chance to talk with someone like me when I needed that the most; someone who could relate, and make me feel less isolated. Someone who could have helped me work through the emotions I was trying to understand just from knowing that he was going through it, too. I missed my only chance as a teen to talk with someone who could truly understand me.

That was my only chance at the time to understand that there really were gay people in my world--I still don’t know with certainty if anyone in my life at the time was gay or bi, and I wonder what it would be like to have that chance to talk with someone who shared some of my childhood and was trying to cope in hiding nearby, too. To see how differently they grew through it, and whether or not they resented the same things in our shared environment.

And worst of all, I never got contact information from Nathan, so I didn’t have the chance to get that conversation at a later time through the safety of the internet. Though I tried, I was never able to track him down.

That’s a regret I still hold onto today: I’ve always wanted some kind of closure. Did he know I was interested? Did seeing me dance with a girl discourage him, or did he realize that was part of being in the closet? Did he suspect that I was gay? Did he realize I tried flirting back? Was he struggling the way I was, or did he find comfort being himself? Did I really lose my one chance at normalcy, or did I misinterpret his gesture?

I don’t know that I’ll ever stop wanting these answers. It’s always there at the back of my mind, venturing to the front every few months.

I don’t want to be the kid hiding in the bathroom at the dance anymore, but sometimes, he’s still present. When people celebrate Billy Graham despite his support for Exodus International. When some complain that we’ve “gone too far” with “that whole equality thing.” When gay couples are still assaulted today, or after Pulse. When gay people can still be fired without cause in some states. When gay people can be turned down for renting or buying a home so long as the owner doesn’t say why.

I don’t think I’ll ever not be anxious when I come out, even in places that I know are relatively safe. And there are parts of life that I’ll never be able to experience because the wider culture took it away from me. But Love, Simon gives me hope that there really is a different future ahead.

Seeing a character experience these struggles without making it disaster-porn was refreshing. Seeing him able to experience the life that was denied to me is incredible. Seeing a mainstream movie with such an authentic, honest representation of someone like me is unimaginably meaningful. This movie showed the universal aspects of the gay experience, without resorting to tropes and trivialization; without getting too caught up in any niche subsets.

I needed this movie 20 years ago. Love, Simon truly could have changed my life if it had existed then. It was written from a place of respect, and showed the same due care as any film: and that means everything to me.

#gaymer #love Simon #gay man #gay #gay life

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lets-get-fictional · 7 years

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Hello! So I was scouring the Internet for advice today but I couldn't find any on this topic. My problem isn't that I don't have any ideas (I probably have too many) but the problem is that I don't LOVE any of my ideas. I like them. I think they're all fine ideas. But liking them isn't going to motivate me long enough to finish a novel. How can I give my ideas that extra uumph to make me love them? How can I figure out what's missing or why I don't feel this way about any of my ideas?

Hello, nonny! What a challenging question… This one’s been in my inbox a couple days, just because it’s such a bigquestion. But I’ve thought it over and I think I have some ideas for you:)

The Thrill Is Gone – How to Find It Again

So generally, there’s no one answer orcure-all to this problem. I’ve had this issue multiple times, withdifferent causes. My first novel didn’t have enough meat to the plot; mysecond novel had been over-planned in my head to the point that it no longerexcited me. My third novel had way too much plot, sothat by the time I got ¾ the way through, I’d written over 200K words andfelt sick of the idea. I started my fourth novel way too soon, and am nowgoing back and planning it more! So there are obviously many differentreasons that a story doesn’t take off (or dries up eventually).

The first step is to figure out what’s missing, like yousaid. There are a few aspects of your story to assess…

1. Plot

I’m discussing plot first because, to me, it’s the most importantpart of fiction. Plot, conflict, and stakes are foremost to my stories. You could have the most complex and sympathetic characters, but withoutplot, they’re static and become boring. But for some reason, this is thepart of story ideas that new authors neglect most!

So if your story has great characters and an immersivesetting, but you can’t get into it, try asking a few questions about your plot:

What is the point of the plot? What’s the message you’re conveying in the story? Even if your story isn’t an allegory or a metaphor or the next Chronicles of Narnia, there should always be a conclusion to which all plots arrive – otherwise, the story can feel aimless. The best way to find your message is to look at the conflicts involved (e.g. Man vs. Man, Man vs. Nature, etc.) and find the “winner”. What worldview, belief, or concept “defeats” the other concepts? It can be as simple as Good vs. Evil, or more complex, like Loving the Sincere Drug Addict vs. Settling for the Selfish Dentist (provokes the question “Is love worth danger in relationships?”).

Does the plot have ups and downs? And really consider both ends of the spectrum here. Stories become dull if they are made up of victory after victory – or if they’re made up of nothing but loss and tragedy. No matter the genre, you have to strike some sort of balance, lest the story become predictable and emotionally non-engaging. Find victories and failures, even in unassuming places, to keep readers invested and hopeful.

Do you have a satisfactory ending? Or do you have the ending planned yet? I’ve found that I can’t really commit to an idea unless I see a resolution – otherwise I feel too nervous to start. If you do have an ending planned, make sure it’s the right ending. It can feel like there’s one possible conclusion, and once you’ve found it, you stick to it – but question it, brainstorm it. It may not be a happy ending every time, but when you find the right one, you’ll know it.

Do you have the right plot at all? Look at your story as a whole. Does it start too early or too late, relative to the real meat, the real action? Is it told from the most impactful POV? Does the plot cover too much ground for one book, or is it not enough to fill the pages? Consider all the characters, backstories, and subplots you have, and ask yourself if any of them are more interesting than the main plot. If so, shift your focus. Use them instead.

2. Characters

Maybe it’s not your plot that’s going sideways. Maybeyou have it all worked out – the head, the tail, the whole damn thing – butit still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming tolife, somehow. It feels flat.

That can be a character problem. It would be likesitting by the campfire and hearing the most fascinating, horrifying story,except it’s told by a man with The Most Boring Voice Who Talks So IncrediblySlowly and Takes All the Fun Out of Everything. An example: TheHunger Games. Those books bored the crap out of me. Unless someone was being killed or Haymitch and Effie were interacting, Ijust didn’t care. And those books had a great plot behind them!

So here’s what you need for a good cast of characters:

A solid protagonist. Solid = three-dimensional,empathetic, and relatable; having a goal, an internal conflict, a self-image,and fears or shame. They should have different facets of themselves –their head and their heart, their desires and doubts, and that little voice intheir head that says, “Give up on that. Be realistic.” Givethem strengths, weaknesses, and a couple of bad habits, for kicks.

A variety of supporting characters. You don’thave to have thirty characters + six secret characters stuffed under yourtrench coat; but with however many characters you have, make them as differentfrom each other as possible. Give them some similarities, of course, sothat they can relate to each other – but never make them so close togetherthat you have to decide, “Who should say this line? Character A orCharacter B?” Make them unique enough that the words come out of their mouths,instead of you having to decide where to put the words, yourself.

Relationships, relationships, relationships. AndI’m not talking about romantic relationships. I mean, sure, those too –but there are many different kinds of relationships to explore. Friendships, enemy-ships (?), parent relationships, sibling-ships, silentalliances, “annoying friend-of-a-friend”-ships, “my-ex’s-little-sister”-ships, “you’re-the-ruler-of-the-galaxy-and-a-Sith-lord-but-also-my-dad-please-stop-being-evil”-ships… You get the idea. Make them unique, make them strong, and allowthem to evolve over the course of the story.

Diverse morals, interests, and personalities. My first short stories focused on white middle-class people who were culturallyand politically identical. They lived in one house, usually, and watchedthe same TV shows and made the same references. They had the same senseof humor. They rarely disagreed on anything that wasn’t clear-cut(e.g. “You drank the last Pepsi!” “I was thirsty!”). So doyourself a favor and don’t make my mistakes. Give your characters uniqueethics, cultures, backgrounds, personalities, goals, appearances, andconflicts. You’ll be more invested by then, I’m sure.

3. Setting

Lastly, I’d like to add that while your characters and plot could be well-developed, there’s always a chance that they’re placed in the wrong setting. This is why many story ideas can seem great, but won’t get off the ground – maybe they’re set in a pre-made universe like Middle Earth or Panem when they could be their own story. Maybe your tragic romance is set in the middle of apocalyptic war, when instead, it should be drained down to a period piece. Maybe your story is perfect, except you’re writing it too close to home – in the real world, in the present year. There are a million factors to picking the right setting, including:

Applicable history and culture. If you’re writing a story about someone who’s oppressed, or someone who’s a politician, or someone who’s a witch, you’re going to need to back that up with history. Develop a history for the oppression or politics or witchcraft – where these things began, how they developed over time – and a culture for them now – how oppressed people survive and how witches in your world interact, etc.

Imaginative scenery, influenced by the characters. Even if your story takes place in New York City in 2017, allow your characters’ living spaces and workplaces to have a unique touch – colors and quirks that your readers can see in their mind. If even you can’t see what you’re writing, inspiration is going to be difficult to find.

A lifelike background. Just because the plot focuses on your characters does not mean everything going on behind it should be quiet and dead. Anyone who looks out a window in a city building can see other people living – people on the highway will see other cars taking other people other places. Everyone who has a friend will hear a little something about their friend’s siblings, their friend’s friends, their friend’s neighbors. Life and stories exist outside of your plot; make sure you’re not writing about a ship in a bottle.

An aesthetic. That sounds gross and teen-tumblr-y, but let me tell you personally: I don’t feel truly ready to write (and love) my story until I can hear the music for the future movie adaptation – until I can see the kind of clothes the people wear, the games they play, the places they eat and shop. I think of the colors and themes in my scenes (e.g. my first novel was set primarily at night in a grunge/city setting; my current novel is very green and outdoorsy and gives me that feeling of bonfires just after sunset). Once you get that “feeling” from your story, you’ll know it.

Anyway, this reply took me like three days to write because I really wanted to get into it. I hope some of this helps you to fall in love with one of your ideas, so you can get started :) If you have any more questions, be sure to send them in!

(I have 26 questions in the inbox, though, so be patient with me…)

If you need advice on writing, fanfiction, or NaNoWriMo, you should maybe ask me!

#writing #writeblr #writing blog #writing tips #writing advice #inspiration #novels #my post #ask #anon ask

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nellie-elizabeth · 7 years

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Grey's Anatomy: Be Still, My Soul (13x18)

Okay, well, that was sad.

Cons:

My first complaint is that this episode feels a bit out of place in the season. For whatever reason I feel like Grey's has been having trouble following a cogent narrative lately. What's this season supposed to be about? The Minnick vs. Richard feud and all of its many complexities? Or are we supposed to deal with the various romances in their states of flux, like Jackson and April, or Owen and Amelia, or Meredith and Riggs? Suddenly, inserted a bit out of nowhere, Maggie's mother shows up, gets sick, and... spoiler alert... dies. I guess it's a pacing issue for me. Why even add this in at this point? The show is coming back for another season... couldn't we have waited to do this?

For the most part, I didn't mind Maggie in this episode, since it's understandable that a person would become a bit manic when contemplating the death of a parent. But there were still a few moments when I felt like my sympathy for Maggie was straining a bit. She cut through everybody else's advice, and refused to be professional in the slightest about this whole situation. A daughter shouldn't be allowed to treat her mother in the first place. It feels like Maggie would know this, and would register it eventually.

One other small thing - we got hints of the Meredith/Riggs relationship here, but as Meredith says, she needs to be there for Maggie right now. The timing is just bad. I mean, fair enough. It would have felt really out of place to have the two of them going on a date in the middle of all this tragedy. But Maggie's mother's death is now just another stalling tactic to keep the will-they-won't-they vibe going. I feel like I've had enough of that with these two already.

Pros:

Basically, this episode is just the story of Diane's death. We go from Maggie being really optimistic, to things getting worse and worse. Diane is put into a clinical trial at Maggie's insistence, despite the fact that Bailey, Richard, and Jackson all think it's a terrible idea. This trial just makes Diane even sicker. Eventually, Maggie accepts the truth of her mother's impending death, allowing Diane the chance to impart some wisdom to her daughter before she dies. Maggie's father flies in on a helicopter, arranged by Richard, to comfort his daughter.

Even if I have my complaints about the pacing of this plot arc, I still felt that this episode was very effective. I actually got choked up a few times, thanks to Kelly McCreary's acting as Maggie. The first time was when Riggs goes to comfort her, and Maggie has this breakdown about how she could have fixed this situation if only she'd known about it sooner. Riggs offers her a hug, and she just says "thank you" in this really broken tone of voice, as she's finally able to accept some comfort. And then the moment when Maggie's dad shows up, and she just runs up to give him a hug... ouch. That hurt.

The best scene in the episode is the dinner party scene. Diane, having what ended up being her last good day, teaches Maggie how to make her famous lasagna, and then invites her friends over for dinner. We get a scene with Diane, Maggie, Richard, Alex, Arizona, Amelia, and Meredith all sitting around the table. Diane says she wants to pay her respects to Ellis, and Meredith and Richard are forced to confess that they washed her ashes down the drain of the OR. This leads to shocked silence and then a lot of laughter, which I loved. It's such a pure moment. It references something that happened a long time ago. Something that has been unspoken between Richard and Meredith for seasons and seasons.

I don't usually mention the voice-overs on this show. They don't bother me, exactly, but they never seem to add all that much. I actually really liked the one from this episode, though. Meredith talks about how, when her mother was still alive but had very little lucidity left, Meredith found a notebook with the words "Important: tell Meredith not to..." written on them. She never got to know what her mother wanted to tell her not to do. She imagined all sorts of scenarios, from the mundane: not to leave the sprinklers on, to the profound: not to be afraid. It haunts her that she won't ever know what her mom was going to say, but she has found peace in deciding that her mom wants her to be brave. The episode ends with Meredith saying "goodbye, Mom," which was really touching.

All of this contrasts quite nicely with the fact that Maggie does get time with her mom. She gets to hear her mom's advice, from the profound part about not making herself small for anybody, to the icky part about orgasms being a right instead of a gift. Maggie and her mother are on good terms when Diane dies, and although it's a devastating loss for Maggie, you know that she's going to be okay.

There's this brief moment that I want to mention, where Riggs walks in just after Maggie and Meredith have been yelling at each other about Diane's treatment. He looks at Meredith and says "what do you need? What can I do?" It's a small thing, but it emphasized for me that Riggs is actually a really good guy. Somehow, he sneaked up on me. I really like him lately.

It seems we have a respite in the feud between Bailey and Richard as well. The two of them spend the episode at odds, as Bailey keeps trying to be helpful during this difficult time, and Richard keeps pushing her away. In the end, however, Bailey goes to sit by Richard, staunchly insisting on being there to support him. Richard says he doesn't want any lingering problems to stand between them when their time comes. It looks like these two dear friends might be on the mend, something I'm very grateful about. The Minnick thing ended up being a bit of a slough to get through. I want to keep exploring the complexities, but for now I'm glad that there's something of a truce.

That's all I've got. RIP, Diane. She wasn't a character that we spent a ton of time with, but her death was very emotionally affecting. I hope we can delve a bit deeper into Maggie's character as we explore how she deals with this loss.

8.5/10

#review #greys anatomy #greys anatomy review #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy review #grey's #greys

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