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auroraborealyss · 2 years

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𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how morpheus, dream of the endless, the king of dreams, or as you know him: your love, expresses his love

⊹ warnings: some explicit language, but mostly none (however my inputs are slightly out of control in this one—case and point: this note)

⊹ word count: 3107

𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 you are talking to the king of dreams. the Endless who's responsible for seeing what people dream about, what they're scared of, and managing it. this is also the same Endless who thought it would be a fun idea to put his power into three of his favourite things. of course gifts is going to be his main love language

as the lord of dreams, of course his first instinct is to give you whatever you want. to create whatever you wan. he genuinely finds pleasure in creating something himself to give to you

(dare i say a kink)

has definitely fashioned a dream after you. whatever impact you have on morpheus (make him warmer, kinder, see the beauty in humans and their short but well-lived lives, etc...), that dream because that for others

no need to buy new clothes when he can just make you whatever you want

you want the top half of that one dress but the bottom half of another? check your closet.

you want the new book from your favorite author but it doesn’t release for another six months? check your mail.

you want that chocolate that was discontinued? check your cabinets?

even if you’re not in the palace of the dreaming at all times, he insists that you live in one in the waking world. so he buys/inspires an architect to make you your dream apartment/house

if its an apartment and you live by yourself? still gets you a three bedroom for no fucking reason other than he wants you to be comfortable. there used to be a hill that blocked your window? your architect was inspired to demolish it. you want it back? your architect is inspired to build one

if it’s a house, insert lazy river (honestly, if i had the money to waste and spend, i’d get one for myself. alas, the only lazy river i get is when my sink overflows) cue to you casually floating on a donut floatie while reading a book, doing laps around your house over and over again

if you do a form of art, you’ll get a room dedicated to it. a library. a painter’s studio. a photography room. sculpting nook. all of it and more.

there is nothing you could want that he could not give you

and never ever bring up money unless you want a mysterious and rude amount of money deposited into your account to wake up to

he'll also go to great lengths if you need a particular item (exhibit a: him going into the lake to get gifts for the fates. he did all that for his items, so imagine what he'd do for you)

but you want to know what the best gift he gives you?

his coc

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 this man will be begging for you to let him do things for you. in this essay—

(did you see the calliope episode? because that part of episode 1.11 is basically exhibit b for this section)

someone said something mean to you? bam. they will be plagued by nightmares of someone he loves saying those things to him until he dies.

if you’re a better person than him and won’t let him mentally torture people for as long as he likes and thinks they deserve, he’ll omit telling you that he’s torturing people. what you don’t know, won’t hurt, right?

but if you’re flirting with the line that is morally good and you do consent to letting him torture people, he might show you his progress on them and their decaying sanity

“look at what i have done with the love i have for you.”

you still get nightmares when you sleep, not because he wants to hurt you, but because nightmares can actually help you. dreams can inspire us to be better, but so can nightmares. for example, being visited by a nightmare that shows you your fear of failing that test makes you wake up and be motivated to study. what he does do for you is restrain the nightmares? he lets them scare you enough to act as a motivator, but not extremely that you are crippled with fear and anxiety

protective morpheus (currently sobbing)

when you wake and leave the Dreaming, he’s gone but there’s always a cup of coffee with you

acts of service also include making others do acts. rather than get a phone, forces matthew to carry messages between you and him instead.

if you're studying and need information on something, he'll have lucienne prepare a stack of books, and maybe even notes, for you to see to when you return to him in the Dreaming

but the biggest act of service he can do for you is meet your friends

lets you drag him to parties and dinner and brunches

might not socialize (probably will not), and you might find him standing in the corner becoming a shadow, but he won't bother you to leave until you want to

he'll watch you the whole time

takes care of your drinks (and everyone else's)

or, he might follow you around like a shadow. no matter who you talk to, he'll be standing beside you, an arm around your waist

if you're a social butterfly, he admires that about you

if you're more socially introverted, he'll hang out with you in the shadows and leave when you want to, even if you've only been there for five minutes

basically he's a simp—and he might actually proudly admit to being one because who's the one who's dating you in the end?

𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 before his confinement, he wasn’t the most physical person. he wouldn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for you either, though he always secretly liked it. after his imprisonment, he begins to reach for you. not just that, but he begins to crave your touch. touch is how he reminds himself that he is with you, you are with him, and that he is free

in public, it’s limited but clear that you’re together

the last thing he needs is hearing matthews’ teasing squawks in his ear about morpheus being the endless version of a cat

when lucienne catches pda, she’ll at least be respectful and dignified and not comment, though she will be grinning like a cheshire cat and her eyes will keep looking

your arm around his when walking around

his hand on your back

then your lower back

brushing your hair out of your face

sitting close enough for shoulder and legs to touch

standing close

(once again, I bring up the calliope episode—someone stop me from rewatching that over and over again)

did you see how close they were standing? then, when you thought they were close enough, he takes an even closer step? that. THAT.

whatever concept you have of personal space, a personal bubble, this man is inside it. yes, your arms might be linked while walking. but your sides will be pressed together.

and while it might appear that you're the one who links your arms together, he is the one who already has his elbow slightly bent and held out towards you

when you do hold hands, his thumb brushes over your skin absentmindedly, as if feeling your warmth isn’t enough and it’s a constant reminder of him that you’re there

but when you do the same to him, or gods help him, you squeeze it, he, with every fibre of his being, will feel it and nearly stop from the overwhelming feelings that threaten to send him to the ground

so keep it sparingly

...or not

kisses in public..truthfully, he's probably leaning towards no. full on make out sessions? probably not. when you guys are saying goodbye, i’m seeing more of a tight, slightly awkward dip of the head—a farewell not

but, bringing that calliope episode up once again, he won’t don't anything if you were to initiate it.

kiss on the cheek? you better hold that position for a few fucking seconds so you can let that man close his eyes and savour the intimateness that is the feeling of your soft lips against his cold cheek.

why don’t you press your forehead against the side of his head while you’re at it? you know, when you’re done kissing him but before you pull away. think of it as giving him a few seconds to revert back to cold, formal morpheus, dream of the endless, and not your boyfriend/partner

stares at you when you’re not looking

stares at you even when you're looking

stares down at you when you're asleep in his arms

stares up at you when he's down on his knees between your—sorry, wrong fic

imagine those intense eyes just looking at you and not looking away, not ashamed at taking in the beauty that is his partner

he has no qualms when someone is staring at you, because how he can be blame them

but he does have qualms when their gaze turns into a leer. that's when he'll send a couple nightmares their way for a few directions. not to mention, he'll turn his gaze from you to glare them down, and because they have now deprived him from admiring you for the few seconds this last, he blames it on them and gives them a...gift (and a visit to desire if he finds out they had something to do with it)

on the rare occasion that he's actually using his throne and sitting on it rather than dramatically sitting on the steps after he spread his coat out around him, he might let you sit on his lap (nothing more...in public)

not straddling him—god no—but sitting horizontal so your legs are over his lap and your side is against his chest with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist

he does that when he needs to relax

he might whisper his problems and insecurities in your ear

but in private—in private—this man is draped over you

he’ll be like a cat who actually likes his owner and will curl up on you

if you’re cuddling, you’ll lie with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, maybe playing with your hair

he may or may not use a bit of his sand to help you sleep if you’re having troubles entering his realm, but with him drawing random shapes on your skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest, or, if you're really lucky, he's reading aloud in that quiet, low, asmr voice of his, you're gone all too quickly

he always feels a bit stiff when the cuddle session begins, but after you lie down on him long enough, his limbs soften before gripping onto you tighter

but back to that no-such-thing-as-a-personal-bubble with him

walls

bringing into evidence, exhibit c: episode 1.03 with johanna constantine

why does he have to be so physically close with everyone (that isn't me)

likes to walk you backwards until you hit a wall

once you hit that wall, he may or may not take an even closer step

then closer

and even closer, but his arms are still in his pockets because he's cool and edgy like that (and intimidatingly hot)

close enough until he's kissing you

then he'll press against you to be even closer

we can unpack the trauma that being separated from everyone he loves for 100 years and being physically separated by a wall of glass some other day. for now, enjoy his closeness

because basically, close is still too far for him

𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 not 24/7 hanging out, because he is the king of dreams and he has a realm to run, but he does spend his time with you wisely, and just because you're not with him all the time, doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you all the time

his favourite thing is the two of you being in each other’s presence but working on your own things. he appreciates it more than he realizes, and during the times you sit to the side as he makes new dreams, he’ll sometimes put aspects of you in them—intentionally or unintentionally

when you aren't together, he'll still be consumed with thoughts of you

he thinks of you all the time, actually. and because of that, he also talks about you all the time, sometimes subconsciously. and sometimes with no reason at all—or perhaps the only reason he needs to bring you up is because you're you and he's in love with you

"y/n did extremely well on her project, did you hear?" "did you hear about my report on the rogue nightmares, sir?" matthew asks. "she worked very hard on it. i'm proud of her."

thinks about you when doing research in the library with lucienne

wonders about you when going on walks with death

mentions you on dinners with hob

dates with him doesn't have to be the most exciting thrilling thing. in fact, he likes living in domestic bliss with you. doing dishes together. helping you with laundry. watching a movie. people watching. walking your pets.

he usually leaves you alone when you’re awake and uses that time for his duties while you’re busy doing awake things anyway, but when you do fall asleep and are in the dreaming, that’s when the two of you are always together, stuck at the hip (and we're back to the closeness)

takes you out to dinner everyday where he listens to you talk and rant about your day and give you suggestions. he eventually does the same with you, and you become the first person he goes to whenever he needs consultations for his problems

insert jealous hob when he finds him and you eating and morpheus actually talking to you and not just sitting there quietly like with him

but hob gets over it (he doesn’t) and sometimes he’ll join dinner with you guys.

family dinners in his realm with you, hob, death, lucienne, marvin (and only because you invited him), matthew (though morpheus gives him a dog bowl rather than a plate)

during the moments the two of you are together, he treasures and cherishes it

and during the moments when it's just the two of you together, he'll definitely make it worth both your while

drawing it out (if you know what i mean)

and i mean, teasing you for hours and sessions that go until you wake—

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ha no. did you see how emotionally constipated this man was? how he can't tell calliope he still loves her, admit to hob that they're friends, and ask for help from death? words are not the dream king's weapon

the most you get is a term of endearment, like my love or my beloved

always 'mine' though

but this Endless is not about to spout off a pride and prejudice speech at you, so don’t bother waking up early and going for a hike. just sleep and hang out with him in the Dreaming instead in silence

however he does have a beautiful voice—one that as his partner, you are allowed to take advantage of. cue making him read pride and prejudice at you (especially that speech: “you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love…i love…i love you. i never wish to b parted from you from this day on.”) you with his head on your lap, him sitting against a tree with the branches over the both of you for some shade. one hand is holding up the book, the other is absentmindedly twirling your hair. when he finishes the line, he looks down at you, slightly amused but completely enamoured, especially at the giddy expression on your face, and he dips down to kiss you

he tells you that he inspired jane austen to write that speech for you—it’s up to you if you want to believe him or call it bullshit

while he might not be giving love confessions every three seconds, he does give you compliments. and not just when you do something that warrants a compliment, but randomly. because to him, everything you do is majestic and needs to be acknowledged as so

"you're beautiful" when you're in casual clothes, sweats, pyjamas, (or bare)

"what would the world do without you?" when you hold open the door for an elderly couple

and you know he says it against your ear, voice low, his whispered words hot and heavy. maybe even a little raspy—

but just because he might not be the chatterbox on the block, doesn't mean he doesn't want someone talking to him

so don't give him the silent treatment, because when he does, he becomes insufferable to everyone

he's all curt to lucienne. snappy with matthew. demanding with poor marvin. sharp with cain and abel. rude with death. threatening with desire.

no one has nice dreams and nightmares become so much worse

not you, of course. you're still sleeping perfectly fine, but you realize something's wrong when you meet up with your friends and one of them hasn't slept in days while the other hasn't woken up in days

if it's his fault, it might take death for him to realize his mistakes and apologize to you. again, no long speech, just the simple words, "i'm sorry. i was wrong. please forgive me, my love." and considering this man's flaw is his ego, that is more than enough

and if you tell him to say it on his knees he will as he whispers it against your—

but if you're at fault, he won't back down until you apologize. however, he won't leave you alone. he'll always be there in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to apologize. and when you do, he'll purse his lips, nod, and say nothing. but you'll know he's already forgiven you when his eyes soften and he gives you that soft smile that's reserved for so few people

he might not talk to you, but he does want you to talk to him, so ramble away

let's not get started on what he says in private, but i'll tell you this. he isn't so silent anymore, and he will definitely appreciate whatever you tell him in whatever form—and might even strive to create and draw such sounds from you

a plea

a cry

a groan

a whimper

a scream—

in conclusion, this man will love you with every piece of him. (and if i could, i would do the same morpheus please just give me a chance)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 1.06 𝗍𝗈 1.11. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 this 𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽?

𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 14𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

#the sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream imagine #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman fanfiction #dream fanfiction #sandman imagine #sandman headcanons #morpheus headcanons

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alastor-simp · 8 months

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How Do They Apologize To You When They Make You Upset/Mad Part 2/2 - Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle set out to look for you to apologize, asking everyone if they have seen you anywhere, but he had no luck. Riddle spotted Trey at his dorm, tending to the pink flamingos wearing pink as according to the Queen of Hearts rules. Trey noticed Riddle and greeted him. Riddle then asked if he had spotted you anywhere as he had to discuss something with you. Trey then pointed to the garden maze stating he saw you running inside there. Riddle thanked Trey and entered the maze, taking many left and right turns, hoping to find you. Sounds of crying could be heard as Riddle got closer towards the end of the maze. You were sat on the grass, with your legs covering your face, and your arms wrapped around them. A few hedgehogs had surrounded you, sniffing you with their cute noses.

Riddle softly approached you, and sat down next to you, while picking up one hedgehog, and placing it against his chest: "Y/N?", Riddle called out your name. "GO AWAY!", You yelled at Riddle, refusing to look at him. Riddle was conflicted, wanting to hug you, but hesitated since he wasn't use to acts of affection as he had not experience them in his childhood, but he knew he had to apologize to you since he was in the wrong. "Y/N, I came to apologize to you about my actions. I should never had yelled at you about the exam, and instead offer to help you with studying for your other exams. I made a promise to myself and everyone that I would be less strict with the rules and punishments, and I would try to be better, and not a tyrant like I was before, but apparently I haven't changed at all." You had raise your head from your legs, with tears still running down your face, letting out little sniffles as you turned to look at Riddle. "Th-thats not true. You have changed Riddle. I see how you interact with everyone now after your overblot, and you're less strict and more kinder with punishments and not as tough with the rules as before." Riddle gave you a kind smile, as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief, using it to wipe your tears. "Thank you for your kind words Y/N, but that doesn't excuse what I did to you earlier. Do you forgive me?" You gazed at Riddle, who continued to dry your tears with a kind smile. You turned a little bit more towards Riddle and gave him a serious look; "I will forgive you if you do two things for me." Riddle tilted his head; "And they are?", he asked. "Me and you will have study dates whenever an exam is coming up, if you have time that is, since I know you're busy with your tasks as dorm leader." You said as you watched Riddle listen to your words. "That can be arranged. What is the second condition?", Riddle said as he began to softy pet the hedgehog he was holding. Blushing, you held your arms out towards Riddle; "Gimme a hug." Riddles face turned bright pink, not expecting that response from you. You put your arms down and look to the side, embarrassed; "Y-you don't have to do the second one, I know stuff like that makes you uncom-." You were cut off from your sentence, as Riddles arms wrapped around you, as your head was placed against his chest. "Haha, you don't have to ask for something like that. I would have hugged you either way.", Riddle said as you felt his body move from his laughter. You chuckled as you wrapped your arms against Riddle's back and nuzzled closer to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Riddle smiled and continued to hug you as the hedgehogs gathered around the both of you, watching the sweet moment happening in front of them

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sophieinwonderland · 3 months

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pissgenic changed their URL to syscourser-against-misinfo jsyk.

they posted something about DID being trauma based when (shocking ik /s) that's fact and what people are arguing is that one part of the disorder of DID is not exclusive to DID (aka SYSTEMHOOD).

like, yeah, no shit ofc trauma makes you have worse memory and big amnesia barriers that give you the criteria of DID. if you're a system but dont have trauma then you dont have the disorder.

i want to scream atp

Yeah, even as someone who believes DID can exist without trauma, my own opinion is that it's going to be so rare as to be statistically insignificant.

I do think the biggest stickler there is going to be the amnesia criterion as you say. There just isn't any research into systems, including OSDD systems, who don't meet that criterion.

I want to note a few things myself from that post in addition to your points.

Math Stuff

The percentage here is 1% of the general population. If we assume Tiktok as a perfect representative sample of the general population...

There should be 1.35 million Tiktok users with DID from the United States alone. This isn't including OSDD or Partial DID. Nor other forms of plurality.

Between January and March of 2023, 14 billion videos were uploaded.

This means, statistically, 144 million TikTok videos should have been made by DID systems in that three month period.

Putting this into perspective, the number of Tiktok videos made by people with DID (assuming that 1% of Tiktoks are made by people with DID) would be the equivalent to the entire population of Russia. In that three month period

"AFABs"

I don't understand why they pointed out this demographic when that's the demo most likely to have DID.

Different studies show different ratios, but with women (most of whom are AFAB) always being more likely to develop it.

By the way, Tiktok also leans female!

This means that this variable should increase the percentage of TikTokers with DID compared to the general population.

The Big Bang

I'd argue the only big bang is in awareness. If 1% of people have DID, then I think DID systems might be underrepresented.

If there's an increase in the number of people identifying as having DID, but that's still less than the 1% of the population who have it, then maybe that just means more people with the disorder are becoming aware earlier and more willing to talk about it openly.

And if a disproportionate amount of what you see on your home page is system content, as you suggest, this can easily be attributed to the algorithm.

People not in the system community would probably see little to no DID content.

This is really semantics.

John Locke defines a person as "a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider it self as itself, the same thinking thing in different times and places."

I believe the explanation of alters in the above quotes meet that definition of a person under Lockian philosophy.

I also disagree with the idea that viewing alters as people is harmful. Viewing them as separate people can hypothetically foster both increased communication and empathy. (People tend to be kinder to others than they are to themselves.) This could aid in treating down dissociative barriers with the right mindset.

Current treatment does push parts philosophy, but treatment that leans into using person-philosophy to build empathy between members of the system hasn't yet been tested against it.

Personally, I'd love to see a person-based treatment plan devised, and an experiment conducted to determine which was most effective for the most people. As of this moment, any speculation as to which is healthier is based on opinion.

What?

The paper isn't supporting the sociocognitive model???

The sociocognitive model is the opposite of the trauma model, claiming all DID is created through fantasy! And it's clear from the moment this quote starts off calling it the "so-called" sociocognitive model that the paper isn't supporting it.

What I think they're thinking this is about is so-called "Imitated DID", which I've discussed the numerous flaws of extensively and in great detail:

Both of these are deeply flawed constructs. But DO NOT GET THEM CONFUSED!

They are incredibly different beasts!

The former claims DID isn't caused by trauma, while the latter was invented by psychiatrists to protect themselves from lawsuits from misdiagnosed patients.

#syscourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #psychiatry #psychology #psych critical #multiplicity #sysblr

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libraford · 2 years

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Obviously, I have opinions about the word 'queer.' There's historical precedence for the broad usage of this word and there are multiple posts about those contexts.

But that's only some of the reason that I choose this word to describe myself.

You know... growing up in Indiana in the 90s I didn't get exposed to the community. There was some ruckus about it at church a few times, the AIDS epidemic was background noise, and we had one gay bar that got closed down by the time I was old enough to go there.

I was outed against my will when I was seven, in 1993, when it was still very much a social death sentence in the suburban midwest. Twenty-one years before marriage was even halfway legal. And I was called all manner of things, including 'queer.' But the word that hurt the most, really hit me deeply in my soul...

...was 'lesbian.'

Lesbian is the accepted term for a woman who seeks relationships with women (the community's own gatekeeping aside.) It is one of the main letters in the acronym. There is nothing wrong with the word 'lesbian.'

But it was the way that they said it. That fucking lesbian. What are you, a lesbo? Dont sit with her, shes a lesbian.

This was paired with projectile rocks, bottles, some elaborate pranks and some less than elaborate.

This went on for eleven years. In high school our Gay-Straight-Alliance had about five people, and it was made up of two people I was sort of friends with and three people who had been throwing rocks at me. It wasnt a safe place.

And I had yet to kiss a single girl. Whole high school experience, couldnt even think about dating because I was too busy trying to shake that word off of me.

Maybe if someone said it nicely to me just once I wouldnt have felt like I was scraping the label off of me every day.

Get to college, I hear the phrase 'queer studies.' The word felt like pins on the back of my neck because I'd heard that word, too. But today it was a friendly word, a thing you could study. A history, a theory, a community.

I get shy about the word, and then I hear more words. Femme, butch, dyke, bear, bambi, fag, queen... all of these words from friendly mouths with kind eyes and all of them queer.

And then I said it out loud.

"Queer."

Ooohh.. see, it was different when I took it for myself. It wasnt pins anymore, it was a knife that I got to hold. 'Lesbian' still hurt because by the time I found queerness, it was questionable that my gender mattered anymore.

It's such a... broad word. I get to define my own queerness. I'm not a woman who loves women, I'm a person who is in love! And that love is for my girlfriend, that love is for my friends, that love is for myself- god fucking finally that love is for myself, who I hated and hated and hated for almost thirty years because someone when I was seven decided to put me in a fucking box that I didn't belong and I didnt know how to escape because I didnt know that there were other words, kinder words, words like knives in the hand instead of in the heart.

God. Fucking. Damnit. I loved myself for the first time.

And you want me... to go back into that little box that doesnt fit me anymore because it's a 'slur?' And you think I cant reclaim it because it wasnt meant for me when I was literally... called it since I was seven god damned years old?

No word meant to describe my sexuality is without a history of violence. Not a single one. The word 'lesbian' no longer stings, it just isnt wholly correct for me.

So if I can make peace with the word that sent me home crying for eleven years, you can let people reclaim the word 'queer' for themselves.

Miss me with that terf shit.

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imtrashraccoon · 6 months

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Gah! You guys were so awesome on my previous two posts. It was a huge surprise to wake up to this morning! So here is the next one, enjoy!

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day

Day 3: Scarfs

Frisk seemed to really like Doomfanger. As the days went by, you often woke up to find the cat had somehow squished herself between you and Frisk on the couch. Her purring was what woke you up every time as a result of Frisk just drenching her with attention. It was a good thing you weren't allergic to cats but getting all of her fur off your clothes was nigh impossible.

Today had been no different and after breakfast, Frisk had gone hunting for her again. They'd found a piece of string somewhere and got her to chase it across the living room. You couldn't help but chuckle watching their combined antics. Deciding to leave them alone for a bit, you wandered into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Papyrus was washing up the breakfast dishes and by the look of his uniform, he was probably heading out on patrol as soon as he was done. Rather than continue on your initial quest, you hesitated for a moment in the entryway of the kitchen, silently watching him work.

You had slightly mixed feelings about him, well, you felt that way about both brothers actually. While neither brother had been openly hostile towards you or Frisk, they had been rather passive or cold at best. This was pretty normal though, considering how rocky your first meeting had gone and how different their personalities were from your own.

Yet, you couldn't help but wonder if there was something between you and Papyrus. While it was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling since he didn't exactly have conventional facial expressions like humans did, he had been much kinder than you expected. He checked to make sure both you and Frisk were doing alright, as well as acting like a good host, making you feel welcome in his home, even if he was still a bit distant.

Papyrus must've sensed you watching him because he suddenly turned halfway around and spotted you. "Is Everything Alright?" he asked quietly.

You felt your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment and glanced away. "Yeah, we're alright. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you like that..." You rubbed the back of your neck and chewed your lower lip slightly.

"Apology Accepted." Papyrus returned to his current task, apparently unbothered.

You entered the kitchen and got a glass out of the cupboard. Quickly filling it from the tap, you leaned up against the counter and sipped at it.

"I do really like your uniform by the way. It legitimately looks really cool on you, especially your scarf," you commented, focusing on the remaining water in your glass while you spoke.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought Papyrus smiled slightly at that. He didn't say anything for a moment, but you hadn't really been looking for a conversation and had just wanted to clear the air.

"I Made It Myself," he finally said as he finished washing the last pan.

"Really? That's pretty impressive," you responded and glanced over at him again.

Papyrus dried his hands and pulled his long gloves back on. "Well, Mostly By Myself. I Bought The Materials And Then Put It All Together."

"Can I touch it?"

Papyrus studied you before nodding. "Go For It."

Setting your glass on the counter, you moved closer to him and lightly ran your fingers over the tattered edges of the end of his scarf. It was way softer than you'd expected, almost like cotton, but thicker than any similar garments you'd felt before.

"It's sort of like the texture of cotton, but not? What's it made from?" you asked curiously.

Papyrus tilted his skull thoughtfully. "I Am Not Familiar With Cotton, Since We Do Not Get A Lot Of Human Clothing Down Here. We Make Our Own Textiles From Various Materials Like Plant Fibers, Fur, Or Hair. There Is Also Spider Silk, Although It Is Rather Pricey So Most Are Not Able To Afford It."

He chuckled and added, "However, I Am Not Most People And As You Can See, I Spared No Expense. Besides The Obvious Softness, Cloth Made From Spider Silk Is Much More Durable Than Other Materials."

Your eyes widened with surprise and you examined his scarf slightly closer. "No way... That's so cool! I would love to have something made from spider silk, but it just isn't feasible on the surface."

Papyrus smiled at your enthusiasm. "I Imagine It Is Not, Considering There Are Only A Few Spiders That Supply Silk For The Entire Underground."

He left for work not long after the conversation ended, although the it seemed to have put him in a good mood which made you happy. You were genuinely impressed that spider silk could be that soft and a small part of you was really tempted to "temporarily borrow" his scarf at some point to try it out for yourself.

(Edit: Second last one I swear! @scrambledmeggys )

#selfshipufpap #undertale #underfell #underfell papyrus x reader #underfell papyrus #reader #named oc #thwbd #the hand we've been dealt #alternate universe #raccoons drabbles

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ae-azile · 2 months

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Progression

Chapter 18 Preview

“...I let my depression amplify my resentments,” Kim finally says, “It amplified that and my grief over everyone we have lost. It was easier to blame you. For as long as I remember, you controlled…everything. Even though that isn't possible, that's how it seemed. So it was easy to pin how out of control I felt onto you. I'm sorry.”

Going by Pa’s expression, he definitely wasn't expecting an apology. Kim has been expecting one from him for weeks, since Pa claimed to Kinn that he would. It never happened, and it probably would have been a front anyway. But it still annoyed Kim, even though receiving an apology would have meant interacting with Pa even more.

“I accept your apology,” Pa says, his voice a little more subdued, “And I realize that I could have…conducted myself a little differently. I could have been kinder. You…Kim, you push back so hard. Talking to you can be like talking to a brick wall.”

“I know,” Kim says, because he does know that, “But like I said, you have been a lot easier to blame. Taking time off, having support, and being in therapy have helped me see it is a lot more complicated than that and I am trying to work on…breaking down that wall.”

Pa studies him, then nods, “Well, I am glad to hear that. And I am glad you decided to talk to me about all of this.”

“I’m glad I decided to talk to you about this too,” Kim says, then tries to think of a way to begin wrapping up the conversation, “I need…some agency though. Trust. I am in therapy, have a support system, have gained weight back, and am doing better than I was. I have even written a lot of music recently-”

“With Porchay?”

He really wanted to leave Chay out of this.

“He's been really helpful,” Kim says anyway, “We’ve written music together, but sometimes we sit in different rooms, write separately, and come back to see what the other thinks. He's been a really good friend to me.”

“A friend,” Pa says, as if he doesn't quite believe that, “People seem to think you two are more than just friends. Do you have feelings for him?”

Kim saying that he doesn't would be an obvious lie, so he settles on a partial truth.

“We are…feeling things out, but taking it slow and mainly focused on friendship and music,” Kim says, then tries to get back on track, “Anyway, I have been doing a lot better and-”

“I don't think he’s right for you.”

Kim turns his head sharply as his eyes immediately narrow, “Why not?”

There is a glint in Pa’s eye, something calculating. Kim isn't sure what his goal is, but he needs to be on his guard right now.

“He…seems troubled,” Pa says, “I think he probably has a good heart, but he's extremely stubborn. He has neglected re-applying for college multiple times-”

“I got him to apply last month.”

Pa seems intrigued to hear that, but presses on, “He also seems very angry. I can appreciate that he has certain areas of discipline. When his training stats got as high as they did, I was pleasantly surprised. He also saved his brother. He saved you. I recognize his strengths. But he has no ambition-”

“He does too,” Kim grits out.

“He doesn't. He has yet to get back to me about taking a position in this family. An actual position, where his high skill set can be utilized effectively. He can't expect to do as well as he has and just…sit on everything he's learned. He needs to be using those skills to help those who made them possible in the first place.”

Kim feels his blood run cold and tries to keep his breathing steady, “Chay…he…no. Porsche doesn't want him involved in…whatever you're implying.”

“Porsche needs to remember that he has the position he has because of me too,” Pa says, just watching him with this stupid neutral expression, “And while I can respect Kinn stepping back for a while to help you, and Porsche trying to lead in a more compassionate manner than my brother did, we also have an influx of business opportunities that will be coming in. Some are new connections and others are long-standing. But a few in both of those circles can be…challenging. There are also some financial discrepancies we will have to address while they are in. I suspect a few of our international associates are working together, and we will need to narrow down who they are. Chay’s skill set might come in handy. In fact, his skills could be...broadened. As happy as I am for Vegas now that he's living a quieter life, I will say his absence has left a hole when it comes to dealing with conflict.”

Kim wants to scream. He wants to jump out of his seat and stab Pa in the eyes with a butter knife. But that would give Pa a reaction, and Pa is likely fishing for a reaction.

But he also could be telling the truth, weaponizing his honesty like he so frequently does. And that just makes Kim feel sick.

#kimchay #kimchay fic #kimchay fanfic #kinnporsche fanfic #progression spoilers #progression preview

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torturedpoetemotions · 1 year

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This article has been out for over a year, but I just heard of it via a youtube video by Princess Weekes (who I highly recommend you check out if you enjoy media analysis from someone who is clearly well-versed in fandom without feeling the need to establish themselves as some condescending authority studying us like creatures in a zoo, unlike some youtubers who post about fandom).

If you've been on tumblr for as long as I have (10+ years), you probably vividly remember the heyday of yourfaveisproblematic, and how that blog's popularity feels even today like one of the major catalysts for a lot of the purity policing on tumblr. In this article, the author of that blog--who was a teenager when it was active--talks about what motivated them at the time, how they feel about the blog now as an adult, how they see similar impulses being acted out across the internet today, and why they have never taken the blog down.

I highly recommend reading the whole thing, but here are a few key lines that really stuck out to me:

"In the years since, I’ve looked back on my blog with shame and regret — about my pettiness, my motivating rage, my hard-and-fast assumptions that people were either good or bad."

"I just wanted to see someone face consequences; no one who’d hurt me ever had."

"There’s something almost quaint about it all now: teenage me, teaching myself about social justice on Tumblr while also posturing as an authority on that very subject, thinking I was making a difference while engaging in a bit of schadenfreude."

"Looking back, I was more of a cop than a social justice warrior, as people on Tumblr had come to think of me."

These quotes remind me vividly of my own fall down the purity police pipeline, and my struggle to claw my way back out. Looking back, it's so easy to see how my pain and helplessness fueled a ruthlessness in my approach to social justice that was less about actually helping anyone and more about feeling like I wasn't so powerless.

Thinking of the friends I had at the time, many of whom I no longer associate with for related reasons, we were all traumatized or marginalized teenagers and twenty-somethings, newly awakened to the idea that the treatment we'd suffered for most of our lives was not in fact our fault and was due to systemic injustice and culturally accepted cruelty.

But we weren't healed enough, or distanced enough ourselves from the power structures causing or enabling that suffering, to think beyond wanting to flip the hierarchy. In a very real way, we weren't ready for the nuance required to give people grace and the opportunity to learn and grow. Despite having needed, and frankly still needing, those things ourselves.

I think we can learn a lot from Your Fave Is Problematic about the motivations and emotions behind purity culture, black and white thinking, and why neither is actually productive in reducing harm, easing suffering, or creating a kinder and more equitable world. And maybe, if we learn to recognize those impulses in ourselves, we can unpack them before they lead us to cause harm in the name of making ourselves feel less powerless.

#punitive justice is not justice it's revenge and control #purity culture #cancel culture #black and white thinking #evangelical thinking #your fave is problematic #kill the cop in your head #social justice #hellsite lore

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ajokeformur-ray · 2 months

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I love Arthur Fleck so fucking much it actually hurts sometimes. Every time I think I can't love him any more than I already do, I somehow manage to surprise myself.

Maybe I'm overly emotional right now because I'm stressed to the point of having literally no appetite so I haven't eaten all day or because it's 9.54pm and I should be asleep already because I wanna be up at 3am so I can study before work, but I just... Cannot and will not stop thinking about Arthur.

How hard he tries to be good - going to therapy, keeping a journal, taking actual notes on what comedy seems to be based on what makes people laugh the hardest in Pogo's Club, taking his medications, holding down a job, working inhuman hours and then going home to be his mother's carer - and he's so exhausted, you can see it.

But he keeps going. He tries day after day after day, head bowed and an asymptomatic limp and feet dragging and shoulders slumped because he's suffering but he knows what he needs to do and he's doing it as best as he can.

He's not an inherently good person, from the moment the film begins we see that he's already started to descend and he's doomed by the narrative; it was always gonna end the way it does. But right up until absolutely everything is taken away from him, by his hand or not, he is trying. To be kind, to take his medications, to care for Penny, to do what's expected, to do what he thinks is right because he cares so much that it burns him. He cares so much that it factors into his downfall, he's tragic and doomed from the start but like so many of my beloveds, he went down fighting until he couldn't anymore so then he gave in and everything went to shit.

But he TRIED. Every day. Until that choice was taken from him.

There's so much quiet strength and bravery to Arthur and so much to him that he doesn't show to the world, either because he doesn't want to or he can't, but what we do see... I find so, so tragically beautiful.

Arthur is, in so many ways, the reason why I am who I am today. He's the reason I'm doing a bachelor's with honours psychology with counselling degree; he inspired me so much that I realised I want to help people like him and I've spent the last four years working towards my degree, I have two more years to go and then after that, there's gonna be post-graduate certifications and training and work experience to work on etc. but Arthur has always inspired me to keep going, to keep trying, just like he did.

Step step step step...

One day after another.

Arthur inspired me to be kinder, and if I can't manage that, then just be nice or even if that's too much, don't say anything at all, just smile and move on. He inspired me to keep going, to be gentler to myself, to write down my thoughts, to take time at the end of a day which has so much work that I'm swaying on my feet to brush my teeth because I'm so tired, to watch something I love because it'll give me something to look forward to at work or when I'm dragging myself through a 3am study session. My bed is my favourite hello and my hardest goodbye. Arthur keeps me warm inside, he keeps me going, he gives me a reason to smile every day, and I'm so grateful to this character for everything he's taught me.

How can I quit on everything I work so hard at, a thought I'm ashamed to admit I have every day, when someone like Arthur inspired me? If I quit, it'll be a waste of the four years I've spent so hard working for, but also it'll be a waste of the love I have for Arthur, because I pour so much of it into my degree. I can't help Arthur, but I can help people like him. I pour my love for him into my degree, and I try to honour the lessons he taught me with it, too. How can I quit my degree not only so close to the end, but also because to quit would be like giving up on Arthur? I may be exhausted to my bones, we all know it, but like hell would I ever give up on Arthur. And therefore, no giving up on my degree. I'll be grateful I kept going one day. (Right?🥺)

I love Arthur, so much, and I'll carry him with me for the rest of my life. He's always there for me at the end of the day, safe in my phone, and curling up in bed with him cures all ills. I'll never love anyone the way I love Arthur, not just because he changed my life and saved it on the same day (4th October 2019) in so many ways it'd take me another twenty minutes to list them, but also because Arthur Fleck is Arthur Fleck, and that's the biggest reason of all to love him.❤️

I wish I could tell him all of this. I truly do.

#erileck #self-shipping

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pokemoncenter · 1 year

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On Team Plasma

... Truthfully, I did not want to share this in this way. But I feel that given recent events, it is best to be open and upfront. In this post, I will share all I know and all I can remember of Team Plasma, their actions, their methods, their reasons, and most importantly, why there cannot be a new resurgence of Team Plasma- Anyone claiming the name cannot be related to them.

Twelve years ago, I was a member of the original Team Plasma. I was afraid to share this until now, for many reasons, not least of which that I was afraid it would cause people to think less of me. I wished to take this secret to my grave. However, given the recent events of someone claiming to be Team Plasma, and potentially seeking to use its name to cause harm, I felt it best to take this chance to write down and post everything I know.

I do not know if this information will help, but it is my hope that it will either lay fears to rest, or help stop whoever is using Team Plasma's name.

First, I wish to clarify that for all of Team Plasma’s crimes, I was never involved in any ‘liberations’. My role was that, when Pokemon were brought to me, I simply examined them and deemed whether they were safe to return to the wild, or if they needed treatment first. I know that this does not excuse it, but even so…

To start from the beginning… Many have forgotten this now, but Team Plasma was originally nothing like what people think of it now. It originally began as a group devoted to Pokemon welfare. It is known now that it was far more sinister, but in the beginning, it was nothing more than a group which preached that humans should not force Pokemon to conform to their ideals.

Though no one knew much about it at the time, Team Plasma actually began in 1996. Ghetsis founded it as a group promoting Pokemon welfare, while raising a boy, N.

(Though I have no proof, due to their physical similarity and circumstance, I suspect that Ghetsis is N’s father.)

At the time, Team Plasma started small. It had no resources to speak of- In fact, when it began, Team Plasma (then Plasma Circle) had only eight members. Those who would go on to become the Seven Sages, and the Team’s ‘prince’, Lord N.

The growth of the organization was… surprisingly swift. By the time of its fall in 2010, it had surpassed 90,000 members. But before that, when it was just starting out, it owed its growth entirely to Ghetsis. The man was a surprisingly powerful public speaker, and has a strong charisma. Though he was at best someone who could be described as a monster, he had a keen eye for seeing through people, and could work a crowd better than anyone else. Combined with his acting as a simple older man, and even using the young N to boost his public image as someone campaigning for a kinder world, he was quick to gain popularity.

I did not join until 2008, when I had just turned ten years old. Rather than going on a journey as a Trainer, I wanted to instead help Pokemon. I joined Team Plasma, and there, I began to learn medicine and treatment to Pokemon.

What I would like everyone to understand is that ‘liberation’ was not originally considered the universal answer to all Pokemon. It changed. Swiftly, and yet unstoppably.

I am getting ahead of myself.

Before I joined Team Plasma, there were many stories on the news of humans abusing their Pokemon. Many, like myself, had thought this to mean that humans were cruel. That we should try to make the world better for them.

Upon joining, I studied under some of the older members, to learn how to treat Pokemon. Pokemon were brought to us frequently- Some of them liberated, some of them wild who were injured in other ways. We knew, of course, that some of them were liberated, but the important thing was that we believed liberation was only done to people who abused their Pokemon. And when a Pokemon was brought in with bruises from boot prints… We felt justified.

As time went on, however, the number of Pokemon brought to us increased. And it had always been that every liberation had been justified. We had too many Pokemon to care for, and not enough time to look into each Pokemon we received, to ensure the liberation had been justified… but it always had been before, so we simply did not think much of it. We simply assumed that it was similar… That every Pokemon was either justly liberated, or wild and injured by human action.

At the same time, throughout 2009 and 2010, things seemed to… escalate.

We started out thinking that we would only liberate Pokemon that had been abused. And then, somewhere down the line, the language shifted without anyone noticing- That if we liberated a Pokemon, then it must have been being abused. And eventually, this turned into the thought that humans keeping Pokemon at all was abusing them, so all Pokemon should be liberated.

It was impossible to speak out against this. After all, we were all united in our love of Pokemon. Everyone agreed. If you disagreed… it just showed that you were another one of the foolish and cruel humans who were abusing Pokemon. The entire group felt unified, as long as you agreed. And if you stepped out of line, then everyone would turn against you.

We felt unable to trust ourselves, because surely, the organization wouldn’t do anything wrong. But we also could not trust anyone outside of the Team, because so many people were abusing their Pokemon. We eventually could not trust anything except that which our superiors told us. It was horrifying- Without realizing it, you would be swept up by the flow of the crowd, terrified that any disagreement from the norm would be discovered, and you would be cast out.

Most of us did not know anything about the castle, either.

The underground base was a well-known thing, of course. Most of us had been there a few times- I was there to see Lord N’s coronation, as well as to see a few of the larger or more dangerous Pokemon that needed treatment. We had been told it was simply to avoid crowding out room on Pokemon habitats above the ground. None of us knew it could move.

It was when the castle rose up that I fled. The castle appeared, the Legendary Dragons were revived, the Gym Leaders and Elite Four were fighting us. That was when I finally realized just how deep in over my head I truly was. And so I ran. I ran for my life. I did not stop running until I had made it all the way back to Castelia City, and then, I shut myself away for the better part of a year.

… The rest of that story isn’t relevant to Team Plasma, however.

Team Plasma as an organization was managed by the Seven Sages, each with their own role. However, Lord N, as the King of Team Plasma, was truly in charge… or so we thought. We believed that the Seven Sages served Lord N, but in truth, Ghetsis was the true leader, and Lord N nothing more than a figurehead.

Among us in the lower ranks, however, we believed that Lord N was the true power. We saw his ideals, and his beliefs. He was pure-hearted, and truly believed in his mission with his whole heart. Between Lord N’s purity and Ghetsis’ foul charisma, most of us were true believers in the mission. However, not everyone was- At an estimate, I would guess that roughly 80% of Team Plasma’s grunts were loyal to Lord N, and the mission of welfare and happiness for all Pokemon. The remaining 20% were… more loyal to Ghetsis. Rather than wanting to benefit Pokemon, they simply wanted power. I was blind to it at the time, but now it is easy to see in retrospect. And most of the (roughly) one thousand members who committed the “liberations” were part of that second faction.

Rood of the Seven Sages was the one whom I worked under. His group operated mostly for Pokemon welfare- We treated Pokemon, as mentioned, and we sought to make things better for them.

Sometimes, though, Pokemon were brought to us that had their hearts closed by the abuses they received. Even when we treated them, they would not return to the wild. Instead, they chose by their own will to remain with Lord N. I believe they understood him, and his dream. His ideal, after all, was a peaceful, gentle world…

When Team Plasma fell, at that time, when Lord N and Ghetsis were both defeated, Team Plasma disbanded. Those of us who were loyal to Lord N and the ideals of making the world better for Pokemon fled, scattered all over Unova, or were arrested. Most of us would have gone into hiding, or tried to continue to find our own work,elsewhere to continue the dream of helping Pokemon.

Those who remained loyal to Ghetsis and his maniacal plans instead went to ground with him. Without being arrested, they made a resurgence two years later as the second Team Plasma, who had abandoned all pretense of the original’s noble goals. They were nothing more than a military force that wished to conquer the region, if not the world, for Ghetsis’ horrible ambitions.

When Ghetsis was defeated a second time… I don’t know for certain. I’ve heard conflicting reports. That he died at the end of that fight. That he was arrested. Or that by using Kyurem… His heart was destroyed- His body survived, but the man called “Ghetsis” was dead. Regardless, all accounts agree- Ghetsis is no longer a threat. With the remaining Seven Sages arrested, Team Plasma is no longer a threat to anyone. Anyone who seeks to cause trouble using their name has no relation- The power of Team Plasma is all accounted for, and can no longer cause trouble.

Lord N… I do not expect anyone to believe me, or understand. But I can swear that he was not evil. He was manipulated by Ghetsis from his childhood. I have theories, and suspicions, but no proof, so they are not worth posting here. But I can say this:

Once, I had the fortune of seeing his dream. While I was at the underground base, I saw him resting, with a Munna there. In the Munna’s smoke, I saw his dream- A kind, and gentle dream, wishing purely for the happiness of Pokemon.

I hope this was informative. I will do my best to answer any other further questions you have.

#pkmn irl #pokeblogging #unreality

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beepsalotl · 4 months

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crying ugh i love these characters so much and i hate the world so much except i dont and i just wish i could have what these characters had and be in a place that isnt like this one

im gonna cry ugh i dont know why i care so much, theyre not even real. but, like, in my head, they are, yknow? as in, they exist in the space i built for rhem as i read the series and learned about them and their world

fun fact, they were the first two characters whose books (each is the continuation of the story from a different third-person-limited perspective) had their names in the title. black hardcover w green embellishments for moonwatcher, a nightwing. white hardcover w blue for winter, an icewing. books six and seven, respectively. all the symbolism was there before you even open the goddamn books. yin and yang. AND YET.

and also they had two different histories and their tribes had a stale feud for thousands of years bc of some asshole jerkface. moon knew nothing about it bc she was raised in the rainforest practically by herself bc her mom had to sneak away from the shitty volcanic island the nightwings lived on to hide from the historic nightmare jerkface. winter knew all about it (or he THOUGHT he did bc he only knew the icewing side) bc he grew up surrounded by heirarchy and laws and rules and structure. moon didn’t grow up with the resentment at all, which allowed her a chance to see the truth.

she had to be self-sufficient. he had structure to lean on, even if it made him narrow-minded and nearly hard-hearted. he had to break through that, and she learned how to have patience. i feel like moon herself is sorely underdeveloped but i take the hints i can get and i feel that she learned how to forgive him by understanding who he was through his thoughts and, after skyfire, remembering that he was different inside than out and was still struggling.

when they were together, he was trying to be better and learn and he was kinder and softer even though he struggled to always be like that, and she was so patient with him.

heartbroken enraged screaming ensues, really.

like the rey and ben situation at the end of tros.

having him die in the end undermines everything the skywalker legacy stood for and all the development he had and it still breaks my heart bc he proved people can make bad, horrible choices and can survive abuse and break through it and change and be better and be loved. and then he DIED instead of getting his happy ending, which practically is what happened to winter bc the author basically said fuck you go live in the mountains doing work for peace and studying scavengers (which i know is his passion, but….) and your friends will hardly visit or write and they wont tell you the truth about how they defeated the bad guy WITHOUT ANY OF YOUR HELP EVEN THOUGH YOURE MORE THAN CAPABLE and they wont trust you and youll be alone forever.

my list of pairings and characters that i’m unreasonably heartbroken over:

ben and rey, winter and moon, catra and adora, draco and harry, zuko and katara.

catradora got together, ik, but their story still breaks my heart no matter how much hope it also gives me.

anyway, there’s no way for me to end this bc i dont even know what im feeling. it’s been years but winterwatcher’s fate still tears me up inside with the way it dashed my dreams of seeing a character like winter learn to let himself be loved.

i want to learn to let myself be loved, but i dont know how.

these characters are my attempts at finding myself out in the world and seeing if it’s possible. i dont attach my self-worth to them, but it hurts to see them fail to find romantic love where i saw it. idk

— a quick journal entry i wrote in my notes app years ago, as an emotional 16 year old with identity issues and way too much alone time on my hands

#wings of fire #wof #winterwatcher #winterwatcher wof #moonwatcher #moon wof #moon #star wars #reylo #catradora #queer #journal #journal entry #romance #thoughts

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duckprintspress · 4 months

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Meet Aether Beyond the Binary Contributor Scarlett Gale

We are sloooowly creeping up on being 2/3rds funded on the crowdfunding campaign for Aether Beyond the Binary, an anthology of 17 stories by queer authors starring non-binary main characters in aetherpunk settings! It’ll definitely be a relief when we hit that wonderful 100%. Don’t forget to share Aether Beyond the Binary with friends who you think might be interested in the project!

Head on over to our Kickstarter Campaign page NOW to learn waaaay more about this project, and read on to get to know Scarlett Gale, read an interview with her, and check out an excerpt from her contribution!

About Scarlett Gale: Scarlett Gale is the author of His Secret Illuminations and His Sacred Incantations. Long ago, under another name, she was the co-author of Needles and Artifice (Cooperative Press; 2012), featuring a rollicking romantic steampunk adventure novella and associated knitting patterns, of which she also designed several. She writes and produces fringe theatre plays based on B-movies, such as Bodacious Barbarian Babes vs. The Indigo Empress and Showgirls of Beast Island. She is a co-producer of the Alison-Bechdel-approved Bechdel Test Burlesque, which in 2017 was included in the Women and Gender Studies curriculum at the University of Oregon. She lives in Seattle with her wife where she gardens, knits, reads, and drinks warm beverages. Unsurprisingly, she also has cats.

Links: Personal Website | Tumblr | Bluesky

This is Scarlett’s second time contributing to a Duck Prints Press anthology. A short story by her was also included in our debut anthology Add Magic to Taste. Learn more about Scarlett’s other published works.

An Interview with Scarlett Gale

What motivates you to create?

Spite and love in equal measure.

What are your goals as a creator?

To make the world a kinder, hornier place one story at a time.

Are you a pantser, a planner, or a planster? What’s your process look like?

I suppose Planster is the best description, though I think that makes me sound more like someone who has a lot of plants (she says, sitting next to a glass cabinet full of houseplants). For my longer works I usually start with a vibe and a general idea of the arc and write with no real outline until I’m about two-thirds through the story, at which point I will sit down and roughly bullet point the scenes I still want to write, arrange them into story order, and use that as a reference to finish the piece. Why when I’m two-thirds through? Because at that point I’ve had enough Shower Ideas that if I don’t document them somewhere, I risk forgetting to put them in, and my Shower Ideas are the most inspired parts of my writing!

What do you consider to be your strengths as a creator?

Wordcount. Good god, wordcount. I am the rare writer who can just sit down at a computer and bang out several hundred words in twenty minutes without second-guessing myself or worrying if the words are good enough. This makes me simultaneously the best and worst person to have in your writering group.

What do you consider to be your weaknesses as a creator?

Also wordcount. I think every story I’ve submitted to the Press has started out two thousand words above the limit, which means we have to do sooooo much editing. Goodbye, my beautiful words!

Do you like having background noise when you create? What do you listen to? Does it vary depending on the project, and if so, how?

Yes! It makes writing feel less lonely, since I do a lot of it only accompanied by my cats. I listen to music at a medium to low volume that either has no lyrics, or lyrics in a language I don’t speak so I don’t get distracted by the words. I actually bought the cheapest Pandora subscription specifically for writing music. My favorite stations are:

Lofi Chill

Bonobo*

Mikel & Gamechops

Radio Asian Kung-Fu Generation (a recent addition)

*Fun story about the group Bonobo: The morning after our wedding, my whole family crowded into our tiny house to watch us open our wedding gifts. I had given my siblings control over distributing the drink tickets, which meant that after they handed them out to the guests, they used the remaining tickets to get SPECTACULARLY plastered, and were thus deeply hungover. My wife made loads of coffee while everyone grazed on the catering leftovers, and in the interest of creating a calming atmosphere, we put on a Bonobo album. Everyone liked the music, to the point that they repeatedly asked the name of the group, which meant my wife and I kept repeating, with increasing exasperation, “BONOBO!! LIKE THE MONKEY!!!!” It is my primary memory of that morning.

What are your favorite snacks and/or drinks to consume while creating?

Remember to eat? While I’m writing?? You think I’m sensible or something?! (I enjoy a cup of tea, either green, decaf black, or herbal, depending on the time of day.)

Tell us about your pet(s).

We currently have three cats: CeeCee, Matcha, and Gyoza. CeeCee (the Lady Catherine the Purr) is our most recent addition from March of 2023. She’s a fifteen year old scrungly tiny black goblin who knows exactly what she wants out of life: Food, sippies from the bathroom sink, belly rubs, and shoulder rides. If we are not providing any of these at the speed she would prefer, she screams at us. She’s PERFECT.

Matcha is an eight-pound calico brat with the sass of at least four cats crammed into her tiny body. Her favorite things in life are causing trouble and rubbing her face on my hands when I’m trying to write.

Gyoza is a sixteen pound gray tabby with the physical properties of a water balloon full of pudding. He loves to try to “play” with Matcha, which results in her screaming like she’s being murdered. His other favorite thing to do is play in the toilet and then come step on us with his wet toilet feet, because he’s the worst.

Please enjoy this festive photo of the three of them that I had to photoshop from three individual photos, since all of them hate each other.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

Always take the opportunity to use the restroom when it’s available to you. Solid life advice applicable to any situation, really!

What’s the worst advice you’ve ever received?

I had a Jimmy John’s delivery guy tell me I should lie to people and say my fire-engine-red hair was natural, does that count? (I stared him down blankly long enough that he spontaneously apologized.)

If you could give one piece of advice to a new creator who came to you for help, what would that advice be?

Just write it. You can fix the words once they’re on the page, but excessive planning and worrying and worldbuilding won’t help you if you don’t write the words. Just write it! Let it be bad! Fix it in post! Write the damn thing!!!

What’s one thing (style, genre, etc.) that you think you’ll never do, and why not?

Write the type of fantasy book that has a map in the front and a glossary of terms, only because I personally am not motivated to do that level of worldbuilding. I appreciate the people who want to do that, but I guarantee that as a reader I will skip the map and then probably the glossary in order to get to the STORY, which tells you where my priorities lie.

Scarlett’s Contribution to Aether Beyond The Binary

Title: N(ae)ghbours

Tags: attraction at first sight, bisexual, city mouse and country mouse, competence kink, didn’t know they were dating, f/nb, farmer, first kiss, genderfluid, getting together, humor, idiots to lovers, meet cute, misgendering (unintentional), omg they were neighbors, panic attacks (mentions of), present tense, self-esteem issues, third person limited pov

Excerpt:

“But you were going to tell me what you’re researching?”

Ah. Well. “This might be boring and hard to explain.”

Rin waves a fork at the breakfast spread between them. “You have at least five pancakes’ worth of time. Hit me.”

Dahlia takes a steadying sip of tea. She explains about greenhouses and other protected growing areas for delicate crops, and the advantages and disadvantages of using them on a large scale. She explains that her family has a small greenhouse for starts, but most of their land is open-air, which means they get the advantages that come with that, but also the issues—they’re at the mercy of the weather, insects, birds…

Or they would be if not for the aether tunnel.

“It’s like a hoop house,” Dahlia explains, pulling up a photo of a hoop house on her phone to show Rin. “Normally, you cover the frame with mesh, or clear bio-plastic if you’re trying to trap the heat and control the amount of water it gets, but…”

“That’d rip right off in a big storm, right? And how do you get in there when you need to do plant stuff?”

(don't forget to check out the campaign, now that you've read to the end!)

#duck prints press #aether beyond the binary #scarlett gale #aetherpunk #crowdfunding #queer crowdfunding #anthology #book crowdfunding #queer book

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wishful-seeker · 6 months

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I will soon be the only person in my close family to not finish college because illness forced me to leave, and thats a strange feeling. Im not sure how i feel about it.

I feel a little alienated because of it, but even though i LOVE learning and i enjoyed college classes, i didn't enjoy college itself.

Even in high school i was the "sick kid" and missed a year there, so feeling like i don't belong isn't new.

But i really thought I'd meet people like me in college, but all i found was snobby rich kids that ignored my existence. I genuinely tried making friends but college students are not my type of people.

I don't know if this is because i wore braces on my knees, or because they could tell i was poor, not sure but college kids always gave me bad vibes.

Im sad that the things im truly passionate about isn't taught in college, and i miss the classes i did have, but i don't think a fancy college was ever my scene. Maybe i would've fit better at a community college. But im probably too disabled to ever find out.

Idk i guess it feels strange because i was heavily encouraged to go to college, and now i can't even if i wanted to. Its weird that i could probably guess the view outsiders have of my life, how they'd feel bad for me, or laugh at what I've become.

And i think of that a lot: how outsiders may view my life. "Oh so sad, look how far she's fallen." Ya know

But im happy

I LIKE my life, sure i got all As and Bs in college, sure i won a writing contest in my class, and yes i also completed a triathlon before all this. So many medals saying "look how hard i worked, look what i accomplished" but when i was accomplishing those trival things i was really lost and alone on the inside, those medals were to convince myself i was better than the years before this one, a lie that i was becoming my best self.

But now all that shit is gone, dead, useless to me. Eventually i was left alone, with NO distractions, only my mind and a body i couldn't move in. Only a bed, in a room, no where else to go. Everything i thought that mattered, everything i connected my worth with, suddenly didn't mean anything anymore, because all that was was my chronic pain, and what i did with it. All that mattered now was fighting for a better life, for freedom from a bed, for freedom within my head.

I had to rebuild myself from nothing, i had to literally rewire my brain. I studied neuroplasticity and my only goal was to train my brain to be able to live with this pain. And i had to change a LOT. I can tell you my mind and the internal dialog in my head is completely different from 2 years ago, and also much a much kinder, and safer place.

So no, i won't finish college, im gonna be poor forever, i wont work, but i am much happier.

I finally feel like the best version of myself. The challenges i face in my life are no longer overwhelming, but a cycle ive grown rather fond of. Im so secure with myself that i can say "this next hardship will be good for me." And i don't think many people have the privilege of being that optimistic when faced with stressful situations.

It would have taken me my whole life to get to this point if i was still focusing on things like grades.

Im happy, and im more proud of myself than when i beat a triathlon, or won art contests.

#yes im romanticizing my pain because its how i cope #im not diminishing it #im not trying to be a “good cripple”#im just being honest #cripple punk #CRPS #disability #chronic illness

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rockingtheorange · 3 months

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Get to know me!

Last song: Enemigos - Sebastian Llosa 🎶

Last film: Ron's gone wrong🤖😆

Currently reading: Wolfs-kinder by Vera Buck (a Christmas present)

Currently watching: Last Twilight (GMMTV series) / Percy Jackson (Disney series)

Currently consuming: pasta :)

Currently craving: corn cocktails I had in Mexico😣

Were you named after anyone?

As far as I know no, in Italian my name means happiness/joy. But the name I chose for myself is named after the ocean ☺ (Talay means ocean/sea in Thai)

When was the last time you cried?

I've been crying at night, before sleeping. I spent a month with my girlfriend and going back to long distance on the other side of the planet hit me harder than a truck🧸

Do you have kids?

Nope, and I don't plan on having them. I'm already struggling managing myself lol

What sports do you play/have you played?

Many when I was little: swimming, tennis, basketball... my parents wanted their children to try many things but I've always been artisty and I stuck to ballet for 5 years, then paused it for a few and came back for another 2/3 years. Then I went for theater ☺🤸

Do you use sarcasm?

Me? No. I don't use sarcasm, I AM sarcasm. But depends on the language I'm speaking honestly (different language - different personality is a real thing lol)

What's the first thing people notice about you?

I've absolutely no idea, but for some reason they always get my vibe wrong. People think I'm cold and quiet but if they earn my trust, I'm very warm and love physical touch

What's your eye color?

Brownish? Idk people have told me they look orange at times (???) or green under direct sunlight 😃 Let's say a light brown? copper maybe???🤭

Scary movies or happy endings?

I like both. Depends on my mood. (One of my fav series is scary with sad ending and all my fav movies are happy endings)

Any talents?

Some would say many, others would say none. I'd say I try my best in everything I do and talent is often a misused concept that only appreciates something you were born with instead of what you've worked hard on (even worse if people call talent the skill you've spend time and tears on)

Where were you born?

Milan 🙂 (fun fact I was kinda ☠ing and doctors had to remove my right kidney cause I had a tumor. All fine ever since tho☺👍)

What are your hobbies?

Many, I mostly make my hobbies collide with my growth in knowledge and working opportunities. Everything from writing, watching videos, playing videogames, listening to music, spending time in nature...

Do you have any pets?

2 meows 🐱🐱

How tall are you?

Shmall! I'm always the smallest one🥲 1,60 m 🤏

Favorite subject in school?

Def art class when I was little, then maybe math cause it has always been very easy for me. (But I used to love a subject depending on the topic and my own willingness to study it lol)

Dream job?

I'm trying to get a job as a 3D animator but it's hard. I just want to work in the cinema industry honestly 🥺 maybe travel from time to time...

A bit late but thank you @meraki-yao for the tag, you're always lovely ☺❤

Tagging someone that I hope hasn't done it yet: @manic-pixie-fever-dream @mylucayathoughts @couldvebeenus @onpurposeilovehimonpurpose

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harryforvogue · 2 months

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Part Two | Chapter Twelve: Kiss Me Like You Want To Be Loved

Bellefonte, Pennsylvania

July 1919

In the span of just one week at Aunt Geraldine's home, we've caused quite the ruckus.

Still she shows remorse when we pack the taxi and glance at the massive house once more before turning to hug each person. The train we've decided to catch is an early morning one, too early for little Grace to stand outside fully awake, knuckling her eyes as she waits for her turn to be hugged. I hug her tightly and tell her I'll see her soon and we can read all the books we can. She smiles at the idea, and Geraldine sends her back inside to go back to sleep. I nod appreciatively at Geraldine and let myself be engulfed in a hug.

During this week Geraldine has become a friend to me, despite her lack of relation to me. Her hug for Harry is shorter and more cautious, but loving nonetheless.

Regardless of the pleasantries, I feel it's my duty to step forward and apologize for the mess Harry and I have made during our stay.

"If we've disrupted you in any way," I insist, holding Jared's hands, speaking firmly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't have predicted any of it."

Jared gives me a nonchalant shrug and tells me that it's the price of marriage, but Geraldine is kinder yet more strict when she speaks to me, holding my elbow tightly and making sure I hear every syllable of her words.

"Don't you ever apologize for a man," she tells me lowly, furrowing her brows. "You are too good for him."

I shake my head and nervously check over my shoulder to see if Harry's listening or within earshot. "I rather think we're both pathetic enough for each other."

Geraldine smiles, holding a hand to my cheek. The gesture suddenly, and quite violently, reminds me of my mother, who used to hold my face like this when I'd be crying to wipe the moisture immediately after it fell from my eyes. She never tolerated weakness in the house, though on some events, weakness was the only friend I had.

"You are too good for him," Geraldine repeats, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. "Be safe. Let us know you've arrived in Newport safely."

We've decided Newport is the next destination. Harry's decided it. He's told me that men in his company have raved about how beautiful of a place it is and how he must go to see it himself. It's on the East Coast and only a day's ride by train.

"I will," I promise, waving goodbye to them as I walk to the car. I sit beside Harry and wait for the rumble of the car against the pavement to remind me how far I'll be from the family soon.

Harry notices a few minutes later, cautiously peering at me. His curls are tucked behind his ears, and the way he ducks his head allows a strand to fall into his eyes. He messily pushes it away when he glances at me, waiting a moment to gauge my expression before speaking. This is progress, I think, though it's not anything more than an inch in the direction of our goal.

"Are you alright?" he asks finally.

I crack the window open a bit and nod, glancing out. "I'm going to miss them."

"Oh," Harry says, agreeing. "Me too. They're a lovely family. I do hope to visit them again soon before winter."

"Geraldine reminds me of my mother."

"Do you miss your mother?"

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. "A lot." I look back at him and study his now distant eyes. "Don't you miss yours?"

"Of course I do." He stares out the window behind me, his eyes oddly matching the color of the sky. "I miss her all the time."

"She should visit us."

His gaze flickers to mine as he raises a brow. "I couldn't convince her to leave London. I doubt she'd want to be here. You know how she is."

"Still," I say. "It's a thought."

"Maybe soon." He cracks his knuckles. "I can't wait to sleep on the train."

"You didn't sleep well?"

"No," he admits, rubbing his eyes. "Barely slept. I've got a migraine."

I turn my body towards him. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He pulls his palms away from his face and sends me a wry smile. "Yes, I did have a nightmare."

"Will you tell me about it?"

Uncertainty touches his eyes as he focuses back on the scenery outside the window as we just pass over the recent town and enter a larger field, the breeze from the cracked window blowing his hair around.

After a tense silence and inner battle, he nods once. "Alright. I'll tell you on the train." He seems to regret the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. "But you won't do anything except stay quiet and listen. I don't want commentary."

I cross my arms. "I want to comment."

"Well, I won't let you."

"Is it about France?"

"Yes."

"How about this: for every bad memory you tell me of France, I'll tell you a good one."

"Annaliese," he says dryly, "I mean no offense, but there is nothing you can say that will make me think France is a nice place. I appreciate the thought, but it's going to be useless."

I mull this over in my head, eventually agreeing to it. "You're right. I want you to be comfortable."

His glassy eyes soften before they glance back out his own window. This is progress, I think happily. The kind of progress we need.

***

"Who will we be staying with?" I ask Harry as I sit in my seat on the train, taking my hat off.

Harry says, "We're staying at a hotel. I do know some people in Newport, but I doubt I'll go to see them. It's best if you sleep now."

"Are they the friends from the army?"

Harry nods. "Though, I wouldn't call them my friends. Friends stay in touch and none of us have decided to do that."

I stretch my legs the best I can, slumping against my seat. The thought of his promise brightens me, and I eagerly turn to face him. "Okay well, start talking, Styles. Tell me what your dream was about."

Harry, alarmed at my eagerness, raises his brows. "Annaliese, it's not one of those cute bizarre dreams."

"I'm not excited to hear your misery, Harry," I assured him gently. "I'm excited to hear you talk. I want to know."

A part of this desire comes from wanting to fill in the blanks of what happened during the time I was absent from his life. I want to know it all: his early mornings, his training, how he felt on the trains, how he felt having a dry laugh with his company. I want to know all the happiness but also the pain. If the pain outweighs the happiness, I will be more than willing to oblige and listen to his struggles.

Harry seems conflicted, unsure where to start, but finally, he gathers his thoughts and begins in a deep voice just as the doors of the train cars close and it jerks to a start. I listen intently.

"I can't sleep on the mattress very well," Harry admits, looking out the window, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm too used to the hard ground of the trenches or the cots in the infirmary. The night you accidentally came to my room was the last time I tried to sleep on the bed. It's quite uncomfortable for me. I laid down on the floor with my blanket over me, just thinking for a bit." Harry's ears go pink. "I have to do that before I sleep, to tire my brain out. If not, my body will be tired, but not my mind, and it's my mind that puts me to sleep, isn't it?

"I had settled in and shut my eyes after thinking a bit. Most of my dreams occur after I've already woken up through the night, but this time I had the dream as soon as I drifted off. It was quite bearable at first, just memories of France and my company, but it soon became violent."

He pauses and I think he's finished, but then he picks back up.

"I didn't think you could hear things in your dream. But it's the most frightening part, I think. Hearing things you can't see, wondering how your brain is able to come up and mimic those sounds when you've buried them in your everyday life. I don't hear those noises anymore, but for some reason, my brain likes to remind me of them, to make sure I don't forget them.

"I heard," he says, frowning, "the shells." He pauses once more, clearly trying to filter as best as he can. "See, the thing with shells," he continues, glancing at me, "is that you can tell what kind they are and how close they are as you spend more time at the Front. And these particular ones in my dream, they were both loud and shrill."

He doesn't need to fill me in for me to figure out what that means.

He opens his mouth and then closes it. "That's it. That's my dream. I was at the Front and I heard shells, increasing in both volume and quantity until I was suddenly awake," he concludes quickly.

That isn't the full story, but I remain patient. I wait a minute before speaking. "Did you get hurt?"

Harry raises his eyebrows. "In my dream or during the war?"

"During the war," I clarify. "You mentioned the cots in the infirmary."

"Oh. Well, yes. I did, a few times, but it was nothing more than a few grazes." His expression turns sour. "I did, however, have an unfortunate incident with a broken shrapnel."

"Will you tell me about it?" My eyes wander to the cut that runs through his eyebrow, knowing the scar was the result of that particular incident.

He glances down at me for seemingly eternity, before shaking his head. "Not today." He looks ashamed.

My heart aches with love for him and the steps he's taking. He's wiping his palms anxiously on his trousers, fingers trembling. Impulsively, I reach over and touch his hand in an attempt to stop the quivers. He freezes. I hold my breath as I pick up his hand and turn it over, palm facing upwards. I study the long digits of his hands, slowly tracing the lines separating his fingers into thirds.

I pick up his hand again and put it in my lap, encasing it with both of my hands.

His green eyes are stormy, his tense body conflicted. I trace the veins on his wrist as I wait for him to either relax or pull away. His eyes burn into mine, searching through them for some answer that I hope I'm able to provide him.

When he makes no move, simply watching me, I push myself closer to him, begging him in my head to not move away. My shoulder brushes against his, then my ankle, then my knee, and finally my thigh. The warmth of his body pressed to mine makes me smile reassuringly at him, reminding him that it's alright with my expression. He doesn't move or shift or even breathe, still as if he's being hunted, eyes firmly glued to mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper sincerely. "I wish I could fix it all for you, my love."

I crane my neck slowly and focus on his mouth. His pink, wide mouth that's always thinned or in a firm line. Keeping a tight grip on his hand to ground him, I carefully look at his dark eyes with a look that reads "Stop me now" before I press my lips to his, watching his eyes flutter shut just in time.

To say I've missed his kisses is a grave understatement. It's a brief, chaste kiss, but it's not one sided. I've shared enough kisses with Harry to know that. Harry tilts his head and kisses me back slowly, his pulse quickening under my fingertips. Slowly, I pull back and quickly check his reaction. His eyes open and he stares at me for a minute, jaw tight with either regret or interest.

I never find out which one it is as the train conductor comes by to ask for tickets. Harry shows him both of ours. He doesn't say anything, but he leaves his hand in my grasp, giving my fingers the softest squeeze. His frame is more relaxed, breathing heavy, but that's all.

The storm passes and he finally glances at me and whispers, "You should get some sleep. We've got a long ride."

I nod, feeling like a teenager who has just got her first kiss with her high school crush. Oddly enough, the fluttering in my stomach feels a lot like how it did during my first kiss with Harry, on that hot summer evening in London, exactly 3 years ago.

***

When I wake up, Harry's still gazing out the window. He's called for lunch and the smell wakes me like an animal out of hibernation. Harry gives me a soft smile and lets my hand slip from his when I begin eating.

When talking with him, I must listen closely to his words. I lean in, listening to him intently, watching his every movement on his face to grab onto his softening eyes -- a clue I've read to look into when inspecting a man's face, particularly a man you're in love with -- and his fluctuating voice as it increases when talking about something exciting and decreasing when making observations of the city we're passing.

Unhappy with the lack of findings, I sit back in my seat across from him and just listen instead, glancing out the window as he points out what exactly we are passing. Currently still in northern Pennsylvania, it's all just open fields. It's quite a romantic scene, I think to myself, the skies littered with a few white clouds acting as chaperones over the cattle and horses that graze in the fields. Occasionally, we'll see farmers herded animals, but for the most part, it's free will. I find myself longing to be in those fields, frolicking with my husband beside me, asking me not to go too far or he'll miss me.

The husband in question sits in front of me, talking about labor unions in Pennsylvania. When I glance back at him, his eyes are wide with excitement over his own findings in the library and book ship in Bellefonte. I listen halfheartedly for a moment before returning my full attention to his voice, finding serenity in the low rumbling tone rather than the words they're making. His eyelashes flutter when the sun hits his eyes squarely, his green eyes becoming paler like a cat's eyes. Unlike a cat's pupil, however, he doesn't recoil and become slits. They stay wide and excited as he continues speaking, incorporating his hands in his speech to aid him as well.

When he finishes his speech, glancing at me a bit shyly, the tips of his ears are pink, and I highly doubt it's due to the heat from the sun and lack of curtains on the window.

"That's all," he concludes with a slight cough. "That's all there is until 1917. Not quite sure what happened with the men all away when American troops began migrating to the east for the war. I don't think there would be strikes with no men."

I put my chin in my palm and tilt my head. "Can't women go on strike?"

He raises his eyebrows, most likely surprised I was even listening. "Well, yes," he says, quite mildly, "but there isn't a reason to go on strike in dire situations. Ends must be met, right? Despite living conditions. If the price of living is high, though it doesn't seem like it was during the war in America particularly, it doesn't correlate with the wage of the workers. That is," he continues, "the reason for most strikes. The lack of good pay. But at this point, desperate times called for desperate measures. The American government, like the British government, if you remember, became strictly war manufacturers. Someone has to do the work, regardless of how much they're getting paid."

"What if," I say, "the woman refused to work?"

"That's entirely possible and completely up to the woman. If she were single during the war, I doubt her working a man's job bothered her. Independent women, I find, are far more ambitious than married men," he adds.

"Really? You believe that?"

"Yes. I see that dynamic between us."

"Between us?" I hum, running a knuckle over my lips to hide a smile. "You think I'm more ambitious than you?"

"Yes," he answers confidently. "Do you disagree?"

"Not exactly. I'd argue we're both quite ambitious. In different ways. For example, while I may be adamant about my work and creating a living for us, you're more ambitious about traveling and researching history."

"Traveling," he says with a twitch of his lips, "isn't ambitious."

"I'd argue that it is."

"Why?"

"It takes guts to go to a foreign country and expect to just blend in."

He looks thoughtfully out the window. "Right, but it wasn't just me who blended it. I believe it was harder for you to settle in, with English being your second language and the Americans so... American."

"It was your idea to come here."

"It was yours. I merely agreed. And you've been here longer than me."

"You've been in a more foreign country for longer than me. While France is my home country, it's unknown territory for you."

"Was," he interjects, glancing back at him. "It was unknown territory."

Leveling with him, I reply, "It still is."

He shakes his head slightly and links his fingers together, rubbing over his silver wedding band. "I think your definition of France and mine are wildly different, Annaliese."

This is true, but a part of me strives to continue educating him in the country that I've loved even during the years I've been away from it, to remind him what exactly beauty is. The appeal of the country shouldn't have been the proximity to the enemy on the eastern front, but the people, the language, the arts, and the communities built into the villages for many generations. It is the true meaning of what it means to be French, yet when he closes his eyes, he imagines machine guns, artillery, and scarlet blood.

"I understand," he continues, unbuttoning his jacket and removing it swiftly from his torso, "that we're quite different in our definitions, however, I can assure you that I have no plans on changing my mind about it." He proceeds to undo his collar and open it, revealing a flushed pink color, his chest rising and falling a little easier. He rests his head back and sighs deeply. "And I have no intention of you converting to my side."

"Well that's a relief."

He smiles a bit, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, well, you stay in your area, and I'll stay in mine."

"Because if you tell me about your experiences in France, I will not think of France as just yards and yards of trenches. I will still see it as the beautiful country I know it as because I know that the war is over and well in the past--"

"Miles," he softly interjects. "Miles and miles of trenches."

I pause, quickly assessing the atmosphere between us. His eyes have become a little glassy and unfocused as I continue to speak, so I catch my breath and stop talking.

"Nothing will change your mind," he says finally, resting his temple on the window, "and nothing will change mine. Seems like we're in agreement." The light streaming past the glass creates a small rainbow against the bridge of his nose.

Dropping the subject, I nod. "Very well. Nobody's won this round."

"Round?" he says, distracted."Are you keeping score?"

"I'll be damned if I let you win."

"I've already let you win a few times."

"Stop letting me. I want to win fair and square. I'd be more than happy to admit when I'm wrong and apologize when needed."

He doesn't reply, closing his eyes instead, offering me nothing more than an amused expression and a shake of his head.

A few moments pass in silence until he opens his eyes again and watches me. I feel his gaze on me, and to give him peace, I don't startle him by glancing back immediately. "Hey," he finally says softly. He bumps his knee against mine gently. "I don't want you to ever apologize to me. Please don't again."

I bump his knee back. "I don't like when you apologize either."

"Then let's make a deal. Nobody apologizes."

I stick my hand out and look him in the eyes. "Sounds good."

He hesitates for a moment, but finally places his hand in mine, giving it a firm shake. When he goes back to sleep, I hold that hand in my lap, running my thumb over my palm. I watch him sleep as his protector.

***

Summer is, arguably, the best season. Spring, while a predecessor of summer, often has cold fronts and the rain is icy, dark clouds hovering over our heads. Rather less in New York, but the gloomy weather stays as if we were still in London, now just surrounded by skyscrapers instead of fancy buildings with ancient architecture. London has, to me, quite a Gothic touch, and perhaps the gloominess of the weather fits its personality, however, spring in the East Coast is vastly different, thankfully. As we still find ourselves in the East Coast, the state we are in now, traveling fast towards our destination has no change. I'm unsure where exactly we are, I think, looking out the window, finding nothing more than a thick post rain fog that blocks my immediate view.

Summer brings rain, and sometimes it is frigid and cold, but when you're inside, staring at the soft rain dropping onto the windows and eventually disappearing into the atmosphere, you can't help but grow an appreciation for it. The air is humid and thick, barely breathable, and the rain a cold contrast against the skin to ease the tightness caused from the lack of air. The rain holds oxygen and solace.

Harry's slept through the rain, but he's rising now, his eyebrows pinched together with discomfort. Upon opening his eyes, he sees me and sits up a little straighter, rolling his tight neck.

"It rained?" he murmurs, knuckling an eye. My heart swells with love, wanting nothing more but to cradle him to my chest and tell him that yes, it rained, but I didn't let him get wet.

"Yes," I reply instead, smiling. "It looks lovely, doesn't it?"

Harry's unfocused eyes drowsily glance at the window. "I can't see anything."

"That's the best part."

He slants me a look and hums.

"I think we're almost here. I overhead the conductor a few minutes ago. I wish we could get something to eat," I say.

He's still rubbing his eyes. "I'm starving."

"What's the plan for Newport, then?"

"Still the same." He stands up and stretches his long legs, suddenly aware of the cold, bending down to pick up his jacket and rest it on his shoulders for warmth. "I'm going to sleep so well tonight."

Taking the topic of conversation to be a little cheeky, I say, "Sure! I'll keep you warm."

He sits down again and glances out the window, fog still blocking his view. "You're quite funny."

"Fine, I'll take the floor then."

He ignores me, running his finger over the foggy glass. "We can get two rooms."

"I will hurt you if you pay for separate rooms just to sleep, Harry," I say seriously. "Hey." I deliver a small kick to his ankle. "Stop thinking about it."

To my surprise, a slight smile plays on his lips, a mild one. "I'm kidding."

"I don't think you are," I reply suspiciously.

"If there's a couch, I'll sleep there."

"Or, I can make a wall between us when we sleep and we'll stay on our sides, hands to ourselves."

He rests his head back and looks at me through his dark eyelashes, raising an interested eyebrow. "You really want this," he states, not quite a question.

"Well, most wives would like to lay with their husbands."

"Most husbands would like to lay with their wives," he answers with a strained undertone. "And I can assure you that I am no exception."

There's a less reasonable side of me that wants to lean in and argue with him that all his actions and words prior to his conversation have suggested otherwise, that he would rather lay on the cold, hard floor than lay on a comfortable mattress besides his wife. His face gives him away, surprisingly, since he's been so hard to read recently, but this is clear on his face, in his transparent eyes with which he holds eye contact with me, waiting for his words to settle into my head. They no longer hover, settling finally. And then it hits me, quite violently, that the issue isn't laying besides a body, but what happens when temptation gets the best of him.

I feel my face growing hotter, and he seems to relax when he sees the realization on my face.

"You know I would not mind that," I say firmly, hating the blush on my face.

"Maybe not, but I would. You have always known how hard it is for me to keep my hands off of you."

I do know. I think about it all the time. "Is it so bad to want to lay with your wife?"

"Of course not," he says, peering distractedly out the window. "But it's not the right time. I've told you that it's not you."

"Well, why does the thought of sleeping with me displease you so?"

"Displease me? It doesn't. It's quite attractive, but it's...it's..." He breaks off, slightly flushed. "Never mind."

Eagerly, I continue to convert before it's lost. "I want to know. What is it?"

"You'll laugh."

"I won't!" To be truthful, there's a chance that I might.

He starts, pauses once to inspect my unmoving face, and then sighs, continuing once more. "I treat it like a reward. For when I'm better."

"For when you're better?"

"Yes. I'll have you as a reward for when I'm healthy again."

Perhaps this won't be as funny as I anticipated. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? I'm not too excited by it."

"You don't think it's odd? Or creepy? That I use you as an incentive?"

I smile, nudging his knee with mine. "I don't think it's odd or creepy, but it might be a little useless. I don't think I can last as long as your recovery seems to be taking."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Are you making fun of my illness?"

"Well." I shrug. "You are testing my patience. If you think I'm waiting that long, you're wrong. What if mine stops working?"

Wide eyes blink at me. "Stops working?"

"Yes," I say seriously."

"Wow. Your priorities are not in order."

"Think about it."

Harry smiles. "I have a feeling you'll hurt me if I tell you I expect you to wait for me."

"I'll wait because I have no other outlet for relieving my pain."

"Pain," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"And I'll wait, but I won't be happy about it."

"I don't expect you to be happy about it."

"Harry," I say, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry about whether I'll be happy or not. I'm completely kidding. If it's helping you, then it's okay. I'm here for you, remember? The point is to make you comfortable. Don't worry," I add. "It won't suddenly become inoperable."

Harry's hidden dimples suddenly deepen when he turns his head to look at me.

"I know that, Annaliese," he says, flicking my forehead. "Quit saying that. I don't like the image in my head."

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