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gartenofbanny · 9 months

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WARNING: DIRTY-ISH IMAGES IN THIS BLOG

Guys, I have a confession to make. I believe Sallie May is one of the most overrated characters in Helluva Boss.

I don’t believe she’s overrated simply because she’s trans. It’s just for a different reason that I will explain shortly, but first who is this character I'm talking about?

Who is Sallie May?

Sallie May is Millie’s sister who debuted in Hell of a Boss Episode Five, the Harvest Moon Festival. After some time after the release of the episode she was pretty popular among the Hell of a Boss fandom

So what're my thoughts about her overall? Well, Sallie May is a character, that's pretty much it. I don't have any opinions on her as a character because she isn’t fleshed out. She is Millie's sister who is transgender, that's really what Sallie May is. She looks pretty, but Sallie May doesn't have any standalone character similar to Octavia and Millie.

So that's how I feel about Sallie May, she's overall just a side character. It's cool that they added her to the show, but that's all.

Now that, that's out of the way I'm going to talk about..how Vivziepop and the other creators used her and why I don’t like it. This is going to be pretty controversial for me to discuss so don’t pull out your pitchforks yet.

How Vivziepop and the other creators used her

What I don't like upon Harvest Moon Festival’s release is that a lot of people, including me were not aware that Sallie May was transgender and there was very little indication of that. The only thing that points out that Sallie May is trans is her horns.

As people know, Male imps and Female imps have different patterns for their horns. However, that information is not shared within Helluva Boss.

It requires outside research like in the wikis, Livestreams, or people telling you in order to make sense.

Upon first watching Harvest Moon Festival, I had no idea that Sallie May was transgender until a Reddit post basically told me that she was.

If you're going to have a character with a certain gender identity, establish it within the series. It could've been something simple like a pin of the transgender flag or a button that has the colors of the transgender flag.

The writers of Amphibia did it with Sasha where Sasha had a bisexual heart sticker on her rearview mirror. It doesn't have to be something big, but it can be small and easily noticeable.

I don’t get how people consider Sallie May to be a trans icon when lots of people didn’t even know she was trans in the first place.

Why I believe she's overrated and why she's loved within the Fandom

Now the real question is why do I believe she’s overhyped? Well, simply put it she does not have much screen time overall. Sallie May has around 13 to at most 20 seconds of screentime and Harvest Moon Festival is 17 minutes and 30 seconds long excluding the credits.

Sallie May doesn't make an appearance later on in the episode despite the fact that Millie and Sallie's mom, Lin said that Sallie May would compete in the Pain Games. Not once is Sallie May shown in the Pain Games.

Sallie May also doesn't appear later on in the episode. Viv and Brandon just include her in those couple of seconds and decided "That's all she gets".

But why is Sallie May overrated as a character? Well, it's simple, merchandise.

Despite being a side character, Sallie May is present in a lot of merch. In the Valentine’s and Summer merch sales for Hell of a Boss, Sallie May is highly sexualized.

Sallie May hasn't gone through the transition surgery, which is fine, but the merch puts A LOT of emphasis on that.

What I mean is that��her bulge is showing.

Sallie May's swimsuit and Valentine’s merchandise are clear examples of this, they just let Sallie May’s thing bulge out with no care in the world. Why is it that Sallie May’s bulge is exposing itself in nearly all of her raunchy merch, but none of the characters who identify as males (except for Chaz) are not?

Conclusion

In conclusion, I believe Sallie May is really overhyped because she’s sexualized as hell. I get that people like her because she’s trans and that we have a trans character in Helluva Boss, but then again there are also two other characters in this show that are trans.

And one character in Harvest Moon Festival that is also trans

At least that’s what the horns and hair color imply, but I don’t see the fandom falling head over hills for these two characters.

The trans rep in Helluva Boss sucks, Sallie May has more screen time as merchandise than she does as an actual character. Let that sink in.

I am not transphobic, just stating the truth. Thank you all for reading and I hope you all have a nice day!

(This is basically the transcript version of a video I made not too long ago)

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#helluva boss #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop #helluva boss critique #helluva critical #vivienne medrano #helluva boss sallie may #sallie may #Youtube

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king-paimon · 3 years

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HnK Post Chapter 95 Thoughts: 3 Months later...

Hi guys…. I’m so sorry for being away for so long and delaying this post. I can’t believe March is already almost over. This year is going by way too quickly, but honestly, is that really a surprise? I was working on this post back in January and was planning on posting it then, but life has been more busy than usual for me. I still feel really bad for promising to post this and not being able to keep it. But here it is now! I don’t know how many people will see it since the Houseki no Kuni tags have been pretty quiet, but you know what? I’m kind of glad I didn’t post this post right away because I wanted to properly talk about my feeling about the chapter, the series, and Ms. Haruko Ichikawa herself, and doing that when I was still emotionally charged wouldn’t have done this post justice. And though I don’t think my thoughts overall has changed too much, I’d still like to share my thoughts, if you are interested in hearing them.

This will be another really, really long post, so be prepared! I’m definitely going to be doing a lot of edits on this one so please bare with me if anything doesn’t make sense. Please let me know if anything I said is too confusing.

Anywhoo~ here it goes:

My view of the story at this point

I had to go over my last post to see if any of my original opinions had changed and, well, for the most part, not too much. Most of the gripes I have with the story is still about the same, particularly the remaining gems becoming lunarian and the many implications that comes with it, though I would say some of my anger has subsided. I’m still bothered by it, though. I understand why the story would go in this direction and why the characters, especially Euclase, would choose to make this drastic decision to change themselves, since that was they ultimately wanted: to no longer live in fear of being destroyed and live peacefully, even if it means changing what they all were. It’s still bothers me a lot, mainly because I can relate this to similar real life events of people erasing their cultural and even racial identity as a means of survival in a different and so-called “better” society. I remember in one of my very first posts in the fandom, I stated how uncomfortable it made me that the first moon gems were totally fine assimilating into Moon society and were wanting to completely change themselves to fit in this society, even if it meant removing what made them who they were. For characters who didn’t like their original identity like Cairngorm (or Welegato but I’m not calling them that), or felt stunted in their original society like Dia, and found solace in Moon society, I can see how this transition as a liberating thing…but only to an extent. The thought of literally going to the extremes of changing yourself inside and out, erasing all traces of what made you “you”, while also destroying all old meaningful relationships in the process, to live in a place you were conditioned to be believe is the better option for you…It hits a little too close to home.

I’m talking about cultural assimilation and cultural destruction, where racial and cultural minorities sometimes go through drastic measures in order to assimilate into the “better” society, even if it means completely erasing their original identities physically and mentally. I’m not saying all forms of assimilation is inherently bad and I’m not saying that you must stick with your cultural upbringing for it’s a part of your identity; that is a toxic view and it’s especially bad if you experienced terrible things because of that upbringing. I’m trying to talk about the extreme cases of assimilation when these individuals are essentially convinced to go through extreme measures to fit in to the “better” society because their old identity was “bad”, and by completely changing themselves, from their appearance to even their name, then they can finally be happy in the so-called “better” society. I’ve heard of people going through such lengths and it’s heartbreaking. It’s very cultish and that’s how I viewed the transition of the gems becoming Lunarians, with everyone accepting the change with seemingly no issue and especially after Aechmea literally gave Cairngorm that new name. It would have been one thing if Cairn picked that name themselves, but it was all Aechmea. The lustrous don’t exist anymore and everyone is ok with it. The gem society that we knew, at this point of time, is gone now. It was far from perfect but the fact that it’s gone is sad and disturbing to me.

My view of the key characters of the chapter

Now that I stated how I feel about the gems essentially being erased, the next question is how do I feel about these characters themselves?

Conflicted. Very, very conflicted, and even a bit disappointed and upset, especially with certain characters more than others. But surprisingly, even after seeing how the turn of events turned out for all of them while Phos is stuck on Earth alone… I don’t hate them. Yeah. After everything that has happened, I currently don’t hate the gems… For now, anyways. It all depends on what happens next.

But the one character that I feel the most conflicted with is Adamant, especially after his interaction with Aechmea. Part of me is confused by Adamant’s and Aechmea’s seemingly friendly interaction because of Adamant’s past actions and words, for they don’t seem to belong to someone who would be on friendly terms with someone who they were actively resisting against before. I’m talking about all of the times that Adamant would fight off the Lunarians but also that moment in Chapter 85:

(Chapter 85, Pages 10-11)

After seeing things like this, I just find it odd how Adamant’s interactions with Aechmea are so friendly now. And with the horrifying implication that everything that had happened was planned between them, which also doesn’t make sense, I’m not sure what to think. Maybe Adamant’s changed attitude relates to him being free of his burdens and physical body? This could explain the change in attitude, but it still feels… off. Maybe I’m looking too much into this. I don’t want to hold hope that when he and the other gems were transformed that Aechmea somehow manipulated their memories to make them more compliant, even though it was made clear that memories were going to be lost in the process. Maybe this will be explained more in the next chapter, but I won’t hold my breath for that either. To me, this just made me feel weird about Adamant because remember, I was both sad and relieved when he disintegrated in the previous chapter because I really liked his character. Now though, I’m not so sure. I still don’t hate him or any of the other gems, but I’m definitely on the fence with him more so than the others. I certainly don’t hate Euclase like many other fans; I didn’t agree with their past actions (or rather lack of actions), but like with Phos and other characters, they did what they felt was right given what they knew. Still not excusing it, but I understand why. As for Antarcticite... I’m not sure, honestly. Though I’m glad at least they brought up Phos, I can’t help but feel that their main priority is still Adamant. Out of recently changed characters, Antarcticite is the main character I have the most positive opinion on, but again, that can easily change within the next chapter.

So yeah, I still have mixed feeling about all that has happened that led to this point in the story, and I do have a more negative view of some of them. But regardless of that, I can’t bring myself to downright hate any of the characters. Disappointed with their decisions is one thing, but to hate them with every fiber of my being? No. I don’t think I can. At least for now. The same goes to the Lunarians, too. Hell, even though I’ve said before that I hated Aechmea for how he manipulated Phos and the other gems for personal gain, once again, I don’t think I downright hate him either (though I still want something bad to happen to him.) Aechmea is such an intriguing antagonist that I love to despise.

My view of Haruko Ichikawa at this point

Since the release of chapter 95, I’ve seen a lot of fans post their criticisms of Haruko Ichikawa herself regarding how she’s writing the story and her treatment of the characters. Someone even commented on my chapter post about how they don’t view her story as ‘amazing’ anymore because of her cruel treatment of Phos and the depressing turns in the story. Even popular commentors like @rinboz posted their criticism about what Ms. Ichikawa is doing with her story. As for me, I can agree with some of the comments made to an extent. Some of the choices Ms. Ichikawa made in the story has had me question her a few times; like the mentioned interaction between Aechmea and Adamant as well as the extremely predatorial relationship between Achmea and Cairngorm. I still think that chapter 95 was extremely rushed, especially going through the previous events that were stretched out into nearly 10 chapters. There are many other smaller issues that I personally have when it comes to how Ms. Ichikawa writes her story and characters, but I think the biggest criticism I’ve seen that I agree with is the concern about the current direction of the story. And at this point, the story can only go in so many directions and most of them are leading to anything but a genuinely happy ending for Phos. And it’s pretty depressing that Ms. Ichikawa has some of us pleading for Phos to die so they don’t suffer anymore. I can’t think of any other story that has me wanting the main character to die, not because I hate, but because I don’t want them to be mistreated anymore. This story is nothing but hopelessness.

But you know what’s crazy? I kind of like that.

Maybe Ms. Ichikawa has made me a glutton for tragic stories, or because I’ve been starving for a unique story, but I kind of like that this story hasn’t gone in the predictable, happy route for everything Phos has gone through. If this story were written by someone else, I can picture Phos somehow regaining their appearance and memories, be surrounded by the people who truly cared about them and their enemies dead, and pretty much having the picture-perfect happy ending with no form of problems whatsoever as an award for everything that Phos previously sacrificed. Yeah, this is the ending I’m sure fans want in some shape or form and to a degree, I do too. But to be honest, I’m kind of glad that’s not the story that we’re getting, at least right now. In a weird way, it’s sort of refreshing to have a main character who doesn’t always win in the end, especially after all of the things the character sacrificed.

And I also how the story and it’s characters can be so simple and complexed at the same time, like in her anthology series. To me, this makes Ms. Ichikawa stand out from the many mangaka I’ve followed throughout the years. And because of that, part of me hopes she knows what she’s doing and has something extreme planned for the story’s future.

Now, I don’t want to shoot myself in the foot for still thinking highly of Ms. Ichikawa’s writing; there are still things that I think could have been handled differently, like the mentioned pacing and story details. But for now, those gripes are not too irritating for me and I’m not quite ready to downright say that her story is bad...YET. I want to reserve my final opinion of Ms. Ichikawa as a writer until the end of the series, whenever that will be, because despite how the story has progressed for last several chapters, I’m still enjoying writing. I just hope that when the series does come to an end that Ms. Ichikawa gives us a satisfying end. When it comes to ending a series, how an author does so can really affect how fans view the series and the author, and I think this will be the case for this story, though I’m sure there will be criticism regardless of what kind of end Ms. Ichikawa creates. For me, while I do care about whether Phos and the other characters get the endings they deserve, I just hope it will be told well. I’ve seen too many times really good series ending terribly because the creator didn’t know how to end a series properly. I sincerely hope that won’t be the case with Ms. Ichikawa.

From this point forward

I remember seeing a lot of readers who are upset with how the story has progressed thus far, with some even saying that they were going to drop the series because of how depressing it is. I think everyone who felt this way has every right to feel that way; it’s completely understandable. Houseki no Kuni is definitely not a story for everyone, and it can take an emotional toll on you. I know it certainly affected me that way, and I can’t think of many other series that has done that. It’s been a long since I’ve been so invested in a series and despite the many emotional rollercoasters I’ve felt during parts of the story, I don’t think I will ever say that I regret picking this series up. And despite my mixed feeling about the latest chapter, I want to continue to stick with it. Even if the story continues to spiral in a never-ending pit of despair, I still want to stick with it until it ends. And you know, I think even if this series does have a somber, heartbreaking ending, I think I’d still view the story as overall amazing and I’d still be glad I got into it when I did...Unless Ms. Ichikawa gives us an abrupt, unsatisfying ending. Then that opinion goes out the window.

Until the next chapter comes out...

Other than being busy, I admit that I’m glad to be taking a break from Houseki no Kuni. Despite my many praises, it still takes a lot out of me and I definitely needed that break. And though I personally don’t mind waiting a bit longer, I can’t wait for it to back. I sincerely hope that Ms. Ichikawa doing alright, especially after all of the chaos happening for the past year, and that she enjoys her time away from the series. I hope she’s staying healthy in body and mind, and I’ll wait with bated breath for the next chapter of this story.

Besides this post, I actually had a few post ideas that I want to work on, but because of my schedule, those will have to wait a while. I wanted to make another story prediction post because even though they are sometimes wrong, they are fun to do. I think I’ll wait until the next chapter to come out to make that one. The other post I’ve been somewhat working on is a bit different from my usual post; it’s somewhat of a character analysis/reflection and it’s on a controversial character that while many justifiably hate, I personally can’t. (Can you guess who that is? I’m sure you can!) Because of how many people hate this character, I was not sure if I wanted to write it. But you know what, I’m going to do it anyways. When that post will be done? I have no clue, but this will be an interesting writing exercise for me and I can’t wait share why I don’t hate this character the way many other fans do.

The end!

Well, that’s the end of this post. I hope you enjoyed it. I will likely go over this again at some point but it’s getting really late and I need to get some sleep. I hope everyone is doing well and keeping themselves busy during this series hiatus. Maybe unwind by reading/watching a new series. There are some interesting ones that came out last year and this year. I personally stated watching Wonder Egg Priority. It’s really good but deals with a lot of heavy subject matters, so be warned. I’vve also watched lighter stuff like Lupin the Third (I love this franchise so much) and some of the new shows on Netflix. I would like to see some more stuff but I don’t know what to look for. If you have any recommendations, please feel free to leave a comment.

Until next time, I hope everyone has a pleasant week 😊

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk spoilers #lotl spoilers #hnk #lotl #hnk thoughts #hnk phosphophyllite #hnk chapter 95 #hnk adamant #hnk aechmea #haruko ichikawa #long post #personal opinion #personal thoughts #hnk phos #hnk meta #hnk manga spoilers #hnk spoiler

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neworleansspecial · 3 years

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Summary: An instagram post Marjan makes is interpreted as a coming out post. This was not her intention.

WC: 1.6k | AO3

Warnings: Internalized Homophobia

This is quite possibly the worst outcome Marjan can think of. She posted the roller derby photos because her feed has been quite dead since the whole “cancelling of firefox” thing that happened. It’s something non-controversial, and she loves to show off her brilliant team mates in the way that she assumes most people feel about their friends. She wants the world to see these talented, confident, beautiful women the way she sees them. Marjan spent a few minutes meticulously tagging each member of the team in the photos she posted, lining up each black bar with the correct face. She figures it’s a good appreciation of these women.

What happens instead of her friends being showered in compliments is speculation Marjan could have never, ever predicted. She knows that many of her fans are gay, particularly gay young women. Young lesbians. It’s a fact that she keeps in the back of her mind for no reason at all other than to just know it. This majority, however, make themselves known in the aftermath of the photos being posted.

Marjan reads a comment that simply states, “ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONE OF US!” followed by a bunch of heart emojis and wonders what it means. One of what? She scrolls through the thousands of comments on her post and tries to make sense of them when she realizes the error she’s made.

The team photo on the first slide was when they all went to pride together, since most of the members of the roller derby team are LGBT+ and wanted to go as a group. Marjan went as an ally, but failed to clarify this point when she posted it. The thought smacks her in the face.

People think this post was her coming out.

And it’s too late to take it back, but Marjan deletes the post the moment she connects the dots. Her first thought is for her family, who follow her on instagram. Her mother. Her siblings. They likely already saw. Marjan can just imagine the horror in her mother’s voice over the phone, asking Marjan if it’s true. One of her little sisters is still in high school, she could get bullied if anyone thinks that she might be related to a gay person. It’s going to be a disaster.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“Marjan?”

She looks up to see Mateo peeking into the bunk room. He looks concerned.

“Cap sent me to get you for dinner. Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” she lies, quickly putting her phone into her pocket. “Paul cooked, right? So it should be pretty good.”

Mateo easily moves on from his first question, chatting about the salad he helped make to go with dinner, and Marjan is able to just nod along to his words without really paying attention or responding. She’s in so much trouble. The last time she checked, there’s already a handful of articles about her photo. People know. It’s only a matter of time before everyone she’s ever met to know about the alleged coming out. Just thinking about it has Marjan’s eyes stinging with tears.

By the time she sits down in her seat at the table, she can feel all their eyes on her. Being calm and collected is kind of her thing, and she feels so unbearably seen right now, in ways she’s never wanted to be. They all wait for her to speak, but once they realize she’s not going to on her own, Paul reaches across the table to take one of her hands.

“Marjan, what’s wrong? We’re all here for you.”

She glances around at them. They could dismiss her in disgust easily. But she knows TK is gay, and everyone seems okay with it. At the very least, she knows TK won’t let them say anything too bad about the situation.

“I posted some roller derby photos, on instagram. Um, one of them was from pride.”

Mateo’s face lights up. “That was such a cool day! It was my first time going to pride, since I wasn’t, like, out before. I can see why you’d wanna post those photos.”

“People think it was a coming out post.” She glances around the table to see neutral faces. “They think I’m gay.”

At that, TK stabs his fork particularly hard into his dinner and shoots a look at her. “And what’s wrong with being gay, Marj?”

His words get Mateo’s attention, honing in on the hurt and the concept that Marjan could be something less than accepting. Mateo’s self-discovery of bisexuality is recent, recent enough that he’s still rather insecure in his open identity. She doesn’t want him to think she cares about this sort of thing, even if she kind of does. But only when it’s her. Other people can be gay, or bi, but she knows it’s not something that’s allowed to her. Her family would be devastated.

“Is there something wrong?” Mateo asks.

Marjan rushes to say no as Judd lowers his head and folds his hands like he’s praying.

“It’s not that, it’s just… I…”

“Are you?” Paul asks.

Everyone’s attention snaps to him, and then to Marjan. She can almost feel the blood drain from her face as they all turn with the same look on their face, the same question. It’s all a given what they’re asking. What they want to know. She can’t handle their rejection for this.

“Marjan,” he says gently, “it’s okay if you’re LGBT. You know that us, of all people, are going to love and support and defend you no matter what.”

Marjan stands up from the table, her chair scooting back loudly. “I need some air.”

She all but runs to the stairs, hopping down each step to get to the doors on the first floor to the cool outside air. It’s a relief against her suddenly flushed cheeks. She knows she can’t be gay. It’s not allowed. She had a fiancé for most of her life. It was always a given that she’d marry a man, one of her family’s choosing, without much of her say in the matter. Of course she could veto someone, or say they weren’t right for her, but the fact is that her husband was always going to be chosen for her. There’s been no room, no time, for her to consider any other romantic pursuits, especially with a woman.

For the very first time, Marjan allows herself to think about that. About women, and the possibility of being in a romantic relationship with a woman. In her mind’s eye, the woman is generic. Dark hair, big eyes, soft skin. There’s no face, just the imagined feeling of curves under her hands, perhaps the softness of a breast pressed to her palm. Thinking about this for the very first time as a possibility overwhelms her with its suddenness. She feels especially guilty when the imagined woman begins to take the shape of one of her friends. This isn’t right. This is perverse, an intrusion, worse than peeping.

She feels sick to her stomach as she sinks to sit against the wall. This isn’t okay. She should’ve never posted that picture, and then people wouldn’t be saying these things about her. If they never said those things, she wouldn’t be having the most upsetting realization of her life right now either.

Marjan isn’t sure how long she’s sitting out on the asphalt before Paul comes out and joins her, taking a seat at her side. His warm shoulder meets hers in a silent comfort for nearly five full minutes before he speaks.

“I was already an adult when I realized,” he says to her. “I didn’t ‘always know,’ at least not in my conscious mind. It wasn’t until I was already out in the world as a firefighter that I truly realized who I was, and that was really scary. I had a long road ahead of me, with a lot of self-discovery, and I had a lot of people to tell. I was terrified.”

“How did you know?” Marjan asks. “That you really are trans?”

Paul sighs. “I didn’t. I questioned it a lot when I was first beginning my transition. For some people, they just know, and they have for a long time, but I was both certain that I was a man and worried that I was doing it for attention. It was hard. I went to therapy for a long time, to understand myself and to help me do what was best for myself. I had a lot of internalized transphobia to work through. On top of that, I had thought I was a lesbian for a long time before I realized I wasn’t, so I kind of understand what you might be going through. Questioning your gender and your sexuality are really similar in a lot of ways, but incredibly different in others. Regardless of your journey, Marjan, whether you’re straight or not, it’s going to take a lot of reflection. All of us here at the 126 have your back. If you need to listen, or talk, or just be distracted, we’re all here for you. We love you, Marj. I love you. And if you need anything, I’m here.”

She leans into his side and he puts an arm around her for the closest approximation of a hug they can manage while sitting side-by-side on the ground. Marjan knows she has a long path ahead of her of understanding her sexuality, and not just in terms of orientation. What she wants in a relationship and how to have one are things she doesn’t really understand yet, and that’s something she’s going to have to confront to move forward in her life. She’s scared of what it means for her future. She’s scared of what her family will think. She’s scared of what the world will think. But as she sits beside Paul, it is clear that there are people who are going to support her no matter what.

With that, she may be able to learn this about herself.

#marjan marwani #911 lone star #911ls #paul strickland #tk strand #mateo chavez #911 lone star fic #usercj #userjillian #tuserjamie #emwrite

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comrade-meow · 3 years

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'Puberty Blockers' and the Medical Abuse of Women

On Friday, September 17, the UK Court of Appeal overturned a judgement ruling that children under the age of 16 are unable to consent to taking drugs euphemistically referred to as ‘puberty blockers’, which halt a child’s natural growth process. The decision was made in favor of the Tavistock and Portman NHS foundation trust, which runs England’s only gender identity development service (GIDS) for children, and was brought forward last year by Keira Bell, who was prescribed puberty blocking drugs at the age of 16 and has since detransitioned.

Bell describes in detail how she suffered from depression as a teenager, and how she “had never had a positive association with the term ‘lesbian’ or the idea that two girls could be in a relationship,” leading to her confusion about her body that led her towards transitioning. At 15, she was referred to the Gender Identity Development Service, at the Tavistock, and after a few conversations was placed on ‘puberty blockers’ when she was 16.

These drugs called ‘puberty blockers’ are technically better described as endocrine disruptors, and there is little evidence to support activists’ claims that they are not only safe and reversible but also ‘life-saving’, as they are frequently described by media outlets and lobbying organisations; however, there is ample evidence to the contrary.

The Tavistock released information from a report at the beginning of 2021 which concluded that “puberty blockers do not alleviate negative thoughts in children with dysphoria”. Children aged 12 - 15 who were administered the drugs as a treatment for severe and persistent gender dysphoria experienced no significant improvement in their psychological function, thoughts of self-harm, or body image. However, the children did experience decreased bone strength by the age of 16, and data showed that some of the children taking the drugs reported an increase in thoughts of suicide and self-harm.

In addition, a Swedish study showed that after transition, patients had a 19x higher rate of suicide than matched controls: “The overall mortality for sex-reassigned persons was higher during follow-up than for controls of the same birth sex, particularly death from suicide. Sex-reassigned persons also had an increased risk for suicide attempts and psychiatric inpatient care.”

Endocrinologist Dr. Will Malone, who is one of several doctors raising the alarm on this issue, said, “It is misleading to state as fact that ‘puberty blockers are reversible’. No one knows if the physical and psychological impacts of halting normal puberty are reversible.”

Research conducted by Dr. Malone and Dr. Michael Laidlaw found that after two years of pubertal suppression, up to a third of children aged 12 - 15 years old were found to have abnormally low bone density. Moreover, further research conducted by Dr. Michael Biggs found that after two years of ‘puberty blocking’ medications, bone density in a significant number of children “declined to a level that should trigger clinical concern”. In the study, Biggs cites an example of a patient at the Tavistock clinic who began taking endocrine disruptors at the age of 12 and experienced four broken bones by the age of 16.

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‘Puberty Blockers’ and Women’s Health

One of the drugs most commonly prescribed as a ‘puberty blocker’ is Lupron, manufactured by AbbVie (formerly Takeda-Abbott Pharmaceuticals, or TAP). Lupron was developed for the treatment of prostate cancer in men and the US FDA approved it for this use in 1985. In 1990, the FDA approved Lupron for the treatment of endometriosis in women.

However, the drug is “so toxic it is not recommended for more than 12 months in a lifetime,” according to a 2019 investigation by KTNV News, which reported on complaints made by women who had been prescribed Lupron for endometriosis. “The FDA currently has over 25,000 adverse event reports for Lupron products including more than 1500 deaths. Reactions include suicidal thoughts, stroke, muscle atrophy and debilitating bone and joint pain,” the investigation found, and women reported that they were not properly warned of its risks and side effects.

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The investigation was a follow-up to a previous news report by KTNV conducted nearly a decade earlier, in 2010, after which Lupron’s warning label was updated to include risks of thromboembolism, convulsions, and loss of bone density. In 2009, Lupron’s manufacturers were reprimanded by the FDA, saying that the company’s promotional materials for an HIV drug “minimize the serious risks… while overstating its efficacy and including unsubstantiated claims.”

In 2001, Lupron manufacturer TAP settled for a then-record £639 million for fraud. The lawsuit found that high-level employees, including TAP’s president, were bribing doctors to prescribe Lupron by providing kickbacks, including vacation trips, medical equipment and money offered in the form of educational grants.

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A similar local news report from WXYZ-TV Detroit documented the testimonies of women who consider themselves Lupron victims, including Georgia woman Terry Paulsen, who filed a federal lawsuit claiming the pharmaceutical company failed to warn her and other women about its crippling side effects. “Her immune system began to attack her own bones. She got osteopenia and osteoporosis and now she’s got terrible osteoporosis,” said Dr. Alan Levin, an immunologist and Paulsen’s attorney. Of the 24,000 reports of adverse reactions filed with the FDA, according to The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, 60 percent of those were filed by women, and more than half of them were deemed to be serious cases.

“Lupron lawyers convinced a federal judge to seal the results from several clinical trials, but not before an expert witness disclosed evidence that even after a year off the drug, 62 percent of women did not regain normal estrogen levels. AbbVie refused to comment on the studies or on Terry Paulsen.”

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Women who were given Lupron for ‘precocious puberty’ have also spoken out, detailing horrific and ongoing side effects. “It feels like I have 80-year-old bones,” said 22-year-old Brooklyn Harbin, one of the women who has filed an adverse reaction report. Harbin was prescribed Lupron at 10 years old, to pause the onset of her menstrual cycle. “The back pain became very, very severe. It got very, very depressing having to be in a wheelchair in the fifth grade,” Harbin told The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

In 2017, PBS interviewed women who had been treated with Lupron for precocious puberty, and found, “A 20-year-old from South Carolina was diagnosed with osteopenia, a thinning of the bones, while a 25 year-old from Pennsylvania has osteoporosis and a cracked spine. A 26 year-old in Massachusetts needed a total hip replacement. A 25-year-old in Wisconsin… has chronic pain and degenerative disc disease.”

One woman who agreed to go on the record, Sharissa Derricott, said that at the age of 21, a surgeon had to replace her deteriorated jaw joint. In addition to being diagnosed with degenerative disc disease and fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition, her teeth were breaking apart in her mouth.

“It just feels like I’m being punished for basically being experimented on when I was a child,” Derricott told PBS. “I’d hate for a child to be put on Lupron, get to my age and go through the things I have been through.”

So often in the debate over drugs referred to as ‘puberty blockers’, advocates and critics alike neglect to mention that before these drugs were marketed to gender non-conforming children, it was women who suffered, and continue to suffer, from their intense side effects. These women are the canaries in the coal mine, whose voices are continuously sidelined and ignored, despite the impact on their health so closely mirroring the reports implicating loss of bone density in children who are given endrocrine disruptors as a purported ‘treatment’ for body dysmorphia.

There is no reason to turn a healthy child or adolescent into a perpetual patient, dependent for a lifetime on surgeries and wrong-sex hormones. We ignore the harms inflicted on women’s health by leading ‘puberty-blocker’ Lupron at our own peril. These women, Keira Bell, and all detransitioners deserve better. Children ought to be protected from those who seek to exploit their distress for profit while damaging their health in the process.

#Anglo.txt

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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‘MY GOOD WIFE’ v ‘MY FAVORITE HUSBAND’

June 23, 1949

"My Good Wife," an added starter on KNBC, 6:30 p.m. PST Fridays, is another comedy about a young married couple, as if we needed another one. I must admit this one is a little different. This married couple, Steve and Kay Emerson, are not nearly so fast with a wisecrack as, say, Lucille Ball and her husband on "My Favorite Husband," 9:00 p.m. PST the same night on KCBS. Great night for matrimony, Fridays, and if those two programs don't provide enough for you, tune in Dorothy Dix at 1:45 pm. (not broadcast in west). She'll tell you how to win back an erring husband.

I haven't yet made up my mind whether the Emerson's ineptness at repartee is deliberate - after all, not every young wife talks like Groucho Marx - or whether the script writer isn't very good at it either. Anyhow, whether by accident or design, the Emersons are a very restful young couple, possibly a little too restful to get anywhere in the entertainment world. In radio, they're a real novelty.

As a wife Arlene Francis who plays Kay Emerson, wins out on points over Lucille Ball In other regards - talent and looks, for example - Miss Ball is way out front. But how long could you live with a girl who says: "Oh, we don't miss television. I climb in the Bendix and sing and George looks at me through the little window." Imagine having a girl around the house who said things like that before breakfast. It'd curdle the milk.

STARTS OFF FAST

“My Good Wife" started out at a gallop two weeks ago, NBC deciding to set the stage and get everything out of the way all at once. The first program resembled one at those synopses of previous in installments in the popular magazines. Steve met Kay, quarreled with her, married her, taught her how to drive, learned he was about to become a father, and became one - all in 15 minutes. One minute later, the dialogue went like this:

"It doesn't seem like we've been married 12 years."

"We've been married 10 years."

"Well, that's why it doesn't seem like 12."

That, incidentally, Is a little brighter than the conversation around the Emerson household generally gets.

On the second show of the series, the pace settled down to a walk. During the first few minutes the Emersons and their neighbors lay lazily on the grass, not even talking very much. This may be taking realism too far. I mean there ought to be some crickets chirping or something. Things quickened a bit later when Mrs. Emerson decided she was going to help her husband out with his law practice and, of course, messed things up.

YALE, NO LESS

The Emersons are quite upper middlebrow as radio's young married folk go. He went to Yale, for heaven's sake, and she not only went to Vassar but led the daisy chain or whatever they do with that daisy chain. What is this - counter revolution? Oh, yes, they live in Larchmont up to their ears in other upper middlebrows. I don't know what else to tell you about the Emersons except they sound like a nice young couple to have over for a drink some time but conceivably a little mild to entertain you much on the air.

My favorite young married couple is still Ozzie and Harriet Nelson - I put Goodman and Jane Ace off in another category entirely - and while we're chatting about this sort of thing, I ought to point out Ricky and David Nelson, Ozzie and Harriet's children, are now playing themselves on that program which solves a lot of problems. I have a spy in the Nelson household, named - in case any congressional ears are pricking - Harriet Nelson, nee Harriet Hilliard, and she is not now and has never been a Communist nor worked on the atom bomb nor designed the B-36.

Anyhow, my spy informed the Nelsons had a little trouble with the kids. The real Ricky and David I listened to the radio Ricky and David and discovered them doing things they weren't allowed to do or wouldn't do voluntarily if they were allowed. Being children, they got confused over their own identities. Well now the real Ricky and David are the radio Ricky and David and the split personalities in the kids has been averted. You run into a lot of funny problems in radio.

# # #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

It seems pretty clear that NBC was counter-programming CBS’s “My Favorite Husband”. Not only are the names very similar, they were scheduled on the same night, as critic Crosby points out.

The episode of “My Favorite Husband” described above might apply to any domestic sitcom, but was actually titled “Budget - Mr. Atterbury” broadcast June 3, 1949. However, this newspaper is still calling Lucille Ball’s character Liz Cugat, when her name had changed to Liz Cooper in January 1949, to avoid comparison with the well-known bandleader (no, not Desi Arnaz).

Counter-programming by NBC would not stop on radio. When “I Love Lucy” was a juggernaut hit for CBS TV, NBC created a similar show titled “I Married Joan” for star Joan Davis. It was billed as “The adventures of the scatterbrained wife of a respected city judge.” Substitute “bandleader” for “Judge” (played by Jim Backus) - and you’ve got “I Love Lucy.” Like Ball, Davis was a film star of the ‘30s and ‘40s getting aboard the TV bandwagon. Like Lucy, Joan wanted to be in showbusiness. Many of the same situations that Lucy got into, Joan did too. The series even featured a few “I Love Lucy” refugees: Jerry Hausner, Elvia Allman, Bob Jellison, Margie Liszt, Shirley Mitchell, Ross Elliott, and many others. "Lucy” and “Joan” even employed the same director in each show's first season, Marc Daniels. "Joan” lasted three seasons, from 1952 to 1955 and is all but forgotten today.

Kay Emerson was not the first domestic radio role for Arlene Francis. In 1940, she took over the role of Betty on “Betty and Bob”, which had been the first successful soap opera. She was one of the hosts of the quiz show “What’s My Name?” beginning in 1938. The show was seen as a model for TV’s “What’s My Line?” which premiered in 1950. Francis would stay with the show for its entire run, including six mystery guest appearances by Lucille Ball.

The husband to “My Good Wife” was played by John Conte. From 1944 to 1946 he was married to Marilyn Maxwell (1944-46) who would later appear with Lucille Ball in the 1963 film Critic’s Choice. He had also been seen with Ball (and Maxwell) in As Thousands Cheer (1943). In 1960 he would work for Desilu in an episode of “The Untouchables” (1960).

Unlike “My Favorite Husband’s” mythical mid-Western Sheridan Falls, the Emerson’s livid in the real New York suburb of Larchmont, an affluent village located within the Town of Mamaroneck in Westchester County, New York, approximately 18 miles northeast of Midtown Manhattan. Nearby was the town of New Rochelle, whose most famous fictional resident was Rob Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show” (filmed at Desilu Studios). Danfield, New York, another fictional town in the area, was the residence of Lucy Carmichael and Vivian Bagley for the first three seasons of “The Lucy Show.”

“My Good Wife” began airing in June 1949, and by April 1950 was nowhere to be found. In October 1949, Billboard reported on a new NBC Gallup Poll that placed the show dead last - with 32 stations voting it poor and only 8 saying it was excellent. The future of “Wife” was bleak. The sitcom was cancelled after 18 weeks to make room for the new Jimmy Durante show. Meanwhile, Ball’s “Husband” (on CBS), thrived. Coincidentally, the show was initially a replacement for Red Skelton’s show. Skelton and Durante had both worked with Ball on films.

Crosby’s quote from “My Favorite Husband”

"Oh, we don't miss television. I climb in the Bendix and sing and George looks at me through the little window."

was spoken by Lucille Ball in the episode titled “Television” on June 17, 1949. A Bendix is a brand of front-loading washing machine. The porthole-like window was similar to the size screen of early television sets.

Crosby’s observation that Liz talks like Groucho Marx is attributable to the show’s writers Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and Jess Oppenheimer. And let’s not forget that Lucille Ball acted opposite Groucho Marx in Room Service (1938)!

After making the obvious comparison to “My Favorite Husband,” Crosby lets readers know that neither “Husband” nor “Wife” will ever displace “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett” in his domestic dome. The show launched October 8, 1944 and a total 402 radio episodes were produced. When it was optioned for television, it was upstart network ABC that made the sweetest deal to the Nelsons.

As Crosby alludes to, their real-life sons, David and Ricky, did not join the cast until the radio show's fifth year. The two boys were played by professional actors prior to their joining because both were too young to perform. Crosby’s allegations of possible identity crisis due to watching their parents with other sons on television, might easily apply to “I Love Lucy”, where the real-life Desi Arnaz often lived in the shadow of the young actors playing Little Ricky on television. Mrs. Ricardo and Mrs. Arnaz giving birth to both boys on the same day only added to the confusion - one that still lingers today.

Crosby declines to compare the aforementioned shows with the popular Goodman and Jane Ace. The real-life marrieds had a show titled “Easy Aces” Goodman Ace cast himself as a harried real estate salesman and the exasperated but loving husband of the scatterbrained, malaprop-prone Jane ("Time wounds all heels"). “Easy Aces” became a long-running serial comedy (1930–1945) but did not make a graceful transition to television, lasting only a few months on the ill-fated DuMont Network. Coincidentally, Martin Gabel, who married Arlene Francis in 1946, had a recurring role on “Easy Aces” during the 1930s.

In a more sarcastic shout-out, Crosby mentions capping off this slew of domestic dithering by listening to Dorothy Dix. Author Elizabeth Meriwether Gilmer (1861-1951) was widely known by the pen name Dorothy Dix. As the forerunner of today’s popular advice columnists, Dix was America’s highest paid and most widely read female journalist at the time of her death. Her advice on marriage was syndicated in newspapers around the world with an estimated audience of 60 million readers. Naturally, radio was not neglected, getting their Dix fix when her column took to the airwaves. Due to Lucy’s insistence on interfering in the Mertz’s personal affairs, Ricky compares Lucy to Dorothy Dix in “Fred and Ethel Fight” (ILL S1;E22) on March 10, 1952.

We haven’t yet mentioned this 1940 gem, but we’ll save that for another time!

#My Good Wife #Arlene Francis #John Conte #My Favorite Husband #Lucille Ball #radio #1949 #I Married Joan #John Crosby #Dorothy Dix #Ozzie and Harriett #Easy Aces #Groucho Marx #Desi Arnaz Jr.#Larchmont NY

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shipwreckedshadows · 4 years

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Espionage AU

-The Children-

A terrible storm bombarded Mystacor and her surrounding territories. Lightning reigned supreme that night and Casta watched anxiously from the north east tower of the Academy. She downed the last of her night vision potion and leaned into the cold glass windows. Even with her ocular enhancement spell, her vision was not good enough to see through the sheets of rain. She nearly looked away to retrieve a book when she caught sight of some movement near the edge of the shield. After so long, she’d learned what to look for when seeking Shadow Weaver’s return. The shadows responded to the elder witch, they leaned sharper in her direction and sometimes, if it was quiet enough, they gossiped in hushed tones about her return.

Casta hastily activated a teleportation spell and appeared beside the dark spot at the edge of the shield. The shadows wrapped away to reveal Mystacor’s best and only agent. She hunched over a box and her breaths came in clouded pants. Her face was hidden under someone else’s stolen identity.

“Are you alright?” Casta asked, taking the box from her. It was no larger than the cavity of her chest and a small girl sat upright in it. A garbage back had been wrapped around her like a makeshift pancho. Her teeth chattered together and her eyes stared widely at Casta. The rain slid right off it and caused the cardboard to grow soggy. It was heavier than she expected and she used a small levitation spell to assist her.

“I’m fine.” The agent stretched out her back. Several vertabrae crackled from being hunched over for so long. “I’m not used to transporting more than just myself.“ She shivered, “We should go inside, before any of us catch cold.”

Casta was barely able to teleport all of them to the stairs of the academy. They walked the rest of the way to her chambers, leaving a trail of rain water as they went. Several academy tutors and students, up late finishing term projects, nodded at them and offered help for the old mother and her child. Casta dismissed them with a warm smile and gratitude for their offer. It was then that she noticed that Shadow Weaver had taken a visage similar to the girl in the box - blond hair and bright, blue eyes. It clashed with her robes, soaked through and clinging to her meager body.

They exchanged no words until they arrived in Casta’s quarters. Shadow Weaver let the illusion fall from her face.

“No, wait, don’t do that.” Shadow Weaver said, as Casta set up a drying spell.

“We’ll all die from cold if I don’t!”

A warm blast of heat surrounded the three of them and evaporated every last drop of water.

“See, its so much better now - oh!” She giggled, “Oh stars, your hair!”

Shadow Weaver struggled to smooth the mess of frizz on her scalp. Casta decided to give the agent a break but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Leaving the agent to her own devices, Casta turned her attention to the small girl. She had since climbed out and was playing with the knobs on one of the dresser drawers.

Casta went to pick up the box, so she could dispose of it, when she discovered another, smaller bundle. A hairless cat baby snored quietly, swaddled in a patchy bath towel. She must have been hidden under the other child’s bag pancho.

“What in Etheria is dark, scary Shadow Weaver doing with you.” Casta cooed.

“Cat-ta, Cat-ta!” The small girl babbled, pointing at the baby.

“I was only going to leave with the girl.” Shadow Weaver sighed, “But she wouldn’t leave without the cat and the cat wouldn’t leave without the box.”

“That’s adorable. Do they have names?”

“The older child is named Adora. I don’t have a name for the cat.”

Casta gasped, “You found this adorable baby and you didn’t bother to name her? You know, I read once that children require a name in order to properly forge their identity. They can’t name themselves, so, as the responsible adult in the room, you are obligated to do it for them.”

The agent massaged the bridge of her nose, “I kidnapped two soldiers from Hordak’s barracks - I didn’t exactly have an open schedule. Especially not with that little beasty yowling for her friend.”

“Shh! She is not a beast! Don’t listen to her... she’s just tired.”

“You’re going to wake her.”

“She slept through your terrifying magic and the thunder outside. I’m not going to wake her up.”

Shadow Weaver shifted her eyes away.

Casta squinted at her, “What did you do...?”

“I charmed the towel. She can’t hear anything as long as its wrapped around her.”

Castaspella didn’t bother to hide her disappointment, “I can’t believe you were allowed to teach students at this academy.”

“Teaching and parenting are very different things.”

Casta gently unraveled the towel from the baby and set them together on the bed.

“Watch her while I go find her a proper blanket.”

From her closet, she sifted through the spare garments on the top shelf until she found something that would work. It was one of the first things she had knitted. It wasn’t a perfect square but the yarn was soft and transitioned gently between different pastel colours of rainbow.

“It’s a little old but I think - oh.” Casta smiled softly when she saw Shadow Weaver at the windowsill, looking out over the Academy court yard. The cat baby was in one arm. Her other hand steadied Adora’s back as she stood against the glass and wondered at the humongousness of the outside.

“Let me.” Casta said, reaching for the baby.

Shadow Weaver took the blanket from her, “No, I can do it. I’ve been doing this far longer than you have.” She let Adora down gently before attending to the baby.

With a gentleness Casta didn’t expect the agent to posses, Shadow Weaver wrapped the child in the knitted blanket. Through the commotion, the baby opened her mismatching eyes and made several noises at the mages.

“Cat-ta!” Adora tugged at Shadow Weaver’s gown.

“Would you like to hold her?”

The child exclaimed, wordlessly.

“Alright, but be careful with her. She’s only a baby.”

“I know!”

Shadow Weaver knelt and made sure Adora’s small hands were secured around the bundle. The girl smiled down at the kitten, “Hi, Cat-ta.” She whispered.

“You’d make a great mother, under different circumstances.”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

“Why not?”

“Motherly I may be, a mother I am not.”

Casta thought for a moment. After some silence she murmured, “Cat-ta doesn’t have a very pleasant ring to it.”

“She’s trying to say Catra. She wrote it out in her crayon drawings a few weeks ago.”

“I must be imagining this, but is that pride in your voice?”

“Of course. She’s my ward. I put in a lot of hard work to teach her.”

Adora handed Catra to Shadow Weaver and climbed up onto the bed. She lay her head on Casta’s lap and the sorceress pet her hair until she dozed off to sleep. Shadow Weaver sat on the other side of Casta.

“Why’d you take them?” She asked.

“Because they refused to leave each other.”

“Yes, you said that - so I understand why Catra is here. But why Adora?”

“Because Adora is special. You won’t be able to see it but the Obtainment powers showed me - she has something inside of her that will bring peace to Etheria. She’s not from this world. Lord Hordak found her laying just beyond a portal in space. The idiot put her in the nursery with the other children and she unfortunately developed attachments. When I explained to her that I would have to take her away, she cried for hours.”

“What made her stop?”

“I told her that if she didn’t stop crying, she would use up all the water on Etheria and the whole planet would become a desert.”

“That’s a little... harsh.”

“It worked.”

Casta frowned, “We’ll have to find good homes for them. Money is a little short for everyone so I’m not sure who’s going to take them. But we’ll try.”

“Promise me you’ll take them if nobody else does?”

Shadow Weaver hardly ever begged for anything but when she did, she did so without a care for her dignity. Casta had to look away so she wouldn’t have watch the agent’s face fall.

“I can’t do that. I have so much responsibility as the Supreme Sorceress. I can’t take care of two children, let alone one. And what happens when I have to go out there and I get injured in battle? What happens to them if I die?”

“Don’t say that. Never ever say that.” She put a hand on Casta’s cheek, “You will be here for at least one hundred years. Longer than that, maybe.”

“Dearest... that still doesn’t mean I can take care of them.”

Shadow Weaver took a breath.

“I’ll find them the best home, I promise.”

“You better.”

#something a little more angsty #to cleanse the pallet #espionage AU #shadow weaver #castaspella #shadowspell #spop #my work #adora #catra #babies

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thetapestryoftime · 3 years

Photo

Above is the chart for the moment of beginning this journal. How nice that Spica is in the 10th house. Does that portend some kind of success? Who knows? Who cares!

Mercury has been in a key position in my chart since yesterday… or about two days ago. With astrology it’s always hard to tell. When is a position not in a key position? No one day or one moment is more important than the rest… they’re all one and the same! Here! And! Now! Each holds something special - the boredom, the pain, the joy, the ecstasy, the separation or conuinctio. Every experience is unique and never to be repeated again.

Anyhow, Mercury truly is in a very important place in my chart. Here is the chart of the moment on top of my Natal chart.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He is parting from a conjunction with Mars, yes… and over the past week I had predicted that this conjunction would lead to me finally taking action in expressing my self through writing, which I have not done for a long time. I have been in silence. And everything I have written so far, though much of it had been inspired, came from a different space than the one I currently embody. What’s curious about that statement is that… I could write it at any given moment and it would always be true. Language is tricky, but I will attempt at precision as I develop over the course of time.

Beyond the conjunction of Mars, there is a Grand Cross that exists between Mars, Chiron (not pictured above, I just realized… he rests at 10 degrees of Libra, conjunct NN), Jupiter, Saturn & the nodes. I actually have no real concept of how this chart pattern materializes in my life. This is partly the reason for these reflections. I would like to understand my self through a careful study of the divine timing of my life, tracked through the graces of the cosmic clock that is astrology. This journal, though I have no idea if it will ever come to fruition of any kind, is an attempt at profound self understanding… one of the things I’m finding comical as I type is that I get quite wordy in writing whereas the moments of illumination arrive quite spontaneously as a whole package of quantum information. Will this be digestible? Let’s see.

So, primarily, I’ll speak on Mercury today as he (I suppose she, in Cancer) has been endlessly nudging me today to write this entry. I will point out I am heavily predisposed towards fixity by nature of placements in my nativity & consistently find reasons not to start something that requires considerable shift from my habit loop. So I resisted Mercury until 6:50PM according to the time signature above :D

Here are several observations I’ve made…

First, since his approach towards Mars I started overthinking all of a sudden. I could not get out of my mind the upset I have towards certain family members who continuously question my way of life & make a point to mention things they find faulty every time I have a conversation with them (Mars in Cancer - separation with family, trauma with relatives, distance from my roots… more on this later. I am a very interesting case study for this Mars placement). I was processing tremendous amounts of rage. I was imagining situations where I am punishing them, where I point out their own glaring blindspots & make them angry or sad, finding every excuse to defend my identity over their criticisms. It’s not even an active thing - I generally avoid these family members & don’t spend much time thinking about them. But in this transit… oh boy. It’s notable primarily because I have cultivated deep sense of self & inner peace over the last months… feeling incredibly connected to the present moment, to my body, to the everlasting here and now, with rushes of bliss entering my reality each day as I sink into my self. But of course, the moment I open up to greater realities, darling universe only gives me so long to marinade in the sweetness before offering up the next challenge. I am grateful for that. I want to go all the way DAMMIT.

And so I started to understand this aspect of the Grand Cross… the Mercury side of it. And what was most poignant for me is that Mercury is by far the most accessible planet in terms of transits. As in - Mercury’s transits are easily perceptible due to the fact they deal with our thoughts, our conversations, communications, dealings & so on. Any interface with reality that requires mind will somehow be colored by Mercury. Therefore, his transits are the ones that offer greatest potential for self-comprehension. There’s a bit of a trick, however - there are all the other planets doing things at the same time, so who can say what’s what?

So I thought… or in fact, a thought thought it self into my viewfinder… as each planet transits key points in the chart, a very specific type of activation will present it self to reveal a perspective on that part of the nativity. Sun will be a spotlight, Mercury a set of thoughts, Mars a battle, Venus a success & so on. The slower the planets, the more meaningful the transit as it will reveal far more of the nature of that part of the chart.

Mercury-Mars in Cancer… mom and I had to leave the home and stay at my aunt’s today because mold is being cleared out from our current residence. Do you see the significance? Mars = separation, Mercury = trade, Cancer = home. I would say that mold has to do with Sun trining Neptune today - the less rosy & more disturbing, invisible aspects of life are spotlit.

Mercury-Mars in Cancer… mom and I went shopping & bought a ton of fruits & vegetables & juices from the farmer’s market & the bio store. Mars = activity, Mercury = buy/sell, Cancer = mom/provisions/abundance.

Mercury-Mars in Cancer approaching square to natal Saturn… I was HELLA moody today. I was unable to get into my body after waking up for a long while & thus did not communicate to my mom I did not actually want to go shopping at all… I just want to go home & lay and feel into my body slowly. Which led to a very long and powerful conversation. We spoke about our shared trauma, her lack of access to her emotions, the way we have the exact same trauma response to relationships (our charts have many eery similarities… more on this another time). We are basically carbon copies of each other in our own unique ways. I do not doubt most children have this kind of relationship with their parents. In any case, it was basically a battle except she shuts down while I ignite so it’s rather one sided… but we ended up on steady ground making some (or maybe none? who ever knows) progress together. Interestingly enough, the conversation lasted an hour and a half (or so) and the entire time Mercury was transiting the 8th house. Can’t make this shit up ! The conversation broadly addressed our individual belief systems & the Sun was in the 9th house for a good portion of it. Mmmmhmmmm.

Mercury in Cancer… At a collective level, I made on particular observation that I found quite peculiar. In the past few days, four people I follow & admire showed up in video format on Instagram quite… frazzled. All four of them were going through some shit. & I could sense they were really off their game which I had not seen in such sequence prior. Cancer is a cardinal water sign & to me signals part evolution part devolution… revisiting the past to move forward. Back to Earth. Water slowly dripping down to feed the roots. A moment of destabilization that actually initiates the next level of embodiment, or NOT! It’s an expression of vulnerability, a soft & tender communication that invited me to de-pedestal them (because I am apt to crown humans when I admire some quality of theirs… & thus feel less-than them) and see their lovely humanity. Maybe it’s pathetic but I celebrated seeing them weak. Because it reminded me that everybody falls, nobody is perfect, we are all simply human, and I can show up however I am. As much as I wish it were possible, I don’t think I can ever be quite “there.”

Mercury’s ingress into Cancer has also invited me into a cascade of speaking whereas before I was preferring silence (still do…) simply due to circumstance and changing tides of energy. As I’ve been studying transits nearly daily, I am absolved of any illusion that I have control over any aspect of Being in the world. I am, as we are all, at the behest of shifting sands of time that determine what exactly will be brought to attention on any given day. Astrology is the ‘divine timing’ we all speak of that gives us PROFOUND insight into the energetics of each moment, as well as the energetics of our own existence.

There’s so much more… but that’s it for today!

#astrology #cancer #mars #mercury #saturn #zodiac #journal

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theemptyquarto · 4 years

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Abandoned WIP

This is a melancholy little entry that I stopped working on back in 2015, apparently, since Mary and John’s daughter is an “Amelia” rather than a “Rosie,” and Mary’s real name is “Angela” not “Rosamund” During the period in which I was writing it they announced, filmed, and released the film “Mr. Holmes” which deals with some similar subjects but which I did NOT rip off. I ripped off a Mitchell and Webb sketch:)

Age, eventually, makes mockeries of all of us. When I was in my sixties and seventies, I discovered that I did in fact have a heart. And a pancreas. And many joints, none of which seemed to want to work together properly anymore. And several other failing body parts that required me to take a dozen pills every single day of my life.

None of this happened to Sherlock. He remained more or less exactly as he’d always been, just craggier. He kept his hair, and when it changed color it started in elegant wings over his temples then became a flattering overall silver. Meanwhile I discovered that even once I gave up on blonde, I would have to keep coloring my hair, since it was an unattractive yellowish grey when left to its own devices.

Despite my array of minor ailments, our life together was… good. We split our time between the Sussex downs, where his bees were, and London, where our grandchildren were. He took cases, but only the most interesting ones. I wrote my novels, but only every three years, instead of the annual volumes I’d churned out in my prime. Sherlock wrote a practical handbook on beekeeping and was furious that nobody wished to buy it.

It was a snowy winter afternoon in Baker Street, and he’d just come in from the cold. He was flushed and excited to tell me all about what he’d been up to since he’d been gone for a week: a commonplace-seeming garroting that had led to the discovery of an active human-sacrifice cult with multiple sites across Europe. I vaguely considered putting it into a story but decided it was so wildly implausible that even my extremely patient readers wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you should have seen it, Mary!” he exclaimed, “There I was, tied to the altar below the statue of Czernobog, and the priest was saying the chant and holding the rope over my head, when all at once the door burst open and-“

He paused, then, and said, “Oh, hell. What’s his name? The detective inspector? Amelia’s boss? Black, muscular, gay?”

“Ted Gregson.”

“Yes. Right. Him.”

He didn’t continue on, but flung himself into chair and stared into the fireplace. I prodded, “So then what happened?”

“I believe something’s gone wrong with my mind, Mary.”

I rolled my eyes at that. For someone who was always as healthy as a horse he was a terrible hypochondriac.

“You had a senior moment. Anyway you never used to remember Greg’s name either… you may have some sort of block for DIs.”

“No. This is something different. And it’s been going on for a while.”

Sherlock was right. He mostly was. Like a lot of intelligent people, he’d been able to compensate for the earliest stages, but he was right. After that, the progression seemed terribly fast. We spent several months in a haze of scans and therapy, and he accumulated enough prescription bottles to rival my own collection. Some of them were highly experimental and provided by his brother’s network of mysterious scientists. None of them really seemed to do much.

Amelia, being the dear that she is, volunteered to take us in when it all started getting too much for me to handle by myself. But she had three young children and a husband to look after, a hugely busy career with the Met, plus far too many stairs for me to manage every day. Therefore I sold the house at Baker Street for an obscene amount of money to a city stockbroker, and we moved out to the downs for what I knew would be the last time.

I’ve spent my life moving on and leaving things behind me. I’d dropped the original version of myself with no real regrets. I’d quit my first two careers, both of which I’d been proud of and enjoyed. I’d managed to get through the death of a husband who I had loved so much that even thirty years later it still hurt to think of him. So it’s silly how many tears I shed over that dingy Georgian money pit.

But the cash I got for the place was very helpful. Despite the continuing success of the Jim Winston novels and the fact that Sherlock had softened up on taking dull cases for money as he aged, we weren’t exactly rich. Then, too, we had new expenses. I had to hire a nice young woman to help me look after the house, and a large young man to keep an eye on Sherlock in the evenings, since he tended to want to wander after dark.

Then I had to hire another nice young woman because Sherlock had deduced that the original one was unfaithful to her husband, and had of course done it to her face. Then another large young man since Sherlock, who took a while to experience any of the physical debility that comes with Alzheimer’s, got confused and shoulder-threw the first one across the lounge one evening. At a certain point I arranged for a local hippie couple to come by and look after the bees in exchange for the honey.

We carried on for a few years. He had his good days and his bad ones. On his good days he’d still consult, by email, since he had a rock-hard certainty that England couldn’t get by without him. I published “The Mountain of Fear,” which sold as well as any of my books but as always was savaged by the critics for popularist dreck.

I started work on my next novel and got about a quarter of the way through it. Then one day I realized that it was likely that it would be the last one I ever had time to write, and that after it was done, there would be no more Jim Winston stories. I could face not writing it, but I couldn’t face a world where John, even a fictionalized and imaginary John, wasn’t around, and so I put the MS in a drawer in my desk and turned the key. “Caught in transition from imagination to life” was the best epitaph I could have written for him, with my limited abilities.

We had fewer and fewer good days.

On a brilliant indian summer day, I went to London to have a new and complicated type of bone scan that couldn’t be done locally. This was mostly uneventful, although we incidentally discovered that I had finally shrunk to the point where I was less than five feet tall. The nurse said the radiologist would look over the films and be in touch in the next few weeks. I took Amelia to lunch and we talked about the grandchildren, mostly, and she promised to bring them out for a visit at the weekend. Then I took the train back home- I still drove, but didn’t care to do it in the city any more.

When I got back from the station, there was a long black town car parked on the gravel drive in front of our house. The driver, a lovely young woman and obviously a Secret Service agent, was leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette. She nodded politely to me as I passed by. I therefore was not surprised to see Sherlock’s brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea. He shared the Holmes tendency for turning up where he wasn’t expected.

Or wanted.

Like his brother, he was well-preserved physically, though in the case of Mycroft the adjective “mummified” always seemed more appropriate. He had to be nearly ninety but his eyes were as bright and judgmental as they ever had been. He nodded to me as Vithnya, the second housekeeper, helped me out of my coat.

“Mycroft.”

“Mary.”

We weren’t ever particularly friendly. He’d never trusted me, and had verbally disapproved of my relationship with Sherlock until it was so well-established that it had become a pointless gesture on his part. For my part, I despised the constant needling that was his preferred method of interaction with his younger brother. To the best of my knowledge he and Sherlock hadn’t met in person for nearly three years.

Even with all that, it was oddly relaxing to talk to him. We were both such skilled and professional liars that we never bothered trying it out with one another.

“How’s he done since I was out?” I asked Vithnya.

“Pretty well. He had a nice chat with Mr. Holmes – with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, that is - and now he’s out with his bees. But he was a little agitated this morning. He kept walking around looking for someone called Angela.”

I could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring in to me over the rim of his teacup. I smiled at the girl and said, “He was looking for me. It’s an old joke we used to have.”

She giggled, and I realized abruptly that she was relieved, that she’d worried I’d be hurt that my husband, in his confusion, wanted to see another woman. This was a thought that was so ridiculous on so many levels that I could have giggled myself.

Vithnya grinned, white teeth in her red lips, and said, “I don’t know about that. This Angela sounds like a most desperate character!”

“I was quite the firecracker when I was younger, my girl. Can you keep an eye on him while I chat with Mycroft, please?”

She poured me a cup of tea of my own and went off to do just that.

Mycroft said, “You don’t seem at all nervous of discovery now that Sherlock has lost what - minimal filters - he ever had.”

“I’m not.”

“No statute of limitations on murder.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was the one, after all, who had replaced my rather half-assed false identity with something that could stand up to any scrutiny.

“She won’t think about it for more than thirty seconds after leaving this room. I am a little old lady. In the mind of a twenty-two year old, not only am I obviously harmless now but it is inconceivable I ever would have been otherwise. You ought to consider hiring some of us on at MI-6. We’re practically invisible.”

“Perhaps I ought.”

I took a biscuit, damn my blood sugar, and dunked it into my tea.

“Did you and Sherlock have a nice chat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“We did,” he said, eventually, “For seventy-eight minutes. Not once in that period did he recognize me. I could tell he was making his best deductions. Sometimes he thought I was John Watson. Sometimes Greg Lestrade, sometimes Victor Trevor. I didn’t realize-”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That he had become so debilitated. That he was so far gone.”

I sighed.

“He’s dying, Mycroft. What did you think it would be like?”

He took another biscuit from the packet on the table and put it into his mouth. Chewed.

“I never thought that he would be the first to go. I always assumed that I wouldn’t be the one left standing. When he’s gone-”

He trailed off. But I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been my own. When Sherlock was gone there would be no one left with the same sort of mind that Mycroft had… except the departure had already happened, and he’d missed it.

I had some sympathetic pangs – for Mycroft Holmes, of all people – and I said, “He generally perks up a bit in the evenings. I’m happy to put you up, if you’d like. Perhaps you could… try again?”

The British Government responded as I should have expected. He rose, brushed nonexistent crumbs off his lapels, and took up his hat and umbrella.

“I think that my presence is of no help to him any longer, Mary. I expect that I will see you again. At least once.”

He actually bowed to me on his way out.

I finished my tea, and looked out of the window. Vithnya was sitting in the grass, folding a basket of laundry. Sherlock was sitting on the bench that looked out over the garden. Both of them seemed contented, at least as far as one could tell from that distance. The sun was at a deep angle, and so I picked up a blanket and left for the outdoors.

I was glad I had done, as it was starting to get chilly outside and he was in shirtsleeves. Had I married any other man but this one I would have thought that his indifference to the elements was a sign of his decay, but frankly he’d done the exact same thing when he was forty. “Just transport,” is the motto he maintained, in far worse weather than this.

At some point in his life someone, presumably his mother, drilled some basic forms of politeness into Sherlock Holmes. He was terrifyingly, frankly rude in ordinary conversation but when you handed him a cup of tea or tucked a blanket around his body you would inevitably receive a gracious, “Ah, thank you.” It’d be in the tone of a king addressing his subjects, but you’d get it. I got just that as I settled the afghan around his knees, and sat down next to him to look over the hives.

“I’m expecting John and Mary to turn up. Have you seen them?” he asked me.

When he’d first become ill, he’d asked me to always correct him when he had his lapses. I’d agreed, but, again, I was such a natural liar that it didn’t much trouble me to say now that, “I believe they’ll be along shortly.” Awful, I know, but sometimes I just wanted not to see him upset.

“Ah,” he replied.

A drone, a late survivor of the autumnal purges, buzzed up and landed on the blanket over his knee. He gently nudged it onto his hand and raised it to eye level before setting it down on the ground.

“I’m a bit worried,” he said, conversationally.

“About what?” I asked.

“Occasionally John’s wife lets me shag her. And I’m not sure that’s right.”

I blinked. Occasionally? Thirty-odd years, and I’m not going to go into details about our sex life but it was really very acceptable, and occasionally is what he remembered? And that I ‘let him’? But all I said was, “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t do that if John objected. So it’s all right.”

“Ah, good. You know Mary, then?”

“I do, yes.”

He squinted at me, which, Gawd-help-us, was still terribly cute.

“You’re… one of her relatives,” he said, hesitantly.

I smiled. “I am,” I said, “How did you know that?”

He grinned at me. No matter what he’d ever said or how much he’d griped about the unobservant nature of most people, I knew that he loved to explain his deductions.

“It’s the ears,” he said, setting the pads of his fingers on my chin and turning my face to the side, “Not quite as uniquely identifying as a fingerprint but with a strong genetic component. The pendulosity of the lobes, the position of the pinnae… clearly you and Mary are closely connected. You’re too old to be the younger sister, and the mother is dead, but..”

He took hold of my hand and looked at my fingers. “There’s other things. You and Mary both have a minor congenital deformity of the smallest finger. It angles slightly outward. Not enough to disable either of you, but distinctive, and…”

He turned my hands in his. I have nearly perfectly matched scars on my palms… on my right hand, the souvenir of a Caracas knife fight when I was twenty-seven. On my left, the souvenir of reaching into a sink filled with dishwater and one broken glass when I was forty.

And then he stopped, still staring at my hands, and said, “Oh. Oh Mary. How could I have forgotten you? I had you off by heart.”

I lifted a hand and stroked his grizzled chin.

“It’s fine,” I said, “You have me back.”

He just tangled his fingers in mine and stared.

“That’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “Did I give that to you?”

I looked at the amethyst on my right ring finger and said, “Yes. When we got married.”

“I remember that. You were beautiful in your dress.”

I laughed, unwittingly. “That was my first wedding. You and I just went to a registry office at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Really?”

“We did. There wasn’t much time to plan a wedding. The exact words of your proposal were, “If I have to be Sir Sherlock you can damn well be Lady Mary.” It was the day before you got your KCBE.”

“By God. What a rubbish proposal.”

I smiled.

“Unconventional, definitely. But I wouldn’t have had you any other way.”

#quarto's fics #Marylock #retirementlock #Major character death #it's john #and in this story it happened decades ago

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stuck-in-hawkins · 4 years

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When He Left: Chapter 1 October 28th, 1993

Stranger Things Fanfic: Byeler

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: Will looked back to see Mike at the gate, his forced smile starting to crumble. Will had managed to get the chance of a lifetime: a scholarship to an arts college in California. He would be there among the monster makers of the movie industry. He was pursuing his dream, but what was he giving up in exchange?

It has been four years since Will left Hawkins. Everybody went in their own separate directions. But it has been 10 years since the Gate opened and Will's nightmares are getting worse. So, the party reunites and old feelings ignite.

link to read on ao3

October 28th, 1993

Will felt the sunlight across his face and opened his eyes. The covers were insulating the heat from him and the man laying beside him. That thick mop of black hair, the curvature of his tan back. Will reached out and traced the muscles beneath.

Ishaan stirred. Will thought, “Don’t wake up, don’t wake up.” He laid perfectly still. But alas, the man turned over and looked at Will, still groggy but the blanket of sleep quickly wearing off.

Will spoke softly, “Sorry I woke you. I was just gonna make breakfast.”

The man looked away and mumbled, “I have to get to work.”

There it was. The shame. Ishaan was a flame that Will seemed to keep flying back to. He was exactly his type. Tall, beautiful, and incapable of committing to a relationship. They were drawn to each other.

Ishaan was still very much in the closet. But he would come to clubs. He loved that Will had this quiet, inviting exterior. He’d actually told him this. That Will was safe. He wasn’t “that” gay. That he could pass as straight.

Ishaan had no idea about Will’s occasional drag nights.

Ishaan grabbed his clothes quickly with a speed Will had become familiar with. Will had hoped he could open Ishaan’s eyes, and help him learn to love and accept himself for who he was. But when the morning light came, so did the shame. Will embodied all the things Ishaan didn’t want to face and he would put as much distance between him as he could.

Will put on his pj bottoms and walked down the hallway in time to see Ishaan throw on his jacket.

“Ishaan.”

Eye contact.

“Someday, I’d love to have breakfast with you.”

Will could see him try to swallow a lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Will.” He opened the door and walked out.

Will padded his way to the kitchen, and opened the fridge, looking at the eggs and bacon sitting inside. He felt deflated. He could feel a familiar tug, trying to pull him back to bed so that he could curl under the covers. But he knew that if he did that, he’d lose the day. And it seemed like a beautiful one to waste. He turned to the window and cranked the handle, opening them. The air was fresh and warmed from the sun.

Will brought out the eggs, bacon, toast, and butter. He’d remembered feeling the same way Ishaan had. He remembered when he first came to the city in college and kept his identity confined to the night. He used to have a similar elitism, trying to separate himself from gay men that seemed especially feminine, doing anything he could to distance himself from the stereotypes that plagued his sexuality. But going to group helped with that. He opened his mind to become more accepting. He even experimented in his identity and found freedom in the exploration.

He cracked the egg into a bowl. Ishaan hadn’t wanted to go to any of the groups Will recommended. He was in denial. He picked up another egg. He thought, 'You're just something he craves.'

Crack.

“Damnit.” He’d gotten eggshells in the mix. He picked them out. Will was beginning to realize that it would take a lot of soul searching for Ishaan to accept himself. Something Will couldn’t help him with. How long would it take? How many more mornings did he have to watch him run out the door?

Will turned on the stove and let the butter simmer while he whisked the eggs together. Dustin’s words rang in his head.

‘You deserve to be more than someone’s secret.’ Dustin didn’t mince words but he was right. And it just seemed like Will was always drawn to the type that didn’t want to come out.

He heard a door open. Dustin groggily walked in from the hallway. “You are a Godsend. Is that eggs I smell?”

Will smiled. “And bacon will be next.”

“Screw all these other guys. Marry me.”

“Pretty sure there are some terms and conditions you wouldn’t be up for there.”

“Forget them. I’ll do all the butt stuff. Just make me eggs every day.”

Will threw the dish towel at him.

Dustin got the grounds out and started making coffee. “Your man-friend still here?”

Will shook his head.

“That’s too bad. He’s missing out on an awesome breakfast.” He smiled, “And some great company.”

Will smirked. He loved living with Dustin.

___________________________

After breakfast Will got ready for work. It was Sunday and he knew he didn’t have to go in, but he needed a reason to get out of the flat. He didn’t want to sit alone, pining for Ishaan. Will could feel that it was ending. It was a transition that he’d done before. It felt all too familiar but still hurt.

The worst part was seeing them months later, out, proud, and in a relationship. He’d be happy for them, but then he’d wonder. Why hadn’t it been with him? Why wasn’t he enough? Why did it seem like they only changed after he left?

But then, again, he knew that wasn’t always true. There were guys that never came out. Like Hartford, who had a wife and kids that were completely unaware of his Friday escapades. Dating him, being his side piece, was a low point for Will.

And then of course…. There had also been Mike.

‘Nope,’ Will thought. He shut down that train of thought and brought out his sketchbook. He needed to distract himself with a project. Studio time helped with that. After all this time, he still had a weakness with Mike. He’d made his peace with pretty much every guy after. But with him, there was a tenderness that had never faded. And if he thought about Mike when he was like this, in the throes of rejection, he’d fall to pieces.

He grabbed his headphones out of his bag as the Metro carried him across town to his stop. These days, his Walkman turned mostly Sonic Youth albums. Today it was Dreamnation. He got off and headed to The WereHouse.

It was a prop house popular among the independent filmmakers and even the occasional large studio. It was owned by two brothers. One ran the historical prop store, located in another part of town. That shop was mostly a gallery of antiques from all different periods, some originals, some reproductions. That had been where Will had gotten his start, running around thrift stores, estate sales, and antique shops trying to find period correct pieces for their inventory.

But when his boss saw Will’s sketchbook, he got transferred to The WereHouse. The other brother’s creative dungeon of fantasy, sci-fi, and horror props and prosthetics. Will was living his dream, getting to make monsters for movies. Though… most of his work consisted of prop dummies that ended up being burned, buried, or otherwise mutilated. Some weeks were spent meticulously painting disembodied limbs, fingers, and heads. Occasionally larger more creative opportunities arose, like the one he was working on now.

The whole project was very hush hush. When studios put out work like this, they were looking for more than monsters: they were looking for talent. Will was pouring in extra hours because getting this deal would mean he’d be part of something big. It wouldn’t just be low cost props for independent filmmakers. They’d have the backing of a studio. It meant potentially being a part of the next blockbuster.

He could be responsible for the next Xenomorph. The idea was both terrifying and elating. As a result, he spent most of his days either drawing or sculpting with the occasional break to eat and sleep. But it took his mind off of the trials and failures of his love life.

He opened the door and nodded to Anderson, who manned the reception desk. He was currently nose deep in the novel, Dune.

Will walked through the vestibule, where some of the past projects were displayed and made his way through the giant room with shelves scraping the ceiling. One row consisted of nothing but body parts: From whole limbs and torsos to severed fingers and toes. On another row, there was a treasure trove of cursed objects: elvish daggers, cauldrons of all different sizes, stitched leather books, crystals of every color.

Will remembered how awestruck he was the first time he came here… well, honestly for the few months. Now, it was just a part of his life. He’d still get these moments of “I can’t believe I’m working my dream job.” But it had become his new norm. He wished the whole party could see it. Dustin had completely lost his shit when he saw it. But they were the only two of the party in Burbank.

Not for long, though. Lucas was nearly finished his last year in the Navy, and Dustin had been pulling every string he could to make sure Lucas got a position as an engineer at the company he worked for, AECOM. Max has been living with her dad on the coast the past few years. Despite being in the same state, she was still about five hours away. Once Lucas was back on shore, there was a chance of them getting back together and her moving closer. But she had that software job and it was more likely Lucas would move up to her.

Over the years, Will had tried to convince Mike to come over to the coast, to get out of Hawkins. Maybe if the rest of them were together, that would be enough to change his mind.

Will walked into the studio, a large space lined with workbenches and cork boards. Mannequins, busts, and chairs for prosthetics and monster makeup were scattered around the room. And the whole space smelled of curing latex, acrylic paint, and plasticine clay. He sat down at the spot reserved for him, that had pictures tacked up as inspiration, along with a multitude of sketches. And there on the bench was a little model, about a foot high, that he had been carving out and tweaking all week. This was the 3rd version.

The studio was looking to create a new kind of monster. Normally, the producer or director would give some parameters of guidelines. But this one was an open book, which meant it was an audition of sorts. Will looked at his board.

In truth, it wasn’t the monster that was terrifying. It was the world the writer built, the atmosphere the director created. The actors, who made the audience care about the characters on the screen. Even the best monster design could be undone with poor timing, shoddy lighting, or terrible acting. They were all vital components of the final product. Once the audience cared about the world, about the characters, they would become invested. Will’s mind began to ponder.

The scariest parts about everything he experienced was the fear of losing it all. Of never seeing his mom, brother, or friends again. Of being alone at the end. Nothing had been more terrifying than losing himself to the mind flayer. To feel his words and body being driven by another. The most terrifying monsters were the ones that you didn’t see. The ones that transformed characters you loved from human to monster.

Will took pictures of his miniature model as it was. He always did before destroying it. Then, he squished the sculpted figure, wedged the clay back into a ball. From there he began the shaping of a human figure. But he arched the back, as if the body was fighting against itself. Where the spine was, legs that were like spiders but out of bone emerged. The muscle tearing at itself, reattaching to the new limbs. The most frightening monster was the one you watched yourself become.

Art was cathartic. It was how he processed everything. It was what got him through the worst parts of college. It gave him power and strength. He had control over his nightmares now. He could create them and destroy them with his own two hands.

In so many ways, coming to California saved him. He learned methods to cope with his identity, with his trauma. He was in a new place where there were less things to trigger flashbacks. The fear didn’t rule his life like it once had. There were days he questioned whether it was all even real. But, lately, he could feel himself backsliding. His nightmares were getting more vivid. They were trying to claw their way into his life here. They held on tighter so that it was harder to wake up. Sometimes, he forgot them as soon as he woke up. He'd be in a cold sweat, the fear shaking him, and he couldn't remember a thing. He was relieved that Ishaan had stayed the night. Having someone beside him seemed to keep the nightmares at bay. This week, he dreamt about the Mind Flayer, about being trapped inside his own head. He remembered sending his friends the code to close the gate. He knew what it meant. He had been resigned to it. It was a cost he had been willing to pay to ensure that the Shadow Monster would be dead for good. He woke up in tears at how willing he had been to accept his death. He cried at all the things he would have lost and felt relief to be alive.

It was because his family managed to pull it from him. His party refused to leave him behind.

He sculpted the man’s pained face. He hoped that if this movie got made, that they’d save the man. That the characters would be as heroic as his friends had been. _____________________________________

Will got off the metro, exhausted, both mentally and physically. Eight hours in a chair, bent over his desk and sculpting, did a number on his back.

He was still listening to Sonic Youth so he didn’t hear the chatter as he reached his floor. He didn’t hear the laughter when he put the keys in the lock. He didn’t hear the voice of the man that used to make his stomach flutter. If he had, he would have prepared himself. He would have made sure to tuck his heart in his chest, instead of on his sleeve.

But alas, he opened the door unsuspecting and the sound he made betrayed himself. It held in it all the love he felt in seeing him again.

“Mike.”

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need-a-fugue · 4 years

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We Grow Together (8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… some bad language words… much fluff

Chapter Summary: The world has been saved - check that off the list. Now it’s time to start planning for the future. But why does that feel so much harder than fighting a killer robot army? Luckily, Natasha’s around to talk some sense and help screw Tessa’s head on straight.

“I am not freaking out!” she shouts at the redhead before downing the shot of bourbon in front of her. She makes a pinched face as the brown liquid sets fire to her insides, then she holds out the tiny glass and shakes it, begging for a refill.

Natasha goes into the cabinet and pulls out two lowball glasses before settling in beside Tessa on the couch. She delicately folds her legs beneath her, leans forward to pour a few fingers into each glass, and hands one to Tessa. “I’m not judging,” she says slowly as she leans back.

With everything that’d been going on lately, most of the team has been pretty damn frazzled. The world didn’t end, which felt like a win. But a lot of innocent lives were lost when Sokovia was attacked. Jarvis got a body and became something… more, which everyone still seemed to be a bit on the fence about. Ultron was defeated. And all of the Avengers survived the battle, some coming out the other side in better shape than others. But the recovery and cleanup had only just begun, and man was it going to be a bitch to get through.

After Ultron and the other killer bots destroyed a good chunk of the tower, Tony had sped up the timeline on moving the Avengers’ home base upstate. Which meant that almost everyone was having to pack up their lives and slowly transition into the half-finished space. Natasha knew it was worse for Tessa because she had to move an entire lab and get to work on designing the new med floor, which Tony only just mentioned to her last week. And there was the more personal issue of deciding on living arrangements in the new compound – which apartment layout to get, what view was preferred, the types of amenities, and of course whether or not to take on a roommate.

For as long as Nat had known Tessa – and that was, what, four years now? – she had never known her to actually date anyone, not for more than a couple of months at a time anyway. But now she had a notorious assassin staying at her place nearly every night. And while they made no secret of their affair, they never actually publicly admitted to being in a relationship, let alone being in love. Even though both were painfully obvious.

“So…” Natasha starts, casually drawing out the word.

Tessa just looks at her with a confused quirk of her head. “So what?”

“Maybe you’re not freaking out, but you’re obviously upset. So…”

She takes a long, deep breath and leans back into the couch with her bourbon in hand. “I don’t know. I’m just… stressed out.”

Natasha lets loose with a small snort. “You thrive on being stressed out. You wouldn’t know how to slow down and relax if someone put you into a coma.” Tessa ducks her head and smiles a bit bashfully, knowing full well that Nat’s words describe her to a tee. “So what’s really bothering you? Because I feel like you’ve been… off for a while now.”

“Since Ultron, you mean?” she asks, sarcasm dripping.

“Yeah, since Ultron.” Natasha shifts into the couch and purses her lips as she thinks of something. “Since the thing with Wanda, really.”

Wanda. There is that. Tessa had gone along with the Avengers to Africa in large part because of the enhanced girl who had the ability to manipulate energy. From the rather limited amount of data that they had at the time, she was confident that the girl’s powers would be no match for hers. Turns out she was wrong. And Wanda was able to fry her brain just like the others.

“I hate that she’s here,” she mumbles into her glass as she finishes off the liquor.

Nat reaches over to hand her the bottle. “She’s just a kid.”

“A kid who tried to kill us and fucked with all our heads.”

“Not Clint’s.” Natasha sips at her drink as she pulls at a loose thread on her yoga pants. “I think he’s ready to adopt her.”

“Good. He can take her home with him.”

Nat gives her a questioning look. “You’d rather have her out in the world right now? With no one to help her hone her skills? She’s dangerous.”

“And we’re going to make her less dangerous?”

“You could.”

“Jesus,” Tessa sighs dramatically. “You sound like Steve.”

Natasha laughs. “Yeah, he said he was working on you.”

“Harassing me, you mean?”

“He thinks you’re the best one to help her, and honestly, he’s right. Your abilities are so similar… no one can identify better with what she’s going through.”

“What she’s going through?” She makes no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice. “She asked someone to experiment on her. She wanted powers so that she could exact revenge.”

“And now she has those powers and she doesn’t know what to do with them. Look, I’m not 100% sold on her either. But she’s here. She’s trying to make up for what she did. And she could be a huge asset to the team.”

Tessa gives a psh and downs some more of her drink.

Nat gives her an assessing look, gazing intensely at her friend for a long moment. “What did she do to you?” she finally asks.

“What do you mean?”

“That day, at the base, she really fucked you up,” she says, no question to her voice.

Tessa looks away as she replies, “She fucked all of us up.”

“Yeah, but I think the rest of us kind of got over it.” Tessa leans forward, reaching for the bourbon, and Natasha stops her, grabbing her hand when she wraps it around the bottle. “What did she show you?”

Tessa looks up into Nat’s eyes, sees that she’s truly interested in knowing, in helping. Natasha isn’t exactly a gossip. She’s usually more than content to be left out of other people’s drama. So the fact that she’s pressing her right now shows how much genuine concern the woman feels for her. “My sister,” she says simply, falling back into the couch cushions.

“Did you see her die?” she asks without preamble.

Tessa shakes her head and squints as though she’s trying to recall. “No. Not really. I just… saw her.” She takes a long pause, a confused and almost pained look on her face. “It was that night, though. The night she killed herself. But…” She shakes her head again, this time her eyes are tightly closed like they’re desperately trying to block something out.

“But what?” Natasha asks, extending her hand and slowly, softly beginning to stroke Tessa’s arm.

When she opens her eyes, they’re glassy and paler green than Nat’s ever seen them. Maybe it’s the bourbon. Maybe the lack of sleep and the abundance of stress. Maybe it’s the thought of a long-lost sister that she never talks about. “I wasn’t there.” She locks eyes with Natasha and repeats, “When she did it, I wasn’t there.”

“Okay,” she says, encouraging her to go as she maintains the delicate eye contact.

“But in the… vision… I was there. And I saw her.” She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “But in the mirror. I saw her in the mirror.” She looks away quickly, almost seeming embarrassed by her words.

This time, when Tessa goes for a refill, Nat lets her have it. “You were twins, right?” She nods as she takes a long sip from her now half-filled glass. “Identical?” Another nod. Natasha leans back and sighs. “Well, that kind of makes sense, right? Our worst fears, our worst memories… that’s what she called to the surface. It makes sense that you’d regret not being there, and that in this… dream –”

“No,” Tessa interrupts quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was… I don’t know how to explain it. I was her. I was Anna. And it didn’t feel… weird or anything. It felt… real.” A sudden shiver takes over her body. “I think…” but she can’t quite finish the thought. Instead she shakes her head again and then shakes out her arms to rid herself of the chill that suddenly overtakes her body. “Never mind. Just… forget it.” She looks up and takes note of the concerned look on Natasha’s face. “Let’s talk about something else. Can we talk about something else?”

Natasha changes her expression on a dime, going from worried frown to sly smirk. “Okay,” she starts. “Are you and the soldier gonna make it official?”

Tessa rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure what official means.” She shifts in her seat, seeming antsy and self-conscious. “I think… it sounds like we might share an apartment. I guess actually live together.”

Nat finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table. “You’re okay with that?” she asks, voice thoughtful and sincere. “That’s what you want?”

She shrugs. “It makes sense. He spends the night most nights anyway. It’d be dumb to give him his own place if he’d hardly even use it. And he doesn’t want to keep living with Steve… he deserves his own space back.”

She cocks a brow and gives a gentle mm-hmm. “And how does Steve feel about all of this?”

“Oh, mother Steve is very upset.” Tessa nods dramatically.

“Is he?” she mocks.

“He told James that if he loved me, then he’d marry me and not make me live in sin.” She takes one last sip and sets her glass down beside Nat’s. “They haven’t talked in two days.”

“Damn. I did not know that.” Natasha leans forward and takes Tessa’s hand. In a low, serious tone, she asks, “Is he making you live in sin?”

Tessa holds the eye contact for as long as she can before collapsing into a fit of hysterics. “Oh God,” she says through the laughter. “Will you save me?”

Natasha chuckles softly, which is about as emotive of a laugh as she ever allows. “Sounds like Steve’s already trying.”

“It’s dumb,” she says lightly, shaking her head as the giggles subside. “I know it is. We’re together all the time. He stays at my place all the time.”

“You’re completely in love,” Natasha supplies. Tessa gives her an incredulous side eye. “You’re not fooling anyone, golubushka. Sleeping with the man is one thing, but it’s so obviously way past that. And it has been for a long ass time.”

“I feel like I need wine to continue this conversation,” she says, hauling herself up off the couch and heading into Nat’s kitchen. She goes straight to the cupboard in the corner and pulls out two glasses before eyeballing the wine selection on the second shelf. “It’s so weird to me that the Black Widow’s taste in wine goes from sweet to practically Kool-Aid,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.

“There’s a Riesling in the fridge, you lush,” Natasha shouts from the other room.

Tessa wrinkles her nose. “Of course there is.” But her near disgust doesn’t stop her from grabbing the mostly full bottle of wine from the refrigerator and pouring two giant glasses.

“You know,” Nat starts, accepting the glass of wine as Tessa settles back onto the sofa, “Mixing bourbon and wine is rarely a good idea.”

“I’ve done worse,” she counters with a shrug.

Natasha raises a single brow as she looks at her friend with a smirk. “So… where were we?”

Tessa offers another shrug. “I love him, sure.”

“Sure? That does sound like love.”

“Feelings aren’t the problem.” She turns to face Nat, curling her leg up underneath her and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. She locks eyes with the redhead. “Relationships,” she says, a sort of fear and awe twisted into her voice. “That’s the part I suck at.”

“Don’t we all?” Natasha offers with a small smile. “We live strange lives here.”

“Even before here,” she says with a slow shake of the head. “I’ve always been… single minded.”

“You’re heading up the medical research lab for Stark Industries. You’re the official physician of the Avengers. And you’re not yet thirty. You don’t get here without being single minded.”

“A workaholic, you mean.”

“How about dedicated? Passionate?”

She shifts again, seemingly uncomfortable in her own skin. “It’s just… any other guy… I might’ve felt bad about not giving him my full attention, I should have. But I never really did.”

“You’ve never been in love before.”

“Oh no,” she says, eyes blown wide. “I’ve been in love before. And it did not go well.”

Nat cocks her head to the side. “Interesting…”

“Not today, no,” she responds to her friend’s fishing. That’s a looong story that’ll require more than a half a bottle of sugary Riesling to get out of her.

“Fine. But we will come back to this.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

“Are you afraid to live with him?” Natasha asks, taking no time at all to transition back to the topic at hand.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Right now, he doesn’t really have a place of his own. It’s either he stays with me or with Steve. So even though he’s usually at my place, it’s easy enough to say that he doesn’t really live there with me. But if he does actually live there… then it’s… I mean that’s…”

“Serious?”

Tessa nods, then stops short, crinkles her nose, and begins to shake her head. “It’s not just that. Or…it’s not that simple. It’s not like I’m afraid of commitment, per se.”

“Really?” Natasha asks with a smirk.

Tess rolls her eyes. “I just mean, I don’t have a problem with intimacy. Or committing to just one man. Or being in love… even though none of that has gone well in the past.” She sips her wine and stares off into the distance, focusing on nothing. “It’s… I don’t know… reliance. Dependence?”

“Explain please.”

“I can love James. I can be in love with James, and I can be intimate with him. Maybe even stay in the same apartment with him. But that’s different from being… with him.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because… I don’t know. Because if we’re together, really together, then I depend on him and he depends on me. And we’re…”

“A team?”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“And you don’t want to be part of a team.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That wasn’t a question.” She shifts so that she’s sitting upright, and she levels Tessa with a confident stare. “When Clint first met you, you were freelancing for Genetech. Before that you were investigating – on your own – genetic anomalies. Then Clint convinced you to help out with SHIELD, which you would only do on a temporary, contract basis. Tony hired you as an independent contractor. And I know how hesitant you were to take the position as the head of the tier 1 med team. I know how long it took Tony to wear you down.”

“So you’re saying I’m not a team player?”

“Not at all. I was with you in Africa. And in Sokovia. I was part of the debrief on Mexico. I think you’re great on a team. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve seen your SHIELD file. So I know that you were an integral part of another pretty big team for quite a while.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Did the X-Men fuck you up that bad?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “I don’t talk about that.” She pauses for a moment, takes in Natasha’s words and says, “But… maybe it left me feeling like I shouldn’t be part of a team. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Well maybe it’s time to get over that.”

“Did Tony bribe you to try and get me on the team?”

She smiles and leans forward. “Tessa, you’re already part of the team – part of the Avengers team and, I’m pretty sure, part of the Sullivan-and-Barnes team. Whether you like it or not.”

She nods gravely and takes another drink, and the two sit in silence for a long moment. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” Tessa says softly.

“You think he’ll expect something different if you live together?”

She shrugs. “Right now, we’re just… I don’t know… we’re happy together. But – God, this is going to sound so cliché – we’ve never labeled it.”

Natasha snorts out a laugh. “Labels are for children. You don’t have to put a name to a relationship to be happy in it. You’re adults. If you’re happy together, then just be together.”

“That may be the most naïve thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Nat merely shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m a genius and you’re just too threatened by my intellect to admit it.”

“Maybe. Doubtful.”

Natasha sets her mostly empty glass down on the coffee table and leans in toward Tessa. “You want to know what I think?” Tessa raises her eyebrows and nods. “I think that he knows you – gets you – in a way that no one else ever has. And I think that you, weirdly, get him too. And all of us in the tower think you both are disgustingly, adorably enamored with each other. And I don’t think that’ll go away because you work late and miss dinner a few nights a week, or because he leaves the toilet seat up, or because one or the other of you drank the last of the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, or whatever other ‘living together’ issues may come up.”

“I got yelled at for putting the empty OJ carton back in the fridge just last week.”

“See?!” She tenderly lays her hand on Tessa’s knee and levels her with an intense stare. “I think you’re nervous because you’re overthinking it. And if you just let go a little, which I know is crazy difficult for you, then you might just end up being happy despite yourself.”

Tessa drops her eyes and feels a hot blush slowly creep up her neck. She knows Natasha’s right. “I think…” she starts slowly, “that you’re a really good friend.” She looks back up at Nat and sees her eyes soften a bit. “And I think that we should go out and get you laid. Because you clearly have forgotten what it’s like to be with a man.”

“That might piss Bruce off.”

Tessa scoffs. “If he doesn’t make his move soon, he’s gonna piss me off. And he wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x oc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfic #marvelau #bucky imagine #avengersau #avengers fanfiction #Supernova

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boundlesshart · 4 years

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preliminary cindered shadows thoughts and headcanons

Or: DLC truly fed me more than I fed myself today

Ok. I have watched through all of Cindered Shadows, read through the library texts, and seen the Claude/Balthus supports. I’ll keep this mostly concerning Claude and House Riegan as a whole, since they’ve gotten a lot of development.

As of right now, the information seems to be more informing than “you see this carefully created headcanon that you like? poof. gone”, which is excellent!

Spoiler warning extends to early Chapter 1 of Cindered Shadows (snippet of dialogue ten minutes into the side story, nothing story related), Basement Library contents, and the Balthus/Claude support.

Members of House Riegan

The most exciting development for me is that every immediately relevant Riegan has been named! Duke Riegan (Claude’s Grandfather) is now Oswald von Riegan (nicknamed Oswald the Old in the C support of Balthus/Claude), and Claude’s mom is now Tiana.

First off: Oswald the Old. Love it. Keeping it. I’m only now realizing that a lot of my headcanons have been restricted to the headcanon channel on our discord, so for a refresher: I hc that Duke Riegan has a Major Crest of Riegan, which has allowed him to reach 100 years of age by the time the game starts. He’s kind of shaking his cane at the youngins and being stubbornly alive in the face of Alliance nobles praying to the goddess for him to pass on finally, but his health is failing and he is unquestionably old. It reminds me a lot of “The Late Lord Frey” from ASOIAF, which refers to another ridiculously old man who people wish would die so that they can get their inheritance, only for him to be stubbornly alive (and hated, though he doesnt particularly care about that). LITERALLY hate that I compared Oswald to Walder..... LITERALLY hate that i realized that their names have similarities. Moving on quickly before I get mad.

I do miss my Shakespeare reference of Desdemona falling in love with Othello the moor, and Tiana feels a little too simple next to her brother Godfrey, but it’s fine. I’ll talk more about her later, because now we have to talk about the brand new Riegan on the block: Claudia von Riegan.

Letter to a Mysterious Noble: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part One

I’ll start with the letter that nearly killed me:

My Beloved....

You were right. It seems he would not hesitate to divide the house. What's more, I hear he's considering taking his half of the territory and joining the Kingdom.

I can't believe he would even consider dragging another region into this, not to mention stirring up trouble over his inheritance, at a time when the Alliance desperately needs to unite. He's clearly out of his mind. Though he bears a Major Crest, and you a Minor Crest, your father was wise in his attempt to declare you his heir.

As it were, I can't help but wonder what your intentions with me are, I am drowning in letters proposing marriage to that....beast. He may share your face, but the resemblance ends there. I refuse to marry such a foul creature. If you don't come to me soon, I am going to you. Don't forget that my father's blessing could be revoked at any moment....

I will depart Derdriu at the end of the Lone Moon. You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.

- Claudia, Second Daughter of House Riegan

Ok. With the Claude/Balthus support it is confirmed that Claudia von Riegan is NOT Claude’s mom, which is a relief and a half because I was about to throw hands in defense of the milfdilf power couple that I made Claude’s parents to be.

Now that that is cleared up, this letter is definitely referring to the split of House Daphnel and the creation + defection of House Galatea to the Kingdom. We don’t have a date for when this happened to give more context to the letter, so I’ll leave that to a future Ingrid to decide. In lieu of that, I’ll place this at the 960s, since the Alliance would be in turmoil rebuilding and recovering from the war against Almyra, which would be a time when they desperately need to unite. It’s also a part of my Riegan timeline that isn’t getting filled up, so it works for me.

What’s more important is what is happening in this letter: Duke Riegan’s daughter, fleeing her home and all she knew for the one she loved. Very Claudemom, which is where we realize that this is the inspiration behind Claude’s name. I’ll deal with that in a second, I just want to comment on how funny it is that a Riegan lady eloping is something that has happened twice now. It’d be funny if this was a pattern..... though I can’t see it staying positive though, Riegan ladies being thought of as notoriously difficult and strong-willed, in a bad way.

I thought this was Claude’s mom because of how frank she was. Claude calls his mother a warrior goddess and a demon queen who would have laughed right alongside his dad if he got into trouble, and from this letter..... it really fits. “He’s clearly out of his mind”, “I can’t help but wonder what your intentions with me are”, calling one of her suitors (the other brother?) a “beast”, “if you don’t come to me soon, I am going to you”, and my favorite part: “You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.”

Very blunt. She knows what she wants and she’s going to get it. It’s pretty much confirming what I’ve been thinking about how Tiana would have approached Hairan (Claude’s dad) and captured his heart, and what I’ve been going with for Claude’s search of a partner. They know what they want. They won’t stand to marry a spineless lowlife. They want someone who can keep up with them, not walk behind them or ahead of them but beside them. Excellent content. This really made me love House Riegan.

Now. Claudia. Claude. Claude is meant to be named after Claudia. My headcanon prior to this was that Claude is a name he took on when he came to Fódlan, naming himself after Godfrey Claudius Riegan to curry favor and affection from his sentimental grandfather.

Here’s the thing: both ways have their own meanings and I love them both. The first references someone who could have been Tiana’s inspiration to leave to Almyra, a tribute to the woman who gave her courage. The second references a dead guy whose name Claude uses for his own personal gain, only for it to end up being a big part of his identity, similar to his initial view of Fódlan as a stepping stone to achieving his dreams. I’m not in the business of headcanoning deadnames. Claude’s reference of fake names after Balthus asks if he is Claude von Riegan (something along the lines of “Claude is such a common name in Fódlan, it’d be perfect for a fake name”) is definitely just to throw Balthus off, but it’s too perfect not to appropriate for my own use. My initial headcanon about Claude’s names stay: When he started transitioning he chose to go by Hafez, and when he resolved to go to Fódlan he decided to go by Claude after his recently-departed uncle.

Tiana von Riegan: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part Two

Tiana von Riegan..... I love her. God I love her. I love that Balthus loves her and confirms that she is a hot milf on top of being a badass woman in general. Claude being like “Dude that’s my mom” was also really funny. Excellent support that goes into what is important for me. Love. Stan.

Timelinewise, I’ve put Tiana’s birth year at 1135, her graduation from the Officers Academy at 1154 (a year after Balthus was born, she was 19), and her disappearance in 1160. Reminder that Claude was born in 1162, specifically stated outside of Fódlan. Things are actually looking up for this timeline and where I placed her: Between 1154 and 1160 she is stationed at Fódlan’s Throat as one of the Goneril Valkyries, which gives me a fantastic excuse to have Holst and Balthus meet her a few times before her disappearance as stated in the support. Both of them knew her, and apparently they bawled their eyes out when they heard that she disappeared, which is hilarious but also cute???? She really was popular....

Back to the milfdilf power couple, LOVE Claude’s line when Balthus says that he wants to confess to his mom: “Is that a fact? Well, it’ll be interesting to see whether my father can kill you before my mother beats him to it”. They’re MARRIED. They LOVE EACH OTHER. I love it when Fire Emblem gives me parents that love each other and their kid.

Overall, nothing much changes besides the name. Except for this one..... “interesting” document from the Basement Library.I’m just going to be mad and confused at it so it gets their own separate section:

To Those Who Slither in the Dark: Eat My Ass

Ok, so straight up? I don’t like the whole “secret society of mole men are behind every plot point in history ever” thing. Stop it. Stop it! I hate this almost as much as I hate alternate timelines coming together. I’d rather it be people making decisions on their own be the reason why things go to shit, not secret societies of mole men. I had a feeling that the Slithers would be involved in the Leicester Alliance somehow beyond the Ordelia mess, but that didn’t mean that I wanted it.... Awful. Terrible. I’m posting this note here for posterity.

Item 51 Part 6 ...son of the Alliance's leader, Duke Oswald Riegan, has died in an accident. This follows an incident involving the previous successor, and even the knights of Seiros suspect it was at Count Gloucester's command, thought it seems to conspicuous. This is some concern that this could spark a war. With Duke Riegan gravely ill, the situation is....

At first glance it’s pretty much what it is: throwing some ambiguity at the identity of who arranged for Godfrey’s death. The one thing I’m still trying to wrap my head around is the mention of a “previous successor” before Godfrey. The only mention of Duke Riegan’s other kids is in the Alliance Nobility Register Thingy describing House Riegan, which only mentions his daughter Tiana. Timeline-wise, she is the only person that fits. I headcanoned Tiana as a crestless daughter and the last child of many throughout her father’s lifetime, so far out of sight and mind that she gladly took on risks like fighting to defend Fódlan’s Throat and eloping to Almyra because she didn’t have any duties tying her down. I don’t know what to make of this.... so I’m just going to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Claude/Balthus Support

Finally.... here is the rest of my reaction to Claude’s one new support from the DLC. I said this a lot but I’ll say it again: Love it, excellent, incredibly informative. I like it for the same reason I like Hilda’s (going into his origin), but I also like it because it’s the first time someone that can speak comments on Claude’s ambitions outside of the one cutscene after Fort Merceus. I’m very satisfied with what I got.

The official story/explanation for Claude’s origins seems to be that he was born to an offshoot of House Riegan. Now, Balthus dismisses it, but Balthus is dumb and I’m not dismissing it because it perfectly fits with my headcanon that there are a handful of people that are Riegans in name only, children of the current Duke Riegan, crestless and poor and existing only as irrelevant nobles. They would have been ignored if Duke Riegan died without an heir. Balthus sees through it immediately, but seeing that Claude thinks it’s plausible enough to use as a cover story, I think there’s some truth to it.

Claude reaction to Balthus poking into his heritage is to tell him to mind his own business, followed by saying that he’s too busy and leaving. This is so unconvincing that I’m choosing to ignore it. Come on Claude. You’re better than this.

We get a little information on Kupala, the autonomous village in the mountains close to Edmund Territory, north of the Alliance and straddling the borders of Leicester and Almyra. I’m not tooooo interested in them personally but I like Claude’s last line when he’s talking about a description of the Kupala tribe he heard in Almyra: “Don’t try to find them, people say, or you’re liable to get hexed. Or so the tale goes. That part was probably added to spice up the story a bi, but even so, they’re certainly a mysterious lot.” I headcanon that magic isn’t widely practiced in Almyra and to a point even feared (see: Claude’s pleas to not get hit by magic in his Lysithea supports). So like.... love it when my dumb headcanons get that Support.

Absolutely LOVE that someone is telling Claude that simply “breaking down the barriers”, whatever that means, won’t be easy and might result in consequences he didn’t prepare for. It’s like I possessed Balthus.... “Give me concrete details on your plan and also let me tell your mom I love her”. I also love Balthus’ line “Everything we’ve built to until now could fall to ash”, which references Claude’s death quote in CF.

#headcanon #fe3h spoilers #long as hell this took me two hours #i couldn't wait to share my thoughts

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aromanticgrey · 5 years

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Coming Out As Aromantic, and Why I Often Don't (Carnival of Aros)

In regards to aromanticism I exist in a state of being partly closeted and partly out. Some of my friends know. I am open about it many places online. However none of my family knows, and neither do my more casual friends or acquaintances.

When it comes to my LGBTQ+ identities I am the least out about being aro. Along with all the above groups I am out to as aro, I am also out to more family and friends as bi/pan (I use the two interchangeably). I am out to nearly everyone I know as trans. All my friends, my family, acquaintances, and people I barely know. The combination of medical and social transition is obvious to others, so coming out to people who had known me previously had to be part of the process.

A large factor in the degree to which I am out is comfort. Comfort can range from wanting privacy, to wanting to avoid tension and discrimination, to worries about safety.

I am more comfortable being out as trans and nonbinary than aro.

I am more comfortable being out as bi/pan than aro.

Why? It all boils down to what social norms I am rejecting, what perception of myself in other people's minds I am shattering, and what assumptions people will replace the shattered perceptions with.

To cast aside these norms, of gender, of sexuality, of romance, causes issues because people are very attached to them. Often it throws people's perception of you into chaos. You are now, at the very least, different and strange. At the most people fear you are dangerous. Sometimes you are dangerous. Your existence challenges their basic understanding of the world, of humanity. Rather than confront this and absorb new information into their worldview, many lash out, rejecting your existence, your humanity. Wanting you gone.

Many who are willing to tolerate my sexuality reassure themselves that at least I am still capable of love. That as long as my heart is pure and I focus on romance, not the sins of queer sex, I am okay. They think that if I can't conform to heteronormative expectations I can at least conform to amatonormative ones, as a kind of second best option. I do not tell these people I am aro. I especially do not tell them I am aromantic and allosexual. When straightness is gone, romance is their last hope that I am a normal, moral, good person. There is a reason the LGBTQ+ community has pushed so hard at "we love the same as you", and emphasized romantic love in the fight for equality. Lack of romance, especially when paired with sexuality, is seen as depraved and evil.

When I came out as trans I ceased to be in the eyes of others. People mourned me. Told me to my face it was like I had died. My old self was gone, replaced by an undead monster; and treat me like a monster they did. Unable to box me in as "he" or "she" I get called "it". This is only a sample of the dehumanization I have faced.

The dehumanization of aros exists on a similar level. In media nonbinary characters are rare, and if they do exist they are non-human. Characters that break gender roles are often evil. As for aromantic people, characters who do not experience romantic attraction are evil. Always, except for when aros write ourselves. These characters are also often non-human, or characters who have rejected humanity in the pursuit of evil. These characterizations reflect people's real world attitudes, and are often many people's only example of what nonbinary or aro people must be like.

What I as an aroallo bi/pan person face, is a combination of being seen as immoral for queer sexuality, extremely heightened by the fact that I do not experience romantic attraction, and being dehumanized for not experiencing attraction that is seen to be at the core of humanity. As someone who already deals with the immoral player/cheater stereotype of being bi/pan, and who already deals with the dehumanization of being nonbinary trans, having to deal with both in discrimination for being aro is a lot.

I choose very carefully who to come out to, and often do not come out at all. I have to ask myself if the risk is worth it. I have to ask myself how many marginalized identities I can stack up and be open about and still make it in life. For now, being aro is often too much, and too far. I very much feel that society at large is not ready for me yet.

I hope things get better. I hope someday I can be more openly aro. I hope that the efforts of myself and other aros out there writing about and sharing our experiences can bring awareness and acceptance. That's the only positive note I can leave this on; hope.

#carnival of aros #aromantic #aro #aroallo #alloaro #actually aromantic #coming out #nonbinary #transgender #trans #biseuxal #pansexual #rey speaks

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: Pure (9/14)

Summary: Belle wanted to wait until marriage before she had sex for the first time. It was the one thing that still stuck in her mind after leaving her small town upbringing steeped in religious doctrine and abstinence culture. When her wedding night comes, however, the purity ideals of Storybrooke’s sex education are hard to shake off, and making the transition from virgin to sexually active is more difficult than she anticipated. With the help of a patient husband, Belle begins an intimate journey into understanding her body, her desires, and her identity as a woman.

Rated: E

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [AO3]

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Pure

Nine

Over the course of their relationship, Gold had found out a lot about Belle’s hometown and the culture that she had been brought up in. Most of the time, they’d managed to laugh about some of Storybrooke’s more ridiculous ideas. Sex was one thing he’d never managed to get her to laugh about before they were married, and something he’d only just managed to get her relaxed enough to slightly giggle about since.

Now, he was beginning to think that she might never be light-hearted about it again.

He’d always tried to respect the town as much as he could. It was all very well Belle making disparaging comments about it; it was her home. She could slag it off as much as she liked. It was like him and Scotland. He complained about the weather and the food and was very glad he’d left the country when he had, but woe betide anyone else who decided to insult his place of birth. He knew that Belle would likely feel a similar protectiveness towards Storybrooke. He had never really been enamoured of the place, but he knew that it meant a lot to Belle.

Driving home to Boston after their disastrous trip to see Moe, it had been extremely hard to bite back all of the things he wanted to say about the place. Any love for it that he might have come to hold for it had been completely shattered with the way Belle had been treated there. He knew that she had intended to stay longer, to make sure that her father would be ok when he got out of the hospital after his surgery, but she was so close to putting him back in the intensive care ward that ultimately, they’d made the executive decision to put Aiden’s money to good use and hire a nurse to take care of him throughout his recuperation, allowing Belle to go back to Boston and breathe freely at last.

Ever since that first night, curled up together in a motheaten single bed in the inn, Belle had been distant and withdrawn. At first he had put it down to being worried about her father, but Gold soon realised that it ran far deeper than that, and God, he hated her hometown for what it had done to her, for the way it had broken her spirit so completely within just a few days of being there and facing the scrutiny. He’d tried to get her to forget the awful words that had been spoken, to tell her that they didn’t matter and that the opinions of the petty-minded locals were of no importance, but deep down, he knew that it would have little effect on her, because to Belle, they were of importance. They did matter. These were the people that she had spent her formative years with, people in positions of power and influence that she respected, her own father for heaven’s sake.

Naturally, she was going to take what they said to heart.

Gold hated them, but not nearly as much as he hated himself in that moment. His mind was in a constant state of struggle between feeling that he should have done more to protect her whilst they’d been back in Storybrooke and knowing that Belle did not want to be protected; the idea of husband as knight in shining armour and wife as poor lost soul in need of guidance and protection was one that she had been trying to shake off for as long as he had known her.

And of course, there was the little monster at the back of his mind that was feeling a little peeved that he and Belle had not made love since they went to Storybrooke. Their intimacy stretched to chaste kisses and him spooning up behind her in bed. They’d been closer and more demonstrative than that even before they had been married.

It was not so much the lack of sex that bothered him. As he’d reassured Belle on their wedding night, he’d been so long without it that he wasn’t missing it. He was used to long dry spells. It was more the fact that they had made such progress and now, with one visit to Storybrooke and a bunch of ignorant nuns, it had all been completely undone, and Belle was denying herself all of the things that she had learned. It felt like she was punishing herself for something entirely out of her control, and in doing so, she was punishing him as well.

Then this in its turn, the annoyance at their suddenly deceased sex life, made him feel angry at himself for even thinking that way in the first place. Belle was going through hell, that much was clear, and here he was, thinking with his cock instead of his brain. Belle needed his help, but he didn’t know how to help her without it seeming like he just wanted sex. How could he ask her about what was going on in his head without coming across as a thirsty bastard with his own interests at heart? Belle was hurting and it killed him to see her that way, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t raise the subject with her. All he could do was watch her flounder.

He slammed his fist against the workbench, the smarting pain a momentary distraction from his tumultuous thoughts, and Jefferson jumped three feet into the air with the sound. Gold felt a little guilty; he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he’d forgotten that Jefferson was in the shop with him, cleaning up the vintage frocks and headwear that they’d received in an estate sale the previous week.

“Did the bench do something to offend you?”

“No, no. The bench is an innocent victim in this drama.”

Jefferson laid down his sponge and took off his gloves, coming over to the workbench and patting Gold’s shoulder.

“No offence, Aiden, but you’ve been out of sorts ever since you came back from Storybrooke. I thought that Belle’s dad was going to be ok?”

“He is, more’s the pity.” The snarl was out of his mouth before he had chance to stop it, but at least Belle wasn’t around to hear it. He shot Jefferson a worried glance, but his friend didn’t seem to be too worried by the outburst. He seemed amused more than anything.

“There’s definitely something going on that you’re not telling me.”

There was a lot going on that he wasn’t telling Jefferson; he wasn’t accustomed to talking about his sex life with anyone, even if he knew all the lurid details of Jefferson’s whether he wanted to or not.

“This goes deeper than a normal hatred for one’s father-in-law.”

Gold sighed. “It’s private, Jefferson. And that’s not negotiable.”

“All right. I’ll leave well alone. You know I’m always here if you need a friendly ear or two. Is Belle ok?”

“Yes.” The answer came out too quickly out of a desire not to discuss it, and Jefferson’s eyebrows ended up in his hairline.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Belle’s fine, I’m fine, Belle’s dad’s going to be fine, now can we please drop the subject!”

“Ok, well, like I said, I’m here if you need me.” He made to put his gloves back on, then stopped. “Aiden, we’ve been friends for a long time; you know that you can trust me not to take anything you tell me any further, and you know that you can tell me anything. I know you’re not one to wear your heart on your sleeve and you much prefer to bottle up all your feelings until you explode under the weight of them, but I’ve told you time and again that’s not healthy. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to bear it alone.”

He did, though, that was the trouble. Gold sighed. How could he even begin to explain his woes to Jefferson? He’d never really held with the idea of a problem shared being a problem halved. It wasn’t fair to burden all his problems onto Jefferson; and it wasn’t as if Jefferson could offer a solution so it would be a pointless endeavour. Unless, of course, Jefferson could help…

He shook his head. No, that was utterly absurd. This was between him and Belle, and he would have to find a way to get through it on his own. It wasn’t fair on Belle to drag someone else into their intimate life. It would be as if he was complaining about her, which he categorically did not want to do.

He loved Belle, and he didn’t think that anything could happen between them that would make him stop loving her. Even if they never had sex again for the rest of their lives, he would be grateful for the amazing few weeks of intimacy that they’d had, and he would never stop loving her because of this enforced celibacy.

Even as he told himself this over and over again, he couldn’t help some doubt beginning to creep in. He would never hold her upbringing against her; he knew that she couldn’t help the mental trap that she was now in. But did Belle know that herself? Did she realise that, or was she thinking that he was angry with her for withholding sex? How could he let her know that it wasn’t a problem without addressing the elephant in the room?

What if she was regretting marrying him in the first place? If she’d stayed local and married someone from her own town, who’d had the same upbringing as she had, someone her own age; then she wouldn’t be having this problem. Gold tried to tell himself that she would have been miserable, because she never would have experienced (well, very likely wouldn’t have experienced) all the things that he had taught her and helped her to discover about herself, but then again, she couldn’t miss what she’d never known. Maybe it would have been better for her to live in ignorance.

He shook his head. He couldn’t wish that upon her; he had spent enough time in Storybrooke to know that the life there wasn’t one that he would wish upon his worst enemy, let alone the woman he loved.

Gold sighed again, and Jefferson just raised an eyebrow, clearly hoping for an explanation as to why his friend was so out of sorts, but Gold wasn’t going to go down that route. He stood up quickly, leaving his tools out on the bench and carefully stepping over Jefferson’s work on the floor.

“I need some air.”

“Right. Yes, that’s exactly what you need,” Jefferson muttered, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I think what you actually need is to stop pretending that you don’t have feelings but hey, I’m only your best friend and business partner, so what do I know?”

Gold just ignored him and stalked out of the shop, walking quickly down the street in no particular direction, just trying to get rid of all his nervous energy.

There was nothing that he could do to help Belle, or to help himself. All he could do was stay quiet and hope that she would find some kind of peace in her own time. If he gave her the space she needed to feel safe and come to terms with everything, then hopefully she would not misread his intentions.

Perhaps it would be best if he started sleeping in the spare room.

Belle was in a quandary. She was in more than a quandary. She was in a state of downright mental turmoil and it was now so bad that she had got to the stage where she couldn’t sleep.

She shifted onto her back, staring at the ceiling in the dark and wishing that she knew what to do. God, she wished that she had never gone back to Storybrooke. She knew that she couldn’t really blame her father for having a heart attack, but if he’d never had it, then she never would have had to go back to her hometown, and she and Aiden would still be living the blissfully happy marriage that they’d had before that fated trip. She would still be living in wonderful ignorance of the way the world saw her, and they’d be making love on every surface of the house.

Well, perhaps not every surface. Even before Storybrooke, Belle had still been somewhat sceptical about doing it in places other than the bed.

She sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. Life would be so much easier if she was ready to have a baby. Then no one would judge her for having sex. She’d get pregnant, and she’d be a mother, and no one could accuse her of being a whore then. The only trouble was that she wasn’t ready. The thought of being a mother scared her, and she couldn’t in all honesty bring a child into the world if she wasn’t going to be in a fit state to take care of it. That wasn’t fair on her or the child.

So, naturally, her only choice had been just to stop having sex, the two voices in her head at constant war with each other. One of them was screaming that it really didn’t matter what the nuns thought of her, that she didn’t even live in Storybrooke anymore so why should she care what the town’s opinion of her was? Why shouldn’t she enjoy sex like she’d been doing for the past few weeks? The other was yelling equally loudly that she should never have been enjoying it in the first place and what she was doing was a sin, that the union of man and wife was for the purposes of procreation, that’s why sex was so sacred and had to wait till marriage, after all. If you’re not doing it to make a baby then you shouldn’t be doing it at all!

And then there was a third voice, a calm, rational, placid voice that kept poking her with a sharp fingernail and telling her that she wasn’t the only person in this marriage, and she wasn’t the only person that she was denying when she had entered this period of sudden celibacy. Aiden was suffering as well. She knew that he was missing their previous intimacy. On the days when she woke up before him, she could feel his erection pressing into her backside where he was spooned up close against her, and on the days when he was up first, she could feel the chill emanating from the shower. He had never pressed her, never once mentioned the fact that their wonderful progress had ground to a screeching halt overnight. He had never expressed any dissatisfaction or frustration, but she knew that he must be feeling it, and in a way, she’d feel better if he was angry with her, because then she could be angry with him back instead of being angry with herself.

It was the ultimate paradox. She shouldn’t want to have sex, but at the same time, she was supposed to satisfy her husband, wasn’t she? She was hardly being a good wife if she was leaving him wanting all the time like this. There was no wonder that he’d stopped sleeping in the same bed as her.

Maybe, as long as she didn’t enjoy it, it was all right. She’d be performing her duty as a wife, performing a necessary sacrifice to make sure her husband was well satisfied; surely she couldn’t be considered a whore if she was doing that, surely that couldn’t be living in sin. The only trouble was, of course, that Aiden loved her, would never do anything to hurt her, and would certainly never make love to her without ensuring that she was enjoying herself just as much as he was. He’d rather not have sex at all than have it and think that Belle was just performing a necessary chore.

And she didn’t want it to be a chore. She had so many happy memories of learning with Aiden, of discovering all the ways that he could make her body sing, and her his. She didn’t want that to be marred with any experiences that were anything less than pleasant.

Maybe women just couldn’t win. It all went back to Eve. She was still being punished for the original sin. She was a whore if she had sex, and she was a bad wife if she didn’t. There was no way out. She should have just become a nun and have done with it.

Belle grabbed her pillow and threw it across the room with a scream of frustration, grabbing Aiden’s from his empty side of the bed and burying her face in it, bursting into a flood of hot, angry tears.

She missed her husband. She missed having sex with him. She missed feeling all the wonderful things that he could make her feel. She wanted him so badly, and she hated herself for wanting him. She hated herself for having let the nuns get under her skin, but now that they were there, she couldn’t get them out again. It was like they’d taken over, making her feel guilty about things that she had just about managed to stop feeling guilty about.

She felt worthless, like an entire part of her identity had been ripped away and replaced with that one hateful, horrible word. Whore.

She screamed into the pillow, beating it with her fists. To the outsider, she would have looked mad. She felt mad; she was so full of self-loathing and conflicting thoughts that she could well have been going insane for all the sense her own mind was making to her at the moment.

Deep down, she knew that it was not her fault, that it was the worldview she had been brought up into that was deeply flawed and contradictory in itself. She’d always known this, and the fact that she could no longer view these things rationally made her hate herself all the more.

“Belle?”

Aiden crept into the room, picking up her thrown pillow as he came across, sitting down on the bed beside her and taking her in his arms. Belle let herself be held, leaning into his side as the pillow absorbed her snotty sobs.

She wondered how long this breakdown had been in coming. Would she have been all right if she had never gone back to Storybrooke, or had that just hastened it? Had she just been ignoring all the warning signs before, going too fast because it felt too good?

“Oh Belle, my love.” Aiden held her tighter, kissing the top of her head. “You’ll be ok, I promise.”

That was the problem, though. Belle didn’t think that she was going to be ok. She had reached a cliff, tumbled over, and was now in freefall. She didn’t know how she was going to claw her way back from this. All she knew was that Aiden’s arms were around her and she didn’t ever want him to let go. Since before their marriage, she had always felt safe in his arms, and she needed the comfort he brought her now.

Finally, there were no more tears to come, and she wiped her face, resting her aching head against Aiden’s chest.

“What do you need, my love?” he whispered. “What can I do to make it better?”

Belle shook her head.

“I don’t think that there’s anything you or I can do,” she mumbled.

“Oh.”

He sounded so crestfallen, so defeated. He wanted to help her so badly, and she had no idea how he could.

She had no idea how she could help herself.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #welcome to the angst party!#Fic: Pure

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thegeneralsnotebook · 4 years

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March Feature: History of Colours Part 2 -- White

Welcome back to Part 2 of this series investigating the histories of the six main colours of the MLPCCG, from their inception and original development in Premier, all of the way forward to the present day. This month’s topic is White, a colour that seems to be in something of a rough spot right now. It’s gone quite a long while since it last had a great Mane to its name, too. The last person to enjoy major success with it was Bugle at the 2018 Continentals, with a rather unorthodox list the likes of which probably won’t be seen again. We’ll get to that. By the way, it also bears to mention that as with the last article, I owe Bugle a depth of gratitude for walking me through the early stages of the game and pointing out the notable decks that were before my time.

Going in, I was expecting a story broadly similar to Yellow, as I knew the colour had been great once upon a time in the past, then faded somewhat, and hasn’t really surfaced again yet (outside of that one exception mentioned above). It turned out though, that I was wrong. It turned out that White had never totally yielded the stage, though it did quite generously yield the spotlight. There was something going on with White in nearly every set, though it was almost never the main colour in the decks that used it, and a fair amount of the time it was doing somewhat questionable things for its decks. Things that generally involved either scoring infinite points, or pairing up with an old Friend in Purple to play many Events over and over again. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say for now that White is a colour with a lot of notoriety built up over the years, even if it’s lacked success as a primary colour. To see that, we’ll first have to step back, to a time when Rarity was indeed Truly Outrageous.

I mean, to put any other card up there would be pretty disingenuous

The Most Aptly Named Card in History

We already covered RTO just a little bit in last month’s article, during the discussion of the Yellow/White deck Ballroom Blitz. There, she was serving in the traditional role of a card capable of scoring lots of points very quickly, and thus capable of sealing games about as quickly as she could be played. And while RTO did end up seeing a lot of play in this mode, her first claim to fame actually did something a little different. Sure, the equally aptly named Taxes still let RTO do her thing of scoring points quickly, but it wasn’t going fast. It was an early form of tempo, stacking movement and play penalties on a Problem until it was virtually impossible for the opponent to confront it, and then sealing the game with RTO after the fact. It was quite the thing in the Premier era, but died out in Canterlot Nights as the meta sped up substantially.

Bugle had mentioned to me that a version of Taxes with 13 URs was floating out there somewhere, which is a pretty impressive number when you’ve only got one set to draw from. Alas, though in searching Reddit I managed to find solid evidence that it was probably out there somewhere, the list itself eluded me. I was, however, able to find a delightfully unexpected little piece of history. The Taxes list linked above actually came from none other than Grand Pause, and it was his first deck submission on the subreddit. Even a bright diamond starts from a humble beginning.

And oh, speaking of diamonds, that brings us to the third major moment for RTO in the early era of competitive play. That being Diamonds In The Sky, a deck that holds a special place in my heart as the winner of the first competitive tournament that I ever entered (not played by me, of course). Similarly to Ballroom above, the plan was simple: move fast, strike hard, and score lots of points. In this case, Blue was a perfect match for White due to its unparalleled AT efficiency, and it could get rolling real fast off the start of the game. As today, back then it was also an excellent anti-Troublemaker colour, with good options like Fears Must Be Faced for getting back the tempo against a control-oriented opponent. Being well-rounded while also being very fast and slightly more consistent than Ballroom Blitz cemented this deck’s status for a long time, at least until the meta slowed down somewhat. That was about when things started getting weird.

Oh, wait! Before we leave this era behind there is something else that bears mention. And I doubt that Bugle would let me hear the end of it if I forgot. Tiny inclusion though it may be, White played a pretty important part in good ol’ One Pace, as the provider of that primordial combo’s source of points. (No surprises there. This theme is one that will repeat a fair amount in later eras.)

Yeah, RTO gets two pictures! Listen, things were a little strange about here, okay?

A Very Messy Time

As we transition into the later era of Premier Block, things get somewhat confused with respect to what White was up to. From a macro perspective, sure, we all know where this story goes. DJ and Maud end up on top, waging an endless war while everyone else could only lurk in their shadows. Yes, we’re not going to see another White Mane in this history for a long time. But that doesn’t mean that the colour was done for good. It still saw play, albeit for mostly just the one reason.

The slate of decks from this era is about as varied as they come. Most notable of them all I think would be Cosmic Bowling, the first deck to abuse the Pinny Lane/Dr. Hooves combo for massive bursts of AT generation. The game plan was pretty simple, as with the ability to suddenly generate large amounts of AT, the deck could rapidly and unexpectedly confront Problems, raking in the first-confront bonuses and sometimes dropping RTOs for even more. The deck could generate lots of Power thanks to Action Shot and Savoir Faire, plus had the usual AT-savings from Cloudchaser, point-scoring cards in White, and a nice new Mane in DJ to make everything that much more consistent. This wasn’t the deck that got Pinny banned, but it absolutely was the first step down that road.

Of less significant notoriety we had a couple of decks that I hadn’t even heard of until Bugle brought them to my attention. Maud Games was a deck with brief notability, coming and going in the early phase of RR as things were slowing down and the meta was largely grappling with One Pace. It used White (who’d guess?) for the points from RTO and for some of its still good control tools like Stand Still! Likewise, from a much later point in this era, Outrageous Theft got more mileage out of RTO by copying her with Queen Chrysalis, Identity Theft, and thus allowed itself to do even more of the normal White things.

See, what did I say? Things were weird. The colour was used quite extensively, but you see the same three or four cards popping up pretty much everywhere. The only places where the other White cards saw play was, well…

I told you that things were going to get weird

Let’s Just Get This Out Of The Way

Of all the archetypes, the one where White has seen the most consistent usage basically since the start of the game has been combo. There were a few reasons for this, but largely over history it’s been due to the fact that White was the colour for scoring points in weird ways. Historically, whether it was Fashion Week, or RTO, or as we travel into modern times, even Mistmane, White was the go-to colour for decks that wanted to score their points in unconventional ways. And again, as above, White was usually not the primary colour in any of these decks. Usually, it was just the win condition. But well, the win condition is a pretty important part so I can hardly get away without mentioning it. Thus, in this section, I’m going to be lumping the combos together, and boy there were a lot of them.

I already mentioned One Pace up above, but here we find its later evolution, One Shot, which at least was nice enough to include a little more White, even if it was still just performing the role of a win con. I would heartily recommend the linked article for reading, though, as it is one of the more complex combos out there.

And they keep on coming! One of, if not the most infamous combo deck ever was of course Dragon Express, and in the pattern established herein, there wasn’t a whole lot of White, but Breezy Rarity was the reason that the deck was able to win games.

Adding on to the tradition of fiendishly complicated combos, from the time of Absolute Discord there was Screw Shot, which… honestly I’m not even going to get into that one. I’m linking to the primers on these for a reason, here. Suffice it to say that once again White is here purely to score some points, though admittedly here there are at least multiple winning cycles through a White endpoint.

And no, we’re not stopping there! I’m going to get through all of the silly combos in this section, even though the next one on the list, Pie-Eating Contest, actually breaks the above pattern by not using White just to score points. For once, it’s a crucial part of the combo, abusing Teamwork Trenderhoof as part of a loop to destroy everything on the opponent’s side of the board in a single faceoff. Before the flips, even.

Finally, to bring the train home, let’s wrap it up with 104.3 FM, The Cheese, fittingly ending off this section by combining some of White’s point-scoring with some of White’s playing fast-and-loose with the rules. This one took advantage of UR Trenderhoof and Uniqueness to repeatedly play cards from the discard pile, though a later rules change invalidated the concept.

Whew, that was a lot of nonsense. Yet you know what I find to be the craziest thing? We’re more than 1700 words in and I still haven’t mentioned Eff Stop yet.

No history of White could possibly be complete without this guy

The Shutter-Click Heard ‘Round The World

Now, Eff Stop had been doing his thing pretty much since the start of the game. He is, after all, a Premier card. Through most of the early sets, he was a reasonably well-recognized tool, but enjoyed nowhere near the success of the other ones mentioned above. Yet, as time went on, the card infamous for “always getting better with every new set” kept getting better. The story of Eff Stop’s journey to getting banned starts in Absolute Discord, with another little piece of history. A Control Deck With Bad Draws was the first claim to fame for a now well-known tinkerer with the Seattle group named Skitter. This was the first notable deck that did the things Eff Stop would later be most famous for: enabling control decks to replay their important Events again, and again, and again. A later deck named Stopping Corn from around the same era did something largely similar, getting its namesake from replaying Popping Corn every turn to devastating effect.

By the time of the modern era, Eff Stop had settled down into what by now is by far his most recognizable role: partnering up with Gyro to deliver unmatched efficiency for control decks that could now minimize the deck space allotted to Events, while still getting maximum value out of them. Especially once Photo Finish showed up in High Magic, Purple/White control decks were everywhere, and the standard toolbox formulation showed up again and again. I’m going to select one representative example in the form of Cruel Mistress, a toolbox of 27 distinct cards that got particular value from wiping the opponent’s board with the combo of Spoiled Rich and Cruel Taskmistress.

But we shouldn’t forget that Eff Stop wasn’t just doing the usual toolbox thing around now. He was also playing what was admittedly a tangential role in another infamous deck: Tantabuse, where he and Interdimensional Portal served as a measure of backup when the usual tool of Minuette wasn’t available.

Finally, no discussion of Eff Stop and toolboxes could be complete without Vinyl’s Bag of Tricks, what many may consider the ultimate incarnation of the concept. With 11 distinct Events spread out over only 16 card slots, this deck captured the versatility of being able to answer almost anything the opponent could do, with the inevitability of being able to provide that same answer every turn for the rest of the game. After Bugle’s success with this deck, it was no surprise that Eff Stop ultimately got banned, bringing the era of toolbox control to an end with it.

Notably, this era wasn’t one of total control darkness. A consistent bright spot for aggro in the colour was of course the Octavia Mane from EO. Even though she hasn’t yet quite cracked the big time, there was and indeed continues to be experimentation with her. And, before Bluna fell in with the Pink crowd and Hot Wings became the only deck for miles around, she was often paired up with White, and did reasonably well too. Here’s a list that T8’d at 2016 BABSCon, something of a comforting refresher of the glory days of RTO that got this article started.

White’s still playing second fiddle, but it’s a pretty darn good orchestra

A Modern Era Just As Messy

The modern era, which I take to start at the introduction of the Core format, has been in all its complexity a continuation on the various themes that held sway over the course of this colour’s existence. Even without Eff Stop, Photo Finish still saw play as a backstop of control, especially as the new Chaos variant rose to prominence. In more recent times, naturally Mistmane has been added in as well. New potent tools like Bodyguard gave it a new lease on life heading into SB, though once again not taking too much of the spotlight for itself. And there were even new combos, of a sort, if you think of banking up AT until Mistmane wins the game on her own to be much of a combo. Still, it was potent for a time.

Indeed, White has spent nearly all of its history playing the secondary role, when it even got that. As Bugle pointed out to me, only 2 White Manes have ever made T16 at NA Continentals. Once for Octavia, and once for the deck that will be ending off the article this time. Because while the colour has so generously yielded the spotlight in almost of all of the lists above, there is one glaring exception of such unparalleled primacy that it simply must stand on its own. Naturally, I’m referring to Meanie Belle’s Big Sister, the 2018 NA Continental Champion.

Perhaps most fittingly for a colour that expressed itself in the past by providing useful tools to other colours, this deck is nothing but tools. It’s all useful Events, Troublemakers and Resources, put together to facilitate something that Rarity and her colour had been seemingly unable to do over the whole course of the meta’s history: hog the spotlight. While it was a bright flash, Friends Forever came next, Yellow sprang back to prominence (as we covered in January), and Meadowbrook served as the ultimate answer to this smorgasboard of Resources.

Conclusion

That was a wild ride of an article. I can safely say that before I started out on this I had no idea of the breadth of different archetypes and eras that I was going to be covering as I went through the history on this one. Indeed, even though White took a long time to find itself a starring role, it was a force behind many of the major movements in the game’s history. From the combo decks that each had their moment in the Sun, to the dynasty of control that held sway in the early pre-modern era, White was always there, always helping. It’s got a little something for everyone.

Part 1 of A History of Colour covered Yellow. Next up will be Purple.

#mlpccg #history

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splendidduchess · 5 years

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Read to Roll Update!

Later than I wanted it to be but you can’t @ me I was on vacation this past week.

TL;DR: finished Pretty Monsters, cracked open The Elric Saga, will probably finish Useless Magic first to say I have three books down.

The rest is under the cut!

So I’m what I would consider behind--I only finished my second book (out of five) on Tuesday with only a little more than a week to go in the month. But let’s get into it, shall we?

Despite my lukewarm introduction last update (I said the first story was merely “...fine”), I enjoyed Pretty Monsters by Kelly Link more than I thought I would. I did, in all fairness, read some reviews before I went into it including one from someone who decidedly did not like the book and it may have affected how I approached the anthology. Some light spoilers ahead!

First of all, a lot of the stories don’t seem to have a Point--because they feel vague or like the endings were left off because it’s too haaaaard to end it in a way that actually satisfies. I’ll admit that it can seem like Link is foisting the work onto the reader to put the pieces together. But by the last story, it’s clear that this is a conscious choice rather than a failing of the author. (I, at least, can forgive it.)

This is how she feels about Story.

That whether an ending is happy--or satisfying or completes the journey you just read--is up to the reader: who they are, what they choose to believe, the kinds of perspective they bring with them. And sometimes stories change when you read them again. This isn’t a video game, shipped incomplete at launch so the publisher can sell you $25 DLC to make more money. This isn’t a clever twist that comes out of nowhere so a gloating author can smugly claim superiority. This is an exercise in choice. Whether that works for you or not is a toss up. You can either feel cheated by that (and it’s a perfectly valid criticism!) or try to meet the book halfway. It definitely works better for a series of short stories over a novel.

Now, to rankings!

What, you thought I wouldn’t pick and choose my favorites?

9. The Wrong Grave--How unfortunate for this to be the first story! We very nearly got off on the wrong foot here, but it is a good morsel to taste test what the rest of the anthology will be like.

8. The Monster--A summer camp story gone wrong. I like the story well enough but it’s a pretty simple chiller that I can’t really recommend or be engaged with. This story most obviously illustrates the thesis of the book in practice.

7. Magic for Beginners--This one was rough at first, but I ended up being charmed by some of the meta-ness and came to embrace the dream-like quality of the narrative. The line that ends up most important to the Thesis:

“Jeremy had always wondered about what kind of television shows the characters in television shows watch....Curious things happen to them on an hourly basis. [We] can forgive their haircuts. We just want to ask about their television shows.”

Link takes a couple of stories to answer this question and remind us, “Hey, it’s fiction for them too.”

6. The Specialist’s Hat--This one flip flops with my choice for #5 because I feel like they’re similar quality and also because they’re right beside each other in the book. They both have questionable ends but are otherwise pretty coherent. You generally know what’s going on; it’s the specifics you’ll question. This gets bonus points for having my name in it and me reading it when I was in a receptive mindset. (Vacation in a large old house surrounded by woods, terrified of what might look back if I peered into the darkness outside--and hey, one of the protagonists shares my name!)

5. The Faery Handbag--This story is more coherent than the previous one by far. It has a beginning middles and end (kind of). Whether or not the narrator succeeds or fails is besides the point. It’s like Magic for Beginniners in that way. But you get the Point--what the story is meant to convey--easier here, I feel.

4. Wizards of Perfil--Also like Magic for Beginners, this was a bit of a rough start, but it becomes more for me than MfB does. I probably should have guessed the twist sooner but, again, not the point! Or the Point. I appreciate what this story ends up saying about personal power and what happens when we wait for Superman. And knowing how the book treats endings, this also makes a lot of sense.

3. Pretty Monsters--This isn’t just a double layer story, it’s a triple decker. And I love every one. This is the story that lays it out, that elevates the other stories on the list, that makes it as clear as it will ever be what we’re all doing here when we read this book. By this point, I’d learned how to read Liunk and wasn’t as jarred by the transitions. And that’s probably why it’s last. Everything builds to this.

2. The Surfer--So this is the one where I started to actually respect what the author was doing. This is the one that got me to realize that Link actually could do more than pithy, quirky, ending-less stories. She actually had some modicum of empathy for the characters she was writing. It was tense, gripping, and at times comedic. This was when the stories became Real for me.

1. Constable of Abal--I am here for literally everything in this story. It’s a gritty but lush, almost gothic, tale but in a lot of ways feels the most fantastical. It’s wrapped up in a pretty bow. Answers are found, closure is had, and there’s even something of a love story? But there’s something sublime in a familiar way at the heart of it that brings me joy. I would read this over and over again, and that choice, all of the choices I’ve made in this list made me learn about my preferences and beliefs in what a story can and should do.

What this all means for Symeera, I’m not sure. I may take the complicated idolization of a mother figure (possibly the High Priestess of whatever temple she served at) and the conflicted identity of the protagonist of Constable of Abal and have that inform her personality..

I’ve read the first few chapters of the Saga of Elric Part 1 (since that’s what I had with me) and I’m treating it like a hot cup of tea--cautiously, slowly, and with the conviction that it will inevitably hurt me. It’s a tragedy, after all. The only thing I really know is that it’s iconic for a reason, so I may need to view it as a product of its time.

#readtoroll #read to roll #readathon #long post

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