#its not a real solution obviously like they should work properly in the first place

[valmillion]

really funny that every website is in an arms race to make itself as bad as possible and immediately someone makes a firefox extension to fix it

#its not a real solution obviously like they should work properly in the first place #but it shows how all these changes are not for the benefit of the user and are always unpopular

[scriptstructure]

part 1 I have multiple alien planets, but the things is I want to to be similiar in earth as in 200 countries, 5000 ethnic groups, 6500 languages, varied climate/terrain/politics. Part of the story is still on earth and obviously as a whole, 99.9999% of stuff on earth isn't even getting used, but we know there is more and sometimes there are little hints. That is stuff we know from real life and generally doesn't need explanation. Example, a character says "We borrowed this from the Russians."

Part 2 Regardless of what is really important, what we know and doesn't need explanation is a lot because we figure readers generally understand--or they can google. Hell, there could even be lots of subtle culture references as well. Anyway, depending on the reader's knowledge, it can enhance the reader's understanding in various and subtle ways. But when I do things similiar in alien planets, it makes no sense and requires extra explanation to fill the details. So, basically useless.

Part 3 Thus it seems I'm unable to fully give the type of experience as when using earth as pretty much everything needs to be important to the story. Unless there's another way to do this so I can make my alien planets seem so much more than what's actually focused on without the needless exposition? It feels like at best I could try to mention a few things but it could never feel as vast as earth does. Perhaps maybe I just need numbers?

Reminder that if your question doesn’t fit in a single ask box, you should use /SUBMIT instead.

I have had a few questions in the past which are very similar to this one, [HERE] is about how to introduce invented elements of secondary worlds (stuff that doesn't exist in the real world but has been made up for the story), [HERE] is about how and why we might include extra details about the places that a character is visiting, [HERE] deals with establishing what a 'normal' day in an invented setting is like, and [HERE] is about ways of thinking about worldbuilding, and how much you need to know vs how much the characters know.

So it is a fairly common shortcut, in scifi writing, and scifi film writing in particular, to portray alien planets as kind of 'one thing' settings. Here is the desert planet, and there is the dessert planet, and over there is the Evil planet, and there's the cute jungle teddy bear planet moon. This can be useful if you're making a film or story where you just want the different worlds to work as shorthand for certain ideas 'shitty home world', 'the seat of democracy', 'the swamp where Yoda lives' etc.

But it is very simplistic, and obviously looking at Earth, as you've said, there's a vast array of different climates, cultures, people, languages etc. We do tend to simplify the way that we portray Earth in film and stories, as well--think about, say, Australia being largely signified by the Opera House/ Harbour Bridge, and the Outback™, or the UK being Big Ben and the houses of parliament, or the USA being a vast stretch of corn fields between New York and Hollywood.

So how do we effectively give the sense of a world being bigger than the particular spot that we happen to find ourselves in?

First off, you need to have background information about the world that you're building. If you know what the major cities are, what the main continents are, if your alien world has countries, or if it has a singular centralised system of government--or is it divided into city states? or is it divided into time zones? or is it divided into... etc

Think about how your characters conceptualise their world, and their place in it. Do they think about the world, with all its variety, as a single vibrant whole? Or do they think of 'us on this continent, and them over on that continent'?

How does trade work on this world? Do they have extensive trade networks among the various cities/ countries/ regions? Or do they rely on off-world suppliers for various things?

What kind of cultural exchange is common among these different areas, and what are the cultural touchstones that your characters might be familiar with, or interact with on a daily basis?

As with the examples I gave in the first linked post above, it is less about providing the readers with an exact view of how the politics and interactions of the various places function, and more about demonstrating what that means in practice for the characters.

Say there's a certain kind of fruit that is PROTAGONIST's mother's favourite, and she spends all day searching the hypermarket for one to surprise her mother with for her birthday, but turns out there's none of that fruit available because it's all from OTHER REGION, and there's a war on, or a volcano has erupted and interrupted trade, or the shuttle crews are on strike and so the fruit can no longer be transported down from the moon.

If your protag's favourite pop group is from a polar region and only produces music six months out of the year, because the other six months they have to work with their community to produce supplies for the long dark winter, that tells us something about the way that polar community is organised, and how it interacts with the rest of the world.

What else can we think about when constructing alien planets/ secondary worlds?

It can be difficult to think 'outside the box' of the culture that we're immersed in. It's very easy to slip into thinking that we're doing things the 'correct' way, and if someone else somewhere else does stuff different, that's weird, wrong, or sinister. Often it can be just a different way of doing things that gives the solution that the person is after.

I think it can be very helpful to read books about ancient history, especially stuff about societies that no longer exist, because a lot of the assumptions that we make about the way the world currently works are less useful when we look at ancient history. There are some extremely varied ways of approaching society and culture and a whole lot of stuff which isn't immediately obvious, but which we can understand by looking at the vast differences between ancient societies.

Well written history books can really help you get the sense of how societies form, and how culture develops, and some of the forces involved in cross cultural relations. Also, there are some great examples from the ancient world, of, for example, the various different Ancient Greek societies, and how each of them thought of themselves as 'doing culture the best', of their neighbouring hellenistic states of 'doing culture not quite as well' and of everyone who didn't speak greek properly as barbaric outsiders.

At the moment I'm reading Philip and Alexander: Kings and Conquerors by Adrian Goldsworthy, and I think one of the things that has struck me as super interesting is the difference between how the Greeks vs the Persians organised their societies, and the way that they thought about and approached warfare.

So what are the basic questions we're working with?

-What is the protagonist/ focalising character's relationship to the world? Were they born on-world? Are they adult settlers? Are they traders passing through? Has the character travelled to other places on the world, or have they mostly stayed in their home city/ area?

-How do the protag/ focalising characters think of the other places in the world that they are not currently visiting? (ie, I am in Sydney, Australia, what do I think of Boston, USA, or Paris, France? Big cities with a Reputation, I probably know something about. Small towns or cities I may or may not be familiar with, depending on my life experience or interests)

-How do the material goods which are needed for daily life pass around the world? Are certain goods only available from certain areas? Are there Events happening which may disrupt supply routes? Are there cultural elements which may cause friction in trade?

-What kinds of cultural export or exchange happen on this world? Is there a particular city which is well known for its entertainment production? (Hollywood, California--movies, New York City--the print publishing industry) Does this mean that portrayals of the rest of the world are skewed by the perspectives of that place? (Remember, Australia is just a bridge, an opera house, and red dirt!)

There's always going to be a gap between what your characters know, or are aware of, and what is 'actually' happening in the world of your story, but as long as you have the information decided, and can write the world consistently and with sensory and suggestive details, the reader can and will pick up the puzzle pieces and fit them together.

It's a complex problem, but it's one that can produce interesting complex settings.

I hope this helps!

#writing #worldbuilding #world building

[jennyeverywhereday]

The Disappearance of Jenny Everywhere

Here is a story written by Lupan Evezan featuring all sorts of characters.

The Disappearance of Jenny Everywhere

Pulling her scarlet overcoat tightly around her, Jenny Anywhere leapt towards her foe. The villain dodged, darting around her, and reached for a weapon - but Anywhere was faster. In an instant, she had grasped her opponent by the collar and thrust her down onto the damp stone floor of the castle.

Her foe struggled, then tried to shift away, only to be pulled back by Anywhere's opposing force. Removing a length of chain from her pocket, the red-clad heroine fastened her to a wall.

"Where... is... she?" Anywhere hissed, staring into the profoundly evil eyes of Jenny Nowhere. "Answer me, or this shift-proof chain stays in place for the rest of eternity."

Nowhere looked confused. "What are you prattling on about, knockoff? I can't speak for my other incarnations, but I haven't

kidnapped any sacrificial maidens in, oh, months now."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Anywhere snarled. "She's gone - all of her - and you're the only shifter twisted enough to pull something like that off. One of you, anyway, and this incarnation works as well as any other for interrogation purposes."

Realisation dawned on Nowhere's face. "Oh, that! Well, of course I've noticed, copycat, but you can't possibly think - look, if I was capable

of something like that, I'd already be ruling this slice of perceivable omnireality. Come now."

"Funny - for some reason, I just don't believe you."

Turning towards the table in the corner of Nowhere's hideout, Anywhere picked up the weapon that her foe had reached for earlier - some sort of aether-bladed dagger. She angled it towards the captive Nowhere.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you - which is why you'd better start talking. Tell me what you've done with her."

"Tsk, tsk." Nowhere clucked. "Would she approve of all of this? I'm impressed, mind - it must have taken you ages to find these chains. But I'm afraid all of your effort has come to naught, because I'm just as baffled as you are. Whether you believe me or not, it's the truth."

Anywhere kept her grip on the dagger - but something in Nowhere's words seemed genuine, beneath the mocking tone. It could be a trick - was almost certainly a trick. But she'd never heard the anti-shifter sound so sincere.

"Fine. Give me a reason to believe you, then. Or - to reiterate - I leave you tied up here. Forever. If you ever want to leave this room again - let alone this universe..."

"A reason?" Nowhere asked. "Fine. Simple: I would never do something like this."

Anywhere snorted incredulously. Nowhere shrugged.

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit hard to reconcile. But it's the truth, completely. I may hate her, yes. I may want to see her destroyed, defeated, foiled at every turn. But wiped completely from the multiverse?" The captive villain blew a strand of hair from her eyes before continuing. "I am Nowhere. What significance can that concept hold without its opposite? What would my purpose be, if she were truly gone? Individual incarnations, certainly - but I would never truly want all of her eradicated. I really wouldn't."

"But she is." "She is." Nowhere acknowledged. She sighed. "And I really, truly don't know why."

Anywhere stared at her captive - something in her eyes, while still evil, seemed genuinely sad. She bit her lip, thinking.

"Fine. I'll believe you. Provisionally." "You'll let me go, then?" Nowhere asked. "Not yet. But I'll be back." Anywhere turned her back to her foe. "And she'll be with me." "I'll hold you to that, wannabe." came Nowhere's voice from behind. "Give her my worst regards." "Count on it." With a flash, Anywhere shifted away.

She rematerialised in a rain-soaked city and sat down on a nearby bench. The local incarnation of Jenny lived nearby, and they would often meet at this corner, guided by the intuition that the other was waiting. She stayed put for many minutes, hoping against hope that she'd show up - but she didn't. Of course she didn't.

Anywhere sighed, resting her head in her hands. There was no denying it. She was gone. Every single one of her, across every reality.

Jenny Everywhere had disappeared. And Anywhere had no idea what the multiverse was going to do without her.

****

Tying her frizzy orange hair into a bun, Laura Drake got to work.

Jenny was gone. Jenny - her best friend. Her only friend, really. Jenny, who had defended her from bullies in grade school, who had helped her secure her current position with one of the world's leading scientific innovators, who had once fought off a demon for her (well, they couldn't all be normal life events - this was Jenny, after all).

Laura still remembered the first time she'd learned about Jenny's powers - how could she forget? That was a memory that would stick with her for the rest of her life, she was sure. She'd walked into her best friend's bedroom just in time to see her vanishing from reality. That had been an interesting discussion.

It had, obviously, been a fairly shocking thing to witness - but she'd gotten more or less used to it eventually, after seeing it happen so many times. Up until the very last shift, which Jenny still hadn't returned from. That had been almost as shocking.

Of course, Jenny had disappeared for long stretches plenty of times in the past. But she'd always let Laura know that she'd be away, without any exceptions. Leaving without a warning, Laura was sure, could only be a sign of something very bad. And she absolutely was not going to let something very bad happen to Jenny.

Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. Not bad for something whipped up so quickly - the fact that she'd used... borrowed technology from work had helped on that front (and if the Altern Corporation didn't like it, tough luck). But looks weren't everything. Would it work? That was the real question. There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, she connected the power supply. With a crack, reality seemed to stretch before her eyes before snapping back into a bright blue vortex that hung within the frame that she'd created.

So far, so good.

Glancing nervously about her workspace, she donned her protective gear - which she really should have been wearing all along, but it had slipped her mind. Steadying herself, she strode forward.

This is fine. It's all fine. It's all going to go perfectly without a hitch. No chance for accidents here. I'll just be in and out. Find Jenny, come back - nothing to it. Easy as pie.

She stood before the portal. The mental reassurances weren't helping much - this was still undoubtedly very frightening. Jenny had taken her on a few trips to other worlds before, and even that had been nerve racking - but it certainly didn't compare to diving off into the unknown without anyone to guide her.

But Jenny was gone. And she was going to find her.

Taking another breath, she stepped into the crackling rift. ****

With a shout, Jenny Anywhere leapt into the gaping maw of a serpentine abomination. Darting swiftly past the outstretched fangs that dripped with sickly-green venom, she plunged onward towards the back of the throat and landed a pulverising kick to its uvula. The creature retched, then careened into a nearby mountainside as Anywhere jumped out between its teeth and skidded to a stop on the ground below.

The thing unleashed a strangled roar, its snake-eyes locking on to to its pink-haired foe. Anywhere crossed her arms.

"Had enough yet, beast?" she yelled up at it. "Ready to tell me where she is?"

The creature choked again, then spat a drizzle of venom droplets. Anywhere dodged, watching as the spray burned away the undergrowth.

"Well?"

"I have already told you!" the monster hissed, rising painfully from the mountain where it had landed. "That I have no idea where your friend is - and I certainly didn't eat her! Now, don't mistake me - I absolutely would have, had she been through this way. But - and this bit is crucial - I have never so much as laid eyes on her! I promise! Please don't kick me again!"

As Anywhere considered the creature's words, someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned to see her travelling companion, the shifter known as Hakhe. The two had run into each other shortly following Anywhere's interrogation of Nowhere, and had decided to continue their search together.

"While I understand and appreciate the thoroughness and... ruthlessness of this investigation - " Hakhe began, in Thai, "in an infinite multiverse, I think it might be best to limit our interrogations to those who have actually heard of her."

Anywhere crossed her arms. "I know, I know - but we've pretty much exhausted every twisted villain and horrible monster that she's ever told me about, so I just figured..."

Hakhe nodded. "You're right. But maybe this isn't the best way to go about finding her at all. We could be at it for the rest of our lives, at this rate, and still be no closer to finding any answers."

"I guess you're right." Anywhere sighed. "I just don't know what to do. This is all completely wrong. One incarnation might go missing, or even a few hundred - but all of them? Every single incarnation of Jenny Everywhere, in every single universe - all vanishing at once? It just... isn't supposed to happen."

"But it did. As far as either of us can tell, anyway. And to address a possibly-unprecedented problem, I think we're going to need an unprecedented solution. Or something close to that." Hakhe adjusted her red scarf, the garment that she held in common with their missing friend. "And I think I might have an idea."

"Oh? Do tell!" "Did Jenny ever mention something called 'the Infinite' to you?" Hakhe asked. "Oh, yeah - the bridge-reality that only she can shift to. But what does that - ?"

"Well..." Hakhe mused. "She once told me that there are a few incarnations who stay there full-time, to make sure the dimension is functioning properly. And if only she can get in - well, maybe whatever made the rest of her disappear couldn't affect those Jennys."

"Of course! And they might know what happened to the rest of them!" Anywhere exclaimed. "But, er - we can't get in, either."

"Maybe not - but I think I know someone who might be able to."

"Another person? I don't mind working with you, Hakhe, but I'm really not much for teams."

"I know - but this could be our only chance." Hakhe reminded.

"Oh, alright. Let's go, then."

With a nod, Hakhe refracted reality around her and jumped into one of the dispersive universes. Anywhere followed. The serpentine abomination slithered off to get some bed-rest.

****

Laura Drake spiralled through an interminable vortex of space and time, passing through the membranes of the universes. She tumbled past alternate timelines, parallel dimensions, pocket realms - each of them completely Jenny-less. She could sense it.

But Jenny had to be somewhere. She had to.

As Laura fell, she tried to cast her mind out into the muddle of realities - to search for some echo of her friend. Jenny. Jenny Everywhere. The Shifter. Goggles. Scarf. Flower pin in her hair. Come on, come on... where is she?

Laura wasn't sure if she'd be able to leave the vortex even if she did spot a sign of Jenny - and she certainly didn't know how she was going to get home. But that was a worry for later. For now, she just needed to find her.

Scenes from across existence played out before her as she drifted by - a tranquil rainforest, a war-torn dystopia, a world made entirely of swiss cheese.

Come on, multiverse. If you can show me this stuff - show me Jenny. Please.

Something flickered, then changed. And Laura saw her.

She could tell, somehow, that what she was seeing wasn't happening 'live', so to speak. But the scenes had morphed into images of Jenny - of thousands of versions of Jenny, playing out events from prior to her disappearance.

Laura watched in awe as her vanished friend saved reality a hundred times over, vanquished evil again and again, explored countless worlds and embarked upon billions of adventures. There she was, fighting off villains - liberating entire planets - riding a dragon - taming a comet - flying with Amelia Earhart - doing anything and everything imaginable. Across the universes, there was one constant - one person who could defy any limits, who couldn't be held down by any artificially-imposed constrictions. A person who could take on any mission, any story, any challenge that arose. A shifter. The Shifter.

A person that the multiverse absolutely needed to have around. And I can find her, Laura told the multiverse, If you'll just show me how.

There was another flicker. Something buzzed, and then - a portal opened in the vortex-tunnel before her.

Bracing herself, she dove in.

****

On the bridge of the starship Wilson, a blond-haired man in a purple uniform prepared the computers for an unprecedented jump.

"Michael, pardon the interruption - " one of his companions began, raising a finger as the blond-haired man finished hooking an unspeakable number of back-up generators to the main server.

"What is it, Ill? I'm busy."

"Actually, I've been going by 'Lit' recently - er, but that's hardly the point. I just... feel the need to reiterate the point that trying to 'brute-force' reality-shifting like this is liable to destroy the entire ship."

Michael shrugged.

"Yeah, that's why I left the crew over on that moonbase."

"Yes, and I have chosen to remain with you in the hopes of shielding you from a similar fate - but such an intervention would be completely unnecessary if you would - "

"Look, I'm sorry, but Jenny is missing. The synchs aren't telling me where she is - so I'm going to look for myself. The Infinite seems like a good place to check, and I can't get there on my own, so - "

Michael gestured to the mess of equipment that he had connected to the Wilson. The Abstract of Illumination, embodiment of the concept of light, sighed.

"So you've decided to connect yourself, a cache of Jenny's genetic makeup, and a ludicrous amount of power to the ship's computers, make the jump, and hope for the best?"

"Now you're getting it!"

As if to prove the specifics of his scheme, Michael connected a wire to the bulky headset that he had fastened to his forehead. The ship's terminal blinked in seeming confusion at the new input. The Abstract pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

"Have you considered that this might be a trap rigged by Chaos or one of his ilk?"

"Sure I have - but this still seems like our best course of action. Without Jenny - well, without Jenny, all of existence is in Chaos's grasp already. We have to try to find her, no matter what it takes. Flip that switch for me, will you?"

The Abstract reluctantly flipped the indicated switch. Energy coursed into the server, causing it to hiss. Michael prepared for the shift.

"So... coming?" he asked, looking over his shoulder. "Not to late for you to go join the others." "Oh, I'm not worried about myself - it's you who should give this a good mulling-over." "Done! Let's get going, then!" The Abstract rubbed his temples as Michael Wherever initiated the jump.

**** Somewhere in space, a dark force shifted.

It had been watching, lurking, spying on the crew of the Wilson as they made their preparations. It had heard it all - it knew of Jenny's plight.

Besides, it could feel it - the lack of the Shifter. They were connected, in some twisted way - the Shifter and the Fallen One. After all, it was not just one being, not one entity. No, it was the gestalt consciousness of thousands of the many monsters felled by the Shifter - held together by hatred and vengeance and the all-consuming power of Chaos that blanketed this universe. It hadn't had anything to do with the Shifter's disappearance - but it was certainly not averse to taking advantage of the situation. Far from it.

Jenny had destroyed it time and time again, ended a thousand of its lifetimes. Now it was her turn to feel that pain. She was out of the picture - she could no longer defend her allies.

It would pick them off one by one, consume them, and finally, finally have its revenge. Nearly chuckling to itself with a hundred mangled voices, the horrid amalgamation crept into the

proverbial shadows of the universe, ready to strike. ****

"So... let me get this straight: you want me to take you to the Infinite?"

"That's right!" Hakhe confirmed. Anywhere nodded.

"And... you think this is something I can do? Really, I'm asking - I have no idea."

"Well, all of the Jennys can get there, right?" Anywhere said. "And you're - well, you're not quite a Jenny, but you are a clone of her. Same DNA and whatnot. That's more than either of us can say."

Jenny Somewhere nodded.

"Yes, I suppose that's true - but it's not like we're connected or anything. I mean, all of the proper Jennys disappeared, right? But I'm still here. And even if I could get in - well, maybe you don't realise this, but I can't exactly aim. We'd probably end up in some kind of death dimension or something, instead."

"Well, yes, we do know that." Hakhe replied. "But we can, so we thought - maybe we could be your navigators, so to speak?"

"Oh. Well - I guess that might work. But - are you sure she'll be there?" "No... no, we're not." Anywhere admitted. "But it's the only real idea we've had. If - if she isn't

there, I don't know what - "

"Don't worry." Hakhe reassured her. "We'll find her. No matter what, we will find her."

"Well, I'd like to help, if I can." Somewhere told her new companions. "And I suppose it can't hurt to try. Probably. But my living room might not be the best jumping-off point. Let's go to the void

between the universes first - sometimes I have slightly better aim from there, to begin with, since it connects them all."

Somewhere held out her hands. Anywhere took one, Hakhe took the other, and they shifted. ****

They stood in the void, gazing into the surrounding nothingness.

Well, stood wasn't quite the right descriptor. Floated, was more like it.

"Only a short jump from here to the Infinite." Somewhere said. "Er, you know. Hopefully."

"Well, we're off to a good start." Hakhe noted.

"No time to waste - let's shift!" Anywhere put in.

The three shifters clasped hands again, preparing their most difficult reality-jump yet. Anywhere and Hakhe focused intensely. Somewhere summoned her strength.

They shifted.

The void melted away. The universes seemed to part. They fell, tumbling through an endless wormhole. They pushed onward - they glimpsed the Infinite - they touched the boundaries of the bridge-universe...

Then snapped back into the howling void.

"It... didn't work." Anywhere mumbled. Hakhe put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. We'll figure out some other way to - "

A tremendous rending sound cut her off as, beside them, something tore open in the nothingness. A woman with frizzy orange hair stumbled out.

They stared at her. She stared back. "Wait... Jenny?" she asked. Somewhere shook her head. "Not quite."

"But we are friends of hers!" Anywhere put in. "You're one of the Lauras, right?"

"One of the - ?" Laura shook her head. "No, that's not important. Yes, I'm Laura - you know Jenny, too? Do you know where she is?"

"No - we're looking for her, though." Anywhere replied. "And we think we might be on the right track. Er, how did you get here, by the way? That was some entrance."

"Oh, it was... quite a journey." Laura said, brushing residual ashes off of her protective gloves. "But that's not important, either - the right track to find Jenny, you said?"

"Well, hopefully." Anywhere answered. "We're following the best idea we've had, anyway."

"Well - can I help, then? I'll do anything to get Jenny back."

"Hmm..." Hakhe rubbed her chin. Her eyes lit up. "Actually, yes - I think you could. The three of us couldn't quite enough to make that jump work on our own - but it's my understanding is that the Lauras of the Multiverse tend to have a special connection with the various Jennys, unlike any other. So..."

"So adding her to our, er, biological navigation system here might actually increase our odds!" Anywhere exclaimed. "Great idea!"

Hakhe nodded, then held out a hand to Laura. She took it. "So - what is your plan, then? Where are you trying to go?"

"We'll explain on the way." Anywhere answered. "But I don't think we should waste any more time around here. The roving abominations are starting to look hungry."

The others nodded. Clasping hands, the four companions focused, then shifted with a bang. ****

They hadn't expected the Infinite to be so... infinite.

Physically, yes, they had been fairly sure that it would live up to its name. But it wasn't just the dimensions of the bridge-universe that were endless - it was everything. The very concept of the place seemed to encompass every possible experience, assimilated from every other reality. Standing there, the four world-travellers felt as if they were living a billion billion lives all at once. It was just a fragment of a feeling, of course - an echo of what it must have been like to be Jenny, when she tapped into the network of all of her infinite selves.

Despite everything, it wasn't overwhelming - it was exciting. The sheer possibility of every imaginable adventure seemed to dangle before them.

But they hadn't come for adventure. They had come to find their friend. And the Infinite, in addition to being unimaginably vast - was empty.

"She... she has to be here, right?" Anywhere sputtered. "Right? She has to be! How could... I mean - she has to!"

Anywhere ran off through the Infinite expanse, with Laura tagging closely behind. The others followed.

"Jenny!" Laura called, her words echoing back to her alongside the words of countless others throughout the multiverse. "Jenny?"

She stopped. "I... I don't think she's here." she mumbled. "I don't know why, it's just - it doesn't feel like she is."

Somewhere nodded. "Yeah, I can usually feel some kind of connection when she's nearby. But I'm not really getting anything here, unfortunately."

Anywhere shook her head. "She has to be here. She has to be."

"She's somewhere, even if this isn't the place. We'll keep looking." Laura declared. "I'm not giving up."

"Neither am I." Hakhe said. "But - "

Hakhe stopped, then squinted at a ripple in the distance. As she stared, it opened into a rift. A large space-vessel popped out with a crash, then skidded to a stop before them, its engines fried.

A hatch opened, and a blond man in a spacesuit fell out. A pale person with black hair followed him.

"See!" said the blond man. "See, I told you that would work!"

"If by 'worked', you mean 'blew out all of the ship's mechanisms and probably would have killed you if I hadn't invoked a favor from the Abstract of Life', then..."

"Hey, we're here, aren't we?" As the two new arrivals continued their bickering, Anywhere rushed over to their ship. "Hey! Are you here to find Jenny, too?" "Sure am!" "Do you have a scanner on that thing? Something you can use to see if she's - ?"

"Oh, yeah - we do! Nearly forgot about that." Michael ducked back into the ship as the others waited anxiously outside. "Hey, it still works! Now, let's see..." came Michael's voice. It fell silent again. "Well?" Anywhere called. "...no, I guess she's not here." he replied, before exiting the ship again, looking forlorn. Anywhere was silent for a moment. "...oh." The group of companions took another look around the Infinite. "So... she's really gone, then."

Hakhe placed a hand on Anywhere's shoulder. Michael exchanged a sad glance with the Abstract of Illumination. Laura wiped the tears from her eyes, as Somewhere removed her goggles and gazed at them wistfully. They stood together in the middle of all realities, wondering if they'd ever see their friend again.

****

A dismal fogbank rolled over the small seaside town to which the grieving party had relocated. Ordinarily a peaceful place, it had taken on a gloomy atmosphere this morning - which suited the moods of the six travelling companions well enough.

The town was one of Jenny's oldest haunts, home to some of her oldest friends. It had been the first place different incarnations of her had shown both Laura and Anywhere. It was familiar to all of them, and they had all decided that it was the best place from which to mourn.

They had held out hope that they might happen upon her here, unlikely though it would be. That they might find her at the coffee shop or down by the pier, getting into some kind of scrape. But they hadn't, of course.

So they sat, dejected, on a secluded beach. And they hoped that they might find her eventually.

As waves broke against the shore, the six companions stared out at the sea. There were still places that they could check, of course - but what were the odds of finding her within any reasonable span of time? In an infinite multiverse, they didn't look so good.

The waves continued to roll in - and so did the fog. It seemed to gather around them, growing darker and thicker with every passing second. It blotted out the sun, covering the sand in shadows.

And then it spoke. "companions of jenny everywhere..." it hissed in a thousand broken, sibilant voices. "mourn not

your missing friend. mourn only for your own pitiful lives - for WE have come to take our revenge."

The fog closed in, stitching itself together into a tower of shattered faces. A tendril formed.

"What... is this?" Laura asked.

"Not good. This is not good." Hakhe replied.

The Fallen One lashed out at the six companions, knocking Michael off his feet. A shockwave of pure hatred shoved Somewhere into a sand dune.

"W - what do we do?" Laura breathed.

Hakhe looked up at the thing, scared.

"I don't know. I... I don't know. If Jenny were here..."

"But she isn't." Laura said. "We're... completely on our own. The multiverse is on its own."

Hakhe nodded. The beast drew closer, howling mouths opening along its incorporeal form. Somewhere's scarf was sucked in and turned to grey ash.

Anywhere stared at the monster. Her eyes narrowed. She stood, leaping in front of it. "No!" "No?" Somewhere asked, rubbing sand off of her jacket. "no?" the nightmare-being hissed.

"No." Anywhere confirmed. "We may be on our own - but the multiverse isn't. Jenny may be gone, but we're not. We've all managed to break the rules of reality within the last day or so - I think we can stop this thing from wreaking its havoc. It's what she would want!"

"You're... you're right!" Hakhe shouted. "We're not going everything she's done go to waste!" "I'm certainly not!" Laura added. "Yeah, and besides, it's my duty as a clone!" Somewhere put in. "Er, probably." "Jenny's prepared us for this!" Michael nodded. "I assume!"

"I'll certainly not let such a creature of darkness blot out the light on my watch!" the Abstract of Illumination agreed.

"foolish creatures. total destruction is your only destiny."

The Fallen One rushed towards them in a roiling ball of energy. They rushed right back.

Anywhere leapt into the air, landing a pulverising kick to one of the monster's warped faces. It recoiled, hissing, before spotting Hakhe. Forming a pair of jaws, it leapt towards her - but she dissipated on contact. Behind, the real Hakhe collapsed her dimensional projection and struck the unsuspecting thing in an unguarded eye.

It fell to the ground under the combined force of the blows, only to find itself caught in the searing beam of a handheld weapon.

"I actually forgot that I had this with me." Laura explained, as the creature writhed. "It was supposed to be a gift for Jenny. For making toast quickly."

The beast broke free, rising into the air once more. Somewhere ran towards it, crossed her fingers, and reached into another universe. Pulling, she produced a sword.

"Huh. I was going for some kind of laser gun, but - eh, this is cool."

She dealt the beast another blow, and it shrieked, letting loose another shockwave. As its opponents recovered, Michael appeared behind it in a puff of purple smoke and whacked it with a large plank that he'd found on the shore.

"Teleportation!" he called. "Whaddya think of that, Lit?"

The Abstract of Illumination smiled, then undid the collar that he wore around his neck. His full powers unleashed, he directed a beam of undiluted light towards the creature.

It collapsed again, and all six combatants rushed it. The struggle raged on, kicking up sandstorms and causing the sea to churn. The monster fell, rose, and fell again. It lashed out, screamed, then seemed to fall silent for a final time.

The companions gathered around it. "Is it - ?" Laura began. She was quickly cut off.

"foolish... things..." it hissed. "you have defeated but one form. but WE... are hate. WE... have thousandssss."

The clouds swirled as more twisted forms flowed into the universe, joining the creature on the ground. It rose again, becoming a tentacled hydra.

"We can't give up." Anywhere decared, stumbling forward. The thing snapped its jaws, ready to strike.

Something flickered in the sky above. A flash of red cut through the darkness, and the Fallen One recoiled.

"no... no. it is... impossible!"

The burst of red became a solid form - a human. A scarf flowed behind the figure - a pair of goggles glinted on its forehead.

Jenny Everywhere leapt into the Fallen One. With a final scream, it shrunk away and was gone. The Shifter landed on the beach and dusted off her parka. Everyone stared, disbelieving. She waved. "Oh, hi! Er... what did I miss?"

****

"So, well, what with existing everywhere all the time - sometimes I have to... rejuvenate, you know? Not absolutely every one of me - but enough that you might not be able to find me. Enough of the shifter-network gets worn out, and we automatically zap off to some secret realm beyond time for a week or so. And I... honestly don't know what happens there. Some elements of me are secret even to, well, me! It's extremely rare - only happens, oh, once every few millennia. And, well, these last two decades have been so cosmically chock-full that it turned out to be just about the right time for it! But I'm sorry I wasn't able to warn any of you."

Jenny took another bite of the toast that Laura had whipped up with her heat-ray and looked out at the sunset of the seaside town.

"Aw, it's alright. I know how these things are." Anywhere assured her. "I'm just glad to have you back. We all are!"

The others nodded. Jenny grinned.

"Aw, thanks! And thanks for dealing with that monster, too - it's good to know that if I ever really disappear, I've got a great group of friends to take care of any loose ends out to get me!"

"But please don't disappear again." Laura said with a smile. "We'd miss you too much. Everyone would."

"I second that." Hakhe agreed. Michael and Lit nodded. "Yeah - can't have my ortet disappearing on me!" Somewhere chuckled. Jenny smiled again.

"Don't worry. Whatever happens, one thing's for sure: I'm here to stay. Now... how about a toast?" They each raised a slice of toast. "To the Shifters! And to every story we've had - and will have!"

****

Written by Lupan Evezan

The characters of Jenny Everywhere, Jenny Anywhere, Jenny Somewhere, Laura Drake, and Hakhe are available for use by anyone, with only one condition.This paragraph must be included in any publication involving these characters, in order that others may use these properties as they wish. All rights reversed.

The characters of Michael Wherever, the Abstract of Illumination, and Chaos were created by Benj Christensen and released into the public domain.

All concepts and plot events introduced in this story are hereby declared open-source and may be used in any work provided that a paragraph is included noting their status as open-source concepts.

Happy Twentieth Anniversary to Jenny Everywhere!

#JennyEverywhereDay #2021 #Lupan Evezan

[dweetwise]

OUT OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHO IS PINNING FOR DWIGHT ITS ACE WHO HE CHOOSES AND THE OTHERS ARE LIKE ????? WHERE DID HE COME FROM ????? ace is actually really romantic and soft and cares very deeply for dwight and it took him awhile to show that yes he is serious and no he's not gonna use him and leave

I’M SORRY IF THIS WASN’T MEANT AS A REQUEST the idea just popped into my head and i had to write it! yes i have a soft spot for this ship leave me alone ;w; also i cried at “ace is actually really romantic and soft” like you can’t just sAy thAT to me and expect me to function properly hnsdsfdhfdg ;A; no warnings for this one, only a little crack and ooc!

word count: 2000

Ace X Dwight (/X p much everyone): Never reveal your winning hand

“—fock off with that shit! He’s stayin’ with me!” David yells.

“I should share with him, I’m his best friend!” Jake counters.

“Ya just wanna get in ‘is pants!” David accuses.

“Oh, as opposed to you, huh?” Quentin butts in, crossing his arms and glaring defiantly at the Englishman.

Ace leans further back against the log and watches the spectacle unfold with a lazy smirk.

The Entity had recently gifted them tents to sleep in, only there weren’t enough for everyone and some would have to share. The girls had been able to decide their sleeping arrangements easily, but David’s temper had sparked an argument among the boys and now all of the men were sent into the woods until they could come up with a solution—‘Peacefully,’ Claudette had insisted, shooting a pointed look David’s way.

Which was proving much harder than anyone would have anticipated, since it turned out nearly everyone wanted to share with Dwight, and wasn’t afraid of voicing it since their leader was currently stuck in a trial and oblivious to the argument going on.

Bill had left only minutes into the discussion, angrily claiming he’d rather sleep on the ground than listen to them for another second, followed by Tapp and Ash who had watched the scene with varying levels of disbelief before silently agreeing to share with each other.

Ace already knows how this will turn out, but it’s just funny to watch the others fight over Dwight.

“Since when ‘ave you lot even fancied ‘im?” David glares. “And you—ya barely just got ’ere!” he stops to address Felix in an accusation.

“And that means I probably have a better chance than any of you,” Felix explains calmly. “I’d actually make a move and not just pine for four years.”

“Hey!” Jake protests.

“Alright, what reason the rest of ya got?” David demands, regarding the group skeptically.

“I just wanna make sure he’s not perved on by someone else!” Quentin argues.

“No, you want to white knight for him!” Jake counters.

“Shut up Jake, now what about the rest?” David interrupts.

“I’d just really like to spend some time with him to get to know him better,” Adam explains.

“Me too,” Jeff says. “I haven’t had a proper chance to ask him if he’d be interested.”

David nods in acknowledgement, before his eyes meet Ace’s and he can’t quite suppress the disgusted sneer upon imagining Dwight ending up sharing a sleeping space with him.

“I just think he’s cute,” Ace says with a smile, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“Look, why is Ace even here?” Jake sighs in annoyance. “Nobody would touch him with a ten-foot pole, least of all Dwight.”

“Maybe we should just ask Dwight who he wants to share with?” Steve suggests, cocking his head in thought.

“NO!” a chorus of protests interrupt him and the well-intentioned teen offers an apologetic grin.

“Look, we all know I’m ‘is type—” David starts, puffing up his chest, highlighting his generously open neckline that shows off his build.

“You don’t know shit,” Jake argues. “He sure as hell wouldn’t go for a dumb meathead like you!”

“Mate, you watch your mouth—” David starts.

“There you are!” a familiar voice interrupts the argument and both David and Jake freeze, turning their heads to look at Dwight making his way over to the group. “What’s going on? Bill said I should come sort something out?”

“Uhh…”

Ace rolls his eyes. At first, everyone was shouting over each other, and now, face to face with the object of their affection, are rendered speechless like a couple of schoolboys.

“Err, did you see the tents?” Steve starts, taking the initiative to explain when nobody else is making a move to do so.

“Oh! Yeah, they’re pretty neat, huh?” Dwight says with a small smile.

“Y-yeah,” Steve stammers and blushes a little, Dwight’s cuteness apparently making his words leave him, so Jeff takes over.

“There’s not enough for everyone, so we were just trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements,” Jeff explains. “Do you… um, do you have a preference…?”

Ace can feel everyone holding their breaths as Dwight blinks a couple times in confusion, before a flush spreads over his face.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about me,” Dwight says, nervously wringing his hands together, before finally meeting Ace’s gaze. “I already know who I’m sharing with.”

Ace swears he hears jaws drop to the floor as Dwight makes his way over and sits down next to him, making himself comfortable against Ace like he’s done countless times before, only this time they have an audience.

“Welcome back, cariño,” Ace murmurs warmly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “How was your trial?”

“It was okay,” Dwight says, looking up at him with a happy smile. “Could have used some of your crazy luck, though. I missed you.”

And then the boy dares to place a peck on his cheek in their first gesture of PDA, and Ace doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smug grin from the others.

“You could have told us,” Adam scolds him, huffing in annoyance but otherwise seeming to have collected himself.

“What?” Dwight pipes up, a frown on his handsome face and oblivious to Ace taking his silent victory over the others. “What do you mean?”

“N-no, not you…” Adam stammers, averting his eyes.

“Fucking figures,” Quentin scoffs in disgust, meeting Ace’s eyes and not bothering to mask his hostility.

“Is there a problem?” Dwight is suddenly raising his voice, wrapping his arms around Ace almost protectively, looking at the others defiantly as if daring someone to protest.

Ace finds the display unbelievably adorable, his normally meek boyfriend coming out of his shell to defend his honor. He places a kiss into Dwight’s hairline to soothe some of his nerves but not ready to defuse just yet, a twisted part of him wanting to see how the others react to their leader’s possessive behavior.

“Not at all,” Jeff says, trying and failing to hide the surprise on his face. “We just had no idea you were… involved.”

“We’re not ‘involved’, we’re dating. He’s my boyfriend,” Dwight is quick to remove any doubts, scowling at the others as intimidatingly as anyone with his baby face and doe-like brown eyes is capable of.

“Well, I suppose that’s the end of that discussion,” Felix comments, not seeming terribly phased to learn that Dwight is taken.

“Yeah, uh… congrats!” Steve laughs nervously and gives them an awkward thumbs-up.

“You’d better take care of him,” Jake glares at Ace like he’s the scum of the Earth, and Ace is fluent enough in Jake-talk to know that’s the closest thing he’ll get to having the saboteur’s blessing.

Ace raises a challenging eyebrow in response and Jake grits his teeth to no doubt suppress a snarky comment that he knows Dwight wouldn’t appreciate hearing, and Ace smirks over the moral victory and focuses his attention on David instead.

And promptly has to suppress a laugh over the brawler’s reaction. David is staring at them, or well, mostly at Ace. He looks completely gobsmacked, looking Ace up and down before looking down at his own, naked and well-defined chest, confused beyond what his fighting-filled brain can handle.

“Something on your mind, King?” Ace asks cockily, knowing full well the scrapper is most likely trying to figure out why Dwight would choose someone like Ace over a prime specimen like himself.

“How the fuck,” David merely mutters but, thankfully, isn’t picking a fight. Dwight still tenses in Ace’s arms and Ace’s grip tightens around him in an attempt to soothe him.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Ace murmurs into his lover’s soft hair, and that’s enough to reassure Dwight, the man relaxing into the embrace.

“So, guess we’re sharing with each other!” Steve exclaims, breaking some of the tension over the group. “Who’s going with who?”

“I’ll come with you,” Quentin says, still sounding a little pissed off but not about to cuss anyone out again, at least. “Unless someone has any more confessions to spring on us,” he snarks.

“Works for me,” Steve beams, nothing seeming to ruin his good mood.

Ace hears Felix mutter something about how he “Might as well go with Bill”, but then he sees David approaching Jake and instantly focuses on that instead.

“So, Jake…” David starts, cocky attitude back in place as he approaches the sulking saboteur with his shirt fluttering open—what the hell, did he pop even more of the buttons?

“What,” Jake spits, the challenging glare never leaving his face, and Ace almost prepares for a fight to break out.

“Wanna share?” David asks instead, not bothering to hide the way his gaze roams over Jake’s body. Ace chokes on a disbelieving laugh and from the way Dwight’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, he’s not imagining the sudden sexual tension between the two frenemies.

He sees the wariness in Jake’s expression, and the way his eyes very obviously linger on David’s now exposed chest.

“Fine,” Jake says, but it lacks any real heat, at least of the ‘I’m-five-seconds-away-from-punching-you’ kind, and David grins and seems way too pleased with himself.

Well, there goes everyone’s undisturbed sleep for tonight.

Finally having sorted out their sleeping arrangements, with Adam and Jeff being the unlucky ones left but not seeming to mind being stuck together, the others take their leave to go set up the tents.

Ace is finally able to wipe the smirk off his face in favor of a softer smile that’s solely reserved for Dwight, turning his head around to face his boyfriend and about to start explaining the strange behavior from the others, when…

“Had enough of your gloating?” Dwight deadpans, taking Ace completely off guard and making him gape a little stupidly. “I’m not dumb, I saw what you were doing.”

Ace offers a nervous chuckle while trying to collect himself. He should have known by now Dwight is not nearly as naïve as he seems, and that he’d easily pick up on what was really happening.

“I’m sorry, amor,” Ace says, wincing from embarrassment over his childish actions. “I did want to show you off, especially after hiding for so long. And I also really wanted to watch Jake eat his words,” he confesses, clasping Dwight’s hand and bringing it up to brush his lips against the knuckles. “Forgive me?”

Dwight’s frown immediately melts into a dopey smile, and Ace barely has the time to blink in confusion over the kid’s perfect poker face before Dwight’s lips are meeting his in a reassuring kiss.

“Of course, you dummy,” Dwight beams at him, placing one last quick peck on his lips. “I’m just… really happy you think I’m even worth showing off.”

“No no no, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this,” Ace returns the smile, carding a hand through Dwight’s hair in encouragement, his boyfriend immediately leaning into the touch. “You’re not allowed to talk about yourself that way. Because…?”

“Because I’m…” Dwight starts, a flush creeping up his neck. “’Gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’,” he says, doing air quotes.

“Uh-huh,” Ace’s smile widens even further as he takes Dwight’s hands in his own to stop the self-conscious gesture. “And?”

“S…” Dwight flounders as his face reddens even further and he averts his eyes. “S-‘sexy’.”

“Damn right you are,” Ace purrs, releasing his gentle hold on Dwight’s hands to wrap around his waist instead. “I’ve got good taste.”

As if 75% of the male survivor population thirsting after his adorable boyfriend wasn’t proof enough.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dwight huffs, embarrassment giving way to a fond smile.

“You love it,” Ace counters, placing a playful peck on Dwight’s nose.

“I love you,” Dwight corrects, chasing his lips and going in for a passionate kiss that has Ace’s breath hitching in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest.

And damn, if the others knew exactly what they were missing when it comes to Dwight Fairfield, Ace would be in a lot of trouble.

#dbd fanfic #dwace #ace visconti #dwight fairfield #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #request

[wolfinshipclothing]

Summary: I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Excerpt:

But what about you? You never tell me what's up," said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. "How's cram school going?"

"It's going," she said flatly.

"That's good. How about Lion? I haven't seen the little rascal since forever."

"You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"Right, right." Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. "Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked."

Steven's attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie's arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

"I don't know," she said, choosing simple words.

"What do you mean? Did something happen or…?"

"It's just one of these days, you know?"

Steven's silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

Welp, i came crawling back from my hole with this fic. Mind you its a very angsty, sensible fic bout self-harming and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I wrote this because 1) its always Steven the one that is hurting and needs helps, and Connie the one who is there to put him back on his fic. Few times i have seen the opposite.

And 2) this has been a shitty year. To everyone in the world, obviously. Just have been very garbage to me. Or maybe I AM the one who was being garbage to myself. In any case, i haven’t been feeling well, and decided to write up my feelings into the characters i am currently hyper-fixating on.

Is it healthy? Who knows! But it DID made me feel better. I hope this fic, if it doesn’t trigger some catharsis in you guys, at least entertain you all for a while.

Anyway, that’s all. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year folks.

(You can also read it in Fanfiction, btw)

"You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough. Cutting was my all-purpose solution." —Caroline Kettlewell, "Skin Game".

Connie’s mind was beyond herself; far, far away, where she couldn’t reach it. Her body was heavy; lead weight held together by rusted tin bolts. And Connie was trapped inside it, with no company but the stinging pain on her arm and the weight of the shirt she kept against it.

How long have I been like this? She wondered. It felt like hours. Her legs were like paper; where she not sitting on her bed, she would have already plummeted to the floor.

I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Connie lifted the shirt. The bleeding had stopped. The cuts were all dry out now —probably had been for a few minutes— but they still shined with a disgusting color. The marks from last time were underneath; red rivers over dried out canals. Feral slashes over healed scars.

Connie dropped her head onto her hands, elbows on her knees, and applied pressure over her temples. That usually helped her think.

“Stupid,” she said with a sore voice. “Stupid, stupid. You always do the same.”

Connie’s harming habit have come, less like a metaphorical descent into madness and more like a —also metaphorical— walk down a descending staircase, where each step would disappear behind you, leaving you no choice but to go further down, into the dark.

It gradually became a routine. If she’d messed up a test, she would spend all night studying the subject. If she’d snapped at her mom in a moment of hormonal-fueled rage, she would skip dinner —breakfast too, if possible. If she’d been so absorbed in her own world she’d ghosted her friends, she would train with her sword until her palms were all blistered. Small pinches of pain she could administer, in measurable doses and only when it was justified.

It was astounding how quickly she lost sight of what was measurable and justified.

But the real aggravating part of it, in Connie’s opinion, was how much of her time it takes. It’d taken her a whole morning of self-loathing for the static to take over her body. Once it did, she lost control and started attacking her outer forearm with swift, brutal slashes, instead of the controlled cuts she usually administered. When she saw what she’d done, she panicked and reached for her neatly folded white shirt. What a waste. She had barely bled a few fat drops, yet it was more than enough to ruin her favorite shirt.

She’d been quiet since then, holding the soon-to-be-rag over her arm and trying to grasp her slippery psyche at the same time. She could feel her body, but she wasn’t in it. Her brain was working itself to death, but she’d no control over its thoughts. Like Schrodinger’s cat, it was like she was there and not there at the same time. Alive and Dead. Connie has come to call this dissociative state ‘the limbo’. And she was knees deep in it now. And it must be past noon already!

If I could make my butt to get up and clean up this mess, maybe I could sit down and have some work done. Otherwise, this would be a lost day.

The thought loomed over her. A lost day. She couldn’t let that happen. Now she just had to find a way to get out of the fog of her mind…

The phone ringed. Connie as much as jumped from the bed, dropping the shirt and scissors on the floor. She reached for her phone on the table.

BISCUIT

Just left the hotel and hit the road. The engine sounds like it’s about to choke to death, tho. I hope it doesn’t break before reaching New Orleans. Call me when you have a break! Love you!

Connie sighed; her heart’s palpitations echoing in her ears. How ridiculous! Jumping to grab her phone as if she’d been caught. Like some bad horror movie; someone on the other side would said ‘you have been seen’ and then hang up, leaving Connie panicking like a fool. Ridiculous!

She grabbed the scissors and the shirt with one hand, the phone with the message she ought to respond in the other. She glanced at the bed; the sheets were wet, she ought to change those. Her arm was still stinging; she ought to treat the wounds. Also, she ought to get properly dressed. And her test was still on the desk, waiting for her…

Connie groaned and gravitated naturally towards the bed and felt into it. She’d never had trouble compartmentalizing before. She also had never been in the limbo this long before, however.

She found herself thinking of Steven; living on the open road, driving that tank with radio he calls ‘car’, doing whatever he wants, going whenever he wants to go —previously checking his rigorous list of places to go. Being whoever he wants to be.

This made Connie mad. She didn’t want to be mad. She rotated her phone in her hand several times, thinking.

I could call him, she thought. You are supposed to reach out when… in situations like this, right?

Her stomach grumbled with acid reflux. She definitely didn’t want to talk to Steven —nor anyone else, really. But hearing a friendly voice could be what she needs to get back on her feet.

She pressed the name on the screen and put the phone on speaker. It rang. Please don’t pick up, please don’t…

Schick.

“Hey Connie! What’s up?”

“Hey Steven. Are you busy?” she asked.

“Not at all. The road’s pretty calm. I think there is a storm coming though; there are some mean-looking clouds above me,” said Steven, a bit uncertain. “Are you on your break?”

In a manner of speaking. “Yeah. I just thought… you know, checking out on you.”

“Making sure I didn’t pick any new hitchhiker? I’ll let you know I haven’t done that since Miami Beach,” he laughed. “Seriously though, you should have seen the motel I crashed last night. ‘Sir-sleep-a-lot’ was the name, and it was great. There’d a real-looking imitation sword and shield above the bed! That’s the stuff you won’t see in any fancy-brand hotel.”

Connie smiled briefly. Despite everything that’d happened to Steven —and he really broke the limit of shit that could happen to a person—, he was still the same kind-hearted boy that got emotional over the simpler stuff.

“But what about you? You never tell me what’s up,” said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. “How’s cram school going?”

“It’s going,” she said flatly.

“That’s good. How about Lion? I haven’t seen the little rascal since forever.”

“You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Right, right.” Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. “Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked.”

Steven’s attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie’s arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

“I don’t know,” she said, choosing simple words.

“What do you mean? Did something happen or…?”

“It’s just one of these days, you know?”

Steven’s silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

“I’m doing badly,” Connie said quickly. “I’m feeling real bad right now and I don’t even know why,” she added, only half-lying.

There was a long mmm on the other side of the line.

“Alright. I’m going home,” said Steven.

Connie’s heart started to race. “You can’t do that. You are driving... a-and your schedule-”

“I’ll just park on a side of the road. There are some nice trees I can park under. Then I’ll call Lion and be there in a flash.”

No, no, NO. “Steven, you really don’t have to.”

“It’s no problem at all! I want to be with you-“

“Steven, I don’t want to see you, OK!” Connie bolted upright, sitting on the bed. “Nobody asked you to do anything! Why do you always have to make things about yourself?”

Silence. A gust of wind came from the window, chilling Connie to the bones. She squeezed her left hand until it hurt. The scissors were still there. She glanced at her right arm; smooth and clean of any mark. Connie was right handed, but she could make an exception.

The thought alone shook her to her core, making her open her palm. The scissors felt with a clink-clank. She brought the phone closer to her face.  

“Please,” Connie muffled a choke with her free hand, “please don’t go. Can you just talk to me?”

More silence, and there was a moment in which Connie knew ���this is it, my best friend hates me forever’. But then there was a sliding noise, and the rumble of dirt being removed. There was also a distant boom; a storm was about to drop.

“I stopped the car,” said Steven. “I’m here for you, if you want.”

Great. It’s not like that’ll deepen Connie’s guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. Dark walls were closing around her, and the only source of light was her phone and the person on the other side. Obstinate tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Please don’t say that. I know… you know that’s not true,” Steven measured each word as he spoke. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I’m just being a big baby, that’s all.” No answer. He’s not gonna make it easy for her, is he? “I’m mad. Really mad.”

“Mad at me?”

Connie grumbled as an answer. She heard Steven’s struggle to swallow.

“Right. Not about me.”

“Exactly,” she said, although it was a half truth.

“I’m mad at myself,” she proceeded. “I’m mad because I fail at everything I do.” Connie took several breaths. Here comes the bomb: “I flunked at my practice college entrance test.”

More silence.

“Go on,”

“Aren’t you gonna say its stupid?” she asked cautiously. She’d expected a scoff, a snicker. Maybe even some laughter.

“I’m listening,” Steven insisted.

Connie tried to put some verbal sense in the ball yarn that was her mind.

“I really flunked it, you know,” she said, waiting —hoping— for a reprimand. “Even the stuff that I’ve studied and re-studied.”

“But it was just a practice test. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything, Steven,” she cried. “If I’d taken it today, I would have gotten a garbage grade.”

Connie cleaned the tears away with the back of her hand. The gust coming from the window was making her shiver. Her wet hair and the soaked sheets were not helping either.

“It like everything I had done, all the hard work I put into it was for nothing,” she said. “Everything feels so pointless.”

“I don’t think it was,” said Steven, carefully. “Even if you failed, you still practiced for the real one. Don’t give up. Going to college was your dream.”

“Was it? I don’t really know.” Connie bit her lip. “No, that’s a lie. I do want to go to college. I just wonder if it’s worth it. I mean, what’s the point of trying so hard if I fail anyway? Do you have any idea how many nights I lost for this? O-or how many times I had to put my friends on hold because I was busy studying?”

She stopped. She felt as if her breath was stolen from her.

“Of course you do,” she sighed. “And it was all for nothing. I failed at this as I fail at everything else.”

“What is ‘everything else’?”

Her blood was freezing cold, as was her answer. “You know.”

There it was again; the roar of thunder, followed by the sound of a million drops falling down. It was starting to rain somewhere.

“Connie,” said Steven, on the verge of shattering. “Have you been thinking about Homeworld?”

Connie clenched her free hand, her teeth, and everything else that required physical exertion.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“I know I have no right to feel bad about it. You are the one who suffered the most from it-”

She was cut by her own throat shutting down, and for a moment only tiny hiccups came out. There was a blinding, white rage inside her. It commanded her to grab her sword and slash, lunge and cut all her problems away. But she didn’t. She stood still and cried.

“But I was there too. I saw what White did to you and I couldn’t do anything.” Connie gasped for air. “I trained so hard for nothing. When you needed me I… I failed you.” She stopped to gasp and clean her tears. “H-how can I know I won’t be a mess in everything else I do, that I won’t flunk on my first year of college? Studying was the only thing I was good at and… and I’m not even good at it anymore and just…”

She stopped to let the tears roll freely. It was too much; too much weight, too many tears. Everything was in the air now. All her failures, all her fears, like an enveloping toxic cloud around her; it’d always been there, but now someone else could see it. In the middle of her wailing, she caught Steven’s concerned voice.

“Connie, can you hear me?”

It could be easy to hang up now, forget this ever happened, and call back when she was strong and put together. ‘Hey Steven, sorry about that, everything is better now’. But Connie couldn’t do that —not to him. She mumbled a reply.

“Alright. I want you to breathe with me, OK? Can you do that?”

Well, that’s easy for him to ask. He’s not the one hyperventilating. And to think many times she’d said the same, when Steven was going through a panic attack. How the turntables indeed.

She knew the instructions to the letter, but she coordinated them to Steven’s voice. Four seconds inspiration. Hold it for seven seconds. Eight seconds exhalation. They repeated it until every corner of Connie’s mind was occupied with this routine.

“Feeling better?” Steven asked.

Connie noticed she wasn’t crying anymore and with one last sniff she said: “A bit.”

“Good. Now I want you to listen,” said Steven. “First, just because I was the one who was attacked doesn’t mean I got the monopoly on trauma.” He stopped to see if his joke caused any effect. ”What I mean to say is, that day was… it was a literal hell for all of us. Maybe more to me than to the gems, but it was so for you too because, like you said, you were there with me.”

“Which brings me to the second point: nothing of what happened in Homeworld, or that happened to me, to us, was your fault,” Steven said, firmly and fluently, like a practiced speech. “And there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. I know you are mad because you couldn’t take a swing at White’s giant nose…”

Connie laughed. She imagined Steven raising a triumphant fist into the air.

“But you did help me. You carried me to… to me! If I’m alive now, it’s because of you. And I should…” Steven stopped. Connie could see him, hand on his mouth, trying to hold the tears back and be the rock she needed. She knew that feeling too well. “I should’ve told before how much you did to me. You saved my life back then, a-and then you saved me again, months ago, when I got corrupted.”

Connie gasped. Steven never brought that topic unprompted, and he never called it for what it was. It was always ‘the incident’.

“You were there for me since day one,” Steven laughed dryly. “Actually, I should be the one apologizing. You had to go through all of that because of me.”

“I wanted to do it,” Connie retorted. “I wanted to go through all of that with you.”

“That doesn’t make it right. It wasn’t fair.”

Connie huffed. They were scratching the surface of a deeper conversation. Because Connie was mad for wanting to go to Homeworld so bad, and for all the times her life was in danger before that. And she was mad at her parents —what were they thinking? They shouldn’t have let Connie run around with a sword, fighting a war that wasn’t her own; they should have locked her up until she was eighteen. Damn, she was mad at the whole Universe for needing to be saved. They were kids! Stupid kids who didn’t knew better than to take such a task over their shoulders.

And deep down, in a corner she dared not to look, she was mad at Steven. Because from the first day they meet, he chose her. To be his friend, his partner-in-crime, his… And in an even deeper place, Connie was mad at herself. Because she had chosen Steven too, and if it came to it, she would do it all again. Back then, in the middle of the chaos, with the fear of death and the threat of the destruction of the Earth as her everyday bread and butter, life made sense.

But now the war was over, and the books Connie studied so much felt as unreal as any fantasy novel. How do you go back to being normal after having a destiny?

Connie let her head fall back and softly touch the wall. She was far too tired to shine light on those darks corners. She just wanted to rest. She was half-way napping when Steven’s voice brought her back.

“Connie? Connie, are you there? Please talk to me.”

Connie slapped herself awake. “I’m here Steven. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, as convinced as anything. “How about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Well I… I worry about you!” Steven protested. “So I guess we are in a loop here.”

That comment wasn’t particularly funny, but Connie started to laugh; a short, weak laugh that grew up to be a roar. On the other side, Steven laughed too.

“Oh man. This sure feels familiar doesn’t it?” said Steven, and eased a bit on the laughter. “I guess you are better at making me feel better than I am doing it for you.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. I do feel better. A little,” she confessed. “I’m sorry you had to deal with me being dumb. I don’t know what came over me.”

Steven was quiet for a while. When he spoke again, it was with the clearness of a professor giving class.

“Connie, do you remember one of the first things Dr. A. told me when I started therapy?

“Life sucks?” She heard Steven breathing raggedly, trying not to laugh.

“That is the first thing,” he said in a short breath, “but I mean the second first thing.”

Connie scratched her head. “The thing about the pond?”

“The frozen lake,” he corrected. “She said that, for people with depression —not saying you have it— or have gone through some trauma —again, not pointing fingers—, anxiety is like a frozen lake. Every day you bring new problems to the lake; little, everyday stuff that’s not too heavy. Then some days you bring heavier stuff, and the ice starts to crack, but you don’t notice because you hide the heavy stuff under the lighter stuff. Finally one day, you bring a new little problem and you put it on top of the pile. You know what happens next?”

“The ice breaks?”

“It breaks,” said Steven, like a satisfied lecturer. “It breaks and you fall in the frozen water, with all of that heavy shit you have been hiding.”

Connie’s hand grabbed the front of her bathrobe. She was still not used to hearing Steven Cutie Pie DeMayo Universe curse —even if she was the one who taught him the coolest words (besides Amethyst, of course).

“I remember the story now,” Connie scratched her head, feeling the hard knots of her hair. “I always thought it was a bit complex as a metaphor.”

“My point is-“

“Why not use a house of cards? Every anxious thought is a new card, and as you pile them up, the house loses stability. Finally, one day, it just falls under its own weight,” Connie explained with renewed vigor. “See? It paints a much clearer picture.”

“The point, Miss Wiseguy,” grunted Steven, and Connie could see him folding his arms. “Is that if you don’t want the ice to break-“

���Or the house of cards to fall.”

“Or the house of cards to fall,” he conceded, “you have to deal with that heavy stuff before you are overwhelmed. You don’t need to do that now,” he added, predicting her complain. “But at some point, you will need to talk to someone. Your parents or your friends… Or I can give you Dr. A.’s number. She knows everything we went through.”

“That ought to save me some time,” she said. “Maybe she’ll give me a discount card of ‘Friends of Steven Universe’.”

“See? Now you are being positive,” Steven laughed.

Connie smiled sadly. “What about you?”

“I’ll always be here for you. By phone, video chat, or to visit you… If you want me to,” he whispered that last part.

“Only if you promise to not turn into a Kaiju when we start exposing my inner demons.”

“Ha ha,” he said robotically. “I’ll assume by your sarcasm that you are the same old Berry now.”

Connie mulled about it for a few seconds. The cloud of anxiety was slowly banishing, and she no longer felt the claustrophobic walls closing around her.

“Yes, I’m good now. Thanks to yo-aaah” a loud, long yawn took over her. “Sorry. Guess I’m more worn out than I thought.”

“Yeah, I can tell… Have you really not been sleeping at all?”

“Unless you count passing out of tiredness as sleeping,” she joked.

“Ah,” said Steven. “Have you been, well… you know?”

Connie didn’t answer. She knew what he meant, but she’d no voice to say it.

“Connie, have you been hurting yourself?”

“This conversation is hurting me.”

“Connie.”

The phone vibrated and got hot to the touch, before cooling down real fast. Connie’s head vibrated too, like a snow globe being shaken. Steven’s control over electric devices had been growing.

She lifted her arm to look at the cuts; they still stung, although she hasn’t been paying attention to it. All the slashes were dry and had a dull color.

Fuck it, why not?

“Just a few cuts,” she said flatly, “with my mom’s scissors.”

There was silence for a while, but Steven’s was still there; his breath was ragged and odd. Has he turned pink? Did Connie throw him into a panic attack?

Finally, he spoke: “Connie, I need you to do me a favor.”

Oh boy, that doesn’t sound good at all. “What is it?”

“Throw those scissors away.”

Connie pursed her lips. “Steven, I can’t do that. My mom would be mad,” she said, although it was a poor excuse. If Connie cared about her mother’s feelings, she wouldn’t have stolen the scissors in the first place.

  “I know. I don’t pretend to tell you what to do,” he said, measuring his words like a baker measures flour, “but it’s something that helped me a lot. I mean, when I was in a bad place, I would go into these blank moments when I wasn’t thinking at all.” Connie nodded. He was talking about the limbo. “When I started therapy, I was told to try to be more conscious of myself. More present. So when I felt I was, you know, getting in the mood,” Steven groaned at his own choice of words, “I would take a step back and do something different. We can’t always control our situation or our mood or even our actions, but we can make small changes to have some power over ourselves.”

The way Steven spoke in plural said that he wasn’t doing vain motivational talk; he was talking from a place he’d been in… and maybe still was. Connie remembered sitting on Steven’s bed, trying to cheer him up to eat or step outside and get some fresh air. She also remembered coming home, locking herself in the bathroom and taking a long shower while she cried.

Connie held onto that thought and sat on the bed. She picked the scissors with her free hand and put that memory in them. She also put the memories of White Diamond, the monsters’ attack on Beach City, the arguments with her mother. All her anger, her insecurities, her fear of not knowing who she was— she grabbed all of it and put it into a ball, one she was carrying in her throwing hand. She extended her arm all the way behind her back. And when the wind blew the curtains opens, she propelled her arm forward like a whip.

The scissors —and metaphorical ball— broke free of her hand, made a straight line and finally flew out of the window; out of sight.

Connie stood still, catching her breath. The first thing she noticed was that her chest, while still swelling with anger, felt notably lighter. The second thing was Steven’s voice calling her from the phone. The final thing she noticed made her scream:

“Holy shit!”

“What? What happened?” she heard Steven calling to her.

“I threw the scissors out of the window!”

“…WHAT?”

Connie dashed towards the window, holding her bathtub with her free hand, and stuck her head outside.

“Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah… yeah I think so,” said Connie with a relieved breath. “The street is desert at this time. Anyway, I think I can see the scissors. They felt right by the trash can, so maybe I accidentally stabbed a rat?”

Steven was hyperventilating, but he took a break from it to scoff at her. “Now is no time for jokes, missy! Oh man… you could have killed someone! Why did you do that?”

“Because you told me to, you dumb-dumb!”

“I didn’t tell you to throw a sharp object out of the window, you dumb-dumb!”

Connie shook her head. “Forget it, I don’t want to fight.” She leaned against the wall and let gravity slid her to the floor.

“Me neither,” said Steven. The sound of rain was quieter now. “At least did that helped?”

“Yes. Almost killing innocent bystanders always cheers me up.”

“That’s my girl,” Steven laughed and so did Connie, albeit weaker.

Still, she felt better. Her body was recharging energy quickly and her mind was emerging from whatever black hole it had been hiding in.

“I think I can go on with my day now,” she said and she meant it.

“Are you sure?” Steven asked. Connie reaffirmed her decision. “Well, that’s awesome. So… would it be cool if I drop by and check on you?”

Connie’s heart started to race up again as the anxiety came back. Check on you. Like she was sick and she needed to be taken care of.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” she said, firmly. “But later. Definitely later. I’ll call you.”

“But I… OK. Alright, w-we’ll talk later then.”

Steven sounded really bummed out, but Connie could pay it no mind now, lest she wanted to feel down the whole again. “Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry I made you stop in the middle of a storm,” she said.

“Oh it’s not so bad. Kinda weird though,” said Steven. “You know, usually you hide from the rain, lock yourself inside and look at it from the window of your house. But I’m under it right now. The sky is falling around me but I’m as dry as clean clothes. And, I don’t know, it’s beautiful. It makes you appreciate everything there is, even stuff that’s supposed to be ugly. Does it make sense?”

The words struck something deep inside Connie, but whatever meaning Steven was trying to transmit was ignored. She was not in the mood for lessons right now.

“I know what you mean,” she swiftly said. “So I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright then. Please be safe. And call me.”

“I will.”

“Ok… I love you.”

Connie blushed. “Goodbye.” She cut the call. She should have said something else, something more. She didn’t know why she had been in such a rush to hang up.

She just knew saying ‘I love you’ was easier when they weren’t dating.

  With one long, invigorating breath, Connie stood up. She stretched her arms over her head until her bones cracked, then she bended and touched her finger toes until her legs were burning.

With the sudden rush of adrenaline, thinking became easier. The rage was gone and her chest didn’t feel as heavy. Connie has left the limbo, at least for now.

She looked for her phone. Her last study break was one hour ago. Most of that time had been spent talking to Steven. So much time —hers and his— wasted in vain…

Alright Connie, compartmentalize. There’s a lot to do. What comes first? She asked herself. Well, her red, stinging arm would be a good starting point. She headed for her bedroom’s bathroom and closed the door shut.

The bathroom was still mildly warm from the shower she took. The first aid kit was where she left it; resting over the sink, opened. It’s where Connie usually hid the scissors. She hung the bathrobe on a perch and checked the cuts on the mirror. They ran deeper than Connie’s usual handiwork, so she applied the process she used for her training injuries. Soap and water to wash the wounds. Dry well, apply antiseptic to prevent infection and then bandage the whole thing, from the elbow to the wrist. She’ll have to change the bandages after tomorrow at least.

Some petroleum jelly could help the wound heal faster and prevent scarring, and Connie’s mom had some in her first aid kit but she discarded that thought. Explaining to her mom how she got these wounds was out of question.

Connie was about to put the kit away when an idea hit her. She brought the bandages out and applied them over her right arm —her clean, unharmed right arm. There; now if anyone, be it her mom or her friends asked, she could appeal to a training accident. And if her mom wants to check the wound herself, Connie will show her the right arm. Her mom will comment on how well the injury had healed, or she’ll simply believe Connie was overreacting to a minor rash. In any case, she’ll be none of the wiser.

Connie looked at herself in the mirror —naked, except for the bandaged arms. Her reflection smiled sadly. You think you are so cunning, don’t you?

With that done, she left the kit over the sink and tiptoed into her cold room. She went to the wardrobe and chose a long sleeved shirt, some jogging pants, and a sweater.

Next thing were the sheets. They were soaked; perfect to catch pneumonia. Connie started to take them off. She stopped and instead she left her room —with the same feeling as Robinson Crusoe leaving his island—, and headed for the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of juice and drank it like an old man in the desert. She poured another glass and headed back upstairs.

Once in her bedroom, she took off the sheets, rolled them all into a ball and poured the orange juice over the sheets, with extra care as to not wet the mattress. The textile absorbed the juice like a sponge. Finally, she went back downstairs, threw the sheets into the dishwasher and set it on. In the unlikely event her mom questioned Connie about her dropping a glass of juice on the bed; Connie only had to point at the orange colored stains.

They’ll disappear after a few washes, anyway. Ironically, the marks on Connie’s arm might last longer. She entertained the idea of putting her shirt to wash, but she scratched it off. Being a doctor’s daughter, she knew blood stains were a pain to get rid of.

Satisfied with what she had accomplished, Connie’s heart gave a little thud as she approached the door. She didn’t feel like going for a walk, but she’d to recover the, sort of speak, crime’s weapon. She stepped outside and walked aimlessly around the sidewalk for a minute, looking for the scissors. She found them on the floor right next to the trash can. Five inches left and they would have landed on top of the trash. It really makes your mind think.

Or someone else’s mind. Not Connie’s. She didn’t have time to metaphors.

She knelt to pick the scissors. And then she saw them; or rather, they saw her. On the other side of the street, a young couple crossed sights with her. They keep their glance on her for less than five seconds before walking away, laughing. It was enough to throw Connie down a hole. Eyes seemed to materialize out of thin air, staring faces, judgmental glances; all of them pointing at Connie. All of them knew what she’d done. She’d been seen.

Connie dashed inside the house and slammed the door behind her. She felt to the ground, short of breath. That couple must be on their way now, totally oblivious of the effect they caused on Connie, and she can’t blame them; she couldn’t predicted that either. Her social anxiety had been tame for so long, Connie thought it was a thing of the past. That’s another thing to scratch out of her accomplishments list.

Nevertheless Connie had the scissors in her shaking hands, and all she wanted was to put them away.

She stood up and moved around the house exhausted. She picked a pair of clean sheets and went back to her room. She locked the door, shut down the windows and closed the curtains. She breathed out loudly. Now she was unseen and nobody could judge her.

She set the clean sheets on the bed. A strong scent of lavender hit her. Finally, she went to the bathroom; put the scissors inside the first aid kit, under everything else, and put the kit on the back of the cabinet, until next time.

Next time… now that was an upsetting thought.

With everything else done, she just had to get rid of the shirt. She had second thoughts about washing it, since throwing it away would be complicated. Feeling a headache incoming, Connie opened her closet and threw the bloody rag inside. It wasn’t like her to postpone things, but… who was she kidding? This is standard Connie’s stress dealing procedure.

Connie looked at everything she’d done, and felt at peace for the first time that day. Then her eyes felt onto her standing mirror.

Oh no, this won’t do, she thought, meaning her hair. More specifically, the crow nest that had taken over her head and that she usually called hair.

She grabbed her blue hairbrush. Her hair was so entangled the regular ministrations won’t do, so she attacked it with brutal brushing motions. In the meantime, her mind kept producing images. Steven under the heavy rain, checking the soaked engine that broke down when he stopped to talk to her. The disappointed glance of her mom when she finds out all the scheming Connie went through to hide the truth. Her own hands shaking with anxiety as she takes the real test and she realizes she doesn’t know any answers.

She set the brush down. There. Now the image in the mirror was presentable —although some days, Connie wasn’t sure if it was really hers.

“I’m alright,” she said, with a voice that felt alien even to her. “I’ll be fine. I’m a warrior,” she added, more convinced with each word.

She was a warrior. Maybe she’d lost her center, but she could find it. She could be strong again. Once she gets a grip of herself and gets into college, everything will be alright.

Right? Right.

With this new resolution, Connie walked to her worktable. Her failed test was still there. Next to it was the half-done new test she had been working on when the static became too much.

Now, she could keep working and pretend all of this never happened. That this was just a very long study break, that everything she did was normal and healthy. It’s what she was expected to do, right?

Once again she thought of Steven, taking time from his trip to sit down under a deluge to talk to her. Breathe with her, as if they were one.

Connie’s hand reached towards the test… And then went left, grabbed the nearest book and dropped it over the papers.

This can wait… she thought, uncertain.

“This can wait,” she verbalized defiantly to the World.

With that problem done for, she had a free afternoon. She tapped her chin —she hasn’t had this free time in a while.

She picked her phone and flipped through the library. There was this reboot of ‘Crying Breakfast Friends’ that Steven had been bugging her to watch, but she’d been rain checked until she could pass the test. Maybe it’s time to keep the study waiting. She shuddered at that inch of her rebellious younger self taking over.

She picked her earphones and lay comfortable on her fresh, lavender-scented sheets. Five minutes into the first episode and she was cackling and crying with a cartoon about animated fruits while her papers —her physical future— waited on the table. And they’ll keep waiting until tomorrow.

Connie didn’t know if this was a step forward or backwards. But a step’s a step nonetheless; and she was still moving. 

#connie maheswaran #Steven quartz universe #connverse #self-harm #tw: blood #ptsd mention #dissociation

[stereostevie]

“I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then,” Grammy winner says in rare interview

In the late Nineties, the story of popular music became the story of Ms. Lauryn Hill. She first rose to fame as an actress and a member of the Fugees, whose second and final album, 1996’s The Score, remains one of that decade’s biggest albums. Then, at just 22 years old, Hill took a huge leap and decided to go solo. Released in 1998, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill filled clubs, radio stations, and MTV with her smooth voice and biting rhymes. Hill herself became as big as her music, appreciated in the fashion world and sought after by movie executives for roles she would eventually decline.

Miseducation took home five Grammy Awards and led to a huge tour. But by the early 2000s, Ms. Hill left behind the fame and the industry almost entirely. She has never released another studio album; her last full-length release was MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 from 2002, where she performed new songs in an acoustic style to a largely tepid reception.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill lives on. More than 20 years after its release, it is still regarded as one of the best albums ever made, landing at Number 10 on Rolling Stone’s voter-based 500 Greatest Albums of All Time List this past fall. Many of her songs continue to permeate culture, like the single “Ex-Factor,” which has been sampled or interpolated on major hits by Drake and Cardi B. Beyond that, the album’s impact on multiple generations of musicians is unmistakeable. Everyone from Rihanna to St. Vincent has cited Hill as having heavily influenced their own music.  

The years that followed Miseducation have been complicated. After the album’s release, some of Hill’s collaborators filed a lawsuit claiming she did not properly credit them for their contributions; that suit was settled out of court three years later on undisclosed terms. In 2012, she was charged with tax fraud, and went on to serve three months in prison. More recently, she has found herself back on the road more frequently, sporadically releasing music but mostly basking in the collective love and power of Miseducation through special performances of the album.

For the latest episode of Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums podcast, Ms. Hill granted a rare interview on the making of Miseducation as well as what happened after. Over e-mail, she spoke candidly about protecting her family and the little support she had after her first album cycle ended. Excerpts from the interview can be heard in the podcast episode, available on Amazon Music, along with tales from several of the musicians who were part of those sessions, like “Commissioner Gordon” Williams, Lenesha Randolph, and Vada Nobles. Ms. Hill’s written responses are here in full.

When you began recording Miseducation, you were 22 and already experiencing immense success with the Fugees. What were you hoping to prove with this album? As far as proving myself goes, I think that’s a larger and more involved story best told at a later time, but I will say that the success of the Fugees absolutely set up The Miseducation to be as big and as well received as it was. When I decided that I wanted to try a solo project I was met with incredible resistance and discouragement from a number of places that should have been supportive, so that had a motivating factor, but it was less about proving myself and more about creating something I wanted to see and hear exist in the world. There were ideas, notions and concepts that I wanted to exist, I set off in a particular direction and kept going. Initially, I intended to work with other producers and artists but found that what I wanted to say and hear may have been too idiosyncratic at the time to just explain it and have someone else try to make it. It had to be made in a more custom manner. The team of people who would ultimately be involved, we all witnessed as it took form. It was unique and exciting.

You’ve said you found yourself especially creative during your pregnancy. How did that experience shape you as a songwriter?

It’s a wild thing to say but I was left alone during my pregnancies for the most part. It was like all of the people with all of their demands had to check themselves when I was pregnant. The resulting peace may have contributed to that sense of feeling more creative. I was pregnant with my first child during the making of The Miseducation and the situation was complicated, so I was motivated to find more stability and safety for myself and for my child, that definitely pushed me to disregard what appeared as limitations. If I struggled to fight for myself, I had someone else to fight for. This also introduced my first son’s father, Rohan Marley, into the picture, who at that time, was a protective presence. If there were people or forces attempting to prevent me from creating, he played a role in helping to keep that at bay.

During those times especially, I always wanted to be a motivator of positive change. It’s in all of my lyrics, that desire to see my community get out of its own way, identify and confront internal and external obstacles, and experience the heights of Love and self-Love that provoke transformation. I sang from that place and chose to share the joy and ecstasy of it, as well as the disappointments, entanglements and life lessons that I had learned at that point. I basically started out as a young sage lol.

When you look back on it now, is Miseducation the album you intended it to be? I’ve always been pretty critical of myself artistically, so of course there are things I hear that could have been done differently, but the LOVE in the album, the passion, its intention is, to me, undeniable. I think my intention was simply to make something that made my foremothers and forefathers in music and social and political struggle know that someone received what they’d sacrificed to give us, and to let my peers know that we could walk in that truth, proudly and confidently. At that time, I felt like it was a duty or responsibility to do so. I saw the economic and educational gaps in black communities and although I was super young myself, I used that platform to help bridge those gaps and introduce concepts and information that “we” needed even if “we” didn’t know “we” wanted it yet. Of course I’m referring to the proverbial “we.” These things had an enormous value to me and I cherished them from a very young age.

I also think the album stood apart from the types and cliches that were supposed to be acceptable at that time. I challenged the norm and introduced a new standard. I believe The Miseducation did that and I believe I still do this — defy convention when the convention is questionable. I had to move faster and with greater intention though than the dysfunctional norms that were well-established and fully funded then. I was apparently perceived by some as making trouble and being disruptive rather than appreciated for introducing solutions and options to people who hadn’t had them, for exposing beauty where oppression once reigned, and demonstrating how well these different cultural paradigms could work together. The warp speed I had to move at in order to defy the norm put me and my family under a hyper-accelerated, hyper-tense, and unfortunately under-appreciated pace. I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then. When I saw people struggle to appreciate what that took, I had to pull back and make sure I and my family were safe and good. I’m still doing that.

This album permeated culture in a way that few albums have before it existed and made you a massive star. How were you handling the public gaze at the time? There were definitely things I enjoyed about stardom, but there were definitely things I didn’t enjoy. I think most people appreciate being recognized and appreciated for their work and sacrifice. That, to me, is a given, but living a real life is essential for anyone trying to stay connected to reality and continue making things that truly affect people. This becomes increasingly harder to do in the “space” people try to place “stars” in.

The pedestal, to me, is as much about containment and control as it is adulation. Finding balance, clarity and sobriety can be very hard for some to maintain. For example, being yes’d to death isn’t good, and people fear stardom can only result in this, but if the actual answer is yes, being told no just to not appear a yes-man is silly. Never being told no if the answer is no by people afraid to disappoint will obviously also distort the mirror in which we view ourselves. On the other hand, a person with a vision can be way ahead, so people may say no with conviction and resist what they fear only to find out later that they were absolutely wrong.

The idea of artist as public property, I also always had a problem with that. I agreed to share my art, I’m not agreeing necessarily to share myself. The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous. I chafe under any kind of control like that and resist expectations that suggest I should somehow dumb-down and be predictable to make people feel comfortable rather than authentically express myself. I also resist unrealistic expectations placed on me by people who would never place those same requirements on themselves. I can be as diplomatic and as patient as I possibly can be. I can’t, however, sell myself short through constant self-deprecation and shrinking.

“The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous.”

Is there a version of “Lauryn Hill” that you feel people expected of you, and how did that compare to how you saw yourself? Absolutely, which I touched upon in the answers before this one. Life is life, to be lived, experienced and enjoyed with all of its dynamism and color. If you do something well that people enjoy, often they want the same experience over and over. A real person can be stifled and their growth completely stunted trying to do this without balance. It’s not a fair thing to ask of anyone. We all have to grow, we all have to express ourselves with as much fullness and integrity as we can manage. The celebrity is often treated like a sacrifice, the fatted calf, then boxed in and harshly judged for very normal and natural responses to abnormal circumstances.

I saw someone lambasted once for discussing episodes of anxiety before going on stage, as if anxiety was only a condition of the non-famous. It was absurd, like someone with a record out can’t get a common cold. Someone in love with the art doesn’t not experience fear or anxiety, they just do their best to transcend it or work beyond it so that the art or the passion can be made manifest. Some days are better than others. For some people it gets easier, for some it doesn’t. The unfairness, the harshness was excessive to me. I didn’t like how I was being treated at a certain point. I just wasn’t being treated well and definitely not in accordance with someone who’d contributed what I had. I had a ton of jealousy and competitiveness to contend with. That can exhaust or frustrate your efforts to make anything besides primal scream music, 😊.

Provoking that kind of aggravation was probably intentional. You have to find reasons to still do it, when you’re exposed to the ugly.  People often think it’s ok to project whatever they want to on someone they perceive as having “it all” or “having so/too much.” Hero worship can be an excuse for not taking care of your own sh#t. The flip side of that adulation can turn severely ugly, aggressive, and hostile if people make another person responsible for their sense of self-worth. You can either take that abuse or say no to it. After subjecting myself to it for years, I started to say no, and then no turned into hell no, then hell no turned into f#ck no…you get my point. 😊

If you could talk to yourself at 22 now, what would you say? I’d share the things I do now with my 22-year-old self. If I had known what I know now, things would probably have unfolded differently. I would have continued to invest in people but I would have made sure I had people with the love, strength, and integrity around me to really keep their eye on the prize and my well-being. The world is full of seduction and if they can’t seduce you, they go after the people you love or depend on in some way. I would have with greater understanding tried to do more to insulate myself and my loved ones from that kind of attack.

Looking back on that period of your life, do you have any regrets?

I have some periods of woe, some periods of sorrow and great pain, yes, but regret is tough because I ended up with a clarity I might not have been able to achieve any other way. I would have done a few things differently though if I could go back. I would have done my best to shield myself so that I could better shield my children.  I would have rejected the manipulation, unfair force and pressure put on me much earlier. I would have benefitted from having more awareness about the dangers of fame. I would have been more communicative with everyone truly involved with The Miseducation and fought hard for the importance of candid expression. I would have demanded what I needed and removed people antagonistic to that sooner than I did.

You have released music since Miseducation and have continued to play live. Do you ever foresee releasing another full-length studio album? The wild thing is no one from my label has ever called me and asked how can we help you make another album, EVER…EVER. Did I say ever? Ever! With The Miseducation, there was no precedent. I was, for the most part, free to explore, experiment and express. After The Miseducation, there were scores of tentacled obstructionists, politics, repressing agendas, unrealistic expectations, and saboteurs EVERYWHERE. People had included me in their own narratives of THEIR successes as it pertained to my album, and if this contradicted my experience, I was considered an enemy.

Artist suppression is definitely a thing. I won’t go too much into it here, but where there should have been overwhelming support, there wasn’t any. I began touring because I needed the creative outlet and to support myself and my family. People were more interested in breaking me or using me to battery-power whatever they had going on than to support my creativity. I create at the speed and flow of my inspiration, which doesn’t always work in a traditional system. I have always had to custom build what I’ve needed in order to get things done. The lack of respect and willingness to understand what that is, or what I need to be productive and healthy, doesn’t really sit well with me. When no one takes the time to understand, but only takes the time to count the money the fruit of this process produces, things can easily turn bad. Mistreatment, abuse, and neglect happen. I wrote an album about systemic racism and how it represses and stunts growth and harms (all of my albums have probably addressed systemic racism to some degree), before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy. Now…over a decade later, we hear this as part of the mainstream chorus. Ok, so chalk some of it up to leadership and how that works — I was clearly ahead, but you also have to acknowledge the blatant denial that went down with that. The public abuse and ostracizing while suppressing and copying what I had done, (I protested) with still no real acknowledgement that all of that even happened, is a lot.

“I wrote an album about systemic racism… before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy.”

I continue to tour and share with audiences all over the world, but I also full-time work on the trauma, stifling, and stunting that came with all of that and how my family and I were affected. In many ways, we’re living now, making up for years where we couldn’t be as free as we should have been able to. I had to break through a ton of unjust resistance, greed, fear and just plain human ugliness. Little else can rival freedom for me. If being a superstar means living a repressed life where people will only work with you or invest in your work if they can manipulate and control you, then I’m not sure how important music gets made without some tragic set of events following. I don’t subscribe to that.

Lastly, I appreciate the people who were moved by this body of work, which really represented a lifetime — up to that point — of love, experience, wisdom, family and community investment in me, the summation of my experience from relationships, my dreams, inspirations, aspirations and God’s ever-present grace and Love in my life through the lens of my 20-something but wise-sage existence, lol. I dreamed big, I didn’t think of limits, I really only thought of the creative possibilities and addressing the needs as I saw them at that time. I also had the support of a community of talented artists, thinkers, and doers, friends and family around me. Their primary efforts (THEN) seemed to be to help clear a path and to help protect. However, when you effectively create something powerful enough to move the bulls#t out of the way, all kinds of forces and energies may not like that. They may seek to corrupt and discourage, to disrupt and distract, to divide, and sabotage…but we bore witness to the fact that this happened — a young, black woman through hip-hop culture, a legacy of soul, Spirit and an appreciation for education and educating others communicated love and timeless and necessary messages to the world.

The music business can be an industry of entanglements, where a small number of people are expected to be responsible for a very large number of people. It’s hard to find fairness in a situation like that. Now, I look for as much equity and fairness as possible. I appreciate being loved for my contributions to music, but it’s important to be loved for who you are as a person just as much, and that can be a delicate but extremely important balance to achieve. Experiencing that is important to me.

#black women #fame #hip-hop #lauryn hill #ms. lauryn hill #music #music industry #r&b #robert glasper #rollingstone #soul #the fugees #the miseducation of lauryn hill

[theorynexus]

Unrelated to the Epilogues

Apologies for not getting back to liveblogging, yet; however, that’s going to begin again with my next post.   This one is simply to express some thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a few days, which I did not get the chance to express because I was sleep deprived and then briefly sick. Namely:   All weapons (or Strife Specibi, I should say) in Homestuck seem to be symbolically representative of the character who owns them to some extent.  A few easy examples would be: * the Dualing Pistol (White Magnum/White Wand), which is elegant and precise, only needing to be fired once to provoke massive, impactful change, and doubly representative of Alt!Calliope’s subtle orchestration of events behind the scenes; * The Dudely [Fire]Arm[ament]s (Caliborn/Lord English’s canes/rifles), which the aforementioned doubled set is contrasted to: whilst they are equally intended to convey mastery of events (and particularly the people taking part in them), these are more brutish, and make their impact through repeated blows (a pool cue arranges things through a loud, meaningful break, and then many serious blows to follow--- and while these blows might in theory require precision in order to make the balls fall where they must, in practice, Caliborn’s talent is in ensuring that every hit eventually brings things to a favorable conclusion, rather than in the shortest route possible).   Brute force methods are used to bring about the desired conclusion--- an inevitable death, generally  ---and the overkill that Caliborn (the Lord of Death, in some ways) utilizes whenever his rifle’s sights fall upon a target (for it’s never a single bullet that hits) is representative of his general methodology and spirit. *  Dave’s broken/mended sword, split over time, is obviously representative of his own Aspect, how it gradually affects him (time heals all wounds, as the saying goes, despite the fact that he seems to become quite incensed with it at some points, and struggles with it to the point of refusing to embrace it for a very long time), and especially how his personal history ties into his personal arc (Dave is more affected by his time with his Guardian than perhaps any other kid, despite the fact that Jade is fused with the replacement surrogate that might arguably be said to have usurped the position from her grandpa, and this is also a reflection on the Aspect of Time in his life, I should think).     How Bro (Dirk) Broke his Heart, and how Dave struggled to mend it over the course of the series has been much better discussed elsewhere than I could attempt to express in the brief space I’m allotting to this discussion, here, though, and thus I shall cut this off right here, just as both brothers have a habit off symbolically cutting things off, themselves. ~~~ The train of thought that I am wanting to express herein started with a thought that caught me by surprise:   I continue to have no idea what, precisely John’s Strife Specibus is supposed to represent, you see, so when I remembered that there was a method of inheritance called Gavelkind, it struck me that it could be related to this, as a pun.  Unfortunately, this seems like a dead end, unless it is a very forward thinking joke about every member of his party taking up the main character mantle after he dies in the “more canon [more relevant in Dirk’s eyes]” Meat Epilogue (or, alternatively, Davesprite and Rose’s inherited self from the timeline having to clean up John’s mess after the idiot got himself obliterated in the deal he made with Typheus after Terezi tricked him).     It could also be related to him forging the group through his Heir of Breath inspiration toward a path mechanic, but what are the chances of it being that simple an answer?   Unfortunately, said inheritance business seemed more promising than it was, because I was initially confusing it with the Elective method of kingmaking that is to be found in German historical culture. That truly fits with who John is, and resonates with the “I’m not your leader, I’m your friend” humblepie that was served up to us (and everyone else in his party). ... This line of thinking was useful, however, because it led me to thinking about Karkat’s own weapon.  Obviously, the “Heh, heh, Communism” line of thinking briefly occurred to me, but more relevantly, I thought of the reason why the sickle is used as a symbol of Communism.  It is a classic symbol of the lower class--- farmers, in particular  ---which hints at the very beginning to Karkat’s rather humble origins. While many people might like to think of his mutant blood as “potentially higher than fuschia,” or some such nonsense, more realistically, one has to realize that Karkat was placed in the lowest of low positions: not only was he the only member of his kind, but he would have been without a Lusus and immediately abandoned to death, if the worshipers of his Ancestor had not ensured that he had the dimmest possibility of a relatively normal life. At the same time, he wanted to defy this lowborn status and become a mighty general in )-(er Imperious Condescension’s army.   While this initial spark of revolution was not much, it is representative of all that was to come-- you see, the sickle is to some extent also a symbol of revolt, and while peasant revolts would generally be brutally put down throughout history (just as the waves of opposition to the Condesce were in Alternian lore), this would not in fact be the case with Karkat, or the session that he (and Aradia) would lead. You see, Karkat’s own ideals and the weapon that represents them are but the tip of the iceberg.  The Beta Trolls’ entire session was littered with themes of rebellion against the established social order, and the consequent turning of it upon its head.   First and most obviously, it would be two Lowborn trolls that would come to lead the two “teams” which the session had to offer. Both of these figures acquired this position by usurping it from Bluebloods, who might traditionally have taken up this role in a circumstance where the empress-to-be didn’t show interest in leadership and the Purple Blood in the group appeared to be an incompetent, serially inebriated sack of garbage. This theme particularly shown through in [concupiscent] romance, where we saw pairings that, without exception (other than possibly the crush that Ms. Leijon bore for Karkat, which saw no fruition and arguably did not count for anything, just as Eridan’s flushed feelings for Feferi didn’t “matter” in the end, and Kanaya x Vriska, while being a borderline issue for this topic, doesn’t count either, also due to it just being a crush), all saw subversion of social hierarchy:

Equius x Aradia, Gamzee x Tavros, Feferi x Sollux {I just noticed that these relationships all have the same social distance from one another for some reason.}, Terezi x Karkat. Vriska x Tavros is one-sided, and thus debatable, but also fits this pattern, intriguingly enough. Equius was hit with this subversive force in their social lives particularly hard, possibly because he was the Heir of Void, and thus was more inundated with forces of subtext than the rest of the group [particularly since he was a failure in that role].   Not only could he not resist the drive to submit to those it was “perverse” for one of his “station” to bend the knee to, when the opportunity to truly embrace the anti-normative forces that he had been dipping into (despite his Classist upbringing) came, he was so confused and uncertain that he could not properly understand what he was being pushed to do, and the necessity of it--- and thus froze, allowing himself to be swept away by the Rage Gamzee filled him with. These themes play out in Operation Regisurp, both in name and its practical implementation.  Furthermore, I have just, in the course of writing this post, come to the conclusion that this is why Gamzee had to be the final obstacle to the true end of the Beta Trolls’ session.  He was a crystallized manifestation of the old regime, and its established order:  Gamzee acted as a shadow of the Condesce’s will, the Hemospectrum’s implications, and the brutal reality that was Alternia.    It was thus quite fitting that Karkat was the one to stop his rampage, for he was the Knight of Blood who cajoled everyone to work together as a single team, rejecting the classical restrictions that would have spelled DOOM for their party in favor of bonds beyond the literal nature of the blood that flowed through all of their veins.   Furthermore, I think this is why that confrontation ended in the Shush Pap scene.   Not only was it true that Karkat had literally zero percent chance of actually killing Gamzee in the fight (and a very small chance, indeed, to defeat him through violence), but this would to some extent additionally be an endorsement of the old Alternian way of life.  Rather than through violence, Karkat used his bond with Gamzee to find a solution, and by this means, turned him away from his role as brutal Subjugglator--- though unfortunately this also meant that Gamzee would take a turn for the worse, becoming even more firmly cemented in his role as a servant to the Mirthful Messiah’s. ... Heading back to the meaning of Karkat’s weapon for a moment, I think that the sickle has another implication to explore: it is an implement of the harvest.  Karkat initially wanted to be a sort of grim reaper, slaughtering Alternia’s foes and claiming glory for himself and for his empress. While he was correct in thinking that he just needed an opportunity to prove himself (and thus, he was embracing the symbolic “one must wait until the fruits of the harvest are ripe” implications of the sickle in his own life), the climax of this narrative arc would come when Karkat found himself at the head of Meenah’s united army of all the trolls in the afterlife and bravely charged to meet a foe he knew could destroy the soul with very breath--- and the very real equivalent of the Grim Reaper, himself ---wielding the closest thing he had to a weapon painted with the rainbow (Fuschia an Lime Green bound together betwixt bands of black and white, thus singled out amidst all the colors of the light spectrum). This was his ultimate rejection of the Alternia that was, as he challenged the hidden hand that had twisted it into the place of horror it had been; and upon the fulfillment of that destiny, Karkat would vanish.

Yet, by some miracle, this was not the end: in a place separated beyond barriers of space and time, he would awaken, and but a short time later, he would be granted the Ultimate Reward that had once been wrenched from his grasp. ....................................................................................................................... One last matter of note:  It should be pretty obvious, considering the fact that universes are shaped to reflect the wills and designs of the Players involved, but I am pretty sure humans’ singularly colored blood is an explicit rejection of the hemospectrum, and the particular color that was “chosen” may very well be reflective of the important role Karkat in particular played in the session. What may not be so obvious is how fitting, symbolically, it is that it is a human that stands triumphant over the corpse of )-(er Imperious Condescension.  Curse baggage aside (which still has been irksomely unexplored, to my knowledge), the fact that it is essentially the Beta Trolls’ rejection of her world order that does the empress in feels very right and, upon reflection, is quite beautiful.   Obviously, there’s also a nice splash of revenge playing into that too, as visibly denoted by the weapon used and the handle wrapping, in particular.  I am curious as to the implications of Roxy’s typing color being the same as the blood of said fishy tyrant, though. That, I can’t quite figure out.

#Homestuck Analysis #Homestuck Spoilers #Karkat Vantas #Symbolic Meaning #Thematic

[arsyeong]

[5] thief | ijb.

o n e  /  t w o /  t h r e e  /  f o u r  /  s i x  /  s e v e n  /  e i g h t

summary: after leaving yet another note, the recipients come up with a clever plan that could finally get him behind bars. but now, you don’t want that. word count: 2,358

a/n: im so unsure of this uhmm,,,, im sorry if that wasnt a nice twist,,,,

You sit on the side of the little bridge, your feet dangling off it and wetting the tips of your toes.

The tiring days kept you from seeing JB again after he disappeared on you by the beach. Memories from that night kept distracting you from your work and your sleep. You would come up with a question, trash it in the next second then have another one.

Hopefully, winter will give you a chance to confront him about it.

You heave yourself up with a final sigh, hoping your little sitting down moment had given you enough energy to go through the day. When you squint and see the ocean in the distance, you immediately shake your head and turn away, not wanting to be filled with thoughts of Jaebeom again.

"(Y/N)!" calls a gruff voice, shattering the sense of peace you've surrounded yourself with.

You spot Meryll walking toward you, a bright smile on her face, and you decide to meet her in the middle and mirror it. "Good morning, Meryll!" you chirp once you've jogged up to her.

"Good morning, kid!" she greets back, pulling you into a side hug and patting you on the back. "How's work treatin' ya?"

"Battering me up as usual," you say, and both of you laugh.

"Well, that's life," she pats you a final two times, "Let 'em beat you up, but don't ever let 'em kill 'ya."

"I won't," you assure her, and she lets out yet another laugh.

"'Ya better not," she starts again, "or else this town's gonna crumble."

"I don't think that's gonna happen," you chuckle nervously, your face heating up at what your brain took as a compliment.

"Exaggeration, yes; lying, no."

The new voice causes you to jump. You turn in horror, only to be met by a laughing Mark. "You scared me!"

"Obviously." The glare you shoot him lasts only a second before you find yourself smiling with him, also finding your reaction hilarious.

"Where's Iyah?" you ask once you've calmed down. You look behind him, searching for the girl who completed Meryll's farm trio.

"Sleeping," he says, uncrossing his arms to hold you by the shoulders and push you back down from your tiptoes. "It's still quite early, you know."

"But wasn't she always an early bird?"

"I guess she switched with someone today," he says, his voice suddenly low and void of his earlier friendliness.

Something wasn't right. "What do you mean?"

Mark says nothing as he minimizes the distance between you. You step back instinctively, but a hand stops you from doing so. That hand angles you to face away from Meryll and her crops before letting you go to retrieve a piece of paper from Mark's pockets.

"This shouldn't be new to you by now," he says in a hushed voice. You catch him scan your surroundings briefly, then he hands you the note. "The early bird in Iyah seems to have gone to the thief this morning."

I shall act like a harvest king and help myself to your crops tonight, it reads, JB.

"The solution to this is one word," Mark whispers, "Ambush."

Though you physically freeze at the word, your mind runs wild; it was a perfect tactic. There would even be more of you this time. If planned properly, it just might work.

"Two teams," Mark goes on, "One waiting, one hiding."

"Are you sure this isn't just a ruse for you to spend time with Iyah?" you blurt out. His eyes widen at the accusation, and you decide to accompany your words with a smirk.

When he recovers, he narrows his eyes at you but shoots a smirk back. "I never said it would be Iyah and me," he leans in closer to you, an arm slithering around your waist to keep you still, "For all you know, I was thinking about you and me. Alone. At night. Hidden."

His eyes were glimmering with mischief, waiting for your response. "That's a very Bambam thing of you to say," you manage to breathe out.

"I bet you would have been tomato red by now if I was Bambam," he says, "and you would have wholeheartedly agreed if you were going to be hidden and alone at night with him."

"Shut up, Tuan."

He pulls away laughing, "You're cute when you get mad."

You're forced not to retaliate when you hear his name being called from afar. Both of you turn at Iyah's cheerful voice. "Mark, stop flirting with (Y/N)! She has work to do, and so do you."

He releases you from his grip, causing you to stumble back a step. "Sorry," he quips quickly. You smile and nod in acceptance to that, then he moves so his entire body was facing you. "So, will you help us?"

Yanked back to the main topic of your discussion, fear tightens its grip on you once more. As if realizing that as well, Mark is quick to say, "I mean, you have the most experiences with him. You, out of anyone in this town, would probably recognize his strategies and whatnot."

He had meant that innocently, you knew, but it still had you shaken. It was the truth - you knew him the most out of anyone in this town - but it was also the very thing that had been keeping you from agreeing to help immediately. You knew him, and he was still human. He was your friend.

And you didn't want him to end up in jail.

"I'm sorry," you say, voice barely a whisper.

"Work's been that hard, huh?" You give Mark a grateful smile. Though that wasn't the real reason, you were glad he tried to understand.

"I'll ask around if anyone else wants to help," you offer, and he nods.

"Thanks, (Y/N)."

"It's the least I could do," you tell him, beginning your retreat and quickly adding, "Oh! And by tonight, he means some time between 10PM to 1AM."

He nods again, lips pressed to give you one last tight smile before turning away to join Meryll and Iyah with their work. You watch them for a while, letting your guilt of leaving them to wash through you.

Then, you turn and head into your busy day.

Fifteen minutes to midnight, you arrive at Meryll's farm.

"(Y/N)?" a surprised voice calls out, followed by the appearance of Iyah and Bambam. "I thought you weren't coming."

The latter is quick to reach for you when you stagger around, prepared to catch you should you fall. Literally, anyway. "I thought so too."

"You seem tired," Iyah says, heading to your side and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, "Maybe you should just rest tonight."

"I want to help," you insist, though you were aware of your body signaling otherwise.

"Not in your condition." Bambam's voice was firm and disapproving. With judgmental and concerned eyes, he takes in your obviously exhausted state.

"Bambam's right," Iyah agrees softly, "You can't really help when you're tired as you are. Let him take you ho-"

"NO!" you exclaim, putting an effort to get your point across.

"Why are you so intent on catching this thief?" asks Bambam, whose grip on your forearm was tight, whose worry and confusion was evident in his eyes. "You're already tired from work at day, but you're still pushing yourself for him at night. Please, (Y/N)," his voice cracks as he pleads, tugging you in the direction of your house, "Don't do this. Not tonight. It's unhealthy for you."

"We need to get there before twelve," you say, pulling yourself away from him, "What kind of help would we be if we leave Mark and Meryll to the thief alone?"

"(Y/N)!"

"I'll be okay, Bam," you tell him, accompanying that with a reassuring smile, "Trust me."

"I'm worried about you," he confesses quietly, "What if he uses more intense magic this time?"

There wasn't enough time to fawn over Bambam; JB would be arriving any time soon. You tell Iyah to go ahead before taking your best friend's hand in yours and squeezing it slightly, "We'll be okay. I'll be okay."

With a synchronized nod, the two of you run to the others, hands together.

As you separate into your respective groups, you can't help but doubt your sudden decision. Was coming here the right thing to do? It wasn't like they were going to leave you alone and waiting for him like the past two times. You would also need to aid the catching no matter how much you want him free, or they would be suspicious of you. All in all, if this whole thing goes according to plan, Jaebeom would end up in jail before sunrise tomorrow, and you were to be part of the blame.

But you just couldn't go home when the chance to see him had been served on a silver platter (or a piece of paper, but that's beside the point).

You came here with the hopes they'd be lured away as he did the first time, or that they would all decide to abandon this ambush plan. You selfishly wanted Jaebeom alone, and maybe then would you be able to talk to him about everything. Even when you thought they would stick with Mark's strategy, you would still be able to see him. That would be enough.

You shake your head again, trying to keep the smile off your face as excitement began to stir in you.

"'Ya really should have stayed home, kid," comes Meryll's gruff voice. In the corner of your eye, you could see her shaking her head at you. "Even that thief would think 'yer tired, what with all 'yer shakin'."

Jaebeom would see it, you think to yourself, he knows me well. "I couldn't pass up an opportunity to catch him," is what you say, "The sooner he's in jail, the more winks we all would be able to catch."

"But the longer I'm out of jail, the more winks I could give to you."

Jaebeom seems to have materialized in the scene, and you turn from Meryll to him slowly. That familiar glint of mischief was in his eyes, and the brief grin he gives you is a friendly one.

Meryll faces him, and his smile becomes a sneakier one, a more thief-like one. JB laughs, "I see you were all eager to meet me tonight."

"STOP RIGHT THERE, 'YA THIEF!" Meryll yells. "'YA AIN'T GETTING 'YER HANDS ON MY VEGGIES!"

"Now, now," he breathes soothingly, "we don't want that frown tarnishing your beauty, do we?"

You cough behind Meryll's back, recognizing the compliment, and his eyes dart to you. "Lovely lady, I wish good health for you."

"SHUT 'YER MOUTH!"

Jaebeom's eyes remain on you, waiting for you to say something, and all you can do is wonder where the other team was. Surely, they must have heard the commotion by now?

Confused, you decide to scream, "Please stop stealing!"

"Women worrying about me is always appreciated," he chuckles, and you know he heard the awkwardness in your voice, "But fear not, fair maiden! It's not my time to be caught."

In the next second, both you and Meryll were paralyzed the same way you were during the drink shop encounter. You gasp while Meryll struggles against his spell. "WHAT DID 'YA DO TO US?! LET US GO!"

"It'll wear off soon." For a brief moment, his eyes were apologetic - even quite helpless - but it's gone too fast for you to believe it right away.

"My work is done here," he says as Meryll screams for help. The last you see of him before he turns away is his signature thieving grin and a blank look in his eyes.

"WHERE WERE 'YA WHEN WE NEEDED 'YA?!"

Your group of five were standing in Tuan household, watching as Meryll paced back and forth the small space.

"I told you already," Mark groans, "We thought we saw him, so we ran after him, but it was a trick. We rushed back to you, we caught him leaving, and he used his fire something spell on us."

"'YA SHOULDN'T HAVE FALLEN FOR HIS TRICKERY THEN!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW, OKAY?"

"Please stop fighting," begs Iyah, her hands in a pleading position, "There's nothing we can do. It's over. He escaped, but at least nothing happened to our crops. Let it go."

Mark visibly softens at her words, and he is quick to apologize to her. Meryll remains fuming, though, but it only takes a few seconds for her to glare at her brother before she heads to her room.

"Thank you for coming," Iyah says, turning to you and Bambam, "We didn't catch him, but at least we tried."

"It's late," adds Mark, "Let's all get some rest, shall we?"

After a few mutters of agreement, the two of them head up while you and Bambam head out.

Peace and silence ensue once more in the Tuan's farm. You breathe out and stick your hands in your pockets, the chilly autumn breeze combining with the cold of 2AM.

"Cold, isn't it?" Bambam meets you with a gentle smile on his face. "You know, (Y/N), I've heard of a better way to keep hands warm."

"Really?" you ask, eyebrows raised as you look at him expectantly, "Show me then."

You're vaguely aware you've stopped breathing when he takes a step to you. His plump lips remain grinning as he slowly takes your hand from your pocket and laces it with his.

You're about to make a remark when he puts it in his pocket, pulling you closer to him.

"Bambam," you breathe out, but there weren't any words you could think to follow that. It takes a moment for you to realize that you've also begun to walk.

“I’m going to be blunt about this and get it over with,” he suddenly says, causing you to turn to him with a curious look. Bambam returns your gaze and, on top of the bridge earlier and under the moonlight, you come to a stop.

“I like you, (Y/N).”

p r e v i o u s /  n e x t

#jaebum #jaebum scenarios #jaebum thief au #jaebum aus #jaebum fic #harvest moon au #harvest moon ds cute #got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 aus #got7 fic #bambam #bambam scenarios #im so sorry idk what this is

[lia-wildfire]

In This Essay I Will (actually get very informative and argue about sign language and babies and language development isn’t that fun)

American Sign Language and education on (1)Deaf culture is not readily available to all (2)deaf children or hearing people in the United States. It may be that it is more imperative for those who are deaf to learn, but the fact that many other people never do makes it that much harder for it to be accessible to those who really need it. 

The plight of a deaf child is a dire one, with many ways it could go wrong. On this, everyone can agree. Many people differ, however, in how they believe the problem should be addressed. This is not helped by the amount of misinformation is spread around on each side of the debate, even by the most well-meaning people. And then, aside from the two polarized sides of the conflict, there is the third side comprised of people who don’t even know that it is a problem, or why it should matter to them, or what they could possibly do about it.

I believe that knowing anything about an issue is the first step towards being able to do something, so I hope that, if nothing else, this project can help someone learn about an important issue and an important community.

The problem faced by deaf children is chiefly a deprivation of language. In this day and age, the teaching and use of American Sign Language is more widespread than ever and generally understood to be a positive thing, but many deaf children are still being deprived of that and any language in their earliest years by perfectly well-meaning parents and professionals who decide to teach no signed language and focus entirely on speech and auditory comprehension which, while not a bad goal to have for a child, becomes harmful to that child when it means that they have little to no access to any language in their earliest developmental years, when it is most vital. 

After we know of and come to understand this predicament, we can begin to choose what we will do to change things and help people. When any child, deaf or hearing, is deprived of something important, it is not hard to say that we want to do something to help that child. What needs to happen to help these deaf children in the future is for them to be given language when it is most essential. What comes after that first natural language is up to the parents and, eventually, the child.

On this issue, the main and most important motivating force is the wellbeing of the children in question. By looking at the ways that people differ in what they believe to be the best ways to help these children, by looking at studies done on this and similar topics, and by listening to the people who once were those children, a better solution can be found for all.

It comes as no surprise that the Deaf community feels strongly and often speaks out about this issue. Deaf people want deaf education to be accessible and for deaf children to be given opportunities. This is difficult to accomplish in some ways, and is part of a greater picture which holds ties in many more issues that the community faces. A crucial step in this is to give deaf babies and children the best upbringing and education possible. Key to that is giving these children mastery of a natural language from a young age.

All human beings deserve a language and community of their own, that much we should all be able to agree on. Allowing deaf children access to a language made just for them and a community that wants to accept them no matter how well they can hear can only benefit them.

Most deaf children are born to two hearing parents, who don’t know what to do. The parents can’t be held at fault for not knowing something that is just not widely taught. It is, however, not acceptable for any child to be raised in an environment that makes them feel inferior and/or deprives them of essential opportunities. This is a prevalent experience among deaf children which plagues them far into their later years of life and which any parent, hearing or not, likely hopes to avoid giving to their child.

Most hearing people (and thus, parents of deaf children) are not aware of the Deaf community at all, or that sign language is a complete and complex language unto itself. They do not have access to the information and they do not have access to the language. They do not know what to do with a deaf child or how to handle language acquisition in a way that will benefit their child as much as possible. These parents easily go along with recommendations for cochlear implants or hearing aids, which are by no means harmful to a child, but the problem comes when the parents go along with recommendations which will deny a child’s ability to develop language processing during the right ages. That being the recommendation that they use only speech, which the child can not yet process to the same degree as a hearing child, even with the aid of implants and other devices and which aim to help. This negatively impacts the child’s learning and keeps them behind their hearing peers.

There is nothing wrong with parents wanting their child to be able to communicate with them in the parents’ language, but the wellbeing and proper development of the child must come before the parents’ goals for them can hope to be met.

As stated, the two main viewpoints on this issue are those who believe that teaching the deaf child to become as close to hearing as possible is the right thing to do and those who believe that cochlear implants do not benefit deaf children as much as they harm by depriving them of a true place in either hearing or Deaf communities.

Ideals of communities aside, the best course for individual development of a deaf child is in question. Obviously, in a household with two Deaf parents, any child will learn sign language and use it as their first language, whether they are able to learn to use a spoken language later or not. Parents can generally expect their children to share a language with them. This is one of the first and most important things passed on to a developing child, with many hearing babies already recognizing their parents’ voices when they exit the womb. Many hearing parents of deaf children fear for their relationship with their child on the basis of this difference and, to be fair, somewhat difficult relationships with hearing family members are one of the more common experiences shared by members of the Deaf community. Fortunately for all future parents of deaf children, this does not have to happen.

For a moment, to gain another perspective on the next statement, let us look at something which does not involve deaf children at all.

Hearing parents with hearing children have taught their babies a simplified version of sign language for means of communicating before the baby can properly form vocalized words. These babies were able to grasp a concept of language months before they would be saying their first words. Studies done on the long-term effects of this trend have shown that babies who were taught these simplified signs acquired spoken language faster and did better on average in school and socialization in early years than other children on records who were taught no signed language.

This is to say that if early exposure to signed language can so benefit the spoken language acquisition of completely hearing children, then it ought to hold true that a deaf child with auditory assisting devices would find similar benefits from learning a sign language first to give them the proper mental processing abilities to then learn audio recognition and spoken language. 

This holds true especially in the cases where the auditory assistance devices cannot recover enough of the child’s hearing for spoken language to be registered clearly enough that they can use it to communicate. In such cases, if the child already has some background in sign language, they can then easily continue learning it as their main language. 

Many hearing people believe that a deaf child would be best served with surgery and devices to give them more auditory processing, not with exposure to sign language. Studies have been done which state such things as this to be their conclusive result. This viewpoint downplays the very real possibility that such surgeries and devices have just as much possibility to leave the child very hard of hearing at best as they do to help the child gain enough audio processing ability to function in the hearing world. Such a stance is also the major reason why language deprivation has remained such a widespread problem for deaf children. It may have worked well enough for some, but that does not mean it can be made applicable to all cases or that it is the only way, let alone the most beneficial way.

Many hearing parents don’t want to learn an entire new way of communicating, especially one which they don’t understand and may not even see as its own complete language, and would rather give their child auditory aids and speech therapy to make them pass as hearing. This is rooted in the parents’ to want to communicate and thereby have a good relationship with their child, but also in their lack of knowledge about sign languages and the Deaf community. If the parents are truly so against the idea of learning a new language themselves, but still want what is best for the child’s early language development, then it could be possible for them to hire someone else to teach the child sign language in their early years and help them transition to spoken language once the child is old enough for assisting devices and speech therapy to be viable.

Most hearing people assume that the deaf would rather be hearing, themselves. This is something ingrained into hearing and Deaf societies alike. Members of the Deaf community do not see themselves as disabled and view their Deafness as something to be proud of, something which makes them who they are. Many members of this community choose to forego regularly wearing their hearing aids or cochlear implant sound processors after joining the community and learning fluent sign language, as a way to show that they don’t need to fit in and act like a part of the hearing community. The issue of how deaf children are raised is, of course, a common topic of discussion for them, as most of them were these deaf children, raised by people who were doing their best but did not have access to helpful knowledge and resources or the language which their children would claim later in life. Knowledge of the Deaf community and the wonderful, vibrant lives its members lead can help hearing parents of deaf children to feel less frightened for their child’s prospects, and getting in touch with members of this community can open them up to a network of people with experience to help the parents and their child no matter what language the parents want to speak to their child in.

The first step to remedying the deaf child’s predicament is to give hearing people more education on the existence of Deaf culture and sign languages. Hearing people need not be forced to take in-depth lessons to learn the complete language itself, though learning American Sign Language is a very good way to connect with the Deaf community and show one’s support; it would be sufficient, at the start, to simply make more hearing people aware of the existence of the Deaf community and aware that all sign languages are their own complete languages. The Deaf community is beautiful and welcoming and eager to take in new members and help deaf children everywhere. There is no reason that the rest of us should not do the same.

(1) Note: “Deaf” with an uppercase “D” is a term used by the Deaf community to differentiate between those who simply experience hearing loss and those who identify with and take pride in their Deaf status and others like them, the latter group being those who form the said Deaf community.

(2) Note: “deaf” with a lowercase “d” is used in this paper to refer to both those who are completely deaf and those who are hard of hearing, regardless of association to a wider community.

#assignments #asl #deaf community #deaf #hoh #hard of hearing #deaf children #deaf babies #hearing parents of deaf child #deaf child with hearing parents #deaf with a capital d #my writing #research paper #long post #readmore #wordcount 2108