#plus probably a bit externalizing his shame for his own feelings

[myplasticadversary]

Of course I don't have factual basis for this but I would be really surprised if there weren't ever instances of John spotting some guy flirting with Paul and then flipping out and scaring him off

#in my mind it's like a combination of his fixation on paul's soft pretty sexy face and a chauvinistic protective instinct #plus probably a bit externalizing his shame for his own feelings #and paul would get defensive like 'piss off! we were just talking 😠' and john would rag on him for basking in the attention #but then later admit he was just disturbed by the thought of a fella putting his hands on paul and wants to look out for him #mclennon #john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles

[doctorstrangeaskblog]

Body Language and Facial Expression Analysis: Tony Stark and Doctor Strange Discussion on the spaceship

Let’s use some technical aspects to deduce what Tony and Stephen were thinking and how and why they reacted the way they did. First, watch the scene and then we’ll discuss bit by bit.

First, THE CLOAK OF LEVITATION DID NOT IGNORE SPIDER MAN. The Cloak DID OFFER IT’S...PAW? to handshake Spidey, however, the Cloak doesn’t have a hand. Probably this is the first time someone tries to handshake the Cloak and it doesn’t know how to act properly, also, it’s worried about Stephen. Spider is just being smol and nice.

Next scene, Stephen is standing and Tony walks past him and shakes his head. That’s a sign of CONTEMPT, DISDAIN. Stephen also doesn’t look at Stephen, something Tony wouldn’t naturally do to a partner/friend/ally, Tony’s natural reaction would be: help him out, but Tony didn’t, he looks away and shakes his head in a disapproving way. Tony is showing SUPERIORITY, it comes with disdain. Stephen, by the other hand, his chin fell a little, he waits before he stands, he watches Tony walk past him and disapprove him. His chin indicates a bit of surprise, he probably was expecting Tony to help him or to apologize or say something, considering Stephen ALMOST DIED and got hurt by hitting the floor. Tony’s mouth is contracted in a non symmetrical way, the left side looks more tense, that also is a sign of CONTEMPT.

Stephen’s eyebrows contract a little bit, but they form a curve upwards, that’s SADNESS. He’s not moving, he’s watching Tony go, somehow, Stephen is shook, he’s disappointed. Apparently, he admires Tony and seeing Tony’s CONTEMPT is making him SAD.

Tony acts patronizing towards Stephen, as if Stephen should have obeyed him, as if it was all Stephen’s fault, but Stephen isn’t buying it. Tony is acting with superiority towards Strange, but Strange wasn’t born yesterday, he has a mind of his own, he’s an alpha too. His eyebrows are a little contracted, but very little, but they still are facing up, curved, there’s still a bit of SADNESS on his face. His eyebrows and upper eyelids are contracted moving up, that means a level of SURPRISE, Stephen didn’t expect Tony would treat him that way, and that makes him sad. But his mouth, he contracted his lips’ muscles, his lips are extended wide to the sides, that’s a bit of FEAR, Stephen fears Tony and himself won’t be able to work together and things will only get worse. At the same time, his nostrils are getting wider, his breathing is increasing, he’s starting to get ANGRY, but not quite yet. The predominating thing about Stephen is...disappointment that made him sad, and now he’s almost getting pissed. He admires Tony but Tony treats him with contempt plus the fact he made fun of Stephen’s life goal moments earlier. Hard day, Stephen.

Moments later, Strange calms down, his face relaxes a bit, he looks down. Looking down normally means disappointment or shame, and indeed, Stephen just had to be saved and he’s disappointed at how Tony treated him, it makes sense. His eyebrows still are curved upwards, he’s still sad. His nostrils relaxed, the anger that started building up inside him calmed down, he controlled it.

Then, what happens next? Peter interrupts. Stephen notices Peter is acting under Tony. His eyebrow contracts a LOT, he frowns, all the anger he was holding comes out, his voice also increases because of it. His cheek muscle contracts next to his nose, that means DISGUST, he’s disgusted Tony could have brought Peter, a kid, to that ship (Stephen’s moral code is extremely against wars, and specially, about bringing kids to wars), he still doesn’t know Peter sneaked into the ship. Stephen makes his anger face with disgust and starts to question Tony. To be clear, Stephen’s indignation isn’t towards Peter, but it’s towards Tony. He’s like “WHAT? BESIDES TREATING ME LIKE TRASH YOU BROUGHT A KID???” Stephen closing his eyes is an attempt of refusal of what he’s living and seeing.

Tony is being questioned by Strange, so what does he do? He closes himself by crossing his arms. His lips are contracted, facing down, he’s SCARED. He’s frowning as well, he’s not approving Strange, he’s tense, his shoulders are tense, he’s seeking stability in his own arms.

Stephen continues questioning Tony, “What is he? Your ward??”. Stephen’s nose clearly shows DISGUST, REVULSION, he didn’t expect Tony to bring a kid to the ship, he’s showing his teeth and gesticulating abruptly, exposing his anger. His frowning got stronger and his nostrils are wider again.

After that, Stephen finds out Peter sneaked into the ship, so he calms down completely, understanding that it wasn’t Tony’s fault that there’s a kid on board. Still, Stephen’s eyebrows are upward, they indicate a slight surprise, his lips are parted as well, SURPRISE. Besides that, his expression looks neutral, he’s basically returning to his neutral self, curious about Peter.

After Peter misunderstands his name, Stephen feels offended, his mouth contracts and its corners move downwards, his eyebrows curve upwards again, SADNESS. He’s annoyed, yes, his nostrils are wide and he stares Peter for brief seconds, but his general expression indicates sadness and upsetting emotions in general, and he’s annoyed at everything that’s going on.

Peter looks confused, he looks lost, his eyebrows are neutral and his lips have a natural little contraction next to his cheeks (Tom Hollands’ face), he’s basically lost, watching Tony and Stephen, reacting to things.

Stephen returns to normal, he’s calm again, and now he suggests they should all go back to assemble with the other Avengers, Wong and the other stones. Strange’s face has the basal tension, but in general, it’s neutral. His voice is calmer as well.

Tony however, isn’t calm. He doesn’t want to return to Earth, he wants to follow to Titan to attack Thanos with a surprise attack. Tony is SUPER TENSE. He’s way more tense than Stephen is, probably because New York and because of the nightmares, His jaw is contracted, his eyes are wider than usual, he’s SCARED, walking in an agitated way.

Then, Tony can’t contain his fear and his eyebrows do this. Lifting the eyebrow muscles with such intensity means FEAR. His lips are contracted and they’re being extended to the external sides, that’s also fear. His neck is contracted as well and his nostrils are wide, he’s very very scared.

Stephen is calmer, he’s way more stable than Tony at the moment. Strange arguments they should go back, the idea of following to Titan is ABSURD to Strange, when he suspects Tony doesn’t want to go back, his eyebrows contract a little, he doesn’t know if he’s going to feel angry or if he’s going to feel surprised yet.

Tony knows Stephen isn’t going to approve his idea, but he suggests they should proceed to Titan. Tony is scared, he’s feeling super vulnerable and he feels he has to convince Stephen, who is calm at the moment. Tony uncrosses his arms since he has to open himself a bit in order to convince Stephen, however, he still feels closed, so his hands remain crosses. Tony also uses his arms to cover his abdomen, that means he’s feeling VULNERABLE. Tony also looks away while contracting the left side of his lips, that’s CONTEMPT, he still feels superior to Stephen. Also, Tony keeps his arms between himself and Stephen, Tony doesn’t want to open up, he doesn’t want to say that he’s afraid and he doesn’t want to lose his superior position, he still wants to be in charge, he can’t return home without defeating Thanos first. His entire body is contracted, his lips are tense and wide, that’s FEAR. He stopped contracting his eyebrows because being angry at Stephen won’t help convincing him.

Stephen realizes Tony doens’t want to return home. Strange hates that idea, he thinks it’s suicide and he believes the best way to win is to return to Earth and regroup with everyone. Stephen grits his teeth, contracting his jaw, that’s ANGER, he also contracts his eyebrows downwards his time, ANGER. He doesn’t think Tony can be serious, he think Tony’s idea is absurd.

Tony keeps his argument and Stephen starts losing his cool again. Stephen’s lips contract and form a smile, however, his cheeks and his eyes aren’t smile, so that’s not a real smile, it’s a NERVOUS SMILE, the left side of his lips starts showing CONTEMPT towards Tony. He always saw Tony as a rational, super clever man, and now he’s watching Tony taking his stupidest choice. He still doesn’t know why Tony thinks that way, to his logic, strategic eyes, Tony is lost, acting stupid and crumbling before him, he begins to stop taking Tony seriously and he’s ready to open a portal and kick Tony back to Earth.

Tony then opens up and approaches Stephen super fast. Tony decided that convincing Stephen to go to Titan is more important than hiding the true reasons why he wants to fight Thanos so fast, so he approaches Strange, reducing the distances between them. He also uncrosses his arms and starts making strong gesticulations with his arm, downwards. Moving your finger or arm downwards normally means you’re affirming DOMINATION (you submit things). Tony wants to show Stephen he’s in control, he knows what he’s saying, he’s serious and he’s looking Strange in the eye, that means his contempt for Stephen reduced a little. His voice also increases, he’s showing he’s the dominant one.

Tony gets even closer, INVADING STEPHEN’S PERSONAL SPACE, however, Stephen doesn’t back away, Stephen DOESN’T MOVE, that’s his way of telling Tony he’s an alpha too and he won’t give up control. Stephen is very convinced they should return to Earth and more: Stephen has the POWER to take Tony and Peter back to Earth if he wants, that’s why Tony feels he HAS to convince Stephen, he needs his collaboration. Stephen keeps looking Tony in the eye, however, Stephen isn’t showing anger, he’s just watching Tony and reacting to him. Stephen didn’t cross his arms or closed himself to Tony, it means Stephen wants to TALK, he’s open to discussion. Tony so far only had partners who had their own ideas, so he had to impose his own thought or work alone, however, this time is different, Stephen knows Tony is as intelligent as himself or more (Tony is officially smarter) and Stephen knows he has to work TOGETHER with Tony, no matter what they decide.

Tony sees Stephen doesn’t back away, Stephen doesn’t feel intimidated by Tony’s initially aggressive, invasive action, so Tony changes his attitude, he appeals, he puts his hands together and PLEADS/ASKS for Stephen’s cooperation and starts explaining why he can’t return home without beating Thanos, he talks about the nightmares, about all the agony he has been through, and Stephen keeps listening. Tony isn’t arguing anymore, he’s exposing his point of view from equal to equal.

Tony doesn’t see any reaction from Stephen, he starts getting afraid Stephen will disagree with him and refuse to follow to Titan, so Tony appeals to his emotions, Tony appeals to Stephen’s EMPATHY: Tony touches Stephen’s arm/chest, he must have noticed how Stephen admired him at first, now he’s super close to Strange, eye to eye, Tony’s voice is almost begging Strange to stay and help him, and Stephen doesn’t care about going to a suicidal mission, however, Stephen is thinking about two main things: Peter’s safety (a kid) and their chances of winning, which would be higher if they returned and assembled with the other Avengers. Stephen’s jaw is CONTRACTED, he’s TENSE, he’s not buying it just yet.

Stephen realizes how Tony is motivated to go, he starts sweating, he noticed how Tony’s mind is in deep agony, he sees the face and the emotions Tony was hiding and he sees how things are serious, he knows Tony won’t work if they don’t go to Titan. He also considers going to Titan and making a surprise attack isn’t that absurd, it could work if they planned together. His eyes are watery and his lips are contracted in a pout, Stephen probably wants to CRY (or already is crying, his tears just aren’t rolling down). He’s deciding if he’s accepting Tony’s idea or not.

Finally, Stephen relaxes his chin, he gives up his rigid position and finally decides to agree with Tony’s idea. Tony still is tense, believing Strange won’t agree, just like the fellow Avengers normally rejected his ideas, treating him like a playboy, Tony knows Stephen doesn’t treat him with superiority or like a playboy, Stephen treats him like an equal, he acknowledges that and his frowns turns out to be more like worry than anger or intimidation.

Stephen says “fine” and agrees with Tony, who tilts his head in INDIGNATION/SURPRISE/STRANGENESS, Tony wasn’t expecting Stephen to agree with him, just like most Avengers never did when it came to his crazy (but genial) ideas and plans. Stephen, who was calmer before, got affected by Tony’s energy and now he is more instable than before, he’s sweating, his eyes are wet, his chin and jaw are locked again. Both are so scared.

Stephen agrees, but not he explain his own point of view and the possible consequences. Strange is the Eye’s guardian and he protects it with his life, considering the Eye’s importance and the bad consequences that would happen if it felt in the wrong hands, Strange has to be honest and warn Tony that if he has to choose between the Eye and Peter or Tony (or his own life), he’ll choose the Eye. Stephen’s eyes are looking right into Tony’s, his eyebrows are being raised, the expression on his face are CONGRUENT, what means he’s telling the TRUTH, he’s being HONEST. His eyebrows aren’t contracted, he isn’t frowning and his lips aren’t contracted towards any specific place, therefore STEPHEN IS NOT THREATENING TONY, HE’S BEING HONEST.

After talking, Stephen’s eyebrows are slightly contracted, but they’re curved up, that’s SADNESS. Stephen’s lips corners also are facing down, that also indicates SADNESS. He’s still making eye contact with Tony. Stephen explained the BAD CONSEQUENCES going to Titan could have, including a scenario he would have to choose between the Time Stone and Tony or Peter and Stephen’s face is showing HE IS SAD/WOULD BE SAD ABOUT IT. In other words, Stephen CARES, and he’s WORRIED, he’s SCARED that those bad possibilities could happen.

Tony, however, doesn’t take that kindly. Just the mention of Peter having to be sacrificed making him mad. Tony’s eyebrows contracted A LOT, THAT’S ANGER. His lips also contracted together with the muscles of his neck and his cheeks, that’s ANGER. He’s also staring Stephen with offensive eyes (compare to how Stephen is looking at Tony sweetly). Just the thought of Stephen not saving Peter is making him insane and the feeling of guilt doesn’t help.

Stephen notices that change in Tony’s temper, and instead of fighting back, Stephen remains unarmed, he keeps his eyes and eyebrows in tense position, but without frowning, his forehead’s muscles are curved up, that’s SADNESS, his lips are tense as well, and the corners still are facing down, SADNESS, and his face is pointing downwards, not upwards, so Stephen isn’t showing superiority, he’s looking right into Tony’s eyes and confirming if that’s what he really wants to do. He’s not just sad at the possible sad endings, he’s sad because of how Tony is looking at him. For someone who very very likely admired Tony, being stared angrily and treated with disdain is making him sad.

Tony notices Stephen isn’t fighting back, he notices he’s being honest, so Tony lowers his weapons a little, however, his lips still are contracted to the sides and his eyebrow is frowning, he’s scared. He can’t hide to Stephen he’s scared, just like Stephen isn’t hiding how he’s scared as well. Tony is starting to notice Stephen is a lot like himself, but Strange is more emotionally balanced, so Tony holds his emotions back, he knows he needs to be rational, being angry and competitive won’t help, he realizes why Strange gave up the command to him, he knows Strange understands him and is willing to fight with him. Stephen could open a portal and go back or force them to go back, but he decides to stay and fight with Tony, and Tony starts despising Stephen a bit less, developing some empathy for him.

Tony then decides to end the conversation, he’s in control now. He understands Stephen’s point, pats his shoulder to relieve the tension between them and says he’s fine with Stephen’s conditions. Still, Tony still doesn’t understand the magnitude of Stephen’s role as the guardian of the stone, he’s being a blind optimist, refusing the bad possibilities and getting mad at any possible of failure.

To give Stephen the final blow, Tony contracts his lips’s corners, one more than the other without symmetry, that means CONTEMPT. He CONTEMPTS Stephen for considering defeat, he CONTEMPTS Stephen because he would let Peter die if he had to save the Time Stone and he CONTEMPTS Stephen because Tony still feels superior, he still sees Stephen as an obstacle in his way. Tony isn’t 100% bad for thinking like that, considering that canonically, Tony indeed is more intelligent than Doctor Strange, still, too bad for Stephen, who’s reading Tony’s face and having his heart a bit broken.

When Tony pats his shoulder and leaves, Stephen notices Tony’s contempt, Stephen is like “NO, YOU GOT ME WRONG!! I’M NOT A COLD GUY WHO WOULD LET KIDS DIE!!!” but Tony, now the alpha one in command, already decided their conversation should end, so Stephen doesn’t say a word. Stephen’s eyebrows are contracted, he’s frowning downwards, ANGER. His lips’ corners are facing down while contracted, ANGER, his nostrils are wide and his breathing got more intense, ANGER. He also follows Tony’s with his eyes, his upper and lower eyelids also are contracting, ANGER. Stephen is angry because he’s being ACCUSED WRONGLY. This is how INNOCENT people who are ACCUSED of something they didn’t do (or something they don’t agree or identify with) react, the sensation of being INJUSTICED makes anyone ANGRY and this is why Strange got that worked up, internally.

Stephen would HATE to sacrifice Peter or anyone, he would rather die or be tortured forever, however, Tony, someone he strongly admires, can’t see that. He hates how he’s not being recognized, he hates how Tony only seems to be able to see Stephen’s mistakes, not taking his role or his life mission seriously. That saddens him and angers him, but he understands Tony, and that’s why he agreed to Tony’s plan.

#iron man #tony stark #avengers #infinity war #doctor strange #benedict #rdj #marvel #mcu #dr.strange #stephen strange #stephen #strange #meta #long post

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Summer’s Child

Hi! So, some people guessed, but we going to Woodstock!! Thank you @dirtystyles, @bleedinglove4h, and @emulateharry for the looksies!  

Hardy,

I'm sending you this because I know you want to go all detective and come looking for me. But you can't. It's not time. You have to make that valedictory speech. I wish I could have seen it. I'll tell you why I couldn't once I find a place to land and can send you more than a postcard.

I'm sorry I left right after..... It was selfish, but you let me be selfish with you. I'm grateful.

I love you, Jilly

Three days. It had been three days since she took off, and nobody but him seemed to notice.

Some people noticed, they just didn't care.

Her mom knew, because Jillian took her money. And Will knew, because he asked Harry, snuck into the library to deliver a weak apology for letting Steven continue to ruin her reputation. Harry could feel his jaw squaring, his temples flaring, and his fist clenching.

He didn't hit him, which he regretted a moment later.

He wasn't sure if it was better of worse that he turned back on his way out, "She's ok, right?"

His mind hurt rather than his fist. He didn't hit him, because he was confused.He hadn't known. He'd missed it. He could be pissed at Will for waiting to ask after her, and for apologizing for Steven, but not for his own actions - he had to examine his own disconnect.

When he thought back to the day, prom day, and night, because he couldn't stop himself thinking of that though he couldn't let himself remember that without burning with shame and sadness, he realized he had missed so much.

Like, why did she want to get ready at his? He could come up with excuses, like the ones she had fed him, but, honestly, big clue. And the look on her face when she clocked the camaro. If he had been able to place the black muscle car maybe he could have guessed. She never liked her mom's boyfriends, they always put her on edge, but Dick had made her feel especially vulnerable. She'd basically moved in with Harry and his dad for a bit when Dick was around, well before Will, and slept at his even after. He should have asked!

He should have noticed.

Plus, she was clearly already having trouble with her mom. Jillian made comments occasionally about her indifference, or drinking. But the day of prom, she'd been more vicious and resolute. It was out of character. At least, it was those thoughts you let yourself have, but don't share with even your best friend. The ugly thoughts you pluck like weeds.

Had Harry not been so distracted by her flower decked hair and his dreams of her and white dresses and later by her flesh and the words coming from her lips, he would have figured it out. He should have listened to what she meant not what she said. Goodbye in an I love you.

He wants to be mad at her. For loving him like that only to abandon him. He can't be. He is fairly certain she would not have touched him if she was staying. Definitely wouldn't have told him all those feelings and coupled them with action, not just spoke love, but made love, if she was staying. She'd already told him, that didn't last. Was committed to that conviction. Harry was a greedy idiot. He should have known, she assumed that whatever they were, their forever platonic commitment, was already over, so she gave him what he dreamed of, a gift. She was a stellar gift giver.

He's not mad at her. Well, maybe a little. Mostly, he is forlorn.

He had been since the end of the first day. Up until then he'd been hopeful. Jillian shut down from time to time. Nobody knew that better than him, maybe nobody but him knew it. Usually, it was because the emotion was negative, but maybe she was freaking out because it was positive this time. It was still intense emotion, right?

He thought all this up later, these excuses. First, he panicked.

Harry had flown out of his room to where his dad sat with The New York Times and his favorite brown tea mug. It helped him find the prefect shade of beige when he splashed in his milk.

"Alright son?" Edward half stood up when Harry came into the room. Harry looked about and down at himself to see cause for alarm and realized he was only in his boxers. That wasn't relevant though.

"Da, have you seen Jillian?"

"Um," his father rarely said um. Instead he would think quietly and you'd wait for him to respond. Then he scrunched up the paper a bit, another no-no, while he fussed about. It was so odd, Harry noticed even in his distress. "Well, no, I haven't seen Jillian since you all left last night." There was a weird emphasis on seen.

Harry's face colored tomato red. So his dad heard them. He'd have to be suitably embarrassed, throw himself in front of a train embarrassed, about that later. "She's not in the house then?"

"Well, she's not in any of the common areas, or my, um, my bedroom. Or yours, anymore, apparently. Bathroom?"

Harry shook his head. Was his da daft? Of course he'd checked the bathroom. Risked bursting in on her doing her business in his haste. She wasn't in the house.

The treehouse! Maybe she was hiding out there, or reminiscing. Now he was dreaming!

The treehouse slats felt skinnier everytime he climbed them, though his feet hadn't grown in years. "Please God, let her be here, even if it's because she never wants to see me agin, or touch me again, but she's here and ok, then I can make it up to her."

He'd never prayed before.

His head popped through the square and the only movement is an ant trail going for a dessicated piece of yule log he had forgotten when he waited for Jillian 5 months past. The motion was infinitesimal, he only noticed it because his attention was keen, hopeful.

She's not there, waiting to break up with him or him to break up with her.

Jillian's not at his, at work, in their treehouse, around town. Nowhere he can think she would want to be.

Could she be with Will?

He dismissed that out of hand. In self preservation.

Then went to the last resort.

He'd called her house. But no one answered. But her mother was usually very hungover on Sunday morning. Way hungover. He expected the phone may not ring anymore, because Karen, Jillian's mom, was likely to pitch it completely across the room if it hurt her head too much. There was no answer there. He tried later. But first, he got in his truck and looked for her bike. It was not at the library, which was closed, or outside Dairy Barn . She was supposed to work the 3:10 shift. He knew the owners, a pair of smiling but steel backboned sisters, would kick him out, with genteel manners, if he hung about too long, even if he bought fries and a Coke. So he waited until 2:00 his nails beds raw from chewing.

Harry smiled at Char, the short haired sister while she rang him up and took his money in her no nonsense manner. It was Mel who was the hard ass though, said Jillian. Char smiled back and he distracted himself with how audacious they were, female business owners in a small town, and open on Sunday! But there were still the dregs of the post church rush. Jillian hated working early on Sunday. The church people were judgemental, but they were also the reason Char and Mel saw opportunity in being open. "Hypocrites." Jillian liked to sing song. Sitting here, he could feel it. Externalized self loathing, aimed squarely on his shoulders. Better him than Jillian. He'd noticed since his hair started to grow he got more negative looks. Sneers, also, stares, especially since he'd got rid of the glasses too. Over something as superficial as hair.

He supposed hair madeth the man, the way a covert made its book.

At 3:30, when his soda had long run out and he only had the hard edged drier pieces of fry left, Jillian's favorite, he knew she wasn't coming. Char and Mel had noted her absence. He tossed the fried away and headed for the door.

"Is Jillian sick?" Char, of course, asked. Mel had probably already added it to her personnel file, called in reserves. He wasn't sure they gave warnings actually.

Harry shrugged.

Sandra was less solicitous when she came out of the back with a sneer on her face. "We are short staffed, I actually need the airhead tonight. Martha is out!" Like it was his fault. He was stuck a sentence back.

Jillian was not an airhead. She wasn't empty. She was a hummingbird, she floated.

He was sick to his stomach when he got in his truck. She was never late, not to work. She needed the money bad. For her big move plans. Hadn't she said she had a stash? Because Will could pay for things, unlike him. He shook his head and kept looking.

Harry drove to the lake, it was a Hail Mary. Maybe she was waiting for him there. The drive took longer than the three songs he was used to. Never mind song length varied...

Of course, she wasn't there. The shore wasn't empty, there were post prom revelers, faces he recognized, the ones with lake houses.

Harry took a deep breath and walked down to ask the group.

Bill Trent saw him coming. Harry was glad it was him. He was decent, they'd had classes together.

"Harry?" Bill bulged his eyes? He supposed he looked out of place.

"Hey man, have you seen Jillian down here?" He slapped him skin to the delayed offer of Bill's hand.

"Jillian, Will's girl?" Harry kept his eyes the same size. He'd never be able to think of her in those terms, especially after last night. She wasn't Will's anything. Maybe not his either. Though Harry was hers, to be sure.

He just nodded back he thought he muttered "yeah." Maybe "thanks." And maybe there was a awkward wave before he made his way back to his truck.

Harry didn't remember the drive home.

His da opened the door. He'd been in a bit of a fugue til then. But his da, who hadn't hugged him straight on, only a wrap around his shoulder, since his mum died, opened his arms. And just like the last time, months before America and a silver lined laugh, he cried. The grief came out of his eyes and wracked his body. Edward Styles held his son, while he experienced the second terrible loss of his life and Harry could hear him pray.

He hadn't done that in ages, Harry remembered murmured words at his bedside, then, when he would cry himself to sleep. What did his da pray for?

Harry cried himself out, and his Da gave him a glass of whiskey, from the desk bottle. The next morning, Harry went to school with resigned hope.

Will was the catalyst for him going to her house. Maybe, just maybe.

He'd seen him in the hallway, collecting his attaboys tor getting in there, in Jillian. Harry couldn't see any embarrassment near his mouth, not even in his eyes. He hadn't gotten anywhere. The closest Jilly had gotten to his dick was her knee caps. But Harry knew calling him out meant a beating and would be useless. Everyone already knew the lies, so they'd become truth.

His opinion of Will didn't improve when he came into the library at lunch. Harry couldn't muster the energy to punch him. He wasn't worth it, and Jillian had handled him already.

Harry couldn't sit in the library, or class after that. Those were just space fillers now, grades were finalized. Normally, he'd just wait it out, do his duty, but his priorities had shifted. There was a stone left unturned.

There was a pit, like in the center of a peach, a hard poisonous stone, sat in the center of his belly as he drove. He needed confirmation, of a fact he knew to be truth. And the thing he knew, deep down, since he woke up to a cold bed, was confirmed. By Dick, of all people. She had means, motive, and opportunity.

She'd gone.

She'd gone, probably to California, and she'd left him.

He didn't go to school on Tuesday or Wednesday. He'd snuck his dad's whiskey on Monday night, had the bottle rather than the glass. He'd not been well enough for school Tuesday morning. Wednesday he just couldn't get out of bed.

Thursday, his da threw water on his face. He sputtered and lurched up fighting the wet like it was an opponent. "Get up!" His da's face was red but his mouth was in that hard line of concern it formed, especially lately. "Enough moping - your mum..." he stopped himself with a jerky strike of his chin. "Something came for you."

Frankly, Harry could give a fuck what had come for him, but he'd pushed his da, and himself to the limit with the drinking and lie in. He hauled himself out of the bed like his bones had petrified.

He realized his Dad had undersold the "something." Harry plodded into the living room and saw a pile of mail. He realized immediately that the 'something' was on top, it was a postcard, telling him a fraction of why, at least why he was left behind. For stupid graduation. At this point, his speech seemed insignificant. What bothered him was what it didn't say. Like why she left and where she was, specifically.

It was a picture of Time's Square.

She'd done that on purpose. Harry knew it. Picked a place, a card like that. Finding her in New York was the definition of needle in a haystack. But there was a glimmer, maybe she was waiting for him, hiding out. They had plans in New York soon. In two weeks.

Harry barely remembered his speech. He didn't redraft it, he went with the one he'd read to Jillian the day before...before prom, when she'd clapped. He was focused on the future.

He convinced himself she would be there.

But she wasn't.

Harry waited outside The Beach Boys show until people started trickling out before the encore to avoid the crowds, mostly parents towing reluctant teenagers behind them. Many of the girls were crying. Harry heard some of the last song over the screams of the crowd and the "Mom, I'm missing my favorite song!" From 20 feet away. It was her favorite song too. Of course it was 'God Only Knows'. That's when he left. He couldn't, he just couldn't.

It was his favorite song ever. Because it perfectly encapsulated Jillian for him.

Now more than ever, since she'd left him, life went on. As much good as it did him.

Harry got a job, to save up for the summer. He worked on a farm, with the horses. He'd ridden when he was younger in England, occasionally before high school here, when his studies picked up. His old stable needed a stable boy. It paid well, most kids didn't want to shovel shit. Harry didn't mind, and it was quiet, but busy enough to keep his mind clear, focused on a living being's needs. It made him feel better.

June passed quietly, into a heated July. He spent most of it in a barn, with hay in his growing hair and a goal ahead of him. He worked as much as his body allowed. He was sore, a lot. He needed new shirts by early August. He saw a poster for that festival again. He could head over after work on Thursday, it was his last week anyhow. He'd take Friday off.

Harry didn't ask around to see if anyone was going. He had only one person on his mind. He budgeted money for food out, with the bit of his wages he decided to sacrifice, to hope. His da told him he'd pay expenses when he went to Berkeley, but Harry wanted to help. To not feel guilty if he used the money for, well, for a place where Jillian would want to live if he found her, and the transit costs over the bay to find her if he didn't.

He was hopeful about a festival billed to Peace, Love & Music, with artists he knew she loved. If she was still in New York, Jillian would be there, he just had to find her. It seemed so possible until it happened. Until he saw how many not Jillian's there would be.

He'd driven until the roads got clogged, parked on a backroad he knew from midnight memories and walked with the throng. He just thought he'd spotted her, had himself convinced, was tensing his leg muscles to run.

Lisa must have felt his stare. She turned back and his heart broke a little.

But she was a beautiful blonde, with a carefree smile and careful eyes. After they made eye contact, walking along country roads that Friday morning, she came up and linked arms with him. She friendly, open, and a self proclaimed flower child, from Pittsburgh.

She was just his type. Which felt confusing and all wrong.

He told her about Jillian, and her gaze softened to melted chocolate. She spent all of Friday helping him look. They asked anybody who responded to, "hey man!", covered ground until his feet like to fell off, and ducked into any tent large enough to stick their heads in. He turned down more hippie hospitality than he could recall, a hundred joint and other options. Some hot plates to food and not too few beers and sandwiches.

Nobody knew a Jillian, least not his.

By nightfall, after the last notes played from the big stage, but revelry continued, Harry was hangdog tired and broken-hearted. Lisa held him while he cried a little but didn't mention it, just a dried his eyes with the hem of her white peasant top. That time, she didn't follow his lead and accepted the next joint offered, copped a squat in the little circle, and took a deep inhale, held it in her lungs and blew her breath over his face.

It smelled sweat and skunky, and he was too tired to care and to curious to say no, again.

Jillian liked to escape, to take time outs from her mental landscape. For a long time, those came in music, the long drives they'd share with the radio as loud as they dared, their voices rising above the speakers occasionally, or quick dancing bursts. Recently, once she'd started partying with the popular crowd, she'd decided pot was better than either.

Harry wanted a time out too. From the ache in his feet, the pound in his head, and the rend in his heart. At first, he thought not much had passed into his body, but then he was laughing, a stuck lip smile pasted on his mouth, and then he slept, in the tent Lisa lead him to, better than he had in months.

It may have been the body beside his, familiar but not quite right. But close enough on his high.

The next day saw the same highs and lows. They were sticky and rank from searching. They wound up by a river people were in, naked, bathing. Before he could contemplate it, he was naked too, and he saw a look on Lisa's face that sparked a reaction in him. He'd seen it before. It reminded him of dressing rooms, and gymnasiums, his bedroom.

Maybe he wanted a comparison, or a little sample of free love, or just to touch the breast he'd seen. Proof he could do that again, even if he never found Jillian.

That night, it was a joint for two, and a different time out. If with Jillian, he felt everything, with Lisa making love was about numbness. He just wanted to feel something else for a while. She let him call her Jilly. He barely noticed when she moaned Donny.

Maybe the truth was, everybody would be an echo of his first love. The music he liked, he loved Creedance, his actions, like coming to Woodstock, and the girls he chose, the lookalikes.

He expected to feel badly in the morning. Hungover, emotionally and physically. But, truth was, he woke up like it was a redo. Did the day again.

During joe Crocker's cover of "A Little Help from My Friends" someone handed him a tea to drink. And he did, without thought. He'd been fed and watered and fucked, by the people collected around him. His whole generation in harmony around him.

The mushrooms hit him when the next band got started.

The soundtrack, some band called the Greatful Dead, was perfect. They played for ages, and the music matched his vision. Jilly was flying. And he was grateful, to be dead to his pride and his old life.

He was ready. Harry kissed Sarah on the cheek where she danced with her eyes closed beside him, and ran.

He was supposed to leave in two weeks, for Berkeley. And he would have went. Even without the postcard.

He felt stone cold sober when he made it to his truck, miles of walking tuning him into his path. He'd been turn on and tuned in. He was ready to drop out of his current life.

When he got home, his da took one look at him and said, "Professor Sanders said you were welcome whenever. I'll help you pack." They spent the next day filling up the bed of his truck, and tarping it down for the long drive to the west coast.

After they had shared a few beers, Harry almost asked what was going on. His Da was being so cool and treating him like he was a peer. It was strange, but it made sense when he handed Harry another postcard the following morning, along with his eggs.

Hardy,

You ready?

Jilly

The picture was of Haight Ashbury, under the street sign with a girl in a flower crown throwing a peace sign. Just as he'd seen her during his trip the day before.

"Da?"

"I'm sorry," Edward hung his head.

"Sorry for what?" Harry was so elated, he had a clue! And she wanted him, all of his fears gone in four words.

"It came 4 weeks ago." His da sucked back tears. "I just knew the minute you saw it, you'd be gone. So, I." He coughed. "I'm not proud of it. But I just wanted you a bit longer. But when you walked in yesterday, I knew you were gonna go anyway."

Harry felt his face turn red, like a Man U Jersey. He was fuming. Angry words stacked up like water at a dam, ready to burst through his teeth. How could his father keep this from him?

He'd been right though, 12 hours and he was leaving. And his da was crying. Harry was so hurt by being left behind, he could only empathize. Edward was really the lone lighthouse keeper now. He'd stay in this house, and read his paper, go to his office, but there would be no young voices or awkward hugs for some time. Harry could understand, somehow.

Harry exhaled and let his anger trickle down around the edges, and nodded. He could forgive this.

His da hugged him again, not bothering to clear his eyes. He walked Harry out to the car, "oh wait!" Harry watched him jog back into the house, when he emerged, he had a thermos and a brown bag.

"So you can cover some distance." It was tea and sandwiches. The same ones his da always made him before he made his own lunches. "Those were your mother's favorite!" He times that for when the engine kicked over. Harry heard it. Edward left his hand on the split  window pane and Harry covered it with his own until he had to go.

Edward let go of the truck after a long moment and hurried back to the ranch style porch. His hand was moving against his face, quick and passionate.

"Da!" Harry called over the roar of the idle, "I love you. I'll call you whenever I stop." His da turned then. Harry couldn't hear his words, but saw his mouth move. He wasn't sure if it was drowned out by the ambient noise or emotion, but he read I love you. His dad stayed on the porch, then the sidewalk until Harry took the turn and couldn't see him anymore.

It was monotonous, at first, the trees and lanes he'd known his whole life. Then it was Lake Erie, it had been years since he'd been there. Then the trees gave way to flats.

Around Cleveland he picked up a couple girls headed to Toronto to see Led Zepplin. He took them as far as Toledo and then worried about them making it the rest of the way. They were young, giggly, and excited. He couldn't help but feel the two year gap between their 16 and his 18 was a lifetime, maybe the last year was the real lifetime.

The truck was so quiet after that. He kept an eye out then, for other passengers to fill the silence with radio sing alongs. He picked up a young guy in Chicago, and they rode together until Omaha, a long empty day. He crashed on the guy's couch and was sent off after a hot breakfast and a fill of his thermos with coffee. It was the first place he'd slept that wasn't the cab of his truck for two days. He slept hard and trusting. Used the phone to call his da.

He had trouble staying awake for the next 800 miles and was thankful the sunshine kept his eyes squinted. He'd stop to piss and stretch, but saw no potential companions and few cars. Who knew there was so much empty.

He felt empty. He went through stages. He'd left home without anger, but the almost five weeks since Jillian sent that postcard rode his mind like his tires did the blacktop. Time was a funny thing, it could continue in a straight line with no discernible change for months or years even, and then, like prom night, it could be irrevocably different in an hour, a moment.

All through Wyoming Harry tortured himself with possibilities. He liked to pretend he was an optimist, but really he was always preparing for the worst thing that could happen. Jillian was the one who asked what the best that could happen was. That seemed like bravery to him.

He thought up a scenario that was all bad, that she was gone without a trace. Lost to the 60's just before the decade changed to new possibilities.

Then one that was all good. He found a spot, and walked along the street and found her with just the flash of a picture. "Oh yeah, I know this chick. You must be Harry! She's waiting for you!" And he'd be led to a safe happy apartment full of peace lovers. Full of Jillian until his arms were full of her. He tried to think of that possibility most.

The worst by far was the one that was both his worst and her best. In the ensuing weeks where his selfish beloved father hid her letter, she'd found a new old man. Was shacked up. happy, and pregnant. Radiant and glowing with somebody else's get.

He had to pull over to puke, sympathy symptoms.

In Utah, he entered and alien landscape and thought he may be on the dark side of the moon. The one they didn't explore on TV, with all of America crowded around a glowing box.

When he hit the salt lake, he picked up the first, the only hitcher he saw. Allen was about his age, and he was headed not only the same direction, but the same place. He had a backpack, and not much else. A little money Harry begrudgingly accepted to cover the tank of gas.

There was something about him that made Harry anxious, for Jillian. Maybe it was the cigarette scar on his forearm, not the kind you give yourself, his immediate and deep sleep once he got in the truck, or the look haunting the corners of his eyes.

Allen was running away too.

Harry prayed, (it was becoming a habit) once Allen was asleep. It was for his passenger, Jillian, and all the kids making their way to California hoping to strike gold, running from pyrite.

He also prayed that Jillian hadn't hitched across country, had chosen a safer way. And that she wasn't in love, least not with anybody but him, and was not pregnant, even by him.

Harry couldn't stop driving after he picked up Allen. He filled up his gas tank and his thermos whenever engines were empty. They pulled up to the street sign he saw as a starting point and Allen saw as a refuge as the sun sunk below the horizon.

Harry didn't know where he was gonna sleep, his room was over the bay with Dr. Schroeder. He needed a bed, but he sucked down the battery acid bitter coffee left in his thermos. He wasn't leaving Sam Francisco for Berkeley until he'd tried.

There were throngs of young people cruising the streets. He slipped out the picture from prom, of the two of them in their formal dress. He looked at it, set his shoulders, and opened the door to join his generation.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer’s child #cult fic #1970’s #woodstock #chater 7 #turn! turn! turn!

[things-we-used-tc-share]

You say things with your mouth, flies and cobwebs come out

(I wrote a twenty one pilots fanfic of the same name a few years and this is loosely based on that, except this one is very long, It’s split up into 5 parts in case you need a break and come back to it, but I didn’t particularly want to make this a multi-chapter fic) 

Warnings: Suicide attempts, depression, intrusive thoughts, general poor mental health, bullying, shitty parents, abuse ((Very slight NSFW in Part 4, I will put it in italics so you can skip over it))

Ship: Prinxiety, background Logicality

Plot: Roman Prince finds a startled, quiet boy outside the school, surrounded by three known bullies, and deploys a rescue attempt, in the long run, he doesn’t quite know what this will come to be, or that Virgil is hiding several big secrets. (Jock!Roman) (Selective Mute! Virgil) (Title is taken from Lovely by Twenty One Pilots)

Virgil is huddled between a brick wall and three very large men who have anger sewn into their faces. He doesn’t talk too them, the fear closing up his throat as he stares up at the men, boys really, but they’re built like steroids are part of their diet. They’re talking, words full of anger, but Virgil can’t really hear over the static of his anxiety, so he just screws his eyes shut and waits. 

“And just what do you think you are doing?” This is a new voice, a voice he hasn’t heard before, a voice that he can’t tell whether is angry at him or them. He remains silent but peaks his eyes open to see the men backing away. “Y’all need a fucking hobby,” The newcomer speaks calmly, but there’s a fire brewing behind his words “I would hate for the coach to find out exactly what you’ve been pumping through your systems to win this game,” Various noises of protest, anger, and disappointment are elicited from the men, as they shove past the newcomer and walk away. 

“Are you alright kid?” Virgil peers through his heavily lined and watery eyes before nodding. He’s trying to assess the newcomer, trying to figure out where he knew him from. It clicked, finally, and his eyes widened. 

Roman Prince, quarterback of the football team, dream child and perhaps the most untouchable guy in the school. He was the only person in this entire school who could get away with his sexuality, perhaps because he’s rich or perhaps because he has the most dazzling smile anyone had ever laid eyes on. Either way, Virgil hadn’t known a jock could have a heart. 

The young man holds out a hand for Virgil to take, hesitantly and with shaking hands, he does. Roman smiles that award-winning smile and Virgil blinks like he’s just been blinded. In a way, he has; blinded by the fact that this man cared enough to put his own reputation on the line, and also blinded by the fact that that really is a nice smile. “Is there anyone I could call for you? Anywhere I can escort you too? You look pretty shaken up,” Virgil hesitates, and now more than ever he wants his voice to just work, but he supposes he can’t just blurt out his life to the first stranger that’s shown him kindness. He shakes his head. 

Virgil thinks he probably looks a mess right now, mud on his jeans, jacket half hanging off his shoulder and shirt rumpled. He realized with a start that his head was sore, from being pushed into the wall. He touches it gingerly and a hiss escapes through his teeth, when he pulls back his hand there’s the slightest bit of blood on his fingertips. 

“Shit,” Roman curses “Fucking assholes, we need to get you too hospital,” Virgil makes a noise at the back of his throat, like air being released in protest. “What? Why?” The purple haired boy blinks and then makes a hand gesture that was universal for ‘money’ Roman’s lips made an ‘o’ shape like it’s never dawned on him that people actually worry like that. He feels almost ashamed. “Okay, I know who to take you too, trust me,” 

--

It’s a short walk to Roman’s house, although to Virgil it looked more like a fucking mansion. They’re barely through the door before Roman is shouting “Logan! Logan!” Looking rather tired, a tall and thin man with stubble and a mess of brown hair comes downstairs. He can see Roman’s face in Logan, except older and more exhausted with the world. 

“What seems to be the problem, Roman?” The younger gestures to the back of Virgil’s head. Logan finally actually takes in the other boy stood next to Virgil, who has several more scrapes and bruises than first realized. “Jesus Christ,” He doesn’t ask questions, simple gestures for the other to follow him. On the way up, Roman explained Logan is a training doctor and also his older brother. 

Virgil sits on the bed, as the elder man examines the wound “What happened here?” He finally says “This is going to need stitches, it’s a good job I have a lot of supplies around here,” Virgil keeps very still as Logan gets to work on his head wound. “Really you should go to the hospital, you might have a deeper wound than can be examined externally,”

“He...He can’t afford it Lo,” Virgil’s cheeks go dark red and he fiddles with his hands in shame, Roman notices and kneels down in front of him “It’s nothing to be ashamed about, it’s not yours or anyone’s fault, except the shitty medical system we have in place,” Logan hums in reply, finally pulling away. 

“Okay, you’re all stitched up, your other wounds seem mostly superficial, they’ve stopped bleeding at least, wash them and take some painkillers, come back tomorrow so I can check on them, just to make sure, okay?” Virgil nods slowly, and it seems to only have just occurred to Roman that Virgil doesn’t speak. He was used to doing the talking all the time, so people rarely spoke around him, but this boy hadn’t spoken a word. He didn’t even know his name. 

He doesn’t ask, he just grabs a notebook and pen off Logan’s desk and hands it to Virgil “What’s your name?” He asks softly, and the young man blinks for a moment before scribbling down on a piece of paper ‘Virgil’ Roman nods. “It’s a nice name, suits you,” 

“In future Virgil, if you sustain any further injuries, please come and see us,” Roman has to blink twice at his brother because kindness was usually his partner’s forte, but he remembers that Logan loves his work perhaps more than anything, and he was passionate about fixing people up. “And if there are any worse injuries I am more than happy to pay for it, I won’t have Roman’s only friend dying in my house,” For a moment, the stern appearance breaks and a small smile peaks across Logan’s lips. “If you’re staying for dinner, let Patton know, and you can keep the notebook, I have plenty more,” 

As Roman leads Virgil out of Logan’s room, the younger feels overwhelmed with kindness, tears pricking his eyes. The quarterback notices and offers out his arms, not wanting to overstep a boundary, Virgil all but collapses into them. 

--

Patton, as it turns out, is Logan’s husband, a peppy young man who is over the moon to be feeding an extra mouth tonight. “Do you have any dietary requirements? Allergic to anything? Vegan or vegetarian?” Virgil writes down in the notebook that he’s a vegetarian, and Patton nods “Wonderful! Me too! Unfortunately, these carnivorous animals simply won’t have any of my delicious Quorn meals,” He’s laughing and ruffling Roman’s hair. Virgil has never seen a family so happy before.

“That’s because it tastes like cardboard, Patton my dear,” 

Later, Virgil and Roman sat on Roman’s bed, although Roman had insisted on giving the other clean clothes. Virgil wondered where Roman’s parents were, but as soon as Roman had read his question, his face had fallen. 

“We don’t speak to our parents, well Patton speaks to his parents because his parents are lovely, but me and Logan don’t,” he sighs “My parents threw Logan out when he was 16, when they found out he was gay in a rather interesting way,” Roman laughs “I’d found it hilarious if not terrifying, every kid has nightmares on their parents walking in on them, when everything blew over me, Logan and Patton had a good laugh about it,” He shrugs “I told my dad I was gay, and I followed Logan right out the door, Logan had a job, and so did I, and Patton was more than happy to help, we all lived in a small flat at first but we saved and eventually got this place, which has a lot more room in it,”

“So Logan is your older brother?” He writes

“Yeah, by six years, he adopted me though, after I registered as estranged from my parents, he legally adopted me, with Patton, then on his 18th birthday him and Patton got married, I wasn’t surprised really, they’d been together longer than I could physically remember, I think they went to primary school together, I was the best man and the flower boy,” 

Virgil smiles, he liked happy endings, he’d never seen one outside of a book before. 

--

Virgil’s voice comes back a little while after dinner, he uses it to stutter out a “thank you,” to Patton, offering to do the dishes, in which the other man waves a teatowel at him. 

“Don’t be silly, you’re a guest, plus this is the only peace and quiet I get before these two starts fighting over movies,” Virgil giggles, Roman feels like he’s been doused in cold water. It’s not a sudden realization that Virgil is attractive, but his laugh might actually be the nicest music he’s ever heard. 

--

Virgil doesn’t tell Roman about his family. He doesn’t tell him about the burns on his arms. He doesn’t tell him about his depression. Not yet. 

But he smiles all night, he laughs, he feels a sweet intimacy with people that he’s never felt with anyone in his life. He blushes as Roman compliments his laugh, his voice, listens too him gush about Virgil in general. That’s not something he’s ever experienced before. 

He also tries not to smile when Roman kisses him on the cheek and tells him to get home safe.

--

Part 2

Roman knows there’s something up with Virgil, a few weeks into their friendship, he knows there’s something the other is battling with. Yet the younger boy had a heart made up of walls, and somehow Roman knew it was more than just the pricks at school that put those walls there. On Virgil’s 18th birthday, he didn’t go home, he stayed at Roman’s, and Roman wondered why he didn’t want to see his family on this day, the dots connected in his head. 

Patton baked him a birthday cake, it was purple and it had little white stars on it and Virgil cried. He cried and he hugged Patton and told him “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Roman’s heart breaks. They’d all bought Virgil gifts too, and the other fell mute as he became overwhelmed with emotions. Patton and Roman sat next to him as he choked on his own breaths, whilst Logan sourced all the blankets in the house and piled them on top of the shaking boy. 

“Breathe Virgil,” Logan says calmly, whilst Patton rubs his arms and Roman offers him a hand to squeeze. “I need you to breathe with me okay, copy my breathing, alright?” Roman had never been so thankful for his brother in his life as Virgil began to breathe firmly, eyes not leaving the elder’s worried gaze. “Patton, could you go make Virgil a hot drink? Hot chocolate perhaps?” Virgil nods, wiping away his tears. “Patton makes the best hot chocolates,” Logan informs Virgil, a gentle smile on his face. 

He could really see why this man was a doctor, and although he understood that Logan was often a very calculated man, (”Sometimes he’s honestly like a robot, usually when he’s stressed, he used to be a lot worse though” Roman had told him one night whilst they watched re-runs of friends on Netflix) he also knew that when the situation called for it, Logan would do anything for those he cared about. 

In truth, Logan and Patton were becoming the closest thing he’d had to a father in his life. 

Patton sets the hot chocolate on the table side before gingerly offering the other his present. It’s a small box, containing numerous fidget toys, something that Virgil had voiced previously he wanted but couldn’t afford, and now he had a whole box of them. He could feel his eyes tearing up again as he signed a ‘thank you’. 

Logan gives him a notebook, it’s fancy, with textured paper and sleek binding. Virgil thanks him, and pauses to wipe away his tears. Roman’s present is the biggest, it’s wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper that's just so Roman. He unwraps it slowly, his hands shaking slightly, then he beams. It’s a calligraphy set, of different pens and inks all, packed neatly into a beautiful wooden box. ‘Thank you’ he signs, setting it on the floor, before hugging the other firmly, his face buried in his neck. 

--

Virgil stays at Roman’s the night, somewhere between 3am and 5am he kissed him. 

His hands were shaking and his lips were cold, but he felt like he was on fire as the other held him like the world would stop for the two of them. He thinks he can taste love in Roman’s lips, amongst the cinnamon and birthday cake and something else that was nothing like anything Virgil had ever tasted before. He kisses him like he’s begging the other not to break his heart, to help him. 

Roman kisses him like he’s never been in love before. 

--

Part 3

Roman finally asks Virgil straight out “What’s going on?” Virgil blinks with confusion written into his eyes like a bad parody of what it should be. He knows what Roman’s asking, he doesn’t know if he can tell him. “Virgil, I care about you so much, but you need to let me help you, there’s something wrong I can tell, I’ve always been able to tell but...I really can’t stand to see you look so hurt,”

They sit in Roman’s room and Virgil pulls off his jacket, at first the elder is confused, trying to understand until he sees his arms. He almost doesn’t want Virgil to take his shirt off, but he does. Not for the first time since the elder boy has met him, Roman’s heart shatters in his chest; so hard that the air in his lungs feels like there’s glass lodged in them. 

Scars. 

All over his arms, chest, back, bruises making patterns of purple and black on the other’s porcelain skin. Burns made ripples up and down the lines of his forearms. Roman feels sick, he feels the weight in his stomach and he stares and stares, trying to understand. Finally, he understands and finally, he speaks. He gathers his calm, and places it in his heart, Virgil needs him to stay calm “Okay, firstly, you need to get those looked at, I think they’re infected,” His voice shakes as he stands “Secondly, we need to get you out of that house,”

It’s a strange sense of deja vu, when Logan’s face pales at the sight of Virgil’s skin, ushering him into his room. Patton calls the police, Virgil can hear him crying. Roman paces, fury in his breathing, and Virgil just feels...numb. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He just holds out his hand, and the other takes it, pressing kisses to his knuckles (Virgil can feel the other’s tears, but he doesn’t know how to console him). 

Logan cleans the wounds, some of them need stitches, some of them need bandaging, some of them just need a few plasters. He’s very meticulous, careful, his eyes focused and his body language calm. But Roman knows his brother, Roman knows that Logan’s calm is his anger, but he’s thankful that the other doesn’t rage over the situation. Once again, Roman has never been more thankful for his brother. Virgil is starting to feel the same way about the elder of the two brothers, who had at this point become a surrogate father. 

Patton enters the room balancing cups of tea on a tray, he sets Logan’s on his desk, hands Roman his, and places Virgil’s in his hands. Then he sits cross-legged on the floor, muttering encouragements to the three of them. “The police are on their way here, they’ll want to see your,” He gestures “Wounds, Virgil,” The eldest swallows, but there’s no anger in him, only melancholia. 

“They’re also going to want to ask questions, some of them will be incredibly invasive, but we will be here if you need further support,” Logan finally speaks. “They’ll take pictures of your scars, they’ll want you to give a statement, your address, your relationship with your family, they’ll ask you so many questions you’ll probably ask if it’s worth it,” He finishes the last wound and stands up, moving to kneel in front of Virgil “But it is always worth it, Virgil, believe me,” The younger nods. “We’ll leave you two alone for now, we’ll let you know when they’re here,” 

Roman and Virgil sit on Logan’s bed, with the younger’s head resting on his partner’s shoulder. His expression is blank, but there are tears rolling out of his eyes. “Why are you all so kind to me?” He finally asks. 

“Well, we don’t need a reason to be kind to you, initially we saw you needed help, and we helped, because that’s how humans are supposed to be,” He struggles, like he’s trying to recall a fact “Logan says Humans are social animals, that we thrive off being in a society, helping each other and stuff, it’s been that way since the dawn of time, so normally, humans are supposed to help each other,” He pauses “But now, it’s because we love you, Virgil, Patton, and Logan practically see you as an adoptive son that came wandering into our lives a year ago, and I, love you, as a friend, as a partner, as someone I care about very deeply,” 

Virgil cracks then, he doesn’t understand, he can’t understand why these people would care so much, he can’t understand what he’s still only learning, at age 18, that people love. That he loves them all, and they love him too, and that despite only knowing him a year they would put everything down to support him. “Thank you Roman,” He whispers. 

--

The police come, they do everything Logan says, by the end of the questions, the photographs, the statements and everything else, he felt like a puppet on display for the world. Patton makes them all dinner after they’ve gone and they sit in silence for a moment before Logan puts down his knife and fork. “Virgil, me and Patton have been talking,” The young man pauses mid-chew too look up at the other “Whilst you are now, 18 years old and free to go anywhere and live anywhere you so desire, we understand that you may need a place to stay,” Virgil’s heart jumps straight too his throat. “We are more than happy for you to stay here, of course, I would need to register you as living here, but we can more than cover the cost of your rent, food and such for a good few months whilst you recover,” 

Patton beams at him, and Roman smiles around a forkful of mashed potatoes as the realization sunk in on Virgil. “You’d...do that...for me?” 

“You mean a lot to us, Virgil!” Patton speaks, placing a gentle hand on the other’s back. “You practically live here anyway, so, I don’t see why not, plus I love having someone to make veggie dishes for, all my salad and stuff goes out of date before I finish it, so really, I need an extra mouth to feed,”

Virgil laughs, mostly in disbelief, before nodding “Thank you, so much,” But Logan wasn’t finished yet. 

“In addition, if you so desire, I have contacted my former trauma counselor, he does excellent rates and helped me a lot through similar situations in which I have found myself...feeling how you may be feeling right now,” Roman looks at his brother, it was a topic that wasn’t often discussed in the house, and a part of the story that the younger of the two brothers had left out purposefully. 

The part where their father had put Logan in hospital. Three times. 

See there had been points in Roman’s life where he’d remembered the things that their father had put Logan through. The elder was a stubborn boy, he refused to change himself for anyone, and certainly not their bigot of a father. Roman had only been ten when he’d followed Logan out of the door, already very aware of his own sexuality, before that Roman only remembered bits and pieces. Pieces like Logan’s bones on an x-ray, pieces like the black eye he’d been sporting for a week, pieces like bottles smashing, screaming and crying. 

He wasn’t surprised when Logan drew into himself after they'd left, he wasn’t surprised that the other had become so stoic that it seemed like there was nothing there. He also wasn’t surprised when Patton booked him a therapy session and patiently helped the other man into his own skin and heart every morning. 

Without Patton, Roman doubted there would be a Logan to talk to today. 

Virgil stands up and hugs Logan, then Patton, and then Roman, he holds Roman like he’s holding his own heart, firm but gentle. “Thank you so much, all of you,” He whispers, his voice feeling hoarse from all the crying of the last day. “You’ve...you’ve saved my life,”

--

Part 4

Therapy was not as bad as Virgil had expected at all. He saw Dr Picani once a week, on a Wednesday evening, and the man was...a strange person indeed. He was helpful, however. He spoke mostly in references, all of which Virgil got and understood, and smiled genuinely. In a way, he kind of reminded him of Patton, bubbly, confident, cheerful, but serious when it needed. 

He started helping Patton make dinner once he came in from college, which he’d started a month ago and loved it. He was studying Graphic Design, because now he could actually focus on his work and Fine Art, although interesting, was not a path he particularly wanted to follow. Roman bought him a graphics tablet, and he spent his free time drawing, whilst Roman was in college on a football scholarship, although somehow managing to balance two majors. The second being Performing Arts, Virgil could not say he was surprised. 

His life was not particularly at it’s best, but he was improving. After he was diagnosed with PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression, he was prescribed medication, which he got benefits to pay for. It had been a long few-month process, but he’s managed it. 

Roman had been lovelier than ever, patient with his panic attacks, learning the process in which to calm him down. He read Virgil stories until he fell asleep and kissed him like they were floating on clouds, or at least, it made Virgil feel like he was flying.

His father was currently in prison, awaiting trial, something which Virgil was not looking forward too, either way, he was looking for a distraction. His best distraction was always Roman, who kisses him and touches him like he’s fragile. He appreciates the concern, but for once he wants to feel unbreakable. 

When Virgil plonks his bag on Roman’s floor, the other looks up with a smile, greeting him; the words have barely left his mouth before Virgil’s mouth is on his. The younger kisses like a fever, his hands everywhere and anywhere at once and Roman can barely choke out a “Virgil,” Before his lips are pressed to his neck. He swallows his doubts for the favor of the heat crawling underneath his skin. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Never been more sure in my life,”

It’s a struggle to keep quiet to say the least, although they’d been pointedly ignoring the sounds coming from Logan’s room over the last few months. Virgil doesn’t take his time, it’s not particularly romantic, it’s a lot of noise and bite marks and muttering each other’s name. Until afterward, when they’re cuddling and smiling and holding on to each other like the world is going to end. 

--

Part 5 

“I can’t believe he’s getting away with it,” Virgil hisses, whilst Roman tries desperately to keep it calm “The bastard is actually fucking...” 

“Virgil breathe, please, honey,” Virgil looks into Roman’s eyes and nods, evening his breathing before it becomes too desperate. “Breath, it’s okay, you’re still safe, you have a restraining order, I know it’s not fair, it really isn’t, but you’re safe here with us, you always will be, I promise,”

--

Virgil didn’t feel safe. Not from his father, not from himself.

--

“911, what’s your emergency?”

 Roman’s crying, Patton's crying, Logan looks like death warmed up when the ambulance arrives. The elder of the two brothers had spent the last half an hour stitching up wounds and trying to stop his friend from bleeding out all over the floor. Virgil’s blood was very literally on his hands. The bathroom looks like a murder scene. Patton throws up. 

“I should’ve stayed with him,” Roman is gasping through tears “I should’ve...oh god, Logan is he going to die?” Logan shakes his head, washing his stained hands before bringing his younger brother into a hug “Will he be okay? What...what do I do?”

“Breathe, Roman, breathe, he will be fine,” His voice is firm, hard, determined and concentrated “He lost a lot of blood, but he’s otherwise okay, he didn’t hit an artery or vein as far as I could see, and I prevented further blood loss, he will be safe at the hospital, which is where we need to go, now,”

Patton is fumbling for his coat and keys, his body moving in directions that he’s not consciously telling it to go. Roman had never seen him look so frantic or lost. 

--

Roman hates hospitals, nothing good ever goes into a hospital. Virgil looks so pale, lips cracked, eyes swollen and red, skin almost translucent. He starts crying again. Logan has seated himself in the corner of the room, legs up as he cracked open a book, whilst Patton sat with his back against the wall, staring at the clock as it ticked. 

Roman holds Virgil’s hand, his head resting on the bed as he watched the other man. 

When he looks up, Virgil's dark eyes are watching him, he looks exhausted. The machine next to him beeps, there’s an IV in his arm. Virgil looks like a corpse, a living corpse. Roman can’t breathe.

But he does, he breathes because Virgil needs him as he presses a weak kiss to the younger’s hand “Hey there sleeping beauty,” A small smile peaks at Virgil’s lips then falls again as he stares tiredly at his lover. “You’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here, we’re all here,” Virgil looks over at the elder couple, who looked as exhausted as he himself feels. 

‘Sorry,’ he signs loosely, but Patton shakes his head. 

“Don’t be kiddo, we’re just glad you’re okay,” Somehow, he’s glad too. 

--

It takes a couple days of psych assessments and fluids before Virgil is discharged, he looks like he barely remembers how to walk, stumbling beside Roman, who is supporting him. Logan drives them all back home and helps Virgil upstairs into bed, where the other finally feels he can get a good sleep. 

He wakes up at 8PM, too the smell of Patton’s cooking and the sound of music playing. His arm is sore from all the needles that have been in and out of his arm, but he’s enough energy for some real food. Patton smiles at him when he comes downstairs, fussing over him in a way that really, only a parent could with a child. He doesn’t call either of them dad, but he knows they know that they’re the closest thing he’s got. 

Which is probably why it had terrified them so much. 

Logan smiles at him and offers him a warm hug, rubbing the other’s back. He’s never seen Logan cry before, but his eyes are watering right now. “I feel like I failed you,” The elder admits “That I was supposed to protect you and now...” Virgil shakes his head. He writes with shaky, unpractised hands. 

‘it’s not your fault, you’ve not failed me, you saved my life, Logan,’ 

It’s true, he had, both he and Patton had spiritually saved him, brought him into their home, gave him a life he didn’t even realize he’d deserved. But Logan had stopped the bleeding, stitched him up and made sure he kept breathing whilst the ambulance had been on its way. He’d literally saved his life. 

And Roman, Roman had given him the realization that he’d deserved to be saved, and that he could save himself. Sitting in that hospital room, the other man had told him stories about his life, taught him what it meant to be alive and had kissed him so gently his heart felt like it might come back to life from the coldness it had been feeling. 

He knew now, with the three of them, when he’d been standing on the edge and ready to fall, he hadn’t wanted to die for a moment. He’d wanted to tell Logan it was okay, tell Patton that he was doing so well, tell Roman that he adored him. 

There was a line called depression in his mind, most days he stood on the line and that was okay, some days he stepped back from it, and it was wonderful. Some days he fell over the line into a darker area, like the day he’d made the decision to take his own life. But this day, these days, these were the days that should be worth living, these are the days that on the grey days, he should tell himself will come. Surrounded with the people he loved and that were willing to support him. 

He knows he can’t do this by himself yet, that he needs their help for now, but he has to also let them help too. Virgil remembers that feeling, standing on the edge and wanting to turn back. He’d known then that death was not what he wanted, not yet anyway, he didn’t know what he wanted either, but he stored that memory for the next time.

--

In a couple of weeks things fell back together, although the others were still rather jumpy, they stopped the overbearing and consistent asking the other if he was okay every five minutes. For this, he was thankful. He and Roman decided they needed to get away for a bit, and despite missing them, Logan and Patton were rather happy to have the house to themselves for a bit. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Roman called over his shoulder. 

“That doesn’t lower the bar Ro,” Logan had retorted with a snort, hugging Virgil and Roman as they made their way into the airport. Patton’s arm goes around Logan’s waist and he presses a kiss to the other’s cheek. “Are you worried? I’m worried, I feel like an old man,” The younger of the two mutters too his partner. 

“You are an old man,” Patton laughs lightly, tugging Logan’s hand. “This is the first time Roman’s really been away from home it makes sense...”

“It’s not really Roman I’m worried about,” He admits “Roman’s not...he’s not the sort of person I need to be worried about, I worry that he’s going somewhere new like any...adoptive father would,” Patton smiles, squeezing the other’s hand “But it’s so soon after Virgil’s...”

“Do you trust them?” Logan nods “Then trust that they will look after each other, and they will be okay, it’s only a week Lo,”

--

Virgil and Roman made it back safe. 

Roman got a tan, Virgil got a sunburn. And they all got their happy ever after, in a way. 

--

((This took me three hours to write, I feel like I’m going to c r y))

Taglist:

@analogical-mess //  @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten //@theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife//@heck-im-lost //@k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad //@sanderssideslibrary //@max-is-tired//@therealmoshar//@punsterterry//@trashypansexual //@miserykillme // @demigodnamedathena

Add yourself to my taglist:  Sanders Sides/Thomas Sanders

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#prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides

[lizardl0ver43]

My hope for Druck is that they really handle the trans gereven plotline with care, and I get somewhat anxious just thinking about it. Like, with the already transphobic or simply ignorant reactions to this, they have to make it super clear that No, this doesn't make Matteo pansexual, because he's gay, and being with a trans man doesn't negate that. I think a lot of the fandom has this attitude that "Oh! Trans Even means representation means it's automatically gonna be positive," but I think that's obviously naive, and it's pretty self-explanatory why things could go terribly wrong, as they often do when TV shows introduce trans storylines. I'm gonna put some faith in Druck, because they've been pretty damn great so far, but I'm also pretty cautious.

So I'm anticipating that the MI plotline will be replaced with Matteo discovering that gereven is trans, because that makes the most sense narratively. Including both arcs while giving them both the attention needed would crowd the season, and although it would be a bit of a shame to drop the bipolar plotline, i'd rather it be dropped entirely than hackneyed. You also wouldn't want the audience to draw wrong conclusions that being trans is a result of his mental illness (even though of course there are mentally ill trans people... you have to just consider it from a lense of "how will an uneducated viewer interpret this? is there enough time in a ten episode season to separate the two storylines enough, and deal with the intersection between the two identities, while not equating them... to be nuanced, but also have an unmuddled message, instead offering the audience clarity?" the answer's probably no.) And it would fit well in the storyline, when you recognize that the narrative role of bipolar Even wasn't to have representation of mental illness, but to introduce a conflict to their relationship in which Isak was uninformed and ignorant, and to have him reevaluate his beliefs and ultimately come to the conclusion that he loves Even wholly, etc. etc. Which the trans storyline can achieve.

I've thought about it, and the trans storyline could technically replace the Sonja storyline instead while serving the same narrative purpose (have gereven pull away from Matteo anticapating rejection, similar to how the trans storyline on Faking It was handled) (plus I think we'd be relieved at not having to watch that all again). However, that presupposes that Matteo will act mostly accepting of it when he finds out that beanie boy is trans, or else that plotline could be redundant. And like... if this is a boy who is so unwoke about mental illness, I think we can assume that he probably won't just take it in stride? Ofc I'd like to be pleasantly surprised/proven wrong, and I'm hoping that Matteo's reaction isn't extremely transphobic or anything that could be upsetting for queer viewers, but I'm assuming it'll be presented similar to Isak coming to terms with Even's mental illness--as an adjustment of his mentality/recognition of false perceptions of trans people. I think the whole point of Isak's season is that first he and Even get through the external barriers to their relationship (Sonja), and then they get through Isak's own internal barriers which coincides with him accepting himself and living his truth and all that. So idk I feel like I'm one of the only ones who actually wants them to drop the mi storyline in favor of the trans storyline taking precedence? And they could also explore mental illness through other characters (such as Matteo himself, who seems deeply depressed and apathetic. i actually really relate to his character more than any Isak other than Shay for that reason, so id loveeee for them to address his mental health). What do yall think?

#oh my god this is the FOURTH time im trying to post this #ugh #druck #gereven #transphobia mention #tell me if im out of line anywhere bc im cis #but ive been talking about this with my trans friends and thinking about it a bit especially with everyones gross reactions #and it seems im not in the majority #wanting them to drop the mi plotline #or rather give it to another character #i want to know what yall think!

[beardyallen]

Well, that went quickly...

What day is it? I’m starting to lose track of how long I’ve been here...

Well, it’s been a week since my last post, and it seems that a lot must have happened, but honestly I feel like I’ve just been cranking through a bunch of comic books.

But I do know that Friday and Saturday involved a good deal excitement, so I guess we had might as well pick up pretty much where we left off!

Last Friday was Orientation for ICB, which meant getting all of the 35-40 instructors, 10 staff members, and the 6-8 people in charge of this program together in a room to introduce us to...basically what we’d been doing all that week. Also, aside from a couple study-abroad-undergrads and my officemate and me, everyone there had probably already heard the spiel.

It was scheduled from 5p-6p with a buffett afterwards, but a bunch of the Communications people from my floor were going out to eat (again?) afterwards, so I made plans with NR. She wanted to try this Mexican restaurant in what I’ll describe as the “international district” of Beijing. Most everything around us when we got there looked like it belonged in literally every metropolitan area in the world. Every major brand you can imagine had a store. Multiple. Too many...

But the Mexican restaurant we visited is owned and managed by a Mexican expat, apparently. He even stopped by our table to ask how the food was, and let me tell you: that quesadilla was the BOMB!!! And the margarita was pretty good (not as good as MHO’C’s, though!). By the time we finished up dinner, it was kind of late, so we wondered around the shopping center, found a bookstore. You know: the usual.

Fun fact: when a store or restaurant wants to indicate to their patrons that they are getting ready to close, they play smooth jazz and turn the lights down. Like for real. Had their not been windows open to the pavilion outside with it’s hundreds of light displays, I would have been seriously concerned when the lights in the place just went out and Kenny G popped up on the speakers.

We entertained the idea of finding the cinema nearby to see Alita Battle Angel, but during the 15 minutes that we spent wondering around in search of the complex, it seemed to elude us. Plus it was getting close to that time when the subway shuts down, and I wasn’t exactly hankering for a taxi ride this early in my stay....if at all.

The next morning, I got up early to meet back up with NR at the National Museum near the Forbidden City. Now, for the most part, the stairs I get don’t bother me. But I will say, if you’re going to stair at the pasty white guy with a hard-to-describe-its-color-accurately-beard, maybe don’t do it when you’re going 15 mph on a bike, facing in the wrong direction! *sigh.....Some people’s kids...

But what really bothered me, especially at the time, was the father-of-three who straight-up filmed me on his phone from 5 feet away for a solid 6 minutes, three hallways, and two escalators! I get it, I’m funny looking. But I really think I a picture would have done just fine...

One of the things that bothered me the most about that experience was that (a) he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, (b) his daughters seemed rather embarrassed, (c) he filmed me with the screen aimed at me so I could watch myself on his phone, (d) there was text on the screen, and (e) it went on for a solid 6 minutes.

In hindsight, I was wearing sunglasses and a hat, in a subway system, in the morning, heading to the center of Beijing. Maybe he thought I was a celebrity? I had spoken to a Communications graduate student the other day who happens to be black, and he told me the story of how a citizen here pull out their phone with a picture of Samuel L. Jackson on it, and gestured to him as it to ask if it were him...even though SLJ is for sure at 70 years old and this kid is no more than 35. And he looks 25. #smh

Anyway, after dealing with whatever the hell that was, I got to visit the museum! They, for whatever reason, were not allowing people to bring their charging blocks into the museum (external battery that you can use to charge your cell phone and other devices on-the-go), but more surprising to me was just how many people carried one with them! At least, it was surprising until I took a moment to think about it. As I’ve mentioned before, basically every payment made in Beijing is through WeChat, which needs internet access, so I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising. You also really can’t navigate through the city with some sort of Maps app; there are just too many bus routes, train routes, terminals and stops to keep logged in your head.

As far as the museum itself goes, the gifts to China from foreign governments exhibit and the Ancient China exhibit themselves took most of the day. Also, no surprise: the gift that took up the most floor space was given by a U.S. President. I also got a refresher in 8th Grade Social Studies. Too many small countries to remember all of them, and that space made me feel somewhat moronic.

The Ancient China exhibit was exceptional, though. They broke up the last, oh...750,000 years of human-ish life in China into 8-10 separate eras, the first few cataloguing the life and evolution of Homo erectus pekinensis into Homo sapien, while the latter eras were segregated dynastically. I’ve never seen the progression of human evolution laid out in such detail! The rock tools became better rock tools, then pottery and paper, stamps, buildings and so much more! There were even ceremonial helmets that would put the Juggernaut to shame!

It was strange, though, to have all of this knowledge just beyond my fingertips both literally and figuratively. The literal sense isn’t too shocking, as I’ve been to a museum before and know not to touch the pieces, but to have placards written in a language that would take years to learn was frustrating. Fortunately, NR has a never-ending supply of patience, and she translated much of the text. She even quizzed me on several of the characters. I’ve worked out how to write “rock” for sure.

After the museum, we wondered over to a nearby mall that, honestly, puts the Mall of America to shame. No joke. This place was huge! It just kept going and going and going! There was a particular alley that has all of the “exotic foods” that you might see on The Amazing Race, which I haven’t tried yet but intend to, but the rest is mostly-outdoor shopping center. Our reason for being there was to find food (we had been in the museum for a bit over 7 hours), and then sit our fine asses down in a movie theater to watch Alita.

We found a restaurant that served food traditionally found where NR grew up. It was exceptional. And the beer just made it better. :P

The movie experience was something else entirely. I’ve gotten used to watching television and movies with subtitles so that, when people decide to talk to me, I can follow along with both bits. Or if people are just talking near me while I’m watching television, I don’t have to rewind the show. That helped a lot; the movie was still spoken in English, but there were Chinese subtitles. I recognized the Chinese character for “1″ frequently enough, but that was about it.

The movie itself was way more than I expected. I shouldn’t be surprised, given that one of the primary characters is played by Christoph Waltz. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should definitely consider it.

Also, additional fun fact: I’m thinking that most (if not all) showings of major motion pictures here are in 3D. *shrug* Side note: we’re going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow and I’M SO FREAKIN’ EXCITED!!!!

After the movie, we wandered back to the subway station and parted ways mid-subway-ride to head home. The next day I spent playing Kingdom Hearts 3 and sipping some beer in the 3rd Floor Lounge. All day. It was blissful.

This workweek has consisted of four main things: teaching responsibilities, a bit of dissertation work, trying out another one of the cafeterias on campus, and reading comic books. Oh, and beer. But that kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? There’s a convenience store on the other side of the building in front of the Guest House that has cans of beer. You can buy them individual for 3 yuan, or roughly 45 cents. I won’t lie to you: I bought 12 of them and it didn’t cost me more than 6 bucks. And it’s really not bad, and even more convenient than the liquor store I lived by in Denver.

Anyway, as I said, I’m going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow, then to “W-Town” (originally Watertown...so glad they shortened it...) in northern Beijing, which sits at the base of part of the Great Wall. More than 20 people from ICB will be heading up to their on Saturday, so I imagine one of them will take pictures. Probably ML or S. So you’ll have those to look forward to since you know I won’t be taking any!

Oh!!! I almost forgot the biggest thing that happened this week! Actually, it might be the biggest news of my entire stay!!!

I did laundry.

And I washed my slippers. I’m not convinced that they’ve stopped smelling, but I’m holding out hope that I’ve finally figured out how to resolve an issue that I know humanity has been seriously struggling with for decades. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, people, I swear!

Anyway, time to finish this beer, read a bit more of Scott Lynch’s Republic of Thieves (WE FINALLY FIND OUT ABOUT SABETHA!!!!), and head to bed. Big couple of days ahead...

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

P.S. I bet you thought I was gonna forget! After class on Wednesday, I worked out how to make a phone call from here to the States to wish my Mom a Happy BIrthday. Caught her at work, and we got to chat for a good long while. It really put a nice cap on my evening, and it seemed it gave her a good start to her day. Anyway, I hope you had a great evening, found something nice at C&B and enjoyed that glass of wine you mentioned! Love you!!

[gumshoeblog]

I bought all the Overwatch LEGO sets. These are the best.

I love Overwatch. I love LEGO. When the two combined, I couldn’t resist buying all of the themed sets that LEGO released at the start of 2019.

If you’re not quite as enamored with this geeky peanut butter-and-jelly combination as I am, or if you’re on a limited budget and you want to know which sets are the best, I’m here to break it down for you. The list follows from best to worst, with a particular emphasis on the quality of the sets compared to Overwatch’s fantastic character design. Here we go!

The Best: Big Bastion ($50)

If you only get one Overwatch LEGO set, make it this one. The only one of the bunch not at least attempting to build to minifig scale gets a lot of freedom in its design, and it’s a lot better for it. This guy stands about ten inches tall, from the top of his rotating turret gun to the bottom of his surprisingly stable feet. He transforms into turret mode, his head lights up with a special LED brick (no external batteries necessary), and he gets a little buildable Ganymede (that’s the bird) to keep him company.

Bastion’s robotic character design is ideal for a big, beefy LEGO set, and little touches like the decals on his shoulder plates and knobbly accents on his legs really stand out. It looks fantastic on a shelf. The transforming design means you get a lot of flexibility in posing him, too, which is a problem with the tank set below.

The turret mode isn’t all that exciting in and of itself---LEGO isn’t as flexible as polygonal models, after all--and they couldn’t squeeze in a tank mode. But posing Bastion in his standard mode is great fun, and the build is surprisingly simple for such a complex result. It’s the hardest set of the series, and even so, I’d say a ten-year-old would have no problem getting through it.

The Next Best: D.Va and Reinhardt ($40)

The set that probably has people most excited is the combination of two tanks in one box, the Korean mech pilot D.Va and the geriatric German knight Reinhardt. And they’re definitely some of the highlights of the series. If you’re a fan of either character you’ll love the way they’ve been modeled here. Both the MEKA and Reinhardt’s armor look fantastic posed.

Both six-inch tanks come with minifigs: D.Va in her “baby” mobile form and Reinhardt in a miniature version of his armor, which can also be accessorized with a tiny hammer. That said, the scaling is weird: while both match the rest of the minifigs in the other sets, the mech and the armor are about twice the size that they should be at minifig scale---though I appreciate this was the only way to get them both inside with any detail. I do like the inclusion of a sans-helmet Reinhardt option, complete with his flowing snowy locks. The character is so expressive in the game it would be a shame to hide him behind a helmet all the time.

The gamer decals on the MEKA and the bits of livery on the armor are fantastic. But both knight and mech are very unbalanced, and need to be posed in specific ways to keep from tipping over. I wish Reinhardt came with some kind of shield, and D.Va’s mech has only one canon on each arm, instead of the distinctive triple rotating guns in the game. It’s the one sore spot in an otherwise fantastic translation of the game model. I also wish there was some way to secure D.Va inside the mech---she just kind of sits in there, rattling around whenever you move the model.

Even so, both were great fun to build. They’re ideal for desktop companions if you’d like to show off your gaming habits in LEGO form.

The Rest: Dorado Showdown ($30), Tracer vs. Widowmaker ($15), Hanzo vs Genji ($20)

The smallest three sets with minifigs have a focus on the stages themselves: Dorado, Gibraltar, and Hanamura, respectively. They’re also good choices if you want quick, easy builds with a bit of Overwatch flavor, without having to dedicate an hour or more to setting them up.

Among the three, Dorado takes the definite lead. This set includes Soldier 76, Reaper, and McCree, plus the hovertruck payload and a stage-themed arch and market stall. The elements really come together nicely, with minifig scale working well between all of them. The truck is particularly nice as a translation of the game model, with plenty of places to stick the minifigs for posed battles.

Next comes Tracer vs Widowmaker, the cheapest set of the whole line. There’s no scenery to be had between these two rivals, but they can duke it out over a nice rendition of the Gibraltar spaceship payload. The Tracer minifig in particular is a highlight, with her dual-wield pistols, mop head hair, and translucent “blink” trail.

Genji and Hanzo get a minifig recreation of their battle from the Dragons animated short. The Japanese castle interior is nice, but the inclusion of action pieces that shoot dragon-themed discs is kind of forced, and the Yakuza lackey minifig (the only one in the series not of a playable character) is unnecessary. You’re buying this for the great Shimada brothers minifigs.

The Ones To Skip: Watchpoint Gibraltar ($90) and Omnic Crisis Bastion ($25)

The biggest and most expensive set is Watchpoint: Gibraltar, a recreation of the game stage with no less than four minifigs. And these minifigs are popular heroes that many will want: Mercy, Pharah, a wonderful BigFig Winston, and a repeat Reaper with a special smoky shadowstep bottom option.

Unfortunately these figures are saddled with a huge and underwhelming spaceship and launch tower. The ship itself actually has some cool elements, like a pop-out deployment module, crew quarters, and pilot cockpit. But the spaceship at the end of the Gibraltar stage is never part of the actual game, so the massive 15-inch long shuttle feels unnecessary at best, as if LEGO just needed a big set piece for the most expensive Overwatch box on the shelf. (The Overwatch team dropship, the starting point of many maps, would have been a better choice.) 

The launchpad and tower, while having some nice high spots to stick Mercy and Pharah, are likewise mostly unnecessary. Maybe this set would have been better if it had been combined with the Tracer vs Widowmaker set, which includes the themed payload, as the manual none-too-subtly reminds you.

The minifigs are a bit of a mixed bag as well. Winston looks fantastic, but Mercy and Pharah are a bit simple, and Reaper can be had in a much cheaper set, sans the admittedly cool shadowstep feature. All in all, this is one to skip unless you want another rather generic LEGO spaceship or you just have to have Mercy, Pharah, or Winston---its price just isn’t justified by its weak connection to the games.

There’s one last set you won’t find on store shelves: Omnic Crisis Bastion. This much smaller, orange-skinned version of the cheerful robot is exclusive to Blizzard’s online merch store, and it comes with its own placard stand and Ganymede in a matching cardinal skin. This one fits in well with the D.Va and Reinhardt tanks at five inches high, though it’s still way too big to match minifig scale.

With no mode transform option, only two decals on the shoulders, and a high $25 price tag for just 182 pieces, Omnic Crisis Bastion is only for those who love the character but can’t find a place for the much bigger, better Bastion. I have to assume that, since it came out in October, Blizzard wanted a LEGO Overwatch set for its store before Christmas.

Omnic Crisis Bastion is an “exclusive,” and unlike the other widely-distributed sets that can be found in most retail stores stocking LEGO, it may be hard to find later. But even if it is, it won’t be worth the effort.

Minifig Breakdown

Once again I’ll go from best to worst.

Tracer is the face of Overwatch, so it’s good that they nailed her minifig (especially since it appears on all the retail LEGO boxes). Her spiny pistols are faithfully depicted with a few translucent pieces, and the “blink” effect on her backpack looks great and lets her balance while holding the heavy guns. The custom spiky hair is spot-on. LEGO could have left her legs plain orange without much grumbling, but they added a few splashes of paint for straps.

The Winston BigFig is a close second. The Hulk-style figure is a natural fit for his gorilla frame, and both Winston’s torso and arms get custom moldings. His tesla gun and jetpack are both made from only stock pieces with decals, but they’re still very good approximations of the game models. Winston’s also the only tank that fits in with the scale of the other minifigs.

Genji and Hanzo are probably the best minifigs in terms of accessories. Genji’s iconic helmet is rendered well---no face underneath, so you can’t peek. Genji gets his sword and several shurikens, plus a scabbard. Hanzo gets his bow and a quiver for his back, with the single flesh toned arm and custom hair with bandanna insert being highlights.

For a character that’s little more than a cowboy with a few bits of armor, McCree looks great, with excellent painted patterns on both the chest and legs. I love the little detail of a grey left hand, since McCree’s arm is robotic. I just wish they’d given him a custom hat with his Blackwatch band...or painted a tiny “BAMF” on his belt buckle (though I can guess why they left it off).

The Reapers are pretty good: one included in the Dorado set, another in Gibraltar with an optional shadowstep bottom. Granted, it’s hard to get Reaper wrong. Even the oversized shotguns, much bigger than the game model, fit with Reaper’s ridiculous character design. But it is the start of a trend in overscaled guns with these figs.

The “baby” D.Va minifig is also simple, but effective. Her custom hair and headset work well---note the grey and pink paint. And while her gun isn’t custom, it’s all that’s needed to approximate her in-game pistol. A secondary face, complete with bubblegum, is a great inclusion.

Widowmaker’s minifig is serviceable, with a nice custom hair mold that includes paint for her visor. But I wish the visor could fold down---it’s not like LEGO hasn’t done this before. The sniper rifle made out of stock pieces is oversized and looks nothing like her curvy, expandable gun. I know toy guns aren’t a huge focus for LEGO, but it doesn’t even have a rifle stock, just a handle from a smaller gun piece. Widow gets a hook, but no line or separate piece for her to hang from, a la the Spider-Man LEGO sets. 

Soldier 76 suffers from some of the same problems. He’s painted well with good contrasting colors, but his multi-piece gun is ridiculously massive. It’s bigger than the sniper rifle or Pharah’s rocket, and again, looks nothing like Soldier’s intricate machine gun. This character really deserves a custom weapon.

Reinhardt’s minifig is almost unnecessary, since he’s always in his armor. But perhaps being aware of the odd scale of the tank set, LEGO painted a tiny version of his armor on the minifig and includes instructions for a scale-appropriate hammer. Still, seeing Rein as the same size as D.Va and Widow just looks odd. At least they included a hair piece for when you want to see his face outside of the helmet. The tank set also has a spare Overwatch team medallion, as seen in the Honor and Glory short.

Pharah is a let-down. The shoulder pads and attached “wings” don’t do a good job approximating her flight suit---these look like pieces recycled from a Nexo Knights set, with none of the fins or pieces her Iron Man-style getup really needs. The helmet looks good, but there’s no sign of Pharah’s hair or distinctive beads. And finally, there’s no way to elevate her, no jet effects. How can justice rain from above when she’s on the ground? At least her rocket is both correctly-sized and shoots a tiny capsule. 

Mercy is easily the most disappointing of the Overwatch minifigs. The wings attached to her backpack are stock “angel” wings, not the high-tech gliders from the game. Her caduceus staff is just a stick and a hook. And her skin tone face printed on an all-black head looks washed out and doesn’t match the colors of the rest of her outfit. Nice paint on the chest and leg pieces can’t save it. This figure is a big stumble for one of the game’s most visible characters.

If these complaints sound like nit-picks, well, they are. But in a game with an overwhelming amount of attention paid to character design, the Overwatch minifigs would inevitably be the focus of their LEGO sets. They range from great to embarrassing, so if you’re trying to buy a set with your favorite character included, choose accordingly.

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

‘81 Special

Judy Woodruff told me George H.W. Bush, the 41st president of the United States, had died.

I’ve had mixed feelings about the man since I was nine. He had a career in public service that was longer than some lifetimes. To hear most people who knew him tell it, he held just about every possible public office until finally occupying the White House for one term between 1989 and 1993. I wasn’t old enough to vote for or against him, though for years after he left 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, I remember thinking:

How bad do you have to be for the American people to vote you out after just one term?

But I also thought:

Man, I’m sure glad he signed the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). Not that I flaunt mine, but at least I know there’s a law on the books intended to prevent discrimination on the basis of disability.

I don’t remember the exact date, but I may have been on the south lawn of the White House the day the ADA was signed into law. I know I was there, I know he was there, I know pre-plastic surgery (PPS) country crooner Kenny Rogers was there. I can’t remember if I heard H.W. say, “Let the shameful wall of exclusion finally come tumbling down.” My vision sucked then, just like it does now, and I was too busy trying to see over all of the adults sitting around me. I had a remarkably similar experience when I saw his son, W., fourteen years later, except I was standing.

If a wall, at least rhetorically, came tumbling down that day in 1990 on the south lawn, more walls, again rhetorically, came down in 2004, with the expansion of the European Union. Expansion was on everybody’s mind when W. welcomed a few politicians to the stage that spring day. It made for a nice photo, but expansion and harmonizing tariffs meant contraction and discord for our office. When we came back from the ceremony, there wasn’t an audible death knoll or a visible fire sale, but the adults in the room knew the Central and Eastern Europe Business Information Center was done. The Bushes always had a way of making you feel special.

If you believe some of the inflammatory memes on the Internet, you’d think Republicans like the Bushes don’t give a damn about your problems until something similar happens to them. I once saw a meme proclaiming that Nancy Reagan opposed stem-cell research until Ronnie got Alzheimer’s. But you’ve got to be careful with meme’s, anyone can make one, and its message can be anything, without necessarily explaining its contents or the agenda of its creator. I was too young to realize it then, but politicians on both sides of the aisle can occasionally cooperate, and support initiatives that are simply the right thing to do, like the ADA. As difficult as it may be to believe at times, not everything is done for the sake of political expediency, or to degrade one’s opponent.

I ended up on the south lawn that day because I was part of a group called Very Special Arts (VSA) Ohio. My storytelling abilities (which basically consisted of throwing tales together on the fly based on suggestions from my audience) had somehow caught the attention of someone within VSA. Mom and I got to fly (my first time), while my dad, brother, uncle Dave, and others drove. The advantage we gained was short-lived. Mom and I had to stand in line practically everywhere we went, but the rest of the family enjoyed much greater freedom of movement.

You might say the day I had to squint to see H.W. was the pinnacle of my childhood fame. Mom took a picture of PPS Kenny, The Portsmouth Daily Times said I shook his hand (I didn’t). I got to wax poetic at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, next to a kid doing some kind of interpretive dance from the comfort of his wheelchair. I was on one of the major networks for a split second, right after some guy who could play the guitar with his feet. This was also the trip where I bought a book called The Presidents and Their Wives that featured each president and his wife (except James Buchannan’s) along with biographical information for each Commander in Chief, such as date of birth, religious affiliation, and date and cause of death. Ever the eager beaver, I couldn’t wait to flex my new knowledge, so I announced to the entire VSA Ohio contingent one morning at breakfast that Thomas Jefferson died of chronic diarrhea.

Maybe the whole VSA experience was an act of both revenge and foreshadowing. Revenge because I got to be in the limelight for the briefest of moments after years of being last picked in gym class, and having to deal with the trauma of having my last name misspelled (Ratcliffe) on the blue triceratops that was my nametag in first grade. Foreshadowing because all these years later, I can’ t help wondering if I peaked that day. I’d occasionally poke fun at people who I thought peaked in high school when they were the unquestioned kings of the gridiron, or queens of their social circle. Perhaps the joke was on me the whole time. Those whose waves crested at eighteen may have beaten me by a full lifetime at that point.

I spent Christmas with at my brother and sister-in-law’s house this year, joined by their two kids and my mom. I noticed the refrigerator was speckled with Christmas cards from their friends. Most of them had pictures of the senders, complete with a shot of the family pet, and four photos of the latest baby, while the other kids were relegated to the group picture with mom, dad, and the dog named after the patriarch’s favorite baseball player.

Some of the cards even had highlights of the senders’ years. I didn’t care enough to read them because “Tanner took a shit and it was neon green,” or “Betsy still has trouble with phonics, but at least she’s no longer screaming, ‘Tom Berenger is my hero’ in the middle of the night,” didn’t really interest me. Plus, the fonts were really small to be highlights. Not exactly attention-grabbing. But, is that any better (or worse) than doing interpretive dance while sitting on your ass in a wheelchair, or creating stories for adults who are amazed at your ability to construct complete sentences? Didn’t think so. 

I’m not saying my parents messed up by giving me a chance to participate in VSA (I could have had my own Shriner’s Hospitals for Children commercial, dammit. I could’ve been huge.) but it took me a long time to accept that I’m really not special. I’m unique. Just like everyone else. This sobering realization doesn’t mean I’m going to kill myself by taking a bubble bath with a toaster. It means I’ve developed a bit of an aversion to flaunting my love of writing and telling stories. If someone happens to discover my writing and appreciate it, that’s cool. That being said, I’ll never go back to such an ostensible display of talent such as VSA. Maybe the goal wasn’t to put artists on, or knock them off, pedestals. The hope may have been to invite them to find themselves by making peace with their circumstances and internal demons through external signs of appreciation, well before the safe spaces, shaming, and outrage culture of today took hold. 

The ADA and VSA were about leveling the playing field for people with disabilities. The only accommodation I want is that I don’t want one. I accepted long ago that I wasn’t going to be a child star like Macaulay Culkin. My mom used to give me throat slash gestures from the back of Martin Russell bookstore in Portsmouth as a reminder to wrap it up when I’d get lost in a story of my own creation. The abrupt, repeated movements of her hand across her throat should have been enough to curb my enthusiasm for fame and fortune. 

It took me a long time to come back to storytelling as a release. It took me a long time to learn to write for myself rather than for the sake of creating a personal brand. There’s a reason why the longest drive-thru lines are at McDonald’s, and why Kim Kardashian has over a million followers on Instagram: famous golden arches, and a famous butt. (The sex tape probably didn’t hurt Kim either; she may have learned about the benefits of dark, grainy recordings from her mentor, Paris Hilton.) I don’t want my own arches, or to be known for the shape of my ass, but I don’t hate McDonald’s or Kim K. for the attention they get, either.

The point is to create your own brand without giving a damn who likes or follows it. Learning to accommodate yourself. Toppling your own walls. H.W. put a law on the books to advance the civil rights of people with disabilities, but the rest of my story is on me.

[tippy-spiral-fan]

amber, harvest, frost

●Amber: Share an unpopular opinion you may have:

…oh gosh; I don’t even know what is and isn’t popular. Um… Ain’t no shame in self-insert; it’s harmless fun!

●Harvest: What fictional character do you most identify with? Why?Oh goodness. Hmm. I think I’d have to probably say my bae Levi Ackerman. We’ve both been through some traumatizing shit. We both somehow manage to stay on top regardless of odds; we both seem to experience a theme of losing everything/what matters to us. Unlike him, I’ve of more recent times have come out of my colder, harder shell against the world, but at some point I feel I was very much like his stoic, hardened, intimidating self. I still am/can be internally, and externally when need be. We can both severely kick ass when provoked (albiet I ain’t as badass as him), and we viciously take care of our own. Plus AGES before I came to integrate into society and thus had no clue what anime was, I always drank from cups and glasses as he does. Got made fun of for it so I stopped, but I’ve picked it back up again because FUCK EVERYONE; I DID THIS FIRST. In short (…lolololol) in behavior and personality and experiences, I connect with him a lot.

●Frost: If you could give some advice to your younger self, what would you say?I’d tell them to never stop being Dawn, and do so unapologetically. Keep going; keep fighting. You will survive, and you will come out on top.….and/or just call the fucking cops and get out of there.

This got a bit long but 👉👉 What else can you expect from me!?

#thanks for asking! #ask #asked #anon