#but it is in my heart because a) shared jar trauma and b) it's just an absolutely fantastic mental image
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Another reason why we should get to have Percy and Nico working their shit out so that they can actually work together to deal with immortals: it would in fact be extremely funny. A god has to deal with these two and ends up in a really awkward situation, because Percy really sucks to deal with but Nico is simply a delight and must be protected. They really want to kill Percy! But they can't, because poor darling Nico would be so upset by that. And Nico would find out, because he's the son of Hades and so could just go and ask Percy (and also I mean someone's gonna see it and no one can resist Nico so he's gonna find out even if he doesn't go chat with Percy's ghost). The desire to smite the shit out of Percy vs the desire to not do anything that would make Nico sad: fight! Some real "unstoppable force meets immovable object" stuff going on here. I'm imagining a similar energy to Ares not fighting Percy in Titan's Curse because Aphrodite's there but he's even more annoyed about it. ...Actually just in general this is quite possibly at its funniest if it is in fact Ares they're dealing with. Can you imagine Ares realizing he can't beat Percy to a pulp because his favourite cousin would be sad about it, it'd be hilarious.
#riordanverse#nico di angelo#percy jackson#come on rick you could make so many dumb jokes about this#also like. i know ares being as attached to nico as every one of his half-brothers who's interacted with nico is isn't actually canon#but it is in my heart because a) shared jar trauma and b) it's just an absolutely fantastic mental image
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Arcadia or Bust (16) Corner of Main and State
"Yeah, so mom…we made it to New Jersey, and we're all safe...but the Heartstone isn't really...impressive. So, we're bringing what we found home. See you soon!" In Which Arcadia welcomes back it's underground citizens, Jim gets used to mundane life as a Troll, and drama seeks them all out like a magnet.
Ao3 | FF.net
I’m rewatching Trollhunters, because it’s been like a year since I watched it, and the more I listen, the less the plot of Wizards makes sense to me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but there’s some lore and continuity issues. That being said, I’ll continue to write this story using Trollhunter’s lore primarily, with a sprinkle of Wizards and 3Below lore as I see fit. :)
—
Jim had been through a lot of trauma in his life. At least since becoming the Trollhunter. But nothing was as jarring as looking down to his chest and seeing his ribcage, muscles, and heart beating.
They had taken the amulet from where it was nestled, and in return, left the gaping hole wide open, oozing with blood, and exposed. Could trolls get infections? Because humans certainly could, and this was just asking for infection.
He had been lying here alone for a few hours now. It was hard to tell exactly how long in the vast passage of time while drenched in pain.
When Colonel Kubritz appeared at his side, he wasn’t even surprised. Had he fallen asleep?
“How do you get this to work?” She bit. In her hand, she held the cleaned amulet, and it glowed, aching to be back with him.
“You can’t. You have to be chosen by it. Even if I die, it will pick someone else. And it might not be you.”
She slapped him for that, but it looked like it hurt her more than him, by the wince on her face. “Don’t give me that crap. Tell me how to work it!”
“Just speak the incantation inscribed.”
“We already tried that.”
He shrugged. “That’s all it is.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Teach me to use it, and I’ll let you go home.”
Jim sighed. It was pointless, but he may as well try.
—
Claire rang the doorbell at the designated house.
A surly man opened the door. “Yeah? What do you want? No solicitors! Unless you’re a girl scout…no, you’re too old. Are you with the tamale lady?”
“Hello sir, I’m not here to sell anything, I actually came to ask about the car you had totaled a few days ago.”
“Are you here to hunt down that devil that flipped my baby?!” He gestured to the smashed in car in the driveway. It looked drivable, but one bump away from death.
“Not quite...I’m actually here to fix it.”
“Fix it? You want to fix that? My mechanic couldn’t even fix it! And you want to! What are you, 15?”
“17, actually.”
“I doubt you have the experience for this, little lady.”
“Oh, I’m not a mechanic, I’m a sorceress.”
“A what now?”
“Sorceress, a witch! Do I have permission to fix your truck?”
“Girlie, if you can fix my truck, I’ll owe you a huge favor.”
“I was hoping you’d say that!” With a little skip, Claire went over to the truck and rested her hands on the hood. “Ad initium redire...” Her hands glowed purple, and pulsed against the metal, making it groan. Then it began to twist and crunch, popping out dents and welding pieces back together.
The old man stood in shock as his beloved truck knit back together, and when she was done, it was in perfect condition.
“How did—where did you—?!” He rounded the car, circling it like a vulture. “It’s perfect! You even took out that bump from years ago! You’re a miracle worker, girlie!”
Claire fell on her butt on the driveway, dizzy and winded. “Glad to help.”
“You alright?”
“Just a little winded. I’m still getting used to using magic, especially without a staff. It’s exhausting.”
“Well why don’t you take a seat up on the porch instead of the road? I’ll get you a beer.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“You’ve earned it!”
Claire chuckled to herself and climbed to her feet. She followed the man up his steps and took a seat on the porch swing while he went inside.
Only a minute later, he returned with beers in hand. “Here you are darlin’. Summertime ale. I’m partial to dark ale myself, but my neighbor got me this pale ale. It’s pretty good! You have a favorite?”
Claire took a sip and tried to hide the grimace. “I don’t really get to drink very often, unless it’s a special occasion.”
“Right right, we’ll keep it our little secret. Now then, I owe you a favor. You just saved me a whole chunk of change and a basket of anxiety. You must have something in mind since you offered?” He suddenly sat up straight. “Oh god, you don’t want my soul do you?”
Claire snorted. “No no, you can keep your soul! Don’t know what I would do with it anyways...You know the boy that damaged your truck in the first place?”
“I only saw a glimpse of him, that blue devil? What about him?”
“He’s actually my boyfriend, and he’s really very sweet and usually not like this. But he was...fed something he shouldn’t have had and it made him go berserk.”
“Crying shame.”
“I’ll say! So the army came in and took him away! They wouldn’t listen to us at all!”
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“We are going to run a campaign to get him out. Hopefully, if we get enough attention on the issue, they’ll let him go.”
“Oh, I gotcha.”
“So if you could just...spread the truth around town? He’s actually the one that stopped that troll invasion back at the beginning of summer.”
The man looked surprised at that. “No kidding, that was him? Well, he’s a local hero! He’s been talked about a lot since then! Sure I’ll set the record straight! What’s this kid’s name?”
“Jim Lake Jr.”
“Got it! Don’t worry, I’ll bring it up at the lodge, and the rotary, and the chess club...”
—
The phone was ringing, he had been successfully patched through. Strickler sat in his office after hours, wanting to make the call as private as possible.
“Stricklander, I haven’t heard from you since the fall of the Janus order. What reason have you called on me?”
“Can’t I just call an old friend to catch up?”
“You? No.”
Walt cracked a smile. “Fine. I need a favor.”
“Changeling to changeling, or school principal to army general?”
“The latter, actually.”
The man on the other line laughed. “Color me intrigued.”
“You know of the human Trollhunter, correct?”
“Just what you wrote in your dossier, a human male, 16 years old, lives in Arcadia Oaks, California, turned half-troll by the wizard Merlin. Responsible for the death of Bular and Gunmar. Quite a remarkable young soul. Is there anything else to know?”
“He’s been captured by the United States Army.”
The man let out half a chuckle. “Captured? What dumb trouble did he get into?”
“His deadbeat father left out some cocaine for the boy to find, he thought it was trash, and ate it.”
Distantly on the other line, there was laughter, a strong bark of laughter that lasted far too long. When he came back, he was calm. “How unfortunate.”
“He’s a good kid. Why would there be a kilogram of cocaine in the trash anyways? I fail to see the humor in the situation.”
“Of course. So, I assume, he went on a rampage following his meal, and then attracted the attention of some of us?”
“So you haven’t heard about it?”
“Not where I’m stationed. But give me a moment.” The line went silent, only a very distant and quiet tapping of keys on a keyboard being tapped. Then the man returned. “I’m glad you told me about this. This incident hasn’t been reported to our database. That shows evidence of misconduct. Did you get the name of the commanding officer responsible, by chance?”
“Colonel Kubritz, I believe.”
More typing. “Area 49-B.”
“That name was also passed around.”
“Technically not my jurisdiction, and since she didn’t report it, I’m not supposed to know about it.”
“I’m afraid you will officially know about it soon.”
“Oh?”
“His friends and family, myself included, are going to put on a protest for his freedom. Drawing attention to the situation.”
That echoing laughter was back again.
“It wasn’t my idea, in case you were wondering.”
“I know, you wouldn’t come up with something so bold. Regardless, go ahead in through with it. I’ll make sure whatever protest happens gets brought to my superior’s attention, and then I will take it from there.”
“Thanks. I will owe you one.”
“Oh come now, Walter, we Changelings that survived the Fall of the Janus order have to stick together. Besides, I heard rumors that you’re caring for my familiar?”
“He’s still in the cradle stone, and the moment. One baby at a time, for now.”
“Then we’re even. Besides, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Your kindness is refreshing. I’m glad Gunmar didn’t eat you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“We’ll be in touch then, Samuel.”
“Of course, Walter.”
—
“How goes the car repair?” Asked Merlin, as he met up with Toby and Claire in the park.
“Ugh, exhausting. First I stopped at the mechanics, and they’re still backed up with fixing other cars. Apparently, Gunmar’s army did a number and backed them up for months. But they gave me the names of all the clients who got totaled from Jim. I had to hit the scrap yard for four of them, and I just finished another two in driveways.”
“How many does that leave you with?”
“Seven more,” she sighed. “How goes the road work?”
“It goes. Now come along, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He didn’t wait for them to follow as he turned and started walking away.
Sharing a dubious look, Toby and Claire quickly caught up with him. He led them to a bookstore, where a young man was sweeping outside.
“Hisirdoux, my faithful and loyal apprentice—“
“You're damn straight I’m loyal!” He shouted. “Where have you been? I’ve been cleaning tables for the last 900 years!”
“Calm yourself boy, I’m here now, aren’t I? And I need your help.”
“Finally! What is it? Just say the word!”
“I need you to go with Miss Claire Nuñez and help her restore recently smashed vehicles.”
“What?”
“Or, you can repair street damage.”
Douxie crossed his arms. “What is this? I saw what happened! There were trolls, and evidence of Morgana! And now you need my help? To clean up, several months later?”
“That is correct.”
“Why didn’t you call for me back then?!”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot? About me?”
“Oh come now, don’t take it personally. I was busy trying to prepare the Trollhunter to fight Gunmar. And get my magic back from Morgana.”
Douxie seemed to become more sympathetic at that. “Morgana stole your magic?”
“Yes, but it’s all in the past now. Everything is fine. Well, not really. Seems that the US Army has declared the Trollhunter as a menace to society. We must get the trust of the city on our side if we are to get them to trust us, and agree that his capture is unjust.”
“Please,” said Claire. “We need all the help we can get.”
Douxie sighed. “Alright. Afterwards, you’re training me again.” He gave Merlin a hard look. “And no amateur magic either. I’ve been doing the same drills for 900 years. I think I’m ready for more advanced work.”
“Oh, you will be. Starting with helping Miss Nuñez field her shadow magic.”
Douxie looked at her, in awe. “You’re practicing shadow magic? Truly?”
“It’s a recent development…”
“She took Morgana’s Skathe-Hrün, and wielded it without any training. Because of that she has a tether to Morgana in the Shadow realm, who has been teaching her ever so slightly. I’m not allowed to train her, but she could use the guidance of a Wizard in the physical realm. Do you understand Hisirdoux?”
“I do, and I’ll be happy to teach her…I’m just…I’ll need a moment or two to digest the sentence you just said.”
“Well, don’t take too long, we have a Trollhunter to rescue!”
—
There was a heavy knock on the door, which was never a good thing. Especially nowadays.
Still, Barbara went to the door.
Standing there was Detective Scott and James Lake Sr.
“Does this belong to you?” Asked the detective.
“I don’t claim him, no.”
Her almost ex-husband smiled at her, pleadingly, “Please Babs?”
“What is he even doing out? You arrested him!”
“About that…” Detective Scott winced. “We don’t have enough to keep him on.”
“What!” She shouted. “He confessed in front of a bunch of people!”
“Which would be helpful if we had a case for a trial. But as it stands, he doesn’t actually have any drugs on him. And we don’t have a confession on tape. So…we’re shit out of luck.”
“Oh come on Louis, you know the cocaine came from him! Where else would Jim have gotten it from?”
“Look, the chief’s not thrilled that we didn’t arrest the guy responsible for trashing the town, but we’re supposed to arrest someone else without evidence?”
Barbara threw her hands up in the air. “With probable cause!”
“That doesn’t work with drug dealers. He’s clean, Barbara. All the blood tests came back clean too.”
“Ugh.”
The house shook slightly, and Barbara felt the floor bow behind her. “Is there a problem, officer?” Asked Draal.
“Nothing you can help with, Draal. Thank you.” Barbara sighed. “James is not being charged.”
“But he is a criminal, this degenerate flesh bag poisoned the Trollhunter! He should face banishment for his crimes!”
James withered a little with the glare Draal gave him.
“Well,” said Officer Scott. “Maybe you can keep an eye on him from now on. If you have evidence that he is dealing, like physical traces of cocaine on the premises, call us. But for now, there’s not much else we can do.”
“This is ludicrous.”
“I know, I’m sorry Barbara. How is Jim?”
She frowned. “You haven’t heard? The army came and collected him from the hospital!”
Louis sputtered. “The army came?!”
“Yes!”
“Where were they when Gunmar was terrorizing us?” He scoffed. “Again, sorry Barbara, I can’t help you here.”
“It’s alright. We’ve got a plan.”
“Love to hear it, but I’ve got to get back to the office. I’m sure Toby will tell Darci, and she’ll tell me. Good luck!” And he left James on the porch.
“Babs, I’m sorry…”
“Save it.” Barbara scoffed, but allowed him in the house.
Draal never took his eyes off the man.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know I have no more supply. And after Rudy found out what happened to my last Kilo, she’s not getting anymore for me. So…”
“I’ll have to thank Jim for keeping a kilogram of Cocaine off the streets of Arcadia. We have a fairly low rate of drug use around here, and we don’t need you to ruin people’s lives.”
James sighed, knowing he had dodged a huge bullet by being let off the hook. He’d rather deal with his wife than with his ex-associates in jail any day. “I think I’ve still ruined people’s lives anyway.” He walked into the living room, only to halt at the signs on the table.
Release Jim Lake Jr.
Justice for Jim
Let Lake Go!
“Babs, what is all this?”
“That’s part of our plan to free Jim! I’m friends with the councilwoman, and she suggested that we campaign for his release. Bringing a lot of unwanted attention onto his capture will stir the government to let him go!”
James jutted out his jaw, a sign of barely concealed rage. An expression Barbara had grown very used to in the last few months. “So, you’re going to put his name—my name in the news? You’re going to broadcast what city we live in?”
“Yes.”
He whirled on her, grabbing her arm. “Babs, people are looking for me! Horrible, mean, and ruthless people! If you put his name out there, they’ll know where to look!”
“All the better! Then they can come take you off my hands!”
“You don’t understand! I owe them a lot of money, and they’ll take it anyway they can! That includes extorting you, Jim, and whoever else they connect with me!”
Draal stepped in, removing his hand from Barbara’s arm. “This house is under my protection. If anyone dare tries to enter, they will be dealt with swiftly.”
“You don’t know what these men are capable of.”
“I assure you, I’ve decimated armies of flesh bags in my day. These men are no different.”
Barbara smiled. “If you’re really that scared, I hear Vermont is lovely this time of year.”
James just narrowed his eyes, before storming out of the room.
—
The first rally took place from 3pm to dusk, starting from after school, and leading up to when Trolls would be able to participate. Granted, it was only a handful of people, but standing in the middle of downtown did garner a lot of attention. More than a dozen people walking past had stopped to ask about the cause. They were then given a short synopsis of the situation, as it pertained to them:
“Jim is a 16 year old student who was chosen by the trolls to be our protector. He willingly gave up his humanity to defeat Gunmar the Black, the monstrous troll that attacked the city at the beginning of the summer. Now, he looks like a troll, and was sabotaged to go into a rage and damage the city. The US army took him away without a trial! He’s a hero to the city, and deserves fair treatment!”
Reactions ranged from:
“Oh, he stopped that thing?”
To:
“Oh my god! He’s just a child!”
Overwhelmingly, there was no negative feedback, at least in person. But it was only day one.
—
“This daylight...is it significant?” The colonel asked, as she circled his table.
“It’s just a name.” Jim lied. “A sword with a name is stronger than one without.”
“Interesting. Interesting indeed. According to my notes, trolls turn to stone in daylight. Any correlation there?”
So she already knew? Then what was the point? Was she just playing with him?
“I’m the Trollhunter, and I fight bad trolls. It would make sense to name my sword after something they’re afraid of.”
She hummed. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you afraid of daylight?”
“Why would I be?”
The colonel laughed. “Oh Jim Lake Jr. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. You are honest and forthcoming with truths that work in your favor. You freely told me of your transformation, and of your victory against a Troll tyrant. But now that I’m edging on the topic of your weakness, you clam up and give me vague answers. I can do this all day, beast. What does daylight do to you?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t do anything to me.”
“Really? Even as a troll? That’s interesting.”
“It’s fortunate.”
“I would say so. Though, now you’ve got me curious. These burns on your skin…where did they come from?” She dragged her fingernail over one of the dark marks.
Jim winced. “I don’t know. I wasn’t aware in my rage state.”
“Then you won’t mind if I find out for myself?” She crooked a finger towards the shadows. Jim could hear the creak of wheels before a lamp with several fixtures was wheeled forward.
“Oh no…”
“UV lights, all different wattages. Let’s see what works the best, hmm?”
—
ARCADIA TRIBUNE
Justice for Jim
By Nadja Chamack
Who is Jim Lake Jr. anyway? This is a question I asked myself as I drove downtown three days ago. No doubt, you’ve seen the crowd of students and teachers holding signs on the corner of Main and State Street. It’s pretty hard to miss, quite honestly. Among the students, there’s also Councilwoman Nuñez, and resident Troll Mascot, ARRRGH! Signs range from ‘Justice for Jim’ to ‘Free our Lake’.
But who is Jim Lake Jr.? And what happened? A precursory search on my end showed only a scant few facts. Jim is a student at Arcadia Highschool, in his Junior year. He was nominated as Spring Fling King last year, and played the part of Romeo in the school play. His criminal record seemed pretty clean too. A misdemeanor for scratching a rental scooter was all that showed up. But hey, who hasn’t done that?
So I went to the source, his family and friends campaigning for him. On Saturday, the group was downtown, campaigning all day long, so I had the chance to interview each and every person about why they were there.
Turns out, Jim Lake Jr. might be the most amazing person in Arcadia.
From his mother, Dr. Barbara Lake, I learned that Jim is an Arcadia native, born and raised here. He enjoys cooking gourmet food, working on his vespa, and acting.
Oh, and he’s the first human Trollhunter.
What? You’ve never heard of a Trollhunter? Me neither. But Barbara and Blinky, another resident Troll, gave me the scoop.
You all remember that night at the beginning of the summer that we all promised not to talk about? Well, I’m going to talk about it. In fact, I’m here to give you all the answers you’ve been craving.
Many months before that fateful night, a new Trollhunter was chosen, after the previous one had perished. “The Trollhunter is chosen according to his mettle, by the amulet of the Trollhunter, as created by Merlin, the wizard of Arthurian legend. Jim was chosen after the fall of Kanjigar, his predecessor. Jim is the first human to be chosen, also the smallest and weakest. But, he was the first to defeat Bular, son of Gunmar!” Said his mentor, Blinky. None of this made any sense to me at first, though it was said with great enthusiasm.
It turns out, the trolls that we’ve gotten used to seeing around town, mostly ARRRGH, are ‘good’ trolls. The bad trolls, ‘Gum-gums’ are what invaded our town and destroyed my car. The Trollhunter’s whole job is to fight off these bad trolls, and gnomes, and goblins, and everything else that goes bump in the night. And so he did. The Gum-Gums invaded from the ‘Darklands’, being led by a fearsome troll named Gunmar the Black, the Skullcrasher, the Dark Lord…he had a lot of names, and it was obviously a bad dude. Gunmar had plans to invade the whole world by blotting out the sun, a.k.a the eclipse we saw. And he would have gotten away for it too, if it weren’t for those meddling kids!
Mainly Jim Lake Jr. and his friends.
And how does a sixteen year old defeat a couple millennia old, bloodthirsty, all powerful tyrant? With a fancy sword? Close. With some magical armor? Closer. By giving up a part of his humanity and becoming a half-human, half-troll hybrid? Now you’re getting it! Yes, to protect Arcadia, to protect us, Jim Lake Jr. allowed himself to be changed. You may have seen him around town. Blue skin, big horns...okay, I just described most of the trolls that are around here.
“Jim works the night shift at my store,” said Stu Harding, owner of Thrifty Furnishings. “He’s a very hard worker, and always willing to do the heavy lifting that is hard for the other employees to do.”
“Despite his appearance, Jim ultimately decided to attend school,” said Principal Walter Strickler. “After the school found out about why he had missed so many days of school, they were willing to move him onto the next grade to be with his peers. He was a good student before all this, and he fought really hard to keep his grades up regardless. We felt he should still have the opportunity to graduate. We were looking forward to having him on our football team, and in our spring production of Beauty and the Beast.”
So what happened to Jim? And why is there such a big campaign for his freedom?
Well, the truth is that Jim is a victim of unfortunate circumstances. In more ways than one, obviously. Trolls eat our trash. That’s why Arcadia has such a small carbon footprint! (Be sure to thank ARRRGH next time you see him!) And this trait was adopted by Jim too, when he was transformed.
“He just picked a bunch of items out of the trash. Cans, an old sock, and what looked like a VHS wrapped in duct tape,” said Jim’s best friend, Toby Dolmzalski. “It was a normal lunch for him. But right in the middle of gym class, he turned crazy town banana pants and took off! I had never seen Jim act like that! Ever!”
After an 8 hour rage through town, Jim collapsed and was taken to the hospital for evaluation. It turns out what Jim had ingested turned out to be a kilogram of pure cocaine!
At this time, it is unknown where the cocaine came from, or if it was planted purposefully. (Seriously, who throws away a kilogram of cocaine?)
But the damage that Jim caused was extensive enough to catch the attention of the US army, who has taken Jim into captivity from the hospital. No trial, no rights, they even took him while he was unconscious. His friends and family have not heard from him since.
“I’m so worried,” said girlfriend, Claire Nuñez. “He was injured from the battle with Gunmar, and didn’t completely heal. In the hospital, he was covered in burns from the sun. I have no idea if they’re caring for him properly, or dissecting him like some creature. But he deserves so much better than this. He saved our town, he saved my life, and the life of my baby brother. That’s why we won’t rest until he’s home!”
“Not bad,” said ARRRGH, long time friend of Jim. “Good troll have bad days, best trolls have worse days. Jim need some good days.”
Couldn’t have said it better myself, ARRRGH.
Friends and family of Jim are asking everyone share #JusticeforJim on social media, hoping to get the attention of someone in charge. All the damage caused by Jim has been repaired, and there were no casualties from his attack.
Of course, the whole ‘troll’ aspect of this story has to be a local legend. So when sharing it to social media, kindly leave that part out.
—
“C-Bomb!” Mary shouted from the other end of the hall. She came running and almost crashed into Claire and Toby, holding her phone up in the air. “My twitter feed is blowing up, girl! Look at all of this!” She held the screen up so they could see.
“Citizen abducted by the government, is this China or North Korea? Neither! It’s the US! #JusticeforJim”
“Imagine if this was your son. So sad, and so scary! #JusticeforJim”
“This is real life, not science fiction #JusticeforJim”
“Whoa, where did these all come from?” Asked Claire. “What did you post?”
“Did you know Snapper Karr did a report on it!?”
“Snapper Karr? From KTTV in LA?”
“Yes! Thankfully, he left out the whole troll thing. I’ll send you a link. In his story, Jim is just a kid that has a rare genetic disorder that makes him look different, and so the government took him away!”
Claire winced. “This is…kind of spiraling out of control.”
“I don’t know why you’re worrying, Claire,” said Darci. “We want people talking about Jim getting abducted. It doesn’t matter if the world outside Arcadia doesn’t have all the facts. They still know he’s been taken away without a trial, and that’s all that’s important. Besides, Jim doesn’t want the whole world knowing about Trolls, right?”
She nodded. “As long as this works, I’ll be happy.”
“And sensationalist stories like this blow up for like a week, and then they die out and are forgotten. This won’t last.” Mary waved her hand. “It should work long enough to get Jimmy Jam out though.” Then she squealed. “OMG you know what we should do?! We should totally have a welcome home party! Or-or a parade! Like they have for veterans!”
“Mary, I don’t think—“
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it! You’re not the only one with ties to the city!” And she hurried off, texting frantically.
“What’s up Claire? I would have thought you’d be ecstatic the hashtag went viral.” Asked Toby.
“Don’t get me wrong, I am happy. And I’m happy that Snapper Karr chalked the troll thing up to local legend or superstition…but I can’t help but worry that something bad is going to come out of this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling.” She scoffed and went to her locker. “It’s dumb, don’t worry about it.”
No sooner had she said that, did Strickler appear. “Claire, Toby, come with me.”
“What?”
“I’ve already spoken with your teachers, now come along.”
Claire and Toby shared a look, but followed regardless.
—
They were led to the parking lot, where a black van with tinted windows waited, a huge red flag, if there ever was one.
“Umm…” said Toby.
“Don’t worry.” Strickler assured.
A man in an army uniform stepped out of the driver seat. “Walter, good to see you again.”
“Glad to see you as well, Samuel. And thank you for following through with your promise.”
“As I said, this is the most interesting thing to happen in a while.” He glanced at the two teenagers in attendance. “We’re just waiting for his mother, correct?”
“She should be here soon.”
Toby muttered to Claire, “Who’s Jorgen Von Strangle over here?”
“No idea.”
And just like that, Barbara pulled into the parking lot, haphazardly parked, and ran over to them, still in her scrubs. “I came as soon as I could! We’re going to get Jim?!”
“What?!” Screamed Toby. “We’re rescuing him?!”
“That is the goal,” the man answered. “I’m General Samuel Attila. I’ve been given authorization to intervene in this situation, given that this project, whatever it is, hasn’t been officially recorded. But, bear in mind, you may not like what you see. We may be bringing home Jim, or just his body. I don’t know. So if anyone is uncomfortable with that idea, I suggest you stay behind.”
“I’m going,” Said Toby. “No matter what.”
“Me too,” said Claire. “It’ll hurt, but I want to know what happened to him.”
“Alright, then let’s hurry. The facility is about an hour away.” He ushered everyone into the van, which had two front seats, two benches along the walls, and a gurney in the middle. As soon as everyone was buckled, they headed out.
“Hey, if you know Mr. Strickler, does that mean you’re a…?”
“A what, Toby?” Asked Walt, with a hint of amusement in his tone.
“A…man of culture?”
“Yes, I am a changeling.”
Toby exhaled. “Okay, it’s like super hard to ask that question when you don’t know who knows, you know?”
“I owe the Trollhunter a debt of gratitude for stopping Gunmar. After he ate the entirety of the Janus order, we the few that weren’t present for his return stayed in hiding. Had Gunmar taken over the world, my death as a traitor would have been slow and painful. We were thinking about sending him a thoughtful gift basket, but I think this is more fun. I love to bully those in lower ranks. The fleshbags get a few pretty badges and think they’re invincible. I love watching them cower!”
Toby leaned closer to Claire. “He was so nice and helpful, I was beginning to wonder if he was actually a changeling.”
“Same! But I actually feel better knowing he’s got ulterior motives, and that they have nothing to do with us.”
“Have you heard from Nomura lately?” Samuel asked Walter.
“She was in Arcadia for a while. She helped with the fight with Gunmar. Right now, I believe she’s on her way back from New Jersey.”
“New Jersey? What was she doing out there?”
“After Morgana and Gunmar destroyed the Heartstone, Jim and Blinky went in search of a new one.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot there were rumors of a source in New Jersey. Did they find it?”
“Yep,” said Claire. “But it wasn’t very big, so we brought it back to Arcadia in a truck. The rest of the tribe is making their way back on foot.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Samuel nodded. “You’re both very lucky. Not many Changeling’s are allowed in Trollmarket.”
“Now that Gunmar’s out of the picture, I’m sure you could visit too!” Toby exclaimed, before getting elbowed in the gut by Claire.
“It’d be nice to see it once. I’m sad I didn’t get to see the Heartstone in its glory, but such is life.”
The rest of the ride continued in relative silence. Strickler and Samuel spoke to each other, mostly catching up. But Toby, Claire, and Barbara were far too anxious to keep up with the conversation.
There were no windows in the back of the vehicle, so there was no way of knowing where they were. From the front, they looked to be in a weaving forest trail.
Then there were huge cement walls in front of them.
Samuel pulled in the front gate.
The man at the gate didn’t look up from his computer. “You’re not authorized to be here.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t recognize your vehicle, so I know you don’t have clearance.”
Samuel sat up a little straighter, glaring at the soldier at the gate. “How about you scan my badge first, and then tell me if I have clearance, Lieutenant.”
The soldier gave a little shrug and reached out for the badge, his eyes widening as he caught a glance at the four stars on the man’s shoulder. “Oh.”
“Problem?”
“No, sir. I just…I don’t need to scan your badge, you can go in.”
“Thank you. At ease soldier.”
Toby held back a snicker.
“And, let Colonel Kubritz know she has company.”
“Yes sir.”
“As you were.”
The gate rolled open, and they pulled through.
It seemed like Samuel’s message was received pretty quickly, because the woman that had taken Jim was waiting for them, flanked by soldiers with strange weapons.
“Stay in the car.” He told everyone, before getting out.
“I was not aware of any sort of inspection. You are not my commanding general, and therefore not welcome here. This facility holds highly dangerous equipment and confidential projects.”
“Stand down, Colonel. I am here on behalf of general Adele. I’m here to recover Jim Lake Jr. General Adele will be speaking to you about your discharge.”
“What are you talking about?” She demanded.
“You kidnapped a teenage boy from a hospital. Surely you didn’t think that wouldn’t go unnoticed? I have video evidence of you leaving the hospital with him.”
“He’s not a normal boy—“
“I’d say so! His whole town is hailing him as a hero for saving them from an invasion! I thought this facility was for research on protecting Earth from invaders. And you’re punishing a boy for saving a town?”
“He also destroyed it. Don’t give into their little campaign. Jim Lake Jr. may have done something good once, but that doesn’t stop him from being a monster.”
“I was just in Arcadia, Colonel. There is no damage. There’s no lawsuits against Jim Lake Jr. There’s not even any pending arrests.”
“I have video evidence of his destruction!” She barked.
“Then let the local police handle it.”
She growled, then commanded her men to stand down. “Fine. But if he does this again, no one will stop me from taking him.”
“Actually,” he clarified with a smirk. “You’re being discharged. So you won’t have any means to take him again.”
Her mouth opened in shock, as she fought to find an argument.
But he was a general, he was above her.
“Now, Jim Lake Jr.?”
She grumbled something and started off towards a big central building.
Samuel was quick to beckon the others out of the car to follow him, and headed towards the same building as Kubritz.
When Barbara reached them, she spoke, “you didn’t hurt my son, did you?”
Kubritz didn’t even look at her. “I don’t have to share information with civilians.”
Claire clenched her fists in anger, a black haze coming over her hands.
But Toby simply patted her on the back to ground her.
Colonel Kubritz led them through the research facility, ignoring their questions.
They reached the room Jim was being held in, and she entered her code to open the door.
Of course, Jim wasn’t the only thing in the room, being surrounded by specimens of all sorts of living creatures, but he was right in the center, with a spot light right on him.
“Jim!” Claire shouted first as she ran to him.
The poor boy was naked, lying on his back and strapped to the table with thick iron bonds. His wound from Morgana wasn’t the worst on him anymore, as he was covered in blackened burned spots. The spot that had the amulet was now just a hole in his chest, that went right down to the ribs. Claire could see his heart beating, and his lungs moving, thank god.
“Jim...” she cried, seeing the carnage.
“What did you do to him?!” Toby shouted at the Colonel, but she didn’t respond.
“Honey? Jim? Can you hear me?” Barbara asked, as she assessed the damage.
His eyes opened ever so slightly. “Mom? Is that you? Are you...really here?”
“Yeah kiddo,” she wiped some tears from her eyes. “It’s me, I’m here. Toby, Claire, and Walt are here too. We’re going to take you home.”
His smile was just a hint, and he stated, “I’m tired.”
“I’m sure you are. We’re going to get you fixed up!” She turned to the Colonel. “Get me a gurney or a wheelchair!”
She scoffed. “I don’t take orders from civilians.”
Samuel interceded. “Then get me a soldier who isn’t completely incompetent! If you’re going to continue to endanger the life of this young man, then I suggest you get out of my sight before I endanger yours.”
The Colonel didn’t waver, though a tremor went down her spine. “Lieutenant!” She called.
A man hurried into the room, standing at attention.
Kubritz just gave a roll of the eyes. “Follow whatever order the general gives you.”
“But—“
“No, I’m done.” With one last glare to Samuel, she added, “I'll be sending my evidence to General Adele, then we’ll see who’s the one putting the nation in danger.”
“Go ahead, I’ve already given my report.”
She growled at him, turned and left without another word.
The lieutenant just stood at attention in front of Samuel instead. “Orders sir?”
“Get someone to fetch the gurney from the back of our van, and send for the medic! And get someone to get these shackles off this kid!”
“Sir yes sir!”
Meanwhile, Claire stood right by Jim’s side, holding his hand, brushing the bangs away from his face and combing his hair with her fingers. He had a pretty strong fever.
“You’re going to be alright Jim. We’re going to take good care of you.”
“I’m…cold…” He breathed.
Barbara found some vinyl gloves nearby and got to work examining her boy. “I don’t know about the Troll half, but this tissue looks alright. I don’t see any infection yet, or any tissue death. Of course, we need to get this covered immediately.”
“Where’s the amulet?” Asked Walt. “That’s what’s missing.”
“The amulet!” Barbara addressed Samuel. “His amulet, we have to find it!”
He nodded, “we can’t let these psychos have it. They have no idea what magic it possesses, even without being the chosen wielder.”
Only a beat passed before the army medic came with the gurney, and another soldier came with a crowbar to undo the shackles.
“Lieutenant, we’re looking for an amulet that came with Jim. It’s what’s missing from his chest.”
The Lieutenant blanched. “I don’t know anything about it…I can ask the Colonel?”
“She won’t tell.”
The shackles fell free from Jim’s limbs, but he didn’t seem to register it.
“Alright,” said Barbara, “Let’s move him onto the gurney. We can worry about the amulet later.” It took everyone to lift him and carefully slide him over. Then, he was covered up to his stomach with a blanket.
“You’re going home, Jim. Mi amor, you’re safe now.” Claire whispered, kissing his forehead.
“Hmm…” Jim weakly groaned. “…for the…glory…” But before he could finish, he fell back into sleep.
#arcadia or bust#tales of arcadia#Trollhunters#troll jim#jim lake junior#claire nunez#toby domzalski#fanfiction
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COMING HOME — Healing from Housing Instability
CW: Childhood sexual abuse, parentification, slibling abuse, religious abuse, and PTSD.
INTERGENERATIONAL FAMILY TRAUMA
I grew up with a lot of material privilege: a beautiful home on 2 acres of property, cable TV, ducted heating/cooling, always had food on the table, and went to a private Christian school (even if it was through a bursary programme). I even had singing and piano lessons (and went to performing arts school with Zachary Ruane from Aunty Donna — true story!).
But there was a maelstrom of abuse going on behind closed doors.
What my five siblings and I experienced varied from child to child; a combination of sexual, physical, psychological, and spiritual abuse — from parent to child and sibling to sibling over the course of many years. While the onus for violence, volatility, and religious fundamentalism was on my parents, they were also the facilitators of beautiful moments of genuine care and joy — a toxic dynamic born of traumatised adults who find themselves the parents of little children whose entire world they’re responsible for.
And because our nervous systems remember things that we would choose to forgive and forget, it laid the rocky foundation for the early onset of a plethora of complex mental health issues that I still experience today.
And while my parents weren’t all bad or all good (as is the case with most people), the culture they created or allowed, made way for fractured relationships between my siblings and me — and unfortunately these sibling relationships became the catalyst for my personal ongoing housing instability and a deeper, more chronic experience of psychological damage that years of therapy, self-help books, and spiritual healing sessions haven’t been able to heal.
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My siblings were traumatised by the person I was growing up. I was parentified from a young age and stepped into the mother role. At around 10 years old, my parents forced me to physically discipline my siblings. But I had the head and heart of a child which meant that I wielded power with all the wisdom and responsibility of, well, a child.
It caused lots of damage because I was the scary one in their eyes (not my parents) which set me up to be alienated from my siblings pretty much from the get go. I could be awful to them. But I also loved them and simultaneously felt responsible for protecting them against my parents. I look back at the moments born of these confusing dynamics and I can pinpoint them as the place in my life where my personality started to fragment.
When it came to trying to protect myself, my siblings, or to reason with my parents, I yelled. A lot. My voice was the only weapon I had to use against their size, age, fellow adult allies, and economic power.
I thought that by yelling I could get through to them — to help them wake them up and see how much their kids were suffering because of their behaviour. I didn’t learn until I was an adult that my brothers and sisters resented me for this as they wished I had just been quiet. The toxic culture in my family was normalised and my railing against it was seen as the cause of our household drama.
I was Crazy Carrie. The mentally ill one who yells a lot.
While experiencing abuse from my parents, I also abused my siblings.Thankfully, they weren’t subjected to the same kind of treatment I received from my parents as the eldest child. But unfortunately because of that, it meant they weren’t privy to the ways I was being tormented behind the scenes into becoming the kind of child I was. They remember me as an abuser. And why wouldn’t they? And as an adult with space and time between us, I can also accept that their feelings and opinions about me are valid.
But the thing that breaks my heart is that they don’t seem to remember the good things I tried to do for our family — or sacrifices I made. Like when I dropped out of high school in my final year to cook, clean, and be their emotional support because my father forced my mum to go work outside of the home full time. It was my dream to be the first person in our family to finish high school. B that honour went to my brother. I’m proud of him and glad he got to do it. Yet at the same time, it feels as though the things I tried to do right count for nothing.
And I guess that’s the complex nature of intergenerational family trauma.
Everyone’s a victim and no one comes out unscathed.
THE BEGINNING OF HOUSING INSECURITY
When I was 18, my father was eventually removed by The Department of Human Services.
And we turned to a church for hope and support. We were then exploited and abused for 6 years. You can listen to that story in full detail here.
[TLDL version: inappropriate touching of me and my siblings by church leadership, encircled by a group of church members in a prayer meeting and forced to take communion while crying and choking on breadsticks and cranberry juice, the pastor putting wedges in between children and their parents so she could be their mother).
My siblings and I had explosive relationships before going to the church. But after what we experienced at the hands of our former pastor, the dysfunction and dissension multiplied 50xfold. They became toxic and so did I. Our home, post-church, became a cocktail of trauma, brainwashing, and siblings hurting siblings.
Upon leaving that church, I became aware of how toxic I had been in so many ways. I started apologising to everyone in my family as soon as I became conscious of it. I still wanted to hold onto my faith and I wanted to process what we’d been through so that we could heal.
Unfortunately, the siblings I have had the most conflict with over the years — and I — had such deeply opposing perceptions about our behaviour toward each other.We all have contrasting feelings about who should be taking responsibility for what. Or what had transpired between us over the years and what hadn’t.
They told me that I was selfish for wanting to talk about what happened and that if I truly wanted to move on, I would just do it. I felt constantly shut down and dismissed by them — just as I had with my parents growing up when all I wanted to do was to connect by bringing things out in the open for two-way, exploratory conversation.
In conjunction with this, because of how much shame and self-hatred I had for the way I had been growing up (and who I’d become at church), I believed that even if I felt hurt by their behaviour now, that I should allow them to treat me however they want because maybe that’s what they need to do to heal.
But no matter how much I apologised or tried to change, it felt that they were committed to misunderstanding me because they wanted me to hurt as much as I’d hurt them. Which I understand because their pain and trauma needs a voice. And because I was the cause of so much of it, their frustration and anger landed squarely back on to me.
I guess they just didn’t realise how much I had been hurting, too.
This eventually led to me going into fawning mode. And I was eventually forced to leave home because of the bullying that I experienced at their hands. I felt really betrayed by my mum who allowed certain things to happen without standing up for me, a feeling which triggered painful emotions associated with the way she singled me out for abuse as a child.
When I finally left home, I told her that I wanted nothing more to do with her. And that if she ever wanted a relationship with me again she’d have to earn it.
Note: I’m sure you understand that I can’t share everything about my family in detail. This blog entry is actually a redraft of a much longer, much more explicit, piece that explains all the awful things I did to my siblings and all the awful things they’ve done to me. We’re all adults now. And at this stage we’ve all traumatised each other. It’s unfair. And it sucks for every single person involved.
When you are driven out of your housing by personal circumstances or through danger to your person, it’s a complete upheaval. Personally it was utterly jarring when my family situation led to me needing to leave before I was ready. Especially when it was catlysed by the dismissal of me and my survival needs in preference for another sibling who was causing literal damage to our house (among other things).
Once I’d moved out, I crashed. A sort of emotional paralysis took over.
And I’ve carried that paralysis and accompanying dissociation with me for the last 7 years. Every move bringing it to the surface and causing me to plummet into the self-hatred and fear associated with being driven out of my home in the first place.
Anyone who’s rented knows that good housing situations are the luck of the draw.
Throughout all the moves I’ve made in the last decade, some have been a dream: like Jake and Beth who were fellow live-in mentors to an at-risk young person for the Vista Lead Tenant Program where we had beautiful chats about faith, doubt, politics, and played Jackbox TV games. Like the international sharehouse where I learnt Farsi from Reza and Shohra — an Iranian immigrant couple who didn’t even have a mattress to sleep on but would invite me to eat almonds on the blanket they had laid out on their bedroom floor.
The majority of them, though, have been utter nightmares.
Like the one where I was being stalked by a neighbour in the unit behind mine. When I told her to back off, she retaliated by making a false report to the police — saying that she was fearful for the lives of her fiance, her pets, and herself. I was taken to court and the mediator saw through her straight away. Thankfully, he was incredible and encouraged me to file for a cross-order/ intervention order so that she didn’t just have one against me. Which would give me some measure of protection against her if she wanted to start making trouble for me. I agreed. That SAME day, she breached it and came right up to my bedroom window and started looking around my unit.
Another time, I moved in with a man whose Gumtree ad I responded to out of desperation for a place to stay. Then after a week, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to file for rental assistance from Centrelink because it would cut into his welfare benefits. I agreed because I needed a roof over my head. And it also didn’t take long to learn that he was an alcoholic who stayed up all night listening to the radio up to 11 and I found myself unable to sleep.
And finally, the nightmare of my most recent living situation up until two months ago. I lived next door to two meth addicts. Let’s call them Tarzan and Jane.
They were good enough neigbours until COVID-19 hit. I think it’s because they used to party at other peoples’ places before restrictions were implemented but couldn’t anymore.
The drugs, the psychosis, the cackling-witchy ramblings of Jane, and waking up to her yelling in the street early morning after early morning
One time, they had a 17-hour bender.
He groaned in this deep, demonic sounding voice for 40 minutes. She began to tell herself a story. At 4am, Tarzan stood at my bedroom wall shouting, “Fuck off, poofter” for 15 minutes. I dragged my mattress into the lounge and closed the door while they continued to party hard to loud music for a further 7 hours.
I spent most of 2020 sleeping in my living room because I was so scared. It triggered PTSD episodes for me on a daily basis.
Then Jane passed away from an overdose.
The woman from across the street (we’ll call her Julie), started coming over to visit Tarzan all the time. He started putting up a fence without permission from the landlord. I felt like reporting him at first, but decided to leave it alone.
And one of these days that she came over to visit Tarzan, I hear Julie start yelling about me through the wall. It wasn’t just about her being a bitch. She was another loud, rude, scary person disturbing my right to a peaceful home and I decided enough was enough.
I decided to confront them.
I grabbed my phone because I knew that if they reacted badly without video evidence of their actions towards me, nothing could be enforced by the authorities.
I’m glad I thought that far ahead because Julie physically assaulted me, snatched my phone away, and then smashed it on the ground. It turned out Tarzan had received a breach of lease notification from the real estate agency for the unapproved fence and thought I had reported him.
Because the attack was caught on camera, when the police arrived and saw the footage and damages, they arrested her and charged her with unlawful assault.there anymore. But that was it. I couldn’t stay there anymore.
The physical attack by my neighbor was just the beginning of a series of injuries that would also take their toll on my well being.
At the end of October last year, just after the assault, my friend Tash graciously offered her home to me while she and her husband lived in Melbourne short-term for his cancer treatment. In exchange for looking after her cats, I received rent-free, bill-free accommodation while I looked for a new place.
I needed a safe place to recover and roll out the first session of my online coaching programme Mother Mary Speaks, so I promptly moved into Tash’s and was able to run my first session.
One week passes, I’m working at my desk, and I get up to move around a bit because my legs have fallen asleep — my ankle crushes beneath me. I rolled it and couldn’t get up.
I ended up in hospital with ligament damage.
So there I was, living in interim housing, $300 in my savings, a cat in tow, unsure of how I’m going to afford a new place and whether I’ll be accepted by a real estate agency even if I can (because I am self-employed and don’t yet have a livable wage/ am still receiving Centrelink benefits). And now I can’t walk. Oh, and I’m running a 6-week programme where people need me to hold space for them.
And each day I’m without a home, I’m cripped more and more by PTSD associated with housing and family.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF CONSTANTLY MOVING FOR 7 YEARS
Moving is expensive.
Like really expensive.
Transporting furniture and possessions is really pricey if you hire a professional. And honestly I’ve never been able to afford it. Which has also been really hard as someone who doesn’t drive due to having seizures since she was in her teens.
The stress of having to coordinate help when your former pastor made you believe that anything you express needing help with makes you a selfish taker of resources — someone who is unworthy of their faith for not putting it in God’s hands only. The anxiety and shame from those past conversations and beliefs about myself are almost unbearable at times.
Then there’s the cost of bond and first month’s rent. And all the utility connection costs that can really add up depending on how old a property is or what kinds of outlets and wiring a place has installed.
During the last 7 years, I managed to support myself financially for nearly 2 whole years with a livable wage. Because the work was flexible and online, it meant that I could work around the PTSD episodes and manage the effects of my Borderline Personality Disorder (like chronic self-harm urges, sui* ideation, and anxiety/ depression). More recently in 2019, I was casually unemployed for about 5 months and then COVID-19 hit and the work fell through.
I have been building a business using my life experience, professional experience, spiritual gifts, and a combination of small wages and welfare payments.
So one doesn’t have much savings or proof of income in these situations. I’ve had to borrow money more times than I can count to make sure I have a roof over my head. And I’m one of the lucky ones who has someone to help me in these situations.
Then there’s the deep-seated uncertainty that comes with constant unwanted relocations. Each move has felt like a deeper, harder blow to the foundations of my stability.
I’ve tried everything to ground myself and make myself feel safe over the years — and thankfully I’ve found many tools to make life more bearable.
And while I’m able to cognitively understand that renting is the reality for so many of us (and that in this day and age, home ownership is a privilege that fewer and fewer people are able to afford), my body and all my emotions have been ever filled with anxious anticipation that life is just about to be pulled out from under me.
The same question arises with each new property, “ What if this was how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? And what if it’s going to continue happening in really dramatic ways like being assaulted or taken to court? What if my life is a never-ending cycle of mental illness, trauma, and housing crisis? Will I ever get a chance at stability? A chance to build something sustainable beyond survival?”
THE END OF HOUSING INSTABILITY
Years ago, when mum began making amends for the ways in which she didn’t come through for me when my siblings bullied me out of home, she apologised to me as much as was humanly possible.
And while the journey toward reconciliation was far from smooth sailing, each year has seen our relationship blossom and grow. She has spent the last 7 years since earning my trust back. She hasn’t just said sorry. She’s made recompense where possible.
She has helped me with transport, paying rent, bills, bonds, moving costs, and has been an incredible rock of strength when I’m experiencing extreme mental illness symptoms. No one understands me or holds space for me with the love and strength that my mama does.
I’m open with her about the fact that I’m writing this article. I’m a writer, I need speak my truth. And the cost-benefit analysis of sharing the story of our healed relationship comes out as a choice with lots of benefits. I also want to say that I don’t just forgive her. I adore her. She is actually my most favourite person in the world and I can’t imagine my life without her. She even told me last year that she has left her house to me in her will because she wants to make sure I’m taken care of when she’s gone.
I’ve come to learn the ways in which her life was shaped by family trauma and abuse. And how that flowed down into our family unit.
She’s had her world destroyed over and over again. And I couldn’t see that when I was younger because all I could think about was that I needed her — in the ways a young child needs their parent.
But as I’ve grown older, I look at her with so much gratitude and compassion.
Because being an adult is hard. And life is mostly hard. And being an adult, with trauma, when you have children must feel insurmountable. Yet she never gives up. She never stops. She keeps coming back to our relationship to be the mum I need.
And this is exactly what she did when I got ligament damage at Tash’s house.
She moved in with me and took care of me every day for two months. While also working during the day from the office (because of COVID-19). It’s been a beautiful time of bonding.
During this time, though, she’s watched me struggle immensely. Because of inaccessible housing opportunity after inaccessible housing opportunity. The houses that are affordable are high-risk for dangerous neighbours and my mental health couldn’t handle another attack. And even they are so expensive that I couldn’t rent them.
Then on top of this, the rental market in Gippsland isn’t what it used to be. People from Melbourne have fled here in droves to escape catching COVID-19. bUT Their relocating and renting out all the properties with their big city incomes means that there’s hardly anything here for the locals who fall within the lower socio-economic bracket.
Time to leave Tash’s home was coming to an end and I had nowhere to turn. I ultimately secured the last affordable caravan in Gippsland and was going to live on mum’s front lawn. But then one day, about two weeks ago, she comes back to Tash’s after being out for the night and says she has some news.
She tells me that she is giving me her house.
Yeah.
Not the house I lived in with her and my siblings 7 years ago. She’s since moved into a home that I’ve never lived in.
She’s been in Gippsland for over 30 years. She’s originally from Melbourne way, and she’d like to do a bit of a homecoming of her own. Because she loves all six of her children and can’t fix all our divided relationships, outside of her working hours, she wants to be a wandering mama.
She’s decided to keep one room in her house for when she lives with me, and then she’ll be renting a place with one of my sisters who has been needing to move to Melbourne for her job (as commuting so far was exhausting her). And I get to start decorating it exactly how I’d like as though I already own it.
It’s going to be my forever home. From now until I inherit it (which will hopefully not be for decades to come). And then from when I inherit it until I decide to sell it (or not).
I’m a little shocked. The symbolism of this beautiful, full-circle and healing gesture is not lost of me.
Thankfully my siblings are pretty high-functioning people who have material stability and are building the lives they want. And I’m really glad for them. Even if I don’t have relationships with most of them. I want to see them grow and prosper. And receiving this generous gift from my mum is her way of taking care of me and ensuring I keep growing and prospering, too.
It’s the proof I didn’t know I needed that I am as loved as my siblings.
HOUSING PRIVILEGE
Some of us choose the nomadic life.
Some of us buy or build our own homes.
Some of us are living from rental to rental knowing that we’ll never be able to break the cycle.
And even worse still are those of us who end up on the streets because they can’t afford any of the above.
I can’t speak for everyone, but experiencing both homelessness and unrelenting housing instability drove me to the brink of madness. That’s not an expression. I mean, as much as I’ve healed myself in so many ways over the years, I was starting to lose my mind after living through these consecutive housing traumas.
I don’t care what anyone says: people don’t need to just learn how to make their bodies their homes and learn to make themselves feel safe. That’s New Age bullshit. The reality is that just like children need shelter and stability from their parents when they’re growing up. All people need shelter and housing security that isn’t going to be taken from them. They need to know they are loved and safe, and having a home helps ensure that. There are only so many grounding techniques, meditations, and reframes that one can do before the instability of housing insecurity hits sends you spiraling mentally
Coping every now and then isn’t flourishing.
Never having a solid, unmoving homebase to trust in so that a person can build their life financially and relationally is common but not normal. Or healthy. Or okay.
I’m 32 now and I work hard on my mental health. I have taken radical self-responsibility for my life and the direction it’s going.
But no matter how hard I work or try, I can’t hustle my way out of complex mental health issues that affect my ability to work in a mainstream job (and thusly earn the money that I need to live a comfortable life). I’ll never stop trying to build a degree of wealth that can help me make ends meet. But I will NEVER AGAIN shame myself for not being able to pull myself up by my bootstraps and climb my way up the socio-economic ladder.
The capitalist narrative that we live in a meritocracy where all you have to do is work hard and you can get everything you want is a lie.
The capacity to work varies from person to person. And this isn’t just in relation to physical disability but disabling mental health experiences.
I’ve struggled for 7 year up until yesterday, and all of a sudden I’m someone with housing privilege. I didn’t earn this home. It was a gift from my mum.
But don’t I deserve it? Doesn’t everyone deserve this?
I say a hearty yes.
And yet, it feels bizarre because I don’t know myself as a person who isn’t struggling to survive.
I know it’s going to require a LOT of unpacking. My identity needs to evolve so that I can adapt to this move.
WHAT NOW?
My body still holds a lot of fear around what some of my family can do to me. And moving into this home feels a little bit scary because of it. I asked my mum if she’d agreed to signing a written agreement with me. Something to support my right to be in this home if toxic sibling relationships bleed over into my housing situation again. She is the best. I can’t celebrate her enough for going the extra mile here to prove that she loves me and wants what is best for me.
Because of the familiar instability story, I’m feeling scared to trust that I have a home or won’t be driven out of this house, too.
But I’m choosing to put faith in my mum now. And in the 50% possibility that this situation can work out really, really well.
I get to return “home” and give myself the parenting I never had.
And I’m devoting 2021 to figuring out what this means. Integrating it and working through the painful associations with it.
Fulfilling little dreams like: the joy of being allowed to put pictures up on the wall, creating Pinterest boards for each of the rooms in my new home, watching Workaholics with the sibling I still have a relationship with, and feeling peace because I know my cat can call it his forever home, too.
Adapting to the fulfilment of bigger dreams like: freedom from landlords and real estate agents, and knowing that I can finally put down roots.
Where the repeated upheaval of my life was a constant trigger related to feeling unloved by my siblings and mother, it’s being replaced with a home that represents my mum’s love for me; a testament to relationships that are worth fighting for, parents who are people with their own stories and need a chance to be seen in their humanity, and children who never stop needing to know that they are loved.
Follow me on Instagram: @heycarriemaya
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Sun, Moon, Stars, and My Love:
Chapter 1: Nightmarish Day and Acidic Dreams
[A.N.: I know an author's note is very outdated, but I haven't written fanfiction for a very long time. Please forgive my grammar and story building. It's been easily a decade since I've written fanfiction, and I'm trying to get back into it thanks to my new favorite game. This story is (hopefully) going to be a slow burn fic of Vicar Max x My captain of the Unreliable. (Cyrus Adler).]
Panic and fear... those were the twins that were plaguing Captain Adler's sleep. Those feelings and the many faces he's put bullets in. So many lives snuffed out. Marauders. Raiders. Many people. So many people. All he ever wanted to do was fix things for people.
His heart played against him when he could be afforded rest. The fear of getting his companions killed. This time it was no different. His subconscious was playing out a story of himself standing idly by as Vicar Max bled out. Max was begging him for help. The Cyrus in his subconscious just watched as the good Vicar's skin grew pale and he breathed his last breath.
Cyrus jolted out of his sleep with a cry, his heart was beating and his eyes were darting frantically around the room. He was safe. He was at home on the Unreliable. Cyrus's memory came surging back from the dream and he felt hot tears well up in his violet eyes. The breath was knocked out of him and he began to sob into his pillow.
It was moments like these he was thankful he covered ADA's camera with a blanket. Cyrus couldn't handle the idea of the crew knowing his problems... or knowing he was weak. 'I fix things and people. I am not... I do not want them to have to fix me.'
Cyrus spent half an hour recovering from his dream before he got dressed in his best armor and grabbed his favorite weapons. He paused to gaze at himself in the reflection of his black terminal screen. Dark circles were present under his eyes and a frown was etched into the corners of his lips. Slowly, he drew in a breath and forced a smile. He knew this forced smile would easily trick Parvati into believing he was alright, but it was really the good Vicar he was worried about. Max has always seemed to see right through him as if he were transparent.
Though... 'Vati has always been more wise than those innocent doe eyes let on...
'It'll be okay, just a normal mission he picked up on Monarch. Raptidon Dtalkers have been spitting acid on machinery that Sanjar has been using to defend against Marauders. Kill as many as possible, get paid with a shit ton of Bits, and get a drink at the Yacht Club.'
He breathed out a slow breath and ran his fingers through his short crimson curls. 'It'll be easier than playing Tossball.'
Quickly, Cyrus left his quarters and approached the cockpit, trauma crossed his face when he saw S.A.M. "cleaning" ADA's panels. "Oh, yes, S.A.M. it's been so long since my panels have been cleaned." ADA said in a voice that could easily be mistaken for pleasure. Grossgrossgrossgross.
Cyrus b-lined across the hall to the storage bay, his disgust dissipating as soon as he saw Parvati.
"Hey," he greeted, "suit up, we make ground fall in 15."
"Have you seen the good Vicar this morning? He's coming with." Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck. The redhead always got fidgety when talking about Max or even discussing him, especially today. There was this little voice in the back of his mind, whispering his worst nightmares.
"Sure thing, cap!" Her grin was so bright. She was like the sunshine after a rainy day. Honestly, it just made Cyrus more protective over her. She reminded him of the daughter he left behind on Earth. Even their shared passion for engineering reminded him of Olive.
"Have you seen Max? He's coming with."
Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck, an odd fidget he picked up since being thawed out. Especially whenever he spoke about the good Vicar. Everytime he mentioned Max, or looked at Parvati there was this little voice whispering about his worst nightmares.
'What if you get them killed, hm? Do they deserve to die just because they tag along with you?'
It was enough to make his heart race hard and the breath leave his lungs.
"Yeah, he's been sleepin' in his quarters still."
Quickly, Cyrus nodded and scaled the ladders up to the rec area and to the hall with the various crew quarters. As he reached Maximilian's room he quickly used the emergency inhaler. Once the air was back into his lungs he lightly knocked at the metallic door.
"Max? You awake?" Cy called through the metal. There was brief shuffling of feet on the other side of the door before they slid open, revealing the preacher man himself.
"Do you need something, Captain? I am really quite immersed in a certain text at the moment and would rather not be interrupted." Though his words were stern his tone was gentle, making the tense captain slightly relax.
"I wanted to take you with me for a mission on Monarch. If you are willing to come, suit up. We're going ground side in 10."
The preacher man briefly paused before nodding, offering the smallest smile to Cyrus, "alright I'll come with, captain. I'll be ready shortly."
A smile came to the captains features and he nodded, "I'll see you at the door then." Cyrus turned and quickly walked way, breathing out a breath he barely knew he was holding. He made his way down the stairs and stood by the ship door, awaiting his landing party.
Within ten minutes Parvati and Max showed up in full gear, well... except for their helmets.
"Why aren't either of you helmeted?" Cyrus prodded, disturbed at the thought of them leaving without the most basic of protection.
"Felix decided to put itching powder in our helmets as an attempt of a prank." Max said, sounding thoroughly irritated.
Fear and anxiety bubbled in the captains chest. So many things could happen to his companions under his watch. Slowly he breathed out and said, "we shouldn't need helmets mostly if we do this cleanly and quickly."
He quickly left the ship and they made their way on foot to the location. As told by Sanjar there were Raptidon Stalkers, but also there was a Mantiqueen and her drones. That was an unexpected twist, and his companions took the brunt of what Cyrus would call a mantis attack. What felt like hours was really seconds as he witnessed the Mantiqueen attack his companions and he also watched the two crumple to the ground unconscious.
Cyrus would be lying if he didn't say he saw red, but... he also had this uncontrollable drive to throw himself over them until an Adreno did it's job. With shaking quick hands he switched from his light weapon to a heavy massive gun. With little control he unleashed a hellfire rain of electric rounds on the Mantiqueen and her drones.
They fell quick with the barrage. Only managing to lightly char the captain. As they fell Cyrus threw his weapons aside and scrambled to Parvati first, injecting her with Adreno. The bleeding quickly stopped and she began to stir, but Cyrus was already kneeled over Max when he remembered the acid spitting maniac creatures. He remembered painfully as one of the creatures spit acid up his back, and his own armor, being well worn, failed him in protecting him from the painful acid.
Cyrus couldn't help but to let out a scream of pain, which jarred the good Vicar out of his unconsciousness. Max moved quickly as Cyrus applied some adreno into his emergency inhaler and took it. Whatever bleeding there was stopped and he was alright enough to grab his shotgun and succeed in their mission.
Parvati still wasn't conscious which worried Cyrus more than his acid burns. He lightly scooped her up and started to make his way back to the ship without uttering a word to Max. Of course, the good Vicar was worried, but for different reasons. Max knew that the captain and Ellie, the ship's medic, didn't get along well. He was worried Cyrus would be stubborn and refuse treatment from Ellie... or Architect forbid pretend like he didn't have an injury whatsoever. He couldn't allow the captain that grounded him when he was at his weakest to just suffer needlessly.
Meanwhile, as soon as Cyrus boarded the Unreliable he brought Parvati to Ellie's quarters and demanded she get treated. Ellie was quick to work on Parvati, but the captain went about his work as well, programming the ship to land at the Stellar Bay landing pad. Afterwards, Cyrus went to his quarters and peeled his damaged armor and under clothes off. Even the cool air of his quarters pained him as he laid chest down on his bed.
Vicar Max felt a certain amount of responsibility for the captains injuries. After all, the captain was protecting him when he received his injuries. Max gathered some Auntie Cleo's medical cream that would soothe the burns. Lightly he knocked at the door of the captains quarters, and without listening for the captains voice he let himself into the room. Briefly he stopped to gaze out the massive windows before gently stating, "Captain, I am aware you and Ellie do not get along... and I feel responsible for your injuries. So... if you'll have me, I'd like to... help you."
Cyrus lifted his head a bit and looked over his shoulder as the Vicar spoke. Softly he sighed but nodded, "alright..."
Max relaxed a bit before sitting at the side of Cyrus's bed and began spreading the cream across the burns. His hands worked delicately. At first Cyrus flinched hard at the touch, but eventually relaxed as the pains from the burns disappeared.
'I... miss being touched so gently... so warmly and tenderly...'
Slowly he drifted into a deep sleep and as Max noticed that he smiled faintly. "Rest well, captain... you deserve it." Lightly he set the cream aside and briefly considered something before leaving one of his favorite books on Cyrus's desk.
With a smile on his features, the good Vicar took his leave to let Captain Adler rest.
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Endgame Spoilers//Is Professor Hulk Out of Character (OOC) or is it his Dissociative Identity Disorder(DID) that makes it seem that way?
Professor Hulk has Bruce’s heart and compassion and brains and Hulk’s strength,power, and invulnerability. Bruce has achieved balance if we take that at face value. It’s jarring to go from normal,skeptical, questioning Bruce in the first 20 minutes ready in his Hulkbuster suit to mess Thanos up on an alien farm to time-skipped calmer, happier Professor Hulk. We only see the end result.We don’t get to see what happened.It’s surprising and it doesn’t feel right.
But I think it’s more complex than they wrote Bruce out of character. I believe Professor Hulk is either the merging of Bruce and Hulk identities or a completely new one. Both are potential ways Bruce’s mind reacted to trauma or healing. Or both. And both are potential ways to resolve Bruce’s character arc.
Hulk can’t deal with the complexities a dusted universe would involve. Bruce would be devastated.The movies focused on Thor, Tony, and Steve’s guilt. But Hulk and Bruce experienced the slaughter of the Asgardians and swung the first punches. And in Infinity War, Bruce was gunning for Thanos as soon as he showed up in Wakanda only to be melded into a mountain. The last we see of Bruce he’s free of the mountain, but Steve is letting people dust filter through his hands.
All of that is traumatic. With Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), new alters or, if we use the term Bruce uses, “other guys” can form or existing other guys can merge in reaction to trauma. Bruce constantly being Professor Hulk is how Bruce was trying to deal with ALL the problems in a Post-Decimation world. He couldn’t help people if they saw him as a threat. He couldn’t help the most in battles if Hulk didn’t let him transform. Professor Hulk can do both. He even says he feels like he was made to right the Decimation. Professor Hulk was born out of Bruce’s mind specifically to be an avenger.
Professor Hulk means we have a positive media representation of a hero with DID. And in this case, he is not dangerous to people or anti-social like Caitlyn Snow’s Killer Frost or Eddie Brock and Venom. I even think Professor Hulk can be a next step on Bruce’s path. Why? Professor Hulk existence marries multiple themes from Bruce’s journey.
In Age of Ultron, there are multiple uses of the word ‘monster’ which is how Bruce saw himself at the beginning of his journey. I could write another separate piece on that, but I’m thinking of two in particular.Natasha uses the word monster in reference to herself to show Bruce she accepted all of him. She trusts him.
And when trying to convince Bruce to create Vision, Tony said, “We’re mad scientists. We’re monsters, buddy. We’ve gotta own it. Make a stand.” Tony meant they needed to embrace who they were in order to fix their mistakes and save the world. In Thor: Ragnarok, Bruce rejected the notion of ever being the Hulk again. Thor was a friend to both Bruce and Hulk and helped him rise above his fears and be a hero again. Bruce needed to trust himself, embrace all of who he is, and work through his fear in order to create Professor Hulk.
I think the screenwriters intended to portray integrating/merging Bruce and Hulk identities to resolve Bruce’s arc.Hulk and Bruce co-existing means he accepts himself. They agree to share their complementary strengths to be a better balanced whole.Bruce is happier and takes selfies with children. He’s “cured.”
I embrace Bruce finding self-acceptance. What I reject is the notion that constantly being Professor Hulk is the solution.I don’t need him “cured” of having DID. I need him cured of self-loathing and depression and this idea that he is a monster. But execution is flawed and if it seems rushed it’s because we had six different character arcs and the overall MCU arc to resolve. We skipped seeing how Bruce reached this point.And Professor Hulk seems out of character because his character is happy and we didn’t see what lead up to that. Does this means the writers dropped the ball,then? Maybe not.
Here’s the thing, I don’t think Bruce is happy in the five year gap. @from-andrea suggested that five of the original six Avengers represent the five stages of grief. Steve’s line, “Other people move on, but not us.” means he represents denial. Vigilante Clint murdering cartel and Yakuza represents anger. Natasha continuing the fight and coordinating Avengers and doing her best is bargaining with the universe to help them.Tony moving on from avenging and creating a family represents acceptance. And Thor as a physical and emotional mess is meant to represent depression. I suggested the sixth original Avenger, Bruce, was suppose to represent a combination of all of the stages.
He is accepting people are gone and trying to move forward with his own life by dealing with his own issues. And working on saving the universe they have currently. He’s bargaining because hey, what if I do my best and act happy and use my strength and my brains and am grateful,will the universe give us a way to undo this? He’s in denial about the finality of the snap.He is on board for trying to fix the mess even if Quantum Physics isn’t his area. He’s also in denial about his own condition. He’s putting on a happy face and trying to deny he is still depressed. Hulk was always a physical representation of his distress and anger. If Bruce is okay, why is he still a Hulk? If he is always Professor Hulk, is he still always angry? Hulk saved Bruce when he “got low” all those years ago.
It’s a small moment in Endgame, but he does mention what happened with him: “First Hulk lost,then Banner lost, then we all lost.”
Natasha replies, “No one blames you, Bruce.”
And Bruce says, “I did.”
And Natasha frowns and looks down.Steve and Natasha don’t seemed thrilled about the situation.If Bruce was right as rain, then Natasha and Steve would’ve been happy. He’s taking selfies and joking with kids. He’s happy, right? They’re not. Are they concerned about him? Is Bruce protecting himself from himself?Even if it isn’t that,Professor Hulk’s form visually distances himself from other people. Valkyrie even comments on her discomfort with it. Constantly hulking out means Bruce is never physically vulnerable.He’s always in battle-mode. He’s just hiding it better because he can be there for them emotionally. But he’s denying that he’s still affected by saying Professor Hulk is a “cure.”
So if the writer’s intention of integration isn’t the answer to resolving Bruce’s arc. What is? I prefer this option: Professor Hulk is a new alter or other guy. Why? Because it leaves it open for Bruce to accept himself and all his selves.
And if Professor Hulk is a completely new other guy, it explains why he seems so different. I’m not saying he isn’t Bruce.They’re all part of the same person. I’m saying he’s a separate other guy created to cope with trauma. If it seems like he isn’t as burdened as Bruce, it’s because he’s not that Bruce. If he’s smarter than Hulk, it’s because he isn’t old Hulk. He’s new. He’s not nervous. He’s confident. He’s joking. And Bruce’s humor was usually darker.
In Age of Ultron:
Tony: You just roll over,show your belly every time somebody snarls?
Bruce: Only when I’ve created a murder bot.
But Bruce can have a lighter sense of humor.He tried to fake a hulk out at the Avengers party in Age of Ultron and he failed because…it wasn’t funny and that was a terrible attempt.His awkward fake-smashing was a very Bruce moment in Endgame.Professor Hulk as a separate other guy means we’re not neglecting all the layers we saw to Bruce in the previous movies.
The writers were trying to solve a problem the comics have waffled and spent decades on. So yes, execution was imperfect. I don’t know for sure which they were going for but this is how it would work in my head.
So, Bruce will eventually have himself, original Hulk, and Professor Hulk. If it’s about accepting himself then for me that includes his DID and having a functioning DID system.It’s not about control or never having the other guys come out. It’s about living the best life and accepting they all have to work together. Many people with DID won’t merge/integrate their alters/headmates. Saying merging and integrating is the only way to be happy would not be fair. And it would mean original Hulk and Bruce wouldn’t be around.I think it’s more hopeful for Bruce to achieve co-existence.
So, for my Endgame headcanon: Professor Hulk is merely part of his journey to self-acceptance. Eventually, he doesn’t have to hide as Professor Hulk. He can be Bruce. He can be Hulk. Professor Hulk helps deals with situations that require both of their abilities or situations that are very public where they would be at risk if they were attacked during one. They all work together. That is what I would consider a satisfactory arc for Bruce Banner.
#bruce banner#avengers endgame spoilers#dissociative identity disorder#hulk#avengers endgame#dee's brain#sorrythatwasmean meta#sorrythatwasmean headcanons#sorrythatwasmean DID#sorrythatwasmean the other guys
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Personal rambling below the cut. No one will bother with this probably, but if anyone has thoughts feel free to PM me I guess? My brain is going 1000 miles an hour and I’m really fucked over.
There’s this girl I’ve been friends with for ages (I’ll call her Lysse. Not her real name. Just for clarity.)
She was the first person I ever fell in love with and I’ve spent years trying to get over her. Especially after I came out, she constantly fluctuated in how much attention she paid me (I sound like an asshole) and constantly dropped me for other friends. She only came back to me when her sparkly new best friends failed her and she needed a shoulder to cry on. I let her, every time. And every time, her actions and attitudes towards me got gayer and gayer. Even stuff like “I want my first kiss to be with you”. “I think you’re a great person. I love you. I think I might be attracted to you... . .. but ha I’m straight nevermind”. :///
She also went through a period of side B-level homophobia. i.e. not rabid, but damaging. (This is relevant, I promise).
Finally, at the end of 2017 I decided I was done. I moved the fuck on, for real. Got a girlfriend, who I love very dearly. And who, retrospectively, probably is a better fit for me than Lysse ever would’ve been.
Then--just months after I had officially gotten over her, for good--she comes out to me. Comes out as bi, for real. If it had been anyone else I would’ve been like “Welcome to the club dude! Here, pull up a chair, let me pop open my sapphic spotify and introduce you to Hayley Kiyoko and all the other legends you need in your life, now that you’re out to yourself...” etc. You get the general idea. With pretty much every other friend that comes out to me, I give them the same gleeful hug. The same faith-and-sexuality for beginners talk. The same resource recommendation list. The Gay Starter Pack.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do that for Lysse. I think all I said was “nice :)”. and maybe “I’m happy for you! Good for you” (it was forced) (I had to drag the words out of my throat out of duty).
And I don’t know why it was so hard to be happy for her. I feel like an asshole.
Ideas:
1) Maybe, because I’ve always felt like my little LGBT community was my safe place? And excluding her from it -- the straight girl who always played me -- felt safe? But now that she’s in it--going to SAGA and GSA meetings and the whole deal--I don’t want to share it with someone who took so fucking long to realize this about themselves? And left my broken heart behind as proof of their struggle?
2) Maybe I’m not over her, and that’s why I’m so uncomfortable--annoyed--upset??
3) Maybe categorizing her as “straight and unattainable” made it easier for my brain to get its act together, and now that has been disrupted.
4) The jarring realization that her feelings were real, not just the “confused and clingy straight girl” variety.
Fuck, man. I don’t know. It’s not like I’m going to leave my girlfriend and chase Lysse, who has done nothing but lead me on to the edge of what could have been love and then dump me into the ravine. My girlfriend is so worth everything I have to give her, including my heart.
Pray for me? That God will give me their heart of unconditional love for this girl who has hurt me, and allow me to joyfully share in her growth as a bi christian, newly out (though not publicly, just to close friends), new to everything?
I don’t know what’s going on in my head, I don’t know what to do. My emotions are numb--they always are--they aren’t telling me anything. Except that I kind of want to hit Lysse. And I’ve never been a violent person. But I kind of like anger. It’s the one thing trauma left me with the ability to feel. It keeps me alive.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with her. What the fuck will I do with myself.
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Could you do an author commentary for "Arcadia In Asphalt," especially the scene where Billy catches Goodnight in the bathroom and is afraid he's going to try using needles?
omg first off: a) I have no idea how long this has been sitting in my askbox, so I’m so sorry for what has probably been a ridiculously long wait! I promise I wasn’t ignoring this lovely ask, and b) thanks so much and for sure! I love these things:)
(side note: I’m actually not nuts about how this scene turned out, and I could never put my finger on why. It has everything I wanted it to include, but I’m not convinced I nailed the emotions I was going for. I was also worried it had too much potential to feel melodramatic. But this scene has had such a lovely response so I’m pleased you asked!) Read on!
*
“One hit, you’ll be flying.”
They were the words of a man who looked like he spent more time crashing than flying, cheeks gaunt, arms scabbed.
“You chase the dragon?”
I actually first learned this expression from the Steely Dan song ‘Time Out of Mind’, which is about drug use, and I thought it was a very evocative turn of phrase (that’s also one of my favourite Steely Dan songs haha, I highly recommend it:P)
Goodnight shook his head while he washed his hands in a cracked sink. The water was freezing. In the bathroom the music from the bar was muffled, guitar twanging, gravelly blues being sung without affectation into a mic that was just slightly pitchy.
Did this come off right?? I feel like I can picture the sound of bar music from a bathroom exactly, but getting that particular sound onto the page is another story
“Why not? Pure pleasure, man. Nothing but peace.”
Peace is patriotic. Americans want peace. Make love not war.
This scene is the only time in this fic I use whatever-this-literary-method-is-called. It kind of comes out of nowhere but I feel like the newness of it adds to the tension and uncertainty of the scene
Goodnight’s eyes were dragged up to the mirror, looking at the man in the open stall behind him. He was clothed, sitting on the toilet, holding up a lighter underneath a bubbling spoon. His eyes were utterly fixed on its contents. He flicked off the lighter and looked down.
I find the ‘He was clothed’ part awkward, but every time I just wrote 'he was sitting on the toilet’ it made it seem like he was actually going to the toilet with the door open haha so I erred on the side of caution
“Ah fuck…I forgot to…hey man. Yeah. Come help me.”
Goodnight froze, looked back down into the sink but the man had already seen him looking.
Despite living a rough life, I feel like Goody in this is still quite soft and sheltered in a way, and though he must see a lot unsavoury activity it still jolts him and makes him nervous
“Help me out, man, pick up that belt.”
Goodnight turned slowly. He moved towards the belt as though in a trance. Just following orders.
I like that 'Just following orders’ because it’s economical but hopefully still makes the reader think broadly. I didn’t want to delve too deeply into Goody’s soldier past for this fic, but I like the suggestion of its long-term affects here
“Tie it tight.”
The lighting in the bathroom was harsh, garish, the bulbs in the ceiling whining. But the tip of the needle shone unassumingly in the glare, deep silver glowing soft. Goodnight stared.
Was Goody really tempted by the needle? That’s for the reader to decide I guess. Personally I think he’s more shocked than tempted here. I don’t really think he would have done anything this time, but the idea and the inviting image of the needle might have stuck with him
“Thanks, man. Give you a chance after.”
Give peace a chance.
Goodnight was suddenly wrenched back. He whirled around and saw Billy, face white, eyes black, mouth a thin line. He was vibrating in rage.
There’s a quote from a Patrick Rothfuss book I like that says wise people should always fear “the anger of a gentle man” and Billy getting furious sounds absolutely terrifying
“Get the hell out.”
Goodnight felt himself swell up, angry and defensive, feeling caught out but not sure why.
I think Goody’s reaction to Billy coming in was where I struggled to express the emotions he was having. I was going for a baseline reaction of 'kid with his hand in the cookie jar’ but with adult themes of trauma, guilt, mixed in and eesh this is around where I started doubting how well it was coming off
“You can’t –”
“Out.”
Billy grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the bathroom, dragging through the loud bar, Goodnight only throwing his arms off once they were on the street outside.
realistically I feel that if Billy had tried to drag Goody out in this state, I doubt Goody would have let him. I feel like they would have had a struggle in the bathroom before Billy stormed out and Goody followed him. That’s what I think would have happened, buttttt I had to get them moving, so pacing took the priority lol
“What the hell, Billy?” Goodnight yelled, full of anger at Billy thinking he could just come in there and act like he knew what Goodnight was thinking, judging him for nothing.
Billy stalked back to their motel down the street, Goodnight following him, hurling abuse against Billy’s ramrod straight back:
“Like you’re so perfect? You smoke more reefers than I do, for chrissakes. And you’re the one who got us blow that time in Reno. And even if I did want to try that shit in there, that doesn’t mean you get to judge me for it. Hell, maybe I should take it up anyways. You already think I’m interested, already think that much of me, might as well make it official. And –”
I hope I struck the right tone with his ranting here. He’s offended by Billy’s assumptions but knows deep down it’s for a good reason so he wants Billy to feel guilty too, and he’s being annoyingly rational as a smokescreen for the real heart of the matter. DID ANY OF THAT COME THROUGH AT ALL? God this scene was hard lol
He was being obnoxious in his self-righteousness, overly defensive he knew, but he couldn’t stop. He kept it up all the way back to their motel, Billy walking ahead of him, shoulders stiff. And when they got inside, Billy was slamming Goodnight back up against the door.
“Don’t you ever put that shit in you,” Billy yelled at him, eyes burning, hands shaking in anger. Goodnight was too shocked to respond.
I hope this part took everyone off guard, not just Goody. I don’t see it as Billy being 'violent’ towards him, but he’s not messing around in trying to drive his point home
“That what you want to be? Huh? Some junkie in a bathroom looking for his veins? Asking strangers to help ‘cause he has nobody else left?”
Goodnight had never seen Billy so enraged.
“I was just –”
Billy slammed his fist on the door beside Goodnight’s head.
“Dammit, Goody, if you ever touch a needle I will leave you! You understand me? I will leave you.”
I see Billy as someone with a very strict moral code, which is why he couldn’t ride out of Rose Creek despite loving Goody. And although he loves Goodnight here too, he still means it when he says he’d leave. There’s not much Billy wouldn’t sacrifice for Goody, but I think Billy values himself and that there are some lines Billy just won’t cross with himself.
His hair was wild, his chest was heaving, and his eyes were burning in anger. Goodnight felt his throat constrict and he shoved Billy off him, going into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him before Billy could see his face crumple.
Dude I’d burst out crying if Billy ever yelled at me too
He sat curled up in the shower, eyes pressed against his knees. It was freezing but the water was on full blast while hot, silent tears burned out of his eyes and he took in shallow gasps.
Let’s be real, can anyone actually linger in a cold shower? But the poetic side of me wanted the 'hot tears/cold water’ contrast lol
When he came out again he was freezing, sober and ashamed. Billy was lying on the duvet in the dark room, facing the wall, still awake. Goodnight hesitated and climbed in behind him, reaching out to touch Billy’s shoulder
I feel like they can never stay in a fight for long, and fortunately I’m emotionally incapable of keeping them in a fight too!
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, plaintive. “I didn’t mean…any of that.”
Billy stirred and rolled over, and Goodnight didn’t know if his face would be fixed in a snarl, a glare, or worst of all, ice. What he wasn’t expecting was Billy’s eyes to be red-rimmed as though he’d been crying.
HONEY. I take 'fearless Billy Rocks’ and raise you 'Billy Rocks actually has a lot of fears’. I love that boy so. And he loves Goody and I think seeing Goody looking at the needle scared the absolute life out of him
“Sweetheart,” Goodnight said shocked, voice catching. He pulled Billy towards him, wrapping his arms around him.
I consider it my sacred duty to have Goodnight call Billy 'Sweetheart’ in as many fics as I possibly can
“Please don’t do anything with needles,” Billy whispered against his chest.
honeyyyyy. Writing vulnerable Billy just breaks my heart sometimes
“I won’t, I swear –”
“I know I…I know I was the one who suggested we try some of that other stuff,” Billy said, voice small, hoarse, anguished. “But…please don’t do anything with needles.”
BILLY FEELS SO GUILTY, AND IF GOODNIGHT EVER GOT INTO HARDER DRUGS BILLY WOULD HAVE BLAMED HIMSELF ENTIRELY, HONEYYYYYYY
And Goodnight realized Billy had never been angry. He was petrified.
“I wouldn’t have,” Goodnight said, almost sure it was true.
It was true this time, but I felt the 'almost’ was a pretty significant and necessary inclusion
“You just hear more and more things every day about sharing needles, and I can’t lose you, and –”
I don’t think I ever fully decided if this fic took place in the 70s or the 80s, and as such I’m not sure if it lines up with the AIDS crisis, but let’s say that the first whispers are going around
Goodnight rubbed his back, and Billy tilted his head to look at him.
“And if you ever got something, I would get it too. Understand?”
Shame and self-loathing rose like bile in Goodnight’s throat. It made him sick to his stomach that the thought had never even entered his head.
Goody probably knows/accepts he can be careless with himself, but unfortunately that makes it hard to tell when he’s being careless with Billy too, something he’ll definitely feel guilty about for a while
“I promise,” he said, holding Billy tight, and Billy’s hands ran over Goodnight’s skin. Billy’s skin. Their skin.
This is of course a callback to the tattoo scene where they consider their skin the same skin. It wasn’t planned but it immediately seemed to be a fitting callback, and I like how it ties the two scenes together and makes them very different sides of the same coin
Thanks so much for asking!
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my thoughts on the gintama live action movie
(ft. spoilers on the ending of the movie/the changes made to the Benizakura retelling, and a rant concerning my fave character, Katsura Kotarou)
When I first found out that the Gintama live action movie would be playing in the cinemas of my country, I’m pretty sure I screamed for joy, and then began impatiently checking for session dates and times so I could watch it the first chance I got.
That chance came a few days ago, when I flew to Sydney for a quick weekend getaway trip with my friend, and honestly, the opportunity couldn’t have been better.
After getting haphazardly lost and confused about Sydney’s Entertainment Quarter looking for the cinema, we walked maybe a few minutes late into the start of the movie to find a COMPLETELY EMPTY THEATRE!!
Just to confirm how empty it was but for me and my friend, I took a super blurry selfie:
It was honestly so awesome, because it meant we got to talk and laugh freely, and I could refresh her memory as to characters and their backstories and motives as needed (she’s not quite a Gintama fan, but she’s watched a few eps a long time ago and generally knows about and likes the series).
For me, this really, really added to the experience, because the movie is most definitely something you want to be able to share with friends and have a laugh about.
I have to admit that I did have my reservations about the movie before watching it, mostly because the trailer made it seem as if the movie was setting out to be a serious, action-driven version with comedy moments thrown for no seemingly coherent reason. I worried that the glaringly cartoonish CGI and post-production edits found in pretty much every live action anime adaptation would simply be too surreal and …emphatic, shall we say, for a “real” setting, and that that would continually visually jar me out of the movie to the point of being unable to enjoy it. Throw in the questionable costume designs, and the seemingly awkward acting that comes from playing exaggeratedly expressive anime characters in a straight and serious manner, and yeah, for all my excitement and anticipation, I had my doubts.
Ten minutes in, and I realised that every point of potential concern that I had had was really, genuinely what gave the movie the heart and warmth of Gintama, pushing the visuals and scenes to levels of ridiculousness that just worked. After all, how could I not giggle at CGI sparkles glinting off Kondou’s honey covered body, or at the fact that half the actors were walking around in freaking velvet lined kimonos? I was so happy at the way the movie was so self-aware and didn’t take itself seriously as per true Gintama-style, allowing them to use post-effects in genuinely funny ways.
The wacky, B-grade-feels acting was great too, because you could tell where the actors were having fun and you just had to smile too. The charming wackiness of their overacting captured the spirit of the characters exceptionally, and I have to give a special shout-out to Jiro Sato, Ken Yasuda, Masaki Suda, and Kanna Hashimoto for their respective roles as Henpeita Takechi, Tetsuya Murata, Shinpachi, and Kagura. Straight up, any scenes with them, especially the former two, were utterly hilarious, and had both me and my friend laughing for the acting.
This is all to share with you the feel-good vibes and genuine happiness I got from watching the Gintama live action, and to say that the coming rant I really made this post for does not in any way detract from my overall enjoyment and love for the movie.
But I have to say it.
(Note: this is also where spoilers come in)
I was, and remain, so, so, so disappointed with how they changed the ending to the Benizakura Arc, because it really drove home for me just how much the nuances of Katsura Kotarou’s character gets side-lined for other characters.
Perhaps this is a petty complaint driven entirely by my unashamed love and complete bias for Zura, but it is nevertheless one that left me leaving the cinema feeling disgruntled however much I enjoyed the movie in its entirety.
(Zura’s pretty face, because I couldn’t help myself and there was no one around to stop me)
Considering that this movie was made to be accessible to both Gintama fans and newcomers alike, the way characters were introduced is pivotal to how the audience is meant to understand the role of each character. In Zura’s case, his introduction, as well as his main scenes in the first half of the movie, is to set up his relationship to Gintoki as friend and comrade-in-arms.
Even before we learn of his position as Joui patriot, we learn that he would face and fight a running horde of armed police officers in support and defence of his friend, a relationship and character trait that is further highlighted in their next scene together where their history as schoolmates and war brothers is revealed.
Whether for plot purposes or not, the movie goes out of its way at the start to establishment this relationship dynamic between them, which is why it both infuriated and saddened me when at the climax of the movie, in the showdown between Gintoki and Takasugi, the script left Zura literally standing on the sidelines while his beloved childhood friends beat the ever-loving shit out of each other.
Just stood there.
Watching.
Not saying a word.
Not rushing in to separate the two closest people he has, not lifting a single finger to try and stop them.
Just stood there, until the script was ready for Gintoki to make his escape, at which point Katsura was finally allowed to come in and help a bloodied and bruised Gin to his feet so they could jump off the side of the ship together.
Leaving Katsura off to the side like that does a complete disservice to his character, as well as the complex relationship Gin, Zura and Takasugi are meant to have as battle-scarred childhood friends and disciples of Shouyou. Because it is not in any iterations of Katsura’s character to stand still and do nothing when the people he loves rage and hurt (and he loves Gin and Sugi, wholly, with every ounce of his being, and will hope and wait for them until the end of earth and time). Even at his most determined to kill Takasugi, he stands and talks to him first, tries to reason and offer something more beyond the world’s mere destruction, tries to remind Takasugi of the people still left behind. (It’s interesting in a way, how Zura accepts Takasugi in his madness and in his subtle way, wants to remind Takasugi of who he once was (who he once wanted to be) and what he once fought for, wants to slowly steer Takasugi to that person once more, the way Gintoki did for him; whereas Gintoki would kill that Takasugi to preserve the memory of the Takasugi-that-once-was.)
Zura has an extraordinarily deep and complex love for the two men he once fought beside, burdened as it is with the shared trauma of their sensei’s death and their loss in the war, and I do not accept that he would just stand there while those two men, for all intents and purposes, tried to kill each other.
There has always been a strong emphasis on the GinTaka relationship in the series, the love-hate, friendship-rivalry, resignation-rage, push-pull between them that’s unique to them—and that’s fine, except for me, this happens all too often at the expense of Zura, who’s contribution and added layered to their relationship is left forgotten or ignored. This maddens me sooo much, both in an angry way and a drives-me-up-the-wall-mad way, because it blithely disregards the intricacies and subtleties of their past, present and future, as if it never would have really mattered whether Zura was there or not.
Zura’s lack of presence and weight in formulating GinTaka’s relationship, and the role Shouyou’s remaining disciples are meant to play, has only been becoming more and more pronounced as the series has continued on and the focus concerning the relationship between Shouyou’s disciples stays stubbornly centred on Gintoki and Takasugi.
For example, in the animated Benizakura movie, Takasugi’s speech about wanting to destroy the world and his reasons for it are delivered to Katsura, and Katsura only. This then makes Katsura contemplative, resulting in his question about the divergence of their paths to Gintoki during their escape, as well as the question about each of the copies of their notebooks from their student says. With a kind of forced detachment, Gin replies that he spilt ramen on it and threw it away.
Comparatively, in the live action, while Takasugi’s dialogue about destroying the world is still delivered to Katsura, the bubbling rage of his reasons is directed at Gintoki, with Katsura off-scene assumedly dealing with Amanto. This split between who the dialogue is being delivered to subsequently puts the escape-contemplation scene out of context: without Takasugi’s reference to the man they lost and the reason for his rage against the world, would Katsura have been driven to ask Gintoki his question about their shared childhood? With Takasugi’s rage and accusation in his face, would Gintoki be able to reply, so stoically, that he threw spilt ramen on, and then threw away, a remaining memento of the man he looked up to. cherished and almost broke his soul for? (Perhaps you could argue that he would, but I think about the Shogun Assassination Arc, and I simply don’t see it.)
Like I said, perhaps this is a petty frustration, but I have been having these feelings for a while, especially with the way that Takasugi and Katsura have barely been allowed any time to interact in the manga/anime since their conflict during the Benizakura Arc. I keep feeling as if the potential for the nuances in their relations is ignored, as well as further development of each of their characters through an exploration of their three-way relationship. Just to make myself clear, I’m not saying that there shouldn’t be an indepth look at, and emphasis on, the GinTaka relationship, because that is one of the most intriguing, heartbreaking and powerful relationships in the series, or that Zura hasn’t been mostly treated decently as a character or anything along those lines. I just wish that the relationship the three of them have with each other could be explored more evenly, because I think that would add a richness and extra dimensions to their status as Shouyou’s disciples, particularly in seeing whether they have outgrown it, endeavour to live by it, or are almost destroying themselves with its weight.
My feelings about the unevenness of the GinTakaZura relationship aside, the Gintama live action movie is a must-see for Gintama fans. It’ll give you warm fuzzy feelings like hot chocolate or coffee (whatever your preference) and if you let yourself get swept along for the ride, I guarantee you’ll leave the theatre (or your living room!) grinning like a maniac.
;D
#gintama#gintama live action#review#i need a tag for my rambles#i should read over this again later to check for typos and stuff
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character #3: Anders XD
How I feel about this character:PREPARE FOR A NOVEL, I HAVE NO RESTRAINT WHEN IT COMES TO ANDERS. Where do I even start with this boy? He’s become one of my favorite characters ever over the past year. And since you got me into Dragon Age in the first place, I have you to thank for that ;) I played the games in order, including Awakening. The Anders you meet there is like a Zevran/Alistair combo of snark and flirty sass. I fell in love with him would have romanced him in a second; so imagine my surprise when I started DA:2 and met him post!Justice. It was jarring at first and I didn’t really like the change. He seemed too serious, too sad and way too different from the Anders we had met before.Got over that quickly though. I love his character development and how they connected the two games to draw us a map of how he got from point A to point B. The conversations that Justice and Anders had in Awakening were subtle nods to their shared goal in DA:2 and give a lot of insight into what is going through their shared mind in the second game. I like how they have that there without calling too much attention to it. You can see where Anders starts to shift from being so defensive and selfish and starts to feel empowered to make a change in the world. Then he and Justice merge. He gains the power he needs and the righteous fury to fuel him, but he loses a huge part of himself in the process. He trades his hard-won freedom that he coveted so desperately for a figurative prison with a purpose. He spends DA:2 struggling to find the balance between his humanity and his cause. And all the while Justice is inside of him, wanting to do what’s right but being slowly corrupted by human pain and anger. They only wanted to help one another and others, but end up becoming a force of destruction. His story is tragic from beginning to end. I just want him to be happy more than anything else.
All the people I ship romantically with this character:Hoo boy, hold on to your hats ladies n’ gents…Anders/Hawke: Romancing Anders is the best. It’s the worst. It’s… aauuugh okay give me a minuteAnders finds his first home with Hawke. He was sold out by his parents, trapped in the Circle, recruited into the Wardens and he opened his Kirkwall clinic for his cause… but at no point did he ever have an actual home. A place he could rest and share only with someone he cared for, and who cared for him. Hawke is the first person to give him that, both in the physical sense of a real home and in the emotional sense of having a place to belong. Hawke embraces Anders in his entirety, and Anders is completely free to love Hawke in a way he’s never allowed himself to love someone before. Even with Karl, who I think he did love, there was secrecy and fear. But not with Hawke. But we all know how it ends. A lot of people can’t forgive Anders for his betrayal at the end of the game. I do, for reasons I’ll go into farther down.Anders/Nathaniel Howe: I wish this ship was more popular and that I could find a Nate to RP my Anders with, interested parties can shoot me a PM anytime. I’ve always had a weakness for ships with the kind of dynamic they had in Awakening; snarky pain-in-the-ass with the stoic no-nonsense type. But I like them meeting up in DA:2 equally as well, both of them changed and Nate a mix of angry and relieved that Anders isn’t actually dead (angry only because no one knew and would it have killed him to send a letter at least?)Anders/Fenris: You are also to blame for this particular ship, though I know you despise it ;D If you had never told me people shipped them, it would have taken me a lot longer to warm up to these two…For two people who argue as much as they do, they have a lot in common. They’ve both been victims of ingrained systems of oppression. They’ve had to fight for their own freedom and live on the run in fear of persecution and imprisonment. Their situations were not the same and aren’t directly comparable, but they are close enough that I think they could find solace in one another if they were both less stubborn. They both have reasons for not being receptive to the other person’s perspective. But that also doesn’t excuse them for being such asses either. I’m a fan of these two being fluffy and helping each other through their various traumas, but I also really like the heated “I hate you but I love you or at least love to fuck you” dynamic. Anders/Justice: They share a body, an ideal, and lifetimes worth of memories. Justice knows Anders better than anyone ever could, and vice-versa. As Justice makes Anders less human, I also like to think that Anders makes Justice more human. They understand each others’ pain and beliefs in a way that cannot be shared by any other person or spirit.Hawke/Fenris/Anders: EeeeyyyAny mix of Hawke/Fenris/Anders/Justice: EEEEEYYYYSebastian/Anders: I like crack ships and they’re hot okay leave me alone
My non-romantic OTP for this character:I like his friendship with Varric a lot. The parts in the third arc where Varric notices Anders pulling away from the group hits me right in the heart. And Varric’s disappointment in Anders in DA:I… hold on as I clutch my chest in pain, its going to be a few minutesAlso Anders with the Hero of Ferelden is really good. I want a sappy reunion between them.
My unpopular opinion about this character:Anders was right.Anders fought peacefully for his cause for years. He petitioned the powers-that-be. He tried to gather a resistance, tried to show the people of Kirkwall and Thedas that the treatment of mages had become inhumane and murderous. He wrote his manifesto. He spread the word. None of it worked. People in-game treated his cause like it was just an annoyance or a funny joke. Meanwhile mages were being abused, murdered, and practically lobotomized by a corrupt system that likened them to demons.He tried. And maybe if he hadn’t had the power of a literal spirit of Justice burning him from the inside-out, he would have kept trying for a more peaceful solution. But he was desperate, the situation was worsening in Kirkwall, and he was losing himself. Justice meant well, but even he couldn’t know what it would mean to exist within a human soul for so long. Justice became Vengeance and Anders threw everything he had- his own sense of self, his life, his love, his future- into changing the world. Because no one else was going to do it.Do I think he manipulated Hawke all along? I don’t. I think he actually did convince himself for a moment that they could have had a future. But as things got worse, his cause and his work swallowed him completely. Whether or not people think it’s forgivable, I think he used Hawke as a last resort and out of sheer desperation, fully intending to either die or be punished for the crime.
One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:A happy ending with him in a nice little cottage somewhere, a SO to cuddle with, and cats. Lots and lots of cats.Barring that, I at LEAST want to know where he’s at and what he’s up to in DA:I and beyond.
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Collision Course - Part Eight
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven
They rode in silence, only the occasional directions to the horses or calls to break for food or water.
It surprised Claire that Frank was so quiet but she presumed it was because he found Murtagh intimidating and her own silence daunting. As Murtagh erected a small camp for the night, Claire left Frank to cope with being saddle sore and wandered off to gather kindling for their fire. In the woods she realized how different silence was from solitude.
Her heart was heavy and she knew why; she missed Jamie. With Frank riding behind her sharing a horse, it was impossible not to be reminded of those first days after she traveled through the stones and the solid, reassuring presence of Jamie at her back, sheltering her and keeping her warm. Had she ever felt quite that way with Frank? Or was she misremembering all of it? She had wanted to get back to the standing stones so she could get back to Frank since she’d arrived, she just hadn’t succeeded before he showed up there himself. During that first ride with Jamie, she had been in shock and denial about what had truly happened; she had been surrounded by a band of ruthless Highlanders who thought she was an English spy and easily could have killed her.
She should be relieved that this whole ordeal was ending. In a few days time she would be back in the twentieth century; she would be able to soak in a nice hot bath, wash her hair properly, even shave her legs; no more stays or layers of skirts to trip over; bedding with clean sheets and no lingering smell of a chamberpot tucked away under the bed.
And Frank would be the one lying beside her. His wounds would be tended in a proper hospital and then they would go back to Oxford and pick up where they’d left off before their holiday had been so abruptly derailed.
That’s what their holiday had been about in the first place––picking up where they’d left off before the war. Was it possible too much had happened? She tried to think of what Frank must have gone through since her disappearance, the trauma of traveling through the stones and to so quickly fall into Black Jack Randall’s clutches; she had come dangerously close to that herself.
She did understand Frank’s position and she felt for him but there was something more holding her back.
Jamie.
He would be all right without her… wouldn’t he? Did she want him to be?
She scolded herself for thinking something so selfish. Of course she wanted him to be happy… she would simply be happier if it was her making him happy.
But she couldn’t have things both ways; she couldn’t reconcile the vows she’d made to Frank all those years ago––the vows that had sent her searching for a way back to Craig na Dun in the first place––with whatever it was she felt for Jamie.
She carried the kindling back to their camp and started the fire. Murtagh disappeared to see about supplementing their provisions with some fresh meat and Claire took one of Frank’s bandage-wrapped wrists into her lap to inspect the state of the wounds. They were still redder and more swollen than she would like. Prodding gently, some puss squeezed from the edges of the scabbed over cuts. He needed antibiotics.
“You’re still wearing it,” Frank remarked flatly, surprising Claire.
She reached for a salve from her medical kit and began lightly applying it to the infected wound.
“Wearing what?”
With his other bandaged hand, Frank reached over and tapped Claire’s left hand.
Her thumb instinctively felt for the iron band of her wedding ring, her heart steadied by its reassuring warmth on her finger.
She looked back at Frank’s arm in her lap and shrugged.
“Don’t really notice it,” she said dismissively. “Slipped my mind.”
“You should give it to his friend there,” Frank nodded toward Murtagh who was nearly finished with their tents for the evening. “He can return it.”
Claire clenched her teeth and ignored Frank. She could not tell Frank that Jamie had said she could keep the ring because that would show that she had thought about it and she would also feel compelled to tell Frank that she had asked to keep it in the first place.
Luckily, Frank was perceptive enough to drop the subject and instead began expressing concerns about his arms.
“You’ll be fine,” Claire assured him. “Once you get back, it’s just a matter of getting antibiotics for the infection. You probably won’t want to roll up your sleeves too often because of the scars––those are probably unavoidable at this point.”
“Once we get back,” Frank emphasized quietly.
Claire felt her cheeks flush momentarily but continued applying the salve uninterrupted. “You know what I meant.”
Having finished with the salve, she turned to put the jar away in her medical kit and thought she might have heard Frank mutter, ‘Do I?’ under his breath. She ignored him and set about re-wrapping his wrists, the rest of the treatment performed in silence.
Murtagh insisted she and Frank take the makeshift tent for the night.
“I’ll stay by the fire and keep watch,” he told her.
“You’ll need to sleep eventually,” Claire reminded him but Murtagh shrugged off her concern.
“I dinna sleep deep on the moors. There’s not much as might happen that willna wake me wi’ no time to act.”
Claire didn’t bother to argue; she helped Frank settle onto the roll of bedding before stretching out beside him. It was closer than they’d been sleeping in the cave where she preferred to rest propped against the cave wall, afraid of disturbing his much needed rest. They didn’t speak but rolled towards each other. She felt Frank’s lips brush her forehead and turned her face up to his.
There was a moment of hesitation and she realized that she hadn’t kissed him since they’d rescued him; not once. She felt a twinge of shame. After all he’d been through, she hadn’t thought to embrace him or even offer him a loving caress. She had been too wrapped up in his medical care and how Jamie was handling everything.
She reached up now and ran her fingers lightly along the stubble on Frank’s cheek. It was rougher than she anticipated. Her thumb slipped down and traced the Frank’s lower lip before he brought his mouth to meet hers.
She remembered his kiss, the warmth of his lips on hers, and the sureness behind it. She let her eyes close so that when he pulled away, he couldn’t read what she was thinking. He lightly bumped her forehead with his chin, a question.
“We should get some rest,” she whispered, her hands drifting down and lightly rubbing his upper arms. “We still have a long few days before we get to the stones.”
He smiled against her forehead, satisfied for now, then shifted and brought his bandaged arm up to hold her close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and she felt him relax beneath her cheek. Her body relaxed too but her mind refused to settle.
She lay there entirely awake but unmoving until she was sure he slept deeply. Then gingerly, she moved his arm from off of her and rolled away.
“Are you all right?” Frank whispered. She hadn’t been subtle enough.
“Of course,” she assured him, moving to rise. “I just need to go… you know.”
There was a muffled chuckle from where he shifted himself into a more comfortable position. “That’s something you must have missed––running water and proper lavatories.”
“You have no idea,” she murmured, ducking through the flap of the tent.
Murtagh sat up from his spot beside the low campfire, his dirk in his hand until he recognized that it was only Claire.
“Mistress,” he murmured before laying back.
Claire wandered off into the woods for a moment to keep up the pretense and prayed that Frank would be asleep again by the time she got back.
How was she going to do it? How was she supposed to go back with Frank and be his wife again when every time he touched her she felt the rising shame of betrayal? She wasn’t even sure which betrayal was behind the shame. She remembered how it had been to kiss Frank before, the way it built slowly, the way her body would arch towards him. She remembered but it hadn’t been like that tonight. He had kissed her and it had been lovely but it had been a kiss like any other. She had waited and searched for that deeper stirring but it didn’t come.
There were no visible flames left in the small circle of stones they’d used to contain the fire but the spot still gave off a reassuring heat. Claire found Murtagh sitting again when she returned a few moments later.
“Ye’re bad as Jamie when he’s something on his mind,” Murtagh said, nodding to an empty space next to him.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she murmured, taking him up on the offer to put off going back in with Frank.
Claire stared into the embers of the fire. There weren’t any visible flames but a warm red color ebbed and flowed, pulsing with life. She didn’t notice but the fingers of her left hand were playing with the ring on her right, turning it in circles so the nub where the two ends had been joined orbited her middle knuckle, catching whenever she slightly bent the finger.
“Ye canna choose where yer affections lie,” Murtagh said quietly.
Claire’s fingers stilled but she wouldn’t look at Murtagh.
“But that doesna mean there isna a choice involved in what ye do about it… even if sometimes it doesna feel like it. Maybe… maybe it’s like yer stones.”
At that, Claire did look over at Murtagh, but with confusion.
“Ye didna choose to pass through them, no?” he asked.
“Of course not. I didn’t even know what had happened at first,” she agreed.
“Like falling in love,” Murtagh mused but this time there was something heavier in it, something more personal. A smile played on his lips and the way he stared into the glowing embers was like looking into a memory. He wasn’t talking about her but about someone he had loved once, maybe still did––perhaps that was why he seemed to have so much to say.
“By the time ye realize it, ye’re smack dab in the middle wi’out realizin’ how ye got there. Ye can trace yer path back and ye might come to ken the moment it happened, but ye canna always make yer way back out of it again… I dinna ken anyone tha’s chosen to go back to try to find their way out… at least, none tha’s succeeded.”
“You don’t think it will be possible to pass back through the stones?” Was it fear or hope that she heard in her voice.
Murtagh shrugged. “Dinna ken. Might depend on whether yer heart’s in it.” He looked over at her at last and she felt her face flush, grateful that the dying fire didn’t cast enough light for him to be able to see it.
“Who was she?” Claire asked, turning the conversation onto Murtagh. “The woman you couldn’t find your way out of loving.”
Murtagh looked away again and Claire was about to apologize for asking when he murmured, “Ellen MacKenzie. I doubt I was the first to love her––though, I loved her before Brian Fraser, having met her first… But he loved her the way she wanted… and needed.”
“Jamie told me about them,” Claire explained. “About the Gathering where they met.”
“Aye. Ye can see it, ye ken––no with yerself… no right away. But ye can see it in a man’s face if ye watch careful like… the moment it happens and he has to make a choice what to do next.”
“You saw it with Brian Fraser?”
Murtagh nodded. “Him… and others.” Murtagh reached forward with his dirk and poked at one of the larger pieces of wood, rolling it onto the other side. The smoldering bottom, exposed to the air but not the heat, faded to white ash even as smoke erupted from beneath as the untouched side began to burn.
“We’ve another two maybe three days till we reach the stones,” he informed her. “Best get what sleep ye can. We’ll be needin’ to keep a closer eye for Red Coats as we’re gettin’ nearer Fort William.”
Claire rose and left to join Frank in the tent. He was asleep on his side, his bandaged forearms laid gently one atop the other beside his head. She lay down and turned onto her side as well but with her back towards his.
#;mod lenny#collision course au#alternate universe#canon divergence#featuring: murtagh#featuring: frank#also also featuring: murtagh reminiscing about ellen#murtagh ships it#almost there
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(for the fic writer meme) 1, 4, 8, 13, 20, 29, any or all that you feel like!
Thank you so much! I’m putting it under a cut bc its Long but please read as it includes fic recs, possible upcoming fics from myself and a whole lot of other author appreciation!
1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.
Hm…Fantasy AUs, Mundane AUs with a REALLY GOOD twist (either mentioned or as a surprise), Canon-Divergent fics that either delve deeper into a character development and ‘what-ifs’, and stories with more to them than ‘character A + B (+ C, etc) get together - I like stories with relatable or interesting plots.
4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?
Hm…I have MANY ideas tbh, but if I were to write them I’d need to fill out the plots a LOT more!
I think that my fav idea that I would have the most to work with rn is my Nart Pitch Perfect AU (Which sounds a little strange but me and @artlessictoan have worked out the entire plot and its Good Shit) but I don’t know whether I just wanna make redraw scenes and write up a few snippets or draw a few comics of the plot and stuff? Idk, I’m still debating on that one, lemme know what you think!
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
‘ November 5th was certainly going to be remembered by every one of their classmates, but for all the wrong reasons. It was no one’s fault, the firework had simply been a faulty one. Accidents caused by them happen by the thousands every year.
But the memory of Sakura, still only in her second year of Uni studying to be a doctor, saving Naruto’s life with a blanket and plenty of pressure, the ambulance rushing him off to A&E for emergancy surgery, huddled as a group of eleven in a crowded waiting room with nothing but hope and fear until the early hours of the morning… It was a memory that would haunt them their entire lives.
And as for their failure of a relationship, that was the last straw. It wasn’t as though Hinata wasn’t supportive of Naruto, of course she was - all of their friends were, but the stress tore the two apart. But what was even scarier, was the fact that, apparently, if you break up with someone, it’s impossible to stay friends with them. But how could they not stay friends? They were simply too important to each other to loose.
As Hinata staired at Naruto, the golden light bouncing off the frost dusted windows catching in his hair and highlighting his olive skin in an orange glow, real arm reaching down to change his car’s gear, face alight with new hope and happiness… The content warming her heart like a fire in a harth told her that she wouldn’t have life any other way.” ‘ - Exeunt, Chapter 2.
I think this is my favourite piece of writing that I’ve done recently because it starts of very jarring, really the first angsty/darker part of this fic - and there will be more of that to come, just some warning - but it ends in a really peaceful, warm way that I think really ties that section of the story up nicely. I’m also really happy of the way it flows and builds back up from the trauma into something lighter.
13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?
Make characters flawed, conflict one of your best plot-bunny devices, find yourself a Writing Alpha bc Artless is The Best tbh and my writing is improving tenfold after just a few sessions with them talking abt my stories.
20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.
I’d say when I’m REALLY in the Mood to write something/the scene I’ve been stuck on, or if something has just Clicked in trying to work out how to progress with a fic. In my bed with comfy clothes and fairylights on in the evening after dinner. Listening to a playlist that immerses me into the story and scene I’m writing and no distractions.
29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
If I could then I would re-write, or continue (because the sequel hasn’t updated in 3 years) the Coming To Terms series. It was actually one of the first fics I completely fell in love with and its super mundane and there are lots of different plots for various characters while still keeping the pace and keeping track of various storylines. It had a REALLY GOOD ending to the 1st part but there was SO MUCH more potential for the sequel and there was a lot of unresolved things and it was all leading up to one big bang which it didn’t get around to. Honestly I highly recommend it though, its super nostalgic for me and still one of my fav works of all time!!!
(my choice!)
15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?
Exeunt, without doubt. It’s the Magnum Opus of all my Naruto AUs and something that I want my writing to develop with as it is created. I think it has the most potential too seeing as it is completely different to the original Naruto series so it has the potential to be a stand-alone thing.
27. How do you feel about collaborations?
Oh boy, oh man I LOVE collabs. Have you even read A Time For Change, holy shit that AU is just like my Happy Place and its SO NICE to talk about the plot with someone else without spoiling anything bc you’re both in on it?? Its just a really special experience!
28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
Hooo boy here we go.
@artlessictoan, holy shit, their works are just. Goals. Absolutely, this isn’t even coming from a ‘i work with them a lot so i have to be nice 2 them’ this is a legit thing like their fics are some of my favourites of all time and their characterization is SO SPOT ON. They’re REALLY GOOD at writing dialogue and they really delve into the root of the story when it comes to writing them, their research shows through so well and they cover things that you wouldn’t even think of. They’re one of those writers where you have to just step back after reading one of their works and think ‘Oh my god. Oh my god what a wild ride why didn’t I think of that oh my gOD.’ Check out their work, seriously guys!
@linddzz Oh my god, their writing, where do I even begin. They NAIL the characters completely and utterly when they write them, they really bring to light Credence’s personality and the problems and issues he had to face and faces still, especially in my favorite of their fics A Study on the Habits of the Adult Obscurial. I really like the way they represent Newt also, he doesn’t know how to People very well and he’s just so very in-character that once you read their fic you just accept it as canon honestly.
@jinglebellfic Listen up folks if you haven’t read Riptide Lover then you ABSOLUTELY SHOULD, its one of my favorite works and it’s been updating for YEARS and its still being updated bc they talk abt it all the time and this AU just gives me LIFE. Just a warning for those who aren’t keen that it is Very NSFW but the story just has SUCH A GOOD PLOT and it starts BANG in the middle of the action, no messing around, it’s so well-written that I was sucked into the story (and the fandom, this fic is what got me into it in the first place!) so quickly and I enjoyed it so much that I spent abt a week reading it whenever I had the spare time to. It’s very nostalgic to me now and it makes my entire month when it updates.
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Doubt
My mom asked me once if I believed she loved me, and I had to think about it. My hesitation hurt her feelings, which I imagine it would, but the life I have led on her watch deserved a legitimate consideration. It’s no secret that I’m an abused kid. My father was horrible to me for as long as I can remember. There are accounts that he threw a tantrum when I was born because my mother refused to name me an III. She told me once that he confided an extreme jealousy for me because took up so much of her time. I was an infant at the time. I’ve sighted countless examples of his cruelty towards me growing up but, key in all of this, is the fact it happened on my mother’s watch. She like this mad do these things to me. I told her early on, around age five or six, that this man was beating me, and I was afraid of him. She shrugged it off as a kid who got spanked too hard and didn’t like it. Of course, I didn’t like to get hit, no one does but these weren’t spankings. These were beatings that lasted ten to twenty minutes at a time. My father left welts on me and my mother turned a blind eye to this sh*t. It wasn’t until my younger brothers revealed they knew how to cook crack cocaine, a skillset taught to them by our dad, at the age of nine, that she finally acted. Guess who also knew how to cook the cocoa since he was about six years old? This guy!
When my mother asked if I believed she loved me, I wanted to say yes. Of course, you want to say yes. Mother is God in the eyes of a child. But I’m not a kid anymore and my f*cked up experiences lead to doubt. It’s wild taking in the evolution of the relationship you have with your parents as you grow and mature. My mom hasn’t been a mom to me for probably decades but seeing her realize her place in my life is puzzling. Like, I grew up in the struggle. I thought life WAS struggle, and then I met my lady who didn’t grow up like I did. Who had a completely different set of life experiences and it was jarring. Being with her made me realize I was an abused kid. Up until that point, it was just life, but people don’t live like that. My normal was not normal. It was violent and cruel. It’s then you realize, with an adult understanding, that your parent were bad parents. How do you reconcile that? My dad, sure. He was an abusive coward. But my mom, though? Yes. Yes, she was. She enabled my father to do the things he did. She made very poor life choices because of her ego or because she cared too much about what other people think. She vied for the approval of her parents, to the detriment of her m personal, parenting. As a kid, when you’re in it, you don’t understand this stuff. AS an adult, looking back, you kind of marvel at how incredibly human your parents are and just lament.
Mother is God in the eyes of a child, but I haven’t been a child since I was seven years old. Not since the responsibility of raising my little brothers was thrust upon me with only nine months’ notice. I was a kid raising kids and I recognize I f*cked up. But I was seven, I was eight. I was nine. I was sixteen. I was a kid, too. I was a kid going through one of the greatest changes anyone could ever go through. I was trying to figure out who I was, how to just be but I was still shackled with a responsibility to support, nurture, and protect my little brother from the same pitfalls and dangers I actively faced every day. I did what I could with my limited resources and I f*cked it up. My brothers probably have traumas like I do because of me but, I mean, that’s what happens when the blind lead the blind, when the children are left alone to crusade among themselves. I did my best but as a kid who was not equipped at all for that large of a responsibility that soon in his life, I’m certain I f*cked up. I was a kid. My mother as not. It wasn’t fair that the burden of her responsibility fell almost solely on my shoulders. I tried and f*cked up because I was a brother playing at a father. I learned on the job with them. I’m confident, now, that I’ll be a fantastic dad but it’s probably to the detriment of my brothers. What’s my mother’s excuse?
Do I believe my mother loves me? I still don’t know if I can answer that question. I believe that my mother believes she loves me and that’s as far as I can extend myself. I can’t reconcile the abuse ii suffered as a kid, with anything less that negligence on her part. I believe that, in her heat of hearts, she does feel bad about my brothers and I’s shared suffrage. I believe that she’s remorseful about it and that there is a semblance of guilt. I believe she did the very best with the tools he had on hand to be as good a parent as she could. It’s just her best was bad and I’m f*cked for it. The illest thing about this situation? I don’t begrudge her for it at all. I don’t want anything from her other than acknowledgement. But, to this day, as recently as yesterday, she tries to play the victim in this situation, that it wasn’t easy for her either. That she tried her best. That my brothers and I survived. Like, “we’re not dead so I did good”. That level of logic is mindbogglingly infuriating. As a parent, aren’t you supposed to want your children to thrive and not just “didn’t die”? That bar is a little low, right? As a parent, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get top throw your hands in the air and say, “I tried”, especially when the extent of your attempt was dismissal and denial.
As a parent, you’re supposed to do what must be done to make sure your children feel loved, safe, and are healthy. When I was a kid, my mom was a beacon through the abuse, or so I believed. She was a light that was supposed to guide me to a safer shore. As I got older, that light dimmed and dimmed until I couldn’t see it anymore. As an adult, I recognize that my mother was never the lighthouse I hoped he would be. I know now that she is just another flawed human. She has her own issues and traumas that she needs to work through. Those incidents held her back and forced her perspective to be the way it is today. I understand all of that and oi want her to get the help she needs to be better. What I don’t understand is why she would bring me into this world, with the person she chose, and throw me to the wolves like she did, without exorcising those personal demons first. If my mother had sought help for the toxicity of her own childhood, maybe mine wouldn’t have been so f*cked up. As a parent, you’re supposed to sacrifice whatever it takes to make sure your kid is good in life. If you’re not willing to do that, if self-sacrifice isn’t your minimum when it comes to raising your kids, then you shouldn’t have kids. I don’t have kids. I’m wildly selfish, man. I understand that about myself, wholeheartedly. Bringing a life into my life like that, right now, would be ridiculous. There’re too many games to play, too many trips to take, too many movies to see. I’m not willing to sacrifice any of that so I don’t. Eventually, when I’m ready, I will be able to do those things and make those sacrifices. When i’m done living for myself, I might be able to live for someone else, but you must be honest about that level of responsibility before you commit. Children aren’t houseplants or accessories. You must be sure you can do what’s necessary, so they can thrive without worry, or you might as well get a cat or something. Eventually, hopefully, I’ll b able to be that for my child and some thirty years down the line, if I ask my kid if they believe I love them, hopefully they won’t have to hesitate. Hopefully, that won’t even be a question that needs to be asked.
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Doubt
My mom asked me once if I believed she loved me, and I had to think about it. My hesitation hurt her feelings, which I imagine it would, but the life I have led on her watch deserved a legitimate consideration. It’s no secret that I’m an abused kid. My father was horrible to me for as long as I can remember. There are accounts that he threw a tantrum when I was born because my mother refused to name me an III. She told me once that he confided an extreme jealousy for me because took up so much of her time. I was an infant at the time. I’ve sighted countless examples of his cruelty towards me growing up but, key in all of this, is the fact it happened on my mother’s watch. She like this mad do these things to me. I told her early on, around age five or six, that this man was beating me, and I was afraid of him. She shrugged it off as a kid who got spanked too hard and didn’t like it. Of course, I didn’t like to get hit, no one does but these weren’t spankings. These were beatings that lasted ten to twenty minutes at a time. My father left welts on me and my mother turned a blind eye to this sh*t. It wasn’t until my younger brothers revealed they knew how to cook crack cocaine, a skillset taught to them by our dad, at the age of nine, that she finally acted. Guess who also knew how to cook the cocoa since he was about six years old? This guy!
When my mother asked if I believed she loved me, I wanted to say yes. Of course, you want to say yes. Mother is God in the eyes of a child. But I’m not a kid anymore and my f*cked up experiences lead to doubt. It’s wild taking in the evolution of the relationship you have with your parents as you grow and mature. My mom hasn’t been a mom to me for probably decades but seeing her realize her place in my life is puzzling. Like, I grew up in the struggle. I thought life WAS struggle, and then I met my lady who didn’t grow up like I did. Who had a completely different set of life experiences and it was jarring. Being with her made me realize I was an abused kid. Up until that point, it was just life, but people don’t live like that. My normal was not normal. It was violent and cruel. It’s then you realize, with an adult understanding, that your parent were bad parents. How do you reconcile that? My dad, sure. He was an abusive coward. But my mom, though? Yes. Yes, she was. She enabled my father to do the things he did. She made very poor life choices because of her ego or because she cared too much about what other people think. She vied for the approval of her parents, to the detriment of her m personal, parenting. As a kid, when you’re in it, you don’t understand this stuff. AS an adult, looking back, you kind of marvel at how incredibly human your parents are and just lament.
Mother is God in the eyes of a child, but I haven’t been a child since I was seven years old. Not since the responsibility of raising my little brothers was thrust upon me with only nine months’ notice. I was a kid raising kids and I recognize I f*cked up. But I was seven, I was eight. I was nine. I was sixteen. I was a kid, too. I was a kid going through one of the greatest changes anyone could ever go through. I was trying to figure out who I was, how to just be but I was still shackled with a responsibility to support, nurture, and protect my little brother from the same pitfalls and dangers I actively faced every day. I did what I could with my limited resources and I f*cked it up. My brothers probably have traumas like I do because of me but, I mean, that’s what happens when the blind lead the blind, when the children are left alone to crusade among themselves. I did my best but as a kid who was not equipped at all for that large of a responsibility that soon in his life, I’m certain I f*cked up. I was a kid. My mother as not. It wasn’t fair that the burden of her responsibility fell almost solely on my shoulders. I tried and f*cked up because I was a brother playing at a father. I learned on the job with them. I’m confident, now, that I’ll be a fantastic dad but it’s probably to the detriment of my brothers. What’s my mother’s excuse?
Do I believe my mother loves me? I still don’t know if I can answer that question. I believe that my mother believes she loves me and that’s as far as I can extend myself. I can’t reconcile the abuse ii suffered as a kid, with anything less that negligence on her part. I believe that, in her heat of hearts, she does feel bad about my brothers and I’s shared suffrage. I believe that she’s remorseful about it and that there is a semblance of guilt. I believe she did the very best with the tools he had on hand to be as good a parent as she could. It’s just her best was bad and I’m f*cked for it. The illest thing about this situation? I don’t begrudge her for it at all. I don’t want anything from her other than acknowledgement. But, to this day, as recently as yesterday, she tries to play the victim in this situation, that it wasn’t easy for her either. That she tried her best. That my brothers and I survived. Like, “we’re not dead so I did good”. That level of logic is mindbogglingly infuriating. As a parent, aren’t you supposed to want your children to thrive and not just “didn’t die”? That bar is a little low, right? As a parent, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get top throw your hands in the air and say, “I tried”, especially when the extent of your attempt was dismissal and denial.
As a parent, you’re supposed to do what must be done to make sure your children feel loved, safe, and are healthy. When I was a kid, my mom was a beacon through the abuse, or so I believed. She was a light that was supposed to guide me to a safer shore. As I got older, that light dimmed and dimmed until I couldn’t see it anymore. As an adult, I recognize that my mother was never the lighthouse I hoped he would be. I know now that she is just another flawed human. She has her own issues and traumas that she needs to work through. Those incidents held her back and forced her perspective to be the way it is today. I understand all of that and oi want her to get the help she needs to be better. What I don’t understand is why she would bring me into this world, with the person she chose, and throw me to the wolves like she did, without exorcising those personal demons first. If my mother had sought help for the toxicity of her own childhood, maybe mine wouldn’t have been so f*cked up. As a parent, you’re supposed to sacrifice whatever it takes to make sure your kid is good in life. If you’re not willing to do that, if self-sacrifice isn’t your minimum when it comes to raising your kids, then you shouldn’t have kids. I don’t have kids. I’m wildly selfish, man. I understand that about myself, wholeheartedly. Bringing a life into my life like that, right now, would be ridiculous. There’re too many games to play, too many trips to take, too many movies to see. I’m not willing to sacrifice any of that so I don’t. Eventually, when I’m ready, I will be able to do those things and make those sacrifices. When i’m done living for myself, I might be able to live for someone else, but you must be honest about that level of responsibility before you commit. Children aren’t houseplants or accessories. You must be sure you can do what’s necessary, so they can thrive without worry, or you might as well get a cat or something. Eventually, hopefully, I’ll b able to be that for my child and some thirty years down the line, if I ask my kid if they believe I love them, hopefully they won’t have to hesitate. Hopefully, that won’t even be a question that needs to be asked.
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Cry, baby, cry
William Shakespeare and James B. Grant both said, “All the world’s a stage.” Shakespeare was referring to the thing the players stand upon; JBG was referencing the stage as a synonym for a phase, and usually said it in reference to children. One of his other favorite sayings, up there with “small corrections,” was “This too shall pass.” And he really believed that. Nothing lasts forever because, indeed, everything is a stage, all things always progressing however slowly or quickly into their next evolution.
Depending on the context, this can be either a great relief or deeply discomfiting. When things are glorious and working like a well-oiled machine, enjoy it because it may not (probably won’t) last. When things are wretched, relax—it won’t be this way forever.
With regards to our little 10-month-old player, her current stage is sleepus interruptus, and has been for a while now. In the beginning of the end of her (and our) great sleeping, it was sickness, then it was rolling over, followed by sitting up, and now standing. I understand walking brings much of the same. Whatever new skill she is mastering, whatever the new phase or leap or growth spurt, it has meant that those near-silent nights of baby-snarfling all the way through to dawn are a distant memory. Sleep, we hardly knew ye!
I know I’ve said before, and I really meant, that Mira is not a crier. She just… didn’t do it. After a month of observing and interacting with her, the daycare asked me how they’d know she was unhappy, and I said, “She’ll cry.” She just wasn’t often unhappy.
Given the general lack of crying in all realms, “cry it out” at nighttime hasn’t really been in our parental lexicon. At the same time, though, we acknowledged that crying was actually a good thing, and something she should be doing to release the tensions of the day and as a means of communicating with us. In those rare instances where she did shed a tear or two, we didn’t exactly encourage it, but we did let her get it all the way out, and we certainly paid attention. (The first, and maybe most memorable, time she awoke crying, she’d vomited in her crib and was rolling around in it.)
Since then, the waking-and-crying in the night has happened so often and in so many different ways, for reasons we can occasionally pinpoint but just as often can’t possibly fathom, and it almost never involves vomiting on herself. It has now become the rule, instead of the exception.
So last week, for only the second time in our brief career as parents, we found ourselves so utterly exhausted and without answers that we stopped the spinning wheel of possible solutions on, you guessed it: crying it out. In addition to feeling like Pat and I were going to break if we didn’t start sleeping for more than three hours at a time, we were also thinking it might be useful for her to hone her self-soothing skills before out big-and-imminent international trip, which begins Thursday.
My mom told me that when she and my dad did cry-it-out with my sister, she remembers wanting to break a jar of granola over his head because it was so excruciating. Her anecdote made me wonder about the jar of granola. (Ah, the 70s. Did she also want to strangle him with the macrame hanging-plant holder?) Also, why my poor dad was on the receiving end of her aggression?
38 years after my dad almost got cerealed about the skull, I completely understood her murderous inclinations, born of complete helplessness and frustration. The most insidious thing about cry-it-out is once you start, you can’t cave or else you reward the crying. That knowledge alone was enough to make me want to wail right along with Mira.
That first night, we were spared too much agony—she only cried for 30 minutes, after which we drank martinis. (Did my parents eat granola after Mirrin finally fell to sleep?) It was early morning, after she’d nursed and wouldn’t go back to sleep that my resolve shattered. She had been crying off, but mostly on, for close to two hours when I finally scooped her up. She was asleep within minutes, arms wrapped tightly around my neck, and I renounced cry-it-out for good.
Out one side of their mouths, experts say, “Go with your gut; do what works for you,” while making very convincing arguments with ample supporting evidence that if you don’t mind the research, you’re gonna fuck your kid up six ways to Sunday.Or else they go back on their own wisdom, engaging in a terrible double-speak that feels like psychological torture. (Remember how we convinced you that Baby will break if she doesn’t nap exclusively in her crib? Well, ACTUALLY Baby needs to be adaptable and have the ability to sleep in a mop bucket should circumstances dictate. Remember when we said that Baby is resilient and flexible and hardy and you shouldn’t stress about inadvertently doing permanent damage to Him/Her because you’re a total newb? Here are One Million and One Surprising and Unavoidable Ways You Absolutely WILL Screw Your Kid Up. #1: Caving during cry it out.)
If listening to her cry herself to the point of gasping was a low low of the last ten months, then holding her tightly and ending those tears was definitely a high high. For an incurable codependent like myself, letting another soul feel anguish while knowing full well that I can end it—and how—is maybe the most agonizing thing I can conceive of. That, or being locked in a coffin full of spiders. So yeah, I was selfish and probably did irreversible damage and Pat and I have not slept through the night since.
You might say we are back at square one, except I don’t feel that way. In the wake of this failed sleep training (and god, I pray, not *because of it*) Mira has evolved into a stage of mild separation anxiety and more pronounced stranger danger. As such, she has been doing her fair share of crying during the daytime, too. This has highlighted for me that there are plenty of tears to be cried—healthy, expressive, tension-busting tears—over things I can’t fix or solve or banish or prevent (the falling! My heart.). So for those things I can cure with a cuddle, I’m gonna. Sorry, experts. Sorry, Mira. #momfail
Yesterday was Pat’s birthday, and we had a friend coming to stay with Mira while we went to dinner. Friday, we’d visited Pat’s new office and she’d wailed at each and every new person that spoke to her. We had friends for lunch on Saturday and she screamed almost nonstop the two hours they were here. So yeah, we weren’t feeling extra confident about going out and leaving her. We got her to sleep, though, and left detailed instructions in the event (the inevitability, really) she woke. Then caught an Uber, and more or less resigned ourselves to getting a call and coming right back home.
Three hours later, we were home after an incredible meal and the report was: Mira squawked on two separate occasions but both times she feel back to sleep on her own. No crying, no stranger danger, zero trauma.
Of course, she proceeded to wake up as soon as we climbed into our bed, and a further three times after that. She woke this morning an hour earlier than usual and was super cranky until I dropped her at day care, where she turned on the smiles and went right to her carer with nary a whimper.
A few other old chestnuts come to mind:
You never know. It’s worth a shot. Never say never. You can sleep when you’re dead.
In the meantime, we’ll let her cry when she needs to, and we’ll console her when we can. Even at the expense of our own sleep. Given the choice, I’d obviously rather cry myself than make her cry unnecessarily. And while I’m crying, I’ll try to remember that this is only a stage. Nothing lasts forever. This, too, shall pass. Everything will feel better in the morning. Everything feels better after a good night’s…. wait. Let’s roll that back.
It’s only a stage. Nothing lasts forever. This too shall pass.
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