I do love the concept of the mind control aspect of tsp could very much be a real and existing thing that the narrator saw and was like yknow what that would be make for a great story. and then proceeded to take that entire office building and put it into a video game. and make that story about only one employee while erasing the rest. silliest shit ever

The Magical Word of JKR

In this post, I want to point out all the inconsistencies of the world that JKR has created. Some of us had been worshiping her for so long. But JKR made mistakes, not only outside her world, but inside.

Owls for muggleborns. Sending a letter through an owl seems to be something common in The Wizarding World. But why do children with a muggle background need to go back in time and use them when they could use a phone? Why can't students use any muggle technology? I know wizards are anti muggle and magic does not allow these devices to function at Hogwarts, but why not?

Drunk portraits. How could portraits get drunk? Did artists paint vessels and digestive systems for them too? How can they bleed? They are portraits with voices and personality based on real people yeah. But they are not alive. They don’t bleed or get drunk.

The trace. Wizards under 17 aren’t supposed to do magic outside Hogwarts. But The Ministry doesn’t seem to control this by which wand did it. But by location. Since Dobby did magic in the Chamber of Secrets, and they blamed Harry for it. So, what happens with pureblood kids? They are allowed to use magic outside school because their families are supposed to, so they wouldn’t trace them. So it seems unfair for muggleborns not to be able to practice magic. Since they are the only members of their family that would do it.

Hogwarts being the only school. There is only one school in all Britain for magical people. Yet there seems to be very few students when there should be a lot. And it doesn’t make sense that Hogwarts is the only choice. Or Hogwarts, or homeschooling.

I don’t understand the population of Magical Folks. It seems little because most of the wizarding families are known. There are only 28 pureblood famous families. They even practise inbreeding, they are all related. But why is that, if the wizard gene is dominant? There are more half bloods and muggleborns than squibs. So the magical population should be as large as the muggle one, even more.

Hogwarts Houses are cool. But the way kids are sorted doesn’t make sense. They get sorted when they are eleven. Seems pretty young to me to form traits and criteria that might change as they grow. Also, let’s say 100 kids enter Hogwarts one year. They won’t be sorted equally 25/25/25/25. Because according to personalities and traits, there could be 60 Gryffindors and 10 Ravenclaws, and 4 Slyhterins, and 25 Hufflepuffs. What if one year, there are no Slytherins for example?

Also, sharing a dorm, common room and classes with people from your same house (same personality and traits) seems boring and unhealthy. Having friends with different personalities, traits and beliefs should help you grow and mature. Sometimes friendships are built between two opposite people. And separating houses, forces students to just hang out with people from their houses, not others.

Love potions. These are the wizarding equivalent of drugs. Think about it. Forcing someone to show love for you is very much like drugging someone and forcing them to do stuff against their will. Love potions can permit things like raping. Something that happened to Tom Sr. by Merope. It is horrible. Yet the wizarding world permits their selling and consumption without a problem. And what’s worse, they teach how to brew it in school to children! A potion like that shouldn’t be allowed or taught.

Azkaban being the only punishment. It seems whether you are a dangerous criminal like a mass murderer or just someone that stole something once, you get the same punishment. Azkaban. An inhumane place where dementors live, and make prisoners go insane, live their worst nightmares or suck their soul. Even characters who were under the imperius curse like Stanley Shunpike. Or even The Marauders would’ve gone to Azkaban if their animagus secret was discovered. No matter what your crime is, always the worst punishment: Azkaban.

Wizards hiding from muggles. The Statue of Secrecy in the Wizarding World seems to be important. But I may ask, how can wizards hide from muggles if they don’t know anything about them? Pureblood Wizards don’t have a clue how muggles live, behave, dress, talk. Not even Arthur Weasley who works in that Department. Yet they want to be unnoticed by muggles? For example, each time a wizard dresses like a muggle they do it wrong, using colorful clothes. Wouldn’t it be suspicious? Like even Vernon sees people in cloaks in book 1, celebrating. Also, if there are a lot of muggleborns, shouldn’t more muggles know about wizards?

It is totally inhumane to just obliviate muggles each time they see something. That spell should have some consequences in their brains. Like for example, Hermione’s parents must’ve had mayhem after their minds were modified.

Memories in pensieves are not supposed to be accurate. Memories are from our point of view. From the perspective of people who lived that memory. When Harry sees Snape’s memories or Bob Ogden’s memories, they seem to be clear. Harry can see Bob and Snape in those memories when they should be seen through their eyes, they are their memories. How could Snape remember himself, see himself. You get my point? Also, memories are subjective, not objective. We remember what impacted us the most, we forget about details we don’t care about. There are feelings involved.

Not having another education after Hogwarts. You graduate from Hogwarts at eighteen. Eighteen! And you're supposed to have figured out what you want to do for the rest of your life. Why aren’t there Wizard Universities? Wizards only have 7 years of education and that’s all. Nothing before, nothing after (unless you’re muggleborn). Seems that the wizard community doesn’t care about education that much. With only seven years of education, are you suddenly prepared for the rest of your life? I don’t think so.

Adding to the last point, wizards only teach about magic. What about math, wouldn’t they need it to count their money, or take care of their finances? What about English, spelling, grammar? Not every kid had the privilege to be homeschooled by their parents before. What about Sex Ed? I think it is important for teens that age to be careful with their sex lives.

Quidditch being the only sport in the wizarding world. Quidditch is cool, I get it. But it is not for everyone. Seems that if you want to be a sports person in the wizarding world, you only have that option. Either you like Quidditch or nothing.Shouldn’t there be other sports? In the muggle world we have tons: football, basquet, tennis, swimming, running, etc.

Love protection is not common. Lily sacrificed herself for Harry. She died for him and that love protection saved his life. Why is Harry the only one to experience it? Is it because of the prophecy? I mean Lily is not the only one who has sacrificed herself for love. Not in the story, not in History. Then why aren’t there more people with lighting scars walking around?

Why don’t wizards cure things with magic like eyesight? They have a potion that grows bones back. But they cannot cure Harry’s eyesight? And don’t say that it is because eyes are connected to the soul, that’s a lame excuse. In the muggle world, eyesight can be cured with surgery.

Hogwarts Express. Yeah, we all wanted to ride the train to Hogwarts. It is part of the experience right? But what if you live in Scotland already? Why bother traveling to London to King Cross Station to take a train if you already live there? It seems like a waste of time. Is there a provided transport for kids who live in Scotland? What about those who don't live in London? What if Scotland is nearer to them than King Cross?

Ghosts. They shouldn’t exist. It is not very well explained how you become a ghost. But it doesn’t make sense that they exist and yet many characters died and didn’t become one.

Discrimination against magical creatures. We know how magical creatures are seen in the Wizarding World. Discrimination exists. But the problem is that Jkr never does anything to fix this.Not with werewolves, not with half giants, surely not with house-elves. The only issue that the war solved was the discrimination against muggleborns.

And house-elves liking their slavery is problematic. It is saying that slavery is right as long as the victim accepts it. She created S.P.E.W and never properly addressed the issue.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous, yet students have detention there. Dumbledore says at the beginning of each year that the Forest is out of bounds. So why would you send students to detention there, Dumbles? Also, building a school near a forest full of dangerous beasts: werewolves, acromantulas, centaurs, seems kind of risky for children. Not every child obeys the rules. Look at the Marauders spending every full moon there.

How did Hagrid come to be? Hagrid is half giant. Meaning that his father is human, his mother is a giant… Ehemm… Excuse me, but how do you have sex with a giant? That’s physically impossible. How does Hagrid exist?

Male veelas? We are only introduced to female veelas in the Wizarding World. Veelas are these beautiful women that men feel attracted to, they seem in trance by their beauty, and they are not responsible for their actions. It seems to me that JKR is saying that men should not be accountable for their actions when they see a pretty girl, because it is her fault? Pretty feminist, JKR. Also, veelas are dangerous creatures. How do humans procreate with them and have half veelas or a quarter of a veela? Are there male veelas too?

Teachers not having spouses or kids. It is a stupid stereotype that teachers are sad non social people, who are only teaching because they don’t have a choice. Like they are allowed to have social lives, date, get married and have children, right? Name one Hogwarts teacher who is married with kids. They all seem pretty single. And I get it, being single is not a bad thing. But all of them being single just because they are teachers in a boarding school? Just because it was convenient to the author? Only McGonagall married once, but her husband died a few years after.

Abusive teachers. Speaking of teachers, why would Hogwarts allow incompetent teachers that are abusive (Snape), and or are dangerous for kids. None DADA teacher had teaching experience before. And since there is no further education than Hogwarts, how do teachers get prepared for the job? Teaching is not about knowing a lot of stuff about the subject, but knowing how to treat children.

Muggle vs Wizard music. What is the difference between muggle and wizard music? I never understood that. Is it the fact that wizards play music with magic? If so, why would instruments exist? Why would they play instruments? If anyone can make a spell to produce music, then anyone can be a musician. The only difference that I find is that wizard music has wizard related lyrics. Which is a stupid difference. Wizards could write songs about muggles. Muggles could write songs about wizards.

Secret Keeper. The Fidelius Charm should be a spell to hide yourself from others if you are in danger. Period. There shouldn’t be such a thing as a secret keeper. Why? Why would someone else need to know the place you are hiding? James and Lily shouldn’t have trusted anyone with their location. Not even Sirius. Not even someone they trusted, because Sirius or anyone could’ve died and passed the secret to the others. Like, it doesn’t make any sense. And also, how could Bill and Arthur be their own secret keepers but not James and Lily?

Magical therapists. Healers seem to cure physical maladies or illness pretty fine, but what about mental health? And I am not talking about mental problems because of magic. Like Frank, Alice, Lockheart whose minds were affected by spells. I’m talking about mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, adhd, ptsd, trauma etc. Don’t tell me wizards don’t suffer that. What about Remus, Sirius, Harry? Who treats these things in the wizarding world?

Time Turner. Only exists for the plot. Otherwise it is useless, stupid and confusing. Time traveling confuses the mind. Also, we don’t exactly know how it works. Is it a domino effect? Do the things you do back in time affect the present? They should. Or does it create different timelines, like it is said in Cursed Child? Also, why not use time turners for important situations? For example, save important people from dying, go back to check events of a crime and see if they are true.

Veritaserum. Wizards have a truth potion and they won’t use it. They should use it on trials to take the truth out of criminals, to see if the accusants are innocent or not. They should’ve used it on each member of the Order to find out who the spy was. They should’ve used it to discover who was the Slytherin heir when the Chamber was opened. They should’ve used it on Harry when he came back from the Graveyard to prove Voldemort was back. Why would that shit exist anyway?

Incest families. Pureblood families, or at least some of them are supposed to practise inbreeding. But if you look at the Black Family Tree, the only Black-Black marriage is between Orion and Walburga. Just one. And even if this was the case, shouldn’t this inbreeding have consequences? I don’t know if it’s the magical gene or what but The Blacks and Malfoys seem pretty fine.

If you know more and you want to add them, feel free to do so. This is a critique to improve this word and fandom ourselves. Even JKR's world is cool and wonderful, it is full of flaws that we need to speak about.

Ruined - Jamie Benn - Part 2

Word Count: 5,716

POV: Jamie

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW, talks about losing virginity

Notes: Here is the next part right away. Hope you guys enjoy this. Happy Reading!!!

Ruined Masterlist

Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, you headed down to the kitchen to whip up a quick protein shake before Tyler got there for your morning workout. With the season just around the corner, you’d pushed training into high gear, Tyler coming to your place every morning before you’d head off and workout with your trainer. In just a few short weeks training camp would be in full swing and you wanted to be in your best shape to make a run for the cup. But the Stanley Cup wasn’t on your mind as you turned the blender on, the grinding sound echoing through the empty house. Empty was the keyword there. You were tired of being alone, tired of going out to the clubs, ending the night with some mindless hookup. Maybe it was the fact that Jordie had finally popped the question to his long-time girlfriend Jess and the two seemed blissfully happy, that was making you want to settle down, or maybe it was seeing your sister with her little girl and longing for a family of your own. Whatever it was, you wished that you could just meet the perfect woman and fall madly in love. 

 The problem was you were too picky. They were either too tall or too blonde or maybe it was not blonde enough, then there were the ones that didn’t talk or were too chatty. You seemed to find something wrong with each and every woman you dated. Hell, your longest relationship only lasted six months and you’d only kept her around that long for appearance sake. You wanted a meaningful relationship with the girl of your dreams. It didn’t seem like much to ask for.

 “Hey, I see you're getting new neighbors.” Tyler’s voice brought you out of your musings and you glanced at him as he walked into your kitchen. “Well not neighbors exactly, since it’s like two houses up, but the woman who’s moving in is hot as hell.”

 “Do you mean in Doc Lundin’s place?” Dr. Lundin had been the team doctor for the Stars for the last several years and had finally decided to retire. You’d heard his practice had been looking at a young and upcoming doctor to take his place but didn’t know that they’d hired anyone. 

 “Yep,” Tyler finally answered. “Must be the new doctor’s hot wife. It’s a shame she’s married because, DAMN!” He gave a low whistle of approval. “I’m telling you, I’d be all over that.”

 “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

 “We’re in an open relationship.” All you could do was roll your eyes, for all Tyler’s relationships were open, at least on his end. “But hey, if you wanted a crack at her, I’d give you first dibs, since it’s been a while.”

 “Gee thanks,” your sarcasm was not lost on your best friend.

 “I’m just saying it’s been a bit since you’ve gone out with anyone.” This you already knew and were just contemplating moments ago. “Maybe we should go for a run while she’s still out directing the movers.”

 “Why don’t we leave the new doc’s wife in peace at least for a day or so.”

 “You’re no fun.” Tyler downed half your drink but luckily, you’d made enough for another glass, before you headed out to your pool house that had now been turned into a gym. The two of you spent the morning and afternoon training before Tyler headed back to his house.

 It was just after dinner when you decided to go for a run, now that the sun was setting and the Dallas heat wouldn’t make your shoes melt to the pavement. You thought you’d head up to see Jordie and Jess, who only lived about six blocks away. It would be a short little run, but still, a way to get some exercise in. As you stepped out of your house, it was still a bit steamy, so you tossed your shirt off, and flipped your cap backward before heading up the street. The moving truck seemed to be gone, so you guess whoever it was that captured Tyler’s attention was busy inside unpacking. You were so absorbed in checking out the house you didn’t realize that someone was coming around the corner at you until your bodies collided. Your hands immediately went to her hips to steady her. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching…” you started to say while she was apologizing to you at the same time. It wasn’t until you looked at her face that recognition hit, then all words died on the tip of your tongue. “(Y/N), is that you?” She didn’t need to answer for you to know that it was her. This was your (Y/N), the first girl you ever kissed, the first girl you ever slept with, and the only girl you ever loved. Though you’d ruined all that. Standing there, you took in all of her features and you were reminded of how much you’d loved her back then. How much that first and only time with her had meant to you. 

 You’d been so nervous driving all the way to Vancouver with (Y/N), but she was more nervous. So, you took her hand and held it the whole way, occasionally dropping kisses here and there. The foot that wasn’t driving, bounced uncontrollably up and down with anticipation of the night to come. You were pretty sure you were wearing a hole in the flooring of the car. It had to be the longest car ride you’d ever had. “Did you maybe want to get something to eat before we head to the house?” You asked (Y/N) hoping to break some of the silence that was filled only by the stereo in the car. 

 “Yeah, we could do that.” She glanced over at you and gave you a weak smile.

 “(Y/N), we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You totally meant the words you’d just spoken, for you in no way wanted her to feel pressured about having sex with you. This should be something you both wanted.

 “No, I want to. Don’t you?” Her voice picked up a little bit, the sound more reassuring than the smile she gave only moments ago.

 “I want to, too.” God, you sounded like an idiot. “I went to the pharmacy and got protection, so you don’t have to worry.”

 “Oh, you didn’t have to.” This time it was your turn to look over at her, trying to see if you misunderstood her statement before scanning the road again. “I’m on the pill, have been for a while.” She said by way of explanation. “My mom thought it would be best, once she found out I was actually dating someone, but we can use the condoms too if you want.”

 “I mean…uh…” were you really having a conversation about birth control methods? You supposed it was the adult thing to do. “If you think we should, we can.”

 (Y/N) turned in the seat to fully look at you then. “Ok, so this will probably sound stupid.” Your head bobbed back and forth between the road and the girl you were in love with.

 “(Y/N), nothing you say is stupid. You’re the smartest person I know.”

 She leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Thanks,” she took a deep breath. “Anyhow, I kind of don’t want to use a condom if we don’t have to, at least this time.” You weren’t quite following her thinking so you remained silent for her to explain. “Like, it’s both our first times, so there’s not a chance of us getting a sexually transmitted disease or anything. We just really have to worry about getting pregnant. Which since I’m on the pill, and before you say anything, I take it the same time every day, so no worries there. I think we’re safe on that account.” You nodded your agreement, for it was just like (Y/N) to be so precise about something. “But the real reason I don’t want you to use it is…” she hesitated, almost as if she was embarrassed to tell you why. She certainly had to know that there was nothing to be ashamed of, especially with what the two of you were about to do. 

 “Just tell me (Y/N). I promise I won’t laugh or make fun of you or anything.” You squeezed her hand giving her a little added courage.

 “I just want to feel you.” Her face started to turn a combination of pink and red, which looked totally adorable on her. “You know nothing in between us. I just really want to know what it feels like.” Fuck, you wanted that too. 

 “Yeah, that does sound nice.” You tried to downplay it though inside you were a jumble of nerves now, and thinking about what it would feel like to be inside her only made those magnify. What if you spent the moment your cock dipped inside her pussy? What if she didn’t cum? There were so many thoughts whirling around in your head, that you were ready to explode, and in more ways than one. 

 “So, then you agree? No condom.” (Y/N) asked you, drawing you back to the present.

 “Yeah, no condom.” The car grew silent again and you could feel your hand sweating as it held (Y/N)’s. There was only about another half-hour left in the drive. “So, where were you thinking to get something to eat.” You changed the subject hoping to take both of your minds off what would happen later. You stopped off at a little burger joint that (Y/N)’s family always went to when they were in town. You couldn’t stop grinning at each other all through the meal. It was really quite ridiculous. 

 Afterward, you headed over to the house. You carried both your bags in. “Umm…where should I put these?”

 “Oh, I don’t really have a bedroom here. I just sleep in one of the guest rooms, so we can just use one of them. They’re upstairs.” You followed her up the stairs, as she led the way to the bedroom. Inside was a massive four-poster king-size bed that had curtains draping down from it. Both of you just sort of stared at it for a full minute, letting the weight of what was about to happen sink in. “You can just put our stuff over there.” She pointed to the window that had two chairs sitting by it.

 It was late in the afternoon and you weren’t really sure if you should wait until dark to do this or start now. Everything felt too planned out, except for the exact timing. “Did you want to…” you trailed off, unable to put your thoughts into words. 

 “Oh…umm…yeah,” (Y/N) answered and you took a step closer to her. Your hands went to her waist, as you pulled her closer to you, before dipping your head down to kiss her lips. It was awkward, just like it had been the first time you kissed, but then your tongue slipped inside her mouth and you felt her melt into you. She pulled back though suddenly. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She stepped over to her bag, rifling around inside. “I brought these.” She pulled out a couple of glass candles. “I thought…well I don’t know what I thought, but you know, they always have them lit in the movies.”

 You smiled over at her, taking a couple of them and setting them on the nightstand and dresser. “Do you have something to light them with?”

 “Oh, one sec.” She took off downstairs and you could hear her rummaging around the empty house. You gazed at the bed. Should you turn the covers down? Maybe take some of the pillows off? You were contemplating what to do when (Y/N) came back in. “I found a couple more, and this.” She held out a pack of matches and you took them, lighting the candles that she’d placed throughout the room. She pulled the blinds down on the windows and it cast the room in a romantic glow, which reminded you of the item you brought to add to the romance.

 You pulled your mp3 player out of your bag and found the love song list you’d created for tonight and turned it on. You prayed that (Y/N) wouldn’t think that it was cheesy. When you finally turned around, she had the most adorable smile on her face. As you took the couple steps to close the distance between the two of you, she took a step back, and suddenly all those nerves from the car ride were back. “There’s just one more thing.” This time she grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom. 

 While she was in there, you shucked off your shoes, then decided to get rid of your socks as well, since it would just be awkward to have them on. Grabbing the small bottle of Listerine, you had packed, you swished it around in your mouth then looked around for someplace to spit it out. There wasn’t any, so you just swallowed the small amount, coughing as you did. Lastly, you threw off the sweatshirt you had on. The fewer clothes you had to take off the better was your thought. You were tugging down the plain black t-shirt you had on, when (Y/N) stepped back into the bedroom, clad in a short silk robe. Your mouth went dry. Thoughts of what was underneath or what wasn’t filled your brain, both the one in your head and down below. Fuck, you needed to think of something else or this was going to end before it even started. You tamped down the lust that was threatening to boil over and walked towards (Y/N). “You look,” you shook your head trying to come up with the right word but there was only one. “Beautiful.”

 “Thanks,” she mumbled back as a blush stained her cheeks. “I’m nervous.”

 “Me too,” you admitted and you wiped your palms off before reaching for her. They slid around her waist then up her back as you looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

 “Yeah,” she breathed out knowing that you were asking if she still wanted to have sex. You kissed her then like you had so many times in the past. Her arms slid up around your neck and you deepened the kiss. When you heard her moan, you let your hands roam to the belt of her robe, which came easily undone. Your hands roamed up her sides where you felt her lace bra. You were dying to know what she looked like in it. All the times that you and (Y/N) had done anything sexual together, she’d never been completely naked nor had you. It was always something hurried in the back of your car or on the couch when no one was home. Now though, you could drink your fill of her as you were alone with nothing and no one to interrupt you. 

 Gently, you pulled back from the kiss so you could gaze at her. Her body was covered in white lace, and you wondered if she had done it on purpose; sort of a nod to giving her virginity away to you. Unconsciously, you licked your lips as you took in the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was sheer perfection. “Damn,” you hissed out. “How did I get so lucky?” She giggled at your comment then let the robe slide off her shoulders; the view now even better than a second ago and you were finding it hard to breathe. 

 You felt yourself get hard just standing there staring at her. “Jame,” she said breaking you out of the spell. 

 “Yeah…uh…sorry.” You blinked hard, then took her hand and led her over to the bed, where you kissed her again. Slowly, you leaned her back onto the mattress, as your body hovered over hers. This part was nothing new, you’d made out with (Y/N) hundreds of times. It was what came next you were unsure of. Her hands slid under your shirt, and she bunched it up so that you could climb out of it. It fell to the ground somewhere in the bedroom. She then reached for the button on your jeans, but you knew if she took them off now, you’d be done. So, you rolled her to her side and followed her, unclasping her bra the minute her back was free. Your legs tangled with hers and you felt her hips gently rock into your thigh. She wanted this just as much as you did but you needed to make it good.

 Last night, you’d pulled Jordie aside and told him of your plans, purely so you could ask his advice. He’d chirped you, of course, for not having done the deed with (Y/N) sooner. But when you threatened to just leave, he stopped. He gave you a ton of information, go down on her first to help her relax, make sure she was wet before you even tried to stick your dick in her, go slow because it will probably hurt her, and the last bit was, make sure you didn’t bust your load too soon. The last part was the one you were truly worried about.

 (Y/N)’s bra now forgotten, you focused your attention there as you twisted both of your bodies so that she was now lying flat on her back. Kissing your way down her neck, you first took one nipple and then the other into your mouth. She moaned and it went straight to your groin. Thank god you still had your jeans on or you’d had spent right then and there. There were times you’d spend a good hour, just toying with breast but tonight was not going to be one of them. Working your way down her stomach, you kissed her right above where her panties were. The cute little white lace panties barely covered her pussy, and your mouth salivated just thinking about tasting her. You hooked your fingers around the elastic at the side, then started to shimmy them over her hips. (Y/N) rose up to help you rid herself of the flimsy garment.

 Setting back on your heels, you drank in the sight of her bare body. You’d never seen her totally naked before, so you took a moment to just drink in the sight of her. One leg slightly bent, her arms off to the sides, but fidgeting as you gazed at her. “Jamie?” Her voice wobbled slightly and you could tell you were making her somewhat nervous, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

 “Sorry,” you said a blush coming to your cheeks. “You’re just…perfect.” She smiled, then sat up, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss that had you wanting more. “Lie back,” you told her after kissing her breathless. She did and you took your hands and glided them from her ankles to her inner thighs; spreading her legs wide, so you could settle in between what you knew was your own little piece of heaven on earth. You grinned up at her before laying your tongue flat against her sweet little pussy, then licking between her folds. Her hips bucked forward even at the first contact. Your smile growing wider knowing that you were turning her on. You couldn’t help looking up at her as you flicked your tongue back and forth over her clit. Her hands fisted into the sheets and she moaned out something that you couldn’t quite hear. 

 Spreading her pussy lips with your fingers, you dipped your tongue inside her. “Jamie,” she cried out, and then you felt her hands threading through your hair urging you to continue. She tasted so sweet as you licked up and down her slit then flicked her clit. When she was wet and wanting more, you slid a finger inside her, mimicking what you wanted to do with your cock. Just the thought of being able to slide it into her warm and wet pussy had your cock hardening to granite. Fuck, you needed to get her off, so that you could feel her wrap around your dick before you lost your load. You made that come-hither motion, finding that spongy little spot up inside her. “Oh God,” she moaned out and you felt her legs start to tremble, as your hands kept them from clamping down on your head. Your tongue worked tirelessly on her little nub, alternating between flicking and sucking on it, as you fingered her. “I’m gonna…cum.” (Y/N) barely got the last word out and you felt her pussy spasm around your finger while her whole body bucked upwards. You felt a rush of wetness hit your lips and as much as you wanted to lick up every bit of her essence; you didn’t. 

 She slowly came back to reality with you, as you moved back up the length of her body until your lips were locked with hers. This time when her hands went to your waist you didn’t stop her as she undid first the button then the zipper. (Y/N) tried to help you shimmy out of your jeans but it was no use, so you rolled off her and wiggled out of them yourself. Her giggle went straight to your groin. “We have time, Jame.” You knew she was right but this was a moment you’d been waiting for, for a while now. You tossed the jeans and then your boxer briefs to the floor, before rolling on your side to face (Y/N).

 “I know…it’s just…” you couldn’t quite put it into words, but she nodded her understanding, bringing her hand to your cheek and slowly kissing you. Your hand roamed up her bare back, pressing her close against your skin. She felt so soft and supple in your hands, and you rolled her onto her back, your body looming over hers as your lips and tongues molded together. She moaned into your mouth, and you broke the kiss looking down at her. There was a questioning look in her eyes at your actions. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can tell me no right now and we’ll stop.” It would kill you, but all (Y/N) had to do was say the word.

 “I want this Jamie. I want you.” She cupped your face and brought it down to mere inches above hers. “I love you.”

 Your lips spread into the widest smile that ever graced your face and it had nothing to do with her saying yes to sex. “I love you too, (Y/N),” you told her and although they were only five words, they were the truest thing you’d ever spoken in your life. This wasn’t some fleeting crush that a sixteen-year-old boy had on a girl. This was true love in every sense of the word. You’d known your feelings for her the first time you’d met, now they were just intensified and what would happen next would bind you two together. 

 Her legs fell open, letting you work your way between them. Taking your cock in your hand, you slid it in between her damp pussy lips. She gasped, breaking the kiss and allowing you to stare into her eyes. “Let me know if I’m hurting you,” you hissed out as you nudged forward just an inch. Her walls surrounded your cock and it felt like heaven. Jordie was right, you just wanted to push all the way into her and shoot your load, but you couldn’t or wouldn’t do that to (Y/N). This had to be good for her too. She bit her lip, which made you wonder if she was in pain or if it felt as wonderful for her as it did for you. Another inch forward and you felt a barrier in your way. You knew enough about the female anatomy to know what it was and that going forward would change everything, not only for (Y/N) but you too. You leaned down and gave her another kiss, hoping to ease some of the tension that you could feel coursing through her body. When you felt her relax a bit into the kiss, you pressed all the way forward burying yourself deep inside her. (Y/N) froze and you pulled your head back to look at her, as all the blood in your body went directly to your penis. It took every ounce of your being, not to move. Sweat beading across your forehead as you asked, “Are you ok?” You couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. She had to be, right? 

 Finally, she inhaled deeply and it was as if you were taking a breath with her as the two of you were finally joined as one. “I think so…I...just need a second.” God, you weren’t sure you could last that long. Her breathing started to even out, as yours became irregular trying to keep your body in check. “I think…” she wiggled and you hissed in a breath. “Yeah…I’m ok…maybe if you…” she didn’t finish what she was saying as your hips moved of their own accord, just a thrust in and out.

 “Fuck.” You were cursing more at yourself for moving than anything else, but damn if she didn’t feel good. 

 “It’s ok,” (Y/N) moaned out, her arms reaching around to your back urging you on. “Keep doing that.” Those words were like music to your ears and you found yourself surging forward back into the warm cavernous heat of her pussy, then pulling back out. 

 “God you feel so…” Good, just didn’t seem like the right word, but at the same time, your brain wasn’t exactly looking for another one. Your cock started to twitch, your balls getting that familiar tightening. You couldn’t cum, not yet, you’d only been inside her for a few minutes. You wanted this to last longer; wanted her to cum too, but there was no more fighting it. “I think I’m…”

 “Yes, Jame, cum inside me.” That’s all it took and you thrust one last time before shooting your load in her as she reached up and kissed your neck. Stars clouded your vision, as your climax hit you. A strangled groan leaving your lips. You’d never came that hard in your life, as you collapsed on top of her.

 It took a second for you to basically regain consciousness. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m probably crushing you.”

 (Y/N) laughed. “Actually, I kind of like it.” Your laughter joined hers until you started to wonder if it was appropriate for sex. You could feel your cock softening inside her, so slid it out of her as you rolled to your side. She whimpered slightly.

 “Fuck, baby, did I hurt you?”

 “No, I mean…it was a little uncomfortable at first but…then it felt so good.” She was on her side now gazing at you.

 You brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “Sorry, I couldn’t last longer, so you could…well you know.” It still felt awkward talking about getting off, even after what the two of you had just done.

 “Don’t be. It felt good, Jame…really good….and maybe,” she ducked her head down into your chest, suddenly shy and mumbled something incoherent.

 “Babe,” you said, lifting her chin with your thumb and index finger. “I can’t hear what you said.”

 There was the cutest blush on her cheeks. “I just thought…maybe we could do it again. Like later tonight and well maybe tomorrow before we leave.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, her words were like a dream come true. Damn right, you wanted to do it again; as many times as she’d let you.

 “Yeah, baby. I definitely want that.” Your lips connected with her, and after what the two of you had just shared, (Y/N) not only stole your heart, but your soul. That night you made love to her again, only then you made sure she came with you, just like you did in the morning before you left. Those twenty-four hours would forever be embedded in your brain and your heart, and as you dropped her off at her friend's house, so she could maintain her cover you knew that you would love only (Y/N) for the rest of your life.

 Now, here she was fourteen long years later back in your arms. You shook yourself making sure that you weren’t dreaming. She still looked the same, only better; all hips and curves and things that made men lay awake dreaming about at night. As you took in her features, it struck you then. All those other women the ones you’d found something wrong with all the time; didn’t have anything wrong at all. It was just, they weren’t (Y/N). They were only filling a void from the time that you’d ruined everything until now. She was the woman that everyone else had to measure up to, only now she was someone else’s. Fuck, the thought made your head spin. Had it truly taken fourteen years to get her back only to lose her?

 “Hello, Jamie,” she finally spoke and her voice washed over you taking you back to that day and the way she’d called out your name when you were inside her. Your cock hardened instantaneously. She was pressed close to your body and you wondered if she could feel it. 

 “It’s so good to see you.” They were the first words out of your mouth that made sense but they were also the most truthful. It was just too bad that the look on her face didn’t reflect the same. “Sorry, I’m just in shock seeing you is all.”

 “No, I get it.” She replied. “Do you live around here?”

 “Uh…Yeah, I’m the white house right there.”

 “Oh,” she seemed to be taken back by this knowledge, which was probably understandable. Especially given the fact that her husband was going to be your new team doctor. Nothing like having your ex be your new neighbor. 

 “What about you? What are you doing in Dallas?” Though you knew the answer, you needed to hear the words come out of her mouth as confirmation, for until you did; you held out that small hope that there was a chance to make things right again.

 “Um…well.” It was then that she stepped out of your embrace. You hadn’t realized how naturally she fit back in your hands and that of their own accord they didn’t seem to want to let go. “I just moved here.”

 “Kind of got that with the moving truck and all,” you replied, your hand going to the back of your neck at your awkward comment, though she did smile at your words. 

 “Yeah, I suppose that did give it away.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another. It was a nervous habit of hers that you remember from back in the day.

 “It was hard to miss, but I knew the old owner quite well since he was our team doctor. In fact, I heard our new doc was moving in. I guess I’ll be seeing you and your husband around more.” There you’d finally said it. It was like ripping a bandaid off. Sure, it hurt and all but once it was off the sting started to fade, only this time it didn’t, as a look of confusion crossed her face.

 “Husband?”

 “Oh sorry, my bad. I just assumed you were married. Fiancé then?” Either way, it was going to be awkward as hell seeing her at games and functions, let alone out in their yard. Maybe you’d need to look for a different place. Tyler had just moved recently, you’d have to get the name of his realtor.

 A look crossed her face, and you remembered seeing it once before. It was when you’d tried to talk to her after the whole gossip fiasco. She was angry and you had no clue what you said to make her that way, but this was not how you wanted the conversation to go. “I’m not married or engaged, for that matter.” So it must be a boyfriend then, though that didn’t explain her displeasure with you at the moment. 

 “Geez, (Y/N), I’m really sorry. I just assumed that for you to move all the way here you’d be engaged or married to the guy.”

 “There is no guy Jamie. I’m the new doctor.” A look of shock crossed over your face. Why hadn’t anyone told you she’d gone to study medicine? The obvious answer being you tended not to ask about her when you were back home, only because it hurt too much to think about her being with someone else. Though she wasn’t with someone else, it was just her, and she was now your team doctor, who you’d see almost every day. “I can’t believe that you’d think the only reason I’d move her was for a guy. Incredible! You haven’t changed one bit have you?” 

 “It wasn’t…I didn’t…” She started walking away, just like before when you’d tried to explain what had actually happened. “I just assumed…”

 “Yeah, Jame, you just assumed! That what, I couldn’t be smart enough to earn the MD after my name, or that I’m still only good enough for a quick roll in the hay.” You went to answer but she held up her hand and took a deep breath. “Save it, Jamie. I’m a professional and that’s what I’ll be when I see you at the arena or out, but other than that…we have nothing to say.” With that, she left you standing there speechless as she jogged back up her driveway and into the house. And here you thought you had a second chance, that things weren’t totally ruined between you two. Maybe they weren’t. If anything, her position on the team, meant that you’d be seeing a lot of each other, something you were definitely ok with. You might have messed up all those years ago, and somewhat today, but now you had a chance to turn everything around. Maybe things weren’t quite ruined….yet.

Back From the War

Some 80s era Stancest I wrote a while back. Inspired by some of @nekoaimy‘s posts on the subject.

*****************************************

"So, um, you okay?" Stan asked, his hands unsteady.

Ford nodded, and sipped from his mug of coffee. "I feel better, now."

"Okay," said Stan. He breathed out a sigh, ran a hand through his hair. "Okay."

It was almost surreal, remembering the events of the past hour: him and Stanley fighting over the journal in the portal room, him branding his brother's shoulder (and oh, was that going to leave a mark),  the shove, the panic that filled him as he floated above the room--

Then, the rope, the relief, as he was slowly pulled back to earth by his brother's strong arms.

Stanley cleared his throat, snapping Ford out of his reverie. "So, what's up?" he asked, a look of concern on his face. "You kinda spaced out for a second there."

Ford shook his head. "Just thinking over the day's events," he said softly. Then: "How's your shoulder?"

Stan looked ashamed, as if he had been the one who had burned his own brother. "I mean, it hurts, but... it's fine, really. I mean, I can still use it." He rotated his right arm for emphasis. Ford couldn't help noticing the wince that Stan made at moving it around.

“Let me take a look at that,” he said, setting his mug down and reaching his hand towards his brother’s wound.

Stan hesitated; then, he slowly took off his jacket and shirt, carefully avoiding touching the cloth to the brand. Ford drew in a deep breath as he took in Stanley’s bare back. His muscles were cushioned under a layer of fat, and there were scars scattered across his skin. There was one particularly nasty one, just above his waist, that Ford wished he could ask about, but he just didn’t have the time.

Right. The brand. “How badly does it hurt?” asked Ford, as he carefully inspected the still-blistering scar.

“Honestly, it’s not too bad,” Stan answered. “I mean, I’ve definitely had worse.”

“Hmm.” Ford gingerly touched the tips of his fingers to Stan’s brand; he couldn’t help his heart from sinking when Stan flinched away from that. “Well, first we need to clean it, of course.” He went to the cabinet and got out a rag and the first aid kit. He ran the faucet cold over the rag, and added a little dish soap for good measure. Gently, he washed the burn, taking care not to pop any of the blisters. He then fished out a tube of aloe vera from the first aid kit.

“Pull your hair back for me,” said Ford. “I don’t want this to get messy.”

Stanley did as he was told, and Ford carefully spread the lotion over his brother’s charred skin. As he did so, he thought of long, hot summer nights, when they would rub aloe vera into each others’ sunburned backs. It was a good memory, and Ford felt a pleasant shiver thinking about it. Stan let out a sigh of relief, apparently releasing some of the tension from what had happened that night.

“Good, good,” said Ford, as he checked his handiwork. “Now I just need to cover it with a bandage.”

“You’re not gonna kiss it better?” asked Stan.

“No,” said Ford, suppressing a laugh. “It just wouldn’t be sanitary.”

“Ah,” Stan replied, and if Ford didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Stan sounded… disappointed. “Well, alright.”

Ford took out the gauze and the medical tape from the first aid kit and said, “Um, I can kiss you, though.”

“What?”

“If you want me to,” Ford added. “Not… not on the lips, of course, but I can kiss you. Just—just say where.”

“Um.” Stan craned his neck towards Ford. “Are you serious?”

Ford grew oddly hot. “I mean, ah, touch has been known to lower the body’s stress levels, which can help with, with the healing process—That’s... why I suggested it.”

“Ah,” said Stan, turning his head away from Ford again. “So you’re just being a weirdo.”

Ford swallowed. “Stanley, I...”

Stan waved him off. “It’s fine. Just… bandage me up, man.”

There was no point in disobeying that, so Ford carefully positioned the gauze on Stan’s burn wound, then applied the tape to make it stick. “We’ll need to reapply the bandage every day until the burn fully heals,” he said when he was done.

“‘We,’” Stan repeated. He turned around to face Ford. “Does that mean I’m staying?”

It was strange, how shocking Ford found the question. “I guess so,” he answered, considering his words carefully. “At least, for now. But—Stanley, it’s not… safe, here.”

“Because of the portal.”

Ford nodded. “Not just that, but yes.”

Stan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “So, when do I need to leave?”

Ford held up a hand. “Stanley...”

“No, no, it’s...” Stan starting pacing around the kitchen, gesturing wildly. “I mean, I know you don’t—well...”

Ford caught Stan by the chin. “Stanley, please, just—listen to me.”

“C’mon, Stanford, it’s fine,” said Stan, who still resisted meeting Ford’s eyes. He sounded like he was going to cry. “If you don’t want me around...”

That definitely wasn’t true, so Ford needed to prove it false. If he was any less sleep-deprived, he might have done something else. As it was, his brother’s chin still in his hands, he laid a kiss upon Stanley’s lips.

Stanley tasted of cheap cigarettes and stale coffee, but Ford didn’t mind, far more interested in the way Stan warmed up to the kiss,  tense at first but soon kissing back, running his hands through Ford’s hair. It was the culmination of everything they had been dancing around for a long, long time.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna do that,” Stan gasped out, once they broke away.

Ah, right. The offer he made from earlier. “Guess I lied,” Ford panted.

They drew in for another kiss, deeper, more passionate. It left them so breathless and panting that it took a while before either of them spoke again.

“So, why can’t I stay, for real?” asked Stan. “Because I know there’s something there.”

Damn. Stanley knew Ford all too well. “There’s… an entity, that takes control of my mind when I sleep. I don’t want it to harm you,” Ford admitted, as much as he was willing to admit.

“Is that why you’re so strung out?”

Ford nodded. “Mostly, yes.”

Stan grunted and lifted himself about the counter, sitting on the countertop. It would annoy Ford were he not so charmed at the moment. “Okay, so, is there like, a way we can get that—thing out of your head?”

“There is one way I know of.” Ford scrubbed his face and frowned. “But it involves dealing with creatures that I’ve found to be—quite frustrating, in the past.”

Stan looked at Ford expectantly. “Well?” he asked.

“You’re going to laugh,” Ford replied glumly.

“C’mon, just tell me!”

“Unicorns,” Ford answered.

Stan let out a loud guffaw, and for a moment Ford truly hated him. “What, ain’t they really fond of virgins?”

“Actually, no,” said Ford stiffly. “Though the requirements for dealing with them seem just as strict as in legend. And by the way, I’m not a virgin.”

Stan grinned. “Sure you’re n--”

“Would a virgin kiss you as well as I just did?” Ford replied smugly. He took a certain amount of pleasure in the shock on Stan’s face.

“Man, you really have changed,” said Stan. “Gone a long way since your ‘kissing machine’ days.”

Ford groaned. “Please don’t mention the kissing machine, Stanley.” He took the journal off the kitchen table and started flipping through the entries. “Anyway, if you’re really serious about this--”

“Of course I’m serious,” Stan retorted.

“I’ll warn you again, unicorns are not easy to deal with,” said Ford. He found the entry on unicorns in the journal and handed it to Stan. “Their standards for good behavior are very exacting. I doubt you’d be able to live up to them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. He seemed upset by Ford’s assertion. He always had carried a chip on his shoulder on being the lesser of the two Pines twins. “I’ll just kill one of them, so what?”

“Stanley...” Ford started.

“What, they need to be alive?”

“No, you’ll just need the hair from their manes,” answered Ford. “But killing a horse—or horse-like creature—can be harder than it looks.”

“Eh.” Stan shrugged. “I mean, I killed a llama once.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Lama-with-one-L or llama-with-two-Ls?” he asked.

“Llama as in the weird animal with the long hair,” Stan said with an eyeroll. “Cripes, you’re a nerd.”

“Technically, that could describe both--” Ford got a poke in the ribs. “Oof. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I mean, if it’ll keep you safe,” said Stan. He looked down at his bare chest. “Though, uh, I’m gonna need some clothes that haven’t been singed.”

Ford looked Stanley over. He was still naked from the waist up, and though that was fine for an evening of making out, it was less than ideal for a night in the cold and snow.

“Hang on,” said Ford. “There are some sweaters in my room.” He dashed over there as quick as he could, unable to suppress the irrational worry that Stan would be gone by the time he got back. He fished through his drawers and found a bright and cheery Christmas sweater, a gift from Fiddleford when they were still in college. (Ford didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was Jewish and had never celebrated. It was good at its main purpose, at least, which was keeping warm.)

Back in the hallway, he was struck by the sudden realization that this was real, that he had really kissed his brother and his brother kissed him back. It was funny, how repressed they both had been about it, and how open they were now. He supposed it made a certain amount of sense—incest was a Rubicon that neither of them were prepared to cross, even as odd a pair as they had been, but once they set their mind on something, there was no doubt, if it were in any way possible, they would get it.

Once they put their mind on something, there was no doubt they would get it. Ford smiled at the thought, and hurried back to the kitchen. He found Stan sitting on a chair, a far more reasonable position than the counter. “Here,” he said, and handed Stan the gaudy sweater.

“Bit late to be wearing this,” said Stan, looking it over.

Ford shrugged. “If it keeps you warm.” He grabbed his coat from his chair. “Here, wear this, too. Do you still have your gloves and hat?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, Ford.” He grunted as he struggled to put on the sweater.

“Careful,” said Ford. He helped pull the sweater down. “You still need to look out for that shoulder.” He gave his brother a quick peck on the cheek.

“Heh heh.” Ford enjoyed the way Stan blushed. Stan cleared his throat. “Alright, so they live in this glade, right?” Stan said, as he put on the coat. “Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back in a jif.”

“Stay safe, Stanley.” Ford squeezed his brother’s hand. “Remember to come home in one piece.”

“I will,” Stan replied softly. He pat Ford on the shoulder, then pulled him into a brief kiss. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone, knucklehead.”

“Okay, okay,” Ford said with a soft laugh. He watched Stanley go out of the house and into the unknown, once again the brave hero of their youth. For the first time in a long while, he felt a deep, sustaining hope, one that would last him the rest of their lives.

Episode 6: All Souls and Sadists

My thoughts are heading your way.

SPOILERS AHEAD

0:40 - “No as a white man. We’re terrible.” hahaha I hate Martin on principle but that’s hilarious - and somewhat truthful. 

1:00 - Notice how Ainsley and Malcolm have similar facial expressions when talking to their father? They both do this thing where they sort of smile and look at the ground in a “Dad’s crazy” kind of way. It’s almost like they think their Dad is endearing in a very frustrating and dysfunctional kind of way? They also both shake their heads and close their eyes a lot when talking to Martin. Even the tones of voice that they use with Martin is similar. They start speaking to him calmly and softly but they end the conversation angry, frustrated and desperate. You can really tell that they’re siblings. 

2:32 - “It’s not the right one.” How did the car salesman know Malcolm was looking for a specific car? If I were the salesman I would’ve interpreted that as “It’s not the right car for me. What else can you show me?”...and then show Malcolm a used Honda Civic or something.

3:50 - Malcolm is completely losing it. He’s so desperate. You can see how much pain he’s in during this scene. Look how sad his eyes are. You can tell how close to the edge he is. Also - is this foreshadowing? Is this why Malcolm looks so broken in the 1x19 promo pics? Is he going to revert back to his mute, scared 11 year old self?

6:35 - Despite how broken Malcolm looks in Gabrielle’s office, he looks and acts remarkably put together in this scene. He’s calm, rational, and professional. He’s also subdued. 

6:43 - There’s a look that Dani gives Malcolm right here. She’s concerned about him. Rightfully so. His behaviour is wildly out of character. This is maybe the calmest, most serious he’s ever been at a crime scene. 

7:30 - Dang. This woman is OCD and very numb to her husband’s murder. Did she even care about her husband? I mean I know they were getting a divorce but I would be more upset than she is if my neighbour died - and I don’t even talk to him. 

8:20 - Right here. Malcolm just stopped profiling. He’s trapped inside his head. Overwhelmed with empathy for the little boy who just lost his father. Overwhelmed with the realization that this woman and his own mother feels the same way about their children. He and Ainsley are Jessica’s everything. 

8:30 - See this look in Malcolm’s eyes? That sadness and empathy? That’s a good man right there. That’s not a killer. 

9:00 - You know, right off the bat, this kid is off. No child who has been through trauma that recently is comfortable talking that openly and calmly about how they feel (or how their rabbits feel) because they haven’t had time to process how they feel yet. 

9:15 - You know. I feel like the fact that Martin appeared to be such a good dad to Malcolm during the first 10 years of his life really compounded Malcolm’s trauma. It ruined Malcolm’s ability to trust. It ruined Malcolm’s ability to look fondly at his early childhood memories. 

9:46 - Again. This kid is weird. “I think she’s not that sad.” What? What child talks like this less than 24 hours of the death of a parent? He’s calm and articulate in a way children in emotional pain rarely are. It’s strange.

10:35 - I love how Malcolm is interacting with this kid the same way that Gil interacted with him as a kid. Because Gil made Malcolm feel safe when his whole world fell apart and Malcolm wants Isaac to feel safe. It warms my cold, dead heart.

10:55 - Malcolm’s self-deprecating humour is really heartbreaking. 

11:28 - Tell me I’m not the only one whose heart breaks when Malcolm asks Ainsley if she’s okay. It’s something about the way his eyes widen. He looks so concerned for his little sister and I love it. 

11:45 - I love Ainsley BUT the severity of her ambition is a little concerning. However, I don’t blame her. Chances are the only time Jessica ever showed Ainsley any attention (between her alcoholism and worrying about Malcolm) was when Ainsley achieved something extraordinary. Makes me wonder what kind of a student Ainsley was like in school. What kind of extracurriculars did she do as a child? 

12:00 - Jessica’s behaviour in this scene is wildly inappropriate but also completely understandable. She’s so concerned with her children’s well-being. She always is. It’s why she meddles in their lives and tries to order around her adult children as if they’re 10 years old. Her personality in general is a little extreme, cold, and controlling. I’ll say it again - Jessica lost everything except her children when Martin was arrested. If Jess had some true friends who stuck by her then (or now) I bet she would’ve been less of a controlling force in her children’s lives. 

12:46 - Holy crap. Is Malcolm sleeping with that photo? He’s pulling it out everywhere. The car dealership. His psychologist’s office. His Mom’s house. I know he’s in a fragile mental state right now but that level of obsession with a photograph is not healthy. 

13:09 - Has anyone else been trying to figure out what time of year the Surgeon was arrested? So far the flashbacks look too warm to be between November - February (when there’s usually snow) but we’ve also had confirmation that Malcolm was in school. Therefore, it was during the school year. So it was either in September, October, or sometime between late March - early June? I’m thinking it’s probably closer to June because that’s when camping season generally starts? Anyone else have ideas?

14:20 - I’m genuinely surprised Jessica didn’t make Malcolm stay the night after that little outburst. He looks positively terrified. He’s clearly looking off into the distance because he’s hallucinating. You’d think she’d jump on that and keep him at her place for the night. 

15:08 - Martin might be the most dangerous criminal in Claremont because he’s so manipulative. Watch him try to manipulate Stanley. Martin is clearly doing it deliberately. Martin is so desperate for attention that he’ll do and say anything to be the center of attention. He always has an ulterior plan. Ugh....actually it kind of reminds me of a much more extreme version of Ainsley....which is slightly concerning.

17:00 - UGH. Gil why did you have to walk in now? Dani was just about to get Malcolm to talk about what’s bothering him. She was so concerned about Malcolm you could see it on her face. It was beautiful.

17:21 - I love that JT says what we’re all thinking. Where do you get a stat like that? 

18:25 - I wish we could’ve seen the scene where Malcolm has to convince Gil to let him get beat up for a potential sadist. That would’ve fuelled my heart for days....also Tom Payne looks super attractive in this gym outfit. 

20:15 - You know, I don’t think Malcolm is a masochist. I think he’s so depressed and in so much constant emotional pain that sometimes he forgets that his life is important. He forgets that he matters to people. He subjects himself to physical pain because it numbs out the emotional pain. He’s not a masochist - he just needs an escape.

20:49 - There’s Papa Gil. Look how annoyed he is. He totally wants to give Jake a piece of his mind for trying to hurt Malcolm. You can see it. Too bad he won’t because it was technically consensual.  

21:56 - Seriously? How fast is this woman and how quiet is she? Dani looked away for maybe 5 seconds and didn’t hear the woman book it toward her? Nah. I don’t buy it. 

23:00 - Dani is a badass. JT is a total big brother look at how concerned he was for Dani. I love it all. 

23:15 - Proud Gil is everything. <3 

23:45 - This little pep talk that Gil gives Malcolm is precious. Gil is Malcolm’s Dad in all the ways that matter. Look at how concerned Gil is about Malcolm. Gil knows. He knows that Malcolm is spiralling. *sigh* My heart is breaking.

24:10 - Again. Where did JT go? Sometimes JT just disappears in the middle of an episode with no explanation. 

25:15 - “It’s what you say to a kid.” Is it Gil? Because you’ve spent the past twenty years of your life trying to ensure that Malcolm is okay. Why do you think Malcolm is so cut up about Isaac’s current predicament? It’s because Malcolm is trying to be as good a man as you are and he thinks that he’s failing.

26:04 - Why is this dude always half-naked? Seriously. This whole episode he’s shirtless. 

26:21 - Do you think Ainsley dated much in high school? Given the way Jessica is currently treating her boyfriends I can’t imagine that it would’ve been easy for Ainsley to date. 

27:10 - THIS. I feel this. “Everything I know has been coloured by your resentment”. This is real. My Dad was abusive. He left (court-ordered, long story) when I was ten. Everything my brother and I know about our Dad and his past is coloured by our Mom’s resentment. Even though we know he was a bad guy, we still wish we could’ve met the guy that Mom fell in love with. We wish we could have happy stories about his past that aren’t coloured by his mistakes. Ainsley’s reaction here is totally justified. Sometimes you’ll do anything to find the one story that reassures you that your Dad wasn’t a total loser. 

27:36 - “Did you love us?” That one hurt. The real answer is no. He didn’t. He’s a psychopath. He’s incapable. And deep down Ainsley knows that but look at her eyes. You can see how desperately she wants to believe her that her Dad loves her. Ugh. Martin is scum. He’s such a good manipulator. I hate it so much.

32:50 - This whole scene with Malcolm barging into the interrogation room is amazing. I mean I have nothing to point out that isn’t blatantly obvious but holy moly this is a good scene. Makes you wonder if Gil was ever worried about Malcolm becoming like Martin.

37:00 - A wild JT has reappeared.

38:00 - This scene is perfect. The juxtaposition between Bright and Isaac is beautiful. The insight to Malcolm’s childhood is heartbreaking. The empathy on Malcolm’s face is heartwarming. The concern on Gil’s face. You can really see who Malcolm might have become without Gil. 

40:30 - This Gil and Malcolm conversation is perfect. “Not on my watch.” My heart is full.

42:00 - Does Malcolm have any sense of self-preservation? I know he’s desperate but hanging out at a junkyard in the middle of the night is a bad idea. 

Thanks for hanging out. Catch you again soon.

Research Masterpost

This is my research list for The Alt-Right Playbook. It is a living document - I am typically adding sources faster than I am finishing the ones already on it. Notes and links below the list. Also, please note this does not include the hundreds of articles and essays I’ve read that also inform the videos - this is books, reports, and a few documentaries.

Legend: Titles in bold -> finished Titles in italics -> partially finished *** -> livetweeted as part of #IanLivetweetsHisResearch (asterisks will be a link) The book I am currently reading will be marked as such.

Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis Alternative Influence, by Rebecca Lewis The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer*** Eclipse of Reason, by Max Horkheimer Civility in the Digital Age, by Andrea Weckerle The Origins of Totalitarianism, by Hannah Arendt On Revolution, by Hannah Arendt Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff The Shock Doctrine, by Naomi Klein How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley*** This is an Uprising, by Mark and Paul Engler Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandifer This Nonviolent Stuff'll Get You Killed, by Charles E. Cobb, Jr. Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me), by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel The Brainwashing of my Dad, doc by Jen Senko On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin*** Stamped from the Beginning, Ibram X. Kendi Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Indoctrination over Objectivity?, by Marrissa S. Ballard Ur-Fascism, by Umberto Eco Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, by Lindsay C. Gibson Anti-Semite and Jew, by Jean-Paul Sartre Alt-America, by David Neiwert*** The Dictator’s Handbook, by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita & Alastair Smith Terror, Love, and Brainwashing, by Alexandra Stein Kaputt, by Curzio Malaparte The Anatomy of Fascism, by Robert O. Paxton Neoliberalism and the Far Right, by Neil Davidson and Richard Saull Trolls Just Want to Have Fun, by Erin E. Buckels, et al The Entrepreneurial State, by Mariana Mazzucato

Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis (free: link) A monstrously useful report from Data & Society which- coupled with Samuel R. Delany’s memoir The Motion of Light in Water - formed the backbone of the Mainstreaming video. I barely scratched the surface of how many techniques the Far Right uses to inflate their power and influence. If you feel lost in a sea of Al-Right bullshit, this will at least help you understand how things got the way they are, and maybe help you discern truth from twaddle.

The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer (free: link) (livetweets) A free book full of research from Bob Altemeyer’s decades of study into authoritarianism. Altemeyer writes conversationally, even jovially, peppering what could have been a dense and dry work with dad jokes. I wouldn’t say he’s funny (most dads aren’t), but it makes the book blessedly accessible. If you ever wanted a ton of data demonstrating that authoritarianism is deeply correlated with conservatism, this is the book. One of the most useful resources I’ve consumed so far, heavily influencing the entire series but most directly the video on White Fascism. Even has some suggestions for how to actually change the mind of a reactionary, which is kind of the Holy Grail of LeftTube.

(caveats: there is a point in the book where Altemeyer throws a little shade on George Lakoff, and I feel he slightly - though not egregiously - misrepresents Lakoff’s arguments)

Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff An extremely useful book about framing. Delves into the differences between the American Right and Left when it comes to messaging, how liberal politicians tend to have degrees in things like Political Science and Rhetoric, where conservatives far more often have degrees in Marketing. This leads to two different cultures, where liberals have Enlightenment-style beliefs that all  you need is good ideas and conservatives know an idea will only be popular if you know how to sell it. He gets into the nuts and bolts of how to keep control of a narrative, because the truth is only effective if the audience recognizes it as such. Kind of staggering how many Democrats swear by this book while blatantly taking none of its advice. Lakoff has been all over the series since the first proper video.

(caveats: several. Lakoff seemingly believes the main difference between the Right and Left is in our default frames, and that swaying conservatives amounts to little more than finding better ways to make the same arguments. he deeply underestimates the ideological divide between Parties, and some of his advice reads as tips for making debates more pleasant but no more productive. he also makes a passing comparison between conservatism and Islam that means well but is a gross and kinda racist false equivalence)

How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley (livetweets) A slog. Many useful concepts, and directly referenced in the White Fascism video. But could have said everything it needed to say in half as many pages. Stanley seems dedicated to framing everything in epistemological terms, not appealing to morality or sentiment, which means huge sections of the book are given over to “proving” democracy is a good thing using only philosophical concepts, when “democracy good” is probably something his readership already accepts. Also has a frustrating tendency to begin every paragraph with a brief summary of the previous paragraph. When he actually talks about, you know, how propaganda works, it’s very useful, and I don’t regret reading it. But I don’t entirely recommend it. Seems written for an imagined PhD review board. Might be better off reading my livetweets.

Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandier A trip. Similar to Jason Stanley, Sandifer is dedicated to “disproving” a number of Far Right ideologies - from transphobia to libertarianism to The Singularity - in purely philosophical terms. The difference is, she’s having fun with it. I won’t pretend the title essay - a 140-page mammoth - didn’t lose me several times, and someone had to remind which of its many threads was the thesis. And some stretches are dense, academic writing punctuated with vulgarity and (actually quite clever) jokes, which doesn’t always average out to the playfully heady tone she’s going for. But, still, frequently brilliant and never less than interesting. There is something genuinely cathartic about a book that begins with the premise that we all fear but won’t let ourselves meaningfully consider - that we will lose the fight with the Right and climate change is going to kill us all - and talks about what we can do in that event. I felt I didn’t even have to agree with the premise to feel strangely empowered by it. Informed the White Fascism video’s comments on transphobia as the next frontier of bigotry since failing to prevent marriage equality.

On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt Was surprised to find this isn’t properly a book, just a printed essay. Highly relevant passage that helped form my description of 4chan in The Card Says Moops: “What tends to go on in a bull session is that the participants try out various thoughts and attitudes in order to see how it feels to hear themselves saying such things and in order to discover how others respond, without its being assumed that they are committed to what they say: it is understood by everyone in a bull session that the statements people make do not necessarily reveal what they really believe or how they really feel. The main point is to make possible a high level of candor and an experimental or adventuresome approach to the subjects under discussion. Therefore provision is made for enjoying a certain irresponsibility, so that people will be encouraged to convey what is on their minds without too much anxiety that they will be held to it. [paragraph break] Each of the contributors to a bull session relies, in other words, upon a general recognition that what he expresses or says is not to be understood as being what he means wholeheartedly or believes unequivocally to be true. The purpose of the conversation is not to communicate beliefs.”

The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin (livetweets) Another freakishly useful book, and the basis for Always a Bigger Fish and The Origins of Conservatism. Jumping into the history of conservative thought, going all the way back to Thomas Hobbes, to stress that conservatism is, and always has been, about preserving social hierarchies and defending the powerful. Robin dissects thinkers who heavily influenced conservatism, from Edmund Burke and Friedrich Nietzsche to Carl Menger and Ayn Rand, and finally concluding with Trump himself. There’s a lot of insight into how the conservative mind works, though precious little comment on what we can do about it, which somewhat robs the book of a conclusion. Still, the way it bounces off of Don’t Think of an Elephant and The Authoritarians really brings the Right into focus.

Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Yet another influence on the White Fascism video. Bit of a mixed bag. The opening gives a proper definition of fascism, which is extremely useful. Then the main stretch delves into the landscape of modern fascism, from Alt-Right to Alt-Lite to neofolk pagans to the Proud Boys and on and on. Sometimes feels overly comprehensive, but insights abound on the intersections of all these belief systems (Burley pointing out that the Alt-Right is, in essence, the gentrification of working-class white nationalists like neo-Nazi skinheads and the KKK was a real eye-opener). But the full title is Fascism Today: What it is and How to End it, and it feels lacking in the second part. Final stretch mostly lists a bunch of efforts to address fascism that already exist, how they’ve historically been effective, and suggestions for getting involved. Precious few new ideas there. And maybe the truth is that we already have all the tools we need to fight fascism and we simply need to employ them, and being told so is just narratively unsatisfying. Or maybe it’s a structural problem with the book, that it doesn’t reveal a core to fascism the way Altemeyer reveals a core to authoritarianism and Robin reveals a core to conservatism, so I don’t come away feeling like I get fascism well enough to fight it. But, also, Burley makes it clear that modern fascism is a rapidly evolving virus, and being told that old ways are still the best ways isn’t very satisfying. If antifascism isn’t evolving at least as rapidly, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to win.

(caveats: myriad. for one, Burley repeatedly quotes Angela Nagle’s Kill All Normies, which does not inspire confidence. he also talks about “doxxing fascists” as a viable strategy without going into the differences between “linking a name to a face at a public event” and “hacking someone’s email to publicly reveal their bank information,” where the former is the strategy that fights fascism and the latter is vigilantism that is practiced widely on the Right and only by the worst actors on the Left. finally, the one section where Burley discusses an area I had already thoroughly researched was GamerGate, and he got quite a few facts wrong, which makes me question how accurate all the parts I hadn’t researched were. I don’t want to drive anyone away from the book, because it was still quite useful, but I recommend reading it only in concert with a lot of other sources so you don’t get a skewed perspective.)

Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel (Michael Kimmel, it turns out, is a scumbag. This book’s main thesis is that we need to look at violent extremism through the lens of toxic masculinity, so Kimmel’s toxic history with women is massively disappointing. Book itself is, in many ways, good, but, you know, retweets are not endorsement.)

A 4-part examination of how men get into violent extremism through the lens of the organizations that help them get out: EXIT in Germany and Sweden, Life After Hate in the US, and The Quilliam Foundation in Europe and North America. Emphasizing that entry into white nationalism - and, to an extent, jihadism - is less ideological than social. Young men enter these movements out of a need for community, purpose, and a place to put their anger. They feel displaced and mistreated by society - and often, very tangibly, are - and extremism offers a way to prove their manhood. Feelings of emasculation is a major theme. The actual politics of extremism are adopted gradually. They are, in a sense, the price of admission for the community and the sense of purpose. The most successful exit strategies are those that address these feelings of loneliness and emasculation and build social networks outside the movement, and not ones that address ideology first - the ideology tends to wither with the change in environment. The book itself can be a bit repetitive, but these observations are very enlightening.

(caveats: the final chapter on militant Islam is deeply flawed. Kimmel clearly didn’t get as much access to Qulliam as he had to EXIT and Life After Hate, so his data is based far less on direct interviews with counselors and former extremists and much more on other people’s research. despite the chapter stressing that a major source of Muslim alienation is racism, Kimmel focuses uncomfortably much on white voices - the majority of researchers he quotes are white Westerners, and the few interviews he manages are mostly with white converts to Islam rather than Arabs or South Asians. all in all, the research feels thinner, and his claims about militant Islam seem much more conjectural when they don’t read as echos of other people’s opinions.)

Terror, Love and Brainwashing, by Alexandra Stein A look at totalitarian governments and cults through the lens of attachment theory. While not explicitly about the Far Right, it’s interesting to see the overlap between this and Healing from Hate. Stein stresses that the control dynamics she discusses are not exclusive to cults, and are, in fact, the same ones as in abusive relationships; cults are just the most extreme version. So you can see many similar dynamics in Far Right organizations, like the Aryan Nations or the Proud Boys. It’s made me curious how many of these dynamics are in play in the distributed, less controlled environment of online extremism, and makes me want to look further into the subject before drawing conclusions.

(caveats: book is, as with How Propaganda Works, sometimes a slog and rather repetitive. I clocked a 4-page stretch in chapter 8 where Stein did not say a single thing that hadn’t been said multiple times in previous chapters. also, when talking about people coerced into highly-controlled lifestyles, she offhandedly includes “prostitutes” among them? it’s that liberal conflation of sex work and trafficking which is really not cool. this isn’t a major point, just something to notice while you read it.)

Alt-America, by David Neiwert (livetweets) A look at the actual formation of the Alt-Right, and the history that led up to it: the Militia and Patriot movements of the 90′s, the Tea Party, the rise of Alex Jones and Glenn Beck, and so on. Having been steeped in the rhetoric and tactics of the Far Right for so long, someone doing the work of sitting down and putting it all in chronological order is immensely helpful. Generally clear and well-written, too, and would be an easy read if not for how goddamn depressing the content is. Has an unfortunate final 7 pages, where Neiwert starts recommending actual policy. Falls into the usual “have empathetic conversations with genuine conservatives to turn them against the fascist wing taking over their party,” not recognizing the ways in which conservatism is continuous with fascism, nor the ways that trying to appeal to moderate conservatives alienates the people whose rights they deny. Means an extremely valuable book leaves a bad taste in the final stretch, but everything up to then is aces.

His Sister (Stan Uris)(part One)

A/n: I had another idea... I’ll try not to stay up until 8am writing again oof. I may go on a major IT binge so y’all should send in asks if you hate it lmao. This is supposed to be short but so was the last one I did sooooo we’ll see. Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR! Enjoy haha

Anon: Pidge

Word Count: 2700+

Pairings: Ben x Bev, Bill x Mike, Richie x Eddie, Stan x reader, Losers x reader (platonic, mostly), Richie x reader (siblings)

MASTERLIST

She was the princess of the school.

Walking next to Derry Middle School’s number one bitch, Y/n smiled and laughed and looked absolutely gorgeous. She was “best friends” with Greta (earlier mentioned Grade-A Bitch), and was just like her- if not worse. She was the person who was kind and pretended to be your friend and then used your secrets against you when it fitted her. She had no loyalties, and therefore she had no friends. No real ones anyway. Her and Greta were more a mutual benefit - a convenience - than anything else.

She was perfect in the eyes of the crowds though. Always smiling and gentle, especially compared to Greta. She rarely lied (unless you confused her) and if you kept her as an acquaintance or at a distance, she was lovely to have and be around. She was funny and always said the right thing and laughed at the right time and never seem ingenuine.

It was only fitting that someone like her would have secrets and struggles and faults, the entire world turning against her to make her pay for the harm she caused that no one knew about because it was always skillfully done so no one knew it was her causing it.

The only real problem with her? Her last name.

“Miss Tozier PLEASE pay attention!” The teacher grunted, and Y/n looked up, trying to not get angry or lash out at him.

Instead, she smiled prettily. “I’m sorry Mr. Myers. I’m distracted today.” The teacher nodded and huffed, turning back to the board as he tried to explain the math problem. The real problem was math itself, though, if you asked Y/n. It was hard enough to focus in class when she liked the subject, but math? Especially today, when for some reason everything was so... distracting?

When the bell rang, Y/n melted into her chair in relief. She took the math homework she had as summer practice that everyone had been given but no one would do just to appease her teacher and then slipped out of the building she was exhilarated to be free of for the next three months. She moved to the nearest trash can as fast as she could, unzipping her backpack and turning it so all of the contents went into the bin. She shook the bag, feeling it empty as a grin grew on her face. Bless...

“Best feeling in the world!”

“Try tickling your pickle for the first time.”

Y/n’s heart tightened in her chest as she looked up to see that on the other side of the path leading out of school was none other than her brother and his friends. She froze, watching them, unsure why she couldn’t pull herself away like usual.

She had been looking too long. Feelings eyes on him, Stanley Uris turned around and their eyes met. Y/n’s faze flickered away immediately as she zipped her bag back up, throwing it over her shoulder and keeping her head high as she strut past the Losers as if they weren’t even there. They grew very, VERY quiet as she passed. She paused at the junction she used to cross the street on her way home when she caught sight of the Losers again, this time with Bill Dunbrough face to chest with Henry Bowers.

Her frown increased and she shook her head, her steps halted as she waited for the worst. But then Henry stopped and pulled away and Y/n wondered why. Until she saw his dad across the street. Oh.

She continued on her way without looking back at the Losers, and Summer began.

-

Everything was different in the Summer. Richie couldn’t tell why, but his sister changed dramatically when she wasn’t around her ‘friends’. She didn’t wear tight, neon, stuffy clothing. She wore jeans and loose t-shirts and her hair was always up, ponytail whipping in the wind as she raced on the bike she never used during school months. She was fast on that thing, though. She wore her glasses again too instead of just suffering, since she wasn’t nearly as blind as Richie (but still very much needed them).

She became more the Y/n that Richie knew and it became hard for him to hate her again. Hard not to trust her and reach out to her and try and bond the rift that had once been so strong between them. But he resisted every time, because each time he hoped and tried, each time he was disappointed and heart broken when school would roll around and his twin would become the same bitch sidekick to Greta that she always was at school, except she would have new dirt on Richie and a stronger drive to make him rue his existence. For... some reason.

Maybe it was the neglect. The breaking bottles and the screaming and yelling and slurring of words and constant fighting. He wondered if she simply handled the shitty home situation they had differently than he did. Lashing out and hurting others to deal with her inner pain.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter WHY she did it. She was still a bully.

So the day she intervened between the Losers and Henry Bowers himself was a day that shocked everyone.

Henry was pinning Mike, the home schooled kid, trying to force him to eat the raw meat he carried in his bicycle basket. Y/n, who had been waiting in the car with eyes squeezed tight so she would resist the urge to run after the boys and stop the carnage from happening, finally cracked and raced to the scene, ripping Henry off of Mike. “HENRY STOP!”

Silence echoed as everyone looked at her as if she had just lost her mind. Henry glared at her and she stuck her chin in the air, staring him down without hesitation. “What the fuck is your problem?” Henry growled.

“He’s... a kid,” she tried to explain, confused by her own lack of control. She had been spending even less time with her friends since... since it had happened, and so she was even more timid and gentle and after being so thoroughly shaken herself, she was in no state to sit back and pretend she didn’t absolutely hate watching people her age suffer. “He’s just a kid, Henry. Same as you, just a year younger. He’s my age.” Her eyes leveled on Henry’s. “Would you do this to me?”

Henry scoffed. “You think you’re safe from me, Princess?” She stepped back, her face filling with horror. Henry reached down, picking up a rock. Y/n’s eyes went painfully wide as she locked her gaze on the lump in Henry’s hand. “Get in my way again and I’ll focus my attention on you. Since you obviously seem to want it so bad.” He rose his empty hand to her face and she flinched as he touched her.

A rock suddenly flew out of nowhere, slamming into the side of Henry’s head and causing it to bleed as he stumbled. Y/n yelled in surprise as Mike finally shook off his shock, scrambling over to whoever had thrown the rock that had hit Henry. “Nice throw,” Stan Uris complimented a surprisingly short haired Beverly Marsh.

The red head smirked, proud. “Thanks.”

The Losers were the last people Y/n expected or wanted to see right now, but at least Mike was safe.

Henry looked from Y/n to Mike to the Losers, his eyes landing on Richie and lingering before going back to Y/n again. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Your brother and his dopey friends are trying too hard,” he drawled to the female Tozier. The girl flinched at ‘your brother’. He never reminded her that she and Richie were related unless he was REALLY mad. He turned to the Losers. “She’ll do you, you just have to ask nicely.” He grabbed his crotch, smirking wickedly. “Like I did.”

Ben Hanscom, someone Y/n knew but called New Kid because she wasn’t allowed to know his name, bent down and screamed, chucking his rock at Henry. Richie yelled, “ROCK WAR!” And Y/n ducked down, putting her head between her legs and her arms over her. When the storm cleared, Y/n looked up from her hiding to see the Losers hesitating. Henry and his goons had run away.

Mike was the first to speak. “Thank you for saving me,” he said.

Eddie, Bill, Stan, and Richie looked at Y/n with shock. “She saved you?” Richie scoffed.

Bev looked at the loudmouth with shock. “Hold on, first you have a sister you never mention or hang out with and now you’re acting like she’s devil spawn?”

“She is devil spawn,” Eddie grumbled. Y/n stayed sitting, looking at her lap as she thought over why she had intervened with Mike when she knew that she could never face Henry or Greta again without threatening her safety. She wasn’t with the Losers, but she definitely wasn’t with the bullies anymore.

She couldn’t help but think maybe it was for the best... but she wouldn’t admit that.

Standing on her feet, she put her guard up, rolling her eyes. “Oh I just didn’t want him to take so goddamn long,” she sneered, catching all of the Losers’ attention. “Don’t think I actually care about you, we just had things to do and fucking around with you is a waste of my time.” Y/n laughed as if she had no care in the world, and Mike tensed.

Bev flared at her. “What the hell is your problem?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “What do you get out of tormenting other people?”

Y/n did the one thing she was best at: she lied. “Nothing except our enjoyment,” she seethed. “Get used to it Beaverly, some people aren’t fake. Some people don’t hide their true intentions.” Y/n laughed cruelly. “Have fun with those Losers though I’m sure they’ll show you a... fun time.” She winked, causing Ben to glare as well, his fists curling so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

But Bill, Eddie, Stan, and even Richie were looking at her with wild curiosity. They could see right through her act. They hadn’t seen her that upset and scared and passionately, angrily protecting someone since she had been a Loser herself and had stood up to bullies for them without hesitation. She was amazing back then, her and Richie building and bouncing off each other, cracking each other up and making the other three boys laugh as much as they groaned. Even in the summers when she was almost herself and it got hard to hate her, she never stood up for anyone anymore.

Maybe... maybe things were different now.

As Y/n waltzed away though - in a different direction than the bully boys had gone - none of the original four boys said a word. It was dangerous to get one’s hopes up. Especially when Y/n was concerned.

Maybe Richie had, though... Just a little.

-

When there came a soft knock at Richie’s door late at night, he wasn’t expecting it in the slightest. He looked over, unsure of who it could possibly be at this time of night looking for him. All his friends would be asleep, surely. Even if they weren’t they would climb into his window if they needed him- his parents would never let them in the front door and they left the phone off the hook during the nighttime.

The knock came again, this time accompanied by an equally timid, “Richie?”

The dark haired boy got out of bed and opened the door slowly. He glared at his sister, on guard even though she looked absolutely terrified. “What?”

She bit her lip, tugging at her sleeves. She was wearing a sweatshirt she’d stolen from him quite a few years ago, the color still deep maroon but worn and faded. Maybe it was the hope planted by her small shifts and how much harder she was making it this special summer on top of all of the chaos with IT and the falling out he’d had with his friends, but seeing her in his clothes again made him soften.

Before she even spoke he was won over, but she didn’t know that. “Are you okay?” Her voice was soft and quiet, shy. Scared maybe. Which made sense since if she woke up their parents it would be utter Hell on both of them.

He was caught up on what she had asked though. “What?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding looking at him. “Just, um... you came home so angry a few days ago. And you’ve been locked in your room so long. Haven’t talked to your friends. And they haven’t been around.” She was looking down the hall, towards their parents’ room. “I know I’m the last one who has the right to be concerned about you, but I can’t remember the last time you went so long without talking to your friends. Not even a phone call. Especially now that the Loser’s club is so big...”

Richie couldn’t help it anymore. “Why do you care?” Their eyes met- his question was genuine.

“I never stopped caring,” she admitted, her wide eyes and tone showing how honest she was. “It never stopped making me feel terrible to sit back and pretend like I didn’t care that you were getting hurt. Pretending to enjoy it.” She ran a hand through her hair, and the fidgeting caught him off guard because it so closely mirrored what she used to do before middle school, when she was insecure and awkward but still apart of his life. “And I know I probably owe you some explanation for the Hell I gave you the last four years, but to be honest Richie... I have no fucking clue why I did any of it. I miss you guys so much and I’m miserable being alone like this. Pretending that Greta and Henry are friends and spreading rumors that I’ve done things I haven’t just to be popular and cool. I let them bully me into doing some terrible shit because I was, for some reason, terrified to be a Loser.” She huffed. “But- but really, I miss it. A lot. And so I came here today with my pride out the window and my mask off and all my pretenses discarded because, Rich, I- I’m worried about you.”

There was a small pause before Richie flung himself at her, his arms wrapping around her and his face hiding in her neck. He was crying, she could feel it, and the second he touched her so was she. They held each other close, both crying what seemed endlessly, until it did end.

When they had both calmed down, Richie pulled her into his room. “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispered after a second. “You won’t leave again when school starts, will you?”

She winced. “This is high school, Trashmouth. I’m not carrying any of that middle school bullshit into what’s already going to be the four worst years of my life.”

Richie grinned. “Cool.” A pause. “What made you change your mind? Or, realize? Us Toziers aren’t knowing for letting anything less than an apocalypse change our minds.” They both laughed.

Hers was weaker, though, as if the question dragged her down. “I... guess, just everything. Those shitheads finally wore me down and years of tearing myself apart and fighting my instincts got to me. You can’t deny who you are for long.” Richie shifted but Y/n let it be. She knew not to press the matter of accepting one’s identity around Richie. “The clown didn’t help,” she muttered to herself without thinking about it, her tone dangerous and on edge and distant.

Richie’s head shot up. “The what?”

Innuendo Studios Research Masterpost - With More Links

This is my research list for The Alt-Right Playbook. It is a living document - I am typically adding sources faster than I am finishing the ones already on it. Notes and links below the list. Also, please note this does not include the hundreds of articles and essays I’ve read that also inform the videos - this is books, reports, and a few documentaries. Legend: Titles in bold -> finished Titles in italics -> partially finished *** -> livetweeted as part of #IanLivetweetsHisResearch (asterisks will be a link) The book I am currently reading will be marked as such. Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis Alternative Influence, by Rebecca Lewis The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer*** Eclipse of Reason, by Max Horkheimer Civility in the Digital Age, by Andrea Weckerle The Origins of Totalitarianism, by Hannah Arendt On Revolution, by Hannah Arendt Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff The Shock Doctrine, by Naomi Klein How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley*** This is an Uprising, by Mark and Paul Engler Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandifer (Patreon) This Nonviolent Stuff’ll Get You Killed, by Charles E. Cobb, Jr. Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me), by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel The Brainwashing of my Dad, documentary by Jen Senko On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin*** Stamped from the Beginning, Ibram X. Kendi Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Indoctrination over Objectivity?, by Marrissa S. Ballard Ur-Fascism, by Umberto Eco Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, by Lindsay C. Gibson Anti-Semite and Jew, by Jean-Paul Sartre Alt-America, by David Neiwert The Dictator’s Handbook, by Bruce Bueno de Mesquita & Alastair Smith Terror, Love, and Brainwashing, by Alexandra Stein <- (currently reading) Kaputt, by Curzio Malaparte The Motion of Light in Water, by Samuel R. Delany Media Manipulation & Disinformation Online, by Alice Marwick and Rebecca Lewis (free: link) A monstrously useful report from Data & Society which- coupled with Samuel R. Delany’s memoir The Motion of Light in Water - formed the backbone of the Mainstreaming video. I barely scratched the surface of how many techniques the Far Right uses to inflate their power and influence. If you feel lost in a sea of Alt-Right bullshit, this will at least help you understand how things got the way they are, and maybe help you discern truth from twaddle. The Authoritarians, by Bob Altemeyer (free: link) (livetweets) A free book full of research from Bob Altemeyer’s decades of study into authoritarianism. Altemeyer writes conversationally, even jovially, peppering what could have been a dense and dry work with dad jokes. I wouldn’t say he’s funny (most dads aren’t), but it makes the book blessedly accessible. If you ever wanted a ton of data demonstrating that authoritarianism is deeply correlated with conservatism, this is the book. One of the most useful resources I’ve consumed so far, heavily influencing the entire series but most directly the video on White Fascism. Even has some suggestions for how to actually change the mind of a reactionary, which is kind of the Holy Grail of LeftTube. (caveats: there is a point in the book where Altemeyer throws a little shade on George Lakoff, and I feel he slightly - though not egregiously - misrepresents Lakoff’s arguments) Don’t Think of an Elephant, by George Lakoff An extremely useful book about framing. Delves into the differences between the American Right and Left when it comes to messaging, how liberal politicians tend to have degrees in things like Political Science and Rhetoric, where conservatives far more often have degrees in Marketing. This leads to two different cultures, where liberals have Enlightenment-style beliefs that all you need is good ideas and conservatives know an idea will only be popular if you know how to sell it. He gets into the nuts and bolts of how to keep control of a narrative, because the truth is only effective if the audience recognizes it as such. Kind of staggering how many Democrats swear by this book while blatantly taking none of its advice. Lakoff has been all over the series since the first proper video. (caveats: several. Lakoff seemingly believes the main difference between the Right and Left is in our default frames, and that swaying conservatives amounts to little more than finding better ways to make the same arguments. he deeply underestimates the ideological divide between Parties, and some of his advice reads as tips for making debates more pleasant but no more productive. he also makes a passing comparison between conservatism and Islam that means well but is a gross and kinda racist false equivalence) How Propaganda Works, by Jason Stanley (livetweets) A slog. Many useful concepts, and directly referenced in the White Fascism video. But could have said everything it needed to say in half as many pages. Stanley seems dedicated to framing everything in epistemological terms, not appealing to morality or sentiment, which means huge sections of the book are given over to “proving” democracy is a good thing using only philosophical concepts, when “democracy good” is probably something his readership already accepts. Also has a frustrating tendency to begin every paragraph with a brief summary of the previous paragraph. When he actually talks about, you know, how propaganda works, it’s very useful, and I don’t regret reading it. But I don’t entirely recommend it. Seems written for an imagined PhD review board. Might be better off reading my livetweets. Neoreaction a Basilisk, by Elizabeth Sandifer (Patreon) A trip. Similar to Jason Stanley, Sandifer is dedicated to “disproving” a number of Far Right ideologies - from transphobia to libertarianism to The Singularity - in purely philosophical terms. The difference is, she’s having fun with it. I won’t pretend the title essay - a 140-page mammoth - didn’t lose me several times, and someone had to remind which of its many threads was the thesis. And some stretches are dense, academic writing punctuated with vulgarity and (actually quite clever) jokes, which doesn’t always average out to the playfully heady tone she’s going for. But, still, frequently brilliant and never less than interesting. There is something genuinely cathartic about a book that begins with the premise that we all fear but won’t let ourselves meaningfully consider - that we will lose the fight with the Right and climate change is going to kill us all - and talks about what we can do in that event. I felt I didn’t even have to agree with the premise to feel strangely empowered by it. Informed the White Fascism video’s comments on transphobia as the next frontier of bigotry since failing to prevent marriage equality. On Bullshit, by Harry Frankfurt Was surprised to find this isn’t properly a book, just a printed essay. Highly relevant passage that helped form my description of 4chan in The Card Says Moops: “What tends to go on in a bull session is that the participants try out various thoughts and attitudes in order to see how it feels to hear themselves saying such things and in order to discover how others respond, without its being assumed that they are committed to what they say: it is understood by everyone in a bull session that the statements people make do not necessarily reveal what they really believe or how they really feel. The main point is to make possible a high level of candor and an experimental or adventuresome approach to the subjects under discussion. Therefore provision is made for enjoying a certain irresponsibility, so that people will be encouraged to convey what is on their minds without too much anxiety that they will be held to it. [paragraph break] Each of the contributors to a bull session relies, in other words, upon a general recognition that what he expresses or says is not to be understood as being what he means wholeheartedly or believes unequivocally to be true. The purpose of the conversation is not to communicate beliefs.” The Reactionary Mind, by Corey Robin (livetweets) Another freakishly useful book, and the basis for Always a Bigger Fish and The Origins of Conservatism. Jumping into the history of conservative thought, going all the way back to Thomas Hobbes, to stress that conservatism is, and always has been, about preserving social hierarchies and defending the powerful. Robin dissects thinkers who heavily influenced conservatism, from Edmund Burke and Friedrich Nietzsche to Carl Menger and Ayn Rand, and finally concluding with Trump himself. There’s a lot of insight into how the conservative mind works, though precious little comment on what we can do about it, which somewhat robs the book of a conclusion. Still, the way it bounces off of Don’t Think of an Elephant and The Authoritarians really brings the Right into focus. Fascism Today, by Shane Burley Yet another influence on the White Fascism video. Bit of a mixed bag. The opening gives a proper definition of fascism, which is extremely useful. Then the main stretch delves into the landscape of modern fascism, from Alt-Right to Alt-Lite to neofolk pagans to the Proud Boys and on and on. Sometimes feels overly comprehensive, but insights abound on the intersections of all these belief systems (Burley pointing out that the Alt-Right is, in essence, the gentrification of working-class white nationalists like neo-Nazi skinheads and the KKK was a real eye-opener). But the full title is Fascism Today: What it is and How to End it, and it feels lacking in the second part. Final stretch mostly lists a bunch of efforts to address fascism that already exist, how they’ve historically been effective, and suggestions for getting involved. Precious few new ideas there. And maybe the truth is that we already have all the tools we need to fight fascism and we simply need to employ them, and being told so is just narratively unsatisfying. Or maybe it’s a structural problem with the book, that it doesn’t reveal a core to fascism the way Altemeyer reveals a core to authoritarianism and Robin reveals a core to conservatism, so I don’t come away feeling like I get fascism well enough to fight it. But, also, Burley makes it clear that modern fascism is a rapidly evolving virus, and being told that old ways are still the best ways isn’t very satisfying. If antifascism isn’t evolving at least as rapidly, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to win. (caveats: myriad. For one, Burley repeatedly quotes Angela Nagle’s Kill All Normies, which does not inspire confidence. He also talks about “doxxing fascists” as a viable strategy without going into the differences between “linking a name to a face at a public event” and “hacking someone’s email to publicly reveal their bank information,” where the former is the strategy that fights fascism and the latter is vigilantism that is practiced widely on the Right and only by the worst actors on the Left. Finally, the one section where Burley discusses an area I had already thoroughly researched was GamerGate, and he got quite a few facts wrong, which makes me question how accurate all the parts I hadn’t researched were. I don’t want to drive anyone away from the book, because it was still quite useful, but I recommend reading it only in concert with a lot of other sources so you don’t get a skewed perspective.) Healing from Hate, by Michael Kimmel (Michael Kimmel, it turns out, is a scumbag. This book’s main thesis is that we need to look at violent extremism through the lens of toxic masculinity, so Kimmel’s toxic history with women is massively disappointing. Book itself is, in many ways, good, but, you know, retweets are not endorsement.) A 4-part examination of how men get into violent extremism through the lens of the organizations that help them get out: EXIT in Germany and Sweden, Life After Hate in the US, and The Quilliam Foundation in Europe and North America. Emphasizing that entry into white nationalism - and, to an extent, jihadism - is less ideological than social. Young men enter these movements out of a need for community, purpose, and a place to put their anger. They feel displaced and mistreated by society - and often, very tangibly, are - and extremism offers a way to prove their manhood. Feelings of emasculation is a major theme. The actual politics of extremism are adopted gradually. They are, in a sense, the price of admission for the community and the sense of purpose. The most successful exit strategies are those that address these feelings of loneliness and emasculation and build social networks outside the movement, and not ones that address ideology first - the ideology tends to wither with the change in environment. The book itself can be a bit repetitive, but these observations are very enlightening. (caveats: the final chapter on militant Islam is deeply flawed. Kimmel clearly didn’t get as much access to Qulliam as he had to EXIT and Life After Hate, so his data is based far less on direct interviews with counselors and former extremists and much more on other people’s research. despite the chapter stressing that a major source of Muslim alienation is racism, Kimmel focuses uncomfortably much on white voices - the majority of researchers he quotes are white Westerners, and the few interviews he manages are mostly with white converts to Islam rather than Arabs or South Asians. all in all, the research feels thinner, and his claims about militant Islam seem much more conjectural when they don’t read as echos of other people’s opinions.)

In The Dark

In the dark, In the dark

A gentle, cool breeze tickled the blonde crown of hair.  A plume of thick vape smoke eased up from freckled parted lips.

Ooh, I've done it again. Dug a little deep and it's all caved in Now, I free fall in a black hole I know I'm getting warm ‘cause I feel so cold.

The radio played to block out stale silence between two old friends. After sharing a lung-filling puff of misty nicotine, bright blue eyes closed and whiteness veiled over his slightly darker complexion. He stuck his hand out the window of the black, lifted truck, letting the gale draft through his outstretched fingers.

But I'm looking on the bright side now Tryna figure out somehow (None of this is real, no) It's looking like a write off now I think we need to talk like now

  Pitch black save for the quick flits of neon and LED lights the flash like a strobe in the cab of the truck. Only the sizzling sound of the vape motor and loud song selected from the blonde's phone playlist. Bright blue eyes opened again and slid over the black, faux-leather textured dash of the truck to the blonde who drove it. Hands lazily gripped the steering wheel, 1 and 11 o'clock positions, in confidence. He appeared comfortable. Black, buzzed scalp itched, so the darker haired male removed his worn blue and red beanie from his head, feeling it scrape against his Velcro-like hair and scratched.

 So, don't swear to God, he never asked you It's not His heart you drove a knife through It's not his world you turned inside out Not his tears still rolling down Jesus Christ, you're so damn cold Don't you know you've lost control? Forget about the things you think I know No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark, In the dark

 Another plume left parted lips that turned up in the corners and it filled the cab of the truck with a hazy film before plunging to dissipate out the window. Feeling the observation, the blonde turned his ancient sky-blue eyes to catch the gaze of his lifelong friend. A knowing smile broke out across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and his light colors eyes glistened in the dark.

 Deathblow, look at you go Brought a T-62 to a rodeo So tall, it broke the fourth wall Guess my fairy tale has a few plot holes

 Despite himself, the darker-eyed man grinned right back. The freedom he felt this night was the most uplifting day he's had in years. The brightness of his sincerely happy smile cut through the vapor.

 Well, I'm looking on the bright side now Tryna figure out somehow (None of this is real, no) You can give the act up now Yeah, go ahead and take a bow

 The blonde kept his wide smile and sparkling light eyes as he turned them back to the road ahead of them. The two young men met up just for this one night before one was shipped off due to a military contract, he signed himself up for. They both had secrets they shared with each other. They were mutually making huge sacrifices to better themselves for someone they each loved. They equally had made separate difficult decisions alone.

 So, don't swear to God, never asked you It's not His heart you drove a knife through It's not His world you turned inside out Not His tears still rolling down Jesus Christ, you're so damn cold Don't you know you've lost control? Forget about the things you think I know No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark, In the dark 

No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark, In the dark

  The atmosphere between the two young adults felt purely empathetic and simply incognito. There was no turning back now for either of them. They similarly wished that they would be absolved later for their actions. At this point in their short lives, they felt invincible. Everything was going precise for once and they weren't going to stop and take it all back.

  I'm not looking for Salvation Just a little faith in anyone or anything I'm not looking for Salvation Just a little faith in anyone or anything I'm not looking for Salvation (Oh no, ‘cause it’s all come caving in) Just a little faith in anyone or anything I'm not looking for Salvation Just a little faith in anyone or anything And its time I knew you, so

  The blonde pulled the black Chevy off the main street onto a hidden, narrow dirt road that led up a steep hill. Once at the top it flattened into a plateau. Below, the large city of Denver twinkled against the black backdrop and midnight-blue sky. Mountains towered as dark, guardian silhouettes in the distance and the snow reflected back subtle moonlight from the waning crescent that hung in the air. Stars littered the empty space in an irregular, sporadic array similar to that of the blonde's freckles that powdered his attractive face. Placing the truck in park and taking in one more drag of the steamy nicotine, he placed the machine in his center console and let the cloud lift from his nostrils and lips like a fire-breathing dragon. The darker-haired male watched him with a cocked eyebrow and lively, intrigued eyes, smiling all the while. The blonde let out a laugh and the other joined in as they unbuckled their restraints and leaned their seats back until they were comfortable.

Don't swear to God, never asked you It's not His heart you drove a knife through It's not His world you turned inside out Not His tears still rolling down Jesus Christ, you're so damn cold Don't you know you've lost control? Forget about the things you think I know No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark Don't swear to God, never asked you It's not His heart you drove a knife through It's not His world you turned inside out Not His tears still rolling down Jesus Christ, you're so damn cold Don't you know you've lost control? Forget about the things you think I know No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark

 They laid in their seats, staring up at the gray material the covered the lining of the Chevy. So many things ran through both of their minds as they lay quietly with the thrum of the diesel engine rumbling peacefully, almost lulling them into a state of contemplation. The blonde used his abs to surge himself forward and turn off the truck to save fuel before laying back down into the heated leather seats. The material groaned in protest as he moved around.

  Don't swear to God, never asked you (oh no) It's not His heart you drove a knife through (oh no) It's not His world you turned inside out (oh no) Not His tears still rolling down (you’re so damn cold) Jesus Christ, you're so damn cold (you’re so damn cold) Don't you know you've lost control? (oh, oh) Forget about the things you think I know No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark, In the dark

 Music died away as the playlist prepared to pick another song and the silence was mesmerizing. Only the crisp air caressing the pine and cottonwood trees nearby became apparent through the Chevy’s open windows. Sensing the atmosphere that began to take a more severe turn, the blonde turned his focal point to the dark-headed friend next to him who was laying on his side staring at him with a somber expression.

 “Kenny…” He began as his eyes flickered from left to right, plotting his words with extreme care, “if anything happens to me while I’m over there…. let Kyle know that this was all for him.” Those eyes that were so carefree quickly appeared laden with darkness when they panned back to the freckled face’s own enigmatic eyes. The darker male continued to bore his eyes into his friend’s, not once breaking contact to get the point across as this was the most vital information he was ever about to share. Possibly even his last. Those eyes; those antique, cryptic sky-orbs surveyed him with such a fervor that Stan wondered how and why the hell he stuck around as his friend. Those secretive eyes that always stupefied him with how they appeared so different in age when compared with his friend’s outward appearance. Sky eyes with flakes of steel and gunmetal greyish-blue hues entwined in the valleys and mesas within his irises.

“Let him know…” he continued, viewing those surreptitious irises that seemed so much older than Kenny was, with extreme intensity. “…let him know I loved him.”

  No secrets, you can't keep me In the dark, In the dark

  “I will, Stan. I promise.” Kenny swore as he reached out, placed a comforting hand on Stanley’s shoulder and gave it a loving squeeze. “I swear I will.” He insisted once more.

  The intensity in Stan’s gaze was replaced with a misty, appreciation. The eye-contact was broken as he forced himself to look away from those determined, archaic orbs and lay down on his back before he started crying. He can’t show weakness. Not now. Not with Kenny. However, the broken immortal new all too well that Stan was afraid. He knew what that was like and he would do whatever it took to cheer his best friend up.

  “You’ll be fine, dude,” Kenny assured gently with a smile. “You can’t get away with dying because I’ll drag your ass back to the land of the living.” As Kenny mentioned this, a grin spread across Stan’s chapped lips so he continued, “You’ll come live with me when you get back from your tour. That way, we’ll start looking for ways for Kyle to start talking to you again together.”

  “By then do you think you’ll have Butters living with you too?” Stan teased, chuckling a bit when he noted Kenny’s facial expression that confirmed he was caught off guard by the subject. Adoring the slight blush that dusted under his cute, sporadic freckles on his nose and cheeks, Stan let lose another giggle. “Dude, you’ve got it so bad for him.” Kenny shrugged his shoulders into the leather seats at this statement, not denying it because he knew it was the truth.

  “Hopefully, I will be in a place where I can take care of him and he never has to worry ever again.” The look of determination upon Kenny’s face was the most astonishing thing Stan had seen all night. He truly was trying to improve himself and his lifestyle for Butters, just as he was for Kyle.

  “I just hope they’ll both forgive us.” Stan murmured softly as he looked back out the window as he placed his hands behind his head, watching the stars glimmer in the night sky. Silently, Kenny agreed.

The song referenced and the reason for my inspiration behind this scene: “in the dark” by Bring Me The Horizon.

This is part of my on-going “Revenge” AU.

https://youtu.be/rju0pbdm4z4

pop culture chapter 8

“Adulthood in a town like Derry is even worse than childhood. The listless, empty ramblings of days dragging on in a town that felt like one-size-too-small-shoes sat heavier on the recently graduated than the younger children. Before you were eighteen and responsible for your own lunch money, you could spend your interminable afternoons exploring the surrounding environment, friends of friends abound. Escaping to the arcade and seeing the same films six times at the same theater was an acceptable amount of nothing to do at twelve years old. But when nineteen years hit Bill Denbrough and college acceptance letters didn’t, the sudden, overwhelming, nothingness of Nowhere, Maine became too heavy to bear.”

chapter 8 (wc: 4k)

chapter list here

read it on ao3

want on the taglist?

“Someone’s knockin at yer back door, Stanny.”

“Couldn’t kill you to answer it?”

“Not my house.”

“Well you’re not getting any of my pizza, then.” Stan griped as he marked his place and set down his novel before crossing the room.

“Wait, you ordered pizza?!” Richie extracted himself from his position on Stan’s bed, where he had been reading comics upside down.

“You’d know if you got the door.” Stan called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. Another knock rang through the empty house.

“Coming dear!” Richie yelled with a ridiculous trill as he attempted to slide down the bannister.

“Don’t break yourself. I don’t want your blood on my carpet.” Stan yanked Richie’s sleeve, returning the wily boy to his feet.

“Buzzkill.” Richie muttered, crossing his arms as he followed Stan sullenly.

“Reason you’re still alive?” Stan quirked an eyebrow, walking backwards with a finger pointed at himself.

“Touche, douche.” Richie rhymed under his breath as they crossed the kitchen.

“Heard that.” Stan commented as he opened the door.

“Hey.”

Stanley and Richie’s eyes went comically wide as they took in the sight on Stan’s back doorstep. Before them stood a disheveled Mike and Eddie, both sweaty and breathing like they’d ran all the way there. Eddie was holding the collar of his shirt to split and bleeding skin of his chin, droplets of the blood escaping and dripping down his neck, leaving dried trails like lay lines. Mike was smiling almost apologetically, like he was sorry to have stopped by.

“Got a first aid kit?” Mike broke the silence, smile almost manic as he joked.

“What the fuck happened?!” Stan inquired, pulling Mike in the room and out of the way before Richie practically launched himself at Eddie, who he promptly shoved over to the sink so he could begin cleaning his wound.

“It’s a pretty, uh, funny story actually.” Mike said with a strange, nervous laugh. Stan studied him crossly between cupboards he opened in search of some bandages. “Mind if I have a glass of water?”

“Go ahead.” Stan replied warily, watching Mike grab a cup out of the cabinet to his left with trembling hands. Richie moved Eddie away from the sink as Mike came over, meeting Stan at the kitchen island and grabbing the box of band-aids he’d successfully scavenged. Mike drank three full glasses while Richie diligently attended to Eddie’s chin. Stan and Eddie caught each other’s gazes just once, and at Stan’s questioning eyebrow Eddie only shook his head. Stan waited a moment more before starting in on Mike again. “You gonna tell this funny story?”

“It’s a real doozy.” Mike braced his hands on the sink, back facing the others.

“I think I can handle it.”

Mike took a deep breath before turning.

“You want the long or the short of it?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“I think I just controlled fire with my mind.”

Richie dropped the bandage he was opening.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. That’s the short.”

“Does the long explain this?” Richie pointed at Eddie’s band-aid clad chin.

“If I tell you it involves Hockstetter and Belch, does that answer your question?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Richie adjusted his glasses reverently, eyes downcast as his mind easily grasped the general specifics.

“So you what, turned his flamethrower contraption off?” Stan crossed his arms and leaned against the pantry.

“More like turned it around.” Mike paused to drink more water. “It didn’t burn me.”

“It touched you?” Mike nodded. “And it didn’t burn.” Another nod. “And you’re sure it was real fire.” Richie continued incredulously.

“It was. A whole lot of it. And it couldn’t touch me.”

“Bullshit.” Richie said with awe.

“You literally turned invisible a couple days ago.” Stan glared at Richie.

“Yeah, but- that’s nuts!”

“More nuts than your thing?”

Richie qualmed. “No…”

“So shush. Let the man continue.”

“That’s pretty much all there is to it.” Mike shrugged. “I guess fire can’t burn me anymore.”

“Let’s test it.” Richie pulled a lighter out of his jean pocket. “Experimentation.”

Mike spoke at the same time as Stan, his acquiescence overlapping Stanley’s protests.

“It’s fine, Stan.” Mike repeated, stepping over to Richie with an outstretched arm.

“What if it was just a fluke?” Stan folded his hands in concern.

“It’s just a tiny little Bic, what can it do?” Mike said casually as Richie flicked on the flame.

“You sure?” Richie asked, lighter in one hand and Mike’s arm in the other.

“Go right ahead.”

Richie watched Mike’s face with pinched eyebrows, disbelief and uncertainty on his face. He titled the flame to touch skin, eyes going wide as Mike did not flinch.

“Nothing?” Richie pressed the flame into Mike’s skin, which was not burning or bubbling as all laws of physics deemed it should.

“It feels like hot wax, but not super hot wax.” Mike took another sip of his water with his free hand.

“Are you the wax in this equation?” Richie questioned as he moved the flame up and down the length of Mike’s forearm.

“I think so?”

“Fucking hell.” Richie sighed as he let go of the trigger, pocketing the lighter once more. “Of course you get a useful power.” He complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“I mean that’s what this whole thing is, right? We’re all getting superpowers or something! And I get this bullshit where some of my organs go see-through, and it hurts like a bitch, mind you, and you get to be fire-retardant! Stan can fuckin’, I don’t know, levitate things, which is helpful-”

Stan and Mike spoke over each other again.

“Stan can what?”

“You’ve been reading too many comic books.”

Stan looked guilty after he realized what Mike had said over his comment.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Last night. My book was floating.”

“That’s it?”

“I made it fly into the ceiling.”

“Did it stay there?”

“No, it fell.”

“Who cares if it stayed up there? Point is Stanley actually gets something that doesn’t suck-”

“Eddie, you’ve been weirdly quiet. Are you okay?” Stan interrupted Richie’s rant, desperately wanting to shift the subject away from himself. Eddie blanched at the sudden question, shuffling his weight awkwardly on his feet. He thought for a moment about saying something, but settled on a shake of his head. “What’s up?” Stan pressed.

“I’m with Richie.” Eddie said after a moment, voice unsure. Richie definitely didn’t dig his nails into his legs from where his hands were clenched in his pockets in response to the thoughts Eddie saying the phrase I’m with Richie conjured. “I got dealt a really shitty hand.”

Richie swallowed, wishing away the heat in his cheeks. “How so?”

“You know how so!” Eddie went from reserved and shaken to bitterness teetering on the edge of rage in a matter of seconds. “The only ‘power’ I got is being scared so shitless I can’t even fucking move every time something goes wrong!”

“Eds.” Richie pleaded softly, hoping to head off the explosion he knew was coming.

“You should have seen me today, Richie. I was fucking useless. Mike was about to get barbequed and I just fucking laid there!”

“Belch was holding you down Eddie, he had his boot in your back-” Mike protested.

“Wait, Belch had his boot in your back? That son of a-”

“The point is that I’m useless now! Who am I if I can’t protect my friends?!”

“Eds, you are not useless-”

“Richie’s right, Eddie-”

“You don’t get it, Stan-”

“Eddie, I don’t think you have a super power.” Mike said firmly, breaking through the chaos of everyone’s voices overlapping.

“Excuse me?” Eddie blinked at him.

“I don’t think you have a ‘super power’.” Mike air quoted, glancing at Richie. “I think you have a panic disorder.”

“Mike.” Richie warned quietly, almost subconsciously raising a hand as if to placate a wild animal. Stan stared at him shocked, genuine surprise and fear overtaking him as he worried over the results of the statement.

Eddie went white, his whole body eerily stilling. His eyes started out laser-focused on Mike’s face but began to dart around the room. He tried to form words, his brain working in overdrive as he scrambled over a response. To Richie it looked like he’d short-circuited.

“I- you- how dare-”

“Eddie, I’m not trying to offend you-”

“How dare you, Michael.” Eddie spat. “You have got to be fucking kidding me right now.”

“I’m not.” Mike stood his ground.

“If I wanted someone to stand here and list a bunch of fake illnesses I don’t have, I’d be at home!” Eddie nearly screamed. Stan clasped a hand over his mouth. Richie swallowed again before laughing nervously with the teasing, though-”

“Shut UP Richard. I’m not fucking around.” Eddie rounded on Mike again. “I can’t believe you, one of my best friends treating me like my fucking mother, trying to find some fucking disease you can blame me on-”

“I am not acting like your mother, Eddie.” Mike yelled back, surprising Stan and Richie with his intensity.

“You know what hurts the most about it?” Eddie pushed on, apparently unaffected by the bite back. “What really gets me about being told I’m sick all the time? She says my behavior is what makes me sick, the things I do or like or say. It’s not my temperature or my complexion or whether or not I throw up, it’s my fucking personality! To her, I’m the disease! And I thought you of all people would see me differently. But it’s clear now you don’t. I’m something you want to cure too.”

“Eddie-” Mike protested feebly, shocked beyond belief.

“I am sorry I was such a useless pile of shit today.” Eddie said through angry tears forming in his eyes. “I feel terrible about how I acted. But you don’t have to be so vicious about it. You don’t have to treat me like a germ.”

With that, Eddie was turning on a heel and leaving, storming out of Stan’s back door as the other’s scrambled after him, Richie yelling for him to come back.

“Let him go.” Mike said calmly, a hand on Richie’s shoulder as the three stood in the doorway. They watched Eddie storm out of the garden, the brand new and almost frighteningly large cactus plant near the door escaping their notice.

______________________________________________________________

“I’m the world’s worst boyfriend.”

“Oh come on, Ben.”

“No, I really am. I mean, absolute shit.”

“Th-there are p-p-plenty worse boyfr-friends than you out there.” Bill clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, smiling at the sight of Ben idly fretting.

“What kind of asshole waits until a week before an anniversary before they even start thinking about a gift?” Ben put his head in his hands, soda and fries forgotten on the bench next to him. He and Bill were on one of their regular excursions to the downtown district of Derry, where they would both get a coke and fries to be eaten as they walked around and windowshopped for all the things they couldn’t afford.

“S-some people forget the d-day entirely.” Bill pointed out, popping a french fry into his mouth. “I did.”

Ben looked up at him incredulously. “You forgot yours and Bev’s anniversary?”

“She b-broke up with me for a reason.” He joked, taking a drink of his soda. Ben laughed at his casual admission.

“No offense, but I’m glad the bars not so high.” Ben said through giggles.

Bill snorted. “Wh-what bar?” The two broke into fits of laughter, trying their best to contain themselves in public.

“Well, shit.” Ben leaned back, picking up his styrofoam cup of cola and taking a sip. “Guess I’ve only gotta do something mildly impressive.”

“What k-kind of gift are you th-thinking?” Bill tucked a leg under the other as he ate more of his fries.

“It’s cliche as shit, but I was thinking jewelry.” Ben scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, it is only our six-month, but still…” Ben trailed off, Bill watching him intently as he continued to eat. “I’m really fucking serious about her. I wanna get something that says I am.”

“Jewelry is good, then.” Bill said seriously.

“What do you think she would like?” Ben asked, vulnerability and desperation clear in his eyes as he locked them with Bill’s.

“C-can’t go w-w-wrong with a n-necklace.” Bill took another drink.

“Yeah…” Ben sighed, contemplatively taking a bite of one of his fries. “That doesn’t feel like… special enough though.” He finished the fry. “I feel like it should be something, I don’t know, more. She deserves it.”

“Yeah she does.” Bill agreed sincerely as he took another drink. The boys sat in silence for a few moments, watching Derry townfolk shuffle around on their nameless errands.

“Would it be the most embarrassing thing in the world to get her a promise ring?” Ben said after the silence had stretched too far. Bill shook his head, swallowing the fry he was on.

“Nu-uh. I think sh-she’d love that.”

“Really?” Ben asked nervously.

“Sh-she told me sh-she did s-s-so, yeah.” Bill grinned.

“Oh. I didn’t know you guys talked about…” Ben fiddled with his fingers nervously.

“Y-you guys?” Bill supplied. “B-b-bev and I are still fr-friends, Ben. We talk ab-bout all kinds of stuff.”

“I just didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.” Ben looked at his feet. “I wouldn’t want to if I were you.”

Bill was silent for a beat, thinking. “You l-liked her when we w-were dating, d-d-didn’t you.”

“Yeah.” Ben admitted after a breath. “I’ve liked her since we first met.”

“Th-then you really should get th-that ring.” Bill ate his last fry, wiping the grease from his fingers on the corner of his flannel. Ben watched Bill nervously, almost as if he were afraid he’d angered him. “You kn-know I’m not huh-hurt over you g-g-guys dating.”

“You’re not?”

“No. B-bev and I have always b-b-been better off as fr-friends. You guys were suh-supposed to be tog-gether.” Ben’s jaw dropped slightly at the statement as Bill stood up from the bench, garbage clasped in one hand.

“Bill, it really means a lot to hear you say that.” Ben admitted as he stood as well.

“Sh-shoulda said it s-s-sooner. It’s always b-b-been true.” Bill shrugged, looking up and down the street at the row of stores. His eyes landed on a pawn shop nestled at the end of the block. “Now c-c-c’mon. Let’s go g-get your girlfriend a pr-promise ring.”

______________________________________________________________

“Well that sure was swell, Mikey.” Richie commented bitterly as he paced the Uris living room, a slice of pepperoni pizza in each hand. He had been alternating between the two, taking an angry bite out of one, then the other, then back again. These are technically his third and fourth slices, Stan thought after a brief glance at the pizza box.

“Richie, don’t get pissy with me. If you’re worried about him, go take it up with Eddie.” Mike tore off the end of his breadstick and ate it.

“You’re the one who pissed him off.” Richie took a bite from the left slice, speaking before swallowing. “You should apologize.”

“For what? Looking out for his best interests? And you should chew with your mouth closed. God, what are you, five?” Mike grumbled before finishing off his breadstick.

“Je-sus, Micycle. Bee in your bonnet?” Richie teased, proceeding to take a bite out of the right slice.

“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood, Tozier.” Mike glared at him.

“Would you two cut it out?” Stan cut in, depositing his pizza crust in the lid of the box. “If you’re gonna keep bickering like this, I’m gonna kick you out.”

“On what grounds?” Richie squinted at him.

“The ‘no-whiny-assholes’ clause.” Stan returned the look as he went for another slice.

“Sorry.” Mike mumbled as he grabbed another breadstick.

“I will not yield.” Richie said with a stubborn flourish, polishing off the left slice. Stan rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

“Of course you don’t. Mike, do you think we should have another meeting and tell the rest about what happened?”

Mike looked contemplatively at the carpet. “I’m not opposed to it, but don’t we have a movie night in a couple of days?”

“We could wait till then if you want.”

“That’s probably best. Oh, and Ben got those pictures developed. He’ll probably want us all to take a look at them.”

“What for?” Richie muttered to himself, finishing the crust of the right slice, his now pizza-less hands he wiped off on his jeans. “Said it yourself, won’t do any good.”

“Ben’s peace of mind will probably appreciate it.” Mike quipped. “Besides, he was gonna give a bunch to you.”

Richie folded his arms and turned to look at Mike, who even while sitting on the floor with Stan, still seemed tall, immovable.

“You shouldn’t have said that to Eddie.”

“I’m not wrong.” Mike rebutted, unphased by the quick turn of subject.

“That doesn’t matter. You know he hates being told he’s got something wrong with him.”

“I never said having a panic disorder is wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not going to jump to that conclusion.”

“That’s on him.”

“You hurt his feelings, Mike!”

“I was being honest!”

“That’s not always what Eddie wants.” Stan cut in. “We’ve been friends with him for a long time, Mike. He’s always preferred easy lies over hard truths.”

“It’s how he was raised.” Richie muttered under his breath as he fiddled with the carpet with his bare toes.

“So you baby him and tell him what he wants to hear? How is that any better than his home life?”

Richie and Stan remained silent.

“I’m not going to patronize him. I know he hates that shit even more. I’m going to be honest with him because he’s my friend and he deserves that, even if it makes him angry.”

“That’s fair.” Richie aquiesced after a beat. “But he’s still gonna be pissy with you if you don’t apologize. And he probably won’t listen to your reasoning if he doesn’t like your accusation.”

“He’ll come around.”

______________________________________________________________

Ben arrived home a little later than usual, pocket heavy with the weight of what he’d decided to do that evening. His whole demeanor was effected by the choice, his smile giddy as he unlocked the door. His mother was waiting with freshly reheated dinner, a telltale sign she was near the end of a pay period. The sight of the cheap, frozen meals steaming in their plastic wrap on the table made Ben feel a little sick, and abruptly wish he hadn’t just spent so much of his money. It was supposed to help with groceries you idiot, Ben chastized himself.

“Hey sweetie. Dinner’s on the table.” His mother greeted as she entered the room, smiling at Ben as he shed his shoes.

“I saw, looks delicious, thank you.” Despite his reservations about the situation, Ben would not refuse a meal from his mother, no matter the context. He knew he should sometimes, knew her constant over feeding was an almost exclusive reason for his issues with weight as a young man. But he was also aware it was one of her ways for making up for his father’s absence. She used food to show her love, and if he said he wasn’t hungry, she took it as rejection. Ben may not always be hungry, but God did he constantly love his mother. So frozen dinners it is.

“You look particularly at peace this evening, Benny.” His mother commented as she crossed to the sink and began washing her hands. “Anything exciting happen today?”

Ben smiled shyly to himself as he got a glass and poured some juice from the fridge. “Uh, yeah actually.” He leaned over and set his cup down at his seat, then raised the jug of juice so his mother could see. “Want a glass?”

“Sure, thanks. Tell me about this excitement!” She pressed, drying her hands before sitting down.

“So, remember how I told you Bev and I’s anniversary is next week?” Ben couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he returned the juice to the fridge. “I got her gift today.” He beamed at his mother as he handed her her cup and sat down.

She returned his grin. “What’d you get her?”

Ben looked around conspiratorially, preening when it made his mother laugh. They loved to joke that others might be around, that things must be secret, ever since Ben was a child and loved playing spies. When he deemed the coast was clear, he pulled the small ring box out of his pocket.

“I got her this promise ring.” Ben said as reverently as he held it out under the light. His mother took it in hand, regarding the ring in awe.

“Oh Benny, this is gorgeous.” She breathed.

“Think she’ll like it?” His tone betrayed his nervousness. “Bill helped me pick it out, I was so unsure.”

“Honey, she’ll love it.” She smiled and returned the box to him. “It’s perfect.”

“I sure hope so.” He pocketed the ring box and picked up his fork, using it to tear back the plastic wrap over his food.

“Sorry it’s not plated, I wasn’t sure how late you’d be and I wanted it to stay warm.” His mother said as she took a drink.

“Oh no mom, this is fine. I don’t mind a bit.” Ben shook his head.

“Oh, and speaking of miss Beverly, she left a voicemail for you a little while ago.” She added, cutting into her meatloaf.

“Thanks, I’ll listen to it after dinner.”

They ate in silence for a bit before she spoke again.

“I like that girl, Benny. I like her a lot. Think someday you’ll put a real ring on that finger?”

Ben smiled down at his food.

“I sure hope so.”

______________________________________________________________

“Georgie, can you get the door for us?”

“Sure momma.” Georgie Denbrough responded with a smile as he jumped down from his makeshift vegetable cutting station. His brother, who was tenderizing meat next to him smiled as he watched his brother happily run off.

The doorbell rang again as Georgie rounded the corner. “Coming!” He called sweetly, beaming as he reached the door. He pulled it open easily with his one arm.

“Oh- hi Georgie.”

Georgie squinted at the sight before him, happy but perplexed. Eddie Kaspbrak was on his doorstep, which he was excited about, because Eddie was his friend and he loved seeing him. But Eddie also looked hurt, his chin covered in bandaids and spots of dried blood on his yellow tee shirt.

“Hi Eddie.” Georgie kept his smile plastered on his face, reminding himself of what his mother always tells him; don’t ask people invasive questions, Georgie.

“Is your brother home?” Eddie asked nervously, wringing his hands on the bottom of his shirt.

“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen.” Georgie gestured across his body, jerking towards the kitchen with a thumb. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Eddie gave a short, airy laugh. “I’ll have to ask. Can I talk to him?”

“Billy!” Georgie suddenly switched to his outside voice. “Eddie’s here!”

Eddie gave Georgie a slightly surprised expression, impressed by the kid’s volume. A moment later Bill arrived in the doorway, chiding Georgie about yelling in the house. He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Eddie in the doorway.

“Ed-eddie.” He crinkled his brow. “You alright?”

“Uh, sorta. I’m- can uh, can I stay over tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. W-we’re just making-”

“Dinner, yeah, I’ll help.” Eddie scurried into the house, not bothering to give Bill a chance to finish the thought. The boys shared a look as they left the doorway, its meaning indecipherable to Georgie. He huffed to himself, feeling a bit angry about once again being left out of things, and went to close the door. He stopped his motion at the sight of the edges of their front garden, his gaze on the bushes that came up to the side of the doorstep. The small yellow flowers that usually bloomed on its stems in spring were opening up, unfurling at an unnatural speed, leaving the bush covered in fresh blossoms before it stopped. Georgie watched with wide eyes, confounded by the sight before him.

Momma’s right, he thought as he finally willed himself to close the door. I’ve been watching too many cartoons.

______________________________________________________________

authors notes: sorry this took forever to come out! i told myself i’d put it up on wednesday. i did not accomplish that lmao. anyways he’res another installment, things are really starting to pick up! in the pop culture universe georgie has one arm; the denbroughs were in an accident when the boys were young, where georgie lost his arm and bill sustained the brain damage that causes his stutter. also no one is more of a benverly cheerleader than bill. 

tagslist: @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @wyttolff @gayzier @kaspbrak-is-our-king @mikedenbrough @28shoes @nicoperryy @kinghanscom @eddiecare @shadysandi @fyeahreddie @reddieforlove

cccxxix.

what is your middle name?: >> Frey. what’s your favorite lyric or quote?: >> *the ‘fear is the mind-killer’ litany floats through my head again* do you support abortion?: >> I support the right to get one if one chooses. last nightmare you had?: >> I really don’t remember. who was your first crush?: >> Well, Matt Damon, probably. Or Yul Brynner. I don’t know, I didn’t realise what crushes actually were until around middle school, and these two are from before then, so my memory is vaguer.

what is an annoying overused phrase?: >> “You are valid.” What does that even mean anymore? What am I going to do with that affirmation? Throw a party? what’s usually your last thought falling asleep?: >> I don’t know. The passage into sleep is such a nebulous and sneaky one that I can’t imagine how I’m supposed to figure out what my last thought was. Thoughts generally flow into preliminary dreams, anyway, so there’s no “last” thought. Just... a changing of thoughts into other things. what’s one thing someone said to you that has always stuck in your memory?: >> Predictably, I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. ever agreed with a punishment your parents gave you?: >> Of course not, I hate being punished. Just because the punishment may have been just doesn’t mean I’m gonna like it! do you like to be anti-social sometimes?: >> No. I like to be quiet and undisturbed sometimes, especially for the sake of focusing on an activity, but that is in no way anti-social behaviour. what was your childhood dream job?: >> I didn’t have one. would you ever adopt a kid?: >> Sure. ever did something you swore to yourself you never would?: >> Well, yeah, probably. what color is your toothpaste?: >> White. have you ever faked your identity on the net?: >> Nah. It never occurred to me to do that; I already contain multitudes, so I have a lot of myself to choose from when it comes to image presentation. I don’t need to fake anything. do you like roller coasters?: >> Sure. how do you feel on new years eve?: >> A low-key excitement. I enjoy the ritualistic torch-passing from one year to the next, and I always enjoy the feeling of a fresh start.  which friend is the most understanding of you?: >> I don’t know. what turns you off about a guy?: >> Hm.

what’s the weirdest thing you ever ate?: >> I’m really not sure. From my point of view, nothing I’ve eaten is particularly weird. whats your opinion on the movie napoleon dynamite?: >> I didn’t like it. have you ever chased a pigeon?: >> Nah. ever done something mean to a teacher?: >> So once in high school, I want to say tenth grade? I had this teacher named Mr Stanley. And I don’t remember what it was about Mr Stanley that annoyed me, or what he’d done to make me feel petty, but honestly I stopped getting along with teachers in middle school anyway, once it was realised that I wasn’t going to be teacher’s pet/the Smart child anymore. So maybe I was just being a bitch. But either way, The Sixth Sense was still fresh in my mind at the time, and one day on the back of my homework I wrote “Stuttering Stanley! Stuttering Stanley!” Mr Stanley, mind you, did not stutter. I was just making an annoying reference. Like I said, I don’t fuckin know why. I was a teenager, man, and not a happy or sane one either. So then when Mr Stanley sees it, he gets mad as hell and gets in my face (he was tall, too) and is just bitching me out. I don’t know why he got quite so mad lmao. Maybe he... was a stutterer, once. Wouldn’t that be wild? are you a fan of ipods?: >> No. I used to be, especially when they were a new thing, but meh. whats the biggest thing you considered stealing?: >> I don’t know. Nothing huge, I’d imagine. I’m not that good of a thief. ever been so scared you stayed up with the lights on?: >> Nah. ever ran away from home?: >> I ran away from a place that wasn’t at all home for me. what’s the worst thing your parents have said to you?: >> I don’t recall my father saying anything particularly awful to me. That wasn’t really his style. how many times have you cried yourself to sleep?: >> I have no way of knowing. would you ever sky dive?: >> I’d like to. could you handle eating a bug?: >> I could. Wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world, but it sure wouldn’t be the hardest. have you ever intentionally been a bitch?: >> Yes. ever felt like you could really be considered crazy?: >> Well, of course. do you think time travel is truly possible?: >> I don’t know enough about the subject of time to form a concrete opinion. think you can dance?: >> Yes, but I’d certainly be able to dance better if I practiced. do you still ride in shopping carts?: >> No. I think I could still fit, but getting in and out is a lot harder at this size. ever seen a Broadway play?: >> No. I’d like to. can you honestly say you’ve felt like not being alive?: >> Sure. if you could choose how to die, how would it happen?: >> I’d be old and happily tired, and it’d happen in my sleep. what is your reaction when you see the person who gives you butterflies?: >> I don’t know what that feels like. I understand it’s probably mostly metaphorical (I say mostly because I think the physical sensation is also a thing that some people must be experiencing?), but I... am not entirely sure what the metaphor is standing for. weirdest dream you can remember is…: >> Hm. Raining with sun out or snowing at night time?: >> Nighttime snow is very calming. I mean, unless you have to drive in the morning. LOL instead of roses, you’d rather receive which type of flower?: >> Sunflowers. Or anything interesting-looking, really. Or nothing. Because cut flowers are a strange gift to me. You cut a plant and doomed it to an unnatural death just to... give it to me. I don’t think I want that. Give me a living plant instead (one that I can realistically take care of, obviously, not something that requires a real garden and full sun or something). romantic ending or realistic ending in a movie?: >> I thought the point of movies was to be transported from reality, honestly. I don’t understand the obsession with realism. at this moment, whose arms would you like wrapped around you?: >> I mean, no one’s, because it’s hot. if you had telepathy, would you tell anyone?: >> I don’t know. I can’t even imagine having telepathy. The power actually doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, because of how brains work, and also because you’d literally be too full of input to... do anything. Telepathy with filtering capability is a little less nonsensical to me. if you could, what color would you paint the sky?: >> That’s not how skies work anyway. what disease would you pick to instantly cure?: >> I don’t want that sort of responsibility. if you could go back in time, what age would you go to?: >> No. is there one major thing you want to accomplish before you die (of old age)?: >> No. who do you want to talk to right this moment?: >> Hm. if you could tell the world one thing about you, what would it be?: >> No. who’s the one person you wish you could apologize to right now, for whatever reason?: >> --- what’s the least favorite part on your body?: >> Hm. who would you honestly give up your own life for?: >> I would give up life for no one. what’s the one thing you don’t like to joke around about?: >> For the most part, I don’t like jokes at the expense of people, particularly about things they can’t control or didn’t choose. Like, friends roasting me for my personality or something, sure. That’s fun. Making fun of white people for not seasoning food? All day every day. Making fun of drug addicts, or poor people, or people from other countries that you don’t understand? I’ll pass. do you think you’re intelligent?: >> Sure. I also think I’m dumb as hell. Both are true. We can’t possibly be smart about everything. do other people’s opinions of your beliefs matter to you?: >> They’re interesting sometimes, and sometimes I might even take them into consideration, but a lot of the times they’re just unsolicited and irrelevant -- not to mention arrogantly or insensitively presented. what quality in someone else just pisses you off?: >> Hm. favorite tv show as a little kid?: >> I didn’t have one. what do you like most about winter?: >> At this point, I’m so tired of winter that I can’t think about it positively. Ask me again in late July. what sound makes you cringe?: >> The sound of the dumpsters being emptied, because they have to bang it a couple of times to get all the stuff out.  do the standards of society matter to you in any way?: >> They matter when I have to interact with them, or when things are being denied me or people are treating me badly because I don’t measure up to social standards. ever tried to overdose?: >> Yes. (Obviously, I failed.) what vegetable do you pick over every other veggie?: >> Baby spinach. why are you self-conscious?: >> Because I am more aware of my self than I have ever been. ever had the conversation of marrying someone and having their kids?: >> Not the latter part. what scent makes you smile?: >> You know, I’ve never thought about it. have you ever just read the dictionary for kicks?: >> Yeah, when I was a child.  if someone stalked you, how would you react?: >> I don’t know. I’ve never been stalked so I don’t even know what it’d feel like. what is one thing that a friend might do that annoys you?: >> Hm. whats the first department you go to in a store?: >> That depends on the store and why I’m there. what kind of grapes do you like?: >> Red. have you ever been physically hurt by someone intentionally and not for fun?: >> Yes. do you often weasel out of doing things just cuz you’re lazy?: >> Maybe. Although I’m not sure I believe in laziness -- I’m sure there are probably exceptions to my theory, because there are exceptions to everything, but I think people just use “lazy” as an insult when they don’t understand why someone else doesn’t work at the same pace or level of enthusiasm or within the same time frame as they do. I think people internalise that and just roll with it. I think that “laziness” is a lazy term that hides a multitude of solveable problems -- executive dysfunction, depression, lack of balance (it’s like the Sims: if you don’t fulfill their need for fun and socialisation, their performance in all sectors suffers), inability to care about whatever-it-is, anxiety, overload/overstimulation, and so on. I say “I’m lazy lmao” because it’s honestly easier to just let myself be judged that way than try to explain these other things to people and be told I’m a liar or making up excuses. ever ignored a phone call because you knew that person was boring?: >> No. items ever thrown around in your room out of anger…: >> That has happened. Not recently. ever gone out commando?: >> No. I find that immensely uncomfortable. are you ever going to consider plastic surgery?: >> No. Couldn’t afford it anyway. do you give in easily?: >> I mean, yes, sometimes. what can’t you stand about your room?: >> It’s too small and Sigma ruined it. do you really believe in magic?: >> Yes. if you ever caught your parents in a lie, what was it?: >> A lie of omission. My father didn’t tell me that the dog we got when we moved to South Jersey had ran away, until I asked him why I haven’t seen the dog in a few days. He... thought I’d like, forget???? I don’t know what kind of logic he was working with there. :| if you were born a guy, what would you hope your name would be?: >> Hm.

were you named after anyone?: >> Originally. what’s one characteristic your ideal boyfriend would have?: >> Hm. do you need reassurance a lot?: >> Not a lot. Not often at all, really. your least favorite Disney villain is…: >> I don’t know enough Disney villains to have a least favourite. what flavor of skittles do you dislike the most?: >> I thought they all taste the same. 

Chapter 6: Take My Breath Away

Story: It’s Not My Fault

Title - Take My Breath Away by Berlin

Note: I commissioned @slashpalooza to make the photo above based on this chapter of my fic!

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

Eddie’s lost his mind. Which Richie knew would happen eventually. His small and carefully controlled boyfriend (well, controlled compared to me) was bound to go crazy sooner or later.

Eddie vowed to be a disgusting couple while they were in Vermont to punish their friends, which Richie did not take seriously. Eddie will not even hold hands in public, there was no way he was going to KISS me too.

Wrong party of 1 under Tozier. The first day at the slopes Richie and Eddie waited outside for the others to rent skiing gear or buy other supplies. Eddie was bundled in a blue ski suit that engulfed him, the hood popped up with his goggles around his neck. He was rubbing his gloved hands together and bouncing from one foot to the other trying to warm up. Richie went to hold Eddie’s hand (to test the waters of course) and Eddie snatched it away automatically. I knew he wouldn’t do it. Then something seemed to click with Eddie.

“Shit...wait...we don’t know anyone here,” Eddie said gazing at Richie. Those brown eyes with flecks of grey in them darkened like he had a secret, a small smile played on his lips as his eyes flickered to Richie’s mouth.

Richie was about to make a crude comment (as one does) when Eddie grabbed a fistful of his ski coat and pulled him down. All his words were lost against Eddie’s mouth. He tried to kiss Eddie gently, carefully, but it wasn’t gentleness Eddie wanted. Eddie knotted his fists in Richie’s coat, pulling him harder against him.

It was like something ignited in Eddie that had been bubbling right below the surface. It was exciting and terrifying for Richie. Eddie was trying to deepen the kiss and Richie willing obliged. He tasted minty as their tongues collided. He craved the moments when Eddie was this affectionate that it seemed dreamlike. Almost crave it as much as when I get Eddie angry, hee hee hee.

Eddie kept deepening their kiss completely taking charge. This exchange seemed to breathe life into Richie. He was usually the one initiating everything that he did not know what to do except give in and melt into it. He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s jacketed waist to gain a little control and sighed in content. Eddie always made Richie feel calm and focused. It was like nothing else existed, just Eddie and him.

Eventually, Eddie needed to pull away and catch his breath. His ski hood had fallen down revealing how flushed his face was. They were both panting, their breathing mingled together staring at each other in surprise and excitement. Richie sometimes could not believe Eddie and him were even together then a kiss like that reminded him how real they were.

“You smell like coconut?” Eddie said in confusion bringing Richie’s face forward to smell the top of his head.

“Oh, I borrowed Beverly’s shampoo this morning because I forgot to pack some,” Richie chuckled as Eddie hummed appreciatively releasing his face. Richie ran a hand through his curls smirking, “Do you like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Eddie took a hold of Richie’s right hand refusing to look at him. Even through their gloved fingers, this made his skin tingle.

“You didn’t have too. Your face is an open book sometimes.” Richie brushed his lips lightly against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie tried to glare but he just laughed. “A book I could read all day, my peppermint.”

“You are seriously still doing candy pet names for me?” Eddie said rolling his eyes but with a cute grin plastered on his face.

“Of course lovely licorice.” Richie bopped Eddie on the nose which just made him crinkle his face in annoyance. “Fuck, you’re so cute.”

“Shut up you stupid sap,” Eddie said before kissing him into silence.

“You both make me want to kill myself,” Stanley said coming out of the ski store.

“Should have thought of that before you pulled a Judas,” Eddie said flipping Stanley off. Bill and Mike walked out next with bags of supplies.

“Just keeping you honest. You get jealous with Richie. Like a green-eyed monster.” Stanley smirked.

“Richie gets more jealous with Eddie.” Mike pointed out. “Well, he gets needy is more accurate.”

“Mikey is right about that. But it is because I’m always needy and horny for you.” Richie pulled Eddie in to kiss his cheek.

Eddie pushed his face away, “Don’t be gross.”

“What? You can be gross and couplely but I can’t? Double standard.” Richie protested.

“You make everything sexual,” Eddie complained.

“Also, couplely is not a word.” Stanley piped in. Richie rolled his eyes. Spelling police.

When Beverly and Ben came out of the store, they all headed to the slopes. “I’m so excited! I haven’t gone skiing since...um...since,” Eddie could not get the words out.

“Your dad?” Bill finished quietly. Eddie nodded solemnly. Richie squeezed his hand and Eddie returned the gesture.

Eddie quickly tried to change the subject, “Oh Beverly, if you get motion sickness. Let me give you one of my pills. You might get nauseous going down the trails.”

"My boyfriend is so caring and perfect," Richie bragged. Eddie hip checked him but did not argue like usual.

“Thank you, Eddie!” Beverly said gratefully as he went into one of his pockets and handed her a chewable pill.

“Can someone do the easy course with me? I really don’t think I can do this.” Ben said nervously. He was holding his gear awkwardly, clearly anxious about learning to ski.

“No can do Benny Boy,” Richie said. “I want to do the black diamond course.”

“Richie, you should do an intermediate level and work your way to black diamond.” Eddie insisted. “That way you don’t get bored of the black diamond course.”

“You know me so well.” Richie cooed.

“He knows how to p-p-play you is more like it,” Bill said from behind them and Stanley let out a laugh.

“What was that Big Bill?” Richie shouted sarcastically. “Could not hear you over my love for Eds.”

“Don’t call me—” But Richie planted a kiss on Eddie’s lips before he could finish. Eddie kissed back then bit Richie’s lip.

“You bit me!” Richie said pulling away and licking his lip to see if there was blood. It was definitely tender but no blood. “That was so fucking hot.”

Eddie blushed furiously clearly horrified at what he had just done. “Shut up, I’m not hot.” I beg to differ. “Come on Ben, let’s go to the easy course.” Eddie let go of Richie’s hand, “Anyone else coming?”

“I will!” Mike said following the other two toward the beginner trail. Richie watched Eddie walk away already feeling a pang of sadness at being away from him. I miss him when he’s not around. Is that a gay thing to think? Oh wait, I am gay.

Bill grabbed Richie’s arm to guide him toward the ski lifts that would drop them off at the intermediate course. Bill was laughing as he said, “Richie, don’t p-p-pine. You’ll see him in a c-couple of hours.”

Richie threw his head back dramatically. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND MOM, I LOVE HIM!” Richie made a high pitched voice that echoed all around.

“He’s going to start an avalanche,” Stanley huffed out. “Well, as long as we lose him in it, then I guess that is alright.”

“You always make me feel so special Stanny,” Richie wiped away a fake tear as Stanley punched him in the arm.

When they got to the lifts, Beverly and Richie grabbed a chair together. They had their skis on, helmets fastened, and goggles secured on their faces.

“I like the pink goggles you have,” Beverly laughed at him.

“Eddie dared me to get them, so I bought matching ones for us.” Richie looked down as the lift slowly brought them up the mountain. The ground was getting further away and Richie’s adrenaline was kicking in.

“You two are cute when you don’t have to hide your relationship,” Beverly commented. Richie looked at her, but could only see his face reflected in her goggles. “I’ve never seen Eddie so relaxed and…”

“Happy.” Richie finished. “It feels really weird, but I am also completely obsessed with how much he has been kissing me and letting me kiss him.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.” Beverly bumped him with her shoulder and he bumped back.

“What are you implying?” Richie smiled innocently.

“That you are a Hound Dog,” Beverly accused pointing at him with the top of her skiing pole.

Richie shrugged, “I just know what I want and go for it.”

“At least you are careful with Eddie. He certainly wants to be a lot bolder than he actually feels comfortable with.” Beverly warned.

“Trust me, I know,” Richie said. I am always the one to cool us down when we are going too fast. Eddie can’t control himself at all, which just makes him all the cuter. A sign indicating they were almost to the top came in view. “Looks like we are almost there, race you to the bottom!”

Richie lifted the metal bar and was off. The rush of passing obstacles and speeding down the hill was giving him the biggest high. He felt weightless and free as if he had no problems. It reminded him of the first time he kissed Eddie. Or rather when he kissed him shyly and Eddie grabbed his face as he tried to pull away and continued the kiss. It was electric and he felt like he was flying.

Stanley, Bill, Beverly, and him did the intermediate hill three more times before taking a break. Richie went over to the bunny slopes to find the others. Eddie was still teaching Ben how to properly ski with some difficulty. Mike, on the other hand, was flirting up a storm with a teenage instructor. Richie tried to assist Eddie but was shooed away so he could concentrate on helping Ben. Well, better go bother Mike.

“Oh hey there Mikey,” Richie came up behind him slinging his arm around his shoulders. “Who is your new friend?”

“Richie this is Eliza, Eliza this is Richie...the bane of my existence.” Mike poked Richie’s side and he retracted his arm.

“I think he means the best thing to come into existence.” Richie corrected with a toothy grin.

Eliza laughed at his antics, “Well, aren’t you a piece of work.”

“Best artwork you will ever see,” Richie made a Roman Statue pose stretching his arm out trying to look smooth. This made her laugh harder and Mike groan in embarrassment.

Mike shook his head, “Eliza was just saying there is a party at her place this weekend because her parents are out of town. She has invited us to go if we want too.”

“Fuck yeah! I will have to ask my other half first,” Richie turned to see if Eddie was nearby. He saw him picking Ben up off the snowy ground. “Hey, sour patch! Can we go to a party this weekend?” Eddie finished helping Ben up then started trudging over to them.

“Damn, you have a girlfriend? That’s going to disappoint a lot of my friends.” Eliza pouted. “You don’t have a girlfriend do you, Mike?”

“I don’t,” Mike’s voice wavered at her flirting. “And neither does Richie.”

“Then what does he mean by other half—”

Eddie came up next to Richie not even looking at Mike or the girl and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Oh my god is he your boyfriend?!” Eliza squealed. They both looked at her in alarm. “That is so cute. You two HAVE to come to my party.”

“What party?” Eddie asked warily.

“Eliza here is throwing a teenage rager and inviting us losers to come, my dear Eddie,” Richie said playing with the goggles around Eddie’s neck absentmindedly. Eddie looked at him clearly not interested in going to a party.

“I just realized you two have matching goggles, I want to cry.” Eliza put her hands over her mouth giddily.

Eddie gave her a sweet, slightly uncertain smile, “It is nice to meet you, Eliza. Why don’t you give Mike the details for your party and we will hopefully see you there?”

Eddie yanked Richie away to give Mike some more time with her. They walked over to a sitting area that allowed them to take off their footgear. Richie stretched out his legs, already sore from skiing.

“She was kind of weird,” Richie blurted out. “But I want to go to her party.”

“Don’t be fucking rude, she seemed nice.” Eddie hesitated a moment, “And also far too into us being a couple.”

“Maybe in Vermont, they actually like gay people.” Richie shrugged. Eddie leaned his head against Richie’s shoulder comfortably. Richie placed his hand on Eddie’s knee and watched all the kids (and Ben) learning to ski. They stayed in a friendly silence just being happy they could show simple forms of affection.

“We can go to the party if you want to,” Eddie sighed out.

“Well, don’t hide your excitement from me,” Richie grinned as he kissed the top of Eddie’s head. Lavender soap as perfectly usual. He kept his face in his locks for a little longer nuzzling his face there.

Eddie moved his head away to look at him pointedly, “Are you trying to not so subtly smell my head?”

Richie grinned at him, “You smelled mine earlier! Can’t a guy bask in your scent without being judged?”

Eddie frowned at him disgusted, “Don’t say scent.”

“Would you prefer fragrance? Odor? Arrrrrroma?” Richie purred the last word bringing his face close to Eddie’s so their noses touched.

“None thanks, ya freak.” Even with the insult, Eddie brought his lips forward to lightly kiss him. Richie wanted more but felt a hesitancy, so let himself stare at Eddie’s kind face. He was smiling except it did not reach his eyes. Richie was trying to read what he was thinking but could not figure out why Eddie was not over the moon happy. Unlike me, who has never been so thrilled.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Richie asked taking Eddie’s gloved hands in his own.

“Just wish this weekend could last forever,” Eddie whispered.

“Me too.” Richie smiled warmly, “I’ll never get the chance to do as much PDA with you again once you decide to stop punishing our friends.”

Eddie’s smile broadened and this time his eyes twinkled, “I kind of keep forgetting I’m doing it to punish them because I just like kissing your stupid face.”

“My stupid face is all about it.” Richie laughed kissing Eddie’s nose, forehead, and cheeks.

“Stop sucking face! There are children around.” Came Mike’s voice from a distance. Eddie kissed Richie full on the mouth both of them flipping off Mike as they did.

“Now, shall we do the black diamond trail?” Richie said when they pulled away.

Eddie shook his head vigorously, “No way in hell. I’ve already got an arm susceptible to breaking a second time.”  They started to put their gear back on.

“Come on candy corn, it’ll be fun!” Richie got up first and put his hands out to help Eddie up.

Eddie let himself be hoisted to his feet, “No Rich, I’m not comfortable doing it.”

“That’s not what your mother said last night,” Richie wiggled his eyebrows.

“And a sweet moment destroyed once more by Trashmouth. Bye asshole.” Eddie made his way over to Ben who had finally managed to stay on his skis long enough to do a bunny hill.

Richie went looking for Beverly before heading to the black diamond. He found Bill and Stanley talking while glaring at a small crowd of guys. “What’s up losers?” Richie asked looking at the Vermont boys curiously trying to figure out why they were glaring at them.

“See those guys?” Bill said still glaring.

“I do have eyes and can see them but why do we give a fuck—” Richie stopped talking when he realized Beverly was in the center talking to these strangers. She had taken off her helmet and was blushing a little from the cold. Or maybe she was blushing for another reason. A knot of jealousy formed in Richie’s stomach at seeing his best friend surrounded by anyone other than the Losers Club.

“Um, fuck no.” Richie breathed. He began to march over to his redheaded friend.

“Richie! Wait!” Stanley hissed. He ignored him and kept trekking. Richie could hear Stanley and Bill stumbling after him. Good, the more back up the better.

Richie shoved his way through two of the guys. He heard a “What the fuck” from one of them.

“Hey Bev,” Richie threw his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

She looked at him in confusion, “Hey Rich, everything ok?”

He shrugged not taking his eyes off her to acknowledge the others, “Totally fine. Bill, Stan and I are ready to do the black diamond course. Shall we?”

“Absolutely!” She grabbed her helmet and began buckling it on.

“We were all going there too, Bevvie.” Chimed in one of the guys. Desperate much?

She seemed to debate something in her head. No one would have noticed if Richie did not know her so well. She smiled at the guy and said, “Oh! Cool. Why don’t you come with us?”

Richie turned his face toward them, “I’m Richie Tozier, and who the fuck are you?” Richie could feel Beverly’s gaze burn into the side of his face but she stayed silent.

“I’m Kyler—”

“Nice to meet you, Tyler,” Richie put out his hand to shake but the guy did not take it.

“It’s Kyler. Do we have a problem?” Him and his friends straightened up a bit, looking ready for a fight.

Bill stepped in between them like the leader he is, “D-d-don’t mind Richie, his n-n-nickname is Trashmouth for a reason. I’m Bill and this is Stanley.”

“What’s wrong with you?” One of the other guys said.

Stanley walked forward, “Nothing is wrong with him. He has a stutter. What’s wrong with you?” Bill placed a hand on Stanley’s shoulder to keep him calm.

Richie slowly stood next to Stanley in solidarity. Richie felt like he was in a movie where the action is slowed for dramatic effect. The other guys seemed older than them, but Richie and Bill were taller. We could take them. Richie waited for Bill to take the lead. None of them moved, they just stared them down.

Beverly poked Richie’s back so he would move aside. “Alright, now that everyone has shown off their dicks can we go to the black diamond trail?”

The scene came back to reality immediately. They all looked embarrassed, trying to shrug off the encounter as if nothing had happened. Except me, I’m never embarrassed. I ooze confidence. Richie followed Beverly toward the lifts, everyone walking in a deathly quiet.

The Myler guy broke the awkward silence, “We were telling Beverly that there is a party tomorrow, which you Maine kids can come too.”

“Same party hosted by a Miss Eliza?” Richie said keeping under control.

Beverly laughed, “Why am I not surprised that you’ve already been invited?”

“One day in Vermont and he’s already the most popular guy around.” Stanley drawled out from behind him. Richie turned his head and blew Stanley a kiss.

Bill bumped him good-naturedly, “Maybe he n-n-needs to be k-k-kicked out of the Losers Club. Clearly too good for us.” 

He grabbed his heart in horror, “You can’t kick out the President of the Losers Club!”

“Bill’s the president, not you,” Stanley argued.

“Rude,” Richie said.

“What’s the Losers Club?” Jyler guy popped in.

“The four of us plus three other losers. We are best friends.” Beverly explained.

“That’s cool.” Byler guy nodded trying to get next to Beverly. Richie made sure he was right up against her. Despite her clear frustration, she let him be protective.

“We are the farthest from cool, but thanks,” Beverly said. Richie could feel the tension from before ease a little and they settled into a banter with the Vermont boys.

When they got to the lifts, Richie surprised everyone by saying, “Are we racing down the mountain...um...I want to say, Wyler?” Any way to keep him away from Beverly.

“It’s KYLER. And you are so on Maine.” They stood next to each other in line, ready to board the lift. The other Vermont boys went together. Stanley boarded with Beverly and Bill got a lift by himself.

They hopped onto the seat and brought the bar down. Richie pulled his goggles over his eyes. He took the chance to look over this guy. He had dirty blonde hair and fairly attractive features. Some acne on his chin, which he seemed to be trying to cover with a patchy beard. He is definitely a douchebag, I have a sense about these things.

Nyler guy looked over at him and asked, “So are you and Bevvie an item?”

“I wouldn’t call her Bevvie, man. And she’s basically my wife.” Richie responded.

“You’re married?!” He asked confused. "Oh man, I am so sorry I didn't know."

“What? No! I have a boyfriend.” Richie said. “The cutest guy here.” This guy is an idiot too. 

Hyler guy let out a nervous laugh, “Oh you’re gay. Great.”

“I’m bisexual, but why is that great?” Richie asked glaring. Not that he can see my glare through the goggles, but I know it is there. That’s what counts.

“Come on man, you must have guessed I am into her.” He said chuckling. They were almost to the top. Richie braced himself, ready to beat this jerk off.

They lifted the bar up and as Richie landed he said, “She’ll eat you for breakfast.” This guy would learn soon enough that Beverly is not to be messed with.

Richie zoomed down the mountainside. He knew his recklessness was coming out because he almost hit a tree and a person. He was going faster than he had ever gone before. His mind went blank for a moment as the feeling of blissfulness was so real and overwhelming. When he reached the bottom he started to do a victory dance.

I won the race of course because I’m the best around. I AM THE CHAMPION MY FRIENDSSSSS. AND I’LL KEEP ON FIGHTING ‘TIL THE END. Oh look, it’s my boyfriend.

“Hey eds!” Richie called as Eddie made his way over clearly laughing at his dancing. He gave Eddie a huge hug lifting him off the ground.

“Don’t call me Eds,” He tried to fight Richie but ended up laughing too hard. Eddie put his hands on Richie’s shoulders to gain some balance.

Richie adjusted his grip around his legs, so Eddie would not tip backward, “Whatever you say, Eds. I just creamed a guy on the black diamond course. It was amazing.”

“My champion,” Eddie grinned down at him.

Richie’s mouth opened in awe, “Ok, that’s super weird. I was just thinking about the Queen song.”

“I know Richie. I heard you singing it.” Eddie giggled then planted an open mouth kiss on Richie. Richie felt on top of the world.

“GET A ROOM!” Bill’s voice could be heard somewhere.

They laughed and when Eddie pulled away he patted Richie’s cheek, “Now put me down, I want food.”

Richie plopped him on his feet unceremoniously, “We have to get Ben ‘N Jerry’s every day we are here.”

Eddie gained his footing frowning a little, “It’s freezing dipshit.”

“It is never too cold for ice cream!” Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and dragged him along.

  ...To Be Continued

THE NARROW PATH TO PERSONAL PEACE | Charles Stanley

Wars, riots, domestic violence, and international conflicts—it’s clear that the world is not at peace.

But our internal worlds don't have to mirror this external chaos.

In this message, Dr. Stanley speaks of JESUS CHRIST as the Prince of Peace and explains how we can find inner contentment and true rest through a personal relationship with HIM.

Don't let things like anger, lust, or bitterness steal your peace.

  & let HIM calm your soul with    HIS soothing presence.

KEY PASSAGE: John 14:27

SUPPORTING SCRIPTURES: Matthew 5:9 | Luke 9:5 | Luke 10:5

       ●  Matthew 5:9 | ⁹ Blessed are the peacemakers,             for they will be called sons of GOD.

       ●  Luke 9:5 | ⁵ If anyone does not welcome you,            shake the dust off your feet when you leave            that town, as a testimony against them.”

       ●  Luke 10:5 | ⁵ Whatever house you enter, begin            by saying, ‘Peace to this house.’

SUMMARY

      The night before HIS crucifixion JESUS gave HIS       disciples an amazing promise:

      “Peace I leave with you; MY peace I give to you;       not as the world gives do I give to you.       Do not let your heart be troubled,       nor let it be fearful” [John 14:27].

HE wasn’t saying that all their conditions would be serene, easy, & comfortable. On the contrary, HE was telling them they would have peace of mind & heart even though their circumstances were painful, difficult, & uncertain. And this is the same kind of peace JESUS promises to all of us who belong to HIM.

SERMON POINTS

The peace CHRIST gives is a settled sense of satisfaction in HIM. It’s not dependent upon good conditions but on a relationship with GOD through JESUS CHRIST. We can be confident that no matter what we face in life, HE is with us & in us through the HOLY SPIRIT. And1of these days, whether we die or JESUS comes 1st, all the troubles of this life will be over, & we will be in heaven with HIM forever. Then everything will be made right just as HE promised, but until then, we have HIS peace within us as we live in this world’s pain & trouble.

CHRIST’s peace is not like that which the world offers.

This age is not characterized by peace, whether external or internal. People are anxious about their jobs, finances, relationships, & situations because the world cannot give them the peace that transcends circumstances. The only thing it can offer is counterfeits, which falsely promise that peace will come when they can have whatever they want. In the days when JESUS lived on earth, Rome was doing its best to keep external peace in the empire by subjecting everyone in 2 ways—through power & pain. But the peace CHRIST gives doesn’t come through coercion. The Greek word for peace is eirene, which means to bind or join together, signifying oneness without strife or consternation. JESUS CHRIST’s offer of peace comes when a person is bound together with HIM.

Without that relationship, genuine peace will always be missing no matter how many other good relationships1may have. Furthermore, anxiety & a lack of tranquility may result in physical ailments. Although people oftentimes seek relief in other alternatives, they will never truly find peace apart from CHRIST.

JESUS is the source of this peace.

CHRIST’s peace is not something we can work to attain but a gift freely given to all who belong to HIM. It’s actually the gift of HIMSELF that is acquired at salvation. At that moment, an eternal relationship with CHRIST is established, & where HE is, there is peace. ONE of the evidences of this relationship with the Prince of Peace is that we become peacemakers [Matt. 5:9]. And the most basic way of doing this is by connecting other people to the ultimate Peacemaker, JESUS CHRIST.

There is a narrow path that leads to peace.

The world offers a wide selection of ways to find tranquility, but they are all false. Yet this is the path most people choose. THEY move from1false hope to the next but are never able to satisfy the gnawing need for peace in their hearts.

When JESUS sent HIS disciples out to proclaim the kingdom of GOD, HE said to them, “Whatever house you enter, 1st say, ‘Peace be to this house’” [Luke 10:5]. This verse is a good reminder for us to pray for those whose homes we visit. Although we may not know the circumstances of their lives, the LORD does, & we can pray that they will receive JESUS as Savior & LORD, & experience HIS amazing peace.

On the narrow path to peace, there are obstacles that steal our peace.

Lustful thoughts. When a Christian is looking where he shouldn’t & desiring something sinful, he will have no peace because of the conviction of sin that comes from GOD’s Spirit within him. Lust always creates chaos in the heart & soul. Guilt. Peace is fragile & is easily lost when we feel the guilt of our sin. It could be something we said or did that we shouldn’t have, or perhaps something we should have said or done but didn’t. Either way, our peace evaporates under the SPIRIT’s conviction. Anger. Peace & anger do not coexist. Animosity toward someone stirs up negative emotions & robs us of a tranquil spirit. Bitterness. If we allow past hurtful experiences to fester, we will have no peace because our focus is on the wrong done to us & not on CHRIST. HE suffered more injustice than anyone else ever has but harbored no bitterness, & we are to follow HIS example. Self-centeredness. If we are preoccupied with what we want or think we deserve, we will have no peace because such thinking is rooted in pride. Doubt. Any time we doubt the truth of GOD’s WORD or HIS promise to answer our prayers, we can’t have the peace of CHRIST ruling in our hearts. Unbelief. Those without CHRIST cannot have HIS peace because they don’t have a relationship with HIM. THEY may display a limited or conditional serenity, but it is easily lost & won’t last. Jealousy. A preoccupation with a desire to have what belongs to someone else robs us of tranquility & contentment. How can we experience CHRIST’s peace?

We must believe that HE is in control of our lives & our circumstances. Otherwise, we will try to take control, & there is conflict in that struggle. We must believe that CHRIST’s offer of peace is real & be willing to accept it in spite of our feelings. We must fully surrender our lives—mind, will, & emotions—to JESUS as our LORD. This includes yielding & conforming our character, conversation, & conduct to HIS will. Having CHRIST’s peace does not mean that we will never have any trouble, suffer pain or illness, or feel afraid. But whenever these experiences come our way, we will be able to respond with absolute confidence & certainty in the sufficiency of CHRIST. HE is adequate for every situation & will always carry us through it. In fact, sometimes the most difficult, painful, & trying circumstances can become the seedbed for the awesome peace GOD gives to us in those moments.

RESPONSE

Is your life characterized more by peace or anxiety? What situations most commonly rob you of peace? Where is your focus in those times? Is it on yourself, others, circumstances, the unknowable future, or CHRIST? What is your level of peace when you are trusting GOD versus when you are trying to control your life or the lives of others? Who is more qualified to be the1in charge—you or GOD?

https://www.intouchcanada.org/watch/expressing-godly-character/the-narrow-path-to-personal-peace

Comic Theory Pt. 2

Just Because We Can Doesn't Mean We Should.

Three Panel Technique

On my third book, GRAVES, I employed a technique of almost always using three panels for each page. After my second book, I wanted a format that would bring to the comic medium a space that the characters could inhabit, along with an emotional continuity that comics rarely possess. After doing some experiments, I landed on a three-panel technique. While writing the rough draft and storyboards for GRAVES, I happened to read Osamu Tezuka's Lost World and The Mysterious Underground Men. Both books were written in the late 40s and utilized a three-panel technique on each page. This gave me the confidence to make all of GRAVES a three-panelled comic, and I had such a good experience making the comic that I've continued to utilize these techniques for the stories I have written since.

In working with the three-panel system, I have wondered if I am truly utilizing the comic medium to its fullest capability. My goal is to stabilize the perspective and approach to comic storytelling so that techniques used in film can be utilized in the comic medium. Frank Miller said that he went into comics to make them more cinematic, and that he stays in the industry to make them less so. With the production of his Sin City as a film, it is clear that any comic style can be translated to cinematic language, making Miller's statement a moot point.

So why use the three-panel method utilizing fewer comic techniques (less panels, less word balloons, less sound effects, duller colors, etc...) to make the comic language more like film? Because I believe the mediums are very related and share a lot of the same principles. They share visual narrative principles and techniques like being a visual medium, the use of cuts or edits (shown by panels and page turns in comics), and the use of texture and tertiary story devices (such as sound effects, set design, and sound design).

Emotional Integrity

Film consistently achieves a level of depth and drama that is very rare in comics. Every year there are multiple films that move me deeply and push the medium forward in daring and personal ways. In an average year there is rarely even one comic that moves me as much as five movies that have come out that year. From self-produced to indie to Marvel and DC--every year I am hard-pressed to find a comic that resonates with me to the same extent as current films. (Some examples of what came out the year I wrote this, 2016: Captain Fantastic, Moonlight, Manchester By The Sea, Neon Demon, Nocturnal Animals, and Arrival to name just a few.)

Imagine a year in comics where there were several comics that achieved a level of specific and personal emotion like the film Moonlight, written and directed by Barry Jenkins. In this film we follow one man, Chiron, who is played by three different actors. We see him grow up and encounter all of the complexities of living in Miami. We also see him struggle with his mother as a drug addict and try to navigate life with his father figure who is a gentle and loving drug dealer. What could easily become a niche art-house film is instead universal because of its approach to heartache, identity, and family. It is constructed in the most professional and wonderful way. Everything converges to make one fantastic story that washes over you, and I would dare anyone to not be shaken emotionally by it.

Some examples of earnest, raw, and nuanced intelligent emotion in comics includes contemporary comic artists Aidan Koch and Austin English as they achieve an abstract, emotionally-rich level of storytelling. In the graphic novel by Sam Alden It Never Happened again: Two Stories (2014), it is raw and powerful, yet refined and subtle. The emotional intensity and keen observation of human interaction and existence is profound and completely on par with the most understated and nuanced of films and novels. There are indie masters like Terry Moore and Alan Moore who consistently have vivid characters and build rich worlds. Masters of the past like Osamu Tezuka and Harvey Pekar continually tapped into genuine human emotion and shared insight into the human condition. Recent superhero stories by Geoff Johns, Justice League (2012), and Scott Snyder, Batman (2012), often capture the fun and energy one had when reading superhero stories as a child. They both add layers of humanity to superhero stories that are often stock and cold when written by others.

People may argue that graphic novels, specifically biographical stories, do achieve the same level of emotion that a work like Moonlight achieves. I cannot deny subjective emotion that wells up in a reader. But I can argue technique and structure. Using the example of body-horror stories, stories that focus on the fragility and decay of the human body, the structure and depth of character in a graphic novel like Charles Burns’ Black Hole (2005) cannot compare to a film like Andrej Zulawski's Possession (1981).

Before I jump in, it needs to be said that people may also argue that even comparing stories within the same sub-genre is like comparing apples to oranges. But I disagree. I believe Dracula (1931) can be compared to The Shining (1980). Two films within the horror genre (not of the same sub-genre), but with very disparate stories. Even still, the central focus of blood, family, and control of one's mind could easily spark thoughts of comparison and contrast.

Black Hole's structure jumps around, and we never focus on one specific personal conflict or really get to know even one character very thoroughly. We get more of a wide vantage point in the story. Everything is skin deep. Whereas Zulawski's Possession structure focuses on a family and places them in a familiar and terrifying backdrop: West Germany with the wall as a large and looming presence, almost a character in and of itself. Possession gets under your skin, you become part of it's mania. Black Hole appears to be more interested in a scattershot of characters and experiences. Burns’ story takes the analogy that body-horror innately brings with it and uses it to focus on a coming-of-age story in high school. This is an obvious metaphor that does not have much depth to mine. The depth of one character’s disease is never felt because it is never directly penetrated to the “basement floor” of a character, and, because of this, I found Burns’ story forgettable. Zulawski’s Possession, on the other hand, starts in the middle of a story we know nothing about. Everyone is acting strange and the locations they inhabit are equally bizarre as well as bare. As we get into the film, the reason for the strangeness becomes deeper and deeper, more personal, and alienating. By the end of the film, our head is spinning with what is real and what is fake: both in what we are seeing, but also in a relational context. The film is about alienation of the self, of the other--family, friends, and everyone else, of a career, and of the state. It is an incredibly complicated, nuanced, and personal film. It’s effect stays with you and every time you revisit another layer is revealed.

Structure

The reason that I use a three-panel, per page technique is because I feel one of the primary things missing from comics is a structure in which to set the narrative so other aspects of storytelling can shine and provide layers to the plot and characters within. An example of some very rare techniques to find in a comic that are commonly utilized in film are consistent frame composition, understandable perspective of a location as well as knowing where a character is within it, a steady and consistent flow from panel-to-panel--that does not exclusively utilize close-ups with bare backgrounds--like smooth and seamless editing does in a great film.

Something nearly all comics have in them consistently is a plethora of random panels. Randomly placed, randomly sized, and often framed very close or showing little detail beyond the character at the focal point. Comics can be hard to read for the uninitiated and feel like the story is being told in a randomly presented and ordered way. From superhero to indie, this is just how comics are made. Good questions to ask a writer or artist of a comic (or to think about while reading any comic) is why is that panel placed right there? Why is it that size? Why is it that shape? Why is it focusing on that character or action and nothing else? What else is happening in the environment around the character I am looking at, and why can’t I see it? Search Youtube for a video essay on any famous director, and you will find a plethora of video essays describing why Stanley Kubrick, Wes Anderson, John Carpenter, or Chantal Akerman--to name a very few--shot and edited the way they did. I dare anyone to find a video essay on the structure of a very famous book like Alan Moore's From Hell (1999). (As of the writing of this I found several surface level reviews of From Hell, but not a substantial essay. For comparison there are at least five essay/theory videos on the first page of Youtube for John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982).)

Why is a plethora of seemingly random sized panels a poor layout strategy for a comic? It’s not. There are a multitude of comics that use this format to an amazing affect. But unless you are Osamu Tezuka, Dave Sim, Gabrielle Bell, Terry Moore, or Dash Shaw, odds are your comic will be cluttered, confusing, bloated, and underutilized.

Comics Vs. Novel Vs. Film

When read, a comic book is spread out over two full pages at once. This lets the reader subconsciously see both of the pages at once and in part. The reader can see what is coming, but having not yet read the two pages, there is no context for the information they have. This is an enormous advantage over film. Cinema is ruled by time and must share its information clearly, consistently, and adequately. If the information in the film is not delivered in this fashion, the story will come across too fast, too slow, too jumbled, or too confusing. A film tries its hardest to keep you under its spell, and when a component is off, at any time, you will be thrust out of the film.

Prose is hindered because it lives inside the reader’s head, and it’s easy for an author to digress down countless rabbit holes often muddying up a plot with too many details and too much information. A film is hindered because it has such a brief time to tell it’s story it must often rush through the details, leaving out many sequences from which the novel was derived. Comics have the opportunity to use techniques from both mediums, and use them better. The comic book can utilize the freedom and tools found in both novels and film. It can use prose to describe just as easily as it can use an image to tell the same story. It can use whatever it needs to to make the story clearer, more emotionally resonant, and intellectually stimulating.

A novel works very hard at communicating what an image can say instantly. A novel is not bound by time or physical space to work within, like a film. And unlike a comic it can and must describe, in subjective prosaic detail, what the author sees and intends for the reader to see. A novel is a unique and subjective experience because the format and structure of a novel can be radically different from author to author. A film has a given structure at which every filmmaker must work under. A novel has proven writing strategies and guidelines, but given that, Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) is a radically different experience compared to reading C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia (1950). Watching Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is narratively very different than but structurally very similar to Pete Docter’s Monsters, Inc (2001). The difference between authors can be like the difference between a grand feature film William Wyler’s Ben Hur (1959) and a home-made five-minute-long Youtube video. Sure, they are both made by using a video camera, but beside that they couldn’t be more different.

Time

More than film, comics share a close relationship with television. Shows are often released a week at a time using individual episodes to sculpt the narrative arc of a season to tell one long story. This is very similar to what comics do, but instead they come out monthly, with less time to tell their story, as the average comic is roughly thirty pages--the average drama TV show is 45-60 minutes. In this way it could be said filmed narrative is more efficient than comics. But if you read a story by a master comic maker like Osamu Tezuka, every panel will give you so much uncluttered information, that the story doesn’t feel rushed or incomplete.

Another advantage the average TV drama has over monthly comics is that they are made and released in seasons. They are given a break to re-adjust, get some distance from, and fine-tune the following continuation of the narrative. Comics are typically unending monthly narratives. They are often made as quickly as possible, with little time to flesh out and iron out narrative and artistic wrinkles. If comics were released as seasons, with a proper amount of time to give space and breathe to the creative process, the average quality and it’s given control of a book would increase. Imagine a show like Breaking Bad (2008) never having any break between seasons. The writers, directors, and actors would become so exhausted and burned out. It would be easy to assume they would start viewing the process of the making of the show as a hill to climb and complete, instead of a journey to explore and spend time with. Comics rarely have this luxury.

No Right Way

Obviously, there are no “right” ways to make a comic, just like there is no “right” way to make a film, TV show, or write a novel. But over the decades of each of these mediums’, their evolution has increased and allowed for radically diverse approaches of creation. Comparing the short films of the Brothers Quay to a director like Stanley Kubrick is amazing in the radical spread of approach, sensibility, and sheer variety of perspective. Comparing a superhero story from the 30s to that of one of present day, or even comparing a contemporary superhero comic to the average contemporary indie comic, one will not find much difference in narrative content, structure, or approach to art.

I believe the three-panel technique is a way to address this common lack of growth in emotional richness and depth as well as structural complexity and integrity. By unifying the approach to panels, by focusing on perspective, and by providing a space for unique and specific location design the average comic reader will not be concerned with trying to keep up with a comic and what is going on in it. The reader will instead be enveloped by the story and art and get lost just like one does with a good novel or good filmed piece of art.

Final Thought

A final note on a unique aspect of comics is its two-fold use of image as a lexicon and comics as writing. Every day we see so many images and signs that we don’t even notice the majority of them any more. All it takes is the octagonal shape and red color, and we know we are to stop our car. All we need is a triangle on a remote, and we know that means “play,” just as a square means “stop.” We see stripes and patches of color, and we know it’s a country’s flag. These make up a lexicon of images that mean and communicate concrete thoughts and ideas--as in reading the combined image of letters spelling out “S-T-O-P” in sequence, we know exactly what to do.

In much the same way, comics are a powerful medium that often utilizes narrative and visual information, and all within a glance. See a costumed character flying with a fist outstretched, and we know this is a hero. If we see a figure with their head tilted down, eyes looking straight ahead while smiling, we know this is the villain. Film cannibalizes itself, referencing shots from films of the past, providing more layers and context to both shots. Film can’t take something like a simple shape, like a character’s body, or color in a rapid glance and tie it to a narrative that has complexity and purpose in the same way that a comic can. Film will always be locked into figures, stances, photographic composition, mise en scene, and editorial motion. Comics can and do deal with a wealth of symbols and images that are varied and unlimited. These symbols and images can be used in a narrative with an added layer of depth because of the use of image as lexicon.

When writing, like when playing an instrument, inspiration can strike, causing a speed and emotion to be felt, portrayed, and converted into art. Jack Kerouac’s prose, Thelonious Monk’s arpeggios, Allen Ginsberg’s poems, Jean-Michel Basquiat’s paintings--comics can achieve this level of spontaneity and locked-in emotion. Treating comics less like a piece of marble or a wooden chair and more like the sketch of a landscape or the initial draft of a song would be a healthy step in the right direction.

Comics can achieve something as close to the heart, as common, and as intimate as writing. Utilizing a lexicon of images to provide narrative information and context, comics can be written--not just drawn. The images themselves can be the words, and they can be written passionately, powerfully, and personally. They can be grand and heroic. They can be small and proletariat. They can be short, simple, and minimal. They can be complex, difficult, and long. Comics are amazing because they define what they are. They are cinematic. They are literate. They are visual. They are narrative. They are art. They are ours.

Silent Falls (Chapter 9)

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Characters: Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Filbrick Pines, Carla McCorkle, Dr Michael Kauffmann.

Words: 4166 Rating: PG-13 for language. NOTE: I feel so horrible for not updating as soon as I last thought I could. Been a lot of unexpected things happening in life that’s slowing down my fandom related work. Here’s a new chapter for this story and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Chapter Nine

THEN

          Tick. Tick. Tick.

          The metronome went on in a steady rhythm.

          Tick. Tick. Tick.

          Stanley stared unblinkingly at the wall across him. The middle aged man with greying brown hair, sitting to his right, cleared his throat, “How are you feeling Stanley?”

          Stanley glanced at him before his eyes wandered back to stare blankly at the wall. The man sighed as he leaned forward, his hands clasped together, “Tell me about your days, Stanley.”

          “There’s nothing to talk about,” said the teenager as he shrugged his shoulders. His hands moved to clasped together.

          “Have you had any�� episodes?”

          Stanley frowned, “No.”

          “Now Stanley, don’t lie. You must be honest with me if you want my help.”

          The teenager glared at him, “I don’t need your help Dr. Kauffmann. You’re here because my father thinks I need therapy!”

          “But you do, don’t you?” asked the man.

          Stanley looked away with a scowl. He hates these sessions. He hates the way Dr. Kauffmann looks at him with his calculating eyes. He shivered involuntarily. The doctor sighed and leaned back, “C’mon Stanley, your father is just concerned of your well being.”

          “You meant to say he thinks I’ve got a loose screw up in my noggin',” said Stanley bitterly. He snorted, “The way I see it, the old man needs the therapy more than I do.”

          Dr. Kauffmann tilted his head curiously, “Why is that?”

          Stanley shrugged again as he shifted on the bed where he was sitting, “He’s the one losing his marbles after ma- after ma died.”

          The doctor nodded, keeping that piece of information in his mind. The teenager fell silent again and Dr. Kauffmann sighed, “You think it’s your fault.”

          Stanley’s brows knitted together and his hands shook as he put pressure on his knuckles. His eyes glisten and he whispered through gritted his teeth, “Isn’t it?”

          “Stanley, we’ve talked about this. What happened, it was out of your control. You’re not responsible. Things happen, people die. It’s unfortunate that you’ve lost loved ones at a young age.”

          Stanley remained silent but Dr. Kauffmann could tell he was agitated by the way he worried his bottom lip and rubbed his right thumb against his left palm. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw muscles were clenched tight. Stanley’s shoulders lowered, a sign he’s closing in on himself again.

          “Everyone is going to die, even if we like to pretend otherwise. You could die tonight, in your sleep. Doesn’t that terrify you?”

          “It does,” Stanley said in a quiet voice.

          “Hmm?”

          “I am scared of death, doc. I almost died in that accident months ago. But not knowing what happened to me, not being able to remember, that’s worse. Much worse than death.”

          Dr. Kauffmann stared at the haunted look in the teenager’s eyes. The kid looked older than his age. That’s what trauma do to you. It sucks the life out of you. He cleared his throat and asked the question he always asks during these sessions, “Why do you want to remember something so horrific Stanley?”

          Stanley’s eyes looked distant as he gazed at nothing in particular, “Because I lost something important that day. Someone precious to me.”

          “Who?” Dr. Kauffmann pushed on. He wondered if the answer will be different this time. He watched as confusion and fear bled into the teenager’s brown eyes. The kid looked at him with large terrified eyes. Dr. Kauffmann held back a sigh. He knew the answer before Stanley even say it.

          “I… I don’t know,” said the teenager with a shaky voice.

          “That’s alright Stanley.”

          “No,” said the teenager firmly. The tone startled the doctor and he observed the teenager’s face. There was determination in his eyes now. Usually those eyes looked hollow and lost, but not this time. It’s as if the dying flame in him became stronger, brighter.

          “It’s not alright, doctor.”

          “But holding onto it will only hurt you more.”

          “I’ll take my chances.”

          There was a long silence with the exception of the metronome ticking away in a steady rhythm on the desk.

          “Let’s change the subject. How is school?”

          He could see the teenager was not pleased but followed his lead, “Same as always.”

          “Do you still get into fights?”

          Stanley clenched his jaw. Of course his father would mention that to the doctor, “I try my best to stay out of trouble.”

          Dr. Kauffmann nodded, pleased, “That’s good. What about… flashbacks? Blackouts? Any episodes?”

          Stanley clenched his fists and stiffly shook his head. The doctor sighed and gently reprimanded him, “Stanley, please. Be honest with me.”

          Stanley frowned. He was getting less of those brain stabbing flashbacks and honestly, he’s worried it’ll stop because that would mean he would completely forget what he has been trying to dig up from the abyss of his mind. He sighed, “I’m… getting less of the headaches.”

          “Good. That’s a good sign, Stanley.”

          No, it’s not, he thought bitterly.

          “It means you’re getting better.”

          Feels like I’m getting worse though.

          Dr. Kauffmann looked at his watch, “Well, my time’s up.”

          Stanley slowly stood up as the doctor got to his feet and walked toward the door. He glanced around the teenager’s impeccably clean and organized room. Mr. Pines had mentioned that his son had been cleaning and organizing things in the house more often lately. He wondered if he should analyse that change of behaviour. He opened the door and exited, knowing Stanley would follow him to the door. Dr. Kauffmann turned to face the teenager as they reached the main entrance of the house, “If you need me, I’m just a call away.”

          Stanley nodded mutely. The man patted the teenager’s shoulder, “Try and go out more Stanley. It’s not healthy being cooped up indoors all the time. I’m sure Carla misses you.”

          Stanley’s lips thinned at the name mentioned, “I know.”

          Alright then, I’ll see you in two weeks. Usual time.”

          The teenager nodded and watched the doctor get into his car and drove off. Stanley stood at the porch, staring at the empty driveway.

          “Stanley?”

          He blinked and found himself staring into Carla’s worried eyes. He tend to lose time lately, and he didn’t think much about it. It’s the norm for him now. The girl searched his eyes and he sighed, “Sorry. I spaced out.”

          She nodded sadly but he noticed something in her eyes. Was that fear? “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

          Stanley lowered his gaze and stared at his lunch, spaghetti and meatballs. He poked at a meatball, disinterested. Carla placed a hand on his and he met her worried gaze, “Stanley, talk to me.”

          He shook his head, “Not now.”

          She gripped his hand gently, “Please?”

Anger suddenly welled up in him and he pulled his hand away, “Stop pushing me Carla!”

          He didn’t realize he had shouted. The buzzing in the cafeteria quieted down and everyone was staring at them but Stanley didn’t feel their curious gaze. He growled as he got up and leave the cafeteria. He needs to get away. Carla got up to go after him but someone stopped her, “It’s time you let him go Carla. It’s over between the two of you.”

          Anger flashed in her eyes as she glared at Crampelter. She pulled away from his grasp, “That may be true, but I’m not giving up being his friend!”

          Crampelter watched her leave and he chuckled, “Stupid girl.”

          Stanley tried his best not to bump into anyone as he walked along the crowded hallway. He kept his gaze lowered to the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. Someone bumped into him and whispered, “Silent Falls is calling.”

          He froze and looked over his shoulder but couldn’t identify the person who just bumped into him. His heart began to race as fear crept into his heart. He shook his head and continued to walk, heading toward the library where he could find peace and quiet. He sighed in relief when he saw the library door.

          Vertigo washed over him as he opened the door. He had to blink a few times. His eyes seemed to pulsate as a headache began to form. He pressed a palm against his temple. His ears perked when he heard a siren. When he opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember closing them in the first place, he found himself standing in a red hallway. Embers float around him from below while ashes fall from above like snowflakes. His breath stuttered and he clenched his eyes shut, “It’s not real. Just a dream.”

          “Come to Silent Falls.”

          His eyes snapped open at the voice. He looked up and he saw a blurry figure of what looked like a boy in front of him. It spoke with a voice that belonged to more than one person. The figure held out a hand, “Come to Silent Falls.”

          Stanley stared at it, “W-why?”

          “Home.”

          “What?”

          “Save us.”

          “What do you mean?”

          “Save me,” said the blurry figure as he lowered his hand. He turned around and walked away. Stanley ran after him, compelled.

          “Wait!”

          “Come and save me.”

          “Wait! Come back!”

          “I’m scared. Save me.”

          “Stop! Wait for me!”

          A dark shadow appeared before him, “DON’T COME TO SILENT FALLS!”

And the ground in front of him crumbled, separating him from the two figures in front of him. He stared at them, wondering what to do when he felt a presence behind him, “JUST ONE MORE STEP AND YOU’LL BE THERE, STANO.”

          He felt a hard push behind him and he was falling forward toward the abyss, “NO!”

          The air was knocked out of him and stars exploded in his eyes. He gasped and struggled against the tight bonds around his chest. The person holding him grunted, “Jesus, Stan! That was too close!”

          “Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you alright?!” asked Carla frantically as she knelt beside them. Her tears dripping onto his face and chest as she looked down at him with worry.

          Stanley stopped struggling and stared at her, confused, “Carla? W-what happened?”

          The person who was holding him, released his grip as he sat up. Stanley turned to him, “James?”

          James’ eyes were wide with fear and worry before they narrowed in anger. He punched Stanley’s shoulder, “What the fuck, Stan?! You scared the shit out of me!”

          Stanley’s brows scrunched together as he looked around. They were on the school’s rooftop, and they were a few feet away from the edge. His heart started pounding when he realized what nearly happened, “H-how did I get here?”

          Carla looked at him with worry, she quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hands, “Y-you don’t remember?”

          Stanley shook his head slowly. James observed him closely, “You really don’t remember?”

          Another shake of the head. James sighed, “You were lucky I saw you.”

          Stanley looked at the edge of the roof, “Did I-”

          “Yeah. You nearly took a swan dive and make a wonderful painting of death on the courtyard below.”

          Carla shot James a look and he shrugged. Stanley let out a stuttering breath, “T-thanks for saving me.”

          James scratched his head, “You’re welcome.”

          “Stanley, we should call your father.”

          “No!” Stanley shouted, startling the two.

          “Stan-”

          “He’ll just make things worse. Don’t tell him.”

          James gripped his shoulder, “Stanley, it’s not normal. What’s happening to you. It’s just… not normal.”

          “I know. I’m trying to fix it. Fix me.”

          “Let us help you,” said Carla, the tears were back.

          Stanley shook his head, “I don’t want you to carry my burden.”

          “But you’re carrying it alone.”

          “It’ll kill you,” said James grimly.

          Stanley stared at them for a long moment, “I’m sorry guys.”

          He pushed off the ground and swayed slightly on his feet. James was quick to his feet to help him, “Easy there. I think you should sit down and wait for it to pass.”

          Stanley shook his head, bad idea. The world tilted and he listed to the side. James grabbed his arm and Carla was on his other side. He tried to get away from them, “Leave me alone!”

          “Stan, don’t be such a stubborn ass!” James growled.

          “Maybe we should take you to the nurse’s office?” said Carla.

          “No.”

          “Stanley…”

          “Don’t touch me!”

          “Stan!”

          He pulled himself free from their hands and ran toward the door. He needs to get away. He wants to be alone. He heard James and Carla calling out to him but he doesn’t want to stop. He just wants to run and get away from them. Get away from everything.

          “Your father said you haven’t gone to school since Tuesday,” said Dr. Kauffmann.

          Stanley hasn’t said a word since he walked in fifteen minutes ago. The teenager sat still with his eyes staring unblinkingly at the floor. Dr. Kauffmann sighed as he stood up and approached the teen. He knelt down in front of him and there was no reaction from the teenager. It was as if his mind was elsewhere. He noted that the teenager had lost some weight. His clothes hanging loosely on his frame. His skin was pale and eyes sunken with dark bags under them. His hair was messier than usual. The doctor wondered, when was the last time he showered?

          “Stanley?” the man cautiously put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. Stanley blinked and there was clarity in his eyes.

          “Dr. Kauffmann, you’re not supposed to be here until Saturday.”

          The doctor frowned, “Stanley, it’s Saturday.”

          Stanley blinked his eyes, “Huh?”

          Dr. Kauffmann frowned in concern as he cupped the teenager’s face and looked at his eyes. His pupils were wide, “Stanley, did you hurt your head?”

          Stanley blinked slowly then shrugged, “I don’t think so. I’d remember if I did.”

          “Your father called me to come because you have been… away. Spacing out a lot. And you didn’t go to school since Tuesday.”

          “So, it really is Saturday today huh?”

          “Focus, Stanley.”

          “I’m listening doc.”

          “I want you to tell me, what happened?”

          Stanley’s eyes wandered to the left, then right before his eyes shut. He remained quiet for a long moment. Dr Kauffmann shook him gently, “Stanley?”

          “I’m so tired doc.”

          “Why is that?”

          “I keep hearing it.”

          “Hearing what?”

          “The siren.”

          “Siren?”

          “It keeps wailing on and on and on. It won’t stop. Why won’t it stop? I want it to stop.”

          “…anything else, Stanley?”

          “The fire,” he said as he opened his eyes and stared right through the doctor with glazed eyes that saw things only he can see.

          Dr. Kauffmann released his hold on the teen, startled at the sight of eyes that seemed to glow. Stanley lowered his head to his hands, his shoulders trembling, “The fire won’t stop burning. It burns everything to ash. It’s hot and cold. And it burns, burns, burns…”

          “S-Stanley?”

          “And it’s calling to me.”

          “What’s calling you?”

          “It keeps calling me to come.”

        “What is it Stanley?”

          Stanley looked at him with wide eyes, “Hell.”

NOW

          There was a knock on the glass and Stanley looked up from where he was sitting on the floor in the telephone booth. A fireman was standing outside the booth, “Hey, you alright man?”

          Stanley stood up, “I’m fine. Just resting.”

          “We’re done putting out the fire. Do you need a ride to town, sir?”

          Stanley looked at what was left of the orphanage. Then he looked at the darkening sky and nodded, “Yeah. Phone’s not working and my car broke down just outside of town…”

          The man raised a brow, “That red Cadillac was yours? Broke down is an understatement, sir. I saw Jimmy pull the car into his garage and he said someone called in that they found it off the road. Looked like it ran into a tree to me.”

          Stanley shrugged and rubbed his neck, “Okay. I kinda ran off the road. Can’t see anything in the fog.”

          The fireman stuck out a hand, “So you’re a visitor. The locals know they shouldn’t drive in the fog. Name’s Matthew.”

          “Stanley,” he replied as he took the man’s hand.

          Matthew saw his injuries and frowned, “I think we’ll stop by the hospital to get you checked out.”

          “I’m okay.”

          “You had an accident, Stanley.”

          “Yo Matt! We’re rolling out!” said the driver before he climbed into the fire truck.

          Matthew motioned for him to follow, “Let’s go.”

          Stanley adjusted the backpack on his shoulder as he followed Matthew. He nodded to the other firemen as Matthew introduced them. The ride back to town was filled with idle chat between the firemen with the occasional question shot his way.

          “A P.I. eh? So what’re ya doin’ here in quite ol Silent Falls? Investigatin’ a case?” asked Joey.

          Stanley smiled politely, “Yeah. Got a lead about a missing person’s case that led me here.”

          “Well, I hope you’ll find whatever or whoever you need to find here. If you’re planning to stay over, I bet Jack would have a room for you at his place,” said Matthew.

          “I actually rented an apartment. Just drop me off at Blue Creek.”

          “Blue Creek Apartment huh? It’s pass the station but yeah, sure,” said Trent the driver.

          “If it’s an inconvenient I’ll just walk from the station.”

          Felix who was sitting in front waved his hand, “Don’t worry about it, we can go around and pick up some takeout at Lucky Jade’s. I’m sure we deserve some Chinese food for all our hard work today, right boys?”

          There were cheers and laughter at the statement from the firemen. Stanley chuckled and rubbed his thumb against his palm, “So, where are they relocating the orphans?”

          “Probably at Northwest Manor,” said Matthew.

          “Northwest Manor?” asked Stanley.

          Trent pointed at a building they could see over the trees in the distant, “See that? That’s the Northwest Manor.”

          Greg who has been the quietest of the firemen spoke up, “Been there for nearly a hundred and twenty years. Jeremiah Northwest was one of the four founders of Shepherd’s Glen, that’s the town east of Silent Falls. His son, Nathaniel Northwest, set foot here in Silent Falls and built a town. That mansion is not only home to the current Northwest family but it’s also a museum. There are over two hundred rooms at the mansion so I’m sure there will be rooms for the orphans.”

          “You seem to know a lot about the manor,” Stanley commented, impressed.

          Joey laughed and patted Greg’s shoulder, “Greg ‘ere is a history nerd! Ya can count on ‘im if ya wanna know stuff about the town!”

          “Someone’s gotta pass down the knowledge to the younger generation!” said Greg with a shy grin.

          Matthew leaned towards Stanley and whispered, “He’s got six kids and another one comin’. He likes to tell the town’s stories to ‘em.’

          Joey chuckled, “Ya shoulda been a history teacher if ya wanna pass down the knowledge to the younger generation!”

          Greg raised a finger, “I will be! One day!”

          “Still working on that teacher application huh?” asked Matthew.

          Stanley smiled as he listened to them talk. The three men seemed like good friends. He looked outside and was curious to see people minding their own business. Everything looked normal, he thought apprehensively. Am I losing my mind? He wondered. His grip on his backpack’s strap tightened when he remembered the bottle of pills he brought with him. He hasn’t been taking them as the doctor prescribed and he wondered if the events he encountered were all in his head.

          He took out his brother’s letter and read it again. He stared at the code his brother wrote and read the hints given. A memory came to him of brothers lying on their bellies on the floor as they argue back and forth on what best ways they could do to make their communication unique.

          “Oh, I know! SECRET CODES!”

          “Oh, like ciphers?”

          Stanley stared at his brother blankly, “Huh?”

          Stanford grinned, amused, “It’s another word for secret codes Lee.”

          “Oh, cool!”

          “Great idea by the way,” said the older twin. He smiled at the wide grin gracing his little brother’s face, “So what kind of code do you prefer? Pictures, numbers or letters?”

          Stanley rest his chin on his folded arms, “Hmm, letters would be easier I think.”

          “Cool. So let’s write down all the alphabets and think of ways we can make codes from there.”

          “Okay!” said Stanley excitedly as he grabbed a red crayon and started writing down the alphabets on his piece of paper, “You know, this will be so cool! Kinda like, our thing. No one will know our secret messages!”

          stared at the letter: 618. EXIC QEXQ KRJYBO. Caesar retreats three times. He took out a pen and wrote down the twenty six letters of the alphabet and then he tried to decipher the code by substituting the letters with the letters three down but they didn’t make sense. Then he took the letters three up the ones written and it gave him ‘HALF THAT NUMBER’.

          “Here’s your stop, Stano!” said Trent as he bought the truck to a halt.

          His heart stuttered for a moment at the name Trent called him. An image of an eye floating in darkness flashed before his eyes and a high pitched laughter filled his ears. Don’t you want to know who YOU are?

          “Stan?” asked Matthew, voice laced with genuine concern that made his stomach tightened uneasily.

          Stanley rubbed his eyes, “Just tired. Thanks for dropping me off guys.”

          “You sure you don’t wanna go to the hospital?”

          “Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied before he stepped out of the truck.

          “We’ll see you around then. Take care of yourself Stanley.”

          He nodded and then walked toward the apartment’s entrance. The building looked well cared. The paint still bright, the lawn trimmed and the flowers by the gate are blooming. He moved aside as a group of children rushed out, their laughter ringing in his ears. He shook his head and went in.

          The elderly lady at the reception desk looked up at him curiously, “Hello there. Welcome to Blue Creek Apartment.”

          “Umm, may I know if room 309 is available?”

          “309? Let me see…” she said as she pulled out a book, “Oh, it’s been rented by a Stanley Pines.”

          Stanley blinked, he wasn’t expecting that, “Uh, that would be me.”

          “Oh! Pardon me, here’s your key.”

          “Thank you.”

          “If you don’t mind me asking, are you alright? You seem hurt.”

          “Oh, don’t worry. I had an accident but I’m not hurt badly I assure you.”

          The worry on her face was still there but she nodded, “I’m sorry but are you by any chance related to Victor Halloway?”

          “I… I don’t know,” he replied. He wasn’t sure what to say. His brother did write that they had a great uncle named Victor but he never met the man or even know of him. No one mentioned him in their family.

          The elderly lady nodded, “I see, it’s just… you look like him. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

          Stanley smiled at her, “I didn’t catch your name.”

          She gasped and put a hand on her chest, “Oh, where are my manners? It’s Kelly, Kelly Niles. My husband Bobby is the one in charge of the building’s maintenance. If you need anything, give us a call. Our number should be by the phone.”

          “Thank you. I’ll see you around ma’am.”

          “Don’t be so formal with me young man. Kelly is fine,” she said with a giggle.

          Stanley walked toward the stairs but paused when he heard Kelly say, “Oh and please stay indoors when it gets foggy. It’s safer to be indoors until it’s gone.”

          Stanley nodded, “I’ll remember that.”

          He ascended the stairs until he reached the top floor. He looked for Room 309 and used the key to unlock the door. He looked around the room and washed by a sense of nostalgia. So he had been here before. He took off his coat, hissing when his wounds were aggravated. He dropped it on the couch then went toward the bedroom. There were two beds and he stared at them.

          You can have the one by the window Stan.

          He went for the other bed and looked under the bed. He tried to feel for any oddities then tried knocking on the floor boards. There was a hollow sound on one of the boards and he tried to pry it off. It came off easily, to his surprise, and then he stuck his hand into the opening and felt something. He grabbed it and took out something wrapped in cloth. He sat on the bed and stared at it for a few moments before he began to unwrap it carefully. Inside is a leather bound journal with a hand-shaped symbol, a hamsa, carved on it. In the palm of the hand is a single eye staring at him.

Well that’s all for this chapter. I’m working on the details for the next few chapters. More GF and SH character will be making their appearance and I’m doing my best to make it suspenseful for ya’ll!

Enneagram 5

The Five in Profile

Healthy: Observe everything with extraordinary perceptiveness and insight. Are mentally alert, curious, have a searching intelligence: nothing escapes their notice. Display foresight and prediction abilities. Able to concentrate: become engrossed in what has caught their attention. / Attain skillful mastery of whatever interests them. Excited by knowledge: often become expert in some field. Innovative and inventive, producing extremely valuable, original works. Highly independent, idiosyncratic, and whimsical. At Their Best: Become visionaries, broadly comprehending the world while penetrating it profoundly. Open-minded, take things in whole, in their true context. Make pioneering discoveries and find entirely new ways of doing and perceiving things.

Average: Begin conceptualizing everything before acting—working things out in their minds: model building, preparing, practicing, gathering resources. Studious, acquiring technique. Become specialized and often “intellectual”: involvement in research, scholarship, and building theories. / Increasingly detached as they become involved with complicated ideas or imaginary worlds. Become preoccupied with their visions and interpretations rather than reality. Are fascinated by offbeat, esoteric subjects, even those involving dark and disturbing elements. Detached from the practical world, a “disembodied mind,” although high-strung and intense. / Begin to take an antagonistic stance toward anything which would interfere with their inner world and personal vision. Become provocative and abrasive, with intentionally extreme and radical views. Cynical and argumentative.

Unhealthy: Become reclusive and isolated from reality, eccentric and nihilistic. Highly unstable and fearful of aggressions: they reject and repulse others and all social attachments. / Get obsessed with yet frightened by their threatening ideas, becoming horrified, delirious, and prey to gross distortions and phobias. / Seeking oblivion, they may commit suicide or have a psychotic break with reality. Deranged, explosively self-destructive, with schizophrenic overtones.

Key Motivations: Want to be capable and competent, to master a body of knowledge and skill, to explore reality, to remain undisturbed by others, to reduce their needs.

Examples: Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, Friedrich Nietzsche, Stanley Kubrick, Georgia O'Keeffe, Emily Dickinson, Simone Weil, Bill Gates, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jacob Bronowski, James Joyce, Gary Larson, David Lynch, Stephen King, Tim Burton, Clive Barker, Laurie Anderson, Meredith Monk, John Cage, Glenn Gould, Charles Ives, Bobby Fischer, and Vincent van Gogh.

AN OVERVIEW OF THE FIVE

The connection between genius and madness has long been debated. These two states are really poles apart, the opposite ends of the personality spectrum. The genius is someone who fuses knowledge with insight into the nature of reality, someone who has the ability to see things with utter clarity and with awe-inspiring comprehension. What separates the genius from the madman is that the genius, in addition to extraordinary insights, has the ability to see them correctly, within their context. The genius perceives patterns which are actually present, whereas the madman imposes patterns, projecting erroneous perceptions onto every circumstance. The genius may sometimes seem to be out of touch with reality, but only because he or she operates at a more profound level. The madman, however, is truly out of touch with reality, having nothing but delusions to substitute for it.

The Five is the personality type which most exemplifies these extremes. In the Five, we see the genius and the madman, the innovator and intellectual, the mildly eccentric crackpot and the deeply disturbed delusional schizoid. To understand how these widely diverse states are part of the same personality type is to understand the Five.

In the Thinking Triad

Fives are members of the Thinking Triad. Their potential problem results from the fact that they emphasize thinking over doing, becoming intensely involved with their thoughts. Fives think so much that their mental world becomes all-engrossing, virtually to the exclusion of everything else. This is not to say that Fives do nothing at all, but that they are more at home in their minds, viewing the world from a detached vantage point, than they are in the world of action.

All three members of the Thinking Triad—Fives, Sixes, and Sevens—focus their attention on the world outside themselves. This may seem to contradict the statement that Fives are engrossed in their thoughts, but it actually does not. Fives focus their attention on the external world for a variety of reasons, one of the most important of which is that the material they think about comes through their sense perceptions—the accuracy of which they can never be completely sure of because they are not certain about what lies outside themselves. The only thing they know with certainty is their own thoughts. Hence, the focus of their attention is outward, on the environment, while identifying with their thoughts about the environment. The source of many of their problems is their need to find out how their perceptions of the world square with reality so that they can act in it—and do things with confidence.

Problems with Security and Anxiety

Like the other two members of the Thinking Triad, average Fives tend to have problems with insecurity because they fear that the environment is unpredictable and potentially threatening. Further, they feel powerless to defend themselves against the world’s many dangers: they believe they are not capable of functioning as well as others and so make it their number one priority to acquire the skills and knowledge they feel are necessary for them to be able to operate adequately in life.

Their Basic Fear, of being helpless and incapable, influences their behavior in significant ways. Fives believe that their personal resources and capacities are limited, so they respond to their anxiety by downscaling their activities and needs. The more anxious they feel, the more they minimize their needs. While this can be a sensible approach to problems at times, anxious Fives may reduce themselves to living in extremely primitive conditions in order to allay their fears of inadequacy. Naturally, given this orientation, Fives feel easily overwhelmed by others’ needs as well, and try to avoid situations in which others will expect more from them than they feel able to give. As their fears increase, Fives begin to “shrink away” from the world and from connections with others.

When Fives are healthy, they are able to observe reality as it is and are able to comprehend complex phenomena at a glance because they are participating in life and testing their perceptions. In their search for security, however, the perceptions of even average Fives tend to become skewed. Their thinking becomes more convoluted, elaborate, and increasingly fueled by anxiety. As they withdraw from the world, it only heightens their fears that they cannot cope with it. Eventually, even basic living requirements seem overwhelming and frightening. And if they become unhealthy, Fives are the type of persons who cut themselves off from most human contact. Once isolated, they develop their eccentric ideas to such absurd extremes that they become obsessed with completely distorted notions about themselves and reality. Ultimately, unhealthy Fives become utterly terrified and trapped by the threatening visions which they have created in their own minds.

Their problem with anxiety, one of the issues common to the personality types of the Thinking Triad, is related to their difficulty with perceiving reality objectively. They are afraid of allowing anyone or anything to influence them or their thoughts. Because they doubt their own ability to do, they fear that others’ agendas will overwhelm them or that people who are more powerful than they are will control or possess them. Ironically, however, even average Fives are not unwilling to be possessed by an idea, as long as the idea has originated with them. Nothing must be allowed to influence their thinking lest their developing sense of confidence be diminished, although by relying solely on their own ideas and perceptions, and without testing them in the real world, Fives can become profoundly out of touch with reality.

The upshot of this is that average to unhealthy Fives are uncertain whether or not their perceptions of the environment are valid. They do not know what is real and what is the product of their minds. They project their anxiety-ridden thoughts and their aggressive impulses into the environment, becoming fearful of the antagonistic forces which seem to be arrayed against them. They gradually become convinced that their peculiar and increasingly dark interpretation of reality is the way things really are. In the end, they become so terrorized that they cannot act even though they are consumed by anxiety.

The basis of their orientation to the world is thinking; personality type Five corresponds to Jung’s introverted thinking type.

Introverted thinking is primarily oriented by the subjective factor…. It does not lead from concrete experience back again to the object, but always to the subjective content. External facts are not the aim and origin of this thinking, though the introvert would often like to make his thinking appear so. It begins with the subject and leads back to the subject, far though it may range into the realm of actual reality…. Facts are collected as evidence for a theory, never for their own sake. (C. G. Jung, Psychological Types, 380.)

Although they correspond to Jung’s introverted thinking type, Fives are perhaps more precisely characterized as a subjective thinking type because the aim of their thought is not always introverted (that is, directed toward themselves); rather, it is directed often outward toward the environment, which Fives want to understand so that they can be safer in it. The impetus for their thinking comes, as Jung says, from “the subjective factor,” from their need to know about what lies outside themselves, as well as from their anxiety when they do not understand the environment. This is why thinking is the method Fives use both to fit into the world and, paradoxically, to defend themselves against it.

One of the results of the way Fives think is that even healthy Fives are not very deeply rooted in visceral experience. They are the type of people who get a great deal of intellectual mileage out of very little experience because they always find something of significance where others see little or nothing. This may lead to great discoveries. However, when they stop observing the world and focus their attention on their interpretations of it, Fives begin to lose touch with reality. Instead of keeping an open mind while they observe the world, they become too involved with their own thoughts and dreams. This leads them further away from the world of constructive action—the very arena in which their self-confidence needs to develop. They may spend a great deal of time playing around with ideas or visions of alternative realities which have almost no practical impact on their lives, leaving them more fearful about themselves and feeling more vulnerable to the predations of the world.

Parental Orientation

As a result of their formative experiences, these children became ambivalent to both parents. Fives, like Twos and Eights, were in search of a niche within the family system, a role that they could fulfill that would win them protection and nurturance. For whatever reasons, though, they perceived that there was no place for them to fit in—that nothing they could do was wanted or needed by their family. As a result, Fives withdrew from active participation in the family to search for something that they could “bring to the table.” Fives want to find something that they can do well enough to feel like an equal of others. Unlike other types, however, since Fives’ underlying fear is of being helpless and incapable, they generally look for areas of expertise that others have not already explored. In a sense, their agenda is to focus on the search for and mastery of subjects and skills, until they feel confident enough to “reenter” the world.

In the meantime, Fives strike a kind of unstated bargain with their parents which carries over into all of their subsequent relationships: “Don’t ask too much of me, and I won’t ask too much of you.” Fives feel that they need most of their limited time and energy to acquire the knowledge and skills that they believe will make them capable and competent. Thus, average Fives come to resent intrusions upon their space, their time, and certainly upon their persons. What to another type might feel like a comfortable distance can feel uncomfortable to an average Five. The reasons for this may relate to the Five’s feeling of not having a place in the family. They may have felt crowded out or figuratively or literally intruded on by their parents and their agendas. Their parents may have nurtured them erratically, or may have been emotionally disturbed or alcoholic or caught in a loveless marriage, and therefore not dependable sources of love and reassurance. The result is that these children become ambivalent not only toward both parents, but ambivalent toward the world.

Fives attempt to resolve their ambivalence by not identifying with anything other than their thoughts. They feel that their thoughts are “good” (that is, correct, and can be safely identified with), while outside reality is “bad” (and must therefore be vigilantly watched), so that it can be repulsed at a moment’s notice. In average to unhealthy Fives, the sense of being crowded may have resulted in their feeling unsafe in their bodies. They then become profoundly detached, indifferent to physical comfort, and extremely cerebral, as if the quality of their material existence was irrelevant to them. Fearful Fives are willing to jettison many comforts and even needs in order to protect the space and time they feel they need to pursue their interests—that is, those areas they are trying to master.

They continue to find their parents, the world, and other people fascinating and necessary, but Fives also feel that they must keep everything and everyone at a safe distance lest they be in clanger of being overwhelmed by some outside force. Thus, from the very way they think—their “cognitive style"—Fives set up a strict dualism between themselves and the world: they see everything as essentially split into two fundamental areas—the inner world and the outer world, subjects and objects, the known and the unknown, the dangerous and the safe, and so forth. This sharp split between themselves as subjects and the rest of the world as objects has tremendous ramifications throughout their entire lives.

Problems with Detachment and Phobia

When they are healthy, Fives do not have to detach themselves from the environment, because they feel secure and confident enough to fully participate in the world around them. Because they are interacting with the environment, their observations are accurate and balanced. But as they deteriorate down the Levels of Development toward unhealth, their perceptions become more intensely focused on what seems to be threatening and dangerous in the environment. As a result of their preoccupation with things they find fearful and dark, their mental world becomes filled with anxiety. Ironically, however, the more fearful Fives become, the more compelled they feel to investigate the very things that terrify them.

In the end, since they invariably focus on what is threatening, Fives turn their terrifying projections into their only reality, and in so doing, turn their minds against themselves, literally scaring themselves out of their minds. They become completely defenseless against the environment, which they find supremely dangerous because their minds have made it so. They become so phobic—and their sense of capability becomes so fragile—that it is extraordinarily difficult for them to function or turn to anyone for help. Yet, unless deteriorating Fives can reach out to someone, they have few ways of getting back in touch with reality.

If they live like this for long, their thought processes become so delusional and terrifying that they must separate themselves not just from the world but even from their own thoughts. Neurotic Fives become schizoid, unconsciously splitting themselves off from their teeming minds so that they can continue to live. Their reality has become hellish: dark, painful, and without hope. Recoiling in horror, they retreat into emptiness—and yet more horror.

ANALYZING THE HEALTHY FIVE

Level 1: The Pioneering Visionary

At their healthiest, Fives have the paradoxical ability to penetrate reality profoundly while comprehending it broadly. They are able to take things in whole, perceiving patterns where others see nothing but confusion. They are able to synthesize existing knowledge, making connections between phenomena which no one previously knew were related, such as time and space, the structures of the DNA molecule, or the relationship between brain chemistry and behavior. If they are artistically inclined, they may develop entirely new art forms, or revolutionize the form they are working with in ways that have not been seen before. These innovations often become the new platform from which others will learn and create.

The healthiest Fives do not cling to their own ideas about how the world works. Instead, they encompass reality so profoundly that they are able to discover unanticipated truths they could not have arrived at by mere theorizing. They make discoveries precisely because they are willing not to know the answers, keeping an open mind while they observe reality.

Because they do not impose their thoughts on reality, very healthy Fives are able to discover the internal logic, the structure, and interrelated patterns of whatever they observe. As a result, they have clear thoughts into obscure matters, and are able to predict events, often far in advance of the ability of others to verify them. Fives operating at the peak of their gifts may seem to be prophets and visionaries, although the explanation is simpler. They possess foresight because they see the world with extraordinary clarity, like a weaver who knows the pattern of a tapestry before it is completed.

The result is that they transcend rational thought to reveal objective reality, and in so doing they move toward the ineffable, to a level of comprehension where words, theories, and symbols are left behind. They perceive the world in all its complexity and simplicity with a vision that seems to come from beyond themselves. They are closer to contemplatives than thinkers. This is the quality of the “quiet mind,” discussed in Buddhism and other spiritual traditions. When the mind becomes still and quiet it becomes like a mirror which accurately contains and reflects whatever it turns toward. Healthy Fives are not using their minds to defend against reality; rather they are allowing reality in, understanding that they are not separate from it.

Very healthy, gifted Fives so perfectly describe reality that their perceptions and discoveries seem simple, even obvious, as if anyone could have thought of them. But the genius’s insights are obvious only in hindsight. To have made the leap from the known to the unknown, and to describe the unknown so clearly and accurately that the discovery accords perfectly with what is already known, is a great achievement. Similarly, anyone can “create” a new form of artistic expression, but to do so in a way that is powerful for others changes the way that others perceive reality, is both rare and extraordinary.

Thus, very healthy Fives are intellectual pioneers who open up new domains of knowledge and creativity. An individual Five, if sufficiently gifted, may well be a genius of historic dimensions, able to make staggering intellectual breakthroughs for mankind. A genius of the highest caliber may understand the way the world works for the first time in history. Less gifted individuals may have a sense of the genius’s excitement when they first understand calculus or how to use a computer. Their understanding is new to them, and can be thrilling. Others can only imagine how exciting it must be for someone to discover something totally new—when the discovery is new not only to that individual, but to humanity.

Yet, at Level 1, the brilliance of very healthy Fives is entirely unselfconscious. What Fives themselves are most aware of is feeling at home and at peace in the world. Because they have transcended their fears of being incapable and helpless, they are also freed from their relentless pursuit of knowledge and skill. They no longer feel overwhelmed by other people or by challenges and are able to bring their hearts and minds together for the compassionate use of their knowledge and talents.

Level 2: The Perceptive Observer

Even though Fives are not always this healthy, they are still extraordinarily conscious of the world around them, its glories and horrors, incongruities and inexhaustible complexities. They are the most mentally alert of the personality types, curious about everything. Healthy Fives enjoy thinking for its own sake; possessing knowledge—knowing that they know something, and being able to turn it around in their minds, to play with ideas—is extremely pleasurable for them. Knowledge and understanding are exhilarating. They are fascinated by people, by nature, by life, by the mind itself.

Given sufficient intelligence, healthy Fives penetrate the superficial, getting to profound levels very quickly. Their insights can be brilliant because they have the uncanny ability to see into the heart of things, noticing the anomaly, the curious but heretofore unobserved fact or hidden element which provides a key for understanding the whole. Because they see the world with unfailing insight, they always have something interesting and worthwhile to say. The act of seeing is virtually a symbol of their entire psychological orientation. If something can be seen, that is, apprehended either by the senses or by the mind, Fives feel that it can be understood. Once something is understood, it can be mastered. Then Fives can act with the confidence they desire.

Nothing escapes healthy Fives unnoticed because they do not merely observe the world passively, they concentrate on it, noting how things go together to form patterns and have meaning. People and objects are perceived in detail, as if Fives were training a magnifying glass on the environment. Since their minds are so active and they find everything around them fascinating, healthy Fives are never bored. They like learning what they do not know and understanding what is not obvious. No matter how much they know, they always want to learn more, and since the world is, for all intents and purposes, infinite in its complexity, there is always more to know.

Healthy Fives are also able to perceive far more than others because they have the ability to sustain concentration; they are not easily distracted. They quickly become deeply involved in the object of their scrutiny so they can understand how it works—why something is as it is. Their intellectual curiosity leads them to expend considerable effort to find out more about those things which have caught their attention. They are incredibly hard workers who will patiently attack a problem until they solve it, or until it becomes clear that the problem is insoluble. They will labor in obscurity for many years because they are excited about what they are exploring or creating. Because healthy Fives are accustomed to pursuing their interests with little support or attention, they are not dissuaded by others’ indifference or lack of comprehension. The process of exploring, learning, and creating is more enjoyable to Fives than achieving a final goal. They take delight in questioning reality and tinkering with familiar forms until they become almost unrecognizable, especially in the arts. They are also very good conceptualizers, asking the right fundamental questions and defining the proper intellectual boundaries for the problems with which they are involved. They do not attempt to do the impossible, only to understand what they have not understood before.

Regardless of their actual intelligence, most Fives consider themselves “smart” and perceptive, and see these as defining characteristics. Many Fives are not intellectuals or scholars, but all focus their attention in the world of ideas, perceptions, and ways of looking at reality. They are constantly on the lookout for something that they have not noticed before, or a way of connecting disparate ideas or activities they have been exploring. Having a new insight into a question or creative problem they have been grappling with gives them a sense of confidence and goads them into deeper explorations.

Fives are aware that others may view them as “unusual.” This may be due to their intelligence, a highly developed sensory acuity, idiosyncratic behavior, or perhaps their penetrating gaze. Fives are not interested in being “different” like Fours are; instead, they view their status as outsiders with a shrugging acceptance. They tend to be unsentimental about life, and this lack of sentiment extends to their own circumstances as well. Fives can also appear to be unusual because they are willing to follow their curiosity and their perceptions wherever they lead. They are relatively unconcerned with social convention; rather, they want to be unencumbered by activities that take them away from what they are really interested in.

Healthy Fives want to feel competent and capable in the objective world, and yet, the very act of inquiring into things begins to shift them away from active participation and toward the role of an outside observer. Even at this stage, healthy Fives are subject to a certain amount of anxiety about the environment if they do not understand it. (And, of course, because they cannot understand it until they deal with it, they are caught in a conundrum.) Therefore, the habit of observation reflects not simply a dispassionate curiosity but a deep personal need.

Level 3: The Focused Innovator

Once Fives have identified themselves as intelligent and perceptive, they begin to fear that they might lose their perceptiveness or that what they are thinking may be inaccurate. So they begin to focus their energies intensely into those areas that they are most interested in with the goal of really mastering them. In this way, Fives hope to develop an ability or a body of knowledge which will ensure that they will have a place in the world. They are not interested in merely acquiring facts or skills, but in using what they have learned to go beyond what has previously been explored. They want to “push the envelope,” both because it is a greater test of their competency, and also because they want to create a niche for themselves which no one else could have come up with.

Sometimes the results of their explorations are ingenious inventions and technological marvels which yield highly practical results. At times, their tinkering may produce startling new discoveries or artistic works. At other times, few things may result from their original ideas, although in time, those ideas, too, may have practical applications. What is impractical in one era often becomes the underpinning of an entirely new branch of knowledge or technology in another, such as the physics which made television and radar possible, or a few scraps of ideas which later produce a novel or a movie.

Because they are looking for new areas to explore and master, healthy Fives are generally open-minded people. They are not attached to particular points of view, and are curious to learn what other people think about things. They believe that there is almost always something interesting to learn from another person’s perspective. They are also patient about explaining their own thoughts to others, even when their thoughts are complex or the other person is slow to understand. Healthy Fives want to communicate, and they want others to understand what they are saying.

Because Fives understand things so perceptively, their profound knowledge enables them to get to the heart of difficulties so that they can explain problems, and possible solutions, clearly to others. Healthy Fives like sharing their knowledge because they often learn more when they discuss their ideas with someone else. This is why healthy Fives make exciting teachers, colleagues, and friends. Their enthusiasm for ideas is infectious, and they enjoy fertilizing their own areas of expertise with those of other intellectuals, artists, and thinkers, or, really, with anyone who is as interesting, curious, and intelligent as they are.

As much as they like being among those who can understand and appreciate their insights, healthy Fives are nevertheless extremely independent. For the most part, innovating, learning, and creating are solitary adventures best embarked on alone. Because they never know where their projects and discoveries will lead, Fives value their independence very highly; they are willing to be as unorthodox as their inquiries require, pursuing their interests and discoveries regardless of the sanctions of others or of society. They are not afraid to challenge existing dogmas, if need be.

Their innovations can be revolutionary, overturning previous ways of thinking. Owing to the nature of their interests and the scope of their intellects, healthy Fives give us powerful ideas which can literally change the course of history. The worlds of art, dance, cinema, and music have many times been “scandalized” by the strange new creations of Fives—which later on become widely accepted standards of “how things are done.”

Healthy Fives are also in possession of a whimsical sense of humor. They are attuned to life’s many absurdities and ironies and enjoy sharing their wry observations with others. They have a way of distorting the picture of reality just enough to highlight some assumption or way of looking at life that has no logical underpinning. They are fascinated by strange, offbeat subjects and love tinkering with objects, images, and words. There is a taboo-breaking quality to the humor of even healthy Fives, because they are attracted to looking at subject matter that others would reject or turn away from. Their imaginations are powerful and they use them to visualize the solution to a problem or to create an alternative reality. For this reason, many artistic Fives become filmmakers, cartoonists, or authors of genre fiction (science fiction, horror, black humor). The aesthetic sense tends to run in two extremes: minimalist and spare on one end, and surreal and fantastic on the other. Most Fives who are involved in the arts are not interested in simple “human interest” stories or narratives. They want to direct their audience’s attention beyond their daily concerns toward truths which are more absolute—especially those that are hidden in the “ordinary world.”

In the process of mastering those areas which interest them, healthy Fives accumulate knowledge. People of this personality type develop expertise in various disciplines, whether in the arts (for example, abstract expressionist painting, electronic music, or Egyptian hieroglyphics), or in the sciences (how to build a computer or put a satellite into space). Healthy Fives are usually polymaths, possessors of knowledge in a wide range of subjects and expert in them all. Healthy Fives know what they are talking about and share their knowledge with others, enriching the whole of society with their learning. They are also relatively confident because they are actively doing things with their insights, and it is precisely because their insights are so on target that both healthy Fives and their ideas are especially valuable to the rest of society. Where would we be without the computers and antibiotics, the sophisticated communications media and the technological innovations of all sorts which make up the modern world?

ANALYZING THE AVERAGE FIVE

Level 4: The Studious Expert

The essential difference between average Fives and healthy Fives is that average Fives begin to fear that they do not know enough to act or take their place in the world. They feel that they need to study more, to practice more, to acquire better technique or run further tests, to involve themselves even more deeply with their subject. (“The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.”) For whatever reason, they fear that they will not be able to put their concepts and ideas into action. Convinced that they are insufficiently prepared to put themselves on the line, they retreat into an area of their experience where they feel much more confident and in control—their minds. Every personality type deals from its strongest suit, and the intellect is what Fives are gifted with and what they favor in their development. Rather than innovating and exploring, however, average Fives begin conceptualizing and preparing. In a word, healthy Fives use knowledge, whereas average Fives are in pursuit of it.

Because Fives have become adept at playing with concepts and their imagination, they are more sure of themselves when they are “in their heads,” and from this Level down they begin to avoid more direct contact with the world. They can spend many hours conceptualizing a problem or an idea for a song, but hesitate to put their ideas out as real, concrete forms. Average Fives get stuck in “preparation mode,” endlessly studying, gathering more background information, and practicing. Or they may simply develop the idea for a book or an invention in their imagination and never actualize their projects in reality. “I need a little more time” is a repeating refrain from average Fives. They are not being reluctant for no reason, however: their hesitation belies their growing lack of faith in their ability to cope with the world.

Because they are beginning to experience themselves as somehow less prepared for life than other people, average Fives feel compelled to gather whatever information, skills, and resources they believe they will need to “build themselves up.” To this end, Fives begin to disengage from social activities and spend more and more of their time and energy acquiring these resources. Their homes become a reflection of their minds, storage areas for their collections of books, tapes, videos, CDs, gadgets, and so forth.

Average Fives are typically bookish. They haunt bookstores, libraries, and coffeehouses catering to intellectuals who discuss politics, films, and literature far into the night. They love scholarship, and are fascinated with the technical appurtenances by which they acquire knowledge. And while they will spend money to obtain whatever tools they need to pursue their intellectual interests, be they medieval manuscripts or computer equipment, average Fives are usually loath to spend money on themselves or their own comfort because they identify with their minds and their imaginations, not with their bodies.

In their pursuit of mastery, average Fives tend to become highly specialized in some field, delving into a body of knowledge not understood by most. (As specialists, they take pride and pleasure in their ability to say, in effect, “I know something that you don’t know.”) Some Fives may become specialists within an academic discipline—analyzing genetic structures, or the mathematics of snowflake formation, or the migration patterns of birds in the Amazon Delta. Others may specialize in less academic areas, becoming specialists in antiques, stamp collecting, comic books, or jazz. Their approach to collecting becomes a metaphor for their whole approach to life: gathering in more material and incorporating it into the body of what they believe they know or can do.

Their predilection for collecting can combine with their desire to specialize in surprising ways. Fives may have a complete video collection—organized by director, of course—of every major horror or science fiction film between 1950 and 1990. The completeness of the collection and the thorough knowledge of its contents becomes important. An average Five would feel superficial if he or she had only a few Beatles albums or only three Beethoven symphonies. They want to acquire the complete Beatles catalogue, including rare bootleg recordings, and have all nine Beethoven symphonies as recorded by various orchestras. To observe the chronological progression of the Beatles’ music or to compare and contrast the different recordings of Beethoven’s Third Symphony become enjoyable pursuits for Fives, and a certain degree of knowledge is gained by these activities, to be sure. But Fives might well wonder how profitably they are spending their time in these endeavors. They achieve at least a temporary feeling of competency by mastering these narrow areas of interest, but are beginning to avoid the kind of activities that might really help develop their confidence.

Average Fives have begun to identify more completely with their minds, and although this is not entirely problematic, it is not without consequences. As we have seen, healthy Fives are highly observant of the environment and attuned to the world around them, but because of their increasingly cerebral approach to life, average Fives begin to miss things. They focus intently upon certain details and may overlook other relevant information entirely. They tend to make a science of whatever they are interested in, whether history, linguistics, stereo equipment, jogging shoes, or the sociology of ape families. It is here that we see the beginning of their tendency to abstract from reality, concerning themselves with only those aspects of reality which capture their attention. They are by no means out of touch with reality in any unhealthy sense yet. They are, however, narrowing the focus of their perceptions so that they can pursue their interests in more depth.

Although they may not be aware of it, average Fives begin to approach most new experiences by trying to analyze them or to find their context in relation to what they already know. This is the shy person who tries to learn how to do a dance by watching people dancing and trying to analyze and memorize the different steps and movements. The easiest ways to learn to dance is to jump in and start moving, but average Fives fear to enter an activity until they have worked it all out in their minds. Usually, the dance is over by the time the Five is done “figuring it out.” This can be a cumbersome way of learning things, but it does have some positive aspects. Because their method of learning is so systematic, and because they are observing and memorizing every step of any process they engage in, many Fives can explain to others how they arrived at certain conclusions or achieved specific results. And at Level 4, Fives enjoy sharing their expertise with others. They can discourse enthusiastically and at length on the projects they have been pursuing. Unfortunately, average Fives may not be comfortable talking about much else. Their personal lives, their hopes, desires, and disappointments, and especially their feelings become private matters, and they are reluctant to share these parts of themselves with others. They prefer to discuss subjects of interest to them, and to arrive at deeper “truths” through intelligent conversation.

Level 5: The Intense Conceptualizer

As average Fives retreat into the apparent safety of their minds, they ironically begin to heighten their insecurities about their abilities. After all, they are putting less and less time into anything outside of their narrowing interests, and are less willing to try new activities. They shift into mental high-gear, using whatever internal and financial resources they have to gain a sense of confidence and strength that would allow them to move forward with their lives. Unfortunately, average Fives often misapply this energy, getting increasingly bogged down in what others would see as trivia and losing perspective on which activities will actually help them in their lives. They spend endless hours engaged in their projects, but are unable to come to closure, both because they are more uncertain of themselves and their ideas and because they are afraid to leave the security of their cerebral constructs.

As a result, Fives believe that they have no inner resources to spare. They fear that other people and their emotional needs will overwhelm them, or at the very least, sidetrack them from their projects. Fives believe that everything depends upon their acquiring a skill or ability that would give them a chance to survive in what they increasingly perceive as a world without pity or mercy. They may deeply want to connect with others, but feel that this is not possible until they can develop the sense of confidence and mastery they seek. Average Fives begin to view most of their social interactions as intrusions upon their time and space—time and space they believe they must devote to their quest for mastery. To defend themselves against these potential “intrusions,” they withdraw further into their own inner worlds by intensifying their mental focus and activity. If Fives began to create alternative realities in the healthier levels, they begin to inhabit them at Level 5. Average Fives do not want anyone or anything to distract them from whatever they believe they are gaining by exploring those realities.

Strangely, though, average Fives begin to distract themselves. If all of their energies were devoted to constructive projects, their behavior might be more comprehensible to others, but their growing insecurity causes them to spend much of their time engaged in any sort of activity which might provide some temporary sense of confidence and competence. In their minds, Fives can feel capable and fully in control of their situation, which begins to compensate for their fears about being powerless and incapable in the real world.

They plunge into complex intellectual puzzles and labyrinthine systems—elaborate, impenetrable mazes by which they can insulate themselves from the world while dealing with it intellectually. They get involved in highly detailed, complicated systems of thought, immersing themselves in obscure theories, whether these have to do with the abstruse regions of such traditional academic studies as astronomy, mathematics, or philosophy, or with esoteric topics such as the Kabbala, astrology, and the occult. They are endlessly fascinated with intellectual games (such as chess, computer simulation games, or Dungeons and Dragons), making areas of study into a kind of game, and games into an area of study. They often develop a strong affinity for genre fiction, especially science fiction and horror. Exploring the dark and fantastic realms of the imagination gives Fives the feeling of mastering something—even if it is only an image in their imaginations. Their interest in strange, disturbing subject matter is both a further search for “turf” unclaimed by others and a counterphobic reaction to their feelings of helplessness.

The thinking of average Fives becomes increasingly uncensored: they are willing to entertain any thought, no matter how horrible, unacceptable, or taboo it may seem to others. Fives are in pursuit of the truth, and if the truth is unpleasant or upsets existing conventions, so be it. In healthy Fives, this tendency is laudable and the source of many great discoveries. In average Fives, however, it starts to create problems. Because they are not participating as actively in the world, they are getting fewer “reality checks.” Consequently, their exploration of potentially unsettling subject matter begins to add fuel to their anxieties about the world and themselves.

Because of these fears, and because their imaginations are causing them to see ominous implications in almost everything, average Fives are typically fascinated with power. They feel that knowledge is power and that by possessing knowledge, they will be secure because they perceive more than others do—and hence, can protect themselves. They are attracted by areas of study which deal with some form of power, whether in nature, or in politics, or in human behavior. However, Fives are also ambivalent about power and suspicious of those who have power over them. They feel that whoever has power may use it against them, rendering them completely helpless, one of their deepest fears.

One way that average Fives maintain their independence and avoid the potential control of others is by becoming more secretive. They become increasingly unwilling to talk about their personal or emotional lives, fearing that to do so would give others power over them. Additionally, speaking about such things might well plunge them into a more direct experience of their own fears and vulnerability—a prospect that average Fives distinctly wish to avoid. In any event, Fives begin to control others’ access to them, not by overt deception but by offering little information about themselves; they can be terse, cryptic, or totally uncommunicative. They also control access by compartmentalizing their relationships and different aspects of their lives. A Five will tell one friend about his professional life, while another friend will learn of his fascination with insects. Still another will know about his romantic life, while another knows where the Five likes to go late at night. No one gets the complete picture, however, and as much as possible, average Fives will make sure that these different friends do not meet to “share notes.”

This state of affairs would be difficult to maintain if Fives had too many friends, but to keep their life simple and to allow more time for their private pursuits, at Level 5 they do with relationships what they do elsewhere in their lives, they begin to reduce their needs. Average Fives become more determined to continue their projects and want to avoid any involvements or dependencies that might hinder them. They begin to “cut back” on creature comforts, activities, and relationships. Anything that might compromise their independence and their freedom to continue with their interests becomes expendable. Fives at this point are so caught up in their mental world that even basic amenities and comforts become almost irrelevant to them. They can become extremely Spartan and minimal in their existence, requiring less of others so that others will require less of them. Average Fives will often take employment far beneath their capabilities because they want to avoid becoming entangled in the demands of a more challenging career. Ironically, they are avoiding living their lives so they can devote time to preparing to live their lives. They live for whatever pleasures and small victories they may derive from their cerebral preoccupations.

The problem is that average Fives have stopped observing the world with any consistency, and have instead focused their attention on their ideas and their imagination. This is a turning point in their development. Rather than investigate the objective world, average Fives at this stage become preoccupied with their own interpretations of it, mentally detaching themselves from the environment or even their own emotional experiences by becoming more intensely involved with their ideas. Healthy Fives are extraordinarily perceptive and aware of their environment. To the degree that Average Fives are absorbed in their own thoughts, they perceive very little of the world around them.

As Fives speculate and theorize, turning their ideas around in their minds, examining them from every angle, endlessly producing new interpretations, they lose the forest for the trees. With every new conjecture, they have no sense of certitude that their speculations are final: everything remains hanging in the air, in a cloud of possibilities. For example, the more they write, the more complex the exposition becomes, until it is virtually incomprehensible. As brilliant as they may be, average Fives do not easily publish their ideas because they cannot bring them to a conclusion.

Furthermore, all ideas seem equally plausible to Fives, since they can make a convincing case for almost anything they think of. Anything thinkable seems possible. Anything thinkable seems real. They are intellectually and emotionally capable of entertaining any new thought, even horrifying or outlandish ones, since speculating on new possibilities is virtually all they do. Their ideas, however, begin to have no direct connection with the outside world. (The problems of epistemology not only fascinate them, average Fives unwittingly live them out.) But establishing a relationship between their ideas and reality is no longer the primary function of the thinking of average Fives. Instead, speculation and imagination maintain the sense of self by keeping the mind active.

Moreover, for all the time they spend thinking, average Fives at this Level do not communicate to others clearly, because their thought processes are so complex and convoluted. They get into too much detail; their ideas become highly condensed. The stream of consciousness floods out in elaborate monologues, making it difficult for others to follow their train of thought. They go off on tangents, jumping from one point to another without indicating the intervening steps in their logic. A perceptive observation about Jackson Pollock’s painting technique may be followed by a disquisition on modern media and the hazards to biological systems of higher levels of chemicals in the environment. Their monologues may well be fascinating, and possibly breathtaking in the sweep of their intellectual range; however, their discourses may also be strange and tedious, because the mental exertion required to follow them is exhausting. Nor is it always clear that the trip will be worth the effort, although average Fives think that whatever they have to say is as interesting to others as it is to themselves.

They begin to function as disembodied minds because, as far as they are concerned, the body is merely the vehicle for the mind. At this Level, they do not pay much attention to their physical condition except when that gets in the way of their thinking. They become so deeply involved in projects that they forget to eat or sleep or change their clothes. They frequently look like the proverbial absent-minded professor, missing a button when putting on their shirts or forgetting to tie their shoes. No matter. To them such considerations are insignificant: the life of the mind, the excitement of pursuing their interests, is what counts.

Both for better and for worse, they are extremely high-strung, as if their nervous systems were tuned to a higher pitch than those of the other personality types. (Nines also become more cerebral and imaginative in the average Levels, but their affect is very different. Nines become placid and passive, while Fives become agitated and intense.) Fives seem to lack the ability to repress the unconscious impulses which erupt into their minds, fueling their intense involvement in their perceptions, their work, and their relations with others. They find it difficult to do things casually, and find close relationships with others particularly taxing.

The more detached average Fives are, the more ambivalent they are to just about everyone—they are attracted to people, yet suspicious about them. They want to figure out what makes other people tick, just as they analyze other objects of intellectual interest. (“What you just said was fascinating—you’re incredibly angry at men, aren’t you?”) Yet they usually try to avoid getting deeply involved with others because people are unpredictable and potentially demanding. Average Fives believe there must be a catch. They cannot imagine why anyone would be interested in them personally and fear that others may expect something from them which they will not be able to deliver. Further, emotional involvements arouse strong feelings which average Fives find difficult to control: the passions flood too easily into their minds. But because most Fives also have strong sexual impulses, they cannot avoid involvements altogether, as much as they would like to. Thus, though Fives find people and relationships endlessly fascinating, they remain wary.

It is therefore typical of average Fives either to be unmarried or to have stormy relationships with people. Intimacy with others gets so involved, so complex and exhausting, that they stop trying to make contact with others and become reclusive, ever more completely burying themselves in their work and ideas. Doing so only fuels their feelings of helplessness, though, and as Fives become more isolated they are increasingly prey to their own growing fears about themselves and the world. Their view of reality grows ever more bleak and doubtful. They have great difficulty accepting the idea of a benevolent universe, let alone a benevolent God. Moreover, the problem of evil is an enormous stumbling block: the horror and uncertainty of the world is so apparent to Fives that any God who allowed the world to be as it is must be sadistic, an evil God, a God they refuse to become involved with.

Level 6: The Provocative Cynic

In time, the complexities Fives create in their minds cause new and more troubling problems for them. Nothing is clear or certain; anxiety increases. They are more desperate than ever about whatever projects and ideas they are trying to develop and fear that other people will demand that they give up their pursuits before they are ready. They fear that they will be drawn “off course” by the intrusions of life and are determined to defend against whatever they perceive as a threat to their fragile niche. At Level 6, through their style of speech, their manner of dress, and the subjects that they involve themselves with, Fives are saying to the world, “Leave me alone!” If others could not get the message before, Fives become more aggressive in their efforts to scare people away.

On the surface, Fives at this Level may seem intellectually arrogant, but they are actually less certain of themselves. Even their most valued ideas and projects begin to seem futile to them, and they alternate between defending them aggressively and finding them worthless. They begin to take more extreme and unorthodox positions, as if they were trying to extract more confidence from ideas that are becoming meaningless for them. Fives may not be entirely convinced of the radical views they express, but express them they do, wielding them like cutting tools. Further, their own subconscious fears about their inability to cope with the environment are frequently erupting into their minds, and they live in growing terror of the world and others. They feel uncertain and uneasy about nearly everything, and it infuriates them that other people seem to be content or oblivious to the horrors which they notice. They therefore begin to undermine others’ certainty or contentment by “sharing” their provocative views. (“So you’re going to the beach? I was just reading the latest report on the ozone layer. Studies show that the chances of getting skin cancer have gone up by nearly one hundred percent.”) There is often an element of truth in what Fives express at this point, but their intention is no longer to arrive at the truth. It is to use their knowledge as a way of unsettling others. And because they have spent so much time gathering information, they can easily use it both to reinforce their conviction that the world is rotten and to subvert other people’s sense of security.

A certain extremism is as typical of their social style as it is of their intellectual viewpoint. In political or artistic matters, antagonistic Fives are usually radicals, populating the avant-garde. They love to take ideas to their furthest limits—for their shock value, to defy what has conventionally been thought or done, or to puncture and demolish popular opinions. (And even if they are not as correct as Fives think they are, their provocative ideas virtually force others to react to them, stirring up debate or even hostility.) As dyed-in-the-wool nonconformists and dissenters, they rebel against all social conventions, rules, and expectations, whether these involve feminism, politics, child rearing, sexual liberation, or all of them in some peculiar combination. They have an ax to grind. Understanding has been abandoned for polemics.

At Level 6, Fives use their entire lifestyle as a statement of their views and as a rebuke of the world. They may choose to live an extremely marginal existence to avoid “selling out.” At this Level, “selling out” may mean any kind of regular employment or even having a relationship. They may wear intentionally provocative clothing or groom themselves in nonconformist ways. Of course, social protest can be a vital and healthy impulse in any culture, and healthier Fives (as well as other types) may well use provocative language, art, or style of dress to make a point. But with lower average Fives, the point is that there is no point. Life is futile. People are stupid. My own life is meaningless. Although other types are certainly part of the picture, this attitude is common in many of the “alternative” cultures that have developed in the latter part of the twentieth century. Grunge, cyberpunk, heavy metal, and other youth subcultures embrace this ethos.

Ironically for those so given to complex thought, Fives at this Level have also become more reductionistic, oversimplifying reality and dismissing more positive, alternative explanations of things. For example, dismissing the flower, reductionistic Fives focus on the ooze from which it sprang, as if the brightest blossom were “nothing but” mud in some significantly altered state; painting is nothing but the desire to smear feces; God is nothing but a projection of the father into the cosmos; human beings are nothing but biological machines, and so forth. The result is that their ideas mix legitimate insights with extreme interpretations, while Fives themselves have no way of knowing which is which.

An irrational element—a kind of perverse resistance to reality—has begun to taint their thought processes. Fives at Level 6 are not crazy, even though their ideas may be strange and extremely unorthodox. Healthy originality, however, has deteriorated into quirky eccentricity; the genius has become little more than a crank. |They may assert that arcane secrets are hidden in numerical codes derived from the names of characters in their favorite TV show, or that all rational thought is meaningless.) Others may well have entertained outlandish ideas, but lower average Fives dwell on them, sometimes using all of their time and energy to “prove” them. Their extreme ideas are so much a part of their sense of self that Fives will defend their ideas at all costs, asserting them vigorously and attempting to demolish all counterarguments. Contentious and quarrelsome, they also worry about establishing their intellectual priority and protecting their ideas, threatening lawsuits if they think that someone has stolen one of their brilliant theories.

Even so, as radically extreme and reductionistic as many of their ideas are, average Fives are not necessarily completely off the mark. They are usually too intelligent not to have something interesting to say. The problem is knowing which of their ideas are valuable and which are not. This is because, at a deeper level, Fives are becoming cynical and hopeless about all of their ideas and projects. A profound pessimism is creeping into their thoughts, and they begin to see all viewpoints as equally irrelevant. They can argue any point because everything seems equally true or untrue, and therefore equally worthless. Fives at Level 6 may even enjoy arguing viewpoints which they find repugnant just to reaffirm their intelligence while simultaneously proving the futility of making any further efforts.

Fives at this stage give the appearance of being extremely involved in their projects, but a closer inspection usually reveals that they are spending much of their time in relatively inessential activities. They may need to put together a résumé, take care of bills, or complete a project for work, but will instead devote their efforts to reading a book on ants, creating a detailed computer database for their record collection, or studying strategies to improve their chess game. They put more and more of their time into activities which will do little to improve their situation, and which actually become harmful because they are distracting Fives from what they really need to do. They are so unsure of themselves that they feel completely unable to engage in many activities—especially those that might improve their quality of life—and keep gravitating to situations that give them the temporary feeling of having their lives “under control.” Average Fives may not be able to face a job interview or learn to drive a car, but they can conquer the world, survive a nuclear holocaust, or wield awesome occult powers in the world of their imaginations.

At this Level, Fives feel profoundly unsettled and anxious about their apparent helplessness in what seems to them a dark and hostile reality. They feel that it is extremely unlikely that they will ever find a place for themselves in the world, and in fact, their abrasive behavior is making this a real possibility. Fives desperately want to find something they can do that will make them feel more connected with the world, but their fear and anger cause them to retreat further and further from any contact with others. They are tormented by their tempers and by their teeming imaginations: insomnia is not uncommon. If they could reach out to others and acknowledge their own suffering, Fives could turn around their difficulties and reconstruct their lives. If they continue to turn away from the world, however, they may eventually cut off what few connections remain in their lives and plunge into a much more terrifying darkness.

ANALYZING THE UNHEALTHY FIVE

Level 7: The Isolated Nihilist

The need to keep others at a safe distance to protect their frantic search for mastery sets the stage for Fives to become extremely antagonistic toward anyone who they believe threatens their world. Unfortunately, as they become more unhealthy, their self-doubt becomes so great that almost everything threatens them. It seems to them that the only way that they can be safe is to cut off their connections with others and “go it alone.” They feel hopelessly ill-adapted for life and are profoundly disgusted with the world. Unhealthy Fives are convinced that they are never going to find a place for themselves in society, and so they turn their back on it. They become extremely isolated and prey to growing eccentricity and nihilistic despair.

Their aggressions are aroused when people question their ideas—or worse, if their ideas are ridiculed or dismissed. To maintain what little remains of their self-confidence, which is thoroughly wedded to their ideas, unhealthy Fives go on the offensive: individuals must be discredited, their ideas shown to be worthless, their solutions to problems an illusion, their world a fool’s paradise. Thus, unhealthy Fives unwittingly provoke others into rejecting them, and then become cynical about the value of all relationships. But in so doing, they become profoundly cut off from others and extremely hopeless about the possibility of ever relating to anyone.

Indeed, their need to reject what others believe is so strong that they take pleasure in debunking whatever is positive in life, trying to prove the virtual impossibility of human relationships and the complete rottenness at the core of human nature. Unhealthy Fives take delight in deflating what they see as the bourgeois illusions by which others get through life so comfortably, and to which they have not fallen prey because of their greater intellectual honesty.

As usual, there is a half-truth operating here. While others may well be living too comfortably for their own good, while some people may be self-deceptive, while some families and some relationships may be tainted by hypocrisy, jealousy, and struggles for power, it does not necessarily follow that cynicism is the best response. Unhealthy Fives throw out the baby with the bath water: faith, hope, love, kindness, friendship—all are extraordinarily difficult for them to believe in because of their fear of involvement with others. Attachment to others is too threatening at this stage, so unhealthy Fives must justify their isolation by becoming nihilistic and cynical about all relationships, indeed, about the value of humanity itself.

Just as an intense stream of water from a fire hose can hold back a crowd, the intensity of their minds, overheated by their erupting aggressive impulses, repels everything that might influence them. They “burn their bridges behind them,” ending friendships, quitting jobs, and emptying out all but the barest of necessities in their lives. (“To hell with everything!”) It is as if unhealthy Fives were attempting to purge themselves of everything but their most basic life-support systems so that they will not be dependent, and therefore potentially overwhelmed by anyone or anything. This process may be taken to extreme degrees. Unhealthy Fives may end up living out of a car, or squatting in a condemned building so that they will not be part of “the system.” They neglect themselves physically, paying no attention to their appearance, eating poorly, and going unwashed. Alcoholism and other forms of substance abuse are quite common at this stage, and the rebellious side of Fives has no hesitation about using illicit drugs. Their experimental nature may also lead them into trying new “designer drugs” or substances known to be dangerous, such as heroin. Drugs are harmful for any type, but for Fives they can be particularly debilitating. Unhealthy Fives are already having great difficulty facing even the basic maintenance of their lives, and their connection with reality is extremely tenuous. Drugs further erode their confidence and drive them further into isolation, thus accelerating their deterioration.

At this Level, unhealthy Fives believe they must maintain their isolation so that they will not be influenced by anyone. While usually not violent, they may rant and rave, write long diatribes and denunciations, or suddenly withdraw into a glowering, hateful silence. Since most people are repulsed by this kind of behavior, the isolation of Fives rapidly deepens, which is exactly what unhealthy Fives want. Yet, for that reason, they are vulnerable to ever worsening distortions in their thought processes. They are no longer getting “reality checks” from others, no longer comparing their perceptions to reality, and what few forays into the environment they do have are tainted with their growing terror. All of their experiences become confirmations of their helplessness and of the utter meaninglessness of life. Unhealthy Fives feel besieged by even minor problems and view all interactions with others as invasions upon their fragile space. Aggressions—and fear—continue to escalate.

Some of the personality types are able to conceal the degree of their distress in the unhealthy Levels, but Fives are clearly and unmistakably unstable. Others can see their disintegration and are both saddened and horrified, but unhealthy Fives’ aggressive defense of their isolation makes interventions difficult. Even the hint that they may “need help” may trigger their fears of helplessness and incompetency and drive them deeper into pathology. Unhealthy Fives also retain their ability to reason to some degree, and can cleverly argue away any positive input, dismissing any possibility that their dark and corrosive view of life may be in error. They have no expectations of themselves or others and retreat into a reality as bleak in its actuality as it is in its outlook.

Because unhealthy Fives are terrified of the world and of their own inability to cope with it, they stew in a destructive mixture of dark, twisted fantasies, feelings of contempt for others, and honor at the emptiness of their lives. They want to act, to do something that would discharge the relentlessness of their teeming minds, but they feel crippled by fear and have no belief in themselves or others. Consequently the intense force of their irrational thoughts keeps building without relief. They are filled with rage at a world which they believe has rejected them, but feeling powerless to do anything about it, they avoid all contact with others, let alone reach out for help. It is as if they cannot stop cutting themselves off at the knees. Unhealthy Fives may still be brilliant or talented, but their nihilism destroys any chance of their doing anything constructive with their abilities, and thus building up their confidence. Instead, they tear down everything in their lives, devaluing and rejecting all their attachments to the world. Yet, unhealthy Fives are worse than merely isolated; they are filled with aggressions and impulses which cannot be discharged, because they do not want to get into violent conflicts with others. Unhealthy Fives are thus trapped in a terrible dilemma: they are obsessed by their aggressions yet unable to act on them because they fear the consequences. They want to accomplish something in the world, but their bleak, cynical attitude does not allow them to engage in any activities that might improve their situation. The result is that they do nothing, and the intensity of their own minds begins to devour them.

Level 8: The Terrified “Alien”

As unhealthy Fives retreat further and further into their isolation, their belief in their ability to cope with the world disintegrates. Further, their lack of contact with other people allows their fearful thoughts to run rampant without being checked. They begin to feel that the world is closing in on them, and that it will show them no mercy. At this stage, Fives have reduced their activities and their living conditions to the point where there is nowhere left to retreat. They may be living in a single room and almost never venture forth from it, or literally hiding out in the basement of a friend’s or relative’s house. The only place left to go is deeper into their own minds, but because their minds are the true source of their terrors, this becomes their ultimate undoing.

At Level 8, Fives have tremendous difficulty distinguishing between the sensory impressions generated by the environment and those which have their origin in their fearful thoughts. Thus, unhealthy Fives see all of reality as an implacable, devouring force. The world appears to them like a delirious fever dream—an insane landscape, like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. Almost nothing in the environment is a source of comfort or reassurance. The more Fives look at the world through their distorted perceptions, the more horrified and hopeless they become.

As their fears spread and grow in intensity, they encompass and distort more of reality until doing anything becomes impossible, because everything is charged with terrifying implications. Thus, neurotic Fives may begin to be incapacitated by phobias. Inanimate objects take on a sinister appearance—the ceiling is about to collapse on them, their armchair may swallow them up, the television is giving them brain cancer. They may also experience hallucinations—hearing voices or having grossly distorted visual perceptions. They begin to experience their bodies as alien, perceiving their physical selves as turning against them just as the environment has seemed to turn against them. Neurotic Fives cannot rest or sleep or distract themselves, because they must be vigilant—and because they cannot turn off their minds. As a result, they become physically exhausted, which only compounds their problems.

Even average Fives can have trouble sleeping, but unhealthy Fives literally cannot sleep. They are afraid of being more vulnerable to malevolent forces while they sleep and are also afraid of their dreams, which can be intensely violent and disturbing. They may increase their drug or alcohol use as a way of shutting down their minds, but this only adds to their exhaustion. Sleeplessness heightens the intensity of their thoughts, leading to hallucinations. The childhood monsters in the closet become real for them. Their fear and insomnia wear them down physically, leaving them emotionally volatile and physically fragile.

What begins to frighten neurotic Fives even more is that their thoughts seem to have a life of their own. Their thoughts are uncontrollable, scaring them when they do not want to be scared. Their minds race wildly and they become terrified by fears from which they cannot possibly escape, since, after all, their fears originate in themselves. Like Dr. Frankenstein, they are in danger of being destroyed by processes to which they themselves have given life.

Their healthy ability to find connections and to draw conclusions from disparate facts now works against them. Mental connections go haywire; they relate things which have no basis in fact, yet neurotic Fives are absolutely convinced that they are related. The behavior of birds becomes indicative of political trends. The number of raisins in a bowl of cereal portends the number of months to global cataclysm. Unhealthy Fives see existence as pointless and horrifying, yet constantly assign sinister meanings to trivial daily phenomena.

Unhealthy Fives are unable to stop the destructive force of their distorted thinking because they have cut themselves off from almost all of the constructive outlets for their tremendous mental energies. Their minds have become like a light bulb with more electricity coursing through its filament than it is designed to handle—five hundred watts through a one-hundred-watt bulb. Their thoughts blaze with a terrifying intensity which is rapidly burning them up. They cannot stop their horrific thoughts and fantasies and are almost completely incapable of doing anything positive for themselves. Worse, they resist all help from others, fearing that they will become even more powerless by accepting assistance. Getting help would also be the final confirmation of their own uselessness, their own inability to cope. They are likely to avoid or flee anyone reaching out to them.

Unhealthy Fives would like to destroy everything, so detestable has the world become in their eyes. Their rage, fear, and aggressions have become all-consuming and overwhelming, yet Fives are still unable to act or to discharge their destructive impulses and feelings. Their actions become erratic and irrational, even frightening, but they are still only minor responses to the eruptions of chaos in their psyches.

Life becomes unbearable: they seem to see too much, as if their eyelids had been removed. But the truth is that their minds are devouring them. The world becomes filled with terrors because their minds are filled with terrors. No part of their mind offers any solace or comfort.

Level 9: The Imploding Schizoid

To exert what little control remains over their growing terror and despair, neurotic Fives attempt to use the same defenses they have used all along—detachment and compartmentalization—but at this stage of pathology, these methods are ineffective at holding their fears at bay. They become increasingly schizoid, splitting off from terrifying parts of their psyches and identifying with whatever remaining ideas or fantasies offer some sense of power over their disintegration. But the relentless force of their fear keeps breaking through, leaving Fives feeling that they have no safe space left, even in their minds.

Ultimately, neurotic Fives come to believe that they can no longer defend themselves from hostile forces in the world or from the terrors in their own minds. In fact, most Fives at this Level cannot distinguish between these two realms: they have collapsed into one continuous experience of pain and horror. At this point, Fives want everything to stop. They want cessation, to end all experience in oblivion. There are two main ways that they are likely do this.

The first and most obvious of these is suicide. Like unhealthy Fours, neurotic Fives are likely to take their own lives, although for somewhat different reasons. Fours destroy themselves out of self-hatred and to silently accuse those who they feel have let them down. Fives tend to commit suicide because they see life as meaningless and horrifying. There is simply no point in continuing to exist. (Of course Fives with a Four-wing and Fours with a Five-wing will display some combination of these motivations.) All that unhealthy Fives perceive in themselves and the world fills them with terror and nausea. They conclude that the only way to stop their horrible experiences is to stop all experience. Like Hamlet, the prospect of “not being” becomes a “consummation devoutly to be wished.”

If they do not commit suicide, unhealthy Fives “solve” the problem of how to control their minds, especially the overwhelming anxiety produced by their consuming phobias, by unconsciously splitting consciousness into two parts. Neurotic Fives retreat into that part of themselves which seems safe, regressing into an autistic-like state which resembles psychosis.

At this final Level, Fives may defend themselves from reality by unconsciously cutting themselves off from every connection with it. To put this another way, unhealthy Fives are so terrorized by their thoughts that they must get rid of them somehow. They do so by identifying with the emptiness that remains within themselves when they detach from their remaining identifications. In effect, they detach themselves from themselves, like parents who, to stop being tormented by the memories of a dead child, throw away everything that reminds them of the child. The result is that neurotic Fives live in a totally empty house—the self which has been purged of everything that reminds them of their terrifying and painful attachments to the world.

Thus, neurotic Fives deteriorate into a state of inner emptiness and, if they continue to live this way, in all probability into a form of schizophrenia. *

All their former intellectual intensity and capacity for involvement is gone. Fives at this stage are utterly isolated from their environment, from other people, and from their inner life—from their ability to think, to feel, and to do.

Unhealthy Fives have finally succeeded in putting distance between themselves and the environment, although at the price of completely removing themselves from it through suicide or a schizoid break. The irony is, however, that Fives retreat from reality to gain the time and space to build their confidence and ability to deal with life, but they ultimately destroy their own confidence and talents, even their own life, through their fear and isolation. Those Fives who do not take their own lives may end up living a life of helplessness, dependency, or incarceration—the very situation they most feared—as a result of severe psychotic breaks with reality. In a final effort to escape from the horrors around them, Fives attempt to remove themselves from the environment. But what they have removed themselves from is not actually reality, but the projection of their anxieties about reality. They have succeeded only in removing themselves from their thoughts and feelings. Once neurotic Fives have done this, they become unable to cry out to anyone from the void they have created within themselves. All is emptiness within the abyss of the purged self.

THE DYNAMICS OF THE FIVE

The Direction of Disintegration: The Five Goes to Seven

Starting at Level 4, Fives under stress will begin to exhibit many of the qualities of average to unhealthy Sevens. Average Fives tend to retreat from connection with others and from activities in the world which they fear they will be unable to accomplish. Thus they become increasingly narrow in their focus and concerns. The move to Seven can be seen as an unconscious reaction to this shrinking of the Five’s world, albeit in the scattered, hyperactive discharge of anxiety found in the average to unhealthy Seven.

At Level 4, Fives are focusing their energies in studying, practicing, and preparing. They do not feel confident to enter the arena of life and believe that further developing their knowledge and skills will give them the protection they need to survive. Along with this, however, comes a desire for variety and a restlessness of mind characteristic of type Seven. Also like Sevens, Fives at this Level are constantly acquiring information, building their collections of music, books, and videos, or whatever else captures their interest. They move from one topic to another, looking for the subject that will satisfy them, for the project they can really get involved with. But in this state of restlessness, none of their pursuits are entirely satisfactory to them.

At Level 5, Fives have become even more preoccupied and involved with their projects and ideas. They are beginning to isolate themselves socially and to become more focused on their thoughts than on the world around them. Fives begin to be starved for stimulation, and under stress may begin to involve themselves with a wide variety of experiences which do not relate directly to their central projects or motivations. They distract themselves with video games, movies, and science fiction and horror novels. They love to let their minds free-associate, and can enjoy moments of silliness and offbeat humor which often surprise the people around them. Fives under stress may also develop a taste for nightlife, exploring restaurants, bars, and nightclubs—often as voyeurs. They will usually be secretive about this, however, and few of their friends will be aware of this aspect of their lives. As their anxiety escalates, so does their desire for distraction and stimulation.

At Level 6, Fives are becoming more fearful, and despair of ever finding a niche for themselves. They become threatened by most interactions with others and can be antagonistic and provocative in defense of their intellectual or creative “turf.” They get into high gear in their avoidance of anxiety, and can be insensitive and aggressive in their pursuit of whatever they want at the time. The jaded, calloused qualities of the Seven only reinforce the Five’s growing cynicism, making them impatient with people and extremely hardened in their view of the world. Some may find them wild and exciting at this level, but most people are put off by their intense, bristling energy. Further, Fives under stress will not hesitate to use drugs or alcohol to quell their anxieties. They will pursue whatever offers them relief from their pain and fears, even if their escape is costly and short-lived.

At Level 7, unhealthy Fives are extremely isolated, cut off from contact with others and the world, and consequently have no constructive outlets for their inner intensity. When they go to Seven, they discharge this energy in a variety of escapist behaviors, which only makes them more dissipated and incapable. Unhealthy Fives lurch from an isolated, fearful state to one of wild activity. Their minds are beginning to run out of control, and when they can no longer contain their fear, this enormous mental turbulence gets acted out in impulsive and often irresponsible ways. They lunge into mindless activity, by which they succeed only in getting themselves into worse trouble and more serious conflicts with the environment. They are irrational, have extremely poor judgment, and make poor choices about which actions to take. When others question their self-destructive escapism, their responses can be abusive and infantile.

At Level 8, Fives are full of terrors and cannot distinguish the horrific images that erupt from their unconscious from reality. Under increased stress, their behavior becomes manic and reckless. Moving to Seven now, deteriorated Fives go totally out of control. Some of the terrible things they have feared may actually happen as a result of their erratic and irresponsible behavior. And as fearful as Fives have become, they are often heedless and unaware of real dangers. For example, they may be killed—not because they are devoured by their furniture or exposed to death rays from their television, but because, not watching where they are going, they get run over by a truck. Out-of-control Fives are reckless and accident-prone: they may be poisoned, not by the KGB but because they mistakenly ate something they should not have. Neurotic Fives need to reestablish contact with reality (particularly the positive aspects of it), although at this Level they are completely incapable of doing so. They act impulsively, erratically, and hysterically, like a manic-depressive Seven, becoming increasingly unstable and unpredictable.

At Level 9, Fives are consumed with terror and are desperate to escape the horrors they perceive around them. Similarly, they cannot find anything in themselves which inspires confidence or gives them any sense that they will be able to cope with the rest of their lives. Fearing that they have reached some sort of horrible dead end, they may compulsively do permanent harm to themselves or someone else. Even if they do not kill themselves, their reckless activities may well have severely damaged their health and limited their ability to pursue any further activities. Like unhealthy Sevens, they are debilitated, burned-out, and paralyzed with fear. As anxiety reaches an ever new pitch, they may do something irrevocable, such as impulsively killing someone or committing suicide.

The Direction of Integration: The Five Goes to Eight

Fives typically do not feel that they know enough to act: there is always more to know. They will always feel insecure until they have mastered the real world and are not simply masters of their own minds. From a psychoanalytic point of view, their egos are typically too weak for the ids—their aggressions and other impulses tend to overpower their minds.

This no longer happens to healthy, integrating Fives because they have incorporated their perceptions of the world into themselves by identifying with them instead of merely observing them. They no longer identify just with their thoughts, but also with the objects of their thoughts. Thus, integrating Fives have overcome their fear of the environment and are learning to trust it. Hence their self-confidence grows, after the manner of healthy Eights.

When they go to Eight, Fives also realize that, as little as they think they know, it is still more than almost anyone else. They also realize that they do not have to know absolutely everything before they can act. They will learn more as they do more; they will be able to solve new problems as they arise. They understand that they will know what they need to know when they need to know it. Their confidence will come not from some collection of skills or some vast body of information that they have memorized, but from a real connection with their presence in the world. They then experience themselves not as separate from the world, not as a helpless speck, but as a powerful, integral part of it.

Integrating Fives act from a realization of their own genuine mastery. While they do not know everything, they know enough to lead others with confidence. The correctness of their ideas has been so well confirmed by reality that they no longer fear acting. They acquire the courage it takes to put their ideas, and consequently themselves, on the line. Thus, integrating Fives realize that they are able to contribute something worthwhile to others. As a result, their thoughts are finally given expression in action and possibly in leadership. Integrating Fives show others how to do what only they know how to do. And, as we have seen, the practical value of their ideas may be incalculable.

THE MAJOR SUBTYPES OF THE FIVE

The Five with a Four-Wing: “The Iconoclast”

The traits of the Five and those of the Four reinforce each other in many ways. Both Five and Four are withdrawn types: they turn to the inner world of their imagination to defend their egos and to reinforce their sense of self. They both feel that something essential in themselves must be found before they can live their lives completely. Fives lack the confidence to act, and Fours lack a strong, stable sense of identity. Thus, Fives with a Four-wing have difficulty connecting with others and staying grounded. People of this subtype are more emotional and introverted than Fives with a Six-wing, although paradoxically, they tend to be more sociable than the other subtype. As a result of their Four component, they are also more interested in the personal and intrapsychic. The two types also have some significant differences in their approach. Fives are cerebral, holding experience at arm’s length, while Fours internalize everything to intensify their feelings. Despite these differences—or because of them—these two personality types make one of the richest subtypes, combining possibilities for outstanding artistic as well as intellectual achievement. Noteworthy examples of this subtype include Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenburg, Friedrich Nietzsche, Georgia O'Keeffe, John Cage, John Lennon, k. d. lang, Laurie Anderson, James Joyce, Emily Dickinson, Stanley Kubrick, David Lynch, Buster Keaton, Gary Larson, Stephen King, Tim Burton, Clive Barker, Franz Kafka, Umberto Eco, Jean-Paul Sartre, Oriana Fallaci, Glenn Gould, Peter Serkin, Hannah Arendt, Kurt Cobain, and Vincent van Gogh.

In healthy people of this subtype, we find the union of intuition and knowledge, sensitivity and insight, aesthetic appreciation and intellectual endowments. Fives with a Four-wing are likely to be involved in the arts as writers, directors, designers, musicians, composers, choreographers, and so forth. This subtype has been somewhat overlooked in many descriptions of Fives because they do not fit the stereotype of the academic/scientific Five (the Five with a Six-wing). This subtype is more synthetic in its thinking, pulling things together and seeking out new ways of looking at things. Also, Fives with a Four-wing tend to utilize their imaginations more than the analytic, systematic parts of the mind which are more the domain of the other subtype. If they are involved in science, Fives with a Four-wing are drawn to those areas in which there is less emphasis on experimentation and data collection than on intuition and comprehensive vision. This subtype is particularly aware of—and on the lookout for—the beauty in a mathematical formula, for example. For this subtype, beauty is one of the indications of truth, because the order which beauty represents is a confirmation of the objective lightness of an idea. One of the foremost strengths of healthy Fives with a Four-wing lies precisely in their intuition, since intuition helps them uncover areas of knowledge where their conscious thoughts have not yet ventured. The Fourwing adds a desire to find a unique, personal vision to the curiosity and perceptiveness of the Five, and the result is a propensity to “tinker” with familiar forms until they become something almost unrecognizable. In talented Fives with a Four-wing this can lead to startling innovations in their chosen fields of endeavor.

In Average Fives with a Four-wing, the Four-wing adds emotional depth, but causes difficulties in sustaining efforts and in working with others. Fives with a Four-wing are more independent than Fives with a Six-wing and resist having structures and deadlines imposed on them. There can be an off-putting detachment from the environment, both because they are involved in their thoughts and because they are introverted and emotionally self-absorbed. Analytic powers may be used to keep people at arm’s length rather than to understand them more deeply. Emotionally delicate, people of this subtype can be moody and hypersensitive to criticism, particularly regarding the value of their work or ideas, since this impinges directly upon self-esteem. Both component types tend to withdraw from people and be reclusive. They can be highly creative and imaginative, envisioning alternate realities in great detail, but can get lost in their own cerebral landscapes. The Four-wing gives a propensity to fantasizing, but with the Five with the Four-wing, the subject matter tends toward the surreal and fantastic rather than the romantic. Individuals of this subtype can become highly impractical, spending most of their time reading, playing intellectual games, or specializing in trivia. There is often an attraction to dark, forbidden subject matter or to any way of self-expression which would disturb or upset others. Some Fives with a Four-wing become fascinated with the macabre and the horrific. As they become more impractical and fearful about their possibilities in life, one typical solution is to find emotional solace in various forms of self-indulgence—in alcohol, drugs, or sexual escapades.

Unhealthy persons of this subtype may fall prey to debilitating depressions yet be disturbed by aggressive impulses. Envy of others mixes with contempt for them; the desire to isolate the self from the world mixes with regret that it must be so. Intellectual conflicts make their emotional lives seem hopeless, while their emotional conflicts make intellectual work difficult to sustain. Moreover, if this subtype becomes neurotic, it is one of the most alienated of all of the personality types: profoundly hopeless, nihilistic, self-inhibiting, isolated from others, and full of self-hatred. Unhealthy Fives with a Four-wing retreat into a very bleak, minimal existence, attempting to cut off from all needs. The self-rejection and despair of the Four combines with the cynical nihilism of the Five to create a worldview that is relentlessly negative and terrifying. Social isolation, addiction, and chronic depression are common. Suicide is a real possibility.

The Five with a Six-Wing: “The Problem Solver”

This subtype is the one that has been most often associated with Fives—the intellectual who is interested in science, technology, acquiring facts and details. Fives with a Six-wing are the “analysts” and “cataloguers” of their environments; they are problem solvers and excel at dissecting the components of a problem or thing to discover how it works. The traits of the Five and those of the Six-wing combine to produce one of the most “difficult” of the personality types to contact intimately or to sustain a relationship with. Both components, the Five and the Six, are in the Thinking Triad, and Fives with a Six-wing are perhaps the most intellectual of all the subtypes. They also tend to be more disengaged from their feelings than Fives with a Four-wing. Persons of this subtype have problems trusting others, both because they are essentially Fives and because the Six-wing reinforces anxiety, making any kind of risk taking in relationships difficult. However, the coping mechanisms of the Five and Six are somewhat at odds, creating an inner tension between the two components. Fives find security by withdrawing from others while Sixes find security by working cooperatively with others. Hence, their interpersonal relations are erratic, and in general are not an important part of their lives. Noteworthy examples of this subtype include Bill Gates, Stephen Hawking, Sigmund Freud, Simone Weil, Jacob Bronowski, Charles Darwin, Edward O. Wilson, Karl Marx, James Watson, Ursula K. LeGuin, Alfred Hitchcock, Doris Lessing, Cynthia Ozick, Bobby Fischer, B. F. Skinner, Isaac Asimov, Howard Hughes, Ezra Pound, and Theodore Kaczynski.

Healthy people of this subtype are more extroverted and focused on the external world than Fives with a Four-wing. They are not particularly introspective, preferring to observe and understand the world around them. Healthy Fives with a Six-wing observe the world with extraordinary clarity, combining the Five’s drive for mastery with the Six’s quest for certainty. The result is a gift for drawing meaningful conclusions from disparate facts, and an ability to make predictions based on those conclusions. They are often drawn to technical subjects, engineering, science, and philosophy, as well as inventing and repair work. The Six-wing gives this subtype a greater ability to cooperate with others and to bring a disciplined, persistent approach to their endeavors. There is more aptitude for and interest in the practical matters of life, and with sufficient talent, Fives with a Six-wing can combine their innovation with business savvy, sometimes with very lucrative results. Their attention is more often directed at objects than at people, although they identify strongly with key people in their lives. They may feel things deeply, but are extremely restrained in their emotional expression. In them we find an intellectual playfulness, a good sense of humor, as well as other attractive, lovable qualities. If others have been tested and permitted to come closer, they discover that people of this subtype have a deep capacity for friendship and commitment. There is also an endearing element in their desire to be accepted by others, and even if they are sometimes socially clumsy, others cannot help but be touched by their eagerness to reach out to people.

However, average persons of this subtype generally have problems with relationships. The Six-wing provides good organizational abilities and an endearing personal quality, but also adds to the Five’s anxiety and fearfulness. They do not seem to know what to do with their feelings, much less how to express them directly. Hence we find an insensitivity to their own feelings and emotional needs, as well as to the feelings and emotional needs of others. They have little awareness about how they communicate themselves to others. (They are the classic intellectual nerd, the socially inept oddball.) Average Fives with a Six-wing can become extremely preoccupied, theoretical, and absent-minded. They are totally wrapped up with intellectual pursuits and live completely in their minds, immersing themselves in their work to the exclusion of everything else. When interpersonal conflicts arise, average Fives with a Six-wing avoid resolving problems by burying themselves even more deeply in their intellectual work, and by employing passive-aggressive techniques, putting off people and problems rather than dealing with them directly. They can be rebellious and argumentative for no apparent reason, although something may have touched off unconscious emotional associations. Fives with a Six-wing tend to cling more tenaciously to their views and theories (reductionism) and to antagonize people who disagree with them, whereas Fives with a Four-wing tend to reject all meaning (nihilism) and to disturb the certainty of people who seem secure.

Unhealthy people of this subtype tend to be suspicious of people and to have counterphobic, contentious, and volatile reactions to others. They are extremely fearful of intimacy of any sort and can be highly unstable, with paranoid tendencies. Unconsciously seeking rescue, they also fearfully reject and antagonize their supporters. The isolation and mental distortion we see in unhealthy Fives are reinforced by the Six-wing’s paranoia, inferiority feelings, and conviction of being persecuted. Neurotic Fives with a Six-wing ultimately become extremely phobic, projecting dangers everywhere while retreating from all social interaction. They may lash out at imagined enemies, sometimes with lethal results. Psychotic breaks and madness are possible.

SOME FINAL THOUGHTS

Taking an overall view of the Five, we can see that there has been a struggle between various pairs of polar opposites: between thinking and doing, between a fascination with the world and a fear of the world, between identification with others and rejection of them, between love and hate. This process of attraction to and repulsion from the environment as a whole began with their ambivalence toward their parents. But unfortunately, what happens is that Fives gradually become so obsessed with defending themselves from potential threats from the environment—that is, from whatever they see as harmful and dangerous—that they also exclude the good. Eventually, there is nothing in the world with which Fives can identify, nothing true or valuable in which they can believe. The final result is total nihilism: there is nothing left to which they can attach themselves.

Like every other personality type which becomes gripped in the downward spiral of neurosis, Fives bring about the very thing they most fear: that they are helpless, useless, and incompetent. The irony is that they have become helpless and incompetent because they have rejected attachment to everything. And by intensifying their involvement with their mental processes, instead of finding security or power, Fives have brought about their own insecurity and powerlessness.

It is a tragic end. If there is something perverse and dark—even demonic—about Fives, it is that to protect themselves they have relentlessly repulsed the world and other human beings. What then is left? Only a fascination with—and a terrifying attraction to—the darkness.