#I have a deep set fear of being forgotten and I also have abandonment issues

[story-book-sillies]

Grieving over someone who isn’t gone is such a complicated feeling. Especially when they are your best friend. Especially when they want to leave you.

I still can interact with them today. I can see them with my own eyes, hear their voice with my ears, understand their deepest dreams because we just know each other.

But soon, I won’t be able to see them in person, the only way I can hear their voice will be through a phone, and now someone else will learn to understand them better than me. I will slowly be forgotten as someone else becomes their remembered.

And it hurts. But it happens. And I knew it was coming but I didn’t want it to happen so fast. It’s like when you know something is going to bite you but it hasn’t happened yet. You anticipate the pain so it’s like the pain is already there.

They’re still here but they’re already gone. They’re not gone forever just gone for now. You’re still a kid. They’re all grown up and they’re leaving you. It hurts.

[eldritchqueerture]

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

[lovelivingmydreams]

What is a happy ending?

So someone (looks sternly at @rondoel) thought giving me insight in a certain OC of theirs and making me feel things is an okay thing to do. That I won't proceed to write a heartbreaking epilogue to my two part Virgil king story. This one not as long. But still. Enjoy:

What is a happy ending?

"Why happily ever after?" King wondered aloud as He studied their latest piece of art.

No one had ever answered that question for Him. Not in a meaningful way at least. And it never truly stopped bothering Him.

"Your majesty?" Anxiety asked carefully. Probably not sure if he had been meant to hear. King wasn't so sure Himself.

Oh well. He might as well finish the thought. Something interesting might come from it.

"Happily ever after. It's so... boring. Why does everyone like it so much?" He had wondered so often...

Anxiety shrugged. "Princey loved that crap. He hated it when I called out the flaws, though he could be just as bad with plot holes.

It's not realistic at all and... well boring is one word for it." His tone and face could almost be mistaken for dismissive, but King could swear He spotted fondness in the upturn of Anxiety's mouth and a slight wistfulness in the shine of his eyes.

King however was more interested in this more nuanced perspective on the story trope. Answers at last?

Anxiety noticed his king desired for him to elaborate and immediately started fidgeting as he tried to find the words to express his thoughts sufficiently.

"I suppose... everyone thinks that's what they want?" His nerves turn the sentence into a question. "When they are little it's an easy goal. You find the one who'll make you whole, or defeat the villain, or both. And then nothing ever bothers you again.

It's not how life works though... and growing up... I think everyone still has a part of them that wants to hold on to things being that... simple..." Anxiety trailed off and looked up at king curiously. His face strangely focused as if he was looking for an answer himself.

"Simple?" King urged wanting to hear more. Anxiety was so close to making sense. So close to bringing about that wonderful feeling when curiosity was sated. A story complete at last.

"Um... yeah... I mean even I feel a little... I don’t know... it feels right?

When you do the right thing, even when it's hard and you get the stuff you want anyway. And when people who hurt you don’t win. You want the world to work like that. If not for you then at least for the servant girl, who just wanted a night off, or the waitress who just wanted to buy her father's dream restaurant. Hard work, kindness, patience... they should be rewarded right?" Anxiety explained. Sounding frustrated. "And..." he let out a resigned sigh before straightening up and continued more decidedly. "Since the world doesn't work that way... why not escape somewhere where it does?" It was passionate. Perhaps in defense of Roman's favorite thing in the world. Then that fight and righteous defiance fell away in favor of a nostalgic fondness. "Thomas did it all the time growing up," Anxiety sighed before returning his attention to the painting that had prompted the question. A Father's Day movie night.

Hugs and snacks and movies with happily ever afters galore. All of Morality's favorite things.

King had to admit it had... stung to discover that Morality had taken up the role He'd given him even after he betrayed everything that title stood for.

Had he ever felt even the slightest bit conflicted when hearing Roman calling him 'Padre'?

Or was it supposed to be fine, since he thought Roman was the only half of Him who felt attached to him that way?

Had it truly never occurred to him that while he took in the confused Roman, he left behind a disoriented and heartbroken Remus who didn't understand why daddy was ignoring him.

What had he done wrong?

Why did he never get bedtime stories or hugs from dad? Why was he shoved away, scolded, ignored?

Why was he not allowed to play in the imagination with his brother?

The last thought had plagued both halves for years.

Even Roman who had stopped admitting to it to please Morality felt conflicted during story times and hugs to this day.

Telling Thomas that he didn't want anything to do with his brother had hurt more than the bump on his head...

But all of that was in the past. They were gone and their unresolved issues were a waste of His time. He had berated, tormented, Anxiety over this. He would not fall victim to such sentimentalities Himself.

"I see... escapism then?" He muttered, trying to get back on topic and not to show the... somewhat emotional turn His thoughts had taken.

Like His halves, His 'Padre' was gone. He probably never existed in the first place.

And Morality would pay for that betrayal and the way he abandoned Remus and how he made Roman fight to earn his love, only to abandon him as well. His suffering had only just begun.

Not because it still mattered. But... any excuse to justify and fuel His wrath even a little bit more was good enough for Him.

He'd probably avenge slights against his minister simply to feign kinship and watch the traitors squirm under his rule just a bit more. Not that he needed a reason to do anything. But justified rage was so much more satisfying to set loose. Because the targets would feel, deep down, they brought this upon themselves.

"Yeah... there's enough crappy stuff going on in the world right? Thomas... wants to use his talents to make people smile. And while that's cheesy, it's also... well it's him," Anxiety shrugged. King hummed in agreement as He framed the picture and put it away. He'd barely paid attention honestly. The answer was satisfactory. But there was a new question on His mind. As He mused over His minister's attachments to His enemies and how to sever them He recalled something intriguing about his recent behavior.

Anxiety had been pulling away from Morality. Why? What had caused a crack in 'the bestest most dynamicest duoest duo'?

And was this something he could use to forge an allegiance. Or to hurt Morality as deeply as He'd been hurt. Or, ideally, both?

King smirked to Himself as He laid a gentle hand on Anxiety's shoulder. He asked about a drawing of the young side and Thomas. He was pleased to note that His minister no longer shrank away every time He moved in his general direction. He might not be comfortable with His touch yet, but he was getting used to it. Something that would surely get to the others who still tiptoed around Anxiety's boundaries.

Maybe, at some point, he could be made to truly see things His way. To see the traitors for the villains they were. Just the thought of the chaos that this realization would unleash... It would be magnificent.

Morality had forgotten something important about 'happily ever after's.

Bad guys don’t get them. And the victor is always the hero.

It was only right that King reminded him of the shadow side of his favourite ending.

By making him live it.

Virgil knew that it was a bad thing that he found himself enjoying talking about his memories to the king and watching them turn into pretty cool paintings.

He was Anxiety, this was definitely a crisis. He can't relax now, not around the reason of said crisis... but if he doesn't relax a little his thoughts might do something really bad. And if he doesn't do whatever the king wants, then the king might do something bad.

So he had to balance on this weird edge of anxious, but cool with it.

The others were counting on him. To stay safe, to keep it together, to keep King distracted, to find a way to get him to lay off a little...

"Worthless." And... the thing is back.

"Dude, seriously, not now!" He snapped at his... shadow.

King just looked on intrigued. Great. Now the shadow had King's attention.

"Failure," it hissed. Right... King is not his biggest problem right now.

So far the shadow had only been mildly annoying even quiet for the most part. But clearly anxious thoughts made it remember it could be a pain in the behind. And worst thing is it got to Virgil even more because it laid out his true fears for King to see and use against him.

"You... you are just... you're just a thought. You can't hurt me." Virgil insisted.

Thomas could deal with his irrational fits. Surely he could manage this thing, right?

"Monsssster," the shadow hissed. No he didn't think that anymore!

"Guardian!" Virgil bit back. Patton said so, Logan said so, Roman said so, Thomas said so... why cant he just believe them?

He found himself struggling to breath again. The thoughts... they were real now... what if they could hurt him...? Can he die? What would happen to Thomas?

"Begone!" Virgil snapped out of his near attack at the sudden outburst from King.

What...?

He looked up just in time to see a flash of metal and shadow's dissolving figure.

"It'll reform later," King muttered as he sheeted his sword.

"It became too bothersome. You should not let your creations have power over you young one. You are their master, don't forget that," he instructed calmly, not looking at him.

Did he just...?

"Return to your business now, I find that I am in need of a break," he then declared as he walked away, still not looking back.

"But..." he came to a halt. "Should you wish to finish our gallery... I might be willing to indulge your presence later."

Virgil didn't quiet know what to do, so he bowed, just in case the king could see it somehow. "Y-yes my king. Thank you," he stammered hurriedly.

When he looked up, the king was gone.

And Virgil ran. He needed to find Lo and Pat before the shadows returned.

His thoughts were a confused mess... he hadn't imagined that right?

King had really stepped in to save him instead of letting Virgil's punishment, gift, curse, whatever run its course...

And then he left it up to Virgil to decide if and when they'd finish up.

There was probably some messed up reason behind it... but still.

Virgil wasn't stupid though. Even if saving him had been a purely noble impulse, King hadn't undone his 'gift' to make sure it wouldn't happen again. Telling him to put his foot down with 'his own creations' didn't really count.

King still messed up real bad and would have to do something pretty impressive to make up for all of that.

And Virgil was pretty sure that it wasn't just his pessimism talking when he thought that the king was no where close to wanting to make nice with any of them.

Or not for the right reasons anyway.

He shook his head. He can worry about all that later. Right now he has to find the others. Before King runs into one of them.

Virgil's trip down memory lane might've been deemed 'entertaining' or whatever, but he hadn't be around for whatever had happened to make the king be out for blood in the first place.

He didn't want to find out what King's idea of 'having fun' was when it came to Pat, Lo or even Janus. Whatever they did, it was still his duty to protect Thomas. Physically, socially, mentally and emotionally. Whether he wanted him to or not.

And not even King was going to stop him from fulfilling his purpose.

@antiredhuman you wanted to be tagged if I wrote more for this au so here you go! Hope you like it!

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

Ok, so I’ve tried and tried several times to get this posted, we’ll see if this is the time it goes through. Half the reason why this review series has slowed down is not just the multitude of real life stuff I have to deal with, but also Tumblr just refusing to work with me and deleting my posts. I also can’t save my work else where due to Tumblr messing up the formatting. It’s been a frustrating mess and so far no one @staff​ has come up with a tech solution or work around. 

Summary: Rapunzel helps to rebuild Old Corona, (after its near destruction from the Black Rocks) which will become the permanent home of Red and Angry, who have returned to Corona to settle down. However, she begins to notice strange footprints around the area, as well as the livestock becoming more unruly and fearful. The group comes across a monster hunter named Creighton, who explains to the group that the area is being stalked by a werewolf, who possessed one of Corona's citizens. Aiming to save this person rather than kill them, Rapunzel sets out to find who it is. 

When Was This Decided?

No seriously, when was this decided? It’s a pretty big leap go from ‘the rocks makes various towns inhabitable’ to ‘let’s rebuild!’ What’s changed here? Cause the rocks haven’t been removed and Rapunzel failed in her mission to nullify their power. In fact the rocks were not only reawaken in the second season finale but shown to be under the power of someone who’s intentions were made unclear to the heroes.

So I ask again; who thought this was safe thing to do now? What provisions have been made to accommodate the rocks? They blocked the well, remember, and destroyed the fields; how are the people getting food and water? 

And most importantly why wasn’t the audience informed beforehand? When you change up the status quo in a story you need to provide just cause to the viewers. I legit thought I had accidently skipped an episode when I first watched because this plot point was not set up properly.  

Why Were They Ever Left Alone to Begin With?

In a story where neglect is a central theme and motivating factor for all the main characters, it is super tone deaf to have those same characters perpetuating neglect themselves. The decision to live on their own should not be left up to Angry and Red because they are children. Children are not mature enough to provide for themselves neither emotionally nor physically and when placed in situations where they have to do so it psychologically damages them. Which the series already showcased with Varian so why is this suddenly deemed ok? 

This Completely Undermines the Past Two Seasons

The entire conflict of the past two seasons was the rocks forcing people out of their homes. Eugene was made an orphan from them, Varian lost his entire support group because them, they drove out the Saporians from their encampment which prompted them to invade Corona, and Rapunzel and company spent an entire year on the road trying to find a way to stop them from spreading supposedly. 

All of that has now been flushed down the drain with this decision. And its super insulting to watch because it’s the writers telling us that we’ve wasted our time caring about this plot for two years. You don’t resolve major conflicts off screen and without explanation; it’s lazy!  

Also Where Is Varian and Quirin During All This?

This is not only their home and legal charge, but it’s also the ending to their ongoing story, and they’re not even here in a silent cameo. 

Wouldn’t Quirin be overseeing the rebuilding of his town? Wouldn’t Varian be using his skills to find workable engineering solutions for them, fulling his season one goal of saving his home and making his village better with his inventions? Also wouldn’t Edmund want to catch up with his brother and help out now that he’s here? 

In fact not a single person who actually lives in Old Corona is to be found in these opening shots. 

Oh, But We Do Get Earl

Earl might be from Old Corona, or he might not be. We’ve literally never seen him before. The artists had to create a brand new character model for this character, the writers had to write new lines for him, and the casting director had to hire an actor and have him record these lines for only less than a minute of screen time, never to be seen again. Even though they legit had shepherd models already to go from season one that they could have used. It’s a waste of resources and a prime example of the mismanagement going on in this show. 

It’s Too Late In the Series to Waste Time On a New One Off Villain

Speaking of a waste, Creighton might have more story reasons to appear in this episode than Earl does but her inclusion is still a poor decision. The show already has an overabundance of villains, so many in fact that they shipped the bulk of them off in season two, and this is the final season; the season where we should be wrapping up plots and minor characters stories not kicking off new ones.

Taken on her own Creighton isn’t a bad character presa, she works for the episode, but when we could have gotten a resolution to Caine’s, Hector’s, or the Disciples’ story arcs instead it highlights how misused the series assets are. 

All This Lore Will Be Forgotten In Just a Few Episodes Time

We finally get like some magical rules and backstory only for future episodes to ignore it from here on afterwards. Red can turn into a werewolf whenever she pleases, night or day, with little explanation as for why.  

Just Arrest Her Rapunzel

You’re the acting queen. You have the power and the right to arrest or even merely detain someone who is threating your citizens and refuses to leave. In fact it’s kind of your job. You don't even have to throw her in a dungeon if you thought that too cruel. Just lock her up in a nice room somewhere in the castle until you’ve sorted out the mess yourself. 

The series wants to treat Rapunzel as the underdog when she isn’t, and her failure to wield her power effectively doesn’t make her look ‘nice’ it just makes her look stupid and grossly incompetent. This is a conflict that didn’t need to have happened and Rapunzel let it happen.  

Oh, So Now Y'all Riot

You didn’t complain when the king orphaned children with his crack down on crime. You rolled over as he dolled out overly harsh punishments to poor people who committed minor offences. You gleefully went along with the royals as they  scapegoated a child for their mistakes, even as they endangered your homes.  And ya’ll sat on your asses while invaders pulled off a coup and enslaved you. 

But this is what you get mad over? A rumor about a mythical creature existing that your princess has zero control over. Seriously? 

Man, I hate the townspeople in this show. 

Pointless Dream Sequence Is Pointless

This scene tells the audience nothing new and just wastes screen time. 

This Is the Wrong Lesson to Focus On Rapunzel

We do not tell the 12 year old to unload their phycological issues onto their baby sister!

You’re telling me parents were involved in writing this show? What the hell!?

Rapunzel you are the adult here. At 20 now you should be more adept to handle listening to the deep seated emotional traumas of a little girl than a fucking 10 year old! And if you’re not, or don’t want to, then it’s your job to find another adult who will. 

That’s the core problem with this entire episode. It treats Red’s and Angry’s problems as some eternal issue that they need to work out and not as the inherent failure of the adults around them that it is. 

It is neither Red’s nor Angry’s decision on weather or not they get live on their own. Nor is it their responsibility to be each other’s therapist. Yes, a change in living arrangements is always stressful and for children with abandonment issues it can be hard to readjust, but that’s when you need to step it up and deal with the problem; not shove it off onto the kids themselves! 

Monty Is Useless

Is this all Monty is good for? Being a red herring in ridiculously simple mysteries? Is this why we wasted a whole episode introducing him back in season one? Really?

Why Are We Still Treating Old Corona As Being Separate from Corona Itself?

Look, I get that it’s a joke, but it’s a joke that highlights how poorly thought out the worldbuilding is in the series. Is the Coronan government in charge of Old Corona or not? If so then you can just make those lease laws yourself as the acting regent Eugene. If not then Frederic shouldn’t have had any say in the matter of relocating Old Corona’s citizens nor putting a child outside of his jurisdiction under arrest.

But more importantly this is a just a repeat of that vague level of responsibility Rapunzel has for people who live off the island. She can’t order a whole village to be rebuilt while simultaneously claiming that she bares no accountability for Varian and Quirin’s problems in season one. 

Replacing Guns with Crossbows Isn’t the Safe Option That the Censors Think It Is

I find it kind of amusing that censors will ban showing a 17th century blunderbuss but allow it to be replaced by a weapon that is still mass produced today and can be bought in any Walmart across the country. Like I’m a major advocate for gun regulation in real life, but even I have to find this to be a bit silly. Crossbows aren’t some fantasy weapon. People still own and use them. But it would be seriously hard to get ahold of a working antique firearm.  

Seriously This Is How the Girls Have Been Living and the Adults Haven’t Done Anything About It Until Now?

I feel like I’m beating a dead horse by now, but it’s so engrained into the episode I have to keep bringing it up. The show itself is visually telling us that Red and Angry can’t keep living this way, but it never wants to call Rapunzel and the other adults out for not rescuing them from this life sooner. 

So All This Tells Me Is That Rapunzel Could Have Easily Checked Up On Varian In Painter’s Block, But Didn’t.

Remember they’re right next to Old Corona; meaning that Janus Point is also right next to Old Corona. Meaning that Rapunzel could easily have checked up on Varian right after Painter’s Block and choose not to. With each passing episode Rapunzel has less and less excuse for her behavior in season one. 

Yeah Remember that Plot Point That Wound Up Being Entirely Irrelevant to the Story?

In jokes don’t cover your ass when you make poor writing choices. Quite the opposite in fact as all you’ve done is remind the audience of all the various dangling plot threads that you will fail to follow up on. The disciples plot goes no where and serves no purpose, and it should not have been introduced as this big important thing if you weren’t going to do anything with it. 

Nice Idea, Poor Execution

I’ve heard fans of this episode tell me that they enjoy it because of this scene with Red. If you’re a naturally introverted person or neurodivergent and have trouble communicating at times then Red’s speech here can strike a cord. Which is cool; I’ll never deny someone’s feelings and if a piece of media speaks to you on a personal level for whatever reason that is great. What I’m here to discuss though is story structure and whether or not the story’s themes are presented well in context of what it’s set up. 

The conflict here does not work from a pure structural standpoint because it’s a surface level deflection of the real issues. Red’s problem isn’t that she is being ignored, it's that she’s been abandoned. Now communication issues can arise from that abandonment and feeling heard can be step forward in working those issues out, but Red’s central trauma isn’t going to be magically fixed by people ‘listening’ to her, i.e. being granted whatever she wants, but by providing her with a real home and with a real guardian to look after her. 

Because what Red wants on a surface level is harmful to her, and the reasons why she wants what she wants needs to be addressed more so than then sedating her angry outbursts in the moment. This is treating the symptoms not the cause.

So What Is or Isn’t Real About the Curse?

Once again, we finally get some actual lore and rules for magic and the writers are already throwing it away during the same episode they are introduced. I now have as little context for how the wolf curse works within the Tangled world as I did before the episode started. 

This Is Sweet, But Once Again Context Brings It Down.

So just to reiterate, this a surface level resolution to the conflict of the episode that doesn’t actually address anything. It might feel like an appropriate ending but only if you ignore the fact that Red and Angry are orphans who’ve been abandoned but the adults. 

Angry apologizing here to Red does not solve any of their problems, especially since Angry, as a child herself, is not responsible for her sister’s behavior, feelings, nor well being. That falls to the adults and they fail to address Red’s core issues and their own failings to her in their apologies as well. Not to mention that the very next scene undermines any optional progress that could have been made here. 

Listening to Someone Does Not Mean Giving Them Whatever They Want

This does not fix anything. Red and Angry are still left to live on their own without any real supervision. Giving them a big play house is not providing for them, it’s spoiling them. Would you let all the other orphans in the local orphanage roam free without an adult to take care of them? No!? Gee I wonder why? Could it be because letting a 12 and 10 year old raise themselves is a very stupid idea? One that will potentially damage them later in life assuming that they don't get themselves killed in the meantime. 

Moreover this is yet another example of the series overall problem with not understanding that compromise and resolving conflicts does not mean rewarding the characters at the end with everything that they want without having them work for it. That’s not how life works and it’s not how good story telling works. 

This Is Beyond Irresponsible

No! Bad Show! Bad! 

You do not get to pretend that negligence is the same thing as compromise. Yes I know Eugene said to come to him when they have a problem, but as demonstrated by this very episode children do not always know when to ask for help nor can they always find it when needed, that is why parents exist!  

Nor does the show get a free pass for turning it’s main characters into child abusers who neglected three minors multiple times now. Even when they themselves are victims of that same abuse!

How utterly blinkered do you have to be to not see the problem here? 

It’s the Return of the Pointless Parallels

Let me count the ways for how stupid this is. 

Red and Angry’s conflict has no impact on the on going narrative. Even with them now being reoccurring characters they still manage to contribute nothing to the future storylines involving Cass. 

Neither Rapunzel nor Cassandra learn anything from Red and Angry’s spat; Rapunzel because she refuses to acknowledge her own flaws and Cassandra’s not even here for any of it. 

The sister’s dynamic between Raps and Cass is not well established and the writers mange to piss all over it by series end because of gay baiting and poor writing. Therefore relying on lazy parallels to other siblings in the show to bolster this connection falls flat.  

Red and Angry’s argument has nothing in common with Rapunzel and Cass’s current fighting. One is about abandonment issues and the other is about shallow validation. Trying to tie these two themes together actually winds up undermining both conflicts. 

Red and Angry are children. Rapunzel and Cassandra are not. That very much matters. 

Red and Angry didn’t drag innocent people into their petty bitch fight and endanger them because they wanted to feel special. 

This Makes Zero Sense

I don’t know; she looked pretty happy during Crossing the Line. 

She was also able to control the rocks just fine then, so what happened? 

Not to mention soon after this Zhan Tiri is telling her she needs some sort of incantation to control the rocks, despite being able to already control the rocks.... 

It’s almost as if the writers are full of shit and don’t actually know what they’re doing. 

So Are We Remembering the Burnt Hand or Not?

Does the hand matter or not? Is it ever a motivating factor in what Cassandra decides to do? Is her waning control over the rocks connected to her burnt hand; even though having a burnt hand is what allowed her grab the moonstone in the first place? Did the moonstone heal the hand? Does Raps singing the healing incantation later on heal it? Does Cass have a forever burnt hand? 

Who the fuck knows! 

Not the writers that’s for sure, cause it never comes up again. 

Don’t introduce plot points and then not resolve them. That’s writing 101 guys. 

Wait if she needs the incantation to control the rocks and the angry thing is a lie, then how the heck is she controlling them just now? Make up your dang mind show! 

I swear I lose brain cells whenever I have to rewatch the evil Cassandra plot. It is so dumb  you guys.... so, so dumb. 

Conclusion

It’s not the worst thing ever but series has far better episodes on offer than this one. Even in a season as suck ass as season three. 

So there’s praying that this review posts this time and if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me in my projects feel free to leave a tip on my Ko-Fi. Thank you. 

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[scribbles97]

Half a Hope

Post Season 3 fic, based on a comment made by Colonel Casey in Break Out.

I make no apologies for where this ended.

@gumnut-logic thank you for the cheerleading as always!

They had seen each other in passing, she had been there when they had landed on the Island. Jeff’s first thought had been how old she had looked, but a glance in the elevator doors had reminded him of just how old he himself had gotten.

Val had smiled and waved, promised she would visit as soon as she had dealt with the Hood and his new team.

He had put it down to exhaustion that he was disappointed that she hadn’t stayed.

Then it had been forgotten about though, written out by time with his family and a move to hospital to ensure a proper recovery. Tests and reports had filled his days, discussions of what he had missed and what he had to face before normality would take over again. After eight years alone it was a lot to take in.

He wasn’t proud that he had once snapped at his mothers well meaning fussing.

He was grateful that she had at least understood.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he looked forward to his moments of peace when everyone else had gone home. He appreciated the chance to simply switch off and block out everything around him. The doctors and nurses were done for the day, bland dinner served and pills dispensed, he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed for the evening.

The lightest of taps on the door was enough to draw his attention, pulling him back from the edge of relaxation.

“I can come back.”

She had whispered it, but compared to the noise of space, everything was loud.

“No,” He grunted, pushing himself upright in the bed against muscles that protested, “come in, Val, it’s good to see you.”

Her smile widened as she slipped quietly through the door, hesitating by it as she shook her head.

“It’s really you,” Whispered again, “you’re really home.”

He grinned back, “In the flesh.”

“Forgive me for being sceptical,” She shrugged, “It’s kind of been a while.”

“Too damn long,” He replied, resting his head back against the pillows, “Come and sit.”

She glanced over her shoulder, “The nurse sai--”

“Damn the nurses,” He waved her towards the seat again, “I know what I need, and it’s for you to tell me the unabridged versions of what I’ve missed.”

Even her laugh was quiet as she skirted the room, pulling the chair closer before she took a seat. Her eyes seemed brighter in the lights, her smile softened from the hard tight look she had thrown across the tarmac to him weeks ago. She was still noticeably older than he remembered, grey streaking her hair, and laugh lines creasing the corner of her eyes deeper than he remembered.

He couldn’t help but think how it suited her.

“So,” She murmured, crossing one leg over the other as she sat forward, “Where shall I start?”

They had talked for hours that first evening, and if it hadn’t been for the mental and physical exhaustion pulling him towards sleep, he was sure they wouldn’t have stopped. Her hand had been warm and comfortable on his shoulder before she had left, the first time she had dared to reach out to him.

Part of him didn’t want her to leave, her company easier than anybody else's.

Val didn’t fuss or fret, didn’t treat him like the old man he felt he was. She seemed to know though, just what he needed, how to speak in the low tones that didn’t disturb him, how to keep company without having to even say anything.

He loved his family, but they were all so eager to have him home, sometimes they seemed to forget and he had to remind them.

Val seemed constantly, acutely aware.

After the first night they had talked often. Everything and nothing coming to mind in equal measures. Some conversations were important, Janus trying to force Val out of her job and the boys into submission. Others were less so, simple time fillers when the silence was too much.

On the dark nights, when sleep wouldn’t come and his burdens were too heavy for his sons to shoulder, she was there. Occasionally in person, more often in text. She had put it down to being a light sleeper, used to being woken at the slightest call for her attention. He hadn’t questioned, simply grateful for the company and the outlet.

When he returned to the Island and was forced to watch in person as his son’s risked their lives time and again, she was there to reassure. There may have also been a degree of ass kicking when he had questioned himself and the organisation he had created. Her tongue was sharp as ever, not a single word minced over her thoughts on the topic.

She always had been damn good at setting him straight.

It was what she had done after Lucy. After he had all but abandoned his family and set himself on a downward spiral, Val had been the one to drag him back up and shove him down the path he needed to follow.

“What’s got you smiling?”

He shrugged, glancing down to his bourbon as he swirled it, the ice clinking on the sides of the glass. He didn’t drink much any more, more conscious of his declining health than he had ever been, but it had been a year since he had walked out of that hospital and he was sure the one drink was warranted.

“I owe you some thanks,” He sighed, drawing his gaze from the sun setting far on the horizon and back to her, “For keeping me going since I came home.”

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments before she was looking away. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to notice how her jaw clenched and her own smile fell, but he did, and it worried him.

“Val?”

She didn’t look back, instead taking a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on the pool below the deck.

“Val.” He stated, frowning as he sat straighter.

Both of them knew the tone, each had spent enough time in the military to know when a statement was a command. Neither could ignore it.

Swallowing her drink she didn’t look back to him, “You said the same after Lucy died.”

The statement only confused him more.

“Val what--”

“Be quiet.”

He did as she asked, still frowning as he watched her. The trust was strong between both of them, and he knew better than to push. She would speak when she was ready.

Still, it made him worry. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been blunt with him, when her words hadn’t cut straight to the core of any issue. To see her so clearly conflicted seemed wrong.

She had told him to be quiet, but she hadn’t stopped him from reaching out to touch her arm where it rested outstretched towards him. Her breath sucked in sharply at his touch as she closed her eyes.

“All I needed was half a hope.”

Words no longer needed whispering for him, but it seemed it was all she could force out as her eyes snapped back to him.

There were tears there.

“They didn’t tell me.” She whispered with a shake of her head, “I was the last to find out you might be alive.”

This he hadn’t known.

Anger burned somewhere deep in him at the thought of her being in the dark.

“I thought you were dead, and I didn’t know what to do Jeff because I finally understood it all.”

The hand of the arm he had reached to twisted, taking his fingers and squeezing them tightly as she swallowed.

“I finally understood what you felt when you said a part of you had died with Lucy.”

His heart clenched at the thought, long buried feelings and emotions bubbling up. It was a time in his life he never would forget, the pain indescribable and most certainly not anything he would ever wish on another.

Val had watched him through it all, a quiet shoulder of support at the start when the ache of loss was at its worst.

Who had been there to support her?

“I would have done anything,” She continued softly, “if there had been the slightest indication that you could have been alive…”

Catching her hand in his before she could pull away, he held on tight. It was far too late, the damage already done and no doubt seared deep, but he was there.

“You couldn’t have known.” He murmured, “Val there was no possible way for you--”

“I should have!” She snapped, cutting him off as eyes glistening with unshed tears turned on him.

Colonel Evangeline Casey didn’t do scared.

Jeff could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her well and truly afraid.

It was undoubtedly what he was seeing in that moment though. Equal parts hurt and fear as she watched him, unable to look away.

“How?” He prompted softly, thumb smoothing calmly over the back of her hand, “How should you have known Val?”

She shrugged as she shook her head, eyes finally breaking away to look at his hand over hers.

Equally as soft, “Because it was you.”

Another question was on the tip of his tongue, desperate to figure out what had brought all of this on. She beat him to it though, the words coming tumbling as if the dam had broken.

“Because it was you and Lee and Lucy and me, and when Lucy was gone nothing seemed right any more. Lee couldn’t cope so he left the world behind, and then it was just us. You and me against whatever the world decided to throw at us after that, and the world threw some wicked curveballs.”

He could guess she wasn’t talking of the challenges of starting International Rescue.

“Because you’re you,” She shrugged, voice twisting tight with the words, “You were my best friend's husband, and then she was gone and hell it seemed so wrong. Who else did I have though? Nobody else seemed to get it like you always did, and part of me really hated you for that because it made everything so much more complicated. How could I really hate you though? You didn’t even know, and I knew, I always knew your heart would only ever belong to Lucy.”

The tears had tracked down her cheeks, barely visible in the soft dusk light. Jeff could see them though, them and all they stood for.

With a sniff, Val looked away, dipping her head as she closed her eyes and swallowed the last mouthful of her drink.

“Didn’t stop me though,” Her eyes darted back, holding his as she pursed her lips, “Didn’t stop me from loving you.”

TBC?

[randomoranges]

so this is the 3rd lyric from the song, but i’m trying to keep up with the fic-thing-whatever and ill get to the other parts later. the momentum is going and im trying to match it and such

lamao this reminds me of 2010 and when i wrote a chapter of a fic to match all of canadas medals. good times. that was - hard and a rush

also i made this into snippets of moments in the same day. to - make it shorter. even though it turned into an 8 page tiny monster lamao. 

ANYWAYS

DO YOU LIKE SPORTS. DO YOU LIKE FEELS. DO YOU LIKE NEUROTIC SPORTS SUPERSTITIONS

well, you will be served

Rouge comme le sang qui nous coule à travers

 July 5th 2021

 When Edward woke up that morning, he expected to find Étienne curled up by his side and to splurge and indulge in some good morning cuddles. Instead, the spot besides him was empty and cold. He sighed to himself and after waiting for a bit, in case his boyfriend made a reappearance, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, where he might find him.

 Truth to form, Étienne was there, already more or less dressed, drinking what couldn’t possibly be his first cup of coffee in the morning out of one of many Habs cups Edward had spotted in the last twenty or so hours.

 “Morning!” Étienne sounded a tad too cheerful, but Edward ignored it and made his way to his boyfriend where he could properly snuggle and feel that blessed beard against his skin for a moment. Thankfully, Étienne was never one to deny any sort of physical touch and wrapped his arms around him, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 There was a reason as to why Edward had chosen this particular time to visit. For starters, he absolutely did not want to miss out on the beard and with the playoffs wrapping up shortly, he knew that his time was counted. On top of that, Edward knew how the people of Montréal took to the Habs losing this far into the playoff run and the down Étienne would feel if that happened.

 It wasn’t that Étienne’s mood solely depended and fluctuated because of the hockey, but with so many people being emotionally vested in the team, their winning or losing would ultimately have an impact on Étienne. Now if they won, well, Edward wanted to live vicariously through it. Plus, there was something quite wonderful in an Étienne who was that jubilant and ecstatic. However, if the Habs lost, Edward wanted to be there for emotional support and also to make sure that the slump wouldn’t eventually tie in with one of Étienne’s own spectacular, unrelated to hockey, depressive episodes.

 “Plans for the day?” He asked, perfectly comfortable in the crook of Étienne’s neck.

 “Well, funny you should ask,” Étienne started and Edward had visions of intense biking up the mountain in the oppressive humidity or something as ridiculously insane, “I – have an errand to run, but I don’t want to impose on you.” For some reason, Étienne sounded a little nervous about this errand and Edward didn’t understand why.

 “So? Go run your errand. I can come with you if you need help.” So long as it didn’t involve standing in the scorching heat, he was fine.

 “No, no it’s fine! I appreciate you wanting to help – but, I don’t want to bother you, really.”

 Edward stepped back and took a good look at his boyfriend’s face. Something was up.

 It took him a moment, but then it clicked.

 It had to be one of his ridiculous pre-game rituals he had completely forgotten about. He almost groaned. Étienne was anal about his rituals to bring the Habs good luck. Downright neurotic, really and Edward had been victim to many séances of Étienne doing the most ridiculous of things that he swore would help his team win. (To be honest, Edward did wonder, deep down, if maybe Étienne wasn’t on to something, considering the fact that the Habs had won 24 cups in their history, but he wasn’t about to say any of that out loud.)

 “Do I want to know what crazy task you’re going to do?” He asked.

 Étienne gave him another nervous smile and tugged on his beard, “It’s not that crazy, really...” He murmured and Edward feared for the worst.

 “What is it this time? Putting your left sock on before you’re right one? Talking to your posters? Building a puck pyramid? Prepare a specific meal?”

 “Please, that was last night and this morning. I need to go to the Oratory.”

 Edward’s face blanched. Of course Étienne would go to the Oratory. He had forgotten all about it.

 “You’re kidding.”

 Étienne scoffed, “I am not kidding, Édouard. This is very serious. I need to make my pilgrimage to the Oratory, climb the steps on my knees and then light up a candle for the Habs’ victory tonight.”

 Edward remained silent. He knew better than to argue or say anything about it. Étienne took his rituals very seriously.

 “My issue is that you flew all the way to spend time with me and I don’t want you to think I’m just abandoning you.”

 “Don’t worry about me,” Edward said with a chuckle, as he finally decided to grab a mug that didn’t have a Habs banner, a players number or Youppi’s face on it, and poured himself some coffee, “You go do whatever it is you need to do and I’ll acquaint myself with your glorious pool.”

 “Are you sure?” Étienne twirled the hem of his shirt around his thumb and followed after Edward when he headed for the table.

 “More than sure. I don’t want to be held responsible for your team losing if you don’t complete your set of rituals. Plus, I’ll be fine here and I can spend more time with Mercury.”

 “Sure?” Étienne asked again.

 “Yes. I promise.” It wasn’t as if Étienne would be out for the entire day anyways.

 “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” Étienne was careful not to topple the coffee out of his hands, but still wrapped Edward in a tight hug.

 --

 In all honesty, Edward was a little overwhelmed to be sitting in the Bell Centre. There were so many people and so many lights that it was quite dizzying. After over a year of leading a quiet life at home, this felt like too much too soon, but at the same time, the energy was electrifying.

 “Can you believe that the last time I was here for a final, you were also here?” Étienne said excitedly as they settled into their seats. It was crazy to think that Étienne looked tame in comparison to some other fans in the arena, even if he was wearing one of his many Habs jerseys, his Habs pants, his Habs shoes and most likely other articles of clothing he couldn’t see.

 “Really?” Edward thought about it for a moment, “Shit, you’re right – so does that make me a lucky charm?” He joked, “Do you need to rub my head for good luck?” He laughed, but then when he saw the serious look on his boyfriend’s face he stopped. Étienne looked at him and seemed to be debating this for a moment. He had definitely shot himself in the foot with that idea.

 “Better off not taking any chances,” Étienne said as he rubbed Edward’s head for good measure, much to Edward’s chagrin.

 “Are you happy now?” He asked, when Étienne was done.

 “Maybe. I would’ve been happier if you would have let me dress you for the occasion. You’ve got to be the only person here who’s not wearing something Habs on them.” He pouted.

 Étienne had offered to lend him anything from a tank top to a signed jersey, with everything in between, but Edward had refused. For as much as he enjoyed being at the arena, there were still team loyalties he had to respect and that would be going too far.

 “No I’m not, look, there’s a few people wearing Tampa jerseys.” He pointed out.

 Étienne didn’t seem to think he was very funny, “That’s not the point, Édouard!”

 “Fine, but look, I wore a white shirt – this is as far as I’ll go.” It was a neutral colour and – well, both of their teams had white somewhere in their jerseys.

 “Tampa is playing in white.”

 There was no winning this one.

 “My jeans are blue and my blood is red?” He tried and he only got a death glare in response.

 --

 The one thing Edward had always loved about watching a game with Étienne, regardless of whether it was a season or playoff game, was that Étienne knew a lot about hockey – more precisely the Habs and he loved to share his knowledge – especially when he was stressed. (Not that Étienne ever admitted to being stressed about a game.) It was endearing the way he would blabber on and all Edward had to do was listen.

 “This has been such a crazy playoff run,” He started, “Like – no one expected them to come this far and it’s been such a boost to the morale of the city. For as much as hockey has its issues, it also brings people together, and I wish there was more of that. Walking around the city these past few weeks has been something else. You meet people and hear their stories – about how they got into the game – where they’re coming from, who they’re here with. It’s beautiful. Kids who are living their first real playoff run. Older people who remember 93, 86 and the runs in the 60s and 70s. It’s been surreal! I’m just – I love these people – my people and the way they’ve just run with this as well. Hoisting orange cones as Cups and living the magic.”

 “I know it might end tonight, but whatever happens – it’s been such a great run. I mean, obviously, it would be really great not to get swept. That would just – no. Do you know that the last time the Habs were swept in the final was in 1952? I don’t think the people would be able to handle that. You don’t make it to the final to get swept. Tampa can go and win at home, but to be swept?! No thanks.”

 Edward knew all too well about being swept. At least the Habs had – avenged the Oilers. He supposed.

 “And, also, on that note, do you know that the Habs only ever lost the cup once at home?”

 “Did they now?” Out of their twenty-four that was quite the feat, really.

 “Yes! And you’ll never believe what team did it!”

 For some reason, Edward felt like he did know, yet the answer escaped him at the moment.

 “The friggin Flames! I had to sit and watch Calvin’s stupid face light up like a goddamned Christmas tree when they won. I never thought I was going to live that one down!”

 Now he remembered.

 To be honest, he’d tried to forget.

 It had been the most awkward of times, really.

 For starters, Étienne had invited him to come watch the game with him. He’d agreed. If it meant spending more time with Étienne, he would’ve gone anywhere. Had gone to many places.

 He’d just – forgotten one minor detail.

 Calvin.

 This was the second time, really, that the Habs and the Flames had met for the final. The first time had been awkward as well. In its own way. It wasn’t even with the fact that he was – involved with Étienne and Calvin was his friend and could not know about his involvement with Étienne.

 It had – more to do with the fact that – the Flames had – impeded Gretzky and the Oilers from getting their third cup. He’d been – resentful to say the least.

 Yet, Étienne had hesitated going out to Calgary to see them team, but then Calvin had asked him to convince Étienne to go. As a power move? To show off? He’d never bothered finding out. But, Edward had spun the idea to Étienne, telling him that wouldn’t it be nice to see the Habs extinguish the insufferable Flames at home?

 Étienne had agreed.

 They’d gone.

 The Habs had won.

 And Calvin – hadn’t even really cared.

 His victory had been in beating the Oilers.

 The bastard.

 1989, however...

 Shortly after Étienne had invited him, Calvin had reached out, saying that wouldn’t it be nice to go out and watch the game in Montreal. He had seats with the execs in their special section and they could make a whole trip out of it! Heck, the Flames might even win the cup! And – wouldn’t that be something! The Cup back in Alberta!

 It had been very hard for Edward to tell Calvin that he already had Other Plans. Yet, without missing a beat, Calvin had told him that he should totally tell Étienne to come watch with them and that Edward didn’t need to worry about lodging, as they could share the hotel suite together.

 He forgot exactly what he’d ended up telling both Calvin and Étienne, but somehow or other, the three of them had found themselves sitting in Calvin’s section, while Étienne had grumbled all along about having better seats than whatever this garbage was.

 It only went from bad to worse as the Flames won and Calvin all but gloated, while Étienne threatened to set the city on fire. It wasn’t that Étienne had accused him of throwing him off, but Étienne had reminded him, more than once, that clearly, because he hadn’t been able to sit at his usual seat, the Habs had lost.

 (Again, Étienne was anal about his superstitions and rituals.)

 “Well, here’s hoping they don’t lose at home and get swept. Good vibes only,” Edward told his boyfriend before Étienne could get in a tizzy.

 “Yes, you’re right. Anyways, it’s sort of thanks to the before last game against the Oilers we’re here anyways. Habs needed one point to assure their spot and that tie brought them to the playoffs, even if they lost in overtime. It made sure the Flames couldn’t sneak in, so, thanks? I guess?”

 Edward chuckled remembering that particular video call.

 “See, I told you, good luck charm.”

 For good measure, Étienne rubbed his head again.

 --

 It was hard not to get wrapped up in the game, regardless of who was playing, even if it wasn’t his team. This was a playoff final game and both teams were trying their best to win. Even though the first ten minutes or so made it seem as though Tampa was going to finish this off without mercy, the Habs, somehow, managed to take the lead twice. Étienne kept on saying that some of the ghosts had clearly finally arrived and that some miracle had been cast on them by the three legends watching from the box.

 Regardless of what it was that had brought the score to 2-2 with few minutes left, Étienne was clutching his arm like a lifeline and Edward was convinced there would be marks there when his boyfriend would let go.

 “Please, please, please, please, PLEASE,” He chanted as the puck went one way and then the other. He clutched Edward’s arm even tighter whenever Tampa got close to scoring and whenever the Habs missed a shot.

 It finally seemed as though the Cinderella run would come to the end with that last double penalty, which continued in over-time, yet somehow or other, the Habs managed to kill it and then, by another miracle, or maybe a clever game of pass-the-puck, managed to score in over-time.

 Considering the fact that there were only three-thousand-five-hundred people in the Bell Centre, the resulting collective scream made it feel as though the place was packed to the brims.

 Edward got swept up in the momentum of it all and found himself standing with all the other Habs fanatics, yelling and screaming.

 When he turned to look at Étienne, his boyfriend looked jubilant and ecstatic. It was such a good look on him and it made Edward’s insides warm at the sight. Étienne deserved to feel this happy all the time, really. If there were a few tears at the corner of Étienne’s eyes, it only made him look lovelier and Edward did his best to school his face in the most platonic of smiles.

 “They live!” Étienne yelled over the continued shouting, “They did it!” He said, even giddier as he kept on jumping up and down, waving his playoff flag with all the other people in the Bell Centre.

 It was magical, really – living a playoff run like this one. He was glad he could be part of it – somehow, even if it was only for the last stretch of it.

 --

 “You know, no matter what happens next, I’m at peace. They fought and they’ve kept fighting from day one and – of course I want them to win. God, I want it so bad, but I’m just – really glad they brought it to game 5. And – I like to believe that – that they’ll be back. For game six. I’m just – I’m happy.” Étienne said, voice thick with emotions as they finally managed to step out of the Bell Centre. Some of the earlier euphoria and adrenaline had tempered down and Étienne was a little calmer by now.

 “If any team can do it at this point, it’s certainly yours.”

 Étienne beamed at him as they walked down the street, away from the crowds still chanting and yelling and celebrating, off the beaten path for a longer way home, if only for some fresh air and a quieter moment to re-center themselves.

 “Yeah – you’re right,” He trailed off with a small smile. Étienne made to grab his hand, but knowing that there were still so many people out, he let their fingers brush against each other instead. “Everyone’s so happy – so proud of the city... I hope the feeling lasts.”

 Edward made a quick grab for his hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He wanted to tell him that the hockey didn’t matter. That this city was more than just a glorious hockey history. That he was proud of him. Of what he’d done. Everything he’d worked for outside of hockey. For himself. For the city as well. And that he had more worth than he realised. To him. To others. But – that was a talk for later. Right now, it was time to enjoy the moment – bask in it. Celebrate the victory.

 “Let’s go home, yeah? I want to celebrate with you.”

 Edward nodded and kept step with him as they made their way back to Étienne’s place, where once safely behind closed doors, they could properly celebrate together.

 FIN

[lunarthedragon]

Demon!Jaskier Part 2

Part 1: here

+++

He had been so many things in his past. So many iterations and forms. So many bodies and lives.

A boy with bones so fragile he needs braces to walk, but who never dies. Never dies. Never dies. His smile bringing joy to his small village.

A girl, deaf, who is shunned by her family but taken in by the sirens that cannot sway her with their songs. She is vengeance on the tide, her hands louder than her tongue.

A man filled with anger - at the world, people, himself - who sets into motion some of the most gruesome wars known to man.

A woman with thunder in her steps, mighty and heroic, wearing armor forged by poor workers and wielding a damaged sword she found lodged in her father’s ribcage.

An elf who slips along the blood-drenched fields, washed with the screams of his people, delivering mercy upon the suffering and as his tears mix with the blood.

So many lives. So many timelines. So many worlds.

Nothing ever looks the same, feels the same, but it is always him-her-they. Returning and returning, wanting to live and learn and grow in a way his brethren refuse to. 

He will be better.

+++

Sometimes, when people want to get at Geralt, they choose the cowardly method of going after his bard. They believe him to be an easier target and hope for an easy prize.

Geralt always worries, even though he never says it. Jaskier can feel it, wafting off of him as he charges into the temporary prison and sees the dead bandits-mercenaries-fools already strewn across the ground.

Over the years the Witcher has learned and accepted that Jaskier has a profound talent for getting into trouble, but also getting out of it.

Still he worries.

Even when he knows of Jaskier’s true nature.

A group of bandits abscond with him to their camp, set to bribe the Witcher.

The night has barely fallen when Jaskier runs into Geralt on his way out of the bandit camp, blood smeared over his hands and face, yet his clothes miraculously untouched.

“Are you okay?” Geralt still demands, reeking of concern.

“They tore one of the buttons out of my doublet. How do you think I am doing?” Jaskier grumbles, ignoring the concern, even though it makes him feel all warm inside. Like the shadows are stretching with a brighter sun. Like some of the darkness boils back.

It is a good warm.

He does not need worrying, though. He does not need rescuing. He has been a damsel before, but he has never been in distress. 

Still... it can be a little nice... on occasion.

+++

Jaskier tells Geralt some of his own stories.

His words have been prettied and empty for so many years, the occasional story bracketed from when “Jaskier” began and the present. 

Now, he tells Geralt anything and everything. Of worlds far beyond his own. Places hidden away unless you know where to look. History long forgotten.

Geralt pretends not to listen, but his awareness is firmly planted on Jaskier when he talks of these things. It appears these stories can even intrigue a grumpy, old Witcher.

“The monsters in your song,” Geralt suddenly cuts in one night when Jaskier is recounting his life as Damalt, a “Wastelander” from far, far away many years ago, where he hunted monsters not unlike a Witcher. “I said they didn’t exist, but...”

The Witcher looked deep in thought and it takes Jaskier a moment to realize he is talking about when they first met. “You were not incorrect,” he assures, smiling, “They do not exist... in this world. Alas, I occasionally get my histories jumbled up when high on adrenaline. Terrible habit, that.”

“It must happen often, then,” Geralt huffs. His pride is wounded. He is meant to be the monster expert, and yet...

“I often call out the wrong name in bed,” Jaskier replies with a shrug.

“That’s hardly terrible,” Geralt’s lips twist and a brow arches.

Jaskier shrugs. “Sure, unless you say it like, ‘G̸͙̅̀Ŕ̸̠̖ḥ̶̀͋h̸̘́K̸̥̇͒̐͛͋͗̏b̶̥͕̠��͉͛̆ą̶̘͈̟̼̰̟̓̌̀̐T̶̝̠̙̍̽̈́̄̈́C̶̥̫̝͐̄͋́̏̀ḧ̶͍̟̟̠̫̎́̇̈́h̸̬̅́Á̸̬̱͎̗̓̃͂̇͊͠L̴͕̗͛̀̓̔̾̂̈́ͅ.’”

Geralt has leant back as if smacked, his eyes so wide the whites are visible all around his irises, and his mouth is hanging open.

It makes Jaskier laugh for five minutes straight.

+++

He cannot eat salt. It will not kill him, but it causes the closest thing to an allergic reaction in him that he could ever have.

It burns where it touches tongue or skin or organs or bone. He feels it deeper than the flesh, the body, and he writhes, like a black, foaming slug. It makes him screech but no one hears, air running cold until icicles form but no one shivers, a chittering vibration that sets ears bleeding but no one cares.

He cannot eat salt.

+++

The thing in the mansion is ancient. Almost as ancient as him. He can hear it long before the mansion - dilapidated, abandoned, hopeless, taken back by nature - comes into view.

Geralt doesn’t hear it. He keeps walking, looking out for the monster on the contract.

The monster is gone, if it was ever here to begin with. Dead, dead, dead. Like the air and the earth and the sea. Dead but ancient and crawling without moving.

And Geralt doesn’t hear it.

“We shouldn’t go closer,” Jaskier finally says - voice not-quite-right at the edges, like a burning photo - because Geralt knows. Knows what he is. Accepted what he is. It is fine to speak up and protect that which he holds dear. That which he cares for more than he should.

Geralt is looking at him now, confusion in his eyes, and he wishes he could put into words that they need to stay away from that mansion because the thing inside will be the Witcher’s undoing.

He can move on, find a new body, find a new life, but the flesh bodies with the fleshier souls of mortals do not have that privilege. And he quite likes this particular mortal.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, voice low, stepping towards Jaskier as if to protect.

“E̴v̵e̶r̴y̷t̵h̷i̶n̴g̸,” his voice twitches around something too big and forces it back down. “It will kill you. You need to get away.”

“Is it a spirit of some kind?” Geralt asks, his face set in concern. Jaskier offers a nod. “Is it like you?” Jaskier opens his mouth to reply and it rushes out.

“Me but not - screaming where I whisper - the fly in your soup the fly on a corpse - bear trap on your leg gnaw it off gnaw it off - viscera from an eye split in half - war as bloody as birth - ”

Geralt grabs ahold of his arms and drags him away, sprinting in the opposite direction as the mansion, and Jaskier has never sensed fear on the Witcher like he does in that moment.

They don’t return to the town they came from. They never completed the contract. There was no monster to kill.

Instead, in complete silence, they make camp and Jaskier curls up tight to Geralt’s side under a thick fur. If he shakes a little, drained from a battle that never happened, Geralt doesn’t say a word and only holds him closer.

+++

Djinn are an ancient spirit as much as Jaskier is. Not horrors, but rather entities. Embodiments. Powerful and feared and unable to flee from the imprisonments of man.

They hate the things that Jaskier is. Envious of him and his brethren. They are not as ancient as he, but they possess powers long forgotten.

Jaskier should have stopped things sooner. “I can’t sleep,” Geralt had said as he fished for a djinn. Jaskier had seen the problem, seen the issue, knew the outcome, and he should have just stepped in forced a stop.

Instead, he tried to talk Geralt down. Claim a lovely cup of chamomile tea with honey and whiskey would do the trick! Perhaps a back rub to sweeten the deal? Just please get away from the water. Please.

It doesn’t work and the jug in Geralt’s hands sends Jaskier into a panic, shooting out to grab ahold of it and tugging. Geralt doesn’t let go. Just glares at him.

“Seriously, Geralt, you’re being ridiculous! This isn’t going to help you. They’ll trick you and put you to sleep for good, never to rise again. How can you not see--”

The jug opens with a “pop!” The engraved lid in Geralt’s hand, jug in Jaskier's, and he can FEEL the energies around them shift. Compress. Tug and squeeze until it is hard for him to breathe.

“Nothing happened,” Geralt growls to himself, looking around, growing more and more frustrated, but Jaskier’s attention is glued to the surface of the lake. There is a shadow there that hasn’t taken form. Watching without eyes. Laughing without lips.

A djinn’s aura is not a scream or a cry. It is a vibration. A roll of thunder and the long, belting roar of a giant.

They stare at each other, through eyes beyond this plain. Eyes that see each other for what they truly are. Wind is picking up, actual wind, the sky darkening, and with the first bolt of lightning the djinn attacks.

He screeches, unholy and enraged, as claws-talons-teeth, dig into the parts of him that go unseen. Black veins form on his body, growing and growing and growing, hands and eyes pitch black as he lashes back. A piece of him catches on a piece of them, rendering-cutting-ripping, until lightning flashes above like a scream. Like a scar.

Black oozes from his mouth with the next clash, veins surging along his face, his stomach, his legs, everywhere. His hands are grasping without moving - so many hands, too many hands - and he tears the djinn in two, flinging it away, but a bolt of lightning like a blade severs an arm. A leg. There’s a hole in his chest that bleeds black.

He hears a voice, deep and frantic in a way he isn’t used to. Terrified. He’s not meant to be terrified. Not for Jaskier. He...

“Stop!” Geralt yells out, loud as the storm, and time holds still. The djinn is still there, present, hovering, deliberating, before it pulls back and away with a thin smile despite having no lips.

Ah. Geralt has the wishes.

Isn’t that lovely?

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, sounding desperate and too close and Jaskier looks to his side to find he is laying on his back and Geralt is kneeling beside him. He looks horrified, his emotions apparently so sudden and strong he is unable to hold them in.

“Hi,” he says, black blood gurgling out with the word, smiling in such a way his dark eyes crinkle. He doesn’t think it puts Geralt at ease, though, with the way he seems to flicker. Stutter. Then lurch forward like he wants to hold Jaskier but stops himself short.

“You’re... you...” Geralt isn’t one for words, but when he does talk he doesn’t usually stutter. Jaskier doesn’t like this.

“Djinn and demons like me do not get along,” he offers. He feels tight in his skin, too much wanting to leak out. To crack more of his skin and ooze free. Fill the air. Fill the world. Fill everything.

He holds it in, but he can feel more of his body turning dark with more and more veins. The hole in his chest hurts.

“Could you pass me my arm and leg, please?” he asks kindly and, apparently too shocked to argue or question, the Witcher lurches sideways to scoop up the severed limbs. He hands them over and Jaskier takes them gratefully, before setting his arm to the bleeding stump.

It stinks, like rotten eggs, and Geralt’s nose wrinkles up but he doesn’t move away. Jaskier wonders if he’s in shock.

The limb knits back onto his body, slower than usual, but not unexpected for a wound like this. He does the same to his leg, pleased to have all four limbs back, less of himself wanting to leak out. He is still covered in black veins, though, with dark eyes.

Still, he turns to Geralt, who looks lost. He reaches out to lay a hand against Geralt’s cheek, the Witcher flinching but then pressing back into his palm. “See? I am fine. Death means very little to me,” he assures, his voice still full, like he has too many teeth-tongues-throats, but far more normal than it once was.

“You have a hole in your chest,” Geralt says lowly, seeming unable to speak much higher. Jaskier tries to think about what this must be like from Geralt’s perspective. His only friend, a demon of unknown power, changing horrifically  and having a fight with an invisible force. Then, being torn apart before his very eyes...

Yes, perhaps this response was a bit more understanding...

“It will heal,” he says, but looks down at the hole, black blood gushing from it still, coating his front and back. He hadn’t gotten that from a bolt of lightning. This was a cursed wound.

Not enough to kill something like him, but enough to be a nuisance.

“I may abandon this body,” he considers aloud, “Find a new host. This will take years to heal.”

“No,” Geralt says suddenly, moving forward and grabbing Jaskier’s shoulders. “No. Tell me how to help. This is my doing--”

“This is not your doing,” Jaskier says, head tilting.

“I should have listened.”

“You should have,” he agrees, “But this is still not your doing.”

“Just...” Geralt looks down and away, avoiding eye contact. Jaskier still tries to catch his gaze anyway. “Tell me what I can do...”

“It is a magical wound,” he begins and brings a hand up to run his knuckles over Geralt’s jaw. It is so close and vulnerable, he can’t help it. “It needs magical treatment so that I might do the rest. I sense a sorceress in Rinde, the next town over. Powerful.”

Geralt looks up, listening intently. His face is set again, under control as it usually is, and his eyes are determined. He nods. “To Rinde,” he says as he stands and carefully urges Jaskier up, too.

There is a sense of vertigo upon standing and the black veins flair, spreading then receding. He feels disoriented, deep to the core. Perhaps the cursed wound was doing more to him than he thought.

“I think...” he begins slowly as Geralt leads him towards Roach, who is far enough away not to be spooked by the fight, but close enough to still be within sight. Geralt has a firm hand on his closest arm and the other arm wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulders, trying to support him.

“I think I need to pass out, now.” And he goes down to the sound of Geralt’s worried exclamation, the world blurring until it is void. It is nothing. It is all.

+++

Definitely gonna make a part 3! Also likely to put them all together, eventually, and put them on Ao3 later! Tell me what y’all think!!

Tagged users that commented on part one: @meody90 @zoeyszone @patrycjami-chan @emthegiantnerd @onelonelyforgottenbiscuit 

[funkymbtifiction]

~Hello, I would like your opinion on my type.  I’m not sure if I’m a sensor (S) or intuitive (N).

1)I think I might be S because I have a hard time focusing on abstract theoretical subjects for a long time. I learn better when I do or watch something. I cannot learn by just watching people lecture in the class about the theory of something. I also prefer books with colors, pictures and visuals. In practical and lab classes, I got bored if it was crowded and I couldn’t do the thing MYSELF. Watching something being done, while I couldn’t do it myself bored me so I zoned out a lot. I don’t pay attention to learn if I don’t get to do it myself.

2)I’m also wish I had more active close people around me, so we could go out camping, exploring, hiking, trying new dishes, etc.

3)I also don’t like debating or challanging people much. If I guess someone might be wrong, I reseach myself and keep it to myself. I enjoy friendly, peaceful debates, but stay away from the assertive aggressive ones. 

~On the other hand, I think I might be N, when I look at the big picture of my life.

1)I’m not really an action-oriented person. I’m lazy. I have goals and I work towards them, but at my own pace. I’m not really outdoorsy either. I work out (at home for now), but I’m not good at team sports.

2)I have a hard time staying in the present moment and “what is”. I think I’m an Se but around wrong people who don’t like to go out exploring and camping with me. Or I tell myself that being busy with my goals is the reason why I don’t do those things.

However, I think the main reason for that is that I’m not an S type. Because I use idealism and justification instead of direct action.

((Example ; I went to the beach with a family member a while ago. They were ok with sitting in the corner, observing and relaxing. While I was annoyed by the lack of action. I wish we could swim, play games, etc. I wish our vibe was more energetic. This made me think I might be Se.

But then I realized I might be N because I use idealism and justification for my lack of action, instead of dealing with things as they are like an S.

Like in the beach case, I would just enjoy being in the moment and pay attention to the sensory realm instead of “wishing” things were different or ideal so I could do things that are in my head.))

3)I’m goal-oriented. I think about past and future. I’m not workaholic or extreme, but I have a long-term goal and I want to reach it. When it comes to that (professional) goal, I won’t compromise. I “have to” reach it. But the process or in-between strategies might change. I don’t deal with changes related to that really well though. I don’t deal with last-minute changes or cancellation really well. 

4)However, I have to constantly update my motivation in order to stay in touch with my long-term goals.

For that, I have to a)set short-term goals or mini-goals to reach them and feel proud of myself b)change the things around me or buy myself gifts in order to keep myself motivated and in-touch with my long-term goal.

If I don’t do that, I might get bored and lose my motivation and get distracted by other things without paying attention to the long-term implications of it.

5)But in general, even the thought of not reaching my goals and having a mundane life scares me. So I try to think about my actions and try not to do things that might alienate me from my goals (I don’t date anyone because I want to leave where I live in future. I hardly ever make friends because I’m afraid of inter-personal drama and don’t know how to handle it. I try not to learn things that will not be useful in future.)

6)I brainstorm things in my head. I would like to have deep conversations with the right people. However, I value evidence/research-based and tangible results more and find them to be more convincing.

~I’m stuck between IXTP vs INXJ types. mainly INTP and INFJ.

IXTP because I relate to Fe as an inferior function. I’m attentive. I try not to exclude or hurt feelings of other people. I try to watch my actions and words in order not to cause drama. I can’t handle inter-personal issues and dramas really well. Under depression and during rough times, I focus on internal negative/repressed emotions and things that went wrong too much and get hopeless about future.

INXJ (Ni) because of being goal-oriented and not liking last minute changes or unpredictability and being kept in the dark. I’m also guilty of negative fortune telling (Thinking I know what will happen, how someone will react, etc in a negative way).

I enjoy it when I have a supervisor who gives me enough freedom to express my creativity and ideas in projects. However, I’m not good at decision making and they might have to help me choose between several creative ideas for a project.

The overall atmosphere of a place, my supervisors/bosses and how friendly and positive my coworkers are, can have a great impact on my performance. Feeling excluded, disliked, betrayed; underappreciated or forgotten might negatively affect my mood and performance.

I’m reserved and introverted in general. But the way I am depends on the people around me and how they treat/include me.

If a person looks serious, I become anxious and act serious as well. If the person’s energetic, playful and outgoing and smiles, I act more energetic and smile back.

I love learning new stuffs or trying new things. I don’t like too much detail though. I “try” to learn different things that are or might be useful one day. When I get curious about something, I keep thinking about it and google it. I enjoy the process of researching.

I also wish I could travel the world and learn more about different cultures, their dishes, the people, etc. I often research about these things at home (as a hobby). 

I think I have a bit of Fi in me too. I relate to movie characters that are in some ways similar to me and I empathize more with characters or people who have gone through and faced obstacles similar to mine.

I can also absorb other people’s feelings and relate it to myself. For example, A person talks to me about their work place toxicity. I start fearing my own work place, my future and the possibility of similar things happening to me.

I’m neither good at nor interested in drama, mind games, favoritism, toxicity or interpersonal issues. I myself act reserved and try to keep quiet when I face one because I sometimes don’t know what the correct reaction would be. Or If I’m truly right or not.

What could my type be? Am I one of the four types I mentioned? Should I answer more questions?

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

9w1 so/sp ISFP.

All the descriptions you give for N are actually Se with a little bit of Ni. ISTPs are not sensitive or considerate of other people’s feelings, but a Fi-dom would be, especially a 9 who doesn’t want to deal with emotional upsets or drama. Being a dreamer can be social 9 related, but you are still actively bored unless you can be hands-on. Desiring to reach goals but finding yourself unproductive in pursuing them and not knowing how to organize your time to reach them are inferior Te issues. Your low Ni turns pessimistic much of the time (unlike the optimism of high Ni and the fixation on one thing), and you will abandon your goal to do something else in the present moment with Se. You’re mirroring other people (9 absorption of others’ moods). Not dealing with change well can be related to Fi-dom -- once inferior Te decides on a course of action (which is hard for it) and a plan, it doesn’t like to have to revise things.

[divineknowing2021]

viewing guide

At its core, divine knowing is an exhibition about knowledge, power, and agency. It’s become a more common understanding that governments, institutions, and algorithms will manipulate the public with what information they frame as fact, fiction, or worthy of attention. Though I am early in researching this topic, I've only come across a minimal amount of mainstream discourse on how the initial threat limiting our scope of knowledge is a refusal to listen to ourselves.

In a world faced with so many threats - humans being violent toward each other, toward animals, toward the earth - it can be a bit unsettling to release the reins and allow ourselves to bear witness for a moment, as we slowly develop a deeper awareness of surrounding phenomena and happenings.  

divine knowing includes works by formally trained and self-taught artists. A majority of the artists are bisexual, non-binary, or transgender. Regardless of degree-status, gender, or sexuality, these artists have tapped into the autonomous well of self-knowing. Their artworks speak to tactics for opening up to a more perceptive mode of being. They unravel dependencies on external sources for knowledge and what we might recognize, connect with, or achieve once we do.

The installation Femme Digitale by Sierra Bagish originates from a series she began in 2017 by converting photographs of women that were taken and distributed online without the subject’s consent into paintings. Her practice at the time was concerned with female abjection. Sourcing images found via simple keywords and phrases (e.g., passed out, passed out drunk) she swathes a mass-circulated canon of internet detritus that articulates and produces aggression towards women. With her paintings, she circumvents the images’ original framing mechanisms and subverts these proliferated images through a sincere and personal lens.

These paintings divulge the blurred space between idolatry and denigration these online photos occupy, asking whose desires these images fulfill and what their propagation reveals about the culture producing them.  While Bagish's work contends with political motivations, she also remains keenly observant of form and the varying utilities of different media.

“I use the expressive potential of paint as a vehicle to intervene and challenge ideas about photography as a harbinger of the real and everyday.”

Chariot Birthday Wish is an artist and angel living in Brooklyn. They have seen The Matrix 28 times in 2 years and love horses. The tarot series included in divine knowing is their most intuitive project, something they revisit when unsure of what to work on next. The Major Arcana are composed of digital collages made from sourced images, the Minor Arcana are represented by short, poetic, interpretative texts about the cards. The series is played on shuffle, creating a unique reading for each viewer. This is a work in progress that will eventually finalize as a completed deck of digital collages available for purchase.

Chariot's work emerges from a constant consideration of apocalypse and connection. They reference technology in tandem with nature and a desire for unity. Underneath their work's surface conversation on beauty, care, and relationship exists an agenda to subtly evoke a conspiratorial anti-state mindset. Through a collective imagining of how good things could be and how good we want them to be, we might be able to reckon with how bad things are in contrast.

“I think about texting my friends from the middle of the woods...

Humans are a part of nature and we created these things. There's this Bjork quote where she says that "You can use pro tools and still be pagan." I'm really into the idea of using technology as a tool for divination and holy connection with nature. I imagine a scene; being in moss, it's absolute bliss, and then the connection of texting, sharing an image of moss with a friend, sharing that moment through cellular towers.”

The album "adding up" by thanks for coming is composed of songs Rachel Brown wrote during what they believe to be the most challenging year of their life. Rachel now looks back on this time in appreciation, recognizing they grew in ways they had never imagined. The entire year, they were committed to following their feelings to wherever it may lead.

“If I hadn't been open to following the almost indiscernible signs I was being sent, then I would have missed out on some of the most important moments in my life.”

Kimberly Consroe holds a Masters in Anthropology along with degrees in Archaeology, Literature, and History. She is currently a Research Analyst at the US Department of Commerce. Her artwork is a passionate escape from a hectic professional life and touches on themes of feminism and nature.

Her works begin as general ideas; their narrative complexity growing with the amount of time she invests in making each one. Her decoupage process starts with cutting hundreds, if not thousands, pieces of paper. The accumulation of clippings sourced from vintage and current-day magazines overlap to tell a story. In Domestication, Kimberly borrows submissive female figures from found images of Ryan Mcguinness's work and places them in a position of power.

“I believe intuition is associated with emotion and experience. It is wisdom and fear, empathy and outrage, distrust and familiarity. It is what we know before we know it. This relates to my artwork in that, from beginning to end, there is never one complete idea concerning the outcome: it is a personal journey. It emerges from an ephemeral narrative that coalesces into a definitive story.”

Anabelle DeClement is a photographer who primarily works with film and is interested in relationships as they exist within a frame. She is drawn to the mystery of the mundane. Intuition exists in her practice as a feeling of urgency and the decision to act on it  ---  a drive often used to describe street photography where the camera catches unexpected moments in an urban environment. Anabelle tends to photograph individuals with whom she has established personal relationships in a slow domestic setting. Her sense of urgency lies in capturing moments of peak intimacy, preserving a memory's informal beauty that otherwise may have been forgotten or overlooked.

Gla5 is a visual artist, poet, bookmaker, production designer, and educator. Play is at the center of their practice. Their process is an experimental one embracing impulse and adventure. Their compositions are informed by relationships among bodies of varying shapes, materials, and densities. Interests that come up in their work include a discernment between symbols and non-symbols, dream states, the portrayal of energy in action, and a fixation on forms such as cups, tables, and spoons.

“I generally think of my work as depicting a layer of life that exists underneath what we see in our everyday lives.”

Gladys Harlow is a sound-based performance artist, comedian, and activist who experiments with found objects, contact mics, textures, range, analog formats, present moments, and emotions. Through raw, avant-garbage performance art, they aim to breakdown societal barriers, abolish oppressive systems, and empower communities. Gladys was born in Queens, NY, raised in Miami, FL and has deep roots in Venezuela. Currently haunting in Philadelphia, PA, Gladys is a founding member of Sound Museum Collective. SMC holds space for reconstructing our relationships to sounds by creating a platform for women, nonbinary, and trans sound artists and engineers.

Street Rat is a visceral exploration of the mysteries of life. Attempting to bring heavy concepts to your reality, it is the eye on the ground that sees and translates all intersecting issues as they merge, explode, dissolve, and implode. Street Rat is Gladys Harlow's way of comprehending, coping, feeling, taking action, disrupting the status quo, and rebuilding our path.

All Power To The People originated as a recorded performance intended to demystify sound by revealing the tools, wires, and movements used to create it. All Power To The People evolved into an installation conceived specifically for this exhibition. The installation includes a theremin and oscillator built by Gladys, a tarot deck they made by hand, and books from the artist's personal collection, amongst other elements. Gladys has created a structure of comfort and exploration. They welcome all visitors of divine knowing to play with the instrument, flip freely through the books, and pull a tarot card to take home.

Phoebe Hart is an experimental animator and filmmaker. A majority of her work is centered around mental illness and the line between dreams and reality. Merry Go Round is a sculptural zoetrope that changes in shape and color as it spins. Its form is inspired by nature and its color by the circus. The video’s sound was produced by Hayden Waggener. It consists of reverbing chimes which are in rhythm with the stop animation’s movement; both oscillate seamlessly between serene and anxious states.

“I often don't plan the sculptures or objects I am fabricating, there is a vague image in my mind, and my hands take care of the rest. I find that sometimes overthinking is what can get me and other artists stuck. If I just abandon my judgments and ego, I can really let go and create work that feels like it came inherently from me.”

Powerviolets is the solo project of multi-instrumentalist Violet Hetson who is currently based in New York. After experiencing several false starts while bouncing coast to coast, recording and performing with several lineups, Hetson has finally released her debut album. ~No Boys~ namesake is a sarcastic sign she hung on her suburban CT teenage bedroom door. Violet Hetson grew up primarily listening to punk and hardcore. She parses elements of these genres with influences from bands such as X and Suburban Lawns. ~No Boys~ takes a softer, melodic approach to Hetson's punk roots. Powerviolets' music is linear, unconventional, dark, and airy with a sense of humor.

Mary Hunt is a fiber artist specializing in chain stitch embroidery. This traditional form of embroidery uses vintage machinery and thick thread to create fibrous art and embellishments. They use an approach called "thread painting," which requires each stitch to be hand guided by the turn of a knob underneath the table while the speed of movement is controlled by a foot pedal. Chainstitch works can take anywhere from 20 minutes to 200 hours, encouraging a slow and thoughtful process. Mary uses a Cornely A machine, made in Paris more than 100 years ago.

“I think we are sent messages and guidance constantly. Our intuition is simply our ability to clear the path for those messages. The largest obstacles on my artistic path are usually self-imposed negative thoughts. I simply do things to take care of my spiritual well-being, first and foremost, and the rest follows. If I can trust the universe, trust the process, then I am much more likely to listen to the messages sent my way.”

Jes the Jem is a multi-media artist working with acrylic, watercolor, mold clay, and whatever else she can get her hands on. She uses vivid color to bring joy into the lives of those who view her art. Jes the Jem has experienced a great deal of pain in her life. Through that unique displeasure, she has been gifted a nuanced perspective. She aims to energize the present while paying homage to the past events that shape us. In her art, her life, and her interpersonal relationships, Jes the Jem appreciates the gift of all of life's experiences.

“The pursuit of happiness and understanding is instinct.”

Pamela Kivi pieces together visual scraps she has saved over the years, choosing to fuse them at whatever present moment she sees fit. Her work reflects on creative mania, fleeting emotions, and memories. Pamela's collages are a compilation of unexpected elements that include: old notebooks, cut-outs, text messages or Facebook message conversations, nostalgic cellphone photos, and visual materials she has chosen to hold onto. She prints out, cuts up, scans, edits, repeats. Pamela's artistic practice is deeply personal. It is a submittal to the process of dusting things off until a reflection can be seen, all enacted without an attachment to the end result.

“I rely on intuition and whatever state of mind I am in to whisk me away. In life, I often confuse intuition with anxiety- when it comes to creative work, I can decipher the two.”

Through sobriety, Kendall Kolenik's focus has shifted toward self-discovery and shedding old adaptive patterns, a process that led her to a passion for helping others heal themselves too. In autumn, she will begin her Masters in Social Work at Columbia University.

“I love how when I'm painting my self-doubt becomes so apparent. Painting shows me exactly where my doubt lies, which guides me towards overriding it. When I paint something and lean into doubt, I don't like what comes out. When I take note of the resistance and go with my gut more freely, I love it. This reminds me of my yoga practice. What you practice on the mat is a metaphor for how you show up in life. By breathing through the uncomfortable poses on the mat, you learn to breathe through challenging life moments.

I think we all grow up learning to numb and edit ourselves. We are taught not to trust our feelings; we are told to look outside ourselves for answers when we already have a perfectly good compass within. Painting is an archway back to that for me - rediscovering self-reliance and faith in my first instinct. When I'm creating these rainbow squares, sometimes I move so fast it's like something else is carrying me. I sort of leave myself and enter a trance. Like how you don't have to tell the heart to beat or the lungs to breathe - thinking goes away and I can get so close to my knowing that I become it. I love how art allows me to access my love for ambiguity, interpretation, and an interpretation that feels closer to Truth. I find no greater purpose than guiding people back to safety and reconnecting them with themselves. The most important thing to ever happen in my life was when I stopped trying to deny my reality - listening to your intuition can be like a freefall - no one but you can ever know or tell you - it is a deep trust without any outside proof.”

Lucille Loffredo is a music school dropout, Jewish trans lesbian, and veterinary assistant doing her best to make sure each day is better than the last. Lucille tries to find the music rather than make it. She lets it tell her what it wants to do and what it wants to be. The Wandering EP was in part written as a way to come out to herself. She asks all listeners to please be gentle.

“Change will come, and it will be good. You are who you think you are, no matter how far it seems.”

Whitney Lorenze generally works without reference, making thick, graphic pictures with precise forms conceived almost entirely from her imagination. Images like a slowly rolling car crackling out of a driveway, afternoon sun rays shining through a cloud of humidity, or headlights throwing a lined shadow across a black bedroom inspire her.

“As it concerns my own practice and the creation of artworks generally, I would define intuition as the ability to succumb to some primal creative impulse. Of course, this implies also the ability to resist the temptations of producing a calculated or contrived output.”

Ellie Mesa began teaching herself to paint at the age of 15, exploring landscapes and portraiture. Her work has evolved into a style of painting influenced by surrealism where teddy bears will morph into demons and vice versa. Her work speaks to cuteness, the grotesque, and mystical beings. The painting "Kali" is an homage to the Hindu goddess of creation,  destruction, life and death. This was Ellie's first painting after becoming sober and is an expression of the aforementioned forces in her own life. Through meditations on Kali, Elli has been able to find beauty in the cycle of love and loss.

“To me, intuition means doing the thing that feels right whether or not it's what you want it to be. When I'm painting or making a sculpture, I give myself the freedom to follow what feels right, even if that means starting over or changing it completely. I allow the piece to present itself to me instead of forcing something that doesn't want to be.”

Mari Ogihara is a sculptor exploring duality, resilience, beauty, and serenity as experienced through the female gaze. Her work is informed by the duality of womanhood and the contradictions of femininity. In particular, the multitude of roles we inhabit as friend, lover, sister, and mother and their complex associations to the feminine perspective.

“Intuition is an innate, immediate reaction to an experience. While making art, I try to balance intuition, logic, and craftsmanship.”

All Of Me Is War by Ames Valaitis addresses the subconscious rifts society initiates between women, estranging them from each other and themselves.

“It is an unspoken, quick, and quiet battle within me as the feeling of intuition purely, and when I am making a drawing. I am immediately drawn to poses and subject matter that reflect the emotion inside myself, whether it is loud or under the surface. If a line or figure doesn't move me, after working on it for a few minutes, I get rid of it. If something looks right to me immediately, I keep it; nurture it. I try to let go of my vision, let my instinct take hold. I mirror this in my life as I get older, choosing who and what to put my energy into. The feeling is rarely wrong; I'd say we all know inherently when it is time to continue or tap out.”

Chardel Williams is a self-taught artist currently living in Bridgeport. Her biggest inspiration is her birthplace of Jamaica. Chardel views painting as a method for blocking out chaos. Her attraction to the medium springs from its coalescence of freedom, meditative qualities, and the connection it engenders. rears.

“Intuition for me is going where my art flows. I implement it in my practice by simply creating space and time to listen. There are times when what I'm painting is done in everyone else's eyes, but I just keep picking at it. Sometimes I would stop painting a piece and go months without touching it. Then, out of nowhere, be obsessed with finishing. I used to get frustrated with that process, but now I go with it. I stopped calling it a block and just flow with it. I listen because my work talks.”

[jedi-order-apologist]

I finished reading Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, and I have to say, I really, really loved it! Everyone who recommended it to me was 100% right - this book is great, and especially great in its representation of the Jedi. I think I like it even more than Shatterpoint, and I really liked Shatterpoint.

There are some weak points - it was a little slow to pull me in, and there’s a couple of Weird Legends Things™ that, with me not being particularly immersed in that continuity, don’t quite fit in with my conception of Star Wars (Dooku apparently having had a Master that was not Yoda; the infamous 13-year-old age limit (though I was at least familiar with that one), the Jedi being so far in the public eye that there exists a famous Yoda impersonator, etc), and I was a little iffy on how it handled the “Jedi shouldn’t be in the war” angle (I’m fine with there being Jedi who think that the Jedi shouldn’t be in the war. I’m less fine with an author deciding that other Jedi can’t find the words to defend their involvement, because that’s a cheap way of framing the argument), and a small moment of the “everyone falls in love�� stuff I dislike.

But those were very small aspects of the book, all things considered, and pretty much everything else about this book is really, really good, and very Star Warsy - a very healthy mix of the wacky as well as the philosophical sides of the franchise, which suited my tastes really well. This book is fun - Yoda is the grumpy grandpa that he deserves to be, and spends a good portion of the book disguised as an astromech that gets into all sorts of trouble. Obi-Wan and Anakin have peak sibling energy in the handful of scenes that they show up in - Anakin at one point insisting that a woman would have to be desperate to want Obi-Wan, and only a younger sibling could possibly say something like that with a straight face to a man as attractive as Obi-Wan, as well as Obi-Wan lying to Mace Windu’s face to cover for Anakin and then immediately grumbling about it to Anakin that he doesn’t know why he does these things for him is such an older sibling thing to do.

Where this book really shines, though, is the serious stuff - the philosophy and the dark side and especially grief. What absolutely sold me on this story, and what made me sit up and go “this is going to be one of my favorite Star Wars books”, was the part where Yoda speaks to the padawans and helps them address and work through their grief. It was phenomenal, and beautiful, and absolutely everything I want out of depicting the Jedi - especially in the context that only a chapter earlier, Ventress had been hurling those standard accusations of “the Jedi don’t let you feel”, and this book wonderfully, completely demolishes that nonsense. This section is absolutely amazing:

Yoda set his bowl of gumbo regretfully aside. “Hear it working, do you?”

“Hear what?” Whie snapped.

“The dark side. Always it speaks to us, from our pain. Our grief. It connects our pain to all pain, our hurt to all hurt.”

“Maybe it has a lot to say.” Whie stared at the starscape hovering over the projector table. “It’s so easy for you. What do you care? You are unattached, aren’t you? You’ll probably never die. What was Maks Leem to you? Another pupil. After all these centuries, who could blame you if you could hardly keep track of them? Well, she was more than that to me.” He looked up challengingly. Tear tracks were shining on his face, but his eyes were still hard and angry. “She was the closest thing I had to a mother, since you took me away from my real mother. She chose me to be her Padawan and I let her down, I let her die, and I’m not going to sit here and stuff myself and get over it!” He finished with a yell, sweeping the plate of crêpes off the projection table, so the platter went sailing toward the floor.

Yoda’s eyes, heavy-lidded and half closed like a drowsing dragon’s, gleamed, and one finger twitched. Food, platter, drinks, and all hung suspended in the air. The platter settled; the crêpes returned to it; Whie’s overturned cup righted itself, and rich purple liquid trickled back into it. All settled back onto the table.

Another twitch of Yoda’s fingers, the merest flicker, and Whie’s head jerked around as if on a string, until he found himself looking into the old Jedi’s eyes. They were green, green as swamp water. He had never quite realized before how terrifying those eyes could be. One could drown in them. One could be pulled under.

“Teach me about pain, think you can?” Yoda said softly. “Think the old Master cannot care, mmm? Forgotten who I am, have you? Old am I, yes. Mm. Loved more than you, have I, Padawan. Lost more. Hated more. Killed more.” The green eyes narrowed to gleaming slits under heavy lids. Dragon eyes, old and terrible. “Think wisdom comes at no cost? The dark side, yes - it is easier for them. The pain grows too great, and they eat the darkness to flee from it. Not Yoda. Yoda loves and suffers for it, loves and suffers.”

One could have heard a feather hit the floor.

“The price of Yoda’s wisdom, high it is, very high, and the cost goes on forever. But teach me about pain, will you?”

“I...” Whie’s mouth worked. “I am sorry, Master. I was angry. But...what if they’re right?” he cried out in anguish. “What if the galaxy is dark. What if it’s like Ventress says: we are born, we suffer, we die, and that is all. What if there is no plan, what if there is no ‘goodness’? What if we suffer blindly, trying to find a reason for the suffering, but we’re just fooling ourselves, looking for hope that isn’t there? What if there is nothing but stars and the black space between them and the galaxy does not care if we live or die?”

Yoda said, “It’s true.”

The Padawans looked at him in shock.

The Master’s short legs swung forth and back, forth and back. “Perhaps,” he added. He sighed. “Many days, feel certain of a greater hope, I do. Some days, not so.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Ventress was right?” Whie said, shocked out of his anger.

“No! Wrong she is! As wrong as she can be!” Yoda snorted. “Grief in the galaxy, is there? Oh, yes. Oceans of it. Worlds. And darkness?” Yoda pointed to the starscape on the projection table. “There you see: darkness, darkness everywhere, and a few stars. A few points of light. If no plan there is, no fate, no destiny, no providence, no Force: then what is left?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Nothing but our choices, hmm?”

“Asajj eats the darkness, and the darkness eats her back. Do that if you wish, Whie. Do that if you wish.” The old Jedi looked deep into the starscape, suns and planets and nebulae dancing, tiny points of light blazing in the darkness. “To be Jedi is to face the truth, and choose. Give off light, or darkness, Padawan.” His matted eyebrows rose high over his swamp-colored eyes, and he poked Whie with the end of his stick. Poke, poke. “Be a candle, or the night, Padawan: but choose!”

Whie cried for what seemed like a long time. Scout ate. Fidelis served. Master Yoda told stories of Maks Leem and Jai Maruk: tales of their most exciting adventures, of course, but also comical anecdotes from the days when they were only children in the Temple. They drank together, many toasts.

Scout cried. Whie ate. Fidelis served.

Yoda told stories, and ate, and cried, and laughed: and the Padawans saw that life itself was a lightsaber in his hands; even in the face of treachery and death and hopes gone cold, he burned like a candle in the darkness. Like a star shining in the black eternity of space.

I want to show this passage to every hot-take Yoda-critical fan who’s ever leveled that kind of nonsense at him. I want every one of them to read this and still try to tell me that Yoda is detached and uncaring of the galaxy around him. I want every fan who thinks the Jedi are expected to be unfeeling to read this and understand what the Jedi actually say and do and why giving into these feelings is the issue, not the feelings themselves.

The confrontation with Dooku is also amazing. Yoda challenges him to explain why the dark side is so great, and Dooku only gets more and more frustrated as Yoda is unswayed by any of what he tempts him with. I especially love this bit where Yoda lays out exactly why what the dark side promises is false:

“Want something else. Want power.”

“Power have I.”

“Want wealth.”

“Wealth I need not.”

“Want to be safe,” Dooku said in frustration. “Want to be free from fear!”

“I will never be safe,” Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. “The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me.”

That then leads into a bit where Dooku has a vision of what a dark!Yoda would look like, and realizes how utterly terrifying that would be.

Dooku also has abandonment issues on full display - lashing out at the lady who had given her son up to the Jedi, getting furious at her on the son’s behalf (but so clearly, his own, speaking of his own resentment towards his parents), and throwing an absolute hissy fit because he’s convinced Yoda likes Anakin more than him. I’m not kidding, he’s so offended by Anakin’s entire existence that just his mere presence in his house is enough for Dooku to stop feeling conflicted about the whole thing and jump right back into the dark side.

And there’s just so many good little moments throughout it all on top of all that. Whie’s dreams - and oh, I knew exactly what his dream of his own death was when he described it to Scout and it hurt at the end when he hugged Anakin while saying “I’m so glad you’re not coming to kill me!”. And Ventress, calling Dooku out on the fact that it’s so obvious that Sidious will end up replacing him (also for a more humorous bit - the fact that she apparently has some petty grudge against Anakin and Obi-Wan for stealing her ships so she goes out of her way to steal their ship at the end), and the droids, and Scout’s cleverness in winning the tournament despite her disadvantages, Jai Maruk’s last stand and refusal to fall when he was at the edge, and...so much, really.

And above all else, the book really latches onto the idea of Jedi as family, and you all know how much I really, really love the idea of the Jedi as a big found family. The idea that they consider each other to be family is driven home again and again, in their words and in their actions, and I absolutely adore this book for that emphasis.

[tripstaysnoided]

Flow Just Like Water

Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

[crzytwn]

AJ

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Aimee, DJ’s so tall she has to make up for it somewhere

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither, after the whole exile thing being a real topic that’s not really something either of them considers even while like BIG mad

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? no one!

Who trashes the house? I just feel like they both would on accident?? They need helmets.

Do either of them get physical? Not in a fight.

How often do they argue/disagree? Not That often.

Who is the first to apologise? Neither? I searched sorry on Aimee’s blog and so many convos came up but none were with DJ, I think they’re just those people that like argue, cool off and then whoever wants to make up first goes over to the other one just says some shit like “Do you ever get sad that jellyfish don’t actually make jelly?” and then the fight is forgotten.

Sex:

Who is on top? AIMEE’S A TOP I DIDN’T KNOW

Who is on the bottom? DJ which honestly he’s so big, it’s probably just convenient

Who has the strangest desires? Feels up DJ’s Alley

Any kinks? for sure

Who’s dominant in bed? DJ, Aimee CAN be but she’s definitely specifically into letting DJ tell her what to do.

Is head ever in the equation? Ya sure.

If so, who is better at performing it? I don’t know! I feel like it’s a tie, they’re so obsessed with each other.

Ever had sex in public? No, Aimee would literally faint with how anxious that idea makes her.

Who moans the most? Aimee.

Who leaves the most marks? I don’t KNOW! But I feel like Aimee is an accidental nail digger

Who screams the loudest? So idk maybe DJ since he’s a pincushion apparently

Who is the more experienced of the two? UH! I just do not know! DJ’s fucked Elle and idk if anything will Happen with Karmen but Aimee is humping around with her own fuck buddy so?

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Aimee would only call it making love, she’s flowery like that.

Rough or soft? I simply cannot imagine them having rough sex without injuries but also they’re not gentle people so that’s fun?

How long do they usually last? 🤔 They are athletic and would presumably have decent stamina...

Is protection used? Tf if I know, Aimee wants kids and DJ needs an heir.

Does it ever get boring? No, they’ve been waiting their entire lives for it. It could never.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Swan Lake? That castle is abandoned so it’s safe from Aimee’s public fears.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? YA ya ya.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have? I think they would have a lot, half out of being stupid but like Aimee would love to spite Uberta and have so many perfect HALF blue blooded heirs and spares for the kingdom.

Who is the favorite parent? DJ, obviously.

Who is the authoritative parent? Aimee.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? DJ, but like Aimee would end up tagging along anyway.

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? DJ but honestly it’s probably Aimee’s candy.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both of them and they are EMBARRASSING.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Aimee. This is her area of expertise for sure.

Who changes the diapers? Maids or Aimee.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Maids, Aimee would WANT to but then never wake up

Who spends the most time with the children? They’d both be so obsessed with their kids are you kidding.

Who packs their lunch boxes? The castle cook.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Rogers!

Who cleans up after the kids? Maids, but Aimee would try to do it first.

Who worries the most? AIMEE!!!

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Also Aimee.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Both of them!

Who is the little spoon? The visual of Aimee jetpacking all six foot one million inches of DJ is too funny and cute for words.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? DJ, Aimee’s too paranoid

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?   Both of them honestly, but I think Aimee would be very into hand holding so they can at least have unlimited physical contact.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? I don’t know if either of them like to sit still for that long so probably not for an extended period of time.

Who gives the most kisses? DJ, but Only because it’s harder for Aimee to get to his face but she definitely kisses his hand.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Target practice!!

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Probably in bed?

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Could not tell u, def on brand for them both.

How often do they get time to themselves? Enough? They definitely MAKE time!

Sleeping:

Who snores? If both do, who snores the loudest? Dunno.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Share!

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Aimee likes her space but also she probably HAS to touch him while they’re sleeping.

Who talks in their sleep? Dunno

What do they wear to bed? Probably underwear? If anything?

Are either of your muses insomniacs? Mine isn’t, is DJ?

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Melatonin gummies probs

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? More like draped over each other. Top or bottom is who goes down first.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Aimee has the most hair.

Who wakes up first? Aimee is the more On Top of things one so she probably wakes DJ up even now.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Aimee but it’s cereal. DJ probably would too but he def would’ve spilled too many times to be allowed ever again.

What is their favourite sleeping position? this

Who hogs the sheets? DJ, Aimee probably kicks sheets off.

Do they set an alarm each night? Aimee naturally wakes up early so probably not unless they have to do something DUMB early.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? Yep

Who has nightmares? Aimee thee Coward

Who has ridiculous dreams? I don’t knooow

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? DJ, he’s big.

Who makes the bed? Aimee, but then the maids probably remake it because she didn’t do That good a job.

What time is bed time? Whenever they feeel like it.

Any routines/rituals before bed? I don’t know!!!

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? They give off morning people vibes but if i’m wrong correct me?

Work:

Who is the busiest? King Derek Jr!

Who rakes in the highest income? The king!

Are any of your muses unemployed? Uh I literally almost said Aimee but I guess being his queen like counts as a job.

Who takes the most sick days? Aimee is both a lil bit of a hypochondriac and also is probably sick a lot.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Could not tell you, but I would guess DJ because he like fell or something.

Who sucks up to their boss? Is Aimee’s boss DJ BECAUSE she sure does suck up to him.

What are their jobs? King and Queen of wherever tf, probably.

Who stresses the most? Aimee!

Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Aimee is probably Uncomfortable with it for a whiiile but I think that’s it?

Are your muses financially stable? Duh.

Home:

Who does the washing? The maids, Aimee doesn’t do her own laundry NOW so she would get over that hang up the fastest.

Who takes out the trash? Idk whoever’s job that is.

Who does the ironing? Aimee and also the maids.

Who does the cooking? The castle cooks.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Both of them.

Who is messier? DJ

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? DJ

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Does DJ? He pays people to do a lot so idk.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Ew

Who is the prankster around the house? DJ

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Aimee! But also probably DJ!

Who mows the lawn? The gardener!

Who answers the telephone? Who calls people!?

Who does the vacuuming? The maids and Aimee.

Who does the groceries? Aimee but only for like her own personal things, she hates asking.

Who takes the longest to shower? DJ has a lot of body to shower also Aimee doesn’t like SHOWERS that much.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Aimee, I just KNOW she takes hot baths and then passes out from the temperature shift getting out of the tub.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Technically no, but that much money Is a problem to Aimee.

How many cars do they own? I don’t know!

Do they own their home or do they rent? It’s a castle soo

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Idk man that kingdom seems a lil coastal?

Do they live in the city or in the country? In a castle!

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Sure!

What’s their song? Today I say Grow As We Go by Ben Platt

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Facetime probably.

Where did they first meet? Idk man wherever people put babies in the castle

How did they first meet? Their dads like waved their lil baby hands at each other.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? DJ

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? DJ with his lil princey frat ass.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? They both do because THEY BOTH TRIP OVER SO MUCH.

Any mental issues? No? But like who doesn’t? Idk?

Who’s terrified of bugs? Who kills the spiders around the house? Aimee is TERRIFIED and would stand in a chair screaming for DJ to kill it for absolutely ever.

Their favourite place? I sure don’t know.

Who pays the bills? DJ but I’m sure Aimee would offer anyway like they wouldn’t have the same money in the future.

Do they have any fears for their future? No? Aimee’s parents got divorced when she was pretty young but like the biggest obstacle was GETTING DJ, she’s not that worried about losing him. Except to death, but she’s always afraid of him dying.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? DJ? But I hope not because Aimee would hate it for like half the time it would take to eat it.

Who uses up all of the hot water?   Does the hot water run out?

Who’s the tallest? TAKE A WILD GUESS

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both of them, but Aimee for sure. DJ’s shower times are not his alone time according to her.

Who wanders around in their underwear? Aimeeeeee

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Aimeeee, it’s very bad but DJ knew what he was getting into

What do they tease each other about? What don’t they tease each other about.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? I don’t know? Neither of them?

Do they have mutual friends? Who crushed first? Any alcohol or substance related problems?   Yeah Jojo and Karmen and whoever else i’m forgetting rn but i’m sure Aimee will get over her inexplicable Artie disdain, I don’t know who crushed first and i’m sire they don’t either. Nope!

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? DJ!

Who swears the most? I don’t know! I said Aimee is the most likely to teach their kids swears but idk if that necessarily means she’s saying more.

[stahlop]

New Year’s Eve (1/1)

Here is my piece for the Captain Swan Concert Series! This is inspired from the song New Year's Eve by Nina Gordon. From summer 2000-2001 I did a theatre internship in Rhode Island and it was my first time away from home and I knew within two weeks that, while I loved theatre, I didn't want to do it for a living. This album got me through the internship. I listened to it non-stop for most of the year. I had wanted to write this as a New Year's Eve story, but between Secret Santa and January Joy I didn't have time. So, I was really happy when the concert series was announced.

Thank you @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta! Without you my stories would not be what they are.

Summary: Normally, Emma Swan would have her long, blonde hair curled or put up in some elaborate braid. She’d be dressed to the nines and practically taking over as the host of the party. She hadn’t always been like that. She used to be the biggest wallflower. Sitting alone in a corner and waiting for the countdown at midnight so she could wish everyone a Happy New Year and then leave to go to the comfort of her own apartment and bed. But then she met Killian Jones.

Rated: G

Ao3

Normally, Emma Swan would have her long, blonde hair curled or put up in some elaborate braid. She’d be dressed to the nines and practically taking over as the host of the party. She hadn’t always been like that. She used to be the biggest wallflower. Sitting alone in a corner and waiting for the countdown at midnight so she could wish everyone a Happy New Year and then leave to go to the comfort of her own apartment and bed. But then she met Killian Jones.

It had been at another New Year’s Eve party. A new co-worker of David’s wife, Mary Margaret. They both taught in the history department at the local university. It may have been a general ‘you’re new in town so come to this party and meet people’ or it could have been a set up. Either way, Killian had been smitten with Emma at first sight. And even after he’d given a few smug one-liners and she’d thrown his drink on him (she wasn’t going to waste her own drink), they’d somehow ended up talking until midnight where they both apologized for their behavior and Killian made the resolution to ask Emma out on a date.

At first she thought it was weird that the man she’d thrown a drink on was now asking her out. But he was damn sexy, what with those ocean blue eyes, dark chocolate brown hair, and scruff on his face. She was already having daydreams about how that scruff would feel against her cheek and... other places.

And then, despite all her issues about being abandoned at birth, all her fears from growing up in the foster system and not experiencing love, all her reservations that she didn’t deserve someone like Killian, especially after her first love ruined her for future relationships, he broke through her walls and she loved him. She should have known it wouldn’t last.

Oh, Killian had his issues too. Mother dying young, father abandoning him and his brother, said brother dying when Killian was only 18, then his first love also dying from a rare heart condition. But he was still open to love. Had experienced it, even if it didn’t last. And Emma knew he loved her too. Knew it from the way he kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her taste. From the way he always got her a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon after she ordered it on their first date for dessert. Knew it from the way his fingers made her body sing when they were in bed together. How he wouldn’t fall until she did when they made love. And from the way he whispered it into her hair after said lovemaking.

And for the last two years they’d been blissfully happy. She’d helped host parties with Mary Margaret. Hosted parties with Killian at their own apartment (and partied so loud the neighbors called the police; too bad Emma was the police). Emma had forgotten to be on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop, to ruin the happiness she’d finally found. She’d even imagined a proposal on the horizon, especially when he asked her to a fancy restaurant for a fancy dinner.

Except it wasn’t a proposal. At least, not the kind Emma was expecting. It was the grant proposal Killian had put in that would have him working in England for the next year at the British Museum. And Emma, in her infinite wisdom of bad relationships, broke up with him. Told him she didn’t do long distance and she wouldn’t guarantee she’d still be single when he came back.

Thinking back on it now, with all her friends laughing and screaming and having a raucous good time at Mary Margaret and David’s New Year’s Eve Party, she realizes what a fool she’s been. It has been three months since that night. 

Three months since she moved all her stuff out of their apartment, like a coward, while he was at work. 

Three months since she took over Mary Margaret and David’s spare room. 

Three months of not answering his calls or texts. 

Three months of being in total agony of not speaking to the one person she loved the most. 

Three months of imagining him with someone other than her.

So here she is, staring out the window watching the snow fall while wearing lame black leggings that say ‘Happy New Year!’ on them in gold glitter and an oversized black sweater, when she had specifically bought a tight, form fitting red dress last summer to make Killian’s eyes pop out of his head when he saw her in it, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and counting down the minutes until the new year so she can say her goodbyes and go wallow in her room.

“Such a shame to hide such perfect breasts in a sweater like that, love.” A British accented voice says from behind her. Emma’s back goes rigid, her ears perk up, and her eyes fill with tears.

“Killian?” she says in a small voice. It’s hard to speak, she’s afraid her voice will crack, that he will see… 

What the hell is she so afraid of letting him see? That she missed him? That she was wrong? That she should have tried to make it work?

“Yes, love, it’s me,” he replies softly. Emma stands up and turns around to see Killian standing there behind her. He looks just as amazing as ever in his black jeans, white button down shirt and his cozy, professor sweater (the one she always teased makes him look like an old man, but that she stole and cuddled into whenever she missed him). His hair has gotten longer, curling up behind his ears, and his scruff is now a fully grown beard. She also notices the dark purple circles under his eyes that probably match the ones she’s been sporting lately.

“You’re here,” she says almost in disbelief. She can’t stop staring at him, she’s almost afraid that if she takes her eyes off him he’ll disappear and this will just be a hallucination brought on by too much alcohol.

“I am,” he says. Emma can tell he’s treading lightly. With the exception of his opening line, he doesn’t want to spook her (but he can modify anything from The Princess Bride and get away with it).

“I’m sorry,” Emma says immediately, looking directly into his beautiful blue eyes, the ones she’s missed seeing every morning and every night, looking at her as if she were a goddess on Earth. How could she have ever doubted him? The tears are falling freely now. “I’m so sorry, Killian. I got scared that you were leaving, and you know I have abandonment issues. I stupidly thought if I left first then leaving would be on my terms and it wouldn’t hurt as badly.” She takes a deep breath as she sees tears streaming from his eyes as well. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. Can you ever forgive me?” 

Emma is sure she looks a mess, what with the tear streaked and, no doubt, red blotchy face she must be sporting. But looking at Killian, she can tell that’s not what he sees. He reaches out a hand to cup her chin, and she leans into it, just like she used to. Killian takes that opportunity to surge toward her.

His lips are on hers before she can even blink. She throws her arms around his neck as he moves his to around her waist. Emma is trying to pour every ounce of love, every lonely night she’s spent, every bit of herself into the kiss, hoping Killian understands.

Emma doesn’t know how long they kiss; hours, minutes, seconds. She just knows that when they’re done, foreheads touching, she looks into Killian’s deep blue eyes and hears him say, “You infuriating woman.”

Emma’s heart clenches immediately, thinking this is all some elaborate ruse, some way to get her back for what she’s put him through these past few months, until he continues with, “I was going to propose that night. I had the ring in my coat pocket, and I was going to propose and ask you to come with me to London, but you wouldn’t give me the chance to speak. And then you just stopped speaking to me and I didn’t know how to get through to you. Everyone kept telling me that you needed to work through it, but you didn’t have all the facts. You thought I was going to leave you and I never had any intention of doing that.” He closes his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes. “I love you, Emma Swan, and I will always love you, and I will never leave you, no matter what.” He kisses her again, soft and sweet, not as full of need as the last kiss, but still full of love all the same.

“I’m an idiot,” Emma says smiling, “a big, scared idiot with relationship issues. But I promise that if you take me back that I won’t be anymore.” She exhales a shuddering breath and then asks the question she knows needs to be asked. “That is, if you still want me after everything I’ve put you through?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. It’s always been you.” 

They kiss again. And they continue kissing through the countdown, and the screams of Happy New Year, and the singing of Auld Lang Syne. And eventually the others see that Killian is not only back in the States but at the party, and he and Emma are kissing and have obviously made up.

And on the following New Year’s Eve, Emma’s hair is done up in an intricate braid, she is dressed in a stunning white dress while Killian is wearing a tuxedo and watching his almost wife walk down the aisle toward him with all their friends in attendance.

[yastaghr]

Acquiring Feegle and Rickets

I just adopted two rescue bitties! Feegle is a Sansy and Rickets is a Brassberry. You can read their story on Ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008270/chapters/52148683

Or under the cut below!

You would think 25 bitties would be more than enough for anyone to handle. You would be wrong. My pack has finally settled in and worked out all their kinks.

Vergeven bakes treats for the dogs and me. He’s discovered my love of cake donuts, and he bakes them at least once a week. Shenling and Yu absolutely adore their alter. We keep adding more to it, and they love it. Kronkel and Hemlock are the sweetest couple. They’re almost always touching one another. Gates and Starlight are zooming around. Having someone to adventure with him has really pepped Gates up. Verst is always tagging along for everything except the kissy stuff. Yong, Qiang, and Dijkstra are inventing new ways to show off in the water every day. They all like the hot tub right now, given how cold it is. Pleiades has a whole collection of scarves now. He’s usually swaddled in at least three.

Strawberry and Baza’eir go everywhere with me. It’s nice to have a service bitty I can pick up, although Hemlock and Kronkel still squish me if I have a panic attack. Inktvis seems to like doing art with me. I’ve been more active in that area. I’ve also been getting back into science thanks to Decon. I’m not sure what, but once my health issues are more stable I plan on going back to get another degree. Byzantium has a little “roller skate” that fits around the bottom of his pot so he can roll around. He has safe caves all over the house. Plato and the blasters love our pack. Their favorite game is Thunder Paws, which my corgi pup Teagan plays all the time. Meng has a little bit of a crush on Inktvis, but hasn’t wanted to acknowledge it yet. He’s helped tremendously with my night terrors. All in all, everyone is happy.

Apparently the universe decided that wasn’t enough. I was stopping by my local bitty center to get Gyftmas presents for everyone. I usually take the time to talk to each bitty that’s there. I’d finished with the main kennels and moved into the rescue area. This was the place where rescued or returned bitties go to recover and, if possible, get re-adopted. My area is big into being humane, so there are usually very few or none at all. That was what I was expecting because of the holiday. There’s always a rush to give them homes for this special time.

Most of the kennels were empty, save one. It was in the bottom row where nobody looks. Well, except for me. I squatted down to see who was inside there. I was shocked with what I saw.

There were two bitties in the back corner of the kennel. One was a Brassberry. It’s hard to mistake that wound covering. What I could see of his bones outside of the hospital gown he was wearing was covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes. They were all mostly healed over, so they had to have been here for a while. He was glaring at me with fear just under the surface of it. In his arms was a Sansy bitty who looked almost dead. His bones were grey and in multiple casts. He honestly looked like he was going to dust any minute now.

I didn’t even think about it. I directed a tendril of my magic into the kennel and fed it to the Sansy. I filled it with love and support and hope. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, his bones became the proper white. Now I could see the carvings. Someone had decorated his bones with geometric patterns etched in deep.

I swallowed and looked at my own wrists. They were covered in sleeves, but underneath the sleeves both arms were criss crossed with cuts all the way up to my shoulder. Some were old and barely visible. Others were still red. A bandage covered the latest set so I wouldn’t bleed all over my clothes. I chose and choose to put them there. How would it feel if someone else forced them on me?

“Fuck off, human,” The Brassberry growled. He had drawn the Sansy closer to him, jostling his head. Now I could see that the Sansy was awake, but there was no expression on his face. He just...wasn’t there.

“No,” I said stubbornly, sitting down. “I’m going to stay here as long as I want to, Brassberry. I’ve got nothing urgent to do today. I might as well help you and your friend feel better. Would you like some magic of your own?”

The Brassberry’s eyes went wide. “You- You’re feeding him magic? Stop! He can’t handle losing another bond. It’ll dust him for sure!”

I blinked. I’d completely forgotten about how bitties bonded with their owners.

Strawberry jumped to my defense. “Sh-she’s not like that. She wouldn’t do that on purpose She just wants to help!”

Baza’eir, on my other shoulder, chuckled quietly. “What makes you think she’d break it? She’s got 25 bitties so far and we all know she’ll adopt more. I bet you a steak that she’ll adopt him. A nice, fat juicy one.”

The Brassberry’s mouth was watering, but he shook himself out of it and scowled. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting another human take him. How do I know she won’t just abandon him again? He needs me to look out for him. He’s just...given up on fighting back. He’s given up on living. I’m barely able to hold him here.”

I spoke up, “Then let me handle feeding him magic and you handle keeping him physically safe. I know about bonded pairs in animals. You might not be lovers, but it would be bad for both of you to separate you. I don’t mind having another two bitties in my house. Please?”

He blinked at me, searching my face for signs of danger. I tried my best to look non threatening, but I’m not very good at expressions. He seemed to be put off by this, so I added, “I’m autistic and don’t always get my expression right for my feelings. I really do want to help you. You both deserve a better life than you’ve had.”

He huffed. “Read through our chart before saying that. You’ll run away, just like the others.”

I dutifully looked at the packet of papers on the front of their kennel. It detailed all the horrible things that someone had inflicted on this Sansy while trying to turn him into something like a Meek. Brassberry’s papers told of a fighting ring and all the times he had hurt other bitties and staff. He had quite the rap sheet.

“I’ve seen worse, Brassberry,” I said confidently, “I’ve volunteered in animal shelters for more than 10 years. I worked in foster, where the youngest, sickest, and most feral cats end up. I’m more than prepared to take care of both of you. And...I understand about abuse on a personal level. I was abused by teachers, students, and other staff members all the way up through high school. I’m still healing from that, and I know it’s a process. And I’m extremely well versed in wound care,” I said as I slipped up my right sleeve to show him my arms. “I’m very clumsy and I self-harm. I’d love to take you both home and help you heal.”

The Brassberry’s mouth had dropped open at some point in my speech. He closed it and gulped. I could see the distrust warring with a glimmer of hope.

Strawberry added the final touch. “There’s hidey holes all over the house for Byzantium, our Error-type plant bitty. If you don’t want to interact with anyone you don’t have to. And there’s always ketchup and meat in the house. Please come join us? Please?”

The Brassberry looked at his friend. The Sansy gave the barest of nods. The Brassbery sighed.  “Fine. But if you’re lying I’m going to wreck your house and wreck you. Don’t think I won’t.”

I smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

An employee came up to me and asked me to leave, as upsetting bitties in the rescue center was a big no-no. I jumped a little and haltingly explained that I was going to adopt both of them. They asked if I had read the backstories with a distrustful expression.

Amazingly, it was the Brassberry who stood up for me. “Leave my owner the fuck alone. We’ve been through all that already. Just go get the care bag and the adoption papers. Um...please.”

The employee quickly scurried off, and I turned to the two bitties in the kennel. “Thank you. I have problems with anxiety so extreme that it can block my voice. I was about to lose it, there. They startled me so much.”

The Brassberry huffed. “Don’t think anything of it, owner. This means nothing.”

I smiled back. “I won’t. Since we’re going through with this, I should probably introduce myself. I’m Yastaghr, which is pronounced Ya-star but spelled completely differently. Um...do you two have names?”

The Brassberry shook his head. “Fighting bitties don’t get names, and the Sansy here...they didn’t bother. They just called him Sansy.”

I puffed up. “Do you mind if I name you? Or do you want to pick your own names.”

His eyes went wide. “Pick...our own names? Really? What kind of a weirdo are you to let us pick our own names?”

I giggled. “A weirdo who is notoriously bad at naming things. I pull names from 4 different languages and multiple different disciplines. Really. I have bitties named in English, Dutch, Chinese, and Icenic. I also have pets named after book characters. So, what do you say?”

A weak voice whispered, “i like pratchett. something from him?”

All eyes snapped to the Sansy. The effort of speaking seemed to exhaust him, but he was smiling slightly.

I grinned back. “I like Pratchett, too. How about Feegle? Would that be a good name?”

The Sansy, now Feegle, nodded. He seemed to have run out of words for the day, which I could understand completely, so he fell asleep. The Brassberry smiled down at him. It was a proud smile, the kind a parent gets when their kid does something good.

“What about you, Brassberry? What do you want to be named?” I asked.

He hummed softly. “How about Rickets? The humans here say I’ve got it, and it sounds cool. Can I be named that?”

“Of course! It’s your name, so you get to choose. Rickets. It’s-” I started to say.

“I have the paperwork here for you, and the care kits that comes with every bitty. There are medical supplies in both, extra clothes, snacks, and a care pamphlet. Oh, and a hand towel that smells like them for introductions to pets.”

I nodded, my words suddenly gone, just like Feegle. Baza’eir came to my rescue, his service bitty vest shining. “That’s good. Thank you so much! We’ll fill out the paperwork right now.”

I started scribbling down the necessary details, including their names and mine. I signed multiple consent forms. I read through pages of text. Finally, the paperwork was done and I handed it to the employee.

Once the employee was gone, I carefully opened up the kennel and scooped up both bitties. I smiled at them and whispered, “Time to go home.”

[dazais-guardian-angel]

I’m sorry this blog has been so dead-feeling and sporadic for a while now. Not that anyone probably cares, but if any of my followers somehow still enjoy following me, I’m sorry to you all. (tmi health issues below)

I haven’t “updated” in a long while, mostly because I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of dying anymore, like I did all throughout 2017 to maybe halfway through 2018; my health has been pretty stable for a while now. But it’s almost like once my thoughts didn’t have to be preoccupied with constant terror and depression of the worst kind 24/7, now it’s made room for other things to take hold of me. I don’t have panic attacks anymore (at least that I know of; I definitely had one the other night, though), but I have mental anxiety more than ever about really random and ridiculous things, and intrusive thoughts. I’ve gotten a lot of writing done but at the same time feel more unproductive than ever; I’ve always had bad executive dysfunction, but for the last couple months it’s felt worse. I’ve nearly dropped off of drawing entirely; I wish I did it more, but I’ll never be good enough and it’ll never get enough attention to feel like it’s worth the exhaustion it takes. And I probably have actual depression, if I didn’t before then I probably definitely do now; I’ve started to be able to tell the difference in my moods between days, where I feel really invigorated and into something and wanting to do something, and when I feel really down and can’t bring myself to do anything I mean even more than usual lol and feel like I want to cry sometimes for no reason.

I don’t feel as passionate about stuff anymore, which is probably a BIG WARNING SIGN cause I’ve heard other people say this, but yeah. I’m constantly feeling like I should go “give myself a break from writing”, so I just end up playing small, shorty video games that don’t hold my attention very well, instead of working on my backlog of big games that I know are gonna keep me busy for a while each once I start them... otherwise I just stay at my computer thinking that surely I’ll feel like writing something else soon, because I know deep down I want to work on filling my remaining ideas, and I know I can because I have been steadily uploading the last few months, but then I’ll just end up sitting here doing nothing in the end. Or if I get lucky, write. But it just feels like literally everything I do is happening at a snail’s pace now, for no reason. Getting through anime episodes now is tedious, at least for seasonal anime that I’m just trying out and not stuff I already know I’ll love. Keeping up with manga is hard too, I’m so behind on so many series, except for MHA because the chapters are short and weekly instead of monthly, which somehow helps. I like to read at night before sleeping, but I usually fall asleep so quickly after laying down, it’s frustrating. And none of this should matter because no one cares but me but I can’t stand it, especially when my anxiety is constantly making me worried about how long my lifespan is gonna be and that I need to hurry up and do shit quicker. :))))))

All of those mental health diagnoses are just speculation though, since I haven’t been officially looked at by anyone, cause we don’t know where to find anyone. Maybe adhd meds would help me, but who knows when I’ll be able to try any if I do, because I’m already taking so many physical health meds that my parents are always wary about adding unnecessary ones, especially since we’re so uneducated when it comes to the delicacies of mental health meds.

My health problem has morphed into a swallowing problem; I have extra saliva and mucus that gets “stuck” and won’t go down all the way unless I swallow a lot, and I can’t drink or eat anything anymore, which is literally the most agonizing thing in the world, I’m so thirsty (I’m still getting nutrition; please don’t ask how). I’ve done a couple tests and they’ve been fine, so no one knows what’s going on, and my parents have been lax about setting up to go to a better hospital because things aren’t urgent anymore like they used to be now that I have a reflux med. I mean, at least as far as I know; who tf knows what’s happening to me I also have leg nerve pain from sitting in a wheelchair all day every day, which is nothing new at all, it’s been a thing for years, but lately it’s been absolutely agonizing because I’m too underweight to pad my body and my wheelchair isn’t a good fit for me and getting the people to take the steps to change things takes literal months because they’re slow and lazy as molasses. My back is constantly tight too, to varying degrees, sometimes better, and I don’t know what that is, maybe anxiety, but that’s frustrating too cause it makes breathing ever so harder. So yeah, I’m not fearing for my life anymore, at least consciously, but things are still hard and I’m so tired that they’re still like this and they’re just making my mental health worse. I spend most days not doing anything, suffering in some small annoying way that’s enough to keep me from being able to focus on anything, and going to the relief of bed, to repeat forever.

I’m realizing that I’m just lonely. I’m so lonely. Everything is so different now than it was even three years ago; so many of my online friends are gone, even if we’re still mutuals on tumblr; the first online community I ever joined that first got me into online friendships and animanga has long since disbanded. Various mutuals on here I never really talked to but was used to seeing in my activity are gone. Other friends have changed slightly, though they’re still dear to me; I have new ones that are dear to me too, but yet others that I don’t feel a real connection with, and it feels like we’re just surface level acquaintances. One of my two closest and best of friends, one of the first friends I ever made years ago, abandoned me late last year, and to be honest I don’t know why. I did hurt her, but I feel confident in saying that it wasn’t to a degree that was unforgivable, or at least wasn’t worthy of a chance to redeem myself, so.... yeah, I don’t know why. She had changed a lot by that point, shut down a lot, and when I set her off and she left, it was as if all that time we’d spent so close together meant absolutely nothing anymore, had never happened... I don’t understand it. It hurts so much. I tried to contact her in other ways multiple times, by letter and by email, apologizing profusely, and she ignored all of them. It hurts and I’ve thought about it so much, I know I haven’t truly coped with it yet, but have only tried to ignore it, and I desperately need someone to tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong (at least, not wrong enough for that reaction). Cause right now I just still hate myself for it deep down, am so worried about her, worried about how she is right now, wish I knew what she was thinking/thought then, all because of my mistake..... I don’t understand, I don’t know what to do, and it makes me think that all this time I’ve been a lot more terrible of a person than I’ve ever known, and that I’ll just keep accidentally pushing people away by trying to get too close, just like her.

She abandoned me, the few “adult friends” I’ve had irl abandoned me and never talk to me anymore once they stopped working for us, so I guess I’m just cursed this way. The main thing is that I’m seeking and craving interactions with people that no one I know want to have; I love analyzing fiction and getting into the meta and all that stuff, said online friend who abandoned me and I were on nearly the same wavelength when it came to this kind of thing, and we talked for hours and hours about different series and what made them work and why they didn’t work, getting real Deep(tm), and going against popular fandom opinions we thought were wrong (cause we were/are in the minority who disagreed with some of the praise for certain big name series lmao) lol, and that was my normal for a few years... and to have all that be gone is so alien. We were going to collab on a fic together, and that barely got off the ground before she left. I’m dying to have it all back so much, but none of my other friends are into that kind of discussion like she was, and I feel like a piece of shit for acting like they’re “lesser” than her for that, but that’s basically how I’m unintentionally acting.... and I hate myself for it. But I can’t help it; I don’t know what to do. I just know I’m bursting at the seams practically with so much I want to talk about and do that I can’t and I’m so lonely and it’s all so frustrating and depressing and I’m so tired of it all. So aimless and tired and bored and unmotivated and afraid and wishing more than ever that I had 2016 back, before everything became so fucked up in so many ways.

I’m so sorry, anyone who’s friends with me now reading this; you’re all so important to me and I don’t mean to act like you’re not. I’m just sorry I’m such a mess. I need a new purpose, but I don’t know what that is. Maybe I should use this blog to write more meta posts, besides that one. Maybe I should actually post my fics here, although as everyone on tumblr knows, fics get even less notes than art does, so even though my MHA fics get a decent amount of attention as it is, maybe it wouldn’t matter if I put them here too. Is it obvious I’m just a lazy greedy lonely ass craving validation and attention and friendship at this point.......... lol......... I’m just a wreck, I feel so suppressed and aimless, trapped in a life that’s too suffocating and alone for me. And I don’t know how long I and this blog are going to stay this way, so........ I’m sorry, anyone who cares.

Thank you, everyone who’s followed me and still follow me; I appreciate you all so much, and haven’t forgotten a single one of you early ones I’ve talked to before. Hopefully eventually this blog will feel more alive again, eventually........ eventually.............. whenever I find what it is I need, somehow. In the meantime I’ll just keep reblogging MHA posts like a broken record I guess lol.

[yawmanzo]

Yaws Personal Reflection on Touken

When I first watched/really read Tokyo ghoul, although I shipped Touken to get together eventually by some point; I didn't really understand why they fall so hard for each other at first. Upon looking back however, a lot of that could be attributed to the very nature of both characters. Touka (read here for my reflection on her) with a harsh/lashing out and violent exterior due to the violent past in which she grew up in as a ghoul, whilst still having a gentle interior and being selfless in most cases wanting to help others even whilst getting herself hurt.

Kaneki with a gentle exterior, yet a violent interior due to his own past and misgivings that we all know of as a human and being selfish in wanting to be needed by others and unconsciously hurting others by trying to burden everything upon himself and not fully rely on others.

I've noticed how Ishida likes portraying the values of Yin and Yang between the two (depicting them as polar opposites attracting and being complementary/interconnected/interdependent with some similarities as well, he did explicitly say they are characters of a set after all when he came up with them). Passive/ Active. Strong/Weak. Black/White. Direct/Indirect. Selfish/Selfless. Human/Ghoul. Harsh/Kind.

These terms aren't purely static stances but rather semblances of self that each saw/admired/invoked in the other, both positive and negative.

Kaneki said human relationships are like chemical reactions, if you have a reaction, you can't return back to your previous state of being.

Touka was there and saved Kaneki numerous times in Part 1 when he desperately needed someone the most aside from Hide and the others, while Kaneki also saved her several times.

What I love is the evolution of their feelings and relationship that started out pretty horribly with both seeing each other in a negative light as human (living a good peaceful life) and ghoul (being an evil killing monster).

The fact that a human becoming a half ghoul developed to be able to care and fall in love with a full ghoul that hated herself, the world, struggled working and living life as a human and ghoul is really phenomenal narratively speaking. Kaneki saw past all of Touka's violent exterior anger issues and looked at the gentle interior she possessed when it comes to how much she cares about people other than herself, even as a murderer. “If you died Touka-chan, I'd probably be sad”.

That line is so simple, yet for Touka it created a lasting impression since no one in her life really in viewed that kind value upon her, also count in her abandonment issues in always being left alone (Hikari, Arata, Ayato, later the Anteiku crew at the end of part 1).

Even if she had the Anteiku crew, no one truly gave that emphatic value about her life having importance and worth as a ghoul trying to LIVE in the human world amongst all the killing and violent predicaments of murder in the world, not even her uncle Renji or old man Yoshimura, even though they did look out for her. Meanwhile for Kaneki he felt like he belonged somewhere, again his most desperate desire. He felt needed as their friendship grew in training, fighting and working together, he wasn't alone anymore.

Even after getting separated after the Aogiri arc (about 6 months) and the Re time skip (about 3 years) you could always notice the subtle mentions of how much both thought of each other, Touka wanting to see him again and especially from Kaneki’s perspective even after each personality change in always mentioning Touka and Hide separately from every other important person in his life.

All personalities have mentioned her separately from everyone else (yes even centipede), “The others, Touka-chan and Hide”.

Even with the infamous bridge scene in part 1, Hide entrusted and helped Touka to expose Kaneki. And she did, however she unfortunately fell back on her violent anger issues and communication problems in truly conveying what she felt to Kaneki due to what can be seen as her fury at him being just like Arata and even Ayato to an extent. Kaneki promised never to leave her, yet he lied and left her to become stronger and shoulder all the burdens of everyone by himself in some tragic hero manner. Yet this time Kaneki genuinely believed his own lies, wanting to sacrifice himself to protect others when he said he wouldn't leave them.

However, unknown to Touka at that time, that encounter made Kaneki want to go back to Anteiku. “Touka, can I come back?”.

Haise sees her after 3 years at the second Anteiku home “Re” and cries after seeing that Touka was still alive after all this time and the encounter is titled “Inherited feelings”. Not for the person he knew the most in terms of time span, but for the beautiful person that created such a huge impression on him at the most vulnerable periods of his life after becoming a half ghoul and not having a true grasp on both worlds and companionship.

Is it unrealistic that Touka waited over 3 years for him and still had feelings only for him? “Even if time has passed, even if our bodies have changed, even if he had forgotten me completely... As long as he comes back home, things will be alright”.

Mostly yes for the majority but not strictly no… I view everything as not strictly one way with this; the main thing is about deep impressions that both instilled in each other, kinda like Star Crossed lovers, “I have faith in him, he will return”.

Touka was even willing to prioritize Kaneki’s own happiness and well being over hers as Haise in not forcing him to come back, but waiting for him come back of his own free will, even with all the new relationships Haise/Kaneki developed with other characters like the Qs family.

Time, change and distance never stopped them from still yearning to see the other, even amongst them both living different lives with different people and settings in part 2 of Re, most notably Haise/Kaneki with the Qs, CCG, Juuzou, Akira, Arima, Eto etc. Haise often visited Re just to look at her like he did with Rize even with his suppressed memories, even at times wondering what that girl(Touka) was up to. “I wonder what that person is doing today, on a date maybe?”.

Fast forward later to Touka also wondering about what Kaneki was up to in their 121-122 conversation... “Are you a virgin?”.

Black Reaper, the most savage,harsh and suicidal personality even changed his whole stance on dying simply upon looking at Touka in Cochlea.

This was also reinforced by Arimas threats in killing his ghoul friends, and the Hide inner dialogue about eventually finding a reason to live. I viewed this as a reverse of “If you died, I'd be sad” from part 1, both were scared at the very thought of the other dying. This time Touka is the gentle and kind exterior, Kaneki the violent harsh exterior not caring about his own life until someone reminded him the value of his life and the people that still care about that life. “Your life has MEANING, to us and to ME” type of thing, and as ghouls, they are hardly given any true instances of happiness, care and love that lasts before meeting a tragic end, some fuckery or death due to the harsh nature of the world.

The fact that they got together so quickly and yes rushed, after losing cafe Re and both feeling lonely and taking comfort in each other in 125 I found really emotional.

Touka asking Kaneki “Why are you crying?” was such a sweet gesture when you remember Haise crying when he first saw her in Re, but also how Kaneki felt that he was always beat a lot by the people he loved the most. And yet he was able to fully expose himself and have an extremely intimate moment with the woman that he's in love with, and to find out that she also loves him back and didn't hurt him at all this time.

Additionally was finding out that Kaneki  was “dying” and how quickly they married after finding out about Touka’s pregnancy and her even CHOOSING Kaneki and their child over saving her best friend Yoriko (one of Kaneki's biggest flaws in choosing), for me only reaffirmed how desperate and strong each others feelings were for each other. Touka chose a life with Kaneki, something he wanted his mother to do… Choose him.

It's kinda like... “We lost each other before so many times, let's just confirm everything while we're still alive (The marriage bite mark and ring) because who knows when we'll lose these moments and our time together,” especially at how unforgiving shit can be with most TG relationships (AKA Eto’s parents Ukina and Kuzen, Touka’s parents Arata and Hikari and so forth).

Their love is flawed, rushed and has several problems yes with the time development and communication issues in execution... (I truly wish Ishida gave Touka more screen time and development in most of Re although she has developed and changed from Part 1 in her own way); but they are still growing and learning, nothings ever perfect. In fact even with that time discrepancy and change, its one of those relationships that's so genuine and loyal AF to me. Both can see the dark horror in each other, yet still love each other regardless and show genuine care to go through such lengths to make sure the other is okay in a world where such a thing for ghouls and humans is extremely rare.  Especially during all the fuckery in the previous Underground and Dragon arcs. ALL of the Kaneki personalities agreed to literally kill and eat the Oggai children along with humans and ghouls (becoming a monster) just to see Touka again in fear of her death and hopefully to name his kid one day, repeatedly chanting her name over and over.

Touka played a prominent role and went out to save her husband with the CCG, Hide, hell even the Qs... incurring so much damn physical damage via all the fighting and all the mental/emotional stress concurred spanning days to weeks whilst fucking PREGNANT, starving herself with human food, and weakened as a ghoul.

Again, love is complicated, and it's not exactly “healthy” per say from that point of view… I'd say these two need some damn marriage counseling or some shit😂, but it is MUTUALLY genuine given the fucked up circumstances. (I'm also glad it didn't fall under the common anime/manga trope of “Will they? Won't they? shipping game that stalls for time... Just do it! Especially when TG isn't a romance manga, although it has romantic elements)

Personally for me, Touken represents an overall symbol of coexistence and hope for humans and ghouls (the positive core message of TG, even though yes I know it's not the main focal point outside all the story fuckery as a whole). It illustrates breaking past the species barrier of mutual understanding along with other ships to a degree like Ukina x Kuzen, Nishiki x Kimi etc; and I find it beautiful that Kaneki finally has a tangible reason to LIVE, with his Best Waifu Touka… And now also his Best Bro Hide and everyone else.

I wish I could add more insight, but as you can see... I'm a Touken boy through and through😅