#also context that Aspen came up with

[ilikemicrowaves]

We need to talk about the Wells more I am STARVING

[mochinomnoms]

OMG THE NEW CHAPTER IS SO GOOD!

I totally get the feeling of being spoken for all the time. Also the "sensory overload" if you could call it that, was super well written! I won't lie, I'd be mad at riddle too tbh. bro talked about "ace and his big mouth" and then told everyone else 😭 i know he meant well but broooo.

Also.. Nurse Goethel 🥰

I also can't get over Azul being a worried big brother! Idk if you've said this already, but I'm wondering if him and Aspen are step siblings or biological siblings. Just curious lol.

and the CLIFFHANGER! mochi is so kind to us yet so cruel 😔

but seriously i'm just imagining "YOU KNOW SO WHY WONT YOU SAY ANYTHING JADE IS SO ANNOYING ABOUT IT JUST DO SOMETHING ALREADY" like obviously that's not how it's gonna go but it'd be funny. Idk if Yuu is comfortable enough to tell azul about Jade's.. thoughts. But if they are Azul is NOT gonna be prepared 😭😭

Sorry for the wall of text lol I'm just so excited! PTM really is my favorite fic rn and it has been since i first found it. All in all, this chapter was amazing and well worth the wait! Keep up the good work and don't push yourself too hard! <3

-🦷

wwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah omg ty ty i love getting comments about the new chapters when they come out!!!

I'm glad the sensory overload translated over well I was unsure if it came out right or not or if it was too extra or not! I go with the Zalgo text generator to help with it, but it was hard translating Yuu feeling everyone else's feelings on top of their own so I wasn't sure if those came out right.

Riddle means well, I like to think that Riddle sometimes thinks a bit too highly of himself so he does things that he'd scold others for, but he knows he means well so he's fine to do those things.

For Azul and Aspen, they are stepbrothers! They grew up together from a very young age, but their relationship is strained. I'll give more context as the story progresses, it's a bit like a b plot for PTM I think!

And the cliffhanger will pick up right after in the next chapter, so no worries! And don't apologize for the wall of text I love hearing people's thoughts!!!

[uxuefrog]

Original character - Aspen (he/him) Chief of the Birds and Forest Ranger 🌿✨

More info under the cut!

Aspen’s life did not play out as he expected when he was young. He didn’t want to become Chief of the birds and, even less, rule without his family there to support him. The incident that killed both his parents and his older brother changed his life forever.

He went from being a very cheerful and outgoing kid to a reserved and serious young adult, committed to his job as Ranger protecting the city. He’s a very caring and sweet person behind his serious facade, a side of himself that he’s not afraid to show to those he loves.

He’s brave and sincere and often people rely on him for advice and support. He can easily admit when he’s scared and won’t hesitate on crying in front of others. His sweet and genuine demeanor is a result of the influence his brother Neem always had on him.

He misses him deeply and still has nightmares with him. Even after all the years since his death, Aspen still tries to live up to his memory.

Elowen was a great help in learning how to live with the grief, always sweet and understanding, his life improved greatly since then. His kids, K and P also helped him see the beauty of life again. His will to live despite everything is something to be admired.

He often wonders if he has become what his younger self dreamed to be. He’s full of insecurities and doubts himself, but even if he doesn’t believe it, he became someone his younger self would rely on. Someone his brother would be proud of.

________________________________

For a bit of context:

- Aspen’s parents and older brother died in the same incident when they went to investigate what was spoiling the crops and killing the vegetation in the borders of their realm.

That left him in charge of the Bird communities at the age of 25 (he just came of age under the bird law, but was only a teenager in elf years). The birds, specially the council of elders (seven crows that must approve every decision taken), never accepted an elf as their chief and relegated him to his job as Ranger, barely letting him take any meaningful decision, even if Aspen could claim his right to it -

[aspengenic]

The "Wild Card" System

I've been given permission by the person that was involved to talk about this, and this is not Aspen related. (Aspen has nothing to do with this, but the person we are going to be talking about was someone that used to be in their server, which is how I started talking to them - not through the server, but they'd reached out to me on here.)

I've had my DMs and ask box open for a loooong time so that anyone can come to me about any issues they have with Aspen primarily, but people wanted to come to me about the mods, too. As far as the mods go, as stated, they'd have to do something on the same level as Aspen-flavored shit, which none of them have, at least not in my opinion.

A particular person came to me about the mods, but I didn't have enough context about the messages to really say what is and wasn't right or wrong. However, this person, Wild Card System, had claimed that the mods were also accusing them of being a pedophile/groomer.

I'd already been reached out to by someone else about this person, but I hadn't been given proof one way or another about it, so I, at first, said I didn't have an opinion really on it. A month later, they messaged me again about how they were invited to a server where members in the server told them to slit their wrists and stuff because of them being a pedophile.

And to be honest, if the allegations about them being a pedophile are true... then I wouldn't give a shit about that actually. Fuck pedos.

I asked for context about the messages they were sending with this minor, as they'd been accused of sexting with a minor. So they sent me the screenshots of some of the messages.

The messages proved to me that they are a groomer, at least in my eyes.

I have been given permission to share these messages by the person that went through this with Wild Card, but am keeping the other person (not Wild Card) in the screenshots sent to me anonymous, and for the most part, blocking out their messages.

This person was 17 at the time, Wild Card was 21, and regardless of the "age of consent" being 16 in their state for both parties, anyone under 18 is still a minor. There are people in our government who want to change the age of consent to be much, much younger, but they're still children. It does not make it okay.

Wild Card wanted to wait until this person was 18 before dating or doing anything, but Wild Card also did start talking about NSFW topics with them and "hypotheticals" of what it would be like to do adult things with them. That, in itself, is grooming behavior. That is sexting.

Wild Card also told me that they often complimented the minor's appearance when the minor was feeling self conscious about themselves or just down. That's still grooming. They even go on to talk about how they "fucked someone who was "really, really fucking ugly and obese", which is not something you talk to a minor about.

Wild Card also started venting to them about one of the mods, which is also a type of behavior that is considered grooming, regardless of whether or not Wild Card thought so. Being an adult and venting to a minor is not appropriate.

Wild Card continues to talk about sex topics with the minor. I am blocking out the minor's messages as they are a minor and regardless of whether or not they "talked sexual back", that still is on the fault of the adult for talking about adult things with a minor to begin with.

It is never the fault of the minor, period, end of story.

Apologies that it is really hard to read. I screenshotted the messages before blocking them after this conversation and I didn't think to open the media sent to me to screenshot it in better quality. They deleted their blog so the messages are gone.

These are my messages with them:

Now, listen. I'm all for people making stupid ass mistakes. Mistakes make us human. The person I mentioned that was 19 at the time and fucked up, they made a massive fucking mistake. They have taken accountability for it and they never tried to lie about it afterwards. They never tried to pretend it didn't happen or try and sweep it under the rug. They owned up to that shit and set things right.

What really bothered me about this whole thing is how Wild Card seems more concerned with the fact that they could've gotten in legal trouble, and began lying to someone else, saying that the minor "set them up". They were more concerned about possibly going to jail or court than they were about how they potentially traumatized a child, at the very least did groom and sext them.

Regardless of English not being their first language, that's no excuse. They spoke fluent English with me and this person in DMs, so they cannot use that as an excuse at this point. Being under the influence also does not excuse shit. I've been drunk and high before. I never sexted a minor. Many people can get high or drunk and not sext a minor. It's not hard.

Saying it's a "cultural thing" or "translation based" doesn't excuse it either. You talked about sex acts with a minor, period.

Anyway. I did want to give a warning about this person, since it seems they keep roping people into their bullshit and trying to get others on their side.

They have since deactivated their tumblr, but their discord account is "findingpeaceandgone". They allegedly have an alt discord account, and allegedly plan to make a new tumblr, but I do not have info on that. If anything changes, I will update this.

Blocking "whatever may come" is not taking responsibility or accountability for it. Blocking the minor is probably the best move, but an apology to them, owning up to your mistakes, taking accountability for it to the person you harmed, are what you need to do. That's just my opinion thought.

[lubileaf]

Hammocks

(While this is a short story of my oc's, don't think you have to go back digging for context! You could even fill in your own characters as you read.)

"I didn't even want to come out here," Aspen complained, shifting around in the suspended contraption. "I could be doing more reasonable things right now."

Jolie's head popped up over the lip of the hammock, a playful look on his face.

"We have all day," he rolled his eyes. "Plus, it's so nice out here. Another cold spell will come tomorrow and ruin any sooner oppurtunity."

Aspen huffed, turning his back to the blonde. While he was impressed at Jolie's skill, him climbing up the pine trees and fastening the hammocks together, the nag of school work needing to be done really pulled at his strings.

He could hear Jolie moving about as he adjusted his jacket, finally growing still once more. Silence floated around the pair, except for the birds singing in trees nearby.

"What are we planning on doing up here, anyways?" Aspen turned his neck in an attempt to catch Jolie's eye. The said boy perked up and looked at him.

"We could talk, we could play a game, we could-"

"We could take a nap," Aspen suggested, face blank with the half joking tease. Jolie's breath puffed out with a laugh.

"Wha- really? You'll oversleep!"

"Than you wake me up," Aspen nestled down into the cloth once more. "If you're so desperate."

Jolie nodded, bottom lip pouting in thought.

The contraption consisted of two hammocks strung across the same trees, meeting up side by side. Whenever Aspen moved, Jolie could feel it in the side of his hammock. He was glad he could find such high trees, and that Aspen could climb decently; it was very peaceful here.

"Have you written much?" Jolie leaned over and looked at Aspen, curious and needy for conversation. When the boy didn't answer, the blonde smacked his shoulder. "I know you're not asleep."

"I want to be," Aspen retorted, pushing Jolie's hand away. "You should try sleeping, too. You wouldn't be needing to come out here."

"What do you mean?"

Aspen turned, holding eye contact.

"You came out here to escape work," Aspen inferred. "Not just to hang out or enjoy the scenery."

Jolie's face fell slightly. Aspen was right; he wanted to get away from pressure, as finals were approaching. But the dark haired boy was also very wrong.

"But I do want to hang out with you," Jolie offered a small grin, to which Aspen rose a brow. "I don't really know anyone else here."

"You're supposed to be the extrovert," Aspen quipped. "But instead you got me."

"Well it feels like you got me," Jolie teased, earning a small nod from the other boy.

"Very true," he settled back down, eager to rest. Part of him felt bad, nervous that Jolie would think he was edging away from him. Aspen knew the boy was used to his coldness, breaking that barrier in fact, but in this moment he felt guilty.

Jolie felt similar, wanting to tease Aspen and poke fun but scared that he'd irritate him. He knew it was a bit of a burdening time in school, which they were forced to envelop their whole lives around. Perhaps Aspen was just tired.

"Sorry," he murmured, wincing slightly. "I know it's important to prepare for finals, but I really didn't want to..." He peeked over at Aspen, wanting an honest reply. So when silence met his ears, he grew tingly and shook his head.

The other boy sat up and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, yeah... it's fine," Aspen mumbled. "But I wouldn't have come along if didn't want to."

"So you actually don't mind?" Jolie perked up, Aspen rolling his eyes.

"I guess not," he crossed his arms. "Studying goes by quickly for me, anyways. But I know you have some trouble."

"Hey I'm not that bad," Jolie punched Aspen's shoulder lightly. "My gears just turn slower than yours."

"Right," Aspen nodded casually, earning a mock offended look. "I could help you later."

"Really?" Aspen leaned over, gripping the side of the hammock with his fingertips. Aspen knew that if his friend were an animal, he'd be a dog with a sore tail.

"Sure," Aspen yawned. "But I might as well sleep."

"Why?" Jolie snorted.

"So I can retain my night owl abilities," Aspen replied.

Jolie nodded and sat against the cloth, relishing the warm air.

[sapchats]

what is going on in the house of commons (twt) i cant find any context anywhere and dont have twt

well basically . lucifer and co (im actually not too share of every involved but it's like. aspen cobain maple el and some others i don't remember their @'s 😭) made some comments about being disappointed in ccs and streamers not doing anything or using their platforms about palestine and instead choosing to stream like there's nothing going on - this is where the complicit in genocide blood on their hands comment came from - and most of them got really heavy backlash for those comments and their reactions to criticism etc etc until it kind of just blew up . so they made a gc where they shittalked a lot of people including sapnap and dreams music despite most of them paying to go to at least one droncert + m&g or vip but also just other popular twt stans and anyway someone leaked screenshots and cobain "left" the fandom and aspen + lucifer are taking a break and they all used their twitter blue accounts to craft a mile long apology tweet where they take responsibility and say they're going to learn from the criticism blah blah blah and then someone leaked a different dm in which aspen on an alt revealed they had reached out to dream apologizing about the situation which is literally the stupidest fucking thing ive ever heard like they're all acting like this is some big controversy when it's literally not they're just stans thinking theyre more important than they are which i couldve told u months ago but whatever we ball. and that's what u missed on smiletwt

[away-ward]

Wait a sec I was under impression that Will II was youngest out of the Grayson kids, but in the author's family tree it has him listed as the middle child. Also what is Indie's middle name now? In the books it says Jones as in Indiana Jones, but on the family tee it says Aspen. I'm a bit confused right now! lol

Hey!

Yeah I was a bit confused at first too. Out of the Grayson's, Finn is the mystery. We don't know her exact age. Indie is nine and II is five. I assumed that Finn was probably six based on the context in NF, but she could be four if the picture is the kids in order of their birth. Or maybe they're twins. Who knows? Certainly not I. If PD has commented on this somewhere, I haven't seen it.

I like the idea of II being the youngest, Em's baby boy. But I also don't mind the idea of him being the middle. If PD hasn't commented on it, I guess fandom will have to decide? What's everyone's thoughts???

I also believed that Indie's middle name was Jones, even after seeing the picture. It took someone pointing it out to me (thank you!) that her middle name was actually Aspen. I think the "Indie Jones" line from Will is just a nickname. He's teasing her because she's like Will, always up for adventure, and "Indie" was more than likely inspired by Indiana Jones. I wish I knew where the rest of the names came from...

Thanks for the ask! Hope this helped, though I feel like I didn't really provide any clarification...

[egenvs3000f23]

Blog 7

Where is music in nature? Where is nature in music?

As a follow-up (focus on the above two before you tackle this one), what song takes you immediately back to a natural landscape? What is the context? Share it with us – I would imagine many of these ideas may have similar underpinnings of a campfire, roadtrip, backpacking journey, etc.!

I heard a quote the other day. It said “art decorates space while music decorates time”. Now this is not entirely true, as art decorates space through time as well. However I think this is a really neat concept to open this blog. If we can bring music into nature interpretation we can use music to have the interpretive experience long out live the moments it is presented. It brings an element of humanesses and community to science. Nature interpretation is experiential learning, and experiential learning brings humanness to science through art.

One of my favourite music and nature experiences comes from a road trip I went on with my family when I was 13. It was July and I had just finished grade 8, my sister, myself, my parents, and my grandparents set out for a 3 week tent-trailer camping trip out east, to go up around NewFoundland and back. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, however 3 weeks in a car with family was intense to say the least. It was impossible to agree on anything. What to eat, where to camp, and… what to listen to. Eventually my family came across the Piano Guys. For those of you who have not listened, it's an easy guess, it's piano music. However, it has a twist: there is a lot of cello and many of the songs are of popular tunes but made into a-typical upbeat classical version. This compromise on music ended up defining the trip. There is not a song my family and I do not love from the Piano Guys and the incredible thing is when any of us listen to their music we all get brought back to that time and the various places we visited. There is one song called “Michael Meets Mozart”, and it reminds me of the Skerwink Trail in Newfoundland. When that song comes on I remember icebergs, killer wails and I can see the trail we walked on. I can remember how it felt to be in Newfoundland, and I can remember what it was like to be 13 and still living with my family. I also remember the geography and animals I learned about. The way tundra trees grow for hundreds of years and only reach a couple feet in height, the way gannets live in massive colonies on cliffs, it all comes back to me when I hear that song. Music is incredibly powerful to create a shared experience and a memorable one at the same time. This is definitely something to be leveraged in working as a nature interpreter.

As for a more abstract perspective, nature makes music itself. If people are seeking out nature interpretation they are likely feeling they need an escape from the realities of modern life. Most of us living in cities, suburbs and everyday jobs are so used to thinking and analyzing. We are so in our heads thanks to constant media streaming around us. Guiding people through using their senses and grounding them in the present moment can really add to an interpretive experience and help to remove them from the busy lives we lead. Asking people what they hear and how they hear it. Getting them to share what they find and building up a symphony from peoples experiences of the place they actually are. One could say the way aspen leaves blow in the wind make a background music. The birds sing the melody. Branches hitting one another percussion. There is a lot of fun and wonder to be had in analyzing nature through various art forms, and many ways to slip scientific content in. The potentials are endless, and no piece or interpretation of the art is the same. This is the power of music in nature interpretation. The freedom to just be present, enjoy the moment, and learn something in a memorable way.

[the-script-demands-it]

Welcome to...

Rad's enormous pile of abandoned MetaWare WIPs/things that ARE finished but I didn't like them/WIPs that I might come back to/other stuff!

Below the "keep reading" button will be a detailing of all of these images! Please be aware that this WILL be an extremely long post, so... Just a warning. There'll be a second post after this that will also contain the rest of the art that I wasn't able to squeeze in here. (Even 30 pics per Tumblr post isn't enough for this...)

Let's start off with the most recently abandoned WIP!

I started drawing this about two weeks after Chris' birthday (her bday is January 4th) and I was really happy with it, but then I had NO idea how to pose Izzy. It's a bummer since I liked how Chris' hair came out, but alas! (Happy belated birthday, Chris!)

Possibility of finishing?: Yeah, maybe. Prob will have to change Izzy's pose if I really want to finish it though.

Oh hey, I posted this a few months ago on my other blog!

Really wish I finished it, but now that I'm looking back on it, there's definitely some improvement to be had here. I don't like whatever's going on with her face. You can tell that I gave up while trying to make the background as well. Poor Hope!

Possibility of finishing?: I'll have to completely redraw this if I plan on finishing it, but I've definitely got a feeling that I'll come back to this someday.

Hmph!

This one's actually pretty finished, I've just never posted it anywhere before because it's such a small little doodle. I like it though! Nari in a Gir tassel hat is always welcome.

Possibility of finishing?: It's already done. Don't plan on editing it!

(This happens on the rude route!)

It's basically just a proof of concept, and a VERY minimal one at that, but I think it's got some merit! Not enough people talk about that Chris Vs Aspen scene, honestly.

Possibility of finishing?: Sometime this year maybe...??? I don't plan on abandoning this forever, I just don't really know when I'll get around to it.

AUTISM BLAST PT. 1

Hey, remember that art I had pinned on my other blog for a while? I was planning on redrawing it, but I only ever managed to complete one part of it until I forgot about it... It's definitely an upgrade from the original version, though I can do better than this nowadays.

Possibility of finishing?: I'm DEFINITELY going to redraw this someday. I need a new pinned post, damn it!

Thx ^]

Okay, here's some context for these two. I got an anonymous ask on my other account saying that they liked my MetaWare PFP and I thought that it would be a great idea if I responded to it with some art and also turn that same post into an announcement for my MetaWare sideblog (this one!), but that of course did not actually happen.

Possibility of finishing?: NO.

Nari looks so... "off" in this picture.

I like how I drew Hope, but ergh... that is NOT Nari. I don't know how I managed to make her look like a completely different character in this one, but I do NOT like it.

Possibility of finishing?: Nah, I think I'm done with this pic.

Woah, scary!

I actually touched this one up a bit before sending it here. It used to look MUCH more incomplete, but it's basically done now besides from the hair being missing 'n all.

Possibility of finishing?: I might draw more MetaWare stuff with drastic lighting in the future, but I don't plan on revisiting this specifically.

Le miaow miaows.

I worked on Hope before sending this because she looked kinda off, but I think she looks OK now. You can see that this isn't really what my usual art style looks like. I was trying to mix together the original MetaWare sprite art style and the style SparkBag used in the polaroid anniversary art he made, and I think I did just fine.

Possibility of finishing?: It's basically already done! Coloring it would probably make it cooler, but I don't think I'll ever do that.

This won't be the last time I try to use eyes symbolically.

I still REALLY want to revisit this again. It's great! It's magnificent! I just did NOT have the ability to execute it properly back when I made it a ton of months ago, so I just didn't do it. Still don't know if I do now, but it's worth a shot. (This was basically just another proof of concept, by the way.)

Possibility of finishing?: Absolutely! I'll try to get to this sometime soon this year.

GRILLING START ! ! !

Yep, this was based off of Papyrus' "Dating Start!" minigame! Just another proof of concept or... Okay I don't know what else to call these. Like, they're definitely NOT finished nor are they actual fleshed out sketches, what else am I supposed to call them???? I think it's cool though.

Possibility of finishing?: Don't think I'll be ditching this idea anytime soon. Seems kinda simple to draw too, I'll get to it sometime.

Lookin' pretty cute!!

Context for this one: It was gonna be a 3 part comic or something with Hope drawing Nari's bear fursona. Never actually made the comic though, but I DID make her fursona!!! It's the one right below this one, actually.

Possibility of finishing?: Nope.

BEAR NARI BARI LET'S GO

Personally, I think this is adorable. When drawing people's fursonas I always kinda make them more animal than anthropomorphic, but I think it leads to pretty cute art!

Possibility of finishing?: It's already done!

I was just testing out a brush with this one, I think.

It's a cute little doodle, don't have much to say about it though! I WILL say that the bear plushie was a bit inspired by my own plush I have at home, though this one is much smaller than mine.

Possibility of finishing?: Nah, it's just a little doodle.

Ingo Nari... Ingri... Angry!?!

iiii really think I made the hat too big. Like... WAY too big. Don't really like how her face came out, but the body itself is pretty OK. I based it too much on Ingo's original pose though, kinda looks like I just put Nari's head on his head LMAO

Possibility of finishing?: This is basically already finished, though I might draw Nari cosplaying as Ingo again. Why not?

(Bonus Ingri!)

Nari in a hoodie!

Don't exactly remember what this was for. Either it was for an AU of mine or someone else's AU. Her front hair's kinda too far down though, I had a bit of a habit making her face REALLY small compared to her hair in my old art.

Possibility of finishing?: Nay!

Wow, Nari with an eye AND eyebrows! Who woulda thunk it.

Her hair is much puffier than previous versions in this one. Why? Dunno. She looks pretty cool AND cute in this though!

Possibility of finishing?: It's already complete.

My polar bear plush makes a cameo in this one! Say hi!

I had to edit this one a SHIT ton before sending this final picture. I wish I had a pin that said "I HATE DRAWING METAWARE STYLE NOSES" because I loathe them. There were other reasons why I didn't like the original version, but I was annoyed with the nose the most. Really happy how this came out though!

Possibility of finishing?: I just finished it right now. (I'll probably be posting this on its own sometime soon)

Some original characters...!? Unthinkable!

This features Lumi (Metolefrul-indus' fan character) and an old version of Rowan (my fan character)! I changed Rowan's design and personality soon after this, so I don't think this interaction with Lumi and Rowan will actually ever happen... Sorry Lumi! 'Twas just a little doodle.

Possibility of finishing?: NEVER.

Last but not least (for this post, anyway), is this Chris and Izzy sketch!

Some pals requested this during a stream and this was all I managed to make of it... I'm so sorry!!!!!!! They were good prompts!!! I'll finish it one day I swear!!!!

Possibility of finishing?: Soon!

PHEW WE'RE DONE FOR THIS POST. We have 20 more to go in the next one! Might post it next week because this is tiring holy hell. Glad to show these WIPs off to the world though!

P.S. I'm going to skip a few images seen in the huge pic at the beginning! Some were already completed and I'll just post those on their own orrrr I just don't want to review 'em.

[biracialalistair]

BLORBO ASKS for whatever u wish but im also going to specifically ask for the bard's tale universe roster too

the BTU if you will djjfkdkskss. ahhh, i might end up throwing characters into this list that yall dont know about it but i'll do my plum best to give context

blorbo: im sorry to everyone but its han. its always han she's my ultimate blorbo, the blorbo that came before and will come after forever

scrunkly: aspen 🥺 he really is so shaped, isnt he. he's just my baby no matter what especially before ABT

scrimblo bimblo: tempest, no one appreciates her as much as i do tbh lajsbdjdkdks yall dont even KNOW the tempest lore.. yall have no idea how shes barely even holding it together

glup shitto: theres this girl that's han's first roommate and i think literally her only appearance is coming home drunk, puking, and then falling asleep and tbh? stan

poor little meow meow: i know you want me to say monsoon but NO its actually han's father because he was a terrible father but he tried so damn hard and man.. sometimes that's all you can do, is try your damn hardest even if its not enough

horse plinko: saraline because i already did lasjkkdlss (saraline is edin's former champion and personal guard, and i. yeah. i kinda put her through the plinko)

eeby deeby: MATÍN. again yall dont know him but he's disgusting little shit

[berryblissbby]

Whispers of the moon, endurance of the heart

Pairing: I have literally no clue I’m sorry. I have no set character but I can see Dabi, Aizawa, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Mattsun, Sakusa, Atsumu, Osamu, Kita, Suna, Jean, Reiner I know that’s a lot I’m sorry

Work Count: 1.4k

A/N: This story came to me very vividly, but i literally have no context. It started as one idea and then bloomed into this. I’m still pretty proud and wanted to share. I hope you like my vague, obscure story <3 He can turn into a wolf (I hope that clears one thing up lol)

The last smoke from the summer's festival fires had blown away on cooler winds today. The night sky crystalline from where you watched it in your bed, an inky blackness with winking stars.

 The moon shone brightly, its view as clear as a looking glass, a glowing face in the sky. So bright, its light pooled into thought your window, lighting up your room, and the world outside.

The white panes of your window framed the sky, and were turned silver by the moonbeams. You watched the trees whose leaves brushed the bottom of that dark space. The leaves shone and swayed in a breeze, forever reaching to the endless sky.

You were cold. A cold that froze past your flesh. It seeped into your muscles and bones, frosting over your marrow. You felt fragile, so frozen over that you could shatter any moment. Porcelain.

A little doll, becoming more and more inanimate every day. Each night a piece of you would slowly freeze over, giving way to cool glossy glass.

How ironic the bed clothes you wore, a white silky nightgown, with lace along the trim, cutting low and stopping high along your thighs. The silk was a different kind of cold, it wrapped around you like a gentle breeze, brushing its icy fabric against your skin. You should have worn better nightclothes, warmer nightclothes. But it would have made no difference. 

It had been a gift, you couldn’t resist wearing it once.

The fire that had once been burning bright past the foot of your bed was little more than embers now. Not that either felt any different from the other. No matter how great the fire, how many quilts you covered yourself with, or what you wore, you would be cold. 

Looking again to the night sky, you curled your little porcelain toes, feeling just how frigid they were as they pressed into the pads of your feet. Next you curled your little porcelain fingers from where they were tucked away under your chin. You could have sworn you heard the glass tinkling, gently touching at the joints.

Nothing would make it better. Nothing but him.

You threw the blankets back, your body meeting the cold rush of air. Chills ran over you, gooseflesh spreading under the rapidly cooling silk covering your body. You pressed your feet to the floor, forgoing slippers. It was so cold it stung, but you fought the urge to curl back into your bed. 

He was out there, you knew it. He was always out there, waiting. Watching and guarding.

You hated him; hated him so, so much. Everything he did filled you with anger, you loathed him like no other. Never having felt such disgust, his presence made you want to be sick. It made you want to curl into the recesses of your mind, to imagine a place where he couldn’t touch you.

Or at least, that's how you used to feel about him. How you still tell yourself to feel.

You don’t think of how those feelings had been replaced. Replaced with twitching fingers that longed to bury themselves in the warmth of downy fur. Replaced with dark eyes, yearning for rest.

You still hated him. You did.

Each step was colder than the last. Longing filled your bones, longing to not be standing, to rest. It was so hard to stand, to have your head so high.

You ignored the cushioned seat below you, letting yourself only kneel on it for a second while you unlocked the window and swung your legs over the sill. Carefully you slid down, your feet landing on the soft dirt, barren of any weeds or grass in favor of the manicured bushes and plants that surrounded the perimeter of the manor.

Making your way through the ever so carefully planted briar, you felt your nightgown catch and tug on twigs and branches, but didn’t stop. The moment your feet touched the grass beyond the garden plot, you fought to keep your knees strong. 

Two more steps and you were tumbling into the grass, so soft and gentle against your frozen skin. Your breakable skin. It was so hard to be upright, the grass granted your heavy head refuge.

Running your fingers through it, you imagined it was the furry scruff you were craving. Imagined the dirt below it radiating heat, instead of sapping it from you.

You also couldn’t…. you couldn’t sleep. Stuck in an infuriating in between. Always drifting, never to fall over. The knife's edge that you had been skirting never giving way; always keeping you dozing. In between.

He would fix it.

You stared up at the night sky, falling into that space. The stars glowing pinpricks, only to be blotted out. You didn’t know when you would close your eyes, but suddenly they would be open again and you would be met with the face of the moon.

Laying not quite on your back, not quite on your side, you stayed there. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Watching the trees sway, the wind whistle thought their branches, a harmony for the two of you. Freezing but numb.

He would find you.

-

He had thought you dead.

Only for a moment, when he first saw you as he prowled on padded feet. As his wolf gazed at you, it itched to release its claws and find the cause of what lay before him. Until he heard your beating heart, and even breaths. 

Asleep but not. An angle, but earthly. His gentle Juliet, waiting among an altar of grass, shining in the moon.

He made his way to you, and watched as your eyes slowly blinked open, and shut again. Opening your arms you silently beckoned him. He entered them with no qualms, wanting to shudder at how you immediately ran your hands through his fur. 

Burying his face in your neck, he shifted. 

“You're not hurt.” A statement mumbled into your skin as he kneeled beside your splayed, pliant body.

A soft, “Mmm,” was your only response.

Nuzzling his face into your skin he took deep breaths. Looking for any sign of fear or adrenaline, smelling for any spilled blood. He emerged from your neck to look at your face. Turned to the moon, eyes closed.

“Is this you giving in to me?”

“No.” A simple answer, the easiest one you had to give.

Liar. 

Liar, he wanted to sing, to scream and chant and repeat over and over. Liar, liar, liar. But it was your truth. No matter how many times you weakened, how many times you let him hold you, to make you better, you would never fully give yourself to him. Never wholly, in body and soul, in heart and mind.

“Shift.” You commanded, and he knew what you needed. He could feel how cold you were, how your legs were twitching for what you really wanted. 

“Get on my back,” was all he could offer, turning into the vision of what you craved.

He tried not to think of how high your nightgown rose as you straddled him, and how tight your thighs were squeezing his hips.

Burying your face between his shoulders, he could feel your hot breath seeping through his coat. Your arms again wrapped around his neck, burrowing your fingers into his thick fur to rest among his downy undercoat, letting the heat from his body warm you.

He knew you were using him to fight the aching inside of you. But he would endure your stubbornness, cure its plight when you couldn’t stand it anymore and called for him.

Endurance would be his to conquer. To know through and through. To memorize the throbbing in his heart that it caused, the swelling and suffocation in his chest. 

He could endure it. And you could use him.

He could especially endure it while he laid with you. In the place he had chosen with a view of the stars, where the spindly aspens parted just enough to let the cool moonlight through. 

When you had your cold little fingers buried among his fur, resting against his skin; he could manage. From where he laid with his head in your lap, and his tail covering your toes, watching you breathe; he’d let you use him. And from where you laid, your torso resting along his side, your face turned to his, he would let you rest, to gain what you craved every moment you weren’t with him.

Your fleeting moment of warmth would be gone, a restful night of sleep would only last for so long. Soon enough you would call on him again, and he could endure, would endure, until then.

[serendipitous-magic]

Girl. "But you know what? This is good. This is... this is closure. It’s a solid answer. An avalanche finally blocking off the road he’s been gazing down for ages and ages." I just... How? Have you ever seen an avalanche? If not, We The People would like to ask how on earth you came up with this. It's perfect. It's simple. It's accurate. And I would never think of it. How, Ms. Everlark?

Strap in.

My friends and I once went on a road trip in college. My friend’s jeep, which we were driving in, was out of gas. We were quite literally coasting on fumes. And we were in the middle of an extensive, forested national park. For context, we hadn’t gotten gas since the previous morning, and we had since driven up one side of a mountain, slept in 20*F weather in tents that were not rated for that (I’m pretty sure we all came very close to hypothermia, no lie - my friend who hated any kind of physical contact cuddled me all night), and driven down the other side.

Oh, and said mountain had no paved roads. Thank fuck we were in a jeep, because I very clearly remember my friend muttering, “C’mon, baby, they don’t call you Rock Crawler for nothin’,” and jamming the car into another gear as we bounced and slid up a 35* slope of large boulders. We then overheated the transmission in a field of intensely thick yellow widlflowers, black-eyed-susans or something, and had to sit there for like half an hour or an hour so the car could cool down from the climb. Then the Night of Almost Freezing To Death, and then we all got back in the car, drove through a creek (yes really), and proceeded down the other side of the mountain.

And then we were out of gas. Almost. Like I said, coasting on fumes. And we’re in Medicine Bow National Park, driving through this amazing forest full of fantastic vistas and postcard scenery. 

And we come upon a fallen tree across the road. And when I say fallen tree, I don’t mean some 12-foot dinky little pine. No. This was a 50-foot aspen that had uprooted itself as it fell.

Now, being out of gas, and having that whole mountain to traverse again if we went back... Going back wasn’t much of an option.

So my friend pulls a hatchet out from under the driver’s seat. (Don’t ask me why she had it or how long it had been there, I don’t know.) And we all take turns chopping at this tree, trying to split it in the middle or chop a section out of it so we can drive through.

Up comes this white truck on the road behind us.

Now, along with Hatchet Jeep Girl, we also had... let’s call him Tall Amiable Man. And Tall Amiable Man, or TAM, was much larger and more intimidating than me, the greasy 20-year-old girl in jorts who had not showered since our last hotel approximately 50 hours ago. 

TAM hides behind me.

So I go to talk to the potential kidnappers / murderers.

Turns out they’re two kindly Mexican gentlemen. We point them to the problem (the big-ass tree blocking the entire road), and the elder of the two gentlemen - the frail-looking one with skinny little arms - gently takes the hatchet from Jeep Girl and splits the damn thing with one stroke.

... Okay, cool.

With their help, we move the tree, get back in the dying Jeep and continue on our way.

We come across a couple smaller, easier-to-move roadblocks as we go.

Now, you may be wondering, what’s with all the fallen trees?

Well, the answer is that there had recently been a big landslide because of excessive rainfall.

And we came up on that landslide a few miles further down the road.

It was blocking the entire road. And by “blocking,” I mean there was now a large hill where the road once was, trees and rocks and all, just... relocated straight down the slope and directly in front of the nose of the Jeep.

So we had to turn around, go back through Medicine Bow Forest, back up the mountain, back through the creek, back through the wildflowers, back down the rock slope, back down the other side of the mountain, back through miles and miles of completely empty American Midwest farmland/grassland, and back to the “closest” gas station.

To this day I have no fucking clue how we made it all that way and back on empty. But we did.

Anyway, I distinctly remember that landslide just enveloping the entire goddamn road, so that’s the image that came to mind when I was writing about blocked paths. Except for some reason I went with “avalanche” instead of “landslide.”  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[leviathangourmet]

(Archive Link)

I recently attended a Washington-D.C. event focused on community-building hosted by The Aspen Institute’s Weave project, which works to reduce social isolation and build bonds between Americans. During one portion of the event, various activists described how racism had impacted their lives and their communities. Following a number of such testimonials, a white woman from southeast Ohio named Sarah Adkins spoke about her own community work, which involves raising money to provide post-trauma support to individuals affected by tragedies.

Perhaps because several speakers had discussed racism and issues related to white privilege, Adkins spoke about her own self-perceived racial privilege. “I followed the perfect mold…I did all the things, I went to college, and I keep thinking of white privilege in my head so forgive me, that’s what’s in my head right now, very much white privilege,” she said, while reflecting on her middle class life in an affluent neighborhood.

But Adkins also went on to describe the reason she originally had become involved in community work—which is that her then-husband had killed both of her sons and then later took his own life. One can only imagine how much suffering this caused her. Yet she still viewed herself as privileged due to her race.

“I was wealthy, okay, I was a pharmacist, I made a lot of money, right? So after that happened, I really wanted to understand that for me there definitely was a lot of white privilege. I had money, I had health insurance, so people came in and cleaned up my house. I was able to pay for a funeral for my children,” she said.

I wondered how someone who’d lived through such an awful tragedy could consider themselves to be in any way “privileged.” Yes, she had the funding to clean up her home and bury her relatives. But nearly everybody has at least some advantages in life. It feels perverse for someone who has suffered so much to be confessing their perceived advantages.

When activists and academics invoke the phrase “white privilege,” they typically are speaking of advantages that whites, on average, have over members of other ethnic minority groups in our society. And there is no doubt that racial inequality is both real and persistent in the United States, where I live, and elsewhere. There is a sizable racial wealth gap, a life expectancy gap, and an incarceration gap. Many of America’s most pressing social problems disproportionately harm people from minority groups.

But there is a danger that, by talking about this inequality as an all-consuming phenomenon, we will end up creating a flattened and unfair image that portrays all whites in all situations and all contexts as benefiting from unearned advantages. Indeed, it’s possible that we will cause people to confuse a structural inequality that exists on the level of group average with the circumstances of every individual within a particular racial group.

In the case of Adkins’s tragic story, it’s not even clear that being white in any way constituted a form of privilege. Recent research has found a huge surge in white working-class suicides. In 2017, whites in the United States had a suicide rate of 17.8 per 100,000; for Hispanics, that rate was 6.9; for African-Americans, it was 6.9. The only group with a higher suicide rate than whites was Native Americans, at 22.2.

The phenomenon of suicide is not perfectly understood, but it is generally believed that loneliness and alienation are driving factors. Whites in America tend (on average) to be more culturally individualistic, while those from other groups tend (again, on average) to exhibit more collectivist social values. The group of which I am part, Asian-Americans, would be “privileged” on this index, since our rate (6.6) is well below that of whites. But would it really be wise for me to tackle the social problem of suicide by zooming in on some idea of “Asian privilege?”

In fact, research recently published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology suggests that such an approach wouldn’t just be unhelpful. It would actually be harmful.

I recently interviewed Erin Cooley, a psychology professor and lead researcher at Colgate University, about her research for Greater Good magazine. She studies prejudice and structural inequality and her research has illuminated the ways in which persistent racism continues to negatively impact the lives of racial minorities in America. A study she recently published, for instance, shows how participants were more likely to associate poverty with blacks as opposed to whites. Her team found that this association helps predict opposition toward policies that involve economic redistribution, since it is widely believed that these policies benefit blacks over whites.

Her team was curious about the impact of teaching people about white privilege. Would it make people more sympathetic toward poor blacks? As part of their research, Cooley and her colleagues offered study participants a reading on white privilege—based partly on the seminal work of Peggy McIntosh, who originally formulated the concept in the 1980s—and then described to them the plight of a hypothetical man, identified as either white or black, who is down on his luck.

What the researchers found is that among social liberals—i.e., participants who had indicated that they hold liberal beliefs about social issues—reading a text about white privilege did nothing to significantly increase their sympathy toward the plight of poor blacks. But, as Cooley told me, “it did significantly bump down their sympathy for a [hypothetical] poor white person.” (Among conservative participants, there was observed no significant change in attitudes at all.)

What accounts for this? One possibility is that social liberals are internalizing white-privilege lessons in a way that flattens the image of whites, portraying all of them as inherently privileged. So if a white person is poor, it must be his or her own fault. After all, they’ve had all sorts of advantages in life that others haven’t.

When we talk about racial inequality, it is important to understand that we’re often talking about structural or society-wide averages, not the status of all individuals at all times. It is true, for instance, that African Americans are disproportionately impacted by poverty. That means a higher percentage of African Americans live in poverty as compared to whites. But the largest number of individuals in the United States who live in poverty are white. We can’t, and we shouldn’t, assume anything about any individual’s life solely based on his or her race, or based on larger facts about racial inequality.

Racism exists, of course, and its impact is disproportionately felt by society’s minority populations. I have personally spent a decent chunk of my reporting career documenting this. But the fact that disparate treatment is inflicted on racial minorities doesn’t prove the existence of an all-encompassing pattern of white privilege. “If you’re white, chances are seeing a police officer fills you with one of two things: relief or gratitude,” writes one advocate of a privilege-centric worldview. But around half of the people who are killed every year by U.S. police officers are white. True, police violence falls disproportionately on ethnic minorities, especially African Americans. But if you’re white and you’ve been abused by a police officer, your individual experience may be just as painful as that of a black person who’s suffered similar abuse.

If we extend the logic of privilege beyond the issue of race, it’s easy to see the flaws with this approach. We know, for instance, that 93 percent of people in U.S. federal prisons are men. In nearly every part of the criminal justice system, in fact, men on average have it worse than women do. But does that then mean we should be discussing “female privilege”? Would it be beneficial to the men behind bars for women to proclaim awareness of their “privileged” status?

A typical conservative response to privilege discourse is to downplay the very real inequalities that exist. This isn’t helpful. We can’t escape talking about inequality in a diverse society. For instance, we shouldn’t shy away from looking at high maternal mortality rates among black women and how it may be linked to inadequate cultural competence among medical staff. However, what I would suggest is that we change the way we talk about this inequality. Asking whites to publicly confess their white privilege—in a manner that often resembles a religious ritual more than anything else—may lead us to unfairly flatten the experience of whites while, ironically, actually shifting attention away from those who are underprivileged. The Cooley study shows that this isn’t just a hypothetical concern; it’s a reality that has been demonstrated through research.

One alternative to white-privilege discourse would be to focus on the causes and consequences of deprivation rather than on naming groups of people we believe to hold special advantages—and to stop referring to things that we should expect for all people as “privileges.” It is not a privilege to have a decent and safe childbirth, or avoid harassment by the police, or to have enough to eat. All of those things should be something we expect. While we can and should aggressively address inequality, we should make sure the methods we employ serve to strengthen our sense of empathy rather than sap it.

[d-criss-news]

In a brilliant moment of serendipity, Darren Criss discovered he had been Emmy-nominated as Outstanding Lead Actor in a Limited Series or Movie for The Assassination of Gianni Versace at an airport branch of Planet Hollywood. “We were sitting there looking at the most Hollywood thing we could. That just tickled me to no end,” regales the former Glee star, who played Kurt Hummel’s love interest, Blaine Anderson, in the musical comedy television show.

At the time, Darren was on his way to a gig in Aspen, Colorado. “The Emmy nominations were coming out at 8.30am and the flight was leaving at 9.45am and we – me, my fiancée, my manager, publicist, basically the work family – all wanted to go and watch it together, somewhere I would be close enough so that when it was announced I could run over to the gate.”

The punchline came while sitting there waiting for the nominations to be revealed: his Glee version of Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” also started to play on the speakers. Looking around to see if perhaps one of the servers had clocked him and was being “cute”, because it was quite a bizarre coincidence, he realised that nope, “this is 8.30am in the international terminal and nobody gives a shit about my version of ‘Teenage Dream’,” he laughs. “But we just couldn’t fucking believe it, like what a crazy auspicious moment! But it was a nice little story.”

By now, it’s one that will have its ending fully wrapped up: the Emmys took place on September 17 in LA, which is where Darren is now on the other end of the phone. For context, it’s one of those intensely hot end-of-July days that everyone in London is complaining about. For Darren it’s a day of playing “Mr Octopus” as he puts it. “Today is insane. When you have ‘free time’, it’s actually more hectic because in the absence of stuff that you’re obligated to do you immediately see everything you’ve neglected a lot more clearly.”

In his perky twang, he gives me “the shorthand” of this: Elsie Fest to organise for autumn, the New York show-tune themed festival he founded; music to work on for Computer Games, the band he started with his brother; marketing for the new piano bar he and his fiancée, Mia Swier, have opened; projects he can’t talk about but is excited about; a wedding to plan “at some point” next year; work on the house; and that general life admin that creeps up on all of us. “Hey, we all got stuff,” he chimes.

And among all of this, he casually slips in: “I’m also reading scripts and trying to get another acting job if I can get one.” Which can’t help but make me laugh. If he can get one? Because, let’s be honest, regardless of the Emmys outcome (a big congratulations if you bagged it and if not, you were robbed!), his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan, as well as a stellar career to date (he replaced Daniel Radcliffe in How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying on Broadway to great success, is the mind behind A Very Potter Musicaland has starred in Hedwig and the Angry Inch), shouldn’t make that too hard. But it’s “cute” – as he would say – to know he doesn’t rest on his laurels.

Darren was terrifying and intriguing in his role as Cunanan, the serial killer who murdered four men before ending his violent spree with fashion designer Gianni Versace in FX’s American Crime Story retelling of the real-life event in Miami in 1997. When it aired earlier this year, I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t watching it. If you weren’t binge-streaming it, you were glued to BBC2 desperate for next week’s instalment to watch the unfolding plot of a story that in many ways is little known, certainly on the Cunanan front.

“A lot of it is pretty shrouded in mystery. There are two groups of people who have been particularly aware of the Cunanan story. Filipinos in my life all know someone who knew him,” says Darren, who, hailing from San Francisco, is also half Filipino, as was Cunanan. “And true crime addicts.” “The story itself, which is endlessly fascinating, is not only interesting but has significant social weight and things to be discussed and topics that I think are important. It goes on and on and on,” he enthuses. “The role is incredibly nuanced and varied and complex, which is something that actors wake up in the morning for.”

Where the first series spotlights The People v. OJ Simpson, a trial that arguably most people in the world – certainly in the US – are familiar with, the Versace murder, while shocking and awful (the designer himself being a significant cultural icon and his death a huge loss to the fashion industry) lent itself to more questions than answers. Which from Darren’s point of view gave him a certain amount of free rein. “You’re not stacked against people’s expectations of an impersonation of somebody. I think that helped audiences; it really gave me and our story a blank slate.”

It’s true. As a viewer, I couldn’t help but find my feelings and point of view change as the narrative revealed Cunanan’s own backstory. “That, to me, is the most heartening thing; that’s the most encouraging thing you could say – that’s the goal.”

His performance has been described as career-defining but it’s not the first time he’s had such an accolade aimed in his direction. Yet you can’t help but think that this one, Emmy nomination aside, might just be the one to carry a little more weight, such was the grit and darkness that came with it and played out by someone we’re more used to associating with the tween spark of Glee.

It seems, therefore, an apt time to ask what his fantasy role would be. “Oh man. I have a pretty wild imagination but I’d like to think that my brain isn’t good enough to imagine the part I’d want,” he says. “And, also, fantasies evolve throughout your life based on whatever situation you find yourself in.” American Crime Story, certainly, he says is the kind of role he’d been working and waiting his whole life to play – which is not to say he dreamt of being a serial killer! “Let’s keep turning left, turning hard rights and hard lefts as much as possible, as long as the story is good. The name of the game for me is variety and versatility. If every time I do a role we have people say that’s a real departure from the last thing that would be awesome.”

Darren got the acting bug – or “storytelling” bug as he prefers to call it – at a young age. He was a child at the heart of the Disney Renaissance era and Robin Williams lived locally in his native San Francisco. One day, when seeing Aladdin at the cinema (“I can’t even tell you how many times I went to go see it,”) and realising that the Genie was voiced by Williams, his eureka moment came.

“You know when you’re a kid and you have dreams of being something and they seem kind of far off from you unless there’s somebody you can see do it?” he offers. “I remember very distinctly watching this Genie bring so much joy to the people around me… and I wanted in on that, I wanted to be the Genie. But once you realise you can’t necessarily do that and I found out the voice of the genie was Robin Williams, I was like that’s the guy, that’s the famous guy that lives in our city! I can do that and so he was really a massive inspiration for me.”

So, too, was Peter Coyote, another San Francisco-based actor, whom Darren in fact cold-called to find out what he should do to be an actor. He subsequently enrolled at the American Conservatory Theater’s Young Conservatory Programme before studying drama at college. A keen violinist, music and acting had always worked in constant tandem. “So that’s why it’s so hilarious to me that by the time I got Glee I’d already been doing this my whole life,” he says.

At the time of the Gianni Versace murder, Darren was 10 years old. “I did [remember it] in a sort of vague sense of pop cultural event. Obviously, Versace is a massive international figure so I was aware that he was murdered.” It wasn’t until much later in 2011, when his Hollywood lifestyle led him to the world of high fashion, that the dots joined.

“We were on tour for Glee and I popped down to Milan to go to this Versace fashion show, which was an amazing event and you’re there with Donatella and there in the house, the estate of the Versace family.” On a tour of it, Darren recalls seeing beautiful home pieces and fashion works. “There were a lot of things from his personal collection and [the steward] of course was saying ‘Well this was made after Gianni’s murder in 1997.’ It codified in my brain. He was taken away a little too early.”

For ACS producer Ryan Murphy, it was Darren who codified in the brain. The Glee co-creator had long had him in mind for the part. “People like Ryan have had their eye on the Cunanan story for a long time and we had worked closely in a few capacities.” Darren just had to play the waiting game. “I honestly said just let me know when you want to do this because obviously it would be a huge opportunity for me and I think it would be an incredible story but I don’t really have the keys for that car, man. You’re the driver, let me know when you want to pick me up!” Three years later and that proverbial beep came.

In real life, Darren has to be one of the most modest and upbeat people, armed with an always-look-on-the-bright-side-of-life attitude. You imagine he’s not all that good at sitting still, hence his potentially self-inflicted to-do list, which you also get the feeling is built from passion not pain. “I just feel so grateful at every turn of my career; if you’re able to do anything and that there’s any definition at all is a huge win so I’ll take it where I can get it,” he says referring to the praise he’s received in playing Cunanan, one he’s also quick to bring back down to earth with a very grounding analogy. “Every moment of your life is defining. The fact that I decided to have granola this morning defines the rest of the way my digestive system works…” he laughs. He has quite the way with words.

This too is helpful in a Hollywood landscape right now that, post-Weinstein and post-Trump, has found itself in troubling times. “What a big, big topic,” he begins. “It’s the Wild West right now, truly, there are so many things that I think it’s not necessarily Hollywood figuring itself out, it’s our whole society figuring it out as represented by Hollywood. It kind of gets the brunt of it because of its exposure and its influence,” he explains. “There are a lot of good things happening in it for people who have been marginalised and we’re setting new standards for ourselves that we should have set a long time ago, and in that sense it’s really good. But there are unfortunately other things that are happening where it’s hard to draw the line of what’s right and wrong and a lot of questions are being asked that we’ve never asked ourselves before about what’s appropriate.”

Social media, too, he thinks plays a significant role, moving faster than we are able to keep up with. “There’s a lot of things that are falling by the wayside as a result of that. I’m making very vague comments but yeah it’s very tricky,” he concludes before diplomatically topic-shifting to his own lack of social media usage. Firstly, because he’s a private person. And secondly, unlike so many people, he does realise the responsibility that comes with publishing a post. “Even when Twitter started and people would post joke-stuff and I would say ‘Woah, woah, that’s out there forever, are you sure? I think you think only I’m seeing this,’.” He says he’s always been uneasy with the idea of this kind of ‘stuff’ existing in perpetuity.

Which means that the answer to the next question requires some serious thought. Who would make for his fantasy dinner party guests? British comedian Eddie Izzard (because Darren is a big Anglophile); if we could roll back time, Sammy Davis Jr, “who the world knows as a great entertainer but he was also an insane dancer and musician”; Nat King Cole for the same reasons; and, his number one choice, Howard Ashman, the lyricist and dramaturge behind the previously mentioned Disney renaissance (aka Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast). “I’ve always admired his craftsmanship and he’s someone I’ve always thought, if I had a dinner, I’d really like to have a chat with. All of my heroes are the people who were hyphenates,” says Darren, which makes sense because he’s just the same. One small suggestion: hold the fantasy dinner party at Planet Hollywood. That would make a nice story.

[yegarts]

Mosaics & Magpies - a year of Edmonton Public Art

(Detail of Calder Community Mosaic by SpaceMakePlace Design (Rebecca Bayer & David Gregory - photo Doyle C. Marko)

The city of Edmonton is more vibrant thanks to a swath of public art installations over the past year. The Edmonton Arts Council public art and conservation teams were busy as they worked with artists from across Canada to place the final touches on artworks at Calder Library, ᐄᓃᐤ (ÎNÎW) River Lot 11∞ , Rossdale Linear Park, South Haven Cemetery, and Borden Natural Swimming Pool. In addition to new work, the conservation team took on more than 20 special projects, including cleaning bronze sculptures in two city parks, restoring the Norman Yates mural from the old Stanley Milner Library, and cleaning up Spectators for the Castle Downs Arena.

(Images from #YEGCanvas 2017-2018 clockwise by Elsa Robinson, Vanessa Ryl, and Kasie Campbell)

 #YEGCanvas 2017/18 showcased 45 new works by local artists around the city on billboards and the LRT line.

(pehonan in the snow -artwork by Tiffany Shaw-Collinge, photo by Brad Crowfoot)

Perhaps the biggest public art news story of 2018 is the completion of ᐄᓃᐤ (ÎNÎW) River Lot 11∞ - Edmonton’s Indigenous Art Park. In development since 2013, the park was introduced to the public with a snowy opening ceremony on September 15. More than 75 people gathered at the site within Queen Elizabeth Park to celebrate the artists, artworks, and the spirit of collaboration that informed every stage of its development.

ᐄᓃᐤ (ÎNÎW) River Lot 11∞ is the result of a partnership among the City of Edmonton, Confederacy of Treaty No. 6 First Nations, Métis Nation of Alberta, and Edmonton Arts Council with substantial direction from Indigenous artists, Elders, knowledge holders, and community members. The park features contemporary works by six Canadian Indigenous artists that express “the stories of this place.”

The artists are: Amy Malbeuf (Rich Lake, Alberta), Tiffany Shaw-Collinge (Edmonton, Alberta), Duane Linklater (Moose Cree First Nation, Ontario), Jerry Whitehead (James Smith First Nation, Saskatchewan), Mary Anne Barkhouse (Nimpkish Band, Kwakiutl First Nation), and Marianne Nicolson (Dzawada'enuxw Nation). Candice Hopkins was the park curator.

(Sneak peek of a detail from Spring is Sprung, The Grass is Riz (I Wonder Where the Birdie Is?) by Karen Klassen & Erin Pankratz - photo, EAC)

In addition, some yet-to-be revealed works were installed at the Edmonton Valley Zoo and Dermott Park, while artists Sergio Serrano and Alexander Stewart will complete their artwork at Capilano Library early in the new year.

Read on for some images and descriptions and stay tuned in 2019 as new artworks are revealed!

(Calder Community Mosaic - Rebecca Bayer & David Gregory, photo Doyle C. Marko)

Calder Community Mosaic fuses an ancient art form with 21st century techniques. The artwork is made from more than 7,500 triangular stained glass tiles. It measures 4.8m X 2.4m and sits in the Community Room at the Calder Library.  The mosaic is visible from the library’s forecourt and welcomes all visitors in the universal languages of colour and geometric pattern.

(One of the two mosaics that make up Ripples on a Pond by William Frymire at Borden Natural Swimming Pool - photo Aspen Zettel)

The artwork Ripples on a Pond is composed of two mosaics created by William Frymire. The colourful artworks resemble small ponds and feature three native Alberta aquatic species – the Western Painted Turtle, the Leopard Frog and the dragonfly. All are interdependent species susceptible to human modification of our natural environment, and key indicators of pond health. The mosaic’s illusion of a shallow pond conveys this message in a playful and fun manner while underlining the natural filtration of the pool’s ecosystem. Realized in a postmodernist style, this mosaic is a contemporary take on an ancient art form.

(mamohkamatowin (Helping One Another) by Jerry Whitehead photo by Brad Crowfoot)

Many nations, Indigenous and settler, helped shape the history of this place, amiskwaciy – “beaver house” in Cree. The theme of helping each other is inherent in mamohkamatowin, artists, artisans, and students came together to figure out the technical aspects, layer the mosaic tiles, and help bring the turtles to life. As they worked, shaping and adhering tiles, students from amiskwaciy Academy engaged with elders and knowledge holders who carry on the tradition of telling stories of this place. mamohkamatowin is a symbol of all these elements, and represents the stories of this place.

(mikikwan by Duane Linklater - video still by Conor McNally)

mikikwan is a concrete reproduction of a 9,000-year-old buffalo bone hide scraper from the archives of the Royal Alberta Museum. The artist chose the bone as his source material because of the many meanings, ideas, histories, narratives, languages and cultures embedded within it. The finished sculpture will memorialize the work of Indigenous women and the relation of that labour to the land. The sculpture also pays respect to the importance of the buffalo itself to the people living in this place, the communal aspect of its use, and its destruction with the arrival of Europeans on the Plains.

(Reign by Mary Anne Barkhouse - video still by Conor McNally)

From the echoes of trumpeting hadrosaurs traversing the valley floor, to being buried under a kilometre of ice, this territory has witnessed radical change over the years. It has been home to hunter and hunted alike, be it Albertosaurus and Edmontosaurus, or coyote and hare. The plants depicted have their own history as important to both body and soul. For those that have gone before, for that which has sustained and for those that have survived, Reign pays respect to the healing and adaptive nature of the land and to the original inhabitants of this territory.

(iskotew by Amy Malbeuf - video still by Conor McNally)

iskotew is a sculptural representation of the word “fire” in nehiyawewin (Cree language) syllabics: ᐃᐢᑯᑌᐤ. The colours chosen are based on colours that are seen in both historical and contemporary works as to illustrate the congruencies and survival within Indigenous cultures. The vibrancy of the colours are also congruent with the vibrancy of our cultures and languages. The nehiyawewin word for woman, iskwew, is derived from the word fire, therefore; iskotew connotes the sacred abilities of women, and the often unrecognized labours of Indigenous women who contributed to creating the place now known as Edmonton.

(Preparing to Cross the Sacred River by Marianne Nicolson - video still by Conor McNally)

Preparing to Cross the Sacred River references and acknowledges the natural formation of the North Saskatchewan River Valley banks, wildlife, and shared stories and traditions of Indigenous peoples. The stone slabs form a wall or “lookout” etched with images of “this place.” The artwork, which features sandblasted patterning reminiscent of beading styles, symbolizes the need to reconnect with ancient and sacred Indigenous beliefs to uphold our relationship to the land and protect the planet. Such activities must be built upon the foundation of ancient stories that tell how humans came to be in this place and how they must act within it.

(pehonan by Tiffany Shaw-Collinge - video still by Conor McNally)

This installation is inspired by the idea of pehonan (Cree – gathering or waiting place)  and the oral traditions of Indigenous people as well as the many stories told of this area. It offers a space for teaching, storytelling, or performance. Conceptually, it references the oral roots of this place, and the ways in which stories change depending on proximity to the source. “The furthest back seat (at the top) references the deep past. It’s farthest from our reach when you are at the base, but when you are sitting at the top you have the greatest field of vision with perhaps the greatest perspective. When you sit on the lowest seat you are closest to the future, but not able to see to far into the distance.”

(One of the four sculptures that comprise The Magpies’ Nests by Chai Duncan & Kevin Sehn - photo Doyle C. Marko)

Rossdale Linear Park is a slice of nature in in an urban setting. The Magpies’ Nests considers the complex interactions between humans and nature as well as the concept of “home”. The welded steel nests on top of four plinths relate to structures found in Edmonton. The pyramid references the Muttart Conservatory; the cube stands in for local industrial buildings relating to ideas of innovation and productivity; the pentagonal prism, or house -shape, represents dwellings found the surrounding community; the sphere represents the magpie’s own expertly built domed nest.

(Night shot of Veil by Brandon McGillicuddy & Jeffrey Riedl at South Haven Cemetery - photo by Doyle C. Marko)

Veil  is a large fabric-like lattice of airy line work appearing to billow from the South Haven Cemetery Service Building’s rectilinear geometry. The artwork’s delicacy and flow elegantly compliments the design and materials of the building it inhabits, and is empathetic to the sensitive context of the cemetery. The imagery evokes medieval Vanitas, or memento mori paintings, which reflect on mortality, the vanity of life, and transient nature of existence. Cloth, or empty clothing, is used to represent absence and loss. Veil represents loss in a non-religious way.

[botwriter]

A New Normal, Chapter 8

FF.net & Ao3

Link, Day 12

Link woke up with a word lingering at the front of his mind.

Sorry.

He didn’t know if it had been said aloud or if he dreamt it. It was just enough to jolt him out of his slumber. His first thought was comfort - it was so nice waking up back home, in his own bed. But he had no time to savor the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, or the way the birds sang outside, or how the wind sounded when it whistled through the valley below Hateno village. Zelda wasn’t there.

He sat up too fast, and after the initial head rush, squinted down into the living room. Not there either.

“Zel?”

He staggered down the stairs, still feeling half asleep, and opened the door hurriedly. He could already hear the sound of the village bustling. The sun was high. He’d slept in, but she was nowhere to be found. He ran to the stables only to find Flint, alone. She’d taken Aspen and... left? Already his heart was racing. I just got her back - I just got her back, please -

It took him only a few minutes to get properly dressed and then take off for Kakariko. The sun beat down on the back of his neck and Flint seemed surprised to be moving so quickly. They lingered in the Ash swamp, but still there was no sight of her, so he pushed on. When he finally arrived to the little village in the mountains, he saw no sign of Aspen or Zelda, but before he could leave, a familiar voice called to him.

“Link.”

He looked over his shoulder at the gates to see Impa, walking towards him with her two usual Sheikah guards a little ways away.

“You can’t find her?”

“No,” he replied, “and the memories… she didn’t remember herself. Just her feelings for me… which seem to be gone,” he added bitterly.

“Mmm. It was never an exact science,” Impa admitted calmly. “For all we know, you were the exception, not the rule.”

“I just wish I knew where she was,” he replied, exasperated. “It’s exhausting, worrying about her all the time, but I can’t- I can’t help it-”

He choked on his words, angry at himself. Did he get her hopes up about remembering herself? Should he have told her earlier about their relationship? What about the memories - it was hard enough for her to live them a hundred years ago, but reliving them without hardly any context, how could he have expected-

“Link. Link!” Impa’s stern voice knocked him out of his racing thoughts. “It’s Zelda. Where would she go?”

He wanted to argue, but she was right. Maybe Zelda’s new plan was the old plan.

“Right. Right,” he said distractedly, turning Flint around to leave from the other side of town, “thanks, Impa.”

The elder only waved tiredly as Link took off back through Kakariko and out the other side, racing towards Hyrule Castle. There was still a lot of construction to be done, but it looked much better than it had a few years ago, and Castle Town itself was beginning to be fill with inhabitants once again.

 It took him the better part of an hour to get there, and by the time he did, he was starving, grumpy, and impatient to find her. How could she just leave like that? After what had happened the day before? He wanted to be angry, but the truth was he was hurt beyond belief.

Sure enough, when Link arrived to the stables, Aspen was already there. He left Flint to linger with the other horse, and then found his way up through the winding hallways of Hyrule castle. Tours of villagers and royal guards passed by, alongside tailors, cooks, carpenters, painters… it was as busy as it was a century ago. Some paused to wave and smile to him, and he returned the civilities briefly, obviously in a hurry.

Passing the library, he heard a familiar voice from inside, and he skidded to a stop in the hallway, backing up to peek his head in the door.

Zelda.

She was holding a clipboard of some sort, and had about five or six other people around her. Looking at her now felt like looking at her over a century ago, but she also looked so much more grown up; her hair was even longer, her eyes were sparkling with the same passion she always had, and she was holding herself with more confidence than ever. His heart skipped a beat.

“I know there wasn’t a window there originally, but I think the light would be really nice. If we’re going to let the public come in, we also need more space around the doorways,” she spoke, and the group she was with muttered a mutual agreement. Link blinked. She was back at work after all.

“Link! What a pleasant surprise.”

The familiar voice came to him from Symin, who Link hadn’t realised was standing alongside Zelda. The group parted somewhat, all eyes moving to him.

“You found me quite fast,” Zelda said, though it wasn’t the greeting he was hoping for. She was smiling, but otherwise wasn’t letting much on, which frustrated Link more than he anticipated.

“Old habits die hard,” he said, trying to keep his voice from sounding too snippy. She looked unimpressed with his reply, and the silent tension between the two of them was awkward enough that the others around Zelda now seemed uncomfortable.

“I need to take this group to the greenhouses,” she said suddenly, turning to Symin. “Could I leave you with Link, for the time being?”

“Certainly, Princess,” Symin responded with a slight bow, and Link, speechless, watched as she walked away, taking the others with her, without a goodbye.

“I take it she wasn’t expecting to see you,” Symin said with a polite smile, and Link only looked at him in disbelief. “Lunch?”

 In the dining room, new cooks and chefs were training, and seemed happy to provide lunch to Link and Symin (and others from in town). It was surprisingly busy. Link barely had time to notice, however, and was scarfing down food while ranting to Symin simultaneously.

“She remembered that she loved me,” he repeated, feeling like he’d said these words to himself countless times over the last few hours, “but she left. She left anyways. She doesn’t even want to see me,” he rambled, sticking an entire half a sandwich into his mouth.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked through the mouthful of food, staring at Symin expectantly from across the table, but before the man could answer, Link continued: “I told her we were going to get married and she thought I’d moved on, but I stayed by her those full two years. I- I waited for her, helped her find all those memories and just wanted things to -”

He swallowed abruptly, feeling his chest twist and turn, and a familiar lump beginning to rise in his throat. Symin waited for a moment, then handed him a napkin, which Link took gratefully and held up to his face to cover the few errant tears. The truth was, he could have sobbed. He tried to push away the little voice in his mind that said, I just wanted things to be normal again, because it seemed like such a simple request he and Zelda had been robbed of. There were too many people around, and knowing that kept him from breaking down completely, considering most of them had already noticed his presence and were chatting away excitedly. He had been out of the public eye for so long now; he didn’t miss it.

“Link. You need to be patient,” Symin urged, his voice gentle but stern. Link looked up at him from over the edge of the napkin, hoping his eyes didn’t look as red as they felt. “I know it hurts, but she probably needs some time to sort through her feelings. I think you had it easy,” Symin laughed, but quickly backpedaled as Link narrowed his eyes sharply at him.

“Wh-what I mean is, you got yourself back. She’s just realised she’s not getting it back - yes?. And I know she’s the center of your life, but Hyrule is the center of hers,” Symin added quickly, and finally something he’d said sunk in. Link took a deep breath, wiped away the last of the wetness on his face, and rubbed his forehead.

“Support her and wait. Help things get back to normal. A new normal, that is,” the man added, smiling a little. Link nodded quietly.

“I thought you were a researcher, not a therapist,” Link joked weakly, but Symin shook his head.

“I just want to help. Everyone wants to see you two back together, Link. But you can’t rush these things.”

He paused, and Link, feeling full and regretting how he’d stuffed his face a moment later, pushed his plate away and let out a sigh, holding his head in his hands. He had to try and work through what to do next. Symin was right - with everything, of course - but to Link, playing a waiting game after already waiting a hundred years and more was not going to be easy.

“Here’s an idea,” Symin began, “I’ll remind Zelda about getting you to head the Royal Guard. It gives you something to do, and you’ll be close. You can still protect her. Wasn’t that the plan, all along?”

Link blinked through his fingers at Symin. The man knew more about him than he did. Protecting Zelda was still high on his list, regardless of Calamity Ganon being defeated for years now. He knew better than anyone that there were still dangers out there. He nodded, relaxing his shoulders finally and letting the tension go.

“Thanks, Symin.”

“You’re welcome. I’m staying in Castle Town for the time being, if you ever need a place to stay. I don’t know if they’ve renovated the guards quarters yet… I know the head gets a nicer place, but it might not be as comfortable as home,” Symin wondered aloud, scratching his head as he seemed to try to remember the details. Link smiled. Anything is fine if I’m close to her.

Symin left to regroup with Zelda then, and Link lingered around the castle for a little bit, taking in what was new and catching up with a few locals, before taking Flint back to Hateno to pack.

 Zelda, Day 13

Sunlight awoke Zelda in the morning, a little more forcefully than she might have liked. She squinted, feeling like it must have been much too early, and took a moment to get her bearings. They’d been moving around so much lately, she forgot where she was - but only briefly. Years ago, this room would have been comforting to her, but once again she felt like an imposter in her own home. And for the first time since waking up, she was alone. Link wasn’t there.

She sank further beneath her heavy duvet, curling up in the warmth. Link. Symin convinced her to make him head of the Royal Guard, and although she was hesitant, it made sense. She swore she remembered him mentioning something about it before, but part of her had wanted to forget. For once.

She felt her cheeks warm as she thought of him, and pulled the covers up to her eyes, as if to hide her blushing from some unknown entity watching her. Goddesses, seeing him yesterday made my heart jump. Of course he’d found her. She wanted to be bitter about it, but she couldn’t be. Part of her had hoped all along that he’d be upset, that he’d chase her down. She just had no idea how to come to terms with her own feelings. Everything over the last two weeks had been such a rush - all she wanted was to do her duty as a princess now. Maybe then, everything else would fall into place...

Brisk morning air swept in through her window along with the early sun, and Zelda looked apprehensively around the room, eyeing the bookshelves and stacked boxes that lined the walls. Beneath the window was her desk, and on top of it still sat two journals; one was hers, and one was her father’s. She’d found them waiting for her yesterday, but hadn’t bothered to read them yet, preferring to hop straight into work. Even now, she considered ignoring them and beginning her day early. But every time she tried to look away or think of something else, her mind wandered back to them.

She glanced up at the robe that hung on her four poster bed, and pulled it down to wrap around herself before getting slowly out from under the warmth of the blankets. She shivered a little, and sat down at the desk, pulling over the first journal. Her father’s. She opened the pages carefully, and was surprised to see how short each entry was.

Zelda pulled her hair away from her face, tucked a few stray strands behind her ears, and began to read. Although the way Rhoam wrote was so formal, it brought her to tears quickly anyways. Somehow, until now, she wasn’t even sure that she was real. Link had told her so much already, spoke of her so highly, that she wondered how much of it had really just been embellishment. But Rhoam’s diary was full of not just praise - but affirmation that she had never been without her flaws.

Eventually, the journal caught up with what she remembered in her memory-hunting with Link; him scolding her for studying the relics and the Guardians, her leaving to Lanayru, and -

She turned the page; looked back; checked to see if there were two pages stuck together; no. That’s the end? She reread the last line over and over again.

“I sit and await my daughter’s return.”

She held her hands at her eyes, breathing heavily and trying to fight back the tears that came. It felt wrong to cry about a father she had forgotten, a relationship and memories erased.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’m sorry, I-”

How many times do I have to relive this guilt?

It hurt. She was so tired of hurting. Hadn’t she done her time, by now? Her and her past self, her past selves before that, fighting and praying and using others around them to do what needed to be done… It was tough to accept that this guilt would be something she would eventually have to learn to accept and live with, but knowing that there was nothing she could do about the pain helped to numb it.

It took a few minutes for her to pull herself back together. Zelda put the journal to the side and wiped her face, then eyed her own journal, and wondered whether it would even be worth it to read it now. She stood a little, checking out the window to see how high the sun had gotten; Rhoam’s diary had been brief, so she still had plenty of time to read more before it would be time for breakfast.

She steeled herself a little, and then picked up the other journal, flipping through the pages briefly. A quiet laugh escaped her. She’d nearly written a novel. Rather than sit at the desk with it, she took it back into bed with her, and got cozy once more beneath the covers before opening the pages.

It began much earlier than she’d expected.

I’m Princess Zelda. I’m 12 years old. My mother died six years ago. My father is helping me train to unlock my sealing power. It’s quite hard work. Today, I decided to start a journal. One of my other friends is doing it and I thought it sounded like a good idea, though I don’t know what to write. I studied some relics today despite father’s disapproval. He’s the one that told me about them first, anyways! I think there’s a lot I could do to help by learning of them. Everyone says I have a very scientific mind.

Page 2. Today a boy named Link convinced me to sneak out of the castle and go on an adventure with him. I know father would be furious, so I almost didn’t go, but he told me he knows all the secret “ins and outs,” and he was right. I couldn’t believe how many secret passages there are in and around Castle Town. I have to make sure father never knows. Link took me to the stables and got us two horses to ride out in the field. I’ve never been able to go that fast on my own before! It was fun. I hope I see him again.

Page 3. I’ve been away for a little bit. Father took me on a trip to the desert. It’s awfully hot there. I don’t know how they do it. I met some of the Gerudo and they’re really lovely. Father couldn’t come in to the city with me so I got to go alone with Urbosa. She calls me Little Bird and I like her a lot. When I came back today, Link was waiting by the castle gates and winked at me when we rode past. I had to hide my smile from father. I think we’ll go out again tomorrow. I want to tell him all about the desert.

Page 4. Link came to get me again today. He found his way all the way up to my window sill! It’s so high up! I don’t know how he can climb all that way. His mother would have a heart attack. He took me out to a bog and we caught frogs. My clothes got such a mess that I had to beg Mrs. Muriel to not tell father about the state of them. I’m so lucky she agreed, but she said only this once. Link seemed really interested in the desert. He’s enrolling in the knight academy soon. I didn’t realise his dad is one of the captains there.

Page 6. It’s been a year since I wrote here. Sorry. Life has been busy. I don’t see Link that much anymore, but when I do it’s still a lot of fun. He’s the only way I can have a life outside of the castle sometimes. Father insists I pray all the time. I’ve been doing more research on the Guardians though anyways. I’m a little scared of what’s to come, but only because Father seems so on edge. I worry that my being so nervous about Calamity Ganon’s return is exactly what’s blocking me from unlocking my sealing power. I wish I could talk to mother.

Page 7. Funny that I just wrote about this. Link took me out yesterday. We went all the way to Kakariko, just the two of us, on a picnic. He knows so many spots I’ve never even heard of. I asked him how he gets so much time to adventure and he says when he’s not training, he’s out all the time. He really loves Hyrule. I think as much as I do, and that’s saying something. He gives me a lot of hope. When I’m with him, it feels like everything will be alright.

Zelda paused. Link had never told her about the times they’d spent together when they were younger. Was it possible he hadn’t remembered, either? Nonetheless, her eyes were glued to the pages now, and she continued reading. 

Page 8. I’ve been so busy. It’s been a while since I wrote. I need to be better with it but I’m training almost all the time now. There’s more and more signs coming up of Calamity Ganon’s return. The whole kingdom is tense. I wish there was more I could do - I wish I could finally unlock my sealing power. I wish and pray for it harder than anything. More than I even prayed that mother could come back.

Page 9. Someone else’s prayers have been answered. The sword that seals the darkness has been found, and claimed, by none other than Link. I was so happy for him at first. I wanted to congratulate him on it, but when I saw him, he barely spoke a word to me. He seems to have become a completely different person. Some say it’s gone to his head. He didn’t seem arrogant to me, just quite quiet, but it was off-putting nonetheless. Something tells me things have changed. I miss how simple it used to be.

Page 10. It’s been nearly a year. I’m almost sixteen. I haven’t seen Link in forever. Apparently he’s been doing nothing but training. I’m sad that I lost someone I considered to be a best friend. Part of me is actually quite upset at him. He’s chosen, like me. We should be able to relate. But he’s already got his sword. I’m still a failed Princess. I wish I could simply pick something up out of the ground and have it all be okay.

I know it’s not quite like that. I just know I’m running out of time. I’m so exhausted and tired of praying constantly. It feels like Hylia is mocking me when I stand beneath her. It feels like I’m the wrong Zelda.

She stopped, breath caught in her throat, at the last line she’d read. The wrong Zelda. It hit so close to home, and something about that was a relief. She’d felt like this before.

The following entries were about the four Champions, and she read eagerly, happy to learn more about the four heroes she’d helped select. Her heart still hurt with guilt reading about them, but in all of the entries, the champions had been more than willing - enthused, really - to fight Calamity Ganon.

Suddenly, then-

PS. Tomorrow father is assigning HIM as my appointed knight…

She laughed, noticing the way her cursive had sharpened at this point. The rest of the entries lined up with the memories she had recalled while travelling with Link. She’d never put her love for him in words, but then she supposed she had taken her time to realise it... In fact, looking back on the last memory, she’d almost been too late in realising how much she really loved him. She was willing to die for him. She was willing to die for him now. So what’s changed?