#even those who enjoy isolation do so- I would argue- on a basis that if they needed other people they'd be able to access them

[ganymedesclock]

If you think about it, everywhere has about the same amount of history and history will have- more or less, on a big scale- some inevitable amount of grief, tragedy, rage, and unfinished business,

We consider isolated places to feel more haunted, eerie, unwelcoming, but in actuality anywhere that isn't abandoned probably has just as much 'haunting' in it as its dilapidated neighbor.

The difference is whether or not a space has enough life to drown out that feeling.

[mortalityplays]

Respectfully (because I agree with what you are saying here, I think it's great commentary) I think you are misreading my point. Granted part of that is my fault for using an analogy that involves children, I see why you would extrapolate that to think I'm implying people engage with non-normative ideas out of naivety, but that is genuinely not something I believe. It's the confidence of the kid-on-the-wall that I meant to point to, not their childishness. Maybe I could have said a construction worker at the top of an unstable ladder, who knows that it's fine because it's been fine every time they've pulled this risky manoeuvre before. The point is that it's easy to lose perspective on potential danger on the basis that you currently feel secure. It's necessary to have stable external reference points, and not to rely solely on an internal gut check (which, as you pointed out, is easily misled by e.g. workplace culture, patriotism, an overbearing family, any system which instils and reinforces a carefully tailored prejudiced version of reality). I don't think you're all little kids playing with fire while I sit on my lofty throne of wisdom, I think we're all playing with fire all the time, including me, and that makes fire safety important. But the post is out there now, and I can't do much about the wording.

Similarly, I am not trying to argue that normativity and truth value are correlated. I'm arguing the opposite. I'm saying that the more a certain set of ideas becomes normalised in a given social environment, the less intuitive it is to deconstruct and critically examine them. The reason I made this post at all is that I am concerned by trends towards conspiratorial thought in social circles adjacent to my peer groups, which become self-reinforcing as they make their way into the fabric of accepted reality for a given group of people. You are right that social isolation is dangerous, but it's a specific kind of social isolation that I think can be unintuitive to people who aren't primed to look for it - it's not necessarily synonymous with loneliness. It can present itself as the remedy to loneliness, in fact. And just because these aren't new trends or new patterns of exploitation doesn't mean people aren't still encountering them for the first time.

There is a huge scale of behaviour and experience that falls in between 'enjoying a kooky belief' and 'going off the deep end', and that's what I mean to illuminate by bringing all of this up. Being really into UFOs doesn't mean a person is inevitably going to slide into right wing 'space marines on mars' ideas, or anti-semitic conspiracy theories, but it does make awareness of those exploitative thought systems relevant and important. 'Inoculation' is a concept that has been gaining a lot of traction in anti-radicalisation work over the last decade or so. The idea is that when people are shown how cult recruitment, disinformation, false conspiracy narratives etc. work, what they look like, and where they are likely to be encountered, those people actually become more resilient to ideological exploitation. It's not accusatory, any more than getting a measles vaccine implies you would otherwise die of measles. It's precautionary, and it makes it statistically that much more likely that e.g. a forum full of UFO enthusiasts includes a significant number of people who are ready to identify and shoot down veiled anti-semititic tropes. It makes engaging with fun, kooky (and even potentially real and important) fringe ideas that much safer.

Anyway, I think we essentially agree on most of this. My original posts were really just me venting some frustration to my own blog, and weren't written with the idea of laying out my grand nuanced personal thesis of intellectual exploration. I certainly didn't mean to come off patronising, but I guess that's inevitably what happens when you vagueblog about hundreds of strangers in big general terms.

seeing really deeply troubling swings toward esotericism in certain leftist circles over the last couple of years that do not presage anything good. remember, just because thought patterns are aesthetic does not mean they're true, healthy or constructive.

[jennana501]

A Case for Rexsoka

I’ve been around the block when it comes to ships. I’ve seen people obsess over them, and I too have been driven mad by obsession. I was a hardcore original avatar fan and I was OBSESSED with shipping Toph and Sokka together. Any time they so much as made an interaction I over analyzed it and picked it apart looking for clues that somehow would prove that my hunches were correct. It was because I related with both characters, and I loved their chemistry. I wanted them to have a romantic relationship because it would feel like some sort of personal validation.

I’m an adult now and nothing has changed. But it has been a while since I’ve desperately shipped two characters together that are not obviously romantically involved with one another, or who could be romantic behind the scenes or beyond the story shown.

Until Rex and Ahsoka.

And I’ve seen people be adamantly against it. 

“No no no it’s just a brother/sister relationship.” 

“No it’s gross she is a child”.

And of course being disagreed with on the internet can drive a person crazy, and instead of individually arguing with dozens of people online, I’m making this post once and for all to explain why I think Rex and Ahsoka have romantic feelings for each other. Especially Rex.

The argument I’ve seen, that their deep passion, commitment, love, admiration, and respect for one another (which are all so obvious you’d have to be...silly to not see it) are felt in a platonic fashion. Which, for the first 6 seasons and 8 episodes, I would totally agree.

But then Ahsoka comes back. And let’s face it. She is a woman. Age wise, she’s around 17, but everything from the maturity of her Lekku (which weirdly don’t get all that longer, especially compared to other Tagrutan women) to her poise and confidence, to her prowess as a warrior, a user of the force, and her ability to command soldiers as well as control her emotions points to her being an adult woman. She’s no Snips anymore; she’s no child. She’s grown up. And how her peers react to her illustrates how they now view her as an adult.

First there is Obi-wan. Obi-wan has always been a mentor to her, a sort of second Master. Obi-wan never hesitated to guide and Ahsoka or offer his council. He is proud of her when she succeeds, and will admonish her when she makes mistakes. When she returns and he sees her as a woman, he changes the way he treats her. He acknowledges her maturity by addressing her as an equal. He doesn’t admonish her. Instead he discusses with her, challenging her ideas and letting her offer an argument for them instead of putting them down and telling her how she should think or act. He also comes to her in his time of need, trusting her to help him with Anakin.

Then there is Anakin. We all know of Anisoka shippers, and they are perfectly able to ship and enjoy said ship, but we can all acknowledge that it is a crack pairing with no basis in the canon. Anakin portrays the perfect kind of brotherly love. He is excited to see Ahsoka, and is stunned by her unexpected reappearance. Things are harder for Anakin because he is used to their fun banter and sibling-like companionship. He’s constantly shut down with her business like manner and he struggles with coming to terms with the fact that she isn’t a little kid sister anymore. She is an adult with a mission and a plan. When he looks at her, he is endearing. He loves her. Admires her. And he can’t wait to pick up where they left off. There’s joy and adoration in his face. He is proud of her and what she has become, but he also feels alienated and even hurt because of how her adulthood has changed their dynamic.

Then there is Rex. When he first sees her, he wants nothing more than to reassure her that she still belongs. The clones had accepted her into their family. As far as they were concerned, she was one of them. When he looks at her for the first time, he’s beaming with the same adoration as he had had for her before, but also with a solemn awe at what she has become and what she has grown into. He welcomes her back into his life without hesitation.

But then there is a moment things shift so drastically that I paused the show and re-watched it half a dozen times. We all know it and love it. This face he gives Ahsoka. The Look.

What we see here is something we have never, EVER seen in Rex for 7 whole seasons. And it is my opinion that this is the first time Rex has been able to feel and express that he is attracted to Ahsoka. In other words, Rex has a sexual awakening.

Up until this point, Rex has been a sexless character. Nothing he does is flirtatious, sexy, or at all suggestive that he has those feelings inside him at all. Every sexual being has a moment where they are first animalistically drawn to another being. Characters who have already had this moment are easy to pick out. Obi wan. Anakin. Ventress. These characters have already experienced their sexual awakening. Ahsoka has too. Lux was her first object of attraction.

But Rex has never had this moment. Until this reaction.

I know some of you might be thinking “but Ahsoka gives a very similar look to Anakin, does that mean she is sexually attracted to HIM?” It’s a very good point. Ahsoka and Anakin share some cheeky playful looks during “Old Friends Not Forgotten”. We see many characters give similar looks to other characters, but does this mean it means the same thing as when Rex does it? The short answer is no.

When animators design a character, they establish the “range of emotion” for that character. You can easily see this when you look back at how many times you see Rex break from his stoic, captain’s face. He rarely laughs, smiles, or emotes in any way. This is why when we see him emote it is exciting to us as an audience. A character like Ahsoka or Anakin commonly show a wide variety of expressions. Ahsoka is much more likely to give a cheeky look than Rex is. So “the look” for Rex, means a lot more when he is doing than it does when another character does it, say Fives or even Obi-Wan.

Which means the writers are trying to tell us something about this moment. 

This moment has changed Rex’s and Ahsoka’s relationship. 

Now does this mean that they are going to go bang each other immediately? Does this mean the second they are alone after “Victory and Death” they start an intense, sexual relationship? Of course not. That’s not what this ship is about at this time. But the reason many of us ship it is because suddenly they don’t feel like brother and sister anymore. It isn’t entirely platonic. And the show does a good job to further emphasize this as they come closer and closer both emotionally, and physically during the finale.

Blocking is a huge factor in visual storytelling. During the finale, Rex and Ahsoka are blocked in a way that makes them as close as physically possible on the screen. This communicates to the audience that they are closer now than they have ever been. As Jedi and Clone Trooper. As friends, and as companions, their bond forged in the fires of war, struggling to find meaning in life as soldiers.

In contrast, look how Ahsoka and Anakin are blocked in their scenes. There is nearly always a gap between them, illustrating that they are distanced from each other emotionally. Rex is even visually inserted into the gap between them in several instances. Anakin and Ahsoka are growing apart, but she and Rex are growing closer.

We get to experience Rex and Ahsoka engaging in actions and conversations that we had rarely seen before. From casual banter, to moments of intense intimacy, to emotional peaks, Rex and Ahsoka interact more in these four episodes than in the previous six seasons. Part of this is because their maturity gap has closed. Ahsoka is finally Rex’s equal in experience and maturity. It is also in part because it is a unique dynamic. No Obi-wan. No Anakin. Rex and Ahsoka are equal leaders of the 332nd. There’s also the fact that they are put into life threatening situations and have no one else but each other.

But there is that “look” that is given at the beginning of all this that suggests something else, that as their bond undoubtedly becomes strong as beskar, there is an element of it that takes their relationship from the platonic to the romantic.

I feel every detail, moment, and piece of dialogue in the finale tells the story of this bond. 

Many instances of their strong emotional bond have been spread throughout the internet, with most ready to acknowledge that they have a connection unlike any other, one that may even be described as a “force” connection. These last four episodes are so exciting because we see two friends reunited, but then we get to watch as their relationship transforms.

Even disregarding their implied attraction to each other physically, they dive into each other and hold on tight. Ahsoka shares deep personal worries with Rex, and Rex and her are shown opening up to each other in ways they have never opened up before.

We were all floored and dumbfounded at scenes such as these that show these characters at their most vulnerable. But they decide to be vulnerable together. Is it because they are all that is left of their 501st family? It part, this is definitely true. But by being this vulnerable they transform their relationship into something very different from what they had before. It will never be the same again, and it will be near impossible to back out of the emotional intimacy that these two have participated in. Once you have formed that kind of an attachment with someone, there is no going back, and as is seen in rebels, these two maintain that strong connection even after years of being apart.

This goes beyond their sexual desires or needs. They’ve forged a bond that cannot be broken. They have shared minds, shared pain and agony that only the other can understand. They’ve been isolated from the world, and all they have left is each other.

And at the end of the series, when we have Rex and Ahsoka broken, their world flip upside down and everything they ever valued or cared about lies in ruins before them, the idea that they still have each other is that beautiful seed of hope Star Wars is so good at preserving. Those of us who believe that their relationship could be romantic want good things for Rex and Ahsoka. We want them to have that love and share it with each other. Maybe only for a few moments, but having known it would be better than both of them living and dying without having that experience. 

When we see the two in Rebels, for me it confirms that these two love each other deeply. But their lives can never be lived in a normal fashion. They cannot even be together as partners in life. The Empire has stolen this from them. The tragedy of this ship is that it can never be the way we want it to be. Rex will age and die long before Ahsoka is even halfway through her own life. They cannot live with one another. They cannot wake each morning with each other, at least not at the point we see them in rebels. 

But they continue to love each other. Even over distance, even knowing that mortality will claim them with only a fraction of the memories that they deserve with one another. 

So please, the next time you see some art or a fic, or a post like this, think of what I had to say. Rexsoka is about two adults, their lives destroyed at the hands of Sidious, but in defiance they still forge a bond that he could never break or take from them. And that to me is beautiful and something to celebrate.

Side note: I spent a ton of time making gifs but they never would work and so I had to use screenshots instead :(

EDIT: At the request of the OG poster of a few gifs, I have replaced them have also made some grammatical changes. 

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 3, Part 2

The next morning.

After yesterday’s incident, Moran was keen to know what Louis would do next — and so he headed to the hall with Fred, who presently had some time to spare. Perhaps it was because he’d been working late into the night, for Fred kept yawning as he rubbed his bleary eyes.

But the moment Moran pushed open the hall door, the startling sight before them banished all of Fred’s sleepiness in a flash.

“This is……”

“What the heck is this?” Moran exclaimed.

Dumbfounded, the two men stood where they were.

One corner of the hall—— had been turned into a dense jungle.

Numerous South American trees, planted in giant pots, were now surrounding the angelfish tank. At the same time, the two men were struck by the feeling that somehow, the room’s humidity had risen since yesterday.

Hearing Moran’s shout, Louis poked his head out from behind an ivy-wrapped tree.

“You’re being much too loud in the morning, Mr Moran. It’ll stress out the fish, so please refrain from shouting; but what on earth’s the matter?”

“That’s my line: what have you done here?!”

A flash of light gleamed off Louis’s spectacles.

“I was seeking a more conducive environment for my bro—…… no, the fish, so I have recreated a South American rainforest here. They were ordered a few days earlier, and arrived last night; I’ve just finished arranging them.”

Apparently, the luxurious water plants had just been the beginning for Louis. Even so, Moran had not expected this much progress in one night.

The situation raised so many questions that he had no idea where to begin. But for now, Moran refused to back down, and raised one of the problems at hand.

“First off, you were obviously going to say ‘my brothers’, but still: don’t talk about such grand feats as ‘recreating South America’ so lightly! No, I had a feeling about this. A normal person would reflect on what happened yesterday, and restrain themselves after that — but for you, you’re the type who ends up going amok instead. And yet, I didn’t think you’d do something as drastic as this!”

Moran had launched into a heated tirade, but Louis kept his cool as he replied.

“Thank you for taking the time to point out each and every one of those things. However, I believe I’m treating all of the fish equally; and in my view, it’s unfair to say that I’m favouring some of them just because some plants have been placed at specific areas.”

“What kinda nerve is that, to not even admit it after going this far…….. I mean, you are actually a little aware of it, aren’t you?”

“Also, it’s actually quite amazing that you’ve managed to remain calm all this while, Mr Louis……”

Even after weathering that torrent of questions, Louis was unmoved — and if anything, that had inspired a sense of awe within Fred.

“Well, it was us who said you were free to do as you liked. In any case, your love towards your brothers is certainly terrifying.”

To Moran, it seemed meaningless to continue arguing with the youngest son of the Moriartys, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge his biased rearing of the fish. He gave up trying to persuade Louis, and went on to watch the fish as he normally did.

“…………”

He tried to focus on the vibrant fish before him. And yet, Moran couldn’t help but notice the trees standing at the edge of his sight.

Tormented by that conflict, he finally succumbed to temptation. With sure steps, Moran made his way toward the vegetation, and Fred followed cautiously behind him.

“……Well, if they’re already here, we may as well enjoy them to the fullest.”

Mumbling to no one in particular, Moran walked up to the row of trees. Using one arm to push away the leaves in his path, he moved through the greenery; then, his gaze landed on an aquarium placed on a nearby table. Inside, were some animals with incredibly striking colourations.

“What’re these?”

“They’re indeed very colourful,” Fred remarked.

Within the tank were several tiny frogs. They were a deep blue, and mottled with red.

The two men were full of questions about the presence of these unfamiliar creatures. Nevertheless, out of sheer curiosity, they moved their faces near the tank and peered in.

Louis, who was feeding the other fish, called out to them in a loud voice.

“Please don’t open the tank lid: they may look beautiful, but they secrete a lethal poison so deadly that some indigenous tribes of South America use it to coat the tips of their blowdarts.”

In an instant, Moran and Fred leapt away from the tank. Due to their natural athleticism, the distance they’d retreated was further than that of the average person.

As it were, they had narrowly escaped the jaws of death. But even as the sudden appearance of these poisonous frogs gave them chills, Moran stilled his pounding heart, and shot Louis a look of anger.

“Why are such dangerous things here?! Even recreating a South American environment has its limits, doesn't it?!”

“My apologies. One of my motivations was indeed to recreate the fishes’ native habitat. But more than that, I wanted to prepare for a scenario where Stapleton expresses an interest in other creatures besides fish. Hence, I began rearing these frogs just in case.”

As he said that, Louis made his way beside the tank. Opening the lid just a crack, he tossed in some tiny insects: food for the frogs.

“…………”

Seeing his practiced hand, at this point, the other two men had nothing else to say. In this extraordinary space created within the mansion they lived in on a daily basis, their ability to process information had long since hit its limit.

After confirming that the frogs had eaten their fill, Louis proceeded on an efficient path around the room to check on the rest of the tanks.

Moran gazed into the distance.

“It sure is amazing, what people can do in such a short time……”

But excessive zeal, once taken in the wrong direction, can lead to outcomes no one would’ve expected.

Even as various points had deeply impressed upon them just how amazing Louis was, at the same time, Moran and Fred also grew conscious of a certain truth in life. Once again, they stepped through the row of trees.

The two men parted the curtain of leaves, some part of them nervously wondering if those dangerous frogs had escaped, and walked up to the aquarium they had in mind.

“Oh, there they are.”

Seeing that the tank itself hadn’t changed, Moran finally breathed a sense of relief, and went on to admire the three “Moriarty brothers” swimming within.

The one at the head of the group was ‘William’. Right behind him was ‘Albert’, then ‘Louis’. Within the jungle Louis had created, the three angelfish shone in a way that lived up to their angelic names.

However, in contrast to the joyful Moran, Fred’s expression was serious. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Don’t you think…… its movements are a bit awkward?”

“Ah?”

Moran stared at the focus of Fred’s attention. Immediately, he perceived a subtle change in that fish.

Although it seemed perfectly fine at first glance, if one were to observe all three of them carefully, it was clear that the one at the head of the group was swimming a little differently from the other two.

“Is there something wrong?”

Louis came over, sensing something was off. But even before Fred explained the situation, he noticed the abnormality with ‘William’.

He put his face close to the tank, observing the fish for a few moments; but gradually, his expression turned grave.

“Oi, Louis: what on earth’s going on? Could it be that he’s sick?” Moran asked.

Louis placed a hand under his chin, thought for a split second, then quickly made a decision.

“——First, let’s move it to a separate tank. There’s a smaller one near the hall entrance: Mr Moran, please bring it here. Fred: please read the measurements from the devices installed on this tank and report them.”

Hearing those instructions, the two men assumed their roles at once.

Meanwhile, Louis took a notepad from his breast pocket, and checked the emergency response measures he’d studied on his own. Though he had already memorised all of them, he wanted to avoid any potential for error.

Moran returned with a small tank.

“Oi, is this one alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

First, Louis transferred some water from the angelfishes’ tank into the one Moran brought over, such that it was deep enough for one fish. Then, he set up some equipment to confirm the water temperature and quality once more, then added a bit of salt to the water.

Watching him, Moran cocked his head.

“Why’re you adding salt?”

“Saltwater is an effective treatment for diseases in fish. Though it certainly isn’t all-powerful.” [1]

Saying that, Louis used a net to gently scoop up ‘William’ and move it to the tank they’d prepared. Although there were drawbacks to isolating sick fish, his priority was to stop the disease from spreading, as well as limit any damage that could be caused by the other fish.

As he worked, Louis listened to the measurements Fred read out, but his puzzlement only deepened.

“The water quality and temperature are both normal. As far as I can see, there isn’t any obvious debris or dirt in the tank, and the equipment doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. In that case, perhaps some foreign substance had entered its food, or maybe it got stressed from its surroundings……”

“Maybe it got bullied by the other fish?” Moran asked.

Louis immediately dismissed that idea. “From what I’ve observed, there were no such quarrels between them. In that case, another possibility I can think of is the change in its environment.”

He cast a sideways glance at the trees surrounding them. And Fred picked up the implication behind that casual gesture.

“By ‘stress’, do you mean these trees? But it’s not like they came into contact with the water, so they probably didn’t impact the water quality, at least not directly. Also, weren’t they only added a while ago? To affect the fish so rapidly……”

“We can’t dismiss that possibility. Perhaps the changes to the view outside the tank had caused some visual stress…… Well, regardless of the reason, the blame for its ill health rests with me: the one in charge of its care.”

“…………”

After isolating the fish, the three of them remained standing where they were.

They gazed at the sick angelfish, swimming alone in its tank, with a sense of misery and frustration growing within them.

Footnotes:

[1] There is some truth to this: Practical Fishkeeping UK

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nie Mingjue and Wen Ning as conscious fierce corpse buddies

ao3 link

By everyone’s agreement (except his own), Wen Ning was the sect leader.

Of course, practically speaking, Nie Mingjue actually ran everything; he was the one with the experience in it, after all, and he claimed he was no good at teaching, which was the other thing they generally did.

This was, of course, a blatant lie – the few times he did agree to take on some classes, they were by far the most popular – but Wen Ning had yet to figure out how to get Nie Mingjue to do anything he didn’t want to do, and anyway he really was very good at all the work that went into being sect leader, so it all worked out quite well for everybody in the end.

How they ended up with a sect in the first place, Wen Ning will never know.

The school had been Song Lan’s idea, though; that much was certain. Or, well, Wen Ning supposed it was actually Xiao Xingchen’s idea to start with, or possibly both of them, but Song Lan had been the one to make it an operational proposal and anyway Xiao Xingcheng had been a scattered soul at the time so Wen Ning felt pretty comfortable ascribing the idea to Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen’s back now.

So was Xue Yang, but that was unfortunately unavoidable – their souls had become so intertwined by the time they’d both died that there was really no bringing one back without the other, much to Song Lan’s annoyance. Out of lack of better options, Xue Yang was currently being kept very firmly under control, even lock and key if it seemed appropriate - he didn’t object as long as it was Xiao Xingchen applying the locks - and they hadn’t entirely decided if he was going to need to be executed for the good of society at some point. 

Still, at least for the time being, he was being useful. No one could say that Xue Yang wasn’t a genius when it came to inventing new things, even if he wasn’t as good as Wei Wuxian, and their school was as much about research as it was teaching.

After all, demonic cultivation was pretty new. There was a lot out there to discover.

A lot out there to teach.

It wasn’t like not having anyone around to teach them stopped there from being demonic cultivators in the first decade or so after Wei Wuxian’s death, especially given how easily it could be picked up. Unfortunately, most of them weren’t very good at it, and there were pitfalls for any cultivation path, much less such a dangerous one, reviled by the whole world.

Song Lan, who’d picked up the basics during the time that he’d been controlled by Xue Yang, had argued that it was cruel to allow people to pick it up out of desperation and to charge ahead with no guidance – that without a firm hand to show them the way, most people would end up getting corrupted, or just mess something up and end up in a qi deviation.

(Nie Mingjue was understandably a bit sensitive about those, so that was the argument that had worked on him. Wen Ning, for his part, was a little bit bitter about everyone, and hadn’t much cared what happened ot them, but on the other hand what else did he have to do?)

So they’d started the school.

Only about a quarter of their disciples so far were there willingly – most of the others were dropped off by Jiang Cheng, who had some trouble dropping his habits of finding them wherever they were, and everyone agreed that their school was a better place for them than his dungeons – but the number was steadily growing as their reputation got out there.

Their reputation as teachers, that is. Everyone knew about the other thing.

The whole…fierce corpses thing.

Hard to avoid everyone knowing, what with Wen Ning, the Ghost General, being the sect leader.

Obviously in a perfect universe, Wei Wuxian would be the one in charge – of the school, of the sect they formed to support the school, of the whole demonic cultivation path that he invented – but he was busy in Gusu doing…something.

Mostly his husband.

At least he came by to visit on a regular basis?

Though actually now that Wen Ning thought about it, he didn’t actually like the times when Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang would get drunk together and came up with new ideas – it’d been Nie Mingjue who’d figured out how to restore a sense of taste to a fierce corpse, though he refused to divulge where he got the idea or how he’d come up with it but no one really cared to pry too much because it worked – because the ideas were invariably fascinating, innovative, and uniformly awful.

Also, Wei Wuxian visiting usually meant that Wen Ning needed to sit with Lan Wangji all night to make sure he didn’t accidentally liberate any of their staff, usually in the guise of keeping him company, and he knew the man didn’t like him. He always had a look of a man sucking a lemon whenever he visited.

…maybe that was just the name of their sect that he object to.

In their defense, neither Wen Ning, Nie Mingjue, nor Song Lan were especially creative people, Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang hadn’t yet been revived, little A-Qing hadn’t yet been reincarnated nor revived her memories – they’d just picked the most straightforward name they could think of.

And, well, they were all gui. What was wrong with calling it the Gui Sect?

Sometimes Wen Ning thought that Lan Wangji was unnecessarily judgy.

“What are you brooding about?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Wen Ning looked up with a smile.

“Sect business,” he lied, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him, clearly not believing him for a moment.

“What about sect business? The trade disputes?”

Wen Ning frowned. “We have trade disputes?!” He hadn’t even heard about – oh, no, Nie Mingjue was laughing. “We don’t have trade disputes.”

“We’re supported by all four of the Great Sects, between Wei Wuxian at Gusu, Jin Ling at Lanling, Jiang Cheng – as a favor to the former two – in Yunmeng, and last but not least my brother. Who’s going to start a trade dispute with us?”

That was comforting. Sort of comforting?

“Are we bullying people with our resources?” he asked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Of course we are,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding satisfied. Ugh, sect leaders. Somehow – with some admittedly fairly major variations in style – they were all the same, always looking for an advantage for their sects.

Wait, he’s a sect leader now. Does that mean he’s like that?

No, he’s a terrible sect leader, which means he’s exempt. A bit like Nie Huaisang had been all those years, as the Head-shaker…on second thought, that was part of a giant plot that had in fact ended with the Nie sect ascendant above all the others – the Jin sect in tatters, the Jiang sect isolated as always, the Lan sect putting all their attention on having to corral Wei Wuxian – so maybe it wasn’t the best comparison.

Ugh. Why is this Wen Ning’s life?

“Stop thinking about running away to be a rogue cultivator again, it’s much too late for that,” Nie Mingjue advised him, not unkindly. Wen Ning hadn’t even said anything. “Besides, you like teaching juniors. Even delinquent juniors.”

“They’re mostly not delinquents anymore,” Wen Ning objected. It was really amazing how being forced to attend a class taught by Xue Yang was enough to drive most young people far away from the mere idea of being a delinquent again lest they risk turning into him – and to help identify the remaining ones that needed to be kept under very close supervision. “Speaking of teaching, when are you taking another class? Your training sessions with Baxia don’t count.”

“From the number of people watching, they should.”

“It still doesn’t count,” Wen Ning said firmly, even if it really probably should – watching Nie Mingjue, a fierce corpse, working seamlessly with a spiritual weapon specifically designed to eradicate fierce corpses was truly a fascinating sight.

Of course, most people were more fascinated by the fact that Nie Mingjue usually did his training shirtless – including Wei Wuxian, irritatingly enough, though interestingly Lan Wangji, who was usually the first one at the vinegar jar, didn’t seem to object – but nothing much could be done about that.

(Fierce corpses did not need to worry about the heat, or sweat, or any of the usual motivations for going shirtless, but Nie Mingjue claimed it was a psychological need based on years of habit-building. For anyone else, Wen Ning would think that they were vain and secretly enjoying the attention, but with Nie Mingjue…it probably really was just habit.)

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said. “Give me one of the basic seminars; I’ll do that. Not one of the musical ones.”

Wen Ning had learned by now that there was no point in smothering smiles – after all, he was a sect leader, and no one had the right to criticize or yell at him for smiling too much or for taking too much attention to himself.

Take that, Wen Chao.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten that you’re nearly tone-deaf.”

“At least one of you hasn’t.”

“Xiao Xingchen means well,” Wen Ning said, even though honestly by this point it was pretty clear he was just forcing Nie Mingjue to try out new and increasingly exotic instruments for his own (and everyone else’s) amusement. “It’s a little funny.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes again, looking long-suffering, but he had a pretty good sense of humor about these things.

Also, if he was ever actually upset about something, Nie Huaisang would have fixed it.

No one would have enjoyed Nie Huaisang fixing things, but he would still have fixed it. He always fixed things that affected his brother. 

(Example number one: Jin Guangyao, his eventual demise, and everything that happened after that.)

“I actually came here to give you news,” Nie Mingjue said. “Would you like to hear it?”

Wen Ning had politely requested – a little desperately – that Nie Mingjue check first. The other man had a way of just saying things without any consideration for the anxiety of the person he was talking to, with things like “we’ve misplaced a student” or “don’t worry it wasn’t a student we actually liked” or “Xue Yang is on the loose and he’s summoned something again” or, one memorable instance, “Baxia decided to summon a dozen of her close friends and family and they may or may not be attacking the staff rooms, but honestly she’s having so much fun that I don’t really feel like stopping her, thought you should know.”

Wen Ning took a deep breath that he didn’t need, firmed up his emotional resiliency, braced himself, and said, “Yes.”

“A-Qing thinks she found your sister’s reincarnation,” Nie Mingjue said, and the air shot out of Wen Ning’s lungs as if he’d been punched. “You know that she’s been sensitive to these things ever since her rebirth, we did some investigating, and we’re pretty sure. How would you like us to handle it?”

Wen Ning scrubbed his face. “I – have no idea. I thought her spirit was still haunting the place where her ashes were?”

“Just one of her souls, and the new body is one short. They’ll have to be reunited eventually or else she’ll suffer the physical effects of missing a soul, but there’s a way to do it that maximizes the chances of her recovering her memory from her previous life and a way to do it to minimize it.”

Wen Ning put his head down on his desk. “I…I don’t know. Our life was pretty awful, so maybe she’d be better off not remembering? But I also want my jiejie back…I hate decisions. Why did I become a sect leader again?”

“We told you that you didn’t have a choice and you lacked the spine to resist.”

“…thanks.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Sometimes I really do wonder what you did in a previous life to deserve this one.”

Ouch. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Nie Mingjue said. “Come out and spar with me, it’ll help you think it over.”

“I don’t have time to think about anything else while we spar, though…?”

“Exactly.”

“…do I get a choice about this?”

“No. Get a move on.”

Wen Ning let himself be dragged over to the training fields. “You do remember I’m sect leader, right?”

“So is my brother,” Nie Mingjue pointed out and – fair.

“Your brother is one of the most terrifying people in the cultivation world.”

“And he still lets me boss him around. What’s your point?”

…fair.

“No point,” Wen Ning said, and waved to some of their more promising students, who immediately perked up at the thought of getting to watch them spar. “No point at all.”

In the end, he thought, his life hadn’t turned out that badly after all.

[doshmanziari]

Musical Offerings for the New Year || What is “Radical Music” in 2021?

Near the end of 2020, a bunch of musicians populating a chatroom, including myself, each submitted ten minutes’ worth of our work to another musician, Chimeratio, who generously compiled it all into a set totaling nearly ten hours.¹ The work didn’t need to be new; just what we thought might best represent our abilities/style(s) and/or perhaps what we were especially pleased with. The set premiered in late January. Since I have some tentative plans for reorienting Brick By Brick this year, while not overriding its emphases, I wanted to share that music with anyone who’s interested.

I compiled the four videos into a playlist, although you can also access them individually: here (1), here (2), here (3), and here (4). If you care to, and are on a computer, you can also view the accompanying chatlog and read people’s responses from when they were listening to the live broadcast.

The compulsion for this project was sparked by excited discussions over and usage of the term “digital fusion”, most helpfully propagated by Aivi Tran, designating a computer-based body of work that for years lacked the rooftop of a commonly agreed upon genre-name. While describing my music has never been a big concern, even if it’s usually felt impossible (what, for example, is this? or this? I dunno!), I’ve appreciated how the spread and application of this term has brought together people who may have felt isolated.²

As “digital fusion” gained designative traction, I witnessed the activity in the aforementioned chatroom explode over the course of a few days. Before, a day’s discussion might’ve been a few dozen messages; now, there were dozens of messages every half-minute. This had positive and negative ramifications, the negative being that conversations often proceeded at a pace of rapidity which precluded concentrated thought. Eventually, I bowed out because the rapidity exceeded my threshold for meaningful interaction; but I was glad that significant invigoration was going on.

I wanted to share this music also because it intersects with thoughts and talks I’ve been having stemming from the question, “What is ‘radical music’ in 2021?” This was stimulated by a 2014 talk given by the writer Mark Fisher, wherein he contends that, were we to play prominent “cutting edge” music from now to people twenty years ago, very nearly none of it would be aesthetically shocking, bizarre, or revelatory (think of playing house music to an audience in the early 1960s!). Fisher also observes a trend of returning to music which once was seen as the future -- as if, deprived of a shared prograde vision, imaginations turn hazily retrograde; ergo, genres such as synthwave or albums like Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories.

It isn’t my goal here to argue about the “end of history.” Fisher’s time-travel hypothetical, however, rings loud and true to me. Visible musical radicalism has, for at least a decade, been strictly extra-musical, in the sense of songs like “This is America” or “WAP”, where one’s response is primarily to the spectacle of the music video, the performer’s identistic markers, and/or the manner in which the lyrics intersect with (mostly US-centric) ideological hotspots. Musically, there is really nothing radical here. Any vociferous condemnations or defenses of a song like “WAP” deal in moralizing reactions to semantics or imagery: how progressive or regressive is the political aspect? how propelled or repelled are we by the word “pussy”?

It would be a mistake, and simply wrong, to assert that the only music one can enjoy escapes the parameters outlined above; and my inability to coherently categorize some of my own music hardly raises that portion to the status of radicality. But the question here pertains to what is being made, and I think that if we’re going to seriously consider the nature of truly radical music today, we do need to question if such a quality can prominently exist when our hyper-fast consumerist cycle seems to forbid not just sustained, lifelong relationships to artwork but also the local, unhurried nourishment of creative gestation. Now, in my opinion, there are good, even great, examples of radical music still being made in deep Internet-burrows, and for evidence of that I would offer some of the material contained in the linked playlists. Moreover, I’d say that this quality can exist in part because these little artistic communities are so buried.

Let me share a quote that another person shared with me recently:

For culture to shift, you need pockets of isolated humanity. Since all pockets of humanity (outside of the perpetually isolated indigenous people in remote wilderness) are connected in instantaneous fashion, independent ideas aren’t allowed to ferment on their own. When you cook a meal, you have to bring ingredients together that have had time to grow, ferment, or decompose separately. A cucumber starts out as a seed, then you mix it with the soil, water and sunlight. You can’t bring the seed, soil, water and sunlight to the kitchen from the get-go. When you throw those things in to the mixture without letting them mature, the flavor cannot stand out on its own. Same thing with art and fashion. A kid in Russia can come up with a new way to dance, gets filmed on a phone, it goes viral quickly but gets lost in the morass of all of the other multitudinous forms of dance. Sure it spread far and wide, but it gets forgotten in a week. In the past, his new art form would have been confined locally, nurtured, honed, then spread geographically, creating a distinct new cultural idiosyncrasy with a strong support base. By the time it was big enough to be presented globally, it was already a cultural phenomenon locally. This isn’t possible anymore. We’re consuming too many unripened fruits.

The main impression I have here is that radical music today will, and must be, folk music. Our common idea of folkiness might be the scrappy singer strumming a guitar, but my interpretive reference rather has to do with the idea of a music being written, first of all, for one’s self, and then shared with a small-scale community, which in turn helps the artist grow at their own pace. This transcends a dependence upon image, the primacy of acoustic instrumentation, or the signaling of sincerity versus insincerity. It is a return to the valuation of outsider art, so rare nowadays. As someone who I was recently in dialogue with wrote, “Where can you find new genuine folk music? Pretty much just with your friends, imo. Even then, the global world is so influential and seeps into any crack it can find. I think vaporwave was radical and folk for a while. Grant Forbes made that music way before the world knew about it.”

Sometimes, a lot of fuss is made over what’s seen as “gatekeeping” within certain communities. It can be, depending on the context, justifiable to question and critique this behavior. At other times, the effort of maintaining a level of exclusivity, of retaining an idiosyncratic shapeliness to the communal organism, can be a legitimate attempt to protect the personal, interpersonal, and cultural aspects from the flattening effect of monoculture. Hypothetically, I welcome the Castlevania TV series and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate having introduced new and younger demographics to Castlevania. In actuality, stuff like “wholesome sad gay himbo Alucard”, image macros, and neurotic “stan” fanfiction being what’s now first associated with the series makes me want to put as much distance as possible between my interests and those latecoming impositions.

The group-terminology David Chapman uses in his essay “Geeks, MOPs, and Sociopaths in Subculture Evolution” is kinda cringey, but some of the cultural/behavioral patterns he lays out are relevant to the topic. Give it a look. If we cross his belief that “[subcultures] are no longer the primary drivers of cultural development” with our contemporary consume-and-dispose customs, we’re left with the predicament of it’s even worth attempting to bring radical/outsider art beyond its rhizomatic habitat. This is troubling, because it would mean that artistic radicality no longer might not only refuse to but cannot encompass cultural upheaval. It would be like if dance music were invented and -- instead of progressively permeating nightlife, stimulating countercultural trends, and ultimately being adapted as the basis for pop music globally -- only were listened to via headphones by a few thousand people on their own, stimulated a group meeting once a year or two, and never affected music beyond a niche-within-a-niche. That’s a very sad picture to me.

⁂

¹ Chimeratio has also maintained an excellent blog on here dedicated to looking at videogame music written in irregular time signatures, far preceding higher-profile examinations like 8-bit Music Theory’s video on the same topic.

² For myself, creative isolation has had its uses, because it has led me down routes that are highly personalized. The isolation can be dispiriting too. Although a lot of my music is videogame-music-adjacent, almost none of it uses “authentic” technology, such as PSG synthesizers or FM synthesis; and the identification of those sounds is fairly important for recognition.

[kitkatopinions]

You know what always bugged me about Jaune attacking Oscar (aside from the obvious)? It felt like he took advantage of the fact that Oscar was a defenseless child. I doubt he'd have the gall to attack Ozpin in his previous body. Now with Qrow on the other hand, I'm not too sure. One of his more consistent traits is picking fights when he shouldn't.

I don’t know, Jaune didn’t have any trouble charging at Cinder, or lashing out at Qrow around the campfire (though he didn’t attack him physically.) It seems like Jaune was willing to lash out at anyone who might have possibly sort of contributed to Pyrrha’s choice and he seemed more controlled by his grief more than logic or power complex. Idk, thinking he’d be just as physical with adult Professor Ozpin doesn’t seem too far off base. He was pretty illogical. Like, not trying to throw shade. And he did get it right to blame Cinder, obviously, although I feel like Jaune of all people charging at Cinder should’ve resulted in more injury to him than it did.  His actions were frustrating, but were at least understandable for someone (especially a teenager) dealing with grief. But Oscar deserved a sincere apology from him and I’m so glad we started moving on from that.

...If Penny’s death triggers an ‘aggressive Jaune trying to find someone to blame and lashing out at everyone 2.0′ I’ll be very annoyed.

As for Qrow, I didn’t think he’d punch Oz at all before it happened and it confused the living daylights out of me. His fight with Winter was when he was seemingly in a pretty good mood and it seemed like a mutual grudge match he was more or less enjoying. And even though Winter seemed to take it much more seriously, there were moments where she was acting like it wasn’t all that serious too.

Qrow Vs Winter really read like an anime fight where you knew the stakes were low and they weren’t really out to hurt each other - and the person that actually got the closest to breaking that feeling was Winter. Qrow’s other conflicts like his spat with James and his arguing with Raven, those were all verbal fights. Qrow and Winter was (if I recall correctly) the only time we saw him actively get physical with an ally or even a former ally who hadn’t revealed themselves to be working with Salem yet, and again, Winter was the one who first started trying to deal blows and she’s the one who seemed more violent.

I mean, this is Qrow with Raven pre-her working with Salem.

And this is Qrow when she showed up at Haven with Cinder to help her steal the Relic.

So the understanding I at least was working with was that Qrow - while prone to arguments and being rude and disrespectful - wasn’t just a violent person. He fought with Winter because they had some messed up understanding linked to their school-rival-like relationship, and she was the exception, rather than the rule. Outside of her, he only seemed to get physical when the situation demanded a fight.

So Qrow just punching an ally - and longtime friend - because it’d been revealed that he’d lied to Qrow - albeit, about an important detail - seemed really out of left field for me considering the prior established thresh-hold of who he’s willing to attack. Qrow didn’t even reach for a weapon with Raven in the bar while she was getting in the way of Oz’s life saving plans out of selfishness and cowardice and being dismissive of Yang’s pain to his face plus acting kind of aggressively herself. But he was ready to shoot her the minute he thought she had gone to Salem. But Oz wasn’t revealed as having done some horrible, evil, non-understandable thing. He was revealed to have lied out of desperation about something admittedly important in his effort to do what he could to save people. Although I  would’ve liked Qrow to take his side from the beginning, it makes sense for his character to have been mad, upset, and to have lashed out. Like I said before, what Qrow is known to get into is serious verbal fights. But punching Oz? When Oz clearly wouldn’t defend himself? When he’s in a body of a child? When his abuse at the hands of Salem was just revealed? That so didn’t even feel like Qrow!

In my opinion, the punch wasn’t a trackable, Qrow-like reaction that made sense. The punch was what started the whole ‘Qrow is violent’ spiral. It was so out there that I had tried to come up with an explanation (like 'maybe there was an Apathy near by they just didn't know about?') And then I started trying to reason that Qrow seeming to slide into deeper depression and drinking heavier was because he felt super bad about it and he was going to give a big heartfelt apology in Volume 7 when Oz came back, which obviously didn't happen. And then the writers randomly had Qrow fight Clover with Tyrian and decide James was at fault for it and get determined to kill him for most of a season without even having gotten the whole story, plus picking fights with Harriet, only to try and talk her down in the next scene he's in?

Qrow punching Oscar felt like an isolated incident that I was willing to consider a really weird and bad mistake on the part of the creators without throwing out the character, but then in seasons seven and eight, he got more violent and less loveable. But confusingly, sometimes Qrow acts like he used to. He waffles between Good Qrow and Bad Qrow sometimes, and sometimes on a scene by scene basis. Good Qrow would totally try and talk Harriet down, whereas Bad Qrow would totally knock her to the ground and taunt her about getting that fight she wanted. It's so weird to see such disjointed writing that makes characters feel so back and forth. It’s not just Qrow, the CRWBY writers have a tendency to just write whatever they think feels valid in the moment without considering the larger character journeys, I think. And once they start hearing complaints, sometimes they double down, but sometimes they start trying to write their characters to act differently without addressing the flaw itself. Like having Yang act like Summer is her mom again, or having Blake suddenly acting like she's really close friends with Ruby, or having Winter suddenly act like she was against the things she’d been totally fine with last season. So there's every chance they're just gonna pretend Qrow never did the violent things he did, and never address the punch or how he helped fight Clover or how he wanted to kill Ironwood. It's possible season nine or ten will feature Qrow acting like his Volume 3 - 5 self again and the writers just expecting everyone to roll with it.

... I spent way too long talking about Qrow. XD Oh well.

[quatschmachen]

Bitchumen

A nice heartwarming sort of xmas fic. Phone call takes place in 2000, the xmas in 1999.

Edward rants to someone about something.

XXX “Right, like you can actually understand what’s going on.” The sarcasm dripped thick like bitumen from Edward’s tongue, the sticky anger clinging to every surface.“You treating me with the polite decency of a stranger doesn’t actually make you a good person, Calvin – it doesn’t even make you a friend.”

Blowing a breath out, Edward rubbed his face, his shoulders stuck between wanting to spike up in stiff defense or simply drop down in defeat.

“Which is why you get the couch,” here his arms crossed, brooking no argument, “I don’t even know why you thought it was going to be fine just showing up, months after being an asshole thinking I would even put you up. I just know Edith would have you out on your ass, and honestly you’re lucky you got me when I was even in town. Hold on… Mr. Big Shot, you have enough money to get a fucking hotel room, why the shit am I even considering you to stay here with me? Why the hell am I not throwing you out on your ass?”

Another breath out, and Edward sighed, “No, this won’t do.”

With a slump, he plopped onto the couch, and glanced around his small living room, wondering why the hell he was even practicing this as a conversation. Calvin hadn’t dropped by in months. It wasn’t like he was going to any time soon. The lines had been clearly drawn, and even an entitled oil cowboy wasn’t going to pretend everything hadn’t changed.Apparently the weeks off were just giving him time to go crazy. Usually this would be the time he would jet off to Montreal, but instead he was stuck in his house losing it. He was worried if he showed up on Étienne’s doorstep he would just start crying. Definitely not a thing to do.

His thoughts were disrupted as the telephone began to ring. With a sigh, he rolled off the couch and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Eddy!” Étienne’s voice rang out through the phone and wrapped around him like a warm hug.

“’Tienne,” Edward breathed out, automatically relaxing, he flomped down into the seat beside the telephone.

“I’ve been calling for weeks and thought you had died,” he joked, but the edge of worry was still there.

“Sort of had.” Edward murmured, “Actually I sort of moved out, I guess. Mac came down in January and I ended up moving north with him and picked up a hitch. Just got off and am laying around at home too dead to do anything.”

“Hitch?”

“Uhm working in the oil patch. Living at camp, pretty much isolated from the world…”

“Surrounded by big burly men? You could have at least sent me a postcard, Eddy,” Étienne teased, but there was an underlying tone Edward had difficulty deciphering, “I was thinking if it was my turn to come pull you out of the swamp of misery.”

“I guess I could have but… to be honest it all sort of just happened?” Edward sighed, “And once I was up in Fort Mac, and then out working, it’s difficult to really communicate. Just work till you drop, then into the camp to exercise or watch porn.”

“What? They actually supply porn?”

“And sometimes even prostitutes, but that’s apparently not truly allowed…” Edward paused, “but unfortunately no prostitutes were of interest to me.”

“How unfortunate. I was up to my eyeballs with inconvenient work,” Étienne paused, “Christmas was about the same as always, Suzette passes along her best wishes. The food was divine, and I ended up losing an arm-wrestling match to Élyse.”

Edward laughed, “What were the stakes?”

“Hmmm, well she got to eat my slice of cake; it was some terrible cake Samuel had made – yes I know, please believe me when I say he made this cake. Truly no real artisan of food would have produced something as terrible as that cake. I think it ostensibly was supposed to be a fruit cake – with a thick layer of chalky marzipan on top. Somehow he managed to over-alcohol a cake while having it be dry at the same time. I was ready to submit it to the Guinness Book of Records…”

“So why was Élyse battling you for your slice?”

“You see, I may have already had a fight or two with Samuel – he has some new boytoy, and he was being so insipid and sickly about it, I may have been ready to fight over any little thing. Élyse figured if I got rid of the slice via arm wrestling it could possibly save Christmas or something. Yadda yadda. Apparently no one seems to enjoy the Christmases when Samuel breaks down in angry tears and yells for an hour – not sure why when I find that sooooooo entertaining.”

“God I wish I was there for that… seeing Samuel’s face as if he was punched when he tries to cry elegantly is so therapeutic…” Edward murmured, “I feel like my Christmas was just me being the crying one.”

“Crying? What happened, Édouard?”

Squiggling in his seat, Edward wondered how much he should tell. A part of him wanted to spill it all, but another part wondered if that would be too much of an inconvenience. How much of his stupid worries did Étienne really want? Closing his eyes, Edward pretended they were in the same room together, maybe even touching, head on Étienne’s shoulder, not necessarily looking at the man, but bodies snuggled up, his hair getting played with. Those small stolen moments of bliss, where the worries got spilled, and he didn’t worry about the consequences.

“Christmas was so awkward; I don’t even know where to begin. The entire time I desperately wished I had gone to yours… it felt like the last time I try to be a functional person among them… hell, I only went because I thought maybe I could improve relations with people… start the new millennium off with some hope about the future.”

It really had been terrible. They had held it at the ranch – Bert’s ranch. Why the hell did he think hanging out with people at the ranch would be a good idea? Surrounded by people you probably should know better, but in reality only held passing pleasantries with. The one bright spot had been Calvin. Calvin who seemed to be best buddies with everyone who arrived, Calvin who smiled brightly at him and argued with him, distracting him from the knot of anxiety he was harbouring over whether he should come out during Christmas or hold off until New Years?

He was attempting small talk with Jo, who was talking at him about how they should go shopping together (did she not do other stuff?), when he overheard Bert loudly say “I personally don’t think those fags should be given the deal.”

It felt like time had slowed down for Edward. No one seemed to pause or care. Orson in fact nodded along with Bert’s rant, sipping his Sprite. Jo continued on with her plans for her next visit, and somewhere nearby Red laughed at a joke Madeline made. As he observed the room to see if there was any reaction to Bert’s loud rant, everyone was involved in their own conversations. Calvin was in the distance deep in conversation with someone he could not quite make out. 

Right, this was not the place. He still wanted turkey dinner, and as he dimly nodded along to Jo, Edward felt small. He had no allies here. Well, that wasn’t true. He was sure Edith supported him, but one in how many? Edward didn’t want to ‘ruin Christmas’.

“And you know how I’ve been thinking about coming out and stuff, but uh, can I just say no? If you were in the room you would understand – seriously Étienne, these people who claim to be my so called family would just as well lynch me as their Christmas bonfire – I dunno they could just douse me in bitumen and light me up human torch Christian martyr style for bringing the faggotry home for Christmas… Soooo I didn’t want to ruin Christmas and make the event awkward for everyone,” Edward related over the phone.

“And then horror of horrors, Orson managed to corner me in what he thinks is jovial conversation. It felt like everything he had to say to me was condescension masked in care and concern – honestly I am not sure how he even manages that. I think he felt like it was his civic duty to carry on a conversation with me. He even reminisced about the temple open house he dragged me to. Ok honestly I went to the open house out of curiosity, to see what sort of cult he’s in, but I didn’t think he would already be reminiscing about something that had literally JUST happened. Temple? Yeah, a Mormon temple just opened up in my city… so it meant I had the pleassssuuure of Orson coming up for the Open House and dragging me along. Stay with me? God no, please ‘Tienne I’m not that insane, what would I do if he snooped and found my big old dildo? Yeah he was staying with some church people since he was volunteering and such.”

“I think I wanted to die when he sat down at the piano – yeah, I didn’t even think Bert ever tuned that thing, but knowing Orson maybe he came extra early to tune it, and began banging out the Christmas carols. Like he’s talented and all, and I don’t mind a round of Jingle Bells, but he really has this creepy 1950s vibe and I wanted to roll my eyes when his eyes started to shine with unshed tears at Away in a Manger and O Holy Night.” Edward twisted the cord around his finger, as he listened to Étienne chuckle. Apparently the tactic was avoid talking about himself and instead rant about goody-two-shoes Orson? “You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a regular basis… mmm? Yeah he is kind, considerate and is literally the guy to volunteer for the worst tasks but there is something about him where he is a little too perfect? Like somehow can’t let my hair down around him type of deal. Which makes him perfect for Lilith – as she always has her hair up, haha.”

Edward had relaxed into his seat, somehow feeling lighter, as the words slipped out, “And then New Years was somehow worse… no I wasn’t at the ranch. I probably should have taken you up on your fireworks show, because the one here is uh Edmonton grade. You know – trying real hard but still somehow failing to miss the mark,” he chuckled at his own joke, not picking up on the strained tension from Étienne over the phone. “Calvin came up, which surprised me since I assumed he would want to be gallivanting about in Calgary, but apparently he wanted to spend it with his best buddy which is me? Somehow? Don’t worry Teddy, you’re still my best friend…” Edwards voice lowered, as he realized what he was about to say, admit. Pause. “So how was your New Years? Aahh why are you yelling – oh you’re saying I didn’t mention why New Years sucked? It’s because it wasn’t with you, darlin’.”

Somehow Edward couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite bring himself around to admitting he had come out to Calvin. How he had fallen into a depression when he got outright rejected. “Hmm? Well, how else can I put it… while I could have been kissing you and sucking your cock, I instead got to hold Calvin’s hair back as he literally puked in my poinsettias… yes… mmhmm. The poor plant didn’t make it.”

Tangling his finger in the phone cord, Edward found himself relaxing as Étienne told him about his New Years event, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. The other man’s voice soothing him. Trying to be home for Christmas and the New Years - attempt to enter the new millennium as a man of his own place, had been a major mistake.

He should have kept to his original plans of escaping to Montreal, escaping his own clay dirt to mold himself into his own dream man.Sometimes he wondered if he loved Étienne or simply wanted to be Étienne. A complicated mixture of feelings confusing him ever more when it came to that man.

“Visit? I would love to visit… oh wait, you want to come visit me? When? Hmm let me… check my calendar.” Edward sat up, looking around, and then picked up the phone, carefully picking his way into the kitchen, so he could squint at the calendar. His telephone cord ran out though, so he had to do an awkward strain, trying not to unplug the phone, while seeing his own scribbled-in life.

Well… the only thing really was his work shifts. Everything else a blank. “How does this time work? You’re booked up. Alright…” Edward and Étienne haggled over dates, until somehow, it lined up that Edward was going to Montreal. A subtle shift, but as Edward said with some practicality – that’s just how it lined up. As he hung up the phone, he wrote down the date of his trip, feeling better. Now in between work was a small bright spot, one small thing to look forward to.He was not as friendless as he thought, and, perhaps with enough courage, he could finish his New Years story.        

[venus-says]

Healin' Good Precure Episodes 21-30

Hope you're comfortable and have your reading glasses on because I'm about to rant.

It has been a long time since I came here and bashed my thoughts on this show for young kids, but you know? It feels like just a couple of weeks have passed.

And I say this because to my surprise, and maybe disappointment, not a lot happened in these 10 episodes. Does it mean it was bad? Not necessarily. Excluding maybe 2 or 3 episodes, I had a great time binge-watching these last episodes in the past three days.

Usually, in a Precure season, the episodes that follow the debut of the mid-season Cure are used to insert the new character in the team, create connections with each member, make us feel like the newcomer belongs here. In Asumi's case, these episodes also had the function of building her as a character since she's someone who literally just appeared out of thin air. And these episodes haven't done either of those things, in my opinion. I came out of these 10 episodes with the same basic information I had from last time, she's clueless, she's obsessed with Rate, as a Cure she is gorgeous and cool as heck, but maybe a little too overpowered. I know nothing about Fuurin Asumi.

One can argue "well, she was just brought to existence, it's obvious you know nothing about her because there's nothing learn", but that doesn't mean that they couldn't build her character. They decided that her whole thing would be learning about human emotions(?) and they could've chosen some specific points that would help her to build her personality and her character, give her goals and ideals, a reason for her to be a main character in this story. And while we see evidence that she has learned the meaning of those words and she can recognize them on herself and in other people, this is not a personality is just a computer recognizing patterns.

The feeling I had while watching these episodes was that she was a blank canvas just so that the writers could use her as a jack-of-all-trades for whatever situation they were trying to build in the episode. And this inconsistency with her is pretty evident, I mean in one episode she exhibits a lack of knowledge about basic human feelings, but then she suddenly knows what rap is even though we haven't seen a single instance of her having contact with it, and then later we see she giving Grace life advice.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed and had fun with Asumi in those isolated instances, it's because of them that even with all the problems I have I still like Asumi VERY MUCH, the thing is that this isn't an episodic show where each story is centered on itself and there's not a bigger picture to be seen, this is a continuous narrative so just isolated moments aren't enough. Imagine how much more meaningful it would have been if the words they decided to explain to Asumi were things that deeply connected with her, imagine how much more fun the rap gag would've been if we had seen before she going out on her own and meeting with random people on the street and we had a precedent of her knowing something that was weirdly very specific and seeing that being brought up in the future as her unique comedy gag, imagine how much more meaningful her words to grace in episode 29 would've been if we had seen her gain that level of understanding of human emotion in a way that wasn't by just explaining the definition of that word in a dictionary.

The reason why this "arc" feels so frustrating is that the basis for something great is all there, they just don't use it at it's fullest which makes her, who could've been the most interesting character the Precure franchise has ever seen, just another one, and that hurts. Because I freaking love this spirit lady and I wanted her to be more.

Overall rant is done, let's talk about each individual episode, shall we?

I know it doesn't seem like it, because I've written around 600 words of how disappointed I was, but I had a great time doing this mini-marathon to catch up with the show. I don't know if it was because it had been so long since I watched something Precure related, or if it was because my expectations were low since even though I try to avoid seeing other opinions before I write my own reviews since it has been so long I couldn't really avoid that and those comments weren't really that positive, or if it was because I was live-tweeting my impressions instead of taking my usual notes. but overall my experience was great. Even in the episodes I didn't like or had major issues with, it wasn't to a point where it made me regret the decision of getting back to this show so most of these are going to be very positive.

Except for the final three episodes, I'm not doing these in the correct order so I decided to leave the episodes I disliked for last. I'm probably going to go overboard with the negativity in those ones so if you don't wanna any of that you can leave before me going in the mean territory.

Anyway, Episode 21. That was a very fun one, it had a good combination of comedy with endearing moments and even bigger picture stuff. It was still early on Asumi's journey so her cluelessness was very fun and endearing and I had some great laughs with that one (that moment where she struggles with the chopsticks was my favorite bit. I also liked seeing Nodoka work her way around to let Asumi stay at her house, I like how straight-forward it was and how the lie developed after it, I don't know how Nodoka's parents bought the story but I loved it. The theme for Asumi this time was learning about empathy (I think?) and she and Nodoka had some great exchanges in the episode. Getting more development with the Mega Parts was also good, there were interesting bits of information like how to harvest them and that they can be injected in the Mega Byougens by anyone, it doesn't need to be the one who began the infection. Also, the group roll call was very cute, I love Rate touching paws with each of the healing animals, and the new eyecatches are cute as hell!!!! I also liked the special intro bit with Nodoka and Asumi, I wish they did things like that more.

Episode 22 was a bit weird. The lesson of the episode was about the word "like", but it was a bit confusing. It seemed that the point they were trying to make is that liking sometimes it's hard because is something you can't control, but it didn't connect very much with the conflict between Rate and Asumi? I think very valid and important points were raised throughout the entire episode, but in the end, to me, it felt more like a plot about empathy, because Asumi wasn't being considered of Rate's feelings and the resolution for the main conflict in the episode was about that, but I can also see the logic behind what they were doing it's just that they could've been more clear in that aspect. Regardless, this episode gave us the starting point for one of the relationships I enjoyed the most in this run that was Chiyuu and Asumi getting along so well, I honestly thought Asumi would be more connected to Nodoka and the animals, but she has a lot of chemistry with Chiyuu and it was a delightful surprise discovering this friendship.

Of the initial episodes to connect with each Cure, Episode 23 was probably the weakest. I think Hinata and Asumi didn't really click for me when they were together, and teaching her the concept of "cute" didn't seem all that useful to me, the impression it gave me was that they couldn't think of anything else meaningful Hinata could bestow on Asumi and they went with the easy route instead of putting in the work to make something bigger. With that being said, I really appreciate that in no moment of the episode the show tried to tailor Asumi for her to think that only one thing that follows a certain aesthetic pattern can be considered cute, I was very afraid of that happening and it was a huge relief to see that it hasn't happened. One curious thing about this episode was the Cures directly interacting with civilians, has that already happened and I just forgot about it? Or was this the first time? That got me really curious.

Episode 24 was a mixed bag, it introduced elements that I liked but it overall gets ruined by what I've mentioned at the start and also because it can be summed down to Spirit Lady Too OP. The thing I liked the most in this episode was seeing Asumi connect with another adult human, it was a nice interaction that I was really into it and that I hope keeps happening in Asumi episodes, to me it was an example of interesting interaction outside the Cures' circle that could be meaningful for building Asumi's character (if they were really concerned in building her one). I was also pretty excited for a new general and Nebusokku seemed to have enough to be a fun character, sadly he was defeated in the same episode which was kinda disappointing and it left me with the Batetemoda blues. There was also the portal stuff that was random and it never happened again and, I don't know, it just felt way too convenient. Spirit Lady is too OP and, sadly, that's a problem.

Surprisingly enough, Episode 26 was one of my favorites. I know it's just a clip show, but you can see that they cared enough to make this feel like a genuine episode and not just something that you can skip if you want. Maybe they could've put a little more of care into it since they made the big mistake of saying Asumi wanted to do a Rate Diary but all the questions and recollections Asumi got were from everyone BUT Rate, but I still really enjoyed the episode. I really like the journey of Asumi not being scared in the cold opening, to the group deciding to make something that is nice to her but that will also surprise her, and the cute moment at the end was a really nice payoff. I also like how Asumi stumbled upon the information about the festival and seeing her actively wanting to be part of the team and her being sad for feeling like she was being left behind without making a big mess about it, like she was sad but she also (miss)understands what's going on and that just makes her even sadder. This recap episode gave up more characterization about Asumi than the episodes that were meant to do that and this is both impressive and sad.

Speaking of episodes that characterize Asumi, Episode 27 was another great one at it. Again, Asumi connecting with another adult being determined to help, feeling frustrated for the Hot-Air-Balloon Team loss and wanting to actively do something about it. It was really great seeing her so assertive, and seeing her feel so strong about something, and even better, something that wasn't related at all to Rate. She felt like a real character, a real human, and I really liked that. This was a very straight-forward episode but I think it works completely in favor of the episode, I like the plot, I like the characters of the day, I like that even Nodoka's father got some characterization since now we know he was a Hot-Air-Balloon nerd, we even got a new element bottle. It was simple and it was great.

From this point on we're on Salty territory so read at your own discretion.

Going from the one I have the least to talk about, Episode 29 was boring I thought they were going to do something bigger, considering what episode 28 was, and if you disregard Cure Earth giving really mature advice about something she shouldn't have the know-how to talk about they had a nice bit of Nodoka going reckless and she realizing she shouldn't be so hard on herself, but that was pretty much the only thing this episode had going for it. I really couldn't care for anything else, the comedy felt very odd, and getting the final bottle for the shelf was very underwhelming.

Then we have episode 25, that feels disconnected from the rest of the storyline, and that is just here in the bottom list because of two factors. The first is the fact that is a very cliche plot and the show didn't bring in enough new elements to make it interesting, instead, they wanted to make it WAY TOO SAD for that little girl and it was just cruel to watch it because I knew all the time Pegitan would eventually leave her and I wanted that little kid to be happy because she seems like a good kid. My other problem, and my biggest one, is what started this whole plot. I hate the "I'm a boy, I'm not cute, I'm cool" line of thought, and while it makes sense that Pegitan, being as insecure as he is, would have a concern like that, I hate that the show makes Chiyuu feel guilty and blame herself for doing it, and I hate it even more that at the end the major message was "Yes, Pegitan, you're cool" instead of "It's okay for you, as a male, to be cute". From a franchise that two years ago was saying boys can be princesses, this feels like a step back and I hate it.

Episode 30 was one of the most boring things I've watched in this season. To begin, what the hell were they thinking of making Hinata, of all girls, to be the one to not know tigers and cats are related? She lives in a veterinary clinic, both her dad and her brother should've mentioned that at some point, and I'm being gentle here and not considering this as common knowledge for 14-years-old kids. Then there's the thing that completely ruined the episode to me that was that little boy and his friend. I really didn't care for this random character with the most white straight male thought ever wanting all of their friends to be the same as him because he doesn't like to have their world views being challenged. If it wasn't for the eventual cute interactions between the girls this episode would've been the worst.

And there's an element in this episode that ties in with Episode 28 which is, without a doubt, my biggest problem with this series: the villains.

I hate the Healin' Good villains, all of them. Except for Batetemoda, but he's dead so he doesn't count. This is probably the most uninteresting set of generals of the entire franchise, and we live in a world where the Trio the Minor and the Mahou Tsukai villains exists. Guwaiaru is way too dumb, his dumbness is supposed to be played for laughs, but when you repeat the same joke of him adding more stuff to a bigger thing to make it stronger, or dirtier, or spicier, in the span of 10 episodes it doesn't become funny, it's just tiresome. Then there's Shindoine, who's flat-lined as hell. Her whole thing, her only thing, is her unhealthy obsession with King Byougen. She doesn't have anything else besides that, she doesn't do anything interesting, every time she's on-screen she's talking about King Byougen, and it's not fun, it's not interesting, it is a big pile of nothing. And you would think that after Anacondy, Papple, and Gelos, the creators of this show would know better and wouldn't make another general that is so in love with the leader of their organization to the point of doing dumb shit that could get them killed, but no. We gotta raise the stakes. And as cool as powered-up Shindoine looks, I can't get excited. Because she, just as her companions, doesn't change as characters. They are the regular "pick a stereotype and make a character out of it" gone to an extreme and in the most boring way possible.

Thanks, I hate it.

And then, there's the biggest offender of them all. Daruizen. He is the "bored one" and that's enough to make him boring because he doesn't have anything to pique my curiosity to learn about him or see what he's capable of. In other circumstances, this would be fine, but her companions are just as boring, and the thing that maximizes this as a problem is that for some reason the creators of this show thought it was a great idea to pair him up with the main Cure. And when you do something like, to make sure your audience will be completely on board with you, you gotta make sure both characters are interesting enough to carry this on.

The catch is that Daruizen isn't interesting at all, the thing that makes Daruizen interesting is the thing that makes Nodoka/Grace less interesting, and that's not a good balance.

When Episode 28 decided to make canon that Daruizen is the result of a parasite that took residence in Nodoka's body they elevated his level of in the scale, now we have a very close connection that raises the bar for the rivalry these two have and it also drops answers for questions we didn't even know we had. But they couldn't leave it at that, they had to undermine their main character and probably the whole, show while at it too.

The thing that made Nodoka such a unique lead for this show was the fact that she is a sick kid, we never know what her disease is, and I understand the reasons why the show wouldn't want to pin-point and existence disease neither create a fake one, but we know her health isn't one of the best, we've seen her suffer because of it and the show wasn't shy of putting images of the main character in a hospital bed. And this is very important because, while the majority of the target audience most likely has never been in those conditions, I'm sure a lot of kids, and even adults, who unfortunately have been in hospitals for most of their lives watches this show for hope, for strength, for comfort, and having a main character similar to them is strong as fuck. But when you make Nodoka's disease to be something magical you devalue a lot of that. Yes, magical or not, Nodoka did experience her disease, that affected her, that changed her. But just how it magically came to her, it also magically left her body, and sadly that's not a luxury that we in the real world have... and that affects people. Of course, I'm working here just based on assumptions, thankfully I never had to be hospitalized and the closest my family got to that was when my aunt got her tubes tied and the period right before my father's death, so I may not be in my place to say, and I really hope I'm wrong in this, but I do believe this was a bad move for the representation.

Even if I'm wrong (and I really do hope I am), this still isn't a good narrative move because it just turns this show into something very focused on the lead cure when this is supposed to be a show about a team. It makes it feel like this world spins around Nodoka, and not that Nodoka spins WITH the world she's in. This deep connection with one general, that isn't emulated with the other generals in parallel to the other Cures, makes it feel like she's the only one important and that nothing else matters, and this saddens me because makes it look like I hate Nodoka when I deeply care for her and this is the reason why I'm so mad about this mess. Now that I think about it, it's very similar to Kamen Rider EX:AID to a certain extent, and from all the aspects I could draw a parallel this is definitely the worst one to intersect. Well, at least they haven't made her be the be-all-end-all of the show (yet).

But just to not end this on a negative note, Episode 28 did gave us one of the most emotional scenes ever between Rabirin and Nodoka, and that crushed my heart, I had no emotional structure to sit through that without shading tears. It was an amazing scene. And Episode 30 did end on a good cliffhanger, it feels like we're entering the final arc that will lead us to the Christmas special and then the finale, and I'm very curious to see the path this show will take.

And that does it for me. I feel like I've written way much more than I should, and maybe I'll have to write more because I'm not necessarily sure if I should post this right now considering the US Elections, but regardless, whenever you get to read this share your thoughts with me, I feel like for this block of episodes more than any other else I'm really curious to see what people have to say about it. And considering the sheer length of this post, if you're someone who's reading this on tumblr, consider going over to the blog (the link should be in the sidebar if you're accessing it via pc) the comment section should allow for a better discussion that doesn't need to be broken down in several replies like here on tumblr. Without anything else to add, I think it's time to sign off. Stay healthy, stay safe, never stop resisting, thank you so so so much for reading this insanely huge post, and until the next time. Healin’ Goodbye~

[isabilightwood]

The Problem with Authority - Chapter 3

[AO3] [1] [2]

Who doesn’t like fantasy maps?

There was little opportunity to begin her involvement in Jin Guangyao’s watchtower project before the cultivation conference, beyond reviewing its progress. Qin Su’s duties had been largely neglected during her mourning period, and so Jiang Yanli found herself buried in expense reports, disciple’s lessons, and invitations to court gatherings she could not politely refuse.

Yet both lessons and parties were a surprising source of opportunity.

Though the disciples had other teachers, it seemed Qin Su’s weekly swordplay lessons had been missed by all. She was greeted with excitement and enthusiastic bows.

The novice students were easy, leading them through sequences of moves as a group and having them practice specific moves on her and her assistants. Several were wards from vassal sects, but too young to be useful in politics.

With the junior disciples, however, Jiang Yanli primarily oversaw sparring matches, critiquing their performances based on Qin Su’s observations.

There were three wards from landholding sects, along with several from town-based sects looking to permanently join the Jin. The rest of the class was made up of distant members of the Jin Clan, and children of the sect’s cultivators and servants. Though Jin Guangyao’s half brother, the one researching demonic cultivation for him, was supposed to be there, Jiang Yanli had yet to meet him.

That’s Xuanyu over there, lying on the wall. Qin Su pointed out a figure sprawled on the wall separating the training fields from the gardens, one arm behind his head while he shielded his eyes from the sun with a book. I supposed Jin Guangyao didn’t push him into cultivating more because it kept the clan from using him to supplant him. But it seems there’s more to him than just a lazy flirt.

A-Xian had been perceived that way, once. Mo Xuanyu was likely more dangerous than he appeared.

On the field, a gangly girl sidestepped the thrust of an older boy, flicking her sword across his abdomen to sever the tie of his robes. He reversed his grip on his sword — at which Qin Su groaned — and swung for her legs. The girl jumped onto the blade, using the momentum to flip over his head and land behind him. By the time he swung around, his outer robes gaping open, her sword was at his throat.

Zhai Xia, the second daughter of Zhai Qiaolian, Jin Guangyao’s main opposition among the vassal sects, had once again defeated the heir of Lieshan Du.

Qin Su laid out her critique as the students’ friends whooped and jeered, and the clique of Jin stalwarts tittered amongst themselves. Jiang Yanli had been pleased to learn the child of one of the most obnoxious Jin aunties was in the former group. She had never believed parentage determined destiny, but the poisonous atmosphere of Lanling seemed to spread like incense in a closed building. It was good to see that wasn’t always true.

“Excellent work, Zhai-er-guniang. You’re learning to use your agility in your favor, but watch your grip when you feint. If Du-gongzi had caught your blow, your sword would have gone flying.” Zhai Xia nodded sharply, sweeping up her sword to run through moves. She turned to the boy. “Du-gongzi, I see your old habit has returned.”

Du Fengyi grimaced, hunching over as he rubbed his arm. Not in anticipation of what Jiang Yanli would do, but of his best friend.

Xia Jiayi, the Du’s first disciple, slapped him on the bicep. “See? I told you Jin-furen would notice!”

“Da-shijie!” He whined, elbowing her in the stomach before she could dance out of reach.

“Well maybe if you listened to me or Jin-furen, you would stop losing to a twelve-year-old.” Xia Jiayi waved a finger ever closer to his face until he narrowly avoided being bopped on the nose.

“I’m fifteen.” Zhai Xia, second daughter of Zhai Qiaolian, Jin Guangyao’s main opposition among the vassal sects, propped her fists on her hips indignantly.

“Same thing.” Du Fengyi and Xia Jiayi waved her off with a dismissive flap of their hands.

“Ahem.” Jiang Yanli reminded her students of her presence.

Simultaneously, they swung their hands forward to bow. “Sorry, Jin-furen.”

“Please, settle this on your own time. I’d like to watch a few more matches before the end of class.” All three sheepishly retreated into the line of watching disciples, though she was only gently reproving.

As the other students trickled away at the end of class, Zhai Xia bounced up to her, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked onto her tiptoes. “Jin-furen! When will you spar with me again?”

That was proving to be a problem. To spar with the juniors, Jiang Yanli would need full control over her sword, including the ability to manipulate it from afar. But whenever she tried, something sparked along her meridians, and Chunsheng clattered to the ground. It took half an hour for her qi to flow properly again. Longer to be able to use the sword.

“I’m afraid I only have time for our weekly classes right now.” Jiang Yanli gave her a stressed smile. In one sense, it was true. She doubted the mountain of reports would ever shrink to nothing.

“Is it because Zaza won’t support the watchtowers?” Zhai Xia surprised her by jumping right to the correct conclusion. Astute, for a teenage political novice, though not enough to predict her true intentions.

“The watchtowers will be a topic of debate at the upcoming conference.” She admitted with a sigh. It was fortunate that Jin Guangyao enjoyed plotting out the details of conferences. Jiang Yanli could easily plan an event at Lotus Pier, but she’d been content to let him plan Koi Tower’s after her marriage. And she was equally content to leave the tedious work to him now.

Zhai Xia played with the ivory tassel on her sword. “It’s not that Zaza doesn’t like the idea, but they doesn’t trust Jin-Zongzhu. And they won’t agree to more of the Jin Sect in Baota.”

“It could be argued that Baota Zhai is more capable of manning its own watchtowers, due to it’s unprecedented recent growth.” Jiang Yanli agreed. It was true, would give Jin Guangyao what he wanted in the short term, and — if played well — could be used to accuse him of favoritism in the long run, given that all the independent Sects save the Hua would need disciples from a great sect to keep their watchtowers fully staffed.

“I’ll tell Zaza to talk to you.”Zhai Xia grinned excitedly. “And then you’ll have time to spar with me!”

Well. One of those things was good.

…We’ll try the sword-control array again before bed. Qin Su decided for the both of them.

The garden receptions of summer court were always preferable to winter. Indoors, there was no escape.

Jiang Yanli had expected attending court to be a chore, as it had been for Qin Su. The array of distant Jin cousins had been grating before she died - the decent ones had married out, or spent most of their time on night hunts. The competent-yet-shady ones were kept busy with sect duties, attending only from time to time.

It was the gossips who spent gold like water who made court their domain. Making it near impossible to isolate visiting diplomats who might have something useful to say.

She had been in the process of convincing Zixuan to cut off the cousins’ unlimited access to the gold supply when he became sect leader when…

Jiang Yanli tossed back a cup of tea, and wished it was lotus wine.

Court was still a chore, but to a lesser extent than she’d expected. The Jin cousins had not improved, though there did seem to be less of them. Jiang Yanli wondered if she had Jin Guangyao to thank for that.

I’m not going to thank him. Qin Su was thoroughly disgusted at the prospect.

“…and that’s how I learned that the best Tie Guanyin only arrives with the An brothers once per year.“ Her absolute least favorite of the Jin uncles finished up a story involving blatant misuse of sect funds. For the sake of one of the most expensive oolong teas around. “You know, I heard it can bring up a person’s mood, after a tragedy. Perhaps you’d like to share a pot with me.”

Qin Su’s anger sparked her blood pressure.

Thankfully, her least favorite Jin auntie arrived as a much-needed distraction.

Jiang Yanli forced a smile. “Thank you for the well-wishes, Shushu. Ayi, Shushu was just telling me about a tea he had imported from a region far to the south. I thought you might like to try it. Tie Guanyin from… which mountain in Anxi was it, Shushu?”

Predictably, Ayi grabbed him by the ear. “Jin Guangzhao! I knew it was you who bought up all the merchant’s supply!”

The entire supply? Not even our treasury can stand that on a regular basis. Qin Su grumbled.

Did Jin Guangyao not limit their spending? Considering the expenses for his infrastructure projects, that was unsustainable.

She wondered if she could convince Jin Guangyao to cut their allowances if she pointed out the problem in front of his beloved Lan Xichen. From there, it would be easy enough to shift the cousins’ displeasure onto him. Once or twice in her first life, Jiang Yanli had stepped in to stop the cousins from bullying him. From the number of times she’d heard the words that jumped up whore’s son floating around, they didn’t seem to have stopped.

The cousins were too lazy and unimportant to actually overthrow him, and would drive the sect into the ground if they managed it. It would be like a pin prick, as Jin Guangyao wove a tapestry. A distracting annoyance that could provide Jiang Yanli with opportunities to find the right loose threads, and unravel it all.

Besides, it would be satisfying to watch in a way Jiang Yanli would never admit to anyone who didn’t live in her head.

Jiang Yanli slipped away to a quieter corner as the uncle was threatened with dismemberment, should he fail to relinquish his tea.

Qi-xiao’niang, the concubine of Sect Leader Bei, was seated under an awning, gently rocking her baby. She had been a pleasant surprise. As Jiang Yanli sank into the table’s open chair, using a handkerchief to wipe her brow, she looked up and smiled sweetly. “Would you still say this is refreshing compared to the Bei clan?”

“Believe it or not, yes. The servants here don’t regularly upend dishes into my lap at dinner. I can handle a few gossips.” A concubine’s child herself, her cultivation, looks, and polished demeanor had nevertheless been enough to cement an alliance between the Bei and Qi sects.

Yet Qi Juan had been sent away with her infant while Bei-furen attempted to produce an heir. Though she would not say it outright, it was out of jealousy.

Qin Su had met Bei-furen once. She sneers to cover up that she has no idea what she’s doing. Qi Juan would make a better sect leader’s wife. And she’s his favorite. Though Bei-zongzhu was a friend of Jin Guangshan. She’s better off here.

Jiang Yanli covered her mouth to laugh. “Easy for you to say. They’re not trying to rob you blind.”

“I think that’s Xiao-Heng’s doing. He cries anytime they come near. It works wonders.”

Whether Qi Juan would prove politically useful remained to be seen, but it was nice to have something like a friend. Neither Jiang Yanli nor Qin Su had had many before.

The cultivation conference arrived in what felt like no time at all. And with it, her son.

The Jiang delegation arrived early, so Jin Ling could be safely settled into his rooms before the first evening’s banquet was in full swing.

Her brother swept up the stairs in ornate robes that matched the texture of Sandu’s sheath, his posture rigid, glaring at the world in general with such intensity anyone who met his eyes would believe it was intended for them. Two columns of teenage disciples followed him —the few older cultivators who survived the massacre of Lotus Pier in their absence always remained behind to keep things running — trying to imitate him. The result resembled a pack of eager puppies.

The young boy with one fist clenched tightly in A-Cheng’s robes was far more adept a mimic. A-Ling looked very much like A-Cheng had at his age, with hints of Zixuan softening his features. Jiang Yanli started forward without thinking, her arms parting to embrace them both.

Only Qin Su’s cry of panic stopped her from ruining everything. A-Ling’s always shy when he comes back. Just give him a minute.

She hid her hands under the draping cuffs of her sleeves, so no one could see her nails digging into her palms. She could hold A-Ling, if she waited. Even if he thought he was hugging his aunt, not his mother.

“Xiandu. Jin-furen.” A-Cheng bowed sharply, and slightly too low first to Jin Guangyao, and then to her. To her eyes, A-Cheng looked exhausted. But no one else living would have thought him anything but put together. He nudged A-Ling, who looked up at him with his lower lip stuck out. “Greet your aunt and uncle.”

A-Ling mumbled something unintelligible and nodded his head, inching behind his uncle’s leg.

With a sigh, A-Cheng dropped to one knee, placing his hands at A-Ling’s elbows. “What did we talk about?”

“Be good or you’ll break my legs?” Who taught him to pout so grumpily?

It must have been A-Cheng, of course.

He groaned, mirroring his nephew’s expression. “No, the other thing.”

“Don’t talk about A-Song?” Jin Ling shouted. Qin Su flinched. A flicker of movement at her side indicated Jin Guangyao did as well, but Jiang Yanli’s eyes were glued to her son.

“Not that either!” Jiang Cheng let go with one hand to swipe a hand down his face. “Your aunt has…”

A-Ling’s eyes widened with realization. “Shenshen has missed me extra, so I should hug her! Shenshen!” He turned on his head and glared. The same way A-Cheng did when he got louder, because he was feeling shy.

Jiang Yanli went down on her knees and held out her arms. “A-Ling!”

Her son shuffled into her arms.

“Shenshen!” A-Ling exclaimed again, his small arms squeezing tight. Her heart ached, even as one of its missing pieces slotted back into place. Jiang Yanli felt like she was being torn into pieces and blessed, all at the same time.

She scooped him up with an exaggerated groan of effort, placing him on her hip. In her own body, A-Ling would already have been too big, but Qin Su’s let her pick up her son.

“No hug for your shushu?” Jin Guangyao asked, spreading out his arms.

Jiang Yanli’s arms tightened around A-Ling automatically.

“Ah.” He folded his arms back into his sleeves. “In a minute, then.”

Every time she was forced to watch Jin Guangyao interact with A-Ling, she would come a step closer to stabbing him with the nearest dining implement. This was unsustainable.

Could we make it seem like A-Ling would be safer at Lotus Pier? This isn’t the first time Jiang Wanyin has taken him away out of worry.

She wanted nothing more than her son at her side, not to miss a single moment more of his growth but… Qin Su’s suggestion had merit. It wouldn’t take much. The mere illusion of danger, and A-Cheng would spirit him away.

That led her back to the other problem at hand: her baby brother was right there, and she wasn’t allowed to hug him.

Not for a very long time yet.

Unfortunately, he dislikes me on principle. Qin Su’s tone was wry, yet apologetic. Which seems fair, given...

Who she’d married.

No, it’s not you. Jiang Yanli thought back. A-Cheng’s just like that.

Qin Su snickered as A-Ling nuzzled sleepily into her collar, now that the excitement had faded. “I think it’s time for this one’s nap.”

A-Cheng nodded. “Two of my disciples will stay behind to guard A-Ling’s rooms after I leave.”

“A-Ling already has guards.” Jin Guangyao’s left dimple twitched.

“So did Jin Rusong.” Jiang Cheng pointed out, his gruffness verging on violence as he pulled himself up to his full height.

Jin Guangyao was unfazed. “We have already increased security.”

Jiang Yanli and Qin Su both would feel better if it were further increased, by someone who had not murdered a child. “A-Yao, I think a little extra protection couldn’t hurt. Perhaps we could send guards in return when he returns to Lotus Pier, so A-Ling has a few familiar faces in each place?”

“Yes, that seems… reasonable." Jin Guangyao spoke through gritted teeth, but never stopped smiling.

On the way to Jin Ling’s rooms, Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng were waylaid by Lan Xichen, and so Jiang Yanli was able to spend a short amount of time alone with her son, as she put him to sleep.

(If one does not count disciples hovering over your shoulder. Qin Su commented, as the designated Jiang guards practically breathed down her neck.

Jiang Yanli did not.)

Lan Xichen had arrived the day before. He’d disappeared into Jin Guangyao’s chambers, and hadn’t left until late morning. As more guests began to arrive, he hovered behind him like he was restraining himself from wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Until Jin Guangyao insisted he go mingle. Even as he spoke his one of his own disciples, he continued to cast glances at him from across the room, unable to hide a giddy smile.

In the absence of a crowd hunt, the opening banquet served to promote camaraderie among the sect leaders. Jin Guangyao often used these events as an opportunity to sway sect leaders to his side. When conferences were held at Lanling in the past — before Jin Guangyao’s ascension to Chief Cultivator, but after their marriage — Qin Su had played a more innocuous role as hostess.

What Jiang Yanli was doing appeared the same, on the surface. When Qin Su’s father let her go with a pat on the head, oblivious to anything different, she carried a bottle of wine towards Sect Leader Ran.

Along the way, she passed Mo Xuanyu holding court at the lower Jin tables, gesticulating widely as he regaled enraptured disciples from the Kong, Luo, and Shou sects with what seemed to be a tale of Jin Guangyao’s Wen infiltration. A young man in the pink robes and turquoise jewelry of the Kong Sect leaned into his space, a wine jar at the ready to refill his cup.

It was Jiang Yanli’s first real glimpse of the demonic cultivator, and all it told her was he was skilled at working a room. With little golden core to speak of and half his face hidden behind a mask, he still commanded attention.

See? He’s a flirt.

Jiang Yanli disagreed. He was a Jin. One with Jin Guangyao for a role model, and a more respectable background. So long as Jin Guangyao had a use for him, he’d have as many boys as he wanted vying for his hand.

A political flirt who raises the dead in his spare time is still a flirt.

Jiang Yanli choked down a laugh. All right, I concede. You’re right.

At her approach, A-Cheng broke away abruptly from his conversation with Sect Leader Ran, engaging Sect Leaders Yao and Ouyang together in conversation. A drastic measure, confirming her suspicion that he was avoiding further conversation with her, as well as Jin Guangyao.

If only he could know the truth.

“Jin-furen, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ran-zongzhu was a grandfatherly man with only a few wisps of white hair still clinging to his skull and a face deeply etched with laugh lines. His back had bent with age, until he was drowning in the bright green of his robes. He and his immediate southern neighbor were the only sect leaders remaining who remembered a time before Wen Ruohan came to power.

She unplugged her bottle, and refilled his cup. “I was so sorry to hear the blight affecting so many fields in Wugang was not dealt with as you hoped.”

“It’s a travesty. That Yao Sect is supposed to have a technique to chase away blight, but ever since the Sunshot Campaign, they’ve been useless.”

Qin Su scoffed. Yeah, because Sect Leader Yao is a useless meathead without the cultivation to back it up. He never learned it, so neither have his disciples.

“It’s not my place to judge how my elders run their sects.” She demurred, but did not bother to hide the smile that showed she wholly agreed.

Sect Leader Ran laughed, and coughed into his fist. “Not many of your generation are so respectful. Still, it doesn’t help my sect, or our lands.”

“If I might make a suggestion?” She refilled his cup again.

“Please.” He said, and tossed it down, coughing again after he swallowed.

“Perhaps a few watchtowers would help reduce —”

“Those useless things?” He cut her off, his scoff a concerning gurgling noise in his throat. “What a drain on resources!”

Thankfully, Qin Su had helped her plan for that reaction.

“I can see how you would think that. After all the beneficiaries often cannot pay the regular fees.” Jiang Yanli summoned all the skills she’d learned from a lifetime placating the infamous temper of the Violet Spider.  “To my surprise, we’re finding that the opposite is the case. Not just here in Lanling or in Laoling, but in Baling and Lieshan and Hengshan as well. All preliminary results, of course, but promising.”

“What do you mean?” His mouth twisted upwards until his wrinkles overtook his eyes.

“A village along the coast was attacked by a kelp yao just after our first watchtower was constructed in the area, and the cultivators in our local watchtower were able to spot it.” Only one of many such cases. As terrible as Jin Guangyao was, he did have innovative ideas. “The villagers were grateful, and gave small tokens of thanks.”

“As expected, only a small gain.” Sect Leader Ran gestured dismissively with his cup, forcing her to quickly right the bottle mid-pour.

“Oh, not at all.” She rushed to correct him, difficult as it was to speak coherently while Qin Su giggled incoherently in her head. “You see, this village has long suffered from similar attacks. It made fishing and trade difficult. But with our cultivators to defend them, their income doubled this year. Their share of the taxes has already increased substantially.”

He stroked the remnants of his beard. “Hmm. You have other examples?”

“Preliminary ones, yes. I can have the reports sent to you.” She offered.

“No. Even if it did work, staffing and funds would be a problem.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as the air of good humor he’d been putting on evaporated. “Those watchtowers of Xiandu’s would never get off the ground in Wugang.”

“Perhaps you might find it useful to speak with Su-zongzhu then.” Jiang Yanli suggested, though she would prefer no one to ever speak to him again in his life.

Ran-zongzhu harrumphed. “That blundering upstart.”

“Ah, yes. He is unpleasant.” A much milder statement than Qin Su’s he deserves to be drawn and quartered, and the parts buried separately. Her resentment for Su Minshan was older and deeper than her son’s murder. “I simply meant that he’s worked out a funding deal, where Lanling gets a share of the profit until building costs and manpower are paid off.”

“I would never consider this if it wasn’t for the blight.”

“I would simply have to find a more clever argument.” She offered him the rest of the wine bottle.

He took it, contemplating it like it held all her secrets. “Your husband is lucky to have you, Jin-furen.”

He most certainly was not.

As Jiang Yanli continued her rounds, a commotion in the form of Nie Huaisang erupted at the Chief Cultivator’s table.

“San-ge, you promised!” Nie Huaisang threw himself over the table to hang off of Jin Guangyao’s shoulders.

Shou-zongzhu, who Jin Guangyao had been talking to, immediately removed himself from the situation.

Tinged slightly purple from lack of air, Jin Guangyao peeled Nie Huaisang’s hands away and held him at length. “Huaisang, I said we’d talk after the conference.”

“Many people have already gone to sleep. Aren’t you just putting me off until tomorrow?” He whined, spinning to throw himself at Lan Xichen. “Erge!”

Lan Xichen deftly caught him before he, too, could be strangled. “I think we can take our leave now, don’t you?” He exchanged a glance with Jin Guangyao, and they seemed to come to an agreement. “Come along, A-Sang. We can speak in private.”

Nie Huaisang stashed several wine bottles in his sleeve on the way out.

Qin Su, who did not have to keep her composure in front of the leading minds of the Cultivation World, cackled.

Jiang Yanli looked away, hiding a snicker behind her sleeve, and caught the eye of Qi Juan.

The woman she was beginning to think might become a friend rolled her eyes and raised her cup silently to Jiang Yanli. Despite sitting with his arm around her, Bei-zongzhu did not notice.

Her other important discussion of the night was with Sect Leader Zhai.

Jin Huiqing had brought one of their cats, and had Sect Leader Zhai cooing over it with them. A fox-flower cat with tabby markings, it looked smug at the attention.

“A-Su, you look much improved.” Her deceased husband’s friend — and Qin Su’s biological cousin — smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Huiqing. Zhai-zongzhu.” She bowed to them both.

“How is my daughter doing, Jin-furen? No more security issues, I hope.” Like her cultivation technique, Zhai Qiaolian’s words were pleasant on the surface but cut from the shadows.

Qin Su threatened to retreat, as she had done less frequently since their return. Make them stop.

“None, now that the He Sect is gone.” Qin Su had learned from experience that Zhai Qiaolian respected those who did not pull their punches. “Zhai Xia is a pleasure to teach.”

“Don’t lie to me. My A-Xia is a precocious little pest.” Zhai Qiaolian’s tone implied they would not want her to be anything else. “What’s her current streak in beating that Du boy?”

“I shouldn’t say.” She hid her mouth behind her sleeve and turned to look slyly at them out of the corner of her eye. “Twelve in a row.”

That girl is a menace, but she’s also my favorite student. Qin Su said.

Jiang Yanli was in agreement. Both her brothers were utter menaces, and she loved them all the more for it.

With a pleased nod, Zhai Qiaolian settled back into scratching the cat’s chin. It purred, unbothered by the noises surrounding it.

“You had more than pleasantries in mind when you approached.” Huiqing noted.

“I was wondering if Zhai-zongzhu might listen to my thoughts on the Watchtowers.” She admitted.

“I’ve heard all of Xiandu’s arguments before, but I’d be willing to hear yours.” Zhai Qiaolian nodded as they handed the tabby back to its owner, giving her their full attention. “My daughter said you suggested an interesting angle.”

Jiang Yanli listed the benefits of the watchtowers for the people, as well as the sect. She and Qin Su had spent hours preparing the case.

Yet Zhai Qiaolian was unswayed. “You see, the problem is I simply don’t trust his intentions.”

This was not unexpected. With a strong heir, a prodigy second daughter, and three promising younger children, rumors said Zhai Qiaolian was looking for a way to remove their obligation to Lanling. Anything that suggested ceding power back to Lanling was unacceptable.

So Jiang Yanli offered up what they wanted on a platter. “The Zhai Sect has a unique position for negotiation among our vassals.”

For the first time, Zhai Qiaolian looked intrigued. “Are you implying Xiandu might be willing to loosen his hold on the Zhai Sect, to strengthen it on others?”

Jiang Yanli smiled slyly. “My husband would greatly appreciate your participation in the program. I believe we could work out favorable terms.”

“People are not usually so straightforward with me.” They hummed thoughtfully.

“Qiaolian. You’re known for sneak attacks. What do you expect?” Jin Huiqing teased, scratching the tabby’s ears.

Zhai Qiaolian rolled their eyes, but did not disagree.

I hear these two used to hate each other. Qin Su mused.

They had, but those few days around Jin Ling’s first month celebration had changed things for many people.

“You understand why I cannot endorse watchtowers in Fengyang, yes?” Huiqing continued.

“Of course. Your husband cannot appear to be under the thumb of the Jin Sect.” Jiang Yanli replied.

“Perhaps one day. I’ve heard worse ideas.” They sighed. “However, I would like to hear how the project is going, along with the latest in Lanling gossip while I’m here.”

“Tomorrow?” She suggested. “I think I’ll retire for the night. I’d like to check on my nephew.”

Jin Ling was sleeping peacefully, his Jiang sect guards reporting no disturbance. And yet it was not only Qin Su who remained uneasy. It would be harder to keep A-Ling at Koi Tower than she’d thought.

She turned the corner towards her own building, and a blue and gray blur knocked her on her backside.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch12

The Precipice

Warnings for rape/non-con, violence/murder and some steamy spice. Enjoy!

Word count - 3,923

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

________

The exhibit featured reproductions of some of his favorites. The Blinding of Samson, Saturn Devouring His Son, Judith Beheading Holofernes, and several others. He kept his head tilted low, avoiding the cameras entirely where he could as he made his way deeper into the museum. While the other pieces were sublime, he was here for one reason only.

The murderous artist hid his tattooed hands in his pockets as he entered the room of his target, a small alcove off the main hall of artwork. Not many of the visitors bothered to view this piece, since no well-known names were attached to its creation, and it didn’t merit a large viewing area. Security for it was abysmal, to boot. 

Still, he waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. This was private, not for anyone else to witness. Even his friends remained silent as he approached the wall where the canvas hung, barely two inches to spare on either side.

It always stole his breath to see it. A field of flowers on a mountainside, crimson petals a blanket under the feet of those gathered there. The figures all faced slightly away, so just a profile was visible. The composition hinted at the unreachable, that this group was somehow separate from the viewer. That they existed somewhere most people would never reach.

He recognized two or three faces, but only one mattered to his twisted heart.

Nero.

His friend stood on the edge of the field, a forlorn look on his face as his crystal-blue eyes gazed at the sky. Seeing his face again, even just his own meager attempts to capture it, brought the familiar tightness to his chest and throat. He remembered every stroke of the paintbrush as he crafted his friend’s likeness. 

All for this pale imitation of his kindness...

A rhythmic click broke his thoughts; footsteps. Who could say whose feet they belonged to? He needed to conceal himself, now. Whoever dared to interrupt him would pay the price.

The artist dipped into the shadows, choosing the corner he deemed most likely to be ignored by anyone viewing the artwork. The blade in his pocket greeted his fingertips like a lover, the same blade he used to craft his latest work. It sent a thrilling pulse of adrenaline through him to imagine what he might create here, in the same halls that held such classic works. Perhaps they’d inspire him?

A slim figure entered the room as he raised the blade. Female, with a pleasing shape. Lovely hair, and-

Wait…

Is that…?

It couldn’t be you, what were the odds? In such a vast city, for you to wander across his path was something he never expected. He’d imagined a multitude of ways to draw you out, but for you to simply appear? 

Yet there was no mistaking that face, those pursed lips and furrowed brow. 

“In Memoriam…” you murmured. “Why does each face… that’s odd.” 

V smirked and slid to the next shadow. What an interesting day this was becoming. Perhaps he could accelerate his plans, take the next step today since fate brought you to him? One must never waste opportunity. He licked his lips and stepped closer, lurking behind you like a bodyguard. 

“Hello, Y/N…” he purred.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, lips parting in shock. He’d missed that, how expressive your face was. No matter how hard you tried to mask your feelings, he saw them all. If anything, it became easier each time he saw you.

“V? What the hell are you doing here?”

---Reader---

You’d almost forgotten how the murderous artist’s eyes gleamed, the way his lips curled when he was amused. How damned tall he was. The intricacy of his tattoos and the poise with which he carried himself.

What the fuck?! Is he trying to get caught?

“Now what kind of greeting is that? Come now, doctor. Show some courtesy.”

The madman stepped closer, tilting his head to stare down into your eyes. You’d never stood this close to him before, so close you smelled a hint of musk from his skin. It sent a rush of dizziness through you. You worked with killers on a regular basis, why did this one in particular cause such powerful reactions?

He took another step, now only inches away. Your heart pounded in your chest, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure. The whole situation made you want to run away, but equally powerful was the urge to stay and finally solve the puzzle of his mind.

Too close, he’s too close! I have to keep it professional.

You shuffled back, trying to establish a boundary between yourself and the obsidian-haired artist. As if he’d pay attention to such things. Maybe you should just run, leave all this behind and never look back. 

No. You needed to figure him out, you couldn’t bear the thought of walking away now.

“Am I frightening you, dear Y/N?”

He closed the gap. You stepped away again, only to find your spine pressed against the extravagantly paneled wall. No escape: he had you cornered. The only question was what he planned to do next.

A tattooed finger rose to stroke your cheekbone, leaving sparks of electricity behind. You licked your lips nervously, battling the urge to lean into his fingertips. It felt alarmingly good to be touched. Even by the hands of a killer.

Am I losing my mind?

“No,” you finally replied, but your voice shook. Damn traitorous vocal cords.

He smirked and dropped his hand to rest on your shoulder, running his palm down the length of your arm to seize your hand. Logic screamed at you to run, break free and get security, but what had logic gotten you? Suspended and alone, friendless and isolated. Maybe logic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yep, I’m losing my mind.

“The truth is obvious in your eyes, my dear. Perhaps one day you’ll even be able to admit it to yourself,” he replied.

The heat of his body withdrew and your hand ached as he dropped it. Disappointment colored his piercing eyes and an apology crept up your throat, begging to be spoken. But why? What did you have to apologize for? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here?” you asked. A poorly disguised attempt to change the subject, but you honestly wanted an answer. 

He sighed and gazed at the strange painting, his face twisting into an expression you never expected to see. Guilt.

“I came to remember.”

You followed his eyes to find a white-haired figure in the painting. The very same one that reminded you of his unique style, something about the brush strokes…

No way...

“Did you paint this?”

A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Part of it, yes.”

And it’s called “In Memoriam”. Did he lose someone?

Of course. Grief was a powerful emotion, enough to break people or change them beyond recognition. You knew it well. The textbooks didn’t do it justice; the desperation and agony, the loneliness and fear that something would remind you of the loss and shatter you into a million pieces all over again, like taking a sledgehammer to a pane of glass. How every breath you took was one more the other person never would, and how much that hurt to know. Anything that eased the pain was a welcome refuge. 

The artist murmured a few words, so quietly you didn’t hear anything more than the rumble of his voice. In the next instant, you found yourself pinned once again, back against the wall and wrists held in an iron grip on either side. You twisted and writhed but he was too strong; you were helpless and vulnerable with no way out.

Well, almost.

“L- let go of me or I’ll scream!”

A single sentence, and the status quo flipped. No longer was he your patient, no longer were you the one with the power. In the facility, yes, but here? 

He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t stop him. Shit…

A wicked grin split his face, taunting you with his enjoyment of your distress. He hummed and shifted to press his hips against your thigh, letting you feel the twitching length growing firmer by the second. 

“Why do you resist? What has your endless obedience brought you? Nothing but pain.”

You hissed as his hands twisted around your wrists. The automatic protestations died on your lips; how could you argue with the truth?

“Please, just let me go…” you murmured instead. 

The artist chuckled. “I think not. I’d much rather show you the alternative to your suffering, perhaps teach you to see through the lies of society.”

A quiet whisper echoed from the main hall, footsteps treading past the room you found yourself trapped in. For a moment you considered calling for help, but no sound escaped your lips. 

This can’t be happening…

“Let go, doctor. Surrender and be set free from all that holds you back,” he continued, rolling against you with a quiet groan.

Coils of warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, the first hints of need waking deep within. Your lips parted and heat gathered in your cheeks as he leaned closer, eyes glinting. Hot breath fanned your ear as his mouth neared your skin and a soft whimper slipped from your lips. Completely inappropriate, but how were you supposed to control hormonal responses? It simply couldn’t be done.

“Tell me, my dear. Why do you fear me?”

You thrashed your arms again in a useless gesture of rebellion. Whatever you were feeling, you knew it wasn’t fear. There was an edge of risk to it, a hint of vulnerability and danger, yet you were not afraid.

You were excited.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said. 

“Hmm… even after all I’ve done?” he purred.

More voices nearby reminded you of your precarious location. At any moment, another museum goer might wander in and discover the two of you. Or worse, security. You tried to break free again, but your efforts were in vain.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, and then the murderer’s lips were on yours.

For a moment, you froze. How long had it been since you’d been kissed? Quite a while, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant was the texture of his mouth and the heat of his body, the sharp sound of your surprised inhale and the rough stubble scraping against your chin. 

Fuck! Oh, fuck!

Separating your biological desires from your logical ones was suddenly out of your capabilities. The flicker of heat in your core grew to a scorching inferno as he ran his tongue over your lip, demanding entrance you were powerless to deny. The sheer wrongness of your dancing mouths had your heart galloping and blood rushing in your ears. 

And damn, did he taste good.

The inner voice that guided your steps for years, the one that kept you in control and maintained the mask of normalcy, the force that insisted you could never show your true self…

That which once held such power over you, now seemed so frail and weak.

Playing by the rules and coloring inside the lines, what did it really get you? A job that bored you, false friends and the respect of fools. Nothing worthwhile or truly meaningful, a life devoid of joy and purpose.

Damnit, this wasn’t part of the plan! You were supposed to be whole by now, fixed and undamaged. It was the reason you studied for so many years, worked so hard and spent countless hours searching for new treatment methods. 

You were broken, but you could fix it.

Right?

You fixed murderers; your own life should have been easy. Yet it was the hardest case of all, and you were so tired of pretending. Enough of the lies, enough of the secrecy and hidden agenda. Enough blending in and trying to be like everyone else. 

Enough hiding, enough smiling at every face as if you gave a damn about them. Enough empty words and masked words. Enough doing what you were told, and enough ignoring what you wanted.

Enough.

---V---

That brief taste of your skin seemed so long ago. The palest reflection of everything hidden just below the surface. The full-bodied flavor of your mouth was infinitely more dazzling. 

As he’d requested, his friends were silent. This part was his alone, and they would not spoil it by breaking his concentration. No doubt they’d share their thoughts later on, but for now…

For now, he had you all to himself. The softness of your wrists in his grasp and the scent of your skin had him reeling, each caress of your tongue adding gasoline to the fire of his need. You were teetering on the edge of letting go, he could feel it. All you needed was the right push.

The artist ground against your thigh, easing the ache in his cock by a minuscule fraction. The answering whimper was a thing of beauty, especially when coupled with the twitch of your hips. Images from his fantasies flooded his mind, visions of all the ways you could satisfy him. Mouth and fingers and oh, the velveteen walls of your core…

No! Restrain yourself, she isn’t there yet!

He forced himself to break the kiss and rested his forehead on yours, sharing each panted breath. What a glorious expression you wore, glassy eyed and swollen lips parted. Yes, you were worth being patient and careful. No one else would do.

“You see, doctor? You see how I can set you free?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You say you’ll set me free while you restrain me. You really are insane.”

She’s got a point, pal.

“Hush, Griffon! Not now.”

Despite the infuriating interruption, he couldn’t deny that the mouthy demon was right. His fingers opened, relaxing enough for you to at last break his hold if you desired. A risk, but a necessary one to gain your trust.

Indeed, you jerked away from his grip and glared at him, but he didn’t step back. Freedom wasn’t something he could truly give you.

You had to take it.

With a wicked grin he rolled his hips once again, bracing his arms on either side of you to support his weight. Your hair smelled so good, and just the right length for pulling…

“Fuck!” you whispered.

Then he stepped back, when your voice and body conveyed the need he’d drawn out. 

“You’re free, now. What will you do with it?”

Truly, you were a wonder. Only tiny changes revealed your thoughts; less attentive eyes might not have spotted the hesitation or the hunger in your gaze. Yet the conclusion was inevitable, and as he watched resolve harden those lovely eyes he couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck it,” you growled.

This time it was you who closed the gap, pulling his head down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your hands pawed at his back, begging and pleading for more, and who would he be if he denied you now?

Tattooed fingers took hold of your ass and lifted. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist like a bear trap, forcing your core to meet his painfully hard cock. Sparks jumped from every nerve your hands caressed and flames devoured the last of his restraint as you mewled, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

The artist pinned you against the wall and brought one hand to your waist band. He didn’t hesitate and plunged his digits within, tracing the soft flesh hidden beneath. Positively divine, so soft and warm…

And wet…

He grinned and trailed kisses down your pulse, licking and suckling at the tender flesh as quiet moans spilled from your lips. A single fingernail scraped across your core, gathering the slick fluid as it traveled to the small nub of nerves nearby. 

“You see? You see what a delight it is to claim your freedom?”

“Fuck, please, just-“

He shattered your voice by pressing against your clit and rubbing. The lewd moan that rewarded him might become his favorite sound and he dragged his digit across again to hear it once more. 

Your small hands clawed at his back, hips rotating to rock against his hand. With his nose buried in the crux of your neck, he couldn’t see your face, but every stuttering breath you took guided his motion. A fine sheen of sweat broke out under his lips and he lapped at the salty fluid even as his hand drew more moisture from your body. 

Sinful noises filled the air, a symphony of pleasure his mind would play on repeat for days to come. He traced the silken flesh like it was the most precious canvas in the world, deliberately stroking and pressing into your most sensitive spots. 

“This is but a taste of what I can give you. Imagine it: total autonomy, each choice your own to make.”

“Ah-! Fuck, please!”

He hummed and sank his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously burying two fingers in your wet heat with a lewd groan. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be just his fingers enjoying the welcoming tightness.

You scrabbled at his spine and keened his name, your legs pulling his hips closer on instinct alone. Obscene gasps and moans spilled form your lips as he curled his fingers and pistoned inside you. A tiny hint of copper leaked where his teeth cut your flesh, the perfect morsel for his depraved soul. 

“Ah-! Shit, I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, Y/N. Break your chains,” the artist hummed.

A final cry, the gentlest of flutters against his fingers. There it was, perfection in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch your face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He’d seen a face like that once before, the day his life changed forever. After the gunshots fell silent and blood soaked the auditorium floor. He was still trapped under Nero’s dead body, desperately trying to appear equally deceased.

A few feet away Becca lied on the floor, mascara-laden tears streaming from her eyes and terror painting her features. Drops of crimson splattered her cheeks. 

One of the shooters approached the poor girl and dragged her into position, splayed out across one of the larger patches of floor. Her blond hair reddened along with her face as the killer’s hands groped at her body. Her sobbing intensified and V’s heart clenched in sympathy.

I wish there was something I could do!

But to intervene would mean his death, of that he was certain. All he could do was bear witness. 

He watched in silence as the shooters took turns, each adding their own marks to her flesh. Not once did she beg for mercy, instead taking their abuse without a word. If only he were so strong…

The leader was last, identifiable by his swagger laden stride and massive weapon. He held the barrel to her neck and unzipped, gloved hands drawing out his hardened length. 

“Don’t worry, Becca. I know how to treat a lady,” the attacker growled.

Indeed, he took the time to guide her forcefully to bliss. His hands teased at her flesh and gently caressed the marks left by his comrades, praise and filthy phrases accompanying his touch. Even as choked sobs still leaked past her lips, moans and whimpers slowly mixed in. 

The artist’s heart broke for her. She was always kind to him, a vague sort of friendliness that was more than most bothered with. She didn’t deserve the cruelty she was receiving.

Nor did she deserve to have her body manipulated until a sharp cry broke through her tears. Only her face and part of her torso were visible, but it was enough. Her features twisted in ashamed pleasure, arms tightening as her spine arced off the bloody floor. Such a tortured expression, he’d never seen.

He closed his eyes, but there was no blocking the sound of the shot that claimed her life moments later.

---Reader---

“God damnit, V…”

Heartbeats after your peak, the artist’s face had lost all expression. He mumbled the same phrase over and over, in the grip of a powerful catatonic episode. Somehow, he didn’t drop you. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he murmured. Another small blessing – he didn’t shout.

Still. The longer he stayed like this, the more likely someone would wander across him.

And me…

With a few careful wiggles, you extricated yourself from his grasp to stand on the parquet flooring once more. The resistance he gave you was negligible; never had you seen him so helpless.

I could just… go.

He was a killer. He deserved justice, and all you had to do to make sure he got it was walk away. Leave him to his fate, abandon this strange man and let go of your fascination. After what happened, there was no chance he’d end up in your care again. You’d never have to see him for the rest of your life.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he repeated.

A sigh slipped from your pursed lips. There was still so much about him you didn’t know. To try to help him now would undoubtedly mean the end of your professional career, if it wasn’t beyond repair already. You knew where this road would lead; to death and blood.

But also to answers.

Is the cost too high? Is it worth it?

If only the court sent him somewhere else. Then, none of this would be an issue. The murderous artist would be someone else’s problem and you wouldn’t have to make such a ridiculous choice. Your life would still be on its planned trajectory.

Yet that life held little appeal, now. It was pointless to deny his madness, but equally so to deny the tornado he coaxed to life in your heart. Emotions more powerful than you’d ever experienced, not to mention what his lethal hands could do to your body. A single moment in his presence sparked more curiosity and unanswered questions than a year spent in solitude.

No. there’s no going back now.

With a muttered curse, you tugged his skull down to look at you. This was such a terrible idea. “V, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you can’t stay here.”

No response, as you’d expected. Plan B, then.

You took his hand and led him into the shadows, away from the beautifully painted canvas and bright display lights. It was fortunate he liked black, or the darkness wouldn’t hide him so well.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon, sit down.”

With a little prodding, he managed to take a seat on the floor. Time to get to work.

His glassy eyes refused to follow your finger, but his breathing sounded fine and there was no evidence of a seizure. Gentle taps resulted in appropriate twitches. Heartbeat normal. Physically, the man seemed completely fine.

Okay, all I have to do is wait and he should come out of it eventually.

Considering the last time he had one of these episodes, it lasted over an hour, you settled in beside him. Your jacket made a decent blanket and it was dark, hopefully enough to conceal you from prying eyes.

If it wasn’t, you knew you’d pay the price.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[healthmessenger]

The Actual Coronavirus diet…according to HealthMessenger

On March 23, the World Food Programme issued guidelines on the “do’s” and “dont’s” of eating while on quarantine. In last week’s article, I gave my take on each of the 7 tips on keeping a healthy diet in the face of coronavirus…according to the WFP…   

Some of you subsequently reached out to ask what my guidelines would be. Even though I have not personally contracted the virus…yet…and havent had to quarantine, I did preventatively tweak my diet;

Full Disclosure…

As some of you already know, I strongly advocate for low carb diets, especially when tackling auto-immune diseases such as type-2 diabetes, high blood pressure, asthma, etc… . I myself have recently adopted a modified Ketogenic diet in an attempt to rebalance my macros to boost my immune system. The “modified” part comes with the addition of low GI fruits(strawberries, raspberries, kiwi, apples, pears, apricots, tomatoes) and low GI starches(sweet potatoes) around workouts in order to maintain a high metabolic rate. I have also started supplementing with Vitamin D in order offset the lack of sun exposure. That’s enough about me though… . Let’s see what the science has to say…

Low-carb nutrition and immune function

On Number 15, 2019 a study published in ScienceImmunology showed that mice fed a Ketogenic diet for seven days were protected from a lethal flu virus by increasing the number of specialised immune cells in their lungs. But interestingly, this protection only came once the mice had metabolically adapted to the high-fat diet. Giving exogenous ketones without the metabolic adaptation did not confer the same benefit.  Obviously, that’s a far cry from saying a keto diet will do the same for influenza in humans or for COVID-19, simply because 1)Humans are not mice and 2)something tells me we can’t do the same study where we purposely infect people with a lethal influenza strain. To be completely honest, the paper is incredibly dense with detailed discussion of the immunologic and genetic responses, but I think the basic conclusion is good enough. The metabolic adaptation to a ketogenic diet can affect the function of the immune system to the point where it can prevent a lethal infection. But one question we should ask is, if we follow a diet that is proven to help with weight loss and metabolic health and may also beneficially affect immune function, wouldn’t it be worth trying? What do we have to lose?

Quality, quality, quality…

So, now more than ever, you might want to jump on a low-carb diet. I am not going to debate which LCHF diet is the best, simply because there is no clear cut answer to that question and also because I have partially answered that question in a previous article. Having said that, the quality (nutritional density) of the food you choose must prevail over the underlying food category (fruits vs vegetables vs meat vs etc…) promoted by the diet you eventually decide to pick. I don’t care wether you are vegan, carnivore or anything in between, the quality of the ingredients/foods you pick must be of the highest quality possible. That is as organically grown as available in your area. You are better off eating a grass-fed, grass finished steak over an “enhanced” apple(genetically modified with added sugar). Vice versa, you are better off eating an organically grown apple from your grandmothers’ apple tree over an antibiotic treated piece of meat. The same rule of thumb applies across food categories. Simply pay a  bit more attention to the labels and do not hesitate to ask your well-intentioned butcher/gardener.

Cook your Food

France’s health and safety agency (ANSES) convened an expert group to investigate whether the COVID-19 disease can be potentially transmitted via contaminated food.

In light of the scientific knowledge available, ANSES has suggested transmission through food could occur if a person infected with the virus prepares or handles food with dirty hands – and contaminates it.   

“This could concern all types of food (animal or plant products),” ​noted the agency​. “Furthermore, while there is no evidence to suggest that consumption of contaminated food can lead to infection of the digestive tract, the possibility of the respiratory tract becoming infecting during chewing cannot be completely ruled out.”​

As with other known coronaviruses, the novel coronavirus is sensitive to cooking temperatures, ANSES continued. “Heat treatment at 63​°C for four minutes (temperature used when preparing hot food in mass catering) can therefore reduce contamination of a food product by a factor of 1,000.”​

ANSES has reiterated that cooking food and observing good hygiene practices when handling and preparing food are effective at preventing contamination of the novel coronavirus.

Load up on fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds

This one sounds like a no brainer…until you adopt a low-carb diet. Studies after studies have shown that the consumption of fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds is obviously a common recommendation when it comes to strengthening ones immunity.  I would recommend 2-3 pieces of low GI fruits(below 50) per day and at least 5 vegetables(below 30) a day. As far as nuts and seeds are concern, choose raw over salted. Portions will vary on an individual basis. A hand full per day is good rule of thumb though. Forget about the rainbow 

Stay the hell away from refined carbs and sugars

I know how tempting it can be to reach out to cookies whilst binging on the latest Netflix series, awaiting for the quarantine to end …but please…dont… .

Laboratory evidence suggests sugar impairs white blood cell function and triggers acute rises in blood sugar, leading to an increased risk of infections and complications. Therefore, it would make sense that we want to limit these blood sugar elevations. Refined carbohydrates and simple sugars are two of the biggest offenders for blood sugar spikes and should therefore be eliminated.

This is not to say that studies show avoiding these foods results in fewer infections. (We don’t have that clear evidence.)

However, one simple solution is to use the measurement of your own blood sugar as a guide. If higher blood sugar is associated with more complications, it makes sense we want to limit that. I suggest measuring your blood sugar either with a regular glucometer or, even better, with a continuous glucometer (CGM) if you have access to one. If the foods you eat cause your blood sugar to rise above 140mg/dl (7.8mmol/L), consider eating something different.

Again studies show that a low-carb, moderate protein, higher fat diet effectively reduces blood sugar and can even reverse type 2 diabetes. We don’t have proof that this will “boost your immune system,” but it may help keep blood sugars in check which may be associated with decreased infectious risk.

Chicken soup/bone broth

Treating colds and the flu with chicken soup may be the most popular urban myth of all time. Surprisingly, it may not be 100% a myth. One study showed chicken soup “inhibited neutrophil migration,” which the authors suggest could improve our ability to recover from infections. However, this is one of those instances where laboratory findings may not translate to clinical improvements such as fewer or less serious infections. But it’s hard to argue with a tasty homemade soup with chicken(grass-fed), a few low-carb veggies, and plenty of real salt. Immune booster or not, it sounds like a great meal for a period in self-isolation.

Herbs and Spices

Turmeric

Turmeric is a spice commonly used in Indian and Asian cuisine, including curries. It contains a bright-yellow compound known as curcumin, which emerging research suggests might enhance immune function. However, there isn’t any convincing evidence showing that it helps fight viral infections yet. On the other hand, adding turmeric to your food adds flavour, and taking a curcumin supplement is unlikely to cause any harm in otherwise healthy people. If you have any medical conditions — especially if you take blood thinners — check with your doctor before supplementing with curcumin.

Echinacea

Echinacea is an herb that can reportedly help prevent the common cold. But is this reputation well-deserved? A recent systematic review of randomised trials found that echinacea may possibly have a mild protective effect against upper-respiratory infections but doesn’t appear to reduce the length or severity of illness. While it’s impossible to say whether it might offer any protection against COVID-19, it appears to be safe to take on a short-term basis. If you’re at high risk, you may consider taking it for the next several weeks.

Garlic

Garlic, a popular and pungent herb with a characteristic aroma, is widely believed to have antibacterial and antiviral effects, including helping to fight the common cold. A 2014 randomised controlled trial did find that people who took a garlic supplement had fewer colds and recovered more quickly from colds than people who didn’t take garlic. Although this is encouraging, this is just one study. Other high-quality trials are needed to confirm whether garlic is truly beneficial for the common cold or other upper-respiratory infections. For now, enjoy garlic for its zesty flavour and unmistakable aroma rather than counting on it to boost your immunity during the coronavirus pandemic.

Supplements

Vitamin C

For decades, Vitamin C has been used to help prevent the common cold. Among other functions, this vitamin can help maintain healthy skin that provides a barrier to germs and other harmful invaders. In addition, some — but not all — studies suggest it may improve the function of certain white blood cells that fight infection. In addition, there is conflicting evidence about the potential mortality benefits of high dose Vitamin C for patients with sepsis, the most severe form of systemic infections. While it’s unclear whether taking a Vitamin C supplement is beneficial for COVID-19, for most people there’s no harm in taking up to 2,000 mg per day (the upper limit set by the National Academy of Medicine).

For smokers and high-risk individuals, it’s definitely worth considering. Vitamin C is water-soluble, so your body will excrete whatever you don’t need into your urine. However, at very high doses, Vitamin C may cause diarrheas or increase the risk of kidney stones (especially in men), so be sure not to exceed 2,000 mg daily.

Vitamin D

As both a hormone and a vitamin, Vitamin D plays a number of important roles in health. In recent years, people have taken very high doses of Vitamin D with the intention of boosting immunity. But is this an effective tactic? A 2017 systematic review of 25 randomised trials found that taking a Vitamin D supplement seemed to have a mild protective effect against respiratory-tract infections in most people, but provided much greater protection in those who were very deficient in Vitamin D. If your Vitamin D levels are low, you may have a better chance of staying well if you supplement with 2,000 IU per day (or more, with medical supervision). Many — perhaps even most — people are deficient in vitamin D. So it’s probably wise to take a Vitamin D supplement right now, especially if you’re at increased risk for COVID-19. Of course, your body can make Vitamin D on its own when your skin is exposed to sunlight, so try to get some sun whenever you can. How much sun depends on the time of year and your location. A good starting point is 15 minutes of exposure to a large body part (such as the torso or back). Just remember to avoid sunburns, as excess sun exposure carries its own risks

Zinc

Zinc is a mineral involved in the white blood cell response to infection. Because of this, people who are deficient in zinc are more susceptible to cold, flu, and other viruses. One meta-analysis of seven trials found that supplementing with zinc reduced the length of the common cold by an average of 33%. Whether it could have a similar effect on COVID-19 isn’t yet known. Taking supplementary zinc may be a good strategy for older people and others at increased risk. If you decide to take zinc, make sure to stay below the upper limit of 40 mg per day, and avoid administering nasally, due to the risk of olfactory complications.

Fasting

With all the focus on how certain foods affect your immune system, you may also wonder, what about fasting? As counterintuitive as this one may sound, fasting protocoles are proving more and more effective at boosting immune functions..

One study in mice showed that fasting, or more specifically refeeding after a fast, restored immune function that had been suppressed by chemotherapy. During the fasting period itself, however, fasting appeared to impair the immune system, especially in the elderly. This is a very important caveat to keep in mind, especially if yo have already been infected by COVI-19. Fasting should only be used a a preventative tool. 

Over the long term, intermittent fasting and refeeding will boost the immune system. Keep this in mind in preparation for the next pandemic. Sorry but yes, we will likely face other, more or less severe, pandemics in the coming years/decades. Better be safe than sorry.  However, during an acute pandemic, where the immediate risk of infection is higher than usual, it may not be a good time to try fasting, given the potential for a temporary decrease in immunity.

This may sound surprising for those who have heard the phrase, “starve a fever.” The theory is that humans have evolved to not feel hungry and purposely avoid food during an acute illness as a protective mechanism, which may in turn limit nutrients the virus needs to replicate. To be clear, this is all conjecture without any quality supporting evidence.

Other evidence suggests that ketones are beneficial for immune function, and perhaps that could be why some recommend fasting. But considering all of the data together, if that were the case, you are better off adopting a keto diet and not fasting. Based on the limited data available, I suggest not fasting longer than 36 hours during the outbreak of the coronavirus, especially if you are older than 60 years old. It’s logical that you can continue with shorter-duration time-restricted eating, although there is no data on this either.

There you go…my official guidelines on keeping a healthy diet in the face of coronavirus…

Coming up next: Why you cannot “catch” a virus

Until then…take care of you and your loved ones.

To Your Health

The Health Messenger

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before 🖤

***

Dante stood in the lobby as he read the latest issue of his favorite magazine.

Already in his best formal attire, the man unceremoniously waited for you. The gig this time required the two of you to infiltrate a party to rat a certain Demon out, and at the mere thought of you in a dress had him intrigued.

Of course, he found you quite fetching. But, the clothes you wore on a daily basis? With your fondness for loose, oversized, and unflattering pieces of clothing, he honestly thought that you got nothing compared to either Trish or Lady, who were two of the most beautiful, if not lethal, women he had ever seen.

Yes, he thought that all the beauty you got were wasted on your conservative tastes,…

“Are we gonna go, or what?” Dante, who failed to notice you as you came down from your room, heard you loud and clear and turned.

“Hey, what took you - ?”

The man stopped dead in his tracks, for there, right before his very eyes, was,…

You raised an eyebrow and placed your hands on your hips. “Are you gonna stare at me the whole evening? We still have a job to do.”

“The lady is right.” Morrison, who just entered the building, said. And when he saw you, his eyes widened in complete awe. “And surprise of all mother of surprises. You look like the most gorgeous star in the galaxy, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morrison.” You said, taking the Broker’s hand and letting him lead you outside towards his car.

“Your partner seems to be tongue tied.”

“Yeah, he’s busy with that magazine of his.”

You carefully entered the vehicle as Morrison opened the door for you. A few moments later, Dante followed.

The ride towards your destination was a really quiet one. You would occasionally look at the front at Morrison as he drove but, most of the time, your eyes were just glued to the window beside you. Despite that, you could not shake the feeling of heaviness in your body. It’s as if you have been the subject of someone’s intense stares for far too long.

Still, you smiled, not letting yourself be tempted to indulge your silent companion.

Your resistance persisted until you two reached the place.

And Dante could not hold it in any longer.

“Hey,” he began, isolating you from the other guests by leading you to an empty hallway. “You’ve been keeping things from me.”

“Wha - ?” You started to argue but, then, realized he was right. “Well, yes.”

“What else can you do?” Dante demanded, your overwhelming scent of a very addictive vintage wine assaulting his nostrils and driving his patience to the limit. “Witchcraft? Sorcery? Voodoo?”

You only chuckled at his question. “They’re the same thing.”

The man grabbed your shoulders and made you look up at him, his light - colored eyes more intense than ever before. “Tell. Me.”

Unfazed, you only smiled up at him, grabbed his huge hands, and removed them gingerly off you. You then took one of his hands and led him back towards the living area where the party was taking place.

“What are you doing?”

“See that lady?” You whispered to him in a lover - like fashion so as not to make yourself obvious that you’re plotting something dangerous. “That’s your target.”

“How did you even - ?!”

“Sshh! Don’t ask. Okay?”

Dante looked at the said female, who happened to be the host of the party.

“So, in two minutes, she will come our way, introduce herself to you, and start flirting with you. You will flirt with her for, like, five minutes.”

The man looked at you suspiciously. “Why did I suddenly feel nervous about this?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. Anyway, her lover will come out of hiding. You will kill him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who said anything about killing an innocent man?!”

“And,” you went on, ignoring Dante’s complaint. “… you will use the Rebellion and drive it through his skull, then she will attack you. You will use the Ebony and Ivory against her. And, guess what, all the guests in here? They’re all Demons. You will finish them in, like, ten minutes, tops. Then, you will join me in the balcony and wipe Demon blood off your face.”

“And why am I supposed to believe you?”

“Because your two minutes is up and she’s coming towards us.”

And surely enough, with hips swaying seductively and eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, the gracefully tall and slender host of the party was coming towards the legendary Devil Hunter. Dante looked back at you and realized you weren’t there any more.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, the man, who was covered in Demon guts and chandelier glitter, came out to join you on the balcony. He wiped the Demon blood off his face and leaned against the railing beside you.

“You didn’t even help me.” Dante told you with a huge sigh. “And we’re supposed to be partners.”

“Convinced?”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, at least you got to flirt with her, right?” You cheerfully answered.

Dante looked at you with every intention of giving you a piece of his mind but, you were already walking away from him.

“Hey!”

You turned back, winked at him, and held up a finger to your lips.

“Sshh,…”

***

XIV

***

You and V hustled towards the empty building, sheltering yourselves due to the very sudden and heavy rainfall.

Once inside, V heard you grunt in dismay and as he turned to look at you, he saw you as you put your black violin case down on the cold floor and strip off your wet parka, revealing your simple white dress underneath.

Now, V may have no idea, whatsoever, what you’ll need the violin for during the Demon hunt, but he was definitely flabbergasted as to your taste in clothing. It’s as if you were not going on a Demon hunt, at all.

You felt a pair of eyes boring down on you as you picked up your violin case, and when you looked up, you ultimately saw him staring at you.

Then, there was that feeling again - of your cheeks burning, of your heartbeat going wild, of your knees getting weak and wobbly.

It’s as if the man’s mere gaze put your mind in a trance, and your senses into a total discord.

You shyly looked away, trying to escape his longing look, until you finally noticed where you really were.

“Hey, this is a dance studio!” You exclaimed breathlessly as you ran towards one of the doors that led to a huge rehearsal room. You entered it and took in the achingly familiar atmosphere of the place, from its floor, the huge glass windows, to the mirrored walls.

The exact moment when V entered the room after you, Griffon materialized and flew towards you.

“Where did ya just take us to?” The bird irritatingly questioned. “It’s too damn creepy in here!”

“Why? You afraid of mirrors?”

The bird squawked and flew towards one of the abandoned chairs, perching and settling himself comfortably.

You ignored the Demon and went towards the window, seeing the angry outpour outside and the eventual streak of lightning from the sky, followed by the loud boom of the thunder.

“It seems that we have become stranded here for a while.” You heard V’s low voice as you sensed him walking closer towards you.

You simply nodded, still unable to look the man in the eye. “I hope it stops soon.”

“I wish for the opposite.”

The very noticeable purr in the man’s voice made your heart do flips. You turned around, and as another streak of lightning painted the sky, you saw the unmistakable mischief in those eyes and grin of his.

Suddenly feeling both nervous and giddy, you hastily walked towards one of the chairs near Griffon, sat, and removed your boots.

“Okay, these are getting heavy as hell!” You said, unintentionally making your voice loud due to your nerves. “I’m taking these off!”

“Ew!” Griffon exclaimed as soon as your feet came into view. “Did ya step on a fuckin’ corpse or are those yer actual feet, eh sweet pea?!”

You narrowed your eyes at the demonic bird, who started laughing at your pitiful, scarred little feet.

“Hahaha! Ah, haha, eh, well, no offense, sweet pea. Just sayin’ the truth.”

“Beauty cannot be comprehended by small minds, my Demonic friend.” V, who, of course, followed you, fortunately came to your rescue.

You gave Griffon a triumphantly evil grin as you placed your wet boots under the table. “I’m a dancer. It would make perfect sense for me to have ugly feet.” You looked up at V and spoke with him instead of the bird who got grumpy. “I got these scars from years of dedicated dancing.”

“Hmm,…” V mused as he sat on a chair beside you. “Those scars,… symbolize the true enjoyment and will that you felt doing that special something you adore.” He uttered, then leaned closer towards you. With a soft whisper, he said, “Those feet, my Lady,… I would kiss,… over,… and over again,… if I could,… ”

Thump!

“Shoes! Shoes! The floor is cold! I need shoes!” You literally yelled, feeling your traitorous heart triple in heartbeat. With hot cheeks and trembling limbs, you hastily stood up and roamed aimlessly all over the room in search of those shoes you mentioned. As lame as you might have looked then, you knew what’s truly going on between you and the poet, you just could not handle your own chaotic feelings. And now, you must have looked like a total mess right before him.

“Yeah, no shit, Shirley!” Griffon sarcastically whispered at V. “Ain’t that right, V? I mean, if ya like her, just tell her already! Dangit! Fuckin’ stop beatin’ ‘round the fuckin’ bushes! Look at her, ya broke the thing!”

Surely enough, V saw you wandering around the room, muttering something incomprehensible under your breath.

Taking pity on you and feeling guilty at himself for making you uncomfortable, he stood up and walked to where you were.

You felt the man as he neared you and instinctively halted your silly, panic mumblings. You cleared your throat, bravely faced him, and saw the worried look in those deep green eyes of his.

“Well, I do not exactly enjoy it. Dancing, I mean.” You told the man, making yourself as calm as you could. “It was more like a,… survival kind of thing.”

“Survival, you say?” V answered, instantly feeling intrigued. How would one consider dancing as survival? But, of course, he had no idea what you’ve been through as a child. “Can you, please, explain?”

You slightly got nervous, feeling as if you revealed more than what was necessary. You were only talking about your ugly feet, damnit! No need to drag the man further into your own, dark past.

Once again, you looked around for something, anything, that could save you from your blunder. And there, right on the corner, you saw, as the lightning lit up the dark sky, a pair of forgotten ballet shoes. You looked at the thing with much intent, then back at your male companion.

“Shall I just show you how they made us dance, instead?” You offered. Well, since you’d be moving a lot from now on, you might as well have a sort of a warm up.

And what a perfect way to do that than that accursed piece those pale people made you dance for six whole years.

On the other hand, V felt concerned about you. You considered dance as survival, and yet, here you were, offering to open up what must’ve been a deep wound from the past.

Then, he had an idea.

“If dancing felt like a challenge to you,” he said, suddenly offering up a hand. “ … then, would you allow this fool to ease the burden and join you for this dance?”

Thump! Thump!

Went your heartbeat once more. But, this time, escaping and saving your shy self would not do you any good. So, instead, you took a deep breath, nodded, and looked up at him with much resolve. You took his hand and began with the simplest of steps.

Well! The man surely had instruction! He was sensitive enough to know when you’ll turn, when you must be lifted, and when you’ll change positions. Not to mention his graceful movements! Where the hell did he learn ballet?!

Meanwhile, V only had to thank the endless dance lessons he took when he was only a boy! And not only that, he also had to actually thank his stupid twin for skipping them, for, if not, he would never have received more difficult extra lessons that involved doing a pas des deux ! And who knew it will become useful in the future?!

For a while, it seemed as though nothing could disrupt the little, yet warm environment that engulfed the two of you. Not even the bleak weather. Even the foul - mouthed Demon perched on the chair close by dared not utter any piercing word.

Everything seemed at peace, the steps you made, perfect. The lightning streaked the sky once more, splashing very little light into the cold, studio. You made another pirouette, longing to end the little dance with flourish, until the loud bang of the thunder came booming down, startling you and making you stumble on your feet. V thankfully caught you just in time before you fall.

“(Y/N),…”

“I’m fine, thank you.” You reassured the man, at the same time getting back up on your feet with his help. “You know, my body’s condition was not how it used to be compared to when I was a bit younger.”

The man smiled gently at you as he took your hands once more, pulling you closer. “Age matters not, as long as you enjoy dancing.”

You sheepishly smiled back at him. “Now that you mentioned it, yes. I enjoyed this dance.”

The man may not have chosen to mention it to you but, he definitely enjoyed the little performance with you. Much more so than you did. For you were there with him, smiling, and forgetting the chaos of this world.

For at least a few minutes, it felt intimate for V.

However, he saw the smile on your face slowly vanish as you let go of his hands. The man looked at you in confusion, then you told him, “There is, was, only one person in the world who could out dance me in the past.”

The man’s face fell, seeing the sadness that was creeping up on those (E/C) eyes he had come to adore.

With glistening eyes, you simply uttered, “My sister.”

“I’m so sorry.” V whispered achingly at you. “It must be,… ”

“She was,” you went on, managing a smile despite the hurt that suddenly made its way onto your chest at the reminder of your lost, beloved sibling. “ … how to put this? She was perfect in every way. She was the most beautiful girl in the world, and everybody adored her. She,… died,… to save me, V.”

V looked away from her. He had,… someone,… very special whom he lost a very long time ago. Hearing you tell your own tale regarding the person you lost brought back those hurtful memories of the one he loved above all else,…

… her,…

He took a deep breath and faced you once more, not wanting you to worry about him.

“What matters is that you still have precious people around you, my Lady.” He said, his voice hoarse and raw with untold emotions and unshed tears. “You must focus on not losing them, as well.”

You smiled at him, aware of the melancholic feeling you had evoked in the already cold and lonely atmosphere. You took both his hands and guided him to sit on the floor.

Confused, V glanced at you as you positioned yourself in the middle of the empty dance floor. Griffon noticed this change and flew towards his master, settling himself right beside him.

“V,” you began. “… let me tell you the story of a man who regrets the loss of a loved one and the woman who loves him the most. The love of his life. Whom he could no longer be with.”

You took a deep breath and began a slow movement that gradually turned into a series of steps that seemed to tell a story, like what you mentioned.

Every turn, every gesture, every sweet and graceful hand movement told V some numerous, little words forming into silent sentences that seemed to whisper directly at his heart. The steps to the very raw yet beautiful dance you performed honestly moved him, feeling a different kind of an ache within his own heart. The steps turned more radiant as it came to the heart of the story,…

… of a very graceful woman,…

… and the man,…

… who was foolish enough to let her go.

And when you finished, he was both speechless and mesmerized. You looked at him with concern, confused by his uncharacteristic silence.

That was when you saw it,…

… genuine tears falling down his face.

“Ah!” You stuttered, not knowing what to do upon the realization that you just made V cry. “I’m so sorry! I would never do this again! I - ”

You were immediately silenced as V stood and gave you a hug so tight, yet so gentle, that you felt that he did not want to let go of you.

Like he did not want to ever lose you.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

You knew he was still crying, so you took the initiative to wrap your arms around him and pull him closer.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You gently whispered at him, calming him down with your caress. “I’ll never leave you. I promise.”

And just when things were getting more and more cozy between the two of you, Griffon, who seemed to get touched by your performance, as well, flew towards you with large, melancholic eyes. How strange for a brazen creature such as him!

“Hey, do ya know any more stories that won’t make ya cry?” The bird asked in a sad and weird tone.

“Okay! Let’s see,… ”

V smiled as he let go of you, wanting to hear what you were about to say. He just could not help but become excited for your story.

“There was a warrior who was protected by three Goddesses.” You began. “However, he mysteriously vanished, making the Goddesses scatter all over the world in search of a temporary vessel until he returns. They found her and dwelled within her for a hundred years.

"Then, one day, he returned and two of his Goddesses returned to him. Aside from the last one who got attached to the woman. But, to gain complete power, the man must have all three with him. So, he took the third Goddess from the woman by force.”

“What happened?!”

“Ah,… she died.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHITTY STORY?!”

You became nervous as cold sweat trickled down your forehead. “I made it up,… ”

“WHAT IN THE FUCKIN’ - ?!”

“Hush, you Demon,…” V chuckled as he watched the two of you argue,…

But, the fun and peace of mind you had didn’t last long,…

For, only after a few hours, Griffon, who was rendered useless by the Diabolical Amalgam, was screaming your name as you made your way towards the frightening creature, unarmed, wounded, vulnerable, and above all, stripped naked.

“SWEET PEA!” Griffon pleaded as he tried once more to attack, only to fail yet again. “YOU WILL FUCKIN’ DIE! STOP!”

But you only looked back at him, winked, and held up a slender finger to your bloody lips.

“Sshh,…”

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup]

A little thing inspired by Finnick and Annie/Peeta and Katniss’s ‘game’ in MockingJay. Based after the aftermath of Season 5.(Spoilers up to the end of 5.10, speculation afterward) from my drafts for literal years. 

Her first thought is to burn their house down. She’s never been a ‘fix what’s broken’ kind of girl. She much prefers a clean slate without rooms tainted with the memories of heartache. 

He is quite opposite. It shouldn’t really surprise her either, with him keeping a ship that has memories of dead loved ones and lost limbs soaked into the wooden planks that make the damn thing up. 

He never spent a night in it, so she agrees on a trial basis. 

He still doesn’t spend the night in it the first few weeks they’re back. He says it’s still a matter of needing to heal. She wants to agree, she knows parts of her heart have yet to stop bleeding, but it makes no sense to her to be alone again. 

But they start slow, he brings her coffee before walking her to the station. (It takes her a little while to discover how he spends his days while she was trying to become herself again.) He picks her up with takeout and they go back to the house to eat together in a bitter silence the first few days, awkward small talk the next few. 

But then it’s two weeks into this routine and he visits her for lunch with soil caked into his nail beds and sweat glistening down the exposed strip of skin showing through his dirty hanes v-neck. 

“True or false, someone’s got a new hobby?” She gives what may be her first genuine smirk since it all fell through and he shyly bows his head and hides his own smile from view. 

“The sea has always made me feel immortal, but my mother use to garden when I was just a boy.” He drops the bag from Granny’s on her desk and walks over to get a chair for himself, mumbling something about it making his existence seem real again. 

It takes one more week before he brings her to his garden, hidden just behind the shed in the back of what should be their home. 

“I found that Middlemist you had enchanted to preserve. Belle helped me with a potion that would extract the seeds. In a few months or so, we should see them bloom.”

“You and Belle are still friends?” She shouldn’t direct her focus to that, but half the town won’t look him in the eyes anymore and she’s just relieved that there are still people who do.

“Aye. She alas has forgiven me.” 

“Killian, I’ve forgiven you.”

“If that were true, we’d be further along. Unfortunately, Love, that’s not true, nor is it that I have fully forgiven you.”

It crushes her to hear, but this is still progress, because up until now they’ve just been empty conversations about each other’s day and dreadful goodbye hugs where her skin aches where ever his touches. 

“How do we get there?”

“Dealing with what’s blocking us, one nasty moment at a time.”

-/-

“You said I’d always be an orphan. And I don’t hold it against you, I won’t hold anything you did as the dark one against you, but I need to know...”

“True. You came here and isolated yourself. You forced yourself to be what you’ve always been. I said that as me. I didn’t mean for it to be as harsh, love. Believe me, I don’t take pleasure in the way I treated you, but it was true.”

This is going to be a cold, cold march to happiness. It’s going to be brutal as hell if every single word is as honest as this. And she asks herself if it’s worth it, to take this time and really look at themselves, look at who they’ve been.  

-/-

He spends the long days she’s off avoiding her by tending to these damn flowers. She won’t lie, she likes the view, when he strips down to just leather pants as he smoothes special herbs into the soil, and he’s still affecting her the way he always has.

But there is so much they haven’t talked about, and if these flowers bloom before they make it work, it will only be reminiscent of the day their relationship died. 

“Enjoying the view?” he asks without even looking, and he’s always been great at sensing her presence. 

“Are you almost done?” She replies, ignoring his cockiness, as always. She thinks if they do the things they’ve always done, they’ll find who they use to be.

“No, we still have a month or so before the bloom.”

“I meant for today. I thought we’d spend time together?” His hands still but he still won’t look up at her. 

“I uh, I thought you were spending your day with the lad.” he states, like he isn’t leaving any room for response in the form of persistence. He’s just so distant, it starts to crack her fragile fragments of the heart still broken in her chest. 

“’The lad’ wants to spend time with you, too.” She encourages. 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Of course it is, Killian. He cares about you.”

“Perhaps at some point we were getting there, but now that’s all gone.” He shakes his head, turning himself from view and tending to parts of the garden that he never planted seeds in to begin with. She’s not dumb, but he must assume she is, by the little choices he makes to defer her. 

“Why are you so ignorant!” She shouts, losing her patience. “You’re the orphan here, you’ve always isolated yourself from my family. They want you Killian. God!” She storms off into the house, slamming the screen door as she goes. She hasn’t felt rage like this since he broke the darkness. She hasn’t been this angry in so long.

But it keeps the sadness at bay, so she revels in hating him for the time being, it’s easier to swallow anger, because the second it stops, she’ll realize he didn’t come after her. He’s not fighting for this anymore and that’s a tougher pill to swallow.

-/-

He tries cooking a meal one night, but forgets little intricate things about modern technology. One thing he can’t master is the vent hood and whenever he cooks, the smoke fills the small space of the kitchen. Maybe she complains. 

“I told you to turn this on, Killian.” She reminds in the most nagging tone she’s ever taken.

“You realize I’m still new here, right? Of course not, you constantly forget that I’m not apart of your world Emma.” He slams the frying pan on the counter before moving from the kitchen and out the back door to that stupid garden. 

He normally waters the flowers nightly, but this time he’s using the hose to water the rest of the crops he’s planted. She watches from the window above the sink, holding her urge to argue, when she sees his frustration get the best of him, and he rips the hose too hard, cracking the valve and now there’s water gushing out through the side of the damn house. 

And she loses it. 

It’s one thing to be angry, that was just careless and she doesn’t have the time to call someone to come fix his stupid, careless mistakes. 

“Really?” She hisses, storming outside and getting a good look at his reckless behavior. She’s using magic for the first time since Hades and he gasps, actually gasps, like her magic is still dark. Like he’s always going to see magic as darkness, despite how light hers is supposed to be. 

“What happened to normal lives?” He mocks her after she just fixed his mistake. 

“Excuse me? Learn how to work modern technology and we’ll talk about normal.”

“Did you ever ask me if I wanted to learn about modern technology, if I wanted to live in a world as useless as this. People have no idea where the food they eat comes from, or who their neighbors are. This world is awful, I came for you.”

“Then leave.” And he turns to go. Part of her wants him to, because she can’t spend forever hearing about his sacrifices. She’s lost some things too along the way...

...like the ability to live without him, so she crumbles at the idea of him actually walking away. 

“Killian, wait” She shouts. “Please, please don’t leave.”-much quieter. He runs his fingers through his hair, gripping at the roots before letting out the most exhausted shout of a groan she’s ever heard from him. 

He turns around and he’s just broken, a bunch of fragments that use to make up the man she loved. And she did this. 

“What the hell are we gonna do?” He sighs, and she wishes she had a fucking answer, because she knows she loves him, but everything about them is ruined. 

They can’t quit yet. They can’t. They’re true love, it’s confirmed, it’s in the way she breathes with him. They’re supposed to be together. It’s true love, and if it were easy everyone would have it.

“We’ve gotta try harder.” She nods, assuring herself that she’ll give them their best shot. They deserve their best shot. 

“We have to deal with what we’re hurting over. I don’t want to fight about smoke and water. I want to hear how I hurt you. Tell me all your truths.”

-/-

“The way you told me to let you go, like you didn’t know how terrified I was to lose you this entire time.” She brings up one day when she’s finally allowed her thoughts to shoot to the root of it all.. “You didn’t care what sort of damage that would do to me. You weren’t even willing to try, Killian.” 

“I never claimed to be as strong as you.”

“You never will be with that attitude. What happened to men fighting for what they want or getting what they deserve”

“Maybe I was a man who finally deserved death. I wasn’t born 30 years ago Emma. I’ve lived centuries.”

“But not with me. You would rather be dead now or with me? True or false?”

“False.” He growls. “I’d rather be with you. I wasn’t with you though, the darkness was, and that’s not what you’d have wanted.”

She lets it simmer before shutting off the heat entirely and walking out. Some things are too much to work through now. Some pain is just too deep and to remember the darkness kissing her in a field like he was the man she loved, that’s one of those things. 

-/-

“You never give me choices. You never agree with the ones I make. You never once appreciate that it’s a sacrifice and I’m doing all I can to keep you safe.”

“Your problem is you care more about my safety than my happiness.”

“You can’t be happy if your dead.”

“False. According to you, you can. You said you’d be happy knowing I had a future.”

He doesn’t say anything else to argue that. He just goes out back and starts digging holes for more seeds. 

She stalks out after him, not ready to let him just end the argument there, but as she goes to speak she realizes how true what he just said was. He can’t even make the decision to storm off like she does. 

-/-

“True or false” she begins a few nights into his first week actually living with her. The bedroom is cooled by the open windows, and the streets are too quiet to not stay awake thinking. “You really believe you’re just my lovesick puppy”

“True.” He answers instantly like his thoughts circled around the same point. “I think I’ve followed you just about everywhere without any request that you do the same.”

“I followed you to Hell.” She bursts, lifting herself to sit up and stare at the back of his head. “I followed you to fucking Hell Killian Jones, and I think you better start acting like that means something to you real quick if you even want this anymore.” 

But he doesn’t say a word and she starts to wonder if being with her was another choice she didn’t give him. 

“Do you even want this anymore?” He turns to her with his eyes glistening in the moonlight. 

“True.” he exhales shakily, “But I didn’t want you to suffer through the underworld just to give it to me.”

“What about what I wanted?” She whispers, because the idea of him not wanting to live isn’t something she can actually speak into the air. It’s like acid in her gut, and if even the aroma got out, it would melt paint off walls. 

“Did you think about what you wanted? You wanted to save me... but since we’ve been back, I feel like you’d be happier if I were dead.”

“Don’t you ever say that.” She grits through her teeth, tasting salty tears as they trickle past her cheek, past her trembling lips. “I didn’t want to live without you, I don’t, I don’t want to live without you.”

“Well, when do we get back to the living part? Because this isn’t it.” He motions to the space between their bodies, the space that taunts how long it’s been since they’ve touched. She thought she forgave him the moment she saved him, but maybe she’s still not forgiven herself. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you away for so long.” and once that’s out the rest spills like water gushing from that broken valve in the backyard where the hose connects. She apologizes for the last two years, for falling in love with someone else, for forgetting him, for not allowing herself to pick back up where her heart left off, for keeping him at a distance, for keeping her walls up for so long, 

But it doesn’t end there, it doesn’t end when they start dating, because she still feels like she’s done them wrong. So she cries that she’s so sorry for postponing their first date, for always putting the town first, for not knowing that Gold had his heart, for knowing something was off, and still tossing the thought aside to help Elsa and Anna get home, for the clock tower, for his lack of control, for his lack of support, for leaving his side after that night, for letting him suffer in silence over the horrible things Gold made him do, for being afraid.

“I never held any of that against you.” he says and “don’t apologize for this” he pleads but she’s not saying sorry to him. She’s saying it to herself. She’s saying it to the Emma who has been waiting for Killian Jones her whole life. She says it to the small voice that’s never been afraid, the one she smothered with shouts of fear and cries of deep-ceded emotional pain. 

Because if that voice won out, they could have been knee deep in their future, and she wouldn’t have had to drag him through hell to get here. They’re still so far from their happy ending and it’s because it took her too long to trust she could have one. 

“I love you so much.” she whimpers. “And I suffered so long without you. I know you’ve suffered so long too. I just want it to be over. I just want to be with you. I’m sorry if it seemed selfish. But you’ve worked too hard for your happy ending too.”

“True.” he breaks the barrier between them, grips her in his embrace and kisses her like he’s breaking the curse to bring their love back to life. 

-/-

The road to bloom had been a treacherous one, but the field of middlemist in the yard is something to behold. There’s no way they’re leaving this house now. Not with how hard it was to make these grow. The summer was drier than it’s ever been, and then the flood came from the broken valve, but they thrived on, transplanted in this new life and Emma has never seen anything more beautiful than a field of little reminders that their future survived. 

[traitor-boyfriend]

I got into a civil debate with a kyman shipper about Cartman secretly crushing on Kyle, but what worries me is that said person confuses sadistic lust and a hate filled obsession with love. Idk I just find that kind of worrying? Of course not all kyman shippers, but this specific one didn't really know the difference. Like they were using what happened in Imaginationland as proof of romantic feelings...how. I don't hate said person, it's just very...worrying

ugh. so this particular ask has been sitting in my inbox for.. honestly i can’t even remember. two weeks? probably more. and it’s cos there was something very specific i wanted to articulate and i’m not sure i’ve necessarily found the right words but i really want to have this answered so lets hope i find them along the way

anyway, i think that’s what’s particularly bothersome to me about the idea that cartman is capable of having a healthy, loving relationship w anyone, least of kyle; cartman approaches everything through a lens of competition and domination. we literally just had an entire season of this with heidi – . she remarks at one point that a relationship isn’t 50/50 but 100/100, which is a nice sentiment if your partner had ever once brought 50% to begin with. cartman’s relationship was one of self-preservation and convenience; she had been exiled from the inner circle of kids through social media around the same time as cartman. they were both experiencing this kind of isolation, so to cope, they do it together. even then in season 20 there are obvious misgivings on cartman’s part about his feelings for heidi in the last few episodes, suggesting that a lot of his transformation was merely performative as a method of blending in and trying to soothe his ego by working his way back into the spotlight by behaving in a way that’s socially advantageous. but once cartman *is* back to his normal spot within the group, that’s when his relationship with heidi sours, and when an entire season of manipulation and gaslighting begins. christ, he tried multiple times to literally have heidi killed. worse yet, seemed appalled at the suggestion that stan, kyle, and kenny wouldn’t help him do it, or by kyle’s indignant plea that he just break up with her and leave heidi alone. there was no need for cartman to get heidi off her vegan diet. i think he just wanted to see if he could, and he did, b/c cartman can’t help but act maliciously when presented w someone who is so completely and totally under his thumb b/c his desire is not rooted in being someone’s equal. it’s in being superior, being dominant, being the one to come out on top in even the most mundane or self-created form of competition.

take for example cartman’s fixation w rape: it’s obvious cartman doesn’t necessarily see his mother as an autonomous human being but rather an object that serves him, and i think that’s the root of his anxiety in “insecurity” at the idea of a stranger breaking into his home and assaulting his mother – b/c he views it as an act of degradation against his property, not out of genuine concern for liane. in the first coon episode, cartman see two grown adults who, by every possible indication, are on a date that is going very well. the man asks her consent to kiss her, and when he does, that’s when cartman comes out of the woodwork to stop this supposed crime. it’s an obvious joke about cartman’s delusions of grandeur in being a so-called vigilante in that he isn’t actually thwarting any real crime or even the threat of it, but it’s interesting to note that cartman views even the most innocuous of romantic situations as an assault. in tfbw, when doctor timmy uses his psychic powers on cartman, he remarks that timmy is “raping [his] mind.” he has an extremely warped view of sex and romantic relationships. there’s more but i don’t have the time to comb through and list them.

there’s a lot of arguments surrounding whether or not cartman is capable of change, and i think the answer is a very plain no. do i think there’s potential in tempering some of the more extreme aspects of his personality? sure, it’s possible i guess. but as far as the brunt of who cartman is, no. it’s the entire purpose of his character. matt and trey have said this time and time again – cartman is meant to represent the very worst not only in themselves but in anyone. in people. cartman is the human embodiment of id. you are not supposed to think positively or cartman.. the ten yr old obese nazi murder child is not to be revered; it’s the antithesis of his character. and yeah, kyle often has a naive optimism that cartman can change, but this has less to do with any positive feelings he has toward cartman and more an example of kyle’s compassion being illustrated as a situational flaw. he’s been betrayed enough times that he should know better by now than to trust in cartman’s ability to act in an altruistic or considerate way, yet that belief in compassion is vital to kyle’s moral outlook, so he keeps believing despite all evidence to the contrary. and he’s not alone! ii know a lot of people reject this not out of a love of cartman but more of a basic sympathetic belief that everyone is capable of change – which is a noble mindset! and at it’s core i believe that. human plasticity is incredible, and there are a lot of really great and sincere activism done around helping people reform and repent vile and oppressive mindsets, but south park is not reality – you treat reality within the context of societal norms of the show. neither will cartman ever have access to any such kind of therapy or behavioral rehabilitation. he is too far gone. it began and ended w scott tenorman; there’s no reformation after that. i can’t believe i’ve seen people argue that “well, he didn’t actually -kill- scott’s parents!” as if that, like, makes the act of him desecrating their dead bodies and grinding them up into raw meat and then feeding the remains to their child (also, his half-brother) more palatable. i believe this was a very deliberate hole matt and trey dug themselves into; up until that point cartman had mostly just been an ignorant, mean-spirited bully, so transforming his character by having him orchestrate something so genuinely evil,  he has carte blanche to be as vile and disgusting as their hearts desire

now. this is what’s especially worrying about his relationship w kyle. we’ve seen time and time again that cartman fosters a genuine distrust and dislike and actively enjoys seeing him fail – specifically if he can be the one to make it happen. this isn’t necessarily what i think, but it’s something i’ve seen suggested and i don’t think it’s outlandish to believe cartman could have some sadistic, pyschosexual fixation on kyle given my previous assertions wrt his views on sex, love, his relationship w heidi – but that’s all it could be. it’s a violent, selfish, purely physical fixation b/c, above all else, cartman is in a constant competition with kyle and it doesn’t end until cartman is utterly bested and brought to his knees or he wins. kyle is his rival, and as that, cartman has an innate responsibility to oppose kyle at every turn and try to bring about his downfall. even if they’re capable of being neutral, or even friendly, those times are few and far, the truce is always broken, and doesn’t come close to just how often cartman delights in seeing kyle victimized by none other than cartman himself. remember humancentipad. remember ginger cow. remember imaginationland – which trey parker has said himself on the commentary that cartman’s obsession with having kyle suck his balls was not out of some secret romantic desire but was an obvious and explicit act of dehumanization and humiliation. not to mention cartman’s racism and anti-semitism, and the endless degradation kyle experiences on a daily basis for being jewish. cartman despises something so innate and so personal and wholly woven into the very essence of who kyle is, it’s beyond me how anyone thinks this is something kyle could see past this or something cartman would want to have anything to do with other than destroy it (which, again, he has tried. lol)

it really, honestly, truly baffles me that anyone thinks cartman 1.) could have positive romantic feelings for kyle or that 2.) cartman and kyle would be capable of having anything other than a strictly unhealthy, malevolent, abusive relationship. and it’s more baffling (and, yes, very worrying) that someone could so blatantly remain oblivious or misconstrue that level of obsession with a genuine romantic partnership

tl;dr: yeah that’s very worrying, cartman is incapable of genuine love, some people are unable to change and he’s one of them, cartman’s desires are always selfish and self-serving in nature, he and kyle would never have a romantic relationship and if they did it would be an absolute unbridled disaster of sadism and victimization, it’s 3:08 a.m and i’m going to bed

[radioactivedelorean]

Routine

Fandom: The Lego Movie (2014)  Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (T) Character(s): Emmet Brickowski Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Ideation, Angst AO3 Link I blame @transformersg1fan271 for this entirely

The Instructions never told him how he was supposed to deal with this. They were clear-cut enough. Greet the day with a smile, have a shower, get dressed, have breakfast, go to work, do your job, come home from work, have dinner, relax, shower then bed, and repeat. They never told him how he was supposed to deal with the voice in his head, constantly reminding him of how alone he was.

Emmet might not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew full well just how little his coworkers and neighbours cared for him. None of them had ever asked him how he was doing, or if he wanted to join them after work, or what his plans for the weekend were (watching TV, in his apartment, alone, as always). His neighbours never popped round with a plate of fresh-baked goods or invited him over for coffee, or even really spoke to him if they saw him. He didn’t have any pets (he was allergic to a lot of types of animal dander, and there wasn’t much space in his tiny apartment anyway), and he didn’t really have any family he could talk to (he had a fair few cousins, but none of them ever kept in contact. His mother and father had long since passed away). He only really had himself, his television and a few small house plants.

When he’d first moved to Bricksburg, he’d been so excited. A brand new city, brand new job and brand new neighbours. He figured he’d be able to start fresh, leaving his old life behind him. All throughout his school and college years, he’d never really felt like he fit in anywhere. There had been so many different groups of people hanging around, and he’d tried to find a way of making friends with each of them. In the end though, with each group, he’d either been excluded right off the bat or gently nudged further and further from the group until he gave up trying, and moved onto the next group. Pretty soon, he’d run out of people to make friends with and retreated to the library during any free periods that he had. He’d used his library time to study hard and had come out at the top of his Mechanical Engineering class at college. He knew that his isolation had been a blessing in disguise - he’d been able to focus solely on his studies, after all - but he couldn’t help but wish that he’d had at least some interaction with his classmates during that time.

It seemed, however, that that lonely lifestyle had followed him through to his employment years.

Emmet had been living in Bricksburg for a good six years now, and he could count how many friends he had on one hand, with all of his fingers curled into a fist. It wasn’t a big deal, really. It meant cheaper Christmases, for one thing. He wouldn’t have to spend loads of time trying to think of the perfect gift for each person or have to spend lots of his hard-earned money on others. He’d done that for the first two years but quickly learned his lesson after finding not a single card in his postbox over the whole of the holiday period. The space beneath his Christmas tree was empty each year, and by the fourth year living in Bricksburg, he’d given up on celebrating the holiday altogether. What was the point in celebrating something when you had nobody to celebrate it with?

Shortly after he’d given up on celebrating Christmas, he’d given up celebrating other holidays too. He wasn’t a particularly religious person, to begin with, so dropping most holidays came naturally to him. His birthday had been the hardest thing to forget about. He had so many memories of his parents celebrating it with him when he was a kid; it was painful when he eventually decided to give up on that too. Dropping each annual celebration had left fewer and fewer things in his life worth waiting a whole year for, and after he left his birthday off the calendar, he was left with nothing.

It became a horrible routine after that. He’d work hard all day, come home to an empty apartment and simply sit on the couch, staring at the television. Even his favourite shows became dire and bland to him. More often than not, he wouldn’t even bother putting the TV on. He’d simply sit on the couch and stare at his reflection in the blank screen. He didn’t smile when he was at home, not anymore. There was nothing there that actually made him smile. At least if he was at work or out and about, he could plaster a smile onto his face and pretend that everything was alright, but when he was at home when there was nothing to distract him from how empty and meaningless his life was, that smile never showed. He kept thinking about what it would be like if he just … stopped. Pulled the plug. Gave up completely. He knew that nobody would actually care. Nobody at work would notice that he was gone. His neighbours never checked on him anyway, so it would hardly make a difference there. His paychecks would simply stop, since there’d be nobody around to receive them, and life for everyone else would carry on as normal.

He kept going, however, because that’s what the Instructions told him to do.

They never told him how to deal with the Voice, however.

Over time, the longer Emmet spent living alone, the more the Voice would make an appearance in his head. Every time he talked to another coworker, be it casual gossip or handing over supplies or anything, the Voice would remind him that his co-workers didn’t care for him, that they never bothered to check if he was okay, or if he wanted to go do something fun with them. The Voice reminded him that to them, he was a tool, He was nothing more than an object, designed to be useful in construction work and nothing else. He was not something that one would interact with more than the bare minimum, or take out for dinner, or invite to parties or even ask about its wellbeing. Emmet was simply a tool to them, and nothing more.

At first, Emmet had argued with the Voice, telling it that yes, his coworkers did care, because why would Gale have smiled at him as he handed over those pieces? Or why would Harry thank him for letting him borrow his screwdriver? Why would any of his coworkers put up with him if they didn’t care about him?

That’s just it, the Voice would always remind him. They’re putting up with you. They’re tolerating you. They don’t care about you, they’re just too polite to say anything. I guarantee you that not a single one of them even thinks about you during their off-time.

Eventually, Emmet gave up on arguing with the Voice. He let it tell him whatever it pleased, which usually consisted of a lot of things he already knew. One: his co-workers, neighbours, and those he interacted with on a regular basis did not care for him. Two: no matter how hard he tried, nobody was ever going to care about him. Three: the harder he tried, the more he pushed people away. And four: he was going to be alone for the rest of his life.

The Voice was almost always present, now, so Emmet just let it talk. Most of its words were things he heard day in, day out, but occasionally he’d hear new insults, remarks or comments. He could stomach the majority of them pretty well, but every so often there was one that had him kneeling over the toilet bowl, heaving up everything he’d eaten that day.

The nausea caused by the Voice’s words left Emmet eating less and less, skipping meals more and more frequently. He stopped bringing a packed lunch with him to work, ending up sitting alone in the lunch hall with his nose buried in a book instead. Soon, he wasn’t eating breakfast either, finding that he had little to no energy in the mornings, and certainly nowhere near enough energy to get up and prepare breakfast. At most he’d grab a piece of fruit on his way out, but it was never anything more. He stopped buying coffee from the local overpriced coffee shop, too. Walking into a busy cafe full of people who didn’t know he even existed was too hard, so he gave up even trying.

Emmet started spending less of his free time doing something and more of it just lying in bed, staring at the walls or ceiling. He still got up to make sure his houseplants were watered and kept healthy, but that was about it. The few simple plants he had in his home were so easy to take care of; he knew he really would hit rock bottom if they died. His apartment was always quiet, save for the sounds of the street below, or the neighbours around him. He could hear the Jackson family upstairs throw parties almost every week and could hear the young couple below him enjoy each other’s company, so to speak, most nights. He never dreamed of complaining about the noise. After all, who really cared if Emmet wasn’t completely comfortable?

And so, life went on like that for months. Each day, he’d follow a painful routine of dragging himself out of bed, having a shower, brushing his hair (he had to look fit for work, anyway, otherwise he’d be fired), say “good morning” to his house plants, maybe eat breakfast, if there was anything in the fruit bowl that wasn’t rotten. He’d trudge down the stairs of his apartment building and out to his car. He’d make his way to work, trying his best not to turn his car a solid ninety degrees off the edge of the overpass every time he drove across it. After all, that would cause a huge disaster for other road users, and “risk the lives of others” was certainly not written in his Instructions. He’d suffer through his shift at work, watching with pained eyes as his coworkers gossipped and chatted merrily amongst each other, maybe about the latest news or what their weekend plans were, always with Emmet on the outside of the group. He’d read a book throughout his lunch break, ignoring the way his stomach growled and snarled at him. He’d force himself through the rest of his shift then sluggishly make his way to the parking lot. He’d drive home, secretly wishing he’d get hit by a truck on his way there. He’d practically crawl up the stairs to his apartment, before collapsing into bed.

For months, Emmet forced himself to live like this. He forced himself to live as closely by the Instructions as he could because they were there for a reason. His favourite songs became white noise to him, his favourite foods became bland mush, and his favourite shirts became dull rags. He was losing weight alarmingly fast. Or, well, it would have been alarming, had he truly cared. His house plants stayed relatively healthy, as he made sure to water them regularly. His eyes became dull, his cheeks sunken from malnutrition. His hair was greasy and unkempt, often sticking up all over the place. His hard hat disguised it while he was at work, and his coworkers never talked to him long enough to see the state he was in, so it was fine, right?

Eventually, however, he grew sick of it. He grew sick of pretending that he was needed in the world. He got sick of forcing himself through each day, knowing that the outcome would be just the same every time. He got sick of forcing himself to interact with people who didn’t care about him. He even got sick of caring for his houseplants, and that’s when Emmet knew he’d hit rock bottom. It was getting harder and harder each day to get out of bed, to go to work and perform the same repetitive, strenuous tasks every day. It got hard for him to keep going. The day his first houseplant died was the day that he was finally ready to give up altogether.

He decided to give it one more day, and if after that one more day, things didn’t change, he’d give up.

He figured that he should at least try for this last day. He would get up, pretend that everything was all hunky-dory, follow the Instructions to a T, pretend to be cheerful and energetic at work, maybe even eat lunch, then come home. He might even go for coffee on his way to work in the morning. Live his last day as if it was the best day of his life. Honestly, judging by his track record, it probably was going to be.

So that’s what he did. The morning of what was to be his last day, he woke up at seven a.m on the dot and forced a smile onto his face. He greeted the various objects in his apartment, had a shower, shaved and combed his hair. He had a proper breakfast for once and even watched a little TV. He made his way to work after purchasing an overpriced coffee, singing along to the current most popular song on the radio, He forced his way through his shift with a smile, helping out as many people as he could. He tried to include himself in conversation throughout the day, despite the usual cold shoulders he received. His hopes sunk further and further as he made his way towards his car.

That was when he spotted Her.

And his whole life changed after that.