#i imagine ill try to expand on this later. well see

[mudshadow]

the name of you - niamh

[nagichi-boop]

My Thoughts Prior to Sonic x Shadow Generations (mostly Dark Beginnings)

This won’t have much rhyme of reason to it, but I want to go over my thoughts of the episodes and some related information released prior to the game’s release. So this is sort of a mix of a review for Dark Beginnings and predictions based on that and the promotional information for the game? I may reblog this after playing the game to expand my thoughts, or I may just make a new post and reference this one if it’s relevant. Well, assuming I make a post about my thoughts on the game, anyways.

Since this will likely be rambly, I will put my thoughts under a cut so as not to clog your feed. I’ll try to organise my thoughts as cohesively as possible. I’ll start with the Dark Beginning episodes as they give the most story information, then I’ll go over a few thoughts from the promotional material.

Warning - Spoilers! (But also…this is a really long post lol)

Episode 1: Shadow and Maria

The first thing that stands out is, of course, Shadow and Maria’s relationship. Shadow is certainly more the anxious type, perhaps in part to Gerald informing him on Maria’s condition. But they have such a cute sibling relationship! It was also nice getting a glimpse into Maria’s sickness and how Shadow handles it, and how Maria shows concern for his insecurities and such. They look out for each other. And you can see just how deeply he cares about Maria. The fact he went out of his way to view the aurora borealis in the present day shows just how deeply he cared about her love of nature and how he carries that with him.

We learn a little bit more about Maria’s backstory. Not only is it confirmed that she has in fact been earth prior to living on the ARK (some people thought maybe she was born on the ARK or smth?), but we also learn that the reason being in space helps is because the gravity keeps her condition in remission. As a side note, I love seeing characters with invisible disabilities in media. Maria has the capacity to run if she wants, but it comes with consequences. As someone with an invisible chronic illness, I appreciate the representation! And it’s nice to see Shadow being gentle yet firm with her when he reminds her not to exert herself. And when he holds her hand before running off, you can see him gently squeezing her hand. He is so careful and caring with her.

I haven’t played Battle, but it was also nice to see them referencing older games by including Emerl. I get that Generations is all about revising the past, but it’s nice to see them bringing stuff all together.

After the glass shatters (which I interpret as time/space shattering?), we see Shadow fall into the cell Gerald is in. I can only imagine how Shadow felt being there with him in this vision, especially because he saw the firing squad shoot him. He almost seems pained by it with how he grabs his head. And then he of course falls into some void space after reaching out for Gerald. Again, I see this as the timeline breaking, especially because we see Maria’s death portrayed in the cloud/mist. Then we get that brief glimpse of Black Doom reaching out and grabbing Shadow, which leads him to believe Black Doom is back.

It’s also clear just how often Shadow thinks about and has nightmares about what happens, to the point he more or less knows the timelines of events. We really get to see how much his trauma affects him. I’ll touch on this a bit more later, but this feels like a really good depiction of PTSD and trauma. In the past few games, he hasn’t really seemed as affected by the events on the ARK, as if he has moved on. But that’s just it - he can’t completely move on from his trauma. Sure, he appears to have a better understanding and is better at coping with it (again, I’ll expand more on this as I go), but him relapsing feels like an accurate depiction of how someone with PTSD, CPTSD, or really any mental illness will go through ups and downs with their disorder.

You could argue that this wasn’t a nightmare and was a vision of sorts because of the timeline distorting, but he speaks as though he does get frequent nightmares. He is able to differentiate this situation from a nightmare presumably because he gets nightmares so frequently. He also mentions it happening in view of the ARK. I interpret this to mean he didn't fall asleep (especially given he is standing when he snaps out of it), but more like a trance-like state. Maybe he looked at the ARK while admiring the aurora and it started the vision?

It’s also pretty interesting that he seemed scared at the idea of Black Doom being back. When he had amnesia in ShTH, I guess he didn't have much of a reason to be scared of Black Doom. But he knows how powerful he is, and with his memories back, he knows fully what Black Doom’s influence is on his past - sharing his DNA and making an agreement with Gerald that Shadow would later collect the Chaos Emeralds for him. We know from the next episode that Shadow isn’t the most fond of his Black Arms DNA, so it makes sense that he is worried he will have to confront that part of himself…I’ll come back to this thought later. Even without that, it would be pretty disconcerting to think about a foe you defeated coming back, especially after a vision like that.

Episode 2: Finding the Way

We get another wonderful glimpse into Shadow’s past. It’s a bit more speculation, but it’s somewhat reasonable to assume that Maria is the only one who has a friendly relationship with him. Abe calls him a freak, and though Gerald created him, Maria is the one who gave a deeper meaning to his name. Maria and Abe were also friends, so I imagine that she at least tried to get him to like Shadow, but it obviously didn't work. Maybe because Maria was the only one saying nice things about Shadow? Given what he went on to do with Shadow’s memory following Maria’s death, I can’t imagine even Gerald had the closest relationship with Shadow. Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t really have anything canon to show that he cares much for Shadow as an individual versus as his science project. It makes sense that Shadow is so weary of others and why Maria’s death hurt him so much - she was the only one among many who cared about him personally.

We see more of Shadow’s insecurity and his struggles with his identity. He seems genuinely afraid because of his alien DNA. This once again makes me think that Gerald was very clear to Shadow about what his origins were and his purpose, but perhaps not much more than that. After all, Shadow doesn’t believe he has a place on earth. If Gerald really cared, I figure he would have talked to Shadow about going home with himself and Maria about going home together, and he would have dispelled Shadow’s fears about being a monster because of his DNA. Besides, Shadow’s negative perception of the Black Arms had to come from somewhere, right? This is speculation, of course, but I can’t find much to suggest Gerald cared much for him. It’s heartbreaking to think that because Gerald messed with his memories, he could have used the ARK to destroy all life on earth - not too dissimilar to what Black Doom wanted. Can you imagine the guilt Shadow feels by almost becoming the thing he feared so much?

In the midst of Shadow’s worry, we get to see Maria being a sisterly figure to him. I love this scene so much - I genuinely teared up when I first watched it. Anyways, we see that Shadow clearly struggles with his origins, but Maria doesn’t view him the way he does - he’s not the heartless monster he thinks he is. She genuinely listens to his concerns, and when she sees him become depressed over his origins, she immediately comforts him She sees that he genuinely cares, even if he struggles to express it. Autistic Shadow, yay! To her, it’s what Shadow does, not what he is, that makes him a good person. She was perhaps the only person to view him as more than just a science project. And despite him being viewed poorly by others, Maria sees that he cares for others. This is supported by a scene later as well as one in the third episode, but I’ll get to that.

Fast forward to modern day and yay, Team Dark! It’s interesting that their introduction comes after Maria says that Shadow will find more people he can trust, aka Rouge and Omega. (I’d also argue Sonic is someone Shadow trusts and maybe Amy too, but we ain’t talking about them right now.) We get to see Shadow and Rouge’s friendly relationship with one another. They may not be partners per se, but she greets him like a close friend that she’s comfortable with. He, in turn, shows curiosity about why she’s there without a hint of malice. They both openly share why they’re there, which is a testament to their trust in one another. He was listening but also making sure to watch out for dangers and saves her, much like he does for Maria in the first episode when she collapses. It’s in his nature to look out for others.

We then get to see a glimpse of his leadership. Sure, I don’t know if you can really say they’re strictly a team. As much as I love Team Dark, they seem to mostly team up due to convenience and circumstance, but he directly but respectfully gives them an order and they follow without hesitation because they trust and respect him. When they’re together, they work as one unit. It’s also nice to see all three of them being more than competent fighters.

The way Rouge teases Shadow about him going to Sonic’s birthday party in return for her help adds to the idea that they’re familiar with one another. You wouldn’t really speak that way, nor call a platonic friend “handsome”, unless you had a degree of familiarity and closeness with one another. If they weren’t friends, Shadow would have gotten mad at her multiple times throughout this scene. Instead, he sighs in a way that is interpreted as a reluctant yes (again, he doesn’t deny this, so it is more or less confirmed that he was agreeing to go).

We also get more confirmation that Rouge is a free/double agent. She doesn’t work for GUN, but she still works with them occasionally. She will team up with whoever it’s convenient to team up with. Of course, I like to think that her teaming up with Shadow in this instance is more her being a friend doing another friend a favour. She doesn’t really have a reason to help Shadow, and her request doesn’t personally benefit her. She’s helping Shadow because she cares about him. You quite literally see her eyes light up when she notices Shadow is there. This went from a boring intel mission to something more interesting to her.

Episode 3: To the ARK

This episode hurt me so much and made me lowkey worried that I’m gonna cry when playing Sonic x Shadow Generations.

First thing I noticed - Shadow smiling? I love that for him. I do appreciate we are seeing more of that with Shadow. He isn’t constantly brooding and miserable - he has a more casual and fun-loving side too. We also see that he has a somewhat similar view of GUN as Rouge does. They have both worked on behalf of GUN in the past in varying capacities, but whether or not they are on GUN’s side fluctuates depending on their goal. It’s what separates them from Team Sonic - they act according to their best interests and what their mission is.

I don’t have much to say about the fight. It’s epic of course, but I’ll talk about production and such later. I will say it’s funny to see they’re continuing to show how destruction-hungry Omega is. I also mentioned earlier that this episode has a scene where Shadow shows compassion for others - I was referring to him saving the GUN agent. Strictly speaking, this guy was in Shadow’s way and was attacking him, so he could’ve left him. But he saved him, possibly because he recognised that he wasn’t attacking out of a vendetta, but that it was his job to protect GUN’s machinery and assets. That and we get to see that Shadow can teleport small distances as a natural ability, not because of a Chaos Emerald.

When Shadow is under threat of the spacecraft he’s in being shot down, you can see the panic in Rouge’s face. Thankfully Abe comes in and tells the GUN forces to stand down, but it’s nice seeing how much she cares about Shadow. We know she cares of course, but she definitely has a soft spot for Shadow. There’s the scene in Heroes where she worries about Shadow not being the real one, which also showcases Omega’s wisdom and own compassion. Then in 06 we get to see her assuring Shadow that she’ll be on his side, even if the world turns against him. And now in this episode and the previous one, you see that she gently pushes him out of his comfort zone, has a genuine comradery with Shadow and Omega. Not just that though, she clearly understands Shadow very deeply as evidenced by her conversation with Abe.

From Abe’s point of view, it’s nice to see him genuinely wanting to connect with Shadow. He is remorseful for the way he treated Shadow in the past and wants to be trusted by him. And he clearly has implicit trust in him - he did let Shadow fly off in the spacecraft without even knowing what he was doing.

I will say one minor nitpick I have with this scene is what Rouge said. When Abe scolds Rouge for not talking Shadow down, she says that only one person who do that - Maria. You could argue that Sonic and Amy can both talk Shadow down, though. Amy was the one who convinced Shadow to help everyone steer the ARK away from earth. And in the IDW, Sonic talked Shadow out of hurting Mr Tinker (Eggman), even though his worries came true later on. I assume what Rouge meant though was the Maria is the only one he will trust wholeheartedly and follow unwaveringly. With Amy, he backed down because she reminded him of Maria’s true promise. With Sonic, his past was leveraged against him, and seeing how hard Shadow is on himself regarding his past mistakes, you could argue he backed off out of guilt rather than agreeing with Sonic.

And then…that scene plays. Shadow daydreams about what could have been if Maria was alive, and the vocal track clearly highlights that he blames himself for her death. This causes him to get anxious until he snaps himself out of his daydream. The way he says “stop that” so softly breaks my heart. This is one of the first times we have seen Shadow be so emotional, and it makes sense. He had a vision that made him relive his most traumatic memory, and he was going back to the very place it all happened. Not only that, but there was the possibility of Black Doom being back - what would he do if he was there? Of course he was thinking about Maria!

I know some people don’t like that Shadow is going back to his old memories because they think he should be over it, but as I’ve already said in another post, PTSD doesn’t work like that. Even ignoring the situation at hand - the vision he had and having to return to the ARK with the possibility of facing Black Doom again - recovery isn’t linear. Of course he is going to fluctuate in how affected he is by his past. What happened to him was incredibly traumatic. We have now seen how Maria was perhaps the only person who cared about him and the only friend she had. His job was to cure and protect her and, by his definition, he failed to do the one thing he was created for - saving her. Not only that, but his memories then got screwed with, and his relationship with Maria was manipulated by the very person he was created by, causing him to do the very thing Maria didn't want him to do. He then had to struggle with his amnesia, deal with identity issues surrounding potentially being an android, and facing against Black Doom, who like Gerald tried to use his past to manipulate him. Those things aren’t just something you “get over”. Sure, he seems to be better at managing his symptoms, but he can’t ever really forget or get over what happened.

The song lyrics also reveals a lot about Shadow’s thought process in this scene. Him referring to his situation as a never-ending nightmare once again highlights his PTSD. It’s a memory that will likely haunt him for a long time. I would say for the rest of his life, but he’s immortal - I believe eventually he will come to focus more on the positive parts of his memories with Maria, but that will take time. Or maybe just Sonic x Shadow Generations? Who knows. He also talks about pretending to see Maria again and imagining a world where he saved Maria, which we see him doing in the episode. But we clearly see he blamed himself - he says he “failed” to save Maria and how he “can’t forgive the wrongs” he’s done to Maria. And the final line about him remaining alone? Obviously he has people he trusts and cares about now, but being lonely and feeling alone are two different things. He has people like Rouge, Omega, Sonic - but ultimately he feels alone because he struggles to get close to them emotionally. Think about it - this is perhaps the only time we have seen Shadow so emotional, but he does this when he’s alone. He struggles to be vulnerable with others, I assume in large part because those close to him have used and manipulated him in the past. Plus he holds on dearly to the title of Ultimate Lifeform - perhaps he views that it’s a weakness to be vulnerable. Or given how much self-blame he has, maybe he feels he isn’t allowed to receive help. Either way, it’s really sad that he feels so alone. I hope someday he opens up to someone.

Okay, so before I move on to my general thoughts and predictions for the new game, I just want to quickly talk about…

✨ The Production ✨

…because man, these episodes slap!! The animation is absolutely gorgeous. It’s 3D but it almost looks 2D? The lighting is amazing, especially when showing energy sources like Shadow’s chaos energy or the glowing tubes in the first episode. It’s so incredibly striking. And the choreography? Amazing!! The music is also so incredibly emotional. The ones that stand out is the one that plays when Maria grabs Shadow’s hand in the first episode, and of course the vocal track Without You in the third episode. I honestly don’t have the words to properly describe everything, it’s just so incredible.

SxS Gens — Promotional Material (Trailers/Interviews)

I won’t go super in depth, but I’ll briefly mention some of my thoughts about what we have seen so far. I’ll probably miss stuff out, but the game is two weeks away, so all will be revealed properly soon enough.

A lot of Shadow’s character so far has been him moving on from his past, but this game seems to be him confronting it. The two biggest hints for this is the Doom Powers and the return of Maria and Gerald. With the Doom Powers, Shadow is having to fully embrace his Black Arms DNA. We see how insecure he is about his origins in Dark Beginnings, but now he is going to have to confront that part of himself, face it head on and make it his own. With regards to Maria and Gerald, perhaps he will talk to Gerald and ask more questions? Not sure exactly what they’d talk about, but I hope they talk in some capacity.

I assume the biggest thing will be Shadow deciding between keeping Maria around or restoring the timeline. I’ve seen some people want a Life is Strange type decision where you get to choose which you want, but I highly doubt it. I would also argue that’s a regression in Shadow’s character. Not only would he be disregarding Maria’s wishes, but it would also be him backtracking on his growth in finding himself outside of his history with Maria. Also, I know he cares about Maria, but to think he’d sacrifice everything just to stay with her? It goes against his resolve to sacrifice himself for humanity and his desire to fulfil Maria’s wish to protect humanity. And it would also mean he screws over all his new friends. Sure, I reckon he’ll struggle with the choice, but ultimately it makes more sense for him to sacrifice her again, both in terms of honouring Maria’s wishes and to develop him as a character to show he is genuinely moving on. There’s also the chance they bring Maria back somehow while restoring the timeline, but I personally don’t think it’ll happen and don’t want it to happen. I love Maria, but it’ll be more impactful to have Shadow decide to restore the timeline instead of sacrificing it to save Maria.

A few points from the Developer Interview I’d like to talk about quickly. It’s mentioned that Shadow’s story will be “dramatic” and that we will be “emotionally moved by it.” Given the response from the just 10-15 minutes of animation in the Dark Beginnings, I can definitely see this game being emotional, and it seems that’s what they're trying to accomplish. They mention portraying him being in pain, which we have definitely seen the physical sides of in the trailers. But I assume he’s also going to suffer emotionally, both because of Black Doom and seeing Maria again.

They bring up Sonic’s birthday party and that Shadow isn’t there. Obviously we know that he was invited by Rouge, but my assumption is that he doesn’t show because he is already wrapped up with the Time Eater and/or Black Doom and so can’t make the party. Perhaps he is even taken to White Space before the Time Eater crashes Sonic’s birthday party?

From a gameplay perspective, it seems the Doom Powers are intended to let you traverse the levels in different ways. To quote the video: “We needed to make sure when we’re designing the levels that the player could find a different path if you use Chaos Control, or if you’re using the Doom Powers in a certain way or in certain locations and that those powers could create new ways of getting through the game.” This links up with the Famitsu interview where they state that “you can complete the game without using Doom Power.” It seems these powers are there to make revisiting the levels more viable by creating shortcuts and helping you reach different locations. It’ll be interesting to see just how much exploration the levels have!

It’s clear as well that they want this game to be a love letter to old fans and an introduction to new ones. That makes sense - being a new fan is likely intimidating given all the spinoff games and such. I haven’t played all of them and I’ve been a fan of Sonic since I was a kid! And bear in mind, as much as it feels aging to hear, Shadow was introduced in 2001 - over 20 years ago. Although my friends aren’t as intensely interested in Sonic as I perhaps am, they are aware of Shadow’s existence. But they definitely don’t know his backstory. It’s completely valid to not know the full extent of Shadow’s backstory - whether or not you’re a new - especially given it’s scattered across 20+ years worth of spinoff games spanning a variety of consoles. If you’re one of those people, you’re completely valid. It doesn’t make you more or less of a fan because you don’t know every little detail of the Sonic lore.

Final Thoughts

I’ll be honest, when I initially saw the game advertised, I wasn’t really hyped for it. I think I was nervous because if you ignore The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog and Sonic Prime, Shadow’s writing has been a bit mixed. (My thoughts on Shadow’s writing in TMOSTH can be found here if you’re curious!) There’s the infamous Boom characterisation, which I think is universally disliked. And even in the IDW, Shadow’s writing can be a bit iffy. I had lost faith in Shadow’s modern characterisation until TMOSTH and Prime came out, so I was desperately hoping they took the positive feedback from that and continued it. I was worried though, given that one was a short April Fool’s game and the other was a TV series.

Thankfully, it seems they are continuing to do Shadow justice!

Dark Beginnings has done most of the heavy lifting when it comes to my excitement for the game. Not only is it beautifully animated with gorgeous music, but the writing is incredibly emotional. It really feels like the writers poured a lot of love into it, and I’m so incredibly happy to see Shadow being more than just “Sonic’s edgy antagonistic rival”

Sonic x Shadow Generations seems like a good format to introduce new fans to Shadow’s lore. They’re clearly taking it all into account given how much they referenced in Dark Beginnings. Generations is about celebrating and exploring the past again, which feels like a brilliant opportunity to explain Shadow’s lore and how it affects to his future.

I’m sure I’m missing some thoughts and maybe I’ll sneakily edit this post as new thoughts and revisions come to me, but I feel like I’ve already said a lot. To anyone who read this far, thank you! I hope my thoughts were…interesting to read? Who knows! This was mostly just my way of infodumping in the absence of friends to talk to.

I can’t wait for October 25th!

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part I

Good Spooky Season everybody. This fine October I'm doing a little something for my followers, mutuals, and anyone else who would like to get a load of the spooky proceedings. As you may be aware, I just finished a draft of my novel The Clockwork Boy, and particularly eager readers may also remember that I've toyed with making a horror AU for the story to try out some new ideas. Friends, today the first part of this AU sees the light of day, with the remaining parts being released on Sundays during October.

Some quick notes: I'm experimenting a bit with form here, so I apologize if some of this gets a bit wacky. As one might expect from an AU this isn't canon to The Clockwork Boy, but I may borrow world-building ideas that I come up with for this one later. Probably won't make 13 quite so... like he is in this one, but well, you never know.

Part 1 below the cut:

05.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident.

Another dull gray day filled with moderately gainful employment. Mr Barker showed me how to disassemble a gear walker actuator today, and I got the chance to inspect some gears in the process. Not the most interesting thing, but considering how often the damn things break, at least there’s a living to be made in repair if I can stand the tedium of it.

After his brief bout of pedagogy, Barker set me to oversee the Apprentices. As usual, they’re a rude unruly lot, at least to me. I’m decently sure one or two are gunning for my position as Journeyman, but they’d have to kill me to get me away from this place before I deliver my Masterwork to certification. Some of them are likely to try, but I calm myself with the knowledge that there’d certainly be a fight, and one I'm likely to win at that.

As usual when I’m left herding Novices, it was dark by the time I could close up shop, and I hadn’t even gotten to work on my clockwork limb project. I was disappointed, but not enough to give my wards grief over it. Tomorrow will be a better day I'm sure. On my way home, a strange fright came over me, but I am sure it was merely the stress from dealing with the greenhorns.

06.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident. Try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I have no idea who it’d be. The novices wouldn’t mind catching me slipping up I’m sure, but I find it hard to imagine any of them have enough energy left after a long day of work to stalk me from the shadows. I know I didn’t back in the day.

To back up a step, the strange fright from last night subsided as I came home, yes, but it didn't go away. Instead, I found myself strangely paranoid as I left for work the following morning. In retrospect, I am reasonably certain I didn't stand out from the crowd, and fairly sure I wasn't followed by a tail of whispers and rumors through the crowd of commuting workers, but at the time it sure felt like it.

The feeling didn’t subside as I went to get some lunch from a corner cart, if anything it expanded. I no longer feared the people around me, which was a mercy I suppose, but the fear had, again, not disappeared. Someone out there was watching me, no, that's not quite it. Watching feels too passive, too neutral in tone. If anything, I'm sure I'm being Observed. Usually, there’s nothing that’ll tear my mind away from the taste of fresh-off-the-grill corncakes with spice paste, but the persistent cold weight of ill intent sure did it.

I’m not too proud to say I all but ran back to the workshop as soon as I had finished my meal. My phantom pursuer did not strike, but neither did its presence fade in any way as I hurried my way through the throngs of sweaty workshoppers and harried couriers. This, I surmised, could mean one of two things. Either, my pursuer is a subtle beast, able to keep pace with me through a crowd, or, more worryingly, he is so phantom as to be immaterial.

As much as this pains me, I’m going to have to go to the Enforcers with my concerns. They’ll probably listen to me because Mr. Baker’s boss is in The Spire, but odds are good they’ll just brutalize some street rat over it and call it a day. Still, getting some eyes and some truncheons on the situation must surely discourage my stalker, whoever they may be.

Tomorrow morning I’ll seek out the Enforcer Liaison Office and submit my concern. Mr. Barker won’t be thrilled about me calling in his clout to deal with this, but I figure he owes me for all the overtime I've been doing.

10.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. I have no idea what date it is. He keeps me somewhere underground. No daylight.

No idea if he'll notice me hiding this document under my blanket, but I have to risk it. I have to believe I’ll make it out of here, but even if I don’t, I have to make sure someone, anyone knows. He’s incredible. Terrible? Yes, but incredible.

My time draws short. He will be here soon. More tomorrow, if the fates will.

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[withickmire]

The Forests of Silence Wrap Up

Just some miscellaneous thoughts I had along the way. Continued under the cut, because it ended up being really long:

How the Rule may affect people outside of the royal family: I spent way more time on the prologue than the rest of the book--so much happens that it really could have been expanded into a whole book on its own. What really caught my attention during this particular reread were the several allusions to brutality towards the nobility carried out by (or, more likely, on behalf of) the royal family.

At King Alton's funeral, Jarred overhears two noble women talking about Endon succeeding his father and becoming king, with one woman remarking on Endon's youth. What she says is completely neutral--Endon is young. But her companion sees that Jarred is near, knowing how close he is to Endon, and she quickly gets the first woman to be quiet, all while looking scared. What reason would she have to be afraid? What does the Rule say about nobility who speak ill of the royal family? Or--like these woman--could be perceived as even mildly questioning them? Jarred makes a point of looking away from them, implying that he knows the answer to these questions, and he is trying to ease their fears, as if he is aware that, yes, something terrible could happen to the two women if a different person had overheard.

Also, when Jarred flees the palace, he is certain that he will be killed if he is caught. While it isn't surprising that being accused of trying to kill the new king might certainly lead to his execution, he clearly believes that he would be killed immediately, without imprisonment or trial, suggesting that something like this has happened before, and Jarred is aware of how it ended.

Jarred and Endon: As Jarred watches Endon put on the Belt he sees him as no longer as 'a young boy with sad eyes'. How long did Jarred see him this way? Of course Endon would be sad--his parents just died, but I feel like this is a heavier statement. I'm glad that Endon had Jarred, I can't imagine how lonely and isolated he would have been without him, and how he must have felt those things once Jarred was gone.

I'm curious about their ages in the prologue. As stated above, Endon is said to be 'young', but how young? He's mentioned as too young to have a beard. So is he younger than Lief, who was sixteen or seventeen when he became king? Seven years later, both he and Jarred have wives, and children on the way, and seem to be at whatever the appropriate age in Deltora is for that.

It's so interesting to see Jarred, knowing what we know about Doom. He's so clever, and always looking out for the people he loves. Even with all the changes he goes through, that is always consistent for his character.

This is probably a case of me needing to suspend my disbelief, but it's always bugged me that Jarred was able to see Endon's arrow from the Forge. Like, there's no way.

Lief: I adore Lief's opening scene. It shows the reader so much about Del under the occupation, but it also says so much about him. He's so earnest and endearing! He's so cute with his friends, I wish we had more of that. Also the way he's so proud of once having eaten an apple is a really effective way of showing how children who grew up under the occupation would see it all as the norm. It's terribly sad.

Magic: Gorl's whole Alphonse Elric situation seems to be a combination of Shadow Lord influence and the magic of the Lilies. We know he has been there well before he became Guardian of the Topaz, and I wonder if sustaining him for centuries was part of the Shadow Lords many 'plans within plans'--he could be called upon if needed. His 'immortality', if you can call it that, isn't his only power--he is able to compel Lief and Barda's bodies, and control the vines and trees. The Lilies clearly possess some magic, even when not in bloom, so I wonder how much influence both forces had.

Final thoughts: I probably have the most feelings of nostalgia for this one. The prologue in particular has lived in my mind for so long. The whole book is such a strong way to introduce the trio, and to kick off the series.

See you in The Lake of Tears!

[realcleverscience]

"@thebardostate : Things die for good reasons. Extending the life of organisms that are no longer reproductively viable would only increase the burden of overpopulation. It is ultimately a self-indulgent and foolish quest that will benefit the rich (it's an opportunity to hoard more wealth) at the expense of most of the rest of humanity."

Definitely a valid view though I see it a bit differently. 1. to start, it's not clear to me that "things die for good reason", as much as that "things die bc evolution didn't select for them to live longer." In other words, our goals as humans are not necessarily the same goals as the blind force of evolution. (e.g. medusa jellyfish don't die of old age. they are functionally immortal. that's just how their biology worked out.) Similarly, in terms of the "evolution for reproductivity" angle: life extension could well mean extending reproductive viability. Imagine people having a kid when they're 100 years old!

2. More importantly, I think reproductive patterns will adjust. E.g. most western nations' birth rates are below the replacement rate. i.e. population shrinkage. In some countries, the gov'ts are desperately trying to get people to f*ck and have more kids. Depopulation is also a concern. I would also add that data shows birth rate decline in many countries as a. women get more rights and education, and b. as conditions in the country improve. I expect both of those trends to continue. Related to that, people are having kids later in life or even having no kids at all. I imagine that if the human lifespan was extended to 300, that most people wouldn't spend it pumping out kids constantly. Instead, maybe people have one to three kids, starting at age 100, who they put a lot of work into. But this is admittedly just my speculation.

3. Overpopulation: As I said, I think birth rates globally will continue to decline, but there are also other options, such as expanding our range of resources so that there's enough for earth to sustain more people. Alternatively, we could also use gov't law. E.g. one extreme could be something like china's old one-child policy. On the other end, we could incentivize behavior with tax incentives. E.g. you get an extra $5k/yr for your first child. You get $1k/yr for a second child. Third child gets no tax benefits. Fourth child and you start to *lose* benefits. My point here being that there are also other options.

4. self indulgent - I mean... I guess so. Though I never considered wanting to be alive as self-indulgent.

5. access: while the rich will always have more options than the poor, I don't think that such technology will be just for the rich. For one, there's just too much money to be made from it. If you have a magic pill that can drastically reduce illness and extend life, most people are going to desperately want that. There's just so much money to be made, that I don't think this will be left inaccessible. Also, patents expire. Even if the first 25 years this was just for the rich, it wouldn't stay that way for long. Also, it's unlikely that a single pill will do everything. More likely that it'll be a combination of several therapies. Maybe once a year you go to the doctor and get a few shots; maybe a few pills to take at home, etc. So they'd also have to control *all* the various therapies, as well as the various versions of each offered by different companies. Then there's also the international angle: even if healthcare is f*cked in the US, there are other systems overseas. The rich would have to wrangle with gov'ts across the world. Which also relates to my last point: the public would lose their sh*t if this wasn't available. I'm talking riots and violence. So I don't think this will be limited to just the rich.

That said, I do think you raise some good points about the things that are required (legally, culturally, economically, etc) for such a monumental shift in humanity's nature.

Thanks for your comment

I've been interested in radical life extension since first reading some Kurzweil books around 2007, nearly 20 years ago.

At the time, when I discussed the idea most people reacted like I was insane. Sooo... really glad to see this topic getting more attention and being taken seriously now. For instance, I believe there's an x-prize now for longevity, which indicates they think these are goals we can start to realistically achieve.

That's important bc obviously humanity has *talked* about radical life extensions for literally thousands of years. When DNA was being first understood in the early 1900s, people talked about extending life. When the human genome project began in the 1990s, again we spoke about potential healthspan breakthroughs. But decades have passed with little progress, so it's understandable why even those interested in the technologies and concepts might be disillusioned. Like fusion energy, it always appeared 30 years away... forever.

However, like fusion energy, we are achieving practical steps which make it seem like those goals are actually within reach now. For instance, while we've known about genes for a hundred years now, we are only *just now* starting to edit and manipulate them.

Aging is still not fully understood, but it seems primarily to function at the cellular level - things like DNA, RNA, mitochondria, and connections and communications between cells, etc. These are complex interactions and sciences, but we are reaching a point or unprecedented control at those levels.

Additionally, what the "perpetually 30 years away" attitude also misses is that the pace of scientific advances grows faster over time. "30 years" of scientific research in the early 1900s might be closer to 10 years of research today. This applies to the growth of AI in medical advances as well. Not only are AI capabilities growing dramatically each year; those AIs are helping us to unlock knowledge, materials, and abilities in other fields as well. (As mentioned, genetic-level medical interventions are finally happening, and there's an avalanche of research and breakthroughs happening.)

So it's certainly possible that I'm wrong, and that life extension techs will always be '30 years away', and I'm failing to appreciate that lesson of history... but I think there are *very* good reasons to think that we are close to breakthroughs. Which poses an important question for society:

Do you want to get old and die like your grandparents, continually weakening and growing increasingly ill till you die at around age 90?

Personally, I'd love to halt my biological aging, improve and extend my "health-span", and to live at least an extra 50 years to explore all the new amazing thing science will produce in that time.

We can be another generation that lives and dies and is forgotten, or we can invest in research to fight back the grim reaper and bring that '30 year' window closer to fruition.

What do you want?

p.s. Yes, there are important social issues tied to this that require important discussion and policy guardrails, etc. And yes, maybe not everyone wants to live for 1,000 years (and they wouldn't have to). That said, it's very rare to find someone excited about getting older, weaker, and dying.

[boulette-of-paper]

Yu-Gi-Oh but historically accurate

It just hit me, like à bomb but there are some facts about ancient Egypt that are just pointless in YGO BUT would have mattered if the series was about historical accuracy.

So WARNING it's just some silly/overthought thoughts that my ill historical accuracy-obsessed brain created, with so little knowledge that I have. (PS: Excuse me for any English mistakes, English is not my native language éè)

LET'S GO <3

First thing first in which era our dear et beloved Atem would have lived in? In the manga it said that the ancient tomb and the Millenium puzzle was found in the "Valley of the King" An if I believe in what Wikipédia tells me, the Valley was used by the XVIIIth, XIXth et XXth dynasties of Pharaohs so we're working in around -1539 from -1075. And it makes sense with what Shahdi told us.

With that I can """""""decude""""""" some funny things !

- Egypt at that period was not a desert! It was most likely like a luxurious oasis. From what I've found, the desert slowly expands and it took centuries for becoming what it is now. SO It means..or we can assume that when you see Bakura or Kisara lost in the desert they are kilometers away from Atem's Castle. AND IT MAKE NO FXCKXXX SENSE that you see Kaiba at the end of Dark Side of Dimensions walking in the desert and finding a lonely castle/city in the middle of nowhere! We're talking about the Fricking Pharaoh's Palace! It should be near the Nile and WAY MORE glorious.

Maybe Atem wasn't that big of a deal XD

- COLORS! Archeologists have found proof of all important monuments being painted with a lot of colors. It was a symbol of wealth! So even tho it's pretty, the castle we see is inaccurate or Atem's government was broke? But why would they "waste" gold for the Millenium Items...? Definitely we have to do a "Pimp my Palace" ad some turquoise, green, reddish nuances to all of this!

- WHERE ARE THE CATS! Egyptians used to be obsessed with cats. I definitely imagine Atem having A LOT of cats. And no, domestic cats were not meant to be for sacrifice. Only a few, raised by priests were used.

Since Seto is a Priest... '-' Well...

- Atem and Seto should be bald and wear wigs. YES SIR. In ancient Egypt, shampoos weren't really a thing, and to avoid lice and other diseases males and females had to shave their heads and have wigs on. Wigs made of real hair. I let you picture the process of making Atem's and Seto's Hair :3

One more funny note, Egyptians used to be 100% hair-free! EVEN brows and lashes! I haven't found a lot of info about how but it seems that they used thread and some kind of wax.

I let you proceed with that information about your favorite Egyptian husbandos. :3

- I hope I won't surprise anybody that the clothes are so "wrong" it hurts me! I don't know where to start. Maybe I'll draw one day how they should be dressed.. But I'll try to make it brief. Mana and Isis : I kinda get it, even if Mana outfit makes me kinda go berserk. Women in ancient Egypt wore Semi-transparent, long, and light dresses... Or really tight with only two vertical thin straps to cover the boobs. Egyptians weren't at all embarrassed by nudity. It was very common for non-high state women to not even bother to hide their boobs. So I get it.. "not suitable for a young audience to have women with see-through clothes blablabla" Aknadin : WTF? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of high priest ??? Why are you dressed like some medieval common folks ?? Where is the leopard fur? Long dress with gold ?? AT LEAST you have Pegasus 3000 years later who is here to make a fashion statement! Seto : WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ?? First, thing first... why are you wearing a PHARAOH """HAT""" ????! And Come on... why there are so few men are bare chests!!!! I suppose that the "hat" is here to show how MASSIVE Seto's Ego is... :/ Atem : The jewels are on point. Big, heavy in your face... the only thing maybe that I could say, not enough of lapis-lazuli and precious stone. Again Ancient Egypt used to be very colorful. I abandoned complaining about his hair and the absence of a proper ""Crown"". I'll say that technically, Atem's hair is a crown on its own. Again, it wouldn't be inappropriate to have him being bare chest... and his loincloth could be longer, because he normally can afford more fabric. But at this point, it's just nitpicking. I have this headcanon that Atem is not shy or embarrassed by naked bodies... like clothing used to be quite revealing at that time. -A Small One... HOW... HOW IS ATEM BEING ABLE TO WALK FREELY WITHOUT ANY SURVEILLANCE ?? Pharaoh used to be considered as Demi-God or a Reincarnation of a God. He's not like "other mortal"... People should bowheads to the ground on his path! Anyways that would be quite annoying and too much of "Seto Kaiba-like" to see Atem in such a light.

- Last minor point that came to my mind. Atem should have a Queen at his side (CALM DOWN Fanfic writer). Marriage used to be planned when so much in advance. It could be a cousin, even a sister, or a parent... (I know yikes) And It would have been planned since he was 10 or 12 if not younger. It's also Sooooooo "unique" or Odd that Atem is an only child. Dying young was quite easy... and you didn't want to "take the risk"... Here you are... I didn't know why I wanted to write about this... Maybe I'll write some "Historical Yu-Gi-Oh Headcannon" Who knows! AGAIN: I'm not an expert. I'm just a curious nerd who overthinks too much about a childhood anime and loves history and talking about historical accuracy. I absolutely love YGO and of course, nobody cares about the accuracy in a fantasy show. Have a nice day!

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 15

The Darkling x reader

Time was in fact ticking and as minutes went on, your palms got sweatier and your heart never stopped thumping in your chest. Any minute now Aleksander could stroll into your chambers flanked by oprichniki and have you arrested. You had crossed the line and you acknowledged that but there was no other way to do it with him. He was never going to sit down and have a regular conversation with you where he detailed his plans out step by step, even if you said please and begged on your knees.

It was morning now and still no word from Aleksander. You had to return to your boring duties of reading trade agreements and approving Grisha posts at the war fronts, none of which passed the time any quicker. You skipped breakfast and threw on the first kefta that caught your eye, only making sure it wasn't black. A simple summoner blue, to reflect your sullen mood.

A knock on your door caught you by surprise but you opened it anyway to reveal your least favorite Heartrenderer sulking at your doorstep.

'Ivan'

'The General requests to see you'

'He sent his puppy to fetch me, how cute' You open the door wider to let yourself through letting a deep breath go in preparation. Ivan sent you a glare worth a thousand words, something along the lines of I hate you.

'Relax, I'm only jesting'

The walk to Aleksander's quarters was silent. Ivan wasn't the chatty type and even if he was, he probably wouldn't have much to say to you.

As you went to open the grand double doors, he caught your wrist tightly

'Don't lay a finger on him again, or I'll rip your heart from your chest' He warned. Either Aleksander tattled the events that took place yesterday or Ivan was eavesdropping, your gut told you it was the latter.

'I didn't take you as the type to disrespect your elders Ivan' You didn't care to return his tone of voice. He was simply Aleksander's lapdog, not somebody to be scared of or feared.

'Run along now' You dismissed him, watching as he huffed and turned down the hallway.

Aleksander sat at the same desk as yesterday except now he faced you. He was back to his normal self, void of emotion and collected in his embroidered black kefta. You sat down on a random chair, clearing your throat.

'Did you finally come to your senses?' You weren't here for pleasantries or to dance around the subject, you needed answers.

'Of sorts. Yes'

'Get to it then, you have a lot of explaining to do. And remember, I know when you're lying' You tapped the skin above your heart, indicating that he had no way out but to tell truth.

'Ask away.'

'How are you going to weaponize the Fold?'

'Alina. She can let us get through it, I can expand it into the borders.'

'How?'

'The stag. I'll use it to control her powers as well as amplify my own. She won't comply otherwise. ' He's going to use Merzost to control the Sun-Summoner.

'The King?'

'Gradually being poisoned by Ms.Safin. He'll take to being ill when the time comes.'

'You're not going to kill him?' To ascend the throne, the King needs to die.

'In time' You took a quick pause and let the information settle. You still needed to ask the most important question and you feared once he answered it, your heart would break in two.

'Alina.'

'Yes. Alina'

'Is it real?'

He took a sharp inhale and pondered for a quick second while you held yours.

'Not anymore.'

'Anymore?'

'Before you got here, perhaps there was something, But not now. I swear on the Saints. All she is is a key to more power. Everything we've ever wanted lies in our future if we play our cards right Y/N' You were sitting too far away from him, but his hands still itched to reach for yours.

'I'm suspecting there is a downside to all of this'

'I need her to trust me.'

'And the only way to do that is by loving her I assume' You hung your head low when he gave a small nod.

'I wish there was another way. She's young and blinded by her friend Mal to see what's truly happening'

'What if she finds out?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it' He stood up from his seat and kneeled beside you, firmly holding your knees.

'You're not a loose cannon Y/N. I didn't want to tell you because if I told you about Alina, you would seek us out and watch. I don't want you to see me with her' You recognized that everything he said was true, his heart hadn't skipped a beat since you got here.

'I'm sorry for the other night, for what I said. I didn't mean it' Throughout your years with Aleksander, you had witnessed him apologize to you and every time he did, his eyes were the true apology. They reflected his whole soul, bared his deepest emotions to you, and begged for forgiveness with immense desperation in ways that his words couldn't. This was no exception.

'We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment' All it took was those simple words for his eyes to wash away the guilt and reappear filled with affection.

'Why didn't you tell me about Zoya?'

He sighed again, resting his forehead against your arm 'I don't know'

'Are you done with her?'

'She was just an outlet Y/N, I truly haven't loved anybody since you. You crowded my dreams and my daily thoughts, do you really think I could move on?' He gave a gentle laugh with an undertone of embarrassment at his inability to get over you.

'I'm flattered'

Although the areas of the future that involved Alina rubbed you the wrong way for many reasons, you were glad to finally know the things Aleksander kept from you. No doubt there were things you omitted that would come up in due time, but you had gone what caused you the most stress.

'Will you finally stop running away from me? I've barely had any time to enjoy your presence' His hand came up to your face, nudging a thin piece of hair away. You melted into his touch, grabbing him by the shoulders and embracing him tightly, forcing both of you to stand. He held you as close, if not tighter.

'I'll do anything you want me to if it means you trust me again' His words stuck in your mind as he spoke against your hair. Your statement must have cut him deep. It hurt you too, you loved this man, you've loved him for more than a century, and being scared to trust him dwindled your memory of him.

You were the first to pull away but only for a second as your lips crashed onto his. It wasn't rough or needy, it was sweet and reflected your love for him. It was the kind of kiss you imagined when you dreamed of him at your weakest; when your dreams were vivid and lucid in comparison to your feverish body as it lay on the brink of death.

'Have you eaten?' He asked as you wrapped your arms around him yet again, not ready to let go.

'Not yet, but give me a minute' You closed your eyes, reveling in his scent and warm touch.

At last, I finally got my hug.

***

It was later on in the day now, you had forced yourself away from Aleksander after breakfast and retreated into your chambers, sifting through documents and pointless papers. You barely read them as you signed away, doing the tedious work Aleksander passed onto you as he focused on the stag. You didn't know much about the animal and willingly chose to stay out of the affair, never really caring for the amplifier. For now, all that it entailed was chasing false leads and ending up at dead-ends. Not your cup of tea.

The Winter fete was coming up and much to your displeasure, you were asked to make sure the Sun-Summoner was up to scratch for her showcase. It was important she makes a good impression on the foreign ambassadors, Ravka needed stronger alliances now that Zlatan was claiming the West needed to break away. He was colluding with the druskelle to capture Grisha, and wherever your Grisha were concerned, you had to get involved.

You realized the measly reports of Alina's progress weren't enough and you had to go right to the source. There wasn't a single part of you that looked forward to stepping into that boiling hut and conversing with the rude woman, but work had to be done.

You took your time walking down, chatting to bystanding Grisha and trying to stall, you really weren't in the mood to be bullied. You didn't bother to knock, you just waltzed in and searched the dark for her hunched figure.

'You again' You could've sworn she appeared out of thin air as her voice carried disgust along the room, it usually did when it came to speaking to you but you stopped caring a long time ago.

'Why are you back, Witch'

With the track record Baghra had with you, the nickname never failed to fuel your temptation to throttle her.

---

Part 16

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1

[riathedreamer]

Zero is Null

A discussion of Zero’s love-hate-relationship with RvB and struggling independence; including a hotdog too big for the bun, tragic backstories, a single bow-chicka-bow-wow, and a cookie at the very end.

Welcome to what will be a lot of text. Basically, it will explore why Zero fails as an RvB (with emphasis on RvB) season. I will not be the first one to bring forth some of the points, and I promise to be fair and civil and fun. This isn’t supposed to be a piece of hate – in fact, I’m writing this because I love Red vs. Blue.

Okay, first of all, to increase your fun – take a guess on just how much of Zero is spent on fight scenes. You see, I’ve calculated the exact amount, and I will reveal it later, but for now, take a guess and remember the number. Maybe you are the winner!

Alright, time to share my thoughts. Wait! Since I suffer from anxiety and have this one annoying voice pretending to be all those critical statements my opinion could be met with, let’s give it an actual voice and address the points throughout this review.

“Why would I care about your opinion, Ria?” – I don’t know, you’re the one who clicked Read More.

“Your opinion doesn’t matter!” – Of course, it doesn’t! Geez. Do you think your opinion matters, though? Listen, we’re on Tumblr, the actual equivalent of screaming into the void. And it’s fun, too!

“If you don’t like it, don’t watch!” - *activates Uno Reverse Card* “You can’t talk about something you haven’t watched!”

“You’re just a Hater” – Actually, this is a point I’ll come back to. Like a cliffhanger. Also, at the end of this, there’ll be a cookie. But this will also include me talking about the stuff I like, because, surprise, Zero is not without talent!

“You just don’t like it because the Reds and Blues aren’t in it!” – Actually, that’s a good point, so instead, this review will start with a sole focus on Zero and discuss the problem that lies within that story. Then we can address why the lack of OG cast is understandable and problematic and weird.

But first! Backstory.

When the first 5 second teaser dropped back in spring (you know, when we were young and innocent and the world didn’t feel like an apocalyptic movie yet), I held onto that one image of what I thought (hoped) to be Grif and Simmons in the sunset, hopefully addressing Grif’s hateglue arc, but boy was I wrong because a) that’s not Simmons, that’s Sarge, and b) the image was from a PSA since the Reds are not in Zero.

Actual face-reveal of me below:

Admittedly, when I heard that the Reds and Blues were not going to be the main characters (or even show up), it felt like a gut punch. However, I actually found myself getting excited due to the creators’ hype. I want to praise them for this. It’s been a while since an RvB season was talked so much ABOUT before its release; it had advertisements, it had creators and voice-actors talking about it. Please. More of that in the future. Their passion rubbed off on me, and that deserves recognition. So it pains me that this was clearly a passion-project, and then when I gave it a try, I didn’t want to touch it again for weeks.

Here’s the thing. I cannot whole-heartedly say that Zero is bad. It’s not gonna melt your eyes. It’s not even so-bad-it’s-good. For me, it’s meh. It’s a Saturday-morning-cartoon aimed for a younger audience with a rushed plot and clichéd characters. The problem is that it calls itself RvB, and with that title comes something to live up to – but more importantly, something to continue.

My main issue is that Zero forces its story into existence by ignoring established content rather than adjusting to it. Let’s call this for the hotdog-too-big-for-the-bun syndrome solely for the sake of the bow-chicka-bow-wow that’s coming now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. Many of the separate issues I will dive into all add to this hotdog-issue, so I will scream “Hotdog!” whenever this is the case so we can all keep track of my argument.

You can continue the story of Red vs. Blue without the Reds and Blues. While that would personally crush my heart, it can be done. There’s a story of Red vs. Blue that can be continued. The world can be expanded, the previous actions of the Reds and Blues can be explored from another angle.

So.

How does Zero do this? It doesn’t.

I just want to make it clear that new elements can definitely be added when it comes to worldbuilding. That’s literally the point of sequels. But Zero’s settings are presented with so little grace and with no connection to previously established worldbuilding. We get Alliance of Defense and GLASS thrown in our face as very big important organizations – yet we’ve never heard of them before. A big central plot point of RvB is the UNSC and Project Freelancers, and those were introduced naturally with the plot. We already have big established intergalactic organizations. What is AOD’s connection with those? We aren’t told. We are just told they exist and expected to accept it, no questions asked. If this was a whole new world and story – fine. But when you need to build on an already established worldbuilding, you need more grace than this. Chorus was a whole new setting, but it was explained, and it was connected to the previous plot. Same with Iris. Same with Desert Gulch. In Zero, it feels lazy. It feels forced. These organizations are just there because the story is built around them (HOTDOG).

This vagueness when it comes to wordbuilding is also reflected in the settings - we have a desert, a training base, a lab, temples, Tucker’s workplace, and we do not know if all those are set place on the same planet. If that is the case, what is this planet’s relationship with Chorus? Is it Earth? And most importantly, what is the deal with the temples? Why are they connected to Tucker’s sword if it isn’t the same planet. Are they made by the same aliens? Are people okay with this? Why haven’t these temples been explored before? Chorus makes sure to establish this, while Zero doesn’t, adding to a growing amount of confusion.

Okay, so no connection with previous worldbuilding. What about characters? I mean, we got Wash and Carolina and Tucker! So we have RvB characters, it gotta be RvB! Technically – yeah. But it feels dirty. These three characters are not here to be characters. They are here to be props to the new cast. They are not given any development. Their presence isn’t even that important, and if this was a whole new show, they could easily have been replaced with an unknown face. Worst of all, they feel miswritten.

Carolina and Wash are working at a new military organization? Leaving the Reds and Blues behind? To help people? First of all, fucking bad idea, Carolina, the last time you left the Reds and Blues alone, they changed the timeline. But most importantly – Carolina and Wash just joined this new super elite military organization? After being mistreated and manipulated by such an organization in the past?

Carolina is there to introduce the characters. That’s it. We are force-fed their personality by having her literally read out loud their personality. There is no gentle introduction to the new cast. We are not allowed to get to know them naturally. Why show when you can tell, huh? That’s Carolina’s role. That’s why she is there. To introduce the cast and explain their story. That’s it. (HOTDOG).

How about Wash? He is there to get beat up and be a damsel in distress so that the new cast has a reason to explore the plot. Oh, and that brain damage that was the consequence of previous seasons – gone now. The guy who literally has trauma from having an AI explode inside his head is fine with having a computer inserted into it instead. Because that’s needed. To explore his brain damage wouldn’t work now when his role is to be a prop to lure the new cast for one episode and then be put onto the bench for the rest of the runtime (HOTDOG).

And Tucker – he is there to die for a second and have his sword taken from him. That’s literally it. And for the few moments he is there, he feels like old super flirty Tucker, which erases the character development he went through in previous seasons. Okay, so Tucker dies, and then not dies, and then he is put on the bench with Wash where they can sit and talk or whatever (‘cause holy shit, the new cast is not allowed to that), because he isn’t important. The sword is. Tucker is just a prop, even more than his sword is (HOTDOG).

Damn. Wash gets beat up. Tucker gets beat up. Dies. Gets his sword taken away. Almost seems like a Red’s wet dream. Sorry not sorry, Blues, you were done dirty.

So there are miswritten old characters. Even worse is the retconning. The plot needs a “normal” Wash, so, bam, magic computer solution. Never mind Wash’s trauma and character traits. Never mind the logic of the new worldbuilding which also includes a character suffering for years to heal an illness. But the brain damage that was such a big consequence that it became the main part of the plot of the last two seasons – gone. I mean, a gunshot to the head can be healed by CPR. That’s canon. But no one gave Wash CPR so it’s a big thing, okay. It was canonically a big thing, and Zero erased that. This is not me saying that a Cerebral Enhancer couldn’t work in the RvB universe. Imagine it being done right. Wash struggling with the choice of getting used to his disability or accepting the possibility of help - at the cost of reliving his trauma. The struggle between what to choose - what should he choose when he wants to help as many as possible, the sacrifices he thinks he has to make, the way it could have been used as a part of his character growth. But in Zero, the enhancer isn’t a part of Wash’s character. It’s there so the story can work without having to deal with the previous plot’s consequence (HOTDOG).

Same with the sword thing. They sorta explain it by having Tucker flatline, but it’s weak. Honestly, I find it sorta offensive. What about Locus’ sword as well? It’s twisting previous lore to make the new plot work (HOTDOG). (Also, are we not gonna talk about the ultimate power being Spencer Porkensenson’s helmet? Have the writers forgotten Spencer Porkensenson? Have we as a community forgotten Spencer Porkensenson?)

If you have Red vs. Blue in your title, you cannot ignore what you inherit from it. You need to respect the worldbuilding, the established characters, and the previous plot. Zero does not do this.

Let’s talk about the Triplets. No, really, let’s do it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about them before, because season 14 was a mixed bag for me (that I have now learned to appreciate. Thank you, Zero.) because I have heart at the size of the Grinch and can only love a few characters at a time, and that did not include the Triplets. Can’t even remember their names. Well, I can, but I can’t for the love of me remember which state is which, and my tongue is twisted every time I try to say Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho, and I know it’s on purpose. I know it is. And it got me good. That being said, the fandom actually embraced them really, really well! Seriously, I’ve seen more content for the Triplets than for Zero as a whole.

Why talk about the Triplets? (Was Iowa the lesbian? Or was it Ohio? Fuck.) Because like Zero, they introduced new characters with a story of their own. The Reds and Blues didn’t play a role. But here’s what I feel like the Triplets got right. They didn’t change the settings to force their narrative. They used stuff already established (Project Freelancer), added their own story as a continuation of that. They even included old characters in the beginning (Wash and some other Freelancers) but it felt natural and it didn’t feel like it happened at the expense of the old characters. Wash’s writing felt natural, and his presence wasn’t needed to tell these new character’s stories. He wasn’t a prop to them. He was there to establish the setting and to establish the relationship with these new characters, and then he and the other familiar faces (helmets??) left, and we as the viewers were left with these new characters. And the new characters told their own story by themselves. It felt like, hey, here’s something you know – remember Mother of Invention, and remember Wash’ lower rank, but now, try to imagine being even lower rank than him, aren’t you curious about those fates? Now let’s hear their story! It was new, it was something else, but it didn’t wreck what came before it, and it stayed true to the classic vibes of RvB.

As I said before, the hotdog-issue is my biggest problem with Zero. It infuriates me. I will return to this. But there are more issues, even if we try to look past the title-related problems.

If we try to imagine Zero as its own story and universe (as it should be, in my opinion), it still earns the meh review from me.

These isolated issues include awkwardness, the writing, lack of self-awareness, and pacing. First of all, holy shit, this is a tell, don’t show. Nothing is subtle, nothing is allowed to develop. It’s like the show thinks you are six years old with an attention span of a goldfish. You are not just led by the hand – they have literally pulled off your arm by the end of the show. We are force-fed every bit of information, every bit of personality from these new characters.

The voice-acting is a mixed bag for me. Sometimes it’s pretty good, sometimes it’s not. Some of the problems can definitely be blamed on the dialogue that you can only do so much with. It’s not good. I can’t remember any good jokes (the one joke I really appreciate was the cast on armor, and that was freaking visual humor. That was so RvB. Kudos to that. It was fun. More of that, please.), and RvB is known for having memorably good lines. This is a show built on good, clever, funny dialogue. Zero does not deliver. You have to sit through clichéd lines – “You’re not my dad”, “I trusted you”, “Come with me”, “It can’t be!”, “She’s way too powerful”, and “We have to do this together” – performed unironically. I cringed more than I laughed. Worst thing is that Zero could be a good parody. Sometimes, it feels like it is. One-dimensional characters, a villain wanting ‘the ultimate power’, very overpowered characters, bad one-liners, etc. But Zero takes itself seriously, and I was one of the people rooting for Jax to show up at the end and yell “Cut”. That would have been a funny-as-fuck twist. A spin-off parody. If I can’t have “Sarge the Movie”, I would have taken that and loved it. I would have forgiven everything. “We put so much info into finding that power, but we had no idea what it was” is really a line in the finale, and I cannot believe this is real in a show that somehow still tries to present itself as serious. What a plot.

We have to talk about pacing. God, first of all it should be stated that RvB is a mess when it comes to pacing. I honestly get what they were going for. Sometimes, RvB has come across as a bit boring when you get three episodes stretched over three weeks without much going on. I know season 11 did not have the warmest welcome because it was seen as boring until the finale. But when you see season 11 as a whole, as a movie, as a part of a trilogy, it works so well. Zero is more focused on being episodic. They want something to happen all the time so we will stay tuned. The thing that will happen – a fight. Oh god. The fight scenes.

I have done the math. I have run the numbers. I deserve a freaking cookie for this. Are you ready?

If you put all the episodes together, you have a runtime of 106 minutes. HOWEVER, with the introduction of credits in every episode, you gotta account for this. Removing the credits, this gives us 94 minutes of actual runtime. Out of that, 45 minutes are dedicated to fight scenes. That means 48% of the show is fight scenes.

If I wanted that many fight scenes, I’d watch Death Battle. Except the actual RvB Death Battle episode has a runtime of 20 minutes, and out of that, 5 minutes is dedicated to the actual battle. For the people who hate math – that’s 25% of the actual runtime.

RvB Zero has more fight scenes than a show called Death Battle. Take that in.

The pace suffers from this. Where’s the time to explore the characters? Where’s the time for good dialogue? All I can think of is this:

I get that RvB is a show that’s literally making fun of itself by acknowledging all their characters do is stand around and talk. I get that you want characters to do more than that. But for the love of Church, would it kill the new characters to stand around and talk? For just a minute? Stop fighting, I am begging you, stop fighting! Am I a pacifist now? Am I purple? Have I joined Doc’s team? What has Zero done to me?!

The good thing though is that fight scenes are very good. They’re entertaining. However, they seem to deconstruct themselves when we need to get a fight scene in every episode. Usually, the few fight scenes in an RvB season were in some of the most climatic episodes. In Zero, I can hardly keep up with the pace because they won’t stop moving. Fight scenes aren’t plot. They aren’t character development. You need more than just fight scenes. They entertain, but there’s a limit to that.

Noël Wiggins, the co-writer, stated the inspiration was a Saturday-morning cartoon. They nailed that vibe. If that was their goal, hurray, they have accomplished something! Because of the poor plot and constant fight scenes, it feels like you could just switch on the TV and drop in at any moment and let yourself be entertained by the cool and colorful soldiers punching and kicking each other. I will admit that the fight scenes entertained me. But they don’t make it a good season.

If I were the six-year-old with the attention span of a goldfish that the show believes I am, I honestly would enjoy it. The stiff dialogue and the constant tell-don’t-show makes you feel like an audience that’s not supposed to do anything else but admire the flashy fight scenes. I miss the cleverness of RvB. I miss the characters I get to connect with as I see them grow.

I miss the tone of RvB. Because this isn’t RvB to me.

It’s not that RvB hasn’t changed its tone before. Holy shit, I sorta do want to experience the absolute shock the RvB fandom went through when s6 aired and they were given new characters and serious plot. I would have loved to experience that, but I was too busy being ten years old. The Freelancers seasons also introduced a new tone and more fight scenes with very talented fighters compared to the Blood Gulch gang, but a balance was kept by having half of the season still revolving around the Reds and Blues. But Zero – Zero is so much change. And it’s on purpose. At least this has been made very clear from the beginning.

They constantly seem to appeal to new fans, rather than be directed towards older fans of the show. If you want an entirely new audience with a season with a new cast, new worldbuilding, and new tone, I’m confused as to why they don’t just make a new show. The hotdog-problem begs for this solution. This story and environment and characters feel so out of touch with the original RvB, that with a few rewrites and lack of Halo-armor, it could just be a new show. Problem solved.

If not this, then present it as a spin-off. In all ways, it feels like a spin-off (again, see everything marked HOTDOG). But the creators refuse to do this, and I don’t understand why. I could forgive many of these issues, had they officially separated themselves from canon.

Ah, what’s the idiom? You can’t both swallow and blow? (You can hear the Bow-chicka-bow-wow in the distance). Something about eating cake and having it. Forgive me, English isn’t my native language. POINT IS why are you calling yourself RvB while actively fighting against the core essence of RvB? In my humble opinion, you can’t be both. Marketing it as a spin-off would have granted it some defense when changing, well, literally everything, and I just, would someone please properly describe why it isn’t a spin-off? Isn’t this season marked by its association with the plot of RvB rather than a continuation of it? Zero presenting itself as not a spinoff feels like a toddler clinging to the hem of its mother’s dress while forcefully running away from her, ripping the dress in the process.

When they do connect with the original RvB, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. When they let Carolina, Wash, and Tucker appear for a moment, it feels like luring viewers in with the RvB title. Look at me. Look at me! I’m not saying this is the case. I say that it gives me the annoying vibes of being lured, rather than letting the characters be a part of the show for their own development, rather than having RvB in the title to continue its story. I should not be getting these vibes at all. But I am.

If you want to use RvB in the title, something from the core of RvB needs to be embraced. Things can be changed. They should. Something new should be brought in. But there’s a limit to how much you can change and replace and twist until it would have been better with an original show. As a season of RvB, it should tell the story of Red vs. Blue.

From my perspective, Zero fails to do so.

It pains me that the old cast has been replaced, but as stated earlier, a season could have worked without them. However, I do not like the take that one should be excited about all the new characters. That it isn’t a big thing that the OG cast got replaced. That we should just deal with it. Just, try to imagine another show suddenly replacing the main characters with characters we’ve never met before. Imagine RWBY suddenly only focusing on a new team of huntresses with the previous main characters reduced to an Easter Egg presence, or Camp Camp suddenly being about a new team of campers, no warning given. Can you imagine the outcry? So maybe let’s agree that a replacement of the main cast is a big thing and should be addressed and it’s valid to be upset about this change.

Could Zero have worked? It’s hard to answer this. How can I accept something as RvB if the season actively pushes away the core of RvB aside for an isolated story that could have been told in any other media? As a spinoff, I could have ignored it. To enjoy Zero, I have to fully separate it from RvB in my mind, and then it’s alright. S’not good. But it’s not bad. It’s entertaining enough. I really ended up liking Raymond and Tiny, and there were a few good jokes, and the fight scenes were admirable (but too much) and I love the creators’ passion. But it’s not RvB. I also wish that the new characters had been attached to previous worldbuilding, for example soldiers on Chorus or agents from Project Freelancer. That way we could build on familiar lore which would have decreased the confusion and added a much needed connection with the previous seasons of RvB.

God, the anxious voice is back (by the way, it sounds like Tutter from “Bear in the Blue House”).

“You’re racist” – I hope not. Literally, I do not want to be. Tell me if I’ve ever crossed some lines, because I swear, that is not my intention, I will apologize and most of all, change and do better. I included this because I’ve seen this take thrown around in the big ugly mess that is the fandom clashes regarding Zero. And racism is problem within RT community (this includes AH and RvB, sorry, I just use RT as an umbrella term for the latter), and I’m not saying it hasn’t been a problem with this season. Writers should never be harassed, and never-fucking-ever because of their skin color, and voice actors shouldn’t be treated like they are responsible for the choices of the show. But I was legit nervous to post this review, and I hope it’s been factual without feeling like personal attacks on the creators because that has never been my intention. I was delighted to hear about the diversity behind this project, and Torrian’s passion legit blew me away because it’s been a while since I’ve seen that for an RvB project. I’d hoped for it to be good, and when I feel disappointed, it’s for the reasons stated in this analysis. That said, Zero is made by a diverse cast and it’s made with love, and both of those things are so, so great, but it does not mean that Zero cannot be criticized. It can, and it should. It’s a product, just like all the other seasons, and fans are allowed to discuss it – both what they loved, and both what they found troublesome. And to repeat previous points, and be respectful, always, fuck racists, and never-fucking-ever harass the staff behind a season, what the fuck is wrong with you if you do this.

“Don’t you get it, it’s different because it’s trying something new!” – Hey, remember the philosophical question: if you replace all the parts of a ship one-by-one, is it still the same ship when you’re done? If it doesn’t include the Reds and Blues, if it ignores previous plot, if the old characters feel miswritten, if it values animation over dialogue, if it values fight scenes over comedy, if it wants to be Fast and Furious instead of Red vs. Blue – is it still Red vs. Blue? Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.

“It's been 17 seasons, it’s time to let the Reds and Blues go so someone else can shine!” – I simply do not understand us having been with the Reds and Blues for 17 seasons should be an argument to let them go, rather than be an argument as to why their absence hurt like hell.

“The Reds and Blues ran out of things to do!” – Did- did they, though? I mean, if we were discussing pretty much any other show, I’d probably agree that they were running out of content. But for the Reds and Blues… I think the PSAs nailed it this year! I’m not kidding, I had more fun watching the Reds and Blues discuss how to do laundry than watching Zero. You could literally give me an hour of the Reds and Blues trying to bake a cake or clear a gutter or simply settling down with an ordinary life, and I would trust them to make it worth the watch.

“The flaws were due to the fact it’s only 8 episodes long!” – Look, I can only judge a product the way it’s presented to me. I cannot come up with excuses for it. If they had 8 episodes to work with, they need to come up with a plot that works with this runtime. Seriously, this excuse cannot work when 48% of the season is spent on fight scenes. They could have used more runtime, sure, but the show needs to be able to pace itself and be planned accordingly.

“The OG cast couldn’t be a part of this year, hence Zero!” – That might be true. But. Would one year without RvB kill it? Is Zero necessary? Again, I just can’t judge excuses for the show. But trouble with the cast has been an issue before. Season 15 solves Geoff’s sabbatical by actually making Grif’s absence a part of the plot. Zero’s lack of Reds and Blues just feels like this excuse to tell a story that needn’t be a part of RvB.

Am I a hater? I guess? I greatly dislike Zero for the critique stated above. I do, however, not harass the creators and no one should ever do that. However, I have to admit that I feel there’s been this weird rejection of any critique of Zero where everything’s been brushed off as haters gonna hate, including the critique stated above. And I think that’s a problem because critique, as hard as it can be to hear (and I know this. I’m an author of original works. Weird flex, I know), is valid and necessary and shouldn’t just be shrugged away. As always, both sides of the fandom should always be respectful, but my own opinion is that addressing the flaws of Zero should not be controversial.

Does this super long rant/critique/whatever mean you cannot enjoy Zero? Gods no! I almost envy you if you enjoy this season, but holy shit, feel free to love it and tell the creators that you love it! Me pointing out the issues I have with the season shouldn’t be stopping you. I loved (and still love) s15 when it came out, and it was majorly rejected by the fandom. There were many, many critical posts, people were going on about how RvB should have ended with s13, and it evolved into the writer receiving death threats (me, once again: never ever harass the creators, assholes). But I didn’t tell people to stop being negative. I actually agreed with many of the flaws that were pointed out, and I enjoyed the season despite this, because that is possible. We, as RvB fans, should agree that RvB, is... I mean, it’s not the greatest, most flawless of shows, but we love it nonetheless. So go ahead and love Zero. This is not a stop sign. This is my opinion that you chose to read.

Wait, I promised you a cookie, didn’t I? Well, you’re not getting one. Why? Because I’m a Red and this is my chance to piss off a Blue. As Caboose wisely said: “Well, at least I don't go around... knocking on people's non-doors... and promising them cookies... and then NOT. GIVING. THEM. COOKIES!”

Blue Team sucks.

End speech.

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[hockeyboysiguess]

coney island | e. pettersson

a/n: like many people, i’ve been listening to evermore pretty much exclusively on repeat since it came out. this is the first fully formed fic idea i’ve had from it. it’s very, very angsty, just as a heads up, but i’m proud of it and i hope you appreciate it.

word count: 4,954

wine pairing recommendation: a cold glass of very dry chardonnay. 

warnings: swearing, implied smut if you squint, alcohol, a crap ton of angst.

Love was hard. People had told you that, your parents, grandparents, his parents, random jaded old women you swore you would never be like when they saw you holding his hand in the streets of Vancouver. Everyone told you it was harder than it seemed at first glance, the complexities infinitely expanding the deeper into it you fell, never ending, never becoming less complicated, never relenting. All of it fell on deaf ears and you pushed their words out of his head later every single night, utterances of how you and Elias were different as they fell from wine stained lips, breathed out with alcohol tainted breaths and laughter. He breathed them back to you in reply, drunk on you and him and everything you two knew you could be. You weren’t deep into the maze then, still at the outside, where decisions were as simple as right and left. 

Turned out that the skeptics were speaking from experience not jealousy like you prayed to each other each night. Now, the maze ran so deep, spidering through every crevice of your life that you were long lost in it, Elias lost in a part that might as well have been infinitely far away from you because you couldn’t find him anymore in it. You stopped wandering deeper ages ago. Instead you found a safe hiding spot in the maze and built a fire to keep yourself warm without him, but you stayed in the maze of your conjoined lives, and so did Elias. Neither of you knew what outside of the maze looked like anymore and the unknown and it’s endless possibilities for terrible things was more terrifying than abhorrent mediocrity, so you both stayed, miles apart in a shared life, with no hope of finding your way back to each other. 

Neither of you wanted to push deeper into the maze. You had found a holding pattern, orbiting each other and disappointing each other in even strokes that it was all the worst kind of wash you could have ever imagined. Sometimes, bombs went off in the maze that wouldn’t have been bombs if you had been willingly travelling through it together. The bomb this time was the gift-wrapped suburban dream that showed up in the form of Bo shoving a realtor’s card into Elias’s hand, along with the promise that she could find the home for you and him to build a family together in, since it was time for that. The fact that it was time for that never settled properly, an ill-fitting, both too tight and too loose bandage trying desperately to pull two people who were miles apart together inside of 3,000 square feet as if the physical boundary of shared space would fix the chasm between you. The dream of a life with him in a house like the ones you were looking at was all in shades of gray for you. It was the future, but it felt like the past, like looking at an old movie you had never seen before. Beautiful, but so clearly out of place and out of time. Looking at the houses, each one nicer than the last, the foot of space between you felt as wide as the city. You were looking at houses, places to build a home, that you couldn’t have been able to look at without him, and you were looking without restriction, but you knew it was out of responsibility, an obligation, for the both of you. 

You and Elias ran out of time together too long ago, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge it. There was comfortability in each other, even if it was because you both had so much space in your relationship that even this house, the perfect house by every metric other than the fact that it would never be filled with love, couldn’t bring you together long enough to pretend it wasn’t there. You would always be standing at the furthest points of this house from each other, hoping you never had to acknowledge it. The dream was as cold as the pristine countertops and you hated them. You hated the room the realtor said could be a nursery more. It made you sick. Elias grimaced. You two hadn’t related to each other in a long time, but in that moment, you couldn’t have been on the same wavelength more. 

You signed the papers the day and the keys felt coldest of all in your hand, but yet, when you and Elias stood in your new living room, he asked the question he was supposed to ask anyway.

“Are you excited?” 

The question was a lie as soon as it was formed. He didn’t want to ask if you were excited. He knew you weren’t because he wasn’t. His life was lived in increasingly medium shades of gray, the blue having been drained from the sky over the maze a long time ago. But he was here, and he was asking the question, so you gave the answer the question deserved. 

“So excited.” You spoke with such practiced niceties that the only person who knew they were fake was, unfortunately, the person receiving them. “The house is perfect.” 

The house was perfect. That wasn’t a lie. It was exactly what you wanted, what Elias wanted, where you always thought you would live together back when the skies were still blue and there was grass under your feet. The skies had been gray for a while and the grass went dormant before that, as it did when winter threatened. With skies this gray, why were you still here? Why did you sign your name for the house? You were comfortable, in every single way of your life other than how your heart sat in your chest, you were comfortable and your goddamn heart, that absolutely useless thing in your chest, still looked at him and saw what it used to be like and blindly thought, if you went a little deeper into the maze, you might just run into him along the way and it would be like old times, like when you prayed your love into each other every single night with hushed words and heavy touches and kisses meant to take your breath away. 

You reached out for him and he hesitated for a moment, before settling into your embrace. Your arms around his neck, his hands on your back and his warm breath dancing across your neck, he still felt like he was yours, not like he was so distant he was unreachable. 

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” you mumbled to him. 

His chest tensed and he sucked in a quick, pained breath. You apologized for it in the moment as it happened but hadn’t brought it up since. You blamed flights and work and other related responsibilities when it was simply just a broken promise. You could have made it work. You could have figured out how to get home and spend the night with him. It would have meant an early morning after, but no early than the ones he did all the time. You were trying to figure it out, scrolling through airlines, meticulously checking your schedule, finding the flights with awkward connections that would get you to him for the night. Your headache from it all was worsening, so you gave yourself a five minute break from it, scrolling through social media. It was the smallest thing, his teammates getting him dessert at dinner, but the way he laughed, the way he smiled, the way he looked actually happy because of the people around him; he hadn’t looked like that because of you in longer than you even realized. If you were there, he wouldn’t be that happy. 

He never told you, but he realized something was nearly hopelessly broken when he’d breathed a sigh of relief when you told him you wouldn’t be able to make it home, that you were going to miss his birthday. 

You watched through the carefully curated lens of his drunk friends’ posts from hundreds of miles away and felt like you were as close as you had been to him in a while, watching him be happy from your spot in the maze. You couldn’t even see him really. Only his laughter carried across the expanse between you as if coming from down a hallway from the apartment at the end of the hall you knew was impeccable and the people inside of it were having an amazing party. You just weren’t invited because you lived at the apartment farthest from him instead of with him like you were supposed to. 

You ate your single slice of mediocre cake you ordered from room service in his honor at his request. 

“Really?” 

His voice pulled you back into the present. You nodded into him and his hands pressed you into him in response. The feeling of his hands on you was like old times, back when your relationship felt your piece of heaven on earth that you could share with him. You tilted your head up to look at him and your heart pulled you up onto your toes to kiss him. One of his hands reached up to cup your face and he deepened the kiss, letting you both walk back down the road to a long lost and long missed paradise in the past. His hands were the same as before, his mouth on your skin, pulling moans and tugging your heart closer to his and making you both forget that you couldn’t walk back down that road, a road you both wished you could but couldn’t actually find, the map to it lost in disappointments and missed moments, lost in the wind that carried away the love that was missing. You both pretended it was still there on the bare floor of the house you were supposed to fill together, let the comfortability of the way you felt in each other’s arms artificially bring you closer together for a few moments you wished would stretch over your entire lives again. 

As you slid your sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, back over your shoulders and handed him the one he had actually worn, the space was more evident than before. You borrowed the good moments from the dwindling allotment you had been given by the universe at the start of your relationship that had seemed infinite then, maps through new parts of the maze that were limited. You were supposed to have figured out how to explore and draw them together, map forever hand in hand, but you had never been able to draw even one. Each time you borrowed a good moment from the rations, used it up really since it couldn’t be returned, they transformed into memories instead, you both become painfully aware of how few were left now and you felt further apart than before. 

“Elias.” You were reaching out across the maze and hoping he still wanted to reach back out. “I miss you.”

You knew he would understand, even though your words didn’t make much sense in reality. 

“I miss you too.”

His voice betrayed him, cracking at the end of his sentence. You felt him for the first time in what had to be eons at this point, really felt his hand in your reaching out through the noise. Then you felt his hand reach out and pull you into him again, lips resting on your forehead for a few lingering moments. 

“I-” You cleared your throat to try again. “I want us to be us again, Elias.”

“Me too, so much,” he agreed, voice giving way to emotion and cracking again, exposing the honesty of his statement. “I want to fix us.”

“Me too, Elias. Me too.” 

And so, you tried. You both desperately tried. You tried to bring him into the center of your world again, tried to find him in the maze and he tried to find you. But as you unpacked boxes with your backs to each other, the distance was the same and all you were doing was shouting across it, wishing it didn’t exist. To shout across it, it had to be acknowledged, but that was part of it, wasn’t it? You had to acknowledge a problem to fix it, and you thought, if you both acknowledged it enough, eventually the uncharted territory between the two of you in your relationship would be to be journeyed and you would find each other again. You kept thinking it and he kept thinking it, because having the right spirit brought people from their deathbeds and maybe it could for your relationship too. You kept looking, shouting across the maze, but he was both right next to you and infinitely far away at the same time. 

Elias had a banner sort of year, the kind of year he had been working his entire life to have. Amid the personal mistakes and disappointments, professional success was uncomplicated. You were on his arm, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong and that you were every bit as in love with him as you were the first time you came to this award show years ago. Fake it until you make it. It would get you through tonight and perhaps it just might get you through the maze to him again. 

Except instead of crossing the maze to him, you watched it crumble around you that night as you looked up from your seat at the stage, pride swelling in your chest and threatening your breath, bringing tears to your eyes. You were still impossibly proud of him and his accomplishments. Words tumbled from his mouth and you could have sworn you were listening, but now, you couldn’t remember any he said from that podium. You remembered the ones he didn’t say, the options he had in front of him that would have been acceptable. My girlfriend was a fine inclusion. Your name worked. Instead, there was emptiness in his speech, an emptiness that scripted a deep, unending ache in your chest instead of the words it should have been filled with. He said he was grateful for his family, his parents, his brother, then a pause, a pause too long to have been an accident, a pause that gave him enough time to decide to shatter you with a purposefulness you could never forget. There was no “and” after his brother, but the sentence ended anyway, the weight of it finally tipping the scale you had been agonizing over daily for far too long to honestly even think you were happy with him anymore. The scale couldn’t tell a lie. It was simply an itemized summation of everything beautiful and unique and unrelinquishable about him versus the parts of him that you desperately wished were different, the disappointing things. 

You tried to deny it for a moment, when he rejoined you and kissed your temple and held your hand, when he felt like he always felt, like he was the place you wanted to be forever.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I totally forgot to say your name and I feel stupid.” 

The lie sealed it, the reading on the scale forever burned into your mind. It was fixed now because you were done counting, done weighing it all. You weren’t his centerfold and you never would be, something that was a fact of the worst kind now. Facts were simply facts, not meant to hurt or help, simply meant to present truths objectively. But there was nothing objective in the way people received facts. You were both too polite to leave each other without a real reason to do it, but he hadn’t been in the bed you shared in so long and he wasn’t coming back. The empty pause and the emptiness in your bed felt all too related in that moment.

It was the loudest, most honest emptiness you had ever experienced.

The emptiness carried heavy on your shoulders through each forced photograph, each person whose hand you shook when they congratulated him, each moment you held his hand when he knew that you knew it was a lie. Elias Pettersson didn’t do anything on accident; he didn’t function on whims and wishes. It was calculated, your omittance from the list of people to thank, and he knew he was severing any threads that still tied you together. You looked at him that night, smiling as brightly as you’d seen him do for years, and you couldn’t help by wonder when the days turned to never ending nights, when the sun set on your relationship without the ability to rise again, and when he had disappeared why still being right next to you the entire time.

You hit the front steps of the house you shared that had never become a home and said the words you both had been avoiding for far too long now. 

“I’ll start moving out tomorrow.” 

Elias just nodded as he loosened his tie because he could say he didn’t understand a lot of things, that he had the same questions you had and many more, but he couldn’t say he didn’t see this as inevitable and neither could you. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you as he headed into the guest room to sleep there instead of physically next to you.

His words were genuine, which was somehow the worst fucking part of it all was that he was still a good person, a fucking incredible person, but he wasn’t yours. When you find a great person, and you hold onto them, and you love them back, it’s supposed to work. Instead, it somehow felt doomed from the start and you couldn’t understand why. 

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered. 

He heard you because he was listening for you. He never stopped listening, never stopped trying, but he decided he needed to destroy the maze, correctly so, because neither of you were able to find your way closer, not even a single inch closer from when you said you would both try to fix it. You were both too lost. You were never going to end it without a specific, final straw, so he gave you your reason, even if it broke his soul in two to do. You would have chosen to be miserable with him for the rest of your life and he would have been miserable too. The right thing to do sometimes hurts more than the wrong thing, and Elias Pettersson knew that. 

It didn’t mean he cried any less that night. 

------

Three months had passed since that night, that night you both had been trying to avoid for more of your relationship than the amount of time you hadn’t known it was coming. You waited on the park bench you shared after your first date, the ever familiar bench by the tree line in the park and the golden clock. The trees seemed to be worse for wear this year and the golden paint on the clock was chipping, two things you found all the more fitting as you waited for Elias. He had a box of things you had forgotten, things from Sweden, things from around the house in Vancouver, bits of you that belonged with you and not him anymore. You saw him as he walked up and your stupid heart, that goddamn still fucking useless thing in your chest, lurched toward him in blind nostalgia without a care for how it would actually make you feel. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

Elias awkwardly set the box onto the bench next to you, hands fidgeting at his side anxiously. You knew he wanted to say something. You didn’t want to know that he was thinking by the movements of his hands, but you still knew, the information instinctually recalled by your brain and you wondered if it would always be there.

“Can I sit? Can we talk?” 

The part of you that was working your way through the rubble of the maze wanted to say no, but the part of you that still tried to rebuild pieces of it on your winding journey through the rubble of your relationship as you tried to untangle your life from him wanted you to say yes and today, it was louder.

“What do you want to talk about, Elias?” 

He didn’t know what to say. You could see it in the surprise on his face; he hadn’t planned for you to say yes. He had expected a no and didn’t think past that point. He sat down on the edge of the bench with the box in between you acting as a porous barricade, if you could even call it a barricade at all. He was just as perfect as the day you left, soft hair, kind eyes, smile that could stop a car accident before it even happened. It couldn’t stop the trainwreck that was you and him though, no matter how much you wish it could have. 

“How are you good?” 

“I’m fucking grand,” slid out of your mouth deftly, all too practiced and lazy to be true. “How are you, Elias?”

He just nodded in response, before a soft, “Same,” left his lips. 

Elias ran a hand frustratingly through his hair, fingers tugging at the thin blond strands. He let out a tense, shortened breath, eyes closing as if it would help him to will his breath level. His eyes opened slowly, pointed toward the gravel path under his feet. 

“I can’t figure out what happened.” His words were broken with months of anxiously pouring over them spilling out with them now. “I keep trying to figure out where we went wrong, what I did, what you did, when it broke in a way we couldn’t fix. I can’t figure it out. There’s so many broken parts that I can’t find the first one.” 

You nodded softly in understanding because the same thoughts kept you up at night, woke you in the morning, and kept you in terrible company throughout every single day since you left. You had been looking for the same thing as him, the original fracture point when it all really started to crumble, and you couldn’t find it. You couldn’t find where you had diverged in the maze and began to chart paths that would never lead you back to each other, nor could you understand why it had all happened. 

“We used to be so good,” you mumbled in response. It wasn’t directly related to his statement, but at the same time, it was the next logical thought and you knew he would make the leap to yours with you. “Do you miss us?”

Your voice shook, the shaking coming from somewhere deep inside, a part of you that hadn’t settled completely with the idea he was never going to be yours again. 

“Do you miss us from the beginning?” you clarified more firmly this time because you didn’t miss being two people who lived together but didn’t. 

“Every second of every goddamn day.”

Missing each other was easy, as easy as breathing, but you couldn’t miss him without remembering the gray skies that came with him that smothered out the daylight. You used to parade around the city, bright lights, nights of spinning around each other faster and faster with absolute elation. You knew it had left, that merriment of each other, but you didn’t know why or how. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you admitted to him. “I’ve been trying to figure it out too because god, Elias, we were perfect. We were everything we wanted to be, but then, and I think it happened way sooner than either of us wanted to admit, we just weren’t. Out of nowhere, it didn’t feel the same and I couldn’t make it feel the same, but I wished I could’ve. Loving you was my favorite thing to do and I’m so fucking sad I can’t do it anymore and I don’t know why I can’t do the thing that used to be my favorite thing.” 

Elias shuffled his feet on the path, gravel crunching under his shoes. He didn’t have to say it. You knew it used to be his favorite thing to do too. He was sitting on the bench, sharing it with you even though doing so hurt, because he was trying to figure it out too. 

“Maybe it was because I couldn’t win you that stupid arcade ring on our second date,” Elias offered up as a joke. It was terrible, and you weren’t in the mood for a joke, but it still made you laugh. “That was the first thing I couldn’t do for you.” 

The joke soured and died with his second sentence. You both knew it wasn’t true, but it was as true as any other theories you had, because it wasn’t a single event. There was no singular event you could pinpoint where everything had gone wrong. Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe you spent so much time looking at the walls of the maze immediately surrounding you that you forgot to look down. If you had looked down at the ground beneath your feet in the maze, the foundation of your relationship, maybe you would've seen the edge of the grass followed by a few meager inches of rock, before a cliff face. Maybe you couldn’t find your way back to each other because the maze you were in was built on a flawed foundation because maybe it was never supposed to exist in the first place. 

“What if we just were never supposed to be together?” 

It was the easiest and hardest answer of all of them, the one you had been avoiding, because saying it forever tainted the time you spent together that was flawless. It forever marred those pristine memories. 

“I’ve thought about that a lot, more than anything else actually,” Elias sighed, slumping back onto the bench. “I don’t think that’s it. I kind of wish it was because it meant we were always going to end, but god, I don’t think that’s true. I think we were it. I think we fucking had it right.”

“If we had it right, why aren’t we together? Why don’t I get to love you anymore? We didn’t fuck it up, Elias,” you pushed back. 

“I think we did. I think it was just a series of tiny mistakes, but we made them at the same time and never fixed them. I think, so fucking slowly, you stopped being the center of my life and I stopped being yours and then it was done from then on because we couldn’t put each other back because we got just a little too selfish with how we were living and that was it.”

“That was the beginning of the end then,” you said softly, “and the rest of it just played itself out.” 

Elias nodded just as softly as you’d spoken, “That’s the best I could come up with, but it could be wrong. All I know is we don’t work anymore and I’ve never felt cheated out of something incredible before I lost you.” 

Elias stood up after a moment. Your eyes were dry, tears expelled too many times to have any to shed now. A theoretical answer didn’t provide any closure because really, it just felt like the universe decided you two, for whatever reason, didn’t get to be happy and that was all there was to it. She didn’t write an explanation, just that it had to end. Unexplained pains in reality weren’t followed by something better. People said that, but it was just shit talk to make themselves feel whole again. Besides, looking at him now, you knew there was nothing better for you than him and he was looking at you the same way you were looking at him. He felt it all too. There was nothing else better. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “I’m so sorry for what I did, whatever part of it I did that got us here.” 

He waited this time, unlike the night you decided to move out. He waited for you to say it because he wanted to look at your face for just a little bit longer, wanted to live in a world where you were still in his life, in more than his memories a little bit longer. Your scattered things now in that box had been keeping you in his present, but as soon as he left, everything about you would be in his past and he wanted to hang onto you for just a little bit longer, for entirely selfish reasons. You wanted it too though, so you waited for far longer than you should to speak.  

“I’m sorry too, Elias. I’m sorry for not making you my centerfold.” 

Elias nodded softly in understanding, eyes taking you in on the park bench one last time, before turning on his heels and walking back to his car, just as the sun started to set. You thought there couldn’t have been a more beautiful, horrible, closing moment in the universe than this one and you would hate the universe for the rest of your life for making you participate in it. 

You could never hate the universe for making you love Elias Pettersson though. It had been the greatest, most horrible pleasure of your life, watching the sun go down on it all, but the days the sun had shone? The sky had been bluer than you had ever thought possible. 

You would never forget how blue it had been for the rest of your life.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Lilies of the Valley III

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

In the language of flowers, yellow lilies are said to represent both deception (perhaps tied to the notion of concealment) and graciousness.

Release Date: 05/25/20 @ 7 pm

previously ~ next

        Yoongi shook his head, black fringe swaying slightly. “That’s ridiculous. You’re staying with us.”

        “Absolutely not!”

        The refusal was out of her mouth before she'd even thought about it. Both men flinched at her rejection but didn't look surprised. YN however was beginning to be upset, of course they would try to take advantage of the situation. I shouldn’t have expected any different. The tension was beginning to rise between the two and YN suddenly remembered that Yoongi liked to provoke people. Suddenly Jimin raised his hands as if to show no ill will, "We don't mean it like that." His hands raked through his perfectly styled hair, "It's just that you're our mate. Legally now too."

           “It wouldn’t look right. Plus it would be dangerous.” Yoongi finished for him, leaning forward and uncrossing his arms. He tentatively reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. It was warm and softer than YN would’ve imagined, she didn’t remove it and she couldn’t quite understand why. Maybe because it was meant to comfort her and it had been a long time since YN had been comforted. She almost found herself getting lost in its warmth until she reminded herself of who she was with and stopped herself. Sensing her discomfort the betas rushed to speak again. “We have this small cottage in the back, it’s newly refurbished and has plumping and everything. All it would need is a bed.”

           “I don’t know if I would feel comfortable living with all seven of you...it’s a lot.”

           Yoongi sighed, “We understand, though it isn’t like you have much of a choice. No place will take a mated omega. The law won’t permit it. Only...” He didn’t have to finish for her to know what he meant.

           Only the boarding house.

           YN looked up at the men and spoke as clearly as she could, "I'm not your mate. I'm not your omega," she saw how every word was spoken physically deflated them. "However, thank you for helping me. It's only temporary until I find another solution." Something flashed quickly in both men's eyes, but it was far too fast for YN to comprehend what it was. They only smiled and nodded with jovial excitement. Jimin began to talk about furniture that would be added while Yoongi pulled out his phone and seemed to text someone. She realized her hand was still under his and tried to retrieve it, Yoongi didn't allow her too. Before YN could say anything he gave her hand a quick squeeze and released it. Putting his left hand into his jacket’s pocket.

           “So it’s set. We’ll be by later to pick up your things .”

           YN nodded feeling a numbness spreading throughout her body, as she finished her tea and placed the cup down. Her eyes met theirs, dark empty pools, and she wondered if their inner scale was tipped. Were they more animal than human? Beasts? YN would soon find out.

            “Swear you’ll be okay?” Rosé asked, her fingers intertwined into YN’s. They swung back and forth, their arms shaking slightly. The air was silent, save for the things left unsaid.

             "I'm sure. I'll be safe. They won't hurt me." The smile hurt YN, but she forced her lips to spread open for her best friend's sake. She couldn't possibly leave Rosé out for the wolves, even if it meant she would be jumping right into their den.  

           “Don’t forget to text me. Oh, and call me every night.”

YN rolled her eyes but laughed. "Yes, mom. I'll make sure to write you a letter every day."

           “For a year?”

        The two girls giggled and embraced as YN willed herself to stick to her word. Just as she was beginning to doubt herself, someone knocked on the door. When the door opened, it was Yoongi and Jimin again; both with smiles on their faces - ones a little too big to be done out of politeness. They stayed by the door, if they entered their scents would linger and that wouldn't look good on Rosé. Betas did have a scent, but unless they were purposefully trying to emit it, only other betas would sense it. "Are you ready to go?" Jimin spoke after he had waved at Rosé. YN nodded, grabbing her bags resting by the door and handing them off to the two waiting betas. Feeling like it would be a while until YN saw her again, she turned around and gave Rosé one last hug. Rosé leaned deep into their embrace and whispered into YN's ear, "If anything happens. Call me, I'll be there immediately."  

           Tears almost welled up in YN’s eyes but she fought them back, merely giving her a reassuring squeeze before walking out and closing the door.

           Wow, what a fucking house. YN's jaw slackened at the sight of it, though her parents were well off it hadn't compared to this. Then again, combining the wealth of seven of the richest families in Seoul was bound to bear its fruits. Judging by the smirk on the two men's faces, they enjoyed her reaction. So, she did her best to school it immediately. There hadn't been any words exchanged by the three of them in the car, thankfully, and YN hoped it would remain that way. Instead of taking her to the front entrance, Yoongi and Jimin guided her to the side of the house. It once they reached the backyard that her breath was truly taken away.  

           The area was huge with a swimming pool, patio area, and botanical garden. However, it was the tiny home in the back with a garden of lilies that called to her. “It’s like the one at school.” Was the first thing she noted. It wasn’t as large, but it seemed to have similar flowers and evoke the same feeling.

           “Do you like it?” Yoongi asked, looking at her from his peripheral.

           “I love it.” There was no hesitance in her words, they were sincere.

They guided her to the tiny house; which the closer she got wasn't so tiny at all. It was one floor with a large bed, a television mounted on the wall, a small closet, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. There was even a small bookcase filled with familiar books: they had been the assigned reading when she was in school. Probably filled with annotations and other such things. YN wished she still had her copies, but she had donated all but her favorites to school when she graduated.

           Jimin cleared his throat, “Sorry the closet isn’t bigger, but we can expand it later.” YN shook her head, “No, that’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Yoongi placed his hand on her shoulder, “Dinner will be served in about an hour. You can meet everyone then.” Meet them again. YN felt her throat dry up, she wasn’t sure about how she felt being a room with all seven of them just yet. She had wanted to delay the inevitable, but considering she was staying in their home - it was the least she could do.

           “Sure.”

The two of them seemed pleased at her lack of resistance. Jimin smiled, "Go get cleaned up and we'll come to pick you up when it's time." YN felt it was more of a command, then a suggestion but she didn't care. Once the two of them left, she jumped on the bed and decided to take a small nap. The pillow smelled fresh and clean, only lulling her faster into sleep.

       "I'm very sorry for what's occurred to you, YN. But I want you to know it isn't your fault and that we are here to help." Officer Kim sent a comforting smile, trying to ease YN's nerves. YN remained silent, her grip on the blue blanket thrown around her shoulders was so strong her fingers were white. The officer sighed, tilting her head slightly to send a look to the people behind the screen. When she looked back at YN, all she saw was the teenager's glassy widened eyes. It had been an accident, a terrible one, but teenagers tended to be reckless. If the gruesome bite on YN's neck was anything to show for it.  

           “Do you want to press charges?”

           YN shook her head, caving in on herself even more. Jungkook’s sorry wails still echoed in her head. It didn't matter, what's done is done. YN looked up to meet the officer Kim's warm golden eyes. Her lips parted and she could see the anticipation building up in the cop's face only for there to be a disappointment once YN actually spoke.

           “I just want to go home.”

           Loud knocking tore her away from her dreams, as she saw a shadow-like figure standing outside the doors.

         The door opened slowly, only once he'd stepped in could YN recognize him. "Sorry I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't know you were asleep." Kim Taehyung had probably undergone the most significant change out of all of them: transforming from a lanky teen to an able man. YN didn't realize she had been gaping at him so openly until he smirked. "Um, no don't worry." She scrambled to get off the bed and smooth down her clothes, getting rid of any creases her short sleep might have caused.  Taehyung tilted his head, his eyes roaming her body until they landed on her poorly concealed mark. YN flinched when he stepped forward, but instead of grabbing her Taehyung held out his hand.

           “Dinner is served and it’ll get cold if we wait any longer.”

            As attractive as he was, truthfully they all were, and as much as something inside her willed her to grab his hand - YN refused. Walking past him and outside the double doors to the garden of lilies. The sun had long set and now the half-moon shined brightly in the night sky. Casting a beautiful glow on the garden, the lilies, and YN herself. Perhaps, that is why it took Taehyung such a long time to step outside her room, the man still in the shadows. He was simply basking in her glory. Or perhaps, he was trying to control his rage at his mate's reaction in a way that would frighten the already tense YN.

           When he stepped out a charlatan smile was present on his features, “Let’s go then.” Together the two of them walked side by side until they reached the house. Faintly YN could hear the sound of jazz music and muffled voices, goosebumps rose on her arms as her stomach twisted and turned. Here we go. YN’s hands balled into fists as she dug her nails into her skin, trying to remain calm despite the voices growing louder and louder. Eventually, she could pick on the scent of one...two...four alphas and hear the soft bell-like nature of Jimin’s laugh. They were all here. Now’s the time.

          The conversations began to die down and YN knew it was because they sensed her. She prayed to whatever god's existed that everything would go well. They turned a corner and YN suddenly saw them. All seven of them were wearing what could be deemed business casual attire. They were all littered across the room, but all seemed to be in a circle surrounding a red velvet chesterfield where the lead alpha was seated. His dark hair combed back, a white button-down, and tight black jeans. One by one they all turned to face her, but he was last. His warm chocolate eyes lingering on the glass of wine in his hand before they slowly traveled to meet hers.

           YN finally realized what situation she was in. A prey in a predator's territory and sadly, she'd already been branded. She remained frozen on the spot, unable to look away from the alpha's eyes, she didn't know if it was courage or brazen recklessness. Then he smiled, a warm charming smile that reminded her of the early days. When the two would speak in hushed whispers and aid each other in assignments and tests. Times when YN looked at him with admiration, care, and maybe a tiny bit of love. She did have a small crush on him back in those days, nothing to act upon since she knew he was destined but enough to make her feel happy to be around him.

           He stood up and crossed the room, a steady stride which was a blend of natural yet calculated. As if he was measuring how close he could get without scaring her, it was when he was two feet away that YN slightly stepped back. The action caused him to stop, as he finally spoke.

           “Welcome. It’s been a while.”

Soon they all crowded around her offering kind smiles. Their scents were strangely muted now, YN guessed that was being done on purpose in order not to frighten her - or send her into a pseudo-heat. Not that it would occur considering the suppressants she was on. Conversations started back up again, but YN didn't participate in any. She noticed Jungkook was strangely quiet too but didn't pay him much attention for fear he might get the wrong idea. It was a couple of minutes later that a worker announced the food was served, YN went to follow him but someone tugged at her hand pulling her back.

           “Mind if we have a chat?” Namjoon asked, a hint of mirth in his smile.

           "Sure," YN noted how most of them walked away, Seokjin was the only one who remained but stayed near the threshold.  

           “Wow, you’ve changed. Grown, I mean.” His awkwardness caused a slight chuckle to escape YN’s lips. “Says the person who is now seven feet tall.” At that his smile grew. The glass of wine in his hand was placed on a top nearby and now that his hands were empty, Namjoon took a hold of hers. His large warm hands cradling hers, as his thumbs ran soothingly across her knuckles. “How do you feel?” YN didn’t know why she was so at ease around Namjoon, maybe because they’d known each other before everything happened. He had demonstrated that he was a good person, who had simply made a mistake. As opposed to the other’s who she only knew vaguely and had been forced to get to know because of what happened.

           “Fine. Good.” YN smiled gently, her heart didn’t race as it did before but she felt comfortable around Namjoon in a way she didn’t around the others. It might’ve been that he was the leader: the one who could make everyone fall in line at his command. It might’ve been that she trusted him. YN didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. “Thank you for letting me stay.” She spoke to both him and Seokjin who straightened up.

           “It’s no problem, YN. Your welcome as long as you’d like.” Seokjin’s words were polite and YN was thankful he didn’t mention anything about mates. In fact, she hoped the whole conversation would be avoided the entire evening.

           Namjoon drew her attention back to him, “What’s ours is yours. Whatever you need, don't be afraid to tell us.” Before YN could say anything, he pulled her towards the exit. “Come. Everyone is waiting for us.” He sent her a flirty wink before Seokjin joined them, walking on her other side.

            “So YN, what did you study?” Hoseok wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

           “Sociology.”

           “Sounds interesting. Did you like it?”

           “Yeah, it was interesting.” YN wasn’t the most social person, not to mention she found it difficult to speak when all eyes were on her.

           “Did you get the flowers we sent for your graduation?” Taehyung asked, beside her. He was less intimidating in the warm yellow lighting of the dining room. Ah the flowers. Her parents had delivered the flowers when they went to visit and though YN had been all smiles, she’d thrown them in the trash the second she’d gotten back home.

           “Yes, they were lovely. Thank you.”

           It all seemed too perfect, too surreal, nothing bad had occurred yet and it had YN on the edge of her seat. This wasn’t how she was expecting the night to go at all. It had been years since the incident and though YN was aware that people could change, they seemed so different. People are different during heats. It’s more animal instinct than anything. That may be true, but it felt like she was at a reunion rather than a dinner with her supposed ‘mates.’ It seems the jovial atmosphere was beginning to be too much for someone else because Jungkook finally broke.

           “Aren’t we going to talk about it?!” His hands slammed down against the table, causing everyone to turn and look at him. Jungkook was near the end of the table, right next to Seokjin which faced Namjoon at the head. Talk about what? It seemed his question was more intended for his pack members than for her, but it still left YN curious. Seokjin who seemed unfazed continued cutting his meat, “Kookie, stop it.” This seemed to only anger the youngest more.

           “No, we agreed -” Just as Jungkook was standing up, Hoseok pulled him back down to his chair. Oh no. Alpha’s butting heads was never a good sign. She might’ve assumed this was normal but seeing how tense Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin were this was clearly unusual. The sudden growl that Jungkook let out was all the proof she needed.

           Adrenaline began to pump through her blood, as her instincts were about to kick in. If there was going to be a fight, she wanted no part in it. It was then that Taehyung and Jimin both placed their hands on her knees, keeping her still.

           “Calm down, Jungkook. Stop being a brat.” Seokjin scolded him once more, his jaw now locked. The young alpha wasn’t listening, didn’t care to. Suddenly all his attention zeroed in on YN as he spoke. “We have to complete the mating bond.” Anxiety began to trickle into YN’s mind and body. No. no. no. no.

           “No.” YN pushed the chair away from the table and stood ready to walk out and leave the house. She should have known better than to trust them. This had been their plan all along, to get her into a situation where she couldn’t escape. As she passed by Namjoon his hand shot out, gripping her wrist, tugging her towards him. The lead alpha had remained silent during the whole ordeal, as YN looked at him with irritation. Namjoon spoke in a calm mellow tone, “Down.” Just like that Jungkook dropped to his knees and began to cry.

           “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” Now YN was even more terrified. What the fuck is going on.

    Rosé: Hey, how’d your first day go?

    YN: Terrible, I don’t even want to talk about it.

     Rosé: Did something bad happen? Did they do something to you?

     Rosé: Are you okay?

     YN: I’m okay. Things are just really strange here. I don’t know how to describe it.

     YN: It's like everyone's on edge, but they're pretending they aren't.

     Rosé: I mean isn’t that kinda normal. You are their mate and you did reject them, so it makes sense.

      Rosé: You never did tell me why you rejected them though.

      YN: It’s a long story and I’m tired. Ttyl. Night.

      Rosé: Good night.

Hope you enjoyed the story. Tag list is in the comments.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs���

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.  

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter  wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.  

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”  

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.  

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.  

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”  

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

[oceantail-oceantail]

Skephalo Week, Day 6: Hanahaki Disease

Title: the demon and his human (read on ao3)

A/N: this was more of an excuse to write about outside pov of skephalo than has to do with Hanahaki Disease; NO SAD ENDING

Summary:  “This is a tale of a demon and his human. The first demon to ever venture out into the Overworld.” Grandmother reclined in her ancient rocking chair smiled. "They were good friends with our ancestor actually."

Jasmine’s eyes widened in awe. “Captain Puffy was friends with a demon?”

Or: Bad and Skeppy's relationship as told through a bedtime story, centuries in the future.

“Come children,” Grandmother said, beckoning Jasmine and her brother over. “And let me tell you a tale of the old SMP.”

Jasmine clapped her hands in delight. “Storytime! Storytime!” she squealed running over to sit crossed legged by her grandmother.

“Is this a happy or a sad story, Grandma?” her brother asked, settling down next to her.

“This is a tale of a demon and his human. One of the first demons to ever venture out into the Overworld actually.” She reclined in her ancient rocking chair smiled, “They were good friends with our ancestor,” she nodded at their elaborate family emblem hanging on the wall to their right: a sheep's head with rainbow wool.

Jasmine’s eyes widened in awe. “Captain Puffy was friends with a demon?”

“Yes yes, they were very good friends.”

Her brother leaned forward, “that’s so cool!!”

Grandmother waved her hand and began her story. “The demon and his human met when the demon escaped the Nether and found a way to live on in the Overworld: by tethering his soul to another living being.”

“That sounds kind of like a one way deal,” Caden interrupted, frowning. “Couldn’t the demon just keep the human captive?”

“Not quite, not quite” the grandmother said, eyes twinkling, “The bond was a two way street. The demon entrusted the human with a part of his soul and from then on the human became his anchor to the Overworld. So long as they both wished to maintain the bond, the human became functionally immortal and the demon could walk the Earth.”

The girl’s brow furrowed in thought. “Is that why a lot of people try to deal with demons? To become immortal?”

“Yes,” Grandmother said, “And it’s also why demons try to find humans to anchor their life force to. However, these petty business deals are weak and almost always doomed to fail. Only the strongest of convictions and dedication can keep such a soul bond alive. After all, some say the human and the demon were best friends, but...” she smiled, a faint and sly smile “some say they were more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, because one day the human became ill, deathly ill. They called it the Flower Curse, where if you love another but they didn’t love you back, you begin to cough out flowers. If the curse became too severe, you would die, choking on the petals with your last breath.”

Jasmine looked horrified, “Is that real?”

“If it was, it was something that happened centuries again, remember this story takes place centuries ago, but in the days of Manburg. But anyway,” she continued, “the human suffered from this curse because he loved the demon, but the love was unrequited. He vomited blue cornflowers and red poppies for days on end and hid them away from the demon.”

“Then what happened?”

“No one knows. These stories always have different adaptations to them depending on who tells them, you know this darling,” Grandmother leaned back into her chair and steepled her fingers together. “Some stories say they survived the experience and would eventually abandon their home in the Overworld. That they broke free from the curse and created a home deep in the Nether where they live on to this day.” Then her tone turned grave. “Others say that the curse managed to destroy them completely and ripped them apart from the inside out.”

Silence fell between the three of them.

“But which one is true though?!” Jasmine asked again.

Grandmother smiled, “You can choose what you believe to be true my dear. That’s the beauty of the tales.”

“Then I want to believe that they survived,” Jasmine said matter-of-factly, “That they beat the curse and they’re living happily ever after!!”

Grandmother smiled down at her. “I choose to believe that story as well.”

Later that, Jasmine stared out her window, imagination running wild, daydreaming about the story Grandmother had told her.

Far outside, the slightest of shadow shifted in the dark, and a pair of massive wings expanded silently in the night. If Jasmine squinted hard enough, she could see a pair of white eyes glowing in the distance and the massive wings curling protectively around another, smaller figure. In their hand, the figure held a fistful of red poppies and blue cornflowers. He clutched the flowers to his chest and with a flash of purple swirling magic, he and his companion vanished into thin air.

Jasmine blinked then shook it off. She must have imagined it.

[bighound-littlebird]

do you think sansa will ever become herself again? or do you think shes gonna be so sunk into “alayne” she will misremember who she is permanently like she does with the unkiss

These are two very common ideas passed around in certain corners of fandom that simply have no evidence in canon:  

that Sansa is so immersed in Alayne that she no longer thinks independently of her alter ego, and

that her misremembering the Unkiss is a result of trauma.

But in reality, there's ample evidence that Sansa is actively detaching herself from Alayne rather than disappearing into her alter ego.

In the Alayne I chapter in The Winds of Winter, GRRM provides twelve instances of Sansa adjusting her thoughts, responses and actions in order to be consistent with a bastard born girl. She relies on her memories of her life as Sansa to identify and navigate the intrigues going on before the tourney at the Eyrie. She takes offense that "some upjumped squire" Harry would dare speak down to her.

And Sansa/Alayne doesn't merely separate the two in her thoughts: when she is alone with Petyr, she repeatedly reminds him that she's actually highborn and not his bastard daughter.

Alayne I

No man can wed me so long as my dwarf husband still lives somewhere in this world. Queen Cersei had collected the head of a dozen dwarfs, Petyr claimed, but none were Tyrion’s.

Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble.

Outside the window she could hear the laughter of the washerwomen at the well, the din of steel on steel from the ward where the knights were at their drills. Good sounds.

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died.

" I am from Gulltown.”  And I am not, though Alayne was born there.

For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself.  A comely monster, that’s what he was.  Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

 A lady’s armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face.

"...he believes that you’re beneath him.” “Well, I’m not.  He may think he’s some great knight, but Ser Lothor says he’s just some upjumped squire.”

“Yes,” she said, “but he thinks that I’m a bastard.”

...lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

The theory that the Unkiss is rooted in Sansa's trauma from Sandor Clegane's mistreatment is also not supported by canon. When a person suffers from PTSD - which is what the sansan hating sofa psychiatrists have diagnosed - they physically and mentally relive the trauma, they don't just have memory of it happening and coming out of it, they are left sick and exhausted both mentally and physically. They relive how they felt during the traumatic event to the exclusion of everything taking place around them. That's specifically what distinguishes PTSD from other disorders. And GRRM provides examples of Sansa experiencing it after the Bread Riots.

But is that what Sansa does when she thinks of Sandor Clegane? No, just the opposite. She wishes he was still with her.

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she’d been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she'd kept it. The Hound had turned craven, she heard it said; at the height of the battle, he got so drunk the Imp had to take his men. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. Outside ... she could scarcely imagine it.

Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He’d come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.–A Storm of Swords, Sansa II

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak. A Feast for Crows, Alayne II

She thought of Tyrion, and of the Hound and how he’d kissed her, and gave a nod. A Feast for Crows, Alayne II

Sansa routinely connects Sandor Clegane to her other kissing experiences; twice as Alayne. She experiences no ill effects from remembering him either, nor what happened the night of the Blackwater battle; instead she saves his cloak and willingly uses it to comfort herself.

GRRM has commented on the likelihood of Sansa reuniting with Sandor after his time on the Quiet Isle.

Question: Will Sandor and Sansa meet?

GRRM: Why? The Hound is dead, and Sansa may be dead as well. There's only Alayne. - So Spake Martin

But is Sandor Clegane still the Hound? No, his helm was stolen and used by Rorge, and he's currently in the asoiaf version of rehab. Both the Elder Brother and Thoros of Myr differentiates between the two when speaking to Brienne.

It is true, then," she said dully. "Sandor Clegane is dead." "He is at rest." The Elder Brother paused. - A Feast for Crows, Brienne VII

"There is nothing good about that helm, nor the men who wore it," said the red priest. "Sandor Clegane was a man in torment, and Rorge a beast in human skin." A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII

As readers, we know that the Hound is dead, Sandor Clegane is the Gravedigger. We also know Sansa remains within Alayne, waiting for the right time to reveal herself. So GRRM comparing the outcomes of both characters is telling. He's also indicated that Sansa's memories of the Unkiss has a larger significance in Asoiaf.

You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom... but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it's a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on. - So Spake Martin

If GRRM meant for Sansa's remembering of the Unkiss to only be a symptom of trauma/PTSD, I doubt he would have expanded on it as he does in the above statement. In canon, Sansa's prayers and thoughts have repeatedly had a positively uncanny tendency to come true, which is also something to keep an eye on.

To sum up, we can be confident that Sansa will stay Sansa in her heart, she won't become absorbed by Alayne, and GRRM will eventually reveal the true significance behind the Unkiss.

[arlert-angel]

i had something i wanted to talk about since discourse earlier took place where a couple big blogs stated that headcanons and drabbles were "clout writing" / "writing for clout".

needed to get these thoughts off my chest, i don't mind if anyone wants to add their opinion as well or talking it over.

warning: it's kinda long

i did not bother interacting or arguing with the people involved– seeing how they reacted to many others– but when reading through their definitions and reasoning i wanted to share some thoughts of my own.

they claimed that headcanons and drabbles are a quick and easy way to get notes and many times discouraged people from writing in that format.

not directly, but they continuously stated that people who write in that format only want notes and they used to write like that and they write so much better now.

that really is indirectly shading everyone who does right that way, you know?

but they failed to mention that there is much more to headcanons and drabbles then gaining notes.

drabbles are quick and fun.

it really does give writers a fast, FUN outlet to get something off their mind and share with others. it's also a good way to gauge if readers likes that small piece of writing, so the writer can later expand on. i enjoy reading all drabbles no matter how short.

GASP

am i thinking about what the readers like too much?

does this make me a clout chaser!??

personally, i don't think so.

i respect my readers. i LOVE my readers. so i wanna know what i'm doing right and wrong, so that as a writer i can improve.

and drabbles are great practice for that.

yo since when is learning and listening from readers about clout and fame?

their mindset is the one perceiving it that way. i guarantee majority of headcanon and drabble writers don't think about the notes they're gonna get.

they are more focused on what type of reaction they're gonna get.

there's a difference!!! maybe their mindset can't comprehend that.

it really sounds like they just don't like what's popular/gains notes.

a classic gaslight gatekeep girlboss moment (derogatory).

another thing mentioned amongst the chaos was that certain tags were flooded with these headcanons and drabbles.

i could understand the annoyance if the tagging was incorrect. (ex: looking at armin fic tag and then only seeing headcanons) that's not a fic, but if it's not incorrectly tagged...

don't complain.

headcanons are also all in good fun!! there are some interesting scenarios (a lot of the time from readers requests or the writer's own imagination).

again, a good way to spitball ideas for a whole fic or sometimes it's something that doesn't need a whole fic, but is still a good concept that the writer wants to put out there.

writing is meant to fun

i cannot stress that enough. they even mentioned it themselves that they write because they like to, not to gain exposure.

what makes you guys believe that anyone else is different?

i feel like through out most of that discourse i saw the people saying that stuff talk a lot about themselves rather than consider anyone else's point of view. so many personal examples and feelings "i see this..." "i used to do this..." "i don't like..."

me me me

when they aren't stopping to consider anyone else's point of view.

the actual current writers that write in that format.

i really do get genuinely confused when people can't take other people's feelings into account.

maybe i'm sensitive or think about others TOO much, but there are those who try very hard on their work (headcanons and drabbles) and produce great content only to be belittled by some big blogs with an odd grudge.

and there's this:

wow.

i'm so happy that you were able to overcome your troubles. many haven't. many have to deal with that "depression and anxiety card" every day.

how dare you belittle mental illness? no really... how? like with your full chest??

but go you for conquering your struggles because apparently yours is the only one that matters.

(that one especially made me mad)

AND EVEN IF PEOPLE ARE WRITING FOR CLOUT...

there is no wrong reason for writing.

writing is beautiful. it's a creative outlet with an infinite amount of possibilities.

you want lots of views? cool.

you want to write privately? great.

at the end of the day, the number one reason why someone writes fanfiction– above all else– is:

because they like whatever fandom they're writing for.

or else they wouldn't write.

simple.

you can not like a format of writing, but you do not take it out on the writers.

i personally mostly write full fics too, but i still respect and cherish many headcanon and drabble writers. (they do be feeding me daily unlike most full fic writers 🥵)

also headcanons and drabbles have been around a looooong time. it's a great way for beginners to start writing and get comfortable posting.

it's disrespectful, insensitive, and discouraging what they continued to post. i don't care that it is their opinion because i have my own as well.

if they had just said i don't like headcanons and drabbles, no one would've cared. people like different formats, it's okay!!!

but they targeted the writer specifically and labeled them as some sort of greedy, uncaring content producing machine. (not their words, just making a point).

it's alright to have different opinions, but it's not okay to be a dick lol.

i blocked most people involved but if anyone ends up showing this to them, whoo! give me attention big bois 🥵 (they're big blogs i think lol)

i just felt like i needed to say more especially for my lovely writers and hope that no readers were overwhelmed.

i also hope their posts didn't make anyone doubt their work.

keep writing. all writing is practice. the more you practice, the more you're able to achieve.

im done, needed to speak my truth.

-moon ☪

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

q3 2021 update & plot call !!

below the cut, you can find an update on ash’s current life, career (or rather absence of), and development for quarter three, as well as plot and thread ideas! if you see anything that you’d like to plot out or write with him, like this or message me, and we can get to it! i have a lot in mind about where ash is right now, so i might add more and expand later on!

mentions of ash’s continuing struggle with mental illness under the cut in case you don’t wanna read that rn

professionally

ash is on hiatus the whole quarter so... not much going on here.

uhh basically the first two days of july he was still trying to get bc to let him take a break so schedule threads could be set then if they cross paths at the bc building! he’s going to be participating in concert rehearsals for knight to a less intense extent since bc, as of the beginning of his hiatus, fully intends him to participate in the concerts. he’ll miss about the first half of the tour, but in july and august he’ll still be attending knight tour rehearsals some to keep up. schedule threads can also be done then!

(note that he’ll be missing the bc city concert as well — i don’t see him dropping by just to support either tbh, sorry bc ppl. white knight duo ver tho let’s gooooooooooo)

ash will eventually start writing music and finding his love of that again though and that’s pretty much the most work he can do during his hiatus, so it’d be cool to maybe have him write, compose, or produce for a few people that might be releasing later this year or sometime next year if anyone is interested? :) we can see if ash would work for it. there’s also opening for him to ask a few people he’s close to to sing some demos for him when he starts trying to write again!

personally + plot ideas!

explaining how he got to his hiatus would take me all day but he basically forced bc’s hand in letting him take time off (well, he wanted to leave knight and retire ngl but his manager was like... you know that’s not going to happen let’s try a hiatus <3). you can read my badly-written solos for part of it (i still need to write more) but generally, the most other muses might know is that they might have run into him acting kinda moody/down or impulsive/irresponsible lately, he made a very uncharacteristic post on social media that hinted at being unhappy with his life currently and losing passion/excitement for even the things he used to value most highly before his social media was deactivated by bc lmaaooo. the post would have probably conveyed Something was up it it wasn’t like genuinely super triggering-level content i promise !! bc released a statement shortly after stating he’d be going on hiatus without mentioning a definitive end date.

so there’s the possibility a muse might have checked up on him after that post / the hiatus news to see how he was doing?

tbh ash isn’t going to be seeking out meeting new people during his hiatus. he’s taking time to himself and is only going to make any effort to hang out with people he’s comfortable with. those he’s not close to, he’s going to have to interact with by running into unintentionally.

he’s getting a place in jeju in the early-ish part of his hiatus. he’ll be spending a lot of time there at first because he just wants to get away from seoul, so it’d be nice to set some threads there if your muse has the time to hop over to visit him if they have anything resembling a free day. (again a certain level of closeness would be necessary, but i think one good heart to heart conversation beforehand could bring someone closer to him enough for that rn! even over text tbh lmao). chuseok would be a really good time for this !! i imagine catching up over lowkey dinners or heart to hearts under the stars, that found family ash has actively fought having lol

(that place in jeju is also going to be where he starts to want to write music again too, so music based stuff there would be chill?)

heart to hearts in general anywhere would be really good for ash right now so please give me those! they can be in seoul too for sure.

he’ll be moving into a new apartment in seoul eventually, though that will probably be a little later in his hiatus? he had some bad fan/sasaeng run-ins right before his hiatus and having so much time off makes him realize he wants to move. someone can help him house hunt or if someone else is looking for a place, they can talk together about it. i want him to realize he wants to move into a smaller place that can feel more like home

once he does move, muses are free to come over and help him set up / be his one-man housewarming party. that’s a little down the line tho !! so we might not want to plot that as a thread to write right this instant

he may also be getting a pet ! muses can come look with him at a shelter or he can run into people there!

this would be a little later in his hiatus, but it’d be interesting if once he’s doing a little better, he gets the urge to dance and runs into a muse at the dance studio. idk that he’ll ever fall completely back in love with dancing, but he might rediscover some of what he did love about dancing and ash and this muse often run into each other as he visits that dance studio a little more often and they eventually bond over it / do some dancing together.

those who still really have that passion for making music ash has lost, talk to him about it <3 he misses it. he might cry but tbh he’s liable to cry in any thread

he’s cutting his hair short and dying it back to black this month, so it would be possible to run into him at the hair salon!

ash will want to be inside at home mostly at the beginning of his hiatus, but as it goes on, he’ll start to branch out and that will offer some more opportunities to hang out. he’ll try not to go to bars and clubs really, but small music venues or jazz lounges, small indie cinemas, galleries, those kind of things will be up his alley

idk that there’s much plotting to be had around this, but this long hiatus on top of the other hiatuses he’s had and his acting out before this hiatus is going to make some of the bc team realize it might not be super wise to keep pushing him hard as a cf model (and in the long run, just less of pushing him as a major idol star within the company in general tbh) so he’ll be able to get some more tattoos and piercings and will become more comfortable, hopefully, with presenting himself how he wants to be seen / having some development in that good ol’ lack of bodily autonomy aspect ash has always had going on. he’ll be coming out of hiatus living much more of his 2021 jk fc truth with the full sleeve and the eyebrow piercing .

uhhh ? pretty far down the line but i’ll mention it while it’s on my mind :) i think it’d be cool if ash did a collab (mini-)album (or two?) at some point after getting off hiatus. i’d want it to be someone he really clicks with creatively (though they don’t have to be a songwriter — i can see it working as collaborative songwriting or as ash feeling really inspired to write for them) and wants to work with since it’s not going to be something he’s letting bc push him into it at that point, and something that just happens organically. realistically, this would work with a female vocal best by far, maybe a male rapper just based on the songs ash does / i can see him doing. probably wouldn’t want to commit to anything fully rn unless it really clicks but i wanted to throw the idea out there :)

uhmmm?? ig i should also mention ash will be paying attention to his health both mental and physical he’s been neglecting for a while. there isn’t too much to say regarding plotting here because he needs to handle it himself with trying new therapy, medications, understanding there’s some stuff beyond “just” his depression going on. coming to accept nothing’s ever going to be perfect, but that self-awareness and effort can help more than denial can. not super plot potential-y but i’ll mention it since this is all the personal update section

basically, ash is taking time to recover mentally (and physically) and ultimately hopefully leave hiatus in a better place than he started where he can be more comfortable in his career, even if just a little bit, in himself, and in his life. if he can have some good, developing threads during the time, that’d be great!