#things are. the understanding of the tyranny is already there so the growth from the princes themselves are more in finding the means to

[jvzebel-x]

"The impulse toward chaos was one he knew. It ran hand in hand with the desire for violence to be done to him. To destroy him because he was not worth saving."

x. "The Vanished Queen", Lisbeth Campbell

[victorlincolnpine]

I've noticed that when people get to the topic of morality, it's defined as this thing that humanity collectively nurtures through all of history. That in our early days our understanding of right and wrong was infantile, but now we today stand as "educated" people who "know better" than those before us.

It's this idea that drives the concept that we as people today are morally superior to those of yesterday, and that the horrific behaviors of people from history are simply "a product of their time".

This to me is an idea that's all at once ignorant, reductive, and to a great extent incredibly fucking racist.

It takes the idea of human morality and how we grow as people through our lives and applies it to an uncountable multitude of people who all grew up and learned right from wrong, doing so in a way that voids all their growth and all that they learned.

"The people of the ancient past just weren't as developed as us" this idea would argue. "Let bygones be bygones, because the vile and the evil were not so evil in comparison to everyone else back then, and the people that stood up to them were defying their times, they're from our time. Our better, more developed society".

Need I mention that the very idea that we as a society are simply better than another society is the root of how imperialism takes root in a society?

It's to the exact same reality-devoid extent that we see people lamenting a past that never was in the form of actual self-proclaimed Nazis lamenting the fall of the Roman Empire.

If you look at history, you do not see a species growing and becoming more kind over time. No, instead we see people in their inflated arrogance proclaiming themselves to be "better" than somebody else. More "developed" than somebody else. We see the same racist shit as from 40 years ago, with absolutely nothing changed except the technology through which they might broadcast their racism.'

In our yesterdays we see genocides and people rallying behind a "superior race" and in our today we see the same things. With some of the names not even changed. And our tomorrows will feature the same old shit unless we cast aside our arrogance and the idea that humanity's growth to a more inclusive and accepting social framework is simply an inevitable factor of time.

We will not see that brighter tomorrow by sitting here and musing about how great things will be. We will of course see the dystopias of our nightmares if we wallow in our self-importance and self-pity.

For no better example, look to Gaza. Look to people being slaughtered like animals, no different than the Holocaust of yesterday.

We got there by pretending the world will get better with time and without our interference.

Those people we look to as examples of how humanity "naturally" trends towards goodness? They're the fucking reason why humanity is a little better than before. And they were ordinary people too.

And those people we deem as less developed socially and morally? They included those heroes we look up to. I would argue that our yesterdays have already seen moral epiphanies that make our current social structures that we hold in such regard look like the actual manifestation of Hell itself.

No, the people in our history were not perfect. But we aren't either. We're no better than them.

And that means if they can fight for equality or wear the boots of tyranny, so too can we.

[sisteroutsiders]

Hello! I think those are great questions, questions that Audre Lorde also thought about in her different (and also inextricable encompassing) roles/identities as a teacher, poet, essayist, speaker, feminist, mother, and Black woman. People have adapted some of her work into a questionnaire that might provide a heuristic to navigate the challenges you have described.

THE AUDRE LORDE QUESTIONNAIRE TO ONESELF

What are the words you do not have yet? [Or, “for what do you not have words, yet?”]

What do you need to say? [List as many things as necessary]

“What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence?” [List as many as necessary today. Then write a new list tomorrow. And the day after.]

If we have been “socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition”, ask yourself: “What’s the worst that could happen to me if I tell this truth?”* [So, answer this today. And every day.]

The questionnaire can be found here: https://divyavictor.com/the-audre-lorde-questionnaire-to-oneself/

I know this doesn’t fix anything or even make it easier, but I think Audre Lorde would encourage you to write, to find a way to transform your silence into language and action. She wrote an essay about this, too! She writes the following after her first brush with breast cancer:

“In becoming forcibly and essentially aware of my mortality, and of what I wished and wanted for my life, however short it might be, priorities and omissions became strongly etched in a merciless light, and what I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid? To question or to speak as I believed could have meant pain, or death. But we all hurt in so many different ways, all the time, and pain will either change or end. Death, on the other hand, is the final silence. And that might be coming quickly, now, without regard for whether I had ever spoken what needed to be said, or had only betrayed myself into small silences, while I planned someday to speak, or waited for someone else's words. And I began to recognize a source of power within myself that comes from the knowledge that while it is most desirable not to be afraid, learning to put fear into a perspective gave me great strength.

“ I was going to die, if not sooner then later, whether or not I had ever spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you. But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I had ever made to speak those truths for which I am still seeking, I had made contact with other women while we examined the words to fit a world in which we all believed, bridging our differences. And it was the concern and caring of all those women which gave me strength and enabled me to scrutinize the essentials of my living.

….

“For those of us who write, it is necessary to scrutinize not only the truth of what we speak, but the truth of that language by which we speak it. For others, it is to share and spread also those words that are meaningful to us. But primarily for us all, it is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding. Because in this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing, that is growth.

“And it is never without fear - of visibility, of the harsh light of scrutiny and perhaps judgment, of pain, of death. But we have lived through all of those already, in silence, except death. And I remind myself all the time now that if I were to have been born mute, or had maintained an oath of silence my whole life long for safety, I would still have suffered, and I would still die. It is very good for establishing perspective.

“And where the words of women are crying to be heard, we must each of us recognize our responsibility to seek those words out, to read them and share them and examine them in their pertinence to our lives. That we not hide behind the mockeries of separations that have been imposed upon us and which so often we accept as our own.

….

“We can learn to work and speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to work and speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us.

“The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an at, tempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.”

Thank you for asking your questions. There are no easy answers or solutions, but it’s important to ask the questions anyway—to, in Lorde’s words, “give name to the nameless so it can be thought” and felt.

Audre Lorde to her students during a poetry workshop, as shown in A Litany for Survival: The Life and Work of Audre Lorde (1996) dir. by Ada Gay Griffin and Michelle Parkerson

[thegrimmmystic]

"The Work/Play Relationship"

Anxiety and fear. Power and Tyranny. Subjugation and Failure. All of these things possess one commonality. They all began with someone, of good heart, feeling the call to act on the current state of affairs. That they need to take things into their own hands, or believing that 'taking control' is the only means of turning the hands of Fate in their favor. As if they for some reason KNOW that the hands aren't already favoring them. This means they've forgotten who they truly are beneath the vast amounts of trauma and societal programming. Otherwise, they'd understand that there's no need to do A SINGLE THING. They'd recognize that they already have it, and they're simply waiting for their highest abundance to just go through the synchronistic cycles it's required before arriving to him, but that, without doubt, it's being delivered right to his doorstep by the Universe itself. They would remember all that's required of us by The Divine is to enjoy 'NOW,' in its perpetual, eternal state, to the highest means possible. How often do the things we plan for ever actually go 'according to plan'? How many times has someone's refusal to leave the past where it is ever brought that past back to the present moment? Therefore, I say again. The only thing required of us is to enjoy 'what is' and let go of any delussioned possibility of 'what could be.' We have a tendency to forget that, not just nature, nor the wildlife in it, are all that exists in the Universal Ecosystem which always provides for its inhabitants. We also are a part of it, and a very impactful one at that. As are the planets, the stars, and all within the vast beauty that is the Cosmos. With that being said, have you noticed how no creature, no plant, and no 'living being' in Nature ever goes without? Or how every planet still cycles, and every star still shines? Yet have they done anything, or attempted any sort of control, in order to make sure they're provided for? Well why is it then, that all life within the confines of our 'reality' remain in a constant state of abundance by simply enjoying the life they've recieved, yet we seem to believe the same wouldn't apply to us? Even within the societal train wreck that is Capitalism, it wouldn't matter. You forget how important your single role truly is within this Universal Ecosystem. If you just let go of control, quit the misery of valuing your life at $8 an hour for Corporate Greed, and spend every moment of 'Now' pursuing the passions that make you feel alive, The Universe is guaranteed to bring in your highest abundance across the multiverse, at the quickest rate possible through its synchronistic system of delivery.

You and The Universe share the same common goal. Producing your highest levels of happiness, which results in your highest levels of innovation through passion, and by nature, ensuring the evolution of the conciousness which surrounds us continues evolving at its highest most stable rate of growth. You ARE the Universe. The Universe IS you. Your abundance IS the very abundance of The Universe. By the acts of relinquishing control, judgement, and expectation from the human mind, while in turn, abolishing this manmade Dualistic system of hierarchal control, you're allowing The Divine to carry out its Divine Plan without interruption. In fact, simply by controlling the situation, you're prolonging the time taken to recieve that abundance. The Divine created a plan. So intricate, and so detailed, that every living thing in existence recieves its ideal 5D experience, but the moment you act of your own accord without patience or trust, you're unknowingly creating roadblocks, and eliminating synchronistic systems that were included within The Divine Plan. So that means, just by the first attempt of controlling a SINGLE thing, you've pushed your abundance delivery date back. With that taken into account, can you see now how we've gotten ourselves into quite the conundrum? The Universe is the one playing this game. We have no idea how it set the board up and for what purpose each piece of the game was introduced into the role its been placed. We have no idea what each piece is INTENDED to synchronistically bring about or what events its meant to trigger into action. You know why? BECAUSE ITS NOT OUR GAME TO PLAY. Our role in this to enjoy the show.

Think of this in the Dogamtic religious sense even. The Father-Child role. The Universe is the Father, we are the Child. Does the child worry about how it got the toys it owns or how it's going to get dinner? Does a child worry about making sure the rent is covered or what the politics of the society are? No. It's the Father's Role to worry about those things. The Father provides. The Father orchestrates bringing the comfort and joy into the home. The Child though, is simply meant to enjoy it. To enjoy every single moment of every single thing they experience and to enjoy the spoils of the Father's hard labour brought about by meticulous planning. That's it. Nothing more.

So quit your job.

Do ONLY the things that set your passions aflame.

Enjoy every moment of where you are.

Then watch as the Universe takes control again and how drastically things begin to fall into place.

As Jesus said. Only those with the eyes of a Child will see the Gates of Heaven.

Now be the Child.

- Grimm

🤍🕯👁🖤

[mochegato]

Everything the Light Touches

“So, as you can see, it is actually a decent adaptation of the classic.  Admittedly, they lost a lot of the original gravitas of the story by allowing Nala to live instead of committing suicide like Ophelia did, but I suppose it makes the story more fun without the massive amounts of death and depression and insanity.” Jason rocked the baby in his arms for a bit, seeing if he’d finally, finally fallen asleep.  After a few moments of quiet, the baby scrunched his face in discomfort and started whining at the loss of the soothing sound of Jason’s voice and the resulting vibrations resonating throughout the chest he was cuddled against.

Jason smiled softly and bounced him gently as he continued pacing around the nursery.  “Uh huh, uh huh.  I can see your point there.  But, that was one of the lessons we learned from ‘I Just Can't Wait to be King’.  It's not only a fucking… er, um, freak… no… bloody?” he stuttered and sighed deeply, “no, Mommy probably won’t like that one either…”  He wrinkled his nose as he searched for an acceptable alternative word.  “A really annoying song that your sister insists on screaming at the top of her lungs for hours at a time,” he offered instead.

“It shows us first that Simba wants to be king.  He wants to rule.  But, in the same stroke, it also shows us he doesn't understand what that means.  What he's asking for is control, a tyranny, which is what he thinks becoming king means.  It's all about him.  A lot like the rogues Daddy and your uncles and aunts fight.  Simba doesn't realize the responsibilities of a good ruler.  It shows us, that if things had continued the way they were, he may well have become Scar on his own.”

The baby gurgled again, nestling deeper into Jason’s arms.  “Ooh, very good point.  You’re so smart, just like Mommy.  Yes, he had his father there to guide him.  We saw and heard his father truly understood what it meant to be a king and was slowly trying to teach him that.  So maybe he wouldn't have become Scar.  We'll never know.  Him deciding to let Scar live at the end shows he chose Mufasa’s view of ruling.  He finally understood the lesson.  He won't become Scar.  He will become like his father.”

He paused for a moment and gently stroked his son’s head with his nose.  His voice got impossibly softer.  “So maybe it wasn’t necessarily about the lessons he taught intentionally.  Maybe it was the love he showed his son.  He showed him so much love, that even years later, Simba wanted to emulate him.”  He kissed his son’s head.  “God, I hope I can be that for you, Hugo.  I’d give you the world if you wanted, if I could.  Everything the light touches.  Not that I expect you to take over anything from me, and definitely not my old crime empire.”  He cringed slightly.  “Mommy would murder me and not even wait to do it in my sleep.  But I hope I can show you that level of love.”

Hugo responded with relaxed, even breaths. Jason smiled at him again before furrowing his brow in mock seriousness and bringing him closer to his face.  “But, if you want to throw an uncle off a cliff, especially Damian or Adrien or Roy, I’ll cover for you.”

He placed a soft kiss on Hugo’s head.  “Next time, we’ll analyze the success of the Oliver & Company adaptation,” he whispered barely loud enough to be heard. Jason gently laid Hugo back down in his crib, moving carefully so he didn’t jostle him too much and wake him up for the fourth time that night already.  He stroked his stomach lightly a few times until he was sure Hugo was asleep enough that movement wouldn’t wake him.

He quietly closed the door behind himself and let out a relieved sigh as soon as he released the handle.  He rubbed his face wearily.  This growth spurt was killing them.  They hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time for a week now. His eyes caught on his daughter’s door, which was just slightly ajar, and let out another deep, resigned sigh. That was not the way they’d left it when they put her to bed earlier.  He pushed the door open slowly and leaned against the doorway.  His face split into an adoring smile.  Marinette was laying on top of the covers, her arm slung over Catherine who was curled into her.  

If you asked her, Catherine would tell you she was extremely excited for Preschool to start in a few weeks and not at all scared. However, she’d been waking up at least once every night for the last month and asking for Mommy Cuddles to make her room less scary, which Jason completely understood.  Marinette’s cuddles were amazing.  But it meant that at least Marinette was getting woken up to comfort Catherine at least once a night and at least twice to nurse Hugo.  

Jason gently picked Marinette up, being careful not to disturb Catherine and restart the soothing process all again.  His heart warmed when she instantly snuggled closer into his arms as he walked.  Even after their years together, the way she instantly reacted to his touch, even unconsciously, blew him away.  He laid her in their bed with a lingering kiss to the temple.  She opened her eyes groggily, a sleepy smile on her face.  “Hey, sexy.  You know, most parents sing lullabies or tell fairytales to their kids,” she teased.

“Most parents aren’t awesome,” he answered as if it were obvious.  Marinette hummed in agreement and moved to make room for him.  “You heard,” he chuckled as he crawled into bed after her.

“I caught the beginning before Catherine woke up.”  She yawned as she answered.  Jason curled around Marinette, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his chest.  She snuggled into his warm embrace and hugged her arms over his.  She was quiet for a while, savoring the embrace, until Jason thought she’d fallen back asleep.  “So, Lion King, huh?”

He smirked and nodded into her hair.  “It’s a classic.”

After a moment she turned back to eye him knowingly.  “Which uncle did you tell him it was okay to kill?”

He blinked a few times.  She couldn’t have heard him so that meant she just knew him that well.  He grinned at the thought.  “...a few.”

Marinette sighed and cuddled back into him again.  “You need to stop doing that. He's going to start talking you seriously.  And we do not need a baby Damian.”

Jason puckered his lips at that horrifying thought. That was terrible enough to go through once.  But Damian never tried to hurt his father and this time Jason would be the father so...  “It'll be fine,” he assured her.

“Catherine was glaring at Wally so hard earlier today he ran away before Adrien even had the chance to ask him on a date.  And Adrien put so much effort into setting it up too,” Marinette warned him, not at all entertained.  She was the one that had to apologize to Adrien after and listen to the awkward call between them so Adrien could try to set up another chance and talk to Catherine about not killing off Uncle Adrien’s love life.  He didn’t need the help.

Jason snorted.  “Seriously?”

Marinette elbowed him at his amused tone.  “Yes.”

Jason grinned and buried his face in Marinette's hair.  “That's my girl.”

@jasonette-july-event

[notnctu]

sugar | s.j ❀

━ listen to: sugar by brockhampton 

❀ johnny suh x fem!reader ❀ genre - smut, angst, fluff? ❀ details - fwb!au, kinda unrequited love? who knows lol, sweet love makin ❀ word count - 2k ❀ synopsis - he’s always a call away, ready to love you when you think no one else will. and this will be the one time you ask him to spend the night because johnny suh is the only sweetener you need in your bitterness. 

❀ a/n: hello its author doie❀! its based off of the song sugar which is one of my favs ever so i hope u enjoy this smut, rlly this was just me avoiding explicit words lol ps i have never laughed harder in my life when @legendnct​​ (ily hannah) asked me if i was J O R N Y when i told her i was writing this at 4am 

The honey dripping, rush of candy goodness, and sugar high of a man --- Johnny Suh. He’s like walking on sunshine, no other cares in the world can harm him, and with a bright happiness that promises anything worth fighting for.

He stands six feet tall of sunflowers that turn up to the clear blue skies and soak up the positive energy needed for growth. Johnny Suh, the man that has sugar addicts craving for a slice of his attention; Johnny Suh is the epitome of goodness and virtue.

And the puzzling, estranged question of why you are his subject of sweetness is beyond any galaxy and he’d never tell a soul his reason behind his many dazed gazes, or if they even had much meaning to them. Johnny Suh is the one boy that wears his heart on his sleeve, but holds your’s at his fingertips.

There have been many countless encounters of long and, some unfortunately short, nights of sleeping with bodies that only add to the list of people you’ve kissed. But to have consistency in that aspect? Quite hesitant, to say the least.

While you are able to tolerate a random one night stand with no necessary remembrance of the individual’s name, to give your vulnerability and consistent attention to one person is asking for too much. A flawed characteristic of yours is falling in love too easily.

The hookups are meaningless, quick fucks to fill the evening and rid the irritable desire of lust. The muscles involved exclude the heart because there is no opportunity to fall for someone if you are only going to part ways right afterwards.

Yet, the one remarkable night with Johnny turned into several nights which led into your current relationship with the glowing sun. The one thing you had wished to steer away from --- a friend with benefits.

There was no metaphorical gun to your head, you weren’t forced to sign a contract, there were no ridiculously restrictive rules. No boundaries to hold you back.

When there is no fencing around the edge of a cliff, is that grounds for people to free fall? Regardless, your lack of self control and demising loneliness had you jumping and falling into Johnny’s comfort. The golden boy is someone hard to come by, and you’re not foolish enough to turn down this once in a lifetime chance to be intimately acquainted.

But as you continued to see him, there was an unconscious decision to stop your other random flings. It felt like you already had someone to fulfill the ache, someone to spend your nights with. If you needed him, he’d be there. So, unknowingly by choice, you made yourself exclusive to him, even though Johnny did not decide to do the same.

That shouldn’t bother you, right? But it does. The worst part is that it’s no one’s fault but your own. Johnny’s harmless actions affect you because your feelings allow them to. As much as you ignore the fact you two are nothing more than friends with benefits, the annoying drumming of your foolish heart reminds you of your denial.

While you’ve always had a bitter palette, the dash of sweetener never hurt anyone. He never hurts anyone, with his best efforts. And the intent should have been made clear, that your nightly hookups are an unhealthy coping mechanism. Too much sugar has your glucose levels derailing and seeking out the one person that lights up your endorphins.

The love for Johnny stems from his warmhearted character. His bubbly, goodwill nature that has him overextending himself for people who take him for granted. An extroverted, head-turning personality that you can’t despise and look away, instead are easily attracted to.

Johnny is kind, he’s thoughtful, yet entirely complex as a human being with a fair share of cloudy days. He is simply someone you want to get to know because he makes the atmosphere a safe space and he reads like an open hardback book.

Everyone has a small crush on him, it would be a complete tyranny of your feelings to deny it. Some infatuations are bigger than others and you’ll shamefully admit that you fit under this group of individuals.

On another lonely night, you wonder if he’d be at your will and call, if he would drop the world to come make you feel better. One moment, you are staring at his contact name and imaging the deep voice answering with his signature greeting. The next, you’re actually hearing his voice on the other end of the receiver and panic settles as it’s too late to cancel the call.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” The nickname sends a crown of hearts swirling around your temples. However, he sounds rushed, like he had been in the middle of a strenuous activity.

A nervousness has stammered words falling from your lips, and you’re too incoherent for even your own mind to understand. Johnny chuckles lovingly, and the slight rustling that distorts the background has you imagining that the phone is pressed between his cheek and shoulder. “Collect your thoughts, babe. I’m ready whenever you are.”

A heavy notable sigh erupts into Johnny’s ear, but he doesn’t pull away from the device. He’s all ears, attentive and patiently waiting for you to speak, despite having company on his bed.

“I need you. Can you come over?” If only pride wasn’t so hard to swallow, the question would have flowed much smoother. As if your heart grew hands, it chokes your throat from the inside and you’re preparing yourself for the rejection.

Truthfully, he isn’t obligated to come and there have been rare nights where he declines your offer. But your hope holds onto the slipping strands and the tension of your nerves have fists forming and eyes squeeze shut.

Johnny takes a fast peek at the girl already in his sheets, mindlessly and effortlessly scrolling through her social media. There is a hint of sadness in your voice that he can’t let go and while that’s usually not entirely uncommon, he can tell it took a lot for you to call tonight. So, he finds himself pulling up his sweats and a clean shirt over his head.

“Be there before you know it.” And the clench in your throat relaxes, along with the other parts that had your nails digging moon crescents into your palm and wrinkles forming at your tight creases.

And with a sweet goodbye, he hangs up the call and politely offers to take the girl home as he makes his way over to your place. And you’re dosing yourself in puffs of fruity scents and cleaning up the runny mascara around your under eyes.

With no words exchanged, Johnny knows every way to heal you and dawn a warmth that coats your darkest corners. All you have to do is open the door and let him in. His strength has you lifted from the ground, lips hungry to devour your softness.

A few fumble steps, he reaches your room at ease and gently lays you on your neatly made sheets. Johnny is consistent, no missed beats when it comes to loving you, and without a fail, he always takes a moment to himself to step back and admire your beauty. And your priceless shyness is also an added delight to the scene.

Each article of clothing is discarded and left at different areas of your small room, kisses lining your worst parts to you, but the best parts to him. When you can’t love parts of yourself, Johnny loves them for you and makes you whole.

“Were you in the middle of something?” It did not become aware to you of the possibility that you had interrupted something else, or someone else. And even if Johnny did choose to see you over spending time with them, you have the decent courtesy to make sure he is okay with his decision.

“Nothing important.” You’ll never be able to read him or notice any lies he tells. His smile is enough reassurance, and your question is quickly forgotten when his fingers dive into your wet flower. He uses his thumb to soothe circles around your growing bud, making your whole lower half blossom with trembling ecstasy.

His lips leave soft reminders to love your thighs, your legs, to not overlook their importance: they carry your graciousness into new ventures. Then, he pushes them wide open as he bends your left knee and your right dangles over his sturdy shoulder. The tight grip on your hip is bound to leave marks the next morning, along with the dark love bites he leaves across your canvas.

But his thoughts are focused on the meal ahead, your sugary juices coat the plush of his tongue. He remembers exactly how you like it, where melodic sounds hit the silence in gasps or groans. He suckles, he licks, he kisses your bead in a speed that has his brown locks tangled in between your fingers.

He drinks up more than your wetness, but also the pure image of your fucked out expression and the twists of your reacting body. He wants to surpass your limits, max you out until there isn’t a hint of melancholy in your tone anymore. To remember, to remind, to recall your happiness through heightened pleasure.

At the announcement of your high, he enters your spasming hole with rubber already on and groans at your walls squeezing around him, which halts him in place. However, the dragged movement of his length hits your sweet spot, your orgasm prolongs into a rapturous euphoria and you’re no longer in control of your body.

Johnny’s toned arms hold you close to him. The chemistry in your gazes has your heart pounding faster than his hips. As ruthless as each thrust is and each push moves you an inch upward on the bed, Johnny’s eyes are still kind and loving.

His fluttering kisses are delicate and nurturing. The marks resemble a healing touch that will settle you enough for the next day. For the night, he rids any angst that corrupts your mood by loving you when you think no one else will.

Together, your bodies fall into one another with a bite of elation as he finishes into the protection and your walls hug around him for the last time tonight. Even when your bodies disconnect, the feeling of fullness lingers and you wish to keep this for as long as you can. No more emptiness, not right now.

Perhaps it's the daze of your orgasm, but your hand reaches for his wrist to stop him from making his exit so soon. Selfishly, carelessly, honestly, this will be the one time you ask for him to spend the night. You can’t stand seeing him go, not at this instant. You refuse to spend one more night alone when your heart longs for him to be by your side when you fall asleep.

While the big heart of his beats speechlessly at your request, he lays down to draw you into his toned chest and pampers your forehead with honeyed pecks. Like many times before, no words need to be exchanged for him to know the remedy to your somber.

Possibly, the scene with Johnny caressing your chin and tracing your smile lines is all too perfect for your imperfect reality. And him whispering and wishing a happier narrative for you is more than what you had asked for. Nonetheless, he’s very good at it, mentally noting the fact that he’s probably done the same to other hookups or broken friends.

While you can get used to this form of aftercare, the guards you put up tell you that this is a one time thing. So, you’ll take and indulge all of Johnny’s affection and false love for the next few hours you had left of the night.

Nevertheless, even sweetness can be an overpowering flavor when consumed in tremendous amounts. And you wonder when you’d grow sick of his candied sugar or if you’d just forfeit your health to keep indulging more into your addiction. A sickly saccharine question of your own will be the pit of your downfall: do you love me?

[elderbloodlore]

Calanthe was not a racist homicidal tyrant: a useless and bitter rant of someone whose favourite character ever got mercilessly butchered.

WHY ARE YOU WRITING THIS? 

Well, let me give you a little bit of a backstory. I first read the Last Wish and the Sword of Destiny in 2012, when I was 14 years old. I instantly connected with the character of Calanthe, and after her death, it took me nearly a year to be able to pick up the saga itself. Ever since, she remained my favourite fictional character ever. As a little girl in misoginistic Poland, I was so lucky to have her as a role model. Because she fought for herself, she took no shit from anybody, she had love and respect of the people around her, and yet she had such tenderness and kindness about her that many strong woman-trope characters are missing these days, and that is exactly what happened to Calanthe when she was being translated to the screen. In 2015 The Wild Hunt was coming out and there were rumours of Ciri being included, so you can imagine my absolute glee and the hope I was filled with to have some more content with that one woman that meant so much to me growing up. And you can imagine my disappointment when all we got about her were a couple tiny mentions, even though the events of the Wild Hunt happen not even a decade after her death. Then the show by Netflix was announced and, once again, I had super high expectations. I wanted to see the wise, kind, beautiful Queen brought alive. December 2019 rolls in, and my hopes are being steamrolled. So here I am, 22 years old and crying over a fictional character, because one of the best written female characters ever (in my opinion) entered mainstream as a bullish, racist, homicidal tyrant. So let me address the biggest changes the show made to my beloved Calanthe Fiona Riannon, the Lioness of Cintra.

THE LOOKS 

That was obviously the first thing that threw me off. I was quite enthusiastic when the cast was announced, but then as the first promo pictures were released, my enthusiasm was slowly dying down. In the books, Calanthe’s looks are adressed very often: 

 “As before, the queen wore emeralds matching the green of her dress and her eyes. As before, a thin gold crown encircled her ash-gray hair.” Sword of Destiny. 

I tried to convince myself that Jodhi May won’t be a bad Calanthe so hard that I actually made this poor ass EDIT to feed my delusions and cheer myself up. In comparison, HERE is my personal favourite art of Calanthe that I find is the most accurate to the book portrayal. 

Even when the first trailer dropped I was still trying to convince myself that even though she has none of her Elder Blood features or her iconic emerald green, that she wore exclusively in the books, she couldn’t be that bad. Right? Wrong. 

THE DEMEANOR 

This is probably the biggest change. Calanthe was one of the wisest, most gracefully-written characters in the entire saga, and I really hoped to see that on screen. She was quick-witted, calculating, but at the same time caring enough to let her daughter choose her own destiny in the end (even if it was to be with a hedgehog-headed man twice her age). Her smiles were said to always be full of kindness, she was acting very proper and clearly cared about her image. I’m not going to be getting too much into it with my own words, let these examples speak for me:

'Ah, Geralt,' said Calanthe, with a gesture forbidding a servant from refilling her goblet. 'I speak and you remain silent. We're at a feast. We all want to enjoy ourselves. Amuse me. I'm starting to miss your pertinent remarks and perceptive comments. I'd also be pleased to hear a compliment or two, homage or assurance of your obedience. In whichever order you choose.' [...]  'Hochebuz,'  said Calante, looking at Geralt,  'my first battle. Although I fear rousing the indignation and contempt of such a proud witcher, I confess that we were fighting for money. Our enemy was burning villages which paid us levies and we, greedy for our tributes, challenged them on the field. A trivial reason, a trivial battle, a trivial three thousand corpses pecked to pieces by the crows. And look - instead of being ashamed I'm proud as a peacock that songs are sung about me. Even when sung to such awful music' Again she summoned her parody of a smile full of happiness and kindness, and answered the toast raised to her by lifting her own, empty, goblet. Geralt remained silent. The Last Wish.

'Aha,' said Calanthe quietly, clearly pleased. 'And what do you say, Geralt? The girl has taken after her mother. It's even a shame to waste her on that red-haired lout, Crach. The only hope is that the pup might grow into someone with Eist Tuirseach's class. It's the same blood, after all. Are you listening, Geralt? Cintra has to form an alliance with Skellige because the interest of the state demands it. My daughter has to marry the right person. Those are the results you must ensure me.' The Last Wish.

‘Very well then. As queen, I shall convene a council tomorrow. Cintra is not a tyranny. The council will decide whether a dead king's oath is to decide the fate of the successor to the throne. It will decide whether Pavetta and the throne of Cintra are to be given to a stranger, or to act according to the kingdom's interest.'  The Last Wish.

'Pavetta!' Calanthe repeated. 'Answer. Do you choose to leave with this creature?' Pavetta raised her head. 'Yes.' The Force filling the hall echoed her, rumbling hollowly in the arches of the vault. No one, absolutely no one, made the slightest sound. Calanthe very slowly, collapsed into her throne. Her face was completely expressionless. The Last Wish.

Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance. Calanthe, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gesture indicated Urcheon to them. Pavetta started to shout, Eist Tuirseach to curse. Everyone jumped up, not quite knowing what to do. ‘Kill him!' shouted the queen. The Last Wish.

CINTRA, RACISM AND MURDERING HER OWN PEOPLE 

In the books, Cintra was often mentioned to be obiding by the rules of the elves: 

‘Dear child,’ said Vesemir gravely, 'don’t let yourself get carried away by your emotions. You were brought up differently, you’ve seen children being brought up in another way. Ciri comes from the south where girls and boys are brought up in the same way, like the elves. She was put on a pony when she was five and when she was eight she was already riding out hunting. She was taught to use a bow, javelin and sword. A bruise is nothing new to Ciri—’ Blood of Elves.

There were many elves and dwarves living peacefully within its borders. Calanthe’s two names - Fiona and Riannon, come from her ancestors that are respectively a quarter and a half elf, and known to be that. Calanthe was the one who taught Ciri that non-humans are not dangerous:

‘I’m not afraid at all!’ Ciri suddenly cried, assuming her little devil face for a moment. ‘And I’m not parrotised! So you’d better watch your step! Nothing can happen to me here. Be sure! I’m not afraid. My grandmamma says that dryads aren’t evil, and my grandmamma is the wisest woman in the world! My grandmamma… My grandmamma says there should be more forests like this one…’ Sword of Destiny.

There was no actual reason nor basis for the showrunners to make her racist and make her murder elves. Having her walk into her own daughter’s birthday party, bathed in elven blood, while she knows that the same blood flows in her own veins, at least partially, was completely unnecessary. Even in the polish version of the show from 2001 Calanthe said: 

RELATIONSHIP WITH GERALT 

This probably hits me the most on personal level, because I feel like Calanthe had a huge impact on Geralt’s growth as a character, and with such a drastic change to their relationship, I’m unsure as to he will now proceed to develop. Calanthe was, in large, one of the first people in the books that treated Geralt as anything more than a mutant. Here are some of my favourite scenes between the two, in comparison with how their relationship was portrayed in the show:

"At times, no, for years at a time, I deluded myself that you might forget. Or that for other reasons you might be prevented from coming. No, I didn't want anything unfortunate to happen to you, but I had to take into consideration the dangerous nature of your profession. It is said that death follows in your footsteps, Geralt of Rivia, but that you never look behind you. Then... when Pavetta... You know already?" "I know," Geralt said, inclining his head. "My sincere condolences..." "No," she interrupted, "it was all long ago. I no longer wear mourning clothes, as you see. I wore them for long enough.” Sword of Destiny.

He slowly pushed the cup on the table so that the clink of silver on malachite would not betray the uncontrollable trembling of his arm. "You don't deny it?" "No." She bent to seize his hand with vigor. "You disappoint me," she said, giggling prettily. "This isn't voluntary," he responded, laughing as well. "How did you guess, Calanthe?" "I did not guess." She did not release his hand. "I said it at random, that's all." They broke out in laughter. Sword of Destiny.

"I will not take it. It is too great a responsibility, one that I refuse to assume. I would not want for this child to speak about you the way... the way I..." "You hate this woman, Geralt?" "My mother? No, Calanthe. I doubt that she was given a choice... or perhaps she had no say? No, she had, you know, enough formulas and elixirs... Choice. There is a sacred and incontestable choice of every woman that must be respected. Emotions are of no importance here. She had the indisputable right to make such a choice. That's what she did. But I think about meeting her, the expression on her face then... it gives me a sort of perverse pleasure, if you understand what I mean." Sword of Destiny.

A rosebush grew next to the gazebo. Geralt plucked a flower, breaking its stem and then knelt, his head bowed, presenting the flower in his hands. "I regret that I did not meet you sooner, white-haired one," she said, accepting the offered rose. "Rise." He rose. "If you change your mind," she went on, sniffing the flower, "if you decide... Return to Cintra. I will wait for you. Your destiny will be waiting for you, as well. Perhaps not advitam aeternam, but for some time, no doubt." "Farewell, Calanthe." "Farewell, witcher. Look after yourself. I... I sometimes feel... in a strange way... that I am seeing you for the last time." "Farewell, my queen." Sword of Destiny.

FALL OF CINTRA AND CALANTHE’S DEATH 

We were robbed of so many epic scenes that truly took away from Calanthe’s millitary accomplishments and showed none of the strength and determination she originally had: 

"The Nilfgaardians dealt the first blow," he began after a moment of silence. "There were thousands. They met with the armies of Cintra in the Marnadal valley. The battle lasted all day: from dawn to dusk. Cintra's troops valiantly resisted before being decimated. The king died, and that's when the queen..." "Calanthe." "Yes. Seeing that her army had succumbed to panic and scattered, she gathered around herself and her standard any who could still fight and formed a line of defense that reached the river, next to the city. All the soldiers who were still able followed." "And Calanthe?" "With a handful of knights, she covered the troops' crossing and defended the rear. They say she fought like a man, plunging into the thick of the battle. She was impaled by pikes when she charged against the Nilfgaardian infantry. She was then evacuated to the city. What's in that flask, Geralt?" "Vodka. Want some?" "Well then, gladly." "Speak. Continue, Dandelion. Tell me everything." "The city wasn't properly defended. There was no headquarters. The defensive walls were empty. The rest of the knights and their families, the princes and the queen, barricaded themselves in the castle. The Nilfgaardians then took the castle after their sorcerers reduced the gate to cinders and burned down the walls. Only the tower, apparently protected by magic, resisted the spells of the Nilfgaardian sorcerers. Even so, the attackers penetrated inside four days later without making camp. The women had killed the children, the boys and girls, and fell upon their own swords or... What's is it, Geralt?" "Continue, Dandelion." "Or... like Calanthe... head first, from the battlement, the very top... It's said that she asked to be... but no-one would agree. So she climbed up to the crenelations and... jumped head first. They say they did horrible things to the corpse afterward. I don't want... What is it?” Sword of Destiny.

I understand that this happened because of limited screen time, probably, but the whole Fall of Cintra had been squeezed into what seemed to be a single day, a crushing defeat for Calanthe’s forces, and probably in some way, punishment for her pride. 

AFTER CALANTHE’S DEATH 

While reading the rest of the saga, these little snipits of people talking about Calanthe, mentioning her, often with respect and reverence, mentioning how her people mourned her and swore revange for her, truly kept me going through. I wished that, at the end, Ciri would find it in herself to return home and liberate it, as back then I had no way to spoil myself the ending. In the books, you can really feel the outrage almost all of Continent feels after the murder of Calanthe: 

[...] Cintra is a symbol. Remember Sodden! If it were not for the massacre of that town and Calanthe's martyrdom, there would not have been such a victory then. The forces were equal — no one counted on our crushing them like that. But our armies threw themselves at their throats like wolves, like rabid dogs, to avenge the Lioness of Cintra. Blood of Elves.

[...] Bear in mind that these men left their homes and families, and fled to Sodden and Brugge, and to Temeria, because they wanted to fight for Cintra, for Calanthe’s blood. They wanted to liberate their country, to drive the invader from Cintra, so that Calanthe’s descendant would regain the throne. Baptism of Fire.

In the show, there is none of that. In fact, people seem to be full of disdain and hatred for her, saying things such as: 

which, in turn, fills me with dread for the upcoming seasons, because I can already feel all the further butchery coming my beloved Queen’s way.

IN CONCLUSION

In all honestly, there is very little the Calanthe from the show has in common with the one from the books, the one I originally fell in love with. Which is not to say that Netflix’s Calanthe is not a great character in her own right, because who doesn’t love a badass sword-wielding Queen, but as a portrayal of the greatest ruler within the Witcher universe, and one of, in my opinion, best written female rules in literature, she falls flat, and that’s what pushed me to write this useless and slightly bitter rant, in hopes to maybe interest more people in the original version of Calanthe and maybe, just maybe, prompt some of you to read the saga or, at the very least, the short stories. 

[xiaomomowrites]

hiraeth

Legend of Korra | Kainora

Summary:  Kai gets tired of this long distance thing first. Full disclosure, the unmistakable feeling of this dreaded distance has been building up for months now, and the only thing that kept the truth stuck in his throat was the fact that it felt completely and utterly selfish to admit it out loud. Even to himself. “Last chance to tell me not to go,” he looks down at her surprised expression. Jinora’s mouth twitches into a bitter smile, humoring him. “Don’t go."

Find this story on AO3 and Fanfiction!

A/N:  Wow haha. Every time I take a "short" break from writing, it always ends up being like a year or so. I've been working on this one since Netflix dropped Korra this summer actually, because I remember how much this ship makes me feel things lol. Also because I was totally robbed of these two in season 4. I adore this sunshine ship, but you know me, I have a weird affinity for angst. Anyway, enjoy! - s.a.

--

hiraeth - (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

Kai gets tired of this long distance thing first. 

At least, that’s what it looks like to him whenever he’s waiting on a response from his busy significant other. 

Full disclosure, the unmistakable feeling of this dreaded distance has been building up for months now, and the only thing that kept the truth stuck in his throat was the fact that it felt completely and utterly selfish to admit it out loud. Even to himself. 

He’s an airbender too, for Raava’s sake. The expectation is that he is a picture of patience and an expert at disassociating from the pull of earthly ties. It really doesn’t help either that this is not just some simple cookie cutter relationship with a normal girl. In which, maybe a couple months of separation and no contact probably meant it was over. Instead, their relationship is decorated with the complexities of being responsible for a whole nation’s growth and wellbeing, and half of this pair, a master Airbender, was an important figure in this mission. 

Kai ultimately understood that the years they had spent together so far built quite a solid foundation for setbacks like this. The communication, the genuine love, and the mutual understanding seemed like the perfect equation for a relationship that could withstand the turbulence of long distance.

But sometimes he just felt like there was no room to be...clingy. And that kinda sucked.

At first, the occasional reunions were sufficient. 

There was pep in his step when he worked, knowing that he would always come home to her. Work hours would go by quickly when he knew there was a phone call waiting for him at the end of the day. It became natural to expect an incoming letter (he has kept every single one) that went on about anything and everything in his absence. He always adored the way he could read them in her voice; anyone with a functioning pair of eyes would be able to see the strength of their love in the beginning. 

“He must have a lucky lady in his life,” people in passing would say, commenting on the way he held his chin up. It was easy to pinpoint the source of this glow about the young airbender. 

Counting down the days was so much easier when the finish line was always palpable. 

But that was just the beginning.

The beginning, four years ago, before Jinora became significantly more occupied with significantly more responsibilities. This was before the population of the new air nation had practically doubled, and before issues started arising left and right as a consequence of the Avatar’s disappearance and, subsequently, Kuvira’s attempted tyranny.  Things were different before, and so he coined the term, and used it with venom whenever he would spill all his frustrations to Opal. 

Although there was a brief period following the fall of Kuvira's army where things seemed to slow down a little, the world quickly picked up its pace once more, sending him off to travel the world and keeping her where she was needed the most.

In retrospect, it was naive to think they would be let off the hook just because they were two teenagers in love, impending doom no longer looming over their shoulders. Of course, they both knew it was only a matter of time before more work and real obligations towered over them and their relationship. But at the time, it was easy to focus on being grateful for the extra time together, until the thought of being separated again so shortly after inevitably dampened the mood. And what neither of them expected was the toll this distance would take on a couple of youngsters in love that feel with every fiber of their being.

Kai sighs, twirling the pen in his hand. The paper underneath his other hand remained painfully blank. It stared at him teasingly and he simply stared back, daring it to make a comment on him not being able to come up with anything to say. 

He always had something to say.

“What’s wrong?” Opal asks, materializing beside him and setting down a small bowl wrapped up neatly in front of him. Kai watches as the tied handles of the plastic bag fall softly onto his writing hand and only then does he remember where he is. He glances at his friend, hoping she didn’t just catch him slipping, and replaces the pen in his hand with a pair of chopsticks. 

“Oh, I’m just trying to write a letter,” he sounds unbothered, but the young Beifong understands.

She eyes the blank parchment pushed off to the side.

"What was the last thing she wrote?"

"Meelo turned eleven the other day," he answers easily, remembering that letter was read five times over in an attempt to conjure a response. 

It wasn't even that her letters were poorly written or empty. Despite the fact that she may not have written nearly as often as before, there were definitely still traces of her heart in every piece of parchment sent his way. Her words were still punctuated with a love that just made him miss her more. 

They had just been growing...a little distant. 

He hated to admit it, but it was just a feeling not quite explainable, when sometimes there was just nothing else to say. And so sometimes he didn't respond at all.

It was unintentional, of course.

"Eleven, huh?” Opal breaks the silence, “I wonder how tall he’s gotten.”

"He's up to her shoulders now."

“Hmmm, well why don't you ask her how all the training is going?”

“I’ve already asked her,” he says, half of his mouth full, “in like every other letter I’ve sent in the last few weeks. Training is great, that doesn’t really change.”

"Training is going great, huh?" she laughs, an attempt to lighten the mood. “That’s not what I remember.” 

Kai let out an amused sigh, "it's probably only fun if you're running it."

They recall the training they had to endure before graduating onto traveling the world. To say that it was smooth sailing all the time was quite a stretch. Opal makes a sound of understanding, before swallowing to speak again. 

“I’d love to run training with some new airbenders. Doesn’t that sound fun? You always loved showing everyone up at the obstacle course.” 

“What?” he feigns modesty, “Please, Opal, you flatter me.”

She chuckles, content with managing to uplift his mood a little. “When do you think you’ll get your tattoos?”

“Oof, I’m not sure,” he answers honestly, twirling a finger to blow air on the hot food. “I think I still have a few techniques to perfect. Master Tenzin isn’t gonna let me off easy just because I showed potential in the beginning. And Jinora says I still have a lot to work on spiritually.” 

"You practice though, right?”

Kai waves a hand dismissively, "yeah, when she leads meditation exercises."

“Hah, well I think if you spent more time focusing on meditating instead of staring at her all the time, you’d get more done.”

“Whatever,” Kai blushes, smiling, and hides his face into his food. “Anyway, it can’t be easy teaching that stuff.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to bother you with the stressful parts,” Opal suggests, though it seemed to do more harm than help when her friend makes a sound resembling a scoff. 

He recalls the picture perfect image of his girlfriend in his head, a little hazy now, perhaps from the distance. She was always so strong and responsible, it’s definitely easy for someone from the outside to assume Jinora doesn’t bother people with her struggles. But that wasn’t true for him. Around him, her walls crumble. In the beginning it chipped away slowly before tumbling all at once, and there stood Jinora in her rawest, purest form. To an outsider, Jinora was an incredibly talented master airbender fully capable of taking on the same responsibilities her grandfather shouldered in his late days. To Kai, she was a bundle of insecurities densely packed into a fifteen year old girl that, air nation responsibilities aside, just wanted to spend time with her boyfriend.

“She always tells me when something is bothering her.” 

Kai sighs into his food before taking another defeated mouthful.

“Letters are tricky,” she watches, amused, as he idly sat there stirring his food around. The last bite is still stuck in his cheek making him look like a distressed squirrel. 

“I just miss talking to her. And I mean really talking to her, not this awkward small talk over letters.” He waves his hand through the air lazily, hoping that the movement conveys his frustrations properly.

“So you prefer some good ol’ quality time,” Opal states easily, shifting in her seat. “Nothing wrong with that.”

She earns a smile from her friend, “Yeah, I guess not.”

“Hmm...oh! Can’t she talk to you with her spirit?” Kai stiffens at the suggestion, and she immediately recognizes that she struck a nerve. 

“She’s busy, I think.”

“You think?”

A pause.

“I don’t know. Maybe we’ve just felt really disconnected lately.” 

He recalls the first time she found him through this connection of theirs since he had left Air Temple Island. It was incredibly relieving to finally get to speak to her and see her face. They talked for hours that night, and he can still remember how badly he wanted to reach out and kiss her. It would have been so easy to, really. To simply reach out and cup her jaw, inching closer until they met in the middle and Jinora would promptly forget what she was going on about. His lips had tingled at the thought.

But he remembers her smile, so alluring and contagious, and not having seen it for months was such a sight for sore eyes. The young airbender’s radiance was simply too distracting to be thinking of anything else. She had finished telling him something, fully aware that at this point he was just looking at her lips with much longing. Jinora must have understood where his train of thought was heading, because the soft laugh at his smitten expression served as the cruel reminder that no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he manifested it, he couldn’t actually just reach out and get what he wanted.

Really, it seemed like that was the only setback to this method of communication.

But he remembers another time she contacted him like this, and told him that her father says she should refrain from abusing this ability for worldly purposes. And above all else, Kai could only remember the sinking feeling of disappointment curdling in his stomach only seconds after she had told him. But this was Jinora, and she had responsibilities. The next few spiritual visits, much to his displeasure, were much shorter. She surprised him, however, as she continued to seek out his presence. Perhaps there was a thrill to the idea of ‘hurry before my father finds out’ that they both seemed to feed off of, but Kai could tell that she was incredibly torn between him and her integrity.

The very thought of Kai being the reason she willingly goes against her very essence: obedient, honorable, and understanding, is painful in itself. And every time she would bid him goodbye and her figure would dissolve into thin air, he was always rudely reminded of how cold and empty these hotel rooms really were. 

So he tells her this.

And he watches as the bright smile on her face leaves so quickly and yet so slowly when he says with carefully chosen words, “Maybe we should just stick to writing letters and phone calls.” 

At the time, Kai was so sure this was the best course of action, considering this selfless act was supposed to encourage her to focus on her work and not practice defiance. It made sense to remove himself from that equation to preserve her integrity, but at the end of the day it really wasn’t making him feel better at all. 

Jinora pauses for a moment, processing his suggestion.

“Right,” she concedes easily, breaking eye contact, “I should go, then. It’s getting late.”

"What?” he blinks, “Why?"

Jinora hesitates, and it feels like she might be giving him a chance to protest and take it back. 

He doesn't.

"You're right, and it's late. You should get some rest." 

Kai’s heart is in his stomach and he feels every muscle in his body contract painfully as he tries not to panic and do something stupid, like beg her not to leave him. If silence wins this round, then he has no idea when they'll be able to talk again. 

Kai seems to find it incredibly difficult to breathe, and he curses his own element for leaving him at a time like this. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, unsure of what else to say; his vocal chords seem to be on autopilot. He swallows thickly, feeling his throat click.

What he doesn’t realize is that Jinora had seemed to take this as rejection, her eyebrows meeting ever so slightly as she bites out, “I’ll write to you then.”

“Of course.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

It’s only when her form flickers a few times before disappearing completely that he snaps back to his senses, her name leaving his throat in a sort of panic. When the light of her spirit is replaced by the darkness of the room again he realizes he’s on his knees, chest heavy.

He doesn’t get a letter for a week and a half.

Opal watches her younger friend marinate in his feelings for a minute before she adds, “I’m sure she misses talking to you too, Kai.”

“But it’s not just that,” he replies, fully aware that she might have just broken the dam that was holding all his feelings together. “I miss spending time with her too. Sometimes we would just sit in silence under her favorite tree while she read a book, or- or whatever. Nothing mattered. Arguments didn’t matter, problems didn’t matter; we knew we could work through anything as long as we were- as long as we were together. 

I told her we’d be okay. I told her...ugh, I told her I would understand when she got busier and needed to focus on work, but now I feel like it’s my fault this isn’t working because I’m starting to get a little impatient. This whole thing is just so...so-”

“I know,” Opal responds, stern, but full of understanding when he can’t seem to find the rest of that sentence. "Long distance isn't easy, Kai. I understand."

She offers a bright smile and it seems to get through to him as he visibly relaxes from feeling validated. 

"Oh, right." 

"Communication is a two way street though," the older Airbender continues, and his stomach twists at the reminder of this recent rift in the relationship that targeted one of the things he thought they had mastered. "Maybe you just need to have a heart to heart conversation in person.” 

   Now part of Kai craved this solution. The part of him that understood that relationships require effort and craved her understanding. Perhaps a little communication was all they needed to clear the air, but the irrational side of him whispered a little louder in his ear, and turned him to believe that there was a chance that kind of conversation could end this relationship.

He finds himself back at Air Temple Island a week after his talk with Opal, hoping to get to talk to her in between debriefing and work related affairs. 

When she sees him in all his cheesy glory (a panda lily in one hand and her favorite tart from the city in the other), it’s incredibly hard not to swoon in front of her pupils in training. Her expression of excitement and the surprise in her tone made it impossible to remember, for a second, that there ever was any tension between them.

Then he remembers the group of airbenders she was in the middle of training, as all eyes were on them, and he promises to meet her in their usual spot that night. 

“Hey stranger,” she greets, settling in beside him under the tree. The proximity immediately brought waves of relief and an unmistakable love that they were both awfully aware had been missing for a while. 

“You’re late,” he teases.

“No, you’re just early,”  she jokes, worming her way underneath his arm and up against his side like it was just where she belonged. “What brings you here on this fine evening?”

“You,” he answers, unable to fight a stupid cheeky smile. 

She laughs, and he decides easily that he missed every part of her. "Charming. How have you been?��

“Alright, I guess. Lots of traveling, it gets a little exhausting sometimes.”

“I bet.” Jinora reaches up to play with a stray long fringe of hair that fell to his nose. “Sounds like you’ve been working a lot.”

“It's alright, just a lot to do. If it's not the heavy lifting it's some sort of civilian related crisis. Being on call is pretty taxing." 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she thumps the back of her head against his collarbone as she speaks, “as the only other master here- for now of course- there's so much on my plate. Even if it's split between me and my dad. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep with all the stress.”

"Sounds like you're doing great though," he brushes some hair from her face in return.

"Probably," she grins, and he chuckles.

"So humble."

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it! There’s so much to teach these new airbenders and we’re still getting new recruits here and there. I wish I had more time to goof off, like before.”

“Yeah that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” it's hard to miss the change in his tone, but when she looks up, he's greeted by a warm smile. It was almost impossible to stay in a gloomy mood when Jinora and all her sunshine energy always found the good in situations. 

Maybe that’s all he needed.

Jinora too feels warmth blooming in her chest when his eyes find hers.

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

There's a comfortable silence that sits with them. A frog croaks nearby, but it's otherwise quiet. It could have been ten or thirty minutes before Jinora finds herself nodding off to sleep, half of her face smushed comfortably against his chest.

Hard to sleep, huh? He chuckles softly at her form. Maybe this was all she needed. Maybe this was all they needed.

Despite her shallow slumber, she notices the way he's fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve and interlocks their fingers to put a stop to the nervous habit.

“Is something bothering you?” Jinora asks, her voice now groggy.

“No, I…” he thinks about it for a second and realizes lying about this wouldn’t solve anything. “I don’t know, Jin, maybe,” he answers truthfully, passively. He only realizes he let the truth slip when her eyes are suddenly on him. 

Jinora sits up slowly and faces him, bright and curious eyes prompting him to finish the thought wordlessly. “This just sucks sometimes, that’s all. Being away from you, like, all the time.”

"Then," she hesitates, aware of how selfish what comes next might sound, "come visit more."

He sighs and watches his own hand play with hers. "It's not that easy. Traveling is tiring, in between all of the work I'm assigned."

"Okay, well, what if you came by every time Republic City is on the way?"

"What?” Kai looks down at her, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion, “No, it's the same thing, Jinora. The point is to travel as least as possible. Why don't you just talk to me more?"

"What?" 

Well, he’s in over his head now, there really is no backing away from what they’ve started. He braces himself, explaining tentatively, “You just…I feel like you haven’t really been trying to keep contact as much...anymore.” Kai desperately hopes she can’t hear the slam of his heart against his chest.

Jinora seems taken aback at this accusation and lifts her eyebrows at him, equal parts bewilderment and confusion. She says the only thing her own aching heart could remember, “You’re the one who said I should stop trying to contact you with my spirit.”

"No, your dad said that. You and I both know it was for the best."

"You don't always write back either, Kai. I just assume you're busy, and that isn’t really fun for me either.”

“I just don’t know what to say sometimes, Jinora,” he confesses easily, exasperated. Kai retracts his hand from hers to run it stressfully through his hair, and it takes all her self control not to protest. The distressed teen takes a long, deep breath before continuing. “You’re also busy. Sometimes I feel like I’m just bothering you with my small talk.”

"Me too," her gaze is hard and challenging. He considers surrender for a second. 

“You’re not bothering me,” Jinora says easily, tone softening. “I don’t need to have long, deep talks with you all the time. Sometimes, just...this, is really nice. This is enough.”

“I know,” Kai sighs, “but we can’t always have this.”

“Then I don’t know,” the young master breaks eye contact. “It's just been a lot to handle lately.” Her posture straightens and she suddenly feels miles farther from him.

'Is this too much to handle then?' he wants to ask, but the fear of any possible confirmation has a solid death grip on his throat, so he says nothing. Jinora continues.

"I can't just call you when I don't actually know where you're stationed. I figured you knew that."

“So it’s my fault?” he asks, suddenly painfully aware of how defensive and childish he may sound. For a second, he doesn’t care, frustration now at a high.

Guilt hits him for a second, and he almost doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Isn't this what he wanted to begin with? He wanted a face to face conversation. He wanted to be close to her, to hold her, to properly hear her voice again. Kai knew that he wanted a deep conversation to make up for the painful small talk they’ve been having for too long, but now that she's pouring her frustrations out, he doesn't seem to be catching them very well.

“I never said that!” she mirrors this spike in energy. The guilt is put on hold. “I’m just saying-”

"Okay, so how is me compromising even more on my side fair?"

"I don't think you want to start a conversation about what's fair."

"Why not? I'm doing everything I can, running around the world trying to do my job, so that it's easier for you to just stay here and-”

"Stay here?" She looks so taken aback by this, her cool slipping away as quickly as his. "You think I'm just hanging out at home while you do all the dirty work? I am doing everything I can to make your job easier and it...it really sucks, it's so much harder than it needs to be!"

Kai watches quietly as his mentor’s nostrils flare and realizes he doesn't think he's ever really seen her angry at him before. Last time he saw her raise her voice was at her dad regarding the whole master tattoos situation four years ago. 

He wants to choose his next words carefully, aware that he might be walking on thin ice. 

But there’s something endearing about the way she looks when she’s upset with him. Like the pout that decorates her usually bright features was just begging to be kissed away, and her seemingly distant posture is asking to be held close. 

“Why are you smiling?” she asks, obviously trying to fight getting infected by his contagious smile.

Kai reaches up tentatively, encouraged when she allows the contact. He tilts her face upward and taps the underside of her chin once, charming her instantly with that stupid signature grin of his. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.” 

Jinora, now flustered, swats his hand away playfully. 

"What’s harder than it needs to be?” he asks gently, delighted and relaxed when she lets him hold her hand again.

"That I just miss you. A lot. All the time."

Her eyes find him in the dim light, and it’s clear how brightly they shine in all her passion and emotion. The urge to lean in and kiss her was strong. It would be an easy temporary fix, Kai ponders. She misses him and he misses her, at least that fact was reinstated and it wasn’t an entirely unproductive conversation. He could kiss her goodnight, and it would be in the past. But still, the question of ‘what now’ still lingered, and alas, Kai knew this needed to be solved now.

“So, what then?” he resigns, sitting up to match her, allowing an entire wall of tension to build itself between the thirty centimeters between them, a growing chasm of adolescent feelings and assumptions. 

"I don't know," she admits, and it seems more frustrating than it should be. She's Jinora, she always knows. "It's getting harder to balance everything in my life, and it just feels like you’re telling me that I’m not doing enough.”

“I never said that," he retreats, unable to deny that maybe he might have selfishly made it seem that way to her. "I just can’t seem to communicate with you well enough anymore.”

Jinora thinks about the time she had talked to Korra about why it didn’t work out between her and Mako, and the thought of her own relationship’s demise having the same cause shot fear up and down her spine. More than anything, all Jinora wanted to do was resume her rightful place beside him and stargaze in blissful ignorance.

Except now the night sky felt hot, or maybe it was just her that was feeling incredibly heated. 

“I love you," she says softly, the way she looks at the ground makes her miss the look on his face when he’s taken aback for a second. “But we can’t just keep goofing off and putting feelings first...and expecting things to be fixed only when I get to see you.”

“You know how I feel about you, is it not enough?” she seemed to say with her eyes. 

Her unspoken words seemed to clash with his own, “It really took you five years to outgrow me, huh?”

“Maybe this,” he gestures to the space between them instead, which now felt like a ravine, “this just isn’t…”

He knows it’s a last resort, because he’s just not sure how to deal with these things or his feelings regarding them, because it’s the first time in a long time he was faced with losing something he genuinely cared about. Maybe it’s wrong to file an empty threat, but the child inside him hopes she will deny this vehemently and everything can just go back to normal. 

Nevermind the fact that it was selfish and irresponsible. Nevermind the fact that she looked like maybe she was on the brink of tears too.

Dejected, and out of things to say, Kai licks his lips and lets out a defeated sigh. Jinora watches him with wet eyes, her own panic building up behind the dam she so meticulously built.

Jinora, unsure of how to handle this either, (fifteen and an airbending master, but an overwhelmed teenager on the verge of heartbreak nonetheless), does what comes naturally to an airbender, and disengages gracefully. 

“You have to be up early tomorrow,” she tells him through the panic, and he searches her words and her eyes for any hint of emotion to mirror the pain that's threatening at his heart. 

“Okay,” he hopes she didn’t just hear his voice crack. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah," she keeps her eyes on the ground between them. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Kai moves to get up hesitantly but she stops him: grabs him by the hand and he feels the frantic nature of her actions. He understands her panic- she tells him with just one look- and when he sits back down she assumes her spot in his side. 

He’s not sure if it took her twenty minutes or two hours to fall asleep beside him. But the way they clung to each other spoke volumes of how neither of them wanted to let go. In the time that she was dozing off he had enough time to contemplate what comes next, but the cycle of his thoughts seemed inconclusive. 

It was refreshing to deal with this in person, yes, because it was easier to understand the mess of emotions this way. But instead of feeling like they can handle anything else that comes their way after this, Kai is left dreading the time he’d have to spend away from her again and the tension that it brings. 

“Jinora,” he calls to her quietly, already apprehensive of what has to happen. She stirs slightly. “Let’s go, you can’t fall asleep out here.”

Reluctantly, they walk back to her room. The silence was both comforting and off-putting. 

Half asleep, Jinora turns around to bid him good night when they reach her door, and Kai takes a mental picture of this for the road: the love of his life, blissfully unaware of anything but him, eyes half lidded, the soft light of her room behind her inviting him in.

He leans in to kiss her gingerly, resolving to let future Kai and future Jinora deal with this tomorrow. 

She pulls him closer by the collar, an apology on her lips that he doesn’t need to hear to understand, and he returns the gesture.

It leaves a growing, comforting heat in his stomach and burns an important question within:

Was this a break up after all?

  If anything, the next morning weighed much heavier on both of their hearts. His one knapsack in hand ready to go, Kai sighs and turns around to face her.

“Did you sleep?” she asks, frowning at the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Not much,” he says truthfully, and notices she looks just as tired. “Did you?”

“No,” Jinora confesses, playfully jabbing at his chest. “You woke me up.”

He wonders for a second if she would have slept soundly, had they stayed outside together. The thought gets dismissed easily.

“Where are you headed?” She asks, and she watches him fidget with the bag in his hand. Her own hands itch to reach out to him, to pull him close and selfishly keep him here. 

“I’m not sure. I was supposed to talk to your dad about it but he was in a meeting this morning.” 

Jinora responds with a simple, “oh,” and she wonders if it was still possible to undo all the damage.

“Last chance to tell me not to go,” he looks down at her surprised expression, tired eyes wondering if she really could see past this lame attempt to disguise the pain with humor. 

It was half a joke, half lame attempt at trying to confirm if they split up or not.

"It's a little late for that." She watches as a familiar look of pain wriggles into his expression very subtly, in a way only he can disguise but only she can decipher. Jinora’s mouth twitches into a bitter smile, humoring him. “Don’t go," she says softly, her tone matching his.

He doesn't expect the joke to have such an effect on him. So in a panic he plays along. 

“Alas, it’s too late m’lady.” he staggers backward slightly, hand over his heart like one of those chumps in her favorite fictional novels. She giggles, and he thinks perhaps he can at least engrave the sound in his mind for the road. Who knows how long he can hold out without the sound of her voice. “Duty calls,” he says, half joking, half biting. 

And then she grabs his hand, turning the air into a more serious one once again. “Kai...I-”

“Okay, Kai!” Ikki’s voice cuts through like a knife out of nowhere. “Daddy says your next assignment is in-- oh...uh…”

“Ikki…” Her sister’s scowl seems to be enough to scare her away. They look down at their hands and suddenly the younger sibling understands what's happening. 

He squeezes her hand back, bringing her attention back to him. “I’m sorry,” he says simply, certain that she understands exactly what he’s apologizing for, because maybe he’s not so sure anymore himself. 

Thoughts in his head are running a hundred miles per hour as he leans in to kiss her goodbye out of pure muscle memory. But her wide eyes and hesitation served as a heavy reminder of their conversation last night and perhaps the final confirmation he was looking for. 

It's the exact moment his heart breaks-- shatters, and he wonders if she can hear it too. The weight of her actions causes him to stumble a bit, and instead he switches directions to place an innocent kiss on her cheek, aware of her entire family now in proximity.

And as he steps back tentatively to leave indefinitely this time, she lets go of his hand.

   Hiraeth settles in quickly and lingers far longer than Kai wants it to. Far longer than Jinora expects it to. And now that this distance feels so much worse than it ever has, they both wonder if it was really that bad before.

He avoids returning to Air Temple Island, fully aware that there is always a ninety nine percent chance she’d be there. Instead, he sends letters and telegrams to Tenzin regarding work, but always finds a quick witted excuse to avoid an in person visit (because if nothing else, he’s good at weaseling his way out of things, right?).

But with this active avoidance comes the grief of letting go of this home that filled a huge void in his life. The hospitality he received as a new member of the air nation family was incredibly cathartic, making it more and more difficult to remember what it felt like to be alone on the streets by himself. For the first time in his life, he felt loved and accepted enough to change his ways. And now the mere thought of returning to the very place that molded him toward the best version of himself made Kai’s stomach twist up in indecipherable knots.

Instead, Kai thinks maybe he should finally really take this airbending master thing seriously and work a little harder toward those tattoos. There really was no better time than post-heartbreak to focus on his spiritual growth, emotions now thrown into the void. Nevertheless, he wishes he had the luxury of being home. Of being comfortable, and surrounded by loved ones and familiar faces in the midst of stressful work.

Jinora, meanwhile, focuses on training the rest of the airbenders and stays rooted in the Island, with a small hope that maybe he would return eventually.  

The first few weeks were the hardest for the late Avatar’s granddaughter.

There was a window of time in which perhaps she could expect a call or a letter saying everything was fine. But the longer she waited, the more it hurt to know that it wouldn’t come. Nevermind the small speck of hope that lingered, unsolicited. It was during a particularly difficult meditation session that she decided perhaps it was time to let that hope go.

Despite the distance and space she was given (to heal, in theory), it was more frustrating than anything to know she couldn't reach out to him even if she wanted to. 

She envied his freedom, the luxury of keeping busy in new towns and meeting new people instead of being constantly reminded of their past everywhere she looked. His ghost seemed to haunt the island, eliciting some longing even she couldn’t dispel with meditation. 

This was her home, the physical location in which she had grown up. Here, her family resided and now the extension of it too. So why did she feel like a large undeniable part of her heart, her home, wasn't here? 

   It takes Jinora almost a year to decide that perhaps this pain should have left by now. That maybe it wasn’t just a brief period of grief that would eventually pass. Maybe the connection Korra mentioned between them ages ago was more than they cared to believe at the time. Jinora would be lying if she said she hadn’t tried to project her spirit to him within the last year. Sometimes the longing was so strong, she let the best of the urge get to her. It was always to no avail, however, considering they hadn’t spoken in a while.

It’s on a particularly overwhelming day of work when Jinora hears the phone’s incessant ringing. When her father’s voice sounds from downstairs for her to take the call, she almost wants to smash the telephone.

“Hello?”

There’s a long pause from the other side, but before she can repeat herself, his voice startles her. “Jinora?” 

She physically feels her heart drop seven levels into her stomach, and she wonders if he’ll buy it if she says it’s Ikki speaking. 

“Kai,” she says his name, just as she had last said a year ago.

“Hey,” he chuckles nervously. “Sorry, I was expecting your dad.”

“Oh,” she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Uh, I can go get him-”

“No, it’s...it’s ok, I just…” he trails off, unable to tell her that this was actually a pleasant surprise. “I was just calling to report in.” 

“Okay,” she bites her lip, fully aware that she looks like a flustered schoolgirl with the phone in her hands as if her life depended on it. “Shoot.”

“Right, well uh, there were some bad guys the other day. The usual. I mean not really the usual, it’s-it’s a safe town. Supposed to be safe, err, you know with us there. Ugh…"

She tries not to laugh at his fumbling, but ultimately fails.

"Don't laugh!" he says, almost whiny, but she can hear the smile in his voice and it makes her feel inexplicably happy. "I'm usually more professional than this!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, it's easier talking to your dad."

"It's easier talking to my dad," she repeats to make sure he hears how ridiculous that sounds, "really."

"Yes! Or, I don't know! Sorry, I just, argh…"

"Kai, relax, it's just me," she reminds him, feeling a wave of warmth from the familiarity. Hopefully he feels it too.

He pauses, unsure, but then it clicks.

"Right, yeah," and suddenly the nervous panic in his stomach is easily replaced with the familiar feeling, "it's just you."

She gives him a moment to recompose himself. How considerate, he muses, no wonder he's still smitten. 

“So bad guys."

And then he launches into a story, far more comfortably than if he had to report to Tenzin. The conversation takes detour after detour, and it must have been forty minutes or so when Ikki intrudes.

“Who are you on the phone with? Dad’s asking. And mom wants to know when you’re coming down for dinner.”

Jinora’s attention is then split in half, waving her sister’s inquiries off.

“What? I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Ikki teases, cocking her head to feign confusion like the menace she is as she watches her sister mouth words demanding her to leave. She faintly hears the sound of a boy on the phone and her smirk grows tenfold.

“Jinora, stop trying to shoo me away, I know Kai’s on the line, but-” but she’s cut off when her sister shoves her out the door gracefully with a small gust of air. Ikki looks absolutely offended.

“Okay, whatever,” the younger sister shrugs, “you can tell mom and dad I tried.”

“Why are you still up anyway, it’s late!” Jinora calls out to her sister as she closes the door, and it slips her mind that she was also speaking into the phone.

“Oh, uh, yeah...sorry,” she hears him suddenly sound apprehensive. “I guess it is.”

“What?" Panic surges through her quickly.  "Oh, no...I-”

“No, it’s okay, you’re right, it’s late.”

“I was talking to Ikki, I-”

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“Yeah.” 

The silence that follows is full of awkward remorse for how the nice conversation was soiled so clumsily on both sides. Kai almost wants to laugh.

“Okay, well,” he is the first to break the silence, his voice cracking a little. She tries not to laugh. “It’s late, you should really get some rest.”

“Right, you too.” 

A few seconds pass, but neither of them hang up.

“Sorry I called so late-”

“No no, it’s fine!” she blurts, and he tries to stop the smile. “It was nice talking to you.”

She hears him smile through the phone. “Yeah, likewise. Good night, Jin,” and her heart flutters at the nickname she hadn’t heard in a year. Jinora bites her lip hard and hopes he can’t hear the smile in her voice.

“Good night, Kai.”

   It's frustrating. 

Two months after that accidental phone call and he still feels a smile sneak its way onto his lips whenever it comes to mind. But nothing else really came from it -- not another letter or call or spirit-y visit -- and he wonders if he should just assume that was some form of closure and move on.

Kai understands that blowing off some steam is a little harder for an airbender that can’t just be picking fights wherever they see fit. So the next best outlet is playing vigilante, he reasons, as he crouches atop a billboard sign and eyes a shady looking fellow following a nobleman. 

It reminds him a little- or a lot- of his past. It looked pathetic, prompting him to unpack that mess, and for a second the urge to assist this heist flared in his gut. 

Kai loses his balance and falls backward from the intrusive thought, rattling the metal of the billboard frame and subsequently catching the attention of the thief. The eye contact shot panic up his spine as they both fled the scene immediately. Only once it was quiet again did he catch his breath and realize perhaps it wasn’t the running that winded him.

The young airbender settles in his room at the inn, exhausted and irritable. He opens a fortune cookie from some takeout he picked up along the way. It says some whimsical nonsense about soulmates and connected feelings, rambling about how if you think about someone a lot it’s probably a mutual thing.

“Whatever,” he throws it off to the side.

He had no idea who he was without any of the comfort he had associated with his new home with the Air Nation, without Jinora. 

The time and space within the last year did a fine job of helping him understand exactly what she meant to him. 

Before she came along he barely had anything. A name, yes, but that was it. Harmonic convergence gave his life a purpose, but she gave it meaning -- something to fight for. And now the line between those three things is blurred and he’s not so sure anymore what he’s fighting for.

Kai misses home. Not the place he was born, or the foster home that had tried to adopt him as a kid, but the island: every nook and cranny he had spent years exploring with his best friend. He misses the simplicity of the time, when they had more time together waiting for Korra’s return. He misses the way Tenzin would send a warning glare in his direction every time it looked like he was getting a little too friendly with his daughter. 

A small part of him misses the past; the only thing he seemed to take with it anymore was the airbending. Which really, was a blessing! But if he cares to admit it, he might miss the thrill of being a carefree thief. And after the incident, it’s clear that returning to that life is just not an option anymore. The idea isn’t even appealing, but nostalgia has a way of grabbing people ruthlessly by the throat and launching them into a time where they thought they were happier.

He misses the days when training was far easier and he was ahead; these days the spiritual training was so much harder than being able to finish the obstacle course in record time, and now he constantly thought he was falling behind. He misses Korra and Mako and Bolin and Master Tenzin and Opal. 

He misses Jinora the most, and considers calling the island again and hoping she’ll pick up like last time.

One year was definitely enough time to be alone with his thoughts and deal with everything on his own. He wonders if she would welcome him back with open arms. The fact that this whole dilemma might have created a scar that would be hard to mend fueled the hesitation.

The young airbender sighs, resigning to meditation. 

But it seems more difficult to concentrate today, despite the silence that surrounds him. His mind insists on drifting to Jinora, and he wonders briefly if Tenzin would hand the phone over to her if he asked nicely.

But what would he even say?

Before he can consider it any further, out of nowhere in the center of his room, Jinora’s spirit materializes and scares the absolute shit out of him. 

“Jinora?” the way her name slips out of his mouth unintended has him wondering how long they really were apart. 

“Hi.”

“What are you…” then he shifts gears, asking instead what he’s wanted to know forever. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Southern Water Tribe, visiting my grandmother,” she answers easily, and it’s like they never broke up at all. 

"How are you…” he hesitates, but asks honestly, “How did you find me?” 

She looks flustered, though it’s hard to tell without the signature pink that adorns her cheeks whenever she blushes. “Did you not want me to?”

“No no! That’s not it. You just haven’t done this in a while." He chuckles nervously, but he's happy nonetheless. "Guess I just wasn't expecting it."

“I know. I guess I just felt really connected to you tonight.”

The sudden spike in his ego made this a lot easier. “Missed me that much, huh?”

She looks like she wants to punch him in the shoulder.

“You must have missed me just as much.” 

“I did,” he says easily, reveling in the way she breaks eye contact, blushing, to recompose herself. “I mean, I do.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Look-”

“Listen,”

“Oh, sorry,” he sits up.

“No, it’s ok, you go first.”

Kai’s hand shoots up to the back of his neck instinctively, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat. He pauses and shifts directions. 

“Are you...still mad at me?”

“What?” the look of genuine surprise catches them both off guard. “I was never angry, Kai. I thought you were.”

“Oh, right,” his face contorts at the memory. “No, Jin, I was just being stupid.”

"Is that why…" the question dies on her tongue, and he raises an eyebrow at her hesitation. 

"Is that why what?"

She eyes him tentatively but it doesn't look like he wants to drop it. "Is that why you haven't come back to Air Temple Island? You thought I was angry?"

Embarrassment washes over the young nomad. Of course she thought about this while he was gone. And now he doesn't even have a good reason. 

"I...yeah, a little." He confesses. And when she laughs, his face fills with indignation. "What's so funny?"

"Me, mad at you?" She says, as if stating it would make it easier for him to understand how ridiculous it sounds. 

"I mean, yeah." Kai looks at her in all seriousness, and Jinora is reminded of how real their relationship was. How much he really saw her for who she was, flaws and all. "I can act like a real ass sometimes. As patient as you are, I know I messed up." 

She grants him a look, as if he had just answered a question correctly. "I suppose.”

"What about you? Why did you only decide to contact me now?" 

A faint blush adorned her cheeks, despite her figure being translucent. Jinora takes a deep breath. Kai waits patiently.

"When I was younger, I found an injured bird just outside my window. Mom and dad told me I was very generous to have spent a week or so nursing it back to health. When his wings healed, mom told me I had to let him go, because he was ready to see the world again on his own. As selfish as it seemed, I really wanted to keep him; named him and everything.

"Every time you left for an indefinite amount of time, I always wondered if I was just keeping you here with me, like I did with the bird. If you wanted freedom, I knew I couldn't really give that to you. So...I just let you go."

"Jinora…" she watches as he seems to be at a loss for words. 

She lets him sit in his thoughts for a couple minutes, thankful that the silence was not at all uncomfortable. 

When he speaks again, it's not as graceful as he planned. “I guess...I’ve had some time to think about it,” he fumbles, and decides to start from the beginning. 

“When you saved me from the earth queen's prison back then, I started seeing you differently. You were like a light in my really fucked up life. And I love that...I love you. I still do." 

He revels in the way she blushes at this confession, but ultimately finds himself too flustered to maintain eye contact too.

"But then I got really selfish, and I hurt you because of it." Kai looks down, frustrated with himself, but Jinora knows he still has more to say. So she moves closer and her spirit takes a seat beside him. "I know I can't just keep you all to myself. You're not just the light in my life, but to the world too."

She giggles, delighted at his little speech, "That was corny."

"Yeah, well," he scratches the back of head, half flustered, half proud, "I try."

"Kai," she brings his attention back to her, and remembers how much he loves the way his name sounded from her lips. "I'm sorry you felt that way. I got so caught up in work, I lost sight of other things that were just as important to me."

Kai watches her, enamoured by the way Jinora shyly bites her lip and pours out her heart to him. 

"I’m sorry I left. I didn't think it sent that sort of message to you."

She laughs softly, and it illuminates the room. "Yeah, no kidding."

"Ugh, Jinora…" Kai runs both hands down his face, both embarrassed and relieved.

"I've had some time to talk to my grandmother. She told me that Great Uncle Sokka also had a long distance relationship.” The late Avatar’s descendant twirled her thumbs, suddenly looking bashful. “It's never easy."

"It just takes a little work, I guess…I mean," Kai winces at the way he just started speaking without thinking this time. 

But there was no turning back now. She waits patiently, but anxiously for his next words. This was it, now or never. 

"If you're willing…"

Jinora's eyes widen and her heart skips a beat at the implication written all over his face. 

"Of course I am."

And just like before, like nothing had changed, he watches her smile and almost wants to scold himself for how ridiculous and pining he must look wanting to reach out and smother her spirit with affection.

“I hate that I can’t kiss you right now,” he blurts, and Jinora laughs. 

“Come home then,” she says, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

  Jinora does welcome him back with open arms, to answer his question. With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her entire being so eager to have him back. She smells sweet and familiar and suddenly Kai feels stupid for ever thinking letting this go was the right choice. 

He holds her just as tightly, as if to let her know this was real, that he was real. And he feels a thousand pounds lighter when he tells her quietly, lovingly, “I’m home.”

She smiles against his neck, and he doesn’t need to see it to know.

“Welcome home.” 

[docfuture]

Princess, part 14

        [This story is a prequel, set in an alternate 2012, several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly, but it’s 2020 8-)  Next chapter is partly done so I’m going to try for before the end of the year.]

Previous: Part 13

      Memories.       Flicker was sensitive to anything that might disrupt them.  With her speed, subjective versus objective time was hopeless from the start.  Even 'When was that again?' and getting things in the right order was difficult.  She needed to forget the vast majority of things that happened when she sped up.  There just wasn't space in her squishy biological brain for what she could accumulate at a million times the speed of normal human subjective consciousness.  She had always felt close to the edge of what was possible to remember.       At least for as long as she could remember--and she didn't remember anything episodic before she was nine.       How did normal humans remember, really?  It was frustrating to ask them.  They didn't know, they just did.  And the scientific literature was frustratingly poor at providing the answers she most wanted, because they were hard to quantify and measure.  Doc said recalling social interactions from episodic memory was partially a learned skill--itself stored in implicit memory.  Which Flicker was a lot better at, but didn't really understand either.       Today she remembered bits and pieces while she prepared for work.       She remembered talking to Sealord about trying to act human when you weren't.       Sealord was a... Well, you couldn't really call him superhuman anything, because he wasn't human.  He wasn't alien, either; he'd lived on Earth longer than most humans.  He was a supercephalopod giant squid, who'd had the kind of origin event that might turn a human into a superhuman if they were very lucky--and kill them if they weren't.       He was good at shapeshifting, but going from a deep sea invertebrate to a land biped was a big ask before you even got to the human part.  He looked like a handsome, Polynesian-appearing man in his social landform.  But when he started to talk, he seemed to move into the uncanny valley for many people.       Not Flicker.  She didn't expect human.  She expected 'communicate well enough to be understood', and he did.  He wasn't trying to 'pass' as human--he was a powerful being assuming a form compatible with air-based speech and human infrastructure.       She actually thought his old utility surface form suited him better.  He was more comfortable with it, and that showed.  At least to her.  It looked like a human body with a squid for a head.  It let him use tentacle waving and pigmentation changes for non-verbal communication--which he was very good at--and tentacle type at a keyboard, which was easier for him than using hands, even when he had them.  But its appearance triggered fear even worse than his social form.  Which made it counterproductive for diplomacy.       "No," he had said.  "I am not better.  At acting human.  Than you."       His speech was slow when he wasn't in a hurry, and his verbal cadence was unusual.  Using lungs and vocal cords and a human-style mouth together in the right way had taken him a long time to master.  Flicker didn't get impatient.  Getting the timing of speech right was tricky.  She did remember learning that, and the frustration.       "I am better at shapeshifting," he said.  "Squid are better at body mimicry.  Than humans.  I started with an advantage.  I am worse at other things.  You are better at human things.  As a human."       "But I'm not better," said Flicker.  "Not at the hard things."       A shake of the head.  "Yes.  Difficult things.  Humans learn as children.  And don't think them hard.  They start with an advantage."       "What hard human things do you think I'm good at?"       "Running."  Sealord smiled.  "Throwing rocks."       Flicker thought about that for a long time.

      She remembered Jetgirl's laugh.  They'd been having another round in their half-joking, half serious argument about whether Flicker could fly.       "He's right," said Jetgirl.  She grinned.  "You are way better at moving fast than I am at flying."       "But flying is hard."       "Lots of things are.  And humans have no natural ability at it.  But birds and insects do, so people can see what good flying looks like.  You've watched a hummingbird hover.  Impressive, right?"       "Yeah.  But scale matters--a Canada goose taking off is pretty cool, too.  I've watched that more times, because it looks so clunky.  But it works."       The laugh.  "Take-offs and landings are usually the hardest.  Anyway, most humans can run--or at least they could when they were kids--so they don't think running is as impressive.  And if you're moving slow enough to see, you're usually doing your glide thing, which doesn't look hard.  No one sees you move your legs much, just an occasional flash and boom."       "That glide is a convenience and safety habit.  It's quiet, and I don't have to worry about damage if I speed up suddenly."       Another grin.  "Yeah, you've already taken off, so the hard part is over."       "It's only a few centimeters up--I don't fly," said Flicker.  "I just run on air so the ground doesn't get wrecked."         "That's flying like a maglev.  You go higher as you speed up.  Lots of pilots who fly nap-of-the-earth study your patterns of flashes and booms, for educational purposes."       "That's because I have to be real careful to not run into things.  Or even get too close when I'm trailing shockwaves and plasma."       "Not running into things is pretty important for them, too."       "I'm still not flying.  Sealord's point was that humans are already adapted for bipedal locomotion, and I started with that advantage.  You don't fly with your legs and feet."       "I don't.  And that being careful is part of 'way better'."       "A point.  But my speed means I can make time to be careful."       "That's what I meant.  You build on your speed with skill and practice."       Flicker remembered.  It was time to use what she was good at to help people again.             Yesterday had been a test run, logging bio-telemetry and mind coordination to the Database.  Today was Flicker's first try at going 'on duty' since recovering from Speedtest.         She followed Stella's guidelines.  It was easiest to forestall self-deception at a beginning.  Flicker had fallen into a form of metric myopia in the months before Hermes' attack.  A variation of what Doc called 'the tyranny of the easy to measure.'  She had sought to maximize a number, a measure of lives saved.  Because it was clear, when her judgement was hazy and her connection to humanity felt distant.  But it wasn't 'lives saved'.  It was, at best, clearly attributable potential lives saved in the immediate aftermath of action, as estimated by the Database.  And it undervalued anything hard to quantify.       She'd abdicated her judgement.  The numbers had become the purpose.       There probably wouldn't be any 'lives saved' today.  But that wasn't the point.  She'd had the Database sift through lower priority, less well-characterized problems, to see what she'd been missing.       The mudslide on the slope in Borneo might have come today, or tomorrow, or next week.  It was coming, there was too much rain for it not to.  It might have reached the village, or not.  The villagers might have evacuated in time, or not.  But now they wouldn't have to.  Flicker moved it sideways instead of down, to an area without people.  Some heard thunder, or saw a spray of earth and vegetation arcing high--but not towards them.       Twenty minutes of earth moving, a shower back home, and back to reassessment.  It was a start.  And it didn't require her to talk to anyone or contribute to burnout, so she could keep going for a while longer.       Flicker cleared rockslide blockages in the Andes mountains, present and threatened, for another ten minutes.  Then dealt with a few other hazards in remote areas in South America.  Which wasn't well covered by superhero response.  The initial data quality was usually very low.  But so what?  She could always run and look.       And then the first hints of something odd had shown up on satellite scans, the Database had noticed, and Flicker ran and looked--and found giant ants emerging from a fringe of Amazon rainforest.       Giant bugs kept recurring.  Interdimensional 'outsider' intrusions were far more common than most people realized, but the vast majority of them were unable to overcome the more than three-billion-year adaptive advantage of Earth life and promptly got eaten.  If this happened on land, the growth impetus that made many invaders a potential threat was usually absorbed by microorganisms, fungi, and plants.  And bugs, who were typically the first link of the food chain that was really good at moving.       So they could eat, and grow, and move, and eat more, until--if the initial intrusion was large enough--someone finally noticed.  Or they succumbed on their own.  The effects of the square-cube law could be ameliorated with alien energy, but past a certain size, that was hard to sustain.       Ants were good at foraging, calling friends, sharing food, and spreading out with new size and vigor.  A lot at once was only to be expected.       A few locals had spotted them, noped out, and concentrated on getting themselves and their animals to safety.  The ants were about the size of cars, and no longer very fast--they were too big for their body proportions to be efficient at moving anymore.  A few had paused to chew on crops, but most of them were looking for something tastier.  Or at least meatier.  They needed to be stopped.       The familiarity was almost a relief--but it did come with a warning.  Best find the start, to be sure the threat was just ants.       Into the jungle, down a narrowing swath of disruption that eventually ended in a pool of churned mud.  It was still being picked over by scavengers, but no longer seething with extradimensional anything.  Perhaps a day or two old?  But there were no other large outbreaks of gigantism.  The local fauna were already taking care of stragglers who had grown too large for their niches.  Flicker passed a jaguar eating the remains of an oversized but still clearly manageable frog.  And she could see the signs of progressive dilution; the jaguar might get a slight boost, but not enough to be a problem before it faded.       Back to the ants.  And a local soil and drainage map from the Database.       The remains of the ants would be soon be good fertilizer.  And safe, as long as the concentration in any one spot didn't get too high.  But they were too big to move by hand without breaking.  So it was time for entrainment--pulling ants with the wind of her passage.  Up and down, back and forth--running slowly for her, but not trying to limit drag.  Air moved in response, and oversized insects tumbled in her wake.  She scattered them widely.       And then...  "Don't punch anything living" was the rule, but there was an exception.  Antenna quivered above her as she stopped between the open mandibles of the first ant.       Sorry, foragers.  You were never going to make it back to a colony anyways.       Her palm strike sent a shockwave through the ant, and a spray of ex-ant outward.  A widely distributed mess over the surrounding landscape was actually desirable here.  Still, she pulled her punches; she didn't want fireballs.  Hand chops and more blasts of scooped air, together with the liquefying effect of Flicker's inertial damping field, helped her manage the spread.       A few distant figures watched giant ants being turned into goo over their fields and pastures.  Which should be bad tasting enough to avoid problems with livestock until it decayed, but a concentration map would go into the Database notice sent out to the locals--they would know their own fields and animals best.  The Database would keep monitoring for problems until any danger was past.       Ants finished, she slowed down a little away from the nearest group.  She knew hardly any Portuguese, so she used her visor to check her translation.  Her accent was awful, so she settled for saying "They're gone," and a wave of a still-goopy hand.  She acknowledged the Database advisory that she was now over her duty time limit for the first day and headed home.       Her shower matched the one at Doc's HQ, with a customized array of converted waterjet cutters and a selection of decontamination options.  It quickly stripped away the remaining layer of plasma-deposited bug juice.  She then switched it to regular shower mode to help her mind return the rest of the way from 'on duty'.  That took a while.  Habits were stubborn things.       Dried and dressed, she logged her impressions, and looked at her bio-telemetry and reaction analysis with the Database for a bit before formally ending her abbreviated 'workday'.  Not everything had gone smoothly, but it had become a better day--and it was still morning.  It was something.  It was enough, for now.       *****       Stella had a wry smile, a faint twist of the mouth that found humor in a less-than-ideal world.  "I'm not well-qualified to advise you about memory," she said, "because no one is.  I'm doing it because your Database integrity AI doesn't think there's anyone better.  And neither does Doc."       "You have been helping me with my emotional reactions," said Flicker.       "I've avoided triggering any obvious disasters, and you've felt subjectively better.  Whether that is actually helping...  well, we may suddenly find out the answer is 'not enough'."       They were at Stella's office for another session.  It was, if not a comforting place, at least familiar.  It did not add to the inherent stress of a session, which was probably the best Flicker could expect.  Protocols had been set and were being followed, and snacks and beverages were at hand.  Elements of a basic social ritual, which did help, regardless of Stella's current pessimism.       "Well, I think we've been making progress," said Flicker.  "Is there some new reason for you to doubt that?"       "The restrictions on a considerable amount of Database material were lifted for me at the end of last week, in response to your request.  I've been thinking about the implications.  Your AI assistant, Vizier, can speak directly to me in ways the main Database AIs can't, because it doesn't have full access.  That allows it more latitude for speculation and personal advocacy."       Stella looked out through the force screen over the sliding doors to the patio.  "I cultivate an image of implacability because it is useful for my work.  But I'm not infallible."  Another wry smile.  "I have the scars to prove it."       "You're who I've got."       "Yes.  And I will recommend precautions, some of which you will likely find unpleasant, to attempt to limit the damage from mistakes and unforeseen events.  You don't have to follow them.  Many will probably turn out not to have been needed.  But it's part of my best work, and this is a useful time to remind you again.  Do you understand?"       "...yeah."       "An important distinction before we start.  You have an assortment of memory-connected issues.  I don't think precise mechanisms are as urgent as dealing with effects.  We don't want to ease one problem only to aggravate several others.  Your new concern--that your memories may not precisely correspond to past events in this world--does not matter for how I intend to begin today."       "Um.  I think what's actually true does matter a bit."       "Yes, it does."  Another smile.  "But we aren't sitting here together for exterior facts--you have the Database for those.  I'm here to hear and see you talk about what you remember, what has shaped you, what matters to you, how you feel and react, and how it affects you.  And listening to and watching me, my voice and body language and pacing, as I shape my advice for you--talking to another live, flesh and blood person--should help you.  Both in putting your old memories in context, and eventually with some of your other issues."       Stella glanced at her computer display before continuing.  "You intend to use memory compartmentalization before 'correcting' memories using the Database.  That's understandable, and also hazardous.  I believe some of your existing issues are already complicated by memory compartmentalization.  That doesn't mean it's bad.  Some is unavoidable, given your two-part mind, and it's necessary for managing PTSD.  But it has side effects.  I want a better baseline of where you are now before you start anything new.  Memories aren't static--they shift as you recall and relate them.  Do you understand the importance of treating Database records of personally relevant events as potentially fallible as well as incomplete?"       "Yes," said Flicker.  "I've been using the Database for memory backups, but there's no guarantee that anything before my return after Speedtest is still compatible with my speed mind."       "It's more general than that.  You have some reductive assumptions about memory that may be a problem.  May be.  My research has taught me to beware of most generalizations.  Now.  I want you to review certain of your memories for me, starting from the beginning.  That doesn't mean we're starting from scratch.  You've used the resources you had, and are by no means unskilled.  Just the fact that you are currently functional is a remarkable accomplishment.  But that means many of your current problems are subtle, tricky, or tough."       "Because I've already fixed the easy stuff," said Flicker.       A smile.  "At least what you thought was easy."       "...and thought was fixed.  I get it.  So what do you mean by the beginning?  My first memories?"       "Earlier than that.  Start with your arrival on Earth."       "All right, but I got a lot of this third or fourth hand.  I cannot currently access any coherent memories before I was nine."       "I know," said Stella, "But your childhood is important enough to you that even indirect information about it shaped who you are today."       "Okay."       Flicker took a deep breath before starting.  "I was dropped off at that first orphanage in early May of 1997 by some guy.  He was probably an extradimensional entity, and possibly the same guy who arranged payment, checked back on me a few times, and set up my later transfer, but there's no proof or direct evidence of that.  He said that I was born on the first day of spring in the previous year, which would have made me just over a year old.  That matched how I looked and was plausibly consistent with the fact that I could feed myself.  He didn't say where I was born, who the parents were, or provide any surviving documentation, and there are no remaining findable witnesses.       "My birth date was recorded as March 20, 1996--which would make me 16 now--but no paperwork was filed with the state.  The surviving workers at that orphanage remember me by the nickname "Chirpy," after the only vocalization anyone heard me make.  I wasn't yet consciously controlling my speed changes, which cut sounds short.  But they do remember me--as creepily silent most of the time.  I was believed to be haunted or psychic.  No one considered that I might have superspeed and very little awareness of my environment.  Database thinks one of the people who died might have thought I just had hearing trouble and tried to teach me to read.  I apparently picked up more later, because I knew how to read--and even write a little--when my memories start."       Flicker looked down.  "In 2002, that orphanage burned down, and all local records about me were lost.  The details of that fire are still the subject of legal disputes and there's been a long running battle between the surviving relatives of three workers who died in the fire and an insurance company.  The place was a firetrap, records were definitely altered, at least two people died suspiciously after the fire, and the relatives deserve to and probably eventually will win.  The cause of the fire might have been arson.  It also might have been me, based on some models I ran a couple of years ago.  It would be very easy for me to start fires by oblivious fast movement in a wooden structure filled with flammables.  But I have no memory of it.       "Anyway, I was transferred to another orphanage in a different state.  Where there was systematic fraud.  And they now had a live girl with no records--me--who was still being paid for off the books by someone, and a dead girl who they hadn't reported dead and didn't want to because they'd stop getting money.  So they altered records to make it look like I was her.  She was at least a year younger, but as long as no one challenged it or compared things, they were fine."       Flicker smiled briefly.  "Then someone tipped off Gumshoe about the fraud, and he started investigating.  He found the orphanage I was at, and ended up in a confrontation with the director. I apparently came to find out what the commotion was about, and the director did something really stupid.  It's not clear whether he tried to use me as a hostage or just a shield, but I didn't like it.  I killed him."       Flicker shook her head.  "I don't like talking about it because people ask how I felt.  I don't remember.  My emotions didn't reliably connect to memories for a while, and my very first clear memory is watching his head explode.  I don't know whether I entropy dumped to his head or just waved my hand or both, but I wanted him gone, so bam, dead.  I do remember Gumshoe just looking at me for a little bit, then doing something at his wrist, and a little while later I met the Volunteer.  And my life started getting better.  I began remembering things regularly, though it took a while to start putting them in order.  This was 2005."       Stella studied her for a moment.  "How much of your anger over the age issue originated with the identity fraud?"       "A lot.  There was so much I wanted to know, and the altered records kept obstructing everything.  And Gumshoe died before I could talk coherently, so I never got to ask him about a lot of things.  I obviously wasn't the girl I was listed as, but the state didn't have any other birth date for their records so they kept using hers.  That made me mad because here were official people--people who were supposed to help--insisting on using information they knew was wrong."       "That took forever to fix, partly because everyone who could testify that I couldn't possibly be as young as that was already involved in the lawsuits over the fire.  Or wasn't talking to anyone because of them.  And no one else cared."  Flicker paused, then corrected herself.  "Okay, no, that's not fair.  Doc did care, but he didn't want to make a fuss at the time because it could have complicated my adoption or my citizenship--not having a birth certificate or any human witnesses to your birth is a pain, legally."       "Indeed.  And not that uncommon a problem," said Stella.       "Anyway, finally I filed a lawsuit," said Flicker.  "And got it almost settled, I thought--and then that stupid insurance company intervened, because some arcane legal thing meant my settlement would make them more likely to lose the lawsuit against them over the fire.  I didn't handle it well.  But Francine--she was my lawyer too by then, not just Doc's--told me that if I gave her time, she would make the insurance company executives, their board of directors, and the stockholders of their parent company regret that intervention thoroughly.  And late last year, she finally won the last appeal of the primary suit.  I'm 16.  But some places don't accept that yet, so Francine's team is still busy."       "I see," said Stella.  "It's clear you're still very emotionally invested in the details.  Is that something you're willing to elaborate on?"       Flicker took a long breath.  "I try to compartmentalize it so I don't keep getting angry again.  But yeah.  I hope you're ready for some ranting."       Stella smiled.  "That's fine."       "Okay.  The fraud at the second orphanage was already a mess, intertwined with several other messes, but sorting it out in one place wasn't enough.  Oh, no..."       Time passed.  At some point Flicker got up and started pacing.       "...and so I was like 'Okay, bonehead, maybe they won't charge you with accessory after the fact to fraud, but I'm also sole director of a corporation to which I've leased the rights to my personal image, and the value of that in interstate commerce is affected by my legal age in your state.  I have money, good lawyers, standing, and a grudge over something you could have avoided for free just by not being a jerk about it'.  But I have to do that in every state that decides to make an issue out of refusing to change my age in their records without a conventional birth certificate.  And a lot of them are fighting it.  So it's still not over.  But at least now I'm legally sixteen for federal and international purposes, in my home state, and in Pennsylvania, where Journeyman lives.  But I've been trying to get this crap fixed since I was twelve, and I'm so sick of it."       "Understandable," said Stella.  "And it's time we take a break, I think."       *****       Stella was getting better at timing the session breaks so Flicker was able to keep a comfortable safety margin.  There was probably something about not having speed that made the psychology of pacing easier to judge.  There were so many indirect effects.       "How did your morning patrol go?" asked Stella, after they started lunch.  "The Database informed me that your stress levels stayed encouragingly low.  But giant ants were mentioned."       "Yeah, they're fertilizer in rural Brazil now.  No one was hurt.  And the rest was just clearance work--the kind of thing the Volunteer is better at, but I can manage.  Didn't feel like much, but it was better than nothing."  Flicker had another spoonful of the soup.  "This is really good soup.  What is it?"       "It's egg drop soup from a local place," said Stella.  "Comfort food.  I like it when I'm recovering from something stressful or debilitating."       "Heh."  Flicker shook her head.  "You keep helping in different ways than I expect you to help."       "Expectations have always been a bit of a mixed bag for me.  On that note, you had a question about my background that you've been very patient about."       "Well, yeah.  It seems kind of silly now, but the Database verified you received your doctorate when you were 17," said Flicker, "but said the university was prevented by a non-disclosure agreement from revealing anything but the title of your thesis.  Which I thought was weird."       "They tried to revoke my doctorate.  After some discussion, they settled," said Stella.  "But the administration never actually had a copy.  The NDA was part of the settlement.  Not coincidentally, they also settled a suit from a group of students and former students at the same time.  People used to wonder why I chose that university and thesis committee.  But what happened to them was part of the point."       "What was 'Alternate Means of Addressing Harmful Behavior Patterns in Entrenched Power Structures' about, anyway?"       "The title gets the point across.  The specific methods were of limited generality and don't scale well.  It was a proof of concept, but there would be issues with it becoming widely accessible."       "I'm still curious."       "I know.  But the NDA was useful to me and still helps protect the former students.  The Database and I both respect it.  If there were a particular threat to one of them that you needed to deal with, then the Database would reveal appropriate information.  There currently isn't."       "I guess... that's good.  Was that your goal?"       "One of them.  The other two were to get a doctorate quickly, and establish a reputation.  Anyone investigating my qualifications in more detail would have no trouble establishing that whatever my methods actually were, they worked:  Nothing else bad happened to the students.  And nothing good to the thesis committee or the administration."       "Oh."       *****       Another hour of indirect memory tests, mostly boring.  But Stella said boring was good; anything exciting here would mean an unexpected problem, and they had plenty of expected ones already.  The one interesting part was a reframing of something Flicker had known for a long time.       "No," said Stella, studying her display.  "I don't think you react any more emotionally to speaking or listening than you do to reading.  Not more than a typical human."       "What do you mean?" said Flicker.  "I've thoroughly documented it."       A smile from Stella.  "You weren't measuring what you thought you were measuring.  You have to restrict your subjective speed to talk and listen, which requires effort by your speed mind.  And you use the ability to freely speed up and consult the Database for several quite effective calming strategies that are less disruptive to reading than listening.  So your coping works better.  After you account for that, the base emotional effect is the same."       Flicker studied the graphs and supporting information the Database provided.  The conclusions were consistent.       "Huh.  I remember interactive things way more emotionally, though."       "You appear to anchor social memories to emotional impact, consolidating out your calming measures, while your reading memories get subsumed in your reaction to what you learned.  So, among other things, your estimates of emotional leakage from compartmentalized memories will be poorly calibrated."       "Oof.  Yeah, I guess I'm going to have to watch out for that."       *****       "We're stopping already?" said Flicker.  "I could keep going--we're making progress, Database says I'm Green, and I still feel fine."       That wry smile.  "Yes, and I'd prefer you stay that way.  You'll have homework.  I want you to summarize your emotional impressions from your pre-sleep memory assimilation, so we can compare with your memories later."       "Huh.  Do you think there will be discrepancies?"       "I don't know.  But if there are, we want to know about them; that's why I'm asking.  We cannot take for granted that anything about your sleep, learning, or memory processing is the same as a typical human."       "Yeah, okay.  Do you want me to record anything else?"       "Not tonight.  I don't want to overload you by trying too many things at once."       Flicker looked down.  "Well, here's an emotional impression already.  That's the opposite of my preferred approach.  I don't like leaving known problems.  I'd much rather solve everything, then recover.  I already know that makes it easier for me to sleep."       "Yes, and you've done a very good job of solving a wide variety of problems where that attitude is helpful.  It's very effective.  Speed is your hammer."       "But not all my problems are nails."       "Exactly."       Flicker sighed.  "Well, okay, then.  I guess this is why I needed you.  You're good at helping."       A raised eyebrow.  "I'm not, particularly.  What I am good at is convincing people to listen who otherwise wouldn't."       "...and that's a problem I have that definitely isn't a nail."       Another smile.       "Okay.  Talk to you later.  And Stella?  Thank you."       "You're welcome."

Next:

[princeof-gore]

Thoughts on Steven Universe - Change Your Mind

I thought I’d get this out there while I’m up in some MAJOR feelings right now about this topic (I write better this way, so let’s get with it.)

I quit interacting with the fandom sometime ago. The fandom drama became a nuisance to the point where any interaction with fandom content made it difficult to appreciate. The sad truth is, I think for some of us that left awhile back, we let petty fandom strife get in the way of something beautiful and the message Steven Universe brings to its audience. So, why comeback? More specifically, why comeback to this specific point in the show’s story where the resolution begins to take its course. (And why it’s now officially my favourite episode.)

No story is perfect technically. Steven Universe is not a perfect story in its technical aspects. You can say what will you about the shows flaw of character models being inconsistent, the timing and pacing of the show being too stiff, or too childish, or anything else that’s too much or too little. That’s fine, understandable even. Acknowledging it’s weaknesses as an audience, it is what it is. However, don’t let that get in the way of how Steven Universe handles the themes of literal growth, change, and development, themes that are very much prevalent and can be applied to anyone’s life. Lest we forget, how we analyze how the show treats its villains, not just as antagonists with a warped sense of morality and they forever remain stagnant characters, but as characters who can have their own moments of redemption and change. However, their redemption comes at a price and they must be willing to put in the effort towards their redemption and growth. If they recognize their flaws, if they are willing to seek out and take the offered helping hand of others, to change their minds and hearts to become, not perfect, but better. Not everyone is willing to forgive, not everyone is willing to let go of the hurt of their past, not everyone, but in time if they proceed with small steps and determined hearts, they can learn to heal.

Tonight’s episode, Change Your Mind, is a beautiful testimony to changing the heart of a hardened mind, whilst also acknowledging the person we are is the person we are, and the person we will become to love, no matter the environment, no matter our past, or what created us. A message I think is so very important that is being exposed as a children’s medium.

Steven has feared throughout the series if he was his mother, if he was the result of love, or a selfish act of rebelliousness. If he was a fusion or not. The scene where Pink Steven and Steven hug are the manifestation of his mental and physical aspects of himself. Steven has always been Steven! He has always been himself and never not his mother, Pink Diamond, or Rose Quartz. The flashes of his gem morphing between Pink Diamond, to Rose Quartz, to finally, just Steven. It spoke volumes to him that he was always himself. Steven can finally be content with this thought and his dissociation of body and mind can be at peace with this answer. The main message being seen here is, “loving yourself”, quite literally! (Also, the animation where Steven reunites with himself had my heart in a headlock.)

However, White Diamond is confused. She is upset, angry even at the gall of this playful, little act that has Pink’s name written all over it! She doesn’t understand this.

White Diamond cries out in frustration her fears to Steven.

“I’m suppose to be flawless! If I am not perfect, then who am I? If you’re not Pink, then...who are you? Who is anyone?”

Her questions hit us like bricks. How could she love herself if she is not the impossible standard of perfectionism she’s set for herself. Her purity facade falters, her passive aggressiveness and ruthlessness crumbles. She is utterly embarrassed of herself and her flaws! What of it? Why should we care? She used her powers to manipulate and control other gems, she locked away Pink Diamond and Steven in a tower for days. She created a restricted regime and system of tyranny, of discrimination, of abuse that stifled love, happiness, and growth. The list goes on. How can we forgive that? And yet Steven knows this, Steven understands this. A child (what’s your excuse?). How is Steven still able to look at White Diamond and still want to help?

He knows she isn’t perfect, even if she hides it underneath her bright, dazzling aura. (All things eventually are seen underneath the light.) White Diamond is a representation of a heart scared of change and was afraid of listening to others in fear of tampering with her own rigid mindset.

“But I’m not suppose to be like this. I’m suppose to know better. I’m suppose to be better. I’m suppose to make everything better!”

And Steven’s reply to all of that makes you laugh while crying.

“You can, but first, you’re gonna have to leave your own head.”

(Wow, they really went for that metaphorical and literal rhetoric. Gonna go cry an ocean real quick.)

And being the character in the series who is willing to see the best and worst in others, and is willing to help with both aspects, acknowledges this too. White Diamond has the authority and power to make things better. She begins with her words of being, wanting, to be perfect, to then plead that she should be better. She steps outside of her mindset and tentatively begins to see the world through others, instead of puppeteering them to her will.

Steven Universe’s fundamental concept of love is with oneself and love with others. In the case of this episode, things begin to tie together. Love, change, growth. It all wouldn’t be possible without pain, without strife, without struggle. Questioning authority, forgiving even the worst of people and their actions, accepting change, not just accepting what your flaws are, but what steps can you take to proactively better yourself. Even Steven’s song towards the end made my heart leap.

I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me.

I don’t need you to love me, I love me.

But I want you to know

you could know me

If you change your mind.

“I don’t need the validation of others, I need the validation of love from myself. But if you wanted to know me, without judgement, without bias, change your mind. Grow, learn.”

You already understand the message. You know what to do with this. It is so raw, it is genuine, it is real. Our love comes from within and it is beautiful, and so is the love of others that we are willing to accept. I have no other words, the episode does itself a certain kind of justice. I’m sure there are plenty more analysis’ of this, but this is just my quick review overall .

[miguel-manbemel]

Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 28: A Side is Born Part 3: The Dark Truth about Patton

New entry of this fic inspired on Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders, Joan S. and the Foster Dawg Team. The story goes on. After the angsty end of the previous part, it’s time to dive back into the past and learn all the secrets in Patton’s life. Like in previous parts, the beginning is a reminder of the most important segments of the previous episode. I hope you enjoy this new entry and see ya next week.

SYNOPSIS: After discovering the truth about his real father, Virgil is in shock and it’s hard for him to accept it. Patton, now that his memories haven been restored, gets ready to tell them everything about his past, from Thomas’ conception itself and the very creation of the Mind Palace, and how the Dark Master managed to become Virgil’s father.

WARNINGS: Angst featured in the episode. Romantic prinxiety and logicality, visual depictment of the aftermath of physical mistreatment to Virgil in the past.

EPISODE INDEX

[Roman is writing in his diary, his voice is heard and his narration is combined with flashback images from the previous episode]

NARRATOR-ROMAN: So many things have happened yesterday that I don’t know if I’ll be able to make a summary in these few pages. Virgil and I had our first son, Thomas’ Side of Angsty Creativity and we named him Chris. Then a few hours later…

PATTON: Who’s that boy?

VIRGIL: It’s Chris, dad. Your grandson.

PATTON: What?

ROMAN: He has just aged three years in a matter of a second and we don’t know how.

LOGAN: Oh, wow… I didn’t expect that…

NARRATOR-ROMAN: It didn’t stop there, though. It was in front of our very eyes that he grew again until he looked like a twelve year old. I was so excited about it, that I decided to take him to Sandersia, because I wanted him to meet my brother Roland and Ira before he turned into an adult. And so we went there. They reacted just as I expected.

CHRIS: Well, my name is Christian Gerard Sanders. And I’m the Side of Angsty Creativity. But you can call me Chris.

ROLAND: Angsty… Creativity?

IRA: Hold on, weren’t those two concepts assigned to Virgil and you earlier? [face of realization and shock, then he smiles widely] Oh! Oh, my goodness, I get it! Congratulations, Roman!

ROLAND: What? What’s the matter?

IRA: Don’t you see? This boy is the son of Virgil and Roman! Angsty Creativity!

ROLAND: Oh, my goodness! How…? When…? Congratulations, guys!

[Roland and Ira hug Roman and Virgil, then they also give a quick hug to Chris]

ROLAND: I should have paid more attention. Of course he’s your son. His shield his a mix of both your insignias. I’m so happy to meet you, young man.

CHRIS: I’m happy to meet you too, uncle Roland.

ROLAND: Oh, that’s right. This boy is my nephew. And as your son… he’s the new heir to the throne of Sandersia!

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And just in front of them, Chris completed his growth and became an adult. It was all fun and games… until things suddenly and unexpectedly turned really, really bad. A force-field appeared around Chris.

CHRIS: What gives!?

[the door opens and the Dark Master enters in, wearing a black cloak with silver ornaments on the shoulders and the hood. The dark bubble flies next to him with Chris inside]

THOMAS: You again? How many times do we have to defeat you, boy?

DARK MASTER: Long time no see, Light Master.

ROMAN: [pulling out his samurai sword] Release our son! Right now!

DARK MASTER: Release him? Oh, sure, I will release him, as soon as I’m done with him.

VIRGIL: If you touch just one hair of him, I swear…

DARK MASTER: Oh, don’t worry emo, I’m not going to harm him. I need him in one piece for my plans.

VIRGIL: [progressively angrier and more hysterical as he speaks] What plans? What are you going to do to him? Let him go, you bast**!

DARK MASTER: Let him go? After all the time I’ve been waiting for one of his kind to appear? Never.

PATTON: What’s so special about him? I don’t understand.

DARK MASTER: [giggles evilly] I certainly did a good job with you, Patton.

PATTON: What?

DARK MASTER: Erasing your memories was so easy. It wasn’t a perfect work, but nevertheless it worked. You wouldn’t even try to get your memories back. You just got contented and started behaving like the stupid father figure you are right now.

PATTON: I don’t understand…

VIRGIL: Neither do I, but I don’t care! Release him!

DARK MASTER: It’s your only fault that I’m taking your son right now, Virgil! You brought this onto him!

VIRGIL: What?

DARK MASTER: The original plan was to take you instead of him. You were born for that only reason. But you had to escape to the Light Realm and ruin everything.

VIRGIL: What would you know about my birth?

DARK MASTER: Oh, everything. I know everything about it. I even had you in my arms not long after you were born. You looked so tiny, so vulnerable. So suitable. You just needed to grow until you were mature enough. But Patton had to be a goody daddy and the Light Master had to ruin it all!

THOMAS: Me? What…?

VIRGIL: What is he talking about, dad?

PATTON: [confused] I promise I don’t know, kiddo. I don’t remember…

DARK MASTER: Perhaps I can help with that.

[The Dark Master points at Patton. A light blue sphere appears on his hand]

DARK MASTER: This, on my hand, are your stolen memories. You’re no longer a worthy enemy, so I won’t be needing them anymore, and I need to make room for… another procedure. Here, take them back.

[the light-blue ball is projected at light-speed and impacts into Patton’s head, making him walk two steps back. The light enters inside Patton’s head, who holds his head with both hands and groans as if he was suffering the worst headache ever, as if his head was about to explode right there.]

VIRGIL: [scared] Dad!

LOGAN: Patton!

[in a few moments, Patton adopts a serene face. He stops holding his head and looks fiercely at the Dark Master]

PATTON: [serious deep voice, never heard before from him] Now I remember… everything.

DARK MASTER: Good. Then now you know it all. How does it feel? Please, tell me that it hurts you, it would be so rewarding for me.

PATTON: Yes, I remember. Yes, it hurts. And no, you won’t get away with your plans.

DARK MASTER: [evil voice] I challenge you to stop me. If you want to find me, you know where to look for me… sweetie.

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And so, the Dark Master fled away, taking our son with him. Later, Patton confessed the truth he had forgotten long ago, a truth no one could have prepared us to hear.

VIRGIL: Dad, you are my father. Nothing you could have ever done could be so bad that I couldn’t forgive it.

PATTON: You don’t know the truth yet, son. Once you know, you won’t be able to say that again with conviction.

VIRGIL: Then tell me dad, to prove you that you’re wrong. What is that truth that is so unforgivable?

[Patton sighs]

PATTON: The truth about who your father is.

VIRGIL: You are my father, what do you mean?

PATTON: I mean your other father.

VIRGIL: My other father? You remember now his identity? Who is he?

PATTON: You already know him too well. You’ve lived with him for years in the Dark Realm. You lived under his yoke and his tyranny for many years, and I couldn’t save you, may God forgive me.

[Virgil looks at Patton. A grimace of horror slowly starts appearing]

VIRGIL: No… that’s not true… that’s impossible!

PATTON: Yes. As painful as it is for me to admit it, but it’s true. The Dark Master is your father.

VIRGIL: [progressively more hysterical as he speaks] I can’t believe you! He can’t be my father! He can’t! If he was my father, he would have never treated me the way he did in the Dark Realm! He would have never taken my son away from me! It’s impossible! No! I refuse to believe you! You’re a liar! You’re no better than Deceit!

ROMAN: [holding him by the shoulders and shaking him] Virgil, calm down! You know he would never lie to you, especially in a matter so serious!

[Virgil sits down. He can’t look Patton in the face]

PATTON: [sad] See? I told you you would hate me.

[Virgil doesn’t answer. He just stares at the infinity, with rivers of tears running down his cheeks, in complete silence]

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And this is how we ended in this situation. Thomas had to go to sleep because he couldn’t face the Dark Master if he wasn’t well rested, and we needed a good rest too. Now, it’s morning. Thomas is in the bathroom having a quick shower. He never was a morning shower person, but he thought that maybe that could help him open his mind and think on some plan. When he’s ready, we’ll start thinking about what to do. I’m worried about Virgil, though. When I woke up, I found him awake, looking at the ceiling, still crying. If I could have resisted Thomas’ slumber as he can, I would have probably done the same too. It’s funny how much you can get to love a son at first sight. Even when it’s been literally a few hours since we met him, I think we could never live again without him. I pray that it’s not too late to save him.

[intro sequence]

[Thomas and the Sides are in the dining room, finishing their breakfast. Deceit and Honesty have joined them and have already been informed about everything during the meal. Virgil just stared at his plate not able to take a bite.]

ROMAN: Virgil, my love, please. You haven’t eaten anything. Do you think you’ll be of any help for our son if you let yourself starve?

[Virgil looks at Roman]

VIRGIL: Why should I eat? Why should I be here clowning around with you in this stupid… social gathering, when my son probably is suffering the worst of horrors and I’m not there to help him? He probably hasn’t eaten anything either! Why should I!?

PATTON: Virgil, please. Roman is right. You’re not gonna help Chris with that attitude.

VIRGIL: Leave me alone, Patton! I’m not in the mood for one of your daddy lectures!

[Patton shows a face of hurt over being called Patton instead of dad for the first time in months. He overcomes this sensation to show a firm scolding voice]

PATTON: Well it looks like you need one and you’re gonna have it!

VIRGIL: [yelling, angry] How dare you!? You have no right to speak to me after what you told me yesterday! In fact, I shouldn’t be here altogether! You all are doing nothing but hindering me! I should go get my son back on my own! Maybe I will!

[Patton rises up, with a face full of ferocious anger but also with his eyes full of tears]

PATTON: [yelling] Hold up for a second! I may not be a perfect person by any means, and you have a right to be mad at me, but in spite of that, I’m still your father and demand some respect, both to me and to all of us! I know you’re having a horrible time. Probably the worst time you will ever experience in your life, but that doesn’t give you the right to mistreat us like that! We’re not the enemy! We’re your fam and we’re here to help you! So hold your tongue, mister!

[Virgil looks at Patton without saying a word]

PATTON: [with a softer voice] Virgil, please, react. You must get out of that state you’re into. If not for us, do it for Chris. He needs you strong, both of will and of body. Grab any strength you have left in yourself and fight against your grief, so that you can get into the battle that awaits all of us. We’re gonna need you, so, please, I beg you, listen to me.

[Virgil looks at his plate still full. He needs a few seconds to start speaking]

VIRGIL: I… I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry, guys. It’s just that… this is all too much for me to overcome.

PATTON: Would you let me hug you, please? I think we both need it at this point.

[Virgil looks at Patton, then he stands up and hugs him. He starts crying on his shoulder for a whole minute, while the others look at them without saying a word. Then, when Patton releases Virgil, he kisses him on the forehead before they both sit down]

DECEIT: It hurts me so bad to see you like this, Virge. I wish I could have been there to help you.

HONESTY: Me too.

VIRGIL: Thank you, guys. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything, like we weren’t, but I deeply appreciate the sentiment. I apologize again for my rude behavior. I hope you know I didn’t mean what I said.

DECEIT: It’s okay, Virge. We understand.

THOMAS: Now, before we start a plan of action, we need to understand everything. So, Patton, yesterday you promised that you would explain everything to us. I think the moment has come, if you’re ready.

PATTON: I am ready, Thomas, and you’re right, the moment has come. I’m gonna tell you everything that happened. It’s been 30 years…

THOMAS: Oh, we don’t need all the details, just stick with whatever you can remember…

PATTON: Do you wanna hear this or not, Thomas? Or would you like to watch Titanic instead, since you like that meme so much?

THOMAS: Sorry.

DECEIT: Oof… I’m not accustomed to see Patton so salty.

PATTON: As I was saying, it’s been 30 years ago, but for me it was like yesterday.

THOMAS: But I was a baby back then. You mean that you were already there by that time?

PATTON: I was there even before you were born, Thomas.

THOMAS: What? But how? I don’t understand…

PATTON: Let me explain. When a human starts having a cognitive system mature enough, something that happens around the second trimester of their development during pregnancy, if their brainwaves are compatible, like yours are, a Mind Palace dimension appears linked to these brainwaves.

LOGAN: It is so weird hearing Patton use that technical language. I am the one who is supposed to speak like that…

PATTON: That Mind Palace initially consists of a Core, which is a huge source of light, bright as the sun but safe too look at, where every trait, every aspect, everything that the human has ever been or will ever be is stored in raw form… I can see in your faces that you don’t understand me. I’m sorry, there are no words to describe it in any human language. Not even if you saw it for yourselves you could begin to understand what it is. And around that Core, when human development is advanced enough, the first room ever in the Mind Palace is generated, the Mind Palace Center. It is a bright silvery room with three double doors, one made of gold, one made of two huge solid slabs of diamond that is transparent but shines like a rainbow, and a third one made of hard coal and ebony. In front of each door there’s a pedestal, and there, from the Core itself, two Masters are born. The Light Master is born in front of the diamond door, and the Dark Master in front of the coal door. Then, a third entity is born in the third pedestal in front of the golden door. It is a Side, but a Side stronger than any other Side that would ever come later on. The Side of Raw Feelings and Right and Wrong. You could call it… a Master Side.

ROMAN: Is that… you?

PATTON: That’s right, that’s me, although now I’m not stronger than anyone of you, by any means. I was the first Side to be born and my task in that tiny Mind Palace that existed back then was to act – and I’m sorry I keep using your kind of speech, Logan – as an input/output device of feelings for Thomas. I analyzed the stimuli that arrived from Thomas’ surroundings and classified them as good or bad, and then sent them to the Masters for further analysis and classification. Then they sent me their results and I sent a response to the outside world for each original stimulus. The more stimuli I sent to one or the other, the bigger the Light Realm or the Dark Realm became, which as you, Thomas, may have deducted, were hidden behind their respective doors. As a result, the Mind Palace started growing around the Center, paralleling your mind growing during the beginning of your existence. Equilibrium was the norm back then and I tried to keep it as much as I could. And it worked, for the first two years or so of your existence. Until I made the mistake that started all this mess we’re facing right now.

VIRGIL: What do you mean?

PATTON: My life was pretty simple back then, so simple it became monotonous, and pure routine. You may say that I had a lot of stimuli from the outside world and that should have been exciting, but it wasn’t, cause back then I couldn’t understand what I received or sent and therefore it meant nothing to me. And I never got out of the Mind Palace Center except to sleep at night in my room behind my door and then wake up for another day just like the one before, again and again. And even though I was in constant contact with the Masters, this contact was really superficial. We did not get to have conversations with each other that were not related to our work. Monotony lead to boredom and boredom lead to longing. I didn’t know what I was longing for, I only knew that I longed for it. And the Dark Master knew about my feelings. He had also started longing for something: power, even back then when there was not much to fight for in the Mind Palace, but he wanted to take control of it. And he decided to use me as a tool for his plot. And so, he started to speak to me. Not trivial boring conversations like before, but more deep conversations. He got interested on me, on my work, and how did I do everything. And I obliged, I talked about my job, the tasks I had to do, stuff like that. He didn’t miss an opportunity to compliment me, to tell me how much he admired me, how much talent I had. And I got flattered and happy. Suddenly my longing had found an answer. And slowly but surely, he seduced me, until I fell in love with him.

VIRGIL: You and the Dark Master…? Wait, I suddenly remembered that you already told me he’s my father, so this question is stupid, sorry.

PATTON: Yes, Virgil. He acted so sweet, so kind… and I was so vulnerable, so naive back then, even more than recently… that one day I could no longer resist and completely surrendered myself to him. It was only one time, but it was enough. What happened next was fast, just as fast as it was for you, Virge. Even so, I was conscious from the start that a new life was growing inside of me. And it was then when the Dark Master showed his true face. He believed that he had me in his arms, that out of love, I would do anything he asked from me. He told me that he wanted to take control of the Mind Palace, and that if I helped him, I could be in charge by his Side. I refused, cause I knew it was wrong and breaking the equilibrium in the Mind Palace could create disastrous consequences for Thomas’ well-being. He fled away, for the time being, and I told the Light Master everything that had happened.

THOMAS: You talked… to me?

PATTON: No, Thomas. Back then, the Light Master was a complete entity of his own, just like the Dark Master and me, and he had his own consciousness. You were, and always have been, the Mind Palace itself as a whole.

THOMAS: I don’t get it.

PATTON: Every human is a Mind Palace. Almost anyone can wander into their mind when they need it or when reality, for one reason or another, is harsh on them and they need an escape route. But a few chosen ones, the very few in this world who share a specific pattern of brainwaves, can do what you do. You can physically wander into your own Mind Palace. That’s why we, the Sanders Sides, exist and can interact with you. But your capacity is strong enough so that you can completely tear off the veil between the Mind Palace and reality. That’s why we have a physical presence in this world and you can get objects in and out of the Mind Palace. Someone of us strong enough could even detach himself from you if he gathered powerful enough, like the Dark Master tried to do a while ago, although it would have disastrous consequences for you as you already know. That’s something extremely rare, though. It’s a unique ability the one you hold Thomas. It can be terrifying sometimes, but it’s beautiful nonetheless.

THOMAS: Yes, I agree. I never asked for this to happen. It just came to me as I child and I accepted it naturally. It’s true that sometimes I’ve experienced fear, and there was that one time you mentioned when my own life was endangered, but still, I would never trade off this ability. Everything I may go through is worth it, if it allows me to keep sharing your company, guys… But we are diverting. Please, continue, Patton.

PATTON: As it happened to you, Virgil, my pregnancy ran fast and it was soon that I went into labor. The Light Master was there to help me deliver you. He identified you as the Light Side of Vigilance, and so I named you Virgil. I’m sure you’re going to understand the next I’m going to say, Virge, now that you’re a father yourself. I loved you so much from the very first moment I looked into your eyes and you returned a little giggle to me. I still love you just the same today, and even when my memories got stolen from me, that wasn’t enough to break that bond of love we’ve always shared. That always was, and will always be, unbreakable, at least on my part.

VIRGIL: On my part too, dad. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

PATTON: [petting Virgil’s cheek] It’s okay, I know, son. Around half an hour after you were born, the Dark Master returned. He asked me once again to join him in his plans. But I don’t think I can make justice just by telling you aloud. Roman, can you conjure a flashback from my memories?

ROMAN: I think so. Hold my hand and we’ll do it.

PATTON: Thank you.

[Patton holds Roman’s hand, and a flashback appears]

DARK MASTER: Patton, I’ll give you a second chance to think. Join me.

PATTON: Never. You cheated on me, and I will never forgive you for that.

DARK MASTER: Fine then. Then, give me my son and we’ll do it on our own.

PATTON: Are you nuts? Do you think I’m gonna give my Virgil to someone like you? Never!

DARK MASTER: He’s my son too and I have the same right…!

PATTON: You don’t have a right for anything! I will never let you corrupt my son to be like you!

DARK MASTER: Corrupt? Don’t you think that corruption is already present in his heart from the moment he was born? I’m his father! He has my essence in him! It’s part of him and there’s nothing you can do about it!

PATTON: You’re his father, unfortunately, but the Light Master has already told me that Virgil is a Light Side, and he will stay with me. I will educate him in love and compassion and you would only give him pain and horror. You’re not good enough to be his father and I will never allow it!

DARK MASTER: I’m afraid you didn’t understand one thing. I’m not asking you for permission to take my son with me. I’m commanding you!

PATTON: Then that’s a command that I will never fulfill!

DARK MASTER: As if you had a choice…

[The Dark Master points at Patton, and he gets paralyzed]

PATTON: I… I can’t move! Let me go! Don’t you dare!

DARK MASTER: Do you want to see proof of how much my son looks like me? Just watch.

[The Dark Master points at Virgil and shoots a black ball to the baby. The baby floats from Patton’s arms and a dark aura forms around him, while Virgil starts desperately crying]

PATTON: [distressed] Stop! Give him back right now! What have you done to him!

DARK MASTER: [grabbing Virgil] I’m sure if the Light Master checked Virgil right now, he would get to a very different result. Now Virgil is a Dark Side, the Dark Side of Anxiety and Fear, and he’s mine now! He’s too little yet to be useful, but he will grow, and when he grows… you’ll see. For now, off to the Dark Realm with you, my child. Your education will start soon.

[the Dark Master summons Virgil away]

PATTON: [yelling in despair] You bast**! Give me my son back, right now!

DARK MASTER: You should have accepted my offer. You could have ruled by my side and educated the child as your own. Now you’re gonna pay the consequences of your mistake.

[the Dark Master points at Patton and shoots a black ray to his forehead. Patton groans in pain as blue light starts coming out of his head running through the black ray. It starts forming a light blue ball of light on the Dark Master’s hand]

PATTON: What are you doing!? Stop it!

DARK MASTER: I’m getting your entire memories out of you. When I’m done, you will only be an empty casket and you will obey my will as my puppet. With my son’s abilities, one day, I’ll overthrow the Light Master and this whole Mind Palace will be mine!

[Patton doesn’t answer anymore, as he has fainted. Suddenly a rainbow thunderbolt hits the Dark Master and makes him fall. The black ray disappears and Patton falls to the ground, but the Dark Master still holds the light-blue ball of light with what he’s been able to extract from Patton’s mind. He hides it under his cloak. The Light Master appears]

LIGHT MASTER: What have you done to Patton, and where is Virgil!?

DARK MASTER: Virgil is out of your reach, Light Master. And Patton is of no use for anyone right now. After what I’ve done to him, he’ll never be the same again.

LIGHT MASTER: Why do you have to do this? You’re disrupting Thomas’ personality towards evil! You’re breaking the equilibrium!

DARK MASTER: To the f*** with equilibrium! I don’t need you or that stupid Patton. I’m more than capable enough to be Thomas on my own, and I will be!

LIGHT MASTER: Not if I can do anything about it!

[The Light Master shoots from his hand a white ray of light to the Dark Master in an attack so quick that the Dark Master can’t even see it coming. The light soon disappears, but the Dark Master seems unaffected. However, he soon finds out he can’t move]

DARK MASTER: What’s this? What have you done to me?

LIGHT MASTER: Consider yourself lucky that you’re needed for Thomas to keep on living. From this day on, I banish you from the Mind Palace Center and the Light Realm. You will no longer be able to come here, and you will never be able to get out of the Dark Realm.

DARK MASTER: [already starting to sink down slowly] This is not the end, Light Master, it’s only the beginning. Virgil is already in my possession and when he’s strong enough, we together will be powerful enough to overthrow you, and then the Mind Palace will be mine!

LIGHT MASTER: That’s what you think. If and when the moment comes, the Light Sides that will surely come will defeat you, no matter how hard you try. Now, begone!

[The Dark Master sinks down with an evil laughter]

LIGHT MASTER: [leaning towards Patton] Patton, are you okay? Can you hear me?

[Patton wakes up. He looks at the Light Masters and smiles at him]

PATTON: Oh, hello kiddo! How may I help you?

LIGHT MASTER: Kiddo?

PATTON: Yes, because I’m Dad, and my mission as pop is to pop out whenever you need me to take care of you!

LIGHT MASTER: [speaking to himself in a theater whisper] This is the work of the Dark Master. He couldn’t take all of his memories from him but he took enough for him to forget everything about Virgil. However, there must be traces on his mind that remind him somehow that he’s a dad, although he doesn’t know who his son is, so the hole in his mind is filled by acting like a dad with whomever he befriends. Well, perhaps it’s better this way. It would be a worthless pain for him if I told him the truth about his stolen son. If only I could get to the Dark Realm and bring him back… But I guess there’s only one thing I can do.

PATTON: Did you say something there? Secrets, secrets are no fun!

LIGHT MASTER: [helping Patton stand up] It was nothing, Patton. Now, listen. I want you to go to your room in the Light Realm and wait there.

PATTON: My room? But we never use the Light Realm rooms, they’re too far away from here and our rooms here are more convenient. Don’t we have a lot of work to do? You, me, and… [stops to think] that’s odd… I think there was another one, but I can’t put my finger on who they are…? Well, maybe it’s just me imagining things.

LIGHT MASTER: Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, listen to me, Patton. I will be gone soon and I want you to welcome the first Side that is about to come. Tell him the basics of the Mind Palace and Thomas.

PATTON: The first Side?

LIGHT MASTER: Yes, I can sense that the moment of his arrival is approaching. Thomas has already started learning how to speak, and with that, imagination and creativity will make an entrance in the Mind Palace. When he arrives, I want you to tell him everything about the Mind Palace and how it works. Tell him… [makes a pause, then takes a deep breath and continues] tell him also that Thomas is the Light Master.

PATTON: But you are the Light Master, kiddo. What are you talking about?

LIGHT MASTER: I’m going to fuse with the Mind Palace Core, so I’m not misspeaking. I’m gonna be a part of Thomas so, he’s gonna be the Light Master.

PATTON: [suddenly sad and scared] But why? Why are you leaving me alone? Did I do something wrong?

LIGHT MASTER: [waving his hands quickly] No, no, no, of course not! I’m doing this for you. I cannot tell you the reason behind it for now. But there will be a time when you will understand. And I promise that you won’t be alone in the Mind Palace for long. Until then… [the Light Master kisses Patton on the forehead and continues speaking with a slightly emotional tone] know that I appreciate you very much, and that I’ll always be there with you. Just look at Thomas and you’ll see me as part of him, always taking care of you. But don’t let him know until he’s ready to bare the burden of being the Light Master. Now, go to your room, Patton. Farewell.

PATTON: But…

LIGHT MASTER: Farewell, Patton.

PATTON: Farewell, Light Master. I love you.

LIGHT MASTER: I love you too.

[Patton sinks down in tears, then the flashback ends]

PATTON: That was the last time I saw the Light Master. I presume he fused with the Mind Palace Core as soon as I left, and as such he is part of you now, Thomas. I didn’t understand why he did that back then. Now I know that, to assure that the combined forces of the Dark Master and Virgil wouldn’t be powerful enough to overthrow him, he fused with the Core so that you could defeat him if battle arose. In the end, Virgil ran away before the Dark Master was ready to fulfill his plans, but still, his sacrifice was not in vain, as now you’re gonna have to face him for real, Thomas, and the Light Master power is gonna be vital to defeat him.

ROMAN: Wait… I suddenly remembered something. When I first came to life in the Mind Palace, someone approached me, welcomed me and talked to me about how the Light Master was Thomas… something I didn’t understand at all back then. But he didn’t look like you at all. He was this venerable man dressed in an all gray tunic with light blue sapphire ornaments on the shoulders, not even wearing glasses… And now that I think about it, I never saw him again, and it happened so early in my life that I ended up forgetting him until your story brought him back from the bottom of my memories. Are you telling me that this strange man was you all the time, Patton?

PATTON: It was me, Roman. Only that in my original form. I noticed that you pictured me in the flashback with my present outfit but in reality I looked like you saw me as a child. After I delivered my message, I retired to my room, feasting on the memories that Thomas was creating in his life, delighting on them, and learning about the outer world and preparing myself for my new task in Thomas’ life, which was going to be helping him to distinguish between right and wrong. However, I still had this idea stuck in my mind of being a dad, and so, when I finally thought myself ready, I took the shape of a father figure when I first came out, when you had that first moral dilemma about if it was right or wrong having a crush for some other boy at school, remember?

THOMAS: Yes, it was the first discussion I had with multiple Sides to work out an issue. It was Roman and you, and he didn’t recognize you. I remember that Roman back then still looked like a child like me but you already looked like an adult from your very first appearance. You said that you wanted to represent an adult with an inner child inside, but now I understand the truth. You never were an ordinary Side. You were something else entirely. You had been an adult all of your life, but you came to that explanation yourself because there were too many holes in your memory and that’s the best you could come up with, am I right?

PATTON: Yes… you’re right. Okay, Virgil. Now you know the whole story. What do you think?

VIRGIL: After all you have told me today… I see it crystal clear.

PATTON: What?

VIRGIL: I only have one father and that is you, dad. The Dark Master may have put his seed onto you so that you could have me but being a father is much more than leaving your DNA. What really makes a father is the amount of love he’s willing to share with his child, how he would put himself in all sorts of dangers to protect his son. How he would even sacrifice his life if needed be to save his boy. Now I’m a father myself and I know this very well. The Dark Master only conceived me and took me so that he could use me as a tool for his plans. He didn’t care at all about my well-being. Wanna see what he did to me instead? Take a look.

[Virgil unzips his hoodie. Underneath, he’s still not wearing his shirt as he forgot to put it back on after pregnancy forced him to take it away for being too tight. He turns back and lowers the hoodie down, showing his back. Patton and the others are horrified when they notice the numerous huge, deep scars of whipping that fill the whole of Virgil’s back. Deceit and Ira just sigh as they also suffered the Dark Master’s methods and know very well these scars because they have them too. Virgil puts the hoodie on and looks at Patton, whose eyes are red and full of tears.]

VIRGIL: He mistreated me, beat me and filled me with fear. He called it respect, I call it apprehension to his presence. And this was only in the few years I was there, before I ran away to the Light Realm. I can’t even imagine what Deceit and Ira had to go through, trapped with him till adulthood. No, he behaved in the totally opposite way a father should behave. [grabs Patton’s hands] You, on the contrary, cared about me from the very first moment I was born. You loved me and wanted to take care of me from the beginning. And if that monster hadn’t wiped out your memories about my existence, I’m certain you would have moved heaven and earth to rescue me from his claws back to the safety you wanted to provide me. Heck, even when you didn’t remember me, your first instincts when you saw me again were to fill me with the love you couldn’t give me in the past few years and being a father for me. As true as my eye-bags are covered with black makeup, [titters] even if little watery now perhaps, you, Patton Sanders, are my father and no one else. And I love you so much.

[Virgil hugs Patton who hugs Virgil back. Thomas can’t help crying out of emotion]

PATTON: I love you too, Virgil. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry…

VIRGIL: Dad… why don’t you call me kiddo anymore? You haven’t used the word “kiddo” since your memories were restored.

PATTON: Well, you’re a grown-up adult with a child of you own. How could I call you kiddo?

VIRGIL: I don’t care, dad. I told you before that I’ll always be your kiddo. I want you to call me kiddo until my teeth fall down and my hair goes white. And I don’t want you to stop delivering your dad jokes. They always made my day a thousand times brighter, even if I never told you so. And I need your light in my life in this moment of darkness.

THOMAS: He speaks for all of us, Patton. We don’t want to lose the happy, adorable father you were for all of us. When this is all over and we all have reasons to be happy again, we also want to be called kiddo and hear your dad jokes. Only if you want to, though. We’ll understand if you think otherwise.

[Patton makes a pause, then he sighs and speaks]

PATTON: To be honest, I don’t want to lose that either. Right now I’m currently pretending again, pretending I’m no longer the “child” I used to be, repressing any and all dad jokes that I come up with. It’s just that… [hesitates before going on] I feel that I behave like that because of the Dark Master. I would have never been such a manchild if it wasn’t for that. I think going on with that personality is gonna be delightful for the Dark Master, and I don’t wanna give him that satisfaction anymore.

VIRGIL: To the he… [bleep] with the Dark Master! You must do whatever makes you happy. And if it makes your family happy too, all the better!

LOGAN: You know I never liked the dad jokes and the puns… but I don’t want them gone at the expense of you repressing yourself to an unhealthy amount. You come first, and my own stupid comedy tastes don’t matter at all.

PATTON: I think you’re right… kiddos. [determined, returning to his traditional attitude] You’re completely right! I don’t wanna hold it back and I’m not gonna do it for just a stupid… ex! Kiddos, your happy papi Patton is back to stay!

ROMAN: That’s the spirit! I’m proud of you!

VIRGIL: Okay, now, back to the present. What are we gonna do to rescue Chris? Dad, the Dark Master said you knew where to find him.

PATTON: Yes, kiddo, I know.

VIRGIL: Well, where is it?

PATTON: It’s gonna be a dangerous trip, guys, because we’re going to a place I haven’t gone to since 30 years ago. We’re going back to where it all began, back to the Mind Palace Center.

[a sign reads “To be continued, guys, gals and non binary pals”]

[end card]

[Remus appears in the middle of the room, standing on top of the table]

REMUS: Oh, hello, everyone!

ROMAN: Remus, you’re late.

REMUS: Oh, I know. It’s just that I’m not used to be so much sought-after. You know, usually you want to get rid of me and such.

ROMAN: Well, you could have come earlier. We’re on a crisis.

REMUS: Welcome to my world. What crisis?

ROMAN: Our son has been stolen away.

REMUS: [suddenly serious and concerned, jumping off the table and approaching Roman] What!? What happened!? Who’s taken him!? I’ll beat the sh** out of whomever dares to harm him!

ROMAN: This was… unexpected. I didn’t realize Chris meant so much to you.

REMUS: Of course he does! He’s my nephew, and if anyone touches him, the next thing he’s gonna touch is this mace, with his head and several times! Now tell me what happened.

PATTON: Guys, there’s no time. We need to get moving right now.

ROMAN: We’ll better get going. I’ll tell you on the way, brother.

REMUS: I love when you call me brother.

[The gang gets out of the room on their way back to the Mind Palace]

[classicalliberalleague]

As I have already said we are living in insane times.

And things aren’t going to get extravagantly better in the immediate future as all the candidates running are far too left of center for any sane person’s taste (except maybe Bill Weld, but I have a better chance of winning the Powerball and Megamillions in the same week than he has of winning the Republican primary, so not exactly an issue there).

So I think for most of us we have two choices to sit out the presidential election and/or write in a candidate’s name as a protest-vote or pick the least evil of the candidates. I’m not sure which camp I’ll be in yet, but here is what I’m going to be looking for.

The biggest problem we have unquestionably seen with the last 20 years of presidential idiocy and corruption is the executive branch has become way too powerful and Congress, especially the Senate, has become way too weak.

And there are ways to fix this.

Now I’m not going to get into heavy detail at this point but here are a few things that could be done:

Establish a Department of Internal Affairs. The Department would investigate government corruption and only have jurisdiction over government employees. It can investigate, subpoena, take indictments to a grand jury, and prosecute government officials it finds has committed crimes. The Department will be split in half with two directors, each side with equal budgets, and the two heads appointed independently by the majority and minority party leaders of the Senate, but with each head subject to Senate confirmation. This will prevent the corruption we saw with Eric Holder, and which has been put on steroids in William’s Barr attempts to turn the US into the Reich. This way no matter what party is in power, they will not be above the law. We absolutely must stop the party in power having the power to ignore its own crimes.

Congress must pass laws making it a crime with severe penalties for the executive branch refusing subpoenas of Congressional investigations.

Congress must remove most, if not all, of the laws that give the president power over trade, tariffs, unilateral military power engagements and control of the budget.

Congress must put in some kind of regulatory and/or veto power over executive orders.

Internally, the Senate needs to reestablish the filibuster and supermajority rules.

Congress must put in rules that take power away from the party leaders and give it back to committees.

On the election side, here’s a simple thing that needs to happen:

Just pass a law that every statement made at a campaign rally, in an add, on any social media or basically in any public space other than the floor of Congress (you do need to protect the freedom of debate) every elected and appointed member of the federal government is to be considered under oath and that the penalties for lying under oath as an elected official should be significantly higher than they are for perjury in court. Think about it, not a single thing Bernie Sander, Donald Trump, Elizabeth Warren, and Ted Cruz have said for the last decade would pass this test and they’d all be rotting in the jail cells they belong in right now if we had a law like this. It would be a much better world.

The other thing is that while we need a public record of what happens in Congress, we need to acknowledge there is a corrosive nature of the show of visual mediums. I have no problem with keeping a video record of the actions of Congress, but it should stop being a TV show were people are pandering for video clips for the pundit shows to show again and again. The Supreme Court is correct to only allow audio recordings, a moratorium of two years for House video and six years for Senate video should be enough to turn back into legislators from the reality TV idiots they’ve become.

The next most important thing for the presidency is the need to regain sane foreign policy. Regrettably, Clinton’s short-sightedness, Bush’s ignorance, Obama’s indifference, and Trump’s evil have left the US in a terrible position to be a force for good in the world. So everything here is baby steps at best. But what I’m looking for is the following:

An eagerness to engage in trade deals that lower as many barriers and tariffs while boxing in tyrannies like Russia and China.

A push to restore power such bodies as the WTO which helps to force bad actors to improve if they wish to engage with the rest of the world.

An effort to reduce the power and influence of Russia and China, unlike Trump and Obama who did everything they could to help these two tyrannies.

An understanding that America is the shining city on the hill and has a duty to not just provide an example, but to help the growth of capitalism, rule of law, and liberty the world over.

If at all possible (ha!) a desire for at least the New Democrat ideal that the era of big government is over, and a desire to shrink the government in every way possible.

If I feel that a candidate can at least move the momentum of the country in the direction of these goals then I will hold my nose as I vote for them despite whatever short term problems they may cause. Clearly that won’t be the socialist scum that is Sanders, Warren or Trump. But if I can’t be convinced they will work for these goals then I might as well vote for Mickey Mouse.

[ardenttheories]

So, while I’ve yet to read Candy - and I admittedly don’t think I will today - I’ve got a lot of thoughts (both good and bad) on Meat. 

Edit: removing the read more, and the initial description to the post. Most people have already gone over things I have here, so there doesn’t seem to be a point in hiding it. 

I think one of the biggest reasons I dislike this Epilogue is because it fucks up how everything ended. Homestuck was over. This was a fact that we had all come to accept, and what he wanted to expect from the Epilogue was a conclusion to a story we all loved. There was an idea, here, that we’d have everything neatly wrapped up in a bow, that all the plotholes would be filled, that we’d get a satisfying and happy finale to something that spanned seven years of existence in its initial part, and has dragged on another three years beyond that to now. 

John going back into canon was the right first step. It was going to, we thought, answer one of the biggest plotholes going. Something to do with defeating Lord English once and for all, freeing them of his tyranny, saving Paradox Space. We thought the worst of it was that John was going to die, or that he’d be unable to return. We thought, in the end, that we were going to get a bittersweet ending - one where everyone was happy, and safe, but some things would be permanent and utterly incapable of being undone. Maybe John’s death would have felt better, in some sense. 

Instead, we’ve got this weird narrative with no active conclusion. More questions than answers. 

Why was Dirk, as the Prince of Heart, able to become utterly omniscient? Why could he control the narrative? His power is incredible, and it’s fucked up. He can sway peoples’ inner thoughts, he can force decisions, he can slide them towards things he thinks they need, or things he believes needs to happen. That shouldn’t be a power available to him, even as his Ultimate Self. That isn’t a power of Heart, logically; metatextualism is and always has been a Light element. Even considering the logic of the Ultimate inner self, why does Dirk have access to everything and everyone? Where’s the logic in that? They aren’t splinters of himself. To a degree it definitely fits in with the puppet master idea, but it leans too far into it. Dirk was a puppet master because he thought he knew best for his friends and was a master manipulator - that hasn’t changed. But the way he’s doing so has. 

Is it because, as the understanding of his Ultimate Self has come through, he’s recognised his position as a character? But then why can he influence canon, the narrative, everything? Why is he able to see their deepest thoughts when he’s not a Seer, when that goes beyond the capabilities of a Prince in general, let alone a Prince of Heart?

Edit: I think I figured it out. Princes of Heart destroy Heart. They destroy individuality, the inner self, the soul and the very essence of a being, a person, a thing with thoughts and feelings and the ability to access free will. They destroy what it means to be you. That’s what Dirk does. He destroys the ability for anyone to be themselves by replacing them with himself, making them broken splinters of his own demands and desires, turning them into the things he wants them to be. Every time someone speaks, they’re doing so because Dirk made them. Every thought they have, every decision they make - Dirk overrides their individuality and brings them into the circumference of his own self. I guess having a power like that would eventually blur your perceptions of reality to a point where morals seem oblique or obsolete. 

I think, to that degree, part of the bitterness of this is seeing Dirk back at his old shit again. He was getting better. He was learning not to do shit like this, to grow as a person, to let go of the reigns and to invest himself in life and relationships and people - and he’s gone off the deep end again, seemingly maddened by whatever the fuck it is that he’s learnt, or figured out. This isn’t the place a lot of us wanted to see Dirk slip back to on Earth C. This isn’t a place we wanted him to ever go back to. He hasn’t developed, or grown. He’s tumbled back down the same old paths and he’s, worse, regressed. 

He genuinely thinks he’s doing what’s best. I think that’s a fact, at least. But it’s horrific reading it. I don’t like reading it. It’s twisted and self gratifying on his part, knowing that when Jake’s free of his influence he’s more than content to support Karkat, and when he’s under it he becomes obsessed, unable to live without the concept of Dirk in his life. Some stage for Dirk to contemplate his bitterness over, and feel like he has the last word on. 

He’s so much worse than he used to be at the beginning of the Alpha Kid SBURB arc. He’s selfishly pretending he’s selfless, and he’s convinced that he’s doing it for their good when all he’s doing is jerking off his own ego and tearing apart the very foundation of the people he claims to love. And he does love them. He does want what’s best for them - but what he sees as being best for them, for everyone, rather than what naturally occurs. The very idea of giving them individuality is impossible to him, because he is everyone (a conduit for his voice because of his influence over the narrative, incapable of fighting against him or even recognising he’s there unless he actively allows them to do so; they’re just puppets on strings) and he has control over everything, and he thinks it’s better that way, for some reason, because they need him, and they’re helpless without him - so it’s his duty to fix all the things that are broken. Except nothing is broken. I think becoming his Ultimate Self has just made him go mad. 

Worse than that. John, a character dear to a lot of people, is unceremoniously tossed aside because Dirk doesn’t think he’s important. John’s just a pawn; an end to a means that, ultimately, Dirk doesn’t think he deserves to come back from. John died. That’s it. That’s all Dirk affords us to think about. 

His budding relationship with Terezi - so beneficial for them both, so finalising for the concept of John’s growth, the realisation that he is depressed, that home isn’t home, but he now has someone he could make home with - is just completely sidelined. Dirk’s fucking awful at remembering Roxy’s pronouns, especially when Roxy was using they/them. Dirk was desperate to get Dave back under his control, believing he was incapable of looking after himself, that he needed his guidance. Even though, as it turns out, Dave was perfectly fine without him.

Dirk micromanages because he’s, again, in a position where he believes only he can lead to a good ending for them all - and he’s willing to become the villain for it, willing to accept a Just death when it finally meets him - and while he’s doing what he thinks is right it’s not what anyone wants. 

In a weird way, reading the Meat Epilogue is a lot like being the characters Dirk is toying with. They don’t want to do the things he makes them do - we see as much with Kanaya, realising that Rose is gone, and losing her shit over it after coming to terms with the fact that her acceptance of it was forced on her mind - and we, likewise, don’t want to read the things he makes them do. We don’t want to see our beloved characters be twisted and played with that way, but we’re forced to. 

We don’t want John to figure out that he’s finally found something to live for, only to die immediately after. We don’t want Terezi to disappear again, his corpse still in the wallet, after she’d finally found home. We don’t want DaveKat to happen on the terms they did, partially forced by Dirk, without the ability for the conclusion with Jade because of her position as a conduit for Alternate Calliope. We don’t want them to win like this. We don’t want it to end like this; Jane as a fascist president, Jake’s mind broken by Dirk, Rose off to some impossible and weird mission she likely doesn’t even have any say in - that she probably isn’t aware of or even agreed to because every moment she’s been talking, it’s probably just been Dirk, talking to himself using her voice, convincing her of his thoughts, taking over her individuality - Dirk losing his mind to whatever madness he’s been exposed to through his slow unravelling - because he is mad, with power, with responsibility, with something fucked up that’s twisting him and disengaging him and erasing all the development he got through prior to Earth C. 

There’s something Dirk says, too, that fucks it all up.

Perfection to them is a sweetness beyond comprehension. Sugar so potent it’s poison to us. To our bodies, to our souls. Like the place she was operating from was a realm of self-construction. A bubble of pure, phantasmal confection. Well, I for one have had enough of that goddamn toothache. I’m back in the protein saddle, motherfuckers. I’m clacking my tongs, and the charcoal is hot. Now who’s hungry for meat?

To Dirk, letting everyone do what they naturally want to do - such as letting John and Terezi figure out their relationship on their own terms, to find passion in the backseat of a car that leaves them both open and vulnerable and ready to go home - is Candy. The lack of his influence is poison. In his mind, when he’s not in control, everything is too sweet. That’s why all we get is a hard slog. One pile of shit after another. It’s why John still dies, why Jake’s ability to think for himself doesn’t matter.

This ending, like I thought it would be, is bitter. It’s not the ending we thought we’d get; it’s worse. It’s not satisfying. It’s open-ended, it leaves more questions than answers, it ruins the sense of finality that we thought we’d get after Homestuck’s end- 

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the big shit Hussie was trying to get across to us. Because the point, here, is that nothing the kids have ever done have been their own will. Someone has always been writing their story for them, narrating it, guiding them along towards an ending. Hussie has written every line of dialogue in Homestuck; has put the words in their mouths until it’s felt natural for us to assume then when he writes, he’s transcribing actual facts of what’s happening and not just his own thoughts of what he wants the characters to do and be because they’re his and in his story. In the same way that Hussie is the author of Homestuck, Dirk is the author of the Epilogue - not in the same way, not by far; he’s still a character, still confined within its barriers, but he’s aware of it and us and the role he can play, and he’s taken control of the authorial pen to craft the story the way he wants it to be written. The same way Hussie has written Homestuck, up to this point.

Our characters have never had any voice. Any influence. At the end of the day, we’re still reading a story; words written on a page made by someone else. Dirk, I think, just wants to be able to control the story of himself and his friends. Alternate Calliope wants him to stop being so fucking pretentious and allow the story to run the way it’s meant to - the way Hussie intends it, the way it was meant to be, fluid and broken and ruptured. It’s like a confusing metatextual yet internal conflict where Dirk is still confined to being a character while also trying to be more than that - trying to be real, like us - and Calliope wants to allow everyone to be free of that influence while being openly aware that someone is always going to be writing those lines for them. 

It’s just better if it’s the actual author doing it, allow them to speak their own words and thoughts, than if it’s Dirk doing it, forcing them to act and think the way he wants them to (though, in fact, that’s exactly what Hussie’s doing by warrant of being the author. Homestuck’s always had that weird duality of existing as a real universe, but still being purely fictional). 

And in a way, that’s deeply interesting. It’s something literary scholars would eat right the fuck up, and frankly, I wish I could have done my dissertation on this rather than on the general use of the second person narrative in Homestuck. 

But it’s bad fucking writing. 

We, as consumers, are allowed to be upset and disappointed with this ending. This is not what we expected. This ruins literally everything we have been building up to since 2016. That beautiful ending, that idyllic finish, has been torn asunder. And sure, it’s engaging. It’s interesting. It’s beautifully written, it’s dramatic, it’s tense, it’s even uncannily funny in certain places - but it’s awful. 

Because nothing good came out of this. We already had a relatively acceptable ending. Our main eight survived, plus some straggling trolls; they made the universe, the world they’ve been fighting to get to for seven fucking years; they were happy - some married, some finding relationships, some on the precipice. If our big takeaways from this had been Roxy comes out as trans (uses he/him pronouns), Terezi and John start dating (Terezi finally accepts that Vriska isn’t for her, John finally finds a life on Earth C), DaveKat/Jade is canon, and Lord English is finally dead - things would’ve felt better. 

But that’s not what we got. We got all the other sloggish shit, too. Dirk’s controlled everyone to get to where they are now. John died because he wasn’t fucking important. Terezi’s heartbroken, doing who knows what (again). Rose is missing, and Dirk’s becoming the villain nobody wanted to see him become. Kanaya is heartbroken, Jane’s going to ruin Earth C, and Jade may never come back. 

It’s a heavy ending. It’s too heavy. The positives don’t make up for the negatives. It’s too much. 

I hate it. I love it, but I wholeheartedly hate it. I love the gender reveals, the relationships, the happy, tender identity stuff we’re given to think on and told as canon, the deep theory that’s embedded in every word and brings up so many perfectly developed theories on narrative and the existence of characters as a physical presence within their texts - but I hate how far back it’s set so many characters in terms of development. I hate that Dirk got turned into this. I hate what’s going to happen to Rose. I hate that, after all this time, John’s death means less than nothing. I hate what’s become of Jake. I hate what’s happened to Earth C. I hate that our good ending has been twisted into something this sharp. I hate that this is how ten long years of struggle for all of these characters has ended. 

The more I think about it, the more I come to accept it. The more it’s becoming a fact, a thing that’s happened, a simple Truth of Canon that I’m never going to be able to change. The more I find things I like in it, and the more I realise there’s a lot of potential for theorising and for writing shit down, and the more I recognise it as a fucking smart piece of text. 

But this isn’t a good ending. It’s not satisfying. It’s bitter and confusing and hollow and painful. At the end of the day, for as great as it is in a literary sense, in a purely fandom sense - a purely consumer sense, purely seen as a fan who is attached to these characters and their memory and their struggles - it’s just...

Meat. 

[lillianofliterature]

A Thousand Years - To Be Brave Songfic 

A/N: This is for @fantasyworlds1234‘s birthday. This is the first out of two songfics I have written for her about Edmund and Hannah from her Narnia fanfic To Be Brave, which can be found here on Quotev and her Hannah account @hannahgrunberg. 

Disclaimer: Gifs not mine, I found them on google. If they are yours, let me know! I will give credit. I just put them together. 

Happy Birthday month, Fantz! I hope it’s a good one. Thank you for your friendship, it is precious to me. I’m so glad to have met you. <3 I hope you like the gifset, too. :) Also, this is so long. And it didn’t come out quite as I intended, but I hope you enjoy it still. <3

Song: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri

                                       -  Hannah’s Ballad to Edmund  -

The day we met,   Frozen I held my breath

When Hannah had first seen Edmund, it was evident that there love had not simply began there from tender greetings and kind conversation. She had seen the stubborn and immature boy who could find nothing better to do than to terrorize his siblings and complain about the world around him. 

But in the beginning, it was unknown to Hannah that Edmund would one day change and that she would witness great things and a wondrous land alongside him. In the cursed winter of Narnia, she would watch another land almost fall at the hand of another tyrant, in the deadly chill of an unnatural winter.

In the beginning, Hannah’s breath was stolen from her not because she was immediately infatuated with the boy, but because she found herself flustered and annoyed in his presence and at the brunt of many of his insipid remarks. Every spiteful word that flowed from his lips made her cheeks burn red and her mind tick with any sort of retort. 

His heart seemed calloused, his mind sharp and cold. Surely, this was the last boy on earth she would ever find herself fancying. 

But isn’t that how real, honest, true love is supposed to be?

Right from the start   I knew that I’d found a home for my heart

But Hannah had been on her own for some time, apart from the Professor and the Macready. She had spent rainy afternoons sitting alone in the library, skimming through books, practicing her english, and avoiding the demands of the housekeeper. And on sunny days, when she managed to finish her chores, she had walked the gardens of the country mansion and drank in all the familiar scents that had been stripped from her homeland. 

Hannah had once had her parents at her side, but here in the manor, away from the war, away from her homeland, Hannah was alone once more.

Of course, the Professor entertained many of her conversations and had become a good friend, and she had even managed to get the Macready to become a little softer - but it wasn’t the same. There was no one Hannah’s age, no one like Hannah, no one who understood her point of view on the war.

That is, until the Pevensies arrived.

As soon as Hannah had seen them, she knew she’d found friends - she wouldn’t be on her own, day in and day out. And most importantly to Hannah, the english children understood how she felt about the war. They, too, had been forced to flee their homes and leave their parents behind.

Hannah wasn’t alone - in every sense of the statement.

Somehow, even though they’d never met, Hannah felt at ease around them. Especialy with little Lucy, who was open to Hannah from the moment they greeted each other. 

Hannah could now remember her home, remember the scent of her father’s modest cologne and the fun she used to have with the other children before Hitler had promised peace - and brought was in its stead.

These children, these four companions, were already like home to her. 

But Hannah Grunberg had no idea how much Edmund would truly mean to her one day; that in another life, in another world, Edmund would become the true home of her heart. Every breath he would take would flow from Hannah as well, every promise of the future, every bright star that would one day shine in the darkened skies of Narnia . . . they would cherish and hold onto together. 

Heart beats fast   Colors and promises

With them the children brought the promises of a new life at the Manor. 

However, much to the children’s surprise, something grand would result of their great misfortunes. Something miraculous - something impossible.

The vast kingdom of Narnia would become theirs to rule, as well as it was theirs to save and keep safe from the evil that threatened to ensnare the land as it had during the eternal winter of the White Witch. After Edmund had left his sour disposition behind and had begun to mend from his treacherous ways, Hannah could no longer deny the connection she had to the dark-haired king.

Edmund and Narnia - they were the promises of a new life for Hannah, a new beginning. One where evil could be smothered, one where tyrants and warlocks stood no chance against the forces of Good, against the ordained monarchs of Narnia. Edmund and his siblings had not only fueled hope and joy back into Hannah’s life since the devastating separation of her family, but they had become her family, even before she realized how much Edmund meant to her.

The kingdom, this wondrous land that had enraptured Hannah’s entire being, was the force that drove Hannah’s blood through her veins.

And Edmund was the force that drove her heart to keep beating; to keep hoping.

How to be brave?   How can I love when I’m afraid to fall

When war threatened Narnia, Hannah would draw her sword and don her Narnian armor  and muster every ounce of courage Aslan had given her. To Hannah, Narnia and its people was all she had left that had not been scorched by the flames of hatred and genocide. Hannah could be brave when it came to fighting for the safety of her new homeland, but when it came to loving Edmund?

Hannah was terrified. She wasn’t sure how to love without losing, how to hope without being crushed. Her own family that had been her entire world had been ripped from her - and still were. 

All those moments and memories they’d shared never left Hannah’s heart; the times Edmund would tease her harmlessly, resulting in a battle of jeering and wits. Or the times she offered her own sarcasm to combat his own in everyday conversation, or the times she pushed herself to train harder to ensure she would always be able to fight alongside him. And the hours of early mornings and late evenings that Ed often called her to his study to help make diplomatic decisions that he couldn’t quite pin an opinion to. . . 

All of these things they had shared since coming to Narnia had begun to nestle itself tenderly inside of Hannah’s heart. To her, Edmund was the source of her hope, the source of her light. He could be difficult and stubborn, even impossible at times, but he was good. He was kind, he was loyal, and he was just. 

But Hannah, for the longest time, forced herself to ignore her love for him.

If she allowed herself to love him, to expose her earnest feelings, wouldn’t she lose him as she had lost her parents? As she had lost her childhood friends? 

As she had lost Germany?

Hannah was undeniably brave in battle, when spears and swords clashed in deafening echoes. But when it came to the battle of her own heart, Hannah could feel the tension swell and the fear grip her soul. 

She needed someone to help her be brave when it came to loving freely.

She needed Edmund. She needed the Pevensies. 

But watching you stand alone?   All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

When Edmund would sit up in his study through all hours of the night, afraid of the terrors of his own dreams and from the regrets of his youth, Hannah was there to steady him. As his brother and sisters slept, Hannah could feel her other half trembling with guilt, even after years of forgiveness and growth.

In the darkest hours of Edmund’s torments, when he could feel the touch of the White Witch’s hand upon his face, when her voice taunted his memories and the chilled breeze of winter seemed to nip at his skin, even in summer, Hannah stood by his side. She, too, could remember the frozen palace and it’s menacing evils. She remembered the sound of Jadis’ voice and the shrill hatred that dripped from her wicked tone. But Hannah didn’t have Edmund’s regrets of aiding the Witch, nor did she completely understand why he wasn’t able to let them go. 

But she knew one thing; she would never leave him to suffer through it alone. 

She could be brave for Edmund. 

In the times when Edmund was his weakest, the fear that sometimes gripped her heart faded instantaneously. Hannah, with raw courage, could step forward and become Edmund’s rock. 

When he often forgot the sound of Aslan’s roar, when the words of reassurance the Great Lion had spoken to him faded in his memory, Hannah could repeat those assurances. She would comfort Edmund and console him in his hours of his deepest horrors - when he feared he could never truly be saved.

Hannah reminded Edmund of how the Great Lion had sacrificed himself so Edmund could one day become King of Narnia, so he could be crowned with a promise - that he was Just.

But it was hard for Hannah to be brave for herself. 

One step closer   I have died everyday waiting for you

When the Golden Age was nearing it’s unexpected end, Hannah now had the bravery of heart that she’d once been unable to tame. And years after they had returned to save Narnia from the tyranny of the Telmarines, when the train crash had stolen her new family from her, Hannah and Susan were left to each other; to try and mend their shattered hearts. 

While Susan, in the wake of her immeasurable and unspeakable loss, began to forsake the happy memories she once held, Hannah set her pen to paper.

She refused to forget all she had seen, all she had overcome to get to where she was today. Surrounded by the reality of her own loss, Hannah wrote her story. In every word, she imagined she was speaking to Edmund in the late nights in his study, bidding their worries and hurts to each other in confidence. 

As Hannah continued to grow stonger, to grow braver, she could only ever picture Edmund’s approving smile. She wouldn’t forget Narnia, she wouldn’t allow her grief to suffocate the progress she had made. She couldn’t bear to forget all they had shared in the magical land in the upstairs wardrobe. 

Each day, as she awoke in the chilled sheets of her bed and remembered the horrific reality of the accident, Hannah’s heart broke anew. But she never lost the fight in her she acquired as a noble Knight of Narnia. She vowed on her love for Edmund, on her love for the Pevensies, for Narnia, that she wouldn’t forget to be brave any longer.

Hannah vowed to love freely, to not waste any time being afraid.

Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you   For a thousand years

In all the time they had spent in Narnia, Edmund had loved Hannah as well. Each day, even from the day they quarrelled over that blasted game of Cricket, Edmund had been drawn to the German girl, even though he had ridiculed her. 

As Edmund now stood in Aslan’s Country, awaiting Hannah’s arrival, he could catch glimpses of her in his mind. Glimpses of her pouring words onto paper with a candle to light her way. Of her meek laughter when she remembered tender moments they had all shared in the Golden Age. Of Hannah being brave, despite her fears of loss having come into fruition.

Hannah, in the cold and rainy reality of England, never went a day without thinking of him. Of their kingdom. Of his siblings. Of everything they’d shared.

But somewhere in her pain, in her grief that tasted just as it did when she was a child - when her country burned and her family was stolen . . . Hannah knew that Edmund loved her still, as did she. 

I’ll love you for a thousand more

Hannah would grow old and see much of our world, but Hannah would never forget. Hannah never stopped loving. No matter if she had to wait another century in Narnian time, or a decade in ours, she would thrive on the hope of returning to that blessed country. 

Each day that passed, she could feel Narnia drawing nearer.

Time stands still

As the Pevensies awaited Hannah’s return, they celebrated in the renewed kingdom that Aslan had forged in His promises. As they danced and sang, ate delicacies and were merry, Hannah’s image never faded from Edmund’s mind. For him, his life would remain frozen until she returned to them. 

For Hannah, life in this world was bleak - but she never lost hope. She chose joy in remembrance, happiness in little things, the hope of truth. 

The truth that Narnia was real and her reuniting would one day come.

Beauty in all she is

Edmund, from his haven in Aslan’s country, prayed to the Great Lion that Hannah knew just how captivating she was. Not only her features, but her heart; her strength. Had it been Edmund who had been left behind, he knew he would have forsaken himself to his old ways long ago. 

Perhaps that is why it was Hannah who as chosen to remain there, in that broken world.

Hannah had the strength of a thousand armed Narnians to face those trials that had come to her since his death; she was brave.

I will be brave

Hannah realized she had been left in this world with purpose; for the Great Lion never acted without reason. Hannah made a promise, not only to herself and to Susan’s chances of redemption, but also to Edmund and to Aslan Himself.

She would be brave. 

Every day she drew breath into her lungs and found herself waking up to a day full of obstacles and hard chances, she would utilize her life to the best of her abilities. She hoped the Pevensies would be proud that she chose to use her life for good, for others, and not for grieving. 

And they were.

I will not let anything take away   What’s standing in front of me

In the years ahead, Hannah knew her return was swiftly coming. She would never waste a day in mourning, in wishing things had been different.

For they were not, and she wouldn’t let the sorrow overrule what good Aslan had allowed her to become and create. The hope and the tales she was able to give to others was far greater a reward than the result of the tears she could have spent her life with. 

Nothing could take away her future and her purpose.

Nothing could undo what the Great Lion had set in motion.

Nothing could strip her of her reuniting with her family in Aslan’s Country.

Every breath   Every hour has come to this

All the years she had spent in Narnia, all the days in the Professor’s manor, and all the years before that had lead to the life she was given now and the promise she clutched to her heart of returning to Narnia.

Every day she had once spent in Germany, the days she fled to England on the train, the days she spent lecturing tourists about the grand country mansion, the years she had spent with the Pevensies in Narnia. . .

One step closer

Had lead to this life; sharing her story to enable the hopes of others to ignite. 

To encourage others to be brave in their own stories.

To fight for love and conquer fear.

To give Narnia to the souls in this world who would truly never know it as she had. 

I have died everyday waiting for you   Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you For a thousand years                                                                                            I’ll love you for a thousand more

When the day came that Hannah, in her greying years, did not awake to the morning sun, she felt the sweet breath of the Lion upon her face. He was calling to her, to finally return home; to her true home, where He and the Pevensies dwelt in unbridled joy. And all the words, the colors, the memories, the smells, the music - every bit of Narnia she’d ever witnessed in those golden years came rushing back into her veins.

And suddenly she heard the Lion’s voice, rich and tender, roaring and gentle.

“Welcome home, dear Hannah, Knight of Narnia, Braveheart of the Western Wood.”

And the renewed Narnia burst into colors she’d never seen and sweet birdsong filled the valley of the kingdom. Before her stood Aslan, King of Narnia, Son of the Emperor Beyond the Sea, Lover of all things Good. From him branched all source of song and melody, and beneath him no shadow could be found.

His bright and lovely eyes poured into her own and his thick mane rustled with excitement. One of his Daughters had finally returned. 

Then, in graceful elegance, the Lion stepped to the side, revealing the silhouettes of three figures behind him she had not seen in many years. 

And all along I believed I would find you   Time has brought your heart to me

As the light diminished from their frames, Hannah’s heart soared with joy.

Before her stood three of the Kings and Queens of old; the Magnificent, the Just, and the Valient. And it was only a matter of time before the Gentle would be there with them, too. 

In seconds, if time had even passed at all in that sacred world, their voices sprang into praises and their arms engulfed her body. There, in their embrace, Hannah revelled in the voices she feared she’d never hear again and in the laughter that echoed from their lungs.

Aslan’s own laughter met with theirs, of which the sound was like every pleasurable tune you’d ever heard that mingled with his powerful roar, and the golden light from all around them faded into the trees and into the blossoms of the young earth. 

I have loved you for a thousand years   I’ll love you for a thousand more

I’ll love you for a thousand more

  One step closer

As they stood back from Hannah, one pair of arms remained about her frame as she stood trembling with uncontainable joy. 

There, before her, stood Edmund the Just, the stubborn and impossible king who had long been the home of her brave little heart. In his eyes she found a feeling she had never felt so vividly before - and when she felt it, she believed it to be the love she had once traded for fear. 

Edmund’s tears fell slowly and were the product of pure ecstacy, melding with the words that poured from his mouth; words of adoraton and gratefulness.

I have died everyday waiting for you Darling don’t be afraid

When Edmund pulled away and held her at arm’s length, he gazed into her dazzling eyes as if he had never seen them before. In that moment, as every moment they had every spent together flooded his mind, his relieved laughter broke free and encouraged her own to harmonize with his. 

At last, she had returned to him; the Brave woman of his affections of all those years. . . the war-torn years, the days of betrayal, the golden years. 

All was restored to Edmund’s heart as he looked at her again.

I have loved you For a thousand years

All of their waiting, all of their promising, had led to this.

I’ll love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you

There, in the light and in the beginning of a new life, they stood on the brink of eternal bliss. Eternal and unwavering love, built on the foundations of leading Just and Brave lives. 

As Hannah turned to face the Kingdom upon the horizon, she felt more content tham she ever imagined possible. This contentedness was the sort none of us still living have yet to feel; but a way to describe it is to say that she felt she might burst from every good and honorable thing flowing through her, but one could not help but be happy to feel this way. And no one who ever entered that kingdom ever felt any different from that day forward. 

As the Pevensies made their way further up and further in to the world ahead, the Great Lion turned to Edmund and nodded his graceful head solemnly, with a smile only he could bear. Edmund’s hand tugged gently at Hannah’s arm, leading her to look beyond the hills and mountains far off into another land. Over a shimmering blue lake and beyond the paths of little rivers, Hannah’s eyes took in an unbelievable sight.

There, miles away, but close enough to see with new eyes, Hannah saw Germany.

The old Germany.

With it’s beautiful brick homes and rich lustrious gardens, with cottages and shops smelling of bread and recipes she had long-forgotten the taste of, flourished Germany in all the wonderful beauty she had not seen in a lifetime. But what made Hannah’s smile spread wider was not the miracle of seeing her homeland more beautiful than ever before, but the faces of two people she had not seen since she was a child running from the war.

Her parents, looking healthier and much happier, stood in each other’s arms, waving to Hannah over the long distance.

Time has brought your heart to me

Renewal. 

That is what this tale has told.

And here, in the undying hopes of a new and joyously perfected life, Hannah found herself renewed of all the grief and the horror that had tainted her mind since a child. In the reaches of this perfected world, she would reap the pleasures of the life she spent growing and learning to love - of a life spent trying to be brave.

                        I have loved you for a thousand years                                       I’ll love you for a thousand more

[tatooineknights]

Luke Skywalker; The Legend, The Myth, The Man (The Last Jedi spoilers included):

“Who are you?”

This is one of the first questions that Luke Skywalker asks, standing in front of this strange and mysterious woman begging him to heed the call of action. He’s cloaked in darkness, standing at the edge of the shadowy confines of the tree and the lush light of the world outside. He asks this to learn more of the woman, curious of who she was and where she came from, but even more curious of how she found the great hero of the Rebel Alliance and wondering what she thought of him and why she sought him out. He was a legend, a myth – he knew that – and he knew she knew that.

A long time had passed since he was the young boy standing underneath the binary sunset, staring out into the stars and wondering what existed out there. Surely there was more for him than just being the farmer’s nephew - there were so many grand stories, of legends, of myths, of individuals that fought for the cause of good and faced off against the cause of evil.

Luke Skywalker, just like any of us, is an ordinary man with positive traits and negative flaws. He is kind and empathetic, embracing pacifism when he can, and a champion for all that is good. He is quick to protect and defend his friends, as seen by his willingness to save Leia on the Death Star and his multi-faceted plan to rescue Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt. He is also willing to become a hero when it is necessary, such as when he mans an X-Wing for the first time to take down the Death Star and joins the Alliance. Luke is also an individual that wants to see the good in everyone. These are all traits that we embrace and idolize in Luke – traits that we might see in ourselves or ones that we wished we could have. After all, Skywalker is the very symbol of hope and peace in cinematic history. However, along with those traits, the flaws exist too; Luke has two major flaws that he struggles with throughout his life.

The first is his impulsiveness, which can be both a trait and weakness. Trying to rescue Leia off the Death Star even though he and Han had next to nothing to plan for, rushing off to an obvious trap in an attempt to save his friends, jumping to his death to avoid joining with Vader, turning himself in to Vader knowing it was a long shot at redeeming him. But there is other stuff too - attempting to strike down the (seemingly) defenseless and unarmed Emperor in hatred, inches away from murdering his father after he had been wounded, and yes, considering killing Ben for one second. 

The second, and perhaps the most critical, is his difficulty in letting go. He has all these pre-conceived thoughts on the Force, of the Jedi, of his abilities, of his potential throughout The Empire Strikes Back. Yoda tells him he is wrong – he must unlearn. He must look past the physical world that he has formed in all his years as a farmer and as a soldier, see the teeming life that grows in the ordinarily simple trees and rocks and water, and he has great difficulty in doing that in this film. He is greatly confident in himself and his skills – not arrogance but perhaps a dash of hubris. The X-Wing is too big because that is how it appears to him in his mind; he needs his lightsaber and blaster to feel protected when entering the cave because he is dependent and reliant on them; he seeks out Vader not just to help save his friends, but because of a small flame of revenge for what happened to his father and Obi-Wan. He loses his hand due to this. But this flaw also works to his advantage in Return of the Jedi, where his refusal to let go of his father leads to Vader’s eventual redemption. 

Unlike us, however, Luke was a Jedi Knight and son to one of the greatest Force users the entire universe had seen. This is both a heavy burden and a wonderful gift. It gave Luke the chance to do things far past the man he was, giving him the ability to help others and save the galaxy from tyranny. It also brought him great hardship.  

If there is one constant in Luke’s life, despite all the development and growth he has achieved, he still struggles with these two flaws. Just in the time frame from Empire to Jedi, we see the reckless boy grow into a confident and cautious man. He’s calculated and in control of his emotions, guiding them to where he needs to be instead of letting them guide him down a path he cannot control. He has a great air of resolution as he peels off his cloak, revealing a sharp and stylish black outfit, the boyish grin replaced by the smile of a hardened individual and the twinkle in the eye of a mystical figure. This is the first time we see Luke in command of The Force and see him truly demonstrate his powers.

But underneath the resolve he had fostered, the wise Jedi still had cracks underneath the surface. After all, no matter how much we develop and changed, our most basic characterizations still exist, no? We might try to hide them, perhaps under our sleeve or buried deep in our heart, but they still exist. In this same movie, we see Luke give in to the Dark Side twice; both due to a mixture of rage and because of a nurturing loyalty he feels for his friends and family. We see him attempt to strike the Emperor down in hatred, we see him breathing down at his beaten father, rage swimming in his eyes.  

That impulsiveness still existed despite the carefully crafted persona Luke had molded. Because despite the growth and change he had underwent, he is still the same man prone to the same mistakes. The difference here – and this is what we see from the end of Return of the Jedi onward – is that Luke becomes aware of this part of himself and rejects it. He has the lightsaber right up to Vader’s neck and pauses, his eyes glazing as he stares down at the man before him, seeing himself in defeated man. This is something he cannot do – perhaps Vader does deserve it, after all the pain and misery he has caused, but it isn’t Luke’s to decide. Despite it all, he loves his father. He wavers, holding the lightsaber, taking a few seconds to recollect himself before turning it off. He throws his lightsaber away and decides to stand firm in his resolve.

Now, nearly twenty years have passed, and Luke has grown stronger and more confident. He takes on a new batch of apprentices and prepares to rebuild the Jedi Order. Saving his father from the darkness and protecting his friends and sister from evil has made him feel safe, secure. He is accomplished and proud of his actions and wants to share that gift with the rest of the universe. There is only one problem – he senses something, dark and chaotic, sprouting from one of his apprentices. A threat to not just his order but his friends, his family, and to the galaxy at large.

This, he finds inside the head of his nephew.

What to do? All of a sudden those cracks begin to reform, reckless thoughts dancing and taunting him in the back of his head, as that happens to us all. He has a moment of weakness and activates his lightsaber and considers ending this threat – a threat that risked the lives of his disciples, his friends, Han, and Leia. But a second passes and he instantly realizes he was wrong. Just like the moment with his father in Return of the Jedi, he realizes that this is not something he can do.

The distrust in Ben Solo, soon to become Kylo Ren, had already been planted by Snoke. He was a ticking time bomb but Luke’s one second of weakness is what was needed for Ben to act. Luke becomes unconscious as he tries to subdue his nephew, trying to get him to understand what happened. But there is no time to explain – Luke’s world is shattered the minute he wakes up. His temple in flames, his apprentices murdered, and Kylo Ren created in its wake. He feels deep shame for Kylo’s creation, finding himself responsible for losing his nephew. He closes himself off. He hides.

But this doesn’t sound like the legend we build in our heads? Luke Skywalker was a hero, one of hope and light. Indeed, it was because of his hope for his nephew that he refused to act. Luke’s sorrow is not one of cowardice – it is because he still struggles to let go. What happened, in his head, is his greatest failure. His deep connection and sense of loyalty to his family causes him great heartbreak and sorrow.

There is the legend, Luke Skywalker, and then there is the man. They are two similar people but they are not quite the same. One is a perfect beacon of heroism and the other is more flawed, aware of the myths and swirling Force that surrounds his very name. Both are people desperately needed and both serve different functions. Due to Luke’s blame, he feels like he is unable to become the legend again, and unable to teach the woman at his steps. How can he become a teacher when he made a mistake that cost him his nephew?

Yoda reminds Luke, and us, that failure is what makes the greatest teacher. What he sees as his greatest mistakes are the best learning tool for both his students, and himself. He has tied himself down to a legacy that consumed and trapped him, chained, in many ways similar to his father, to his past. His former master uses this opportunity to free Luke from that by destroying the sacred tree, freeing him from that past. For the wisdom that he gave to Rey, both his teachings and his knowledge of the Jedi’s failure, will inspire a new age of Jedi Knights.

Let go.

He lets go of his fears, refills the cracks that formed in the past six years, and finds peace with himself. His legacy is all but assured, his confidence at an all-time high. Luke becomes a bastion of Force energy as he molds his image onto a planet lightyears away, showing us the greatest showcase of Force skills, becoming the legend once more as he faces his nephew. But just as Luke acted before in the past, he is unable to truly hurt his nephew. His love for his family is as strong as it ever was – and instead chooses to apologize to Kylo and himself, freeing himself and finally letting go. This allows his sister to escape and his Jedi Order to survive – the Skywalker’s live on and his legacy, the Jedi Knight Rey, will live on.

He collapses under heavy strain. This was the most clear and poignant moment in Luke’s life; just as he forgave his father all those years ago, Luke finally forgave himself. A second sun appears in the horizon, a binary sunset forming in the distance, reminding Luke of how it all began. How he started as this passionate young boy, desperately searching for adventure and a family and a legacy, and found himself completely at peace and fulfilled. He had went on the greatest adventures anyone could imagine, he found family that cared and needed him, and created a legacy that would live on for generations.

Luke Skywalker’s story is a human one, full of wonderful and tragic moments, that reminds us that our traits and flaws are always there and can both save the people we love and accidentally send people to darkness. It is a story about forgiving those who have hurt us - including ourselves - and finding peace with that. It is also a story about the expectations that we put on ourselves, on our fathers, on our nephews, on our legends, and on our hearts. 

And so Luke does let go – he becomes one with The Force, his physical body collapsing into the great robe that spun around him and fading into the light, becoming the great legend the galaxy needed. He does not die in this moment, but rather, he becomes a being more powerful than anyone could possibly imagine. He achieves total balance and ascends into the mystical energy above. Luke Skywalker, the man, has completely finished his journey and became Luke Skywalker, the legend, the myth, that the galaxy, and us, so desperately needs. 

[loststargrazer-blog]

What Story Are You Selling and Why Should I Buy It?

Talking about philosophy, society, and identity is all very well, but isn’t what we believe just controlled by the stories we relate to - don’t they shape our beliefs more than axioms and language? It seems to me that much contemporary popular philosophy is an interplay, not between axioms, but between fictions and narratives. In the first blog I talked of the familiar patterns we interpret everything into, but aren’t they just our cultural narratives and the types we identify everything else with; or do we create these fictions to explain reality? We shall consider culture, fiction, and some realities to see how we are using ‘archetypes’ (the correct term for patterns we recognise). Archetypes are a philosophical as well as psychological question that is important if you want to understand what people believe. I shall use three examples to tease out the arguments from different spheres, each with their own sphere confusions and interesting features.

My first example involves how we interpret new information, technology, new societal problems, and thinking from a political point of view. I suggest that we consider whether a significant portion of people’s reaction to societal issues is self-interest and a response shaped by the kinds of books and films they consumed as a teenager - please bear with me on this. If we consider progress, we see there are at least two political stories. There is the myth of progress, of enlightenment, of movement towards the singularity where the disrupter is a hero like Prometheus bringing fire and overcoming torment and oppression by conformity and tyranny to raise mankind from the dirt to a divinely powerful position.  This journey is strongly reflected in Science Fiction. 

An opposing story is the saving story of the preserver: Adam fails to be the preserver of Eden, but there are plenty of stories of heroes who defy powerful forces to save their village/society/partner from a variety of alien invaders to maintain the ecological balance, save the land for future generations, show respect for the way of wisdom, love, and the elders. Here the disrupter is the villain, the cynical, the greedy, and the callous; sometimes he redeems himself but usually not. These are strong themes in popular novels and films, particularly in the motivations of the bad guy.  

How does this division manifest itself in philosophy? Perhaps we will start by looking at some literary genres and then considering the attitudes in contemporary US politics to an American school of thought: ‘Transhumanism,’ which is an offshoot of the wider posthumanism that many are engaged with in order to reanalyse the future of humanity and even the new contemporary human essence as they attempt to modernise the humanist tradition. Some questions of the nature of humanity were considered in my third blog, so I won’t be going into posthumanism itself as it is often corrupted by agendas, for example Nietzsche’s view of the individual and what is right; these last two topics I have already dealt with alternatively in Blog 2.

I should show my own biases; according to Sir Francis Bacon this is an important step in being objective. I read a range of things as a teenager, but especially the comic fantasy fiction of Terry Pratchett who incorporates Animism and irreverent deities in a hapless world. Even now, this worldview has a certain fascination for me philosophically. This fiction has a certain disrespect for people promising to transform humanity and our ecology for the better, as is the main thrust of transhumanism.

We can consider some other genres: Science fiction is the genre closest to transhumanism, with exploration, adventure, progress, and redemption, even quasi-magical objects or technologies that suspend disbelief and normal limitations. 

Fables are perhaps the opposite of the transhuman narrative with their emphasis on accepting our current limitations, ecology, and inability to solve issues without wisdom, cunning & foresight, hard work & sacrifice, and team skills.

Novels often have messages of respect for our humanity and personal relationships. Perspectives are often complex and nuanced. The impact of change, its acceptance, its difficulties, are not glib and are often debateable. This is not naturally Transhuman.

Fantasy fiction is also significant in how we view change. It has a tendency to look at personal development in two opposing streams, the brave child growing into the hero and the hero growing into the sage, whereas the foolish or weak child grows into the weak man, who is corrupted to become the villain. There are certainly long quests and magical objects, but they can be both good and bad depending on which of the paths the main characters follow. Eventually though, a rather crude notion of the good tends to triumph as everyone overcomes the selfish fool turned bad. Often the transhumanist is overcome, and nature is put back into a historic balance.

Historical and biographical fiction is rather more serious as people and events together have consequences; some of which are terribly damaging. The events are often complicated. History has choices and is nuanced. Great movements and brilliant individuals overcome through long protracted struggles, often with incomplete or costly victories. Personal flaws create real setbacks. The direction of the historical narrative is often not strongly represented and even is just within the culture of an interpretation amongst several. Unlike fantasy fiction, there is a certain pessimism about the outcomes of progress. The good hero is not clearly represented, so does not always triumph, and often leading actors cause harm.

Archetypes, to function, must have a mechanics and an outcome. I suggest the mechanics is the arrangement of the open sets we possess in our cognition (see Blog 1). These channel our analysis of what we experience both of the external world and our internal thoughts. We divide things up, for example we have the propensity to try and categorise the disrupter as hero or villain, the defender as hero or villain. Archetypes give an instinctive reflex that may be hard to overcome without a revolutionary crisis in our worldview.

If we look at the politics, the stories are changing. The old left story was of helping people, especially those in need, with the money of those who had more than they deserved/needed. The old right was interested in helping people by allowing society to flourish, especially the economy. With disruption of global proportions though, there are new stories both radical and progressive of businesses re-making our world like Sci-Fi, and transforming humanity into a new connected and informed higher species (“the transhuman”). The story is of business, but it is not a conservative story, as it is disruptive and progressive. The story is not a utopian story of the left as even if it intends to promote humanity, even ecology, it is not a socialised vision of democracy or run by the state. The story is not of a centerism looking for gradual evolution like Burke’s ideal as there is a wish to be disruptive and move fast. There are losers in this story as many established industries will be disrupted, but these failures are just seen as inevitable, the old fashioned, inefficient, the unworthy being defeated non-inclusively. The expectation of the strengthening of society through transformation and the purification of the economy is almost the Darwinism of the far right. Yet the voters of the far right are often those least in tune with transformation, seeing their marginalisation as a case of identity politics and the repudiation of their culture. If we take the recent US Presidential election and debate there are new dialogues with competition to be the champions of the status quo: For example they declare who will defend America, defend American jobs, defend the American way of life, and defend American democracy; but against what? From an external perspective there are some flaws in all these things, see blog 12, but do they need defending from the forces that are driving a significant chunk of the US economic growth? Perhaps the US establishment feels it needs defending against the philosophy and attitude of destroying and recreating old respect and stability. This is a revisit of an ancient philosophical split between the struggles of the gods Shiva (the destroyer and creator) and Vishnu (the preserver) in Hindu philosophy.

It is actually a fundamental problem, the world is split between trans-humanists who think the answer is radical corporate technology (people like Bill Gates, Elon Musk, & Jeff Bezos and American radicals) who are pushing a powerful advancement agenda that is sceptical of traditional morality, lifestyle, and heritage, even aesthetics; they can be contrasted with the humanist & postdigital & traditional perspectives that respect who we and our ecology. The reaction to negative disruption is either more disruption to elevate us to a higher species (the transhuman) or to roll back aspects that are bad and restore and respect our humanity and its weaknesses (postdigital). This is the new political divide and it doesn't split left-right, but between disruptors who benefit and the rest who care more about the real cost and have no interest in moving to Mars if it all goes wrong. 

For me the postdigital is preferred to the transhuman as it seems a more realistic narrative to solve contemporary problems, but our culture, our narrative and fictions, our self-interest, and the seeming or actual exciting potentials of new technologies may make you think otherwise. Of course, postdigital is not against new technology if it respects the weaknesses of our humanity and earthly ecology. Much environmental legislation and public policy is in the spirit of the postdigital and contrasts with technology evangelists and capitalists who veer towards the transhuman. Society as a whole takes a case by case view which may even change over time, for example on single use plastics.

The narrative the postdigital provides is that we think for ourselves, not through machines. We experience the world authentically again after the digital experience is shown to be a fake movie, an advert rather than real art. The postdigital narrative is powerful and has mass appeal. The narrative may be more appealing than synthetic meat if it risks cancer, or animal-less leather, if it strips our countryside of its natural soil cycles and animal life while encouraging a monoculture of energy crops. The saving of the earth evokes multiple narratives, what it means varies according to your fictional framework, and not just at the extremes but through the centre.

To conclude the first example, our political pie is being resliced. How you choose to vote, think, interpret, and believe in philosophy is often a question of your narrative thrust and which orbit it blasts you into. The transhumanists may have technology on their sides, but no human can deny the narrative appeal of moving away from technology and reconnecting with our greater selves. Is this philosophy? I can only suppose it is.

* * *

For our second example we can consider an academic setting and the order of the narratives we acquire. To get good marks you need to learn a subject in the right order to match the mark scheme and the subject narrative. Cross disciplinary studies are a lot more useful at a postgraduate level where you can apply different frameworks, techniques, and technologies to give new research leads and new answers, but most education layers information quite historically; an example is the natural philosophy concept of substance in chemistry.

At the age of 15, substances in chemistry are like funny 3d jigsaws, hard plastic atoms connected with straws to make up shapes like crystals. 

At 17 there is a greater emphasis on the Rutherford model of the atom; each atom is a tiny nucleus surrounded by electron spheres. The emphasis is on the electron spheres, charged ions, the stability of molecules and the angles of the atomic bonds. 

At an undergraduate level the story is of electron wave oscillating symmetry, Schrodinger’s wave equation, and multistage reaction pathways with substance existing for minute amounts of time in transitory states. Things like molecular decay are reimagined as the quantum tunneling of energy destabilising energetic wave patterns. 

At a post-graduate level the focus explodes in range from the use of subatomic physics to the application of complex systems, the creation and tuning of industrial systems by considering each waveform minutely, the search for new compounds and reaction chains, new interpretations and models of phenomena. By the postgraduate level the notion of substance is challenged to such an extent that it becomes an almost meaningless term. 

Each level tells a different story, and these stories reflect the cutting edge of chemistry going back to the dawn of philosophy each layered one on top of the other. The ancient greek atomism of atoms being hooked together like burrs, the atom being a little solar system, substance being energy, and matter being an emergent complex system of energetic particles.

Given the depth that archetypes have, how they evolve, the order they are developed, it is understandable that you cannot easily change someone’s philosophy without a massive restructuring of their history and beliefs. This applies especially to the examiner as much as the examinee. Marks are often nonsense, and not only in creative writing do you have perspective.

* * *

Our third example is from the professional practice of therapy. In this case I shall compare the example of a fictional narrative popular with Freud and Lacan with the statistical reality to demonstrate that interpretation can in certain circumstances be contrary to well known common facts even though, or because, it is a central tenet of a belief system about the psyche. I shall discuss the power of the Oedipal story.

I personally hold this episode to be an apocryphal example bordering on abuse by, as is usually the case, the parental and in particular paternal parties of which Freud was one. First Freud sees the play Oedipus Rex by Sophocles then the following year he begins talking of the Oedipal complex that becomes a core tenet of his psychoanalytic theory. Freud’s interpretation is that there is a natural desire to sleep with one parent and kill the other, in Oedipus’s case this is to sleep with his mother and kill his father. However if we look at the statistics almost all the killing and sleeping with is done by the father and almost none of it involves children as drivers, especially not under six, which is when Freud supposes this complex to arise. Let us consider what we do know about children and what an actual story might look like in repressive Vienna.

First we can say with certainty that children, especially under seven, are naturally often uncontrolled and demanding. They have a tendency to do annoying things like wet the bed, eat all the biscuits, break things, and want to sleep clinging on to their favourite parent in a way which excludes a good night's sleep or any parental hanky panky. They are also likely to be non-sexualised to an extent that they would probably be appalled that Daddy should do anything so disgusting to Mummy if only they knew. Even if they did have a glowing view of sex, this would be totally unrealistic as most sex is very shortlived and leads to years of disappointment as the lover becomes the fat unfullfilled spouse chained to matrimony in order to care for brats; but none of this is the child’s fault or concern as they will grow out of their juvenile behaviour, except in how it effects the parental behaviour. This has two aspects.

The first aspect is the emotionally immature or selfish parent, particularly the father. When the child is being naturally and unmaliciously demanding, the parent becomes hostile. In the case of Freud, he projects adult themes onto the child vindicating himself. Unfortunately these are themes of violence, rape, and aggression which have very little to do with children. Child abuse is a serious problem, neglect, violence, aggression, antagonism, even rape. The statistics are plain, while it is actually quite rare for adult children to act against their parents, normally children choose escape and estrangement. In a dog training book it says that problem dogs are almost always the product of bad training; it is a shame that Freud did not say the same about immature parents.

The second aspect is the archetype the immature parent creates of the male or female in the child. The male in particular is sexually frustrated or hyper sexual, both are domineering, powerful, controlling, and this means the children are dominated, weakened, and confounded. Often the children are overtly rejected by both parents in favour of that religious totem ‘work,’ with mothers in particular being praised, not for nurturing, but for being efficient and coping with as much as possible like having a tidy house for the father. These negative archetypes are recycled by the children as images for themselves as parents and proselytized across society, social activities, and the workplaces. These aspects create disordered lives, the sexualisation, the drive for power, the obsessive focus on material control and success, the lack of kindness, trying to have it all - these kinds of things ruin lives and societies. 

There is now attached parenting and earth mothers, but they are very much the minority as many mothers are working and outsourcing childcare to servants paid for by the hour. This probably re-emphasises the capitalist expression of love and care being bought adding to the financial cynicism of the bad archetype of a human with needs. It is unsurprising that such families hardly know each other and only congregate on certain holidays which are often the unhappiest times of the year. It would only take a minor conflict to break the familial bonds entirely. What else would you expect if the children are brainwashed with inhumane values and control procedures before being pushed on their way financially, emotionally, and physically. Children leave often before they are even financially independent and certainly once they have their first paycheck. 

So the story is really a tragedy, the tragedy of the immature parent and their destruction of the family by self-delusion, aggression, and poor role modelling. The only relevance of Oedipus is that the child gets sent away from his parents for an imagined predicted transgression by an arbitrary authority, the oracle. We can conclude from this example that stories are changed by how we want to project ourselves into them, how we want to interpret events, even what good play we saw last year, sometimes with scant regard for the facts.

* * *

This blog is long, but still requires a brief conclusion. It seems that stories do control our philosophy and life decisions and views generally, however these stories can evolve over time like the story of substance. Stories tell you what you want, and what you want determines what is good (see Blog 2 and the next blog coming); so stories deliver realities. A politician with a compelling vision is a person with a good story of who we are and who we could be. Archetypes are also used extensively in advertising, which actually works rather well, so while I am only selling you the story of self-aware philosophy, I am sure there are plenty of stories you should watch out for unless you want to be beguiled. Do you need my story, perhaps you do to deal with all the other stories about life itself?