#truly acknowledge the gray in the world and also be at peace with it

[randomfandomss]

oohhh okay then...alright

What a devastating yet perfect finale. I, of course, anticipated that after Season 1 Aziraphale would have a lot of growing to do for his and Crowley’s relationship to ever work, and guessed that would be taken up this season in some capacity.

...and I am not sure what to say. He still has complete faith in heaven when time and again they have proved themselves to be utter pieces of shit. He believes in himself, that he can make a difference which, yes! He can...but I strongly believe that one has to have the guts see the reality and acknowledge it, with all its goodness and faults in order to be able to really make a difference. So far he has just refused to do so.

He said, “Nothing lasts forever”, yet he has always refrained from questioning the “ineffable plan”. Staying in the comfort of what has been defined as “goodness” by god, never questioning anything at all even though, it has been proved through whatever we see of their shared history that Aziraphale has always grown, learned something and generally become a better angel whenever things had been questioned and the right answers had been given.

He has to break out of this cycle and see things as they are, clearly. About heaven, about self imposed restrictions, norms defined by people who only care about power and don’t give a fuck. He as learned how to live on earth but has he been truly been awake all this time? He needs to start seeing things in full color, that have so far been distorted by his black and white perception for the world. He believes and hopes but the thing he is placing belief in is fundamentally broken.

On the other hand Crowley, to say I've been heartbroken over what happened to him would truly be an understatement and I'm not sure what else to say...So I will leave it at that. The way he found a companion in Aziraphale, someone who accepted him for all he was and tursted him. Someone who SAW him, because I think thats what he would've always wanted. To be understood, when no one, neither Heaven nor Hell ever did. To have this dream shattered into a million pieces once again. When he had finally made peace with his existence, with who he was, all the good and the bad bits, and found some rest from the incessant questioning. When he was ready to just...be, Aziraphale asked him to go back to the place that had hurt him profoundly, SO MUCH. Aziraphale asked Crowley to be restored into what his idea of what good and right is, the ideal existence for him. Crowley has never been an angel nor a demon and Aziraphale knew him since the beginning...how could he not see that?!?! He was the ONLY one who SAW it.

Is he trying to fool himself or Crowley? Aziraphales ideal existence is where something never goes bad or is never wrong, that, in itself is toxic and I believe the next season will obviously focus on that.

I know he desperately wanted to be with Crowley for eternity and live the “ideal” life with him but his definition of ideal itself is wrong. He needs to challenge his beliefs and inspire others to do so as well if he wants to really LIVE and not just exist.

Anywho that is Neil Gaiman’s department, SO!!

SO, I will WAIT to SEE where they go next and I will looking out for that SUPER MEGA APOLOGY DANCE from Aziraphale :D

[utilitycaster]

I love your thoughts on Astrid and I think a lot about whether her initial ambition to become powerful for the sake of power turned into the ambition for power so no one else has power over her. I truly do not think she begrudges Wulf his faith any more than she begrudges Caleb his new life though I would not be surprised if both are sources of some pain for her. (in a way the three of them remind me of trees. Caleb lost a part of himself but that allowed new sprouts to come forth. Wulf found faith that allowed the damage to be lessened by giving support to the damaged part of the tree. And Astrid is the one with neither who grows around the damage in the only direction she ever knew though it costs her much more in the long term than the other solutions)

Hi anon,

So I think I say this whenever I get similar asks - completely valid to have your own headcanons, but (and this is foreshadowing for the rest of this ask) I am not much of a people pleaser and I will openly disagree, as I'm about to, and this might be a conversation better had in DMs or replies or something because doing so via anon gets to be a lot of back and forth.

I really respect people who relate to Astrid as a survivor of abuse who finds some measure of peace and who simply acknowledges she, Eadwulf, and Caleb all found separate ways to move forward. I completely understand that can be very meaningful and would never take that interpretation from them.

With that said, I happen to personally prefer a view of Astrid who is capable of that bitterness. I like the possibility that she is not just ambitious (which, that on its own is often considered sufficient to lambast female characters; see the Suvi Kedberiket discourses surrounding Worlds Beyond Number) but also very angry, and at times bitter, and at times resentful.

I think a lot of fans struggle with the gray area between unambigously heroic women and unambiguously villainous ones, both because in that gray area is a complexity women in fiction are frequently denied, and also because it requires a look at specific emotions women aren't supposed to have. Women can be sad; they can be traumatized; and they've been granted such qualities as "determined" or "can use a sword" or "leaders" but I think people really still struggle with anger, and especially anger that is not specifically directed towards abusers (like Beau or Yasha or Vex) nor righteous (like Keyleth) but petty or even simply irrational.

I like Astrid as a woman who might hold a grudge she knows intellectually is unfair but who feels it anyway. I think about how she wanted to kill Trent in the moment, and that Fjord (someone whose story is very much about both forgiveness and the legitimacy of grudges and a desire for power) validates her for it even though it's true that Caleb's method of exposing Trent's crimes is probably more effective. I like her as someone who is incredibly intelligent and who probably has an idea of what the "good" thing to do is and still feels a lot of ugly feelings and possibly always will, even though she has found a much healthier way forward. I don't know quite how this interrogation will go, but it is interesting that she's in hiding in Zadash and has apparently not openly broken with the Assembly.

It's funny, because this is on some level what many people want for much of Bells Hells - they want them to be angry at the gods for neglecting them. It's just...they also want that anger to be righteous. And sometimes anger isn't. Anger is often petty and detrimental and yet still very real. What appeals to me about Astrid is that she is very much a complicated person who does straddle a line between ally and antagonist and is permitted a depth and messiness and moral ambiguity that many fans deliberately try to excise from women (and, for that matter, characters of color/in-world racialized characters and many queer characters). So I do like an Astrid who clearly cares for Caleb and for Eadwulf and does not treat them poorly, but does perhaps nurse some privately-held grudges.

[littlebeautifly]

Bastion x apathetic!reader

It’s tragic, isn’t it? After meeting countless people, traveling across countless places and experiencing all the world could offer, you thought there was nothing in this existence that could paint your world another color than gray. 

If everything was the same, it lost all the meaning. If there was no meaning, what was the purpose of anything?

So why did your gaze linger on him? What was so different about him? 

Maybe it was the look in his eyes as he gazed back at you. The same look you saw in your reflection. The emotionless eyes of someone who watched the people wander through life looking for something they didn’t know if it even existed at all.

Maybe it was the smile he gave you in acknowledgement, as you also accepted the absurdity in life when everyone else turned a blind eye in a futile attempt to explain their existence. When others believed their dreams would come true, you grew tired of lying to yourself.

Maybe it was the fact that he was the only one who approached you and stayed when others walked away. When they talked about trivial things, pretended to be someone they weren’t, feigned interest to gain something in return… he was the only one who was simply himself.

Maybe he knew you would see through him just like he saw through you. After years and years of disappointments, you became a mirror reflecting the emotions of the people in front of you. A chameleon of interests of the person you were talking to. An echo of opinions of the group you happen to be a part of. Sometimes it got difficult to discern between the emotions or thoughts of the people around you and your own. You wondered just who you were anymore, thought if there was something wrong with you. Were you broken when others were whole?

But just as he was unapologetically himself, you responded in kind. For the first time in your life, you could be yourself with no hint of a mask.

He reached out for you when you long since lost the reason for reaching out for others. You took his hand and you never left his side since. Only by his side did you finally understand what it meant to be truly alive…

You realized too late what new color he brought into your world. Black. Pitch black like the abyss he was pulling you into. Like the darkness awaiting you down the road to hell with him.

You smirked, an eerie serenity reflected in your eyes as he spoke with certainty of his grand goal for the future of mankind. You didn’t share the same perspective as him on this matter nor did you agree with his actions, but you loved him too much to even think of leaving him. Not that he’d let you, but you didn’t mind it.

You made peace with whatever fate held for you and him, be it heaven or hell. After all, the moment your eyes met, you’ve already been damned.

…but if you weren’t afraid to look truth in the eye, you would have known long ago that you were damned before you even met him. And he knew it.

That’s why when you gazed into an abyss, the abyss gazed back into you. You were already an abyss in the making and he’d make sure you knew that too.

[bearbos-kindledtales]

3. The Voice of Defiance 

In the realm of arguments and disagreements, Bearbo found solace. It was a space where he could express himself without the need to reveal his deepest emotions. Instead, he relied on his well-developed skills of reasoning and logic, presenting his thoughts with clarity and precision. 

Unlike many others, Bearbo didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve. He kept them close to his heart, shielding them from the outside world. This ability to maintain a calm and composed demeanor during confrontations gave him an advantage. It allowed him to detach himself from the emotional intensity of the moment and focus solely on the exchange of ideas. 

The absence of overt emotion in his arguments provided a shield of protection. It prevented others from fully understanding the depth of his feelings, preserving a sense of privacy within him. It was his way of maintaining a semblance of control in a world that often felt chaotic and unpredictable. 

Bearbo's natural inclination toward reason and intellectual discourse propelled him to engage in debates even when others preferred to avoid conflict. He saw arguments as an opportunity to seek truth and resolution, to challenge the status quo and ensure fairness prevailed. It wasn't about winning for the sake of winning, but rather about fighting for what he believed was right and just. 

His siblings, who had grown weary of constant clashes with their mother, often chose to apologize and let bygones be bygones. But Bearbo couldn't fathom the concept of turning a blind eye to injustice. He felt a deep sense of loyalty towards his siblings and an unwavering commitment to standing up for what he believed was right. 

These heated arguments with his mother often veered off course, losing sight of the original point of contention. The focus shifted to why Bearbo always seemed to side with his siblings, why he was so determined to challenge their mother's actions. These debates became battles of wills, with Bearbo defending his siblings even when it seemed futile. 

Conversations with his father offered a different perspective. His father, though also restrained in emotional expression, understood Bearbo's need for justice. They would engage in deep discussions about fairness, the complexities of family dynamics, and the importance of compromise. While his father would often encourage Bearbo to consider whether each argument was truly a hill worth dying on, Bearbo held firmly to his beliefs. 

In Bearbo's mind, right was right and wrong was wrong. There was no gray area to him—no room for ambiguity or compromise when it came to matters of justice. Apologies and moving on without acknowledging the underlying issue felt like a betrayal of his own values. He couldn't simply brush aside his convictions in the pursuit of temporary peace. 

These experiences shaped Bearbo's understanding of conflict, relationships, and the importance of standing up for what he believed in. While he may have appeared quiet and reserved in some aspects of his life, within the realm of arguments and defending his principles, Bearbo was an unwavering force—a voice that refused to be silenced.

>> Next: 4. The Weight of Misunderstood Emotions >>

[cazuela-time]

So, I wanted to explain a little about why I wrote the things I did.

I REALLY wanted to use "I Think We're Alone Now" because of the iconic factor and the ties it has with the show, also I found the lyrics fitting for three reasons.

First, the song is said to be familiar to the Hargreeves sibling if I'm remembering correctly, so they have a connection to it and to their childhood. It also serves as a callback to season one while being opposite to it - they're all dancing together in the heart of the mansion instead of alone, each in a separate room. I really wanted to highlight the family aspect of the show.

Second, I needed Five to fill his absence from that scene, I felt it was kind of like him coming back to his siblings after the apocalypse completely - before he was worried about the end of the world but now he just gets to be with his family at last.

And lastly, the song talks about being free to do whatever and being "alone" with other people, which is exactly what Ben wanted for him and Jennifer. No more obstacles in between them.

The iPod thing was inspired by A Quiet Place: Day One - and I thought it would be sweet and a little tragic if other Fives kept stuff from their siblings to remember them.

I wanted to make Five uncharacteristically sweet in his own way - letting himself just be at peace and happy. Really indulge in the time he has with his siblings. Also, I HATED the Lila and Five thing, but I acknowledge it as something that happened: but I needed some closure in the relationship between Diego and Five without them talking about it, which I thought would be kind of unnatural for them. So, taking a page off of Diego's book, I made them dance it off.

The whole season was very...gray. So I changed The Cleanse to be a big moment of bright white light (also as a kind of call back to season one). I couldn't really depict it very well but my idea was that it would go from gray and sad, to a small warm toned light for the siblings reunited, to a big flash of pure white that erases everything so that we can transition to a shiny new day.

I thought the flowers were okay. Not my favorite way to end a four season show, but hey, who am I to judge. I wanted to change it so that there is a lonely marigold waiting (symbolizing Original Ben), and then the rest of the sibling (and Lila) finally being all truly together - no other versions of their siblings, but their real true family. All eight of them.

TUA S4 ENDING, BUT

It's Five going back to the subway diner, asking for the stereo - he takes it back to his family and connects an ipod with "I think we're alone now".

He starts dancing - very uncharacteristic. Everyone is shocked but they start dancing too, making fun of eachother and they keep dancing weird but together - paralleling S1 but instead of being in different rooms they're all together. One last dance with their siblings.

Then, as they fade from the current timeline to the "good one", you can still hear "I think we're alone now..." but now it's from the perspective of the whole world instead of the Hargreaves like S1.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: no fic-related news but i did get my first dose of the covid vaccine today so that’s exciting! GET VAXXED, PEOPLE! SPENCER WOULD WANT YOU TO!!

Masterlist

Chapter 20

“Hey Hotch,” Spencer knocked on his boss’s door.

Spencer got in extra early today to have his meeting with Hotch and hopefully tie up all the loose ends in his paperwork.

“Reid, come in,” Hotch gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and talking with Y/N and I think my time at the BAU is coming to an end,” Spencer said.

“I see,” Hotch leaned back in his chair, “Well, I think it goes without saying that you would certainly be missed. But, I’m not going to try to convince you to stay because I feel like this is a good decision for you...one I probably should have made myself if we’re being completely honest.”

“You made it work though, Jack loves his superhero dad,” Spencer reassured him, “I just can’t keep missing stuff after already missing six years. It’s too much and I certainly can’t focus on cases when I’m desperately wishing I was somewhere else.”

“How about this? We put you on temporary unpaid leave for a year. Then, you can either choose to come back or quit for good. This will give you plenty of family time and then you’ll see if you’re ever ready to return or not. It’s up to you. Also, if I just put you on leave, it can start as early as tomorrow. Instead of you just quitting and then having to put your two weeks in and be called away on more cases.”

“That sounds great, Hotch. Thank you so much for your understanding. If I don’t come back, it was a pleasure working with you. But I’m sure I will see you around at Rossi’s dinner parties,” Spencer grinned.

Hotch and Spencer hugged before pulling away to see the rest of the team filing into the bullpen.

“I guess I have to tell them,” Spencer sighed, knowing they would be a little disappointed at the sudden news.

“Hey guys, I have an announcement,” Spencer walked out of Hotch’s office.

“You have another secret daughter?” Derek joked.

“Y/N is pregnant?” Penelope guessed.

“You’re engaged?” Emily asked.

“Um no to all, I know this is a bit sudden and I apologize for that but effective tomorrow, I will be taking a year long leave from the BAU which may turn permanent,” Spencer spoke softly.

Silence filled the room.

“It’s not that I don’t love this job or you guys. You all know you are my best friends but I just really need to be home with my family right now,” Spencer explained.

Derek was the first to walk up to Spencer, “We’re gonna miss you around here, kid.”

He pulled Spencer in for a hug, ruffling up his hair.

Penelope was next in line to hug Spencer with a tissue already dabbing at her eyes.

“I hate to see you go, Boy Wonder, but I know it’s what’s best for you,” she said.

“I think Jo may be an even stricter boss than Hotch,” Rossi teased.

“She does have a tendency to get grumpy when she isn’t allowed to have ice cream for dinner,” Spencer laughed lightly, wiping the tears that were forming from his eyes.

“Please don’t ever stop talking. I know we tease you but I truly am going to miss your rambles,” Emily whispered.

“I’m just a phone call away,” he promised.

“You deserve this. Do not feel bad,” JJ reminded him.

He nodded in acknowledgement, his voice getting caught in the lump in his throat.

“We need a cake!” Penelope exclaimed, “I will not have the Good Doctor’s last day be cakeless especially with that sweet tooth of his.”

“On it,” Derek said, grabbing his keys.

“Decorations too! See if Party City has a Happy Retirement section!” she shouted after him.

“You’ve got it, baby girl,” Derek replied.

-

Spencer returned home in the evening with a cardboard box full of his belongings that once resided on his desk. 7 years of his career packed into one box. It seemed sad to him that such a big chapter of his life was closing.

But then, he walked inside. You and Jo had karaoke up on the TV screen. You both were currently in the middle of Wannabe by the Spice Girls. Jo even had her baseball cap on backwards to complete the look.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is,” Jo sang.

Then you jumped in, “So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully. We got Em in the place who likes it in your face. You got G like MC who likes it on a

Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me, ha you'll see.”

“Slam your bodies down and wind it all around,” you both sang.

You turned around to see Spencer standing there and you let out a yelp.

“Oh no, please continue. Don’t stop on my account,” he grinned.

“Daddy!” Jo jumped up into his arms.

He moved Jo to his hip as you approached.

“Hi, love,” you greeted him with a kiss.

He was no longer sad. This was the right choice. This is where he belonged.

-

“Shhh” is the first thing you heard as you awoke followed by the quiet rattling of dishes.

“Jo, no!” you heard Spencer whisper-shout, “I said not until Mommy wakes up.”

“I’m up,” you muttered into your pillow.

You turned to the side of your bed to see Jo standing there with a tray of food and Spencer behind her with a bouquet of flowers.

You smiled softly.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they both cheered.

“Thank you, my loves,” you gave them both kisses, accepting the tray from Jo as Spencer set the flower vase down on your bedside table.

The food on the tray consisted of a mug of coffee, a cup of orange juice, bacon, a bowl of blueberries, and a big chocolate chip pancake with sliced strawberries for the eyes and nose and a whipped cream smile.

“Very artistic,” you grinned.

Spencer returned next to you in bed, getting under the covers. He was wearing a plain gray fitted t-shirt, flannel PJ pants, and his glasses.

“Jo, you can go get your present for Mommy while she eats,” he suggested.

Once Jo left the room to go retrieve her gift, you planted a much messier kiss on Spencer’s lips.

“Not that I’m complaining but what was that for?” he smirked.

“You know how sexy I told you those glasses make you look,” you stated, taking a bite of a strip of bacon.

“I’ll keep them on all day then as part of your gift,” he smiled.

Jo crawled on to the bed with a wrapped box and an envelope taped to it. The card was clearly homemade by Jo and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Look at this beautiful artwork!” you exclaimed, opening the card.

Inside was a gift card for a spa downtown surrounded by Jo’s doodles.

“JJ said that place was really nice. There’s enough on there for you and a friend to get a full day of pampering,” Spencer said.

“Well, that’s good that she likes it because I will probably bring her along as my fellow mom. Thank you both,” you smiled.

Jo pushed the wrapped box towards you. You opened it to find a multi-colored beaded necklace.

“I made it for you, Mommy,” Jo beamed as you put it on over your head.

“That is so very thoughtful of you,” you kissed her forehead, “It fits me perfectly and you even included my favorite color.”

“I planned a picnic for today but if you would rather stay home and relax all day, I totally get it. Jo and I can go to the park and you can have some peace and quiet,” Spencer offered.

“Are you kidding me? It’s called Mother’s Day, I want to spend some time with the little girl who made me the luckiest one in the entire world,” you smiled.

“Picnic, it is then. I’ll get Jo all dressed and the bag packed. Here, let me take that,” Spencer left the room, balancing Jo on one hip and your tray of dirty dishes on the other.

You were really going to have to bring your all for Father’s Day next month.

[drosera-nepenthes]

A Royal Recluse: Princess Clotilde

Just at the time when, in consequence of the weakness and folly of the republican government, certain French Monarchists are looking to Prince Victor Napoleon Bonaparte as the possible savior of their country, the Prince, whose marriage to Princess Clementina of Belgium recently brought him before the public, was watching by the deathbed of his mother, Princess Clotilde of Savoy, who breathed her last on June 25. The story of this royal lady is a pathetic one and, apart from the interest that is attached to her as the mother of the imperial candidate to the French throne, her personal character was one of rare beauty.

She was the daughter of Victor Emmanuel II, first King of Italy, and of Adelaide, Archduchess of Austria, and was born at Turin on March 2, 1843. Her mother died in 1855, leaving five young children, of whom Clotilde was the eldest, the others being Humbert, the future King of Italy ; Amadeo, Duke of Aosta ; Maria Pia, the queen dowager of Portugal, and a son who died in childhood. The Queen of Sardinia (Victor Emmanuel had not at that time laid violent hands on the independent states of Italy) was an exemplary wife and mother, and her orphan daughters were carefully educated by the attendants whom she had placed about them.

Never was a princess more ruthlessly sacrificed to political interests than the eldest princess of Savoy. When a mere child of sixteen, Clotilde was chosen to cement the alliance between France and Sardinia, and was promised in marriage to Prince Napoleon Jerome, nephew of Napoleon I and first cousin Napoleon III, the reigning sovereign. Princess Clotilde was connected with the Bourbons, her very name was French and was given to her in memory of the French Princess Marie Clotilde, sister of Louis XVI, who married a King of Sardinia ; but allied as she was by close ties of blood to the Bourbons, she had nothing in common with the Bonapartes who occupied their place, and a more ill-assorted couple never existed than the middle-aged, violent, cynical and free-thinking Prince Napoleon and the daughter of the most ancient royal house in Europe, who traditions and surroundings were strictly conservative and religious. Their marriage took place at Turin on January 30, 1859. The bride was sixteen and the bridegroom thirty-seven. He had a handsome presence and was intelligent and well informed and well informed, but neither his private life nor his freely expressed opinions on public matters made him estimable or lovable. His attitude with regard to his cousin, the Emperor, was one of constant opposition, and it was reported that his anti-religious views led him to take part in the banquets organized by a group of free thinkers on Good Friday. Under the Second Empire the French Government was officially Catholic, and Prince Napoleon's hostile and aggressive attitude was pronounced ill-bred, if not worse. Throughout France he was distinctly unpopular.

The young bride, married to this unsympathetic nephew of the great Napoleon, probably had few illusions as to the sum of happiness that awaited her in her new home. There are still some old men living who remember her when she took possession of the Palais Royal, Prince Napoleon's Paris house.: a slight, pale girl, with fluffy, fair hair and bright eyes, not pretty but singularly attractive. Her high breeding stood her in good stead in the somewhat parvenu atmosphere of the Court of the Tuileries, she had a royal dignity all her own, and her simplicity of heart was combined with much quiet firmness. From the first she ordered her life according to the principles in which she had been educated. An early riser, even at the Palais Royal, she gave much time to prayer and to works of mercy, but her piety, says M. Emile Ollivier, a former minister of Napoleon II, “never made her tiresome or intolerant. She believed that the most useful sermon was the practice of the virtues that are taught by faith.” Her husband, although so widely apart from her, acknowledged her goodness. “Clotilde is a saint,” he sometimes said ; “if there were many like her, I believe I myself should end by becoming devout.”

When the disastrous war of 1870 brought terror and shame upon France, the Princess was in Paris. During that fatal month of August every day came news of a fresh defeat, and the revolution that was to break out on the 4th of September was already distinctly perceptible; the infuriated and terrified people made the imperial government responsible for the reverses that so keenly wounded their patriotic pride.

Princess Clotilde was alone at the Palais Royal ; her husband was with the army, her three children she sent to Switzerland, where Prince Napoleon had an estate; but she steadily refused to leave Paris while the Empress Eugénie remained at the Tuileries. There was not much personal sympathy between the two; it was Princess Clotilde's feeling of loyalty that chained her to the post danger as long as there was a semblance of imperial government in Paris.

In vain her husband wrote imperious messages bidding her join her children at Prangins; in vain her father sent the Marquis Spinela to Paris to escort her ; the Princess so yielding in everyday life, was unbending in her decision to remain at the palace as long as the lonely woman at the Tuileries was the nominal ruler of France ; she had shared the splendors of the Empire, and it went against her noble spirit to desert the Empress.

The letter this young woman, a stranger in a strange land, wrote to her father on August 25, 1870, has been quoted by the French papers. It is a right royal letter worthy of the daughter of kings:

“I am a French woman,” she says. “I cannot desert my country. When I married although so young, I knew what I was doing and if I did it, it was because I wished to do so. The interest of my husband, of my children and of my country require that I should remain here. The honor of my name, your honor, my dear father, and that of my country also demand it. Nothing will make me fail in what I believe to be my duty to the end... You know that the house of Savoy and fear have never gone together, and you would not wish that they should meet in my person.”

At last, when the Empress was driven from her palace by the mob, the Princess considered that she was free to follow, but how different was the departure of the two women!

The brilliant and beautiful sovereign, closely disguised, was only able to leave Paris owing to the assistance of her American dentist, Dr. Evans; her young cousin made her exit as a princess. In an open carriage, accompanied by her lady in waiting, she drove to the railway station in broad daylight. The excited people, awed by her courage and dignity, saluted her as she passed out of their sight, a truly royal and saintly figure.

Princess Clotilde lived for some years at Prangins, near Geneva, where she devoted herself to the education of her three children; then, when her husband was allowed to return to France, the difficulties of her married life were such that by mutual consent she retired to the Castle of Moncalieri, near Turin, with her young daughter. Here, in the home of her childhood, she spent nearly forty years. They were years of peace, largely marked by sorrow. Four times only did she emerge from her retreat, once in January 1878, when she heard that her father lay dangerously ill in Rome. She had suffered cruelly from the spoliation of the Holy See by the house of Savoy, and the remembrance of her father's part in the matter prompted her to fly to his bedside. On the way she heard that he was dead, and she sadly returned to Moncalieri. In 1891, she again started for Rome, this time to visit her husband, who lay dying at the Hotel de Russie. Those who saw the Princess during those solemn days can never forget her sweetness, earnestness and gentle patience. What passed between her and Prince Napoleon none can tell, but Cardinal Mermillod a frequent visitor to the sick room, professed himself satisfied, after two private interviews, that the dying man was fully conscious. The Princess, whose married life, it is well known, had been a via crucis, remained near him to the end, praying incessantly for the soul that probably owes its salvation to her intercession. Again in 1903 and in 1904, she left Moncalieri to visit her sister-in-law, Princess Mathilde Bonaparte, whose deathbed she attended.

Her life, as it neared the end became more and more that of a recluse. Her sons lived their own lives in Brussels and in Russia; her daughter, having married a Prince of Savoy, was near to her, and their visits, occasionally brought an element of joy into the silent castle. Last autumn, Prince Victor Napoleon's marriage to the Princess Clémentine of Belgium gladdened his mother's heart. It was celebrated at Moncalieri, and to those who attended the ceremony the most striking figure present was the slight, gray-haired lady, plainly dressed in black, whose eyes had the far-away look of those who are nearing the eternal shore. Even in the days of her youth Princess Clotilde's spirituality struck M. Emile Ollivier. It gave her, he says a singular insight into all questions that touch on right and wrong; she possessed the gifts of the true mystics, “who judge human affairs with a clearness and rectitude born of detachment.” Her chief link with the outer world during the long, silent years of old age was her love for the poor, to whom she gave royally, with a loving kindness that made her gifts more precious. Their grief was great when they heard of her death, and their prayers will follow her remains to the royal mausoleum of La Superga, near Turin, where the daughter of the Sardinian Kings sleeps with her ancestors.

America. United States, America Press, 1911.

[the-dragongirl]

Hello tumblr. I have returned from a long period of inactivity, because I must bring the good word to the corner of the Star Wars fandom that used to be my main fannish home: there is a new era of Star Wars canon that was made just for our taste. It is called the High Republic.

WHAT IS THE HIGH REPUBLIC?

The High Republic is an giant multi-media project being carried out by the Lucasfilm story group to create a brand new era of Star Wars canon. It is set a few hundred years before the prequel era (so, a long time after the Old Republic era), in a period of peace and stability within the Republic. It currently includes several English language adult novels, a YA novel, two serialized comics, a manga, some short stories, and some short video blurbs published on facebook and youtube. A TV show for Disney+ has also been announced, but is a few years off. This project is unique in Star Wars, in that all of the different parts are being written together by one writing team, and are coordinated to tell a cohesive story. Also, what has been announced is just the beginning – they have stated that there will be three different sections of the High Republic, and everything we have had announced so far is just part one. As a note: this is an era for which there was NO pre-existing canon in Legends, so it is totally new territory.

OKAY, THAT’S NICE, BUT WHY SHOULD I BOTHER TO CHECK IT OUT?

There are SO many reasons why the High Republic is worth your time to explore. I will try to outline some of them here below the cut (without any significant spoilers).

IT IS A LOVE LETTER TO THE JEDI

This is the era for everyone who loves the Jedi and wants to understand how they got to the point they did in the prequel era. It shows Jedi at their best: saving people, working together, being completely in tune with the Force (in so many beautiful and original ways), demonstrating creativity and flexibility and being rewarded for it, actually thinking through the ethics of things like the mind trick, and DEALING with their emotions rather than repressing them. It shows us how the rigid Jedi culture was saw in the prequels was a corruption of something that was originally healthy and uplifting. Jedi in this era are allowed to be flawed, and to grow, and have a community that supports them in doing so. This is the Jedi culture so many of us created as fix it fic for the prequel era, but made canon.

IT IS AN ERA OF HOPE

There are some serious problems in the High Republic Era. Without spoilers, the era opens with a terrible humanitarian crisis, laid over the Republic equivalent of the New Deal from US history.  We see a lot of examples of people doing their best to be good to each other, and working for a more just and kind galaxy. They acknowledge that things are not perfect, but people from many different backgrounds (Jedi, politicians, farmers, pilots, business people) work together to try and make things better. I don’t know about you all, but with the darkness we see in the world today, I NEED some of that optimism in my escapist media. The High Republic provides that.

IT WILL GIVE YOU FEELINGS

The existing material so far is structured to really let you emotionally invest in the characters and their struggles. Unlike with many eras of Star Wars canon, characterization is not sacrificed for the sake of plot (though never fear, there is PLENTY of plot). That means there is huge scope for empathy. I’m not going to lie; I cried within the first three chapters of Light of the Jedi, as did several other people I know. It is POIGNANT in a way that feels truly genuine.

IT IS FUN

The writing team understands that, in the end, Star Wars is space fantasy. If your space fantasy is nothing but serious, gritty grimdark, it becomes pretentious and unbearable. So, for all that there is some heavy content in the High Republic (VERY heavy content – the Nihil should really have their own content warning), it has many moments of levity that keep it from taking itself too seriously. For example, the High Republic made Jedi bodice rippers canon. Also, characters like Geode exist (yes, that rock there is a CHARACTER). The result is something which honors the spirit of Star Wars, and keeps you engaged without being tedious or ridiculously depressing.

THE WRITING TEAM HAS DIVERSE PERSPECTIVES

The main writing team consists of five people: Justina Ireland, Claudia Gray, Charles Soule, Daniel José Older, and Cavan Scott. You will note that includes two people of color, two women, and one out Queer person (in fact, one of the writers is all three of those things). This is a far cry from the white-cis-straight-man-dominated writing teams we have seen in the past. And when they bring in other people to the project, they make a point of looking for perspectives that aren’t represented on their team – for example, the manga is being co-written between Justina Ireland and Japanese writer Shima Shinya, and Ireland has stated in interviews that Shinya is taking the lead on the writing.

IT VALUES MEANINGFUL REPRESENTATION

That diverse writing team means a cast that looks WAY more like the real world than any other era of Star Wars we’ve seen, in terms of representation. There are multiple characters of color, who are both heroes and central to the story. There are at least five canonical queer characters to date (a MLM couple, an Ace character, and two NB character).  [EDIT: Thank you @legok9​ for letting me know about the NB characters]. Among binary gendered characters, there is a very even balance of men and women. The writing team has also stated that they will be incorporating more representation of disability in the works to come. And the story is so much better for it – representation is included here BECAUSE it makes for more creative, believable, and original storytelling.

IT IS ACCESSIBLE

Because of the multiple formats, and the fact that it doesn’t rely on you knowing any prior lore, the High Republic offers many avenues to engage for people with all kinds of needs. Know nothing about Star Wars canon and feel intimidated about catching up? The canon is all new in this era anyway, so you’re fine. Can’t handle flashing lights? No problem – the little bit of video content that exists is totally free from the strobing effects that caused seizure and sensory issues. Need purely audio content? You can still have a full experience of the High Republic with the gorgeously sound-scaped audiobooks. Don’t have the attention span for books or long movies? Then the comics are your friend.

THERE IS SOMETHING FOR ALL

Between the books aimed towards adults and teens (and their respective audiobooks), the kids books, the comics, the manga, the short stories, AND the eventual TV show on Disney+, there is going to be content in the High Republic that suits most audiences. And that is just what has been announced so far – there is still more to come for phases II and III. This isn’t Star Wars written towards one group or demographic – it is Star Wars for everyone.

DID I MENTION THE FANCY JEDI UNIFORMS?

Because cosplayers and fanartists? This is the era for you. We are getting Jedi in silks with elaborate gold embroidery. Jedi with jewelry other decorative elements. Even the practical field uniforms have tooled and embossed leather. If you want to draw or make Jedi that have some of that that sweet LoTR-esque high fantasy aesthetic, the High Republic has your back. (Not going to lie – I am ALREADY imagining the time travel AUs. Put Obi-Wan in fancy clothes!)

OKAY, YOU’VE SOLD ME. WHERE SHOULD I START?

I strongly recommend everyone looking to get into the High Republic (who is old enough to be on Tumblr) start with Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule. I alternated between the physical book and the audio book, and found it delightful in both formats. After that, you have a lot of options. You can read or listen to the audio book of the YA novel A Test of Courage by Justina Ireland. You can check out the currently running Star Wars: The High Republic comic from Marvel, or the Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures comic from IDW. Or you can skip straight to Into the Dark by Claudia Gray. Honestly, there is no wrong order to try out most of the High Republic.

IN CONLUSION

The High Republic is Star Wars written for people who DON’T want Star Wars to be a good ‘ol boys club for salty white dudes who don’t want to see anything but more of Luke Skywalker. It offers broad representation, and optimistic narrative, and whole bunch of awesome Jedi content. If you are someone who fell in love with Jedi in the prequel era, the High Republic will give you more of what you loved. And if you are totally new to Star Wars? The High Republic is here for you too.

So, go check it. And then go write fic for it (please, there are only, like, 14 fics on AO3, I am dying).

[bloodbenderz]

humaniterations (dot) net/2014/10/13/an-anarchist-perspective-on-the-red-lotus/ this article from oct 2014 is very dense — truly, a lot to unpack here, but I feel like you would find this piece interesting. I would love it if you shared your thoughts on the points that stood out to you, whether you agree or disagree. you obv don’t have to respond to it tho, but I’m sending it as an ask jic you feel like penning (and sharing) a magnificent essay, as is your wont 💕

article

i know this took me forever 2 answer SORRY but i just checked off all the things on my to do list for the first time in days today so. Essay incoming ladies!

ok im SO glad u sent me this bc it’s so so good. it’s a genuinely thoughtful criticism of the politics in legend of korra (altho i think its sometimes a little mean to korra unnecessarily like there’s no reason to call her a “petulant brat” or say that she throws tantrums but i do understand their point about her being an immature and reactionary hero, which i’ll get back to) and i think the author has a good balance between acknowledging like Yeah the lok writers were american liberals and wrote their show accordingly and Also writing a thorough analysis of lok’s politics that felt relevant and interesting without throwing their hands up and saying this is all useless liberal bullshit (which i will admit that i tend to do).

this article essentially argues that the red lotus antagonists of s3 were right. And that’s not an uncommon opinion i think but this gives it serious weight. Like, everything that zaheer’s gang did was, in context, fully understandable. of course the red lotus would be invested in making sure that the physically and spiritually and politically most powerful person in the world ISNT raised by world leaders and a secret society of elites that’s completely unaccountable to the people! of course the red lotus wants to bring down tyrannical governments and allow communities to form and self govern organically! and the writers dismiss all of that out of hand by 1. consistently framing the red lotus as insane and murderous (korra never actually gives zaheer’s ideas a chance or truly considers integrating them into her own approach) 2. representing the death of the earth queen as not just something that’s not necessarily popular (what was with mako’s bootlicker grandma, i’d love to know) but as something that causes unbelievable violence and chaos in ba sing se (which, like, a lot of history and research will tell you that people in disasters tend towards prosocial behaviors). so the way the story frames each of these characters and ideologies is fascinating because like. if you wanted to write season 3 of legend of korra with zaheer as the protagonist and korra as the antagonist, you wouldn’t actually have to change the sequence of events at all, really. these writers in particular and liberal writers in general LOVE writing morally-gray-but-ultimately-sympathetic characters (like, almost EVERY SINGLE fire nation character in the first series, who were full on violent colonizers but all to a degree were rehabilitated in the eyes of the viewer) but instead of framing the red lotus as good people who are devoted to justice and freedom and sometimes behave cruelly to get where theyre trying to go, they frame them as psychopaths and murderers who have good intentions don’t really understand how to make the world a better place.

and the interesting thing about all this, about the fact that the red lotus acted in most cases exactly as it should have in context and the only reason its relegated to villain status is bc the show is written by liberals, is that the red lotus actually points out really glaring sociopolitical issues in universe! like, watching the show, u think well why the fuck HASN’T korra done anything about the earth queen oppressing her subjects? why DOESN’T korra do anything about the worse than useless republic president? why the hell are so many people living in poverty while our mains live cushy well fed lives? how come earth kingdom land only seems to belong to various monarchs and settler colonists, instead of the people who are actually indigenous to it? the show does not want to answer these questions, because american liberal capitalism literally survives on the reality of oppressive governments and worse than useless presidents and people living in poverty while the middle/upper class eats and indigenous land being stolen. if the show were to answer these questions honestly, the answer would be that the status quo in real life (and the one on the show that mirrors real life) Has To Change.

So they avoid answering these questions honestly in order for the thesis statement to be that the status quo is good. and the only way for the show to escape answering these questions is for them to individualize all these broad social problems down into Good people and Bad people. so while we have obvious bad ones like the earth queen we also have all these capitalists and monarchs and politicians who are actually very nice and lovely people who would never hurt anyone! which is just such an absurd take and it’s liberal propaganda at its best. holding a position of incredible political/economic power in an unjust society is inherently unethical and maintaining that position of power requires violence against the people you have power over. which is literally social justice 101. but there’s literally no normal, average, not-politically-powerful person on the show. so when leftist anarchism is presented and says that destroying systems that enforce extreme power differentials is the only way to bring peace and freedom to all, the show has already set us up to think, hey, fuck you, top cop lin beifong and ford motor ceo asami sato are good people and good people like them exist! and all we have to do to move forward and progress as a society is to make sure we have enough good individuals in enough powerful positions (like zuko as the fire lord ending the war, or wu as the earth king ending the monarchy)! which is of course complete fiction. liberal reform doesn’t work. but by pretending that it could work by saying that the SYSTEM isnt rotten it’s just that the people running it suck and we just need to replace those people, it automatically delegitimizes any radical movements that actually seek to change things.

and that’s the most interesting thing about this article to me is that it posits that the avatar...might actually be a negative presence in the world. the avatar is the exact same thing: it’s a position of immense political and physical power bestowed completely randomly, and depending on the moral character and various actions of who fills that position at any given time, millions of people will or won’t suffer. like kyoshi, who created the fascist dai li, like roku, who refused to remove a genocidal dictator from power, like aang, who facilitated the establishment of a settler colonial state on earth kingdom land. like korra! she’s an incredibly immature avatar and a generally reactionary lead. i’ve talked about this at length before but she never actually gets in touch with the needs of the people. she’s constantly running in elite circles, exposed only to the needs and squabbles of the upper class! how the hell is she supposed to understand the complexities of oppression and privilege when she was raised by a chess club with inordinate amounts of power and associates almost exclusively with politicians and billionaires?? from day 1 we see that she tends to see things in very black and white ways which is FINE if you’re a privileged 17 yr old girl seeing the world for the first time but NOT FINE if you’re the single most powerful person in the world! Yeah, korra thinks the world is probably mostly fine and just needs a little whipping into shape every couple years, because all she has ever known is a mostly fine world! in s1 when mako mentions that he as a homeless impoverished teenager worked for a gang (which is. Not weird. Impoverished people of every background are ALWAYS more likely to resort to socially unacceptable ways of making money) korra is like “you guys are criminals?????!!!!!” she was raised in perfect luxury by a conservative institution and just never developed beyond that. So sure, if the red lotus raised her anarchist, probably a lot would’ve been different/better, but....they didn’t. and korra ended up being a reactionary and conservative avatar who protected monarchs and colonialist politicians. The avatar as a position is completely subject to the whims of whoever is currently the avatar. and not only does that suck for everyone who is not the avatar, not only is it totally unfair to whatever kid who grows up knowing the fate of the world is squarely on their shoulders, but it as a concept is a highly individualist product of the authors’ own western liberal ideas of progress! the idea that one good leader can fix the world (or should even try) based on their own inherent superiority to everyone else is unbelievably flawed and ignores the fact that all real progress is brought about as a result of COMMUNITY work, as a result of normal people working for themselves and their neighbors!

the broader analysis of bending was really interesting to me too, but im honestly not sure i Totally agree with it. the article pretty much accepts the show’s assertion that bending is a privilege (and frankly backs it up much better than the original show did, but whatever), and i don’t think that’s NECESSARILY untrue since it is, like, a physical advantage (the author compares it to, for example, the fact that some people are born athletically gifted and others are born with extreme physical limitations), but i DO think that it discounts the in universe racialization of bending. in any sequel to atla that made sense, bending as a race making fact would have been explored ALONGSIDE the physical advantages it bestows on people. colonialism and its aftermath is generally ignored in this article which is its major weakness i think, especially in conjunction with bending. you can bring up the ideas the author did about individual vs community oriented progress in the avatar universe while safely ignoring the colonialism, but you can’t not bring up race and colonialism when you discuss bending. especially once you get to thinking about how water/earth/airbenders were imprisoned and killed specifically because bending was a physical advantage, and that physical advantage was something that would have given colonized populations a means of resistance and that the fire nation wanted to keep to itself.

i think that’s the best lens thru which to analyze bending tbh! like in the avatar universe bending is a tool that different ethnic groups tend to use in different ways. at its best, bending actually doesn’t represent social power differences (despite representing a physical power difference) because it’s used to represent/maintain community solidarity. like, take the water tribe. katara being the last waterbender, in some way, makes her the last of a part of swt CULTURE. the implication is that when there were a lot of waterbenders in the south, they dedicated their talents to building community and helping their neighbors, because this was something incredibly culturally important and important to the water tribe as a community. the swt as a COLLECTIVE values bending for what it can do for the entire tribe, which counts for basically every other talent a person can have (strength, creativity, etc). the fire nation, by contrast, distorts the community value of bending by racializing it: anyone who bends an element that isn’t fire is inherently NOT fire nation (and therefore inherently inferior) and, because of the physical power that bending confers, anyone who bends an element that isn’t fire is a threat to fire nation hegemony. and in THAT framework of bending, it’s something that intrinsically assigns worth and reifies race in a way that’s conveniently beneficial to the oppressor.

it IS worth talking about how using Element as a way to categorize people reifies nations, borders, and race in a way that is VERY characteristic of white american liberals. i tried to be conscious of that (and the way that elements/bending can act in DIFFERENT ways, depending on cultural context) but i think it’s pretty clear that the writers did intend for element to unequivocally signify nation (and, by extension, race), which is part of why they screwed up mixed families so bad in lok. when they’ve locked themselves into this idea that element=nation=race, they end up with sets of siblings like mako and bolin or kya tenzin and bumi, who all “take” after only one parent based on the element that they bend. which is just completely stupid but very indicative of how the writers actually INTENDED element/bending to be a race making process. and its both fucked up and interesting that the writers display the same framework of race analysis that the canonical antagonists of atla do.

anyway that’s a few thoughts! thank u again for sending the article i really loved it and i had a lot of fun writing this <3

[god-of-dust]

since i already posted Rising Sun, i thought that it would be interesting to show part of my writing process for it. this is part of the first, unedited draft that i wrote without any finesse and then rewrote completely. notice the “send help” bit XD

He waits until Aang's finished with his mantras before speaking. “Can I have your opinion on something?”

“I'm listening,” Aang says, voice deep and resonant.

“The anniversary of the genocide will be in a few months,” he begins, unsure on how to approach the subject.

Slowly, Aang exhales, rolls his shoulders and neck and opens his eyes to look at Zuko. “Yes.”

“I'd like to make it an official day of remembrance.” He passes a hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts.

“That's... incredibly thoughtful, Zuko. Thank you.”

Zuko scratches at a bit of sealing wax that's stuck to his desk. “The power I have means nothing if I don't use it to right the wrongs that my family has done. To be honest, there's a lot that needs to be mended, especially when it comes to your people, and even for this anniversary I have no idea what to do. What's the appropriate way to do this?”

“In truth, I have no idea either.” Aang briefly clutches his beads. “Now that the war is over, I have more space to think about what happened and how I want to honor my people so that their teachings aren't forgotten, but it's—well, a lot.”

“I was thinking about theatre—a play that tells the real story, what truly happened that day, instead of that bullshit militaristic propaganda we've been fed during the war.” Zuko offers cautiously.

“That could work. Can I think about it some more?”

“Of course you can. But, um, on the topic of propaganda... there's also something else I've been meaning to ask you.”

“There's always something else,” Aang says, and even though his tone is neutral Zuko still flinches. There's unconcealed tiredness in those words, one that Zuko is well-acquainted with; long nights spent wondering if the demands of his title will pile up and pile up until they swallow him whole, followed by long days where he brushes away the bruises under his eyes and puts on his best diplomatic face to attend to those very same demands.

“I'm working with my advisors to completely rewrite the school curriculum. They've been a great help, but for all their genuine interest they've been indoctrinated about Air Nomads as much as anyone else in this nation. I want kids to be taught about your culture, and for that I need you.” Before Aang can reply, Zuko speaks again. “I know that I'm asking too much. I know that this would be yet another responsibility you got saddled with... but you're also the best person possible for this.”

Aang's smile is a wry, bitter thing that makes Zuko's chest ache like a hollowed out tree. “Not the best. The only one.”

“You're not the only one. I could recruit some of the Air Acolytes if you think it's a good idea.”

“No, that wouldn't be enough,” Aang says, shaking his head minutely. “They're passionate scholars, and their presence soothes the part of me that was afraid that any hope for community had been lost. Still... they can never get it completely. There are things that can't be taught, only lived.”

There's nothing that Zuko can reply to that. No words will ever be enough to restore what has been destroyed and taken away from Aang; as much as that wound appears to be scarred and healed, Zuko can see that there's a well of grief that Aang doesn't let anyone get close to.

Some gaps can never be closed, but others can.

He rises from his desk and crosses the distance between them, kneeling before Aang. They're at the same height now, and Zuko gently presses his forehead against Aang's; after a small moment of hesitation, he places a hand against Aang's cheek. This tentative touch is all he has to offer.

“I wish I didn't have to ask this of you,” Zuko murmurs, eyes closing in surrender, thumb stroking soft skin.

They breathe together like this, slipping into a state of shared equilibrium. It doesn't erase the pain, but it makes it bearable. A thing that they both can carry together.

“I'm the last airbender. I won't disrespect my people by running away. Besides, I'm the Avatar, and my voice carries authority that I'm meant to use exactly for reasons such as these.”

Zuko sighs. Outside of the window, where the sky is beginning to darken, a handful of stars begin to emerge from its expanse. “I want more than anything to see you at peace, and yet I find myself burdening you with heavy choices, over and over.”

“Your choices aren't easy either, Zuko.”

“No, they aren't. But then, I'm honor-bound to rule this nation to the best of my abilities, regardless of my wishful thinking about how easier it should be.”

Aang squeezes one of his shoulders, reassuring him with a simple touch.

I know how it feels. You're not alone.

And Aang does understand, better than anyone else. The feeling of suffocation that comes with the high stakes involved in any misstep, the anxiety that has taken permanent residence under Zuko's ribs ever since his coronation. He never speaks about it, not out loud, and he's glad that he doesn't need to.

Aang puts a hand on the back of Zuko's neck, lightly kneading the lingering tension away.

Why is it that Aang makes it easy to accept a touch so loving and tender? He'd struggled to accept his uncle's hugs and comforting pats, feeling unworthy of his freely given affection.

Aang doesn't owe him anything. And yet here Zuko is, unmoving, his own palm still cupping Aang's tranquil face, fingers tracing absent patterns on it. Thoughts slip away, awash by the simplicity of this moment.

"Be here, Zuko. There's a lot we must do, a lot that's been appointed onto us, but now we have this."

"Thank you," Zuko whispers, and he means it.

The pressure of Aang's hand on Zuko grounds him. They breath as one, and for a moment they are one, a single essence.

“The first time I entered the Avatar state I experienced visions of the world that can't be expressed with words,” Aang says. “I saw the oneness of all things. I saw impermanence, the mutable nature of everything. Going back to being myself, with a body, after that... It took a bit of adjusting. Okay, a lot of adjusting.”

“How did you do it?” How can a person contain all that? is what Zuko wishes to ask, though he doesn't quite dare.

“I don't know. It's an apparent contradiction that I have yet to come to terms with. I have a duty as Avatar Aang that I'm meant to uphold, while having witnessed that, ultimately, I have no separate identity at all.” An exhale, long and deep. “Sometimes it feels meaningless. Why bother, why struggle, when we are all one and the same? But it's what we're here to do, what I am here to do.”

“You're the most selfless person I know.” It tumbles out of Zuko's mouth, unfiltered. Aang is... all that.

At Aang's age, Zuko had only cared about firebending forms and maybe his crush on Mai. He'd still hoped for his father's approval. Then there's Aang, a hero, a survivor, who's seen more than any person would be able to bear; the most profound loss, the glory of victory, and the ultimate detachment from it all.

It's impossible that this larger-than-life being can be so unassuming. That he has love for Zuko, so much that his scarred heart can drown in it.

Never has he felt so cherished, with no strings attached, no familial bonds, no hidden treachery glistening behind constructed gestures.

His chest isn't hollow anymore. It feels full, the fuller it's been in a long time, overflowing him. The naked affection he holds for Aang is humbling, devastating.

Aang has the supreme quality of making Zuko feel like he belongs. They belong together, as strange and different as they might be, as conflicted Zuko might feel about it. It doesn't matter.

When Aang talks about oneness, this is what Zuko can compare it to. Their mingled breaths, Aang's hand on his skin. That time at the Sun Warriors temple, along with now. They have everything. They are everything, and when they're together, Zuko can believe that they can achieve anything, overcome any struggle.

There's no obstacle big enough to stop their combined strength.

Is this what unconditional love is? The complete, utter perfection Zuko feels?

Nothing can mar this. Not when Aang is with him.

“I want to be there for you. I want to do everything in my power to provide reparation, to acknowledge the harm that's been done to your people, to offer my effort to make it right again... but I don't know how. I need you, Aang.” He stares into his eyes, gold meeting gray. “I need you to teach me. To tell me if I'm doing it wrong.”

“Okay,” Aang says, simply. “I'll be your advisor in this.”

“I'm so sorry that I'm asking this of you. I'm sorry that this is yet another burden piled up on top of your other responsibilities.”

Aang sighs. It's not a sad sigh, nor a frustrated sigh. Just... a deep exhale. “Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”

“I wish you didn't have to.”

“Wishing is pointless. We might as well act on what we have.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I still can't accept the things that I suffered through. I haven't forgiven my family for what they've done. My father is rotting in prison, and he deserves it. For what he's done to me, to you, to this nation. The fact that you can be so calm about it... how? How can you be so calm?”

“Forgiving is not forgetting. What has been done has been done, and it's still impressed in my memory and will always be. But punishment serves no one.”

“So he should just... not pay for what he's done? Where's the justice in that?”

“Justice is meaningless. Justice is the illusion of balance, based on false ideas of truth.”

“Aang I don't fucking get it. He's a genocidal maniac. Send help.”

“The pain he's caused can't be mended through punishment. It cannot be solved in any way. We can only acknowledge that pain and make sure that it doesn't happen again. And... I'm glad that you're thinking about this. It warms my heart that you feel this way.”

[a-username-not-found]

April Update

Thank you for bearing with me!

I am now free of busy days despite the remnants of some projects so

Within the month I shall complete the updates

Also, get ready for these incoming fanfics:

1. Little Red and Bastard Prince In which a twisted tale of scarlet flowers and sapphire stones unfolds beneath their shadows. Once upon a war, a bastard prince has conquered all that is liberated and faded to gray. But not this little red, no she has not. For the little red had freedom and secrets under her hood, and the bastard prince is yet to unveil the darkness lurking on his kingdom.

2. Spy X Kin

In which the adults play a game with guns and roses.

Twilight and Dusk received two emergency missions amidst a greater scope. At their expense, these missions involve myriad hurdles to Twilight's ongoing mission and bothersome duties to Dusk's supposed vacation. And it so happens that Yor has to reach out to a special someone in light of her client's request on the rumored kin. Not that Anya doesn't care, but how could she when she's troubled on her little inner dispute: Bond or Sadaharu?

In a world full of secrecy and deceiving identities, the truth will be their key to resolve each of their predicament.

Come, feast yourself in the playground of treasure and pleasure. Welcome to the Kabuki District.

3. Lost and Found in Each Other's Books

In which she plots his next pages and he unfolds her story.

4. The Heart of the Cosmos In which aliens want their existence be disproved and paranormal activities are not enough proof. Being a runaway and an immigrant in the same sentence doubles the trouble. What are the odds when everyone finds out? Let the games begin, the tension quadruple.

Characters:

Kagura - an arrogant alien who wants everyone to acknowledge her existence. Also, she's a runaway daughter who found shelter in a building tucked away in the dark side of the town built for sinful night activities.

Sougo Okita - a sadistic paranormal skeptic who wants nothing to do with everyone aside from his sister. It just so happens that his sister might actually believe in ghosts and would be closer to the ghost believer.

Side Characters

Mitsuba Okita - Sougo's sister. Not wanting to deprive her brother from their loss of parents in their young age, Mitsuba unintentionally spoiled her brother with generous affection. Nowadays, however, her attention is divided to two other things: ghost sightings and a certain man with V bangs.

Tsukuyo - Kagura's current guardian. Maintaining a twisted harmony within the prostitution sector becomes more difficult when she saves a self-proclaimed alien from mobsters. Humans truly are scary, and the current circumstances of their home does not make it easier for them to survive.

Toushiro Hijikata - a paranormal amateur who is scared of ghosts but thrives to show proof because a science guy provoked him. He may shiver in their assumed prsence but there's no beating the electrifying shock he experiences when he gets close to a certain woman in love with Tabasco.

Isao Kondou - manager of the ghost squad. He frequently orders booze and snacks from a certain club as he is usually left alone in the car and chatting the boys when they're busy searching for ghosts.

Hinowa - Kagura's another guardian. Her plan should be carried out, especially in Kagura's presence which she would like to take advantage of in the dire circumstances. She has a friend in a distant place, in a gay bar where various connections are revealed. She also wants to go to a snack bar to seek help.

Housen - manager of Yoshiwara and president of the Shuttle of the Night Laboratory. He creates chemicals using alien technology and chemicals for his illegal business to thrive and sustain life for the citizens living on a certain prostitution building.

Seita - believes in ghosts and aliens. But his mother is busy dealing with the forbidden chemicals in their building so he is often left alone dealing with the ghostly stuff. Not that anyone lends an ear to him nor takes him seriously except for the airhead immigrant who came to their home days ago.

Shinpachi Shimura - a slave of science deprived of sleep. The government basically stuffs their laboratory with all the difficult work and they're not getting paid enough. In return, he turns into an otaku in his scarce free time where he becomes fast asleep when hearing Otsu's songs.

Gintoki Sakata - a living legend, a lazy president of a laboratory. The legend says he conducted an experiment wherein he successfully called out a demon and bargained something precious in exchange of peace and harmony of the world. But as seen in his slacked form, it is hard to tell whether it is true or not.

Sagaru Yamazaki - the camera man of the ghost squad. Can only stuff his mouth of sausage and anpan to prevent himself from screaming.

Katakuriko Matsudaira - the director of the ghost squad. He doesn't really care but because his daughter likes the V guy, he allowed it. Definitely not because of her daughter pestering him all week, no, his daughter is not annoying like that. But things have taken a turn once an incident happened.

Kankou - Kagura's father. Always scourging for chemicals in various planets with a purpose just slightly different from his past scavenging. In his line of business, he met an inventor who successfully created an android, fueling his twisted longing hidden in the depth of his balding head.

Kamui - Kagura's brother. A drug dealer and an alien in hiding, he makes a living by introducing their alien chemicals to induce varying effects to humans. Actually finding a compatible material or element with theirs so he can create a perfect formula of necromancy, or so a ragged book says.

Tatsuma Sakamoto - a science guy who accomplished finding aliens but with a price. He considers the bargain a trade worth to happen despite the events that transpired. He takes record of the aliens he encountered and considers life as a philosophical entertainment which he guarantees his friends would agree on, somehow, despite their lack of presence.

Mutsu - an alien of Kagura's species. She is the vice captain of a spaceship that might as well be in her full hold as the captain is irresponsible and talks gibberish when he's drunk. Though, letting their captain barf from the spaceship is prolly not a good idea as a kid watches the barf be brought down by gravity, to his face.

Until then, see ya! (insert Katsura's little awkward laughs excited giggles)

[ttttaehyungie]

sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 2

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘  genre | angst, exes au

☘  summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘  word count | 5.6k

☘  rating | PG-13

☘  warnings | none

☘  a/n | ngl this update is coming later than i intended 🙈🙈 life has been pretty demanding on me lately butttt here we go!! chapter 2 😌 as always, thank you all you lovelies for reading, and let me know what you think 💕

The blare of the alarm pierces straight through the pleasantry of slumber and has you fumbling blindly for your phone. It’s right there on the bedside table. You refuse to open your eyes to the morning light that streams into your apartment. Finally, your searching hand finds the coolness of the device that's vibrating away angrily where it sits. Within a few attempts, swiping with your eyes still stubbornly closed, you get it to shut up. Rolling over, you snuggle further down under the covers, basking in the cozy warmth.

Beep. Beep.

Of course the moment of peace is not meant to last. The five-minute snooze duration on your alarm provides but a temporary respite. You groan.

But you kick the covers off, letting the cold morning air be what shocks you into alertness. Remaining in bed is really tempting, sure.

Thank god you love your job enough to overcome the daily inertia of getting up.

You shiver a little as your bare feet hit the chilly floor. Pulling the oversized shirt that is your staple sleepwear closer to you in an attempt to retain some body heat, the thought of purchasing a fluffy robe is beginning to look less and less impulsive and more and more justifiable as a necessity. With the lack of said fluffy robe, you rush to the bathroom in search of the comfort that's found in standing under the warm spray of the shower.

Your daily morning shower always gets you sufficiently awake, or enough for you to at least be in the right state of mind to make your cup of coffee that will wake you up entirely. The coffee machine had been a splurge at the time of purchase. But it’s established itself well enough within your morning routine to be considered an investment at this point. Sipping your coffee- with cream and no sugar- in between your daily make-up routine has your insides all toasty and warm.

The hot beverage exponentially increases in importance on rainy mornings like these. It’s nothing too drastic, just a light drizzle. But it makes the concrete jungle that you live in feel extra cold, and in more ways than just in temperature. The lack of lush greenery and the stiff silence of the people rushing about to get on with their hectic daily lives often leaves the city atmosphere feeling gray and dreary.

But you can’t complain.

Not when you’re one of the exceptional cases that gets to do what you truly love. In fact, being surrounded by the robotic throngs that drag themselves to the towering skyscrapers that house these big fancy corporations of blah only makes you even more aware that what you have is something coveted.

Working as a museum curator definitely wasn’t your childhood dream. But your college days had awakened the deep passion for art history that had laid dormant in you for years.

And now, here you are. Living in the big city and working for a prestigious museum. Who would have imagined that small-town you would have achieved all of this?

You absolutely love it. This little space in the world you’ve carved out is yours. You’re chasing after your own dream and living out your passion.

Maybe that’s one thing you should be thankful for from the breakup. Being thrust into singleness had left you helplessly untethered at first what with the abrupt upheaval of all the plans you’d initially laid out.

But perhaps it was what you needed. You needed to be an individual. You needed to know what that individuality meant. And your self-exploration, free from just chasing his shadow, brought you to discover your interest in curatorial work.

Which, in turn, brought you to the city.

The very same city that the breakup had happened in.

The fates truly have a sense of humor, pulling you back to the place which was once the site of heartbreak and tragedy, but is now the launchpad for your ambitions and self-actualization.

Or, much more plausibly, it was not the fates but a matter of practicality and statistics. It’s a big city, housing multiple big-name museums. It’s only natural that the city would become the base for you to build up your career once you completed your post-grad studies.

Once upon a time, when things were still a little too raw, you’d sworn off this place entirely. The city was simply too filled with memories, both good and bad, of him.

But that line of thought simply couldn’t hold up for too long. After all, by that same logic, your own hometown would have had to be boycotted as well.

Through your extended reverie, your hands- well-seasoned to the movements they execute daily- had finished your simple make-up routine. One final spritz of setting spray, and you release your now damp hair from where it sat bundled in the towel atop your head. As you absentmindedly blow dry your hair, your thoughts wander off on their own once again.

Your decision to move out to the city was one that was made in full knowledge that Namjoon was still here. This city is not affectionately termed the city of dreams for nothing. As an aspiring writer and a boy with a city soul, it was the most natural progression of events that he chose to remain in the city after graduating from college. Living in the city made it convenient for him to meet up with his editor and publishing company.

Or so you’ve heard from Hoseok. It’s been years since your break up and neither of you have reached out to close that awkward distance that rifted between you. Anyway, when you were moving out here, you figured that in a city as big as this with such a dense population, there’s little chance that you’ll actually bump into him.

Okay. You apologize to whatever deity it is out there for your earlier dismissal of the fates. Now that you think about it, they truly exist, and boy do they have a sense of humor.

Who would think that even in a city as large as yours, you’d still manage to run into him? And not just once, but a number of times now.

The first time, it was in a diner just two streets down from the museum that you had planned to go to for lunch. That is, until you spotted him through the window, chatting with a companion, his tanned skin and dimpled smile the same as always. Suffice to say, your lunch plans changed.

Then on a quiet afternoon in the museum, your little workplace trio had slipped out together for a coffee break under Yeri’s insistence. Apparently, the new cafe down the road served an oat milk latte that was to die for, or at least good enough to drag you and Soo-eun out for.

Turns out the cafe’s reputation had reached Namjoon’s ears too, because there he was, seated by the window with a mess of papers filled with his scrawly handwriting. The choice of seating was so… Joon. He’d always justified his fascination with people-watching by claiming it to be an essential part of his creative process.

Thankfully, this creative process seemed to be going well for him and took his full attention, allowing you to slip into the cafe unnoticed. A true feat, really, considering how animated Yeri gets when she’s chatty. With your oat milk latte in hand- also this damn drink better be so good it brings you to your knees on the first sip given the things you’ve had to endure to obtain it- you’re ready to make your swift escape from this risky situation.

As Soo-eun pushes the door open, you steal a leftwards glance. Your heart stills for a second. A pair of familiar, striking eyes is trained on you, and they widen just a fraction upon being caught. You can feel your own features making their own reflex reaction as the shock runs electric through you.

The awkward eye contact is forcibly broken as you follow after your friends, refusing to acknowledge the moment the two of you just shared. That was all it was- a moment- but it felt like time came to a standstill the moment your eyes met.

This freezing of time seems to be recurrent in your run-ins with Namjoon. The next time you see him is when you’re riding the subway home. Your pubescent years had seen Namjoon shooting up in height. You can’t forget the countless times he’d had to stoop down for you so you could press a chaste goodbye kiss to his cheek. What an inconvenience it’d been.

But what a convenience it is in this scenario. His head, though bent over a book, towers over the rush hour crowd squeezed into the carriage. With his height, you’d spotted his presence within mere seconds of him boarding the train.

The shock that had jolted through you had you dropping your eye gaze and ducking your head, letting your hair fall as a shield to conceal you. And it was a pretty effective one, as your surreptitious monitoring revealed that he was none the wiser to your presence.

However your next challenge comes when it’s your stop next and he’s standing right by the exit. As the train pulls into the station, you pray hard that he returns to his book and remains sufficiently engrossed in it for you to make your escape. Keeping your gaze on the ground, you worm your way around the crowd, mumbling out ‘pardon me’s.

Perhaps that was your downfall, was what alerted him to your presence. You’re stepping out of the carriage and so close to sweet, sweet relief.

But something brushes your arm just as you’re passing by him- a hand maybe? Your breath catches. Time halts. You steel your nerves. Ignore it. Just keep walking.

As the whirring of the blow dryer switches off, so does your unrestrained recalling come to an end. Downing the last of your coffee- now barely warm- you bring it to the kitchen to wash away the dredges the same way you wash away the thoughts of Namjoon.

"One more week, everyone!" Yeri cheers, as she turns her chair, swapping her cushy flats out for some black heels. That can only mean one thing- she’s headed for a night out.

"Have fun, Yeri," you say.

"Fun? What is that? At this point in our timeline, all I know is the hustle, babe."

You glance meaningfully at her shoes.

"Happy hour drinks with one of our patrons so I can secure the loan on this piece that you listed as absolutely essential," she explains in response to your pointed look.

"Ok, ok. Go work your magic."

She smirks. "That’s right, trust me to be your resident miracle worker."

"Just make sure it comes on time, please. The exhibition spatial plotting on this one looks intense," Soo-eun pipes up quietly.

"Hey, where’s the vote of confidence in our heavenly trio?" Yeri says.

"I mean, we’re good at what we do, but exhibition design never gets any less stressful."

"Don’t worry, Soo-eun, we’ll deliver an excellent exhibition as per usual," you say, instilling in them the confidence that you genuinely feel when working with this team. "With Yeri’s charisma in securing the loans on the pieces we need, coupled with your eye in exhibition design, it’ll be great as per usual."

Ever since that first exhibition you’d all been thrown together for, the synergy between the three of you was undeniable, both to yourselves and to your other coworkers who were mere witnesses of it.

"And not forgetting your taste in selection of pieces too, ____. See, there’s the vote of confidence I was looking for," Yeri says. She applies a fresh coat of her merlot red lipstick and inspects her appearance in her compact mirror. Deeming herself presentable, she gets up from her desk, handbag casually and stylishly slung on her forearm. "Ok, I’m off. TGIF, everyone! Don’t stay too late working on those descriptions, ____."

You hum in response, your eyes glued to said descriptions that were only half-written at this point. Maybe a weekend working overtime is in order.

"Oh! Don’t forget, we’ve got brunch with Dong-In tomorrow. He really enjoyed your company the last time," Yeri says, as if she read your mind. There goes your overtime plans for the weekend that you were mentally pencilling in.

"Right. You make sure that you don’t get too wasted and miss brunch tomorrow."

"Hey, it’s a strictly professional drinking session tonight."

"Mmhm, but I’m sure you’ll find a group of friends for drinks after the meeting. When have you ever missed a night out on the town on a Friday?"

"Touche."

You smirk when she concedes. You love Yeri with all your being, but she’s a party girl at heart and you know her well. "Text me when you’re up tomorrow."

"Will do, babe. I’ve really got to run now or I’ll be late and lose you your art piece."

"All the best, Yeri!" Soo-eun calls after her.

"Thanks, and all the best, Yeri!" you echo.

Sinking back in the plush of your desk chair, you return to the write-ups and sigh.

"Just one more week, ____. Like you said, we’ve got this," Soo-eun encourages.

The next day begins much like the previous, with you fumbling for your alarm in your sleep-addled state and groaning when the five minute snooze duration passes way quicker than what five minutes feels like.

You go through your usual morning routine- shower, coffee, make-up, hair- but can afford to chill out with nowhere to rush to. Weekend mornings are to be savored for their unhurried pace. Getting up is a pain, but you relish the quiet, unbroken serenity of the mornings enough to haul yourself out of bed, even if you don’t have work to head out for.

To be frank, you’re enjoying the peacefulness of your morning so immensely that when 10am rolls around and there’s still no sign from Yeri that she’s awake- you’ve done your due diligence, you’ve dropped her at least five texts and multiple calls to check if she’s alive- the temptation to just ditch your brunch plans grows harder to fight.

Well technically, it’s Yeri’s brunch plans… So if she doesn’t wake up for them then it’s not really your fault, is it?

Dialling her number one last time brings you to her voicemail- Hey, it’s Yeri! If you’re hearing this, it either means I’m busy, asleep, or ignoring you. Just leave your message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Unless I’m ignoring you, in which case, … *beep*- and you smile as you find your scapegoat.

[10.07am] ____: hey dong in, mornnn, i don’t think yeri’s awake

[10.07am] ____: soooo i don’t think she’ll be making it to brunch at this rate

[10.08am] ____: should we take a rain check on this?

Your phone buzzes a little while later.

[10.11am] Dong-In: oh damn, ok then.

[10.13am] Dong-In: catch you another time?

You know that you should feel bad, but you can’t help the joy that washes through you at the prospect of being able to just stay home. Homebody tendencies die hard. Being conscious not to sound too happy, you type a reply quickly, letting Dong-In know you’ll check with Yeri when she’s free next.

The sudden freeing up of your day has you giddy with excitement. With your hair up in a bun and hitting play on your favorite Broadway musicals spotify playlist, you set about tidying your apartment as you sing to yourself. The mess in your apartment has been steadily accumulating in your neglect as a result of the busy schedules at work. But it’s gotten to a point where even you can’t stand it. And more importantly, Hoseok, with his particularity on cleanliness, is coming to visit next week.

When your apartment’s sufficiently clean, you make breakfast with whatever leftovers you can muster from your depleting food supplies. Consuming your pathetically pulled together breakfast omelette that consists of the last egg in the fridge and an overripe, almost-mush tomato cements the next item on your agenda. It’s time to go grocery shopping.

You’re midway to the grocery store when your phone buzzes in your pocket in quick succession as if provoked.

[12.18pm] Yeri: BINCH did you not go to brunch??

[12.18pm] Yeri: duDE

[12.18pm] Yeri: !!!!!!!!

[12.18pm] Yeri: ____ i s2g

[12.18pm] ____: well good morning to you too

[12.19pm] ____: you were dead to the world

[12.19pm] ____: i called you at least eight times and dropped you multiple texts

[12.19pm] ____: why are you coming at me this way huh

[12.19pm] ____: anyway i told dong in to postpone

[12.19pm] Yeri: ok oK too much shouting for this hungover bij

[12.19pm] ____: yeri it’s all over text…

[12.20pm] Yeri: typing in caps makes it shout in my head alrite

Yeri’s drama queen antics are truly one of a kind. It has you rolling your eyes, but you smile. Well now that she’s awake, you figured lunch and a hangout could substitute for your cancelled brunch plans. And of course, hungover Yeri is always in need of tender loving care. Your grocery shopping plans can always wait.

[12.20pm] ____: anyway your personal postmates is on its way to you so ‘hungover bij’ had better be grateful

[12.20pm] ____: see you in 20

[12.20pm] Yeri: ok i take it all back I LOVE YOU YOU’RE THE BEST

You get to Yeri’s place and it’s unexpected but not surprising that Soo-eun’s the one who opens the door to let you in. It makes sense, a weekend hangout would simply be incomplete without her. Plus, the task of nursing your hungover friend is not something to be taken on alone.

"Soo-eun!" You wrap an arm around her in greeting, which she returns.

"Hey, ____," she responds. "Yeri’s in the shower but she should be out soon."

"How bad is it?" you ask, releasing her and heading to the kitchen.

Soo-eun trails after you. "It’s been worse. And food will make her hangover better."

"It’s a good thing you’re here. We need your voice of reason to mediate the dumbass squabbles hungover Yeri and my impatient ass will undoubtedly get into."

Soo-eun simply laughs at your antics, shaking her head. She's well-accustomed to her role as peacemaker by now.

Another voice rings through the kitchen area where you stand with Soo-eun. "Wow, the disrespect! Breaking and entering into my house to gossip about me?"

Yeri enters, her usual bouncy ringlets now hang limp and wet, creating a damp spot over her chest where it sticks to her oversized t-shirt. In contrast to her usual self, hungover Yeri forgoes style for comfort.

"Case in point," you say. Before Yeri can bite back a response, you interject with a raise of the takeout bag in your hand.

"Hmph. I will forgive you this time. But only because you come bearing peace offerings."

"Only because you think with your stomach, you mean."

"Okay my hungover brain doesn’t want to argue anymore. Just want food."

With that, the three of you are crashing on the couch while Yeri takes liberal bites of her burger. The fries get split amongst you, picked at sporadically between your playful gossiping.

The upcoming exhibition- that's opening in a week, wow, where did all that time go?- is a pretty big one, and the three of you have been slogging it out for months now. At this stage of the project, having a weekend to kick back and relax has become a true rarity. It makes you treasure the time together even more.

But in that vengeful manner that time seems to get when you're enjoying yourselves, the afternoon slips by when it feels like it's barely even begun. Outside the looming windows of Yeri’s loft apartment, the sun is beginning to set. The tv is playing but it’s the equivalent of a murmur, just ambient noise as the three of you soak in the coziness of physical closeness.

None of you wants to shatter the quiet calm that has settled in like a blanket over you, but someone has to. And that someone is you.

You lift your head from where it rests on Soo-eun’s shoulder. Your light jostling causes Yeri to lift her head from where it lays on your lap.

You sigh. "I’ve procrastinated grocery shopping for the entire day. And the fridge isn't getting any fuller the longer I stay."

Yeri whines and plops her head back down onto your lap, pressing down forcefully to keep you from getting up.

"Or we could all go to the store together," Soo-eun says. Yeri's head pops up at the suggestion.

"Idea! Let's go!" she says, scrambling up from her reclined position across the couch. "You brought me Arby’s, it’s only fair I do groceries with you."

You turn to Soo-eun, but she’s replying before you can even ask. "I suggested it, of course I’m ok with it."

"Fine," you huff, but they both know it’s feigned annoyance. All three of you are as clingy to each other as the next is. "You can come along. But we’re only buying the necessities. Only. Necessities."

Your basket is full of non-necessities thrown in by Yeri. You really should have made a shopping list.

While Yeri is busy perusing the next aisle, Soo-eun removes the bags of chips Yeri had thrown in (because ‘this is a necessity! You never have any snacks when we crash at your place, I’m just thinking ahead for our future hangouts!’) and places them back on the shelf it came from. You smile at her gratefully.

Yeri returns with another armful of snacks.

"Yeri," you groan. "I came for fresh produce, not this. I already had an overripe tomato for breakfast. I’m not up for eating junk food as sustenance for the rest of the week."

"Well you could have had a nice fresh meal if you didn’t skip out on brunch. Poor Dong-In, I can’t believe you cancelled brunch with him."

"Hm," you say, walking ahead down the grocery aisle, "if you feel so bad for Dong-In, maybe you shouldn’t have overslept on us then."

Yeri chases after you to dump the snacks in your basket. "You could have just gone without me. He’s a nice guy, y’know."

"No way, that would be too awkward. What would we even talk about? We’re so different."

"You’ve only met him twice. Who knows? Maybe he belts out Broadway songs in the shower just like you and you can finally find the Phantom to your… Opera."

Walking just behind the two of you, Soo-eun’s laughter, though hastily masked by a cough, could be heard.

"It’s Christine. And if you’d watched the musical, you would know not to wish Phantom on anyone," you say.

"Whatever! I’m just saying, it takes more than two meetings to know someone. Give him a chance, ____."

"Wait." You freeze mid-step. You turn to Yeri. "Are you trying to set me up with Dong-In?!"

Yeri’s eyes roll in exaggerated exasperation. When she’s done, she folds her arms and her body language sends a loud and clear, "Duh."

You frantically pull your phone out from where it sits in the pocket of your jeans. Swiping quickly to read your text conversations with Dong-In in the light of this new information, you’re absolutely mortified by your lack of awareness and worried if you’ve come off as brash in your ignorance.

"Does he know? Am I the only one who’s unaware?!"

This time, it’s Soo-eun that pitches in. "Even as a third party, it was pretty obvious Yeri was trying to matchmake you two. So… sorry, ____, but it’s just you."

You sputter.

"It’s alright. Your obliviousness is part of your charm," Yeri says.

"And," Soo-eun cuts in before you can retort, "you have no obligation to feel anything for Dong-In. So if you’re not interested in him that way, you just aren’t."

Yeri huffs, but agrees. "She’s right. But- now that you’re finally aware- give him a chance alright?"

As it turns out, you never get to give Dong-In that chance. With the exhibition launching in less than a week, it's a crazy sprint to the finish-line, and your days are simply too packed to think about anything other than preparing for the exhibition.

The exhibition itself has a short lifespan- it'll be open to the public for a relatively short period of six months.

But accompanying it is a series of open lectures meant for public education of the arts. Yeri, who is simply amazing at patron relations, managed to rope in guest lecturers for the next few months. But the museum thought it would be an excellent idea to have one of their own resident curators to helm the first of the series of lectures.

And it was an excellent idea. Just not for the curator who had to take it on. And that curator would be you.

Sitting in the first row of seats in the auditorium, you try your best to refrain from looking back. You can hear the buzz of the audience behind you as they stream in. It sounds like a sizable amount of people. Looking back would only spook you out further, so you focus your attention on the index cards in your hands, running through your main points again and again.

You take a deep breath in, and heave it out in an attempt to release the anxiety built up in your chest. A warm hand gently pries your right hand’s nervous grip off your index cards.

"____," Soo-eun says. She's smiling assuredly at you when you look up at her. "You'll be great."

From your left, Yeri gives your shoulder a light shove. "Yeah. You've got this, girl!"

"We've seen the amount of effort you've put into this. It'll pay off," Soo-eun says.

Their words breathe a deep sense of confidence in you. After all, they're the ones who had to bear with your stress and they're the witnesses to consecutive late nights you've pulled in the office to get your script and slides done. This particular iteration of the script was a product of not just your work, but their benevolence and hard work too at editing and proofreading.

Squeezing Soo-eun's hand in yours in a bid to get rid of the jitters, you nod at them.

"We've got this," you say.

The clock hits time and you walk on stage, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and focusing on not- oh god forbid- tripping over your heels. The nerves are still present as you take your place at the podium, but you ignore the way your hands tremble ever so slightly.

You greet the audience, capturing their attention, and begin your presentation. And as you begin talking about your subject matter- the topic you've spent months researching and studying- the nerves melt away and your passion begins to take center-stage in your mind instead.

You're so immersed in the topic that you're just going and going, and soon enough you've reached the end of your script and the ‘Q&A’ slide is up on screen. Applause fills the auditorium, and you smile, genuinely pleased that people seem to have enjoyed your presentation. In the corner of your eye, you see Yeri cheering, and Soo-eun shoots you two thumbs-up.

"Thank you." You bow slightly. "I'll open the time up to the floor. If anyone has any questions, you may feel free to ask them now."

You scan across the auditorium, looking out for questions, when-

Time freezes in that way it always seems to whenever your eyes meet. Seated somewhere in one of the middle aisles but off to the right of the auditorium, long limbs crossed one over the other in his black slacks, Namjoon's eyes are wide as yours catch on him as if encountering a snag.

Oh. My. God. What is he doing here?

Peeling your eyes off him, you skim across the room again. Thankfully, a few hands are raised now and you take their questions, offering yourself a means of escape. But your attention is split and it takes intentional effort as you forcibly will yourself to look at anything but him.

"Okay, I'm afraid that's all the questions we have time for. But I'll be around with some of the other curators for a couple more minutes if anyone has any other questions about the exhibition," you say, gesturing to Yeri and Soo-eun, who wave at the public.

As the audience disperses, you walk off stage, hoping he'll just quietly leave.

No such luck, apparently. From your peripheral vision, you see him coming over as a few other members of the public come up to you to thank you for your lecture.

"Hey," he says, and the familiarity of his warm tone hits you like a punch in the gut, "um, you did a really good job today."

As if your break up hadn't happened the way it did, as if the numerous awkward encounters hadn't taken place, as if it didn't hurt you right now just seeing his face properly after all these years, you put up a front. You smile at him diplomatically.

"Thanks," you say. Your tone is kept even, professional. "How did you find it?"

"It was great, really. I've come to a couple of the museum's exhibitions, but this is the first lecture I've attended."

"Yeah, it's a new thing we decided to introduce for this particular exhibition."

"It's great, yeah. Gives more depth and insight to the art pieces and really makes the whole thing come alive when you see it from the curator's perspective."

You nod. "Nice. That was our intention."

"Anyway," he pauses and runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, "how have you been? It's been a long time."

You bite back the scathing remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. It's almost too enticing to finally let him have it after the years of torment he'd caused you after your break up. The torment that still lives in you, muted under layers of numbness that you've buried it under. Did he even feel the pain in the same measure that you did?

"I'm good." You're tempted to leave it at that. But there's just something in his eyes, something... like a plea? that makes it impossible for you to be cold to him the way your past self imagined you would be. "I've been living in the city for a couple of years now. I'm working in the museum as a curator, as you can see, and yeah, life has been good for me."

Before you can stop yourself, you find yourself reciprocating his question. Ultimately, you can't deny your burning curiosity at what he's been up to. "What about you? How have things been for you?"

"I finally got published a few years back," he says, and you nod as if this is new information to you. Truth is, on your summer break back home that year, your eavesdropping ways had brought the news to you as you heard Hoseok congratulating him on his breakthrough. He laughs lightly. "My life has kind of just revolved around writing, getting inspiration from different sources to write, then writing more. If it sounds really mundane, it's because it is."

"No way." You shake your head. "You're living your dream, Namjoon. Wasn't it always your ambition to be a published author?"

You regret it almost immediately, bringing up the past. Anything to do with the past is dangerous territory. Hell, having a conversation with him that's more than just polite small talk about cursory topics devoid of personal details and emotions (i.e. a conversation like this one) is dangerous territory.

He murmurs something, and you’re certain you mishear him. "You remember."

"Pardon?"

"No, I was agreeing with you. Yeah, it is."

In the background, your slides click off, and it pulls you out of your conversation with Namjoon.

"I think I've gotta go," you say, pointing to the podium where Soo-eun collects your belongings. "My friends are waiting for me."

"Oh!" Namjoon says, turning to look at where you're pointing. "Yeah, don't wanna hold you up any longer. Thanks for your time today."

He turns to go, and you can't help the nagging discomfort at the way things are left hanging between the two of you.

"Hey!" you call. He turns back. "Do you want to do dinner? Hoseok is coming out for the weekend, so do you want to hang out, the three of us? We're going to the diner two streets down from here."

Funny. Didn’t you avoid this diner to avoid Namjoon the last time? Again, it seems the fates truly have a sense of humor.

Namjoon's eyebrows raise in surprise, but it's momentary and quickly replaced as his features soften into a grateful smile. His dimples appear and you hate how, even after all these years, it still has the power to wring your heart out.

"That sounds really nice, actually," he says.

"Is seven ok for you?"

"Seven’s good. I'll see you and Hoseok then."

"See you," you say and he nods. This time, he turns to go for real.

As you watch his retreating figure, you wonder if you really made the right choice, opening the door for him to re-enter your life after all these years.

[fairfowl]

Niceties Like Coffins (I'll Make You a Cup of Tea)

Of the six of them, Five and Klaus were the ones who had never really had the chance to grieve for Ben. Klaus seeks solace in the tangible, Five resolves that he will never be like Reginald. Five is the kind of man who will do anything for his siblings

The door to Ben’s room had been closed for the entire first week that Five had spent in 2019. It had been a small detail. Something that he hadn’t pursued, too preoccupied with attempting to literally save the world.

After their return it had remained so. The door remained tightly shut and blended into the hallway as if there had never been another child who had lived and breathed and grown with the rest of them. The small gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor of the hallway had a layer of dust that even Grace had never disturbed. 

It irked Five slightly.

Upon his return he’d gone back to his childhood bedroom to find it immaculately clean. The books and papers that he’d left were mostly undisturbed, but it was clear that he had not been the last person in that bedroom.

Why would Ben’s room have been left undisturbed but not Five’s? 

So when he passed by the door to Ben’s room on the evening of April 5th 2019 and found that it was open Five’s curiosity was piqued. 

What could he do but look inside? 

If only to learn why the room had been opened for the first time in so many years.

Five had not been present for Ben’s death (neither the first nor the second). It was something that he had found himself regretting in the past few slow solemn days. Prior to their return on the second of April he simply hadn’t had time to dwell, but it hadn’t stopped him from missing his brother. 

When they had been children he and Five had gotten along well, and Five wondered if his gambit to stop the apocalypse would have gone smoother if Ben had been with them.

But he had been with them.

And Five had been careless enough to let that fact slip through his fingers. He’d squandered both a potentially valuable asset as well as his final chance to see the one sibling that he just could not save.

Now it was too late. 

The door, which had, in truth, been cracked more than truly open, creaked on its hinges as Five pushed past. It was likely the only door in the house with creaking hinges. Five was beginning to suspect that Reginald had for some reason seen fit to ban Grace from acknowledging the room’s existence altogether. He was not prepared for the spike of sadness that ran through his chest at the thought. 

The room’s interior was dark. A waning sunset filtered in through heavy gray curtains, illuminating shelves upon shelves of books with colorful paperback colors—Five guessed that they were mostly fiction, his brother had always enjoyed adventures and had been working through a pile of classics when Five had disappeared. 

While the two of them had both been readers they’d always had vastly different taste. 

There had been a time when they’d both liked sci-fi.

Five remembered passing a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea back and forth under their school desks, each taking a turn reading a chapter before moving on, reading the notes they’d scribbled to each other in the margins.

He wondered what had become of that copy.

Something suddenly moved on the bed and Five immediately tensed, shifting into a fighting stance before his eyes had the chance to communicate with his brain. The dim light threw the entire room into shadow and the bed might as well have been a gaping hole into the void for all that Five could make out it’s features.

But the void was breathing. 

Over the sound of his heartbeat Five could hear it.

Warily he approached. 

As he moved closer Five’s eyes adjusted and he recognized Klaus’ gangly form sprawled ungracefully across the still-covered bed. His arms were wrapped around the pillow and his head thrown back exposing his pale neck in an uncomfortably vulnerable position. 

Five paused, still wary, if for a different reason. 

He’d barely spoken to Klaus. Not since that one afternoon just under two weeks ago when he’d coerced his brother into putting on one of Reginald’s suits and attempting to gather information from Meritech. 

It was another just thing that he hadn’t had time to pursue yet, another thing that had slipped away from him. 

They might as well have been strangers. He’d disappeared when they were thirteen, reappeared seventeen years later, and then Klaus had lived at least three—possibly four—more years more without seeing Five or anyone else in the family. 

They’d grown up together but that was a lifetime of trauma away from both of their perspectives.

Five heaved a sigh and stared at his brother on the bed.

In a way it made sense that both of them were here. Of all the living siblings Five and Klaus were the only ones who had never really mourned Ben before. 

Five because he’d only read about it well after the fact in Vanya’s book, months after burying siblings one through four. Even as a scared traumatized child he’d known better to hope that Ben had somehow survived the apocalypse, so when he found out that he had died just three years after Five had disappeared it had been a surprise, but not enough to really shock his already numb psyche.  

Klaus because despite the fact that he had been present at the time of Ben’s death his brother had never really left him. 

Five could only speculate how constant Ben’s presence had been in Klaus’s life, but it was apparent that Ben had haunted Klaus for longer than he’d actually been alive. If he’d been present from when they were sixteen until six days ago when Klaus had attempted to fight his way towards Vanya then Ben's ghost had followed Klaus for a not insignificant seventeen years. 

So Klaus was grieving. 

Which would partially explain why he was curled up on top of Ben's long-neglected bed with tear traces running down his pale face. 

Five nearly turned away and left Klaus to grieve in peace. He had never been comfortable dealing with emotions, be they be someone else's or his own. But as he began to turn Klaus's breath hitched. 

Where previously it had been rasping but slow, the sound picked up into sharp gasps as Klaus’ limbs shifted on the bed. 

He wasn’t awake—not yet. It was probably just a nightmare.

Five could still walk away. 

But the tear tracks of Klaus’ cheeks were still wet and his brother looked so devastated. How could he leave one of his siblings in such pain when there was something that he could do to help? Even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone? 

Five had killed plenty of people in their sleep. He had never awoken someone who was having a nightmare before. 

Less than four feet in front of him Klaus had begun to sob in his sleep.

Enough was enough. 

“Klaus.” He spoke at normal volume, without inflection. Five wasn’t even sure if he could summon a gentle tone if he’d wanted to. On the bed Klaus began to mutter, just as lost to the waking world as he had been thirty seconds ago.

“Where are you?” It was hard to understand what Klaus was saying (slurring really) through the sleep and the tears but a few words came out clearly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Klaus you need to wake up.” Five stepped closer, hoping wildly that Klaus would somehow sense his proximity and wake on his own. It was dangerous to lose yourself in unconsciousness as most people did, and Five had learned long ago that he was safest as a light sleeper. 

Klaus made a sound like a wounded animal and twisted on the bed. One of his long knobby legs kicked out and then hung off of the edge of the mattress, his sweat mixed with tears as his breaths came in quick gasps. 

Something ugly curled in Fives, chest. It made his own breath quicken and his hands twitch. Inside his body Five’s adrenal glands tried to prompt him into action but it was not the time for fight or flight no matter what his instincts told him. 

Instead he reached out and grasped Klaus’s shoulder, giving it a hard shake. 

“Klaus, wake up!” 

And Klaus awoke. Wild eyes opened and flitted across the room frantically as Klaus shot into a sitting position, gasping for breath. His gasp immediately turned into a hacking cough, which in turn became a fit. 

Five took a step back, in part to allow Klaus to get his bearings, but also partially to avoid being coughed on. Gross. 

He didn't like the way that his brother hunched in on himself. 

It felt wrong to see him make himself small. 

Klaus was always so loud, larger than life and glaringly glitteringly visible. When they’d been children Reginald had obviously loathed Klaus’s need for attention, and repeatedly scolded him for seeking it out until the idea had become ingrained into all of their psyches. 

Everything Klaus did he did for attention. Klaus was not someone to take seriously. Everything was a joke to Klaus. 

Five wasn’t sure if he’d ever really believed any of it, but enough had sunk in for it to become Five’s knee-jerk reaction when he was being careless. He had just spent weeks not taking Klaus seriously. 

“Five?” When had his brother’s voice started to sound so defeated? Under the hoarseness from the cough there was an edge of exhaustion that Five was startled to realize reminded him of himself. 

Five and Klaus had always been polar opposites. 

They weren’t supposed to have anything in common. 

“What are you doing in here?” They said it in tandem, Klaus’s exhausted croak discordant with Five’s sharp too-high voice. 

“The door was open.” Five responded, directing every subtlety of his body language to indicate that his answer was finished, and that he had no plans to elaborate. Instead he tilted his head and waited for Klaus to give his own reason. Far a short absurd moment he felt like an impatient teacher awaiting a response from an inattentive student.

Instead of replying Klaus looked away, his eyes fixing on some point between his head and the wall.  His breaths were still too fast, and still rasping.

“Klaus.” He prompted. “Why are you in here?”

Klaus was so far away that he might as well have still been asleep. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with what Five suspected was a fever, he looked disheveled, unwashed and unmoored. Drifting. 

There had been times when Five had drifted, alone and surrounded by ash. 

Five decided that he would need to touch Klaus again.

He wondered if he would have drifted less, had there been someone around who could touch him when he’d been so alone. 

He resolved his courage and rested a hand on his brother’s shivering shoulder. 

Five was not the sort of man who willingly initiated touch. 

Five was the sort of man who would do anything for his family. 

Klaus did not stop shivering, but his breaths slowed, and Five counted that as a minor victory. 

“I just wanted something.” Klaus said finally, his oft-raucous voice a whisper. “Something to remind me that he was there. I miss him so much Five, I thought it would help.”

From Klaus’s tone Five inferred that it hadn’t helped at all. He began to rub Klaus’s shoulder, ignoring the uncomfortable dampness of his sweat-soaked shirt, and waiting as patiently as he could manage for Klaus to continue.  

“But this isn’t really Ben’s stuff anymore, the Ben I knew hadn’t lived here for twenty years.” Klaus shuddered under his touch. “This is just stuff from when he was a kid.”

There was a desperation to his expression that made the ugly thing in Five’s chest writhe. 

 “There’s really nothing left.” Klaus’s hoarse voice finally cracked and he let out a breathless sob, hunched on top of the neat little twin bed. “I don’t know what to do Five.” 

Five knew grief. 

Grief had followed him like a  shadow throughout most of his life, and no matter what he’d gained back via time travel, pain like that left an indelible mark upon a person’s mind. 

But he was a stranger to the grief of others. 

And grief was such a volatile thing, the sort of trauma that changed people in unexpected, sometimes unpleasant ways. 

He sat beside his brother and wrapped his arm around him, pulling Klaus against his side. The contact was an adrenaline rush, alarming and unfamiliar to his touch-starved brain. Part of him embraced it, lapping at the content like a ravenous animal. Most of him wanted to let go and move away, to reestablish the boundary of personal space that Five had so carefully curated. 

Five held on, steadying Klaus as he shook and coughed and sobbed. 

He was the sort of man who would do anything for his family. 

Eventually Klaus cried himself out. 

Night had long fallen by the time that Klaus sat up, leaning unsteadily against Five. 

“Thank you.” He said, his eyes were downcast as though he had something to be ashamed of. The statement was followed by a wheezing cough.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ve been in tombs less dusty than this.” Five did not miss the way that Klaus flinched at his words but he didn’t understand what part of his sentence could have been upsetting. He filed away the thought to examine later. 

Thankfully Klaus didn’t argue and he let Five pull him into a standing position and lead him into the hallway without a fuss. His brother’s steps were unsteady, wavering. Klaus trailed his free hand against any wall or piece of furniture that he could reach until they made it to the door to his bedroom. Then he balked.

Five looked at him with curiosity and perhaps a hint of impatience. 

Klaus stared at the door as though he was looking into his own coffin. 

Not that he’d had a coffin the first time around. 

Five had barely been able to bury all of them before they started to rot in earnest, he hadn’t had time for niceties like coffins.  

“What now?” Five said, because he was not a patient person by nature.

“I don’t want to be alone right now.” The statement was so candid that Five can’t help but feel a bit bowled over. There’s such an open vulnerability to it, the sort of sentence that would have turned Reginald’s eyes hard and cruel. 

In another world Five might have responded in the same way, it would have been easy to start responding to the emotions of others with disgust. 

He’d never be asked to respond in kind if he gave in and allowed his immediate reaction to be scorn. 

Kindness was infinitely harder. 

Five would do anything for his family. 

He wasn’t Reginald. 

He’s not about to drag Klaus screaming into the dark. 

As a child he’d never questioned where their father was taking Klaus. They all went off to different parts of the property for their individual training sessions, but none of them had screamed the way that Klaus had. They’d all looked hollow and exhausted upon their return, they’d all acquired strange injuries and unexplained phobias. Five hadn’t questioned it. He’d taken it as a fact of life. 

But now standing in front of Klaus’s door, with a hand on his brother’s elbow Five resolves that he will never be like Reginald. 

“Let’s go downstairs then.” He said, voice toneless and commanding in the way he’d learned at the Commission. “I left my composition book by the coffeemaker and I need to finish some equations tonight.”

Klaus turned to look at him, eyes hopeful and fever-bright. 

“Okay.” He said.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

[angels-heap]

Okay hello I feel like you are Wise and Know things... it’s kind of hard to explain but is it wrong to just... Enjoy Things? With all the HL pisscourse going around it’s making me nervous about liking things like TF2 and missing something critical and huge in the media I consume and being labelled as a bad person for doing that. ESPECIALLY for liking characters like GLaDOS or Wheatley from Portal. I want to just Enjoy Things but there’s guilt tied to not being critical about every single detail

Thanks for reaching out, friend, and I’m so sorry to hear the current nonsense has you feeling this way. I have a hunch you’re not alone, and although I don’t claim to have all the answers here, I hope hearing my thoughts on this helps alleviate some of that guilt. This got long and I’m not putting it under a cut because it’s important. 

The short answer to your question is no; it is not wrong to just enjoy things. You don’t have to constantly examine all your favorite media under a microscope and incessantly highlight or dwell on its faults to be a good person or a good consumer of media, and here are a few reasons why:

(CW for brief mentions of all the squicky/potentially triggering things that tend to come up in ship discourse conversations.)

1. It is virtually impossible to find a truly unproblematic piece of media.

And that’s okay! Media is both created and consumed by people, and people are notoriously imperfect and complex. Sometimes creators choose to explore dark or taboo themes that are always going to squick some people out, no matter how well (or poorly) they’re handled. Sometimes content creators are actually terrible people who deliberately try to perpetuate their messed-up ideas through media. Sometimes creators’ deeply internalized prejudices seep into a work in a way they may not even consciously realize. Sometimes consumers’ experiences or prejudices color the way they perceive a piece of media and may lead them to a very different interpretation than what the creators intended.

Point is, there are a lot of shades of gray here. We should always strive to do better as creators and consumers, but the goalposts for “perfection” are always moving.

There’s almost always going to be something about your favorite media—no matter how benign it is—that rubs some people the wrong way, or (perhaps unintentionally) perpetuates harmful stereotypes, or starts out okay but doesn’t age well down the line. Period. That’s an uncomfortable truth that we all have to sit with. But don’t despair, because…

2. It is still okay to engage with and enjoy media that you know is problematic. Even if it’s really problematic. For real. I promise. The media you consume does not determine your worth as a person. 

Since you specifically mentioned Valve games, I’ll start out by clarifying that (as of July 2020), Valve games and their fandoms are pretty benign overall. Perhaps in the future, more of the humor will start to age poorly, or Valve will make some extremely questionable design choices with their next game, or Gabe Newell will be outed as a prolific serial killer, or whatever, but for now, there’s really nothing about Valve games that should make the average person go, “holy shit, you’re into that?!” when you bring them up in polite company. (And anyone who insinuates otherwise re: Half Life shipping discourse is either very confused about the definition of certain words or is maliciously trying to stir up controversy.)

That said, everyone has a different threshold for what they do and don’t want to see in media, and those boundaries are totally valid! But it is absolutely possible to enjoy even notably problematic media (e.g., Game of Thrones, the new Star Wars sequels, old movies where the directors were huge assholes to the female cast members, etc.) without being a bad person or a bad social justice activist. Instead of rambling about that at length, I’m going to link you to this excellent blog post on the subject.

The big takeaway here is that you can love a piece of media while also acknowledging its faults. In fact, I’d argue that a key part of loving something is being able to think critically about it and trying to hold its creators to a higher standard whenever possible. However, that doesn’t mean you have to be constantly analyzing it or prefacing every single public acknowledgment of your love for it with an “I know this is problematic and I swear, I just like it for XYZ” disclaimer, because…

3. Tumblr’s black-and-white thinking about media consumption is not healthy, “normal,” or (usually) present to the same degree in other virtual or real-world spaces.

I think most of the people on Tumblr who seem to be on a constant (and ultimately futile; see point 1) quest to find the One True Unproblematic Media have good intentions. I really do. And I applaud them for actively trying to understand and un-learn their own biases while becoming critical consumers of media.

Unfortunately, for a bunch of complicated reasons I still don’t totally understand and won’t get into here, some online communities tend to take these things to such an extreme that, in their quest to create a safe and/or inclusive environment, they actually end up creating an even more hostile one. To reference the recent drama again, nowhere is that more apparent than with “pro-ship” vs. “anti-ship” discourse.

Basically, “pro-shippers” believe that fiction is entirely separate from reality and therefore, “problematic” content (up to and including p*dophilia, inc*st, noncon, etc.) has just as much of a right to exist as any other content; this makes some sense on a purely intellectual level, but in the real world, obviously things are much more complicated than that. “Anti-shippers,” on the other hand, claim to be specifically against the aforementioned Big Three Bad Things in theory, but in practice, they’re basically the fandom purity police; they strive to criticize and shut down any media or fandom activity that could be even remotely construed as problematic, because they seem to have a (perhaps well-intentioned but ultimately misguided) perception that discussing anything “bad” in fiction will glorify/condone/promote it in real life and that all creators of “bad” fiction are inherently malicious. Often, they’re willing to twist definitions and jump through some very strange hoops to justify why something is “bad.”

The truth lies somewhere between those two extremes; fiction absolutely can (and does) impact reality, but not in such a clear-cut cause-and-effect way. People can see or read about dark/complicated/problematic things without condoning or enjoying them in real life, and conversely, people can dislike even relatively benign things without having to have an extreme, profound reason for feeling that way. People can also enjoy “bad” media while being fully conscious of what’s wrong with it and taking steps to ensure that it doesn’t negatively influence them, or they may lack the knowledge/context to understand why something is “bad” at first and change how they engage (or don’t engage) as they learn. There’s a lot more nuance to this issue than Tumblr is willing to acknowledge, and as a result, a lot of innocent people who just want to enjoy things in peace get sucked into some truly absurd drama that can be really hard to deal with. And that sucks. A lot.

So, TL;DR: Almost all media is at least a little problematic, but that’s okay, because the media you like does not determine whether or not you’re a good person. (And especially if your primary interests are Valve games... you’re good, mate. Seriously.)

The fact that you’re even asking me this question shows me that you’re being a thoughtful, responsible consumer of media, and that’s all anyone can reasonably ask of you without being a gigantic hypocrite—because whether they’ll admit it or not, everybody who’s perpetuating this discourse both on and offline likes something “problematic.” It’s impossible not to, unless you live under a rock and consume exactly zero media. Take care, and try not to let the discourse get to you! Go forth and enjoy things! (As always, my inbox is open for follow-up questions.)

ETA: Here’s another excellent tumblr post on this topic! And another one! 

[gunsxroses]

Introduction to my Ruby | This should have been the day

Wide silver eyes stared at the empty boarding platform.

"No."

They looked back and forth, trying to find any sign of life.

"Nononono."

They trailed over to the flight schedule and nearly bulged out of her head.

"NO!"

With movement so fast that only your veteran hunter could track her, she appeared in front of the schedule, grasping it with shaky hands.

"I missed the flight to Beacon!"

It had all been going so smoothly for the young huntress. First she stopped that dastardly Torchwick from stealing dust. Okay, maybe stopped was a strong word. All he did was dance around her and then taunt her before peacing out. But that didn't mean she wasn't successful in stopping his goons! Yeah. She did a good job there. And then that Huntress showed up to help her and she got in trouble. Then came the interrogation and Professor Ozpin eating cookies in front of her. He never even offered her one. The monster. She could see him twirling his imaginary mustache right now. So evil.

And then she got invited to Beacon. She was super excited about it too! She told her Dad, her Uncle and especially her Sister, who was super stoked about it. Maybe even more than she was herself.

But as the nonexistent bullhead may point out, things didn't go her way.

She pulled her red hood over her face, wanting to hide her flushed face. She was completely and utterly embarrassed.  She had made such a big deal about this and then ended up so excited that she couldn't sleep, which resulted in her sleeping in and missing the damn flight!

She punched a nearby concrete wall. "It's not fair!" She yelled before yelping in pain, the wall being far harder than she had expected. She grabbed her wrist and blew on her now throbbing hand.

"I even made sure to wear my combat skirt." She muttered, though her black and red outfit was obscured by her long red cloak. A cloak that she went nowhere without. Her father had made it for her, in honor of her late mother. Same design, just red.

This wasn't the first time that Ruby had been hit with misfortune. While she was a talented youth who worked really hard to get where she was currently, she was far from perfect. She was awkward around new people and hated crowds. Not to mention she had only ever managed to make a few friends in Signal, with the rest of her peers labeling her a Teacher's Pet and a weapon's weirdo.

See. Ruby loved weapons more than anyone. Because she could talk to them without being judged. She could put her heart and soul into tinkering with them because they were always there for her. They never looked at her with those judgmental eyes. Those envious eyes. They were a comfort to her, as unhealthy as she knew that was. It didn't matter.

Especially when it came to her beloved Crescent Rose. It was a scythe and rifle combination. But its ability to transform wasn’t what made it special to her. No. It was the fact that the metal used in it was recycled from her mother’s old weapon. Which her Uncle had brought back to them, after a failed attempt to locate her mother after she went missing.

It was as close to closure as they could get and it only served to further prove how unforgiving the world really was. If someone as strong as her mother could be killed (?). What chance did she have? At least, that’s what she thought at the time.

But she soon became resolved to surpass her mother. To make her proud. She couldn't fail!

And yet, here she was. Clearly failing. All because she slept in.

"Dammit." She muttered, frustrated at herself more than anything. "I got into Beacon early." She said in a whiny voice, mocking her earlier self. "I totally proved that I'm great. Blah, blah, blah. Now I'm going to make a horrible first impression by arriving late and everyone is going to judge me. Again."

"I dunno about that. People can only judge you if you let them."

That voice. It caught her off guard. In fact, it was so unexpected that she actually physically jumped with an audible 'eep!' but she quickly recomposed herself and turned toward its source.

Sitting on a bench not far from her was a man with wavy white hair. He had red eyes, not unlike that of a dead fish. His outfit was rather unorthodox, to say the least. Resembling something from Mistral. A blue and white kimono. A black and red uniform was situated underneath it. By his side was a wooden sword.

He looked up at her.

And she looked at him.

She wasn't sure what to say. She had been certain she'd been alone here. But if she wasn't, does that mean he had heard her earlier outburst?! How embarrassing!

But still. She had to reply. She couldn't let him have the last word. At least new people were easier to talk to when there was just one of them.

"That's easy for you to say. You don't live my life." She replied back, hiding her gaze with her hood once more.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. "You're right. I don't. So forget I said anything."

He went back to staring into the distance, as he had been doing before she looked at him. It was like . . . he was fighting a battle she couldn't see. With how serious those eyes of his were.

She bit her lip.

"Thank you, though. I feel a little lighter knowing that someone was listening."

If he acknowledged her, he didn't show it.

But she had said her peace and was content. Now the important thing was finding a way to Beacon.

She just hoped that her sister wasn't too worried about her.

---

"And that's why I'm here. So please, I'm begging you! You're the only one who I can count on!"

She was bowing in front of a man. A man who worked as a blacksmith. He was a tall man. Much taller than even her dad. He had unkempt neck-length black hair and piercing yellow eyes. He wore a blacksmith's apron with a black t-shirt and dark gray pants on underneath. Finishing up his general appearance was a pair of black boots and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"You know as well as I do." He replied to her in a gruff voice. "That I'm in the middle of a shift right now."

She bolted upright and glared at him. "I know, but this is important to me! I'll even work here for free if that makes up for it!"

His gaze softened. "Well. You aren't normally someone to impose on others. So I guess I can let you off with reduced pay."

Ruby's eyes lit up. "You mean you're going to take me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Consider it a favor to your old man. Him bragging about the weapon I made him is the only reason people come to this damn place."

She jumped in joy, about to yell out in a triumphant nature before his tired gaze caused her to stop. She didn't want to push anymore boundaries. Not after all he had done for her.

This guy was Vulcan. He was the blacksmith who forged her father's weapon and a man she saw as her honorary Uncle. Not only did he allow her to work part-time for him starting at the age of 12, he was also the one who taught her everything she knew about metalworking. He was her idol, more or less. At least when it came to weapon crafting.

That didn't mean he was a pushover though. He had a Pro Huntsman license. That was the main reason her father felt so safe sending her to work with him, knowing that she'd be protected.

She climbed into his car which they'd be taking to a Bullhead he had managed to set up ahead of time.

"Seatbelt." He grunted.

Ruby nodded and put hers on. It was funny. Yang never made her wear one. Was that irresponsible of her? Probably. But Yang never was one to follow the rules of the road. If all those tickets she had were any indication.

She let her head clunk against the window next to her, her cheek smooshed against it as she looked at the scenery that was passing by. This wasn't exactly how she thought she'd be spending her first day at Beacon, but at least she had a way there now.

"I hope you're going to clean that window when you're done smudging it up."

She rolled her eyes. He was such a dad without being one.

Hell, in some ways, he was more of a dad than her actual dad. Since he was far more responsible and mature. When she broke her arm, her father insisted that he could mend it with his patented home remedies. But Vulcan took her to the hospital and even stayed in the waiting room all night while she got her cast put on.

"Hey." She said softly. "Do you think I'm ready for Beacon?"

There was no response for a long time, but finally, he spoke up.

"No one is ready for anything, Ruby. Not you, not me, not your peers. No one knows what life is going to throw at them. So don't worry about that. Just focus on being the best person that you can be."

"Ahhh." She replied, a soft smile appearing on her face. His company always was soothing to her. Forget him having dad energy. If he was a bit older, he'd be perfect Grandfather material.

They rode in mostly silence after that, neither of them having much to say. That is until the grizzled blacksmith pulled up to the parked Bullhead.

"The pilot will take you the rest of the way. I have to get back to the shop." He said to her as she slowly climbed out of the car. "And Ruby?"

She looked back at him. "Yeah?"

"Here." He tossed her a knife. "That was my weapon back in Beacon. It's yours now."

Her eyes widened at the weapon that now rest in her hands. "Are you sure? What if I lose it-"

She was silenced by his steely gaze.

"Your family aren't the only ones who believe in you. I believe in you as well. I taught you everything I know. And that is why I'm entrusting you with that blade. Make this old bastard proud."

Ruby could feel her eyes watering up. People had always called her a prodigy. Called her lucky. Called her amazing. But it never felt genuine. But his words . . . they were the first in a long time that felt so warm. He truly . . . believed in her.

Just like mom.

Before she knew it, she had jumped back into the car and hugged him with all her strength.

"Thank you! I'll do my best!"

He grunted in approval before pushing her away. "Easy. I'm not one for hugging you know."

She blushed as she quickly jumped back. "R-Right. Sorry. I-I'll be on my way."

She walked toward the Bullhead before stopping and looking back one time.

This time, her nervous features were replaced with a beautiful smile.

"You know. If I ever get married. I want you to be the one who walks me down the aisle." She said before turning away and heading into the ship.

She wouldn't be there to see it, but those words brought tears to the eyes of a man who had been convinced that he had cried his last tears long ago.

[glare0322]

h.i.v.e. head canons

just some character and relationship/friendship head canons :)

laura

- plays the piano and quite well. she doesn’t want to play much at h.i.v.e. because it reminds her of scotland and her family. after book eight, she plays a lot more frequently cause she really sees h.i.v.e. and the people there as her home.

- is not organized in anything but school and files on her computer. her brain runs a million miles an hour which leads to things getting messy fast.

- becomes a lot closer with raven after the greenhouse since they now have a bit of shared trauma especially in the fact anastasia favored to torture both of them.

- still sucks at driving even after h.i.v.e.

- after h.i.v.e. laura goes and lives with her family for a month back in scotland. they talk about h.i.v.e., shelby and her other friends, whats been happening here, and other general catching up topics. mary (mrs. brand) takes a special interest in meeting otto and laura reminds her mom every day not to make a big deal about it. yet she still counts down the days until she gets to meet her daughter’s boyfriend.

otto

- gets very frustrated when he can’t grasp certain concepts or master specific skills. he is known as the boy genius after all.

- went through an edgy phase while at h.i.v.e. not emo, but he would throw in more hurtful quips towards shelby during their usually playful spits and his jokes were just a little too dark. otto got a lot more detentions during this time and even the thought of trying to escape again reoccurred in his mind. he eventually noticed how wing was not a fan of it and slammed the breaks. of course everyone still makes fun of him for it.

- if you don’t think otto wouldn’t cry at the sight of his newborn child/ren then um...you’re wrong

- he looks back on his little prime minister scheme with pride and cringes terribly at it. on one hand, it was his beginnings and the device he made not only worked but was something like no other. and then he remembers how he made the prime minister moon everyone. when he was younger it was hilarious, now that he’s a tad older otto hates the fact he did that. there is just something immature and lacking taste about the whole thing.

- lives in sweaters/jumpers. i know this one is random, but something about them just suits otto.

wing

- has a gentle singing voice. he only sings lullabies to his kids and if one of his friends needs it. besides that wing does not sing often. it’s always a treat when he does.

- wing is really scared to be a dad. the thought of being like his father is incredibly scary to him.

- i really can not see wing becoming a villain but an antihero, now that i can definitely see. his methods are immoral in the sense he is still technically a murder, but he only goes after truly evil corporations. like human trafficking kind of evil.

- he teaches his kid/s self-defense and martial arts.

- trilingual and speaks english, japanese, and mandarin. the first two are canon to the story but i feel like his parents probably would have taught him at least some mandarin.

shelby

- shelby hated how laura would stay up for hours in the night tapping away on her computer. however when she moved out, it seemed weird not to fall asleep to the sound of a typing keyboard.

- if there is a h.i.v.e. gymnastics team/program (since there is a water polo team) shelby would totally do it. she waves to her friends before her round and even sometimes blows a kiss to her supportive boyfriend who is always there to see her.

- after h.i.v.e. she pursues gymnastics professionally. it provides the same wealth she was used to back with her parents, she likes to do it, but most importantly it’s an amazing cover up for why she’s traveling so many places around the world. (to steal of course) it also funds these trips and gives her, and wing for that matter, a great public image. plus she likes the spotlight a bit.

- i’ve said this before but shelby eventually gets lessons from raven. i just love this idea with my whole heart especially because how different these two are.

- had a bit of affluenza before h.i.v.e. which played into her desire for stealing diamonds along with her crappy parents. (my theory on shelb’s parents is right here)

laura and otto

- otto adores laura’s piano playing. there is something peaceful about it to him which he finds really comforting.

- they go to university together in scotland and help each other get through it. the two live in an apartment together go to school then see each other after classes at home.

- laura has some zero ptsd and it occasionally effects her relationship with otto in the sense she gets flashbacks and is genuinely scared. otto completely understands this though and is super patient with her. obviously it bothers him since he’s not zero, but he understands why she’s experiencing this and loves her enough to put his annoyance aside for her.

- these two wanted their kids’ names to be after someone. so if they would ever have a daughter her name would be lucy and the middle name of their son would be wing. laura wanted to include shelby but it just didn’t fit anywhere.

- if otto can’t find a shirt, then laura is wearing it. she wears his clothes super frequently and he won’t complain. she looks cute :,)

laura and shelby

- shelby likes things to look pretty, so she ends up being the one that keeps their room tidy, makes the beds, and other cleanly stuff like that. especially when they live together outside of h.i.v.e. she does the dishes pretty often, keeps their room looking nice, and stocks their fridge. laura is messy, but it doesn’t effect her much cause shelbs takes care of it. she doesn’t mind and only teases laura when people are over to embarrass her (all in good fun).

- laura doesn’t like girly things (we been knew). shelby tried for a while to get her into these things and a few stick on: nail polish, very light make up, and shopping. but never and i mean never would shelby make laura do something she didn’t want to. of course laura introduces shelby to her more geeky/nerdy stuff. they watch superhero shows together, shelbs has a black widow t-shirt in her closet now, and even some basic hacking codes.

- laura didn’t like shelby at first not only because of her nasty personality, but because she was a lot like the girls who would talk about laura behind her back.

- basically canon, but shelby was the number one ottra shipper. she had been rooting for them since day one of h.i.v.e. laura comes to her for advice with otto and shelby consoles her when lucy and otto get together. they both were disappointed the two didn’t get together.

- laura is really good at baking and shelby asks her once to help her bake something for wing. (she was really trying y’all) long story short, even laura couldn’t help shelby’s terrible baking skills and they set off the fire alarms in their apartment along with the sprinklers.

wing and otto

- otto wanted to do one of wing’s workouts despite his best friends many warnings it would be rough. it was safe to say otto underestimated the intensity of the workout.

- oh god the scene where these two will eventually leave each other to go move on past h.i.v.e. is just absolutely gut wrenching. they both acknowledge how the other had such an influence on their lives and hope to see them prosper in life. honestly this is like a rare moment where i can see wing legitimately crying.

- so we all know how wing has half the overlord protocol necklace (he has yang) if shelby doesn’t get the yin half then otto should because he kinda fits the yin meaning and is best bros with wing.

- for wing’s “bachelor party” they honestly just get all the guys from h.i.v.e. together and hang out for a couple hours. after, however, he and otto go out and go have some fun doing morally gray criminal activity.

- they still sometimes speak in japanese to each other on missions and stuff or if they need to plan something without anyone else knowing.

shelby and wing

- they move permanently to america, but visit china and japan quite frequently.

- one of the first things shelby does after she and wing get out of h.i.v.e. is watch a bunch of disney movies and american movie classics so he can understand the pop culture references she has been making for the past five years.

- i totally think shelby gets the other half over otto, or at least a replica. there’s kinda set up for this as well, the other half (yin) is known as the feminine half.

- if they would ever have a daughter her name would be mei or raven.

- she always knows exactly what to get him as a gift or even just in general. she’s observant and can pick up on what he needs before he does. wing has mentioned before shelby is a little...less predictable but he tries his hardest and oh my goodness does shelby appreciate his efforts. of course it irritates her, but she knows her slightly emotionally-unavailable boyfriend is trying an insane amount to sort through her emotions right.

shelby and otto

- they totally bond over how wing is great, but have an urge to smother him in his sleep because of the obnoxiously loud snoring

- menaces to the public when these two are together. i couldn’t even begin to tell you all the crafty things that would conspire between these two. pranking teachers, seeing who can steal the answers first, racing in stealth or in fitness classes. (wing beats both of them in combat/fitness so their efforts are often pointless)

- when they first came to h.i.v.e. shelby was taller than otto, by quite a margin too. she teased him into another galaxy about it. so when the day came that otto was officially taller than her, she mourned the countless jokes that could no longer be made.

- asks a lot of those “wait who logically thought to make butter?” questions. they also argue whether these people were geniuses or a new level of stupid. (seriously who thought to mix together milk until it gets to a solid consistency and then eat it?)

- they have to live together for one month after h.i.v.e. in the beginning, they like wanted to choke each other, but by the end of the month they were upset to not live with each other any more. (fic is dropping soon 🙈)

wing and laura

- after the greenhouse incident, laura went to wing asking him to teach her some martial arts since she felt really weak physically while in there. he doesn’t initially think it’s the best idea, but laura convinces him it will be okay.

- they’re a lot better friends then people would initially think. she hugged him like twice in the first book alone and is grateful for him saving her life. laura and wing seem like the two that just relax with each other. no shenanigans, no combat, honestly just vibing. they drink tea and watch murder mystery shows while catching up on the latest things and theorizing about the show.

- the entire gang goes to tokyo all together at one point in their life. laura and wing go to all the historical places in the city and chat about them for hours.

- they go on hikes together. that’s it. i’m right and you know it.

- i always imagined at least once wing decided to try and take the high road instead of cheating by asking laura to tutor him. it worked pretty well for him and now whenever he needs help with work, he just goes to laura and they work through it together.