#is important and insightful but incomplete

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Christina Buttons

Published: Apr 4, 2024

[ Figure 2: Representative images of Hematoxylin and Eosin-stained sections of testicular tissue biopsied from the testis from GD patients (A) with and (B) without PB exposure. ]

In a groundbreaking study from the Mayo Clinic, a globally recognized leader in medical research and patient care, researchers examined the effects of puberty blockers on testicular development in gender dysphoric male children. Their investigation revealed evidence of mild to severe atrophy in the sex glands of these children, leading the authors to express doubt in the claims of “reversibility” often made about puberty blockers.

The authors assert, “We provide unprecedented histological evidence revealing detrimental pediatric testicular sex gland responses to [puberty blockers].”

This preprint study, not yet peer-reviewed, presents evidence that puberty blockers induce significant cellular changes, impacting testicular development and sperm production in ways that are not fully reversible, with potentially permanent effects on testicular function and fertility. It challenges the longstanding view of puberty blockers as a reversible "pause button" on puberty.

As noted by the researchers of this study, no long-term studies exist for the use of puberty blockers in the context of stopping puberty for gender dysphoric children, and many potential health consequences remain unknown. In particular, the long-term impact on reproductive health is uncertain, making this study critical for filling this knowledge gap.

To address these unknowns, the Mayo Clinic has established the largest collection of testicular samples for patients aged 0-17 years, including those with gender dysphoria who have and have not yet received puberty blocker treatment, creating a database of over 130,000 individual cells for analysis.

Using a novel approach, the research team meticulously analyzed testicular tissue samples from youths undergoing puberty blocker treatment, with those not on puberty blocker treatment serving as controls. This comparison provides important insights into the potential cellular and molecular changes induced by these drugs.

Key Findings

The study utilized the Mayo Clinic's Pediatric Testicular Biobank for Fertility Preservation, which has been recruiting patients primarily from pediatric urology departments since 2015. Researchers analyzed testicular specimens from 87 young individuals (ages 0-17) undergoing fertility preservation surgery for various health reasons. Among these, 16 were gender dysphoric boys between the ages of 10 and 16, all of whom began identifying as transgender girls between the ages of 2 and 15. At the time of surgery, 9 patients (56%) were already on puberty blockers, with exposure ranging from 3 to 52 months. The authors noted that 100% of the 16 children would eventually go on to take them, highlighting “the widespread nature of PB intervention in this demographic.”

Among nine patients treated with puberty blockers, two exhibited unusual features in their testicles upon physical examination. One patient had abnormalities in both testicles, including incomplete development of the tunica albuginea, which is a protective covering around the testicles. The other patient had a right testicle that was difficult to detect.

In one part of the tissue-level analysis, over 400 testicular biopsy samples were analyzed and stained to examine the differences between those treated with puberty blockers and those who were not. Comparisons showed that testicular development in those treated with puberty blockers was abnormal compared to non-treated individuals. There was variability in how individuals responded to puberty blockers, leading to different outcomes in testicular development, including the degeneration of testicular tissues.

The study authors presented a case of a 12-year-old patient who underwent treatment with puberty blockers for 14 months. In this individual, 59% of the sex glands showed complete atrophy, along with the presence of microlithiasis—a condition where small clusters of calcium form in the testicles. This insight suggests that puberty blockers could lead to lasting structural changes. Additionally, research has shown a link between testicular microlithiasis and testicular cancer.

[ D) Representative images of normal (top) and fully atrophied sex gland (bottom). ]

This study also utilized single-cell analysis to investigate the effects of puberty blockers and aging on testicular cell composition. It took a very detailed look at individual cells from the testicles of a 14-year-old who had been on puberty blockers for over 4 years. The study analyzed a total of 130,100 cells, including 11,199 cells from the juvenile puberty blocker-treated patient.

The study observed that over 90% of the cells responsible for sperm production in this patient were stunted at an early developmental stage, unable to progress further. Additionally, it found "pathologically" higher and lower levels of two types of support cells (Sertoli cells) necessary for healthy sperm development. These findings suggest that puberty blockers can disrupt the normal maturation process of cells critical for sperm production.

In another part of the analysis, the authors found distinct cell-specific changes, including altered expression patterns of puberty-associated genes in endothelial cells, due to puberty blocker treatment. The authors believe that these drugs might induce juvenile testicular atrophy in part by disrupting the normal function of testicular endothelial cells.

Another aspect of the study focused on examining the effects of puberty blockers on the genetic activity of early-stage sperm cells, revealing significant changes that could potentially influence their development and fertility. By analyzing the activity of specific genes within these cells, the researchers found that puberty blockers may have caused alterations in gene expression, affecting processes crucial for the normal growth and function of these cells. This analysis suggests that the use of puberty blockers in gender dysphoric youth could have lasting implications for their reproductive health, particularly by impacting the ability of these early-stage sperm cells to mature properly.

Study Impact

Puberty blockers are increasingly used as a treatment for gender dysphoric youth to halt the development of secondary sex characteristics, such as breast development and widening of hips in females, or the growth of facial hair and deepening of the voice in males. Thousands of children in the United States are placed on this medical pathway as part of the gender-affirming model of care, under the presumption that these drugs are safe and fully reversible.

However, many aspects of the long-term consequences of puberty blockers, which have been administered to children off-label in an experimental manner, remain unknown. This study contributes valuable insights into the potential irreversible harm these treatments can cause to bodily and reproductive functions. 

Arguably, the most critical finding is the evidence of mild to severe sex gland atrophy in children treated with puberty blockers. This atrophy signifies potential damage or impairment to the structures essential for sperm production, raising serious concerns about the long-term fertility impacts of these drugs for these individuals. 

Given the Mayo Clinic's esteemed reputation in the medical and research communities, should the study pass peer review without any issues, its findings will carry significant weight.

Broader Implications

Puberty blockers belong to a group of synthetic gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH) analogues. These drugs act on the pituitary gland to hinder the release of chemical signals that typically trigger the production of estrogen and testosterone. Historically GnRH analogues were used to treat conditions such as prostate cancer, fibroids, and endometriosis and, in some cases, as a measure to chemically castrate sex offenders.

In children, puberty blockers prevent the natural changes of puberty driven by sex hormones and have been used to treat central precocious puberty, a condition where a child begins to sexually mature much earlier than usual. In gender dysphoria, puberty blockers are administered experimentally, lacking long-term testing.

Notably, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has not approved puberty blockers and sex hormones for use in pediatric gender care. No clinical trials have substantiated the safety of these drugs for such non-approved applications and manufacturers of puberty blockers have repeatedly declined to conduct safety trials for their use on this cohort.

While puberty-blocking drugs are often promoted as “safe,” "reversible" and a "pause button" on puberty, these characterizations seem to stem from their approved use for treating central precocious puberty in younger children, not their burgeoning off-label use for managing gender dysphoria in adolescents. 

Past studies have indicated possible negative effects on bone density and brain health. There is also a concern that these drugs might solidify gender dysphoria in adolescents, potentially leading them down a lifelong road of biomedical interventions. Following reports in 2016 of suicidal ideation in children administered puberty blockers, the FDA instructed drug manufacturers to include a warning about potential psychiatric issues on the drugs' labels.

Puberty blockers are increasingly administered to adolescents at Tanner Stage 2, the first signs of puberty. Research shows administering puberty blockers at this stage, followed by cross-sex hormones, may result in infertility, sterility, and sexual dysfunction. Furthermore, they inhibit the development of mature male genitalia, making it difficult to create a pseudovagina in the event of a later vaginoplasty due to a lack of sufficient tissue.

The National Health Service England recently announced it would no longer prescribe puberty blockers to youth outside of research settings and closed down its only national clinical service for pediatric gender medicine, following a review that deemed the service "not safe.”

Several European countries, including Sweden, Finland, the UK, Denmark, and Norway have updated their guidelines for youth transition to align with systematic evidence reviews, the gold standard in evidence-based medicine. These reviews concluded that the risks associated with youth transition outweigh any purported benefits. Consequently, these countries have implemented restrictions on medical interventions, prioritizing psychotherapy as a first-line response for minors experiencing gender-related distress.

==

They're sterilizing boys and giving them cancer. When "god" does it, we call him evil. When humans do it, we call it "gender affirming care."

#Christina Buttons #puberty blockers #atrophy #medical scandal #medical malpractice #medical corruption #sterilization #fertility #irreversible #gender affirming care #gender affirming healthcare #gender affirmation #queer theory #gender ideology #gender identity ideology #intersectional feminism #religion is a mental illness

[rainydetectiveglitter]

𝔸𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 ℝ𝕖𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ••¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ

Specific signs and placements can offer valuable insights into potential life challenges, such as feelings of rejection, isolation, or a sense of not quite belonging. While it's important to remember that astrology doesn't guarantee these experiences, it does provide us with clues about certain predispositions. Let's dive into each astrological placement and explore their nuanced, occasionally less favorable aspects. Shall we?

¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ••¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ

¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ••¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ•¨•.¸¸☆･ﾟ

Aquarius Sun or Aquarius Rising: Aquarius individuals are renowned for their unorthodox perspectives on life. Their innovative concepts and forward-thinking can make them trailblazers, yet their very distinctiveness may lead to alienation from the mainstream. Feeling like an outsider could be a consequence of their resistance to conformity. Capricorn Moon: The Capricorn Moon embodies emotional restraint and a penchant for seeming distant. While this serves as a protective mechanism, it might project emotional unavailability, causing others to perceive them as distant and possibly rejected. This distancing may result from an innate fear of vulnerability, creating an emotional wall that prevents close connections. Aquarius Moon: An Aquarius Moon can cultivate emotional detachment. While esteeming independence is empowering, it can also translate to challenges in forming profound emotional bonds. This emotional detachment could leave them feeling like strangers in situations that require emotional closeness. Their desire for emotional freedom might inadvertently lead to isolation, leaving them longing for deeper connections. Uranus in the 1st House: Uranus' placement in the 1st house fuels a yearning to break free from societal norms. While this rebellion can empower, it might also attract resistance from those who prefer conventionality, potentially evoking feelings of isolation. Their pursuit of individuality may inadvertently push away those who struggle to understand their need for autonomy. Saturn in the 11th House: Saturn's presence in the 11th house can give rise to concerns about rejection or isolation within social circles. The quest for like-minded companions could lead to a sensation of not entirely belonging or being embraced. The fear of rejection might cause them to hesitate when forming new connections, leading to self-imposed isolation. South Node in the 7th House: A South Node in the 7th house hints at past-life patterns of assigning excessive importance to relationships. Consequently, a tendency to feel incomplete or rejected when not in a partnership might eclipse personal growth. This longing for companionship might cause them to rush into relationships that aren't aligned with their true selves, leading to a cycle of feeling isolated within partnerships. Chiron in Challenging Aspect to Personal Planets: Chiron's influence in demanding aspects (conjunction, square, opposition) to personal planets can rouse wounds linked to rejection and being an outsider. These wounds could manifest as deep-rooted insecurities and difficulties forging connections. These wounds may stem from early experiences of rejection, causing them to put up barriers to protect themselves from further hurt. 12th House Placements: Planets situated in the 12th house, particularly personal planets, can evoke a sense of isolation and confinement. This may materialize as an internal struggle to convey oneself to the external world, triggering feelings of rejection. They might battle with a sense of invisibility, struggling to express themselves authentically to others, leading to feelings of isolation. Difficult Aspects to the Moon: Challenging aspects to the Moon (conjunction, square, opposition) can indicate emotional hurdles that impede emotional expression. This could result in a sense of isolation or feeling unaccepted by others on an intimate level. These emotional challenges might result from past experiences of emotional rejection, leading them to withhold their true feelings to avoid being hurt again.

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While these astrological placements might harbor the potential for encountering rejection or isolation, it's essential to recognize that astrology serves as a tool for self-awareness and growth. By acknowledging these inclinations, individuals can actively strive to embrace their distinctiveness, heal past wounds, and cultivate self-belonging, even in the face of adversity. Through comprehension and self-acceptance, we can transcend the challenges that these placements may present and embark on a more gratifying trajectory.

#astrology observations #astrology notes #astrology rants #astrology #aquarius placements #cancer placements #sagittarius placements #aries placements #capricorn placements #gemini placements #taurus placements #leo placements #virgo placements #scorpio placements #libra placements #pisces placements

[cubitodragon-moved]

Yesterday Mike added more fuel to my “Tubbo is bugged” theory and it’s making me extra worried about what’s going to happen this week LOL.

This post is rambly and long, so I’m sticking things behind a cut!

Mike’s memories of the last 3+ weeks are scrambled and foggy; an interrupted El Quackity treatment? Unclear. But between saying he doesn’t remember anything and then spouting off pro-Federation propaganda (something his anarchist ass would never willingly do!) and fiercely trying to pin blame to Fit as a traitor, a comment by him during one of the questioning sessions stood out to me.

When Fit asked who told him his janitor duties were fake/a front, that he couldn’t be trusted, he said Cucurucho.

We and FitMC know that the Feds are sus of Fit, but they’ve had no actual concrete evidence that he’s been misusing his position to obtain information. And yet now Cucurucho, supposedly, is informing Mike of this so called betrayal?

If we think back to the prison cleanup in August, there was a room that had a chess board map on the wall. Only two pieces were present: a queen and a pawn. And the pawn was positioned on a clear way to indicate it’s meant to represent Fit. A warning - possibly to Fit from the ghost entity in the Prison (or someone in a neighbouring pocket dimension, if recent ruminations and theories on the server have any legs) that aided Pac and Mike, OR the Federation itself, reminding him of who has the power and who is always watching.

But they have yet to take any action. And always praised his work when completed.

Enter: Tubbo. Who arrived on the Island as part of a group rescued from a mysterious location. One with lots of strange blocks, code-eggs, frozen floors and who himself was frozen away. Shortly after, Mike and Pac ventured back to that location to explore, and when he entered the tower, the floor vanished and Mike fell. Fell down into a pool of water at the bottom of a trap lined in black concrete, and then frozen.

During Mike’s absence, Tubbo has gotten to know the “morning crew”, has gotten up in everyone’s business. I’ve outlined some highlights in another post. But more recently, every time he talks to Fit about his cleaning job, he’s picked at it again and again. Freaks out over the badge and keycard - especially over the keycard. (This feels important, for more than just Tubbo’s excuses of it being bugged, but I can’t put my finger on why, yet.). Tubbo whines when Fit won’t give him direct insight, or tell him detailed specifics on what he’s found on the job. Fit has made it clear he will not jeopardise his position to satisfy Tubbo’s need to meta-game win over the system to know everything, resulting in accusations, and Tubbo commenting privately to his own chat that this makes Fit untrustworthy in his eyes. Tubbo has been careless with some of his questions. They’ve been asked topside, sideways comments uttered with side eye. He wants to KNOW what Fit is after.

And Fit did spill to Tubbo that he’s not just there for the obvious. Yes, He IS looking for something. Yeah, he IS trying to find things out about the Codes, the Eggs, and the Federation - he wants his beautiful baby boy (made in Heaven by God Himself) back home safe and sound.

But this has not been successful, never mind the long absence of any work in the last few weeks..and we the viewers know that things he has found have been incomplete, or need more time to cook before he goes to others with evidence. Fit is meticulous, his life on 2B2T trained this into him in order to survive. You don’t last 10 years in an anarchy wasteland without being prepared. Better and safer to leave things unsaid than having to walk them back later. And there’s no point in sharing what isn’t relevant to the matter at hand.

And now Mike - who Fit calls friend, who he bonded with, who he swore to help locate Walter Bob with - said Cucurucho told him that Fit was a traitor, and wasn’t looking for what he said he was, even point blank accused him of lying yesterday about what he’s looking for. And when pressed about what he’d found so far when on janitor duty, Fit had to admit that no, he hadn’t found anything related to the Eggs or the Code.

Mike seemed to take that as proof of his lying about what he’s doing. That what he was told was right. But admitting to a lack of success doesn’t make one a liar. And Fit telling him he found nothing is also a smart play - lose lips sink ships, and better to be thought incompetent. Especially if the Federation are now trying to flush you - and perhaps your ties to your employer, outside the island - out into the open.

The Federation did not know about Ramón’s furnaces until Tubbo did. And they didn’t know Fit was in it for more than the obvious until he spoke with Tubbo. They can’t get Tubbo to take on Fit, but they can use a different pawn they have on the board instead.

I may well be completely off base. And I’ll be delighted if I am. It’s been so much fun to theorise about the lore on QSMP! But mark my words, we need to pay much more attention over the next 48 hours. And who knows what everyone will come back to in a week’s time?

#qsmp #qsmp lore #Qsmp theory #qsmp tubbo #Qsmp fitmc #Qsmp Mike #qsmp cucurucho #Qsmp federation #Qsmp player data plot

[communistkenobi]

im an undergrad student who was thinking about specializing in studying fascist movements in North America for my masters and ive really enjoyed reading your book commentary - you connect things that I'm not always aware of in ways that are really comprehensive and appreciate

Do you know of any researchers who are moving things on the topic right now (most of the books ive read are around 20+ years old, unfortunately)?

(sorry if any of this is unclear/grammatically incorrect/weirdly worded - I'm super sick rn)

thank you! I'm really glad to hear that :)

For contemporary writing, I'm currently working through some of Alberto Toscano's work - he has a really interesting article from 2021 on fascism from a Black radical/Marxist perspective where he summarizes various historical analyses of fascism from Black (particularly US) thinkers and activists. One thing I especially appreciate is that he complicates Aime Cesaire's formulation of fascism (i.e., "european colonialism come home") as incomplete when applied to settler colonial contexts, especially the United States - one of Cesaire's articulations of fascism is that (to paraphrase) "one fine day, the prisons begin to fill up, the Gestapo gets busy" and so on, and Toscano, working through Angela Davis and George Jackson, responds with (again I'm paraphrasing) "the prisons are already full! The Gestapo is already here!" etc. Toscano also has a new book that just came out in 2023 called Late Fascism, which explicitly addresses the current moment. I only have a physical copy of that so I can't share a pdf unfortunately, and I still need to get around to reading it lol.

These are also a couple random articles I found insightful:

Carnut (2022). Marxist Critical Systematic Review on Neo-Fascism and International Capital: Diffuse Networks, Capitalist Decadence and Culture War - does what it says on the tin

Daggett (2018). Petro-masculinity: Fossil Fuels and Authoritarian Desire - talks about car culture as a site of modern reactionary political movements, links climate denialism with (proto-)fascist movements

Parmigiani (2021). Magic and politics: Conspirituality and COVID-19 - this one does not mention fascism explicitly, but imo the intersection between new age spirituality, anti-vaccine sentiment, and qanon/q-adjacent conspiracies are pretty important to understanding contemporary fascist social movements, so I'd still recommend reading this

Finally, this isn't an article but I found this recorded lecture about the history of Qanon pretty interesting. I don't think the author gives particularly insightful answers on how to solve the problem of far right conspiracies in the Q&A portion but I found it to be a helpful summary

Otherwise I've been focusing a lot on decolonial scholarship more so than fascist scholarship - this is again guided by Cesaire's argument that Europe/The West broadly is inherently fascist. These works aren't contemporary, but you can look at this post for some of the readings I linked on decolonial scholarship if you want to go that route. Those are serving me more for theoretical frameworks to guide contemporary analysis, not analysis of contemporary events directly

also idk if I need to put this disclaimer, but just in case this leaves my blog: this isn't a full throated defense of/apology for everything in these articles, I'm not claiming they're sufficient to understanding the present moment, these are just some of the things I've been reading recently and have found helpful in some way or another. a lot of contemporary work I have read (much of which isn't linked here because I don't think its very good/do not have it on hand) focuses on populism and authoritarianism as central analytical terminology, which i think does a lot of work to exceptionalize and mystify fascism as a historical and political process/project originating from European colonialism & Western imperialism, but these terms are endemic to the field so you have to contend with them no matter what

good luck with your studies!

#asks #book club #i need a fascism tag i think lol. maybe ill make one later

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Gödels career is interesting bc as a fully mature mathematician he produced a bunch of interesting and deep research in the foundations of mathematics and logic, as well as some branching oit into other areas, but its all dwarfed by some low hanging fruit he plucked when he was in his mid 20s which happened to be among the most momentous discoveries in all of human history

This is different from having one stroke of genius, or stumbling into smth important and producing nothing else really worthwhile, or being best known for less meaningful work than yr real good output. All more familiar not-quite-failure modes. Even if it were not for the incompleteness results he would still be one of the greats of the heroic age of foundations, a peer of tarski and turing and hilbert etc. But as it happened he lucked into the status of mathematical semidivinity for a one off flash of insight of the kind humanity only gets once or twice every few centuries

[berryhobii]

Clouds (jhs x reader)

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x black!female!reader

Word Count: 6K+

Warnings: heavy angst, metaphors and illusions of depression, mentions of autism/depression/sociopathic disorders, mentions of the mistreatment of black women in medical situations(bc this very much still happens), overbearing mothers(but she comes from a good place I swear), feelings of being incomplete, feelings of inadequacy, a very bad date, mentions of fetishizing black women, Hoseok being a ray of sunshine, CRYING, mentions of codependency(bc it’s a soulmate au), one kiss but it’s very sweet, lots of rain and sun metaphors

A/N: Hi hi! I’m back with this sobfest of a fic 🥹 I swear I did not mean to make this this sad, it just kind of happened. I rewrote it a bunch of times and finally flowed on his particular idea. I love soulmate au’s, especially the cute ones with a countdown timer but I wanted to try something different. Something not as overt while still keeping the spirit of a soulmate au which is finding your other half. This is also a shoutout to all of the black people who suffer from depression. I know us being depressed isn’t taken as seriously especially to our families. Mental health isn’t taken seriously in black communities altogether and I really hope that will change. I see so many of us breaking generational curses; with our children, our friends, our relationships, and ourselves. I love seeing it. If you’re non black and read this, I hope it gives you some insight as well. To my black and melanated readers, I hope my stories can give you some comfort outside of just BTS. I hope you feel represented, I hope you feel important, and I hope you feel loved. Because you are all of those things🩵🩵much love. Stay safe. Criticism is always appreciated.

~

Dull. Stagnant. Lifeless.

That’s how you’d describe your world.

Each minute passed slower than the last, the monotony of your days only broken up by the arrival of the night. You didn’t even dream. Sleep was purely a necessity for you; you couldn’t escape to the vividness of a dream because color didn’t exist in your world.

You’ve accepted it. Accepted that you’d simply exist, drifting as another human among the billions of others. There was nothing special about you nor did you have any qualities people desired to interact with you for.

Mundane. Indifferent. Uniform.

That was you. Plain ol’ you.

“Are you okay, baby?” The voice of your mother called from the doorway of your childhood bedroom.

Rain pattered against the window, your gaze following whatever drop you found most interesting. You’d follow it until it disappeared or until it merged with other drops, the combined weight causing it to cascade faster down the glass.

You wished you could be a raindrop. Falling from the sky to nurture the earth then returning upward to form clouds. Then at least, you’d be useful. You could help plants grow, overfill the streaming rivers, bring relief to dry deserts.

Raindrops were so important.

You tore your eyes away from the window, looking at your mother. “I’m fine, mama.”

You could say that but she knew it wasn’t true. She also knew that asking you too many questions only resulted in her own emotional breakdown.

Why was her baby like this? What was wrong with you? Why did you look at her like she was just a stranger?

Swallowing back her tears, she managed a tiny smile. “The food is ready. It’s baked chicken, your favorite.”

Was that your favorite meal? You didn’t even know. Food didn’t matter much to you. It just kept you alive.

“Okay. I’ll be down in a second.” You said before turning back to the window, only to find the rain had let up. A light drizzle.

Your mother didn’t say anything, just backed out of the room, a single tear rolling down her face.

When you were born, the doctor’s considered you kind of a strange child. Not only was your mother’s entire labor pain free but you didn’t cry coming from the womb. You were breathing and all of your senses were completely fine.

You just wouldn’t cry.

You didn’t cry when you were hungry or wet, not even when you fell and hurt yourself. You felt pain but you didn’t cry.

Lots of people chalked it up to you just being a well behaved and calm kid. That should have been a blessing to your parents, right? A kid who didn’t cry or throw tantrums to do regular stuff kids did. Your parents should be so lucky.

But your mother knew something was wrong. That perpetual blank stare you always had, how you never smiled or found any real interest in toys or television, how you kind of just drifted around. You reminded her of a still flower on a rippling pond; so beautiful but unaffected by things around you.

She consulted many doctors on possible reasons for your seeming lack of emotions.

Were you chronically depressed? Did you have a sociopathic disorder? Were you autistic?

Maybe. Perhaps. A possibility.

Nothing was set in stone.

It even hit a point where your parents just completely lost hope. They still loved you the same. They’d just have to accept that you were the way you were.

But then your mother took you to see one final doctor who cleared up every suspicion anyone ever had.

Soulmates.

Less than 0.0001 percent of the population were comprised of these special people. However, there was so little information on this phenomena that affected such a minuscule portion of the population. Did a such thing even exist?

Your father was skeptical. He thought you just had some sort of mental problem and that the doctors were misdiagnosing you. He worked in the medical field and he knew black women were more likely to be mistreated. He believed they just didn’t care.

But your mother believed. What else could she do? She was holding on to the little ray of hope that you could get better.

Soulmates were opposites of one another in a multitude of ways. Sometimes it could be something as simple as height or biological sex, other times it could be complex like gender or religious affiliation.

And in serious cases like yours, it could be something as deep as the very fibers of your being.

You were incomplete without your soulmate. Only they could shine the light and illuminate the darkness that surrounded you.

The only problem is there was really no identifying factors that could help find your soulmate. No marks, no red string, nothing.

And with so many people all over the world, the chance of you finding them was almost nonexistent.

But your mother wouldn’t give up. She’d fix you.

~

“He’s a very nice boy. His mother says he’s upbeat and friendly too. He might be the one.” Your mother gushed as she removed another flexi-rod from your hair, her oiled fingers working carefully to unravel each one.

You didn’t say anything, staring ahead into the mirror in front of you. You had become used to seeing your made up face; foundation, concealer, highlight and whatever color eyeshadow matched the outfit she chose for you. You didn’t really care but your mother insisted you wear some to impress your date.

That’s why she was doing all of these preparations; to send you on yet another date in hopes of finding your soulmate.

Now that your mother knew the cause of your “ailment”, she was working overtime to find whoever they were. So far, you’ve met 41 people, male and female, multiple ethnicities, and all from different backgrounds. The only thing that tied them together was that each other them were happy and bright people. Each of them were social and loved by many. That had to be who your soulmate was, right?

All of these people and meetings and you’ve yet to find your other half. Your mother had been expanding her social circle in search of the person who would “heal” you; children of close friends, children of friends of close friends, even random people she’d overhear talking about their own children. She was on a mission and nothing would stand in her way.

Your mother completed the final touches on your hair, her smile wide.

“Look at how beautiful you are.”

She told you that often, ever since you were a little girl. Words of affirmation recited to you in an attempt to build your self confidence.

You guessed it must be true since she said it everyday.

You didn’t say anything again, her smile faltering just a tad but quickly widening again. She retrieved a simple necklace off the vanity, clasping it around your neck.

“There. Perfect.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and your mother sprang into action.

“He’s here! Come come.” She beckoned you with a frantic hand.

You stood from the chair, following her out of the room and to the living room. She handed you your purse and draped a shawl over your shoulders.

“Okay, you’re ready. Remember your manners and smile, okay?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

She pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly as she always did. Affection wasn’t really something you minded nor did you reciprocate it. Your parents hugged you all the time but you never really felt anything. You understood it was how people showed affection and love, the internet told you that.

You just didn’t get it. You didn’t feel it.

But you hugged her back anyway.

You stood there in her embrace for 23 seconds longer before she released you. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb running across the apple of it.

Her smile was gentle but it didn’t reach her eyes, that glossy sheen always misting her eyes. Your mother cried a lot but never in front of you. You could sometimes hear her or find her wiping away tears if you’d enter the room, that smile always pulling at her lips acting as if nothing was wrong.

It confused you. It was obvious she was cried so why did she hide it?

Oh well.

“Have fun, okay?”

Opening the door, you found date number 42 standing there. He was dressed sharply in a crisp suit, hair gelled back out of his face, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His mouth dropped when he saw you, eyes traveling from your feet to the top of your head.

“Wow.” He breathed out. “You look stunning.”

Remembering your manners, you answered, “Thank you.”

Clearing his throat, he held out the flowers to you. “These are for you.”

You took the bouquet from him then you remembered something your mother drilled into you.

“Always smile when someone gives you flowers. It means you appreciate them.”

Wasn’t saying thank you the appreciation?

Still, you put a smile on your face. A practiced smile that you’d rehearse in the mirror under your mother’s watch.

“They are lovely. Thank you.” You tried to add some inflection to your voice to sound grateful but it just came out robotic.

If number 42 noticed, he didn’t say anything, simply taking your thank you for what it was.

Holding out his arm, he asked, “ready to go? Our reservation is soon.”

Nodding, you placed your hand on his arm and let him escort you out of the door and down to his car. He opened the door for you, helping you inside and even making sure you put on your seatbelt before closing your door. He rounded to the driver’s seat and got in, buckling himself in and starting the car before pulling off.

“I hope you like seafood. The restaurant we’re going to has the best seafood pasta.”

You didn’t dislike it. Food was food to you. It was simply sustenance.

You stared out of the window as he began rambling about his favorite restaurants. You blankly watched the scenery pass, not really taking note of anything. Just watching.

Then you saw a raindrop hit your window, followed by a few more.

You heard your date make a noise of concern. “I didn’t think it would rain. Hopefully it’s only a drizzle. I hate when it rains. Don’t you?”

“No.”

He glanced over at you, a little chuckle coming from him. “Ah you’re one of the ones who like rain, huh? Why? It’s cold and wet and makes you sick.”

You continued to watch the drops patter against the window.

Yes rain was cold. It passes through a thin layer of cold air before falling to the earth. Yes rain was wet. It was water.

But rain was also….

“Rain is important.”

He snorted. “I guess so. It’s just inconvenient in cities.”

Inconvenient, huh?

You didn’t say anything in response to him, silence engulfing the inside of the car.

He coughed to break the air before reaching for the radio. A low pop song began playing through the speakers, not doing anything to alleviate the awkwardness but doing everything to prevent any more conversation.

Thankfully(for him), you arrived at the restaurant just minutes after. The rain was still at a very light drizzle which was good since he didn’t bring an umbrella.

He opened your door, holding out his arm to help you out.

The restaurant was nice on the inside. It reminded you a lot of the places your parents would take you for birthdays or graduations.

Clean. Fancy. Stuffy.

You both approached the hostess that sat behind a podium. She greeted you both with a bright smile.

“Welcome to Rêverie. Do you have a reservation?”

“I do. Two under Lee Jihyun.”

Oh yeah. That was his name.

She scrolled through her tablet. “Ah yes. Right this way.”

She led you through tables filled with other patrons. For a Thursday night, this place certainly was busy.

Jihyun pulled out your chair and you thanked him before sitting down.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly.” The hostess said, bowing and then walking away.

After removing his suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair, he turned to face you.

“So, y/n. Tell me about yourself.”

That was an open statement. You didn’t know what to say.

So you questioned, “what do you want to know?”

He tapped his chin in faux thought, a little inquiring smirk on his face.

“Hmm….what’s your favorite food?”

“I don’t have one.”

His smile dropped a little but he remained positive. Letting out an awkward chuckle, he ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay. What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one.”

You saw the little twitch in his brow. Your father did that sometimes when he was really focused on his work. He told you it was because he was annoyed or frustrated with something.

Was Jihyun annoyed or frustrated with you?

“Then where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

He exhaled some air through his nose, tilting his head a little. This was getting nowhere.

At that moment, a waiter came to your table with 2 glasses of water and some menus.

“Hello there. I’ll be your waiter today. Can I start you off some drinks?”

Jihyun seemed to perk up at the arrival of the waiter, his smile returning full force.

“Yes we are. I’ll take a glass of your finest red wine.” Then he looked to you. “And for you? A glass of wine?”

You didn’t drink alcohol. Mainly because you just didn’t like it.

“No. I’ll keep my water. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded. “I’ll be right back with those and to take your order.”

Now you two were left alone again. Great.

A silence just as thick and uncomfortable as the one in the car encompassed your table.

Jihyun drummed his fingers on the table, thoughts racing as he tried to think of a conversation topic to get you talking. Then it hit him.

“Your mom set this date up, right? My mom’s been hounding me about settling down. What about you?” He curiously inquired.

He didn’t know? Hmm.

“She’s searching for my soulmate. She said that I’ll be happy if I find them.”

That seemed to spark his interest. “Soulmate?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He tapped his finger again. “So…..how exactly does that work?”

You barely knew fully. The doctor who diagnosed you could only explain so much since soulmates still aren’t very common or explicitly studied.

“I can’t express or feel most emotions, specifically ones of joy or sadness. Whoever my soulmate is is the opposite of me. That’s why my mother set you and I up.”

He let that information soak in. His mother didn’t say anything about this. All she told him was that a friend of hers had a gorgeous daughter. And if he was being honest, he was pretty curious about dating a black woman.

You certainly were beautiful and your poofy hair was interesting looking.

Your personality though? It left a lot to be desired. He was expecting you to be a little sweeter, more responsive to him. You didn’t even react at seeing his super expensive car nor did you say anything about the restaurant. He was putting a lot of money into this date so he was expecting more.

At least you were pretty.

Now as for this soulmate business. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him. Of course he’s heard about soulmates but he thought it was a load of crap.

Then again, you were strange. You were expressionless and lackluster. Your monotone answers showed your lack of interest and you’ve only smiled once since he met you.

Maybe you did have a soulmate. No one could be this boring without reason.

Well, your personality didn’t really matter. You weren’t ugly, that’s all he was concerned about.

He snorted, waving a hand around. “You don’t have to worry about that. You have me now. I’m all you need.” He reached a hand over to cup your chin. “As long as you listen to me and stay pretty, it’ll be fine.”

Listen? Stay pretty? You already did that.

Your objective wasn’t either of those things. It was to find your soulmate; the person who was your other half.

The person who would help you.

“You’re not my soulmate. What could you offer me?”

His eyebrow twitched again, a forced laugh falling from his lips. He released your chin and leaned back in his chair.

“Ha! What do I have to offer? I have plenty.” He bragged with a huff and a flare of his nostrils.

But what? What could he offer you? Your mother said that only your soulmate could give you what you really needed. This man obviously wasn’t it so what could he give you? Why were you even still here?

“Never leave a date early. It’s rude.”

What was the point? Wasn’t the goal of this date to figure out if he was your soulmate? He wasn’t so why couldn’t you leave? All the lessons from those etiquette classes your mother instructed you to sit through danced around your head.

“You aren’t my soulmate. There’s nothing you could give me.”

That really seemed to piss him off because he was suddenly slamming his hands down on the table. The force caused your water to shake, the liquid rippling in the glass.

“How dare you?! I take you on this fancy date and try to be nice to you and you insult me like this? You should feel grateful I even entertained the thought of meeting you.” He ranted spitefully, his entire face blazing red and veins popping out of his forehead.

Grateful? You should feel grateful? How did you do that?

Other patrons were startled by your date’s sudden outburst, whispers and mutters sounding around the restaurant.

That’s when the hostess appeared at your table.

“Sir, please calm down or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” She attempted to soothe him, holding up her hands as if calming a wild horse.

But your date wasn’t hearing any of it. His anger was too much to contain right now.

He pointed at you. “I only went on a date with you because my mom said you were pretty but she didn’t tell me you were so disrespectful. She also said your mother was desperate to marry you off and that she’s been trying to push you on any person she could.” He bellowed with a hearty and mocking laugh. “Just how many people have you been with already?”

“41. You’re number 42.” You answered simply and that took his irritation from a 100 to a 101.

Letting out a growl of frustration, he stood from the table, grabbing his jacket and practically snatching it on his body.

“You know what? I don’t need this! I have plenty of women lined up for me. I thought dating a black girl would be exciting but you’re seriously a bore. I’m leaving.”

He stomped away from the table, leaving you alone and letting the mind’s of the strangers surrounding you racing.

Just as you were about to get up to leave, he came back to the table, snatching the flowers he gave you earlier from the surface.

“And give me these back!”

Ah. There goes number 42. Your mother would probably get that look on her face again. That misty look in her eyes…..that she’d just cover with a smile and reassure you that she’d find someone else for you.

Again and again. Over and over.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your waiter shuffling back over, a small brown bag in his hands.

“Um, we won’t charge you for the wine since it never reached the table.” He stated nervously, worried that you’d blow up next at his words.

“Okay.”

He then placed the bag on the table. “Please take this red velvet cake. It’s on the house.”

~

The rain was pouring when you stepped out of the restaurant. The awning outside protected you from the brunt of the downpour but you could still feel the drops hitting your bare legs.

You should call a cab. A cab would take you home.

Home.

As if they had a mind of their own, your feet carried you out into the heavy rain. The harsh drops hurt your skin but you continued.

Cold rain soaked through your clothes and all the way down to your shoes, goosebumps rising across your skin but it didn’t bother you.

Nothing did. Maybe that was your main problem.

The stares of people you walked by didn’t bother you. The chill of the rain didn’t bother you. The pain of your feet in these heels didn’t bother you.

Why? Why were you like this? Why couldn’t you feel anything?

“Because you’re broken.”

That’s right. You were broken. Like a porcelain ballerina on a music box; anyone could see how poised and perfect you were, a true sight to see. Sparkling and beautiful, their expectations were high but when they turned your key…..

No music came out. The inner workings of your soul were rusted and stiff, your heart merely a muscle that pumped blood through your veins, your life just something you lived.

You had no purpose. You didn’t exist for anything. You were just a doll, one that would collect dust in an antique case until the end of time.

Your feet slowed to a stop, the assault of the rain feeling like daggers against your skin. You tilted your head back to stare up into the dark sky.

You wished you could be a raindrop. You just wanted to fall and then go back to the sky.

At least then you wouldn’t be so useless. You wouldn’t make your mother cry. You wouldn’t be a burden.

You wouldn’t be incomplete.

“Hey are you okay?”

Your ears itched so you lifted your hand to scratch at it.

“Why are you out here without an umbrella? It’s pouring.”

Why were your ears so itchy? Did you need to clean them?

“Did the rain come out of nowhere for you too? The forecasts are so unreliable sometimes, huh?”

You didn’t understand. Why was……why…..?

Your head slowly came down from its craned position and your heart did something other than simply beat.

It squeezed.

Something you’ve never felt before jolted through your entire body, so powerful and consuming that your knees buckled. You stumbled forward a little, the grip on the bottom of your heels doing nothing to keep your upright.

“Oh hey! Are you alright?”

Then you were met with warmth. No, something more than that.

Heat. Body scorching and all encompassing heat engulfed your body. It felt like someone had poured gasoline over you and a lit a match.

A hand touched your arm and that heat spread like a hot brand across your skin. You couldn’t even feel the coldness of the rain that soaked your clothes and skin anymore. It was like someone wrapped a warm towel straight out of the dryer around you.

“Hey….”

Slowly, as if this bubble you formed would burst, you leaned your head back to look into a pair of eyes so iridescent and dazzling that you thought you were staring right at a cluster of stars.

Like the sun after rain, a rainbow stretching across the blue sky.

It was him. He had found you.

You two stayed locked in eye contact for a very long moment. The world seemed to fade away, not even the sound of rain or honking cars could bring you back.

Then like a ray of sunshine, he smiled but unlike your mother or other people you’ve met, this smile held no sadness, no pain, no ulterior motives.

It was pure. It was beautiful.

“Have you been waiting long for me? I’m sorry.” He lifted the hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray raindrop.

Then the dam broke and for the first time in your entire life, you did something you never thought you’d be able to do.

You cried.

Loud and heart wrenching, as thunderous and roaring as the storm you two were in. Every emotion you’ve never felt since birth swelled in your chest, traveling up your throat and out of your mouth as you let out wails of sorrow.

Wails of joy. Wails of anguish. Wails of strife. Wails of gratitude.

You cried.

And he held you, shielding you from the rain and holding the broken pieces of you together before you could fall apart again.

His hand stroked your back up and down as he hummed a song to you. “It’s okay. Let it out. I know it’s been hard for you. I’m here now.”

Yes. He was here. He found you. You’d be okay.

~

The sound of a phone ringing woke you from your haze of sleep. Your head felt fuzzy and your body felt heavy.

Where were you?

Lifting your arm, you felt around the nightstand until you touched the object you were searching for. You turned on your side, bringing your phone to your face, eyes squinting at the brightness.

Mama.

Why was she calling you? Wasn’t she in the next room?

Pressing the answer button, you held the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“y/n! y!n, where are you? My friend just called me and told me you had a falling out with Jihyun. Are you okay? You didn’t even come home. I thought something happened to you.”

Jihyun? Oh yeah, your date. The memories of that awful dinner were starting to come back to you. You couldn’t even call it dinner since you didn’t even eat but whatever.

“Sorry, mom. He left me at the restaurant and it started raining really hard so I….” Your train of thought derailed, more memories of last night flowed into your brain.

Jihyun leaving you. Your walk in the rain. Bumping into someone.

That feeling in your chest….

Your soulmate! You found them. You never went home. You went with them instead.

“y/n? Is everything okay?” Your mother questioned with concern laced in her voice.

You felt something move behind you and you remembered everything.

“Mama, I promise I’m fine. I’ll be home later, okay?”

You couldn’t see the look of confusion on her face but you could feel it was there. “Uh, alright honey. Be careful. I love you.”

You smiled, feeling tears prick your eyes as your heart rapidly pounded in your chest.

“I will. I love you too, mama.”

And you did. You loved her so much. You could feel it.

Just like how you could feel her own tears even after you hung up the phone.

After placing your phone back on the nightstand, you paused and sat in silence for a moment.

So many feelings and thoughts rushed through your body like a rapid stream, rain had fallen and filled the cavern that was your soul, overflowing every empty crevice and nourishing the flora that had been withered and dry. With these new and unfamiliar feelings expanding, it almost hurt.

You were happy that it hurt though because that meant you were feeling.

You could feel now. You were so unexplainably happy.

Turning back to your other side, your eyes met the sleeping form of the person who made all of this possible.

Reaching a hand out, your fingertips grazed over his cheek. You could still so vividly remember how the cheekbone rounded when he graced you with that breathtaking smile. You wanted to see it again. You wanted to learn about what makes him smile, what makes him happy, what makes him sad.

You wanted to understand his feelings.

Your finger traced all across his face; his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, his chin. As if you were trying to memorize each atom of his face.

A part of this felt like a dream, one you were afraid you’d wake up from but if you did, you still think you’d be happy. Happy because at least you had this much. If this was a dream, you wouldn’t mind because this dream would be precious to you.

With another touch of his eyelids, he flinched causing you to do the same. His hand lifted to rub at his face, grumbles and mumbles coming from his lips. You watched as he stretched his body before flopping back down and then his eyes cracked open.

Your breath hitched in your throat, heart going crazy in your chest and another swell of emotions you couldn’t place surging as well.

He blinked sleepily before his eyes finally landed on you. Staring into the brown irises brought that heat back but even stronger this time. You didn’t really understand it but you wanted to.

“Oh, you’re awake? Did you sleep well?” His light voice croaked as he rubbed the drowsiness out of his eyes.

You nodded. “I did. Did you?”

Then he smiled and your heart squeezed.

“Yeah. I did too. For the first time in a while.”

There was a hint of something in his words but you couldn’t place it.

“Do you have a hard time sleeping?”

He looked up at the ceiling, staring as if it held the solution to all of his problems.

“Yeah.”

You felt like he had more to say and you were about to ask a follow up question when the sound of your stomachs growling interrupted.

His smile was bright and his laughter was contagious. “Are you hungry? I can make us some breakfast.”

“That sounds great.”

~

“I’m Hoseok, by the way.” He said as he placed a fried egg on a plate and then served it to you.

He let you shower first, even letting you wear some of his clothes since the dress you wore last night was still soaked through. You were actually already wearing a large t shirt of his and a pair of boxers that he leant you, both brand new of course. A part of you didn’t even want to shower because you didn’t want him to leave your eyesight. You finally found him and all you wanted to do was admire him and be close to him. He felt exactly the same but he was starving since he didn’t eat dinner last night. And now that you thought about it, neither did you.

Now you were both in his kitchen while he whipped up breakfast.

You didn’t even realize you never asked him his name. Hearing it now flared that heat in your heart again.

Hoseok. It was nice. It fit him.

“I’m y/n.”

He smiled at you again. You really liked seeing him smile.

“That’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You’ve been hearing that for years, all your life really but hearing him say it, you truly believed it. From his lips, it sounded sincere, like he was looking past just your physical appearance.

He was looking at you. All of you.

“I have a question.” He said as he ate a blueberry.

You hummed in acknowledgment, letting him know he could continue.

“Why were you out in the rain like that?”

Any other time, you wouldn’t have hesitated to give the answer but your words got caught when he asked. Should you even tell him? Would he get upset? Why did you feel so guilty?

He noticed your hesitation and it was like he could see the cogs turning in your head. He didn’t quite understand you yet. What were you experiencing before you met him? What were the effects of your incomplete soulmate bond?

You felt a hand place itself over yours where it rested on the table, your eyes lifting from your half eaten breakfast to meet those sweet eyes.

“You can tell me. I promise I’ll accept whatever you say. I’ll accept you.”

Tears prickled at your waterline but you didn’t let them fall. You felt like if you cried again, you’d never stop.

Taking a deep breath, you admitted, “I was on a date.” When he didn’t say anything, you continued. “My mom would set me up on dates in order to find my soulmate. I was on one with this guy and he left me at the restaurant. I was about to go home but something told me to start walking.”

He listened intently, a little burst of anger firing in his heart at whatever asshole left you by yourself like that. He couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, however. Because if they didn’t leave you, he probably wouldn’t have found you.

“I see. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not.” You quickly responded, moving your hand so your fingers could entwine with his. A look of surprise crossed his face, his gaze going to your linked hands. His own heart thudded wildly like a stampede.

Then you smiled and what an absolutely wonderful smile it was.

“Then I’m not either.”

You two tucked back into your food in silence, hands still locked on the table.

“I have a question too.”

“Yeah?”

“Why were you out in the rain?”

He made a noise, shrugging his shoulder and finishing off the last of his breakfast. “I couldn’t sleep so I took a walk. It started raining on my way back home. There was a convenience store on my way so I got an umbrella there.” He explained as if it was so simple but something told you it wasn’t.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

What a good question.

“Whenever I try to sleep, I get this overwhelming feeling that keeps me up. It’s like…..I’m always uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” You parroted.

He hummed. “Like whenever I try to sleep, I can’t. It feels like….something was missing.”

“Like what?”

He pondered in thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it to you. He’s been asked that question before and he could never quite answer. To him, showing emotion came so easily. He could empathize with most; he cried when others did, he rejoiced when he was happy, he got angry when something didn’t go his way. All of it came naturally to him.

But when it was time to shut those feelings down and rest, he couldn’t. He took walks often as a way to both clear his head and try to tire himself out. He slept sometimes but never more than a couple of hours, those feelings always startling him awake again. He slept but he didn’t rest.

Something was keeping him awake. Something was missing. Something that he didn’t have.

His eyes left his empty plate to finally lock on the beauty of you. With you, all of those conflicting feelings calmed down. They settled in his heart, that heavy weight that once constricted him now lifted. Like when you curled up next to a window, a book in your lap and a blanket over your shoulders as a gentle rain fell.

“Peace.”

A soft smile stretched across his face, his eyes holding so many feelings that he’s always been able to express but never truly able to receive. Looking at you now, he knew he could have it all now.

He could have peace. The reason he couldn’t sleep was because there were too many emotions storming around him, leaving him lost in the torrent of his own life. He had friends who loved him, family who supported him, and bonds that could never be broken but even with all of that, he still lacked one thing.

One person.

You.

He rounded his small kitchen island until he was standing next to you, his hand that wasn’t holding yours moving to cup the back of your neck. He leaned down just a little. Your lips were so close, a few centimeters closer and they’d touch. A frenzy of everything was happening in both of your bodies; anticipation, fear, passion, and more things neither of you could make.

His eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes, back and forth.

“I’m so glad I found you.” He whispered.

“I’m glad you found me too.”

And just like that, your lips joined. As did your hearts, as did your souls, as did your beings.

Complete.

Like the sun shining through the clouds after a rainy day and the rain returning to cover the sun, you two fit together in a delicate cycle.

One that could never be broken.

The sun. The rain. The earth. The sky. The moon. Red. Purple. Orange. Green.

Blissful. Confusing. Playful.

The colors that made up your world were bright now.

All thanks to your sun ☀️

#bts #bts x black reader #bts fic #bts imagines #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok x reader #black representation

[vickyvicarious]

why are you people hyping up jonathan harker he was fucking useless LMAOOOOOOO

just on the background while the doctors always did actual work and had insight and schemes and godalming and morris used their $$$

meanwhile he just fell on his knees crying I DEFY YOU STARS OH MY DOOMED LOVE

Oh, anon. I know I probably should just ignore you. However, I first of all find this ask very funny, and secondly you are giving me a golden opportunity to brag about my boy, here. I'm definitely gonna take it.

Behold - an incomplete list of things Jonathan Harker has done:

survived for months alone in Dracula's castle, maintaining a delicate balance of not rocking the boat too far and getting killed, but never giving up fully/seizing every chance to try and learn more or find a way out (letters, wall-climbing, etc.)

the only person to harm Dracula (shovel scar) and live (the only others were Renfield and Quincey, both of whom died the same day). the only person to hit him more than once (shovel, cut his coat open, sliced off his head). one of the two people who killed him (sliced off his head if you missed that one)

escaped by climbing down a castle wall and fleeing on foot through mountains full of wolves, without any warm clothes

was the person to recognize Dracula in London, and to direct the group to Carfax

did literally all of the footwork required to track down Dracula's boxes. began this task on his own without being given direction, and was well underway on it before even linking up with the others. (insight!)

bribery! lots of bribery! using his own inherited money at least part of the time ($$$!)

also, lied to/tricked various sources that he was either still Dracula's attorney, or utilized Arthur's status, to get information (schemes!)

suggested to a surprised Seward that Renfield may be reacting to Dracula and is "a sort of index to the coming and going of the Count." (insight!)

was van helsing's biggest primary source confirming what his research said about vampires, as seen in big speech day when he told everyone 'vampires do this (as seen in Jonathan's diary)' like five separate times

was the first to move to attack Dracula on October 3 (at his house not the asylum), galvanizing everyone else into action

um, kinda a big thing that he never considered his love doomed? like. yeah. willing to go to hell/become a vampire himself to stay with Mina. willing to doom everyone else for his love if necessary but never to give up on that. fell on his knees (I'll grant you) immediately... to comfort Mina when she felt unclean. set aside his immediate impulse towards revenge in order to comfort her first.

but also. very much willing to act to prevent such an outcome? urged everyone else to get on the move so he could go kill Dracula for everything he'd done?

nonetheless, didn't put his personal catharsis/revenge above the goal. was willing to take a backseat for the sake of success in the initial plan and just play guard rather than insisting on being the one to stake/behead him.

...honorable mention again for beheading him anyway in the end. Jonathan literally killed Dracula, bud. (fucking useful!)

I love all the main characters, and am not interested in devaluing anyone's contributions. The doctors are very smart (among other things) and important. Arthur and Quincey are very rich (among other things) and important. Mina, who you failed to mention, is extremely clever (among other things) and important as well. Jonathan, surprise surprise... is also all of those things!

And I love him. He's been my favorite character since my first time reading this book long ago. I (don't actually) regret to inform you that Dracula Daily has only increased that love, as well as vindicated it by seeing many other people agree that he's a great character really screwed over by adaptations, and thus even if I were generally inclined to feel upset about these kinds of messages, this'd still miss the mark. Rather, I thank you for the opportunity to reflect on some of the many ways Jonathan was an integral part of this vampire-hunting team.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #hahaha #not even getting into him paralleling dracula. or how his trauma is written. or unrelated-to-drac stuff like him coming back from this #harrowing ordeal and then very rapidly getting promoted to have way more responsibilities then losing his father figure and being in charge #of the funeral only to be confronted with the sight of his abuser #those are more things that happen to him than stuff he does i suppose. not quite part of his resume like you seem to be needing #anonymous #replies

[foxlored]

Deconstructing Luz & Hunter and Wittebane Siblings Parallels

Alternatively titled: Luz is actually not a stand-in for Philip and I will fight the show's writers on this myself if I must

Another Owl House mini-essay because this show's been on the mind. As the previous one, expect some mentions of abuse, murder, colonization, and so on (as per canon-typical Belos awfulness). Technically peer reviewed (my discord friends talked about it with me)

Luz & paralleling Philip/Belos

The show does a lot of work to make you see Luz as equivalent to Belos, partly in order to deconstruct that. I don't mind that actually, I think the subversion of the "just as bad as the villain" trope fits the show's themes of deconstructing the fantasy genre, given its similar takes on the idea of a chosen one and so on. However, I don't think these parallels are narrative as much as they are just a manifestation of Luz's anxieties and Belos feeding into that.

Stay with me here: We have a character who abandons the only family member they have left in order to stay in the Demon Realm. They fall in love with a witch, and fall in love with the world they're staying in. They unlearn the initial ideas they had about the world that dehumanize its inhabitants in some way—and are in conflict with Philip/Belos, who wishes to "save their soul" and get them out of there.

Am I talking about Caleb or Luz? That's a trick question, because it's both. It's literally the same character arc! And more importantly here—there's something to suggest that at least Belos sees them in the same way.

"We're human! We're better than this!"

Belos has a very peculiar dynamic with Luz in the fact that he is incredibly bent on trying to "save" her despite all she has done to go against him. He sees her as a potential ally, a human corrupted by the sinfulness of witchkind—and offers her an honestly that is pretty much never given to any other character. Now, compare this to the scene in For the Future where he hallucinates Caleb.

"I tried to save your soul. It's your fault this all happened!"

The mentality is strikingly similar—and while we don't have much content to show the specifics of Philip and Caleb's relationship, what we are given suggests a very real parallel between how he views Caleb and Luz.

What about Hunter?

A fair question, as the show poses Hunter as the Caleb to Luz's Philip—especially with him already being a grimwalker of Caleb. However, it's important to note that a significant part of that parallel is that it's incomplete—Hunter isn't the replacement for Caleb that Belos wants.

Because the cycle of killing and destroying grimwalker upon grimwalker is built off the fact that they cannot match what Caleb was. They... aren't Caleb. Even Hunter, who looked the closest, was just that: the closest. Not an actual replacement. Remember Belos had no qualms about branding him with a sigil, a death sentence on the day of unity.

Speaking of that—

King's Tide, & the curious case of Belos' Manipulation

King's Tide gives us two interesting scenes with Belos attempting to manipulate Luz, then Hunter. Both give a surprising insight into his mentality towards both characters.

Hunter, why are you hurting me? I only wanted to help you!

when trying to elicit hunter's help, belos is very much focused on that emotional relationship he cultivated in order to manipulate hunter. Why are you hurting ME. I only wanted to help YOU. but there's no further depth to it. Its a purely emotional attack. Contrast that both with his earlier scene with Luz, and what occurs in Watching and Dreaming.

And despite our differences, I want to help you, Luz. I can send you home. I have just enough Titan Blood for one more trip. Please. I don't want to see another human life destroyed by this place.

While Belos certainly isn't above using emotional attacks to weaken Luz's resolve—playing on her fears of being complicit in his crime, comparing his self afflicted monsterous form to Eda's curse, he also tries to connect with her on a logical level (at least from his point of view).

When he calls Hunter to stop fighting, it's purely because he knows he can eliminate a percieved threat by playing on his weakness—when he calls Luz to stop, it's because he wants to work with her.

You did do something good. I thought this one was another lost cause. Because of you, we can finish our work as witch-hunters, starting with them!

This exchange from Thanks to Them really encapsulates it all. Hunter is a tool for Belos to use, while Luz... I think the ambiguity in "we" in the above quote is purposeful. At face value, it's we as Belos possessing Hunter, an extension of Caleb—him and his brother together again. But he's addressing Luz, thanking Luz, and I don't think that's necessarily because Belos sees himself in Luz. A wayward human who needs guidance back from the clutches of humans... he sees Caleb in her.

Luz & Hunter, two sides of a Caleb coin

I think the two of them are both supposed to represent different facets of Caleb. They're the two characters who are deeply harmed by his manipulation, and both represent the ways in which Belos views his brother. A lost soul to be saved, family to be controlled; Someone who's loyalty must be maintained by emotional abuse and manipulation.

And I think the show becomes stronger when you look at it through this lens, instead of the forced "they're like siblings so they must be like these other siblings" comparison partially born out of Luz's insecurity.

#dove rambles #dove does analysis #the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #hunter toh #luz noceda #philip wittebane

[rin-and-jade]

Hey there! I've been researching information about DID, OSDD and partial DID because while I have bpd and PTSD, my experience cannot be fully explained by those alone. Recently I found out about partial DID and it fits my experience incredibly well but there's one part I'm not sure about. In the ICD11, they mention something at the end of the diagnostic requirements:

"The symptoms result in significant impairment in personal, family, social, educational, occupational or other important areas of functioning. If functioning is maintained, it is only through significant additional effort."

This isn't really specific enough for me, since my other disorders can be used as explanations for many a "significant impairment" I have in daily life. So I was wondering if maybe you guys had an idea of how this impairment would look?

I still have a month left before I see my therapist again (in a clinic) and I get scared of bringing up things that turn out "wrong", so I'm trying to figure this out without him for now until I see him again. That is why I wanted to ask someone else for their insight and opinion on this. Thank you so much in advance

When it comes to impairment in dissociative disorders, it would be two main things i can see;

Memory, and sense of cohesive self:

In some form or another, amnesia is prevalent for systems, and there are signs like incomplete memory, lacking the emotional aspect of a memory (such as, a friend threw me a party, i seem to react X but i can't feel it personally) Or frequent forgetfulness, that's not normal but sadly it is for us.

And the other one when i mean sense of self, we're made of different facets, it was supposed to be integrated but instead compartmentalized. So this means systems are having a hard time being consistent, especially for p-did where switching fronts are rare or to none you are still going to feel a lot of passive influence from the others. Socially, this can confuse people because one day you'd hate broccoli and the other day you'd like it,, or even picking choices, big or small.

Also lastly, bpd and p-did can look very similar because both have multiple selves that seem to chit chat, but the clearest sign i have seen is if its more to normal commentary (can't really be talked like a separate person), still recognized as a part of you, and do not act very different like alters im pretty sure this has a high chance it belongs to bpd. But if it has different names, different looks, wants, and all those system stuffs, high chances it doesn't belong to bpd and instead more to a system thing.

Hope that answers it, let me know if it's still not clear i'd be happy to add more on the comment later on.

- j

#did #actually did #did community #did osdd #did system #dissociative identity disorder #sysblr #plural #system stuff #janswersask

[trans-axolotl]

(Apologies this is long and rambley)

So ive been thinking on a peer-made trait-based 'diagnostic model' (not for disorders but neurodiverse traits), rather than the way the DSM and ICD do it and what that would look like and if it would be a good idea to propose as an alternative that focuses the patients unique experiences over theorized model boxes with misleading names.

Ive been growing increasingly discontent with how the ICD and DSM both categorize disorders, and the completed alternate models ive seen that already exist are not much better honestly, and worse for my specific brainfuckery. The alternate models that only focus on one section are just that- focused on one specific experience. Monotropisim as an alternate autism model can never be fully realized in the bubble it exists as a theory in. Plurality has like 50 different theory models and half of them aggressively ignore common reported experiences because they don't work with their unverified personal gnosis theory of everything, and the other half are likewise mostly incomplete. Trauma/cause-based models ignore genetic/from birth issues as a known cause of mental illness/developmental disorder and also consider everything trauma to the point of diluting the term.

I figured the best option would be to group traits by perceived experiences or related phenomena, with overlap, and the best way to do that accurately would be to make the 'diagnostic codes' combinable infinitely. (ex- a category that is 'unusual sensory experiences' with synthesia, hypo and hyper sensitivity to stimuli, needing to regulate with the sensory system (stimming) to high degrees, hallucinations of any kind, voice hearing(would also go under the plural category when consistent and personlike in presentation), visual snow, etc and each trait is a unique string of characters you can stack under the category string to create a larger string that describes your experiences quickly and concisely).

(The groupings are still all up in the air and id want to get a lot of perspective before cementing it, but I do want to put synthesia and hallucinations and visual snow all together because they are adding a Weird experience and its sensory based stuff others cannot perceive)

And then I realized that this is just the Geek Code but for neurodiversity,,

Im STILL not sure if that makes it a bad idea or not honestly.

On one hand the way the DSM and ICD are set up is NOT actually that great, and being able to shorthand a list that describes things better and doesnt pathologize people as having 'asshole liar personality disorder' or whatever would be fantastic, on the other it is also clunky, people are gonna be pissed about how I am categorizing things contrary to how the DSM and ICD group things (autism and schizophrenia and plurality are all holding hands and kissing with tongue), and it may more strongly encourage people to share very private information online via sharing their string code of every last neuroweirdness they have (which I do NOT want people doing for safety reasons).

So I just went 'hm, whos a cool antipsych person who may have more insight than I do about trying to make a peer-made description system for those who dont want to use the DSM or ICD to describe their experiences', and I thought of you, so thoughts? Is it feasible? Is it a good idea to try? I have like 500 million projects and I REALLY shouldnt add a new one of this magnitude, but I feel like its an important idea to at least float around first.

Hey anon! My answer got pretty long, so I'm going to put it under the read more.

I actually know a few people doing something like this--the founding director of Neuromancers started a project like this (not much has been happening with it lately, bc everyone is so busy with other organizing commitments and life, but if we ever get back to it i'm really excited about it. you could join the discord for Neuromancers and ask about the project if you want to join). I'm a known DSM hater and think that both the DSM and ICD and most biomedical models of mental illness as well as the "evidence based" processes of diagnosis are so fundamentally flawed, oppressive, and are in no way culturally relevant to the vast majority of people. a lot of us are still going to use that terminology as a shorthand because it's the most accessible and understandable in our current society, but that doesn't necessarily mean we all like it or agree with the way it's formulated in the DSM.

Honestly, I'm always a big fan of mad/mentally ill/neurodivergent people creating more ways of understanding ourselves and creating more resources for us to use. I think that there's never going to be one right model that works for every experience or than can encompass everyone. And I think that there's so much value in really deconstructing and dismantling the DSM--understanding exactly how disorders are currently categorized, the evidence behind it, the lack of evidence behind it, what clinicians and researchers are saying about these diagnoses, how we actually experience these diagnoses in practice, how diagnoses change through history, things like that. It can be super crucial to build our own understandings of just how these diagnoses were shaped in the first place so that we can understand what it would mean to dismantle and build alternative models that feel more affirming for us. I think your idea of trying to group more by traits rather than strict disorder criteria is something that might resonate with a lot of people!

that being said, i think that it is such a large and difficult project and also something that is almost impossible to make universal--there are so many factors going into everyone's experience with madness/mental illness/neurodivergence, and different labels are going to resonate with different people for different reasons. it's hard to predict what language or models will catch on with different people, and not all types of language or models are accessible to everyone. i guess for me i just think it can be helpful to go into projects like this without the expectations that this will necessarily be able to replace the DSM for everyone, and instead thinking more about how this can be a valuable tool for providing more options and ways of thinking about madness/mental illness/neurodivergence! even if it doesn't work for everyone or is only applicable to certain types of traits and variations, i think that this type of creation of knowledge is so, so valuable. i hope that makes sense!

some other related concepts that your ask reminded me of was @bioethicists principles of liberatory antipsychiatry. Charlie identifies the right to your own explanatory model as a key principle of liberatory antipsychiatry, and that liberatory antipsychiatry should affirm and build upon those individual models, and respect that as a way of healing. I think that's a really important insight, and to me makes a lot of sense. We all have the right to draw from our own experiences + minds, as well as use existing knowledge, science, and disability community experience in order to create alterative labels, models, and frameworks for our madness/mental illness/neurodivergence. I honestly feel like I've created my own hyperspecific model of madness for my own bodymind, and that framework has been super helpful for figuring out how to live with my madness. Idk how helpful it would be for anyone who isn't me, but having my own particular explanatory model was crucial for helping me heal.

It also reminds me of the way this really amazing peer support network for people living with schizophrenia in Japan called Bethel House, who developed a framework for radical peer support and healing. This article talks about the concept of tōjisha-kenkyū, which in English would get translated as something like "self directed diagnosis" or maybe "political education," and it seems kind of similiar to English concepts about self diagnosis.

"Self-reflection is at the heart of this practice. Tōjisha-kenkyū incorporates various forms of reflection developed in clinical methods, such as social skills training and cognitive behavioural therapy, but the reflections of a tōjisha don’t begin and end at the individual. Instead, self-reflection is always shared, becoming a form of knowledge that can be communally reflected upon and improved. At Bethel House, members found it liberating that they could define themselves as ‘producers’ of a new form of knowledge, just like the doctors and scientists who diagnosed and studied them in hospital wards. The experiential knowledge of Bethel members now forms the basis of an open and shared public domain of collective knowledge about mental health, one distributed through books, newspaper articles, documentaries and social media." (Japan's radical alternative to psychiatric diagnosis, Satsuki Ayayais and Junko Kitanaka, ).

Anyway, thought I'd share those things to sort of point you in the direction of other people thinking about madness outside of the DSM. if you end up doing any more thought or creation for this idea, def feel free to share with me! I love seeing all the ways people take apart the DSM and build our own knowledge, and would love to keep updated.

best of luck, anon!

#asks #psych abolition #mad liberation #mad pride #ableism

[decepti-thots]

Ask meme: Rodimus (idw)

one aspect about them i love: Rodimus has this really fascinating combo of being extremely unselfaware in the moment and then excruciatingly self aware after the fact that you can dig into a lot if you feel like it. That really horrible sense of 'I know I keep fucking it up but I can't actually manage to STOP it' which I think explains a lot about him. There's an idea of like, just knowing about the problem isn't enough to fix it. The trap of self awareness is that you can get stuck in a position where you see the problem and how it IS a problem, but you mistake that for actually making progress on it, which I think is where Rodimus is at when we start MTMTE, and it's… a very frustrating place to be in. And because he's surrounded by people firmly in the 'that's just how he is and we Manage him' mindset, he has very little obvious motivation to try and approach it from any other mindset. Yes all this is a GOOD thing, I love him.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: Rodimus is not just accidentally callous, though he can be. He is absolutely inclined to genuine pettiness and even cruelty. Any version of Rodimus which assumes he is only ever accidentally cruel is, to me, an incomplete one. He's a very compassionate person deep down, but that's just why that inclination towards pettiness bothers him. I think it's really important that this be something he has to work against- because when he does work against it, that means something.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: Rodimus partly has so much antagonism towards Whirl because Whirl is terribly good at seeing through Rodimus' bullshit and when he wants he can cut Rodimus down with absolute precision. We actually see Whirl be quite astute about Rodimus a couple of times in canon and it just seems like he'd be very willing to deploy a frustratingly on-point observation of Rodimus' worst issues when it pleased him. Usually even when people do call Rodimus out, they don't do it correctly, they see an issue but not the correct origin point under all his posturing- but Whirl does, and Rodimus deeply resents him for it. For this exact reason, they would be shockingly good friends under other circumstances, in their own way.

one character i love seeing them interact with: Magnus! I fucking love their s1 interactions. I love that there's a sense of them having known each other before and how even though they're so antagonistic, they still demonstrate a sort of frustrated familiarity with each other. Rodimus always feels like he's the only one on board with the context to know Mags is acting out of character during the early issues, and Magnus is one of the only people in the comic to ever seem like he expects more of Rodimus sometimes. Their interaction at the start of 'The Sound of Breaking Glass' is one of my favourite in the whole series, when they discuss Rodimus wanting to change, and how Magnus thinks maybe it's a good thing Tyrest's portal broke. Or the bit after Overlord, where Rodimus talks about why he was ignoring Magnus' memos, and we see Magnus had tried to get Rodimus' help with his breakdown. They're almost... resigned to being a little more honest with each other? I love them.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: Rung. I love the bit we get in the aforementioned post-Overlord scene, where Rung reads Rodimus bang to rights and at first Rodimus gets angry, but later is like. Yeah, you were right actually. I appreciate the honesty. Come help me out on Luna-1? Like, it's such a telling scene. Rung understands Rodimus in some ways and completely doesn't in others, because he knows what Rodimus' real problems are but he doesn't understand Rodimus needs something other than gentle sympathy. And then I think Rodimus has the potential to be... surprisingly insightful about Rung's own issues, his loneliness. I can imagine him seeing through Rung's impartial front quite shrewdly. It would be an interesting dynamic.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: Rodimus is the only other person on the ship except Tailgate who is interested in Cyclonus' old Cybertronian songs and such. Because, well, he's interested in the "golden age", he wants to hear about a time before Cybertron was as he remembers it, i.e. on its way to being fucked. And Cyclonus remembers that time in a way that makes it sound better, the actual truth aside. He's very embarrassed about this fact and tries to cover it up under a layer of irony or whatever but he sometimes sidles up to Cyclonus at the bar after a couple drinks and. Prompts him. To talk about stuff. And just sort of tries to look bored even as he's listening. Cyclonus will ramble on without the need for much encouragement after he's had a few, it turns out.

#ask meme

[teecupangel]

Regarding those plot ideas... I have just started Alamut novel, so here goes: Desmond Miles gets rubberbanded to past after AC3. Given the usual "pre-death flashback" thing, he is physically the age he was when he run from Farm. Destination? Pre-AC1 but after Altair being born. In a misguided attempt to preserve history, Desmond sets out to Alamut instead. What say you? (And how would Altair/Desmond still happen?)

Ooohhh, this is interesting.

Honestly, if Desmond's mindset is to preserve history but still keep an eye on the Levantine Brotherhood, becoming a Persian Assassin in Alamut would be his best course of action.

So before anything, we'll set up some parameters/limitations in the setting:

Alamut and the Assassins there are mainly background lore in AC1 and was never really talked about until Revelations where they gave sanctuary to Altaïr and Darim after being cast out of Masyaf

From this, we can make a guess that Alamut (and the Assassins in it) either have their own mentor or they decided to part ways with the Levantine Brotherhood after Abbas became the mentor

However, AC wiki did state that Alamut is considered a base of the Levantine Brotherhood in Assassin's Creed: The Essential Guide (I can confirm with my own copy - p63 talks about Hassan-i Sabbāh leading the Levantine Brotherhood even though, due to his location, he should have been leading the Persian Brotherhood if there is any distinction between the two branches)

It is noted that there was a rumor that Al Mualim building Masyaf created a schism between him and the current ruler of Alamut, Hassan the Younger, and we'll take that rumor as our starting point to make Alamut and Masyaf have a tense relationship with one another in this plot

Let's say Desmond gets kicked in the 12th century with a sixteen-year-old body but with all his memories. We'll let him keep everything he learned from his ancestors via the Bleeding Effect but we'll use the Yew Branches Series' limitation of making all of his ancestors' memories foggy and his hallucinations stop. Since you want pre-AC1, let's make him the same age as Altaïr when he transfers to the past. This way, he would be a simple young man that made his way to Alamut. Also, this meant that Altaïr will be as close to his canon characterization at sixteen (Umar's dead, his friendship with Abbas will or has already deteriorated and Al Mualim is his sole father figure)

Desmond's initial plan is to keep the timeline as close as possible and he decides Alamut is the best place to keep an eye on the Assassins without being part of 'history'. He got this idea because of the memories he received from Altaïr via the Bleeding Effect but he forgot two important things:

The memories he got from Altaïr had always been incomplete because, unlike Ezio, he only had Altaïr's memories from his time in Abstergo's Animus (which was shit compared to Rebecca's baby), and what Ezio saw in the memory seals

Altaïr's thoughts of Alamut and of the events during his time (which is Desmond's only actual insight into the Levantine Brotherhood and of the 3rd Crusades in general because Vidic didn't give any shit about anything not connected to the Apple and Shaun focused on Ezio's and Connor's time period because those were the ones Desmond was accessing) have been heavily influenced by Al Mualim's teachings and indoctrination

(This is where this fic needs to take a lot of liberties with Alamut's history......... and I might have gotten this idea from my plans for Zero Eclipse)

So when he gets to Alamut, he's expecting it to be in dire need of repairs, maybe have fewer Assassins than Masyaf and more soldiers, everything that Altaïr envisioned when he heard that Alamut 'is in dire need of repairs and guidance' which is the rumor going all over Masyaf and the rest of the Levantine Brotherhood thanks to Al Mualim downplaying (and kinda-insulting) Alamut.

What he gets is a castle that looks like it's in the middle of repairs but he realizes that all those scaffolding and ropes made it easier to freerun all over the castle. There were soldiers patrolling, yes, but Desmond's Eagle Vision made it clear to him that there were also Assassins doing the same, sticking to the shadows or blending in the crowds.

In other words, Alamut isn't in a dire situation. it's pretending to be in a dire situation.

And the Assassins have already seen him so he goes in and asks to be indoctrinated into the Brotherhood. This is met with suspicion because everyone in Levant and its neighboring cities/kingdoms believes that Masyaf is the main Assassin stronghold. Alamut is mostly seen as a branch at this point, thanks to Al Mualim's 'popularity', so everyone is sus of this 16-year-old kid who has a complexion closer to a European than someone from around there but speaks fluent Arabic. They agree to train him anyway but they'll be keeping an eye on him.

Desmond becomes a recruit and he pretends to be worse than he actually is because he doesn't want any eyes on him. Unfortunately, the Assassins of Alamut are brutal even in training. In this fic, we'll use the glimpses we saw of Basim's training in the AC Mirage trailer as the premise of how Alamut trains their recruits. Freerunning all over unstable scaffolding, fighting in the dark...

The Levantine Brotherhood evolved under Al Mualim to be more militaristic and honorable, with only their blades and their stealth. The Persian Brotherhood in Alamut stagnated, keeping the teachings of old, of fighting in the shadows and using everything at your disposal to complete a mission.

And Desmond finds himself challenged by this. Not by the brutality of the training but because his instincts kept kicking in and he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it. Fighting dirty using Ezio's habit of throwing dirt on people's faces then following it up with Connor's knee kick or with Altaïr's oneshot sword kills. Throwing bombs with Ezio's aim, taking down his opponent using his own ropedart that he created using Connor's memories... They kept him connected to his ancestors. It's all he has left of them and he won't let them go.

That made him stand out. That made him catch the eye of Alamut's current mentor, A'lā’ Muhammad, which Desmond didn't want to do in the first place.

(And because I want to: Desmond gets to have his own eagle because it's tradition for the Alamut Assassins to have an eagle of their own like their predecessors before them and everyone is amused by Desmond's inability to name his eagle, not knowing he wanted to name it Ezio but can't because it felt like favoritism so someone suggested he just name it Aquila and that was good enough of a reference to all his ancestors that he went along with it)

So the mentor of Alamut takes a shine on Desmond, finding his reluctance to take missions outside of Alamut but his penchant to hoard any information about the outside world and especially of Levant interesting in its contradictory nature. So he takes Desmond under his wing (add some parallel to Al Mualim and Altaïr's relationship here, maybe even sprinkle a bit of Connor and Achilles as well to keep Desmond super sus while adding some bits of paternal scenes that will absolutely throw shades of Bill's bad parenting and how that fucked up Desmond so badly that he can't help but like the fatherly kindness he's receiving)

And Desmond gets missions outside of Alamut which he can't say no to because he is, unfortunately, loyal to the mentor of Alamut now (because daddy issues!) and he is always successful, keeping in the shadows and being pretty much the model Assassin that all Alamut Assassins strive to be (which is not what Desmond wanted, he just wanted to stay as an npc, damn it!).

During the same time, Altaïr is starting to make a 'name' for himself and everyone in Masyaf hears about Desmond, of course. Not his name. Never. The tense relationship between Masyaf and Alamut meant all communication between them are coded and lacked any personal information. A'lā’ Muhammad has taken the rocky relationship Al Mualim had with his predecessor and turned it into just a stone's throw away from hostility. It doesn't help that the Assassins Al Mualim believed were getting annoying and might be threatening his position in Masyaf were always transferred to Alamut (and some might even die on the way to Alamut by unfortunate circumstances or maybe even Templar patrols that shouldn't be there in the first place).

And the tense relationship between Masyaf and Alamut includes having a relationship something similar to rivalry.

And that's where Altaïr and Desmond's paths 'intersect'!

One day, Desmond is just chilling, feeding his pet eagle and going 'good job tagging all those guards for me, who's the best eagle?' and his eagle preens like 'me! bow down before me, you peons! except you, des, i like you, i give you permission to rub my neck, oooohh, yeeessss, theeerreee' (i... don't know where that came from but i'm rolling with it, i guess) and one of the Alamut Assassins suddenly rants to him.

Random npc: Desmond! Get this! Those Masyaf dogs have the gall to copy us! Desmond: ??? Random npc: They dare give one of their soldiers the title of Eagle of Masyaf! Desmond: Oh. (So this is when Altaïr gets that moniker, huh?) Random npc: This is outrageous! Those glory hounds have no class at all, copying your title of Eagle of Alamut with no shame! Desmond: Not all of them are glo- wait. Eagle of Alamut? ME? WHAT???

And now all of Alamut and Masyaf knows about the Eagle of Masyaf and Eagle of Alamut while Desmond is embarrassed and freaking out because this is NOT STAYING INCOGNITO, OH MY GOD.

Back in Masyaf, Altaïr doesn't care about it at all although Abbas uses it a lot to annoy him, telling him that he's not any better than the Eagle of Alamut, blah blah blah. At the start, Altaïr doesn't care. So some Assassin is better than him, that's not his problem. He is still good at what he does and his record is impeccable. Fuck Abbas. Then, later on, everyone is comparing him to this supposed Eagle of Alamut who nobody in Masyaf knows is actually a pretty chill dude who always accepts missions with a groan like it's a stupid household chore his dad is making him do and would rather spend the day just chilling with his eagle and maybe listening to other people's problems while serving them tea (because alcohol is forbidden). Masyaf sees Desmond as this super Assassin who follows the tenets and Creed to the letter and Altaïr is getting annoyed by all these comparisons (while Desmond, in Alamut, knows Altaïr enough to know 'oh fuck, Abbas is gonna use me against Altaïr, isn't he? I hope nobody is bullying him by using me. Just let him ignore my existence, pllleeeasseee!') and finally has a breaking point when Malik tells him that he should learn from the action of the Eagle of Alamut (Malik didn't mean it to annoy Altaïr, he meant it to criticize Altaïr's habit of foregoing stealth to get a quick kill instead which is dangerous for everyone, including Altaïr himself) and that's when it happens.

Altaïr starts to see the Eagle of Alamut as a rival. While Desmond just wants Altaïr not to know about his very existence.

Desmond's actions propel Altaïr to strive to be better, to be more than Desmond could ever be. The butterfly effect is in full motion now. Malik sees Altaïr working harder than ever, sees him actually trying, and eases up, just a little. Kadar thinks he's cooler than ever but also sees him more as a human than a hero because all that hard work makes a guy think. Abbas is still Abbas unfortunately but Kadar is more outspoken about how he's talking shit. Malik gets in between the two arguing more often than not because Abbas is of a higher rank than Kadar and all Kadar has is his unofficial status as Altaïr's sorta-best friend (nobody knows how that happened, even Altaïr himself) and that grants some leeway because no one wants to incur Altaïr's anger. Malik gets roped in as a friend of Altaïr because of this (which both of them would deny vehemently while Kadar would just be like "yup, we're a trio now, suck it Abbas!")

Some things stay the same. Adha still dies. Her death still affected Altaïr so badly that he broke all three tenets during the mission to retrieve the Apple. But, this time, Kadar survives because he's been training harder and Altaïr has been teaching him a bit but is mortally wounded. Malik blames Altaïr for the failure and his brother almost dying, he is stripped of his rank and ordered to atone by taking nine lives.

But Desmond's actions also sent waves across every faction of the 3rd Crusades. A'lā’ Muhammad receives a letter from Robert de Sablé and learns of Al Mualim's duplicity. But this could all be a ploy, a way to drive a stake between the two Brotherhoods and make them kill each other. Desmond is confused why Robert would write to them and wonders if the same thing happened in the original timeline (it didn't, Desmond's exploits as the Eagle of Alamut have raised Alamut standing in the eyes of the Templars and Robert was trying to use them to lower Al Mualim's power).

That's when his mentor gives him a new mission: Find proof of Al Mualim's betrayal.

And Desmond realizes.

The best and easiest way to find proof of Al Mualim's betrayal was to check the belongings of those in Robert's inner circle for any documents that were written by Al Mualim or mentioned Al Mualim by name.

And the Templars of Robert's inner circles are... the ones that Altaïr will be ordered to assassinate.

Oh. Fuck.

Cue AC1 plot but with Altaïr and Desmond's path intersecting at various points.

Maybe add in a scene where Desmond helps Altaïr gather information on where his current target is then, later on, Altaïr finds Desmond looking over the documents of his target and realizes that Desmond had used him as a fucking distraction ("You were gonna kill him anyway! And these documents are going into the fire once he's dead!" "That's not the point! You used me!" "Used is such a horrible word. I just... you know... saw an opportunity." "I will kill you!" "Stay your blade from the flesh of the- Oh, jesus!" - cue chase scene all over the city between two Assassins-)

(and they only stopped their chase when Desmond jumped into the bureau and shouted 'you can't kill me with the Rafiq watching us!' and the Rafiq just sees these two dumbasses, sweaty and trying to catch their breath, and just shrugs and leaves for the backroom while Desmond and Altaïr just crumbles to the floor, their body aching and protesting over the unnecessary chase sequence, Desmond laughs because he can't believe Altaïr just chased him all over the entire city and Altaïr can't help but laugh with him because even he knows that was stupid and Desmond's laughter is infectious)

This event only leads to them growing closer. Desmond hears Altaïr's struggles over the final words of his targets and tries to comfort him. He begins to see Altaïr not as his ancestor but as a fellow Assassin trying to be better and Desmond is too much of a softie to not try to help.

And, even though Desmond infuriates him to no end, Altaïr can't help but feel something for him. Something... similar to how he felt for Adha but also different at the same time. Desmond was his equal, the only person he couldn't catch no matter how far or how long he chased him, the only person he couldn't take down with his swordsmanship, the only person who will not judge him if he tells him his greatest fear or the uncertainty in his heart, the only person who always seemed to know where he is, no matter how hard Altaïr hides from him. And Desmond glows in his Eagle Vision, glows brighter than anyone he had ever seen, a swirl of gold and blue that was beautiful in his eyes.

And Altaïr is unsure of his feelings. So he goes to the one person he knows would not be kind and would say the truth.

At this point, my penchant for making Malik suffer through the stupidity of these two dumbasses continues and he has to be the one to listen to Altaïr and be the one to tell him "......... you love him. That's what you're feeling. Now, if you're done torturing me with your poetry for the Eagle of Alamut, leave me be so I can ask someone to hit me in the head hard enough to forget this torture ever happened."

And Altaïr recognizes the truth in Malik's words and understands that it is love that he feels.

Meanwhile, Desmond knows he is falling for Altaïr. He's not dumb. He can see the signs. But he also knows...

Altaïr is meant to fall in love with Maria.

INSERT ANGST HERE.

And that's where I'm gonna leave this plot. Hahahaha.

tl;dr: AltDes is mainly (onesided)rivalry to friendship to romance with the mystery and intrigue of the 3rd Crusades as the backdrop.

#i have no work so my reply is extra long #honestly the altdes can be romantic or bff/found family #but considering it's me #it's gonna be #altdes #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot

[timemachineyeah]

Watching the latest hbomberguy video. And this Tom guy is making me think of so many people I have met, especially in the entertainment industry. They are a Type. There’s one in Toonmakers Sailor Moon pilot video too. Honestly sometimes Trump comes across this way. Not just men, though I do think it might be more common among cis men. Especially white privileged ones.

But you know them. The ones that lie about cool they are. That can’t help but lie about their own achievements even when the truth is staring them in the face. Like, I can think of half of a dozen I have met over the years in my life. A friend’s brother, an old boss, a teacher at my school who even the staff seemed exhausted of…

People go “that’s narcissism” or “compulsive lying” and listen, I’m not saying there’s not a neurodivergence underlying some of this behavior. Also potentially traumas or a need for introspection and therapy. I’m also not saying there is. This isn’t about that.

This also isn’t about the social/cultural/political environment that might foster the kinds of anxieties or expectations that contribute. I am not seeking to explain or diagnose this pattern of behavior. I don’t care if it’s psychological, sociological, or just being an asshole. That’s not the point.

The point is: it has always made me deeply uncomfortable. Not just angry or manipulated or whatever. But, like, secondhand embarrassment? Firsthand embarrassment? Unsettled in horror movie way? And I used to attribute that solely to, like, it’s desperate for approval, isn’t it? And I was willing to let that be the end of it. But that always felt incomplete.

No, I think the thing that makes me uncomfortable is, it feels like, to me, it feels like they’re daydreaming??? Like they are playing out their fantasy version of their life, the cooler one the rest of us (or, me at least) just privately pretend to have and never share with anyone.

Like who hasn’t listened to a song they love on repeat and pretended they were on stage singing it and pretended it was their song and they wrote it. Like, I do that. Maybe I’m weird. But I think lots of people do that. When I was a teenager I used to fantasize I had a double life when I was on school breaks, working in New Zealand for the Lord of the Rings movies. All the actors and writers were my best friends. And obviously I provided tremendous insight to the project and it really depended on me. But I didn’t tell anyone at school for convoluted daydream reasons.

But like, as much as I can vividly bring back the fine details of that fantasy (and how, while it had been a secret, it wouldn’t be secret any more when all the hottest members of the cast showed up to my school to take me to an awards show with them), this is the first time I’ve ever told anyone else about it, because why the fuck would I?

“I often pretend I am more interesting and important than I really am” is so common as to be dull. And also has a reputation for being childish. And also it’s not cool to want to be cool. And also if you say your wish out loud it can’t come true. But regardless of why, I don’t tell people about my daydreams. And I think that’s true of most people. Rich fantasy lives are common and largely never shared.

But when I watch the people with this particular quirk and feel kind of awful in this visceral way - I think that’s the thing that’s off-putting to me. It feels so private. I recognize myself in the behavior, in that, in my very silly daydreams, I too have done great things and made notable contributions that are far beyond the truth of my life. But to me those things are so secret. They are the most private of private thoughts.

When I watch these people talk, it feels like they are LARPing that same kind of self-indulgent fantasy world, in their real life. And simultaneously I feel like I’m invading someone’s privacy and like they’ve coerced me into something I didn’t agree to. They’ve cast us in their LARP, and they are gonna play out their fantasy version of their life, and made it awkward or dangerous for anyone to ruin it for them.

And so on top of all the many other very good reasons to not enjoy listening to that kind of self-serving lying, I get to hate it for secret bonus reasons of Immense Psychological Discomfort stemming from ???? associations my brain makes with the act of daydreaming ????

#timemachine wuz here

[lucky-clover-gazette]

domestic bisque

fluff | 3381 words | vidow cottage au

Vio and Shadow make soup, and there's no plot. They literally just have a cozy evening together. Good for them!

They sit together for a while, watching the snow fall, silent and content. The smell of simmering soup fills the den and Pinecone continues to purr like a motor.

Shadow tucks a strand of hair behind Vio’s ear. “Love you.”

Vio leans in—not for a kiss, but simply to meet Shadow’s forehead with his own. “Love you too.”  

read it on ao3 or under the cut, with author's notes:

Author's Note: The title is a soup pun. Appreciate it.

So funny story, this used to be a much longer and more melodramatic fic that I shelved all the way back in November of 2022. It’s been sitting incomplete since then, so I finally decided to take all the fluffy soup parts and play into that, while cutting out the angst. So if this feels a little awkward and disjointed, well… that’s because it is. But still, I think it’s very sweet, and I hope you enjoy :)

It’s perfect soup weather in the woods outside Castle Town.

Snowy, but not overly so, chilling the cottage just enough to justify use of the fireplace. Shadow busies himself in the kitchen, clearing the counter of Pinecone’s canned food and spare bags of tea, and begins to unpack freshly-purchased ingredients. He smiles at the sound of Vio’s footsteps as he enters from the den.

“Found it?” Shadow asks, taking a bunch of celery stalks over to the sink for washing.

“Yes,” Vio says. “I would appreciate it if we avoided getting anything on it.”

Shadow examines the leather-bound volume from afar, well-worn from at least a century of use. He’d make fun of Vio’s concern, but he also understands how important this historical volume is—it’s one of the previous Hero’s few remaining belongings, chock-full of handwritten insight from the man himself. Vio had begged Zelda to lend it to him, and she’d only handed it over after they both promised to return it in good condition. It was a warranted measure, honestly, since the majority of Shadow and Vio’s furniture was stolen from Hyrule Castle… and that’s not even mentioning their evil root beer stash in the cellar.

It had been Shadow’s idea to make the soup, after Vio offhandedly mentioned its inclusion in the Hero’s journal entry. Most of the ingredients are still common in modern Hyrule, except for the Reekfish—luckily, according to the Hero, the soup is better off without it. And with a name like ‘Reekfish,’ Shadow is inclined to believe him.

“Do you think Pinecone will get curious with all the ingredients laying out?” Vio asks, eyeing the massive pumpkin and wheel of cheese visually similar to the horns of Ordon goats.

Shadow glances into the den at their cat, a three-legged tortie watching the snow fall through a frosted window. “Pinecone,” he calls to her, watching her ear twitch in recognition, “are you going to make trouble while we cook?”

She doesn’t answer. Shadow shrugs.

“Did you know that the Hero could talk to cats?” Vio asks Shadow, resting his elbows on the counter.

“No,” Shadow says, “but that’s very cool.”

“Once we’re done cooking, I’d like to show you some of the passages,” Vio says, avoiding eye contact. “I mean, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Shadow smiles. “Of course I’m interested. Looking forward to it.”

“That’s… yeah, me too. Hey, can you make fun of me now?”

Shadow crosses the kitchen and plants a kiss on Vio’s forehead. “You’re cute.”

“That is specifically the opposite of what I requested. Also, you are cute too. Obviously.”

Shadow returns to the counter with a smile and grabs a knife from the wooden block. “I’m dicing the veggies and mincing the garlic, right?”

Referencing the recipe, Vio nods. “What can I do to help?”

Shadow withdraws another knife, this one serrated and twice as long. “Feel like butchering a pumpkin?”

─────────────────

They launch into their parallel tasks in contented silence, the only noise coming from Vio as he struggles to cut into the large Ordon pumpkin. Shadow slides the diced celery into a glass bowl and takes a break to assist Vio, who has switched from the kitchen knife to his Four Sword.

“Here,” Shadow says, “I’ll hold it steady while you cut it in half, right by the stem. Then you just have to scoop out the seeds with a spoon, slice it into pieces, and roast them in the oven so they soften. Once they’re done, you should be able to squish them into a puree with a fork.”

Vio narrows his eyes. “How do you know so much about this?”

“Vendor at the market talked my ear off about it. She was sweet.”

Shadow really had appreciated the Ordonian woman’s advice, as well as the fact that she’d treated him like a normal person. It’s been a little more than six months since Shadow’s reign of terror over Hyrule, and a lot of people in Castle Town still hold a grudge. Okay, maybe not a lot, but townspeople rarely go out of their way to engage in small talk.

“I’ll preheat the oven,” Shadow says as Vio begins to gut the pumpkin. He turns the dial and returns to his counter, making short work of the remaining ingredients.

“Pinecone, no!”

Shadow whips his head around as Vio begs their cat to get off the counter, his hands covered with orange pumpkin guts. “Shadow, can you please stop laughing and pick her up?”

Shadow retrieves Pinecone with a chuckle, kissing her forehead and returning her to the stool by the den window. She curls up and Shadow has the strong urge to sink his face into her soft fur.

“Pumpkin’s going into the oven,” Vio calls from the kitchen. “I’ll clean up the mess before we continue.”

“Sounds good,” Shadow says, giving Pinecone another peck (there is no limit to forehead kisses in this household). He consults the journal, placed far from the carnage, and commits their next steps to memory.

“We can start the soup while the pumpkin roasts,” he says to Vio, who furiously scrubs his hands in the sink. He has his hair up again, in that lame purple scrunchie, a few stray bangs falling into his face. Shadow feels the urge to tuck them behind his pointed ears, but there are more pressing matters at hand.

─────────────────

When Shadow and Vio first moved into the abandoned cottage, their friends had insisted on a small housewarming party. Some of their gifts are useful on a daily basis, such as Red’s hand-knitted blanket and Zelda’s fountain pens, while others are bound to a more specific purpose. A great example is a yet-to-be-used artisanal casserole dish from Green, which is shaped and painted to resemble a pumpkin.

Shadow removes the heavy vessel from a shelf and gently places it on the counter. “I wonder,” he says, “if somehow the Hero of Twilight’s spirit influenced Green to choose this gift. Since he apparently had a thing for pumpkin soup.”

Vio joins Shadow’s side, sizing up the dish. “Interestingly enough, he’s not the only one. Records indicate that several versions of the Hero have encountered pumpkin soup during their adventures.”

“You’re kidding.”

“The Hero of Winds grew up on Outset Island, where the locals made pumpkin soup that healed his injuries. Some sources even say his own grandmother created the recipe.”

“I see. And have there been any other heroic pumpkin soup encounters of note?”

“Yes,” Vio enthuses, “with the first reincarnation of Link, actually. He lived in the sky and flew on a huge bird. In order to save his version of Zelda, he had to deliver pumpkin soup to a whale inside a thunderhead.”

“Very normal,” Shadow remarks, one eyebrow raised.

Vio smirks. “About as normal as a magic sword turning the Hero into four distinct individuals, one of whom fell madly in love with the original Hero’s evil shadow.”

“You know that makes you sound like the weirdo in that situation, right?”

“Like you weren’t hitting on me from the start.”

─────────────────

Shadow busies himself with the soup, placing the casserole dish on the stovetop and grabbing a stick of butter from the fridge. He slices off two tablespoons and melts them against the warming vessel, then empties the glass bowls of prepped celery, carrots, and onions into the dish. They sizzle on contact.

“Wooden spoon, please,” he calls to Vio, who promptly places the instrument in his outstretched hand. He uses it to saute the veggies while Vio removes the sheet pan of softened pumpkin from the oven, pureeing it just as Shadow had described. Shadow tosses in the garlic as Vio begins to clean their prep dishes.

“Wanna pop open some vegetable broth?” Shadow asks once he hears the sink turn off. He receives no response and turns his head to see Vio kneeling by Pinecone in the den. Shadow opens the carton of broth on his own and pours it into the dish, taking care not to let it splash in his face.

“Soup has to simmer for ten minutes,” Shadow calls to Vio, bringing the Hero’s journal into the den. He plops down on the floor, because wherever Pinecone decides to be is more often than not where they end up. He nudges Vio and drops the book in his lap. “Show me something interesting.”

Vio gives Pinecone one last full-body pet and nods. “Very well. How much do you know about the Hero of Twilight?”

Shadow shrugs. “Nothing more than what you’ve told me.”

“And what have I told you, exactly?”

“He talked to cats, didn’t use the Four Sword, killed another version of Ganon but missed out on fun times with Vaati.”

Vio scoffs. “Yeah, well, he got Zant.”

“That’s a cool name. What was his deal?”

Vio begins to flip through pages, narrowing his eyes as he scans the text. “Ah-ha!” he exclaims, and it’s so unbelievably dorky that Shadow kind of wants to kiss him on the mouth. “He talks about Zant here,” Vio says, angling the page so Shadow can read.

A note on Zant, usurper king of the Twili tribe: For the majority of my journey, I believed him to be the greatest threat to Hyrule, the final enemy I would need to defeat. But Zant had only served as a proxy for Ganon, who allowed him passage through a dark mirror to wreak havoc on the world of the light.

Shadow makes a sour face. “Wonder what that’s like.”

“Keep reading,” Vio says with a small smile.

Imagine my surprise when Zant became frantic and unhinged in battle, the opposite of the imposing figure I had once believed him to be. Perhaps his initial stature had been an act, disguising the instability and insecurity within.

Stranger still, Zant somehow managed to linger despite a very graphic death. It’s almost as if his spirit couldn’t die, not truly, until he thwarted his former master. Princess Zelda and I defeated Ganondorf, fulfilling Hylia’s Triforce prophecy—but somehow, Zant struck the killing blow. He banished Ganon from the world of light by violently severing the connection between them.

“Huh,” Shadow remarks, his voice now proud. “Wonder what that’s like.”

─────────────────

Eventually, Vio appears to remember something important. “Has it been ten minutes, for the soup?”

“Just about,” Shadow says, getting to his feet. “Be right back.”

Shadow returns to the kitchen and adds the pumpkin puree, along with a dash of cinnamon, to the simmering mixture. The beige broth becomes a warm amber before his eyes, already starting to bubble with the new ingredients.

“That smells fantastic,” Vio says, peering over Shadow’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Shadow’s waist, and sandwiched between a simmering pumpkin soup and his favorite person in the world, Shadow feels truly blessed. And then he cringes, because they’re supposed to be creatures of darkness, so why would he default to such a disgustingly wholesome adjective as ‘blessed?’

“About fifteen more minutes,” Shadow says, and Vio hums. “You could have stayed in the den, you know.”

“Missed you. And I want to help clean, you’re doing all the hard work here.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with that.”

They finish the remaining dishes together, Vio washing while Shadow dries and puts items away. The soup fills their tiny kitchen with the aroma of pumpkin and warm cinnamon spice.

Shadow returns to the stove, stirs the soup with a wooden spoon, and covers it again. “Let’s keep it simmering a little longer.”

Vio nods and leads Shadow back into the den. He retrieves the journal and plops down on the couch, where Pinecone seems to have been waiting for his arrival. She immediately curls up in his lap and Shadow isn’t jealous at all, definitely not, because that would be ridiculous and he is not ridiculous.

“What are you waiting for?” Vio asks, stroking Pinecone idly. “Get comfy.”

“Didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary,” Shadow quips, settling beside the pair and resting his head on Vio’s shoulder. He breathes in the familiar scent of lavender shampoo, and wonders if Vio has just the one purple scrunchie, or if he rotates identical purple scrunchies every few days…

“Looks like you’re thinking hard about something,” Vio observes, reaching an arm around Shadow’s waist.

“Nope, not me.”

─────────────────

“And that’s it,” Vio says, closing the journal. “For tonight, anyway. I think I’ve had just about enough.”

Shadow nods. “Sucks about the mirror, and what happened with Midna. They seemed to really get along. Do you think they ever saw each other again?”

“Probably not,” Vio admits. “Not everyone is willing to perform dark rituals to recover a loved one from a different realm.”

“Lame.”

─────────────────

They sit together for a while, watching the snow fall, silent and content. The smell of simmering soup fills the den, and Pinecone continues to purr like a motor.

Shadow tucks a strand of hair behind Vio’s ear. “Love you.”

Vio leans in—not for a kiss, but simply to meet Shadow’s forehead with his own. “Love you too.”  

And then Shadow pulls away.

“Soup,” he reminds Vio, standing up. “Bring the recipe, I think it’s cheese time.”

Vio is sleepy, beyond relaxed, and it’s adorable. “You’re cheese time.”

Shadow raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I have no idea why I said that.”

Shadow chuckles and returns to the kitchen, releasing steam when he removes the casserole dish lid. “Looks good,” he reports. “Now, tell me all about cheese time.”

Vio cringes. “Please shut up about cheese time.”

“No.”

“Actually,” Vio says as he scans the page, “it’s not even… time for cheese… yet.”

“Tease.”

─────────────────

“Do we have a blender?” Vio asks, already opening up kitchen cabinets. “Or a food processor?”

Shadow cocks his head. “Did they, back then?”

“That’s what he wrote. Oh, here!”

Vio removes their blender from the cabinet and places it onto the counter. Shadow shakes his head.

“Bad idea. Hot liquid will make the lid stick. Use the immersion blender instead.”

Vio narrows his eyes. “What is that?”

Shadow removes the handheld wand from a drawer and raises it in the air for emphasis. There are blades at the end, and when Shadow presses a button they come to life.

“Not all of us have swords,” Shadow quips as he plunges it into the pot of soup, turning it into a smooth orange bisque. Some of the mixture splashes onto his face, right by his mouth, and he allows himself a taste.

“Hylia,” he mutters, tossing the immersion blender into the sink. Shadow opens the fridge and retrieves their final ingredient, turning to Vio with a wolfish grin. “Cheese time.”

─────────────────

As the soup simmers over low heat, Shadow stirs in the soft cheese and melts a dusting of brown sugar into the bisque.

“You can do the salt and pepper,” Shadow tells Vio, grabbing him by the waist and positioning him in front of the stove.

Vio nods uncertainly as Shadow forces the shakers into his hands. “This much?” he asks, seasoning the soup with great hesitation.

“Looks good to me,” Shadow says, resting his head on Vio’s shoulder. “Smells good, too.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to try it.”

Shadow dislodges himself from his boyfriend and grabs two bowls and spoons from the cabinet. He brings them over and repositions Vio, reaching across the range for a ladle and beginning to serve the Hero of Twilight’s beloved pumpkin soup. He garnishes the two bowls with the remaining goat cheese and places the lid on the casserole dish—he’ll package up the rest later, maybe even deliver it to Green and Zelda as a thank-you.

“Couch or table?” Shadow asks, although he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Couch, please.”

─────────────────

It’s precarious with the soup bowls, but they manage to arrange themselves nicely on the couch. Pinecone has resumed watching the snow fall by the window, and for once they prefer that she keeps her distance. Vio and Shadow both sit upright as they dig in, and… wow. Shadow had sampled the soup before, but this? With the cheese and everything? It’s fantastic. 

“What do you think?” Shadow asks Vio, whose spoon currently lingers in his mouth. Vio nods intently with a decadent noise of approval.

“It’s perfect,” he says. “Legendary, even.”

“Glad to hear we did the recipe justice, from the mouth of the Hero himself. Well, a few reincarnations removed, but you know what I mean.”

Vio sighs. “I think he’d be happy. Seeing us, like this. I don’t know, maybe that’s just what I want to believe, but—”

“I think it’s a wonderful thing to believe,” Shadow says, placing his bowl down on the coffee table. Maybe his soup will get cold, but the idea of holding Vio in this moment is too tempting to pass up. 

Vio leans into Shadow’s arms and hums. “This is so nice. Thank you for getting the ingredients, and doing most of the work.”

Shadow grins and kisses Vio’s forehead (seriously, it never gets old). “How about you do the dishes and we’ll call it even.”

Vio rolls his eyes but nods. “I should have seen that coming. You’re so evil.”

“The evilest. What atrocity will I commit next?”

Vio’s gaze meets his, and the blonde puts down his soup. Shadow recognizes the expression immediately—slightly lowered eyelids, a mischievous grin. Internally, Shadow has taken to calling it Vio’s Throne Eyes. Because, y’know, reasons.

“I’d love to find out,” Vio nearly purrs, and Shadow pretends to be annoyed.

“You’re just trying to get out of doing the dishes.”

Vio frowns, his eyes darting towards the kitchen. “You know what? You’re right. I think I’ll go do them now.”

He begins to move but Shadow’s grip only tightens. “Wait, don’t—”

Vio grins, and Shadow blushes. “You were saying?”

“You’re the worst,” Shadow chuckles, rubbing his hands over Vio’s back. In the absence of a soup bowl, Vio climbs onto his lap. Shadow kicks the coffee table slightly aside, displacing a bit of soup onto the wooden surface.

On his way to a forehead bonk (or kiss, dealer’s choice), Vio pauses, glancing over Shadow’s shoulder. “Hold on.”

“Um. Are you still joking, or…?”

Vio shakes his head. “Garlic and onion, in the soup. Pinecone could get sick.”

Shadow desperately scans their surroundings for anything that could keep them where they are. They could put the journal over one of the bowls, kind of like an impromptu lid… but if it got damaged Zelda would probably banish them, especially if said damage occurred while they were making out.

Vio sighs and removes himself from Shadow’s lap, picking up both bowls from the table with an apologetic smile. “Be right back,” he says, and Shadow does not move a muscle.

“Make sure the pot’s covered, too,” Shadow calls out, and Vio cradles both bowls with one arm to raise a thumbs-up.

In his partner’s absence, Shadow turns to Pinecone, still peacefully watching the snow fall. “You have no idea what we do for you,” he mutters fondly. The cat’s ear twitches.

─────────────────

From the kitchen, Shadow hears running water and the clink of dishware. Despite his protests, Vio is still doing what Shadow had asked.

Shadow considers picking up the journal in Vio’s absence, but decides against it. He would never say this out loud, but he doesn’t really care about the Hero of Twilight’s life. He understands why Vio does, though, and supports that interest wholeheartedly—he’s been told about Vio’s long nights in Hyrule Castle, researching resurrection rituals with only the company of the Hero’s writings.

And maybe, wherever he is now, the Hero has witnessed Vio repair the mirror and recall Shadow from his dark realm. Shadow knows their situations aren’t identical—namely, Midna chose to separate herself from the Hero due to royal responsibility (boring), while Shadow had broken his own mirror in a self-sacrificial middle-finger to the concept of darkness itself (badass).

But, still. The parallels are there. And Shadow doesn’t see the harm in Vio indulging them, as long as it makes him happy. But Shadow’s not here to dwell on the past—he’s here to eat pumpkin soup, and to kiss his boyfriend.

And you know what?

He is all out of pumpkin soup.

Author's Note: Someday I will actually let them make out in a fic. I’ve written it before, but it always comes out quippy and awkward and painfully self-aware. Which, hey—at least I’m consistent. I am considering an optional side-scene to an upcoming fic where they actually do, in fact, get to make out on the page, so please let me know if that’s something you actually want to see. 

Thanks for reading, and if you’re going to play Tears of the Kingdom in a few days like me, have so much fun!

#fs #my writing #vidow #vio x shadow #vio link #shadow link #four swords #four swords adventures #this fic has been in wip hell for months please just take it

[dross-the-fish]

I hope I don't seem ignorant but aren't you demi/ace? How do you have a 10 year relationship? Is your partner also ace?

My partner isn't ace but he is aro and our relationship is kind of in that blurry queerplatonic realm. But even if it's not a traditional romance, we are best friends, partners, and the most important people in each other's lives and have been since we were 15. We made an official thing of it about 10 years ago because we both realized we'd never love anyone else more than we love each other.

As for a physical relationship? We just...don't care about it. It's not really a feature of our relationship. Neither of us value sex as anything meaningful and my interest in it is very limited so the relationship is an open one in case he ever feels the need for more. I know that probably sounds weird to you and a lot of people view our relationship as "lesser" or "incomplete" but honestly? I see a lot of married, traditional couples who seem like they can't stand each other vs my partner and I who do nearly everything together.

Anyway I hope that gives you some insight on how some aro/ace relationships can work and what the dynamic is. Keep in mind, every ace/aro partnership is different and what works for me and my partner may not work for others.

[teresawilson1]

The Uncanny in Art

Giving Fear A Face: The Anxious Mind

A Personal Overview of the Theories around the Concept of the Uncanny in Art

                Paula Rego, Little Brides with Their Mother, 2009-10

The Uncanny is a type of anxiety, experienced by the viewer and triggered by the artist’s personal experience.

Elena Crippa

It may seem to be a paradox that the type of art that can be labelled ‘Uncanny’ and appears to be unreal, bizarre, incomplete, grotesque or in an 'in-between state', nevertheless conjures up feelings in the viewer that seem very 'real'.   As Francis Bacon (1909 – 1992) described, during an interview with the art critic David Sylvester in 1950, reality, to him, was nothing else but a ‘series of sensations and ideas that occur in the consciousness of each individual’. (Crippa, p83)

Paula Rego (1935-2022) was another artist who had lived through the period of post-World War II Europe marked by the anxiety that followed the war - concentration camps, suffocating dictator regimes and threat of nuclear war (Crippa).  She also produced paintings which have the uncanny elements that she has described as being an attempt to ‘give fear a face’ (Warner).  Marina Warner has written that Rego ‘expresses her own ambiguous states of uncertainties, mysteries and doubts into that territory, desisting from offering explanations or asking for any’.

Rego and Bacon are two examples of important 20th century artists whose work incorporated elements of the concept of the uncanny, a thread which works its way in and out of the work of figurative and non-figurative art.  I will go on to discuss many others in further posts, including my own practice and show how the uncanny reveals itself - its strange identity.  I will focus on the idea of the uncanny as it is revealed in the subject (and object) of the human body. 

But first, the question could be asked - how can this elusive concept of the uncanny be defined? Did it emerge only in the 1920’s in Europe, or has it always existed in the world?

It is nowadays the norm to hold the view that anxiety, fear, and concepts such as the uncanny (which express anxiety in a visual form) are experiences that occur to human beings in the site of the psyche (the mind).  However, it was not until the late 19th century that Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) came to believe that the symptoms of his patients were caused by conflict in the unconscious mind and with the ‘failure to deal with invisible, unconscious and primarily sexual psychological desires’ and not as had been thought previously, symptoms of a disease of the physical nervous system. (Freeman, p15)

Freud had come to Paris in 1885 to study ‘hysterics’ under Jean-Martin Charcot and became interested in the connection between the mind and body (Tomley,pviii).  It is largely a legacy of Freud’s work that anxiety has become so important in today’s psychological and psychiatric thinking (Freeman, p4).  Freud continues to be relevant today as more and more of his insights become proved by neuroscientific discoveries.  For example, as Eric Kandel has pointed out in ‘The Age of Insight’ (2012), ‘most of our mental life, including most of our emotional life, is unconscious at any given moment’.  Research also suggests that ‘images exert a much more powerful influence on emotions than do thoughts (Freeman, p27), which explains the power and effect on the viewer of uncanny art.

It is important to remember that although the uncanny did not exist as a theory until being written about by Freud in his essay ‘das Unheimlich’ in 1919, uncanny-like images had appeared in art through the centuries in both European and non-European cultures.  Connected with the supernatural, magic and religion it shows up in ‘primitive art’ for instance and through the history of the art of Catholicism.   Jane Neal, writing in ‘Uncanny Tales’, says that Freud tells us that ‘apparent death and re-animation of the dead have been represented as most uncanny themes.  She talks about the otherworldliness od Ana Maria Pacheco’s work which comes from the primitive ‘magic’ cultures of Brazil as well as the ritual and superstition running through the Catholicism that she experienced growing up.  The doll is the perfect example of an uncanny art form, connected as it is with ideas of witchcraft, religious statuary, and as an imaginative plaything/doll.

Thus, the uncanny has always been with us, just as dreams, imagination and fears have been expressed by humans in art.  In her essay ‘Dream Realism’, Marina Warner (Warner,p31) describes Paula Rego’s approach to art making as a ‘beautiful grotesque’ because she reflects the powerful mixed feelings she inspires, looking within herself as a site of ‘collective memory nourished by legends and fairy tales’.  

The Jungian feminist psychologist and ‘teller of the old stories’ Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote in ‘Women Who run With the Wolves’ that in ‘…a single human being there are many other beings, all with their own value, motives, and desires…there is also within the psyche an innate contra naturam aspect, an ‘against nature’ force.  The contra naturam aspect opposes the positive: it is against development, against harmony…it is a derisive and murderous antagonist that is born within us.’ (Estes,p35,).  The first chapter of Este’s seminal work is devoted to recognizing this predator in the psyche for what it is, and from recognition comes the instinctive building of intuitive ‘muscle’ so that we learn to instinctively know when something ‘is not right’.  The uncanny lives in the realm of ‘not quite right’ and although its presence may leave the viewer with a sense of unease, it is a clue to a truth revealed or danger thwarted, a mirror reflecting something we may not want to look at too closely, but we must examine and take on board, or we cannot move on in our lives.

Alexandra Kokoli explores the nature of repression in the realm of domesticity in her book ‘The Feminist Uncanny: In Theory and Art Practice’ (2016).  She explains that the starting point for the ‘female uncanny’ is the ‘…deliberate unsettling quality that many cultural artefacts informed by feminism continue to possess…the fraught but fertile relationship between feminism and the uncanny and by extension Freudian psychoanalysis’ (Kokoli,p3).

Louise Bourgeois, Femme Maison, 1982, Plastic doll and clay.

Repression and entrapment in the unhomely domestic environment (‘unhomely’ are a literal translation of Freud’s das Unheimlich) is explored by Louise Bourgeois’ uncanny hybrids of women and house in her series of works entitled ‘Femme Maison’.  Her later ‘cells’ are also prison-like structures, within which the viewer is invited to look inside an uncanny alternative domestic room filled with fetishized and emotionally charged collections of objects, doors, and symbols of ‘hysteria’.

As a final note on this overview of the theories surrounding the uncanny, I would like to mention the concept of the ‘Abject’.  Connected to both the uncanny and feminism, the theory of ‘abjection’ has been defined by Julia Kristeva in ‘Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection’ (1982) as ‘… a massive and sudden emergence of uncanniness which familiar as it might have been, in an opaque and forgotten life, now harries me as radically separate, loathsome’ (Kristeva, p51).  This then, is the uncanny taken to an extreme of the visceral, violent, or disgusting.  The repressed memory, the uncanny starting point, can no longer be recognized in the abject.  It is closer to the grotesque and is indebted to Surrealism (Kokoli, p53).  At the heart of abjection is the in-between, the ambiguous, immoral, a sinister experiment gone wrong.

            In the dark halls of the museum that is now what remains of Auschwitz, I see a heap of children’s shoes, or something like that, something I have already seen elsewhere, under a Christmas tree, for instance, dolls I believe.  The abjection of Nazi crime reaches its apex when death, which in any case, kills me, interferes with what, in my living universe, is supposed to save me from death: childhood, science, among other things.

Julia Kristeva Powers of Horror, (1982)

References

Crippa, E. ed., (2018). All Too Human: Bacon, Freud and a Century of Painting Life, exh.cat., Text by Elena Crippa. Tate, London.

Estés, C.P. Women who Run With the Wolves: contacting the Power of the Wild Woman. Rider, London. (1992)

Freeman, D and Freeman, J. Anxiety: A Very short Introduction. Oxford University Press, 2012.

Kokoli, A.M. The feminist Uncanny in Theory and Art Practice. Bloomsbury, 2016.

Kristeva, J. Powers of Horror: an Essay on Abjection. Trans. By Leon. S. Roudiez. Colombia University Press. NY. 1982.

Neal, J. (Essay) in Uncanny Tales. Exhibition Catalogue. FWA, Foundation of Women Artists. 2005

Tomley, S. (Introduction) to the Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud. The Psychology Classic. Capstone. 2020

Warner, M. (Essay) Dream Realism, in Paula Rego, Exhibition Catalogue. Ed. By Elena Crippa. Tate. 2005.

#sculpture #art #uncanny #artist #feminism