#this compulsive need to pursue the one final truth

[harmonizingsunsets]

I'd Rather Go Blind & Let My Body Go Numb Than To Lose You Or The Weight Of Your Love

Prompt: Jealousy and all its cousins. Fanart Credit here.

Read on Archive here.

Anthony never thought he'd be the kind of husband who needs to know where his wife is at every moment of every day.

(To be fair, he never thought about being a husband much at all until the season he'd pursued Edwina only to fall maddeningly in love with Kate).

But here he is, sitting on the couch with his feet drumming loudly against the floor, staring intensely at the door.

On the table beside the couch sits a cup of tea, cold and untouched. Anthony had someone from the kitchens prepare it for him, but his nerves made him unable to stomach anything.

Anthony looks a mess. He'd been raking his hands through his hair for the past two hours. He'd also slapped his cheeks once or twice to stay awake.

His jacket lay discarded and wrinkled on the ground near the door. He feels guilty, knowing one of the maids would have to press it. However, he can't gather the desire to move from the couch and retrieve it. 

Instead, he's glued to the couch as he considers where Kate is. A hundred different scenarios run through his mind—each scenario worse than the last.

For the past month, Kate has been disappearing at night. He hears her footsteps tiptoeing past his study when he stays up to work. He feels the weight from her side of the bed lessen as she stands and departs from their bedroom when she thinks he's fallen asleep.

At first, Anthony questioned her about it. Kate would always make up an excuse about needing fresh air or going to see Edwina. But he knows her well enough to know when she's lying.

However, Anthony hadn't ever called Kate out on her deceit. He feared the truth, especially how it might crush him to hear it.

But he couldn't take the not knowing anymore. So when he heard the door close after Kate told him five minutes prior that she was retiring to bed, he made his way towards the front of the house. Anthony watched at the window as a carriage rode away. A hole had formed in his stomach, making him feel hollow. He then sat down on the couch so he could catch her when she returned.

Finally, after what felt like ages passed, he hears footsteps approaching the door. He quickly jumps up from the couch and makes his way to the foyer. When Kate steps through the door, her eyes widen.

"Anthony!" she exclaims in surprise, putting a hand to her chest to steady her breath. "You're up late."

"So are you," Anthony says, crossing his arms and blocking her way.

"I was only walking around to get some fresh air."

Anthony raises a brow. "Really, for two hours?"

Her eyes shift anxiously from his stare. "Has it really been that long?"

"Yes," he answers through gritted teeth, anger rising within him.

"Oh well, it was such a lovely night the time got away from me." Kate stands on her toes, kissing him quickly on the cheek. "Sorry for worrying you."

As she tries to retreat, Anthony's hand lurches out to grab her elbow, pulling her back to face him.

"I've had enough, Kate," he sighs tiredly. "Where were you?"

"I just told you, I was—."

"You've been going out for fresh air at odd hours of the day for the past month. You'd think you'd have your fill by now."

Kate fidgets. "Well, it hasn't just been out to get fresh air. I've been attending engagements. I have a life outside you and this household, you know."

"Oh, I know that, but your engagements don't usually take place after dark and don't require you sneaking out of the house to attend."

"Darling, everything is fine," Kate says, pulling her arm out of his reach and giving him a nervous smile. "You've probably been working too hard. Let's go to bed."

As she tries to walk away again, Anthony pulls her back. But this time, he holds onto both of her arms, forcing her to meet his eye.

"Kate, I know you—perhaps more than you know yourself, and I know when you're lying to me," he says, his voice turning softer—more fragile. It's as if he's a vase that could shatter at any moment. "What I don't know is why."

"I promise that what I have been going out and doing is not anything scandalous or dangerous." After letting out a long breath, a laugh bubbles from her throat in amusement. "Honestly, where I've been going to is nothing to fret over. You're acting as if I'm having an affair or something."

Anthony's heart sinks in his chest. No matter how ridiculous the prospect sounds, he can't help but whisper the question that's been plaguing his mind these past few weeks.

"Are you?"

Kate's mouth falls open, her face paling. "Anthony, how could you think that?"

"It's the only explanation I can think of," he says, stepping away from her and beginning to pace. "It explains why you've been coming back so late and being so evasive these past few weeks."

"Anthony—."

His legs go weak at the affection in her voice. Anthony falls to his knees in front of her and takes hold of her hands.

"Just tell me, Kate, I cannot bear it," Anthony says, hating the way his voice wavers. "I cannot bear the thought of you finding pleasure in someone else's arms. I cannot bear you leaving our bed because you'd rather be in another's. I cannot bear the idea of someone else touching you, loving you, or kissing you."

He brushes his lips against Kate's knuckles, causing her breath to hitch. Anthony pulls his lips away, but just so his fingertips can swirl circles on her palm. When his thumb skims over her pulse, he feels her heartbeat quicken.

"Most of all, I cannot bear the thought of you loving someone else." Anthony swallows thickly, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "I'd die right now if you told me all of this was true."

Anthony has always feared time. He used to compulsively reach into his pocket to grasp his father's watch. Each time a hand on the clock ticked forward, he felt as if an ounce of his soul got sucked away.

But since Kate came into his life, that fear has dissipated. Suddenly, he didn't spend each moment of his life calculating how much time he had left. Instead, Anthony began counting things other than seconds.

He counts the number of Kate's smiles. He counts the number of laughs they share next to one another at the table surrounded by his family. Anthony counts the number of kisses that were slow, stirring an aching feeling in his chest. He also counts each hungry and passionate kiss that sets every inch of his skin aflame.

Most of all, Anthony counts how many times he's lost count around her. He gets lost in the timeless and wonderful enigma that is Kate Sharma.

Anthony feels that fear of time creeping up on him again. But now, he's not afraid of time passing and leading to his demise. Instead, he's terrified that Kate's time of loving him has run out. Maybe, she's found a more deserving man to spend the minutes with than him.

When Anthony braves a glance up at Kate, he expects to see pity. But instead, he's surprised to see an entirely different emotion reflected in her eyes.

Love.

Pure, unconditional, steadfast love.

Kate gets down to her knees in front of him. But she doesn't let go of his hands, holding them tighter.

"None of that is true, Anthony," she says firmly. "I love you, have only loved you, and will only love you."

Her words release a breath of relief from him. But, he still can't help doubting this, not knowing how else to explain her odd disappearances.

Kate must sense his train of thoughts. She smiles gently, moving one of her hands up to graze his cheek.

"I love you so much that I've been waking up in the middle of the night so I can give you the perfect present."

Anthony blinks in confusion, feeling the room that had been spinning become still.

"What?"

Kate laughs, and she rests her forehead against his. "Do you know what tomorrow is?"

It hits Anthony like a whip. All the clues that he'd gathered up to form a horrible conclusion were, in fact, clues that lead to a more justifiable and pleasant one.

"Our anniversary," he answers dumbly.

"Yes," she nods, her face beaming with a giddy kind of delight. Anthony feels lucky that he gets to see it. Her expressions are free without restraint only when she's comfortable with someone. He's glad to be one of those treasured few. "We've made it a year, can you believe it? It seems like only yesterday, I was stepping on your toes at a ball, and you acted like a madman when I got stung by a bee."

Anthony frowns, his forehead creasing. "I did not act like a madman."

"You did, but it led us to where we are now," Kate says, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "Married and happy."

"I'd like to think it would've happened with the bee or not."

"I'm not sure. You were quite thick-headed about how in love with me you were."

"Oh, I'm the thick-headed one?" he scoffs. "After the night you fell in love with me, you gave your approval for me to marry your sister. How thick-headed is that?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd ever feel that way about me," Kate defends, rolling her eyes. "But I know very well now that you do. You show me with every kind word, every touch, every…" her words drift, cheeks reddening, "Well, you know."

Anthony smirks. "No, I do not know. Please elaborate on everything I do to you that gives you pleasure in vivid detail."

"You're insufferable," she grumbles and puts her hands on her hips. "I have a good mind not to tell you the true reason for my disappearing and keep you stewing in jealousy."

"I don't think you'd like the result of my increased jealousy."

"I don't know, your scowl was fierce, and the fire in your eyes was quite the sight," Kate teases, tracing her thumb over his furrowed brows. "Very becoming, actually."

Anthony stands and pulls her up with him, leading her to the couch. "Why have you been disappearing?"

"As I said, our anniversary is tomorrow, and I was getting your gift ready," she explains. "It's almost midnight. Perhaps I can give it to you a little bit early. I had one of the servants waiting outside for my return. They came in through the back entrance and have already snuck it into your study to reveal as a surprise for tomorrow."

"How sinister of you, plotting with our staff against me."

"Nothing sinister about it. I asked, and they agreed to help me. Unlike you, they think I'm perfectly agreeable."

"Obviously, they don't know you well enough to fear the wicked inner workings of your mind as I do."

Kate stands, gracefully sticking out her tongue and making him laugh. Anthony follows her down the hall into his study. She makes him close his eyes. He feels like a fool, stumbling into the room with Kate chuckling behind him. But, he feels guilty for thinking Kate could ever be unfaithful and indulges her wishes.

He waits for a few moments, hearing her moving something across the floor, before he asks, "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Alright, you bloody impatient man, open your eyes."

As Anthony takes his hands away from his eyes, his heart stops in his chest. He gawks at the painting on a canvas stand in front of him.

"Kate," he utters breathlessly.

Kate chews on her bottom lip, hesitantly watching him observe the painting—no, "painting" doesn't seem like the right word for what it is.

It's a masterpiece, an almost perfect depiction of Kate.

The artist captured the exact fraction that Kate's lips tilt up when she smiles in amusement. Anthony often sees that expression pointed towards him when they're engaged in one of their bantering matches. The color of her brown eyes is just as deep in the painting. They're full of so much that Anthony still wants to explore even after a year of marriage.

In the portrait, Kate's shoulders are bare, the sleeves resting low on her arm. The bottom of the picture shows the scarlet bodice of her dress. But the most alluring part is how the brown curls of her hair flow freely down her neck, cascading like a waterfall.

Anthony has a strong distaste for her bonnets and how society demands she wears her hair up in public. Anthony loves running his fingers through her hair, which probably is why she posed for the painting with it down. That minx knew it would stir a feeling within him that no one else but her has been able to elicit.

"I hired Sir Granville to paint it," Kate blurts out, nervous from how long he's remained silent. "I wanted him to paint it in a private setting because it's a bit…."

"Breathtaking," Anthony answers.

"I was going to say suggestive, but breathtaking is a good adjective," Kate grins bashfully. She steps towards him, her eyes glowing through the dim light of the room. "It's a portrait for your eyes only, no one else's."

Anthony ducks his head. "I'm sorry that I thought you were...I just—."

"Foolishly got jealous of a person who doesn't exist? Yes, yes, you did."

He runs his fingers against the frame of the painting. "I have a mind to hang this in the common area, so everyone can see how lucky I am."

Kate's eyebrows snap together. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he asks playfully.

"It might encourage some men to meet the woman behind the painting," Kate notes with a mischievous glint in her eyes, pretending to consider his proposal. "Who am I to oppose admirers?"

Anthony's smirk fades. "You wouldn't dare."

"Ah, there's that handsome scowl," Kate points at him in triumph.

He swoops forward, his arms going around her waist. "You're maddening."

Kate's smile widens as she looks up at him, looping her hands around his neck. "You love it."

"You're right. I do love you. And, I love this portrait," Anthony adds, bobbing his head towards the painting. "Perhaps I should hang it in here. It can serve as a reminder of what's waiting for me when I finish my work."

She leans up a bit on her toes, her hands traveling lower down his back. "You know, I could come down to your study to remind you."

Anthony begins moving his hands as well. As they skim up her body, brushing her breast, he relishes in the sound of her moan. Anthony leans closer, pressing kisses down her neck until he gets to just the right spot. Kate's fingers curl tighter onto his back as his lips apply pressure there, and her body gravitates further against him.

"You're far too distracting," Anthony murmurs against her skin. "Perhaps, the portrait is too dangerous to be in here. I'd get nothing done."

"Exactly." She leans her face back a margin, so Anthony can see that enchanting tilt of her lips the artist depicted. "Why do you think I commissioned the painting in the first place?"

"To torture me?"

"All is fair in love and war," Kate says, grinning at him. "And hasn't our relationship always been a bit of both?"

In response, Anthony kisses her deeply and thoroughly. The sound of his pocket watch ticking starts to fade away. It gets replaced with the sound of his heart, which beats for Kate more than himself these days.

#kateandanthonyweek #kateandanthonyweek21 #katexanthonyweek #kate x anthony #kanthony #kathony #Katexanthonyweek21 #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #bridgerton series #bridgerton books #bridgerton netflix #Anthony x kate #simone ashley #fanfiction #Bridgerton #fanfic #bridgerton fanfic

[chdarling]

11, 19, and 40 please, these are amazing omg :')

Thank you love!! 🥰🥰🥰

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

Actual footage of me attempting to kill my darlings:

…yes. I am CH, darling-slayer. I do have a Dead Darlings document though where I save all my favorite little phrases/plot lines that didn’t make the cut. One day, may they find new life!!

And yes, there is much grieving. I do not enjoy murder.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

This has been a really hard one for me to answer! The truth is that writing and I have had a deeply tumultuous relationship. It is the love of my life and I have pursued it in some form since I was five years old. It has also caused me untold agony and I have “given it up” more times than I can count. I’m finally in a decent place where I am doing it purely for the love of it, but it took a lot for me to figure that out. I didn’t start really writing fiction until my twenties, and I rediscovered fanfic while I was recovering from an event that, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, pretty much ruined my life. Fanfic was an incredible respite for me then, because there is no point to fanfic other than joy. It exists purely for the purpose of love, and I desperately needed that.

As for where I’m going, I don’t know. I’ve accepted at this point that I will never stop feeling the compulsion to write — and now that I do it mostly for joy, and not as a knife with which to hurt myself, I’m pretty content with that. (Although old habits die hard and I can be really brutal to myself about my own writing. Still working on it.) After I finish TLE2, I’m planning on taking some time to focus on my original work, which I admit I’ve been neglecting this year. I have two big original projects — one that can feasibly be finished in a reasonable time frame, and another that is a longer series with intensive world-building that will probably be my life’s work. 🙈 I do want to publish one day, but I think I’d do it under a pen-name and just not tell anyone IRL. Or at least that’s what I tell myself now. I don’t know why it’s so much easier for me to write in secrecy, but it seems to be my jam. 🤷🏻‍♀️

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

lol it’s funny answering a question originally posed by myself. Here’s a poem I need, that maybe others need too:

Beannacht - John O’Donohue

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

#ch answers #writing questions #sorry for getting kinda sappy

[dercolaris]

Phoenix

A small story for @finzphoenix, I hope you will enjoy it. Scriddler, but no smut or anything else that would need a warning. Thanks again for reading, @shin-arei! Here’s a song. Not really fitting, but welp, it was realxing to listen to:

https://youtu.be/59AiB4YhCdg

Enjoy :3

Edward hissed almost in annoyance and stared lost in thought through the loose grating of the rusted barricade fence, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. On the other side of the fence there was hardly anything to be seen in the darkness. The overgrowth had also caused a dense jungle to develop on the former funfair over the years of vacancy, which even in daylight did not offer any insight into the general condition of the old site. Only a few dilapidated stalls stood out like memorials from the tangle of bushes. The tinkerer frowned. Why on earth had Jonathan called him to this place out of all places possible? There were surely countless better alternatives in Gotham for a one-to-one conversation or whatever the elder was up to that night. The Riddler sighed in frustration and lightly massaged his tensed forehead. As usual, the Master of Fear had not been particularly precise or even elaborate with the details of the meeting. The very short text message only mentioned the large main tent in the middle of the funfair, where Jonathan would be waiting for him around midnight. Not more. Literally nothing. The black-haired grumbled cautiously and stepped closer to the fence, clasping his fingers tightly in the holes in the brittle metal. How the hell was he supposed to fight his way safely through this terrain? Edward circled his shoulder once and finally, groaning, began to climb up the barrier, always trying not to crush any weak spots with the heavy work boots. The ramshackle fence tended to give way. The impressive height of three meters hardly made it any better in that sense, as the metal gradually bent backwards once Edward reached halfway due to the weight of himself. The black-haired man clung tighter into the grille and shimmy further up, looking down at the top to make out a safe landing point. This decision was promptly made for him by the damaged cordon. The fence buckled unexpectedly quickly with a loud crack, tore the tinkerer down into the wild undergrowth. Edward's cry of surprise echoed briefly through the darkness, but was lost in the loud croak of the startled crows. These piled up into the pitch-black sky and sought the distance. The villain got up, cursing, freed himself from some loose branches that had wrapped tightly around his legs during the unpleasant fall. He growled irritably: “Fucking hell, John. If you don't have a good explanation for all this crap here, I'll turn your neck with my own hands."

With these words he brushed some dirt off his tattered pants and stared into the darkness around him. What creatures might be wandering around him in the blackness? The inventor pulled the dark green parka tighter around his shivering figure and pulled a small flash light out of his jacket pocket, illuminating the overgrown path in front of him. He would somehow find his way through. Probably. The black-haired man climbed over countless variations of bushes, trying not to get tangled in the wildly growing thorns. His clothes were already a bit worn by some unpleasant encounters with the Dark Knight in the last few weeks and would no longer withstand further violence. Batman seemed to be on his period right now and was watching the villains in the underground even more suspiciously than usual. It was practically impossible to take a step in Gotham without facing the furious Bat. Maybe that was why Jonathan had chosen the old funfair to meet. Even the self-proclaimed superhero had his preferred catchment area and anything too far outside of it was mostly ignored in good faith. Edward smiled a little. Carelessness didn't really go with the Dark Knight. The Scarecrow in particular had long been aware of this fact and had adapted successfully, which enabled the stubborn psychiatrist to pursue his sinister plans completely undisturbed. In addition, there was probably the sad advantage that Batman still believed the Master of Fear was dead. The tinkerer was panting hard. It had taken ages to patch up his favourite accomplice in a reasonable way and to treat the deep wounds that the whole incident with Croc had torn in his soul. During those long weeks, Edward had actually come to appreciate the elder. His presence had been strange at first, no question about it, but Jonathan literally exuded an aura of calm and serenity to which the Riddler had got used in a very short time. Things that had previously driven him to white heat suddenly no longer affected him so much or were pushed aside and ticked off more quickly.

The black-haired man couldn't deny that he now really preferred the company of the former psychiatrist, even if he wouldn't go so far as to describe it as enjoying it - even if this formulation was most likely much closer to the truth. The inventor grinned a little. Which normal person could tolerate the compulsive tinkerer on a daily basis and constantly occupy himself with the jumping thoughts in order to somehow make sense of the lively man? Up until now, Edward had always believed that he had to lead his life on his own, as no one was willing to deal with him more closely and to give him undivided attention for more than half an hour. This probably applied to most of the people around him as well. To everyone except Jonathan. The younger one was all the more affected when one morning the Master of Fear was suddenly no longer in his hiding place and in an admittedly long letter explained in detail that he would have to find himself for a while and needs space. The mind of the inventor knew that the brown-haired man had no bad intentions with these words and that this decision had absolutely nothing to do with him, but still an unexpectedly deep wound had occurred. To be abandoned by loved ones was such an established, almost routine part of his life that Edward threw it back on the harsh reality in Jonathan's case - nobody would consider him good enough and after extensive use or exploitation simply throw him away again. As much as the black-haired man resisted this way of thinking, in the end the doubting thoughts won. This was kind of stupid. It was really more than understandable for the former psychiatrist that he wanted to stay to himself for a while. The older one was blind on one eye and was otherwise severely restricted in general body function due to the serious injuries. To cope with this new situation took immense strength and the brown-haired man could gather it best when he was alone. Jonathan was the ongoing definition of a loner. A good three months had passed since that fateful day. They had only exchanged text messages sporadically during that time. The tinkerer shook his head slightly. If he looked at it soberly, the Scarecrow actually only responded to repeated, really persistent inquiries and then only with monosyllabic answers. One had to constantly get on the nerves of the brown-haired man to get a reaction. The black-haired man was all the more surprised to read the older man's SMS that morning. Edward blinked in the dripping darkness and smiled triumphantly as the thick undergrowth finally cleared before him.

Several wooden booths and smaller tents emerged that had once amused crowds of people. Now these remnants of civilization are abandoned and lapsed into oblivion to their miserable existence. The inventor strolled through the long streets, shining his flash light over and over again at the remains of a once lively place. Somehow this eerie environment suited the former psychiatrist. As the Master of Fear, he had long since made a name for himself in Gotham, and even now, when people no longer believed in his existence, the mention of his alias spread fear and terror among the population. Jonathan, like many other villains of the underground, was a negatively influenced superstar of the modern age, a figure people feared but who secretly liked to read and tear their mouth about in the tabloids. The Riddler was no different on this point. People loved or hated him, there were only two possible directions. Basically it was relative to the black-haired man what the lower population said about him. Most importantly, they should talk about him a lot on the news and admired his unmatched ingenuity, even if they mostly described him as insane, crazy, or eccentric. Mental limitation inevitably led to far-reaching misunderstandings, but Edward now knew how to correctly interpret the seemingly stupid comments of the unicellular organisms around him. If the idiots didn't manage to express their enthusiasm in an understandable way, the Riddler had to pick the cherry on the cake himself. In the distance, the inventor caught sight of the large, red and white striped main tent in the centre of the funfair, small beams of light emanating from the four openings in the tarpaulin. At least the Master of Fear was actually waiting for him. The younger rubbed the back of his head and turned off the flash light. He was almost ashamed to question the brown-haired man's intentions again, but that was how he was. The inventor hummed softly. The first drops fell from the sky on him and slowly wet his clothes. Actually, they hadn't announced rain. Fantastic. This only made the man flee into the tent faster. Inside it was unusually warm for the cold season. The wildly distributed straw in the ring probably contributed a considerable part to keeping the temperature at a comfortable level. Edward yawned softly and slowly stepped closer, froze when he suddenly heard the clear voice of the older man sing. The black-haired man shuddered suddenly. Jonathan had a strange undertone in his voice, a hidden message that resonated in his words and that would remain hidden from most people.

One sentence from the Master of Fear could tear a well-functioning mind to pieces or cobble together a troubled mind. This was entirely up to the  Scarecrow. The tinkerer breathed a little faster and ventured further inside, actively looking for the other. Jonathan stood on a small elevation in the middle of the tent, three spotlights were directed with glaring bright light on its narrow figure. His face looked relaxed and at the same time composed, an expression the tinkerer had never seen before in his otherwise frozen facial expression. The black cloak was tight around the thin body, warming the pale skin and protecting it from unwanted looks from curious outsiders. His body was a complete wreck covered with endless scars. The former psychiatrist had closed his eyes as he sang his lonely song in oblivion. Edward came to a stop in front of him, looking up at his frequent accomplice and now a good friend. Suddenly the thin man smiled crookedly and slowly opened the healthy opal. The icy blue stared straight into his soul. Jonathan finished the last line of his chant and tilted his head slightly, then said calmly: "Edward. I hope you will forgive me for the difficult circumstances you probably had to get here. Nevertheless, I am pleased to see you in good health."

The addressee raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest again. He had the strong impulse to react in a snap, but that had never had any effect on the older man. Contrary to his feelings, he calmly replied: “I'm used to that with you, aren't I, John? So how can I help you, Scarecrow? You will hardly have brought me to this godforsaken place just to see if I am okay.” The brown-haired laughed, chuckling and shook his head. He stepped carefully off the stage, then gradually faced Edward. The Riddler trembled slightly. The former psychiatrist knew of its intimidating effects and used them regularly. This time they were less than three feet apart. Up close, the inventor could see all the small and large scars on the pale face. Deep cracks ran across the pale skin. Immediately his heart started beating faster in his chest again. The Riddler couldn't explain it, but being physically close to the gaunt man got his blood pumping and sent his mind on a roller coaster. The two of them had felt a deep bond during the weeks they had lived together. How many times had they looked each other and just didn't know what to do next? There was seemingly an invisible boundary between them. A limit that no one had dared to cross before. The black-haired man studied the older man's face, then clenched his fingers into fists. He knew what he should have done on the countless occasions. And now? Was it too late for that? Jonathan had deliberately wanted distance, but the extent of this desire was not yet entirely clear to the inventor. The Master of Fear suddenly spoke softly: “I certainly didn't have to bring you here for that, this is correct. The reason is of course different. I want to ask you to just listen to me for the next few minutes, Edward, without interrupting me. You can of course ask as many questions as you like afterwards, okay?” The Riddler frowned, but slowly nodded in response. This was an unusual request of his friend.

The brown-haired man took a deep breath and started speaking again: “Now where should I start? I think in the beginning. We both haven't forgotten how our relationship developed in the weeks following the Arkham incident, and I can't deny that it scared me at first. When the confusion got out of hand, I had to sort myself out and rearrange all of my thoughts and, above all, unknown feelings. This may have seemed like a cold hearted rejection for you, but in the end it was necessary to finally dare to take this step.” With these words, the Master of Fear stepped even closer, closed the last distance between them. Edward could feel the warm breath of the older man on his lips, and felt how the resulting thick fog wafted into the ring. The surrounding area was slowly hidden under a thick, living wall. After a while, the inventor wasn't even able to see a meter further, but that wasn't even his goal any more. His body was focused on the thin man in front of him. Jonathan cleared his throat and whispered barely audibly: "Edward, I have made a momentous decision for myself, but what I am asking you now requires the consent of both concerned." The leathery hands of the former psychiatrist were unexpectedly gentle on the Riddlers cheeks, tenderly caressed the oil-smeared skin. The brown-haired man continued: “I have learned how pleasant it can be to live with you and how much I am gradually lonely over the years. With your liveliness you showed me a new, interesting perspective. Your opinion on certain things made me think and I can no longer avoid wishing for more intense interactions with you. But no longer just as friends or accomplices. There has always been an unusual attraction between us, but we have never been able to describe or explain it in detail. I think after everything I've gathered over the past few weeks, I can say with great certainty that I have deeper feelings for you. I missed you and even with a certain waiting time this grievance didn't go away, it basically just got worse. I..."

Edward had surprisingly put his index finger on the former psychiatrist's torn lips. He shook his head and made it clear that the older one should be silent now. The brown-haired man seemed to understand the request, which he made clear with a simple nod. The icy blue stared deep into his own. The tinkerer swallowed hard and leaned forward, closing the last remaining space. In doing so, he crossed the invisible border, brought down all lines, laws and rules that they had built up over the years with one deed. Inside, the inventor could hear the crowd around them applauding in the stands, even if, of course, no one was physically in the tent. His fingers found their way to the Master of Fear's bony cheeks, drawing him closer to him in that kiss that was soaked with longing. At that moment something old was broken. The facade of an unusual friendship lay in ruins on the straw, from which something new slowly rose like a brightly shining, burning phoenix.

#DC #Batman #edward nygma #Riddler #Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #ArkhamVerse #finzphoenix #shin-arei

[ellestra]

Bridging the gap

While Michael being the centre of all mysteries has been the weak spot of the series (it does make it feel like she’s the centre of the universe) it is justified in this episode. The admiral was right - they wouldn’t listen to an outsider but Michael is a citizen and connections matter even on Vulcan/Ni’var.

And I liked how it is steering the her to find what her true path is. She’s been in high command positions twice and her own actions made her fail hard twice. But those same qualities - an almost obsessive compulsive pursuing of the truth, the need to solve riddles presented to her by data, the ability to observe the evidence and make conclusions based on that - is what makes her so good at figuring out what those mysteries. She’s much better scientist than she is commanding officer. She’s much better at leading an inquiry than a crew.

These also the qualities that she inherited from both of her families - both her biological and adopted one. She’s not a very good Vulcan otherwise as her emotions are always a driving force for her but in that one aspect she fit perfectly. And she’s a lot like Gabrielle in those aspects. So of course it took trip down that memory lane - to Vulcan and her mother - to highlight that. And to learn the final lesson from both.

The lesson here is that she can let go. She doesn’t have to be the one who solves mystery but what really matters is that it is solved. This is the realisation is what prompts her to send all the research and evidence she has to Ni’var so they can compare it to he SB19 and figure out what happened. And in turn this is what makes the president give her the data after all. She manages to convince T’Rina that the truth is all that matter to her not the glory.

And it was also about reminding her that she has always been a person who straddles to cultures. She became better version of herself when she uses both her human and Vulcan sides. And even though I found Gabrielle showing up in this a little too convenient (although it made sense for her to wait at a place Michael was bound to visit sooner or later) it was a nice visual of combining those two sides of Michael’s heritage. So this was never going to end with Michael choosing one or the other. It was going to be about finding a way to be a bridge between both - Starfleet and pursuing her own projects. Book and her friends. Federation and the civilisations that left it. Maybe she’ll even become an ambassador one day.

I also loved the Qowat Milat showing up again. It was a nice connection to sir Patrick’s new show in an episode that was connection to the old one. But I have to say the causes they pick up are not as lost as they make it seem.

I agree with everyone that Tilly’s promotion was too soon but I liked how i underlined how she and Michael are basically opposites. Where Michael pursues truth and her own vision Sylvia tries to find solutions by talking to people and figuring out how to convince them - or find a solution that would work for all. Tilly’s people skills are much better and that does make her better suited for command. In the situation they are in right now this might be a bad choice for Saru.

#star trek #star trek: discovery #st:dsc #st: disco #star trek discovery #michael burnham #gabrielle burnham #qowat milat #sylvia tilly #Saru

[serialbydesign]

Defining Psychopathy

Psychopathy, often confused with sociopathy, is an anti-social personality disorder. Both mental health conditions are characterized by:

Need for violence.

Disregard for social norms, conventions, and laws.

Lack of remorse & guilt.

Deceitful nature.

However, sociopaths usually are emotionally unstable and tend to act on compulsion, lacking patience and planning. Psychopaths are attentive to details, calculated, and plan every action they intend to pursue – be it legal or illegal. Therefore, they leave few clues and take fewer risks. Over time, multiple conceptions of psychopathy developed – most of which overlap, but some contradict others.

Just like sociopathy, psychopathy can be caused by genetic and environmental factors. This means children can inherit it from the parents but also develop it during the lifetime after abuse, emotional shock, or living in an unsuitable environment. But one can also acquire psychopathy after a traumatic brain injury. It has been discovered that the prefrontal cortex is responsible for our social behavior and acquired psychopathy is often linked to trauma in this area.

Another prevalent theory states that psychopathy is genetically inherited and can be triggered by environmental factors, while sociopathy is only developed throughout life. No matter which theory we follow, Dexter Morgan is much closer to being a psychopath than a sociopath. However, he does struggle with keeping his Dark Passenger under control at times.

Dexter Morgan, The Psychopath 

Dexter Morgan is a forensic expert, but he most frequently calls himself a blood spatter analyst. Even though he commits horrendous crimes throughout the show, we root for him and find bits of ourselves in his narratives. We see how he evolves from a cold-blooded serial killer to a cold-blooded serial killer who cares about some of those around him. The personal way in which he narrates his experiences further increase the connection we feel with this character. He often contemplates on aspects of the day-to-day life using first person pronouns in plural forms, which works on our subconscious. This is one of the many techniques used by real-life psychopaths, and Dexter Morgan proves again and again that they work.

“They make it look so easy, connecting with another human being, it’s like no one told them it’s the hardest thing in the world.” – Dexter Season 5 episode 12, “The Big One”

Dexter’s sense of righteousness instilled by his adoptive father fires up conflicted feelings on his morality. On the one side, he murders people in cold blood and enjoys it. But on the other, he gets rid of “bad seeds” the justice system could not charge. Ultimately, he is saving lives while satisfying his dark passenger, being a modern vigilante.

“We all make rules for ourselves. It’s these rules that help define who we are. So when we break those rules we risk losing ourselves and becoming something unknown.” – Dexter Season 7 Finale, “Let’s Give the Boy a Hand”

These, together with his continuous struggle to control his urges and do as little damage as possible to society, make us all feel sympathy for Dexter. Because we know the terrible things that happened to him, we understand what caused this behavior. But would he feel the same about us?

The Profile of Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan is persuasive, intelligent, deceitful, and a psychopath.

He killed well over 100 people (at least 134 documented cases) and shows no remorse about this – in fact, he believes he benefits society. Moreover, he likes to take trophies – a single drop of blood from each of his victims, carefully placed on a glass slide. Dexter has a ritual that is full of meaning for each of his victim’s crimes and likes to confront them and let them know he knows what they did. He feels empowered by this, he feels he finally has control.

Dexter is neat, sometimes compulsive, and likes to keep order in his life. He always plans his actions and waits for the best and safest time to make a move. This is what differentiates himself from a sociopath. He likes being and working by himself because using his “mask” is tiring. But even though he has an anti-social behavior, his social skills are way above average.

“People fake a lot of human interactions, but I feel like I’ve faked them all and I fake them very well. And that’s my burden, I guess.”

Dexter Morgan can be best psychoanalyzed using Freud’s structural model of the psychic apparatus which defines three dimensions of the mind:

The id represents our uncoordinated instincts, with a focus on pleasure and desire. The id is often associated with evil, lust, sin, and the like. The super-ego is the moralizing element, responsible for assimilating social norms and behaviors. It’s the virtuous, pure, and wholesome dimension. The ego, a realistic and rational influence on our thought process, usually mediates these two antagonizing elements.

Even though most individuals naturally balance these three dimensions, Dexter Morgan struggles do so. He spent all his life observing those around him and trying to mimic their behavior, knowing he will never act like them naturally.

Dexter’s Id

After the age of 6 years old, most individuals suppress their id and manage to focus their mental and emotional energy towards following social norms. But Dexter was not able to do so and, as a consequence, his id rules his life. Even as a child, Dexter enjoyed killing animals. In fact, taking a life is the only thing that makes Dexter feel alive. Sex does not interest Dexter, which we can also blame on the trauma he suffered as a child at a critical age for his (among others) psychosexual development.

Dexter’s Super-Ego

Dexter refers to the people surrounding him as humans, feeling detached from his own humanity. There is plenty of evidence throughout the show that demonstrate Dexter has a seriously underdeveloped super-ego if any. His adoptive father, Harry, created an artificial super-ego dimension in his mind through a few strict guidelines. However, Dexter’s subconscious never adopted them as its own and, as a result, he sometimes struggles to follow them.

Dexter does not understand religion. The only higher power he knew was his adoptive father, who also created the code. He has difficulties in developing real relationships of any nature with those around him but has gotten very good at faking them.

Dexter’s Ego

Instead of balancing out the 2 other dimensions, Dexter uses his ego to hide them from society. He goes above and beyond to hide his true self. He fights the recurrent feeling of emptiness that can only be relieved by killing.

How Dexter Morgan Came to Be a Psychopath

There are a few theories about how Dexter became what he is, but they all rely on the emotional and psychological trauma he suffered as a child.

Dexter saw his mother brutally murdered when he was only 6 years old and sat in a shipping container in a pool of her (and others’) blood for 2 days. This affected his emotional development and understanding of social norms, which he has difficulties adapting to.

Dexter understands he is a disturbed individual. But even though admitting the problem is often times the first step to resolving it, psychopathy has no cure (yet). There are no pills, vaccines, or therapies that erase traumatizing memories from our subconscious, induce empathy, or warm up a murderer’s blood.

But Dexter lacked a mother figure during his most important years, even before she was murdered. He was deprived of the warmth, closeness, and affection only a mother-son relationship would provide. Even though loving, his mother was not as present in his life as she should have been – and neither was his father. They were both addicted to drugs and involved themselves with dangerous figures, which ultimately lead to their demise. Even though a loving, caring family took him in at the age of 6, the damage was already done.

“I was there. I saw my mother’s death. A buried memory, forgotten all these years. They climbed inside me that day. And it’s been with me ever since. My dark passenger.” – Dexter Season 1 Episode 11 “Truth Be Told”

Moreover, his need for power and control were overindulged in a try to create a warm environment for the troubled child. But this only increased the distance between Dexter and humanity, between an impressionable child and his remorse and guilt.

Dexter Morgan & His Dark Passenger

Most of the time, Dexter Morgan is able to suppress his passenger. But it still needs to be let out from time to time, and when it does, Dexter refers to the process as the Dark Passenger “taking over”. He already knows that it will get out one way or the other, so he doesn’t try to fight it. In fact, Dexter finds comfort and acceptance in his Dark Passenger, the only entity that accepts him for who he is.

“I love Halloween. The one time of year when everyone wears a mask… not just me. People think it’s fun to pretend you’re a monster. Me, I spend my life pretending I’m not. Brother, friend, boyfriend – all part of my costume collection. Some people might call me a fraud. Let’s see if it will fit. I prefer to think of myself as a master of disguise.” – Dexter Season 1, Episode 4

Dexter manages to separate and balance out his natural self and the façade brilliantly. He is seen as a loving son, brother and as a reliable and helpful coworker.

The Code of Harry

Harry was more than just Dexter’s adoptive father. Together with Aaron and Deb, he was his family in the most real sense of the word.

“If I were capable of love, how I would have loved Harry.”

Since they could not stop Dexter’s urge to take life away, Harry decided to channel it. Therefore, Harry developed a code together with his therapist in which he confided about Dexter’s condition. As his father put it, the code focuses on survival and doing as little wrong to the world as possible. Dexter needs to be sure he kills the right person and to have proof for his deeds. But above all, he needs to never, ever risk having collateral victims.

Even though frustrating and rage-inducing at times, Dexter abides by the Code of Harry. However, he does take advantage of technicalities to satisfy his dark passenger at times, racing with the police and even hiding evidence in order to punish criminals himself even with his friends’ and coworker’s career on the line.

“Without the Code of Harry, I’m sure I would have committed a senseless murder in my youth. Just to watch the blood flow.” – Dexter Season 1 Episode 3, “Popping Cherry”

The Morality of Dexter

Yes, Dexter Morgan is brutal, ruthless, and cruel. Ever since Harry Morgan took him in, Dexter made efforts to comply with social norms. Even though he pretended for decades, he makes efforts to preserve appearances every day. None of the behaviors he adopted for so many years got under his skin, none of them come naturally even after all this time.

But this doesn’t mean Dexter Morgan is stone-hearted or completely devoid of feelings. After all, he does feel anger, hate, and affection and admits that he needs the people in his life. He realizes how scared he is of losing his family. 

Even though supposedly rudimentary, some of these feelings scare and intimidate Dexter Morgan because he doesn’t know how to handle them.

#private posts: all #private posts: muse inspo

[lenny-zaim-sucks]

So I see this asshole liking memes about rejecting women who bring misery and chaos... Excuse me sir what? This man brought nothing but misery and chaos into my life from the day I met him with his compulsive lying and endless secrets. The post also says 'to disregard damsels to distress'... This boy was the distress. My life was peaceful and happy before meeting him. Wasn't no damsel here that needed saving, if anything he was the frigging damsel in distress with all his emotional baggage and bullshit from childhood. I had to help him with his deep seeded issues and get him onto therapy... Fucking headcase. I just can't believe the sheer hypocrisy and lack of self awareness from him.

The meme goes on to say 'pursue your mission without drama or hindrance'... Who brought the drama? Did he think he could try play me and it wouldn't hinder his life lol karma exists. I'm not the one out here financially struggling but he is. It finally says 'choose women of grace and character' neither of which he has lol, what a joke!

I went out over the weekend cos it was hot af and I'm not a loser like him that's going to sit indoors all day playing video games. I was out all day Friday and didn't get back till late, he was already asleep, the next morning I was getting a negative vibe off him. He wasn't his usual friendly self, he was being super cold. All because I went out, how psycho is that? And it's ironic he liked a meme that said 'we don't appreciate negative vibes around here, move along'... Lol and so I did. I didn't bother confronting, he does this all the time, anytime I have a life, so I just cba anymore.

Weekend went by and then today (monday) he dumps flowers next to me while I was sleeping. Doesn't say anything, we literally haven't had a conversation since last Thursday. There's something mentally wrong with him for sure. More irony in him liking a post saying 'real men get turned off by drama and attitude problems'... Coming from the man who has been harboring an attitude all weekend. I guess he's not a real man since he's the one bringing the drama. Real women get turned off by lying losers, how about that.

Oh here's another one he liked 'May people with pure intentions find people with pure intentions', now that one's fucking laughable cos when he met me his intentions were far from pure and when we're on a break and he's trying to meet other women his intentions aren't pure then either. He literally called this girl a thot to me and then was messaging to meet her and then saying he wants us to work while chasing other women, where's the pure intentions? Disgusting rat.

Final analysis of the bullshit he likes that has zero relation to him, the post says 'sometimes a mf doesn't even love you fr, they just know you're a good person and would hate to see you loving another the way you loved them. Happiness over history. Let that toxic shit go.'

Firstly it's pretty clear I don't love him so duh and what real love did he ever show me? I would hate to see him pretending to love another while lying to them like he did to me. That's how he 'loved' me. It was all desperation, he can fuck off with another woman for all I care cos he's not actually a good person as much as he'd like to convince himself. In fact I think that post relates more to me than him. I'm the good person he met that would have done anything for a good man but he turned out to be a liar. I feel sorry for the next woman he ends up with.

Truth be told I'm only still here cos I want the 6k he owes me. If we break up and he moves out I'll never see that money. He owed me from the first year we lived together and I never saw that 4k, he would always say dw you'll get it while we were broken up and he was in Belgium. Only damn reason I took him back was to somehow get that money back or the equivalent... He offered to pay for everything as reimbursement while living here. Only lasted a few months. Now I choose happiness and if I don't get my money by the end of summer I'll be the one to let that toxic man go.

[kytcordell]

Why Do I Create?

Compulsion

I cannot stop creating.

In fact, I’ve tried--multiple times. There have been so many occasions on which the frustration and self-loathing associated with creative pursuits was psychologically crippling to the point where I did try and stop. But I never stopped inventing stories in my mind. I never stopped creating characters. I never stopped following artists I liked, basking in distant envy at the skills I believed I could never attain.

It has taken me a lifetime to really distill the true reason behind why I create. As much I would like to say that I’ve “always just loved drawing and expressing myself,” this simply wouldn’t be true nor an accurate representation of the relationship I have with art. At this point, I’m not sure if the word “passion” or “love” quite captures why I create. I would describe it more as a feverish need--a compulsion. I actually don’t even quite see myself as the “owner” of my works or ideas, but rather, as the vessel which serves them. Every ounce effort I put toward creative endeavors is a means of honing myself into a more suitable vehicle for delivering ideas into being.

For most of my life, I had an extremely pathological and maladaptive sense of self that resulted from nearly 26 years of physical and psychological abuse. It took me a long time to even recognize that what happened to me was in fact abuse. I used to shy away from the word because it seemed too self-pitying and dramatic. It still sometimes feels that way, despite the fact I objectively know that if anyone (let alone a parent) ever pulled a knife on me now, I would call the police without a second thought.

I won’t go too much into the details of what happened because it isn’t really worth delving into. But I was essentially raised as if I were an investment fund and not a person. My entire purpose was to be useful so my mother could stop having responsibilities of any kind. I was not raised with own personal well-being and future stability in mind. This meant that a non-lucrative career was unacceptable. My art was ever only appreciated in the context of bragging rights or winning awards. This of course, manifested in my relationship with creative pursuits.

Narcissism

My adolescent motivations for drawing were fueled mostly by pure, unadulterated narcissism.

I drew semi-seriously throughout high school. By that, I mean I quickly figured out what kinds of skills were considered impressive for that age group and did well at shows and competitions. I wanted to feel superior and adored at any cost, and while I embodied the external talking points of “being humble, always learning, etc.” deep down, I clung to the idea that I was better than everyone else. I couldn’t handle critique emotionally, despite acting receptive. I was completely consumed by the idea of being some kind of perfect, “talented” golden child.

I managed to get very good at copying photos and rendering, while neglecting all the skills that contribute to being able to design characters or draw from imagination. I didn’t really pursue art with any real level of personalized focus. I just liked feeling like I was better than people and knew more than the other kids. Honestly, every single aspect of my life revolved around this mentality.

I held onto the idea of “being good” as a trophy because that was the only mode of thought that my psyche could accept. It was easier to embrace narcissism and even just accept being a shallow social climber than to face the far more harrowing truth:

That I was afraid I’d never have the skills to manifest my ideas.

In fact, I talked myself into believing for ages that I didn’t care that much about my ideas. They would never amount to anything. And having self-indulgent, non-utilitarian attachments to my stories and OCs felt like a weakness. I needed to rationalize my own shortcomings with a guise of indifference.

Revererence

I stopped drawing for about seven years after high school. And even during high school, I didn’t do anything that remotely resembles the kind of ‘grind’ that I’ve put myself through the last 2.5 years. Frankly, I’m amazed I got as far as I did even with being a human copy machine that produced lifeless 1:1 images of candles. With each year I passed, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the fact I always knew deep down--I just wasn’t that good. I mean, I was pretty good for a guy in high school. But my holistic sense of composition, invention, and execution was near non-existent. I went through a few attempts of returning to art, only to be so overwhelmed with my own incompetence that I would just go back to the “I don’t care that much about art” script I had gotten so good at conning myself into.

It was not until I had a complete mental breakdown due to my psychotic cunt of a mother threatening my safety and sanity that my long-con finally broke. I had a moment where I just accepted that I had no fundamentals, my skills were trash, and most of all--I was not okay with them being trash. From that point, I started desperately seeking out resources and practicing to improve. Receiving criticism (while I really appreciated it objectively) was psychologically devastating to me. Every single imperfection was a reminder of “lost time” and the years I had spent lying to myself.

It wasn’t until I discovered Loomis, Hampton, Draw-a-Box, Proko, and many other reputable art resources that I managed to start hitting the pavement and making the kind of gains I wanted. I drew sometimes for 12-16 hours a day even while I was homeless and living on a friend’s couch due to having to flee my home at the time.  Through all of this, I shed all my notions of “being talented” or needing to delude myself into feeling like I was good. No, I was dogshit and I needed to do something about. I think the biggest hurdle people face when trying to get good at anything is accepting that they are bad. You cannot improve until you fully and wholeheartedly accept that you have problems that need fixing.

I went from approaching things from a place of narcissism to a place of reverence. A lot of what instilled this change in me was observing people that I admire. Those that are highly competent (in any craft) tend to be realistic and humble about their shortcomings. The very process of attaining mastery forces you to realize that there is an infinite scale of improvement. This isn’t to say that people who are good can’t also get full of themselves. But at least among the individuals I gravitate towards, there is a general sense of reverence and genuine modesty. On the other hand, people who are mediocre frequently have very large egos. Unfortunately, there is a lot egotistical, irrational, whiny-bitch anti-progress behavior that is prevalent in art circles. I realized just how cancerous conceit and ego could be. It had destroyed my progress for years and I was watching complete hacks insist they were gods atop mount stupid. It was truly the Dunning-Krueger effect in action.

Many of the people I encountered in the art community early on were pretty mediocre and had a terrible sense of fundamentals. Again, this would be fine if they didn’t insist on acting like experts on the topic. (Plenty of people draw for fun and don’t care about being good and there is nothing wrong with purely pursuing something for leisure.) However, I unfortunately ran into quite a few extremely petty people had no idea of how to actually get good at anything, and were annoyed at the fact I had prioritized working on fundamentals. People that I engaged in good faith soon attempted to derail conversations and questions I had about technique and improvement. Crabs in a bucket bullshit, really.

Anyone knows me also knows that I have no tolerance for bullshit or “UwU bitches” making “it’s my style” excuses for being technically incompetent. (Which isn’t to say accuracy is always more important than style, but using “style” or “aesthetic” as an excuse for a lack of skill or competence is extremely common among mediocre artists). Likewise, I also encountered people who manifested narcissism in the opposite direction. The opposite of the “it’s muh style” camp were people who endlessly liked to talk about theoretical technical knowledge. Sometimes they were good at one skillset or another, but generally lack any kind of concept or actual artistic vision. It was like they had lost sight of expression goals in favor of shit talking and dropping advanced art vocabulary.

I realized that no amount of shit-talk, posturing, or external validation was going to make me good at art. I always knew that, but watching people descend into the abyss of self-sabotage just reminded me what was at stake. I would rather never “feel” like I was superior than run the risk of delusional overconfidence. Likewise, I broke out of the trap of thinking technical skill could somehow compensate for a lack of good ideas or artistic vision. Nothing matters more than the clarity of expression, and skill is but a conduit for said expression. I would rather feel eternally small and striving for a forlorn dream than run the risk of being 10 years down the road cranking out trashy, vapid content while thinking I’m some kind of omnipotent art god.

I draw because I cannot stop. It’s like being touched by fire that you cannot quell or erase. I work to improve because I want to depict my stories and characters with the finesse, nuance, and artistry that I admire in so many others. I truly feel there is no point in pursuing art seriously if you do not have a voice, a “vision” for why you create. Looking back, the motivation that kept me going through the hardest struggles was the desire to succeed in communicating my stories and concepts. I am but an acolyte eternally striving for even a brief glimpse of an ephemeral muse.

#Art #Art Philosophy #Why I Draw #Personal

[outroshooky]

hiatus notice.

hi friends,

this is the first time i’m struggling to word a hiatus post, because i’m struggling to believe that this is the right thing for me right now. however, at the end of the day, i need to prioritize my overall health above writing and this blog; thus, i need to take a break from being on here.

life right now feels overwhelming. quarantine and pandemic aside, there is a lot going on in my personal life now that i’m home all the time. i’ve been in a depressive state for a few days; getting out of bed is hard. i’m starting to lose touch with my sense of self, much less the motivation to sit down and write. i need to take time to remember what it’s like to want to write instead of feeling that i need to produce something for readers. if you’d like to read more on this + what i foresee for this little blog, please feel free to continue below the cut. to keep the notice itself short, i’ll end it here.

mutuals, feel free to reach out to me on kakaotalk / line / discord / whatever social media you’re comfortable with so we can keep our conversations going. you are the reason i haven’t gone on hiatus sooner; i adore all of you to the ends of the earth and back.

my plan is to be gone for a few weeks, to give myself a breather and not feel the need to compulsively write for the sake of putting something out there. in the meantime, my blog will be running on a queue. when i come back, we’ll take things from there and see how it goes.

thank you for understanding.

callisto

hello to my friends who have kept reading,

as i stated before, life right now feels incredibly overwhelming. i live in new york, which is one of the centers of the pandemic here in the united states. life has been uprooted for all of us; i have lost out on my senior year of high school because of it. our trip to disney, the penultimate experience for my high school and the culmination of four years of hard work, was canceled. bts postponed; ab6ix concert canceled. spring concert, canceled. finals canceled (a miracle), graduation likely postponed, a pre-college program i’ve been looking forward to for two years, canceled. i lost my job, one that i loved with all of my heart, and now a simple trip to the grocery store has become an expedition in itself. i know i’m not the only one. we all have our stories, the things we’ve lost. it’s okay to admit that that hurts too, losing these things that we looked forward to, that we wanted so desperately. 

it’s hard to write stories full of joy when you yourself are not so joyous. perhaps that’s where my writer’s block is coming from; no halo was a very cathartic piece for me for that reason. i was supposed to put out a soulmate!yoongi au that is nothing but pure fluff, but i struggle to envision it when even in my nightmares, i’m screaming at people to stay six feet away from me. i wanted to give you guys something positive to read, to place yourselves in during this time of struggle for everyone. i still want to do that, but i’m not in a good place mentally to do so, and my health will always take priority over my writing.

i see each of my notifications, regardless if it is someone liking a post or reblogging a fic or tagging me in a follow forever. i check every one of them because they matter to me; you guys matter to me in a very special way. each notification is a person, someone somewhere around the world who has been touched by the content i put on this blog. that is something to be celebrated. each note is a person who has felt a certain way because of something i said or wrote or commented on. this to be said, i feel very guilty when i can’t deliver on something i promised, that people were looking forward to, and i deeply regret that i have not yet finished a series for all of my two years on this blog. i haven’t been able to deliver on those promises, and it eats away at me; then i get writer’s block and we’re back where we started.

this leads into my next point. verses and vibes will not be finished on time; in all honesty, i’m not sure if i will finish it at all. perhaps i will push it back a few months to allow myself a breather, to work on other content that is more spur-of-the-moment. i always want to give you guys the most authentic version of myself along with the most authentic fics that come from a place in my heart, works i have an emotional stake in. i will always hold myself to that; unfortunately, that means my original promise from months ago may change because i myself have changed. i want to finish v&v; it’s a series i’m proud of and one that has helped me grow as a writer. i as an author want to see it through, but i need to decide what will be best for me as a person. 

on the idea of authenticity comes another concept i’ve been grappling with. my relationship with bts has changed; something i have been trying to ignore for months now, hoping it was where i was at in life and i just didn’t have enough time to follow them. i don’t believe that’s the case anymore. love yourself era was exactly what i needed to hear at that point in my life, a journey i followed with them because i had nothing to lose and nowhere else to turn. the ship sailed and i was on board, but when we came back to port, i stepped off to get some refreshments and it seems to have sailed off without me. i feel like i’ve been left behind somehow― like everybody else learned to love themselves but here i am in my little corner, still struggling to do so. something happened between the summer and the start of school; i think it was their hiatus that really deepened that divide. they needed it, god; they work so hard for us. but it split something in me, and i’m not quite sure if i can get that thing back. i’m telling myself that this feeling is short-term, that they are the same guys i’ve seen in concert four times in two years; that they’re just a hop, skip, and jump across the world and they have their days, too. i’m not so sure if what i’m telling myself is the truth.

if i come to a point where i realize, okay, i don’t want to pursue this anymore; this chapter of my life can end, i will stop writing for bts. however, unless something dramatic happens, i will not deactivate this blog. readers, i want you to continue to have access to my content if it is something you enjoy and something that brings you comfort. i will also stay on tumblr, but simply move to a new blog that is more focused on the other groups i follow (svt/ab6ix). i will also take my current ideas/wips and tailor them for seventeen, writing for ot13 full-time. this is a long-term plan; i don’t expect this to happen immediately, but i want to lay this out for you now so you have an idea of what is in my future. i will obviously post updates about this when it happens and give forewarning so you can find me wherever i end up. editor’s note: i am not moving blogs right now. this is just an idea of what may happen in the future.

this has been on my mind for many months, but i haven’t felt ready to sit down and confront it until now. please be assured, friend, that i haven’t been forced to post any fics that i haven’t wanted to. i genuinely enjoy writing for you and sharing my works with you; merely, i want to make sure that what i’m giving you is from my heart in every way possible. i will always live out my truth unapologetically (curse my aries ass).

this letter is a long but necessary one. it feels so good to finally speak about this after pondering it for so long, wondering if it was right to put it all out there. thank you for reading it, for sticking in there till the end. i won’t be gone for long. stay healthy and stay safe, friend.

all my love,

callisto

#hiatus notice #callisto.doc #personal

[lblwlw]

Hello!

First post here, but I have a long history with tumblr. Tumblr has always sort of been a place for me to escape because few of my friends ever had my URL/followed me. This time it’s a little more important.  

CW: Brief mentions of sexual occurrences with men, brief talk of depression, nothing too serious or graphic

TLDR; I’ve suppressed my gayness on accident for basically my whole life, identified as bi, married a man, realized I’m gay, am now figuring out my life.

Warning, this is a LONG post.

I have always been been fascinated with sexuality, more specifically same sex relationships. I was always interested in the idea of being in a same sex relationship but told myself, “no, that’s not me”. Eventually in middle school I played with the idea of being bisexual when I learned what that meant. I said, perfect. I can tell my internet friends I like girls, too, but I won’t have to tell anyone else and I can just worry about boys then at school and for my parents. I had a few crushes on boys, but the thought of actually dating them terrified me and so I very rarely did more than think about them a lot and just tell my friends that I was “too ugly” or whatever else, or “too awkward.” What they didn’t know was that through MySpace I met a girl and had a huge crush on her. We talked a lot and we said we were dating. I never really told anyone. That eventually fizzled out. 

Over time I got bullied a couple times because classmates found my MySpace and found that I identified as bi. I quickly learned it was something I didn’t want to talk about. I dealt with a lot of anxiety and depression throughout all of school. In high school I steadily crushed on one boy almost all four years, but looking back I think I really just enjoyed and wanted to be his friend. Or I just kind of picked him as the one I liked the most so I had a crush to be a normal girl. I dated two boys the entirety of high school, the first one I broke up with because once he finally asked me out (after I “liked him”) and we did relationship things, like kissing, I was not all about it. It didn’t feel right. I thought, maybe I just didn’t like him. Next boyfriend, I wasn’t entirely objected to kissing him but it wasn’t my favorite. It got more frustrating when he wanted to do more. I wasn’t so opposed to him touching me, but when it came to touching him I was like “this ain’t it”. I stayed with him anyway, hoping I would “get over it” until he broke up with me. I wonder now if he could tell I wasn’t into it.

There was actually a time in which I thought, maybe I should date girls? One of my friends was dating a girl, and I thought that was wonderful. I went to her to tell her that I had been thinking maybe I’d rather date girls. I totally blocked this conversation out of my head until recently.

Once I was done with high school I was discouraged but tried to date a few different guys. None of them went that fantastically. If I met them online, I usually came up with a reason we couldn’t meet. “Maybe this just won’t work” It was fun to talk and flirt but when it came down to bringing it into real life I’d panic because that meant kissing a guy again, and possibly having sex. It made me totally uncomfortable. Finally I said, “I wish I was just into girls, ugh.” Remembered that I was, and that I should try it finally. I matched with this sweet girl that was about a year younger than me. She seemed so put together and so kind. We went on a few dates, getting ramen, fancy cupcakes, riding on a trolly in the city, etc. I remember when I got to kiss her in public and I was SO pumped to be seen doing that! Another time, I believe I drove her home but we parked away from her house and made out in my car. I still remember so much of it vividly. 

Eventually I realized that if I was seriously dating her, she would want it to be known. I’d have to face my fears and tell my family. For some reason, this absolutely terrified me. It shouldn’t have but it did. I thought through my options, and decided I should just find a nice guy that will love me and spend my life with me so I don’t have to do this anymore. I did the unspeakable act of basically just ghosting her and pursued a guy from work who, realistically, kind of freaked me out. Thanks to good old compulsive heterosexuality, I read this as my attraction to him. Thankfully, he was pretty easily attracted to me. I recall early in the relationship wishing I hadn’t done that awful thing to that girl, and that I wish I was still dating a girl. Nothing was technically wrong with my relationship that I had now, but something felt off. Like I was missing something. I tucked that away somewhere in my head and enjoyed building an amazing friendship with this man. I did love him, and I still do. He’s kind, he’s sensitive, we have a lot of shared interests and he’s taught me so much intentionally and unintentionally. 

We got married last year and while I felt grateful I had this amazing person beside me, I remember a part of me wondering if this was right for me. I had this weird little empty pocket somewhere in my heart. That I had given up my young adulthood maybe, and that I could have experienced being with... a woman, for real. I thought, I wish I could have met my husband later in life, maybe. Maybe then I’d have gotten my desires for women out of the way and then been with him forever. Because I do love him, he’s a good person and deserves to be loved. I enjoyed the wedding as a big party that I got to have with my family, but I just remember wondering where that extreme excitement was that everyone always described. Was I broken?

Now over a year later, I was sitting at home one day feeling lost and depressed. I had been on TikTok and saw all these young people having fun and I wished that I had spent more time trying to have fun in the past, before I got married. I thought, I could do it now, but what if something happened and I somehow I fell for one of these girls while being with my husband? Wait... why would I even think that? I started to really analyze this thought. I thought, if I was bi like I had always identified, why could I not be happy with my husband? Well, I was, but something was missing. This thought popped into my head: Oh no. What if I am gay? 

What?! Why would I think that? That’s crazy. I would have known as a kid like everyone says. Right? That’s how that works. I chalked this up to feeling like I was missing out and tried to stop thinking about it. It was hard not to, though. And so I googled one morning while out listening to the birds, after escaping bed before my husband rose to avoid his intimacy: “lesbian married to a man”

This article came up about a woman who had been married to a man for many years and they had kids. She started to question herself, and her attraction to him. I don’t remember all of it but I remember getting really uncomfortable but also having this weird sense of calm. That finally, I felt like I identified with something. I wasn’t really sure though. I sent a message to the lady who wrote the article. She replied a week later telling me that she had a podcast called Lesbian Chronicles. I said, okay, I need to listen to this. I listened to about two episodes or so when they mentioned this thing called “The Master Doc” and the reddit sub called Late Bloomer Lesbians. I was like “Holy crap, a community??”

I logged onto reddit for the first time ever. I saw all these women posting in similar situations to me. I found “The Master Doc” and “Straight women don’t say...”

It was like a light bulb went off. Oh my god, everything makes sense! Maybe I’m NOT broken! I remembered all the women that I had crushes on. All the times I thought about women but told myself I was just “weird” and tried not to think about it. I always thought, no I can’t be gay because I wasn’t sure of it as a kid. Now I realized that women especially are fed a straight narrative. It’s “normal” to not be attracted to men the way they are to you. It’s normal to not totally enjoy sex with men... When I learned that we’ve been told this, and it isn’t really true... I wanted to cry. Now I was in the biggest “pickle” ever. I have this man who loves me, who I said vows to swearing I loved him the same forever. Did I just accept who I was and what I did and live with it? Did I break up with him? That seemed to harsh. I heard a lot of women in the same position say they spoke to a therapist. I immediately googled therapists in my area that specialized in LGBTQ+ issues, sent an email ASAP, and felt a little bit of relief. I knew this was real because after years of playing with the idea of seeing a therapist, this came so naturally when I needed help with this.

Now I am here. I feel very confident that I am gay, and my dad knows now. I tried to bring it up with my husband but it didn’t go very well. He currently thinks that maybe I’m just a sad bisexual who hasn’t been able to express her bi-ness. I am at a point a conversation needs to happen again. I told myself when my lesbian flag and pin came in the mail, I would talk to him again. It’s being delivered today. I am terrified, to say the least. It feels so wrong to “betray” this man who has dedicated to much time and work to giving us as good a life as he can. But I need to live my truth. It will come. I’m low-key excited for it. I hope maybe this helps someone going through the same thing.

-Anonymous Married Lesbian

#lesbian #married to a man #wlw #late blooming lesbian #late bloomer #gay #pride

[asagimeta]

I have alot of complaints about the ending of “Dexter” but I think what I’m most baffled by (besides the entire last ten minutes) is how terribly the narrative beats were missed in that finale`

To be completely fair, alot of the arguing about the finale’ (although by far not all of it) comes down to personal taste- do you think Dexter deserved a happy ending or a bleak one? Do you think Deb’s death fell in line with the narration or do you think she was fridged? That sort of thing, but one of the things that I think really failed from a writing perspective is the circumstances that lead to Deb’s death, specifically: Dexter let someone go and that got his sister killed.... and he did nothing with that

In my opinion, there are two ways the story could have gone to pull together one of the overarching themes of Dexter, wich was “Nature vs Nurture” and how much that actually plays into someone’s psyche

One of the first things we’re introduced to is this statement that slowly becomes a question over the course of the series: “This is who I am” and that slowly becomes “Is this who I am?”

We start the series with Dexter being very firm in his idea of himself- “I’m a killer, that’s who I am, that’s who I have to be, I’ll never get away from this”

But over the course of the series we see that being called into question more and more, we see that Dexter may not actually have to be a killer at all, merely that he was told he was and so that was what he believed, we’re lead to the question, “Would he really have become a killer if he hadn’t been told he was one?” Is this his nature or was he nurtured into this?

And this is something that’s held until the very end of the series when Dexter finally comes to find peace and say “I don’t have to be a killer after all”

This is the journey, this is the purpose of the story

The story began when this statement started to become a question and it ended when that question was answered

...Except..... it didn’t....

The moment Dexter made that realization should have been the moment that either lead to his freedom or his confinement- and I’m not talking about prison, I’m talking about mentally, he either should have been freed from his dark passenger (the killer was arrested, all was well, he sees he made the right choice) or he should have been resigned once and for all to having this burden for the rest of his life (Deb does get killed and he realizes, as he drags the killer off to a plastic room, that even if he doesn’t have a “dark passenger”, this is still something he’s inescapably fated to do, because circumstances keep putting him in this position and the one time he tries to avoid it things crumble worse than ever, he can no longer say it’s his dark passenger forcing him to kill, but now lives with the uncomfortable truth that he feels like it’s his mission to kill, wich still could have served for some bleakness in it’s own right)

But instead of forcing that pendulum to swing in either direction, we got something so messy out of it

What are we to derive from this, in terms of our series-long question being answered? “Killing isn’t wrong because when you choose mercy/choose the right path your loved one will pay the price in blood”? “These circumstances may lead you to feel like you’re stuck with this compulsion, but you’re not, but it’s ok to follow it anyway because if you don’t you’ll suffer worse, but also don’t make a habit of it”? “Life sucks, goodbye”?

The purpose of Rita’s death narratively (IE: besides going “We wrote ourselves into a corner and need to get rid of some charectors to free up Dexter for more killing”) was to show Dexter the consequences of pursuing a kill over caring for his family, the consequences of catering to his “dark passenger” instead of being more responsible and catering to the people around him, the consequences of giving in to his addiction despite all other options being much safer

Dexter had the choice then between killing or giving up the kill to be with his family and insure their safety, he chose wrong and Rita paid for it

But this time Dexter made the right choice, he chose to do things the right way, give up the killer to the police and choose his family over his addiction (wich he realizes in that moment that he doesn’t have anymore) and yet he STILL gets punished for it??

This is a true “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” situation as what should have been a perfect juxtaposition to Rita turned into.... just another fridged female....

And ok, even if Deb’s death was “necessary” for some reason or another, there’s still a very easy way to tie that back into the overall narrative question- simply, that Dexter can’t get away from this lot in life, no matter if he has the addiction or not, it’s his “nature” (in terms of “this is what nature deals to him”) that he has to be involved in this, so for a bleaker ending, show that, show him resigning himself to that fate and continuing killing because he feels stuck in this endless, inescapable loop, that he’ll never again try to get out of, that still would have worked because it would have stuck with the narrative that began in the very first episode when he referred to killing as something he had to do in the first place

One of the things I love about Dexter is that each season has always been very tightly put together, there’s a very clear streamline of events that has meaningfull impact on the charectors and the overall story, nothing really seems like an accident because there’s this narrative domino effect and each domino that falls makes perfect sense in coordination with the one before it and the one after it, and season eight lacks that in some aspects, but especially in the final two episodes, it feels rushed and sloppy rather than narratively tight and well-rounded

Like I said, I have alot of complaints about the finale`, but this is definitely one of the ones that comes down alot less to arguable personal taste and alot more to wondering what the writers were thinking, why waste that entire eight season journey of that one question to ultimately end up at an answer that’s just “*shrug* idk”?

#Dexter #remember the monsters? #dexter 8x12

[theorynexus]

Fifty and Four sends us cresting over the hill, if we weren’t already. How long until we hit the bottom?

Oh ho? Jane’s perspective again, huh?  ‘t’s been a while.

EEEHHHH?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!   Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, that is not good!

Rrrrgh, she does not need to be building up a habit like that!    The consequences of such use are far too severe and unpredictable, even if you don’t consider the potential negatives to one’s psychological health. >.< Gosh... even with her Life aspect probably protecting her a little bit from its sugary after-effects, reading that makes me feel sick.  > ~~~ <

Figures that a Cherub would be biased in favor of it. At least Alt!Calliope is willing distance herself and try to be objective, though.

***giggles uncontrollably, even though this honestly shouldn’t be funny***

Very politically-minded, but it also sortof sounds like the excuse-making that an addict would engage in, so I am not convinced that this is a legitimate argument.  Yeah, shoring up your base is important, but doing something that could strongly alienate swing voters is not necessarily wise, either.  I suspect she knows this too, but is in denial about the fact of the matter, because she enjoys the benefits of Trickster Mode too much. It is quite interesting that the human kingdom’s subjects appreciate it so much~

HAAAAA. Oh my fricking gosh, Alt!Calliope is a Cherub Supremacist! XD  

(Sortof makes sense, based on the mindsets that were described in Aranea’s [?] talk about the Cherubs’ origins, though. Might be biologically-driven, honestly.) Also, it’s quite interesting to see Jane interacting with Alt!Calliope like that, but it is hardly unique or overly-noteworthy, all things considered... at least, most likely. Quite a few other characters have responded to narration in a similar manner.

... Honestly, I was about to freak out about the Juju getting covered in dirt and grime, but the way she tossed away probably significant keepsakes, trophies, or the like for the sake of honoring it is... quite disturbing, and speaks to a danger in her presumably worsening compulsion/habit.  Though they might just be cookies.

Dirk displays surprising wisdom/good judgment, here, and amusingly alludes to the fact that his voice is being otherwise suppressed.   His actually talking in a scene represents a nice sort of loophole, but not one by which he can utilize such control as he would otherwise be capable.    ... And yes, her burning out is a very legitimate concern, which speaks to the fact that Dirk definitely+legitimately cares about the things that serve his purposes and/or agendas. They, he is willing to more gently guard, comparatively, it would seem.

It feels like this is a reference to something, probably from the 1980s or early 90s, but I can’t place my finger on it. Oh well.

This is very amusing, honestly.

Deeeeeerp.      (Yet another example of why it is difficult to take his attempt at super-godhood seriously... or at least find it anything better than dreadful.  Dirk is great at juggling many things at once, but not as great as he’d need to be. )

Oh, and I appreciate Jane’s concern for Dirk.  She is indeed correct in saying that he is usually much better at it than my previous comment might have suggested. But I am not entirely being unfair, insofar as this is true: the greater the responsibility one wields, the greater the level of competence one must have in order to pass proper muster.  He was failing in his attempt. I didn’t really give him all that much of a chance to sway me, honestly, but my own demeanor in dealing with him had nothing to do with the actual quality of his work.

This must be really concerning to Jane.  And... honestly, yes he is. They are very, very similar. Dirk is just more obvious with his intelligence, more controlled, and more mature. They are both highly ambitious, crave challenges, enjoy art, have quite a bit of masculine pride, and have a shared appreciation for irony, riddles, and absurdist humor.     Caliborn was likely very, very influenced by Dirk in particular, both of them received Yaldabaoth as their Denizen due to their personality and prowess, and both of them are highly manipulative men of questionable morality.   Also, their sexual interests seem to be somewhat similar, but that is a debatable matter. Lord English has Lil’ Hal integrated as part of his soul, Lil’ Cal has played a profound part in both of their (multiple) life cycles.  Finally:  as of the Epilogue and his attempted control of the narrative seen therein, Dirk essentially has pursued the same goal that LE did: domination of Paradox Space through his will controlling the natural flow of events. Dirk and Caliborn are in truth extremely alike.

I do so very much like where this is going. It would seem that we will soon find out precisely what Dirk is planning. “Diminishes and ascends” has an interesting ring to it, as well.  That red rifle:  Is it the one that launches portals? Honestly, Dirk is indeed quite clever, by the way. He has the seeds of great potential.  It’s simply that it has not fully bloomed, yet, and he is a little bit overly full of himself, and arrogant in what he believes he can do.  And yes, he is indeed temperamental when people interfere with his plans, it seems.

There’s the scheming politician we’ve all been waiting for. Way to go, thinking in such calculated manners and considering backstabbing ones you care about, Jane. Somewhat petty, and certainly rather dangerous, all things considered (things are a bit more explosive, where gods are involved), but closer to the political ideal which I would hope for if she were to be portrayed as competent. (Of course, I am actually disgusted with that sort of behavior. It’s one of the things I dislike about politics. I’ll recognize that it at least paints her in a slightly better light than the previous samplings of her thought process and tactical capacity has; thus, I generally like and dislike where this is going.)

Yep. Angelic purity with sexual potency/desire. There has always been this sort of tension in Hope’s nature. Just like the fact that angels are, in Biblical texts, both symbols of terror and destruction as well as hope and salvation. All (almost all?) the important positive interactions with heavenly beings start with fear on the part of mortals, followed by a “Fear not!” to suggest they come in peace. Otherwise, they come bringing judgment and wrath, and thus don’t tend to bother much with formalities.

Is that sarcasm, Jane?  If not, there’s certainly a heavy layer of irony. Do remember what just happened with Jane when she invited Jape Jake over for a friendly visit, not too long ago, my good audience members.

...   ***twitches, and tries very hard to hold in the inappropriate laughter***

If only I had someone so dependable to tell me when I was not dwelling far enough into the land of Always Woke.   Perhaps then I would be able to avoid the inevitable scandals that would result from Foot-in-the-Mouth-itis. Oh, wait, no politician can avoid being attacked for various probably minor accidents on their part as the populace naturally over-reacts to what honestly may not actually reflect their character so much as them being accident prone or ignorant?  What’s that about manipulation of audio/video recordings for the sake of generating useful sound bites that might be used in an attempt to impugn the honor of any prospective candidate?  Oh. I see. Thank you for that important bit of knowledge that I otherwise might not have had access to, imaginary adviser.  (Note:  I do not actually believe that one should try to be as careful as possible with regards to what one says; nor that one should ignore or scorn important social issues. I am utilizing exaggeration and mockery for the sake of comedy.) ... Alt!Calliope’s description of Dirk holding the rifle is quite elegant and beautiful.

This is indeed a beautiful irony, seeing the situation with regards to Dirk and Alt!Calliope’s tendencies toward bias being reversed.  

***snickers***   Magnifique. 

It is strange to see Alt!Calliope teasing and egging him on. It may be unintentional. Hard to say.

#Homestuck Epilogue #Political Theory #Homestuck Spoilers #Homestuck Liveblog #The Lollipop Juju #I can't believe all my previous taggings of that Juju were spelled incorrectly #apparently. #Is that how the suggested tag function works? #Jane Crocker #Dirk Strider #Alt!Calliope #Alt Calliope #Alternate Calliope #Irony #Juju #The Ultimate Juju #Strategy #Political Strategy #Swing Voter Alienation #Swing Voters #Trickster Mode

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapters 214 & 215: the escape on ice and the cat came back.

This week’s summary will be a combined meta of chapters 214 and 215.  I find this easier for me to approach since, not a whole lot actually happened in 214 and then too much information was crammed in 215.  Chapter 214 starts off with Sugimoto and Asirpa trying to figure out how to escape from the Japanese naval vessel.  This sets up a stand off between the destroyer vs the ferry.

This chapter starts with an action panel and not the title page where passengers on the ferry noticed the warning shot from the vessel.  Tsurumi is right behind Koito Sr. who is ordering his men to use the signal lights to tell the ferry to stop so that they can approach.

Koito Sr. doesn’t look very happy and Tsurumi is literally stuck to his back looking devious as usual.  We have no information about the status of Koito, instead all the readers get is a very stern looking Admiral Koito.

The title page then reveals that Sugimoto with his rifle in hand, is threatening the ferry captain to keep the ship going with Asirpa stoically behind him as he explains that the military is looking for her.

I’m disappointed that again, Sugimoto is using the threat of violence to get what they want, but this is pretty much par for the course for Sugimoto.  He insists that they can keep going b/c Asirpa is too important and she needs to be taken alive.

Honestly, the entire escape in my person opinion takes up too many pages,  they order the ferry captain to keep pushing forward, they take advantage of the shifting nature of the drift ice when the naval vessel breaks up some of the ice by firing their guns.  They escape to the other side and the drift ice then slows down the naval vessel unable to icebreak by shifting to block their path.  Shiraishi and Sugimoto are excited by the delay in the military’s pursuit.

Honestly, they are lucky, but this is GK and the role of the drift ice is harking back to the escape of Sofia with Kiro, Shiraishi, Asirpa and Ogata.  Asirpa is quick to take advantage of the situation.  In that instance they were able to escape by looking like Nivhk fisherman.  This time Asirpa realizes that they need to blend into the ice and disappear.

They grab bed sheets from rooms on the ferry and use the cloth to wrap themselves up.  This also directly relates to Ogata, who has concealed his appearance with his large cloak and this is likely a historical nod to Simo Hiyha who ate snow and had a large white cloak to conceal his location.  

The ferry stays stopped by the drift ice briefly and then heads back to meet up with the destroyer.  Tsurumi’s team interrograte the ferry captain and crew who explain that they got off of the ship.  Kikuta shows that he is a quick and clever man as he calls out the captain to be lying to them as he observed that all of the lifeboats are still present on the boat.  Kikuta doesn’t do much this chapter but we get another glimpse into how his mind works and that he is quick-witted and logical.

They begin to search the ship.  They don’t find them and Tsurumi, Usami and Kikuta discuss options.  Usami is ready to hop off the ship to pursue them, but Tsurumi stops him based on the sniping skill of Vasily.  Kikuta still thinks that they are on the boat and thinks the crew is lying.  Interestingly, the captain is telling the truth - they hopped off the ferry and walked off onto the drift ice.

This discussion shows that Tsurumi’s men appear a bit divided and that Kikuta and Usami are polar opposites when it comes to action.  They also have to take Koito Sr.’s opinion into account - that if they stay with the ferry much longer both boats will become stuck in the drift ice.  Tsurumi is pulled in three different directions and he comes to a compromise, men from the 27th will stay on the ferry and search it to make for sure that Sugimoto and Asirpa aren’t hiding and it also allows for the boats to not get trapped in the ice.

Tsurumi also stops Usami’s compulsive need to chase, pointing out that they have a sniper with them.  Usami in a bright blue uniform would be a great target and he doesn’t want to lose him.  He then includes Tsukishima’s information that it must be Vasily, a Russian deserter - he doesn’t go into more details that Vasily is hunting Ogata . . .

As the group walks along the drift ice, they are repeating the same escape from Akou to Russia - Asirpa and Shiraishi are the same, Sugimoto is their default leader and they have a Russian sniper that they can’t even communicate with. . . .

As the group relaxes as the ferry and destroyer move away to avoid being trapped in the ice, they continue to trek along the ice and as expected start to discuss food.

Asirpa gives Sugimoto instructions to look for seals as she’s thinking big game food while Shiraishi notices the cute little clione.  This leads to the second mention of Girls’ World by Sugimoto.  He is able to identify them based on reading about them in the magazine.  This implies that he’s read more than one issue of this magazine . . .

I’m really curious where Sugimoto is getting his copies of these magazines - he first referenced it in regards to Joan of Arc with Wilk at Abashiri and now on the drift ice as well.  Both times the Girls’ World is linked to Asirpa - is this a subconscious link in Sugimoto’s mind that Asirpa is a girl and that adds into his need to protect her and keep her pure. . .

The chapter then ends with them being pursued by a white colored bear - it could be a polar bear or a white colored bear.  Since it is stalking them along the ice in 215 - I’m inclined to think it is a displaced polar bear.  That type of behavior is typical polar bear.

The chapter 215 title page is a reference to “The Dog of Flanders” in Japanese (thanks EHS scans) and I did not get it personally.  Instead, I saw it as Asirpa and clione on ice as though they are in a pairs figure skating team.

The chapter starts with Shiraishi trying to eat a clione.  Of course it tastes terrible and he spits it out though he was proper enough to try to eat it with chopsticks.  The group then realizes that since the ferry and destroyer have left, they will likely try to beat them to Wakkanai and they will have to take a longer route to get there on foot on the drift ice.

Tsurumi with Usami and Kikuta then discuss what to do next.  Usami unsurprisingly, suggests threatening Asirpa’s family.  This leads to Kikuta and Usami bickering about how to threaten someone - Kikuta points out it only works when the threatened party needs to be with them.  Usami wants to place an obituary in the newspaper and the entire time Tsurumi is watching their argument through the corner of his eyes.

Kikuta then explains that the quest for the gold allows them to be more morally loose, but that involvement of civilians is right out.  He’s opposed to killing Huci.  Tsurumi silently watches him, I wonder if Tsurumi is feeling that bringing KIkuta back into action may be a mistake.

This again shows us more about Kikuta’s personality - that he’s similar to Ogata and against killing civilians and grandmas.  I think we will start to see more similarities between Ogata and Kikuta.  This was shown with how he fought against the blind bandits and how he counted the lifeboats on the ferry and immediately came to a conclusion.

Usami then states that they don’t have to kill Huci, just create a fake news notice to show their true intent.  Based on what we’ve seen with Usami to date, this seems like he’s saying things to appease Kikuta.

Tsurumi wonders if Asirpa shows any doubt, that threatening her may help them out.  Asirpa then is speaking aloud to her group that their current actions were their only choice.  Tsurumi isn’t in it to help the Ainu and the Ainu collected the gold for themselves and they need to prevent it falling into Tsurumi’s hands.  She of course defers to Sugimoto to affirm her statement.  This leads into Sugimoto tell her that Shiraishi was around to overhear part of the conversation between Koito and Tsukishima about Tsurumi’s return.

This means their private conversation - it wasn’t private.  Shiraishi was able to explain that he didn’t understand everything - he doesn’t know the kidnapping background and he wouldn’t understand the context of the tension between Koito and Tsukishima.  What he was able to comprehend were Tsurumi’s plans to move onto Manchuria, by this point in the conversation Tsukishima was describing the next step with Tsurumi.  It is unclear if he overheard their mention of Ogata and the fact that Tsukishima mentioned him killing Hanazawa.

What Sugimoto has finally realized is that Tsurumi is not going to aid with Ainu rights and independence, he’s at least aware of the fact that there were Ainu in the 7th fighting against Russia.

Shiraishi really takes the lead on this aspect of the conversation.  I love the fact that Shiraishi is the one explaining the position of the Ainu in the 7th.  It shows again that he’s thought deeply about Kiro’s motivations for the gold.  Shiraishi is glad that the 27th didn’t get Asirpa since if she were handed over, Kiro’s death would have been meaningless.  He died protecting her and with the intention that she will carry on the fight for the native peoples and the gold.  Shiraishi has had the time to think about and try to rationalize Kiro’s death. 

Asirpa is the one to then ask why Kiro fought for the Ainu since he wasn’t an Ainu or Japanese person.  There is so much going on here - Asirpa is both respecting Kiro by saying Kiroranke-nispa as an Ainu but othering him, since she now knows he’s mainly a Tatar.  She’s trying to rationalize his involvement in the quest for the gold.

Shiraishi and Sugimoto are able to piece together that Kiro had to become a registered Ainu when he got married - based on his questionable background when he got drafted for the war, he couldn’t say no or refuse.  By that point in time they think he had fallen out with Wilk and was on his own trying to determine how to uphold his partisan goals.

I find it interesting that as Shiraishi is guessing at Kiro’s rationale and thought process he’s not only physically stressed out, sweating with a flushed face a blush over his nose and cheeks and puffs of breath around him in the cold.  I think Kiro still stirs up a lot of emotion in Shiraishi. 

This then shows a flashback image of Kiro, in a uniform as he guesses that Kiro verbalizes how he can fight back against the Russians as an Ainu in the Japanese army.  Asirpa looks thoughtful and firm as she is lightly shaded upon hearing this and puffs of breath around her with also flushed cheeks as well.

This then ends with a very severe looking Sugimoto inner monologue - that he thinks going off to war and fighting to the death is quick and simple. Oh this is such a Sugimoto statement - he tells himself that what he did in the war was simple.  Kiro and Sugimoto going off to war aren’t equivalent.  Kiro already had fought and killed others as a partisan - I don’t think him going off to war was seen as simple by Kiro, he already knows the toll such actions take on one and he likely did it in part to protect his wife and children.  He served in the war but based on how he looked in the trenches as a sapper - I don’t think Kiro saw this as an easy and straightforward way to get back at the Russians.

Chapter 162 shows him improving explosives technology but Kiro doesn’t look happy at this . . . he’s always looked guilty to me.

He’s cradling the grenade in his hands, yet we still see a light in his eyes, he’s a torn man.  Kiro was torn between protecting his family, the indigenous peoples of the region and fighting back at the Russian empire.

But Sugimoto wants to simplify Kiro as he has simplified himself and his own actions in the war.  Shiraishi definitely has not simplified his view of Kiro but Sugimoto needs to do that to keep his own actions on the same level as Kiro.

This ends with Sugimoto thinking that Asirpa’s path as much more difficult as she is trying to succeed in the quest for the gold but not using this “simplistic” method of simply killing those you are fighting.

The action then shifts to a very tired and stressed out looking Tsukishima back in Odomari approaching the unknown member of the 27th that was sniped by Vasily.  He goes to retrieve from the ice and asks the locals to help him out.  As he removes the mans winter coat he is shocked, but his face is partially shaded by his military cap.

Tsukishima has stress lines under his eyes.  We get no information about the status of Koito - Tsukishima has left him.  Is he now in the care of a doctor or medic?  What happened to him?  Tsukishima stayed behind with him against Kikuta and by extension, Tsurumi’s orders.

What is key is that him staying behind helps to reveal a major plot point.  That the dead solider has been stripped of his uniform and his kit and his type 38 rifle.

A kid reveals to Tsukishima that there was a “guy” who was there.  The black border indicates that this is a flashback that happened after Vasily shot the man but after the ferry had departed.  The shaded man with the information about the location of the ferry, immediately concludes this was done by a sniper.  He then proceeds to remove the dead man’s clothing.

The man states that a dead man has no use for his clothing and it shows him reaching down for a type 38 rifle.

And then boom - the big reveal on his identity.  It is Ogata.  He’s dressed like a Russian peasant, he’s got a fresh bandage over his eye, he’s wearing his military cloak and he’s wearing clean but well worn clothing.  There is so much going on in this single full page panel.

He’s wearing common yet not very durable Russian shoes as pointed out by Noda for reader context on twitter.  That they are lapti and they are easy to make but not good long term shoes.  He has cloth wrapped around his calves likely to protect his lower legs and keep them warming in lieu of boots and spats.  He has pants with a visible patched section on the left side but they appear pretty clean yet old.  He’s also wearing a tunic which again is fairly well fitted to him but again looking well worn.  His face is clean and he doesn’t look as rough as he was with the group before he escaped.  We can’t see his lips but they do not look as rough and chapped as they were before. 

He has taken the backpack and mess kit from the dead man, as well has his belt, pouches and bayonet.  Most importantly, he’s examining the rifle, with a reversed handedness in his handling. He’s now using his right hand to hold the barrel of the rifle and his left hand is at the trigger as he looks down the rifle with his left eye.  This indicates that Ogata is going to use this rifle left-handed and with only one eye. 

Looks like he’s going for the historical French Canadian sniper Leo Major style in the future, a man who lost sight in his left eye and was able to fire a rifle with little effort with only one eye.

Lastly, there is what he tells the random kid.  That the rifle still has life in it to still be used as a firearm to shoot.  He believes that the rifle would like to be used to shoot people until it breaks.

Okay, this is a translation of the Japanese so of course we as readers lose some of the nuances, but this is a very interesting statement.

He doesn’t say that he directly wants to shoot and kill people - instead he states that since it is a functional rifle, it will want to be used to shoot people until it can no longer physically can. 

Several things come to my mind on such an oddly worded statement. 

i.) it indicates that Ogata is willing to pursue his unknown goal until the gun breaks and therefore, until he breaks as well.  It is as though Ogata is going to continue on his personal quest until he dies trying.  This is a man who was willing to throw away his life during his showdown with Asirpa on the ice; who then had to escape from them in Akou showing a new will to live and fight, to now he’s willing to fight for his goal to until he can’t.

ii.) he uses the term that the gun would like to shoot people but he doesn’t use the word kill.  This is such an odd word choice,  it indicates that Ogata is willing to use the rifle, and using a rifle implies that he will have to shoot people but it is unclear if he will kill people.  In some ways this is in line with Ogata’s style - he doesn’t always shoot to kill as he’s demonstrated in the past so perhaps this isn’t too shocking.

Another thing is that Ogata’s Russian peasant outfit harks back to another Japanese character wearing Russian clothing.  Tsurumi as Hasegawa.  In the flashback about Hasegawa’s photo studio, he has slightly fancier clothing but looks like a standard Russian peasant not a Japanese man wearing Western style dress.  He has the tunic top with a belt and pants when he introduces himself to Wilk, Kiro and Sofia.

When he is tutoring them, he’s wearing the same outfit and the lapti shoes inside of his house here with Olga.  In contrast both Wilk and Kiro are wearing more Western style clothing compared to Hasegawa [Tsurumi].  Wilk is in a full suit and Kiro has a vest and pants more Western than Russian in style.

Noda never wastes his visual ties in this manga.  Having Ogata dressed very similarly to Tsurumi as a spy has to mean something.  What does this mean?  That Ogata used his previous skills as a Russian speaking subordinate of Tsurumi in 1902 to hide in plain sight? 

In both instances, Hasegawa and Ogata are shown in light colored clothing.  Wilk, Kiro and Sofia all have dark color clothing, likely an indication of their past and present as partisans who had killed many during their fight.  Is this before Tsurumi killed anyone or descended into a role as a commander who lead to others deaths wearing his dark colored uniform we first see on him when he appears in the manga?

Ogata was first introduced wearing a uniform - a dark blue and at a point when he had killed many in the war and as someone working for Tsurumi.  Why the shift to light colored peasant clothing? The last person he killed was Ilya - so that they could escape from the border guards and he only wounded Vasily not kill him.  He only wounded the Russian doctor and kicked Koito, and didn’t kill him.

I can’t help but think that Ogata’s change of his clothing color with his re-appearance must mean something.  Does this tie into his statement that the gun would like to shoot people, but perhaps not kill people?

I’ll get back to this at the end.  Now back to the rest of the chapter, which is why I feel like the pacing is off for 214 and 215.

Sugimoto then asks Asirpa if she knows that the code is and that she figured it out based on her whispering to Kiro as he died.  This now gives us the answer to Sugimoto and Asirpa’s conversation after the film at the theatre.  She never told him and they never resolved things during the argument.

This shows that Asirpa, despite her faith and trust in Sugimoto, is keeping the code from him just like she kept it from Ogata.  He ignored Tsukishima’s conversation with him that Ogata had figured out that Asirpa knew the code.  It takes Sugimoto only now discussing Kiro with Shiraishi and Asirpa that she knows the code.

With great hesitation she has a moment of realization and thinks about her father before she pauses before saying “yes.” where it looks like the bear has stopped and is responding to her yes.  Sugimoto looks shocked - he didn’t believe Tsukishima because he is so sure of himself and his relationship with Asirpa that she should have told him by this point.  Why wouldn’t she? He’s Sugimoto!?!?!

We see a sweat drop on Sugimoto’s face, stress lines under wide open eyes, lots of sparkle in his eyes and he thinks “wait, really?”  He’s hurt and immediately pushes on to know what it is.  She begins to start . . . but he cuts her off and looks at her like a protective big brother.  He reassures her that he’ll trust her to tell him the code when the time is right.

Asirpa then begins a long internal monologue over the next few pages.  I’d like to analyze it in greater depth but I need more time to think it over and I’d like to revisit it in a meta later on.  For now, I just have a quick reaction to this.

Asirpa rationalizes that it is not the right time to give Sugimoto the code.  She then goes on to discuss that she needs to keep the code from him to prevent him from leaving her and going on pursuit of the gold.  The monologue focuses on how she sees how Sugimoto descends into his own hell in the quest for the gold and how he changes when he fights and kills.  She has concluded that she is his shield preventing him from descending further into hell and chaos.  She has changed herself into a shield and is no longer a person in this context.

Therefore, she pledges to herself that if a situation arises as she looks up at his smiling face with large doe-like eyes (showing that her Sugimoto crush is still working), that if there is a great enough reason, it leads to this next page.

That she is prepared to follow Sugimoto to hell, implying that she may kill another human.

His face is back to his normal shaded look when he’s serious and thinking of killing and we get a chilling facial expression from her.  She looks cold and focused, just like when she pulled the arrow on Shiraishi back in the early chapters when she told him to help her rescue Sugimoto.

This chilling reveal then followed up by the putative polar bear attacking Shiraishi.  He gets dunked into the ocean by it and Sugimoto acts so surprised that he didn’t notice it at all.

Oh come on Sugimoto, you don’t have Tanigaki or Ogata with you anymore, the observational skills of your team are lacking and he’s shown to great sense of hunting skills.  The chapter then ends with Shiraishi popping up and Asirpa is releaved to see he’s okay despite by being dunked by the bear.  There’s no Kiro to pull him out of the freezing water.

This leaves their group in a difficult situation.  They now need to fight the bear, then start a fire (revealing their location) so that they can warm up Shiraishi on the drift ice.  My hunch is that this will reveal their location to Ogata who will catch up to them.  This harks back to how Tanigaki lured them with a fire in their sniper battle and how he refused to light a fire with Nikaido to give away their position. 

Poor Shiraishi then is the ending joke at the end of the chapter as a clione is stuck in his nose from the water and he’s okay for the moment but the next chapter will be dicey.

As this is a combined meta, I’ll try to keep my summary of things to be brief.

1.) Kikuta’s character is being revealed through his behavior, he’s clever and has a stronger moral code than some of the other members of the 27th.  I want to know about his past with Ogata and Tsukishima.

2.) Koito Sr. is putty in Tsurumi’s hands, he helps in the pursuit of Asirpa and we don’t know how much he knows about Sugimoto stabbing Koito.

3.) Sugimoto luckily copies Kiro’s plan to use the drift ice to escape but Shiraishi and Asirpa have a better understanding of things.  Their conversations seem to reveal that Sugimoto is only starting to realize the bigger picture.

4.) Ogata’s return is not shocking and shows that he is still dedicated to his unknown goal. It looks like he may have more parallels with Tsurumi’s past as Hasegawa, but I can’t help but feel like he’ll gain more of a moral focus while Tsurumi lost his moral focus with Fina and Olga’s deaths.  I personally think that he may have met up with some partisans, but he was only able to gain some of their limited resources and help.  He’s wearing shabby but clean clothing - perhaps this was all they could spare?  The fresh clean bandage and overall, healthier appearance would indicate that he got some help, likely help he gained by speaking Russian with his Russian clothing. 

Alternatively, he could have stolen some clothing off of a clothesline (yes, it is a common practice in northerly places to hang up clothing on a clothesline in the middle of winter - the water sublimates out of the clothing in the sunlight - and yes, I’d done this personally when I’ve lived in Canada and it was -20).  If he was stealing things here and there it could explain his appearance, but really, he looks a little too healthy to have done everything himself.

He’s clean enough on this face and hands that, he likely washed up and he looks much better than when he escaped in 200.  He hasn’t been living a cushy life, but Ogata has clearly eaten and taken care of himself.  His hair looks much more under control and it is only a little messy in the back due to the bandage.

5.) I wonder if this panel with Shiraishi’s narration means something more.

Noda frequently introduces panels that he will refer back to in the future.  I think this isn’t just a representation of Kiro when he was in the army during the war - I think he’s addressing a member of the cast.  The word bubbles are likely not quite accurate, but I think Kiro may be talking to someone like Ogata.  We don’t know when they teamed up, but I think it was during the war.  Kiro had to say something to Ogata to get him to work with him, Ogata doesn’t usually take initiative, he instead sees what others have to offer and then he makes his decision.  I think we will see this panel again in the context of Kiro likely talking to Ogata.  That’s my crazy theory for right now.

6.) Asirpa’s monologue is scary.  I’m worried about her mental state and how she and Sugimoto still aren’t on the same page.  Sugimoto saved Ogata to “save” her and now she’s willing the give up her moral code to “save” him.  The writing between these two characters is so subtle - it shows how two people can be so close, yet so far away because neither of them actually says what their real intention and motivation for their behavior is. 

Well, we’ve got a break before the next chapter!  Hopefully, the flow for chapter 216 will be smoother and it will give me some time to really digest what happened in this chapter.

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #ogata hyakunosuke #asirpa #sugimoto saichi #koito heiji #tsurumi tokushirou #superior private usami #warrant officer kikuta #Shiraishi Yoshitake #tsukishima hajime #hasegawa #kiroranke #wilk #sofia

[pjstafford]

FWNPR. (A X-Files fan fic short)

Mulder sits and remembers the sounds of the end. The click, click, click of her high heals as Scully walked around the house gathering her belongings in silence, the muffled sob as she turned for one last look, the click of the door as she closed it softly. He sits through the night until the sun is about to rise. He simply sits and thinks. He focuses on the sounds of the end because clearly they are important. He focuses on the sounds of the end because the next thing he does will be the first thing of his new life. He focuses on the sounds of the end to not relive the last fight and the multitude of fights and all the horror of their life together and all the good. He focuses on the sound of the end rather than getting on the computer.

Occasionally he glances at the computer. He knows that eventually his compulsion will compel him to the website where he has spent so many hours over the last few years. For now he fights the compulsion in deference to the last fight he had with the love of his life before the sounds of the end, but he has no delusions that he will give up the site for good. In fact, as he sits, he begins to imagine the warmth of the site. In the back of his mind the click, click of her heals and the loneliness he feels becomes shaded by the delayed gratification he knows he will feel when he finally replaces it with the his hand on the mouse and the sensation of clicking to see the welcome page on the screen. Perhaps, as wrong as Scully is about everything else, she is correct that he is addicted.

“I’m not chatting with a woman or women, Scully. I swear it”.

He can no longer escape the sounds of the last fight.

“You never leave the house, Mulder. You don’t come to bed with me. You don’t talk to me. We’re living together but we’re not sharing our lives together. I know you, Mulder, your obsessiveness and single minded pursuit of something..”

“You’re exaggerating, Scully. Of course, I leave the house. I do the shopping and pick up your dry cleaning. Of course, I go to bed with you. Of course I talk to you about your latest cases and hospital gossip. I just have to have something that my own. Occasionally I need to do something I find meaningful for me...”.

“Which you can’t share with me? That you can’t talk about with me? Is it an UFO site. Is it the damn search for the truth?”

“I know you don’t want to hear about aliens. You’ve made that clear “.

The sound of silence follows for a few minutes. Scully is forced to admit to herself that she did tell him she didn’t want to hear about aliens or monsters ever again. Mulder thinks briefly about why he doesn’t chat anymore with other believers; because Max and the lone gunmen are dead and the search for The Truth is dangerous and he doesn’t care about himself, but he does about Scully. He gave up this pursuit so meaningful to him for Scully, but he doesn’t tell Scully. Better she believes that he is still pursuing that then...

“This is different, Mulder.” Scully says the next words softly after one quick intake of breath. “Is it porn? Are you spending your time on online porn sites instead of in my bed?”

When Mulder doesnt answer, the sounds of the argument becomes the sound of the end.

Mulder realizes the sun is high in the sky. He can wait no longer for the sweet relief. The relief he could never talk about with Scully. He gets up slowly. Walks to the computer table. Sits down quickly with a release of breath. His hand moves to the mouse. Click, click, welcome. He sighs. FWNPR. Fathers with no parental rights. The site for the poor lousy sobs who were Fathers, damn it, but couldn’t see or didn’t know where their children were. Fathers who had abandoned their children. Fathers who had their rights taken away because they were in prison or drug addicted. Fathers who didn’t know the woman they had slept with was pregnant until the baby was given away.

He clicks now on his specific chat group. The online community he could not imagine going one day without communication. They talked about baseball and sex and what it felt like on father day. The category of men who had children that were given up for adoption while they were away-for whatever reason. They knew each other dirty secrets, their guilt, their anger, their attempts to pretend that life would ever be normal again. He couldn’t tell Scully about them, but these men all knew about Scully.

His fingers moves to the keyboard. “She left last night. I am completely alone.” He only starts to breathe normally when he sees a response on the screen. “None of us are alone, brother. We have one another. “

[talix18]

November 22

Today I learned what a Japanese tuxedo is (in terms of tattoos) and that David Lee Roth at 65 has more energy in one hour than I’ve had in my entire life put together. I started listening to his appearance on Marc Maron’s WTF? and spent most of that time laughing or with my jaw hanging open. I lost track of Diamond Dave after his stint as an EMT. Now he’s an entrepreneur with a line of skin products formulated for tattooed skin. Gods bless.

Listening to Dave describe his formal music education made me wonder if that’s not what I ought to go back to school for. Music is the thing I love the most but have little actual education in. I took a beginning theory class in college and some sort of classical music appreciation course in grad school; I even played viola for two years in junior high. I guess by the time I got to college I’d ruled music out as a thing one could start studying. One of my high school friends had been playing cello for her entire life and I remember her missing various activities because she was practicing. She’s now making a living with her cello and I guess her example made me assume it was already too late.

Katelyn and I were talking about going back to school the other night. She’s learning young just how hard it is to make new friends once you’re out of school and I think she’d enjoy it, but we’re both looking at our wallets wondering how to pay for it.

School is one of my happy places. I loved learning, I loved feeling my brain work, I hated studying for exams but loved the feeling of understanding the material. I loved explaining to the class what the teacher meant when they couldn’t parse it and I loved making outline after outline of my study notes until I’d whittled the course down to bullet points. I love having conversations with people who are smarter than I am.

I briefly considered pursuing a Certificate of Higher Learning from Oxford because how cool would it be to be able to say I’m an Oxford alum? The majority of classes can be attended virtually, which is where I admit that I don’t just want to be taking classes by myself. I have a wealth of Great Courses available anytime I want to go ahead and start taking them. I want to Go To School. I want to meet smart people. I want to be surrounded by that energy and excitement again.

Now I’m looking up Eddie Van Halen and learning that he’s been in radiation therapy for his cancer for five years and was just in the hospital after a bad reaction to the drugs. Getting older, as my Gram used to say, ain’t for sissies. Love died for me when Eddie and Val got divorced but I’m glad they’re still friends and I’m thrilled he’s been sober for eleven years. I’m not sure I would have survived a rock and roll lifestyle, but then again, I’d rarely be driving.

(Speaking of the brothers Van Halen, how did I never know their mom was Indonesian? Now I understand why Alex’s eyes have looked vaguely Asian to me for all these years. Apparently Valerie has a cooking show and shared Mama VH’s recipe for something that grabbed Mom’s fancy so I can look forward to that!) (Don’t tell her that I’m a little meh on ham for Thanksgiving. She’s finally cooking Brussels sprouts a new way and I am calling that a win.)

(Mom found a recipe YEARS ago that uses Guinness and had faithfully made her “Relapse Brussels sprouts” every year since. They are fine, but they are mushy, and having seen the way, truth, and light of fresh Brussels sprouts roasted with salt and olive oil, I don’t have the heart to tell her that the Relapse BS just aren’t my favorite.)

This is my fourth day in a row of feeling pretty good, and that’s on less sleep than I normally get. I really hope this is because the medication is working. It’s hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other when you feel like you’re doing it in three feet of water. But I’ve been productive at work and at home and actually considered taking on a work training challenge today. I even started my Christmas shopping! (I hate much of what Jeff Bezos stands for, but goddamn if Amazon doesn’t alleviate most of the Christmas crazy.)

The increased meds are not helping the words come out! I have rare free time in front of a keyboard and nothing to say? Maybe that *is* a sign of increased mental health.

December is flat out insane in my family. Thank goodness my aunt moved away with her 12/4 birthday! There were birthday dinners with Mom (12/2), my aunt, me (12/20), and my dad (12/26). My brother’s birthday is also on the 20th and he’s continued the tradition in the latest generation – my niece will be five on 12/1. Her Aunt Lindsay has decided it’s time we start taking her out for birthday dinners. Basically, the fulcrum of the year tips at Thanksgiving and is just a steep slide into New Year’s. (Which I actually have plans for!)

Christmas shopping is so anxiety-laden for me that I have bad dreams about it all year long. (It’s always the same: December 23rd, I’ve purchased nothing, and the only place open in Walgreen’s.) I can’t enjoy the holiday season until I’m relatively sure what everyone’s getting and honestly, I don’t need any more stuff. Just being together and enjoying yummy food is enough for me. The holidays also mean the Hebert Christmas punch tradition from which I’ve been excluded for this will be the 24th time (I can drink anything I want! I choose not to!). My family are all wine and spirit drinkers and most of the time I look around it, but the holidays really make me miss that fuzzy festive feeling.

So how does one achieve that without using? I need to get back on a meditation routine and I need to make upside-down yoga part of my weekly life. Upside-down yoga always made me a little giddy and we rarely invert in the class I take now. I also need to try on my New Year’s Dress and assess how vigilant I have to be between now and then to make it work. I was having some success with an intermediate fasting routine where I’d restrict my calories for two (non-consecutive) days per week. The beauty of that schedule is that I can maintain it through the holidays. I should have just started this week after the colonoscopy.

But I also had a pretty severe mood crash last year and fasting is not for the unstable. Yes, I’m an emotional eater but you know, I’d rather eat my feelings than wish I could opt out of life. I know how to lose weight; necromancy is above my spell level.

Did I ever mention I was a witch and practiced in a coven for a decade? I’ve just gotten to the 20K word mark and it’s likely I’ll start repeating myself any time now. The coven was made of some amazing people but the actual business of witching just felt too much like work. I went in looking for a spiritual experience and what I got was a delightful social experience. That required a lot of time and 40-mile drives and the stagnation of my 12-Step recovery in that decade was not a coincidence.

Yesterday I got to whip out one of my favorite recovery slogans on a friend: “Religion is for people trying to stay out of hell. Spirituality is for people who’ve already been there.” It doesn’t hold up once you consider religions that don’t have conceptions of hell, but it’s catchy.

(The NaNoWriMo website helpfully breaks down how many words one has to produce per day to get to 50K by next Sunday and it is a little overwhelming. I only need 2235 more today to stay on target! [I am not staying on target.])

Somebody give me a topic! (Give me a beat!) Oh! Yesterday I emptied out one of my spare room dressers, which is something that’s been on my project list for, oh, a long time. All I have to do is patch the hole and that room will be ready to paint, which will let me do the floors in that room and the front. With that done I’ll have my closet annex and yoga station all set up and I will finally live in my entire house. And it should inspire me to do the last three rooms.

I’m excited to set up these last two rooms as functional spaces. I can’t tell you what’s taken me so long to surrender to the idea that I need a room-sized closet extension but look…I have to grab joy wherever I can find it. Waiting for the big stuff to fall into place just takes too long and this bizarre timeline provides plenty of reasons to despair. I don’t understand how people can spend eight hours a day in cubes that aren’t decorated and I am not going to limit myself to one of my life’s compulsions if I have room to store it all. (Vanessa is in Tennessee shouting “You’ll never have room for another person in your house that way!” and I’m shouting back “You and your person bought a new house!”)

I do love my house, though, and getting me out of it is going to take some extraordinary conditions. With any luck I’ll meet a life partner who also loves their house and we can commute and share. I still won’t have enough wall space to hang everything I want to; perhaps a rotating gallery space is required. Says the girl who can’t manage to swap the screens out for storm windows and vice versa every year.

#f**k fifty #nanowrimo

[pcrcelainjingo]

Negative Character Traits

Tagged by: @the115project

Tagging: whoever hasn’t done this yet

Aggressive - pursuing one’s aims and interests forcefully, sometimes unduly so

Aloof - not friendly or forthcoming; cool and distant

Arrogant - having or revealing an exaggerated sense of one’s own importance or abilities

Belligerent - hostile and aggressive

Big-headed - conceited or arrogant

Bitchy - malicious or unpleasant

Boastful - showing excessive pride and self-satisfaction in one’s achievements, possessions, or abilities

Bone-idle - lazy

Boring - not interesting; tedious

Bossy - fond of giving people orders; domineering

Callous - showing or having an insensitive and cruel disregard for others

Cantankerous - bad-tempered, argumentative, and uncooperative

Careless - not giving sufficient attention or thought to avoiding harm or errors

Changeable - irregular; inconstant

Clinging - overly dependent on someone emotionally

Compulsive - resulting from or relating to an irresistible urge, especially one that is against one's conscious wishes

Conservative - a person who is averse to change and holds to traditional values and attitudes, typically in relation to politics

Cowardly - lacking courage

Crass - lacking sensitivity, refinement, or intelligence

Cruel - willfully causing pain or suffering to others, or feeling no concern about it

Cunning - having or showing skill in achieving one's ends by deceit or evasion

Cynical - believing that people are motivated by self-interest; distrustful of human sincerity or integrity

Deceitful - guilty of or involving deceit; deceiving or misleading others

Detached - separate or disconnected

Dishonest - behaving or prone to behave in an untrustworthy or fraudulent way

Dogmatic - inclined to lay down principles as incontrovertibly true

Domineering - assert one’s will over another in an arrogant way

Fastidious - very attentive to and concerned about accuracy and detail

Finicky - fussy about one’s needs or requirements

Foolish - lacking good sense or judgment; unwise

Foolhardy - recklessly bold or rash

Fussy - fastidious about one’s needs or requirements; hard to please

Greedy - having or showing an intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth or power

Grumpy - bad-tempered and irritable

Gullible - easily persuaded to believe something; credulous

Harsh - cruel or severe

Impatient - having or showing a tendency to be quickly irritated or provoked

Impolite - not having or showing good manners; rude

Impulsive - acting or done without forethought

Inconsiderate - thoughtlessly causing hurt or inconvenience to others

Inconsistent - not compatible or in keeping with

Indecisive - not having or showing the ability to make decisions quickly and effectively

Indiscreet - having, showing, or proceeding from too great a readiness to reveal things that should remain secret or private

Inflexible - unwilling to change or compromise

Interfering - tending to interfere in other people’s affairs

Intolerant - not tolerant of views, beliefs, or behavior that differ from one’s own

Irresponsible - not showing a proper sense of responsibility

Jealous - feeling or showing envy or someone or their achievements and advantages

Lazy - unwilling to work or use energy

Machiavellian - cunning, scheming, and unscrupulous, especially in politics

Materialistic - excessively concerned with material possessions; money-oriented

Mean - one who makes no effort to understand or empathize with others

Miserly - of or characteristic of a miser

Moody - given to unpredictable changes of mood, especially sudden bouts of gloominess or sullenness

Narrow-minded - not willing to listen to or tolerate other people’s views; prejudiced

Nasty - behaving in an unpleasant or spiteful way

Naughty - disobedient; bad behaved

Nervous - easily agitated or alarmed; tending to be anxious; highly strung

Obsessive - a person who is affected by an obsession

Obstinate - stubbornly refusing to change one’s opinion or chosen course of action, despite attempts to persuade one to do so

Overcritical - inclined to find fault too readily

Overemotional - having feelings that are too easily excited and displayed

Parsimonious - unwilling to spend money or use resources; stingy or frugal

Patronizing - apparently kind or helpful but betraying a feeling of superiority; condescending

Perverse - showing a deliberate and obstinate desire to behave in a way that is unreasonable or unacceptable, often in spite of the consequences

Pessimistic - tending to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen

Pompous - affectedly and irritatingly grand, solemn, or self-important

Possessive - demanding someone’s total attention and love

Pusillanimous - showing a lack of courage or determination; timid

Quarrelsome - given to or characterized by quarreling

Quick-tempered - easily made angry

Resentful - feeling or expressing bitterness or indignation at having been treated unfairly

Rude - offensively impolite or ill-mannered

Ruthless - having or showing no pity or compassion for others

Sarcastic - marked by or given to using irony in order to mock or convey contempt

Secretive - inclined to conceal feelings and intentions or not to disclose information

Selfish - lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure

Self-centered - preoccupied with oneself and one’s affairs

Self-indulgent - characterized by doing or tending to do exactly what one wants, especially when this involves pleasure or idleness

Silly - having or showing a lack of common sense or judgment; absurd and foolish

Sly - having or showing a cunning and deceitful nature

Sneaky - furtive; sly

Stingy - unwilling to give or spend; ungenerous

Stubborn - having or showing dogged determination not to change one’s attitude or position on something, especially in spite of good arguments or reasons to do so

Stupid - having or showing a great lack of intelligence or common sense

Superficial - not having or showing any depth of character or understanding

Tacky - showing poor taste and quality

Tactless - having or showing a lack of adroitness and sensitivity in dealing with others or with difficult issues

Timid - showing a lack of courage or confidence; easily frightened

Touchy - oversensitive and irritable

Thoughtless - not showing consideration for the needs of other people

Truculent - eager or quick to argue or fight; aggressively defiant

Unkind - inconsiderate and harsh to others

Unpredictable - behaving in a way that is not easily predicted

Unreliable - not able to be relied upon

Untidy - not inclined to keep one’s possessions or appearance neat and in order

Untrustworthy - not able to be relied on as honest or truthful

Vague - thinking or communicating in an unfocused or imprecise way

Vain - having or showing an excessively high opinion of one’s appearance, abilities, or worth

Vengeful - seeking to harm someone in return for a perceived injury.

Vulgar - lacking sophistication or good taste; unrefined

Weak-willed - lacking the ability to resist influence or to restrain one’s own impulses; irresolute

Final Score: 43 / 102

#;;headcanons #;;tag memes #;;memes

[threadsketchier]

Glimpses - a time to mourn

Because of my delay the other week, I wound up unintentionally timing the final installment of this series for Memorial Day.  I think it’s pretty fitting, considering the subject matter.  But don’t worry, there’s still some positivity at the end.

@kaelinaloveslomaris @culturevulture73 @littlesparklight @azalea-scroggs @onwardintolight @klcthebookworm @celinamarniss - the usual suspects

Read it at AO3 instead

With the Empire’s head severed and its limbs in disarray, many turning against each other in the ensuing power vacuum, the Rebel Alliance – now the Alliance of Free Planets – was also experiencing a turmoil of disagreements, as conscience and principle wrestled with pragmatism.  The Battle of Endor had been costly on the fleet, and securing new allies and their supplies, as well as taking advantage of the Empire’s weakening influence, became the greater priorities over liberating oppressed worlds.  Patience was required, it was said, for gaining a foothold in the Core and taking strides toward legitimizing the Alliance into a true government would go much further in relieving the galaxy of the Empire’s grip.

That was a sensible goal – just not one that Lando felt particularly beholden to in this moment.

I was responsible to the people of Cloud City long before I was in command of your forces, he’d told the brass.  And I’d be happy to continue to do so.  But I had no intentions of leaving my facility in the Empire’s hands any longer than I had to.  You’d also stand to gain a safe haven and an intelligence source, but I’m sure not everyone was able to escape, and I’m not leaving them behind now that I’ve met my immediate obligations.

I’m aware I’m not calling the shots here.  But I’m calling them anyway.

And he’d walked out of the conference room, expecting nothing, already planning on calling in favors from old contacts who might be willing to pitch in if they could have some stake in the deal.  He’d had no intentions of asking them to help him, not after what they’d gone through.

Trouble was, Luke was a Jedi now, which meant even a sabacc face couldn’t hide much from him.

“I have some unfinished business,” Lando tried to leave it at.

Luke appraised him in that almost unnervingly compassionate way of his.  “You’re going back to Bespin.”

Immediately Lando held up a hand to stop him.  “Look, I can’t ask this of you – ”

“Yes you can,” he retorted firmly.  “Because it wasn’t you who hurt us.  You were faced with a no-win situation and you did what you thought was best at the time.  If you’d known, Lando…”  He trailed off, shaking his head.  “And even if you did, you had all those lives to weigh against ours.  People you didn’t even know, and a couple of old friends.”  He smiled sadly.  “All of us have lost our homes.  Alderaan is dust, and my homestead is ashes.  At least you can still go back.  You really think we wouldn’t want to help you?”

Pain and sadness were for suckers, he used to think.  Showing them gained you nothing; if you were cheated, outwit them back, and everything was better with a smile and a swig of fine liquor.  But Luke’s words left him feeling raw.  He hadn’t allowed himself to mourn Cloud City for many reasons – he hadn’t been the one tortured or sold or maimed, and grieving meant the Empire had won and he wasn’t going to fight back and reclaim it someday.  It wasn’t even grief that overtook him now in the strictest sense, since it wasn’t an end, but a chance at a new beginning.  But being confronted with this acceptance, this kind of unquestioning loyalty, from someone who’d suffered greatly because of his ignorance and ill-fated attempt at insulating himself from the war���

Luke put an arm around his shoulders and turned him back down the corridor to walk alongside him.  “C’mon, we’ll tell the others,” he said, his tone gently encouraging.

The halls were just as bright and vacant as Luke remembered them, and eerie in their silence after the battle, though thickened with far more smoke and blaster ozone than last time.  It was almost a relief – it rendered them less sterile.  Less deceptive of the darkness concealed behind and underneath its pristine white walls.

That darkness wasn’t intrinsic, he had to remind himself.  This was just a mining facility and pleasure resort.  It wasn’t Lando’s or anyone else’s fault the Empire had descended here and left their taint like a carbon score that couldn’t quite be scrubbed out.

The compulsion to retrace his steps gnawed at him, even as his most primal fears bade him to ignore the urge.  There was nothing left here but memories, ones he didn’t need to dredge up.  He’d forgiven his father, and his father was gone, and he had survived his own trial with the Dark Side.

Luke found himself walking the path anyway, sweat gathering on his left palm.

As dim and foreboding as it had been the first time, the carbonite freezing chamber hummed with the same deep vibrations of dormant machinery, the kind of heavy, ringing quiet that poured into his ears like molten metal and solidified.  The hose he’d cut was repaired, and the pit lay open to receive another payload of tibanna gas.

Another victim.

Leia had stood and watched here while Han was lowered into that pit, just before he’d entered and met Vader.  Luke’s legs felt unsteady as he came down the stairs.

So many things could have gone even worse here.  Han could have perished from the freezing process.  He could have succumbed to it rather than being able to jump clear with the Force, and been carted away to the Emperor even sooner.  Leia or Chewie or Lando could have been killed in the ensuing firefight during their escape.  He could have plummeted straight down the city’s core shaft right after being sucked out of the broken window, or not been caught by its vacuum currents on his second fall.  As nightmarish as this time and place turned out to be, it was a wonder they’d made it out alive and as fortunate as they could’ve been for the circumstances.

With his heart beating swiftly, Luke skirted around the edge of the pit and leapt down into the blackness, where he’d gone to pursue Vader and his own thirst for vengeance.

The only true sounds were the soft, echoing tread of his footsteps and the tremble of his breath, but he kept expecting to hear the snap-hiss of a lightsaber and the slow, harsh bellows of a respirator.  Despite the awareness of when he was, his hand rested on the pommel of his own weapon.

The observation window was also replaced, once again a barrier between him and the gantry he’d been forced out onto, and all the equipment that had been ripped from the walls put back in their places.  No trace remained of their duel.  It felt like a waking dream, or even a vision, a taunting artifice reestablished as if he had the chance to remake this encounter with new insight.  If only he’d known.  If only.

Luke approached the window and pressed his palms against its cold surface, a grief so sudden and violent constricting his chest that he struggled to breathe.  Tears had been shed over his father’s death, but he’d been almost too numb with shock and insulated by the reassurance that Anakin had finally found peace in the Force to let himself be overcome.  This, now – this was too much.  Dwelling on the terrible fact that they’d come to blows here, that a man was so desperately twisted he could fight and wound his own son, and in ignorance he’d fought back in hatred, wishing nothing more than to kill him in return, when instead he could’ve grown under his care and knowledge and love, when they could’ve shared their lives together…

But it was too late, and there was no going back for another chance.  “Father,” Luke whispered plaintively, gulping in air as tears spilled forth, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the pane.  Now he keenly felt the loss of his father, and of all the hostility and vast separation between them.

Father…

“Luke.”

The air spoke to him in the shape of his name, and at first Luke thought he imagined it over the wretched noise of his own crying.  Then a strange, prickling warmth spread across his back and upper arms, and encircled his right wrist, and the hair on his neck stood.

“Luke,” the voice said again, that of a young man wholly unfamiliar and yet known to him, roughened with emotion.  The edges of his vision were filled with a gentle blue light.

Luke crumpled against the window and slid down to the floor, sobbing.  The spirit – Anakin, his father – enveloped him in warmth, but offered no more words, because there were none.  Both of them mourned alike and together, reunited but still separated by the veil between life and death.

After some time Luke gasped out, “I wish…I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I won’t, Luke,” Anakin promised.  “I never will.”  The warmth touched his chest, over his heart.  “I’ll always be with you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.”  There was a regretful wryness in his tone.  “I know it’s not.  But it’s the truth.  You’ll never be alone.  Wherever the Force is, I’ll be there too.”  Anakin’s intangible fingers caressed his hair.  “And when it’s your time, I’ll be the first face you see.”

“Can I…will I see you again before that?”

Anakin smiled, a spark of some long-buried pain and love shining in his eyes.  “Of course.”

There were so many questions to ask, but now wasn’t the time for them.  Luke simply basked in the bittersweet comfort of his father’s presence and gave full vent to his sadness.

Later he wasn’t sure how much time passed, if it was only minutes or hours.  Tired and shaky, with his eyes swollen and throat aching, Luke wandered back until he re-emerged into the light, the daytime brilliance hurting his eyes at first.  Right outside the alcove surrounding the maintenance corridor that led to the freezing chamber stood the others, all looking worried and haunted.  Leia’s face was pale and drawn, and for a moment Luke felt apologetic that he had done this, leaving them again to go ponder his own losses.  He wondered if she’d felt all of his anguish.  She and Han already had enough of their own from this place.

Before he could say a word, though, they all gathered around him in a tangled embrace, except for Lando, who kept staring at the doorway.

“I’m sealing up this refinery,” he said, anger simmering beneath his quiet voice.  “Someday I might make it a memorial.  People need to know what the Empire did here.”

Long after they’d all departed the area, Lando’s hand kept a firm grip on Luke’s shoulder, conveying remorse and anchoring him in camaraderie.

None of them wanted to spend the night in any of Cloud City’s suites; besides the fact that Lando and Lobot would need to rework the city’s security codes, they all knew they wouldn’t get a lick of sleep otherwise.  Between checking on civilians and working with the Ugnaughts to dispose of bodies and sort materiel for collection or recycling and assessing property damage, it was easy to avoid sleep altogether.  But eventually Chewie was urging them to get at least a little rest before dawn, and they herded themselves into the Falcon for both mental and physical respite.

Luke and Leia both kept eyeing Han as they watched him go back and forth through the ship several times carrying bedding materials into the cargo hold, then an armful of beers.  When he finally acknowledged their stares he said, “We’re hanging out in here tonight.”

They didn’t question him.  It’d become obvious pretty quickly that Han intended for the four of them to bed down in one space, and Chewie wasn’t going to fit in a cabin with three others, and Luke supposed Han felt it was unfair for him and Leia to share a bunk together off the deck.

They didn’t talk much between quaffing the beer, too weary and shaken in confronting the horror of their first time here and just content in the moment with their closeness.  Eventually another pair of boots rang slowly through the ship and Lando’s silhouette filled the hatchway, and Han waved a hand to invite him in.

After his third bottle Han glanced up at Leia and said, “Hey.  We’re getting married,” in a calmly casual manner, as if he meant to remind her of something trivial, but there was a nervous hope and vulnerability in his eyes.  Leia regarded him for a minute with a soft wonder that shifted into amusement.  “I know,” she replied, deadpan.  Luke snorted, feeling like he was missing something but appreciating the humor nonetheless.  Over Leia’s shoulder he could see Lando studying the two of them, something profound in his otherwise neutral expression.

A short while later Lando broke the silence again with an idle mutter.  “Need to modify the sensors in the core shaft.  If anything else that isn’t refuse falls down there and winds up in the disposal chutes, I don’t want them hanging off the weather vanes.”

Luke craned his neck and half sat up to peer at him incredulously.  Was he being serious or sardonic?  He caught Lando meeting his curious gaze.  “Not that I anticipate that happening again,” Lando added.  There was a definite glint of exasperated humor in his eyes, but there was nothing trite about his tone.  Luke had to conclude he was sincere in his concern about how he’d nearly plummeted to his death.  It was a wonder anything had broken his fall down there, let alone an air current.

He hadn’t even been hoping for it the moment he’d decided to jump.

It had taken Luke some time to get used to the realization that Lando hadn’t only seen defeat and vulnerability in him when he’d pulled him to safety off the Falcon’s hull.  That admiration didn’t manifest in overt flattery or reverence, though, as it did with many others.  Lando had simply granted him a deep yet quiet respect from the day they’d met, just for having survived such a crucible.  There’d been an almost astonishing ease to their friendship, quite different from the bond he’d formed with Han.

With the beer settling into his weary frame like a warm weight, Luke reclined again and let his head rest against Lando’s knee, and his eyes grew heavy when he felt fingers gently play through his hair.

When Luke finally managed to nod off, he dreamed of a green paradise with wildflower-laden meadows and great waterfalls, and a young man and woman frolicking through them, carefree and joyful, their laughter ringing across the heavens.

#the feels are strong with this one #my fics #star wars #lando calrissian #luke skywalker #han solo #leia organa #chewbacca #anakin skywalker #back to bespin