#Instead we got existential introspection

[creationsabyss]

Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)

They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.

This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.

But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.

They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.

Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.

They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.

Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.

But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.

Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.

@n0tamused

[seishiroses]

Taking a break + some personal thoughts + a little thank you note 🤍

Nagi fans, how are we doing?

Personally I am ready to end myself (been ready for five chapters now)...is what I would have said ordinarily, but instead, I will put down a few last thoughts before I pause this blog for some time.

The only one I can share without crying though is that I will always fondly remember how for a little while in 2025, both the main manga and Episode Nagi...ESSENTIALLY BECAME EPISODE NAGI 😅❤️🤍

Who would have thought.

When I started reading Blue Lock back in 2022/23, and realised that Nagi was the character I relate to the most, I never imagined that his arc would be such an emotional roller coaster. Even though he was an easy favourite and the primary reason why I continued to watch/read Blue Lock, I expected nothing more than cute-nonchalant-football-genius, and I would have been happy enough with that.

Yet, in return I got to love and enjoy (and cry my eyes out over) such a relatable, introspective, complex and beautiful character whose story has so much depth and breaks many stereotypes of what a shonen sports manga fan-favourite should be like. So as much as it hurts right now, I am so grateful.

However, since the character is very close to how I feel myself and how I face things in real life, I will take a break from reading/posting about him rather than risk projecting onto him as I would hate to become so intensely affected by what is, at the end of the day, fiction.

I have always been pleasantly surprised at the amount of engagement I received for a blog that only posts about a single character and does nothing else. Thank you. 🤍

Nagi has always been a divisive character. At different points in the story, whether he chose ambition over attachment or comfort over ambition, or honesty over kindness, there was always criticism and debate over his actions, words or lack thereof. And since subtlety is often punished in fandoms that crave loud, dramatic traits, I never expected the creators to invest so much time and effort into developing Nagi's story specifically.

But it makes me happy that they did and that so many people like Nagi. Because it makes me feel that even if he is not real, if there is a place in the world for someone like him, there can be a place in the world for someone like me too (I am aware that it is obviously dumb to even compare myself to an attractive, talented, fictional anime boy, but in terms of his personality and lack of motivation that contributes to his isolation and existential crisis, he is very realistic for me). So I will always root for him.

Even in terms of the art, despite the sadness of the latest chapter, I loved returning to the outside world and admiring Nomura-san's skill and range in drawing both the urban landscape and school architecture, not to mention his use of highlights and shadows to bring out Nagi's emotions on every page. It is such a beautifully drawn chapter, with a softness and a heaviness, despite having none of the usual football action or high stakes drama. I won't post any panels or get into those last few pages though. Maybe sometime in the future I can talk about them in more detail.

So that's all really. I don't talk to anyone but I will miss all of you. I don't have any mutuals but I was happy for every small interaction I had on here. Sometimes I would recognise usernames that kept showing up in the notifs, like saying hi to a friend every few days. In small ways, it made me happy.

Hopefully when enough time has passed, I can once again post Nagi pictures and small analyses without feeling so emotionally attached or anxious. But until then, I hope I can work hard in my own life and find ways to keep up my own motivation, even when I'm alone. And for anyone else who struggles with that, I wish you all the best as well. Failure is a life lesson, never the end. 🤍

[sacredjoanne]

INFP 5w4: Personality Breakdown

The INFP 5w4 is a human dichotomy of scholar and dreamer that creates a fascinating, albeit slightly perplexing, personality cocktail.

They’re the kind who’d lose themselves in a hefty tome of ancient philosophy, and yet can also be found spinning intricate daydreams about rescuing dragons from vile knights.

This type is introspective, creative, and driven by a desire for knowledge on one hand, and a thirst for meaningful connection and self-expression on the other.

As an INFP – the “Mediator” in the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator – they naturally gravitate towards idealism, creativity, and seeing the best in people.

But hold on, these people are not just about feelings and sunshine. We have a 5w4 in the Enneagram system skulking in the backdrop.

As a 5w4, they’re introspective, love to analyze (probably overanalyze), and have a keen quest for knowledge.

Mingle the INFP’s empathy with the 5w4’s introspection, and voila, you have the INFP 5w4: a Hogwarts Ravenclaw who has a secret stash of heartwarming Hallmark cards.

INFP 5w4 in a Nutshell

Strengths: Empathetic, Analytical, Creative.

Weaknesses: Overthinker, Isolated, Idealistic.

Soulmate: A person who can match their intellectual curiosity while giving them space and nurturing their sensitive side.

Guidance: Don’t forget to pop out of your introspective bubble and join the rest of us in the chaos occasionally. It’s quite fun, I promise.

What Is The INFP 5w4 Like?

You know how INFPs are, right?

The dreamy-eyed eccentrics of the MBTI world who’ve probably written five unpublished novels and have a weird obsession with collecting vintage teacups.

INFPs are introspective, creative, and have an uncanny knack for finding beauty in the bleak.

Now, over to the 5w4 Enneagram type. This is your quintessential “mad scientist” or the brooding poet in a dank attic.

Fives are intensely curious, forever diving into new hobbies – mostly of the nerdy variety – and they’re as private as a hermit crab.

The Four-wing adds a dash of creativity and a heaping spoonful of emotional intensity.

Now, mix the mystical INFP with the quirky 5w4 and you’ve got yourself an ethereal chimera – half dreamy idealist, half reclusive scholar.

An INFP 5w4 is like a fairy living in a library, fluttering between tomes of ancient wisdom and daydreaming about alternate universes.

They’re the ones you’ll find philosophizing at a party instead of playing beer pong.

They’re a pair of contradictory forces, yin and yang of introspection and creativity. Oh, and they’re probably still waiting for their Hogwarts letter.

What Are the Main Traits of the INFP 5w4 Personality?

INFP 5w4 Strengths

Ultra-Creative

Authentic

Abstract-Thinking

Empathetic

Idealistic

INFP 5w4 Struggles

Oversensitive

Can be Disorganized

Overthinking

Unrealistic

Reserved

As an INFP 5w4, you’re a walking talking creativity factory, and that’s fantastic because this world could really use a touch of color.

Plus, with your empathy level cranked up to 11, you’re practically an emotional GPS for your friends – you cry when they cry, and you laugh when they… well, stub their toe.

You’re as authentic as a Gucci purse in a Milanese boutique but your ideals are occasionally more suited to a Disney movie than real life.

And let’s not forget, you’re an introverted party animal who sometimes forgets that socializing doesn’t equal inviting five cats over for a Netflix binge.

Not to mention, your intricate mental world could really use a Marie Kondo session… or ten.

Your tendency to overthink can cause an existential crisis about what brand of cereal to buy and taking action is like running a marathon in flip flops.

So, while your strengths make you the empathetic, idealist, creative powerhouse that you are, your weaknesses can sometimes throw more spanners in the works than a clumsy mechanic.

But hey, nobody’s perfect – and if they were, I’d have nothing to write about.

What Sets INFP 5w4s Apart From Other INFP Types?

The Intellectual Lovechild of Isolation

INFP 5w4s are like the typical INFPs- except they’ve been spending a little too much time in the library.

They’re the nerds on steroids of the MBTI world, solving complex equations in their heads while passionately arguing about the emotional depth of a Nirvana song.

What a weird, thrilling combo, right?

This bunch is drawn towards knowledge and understanding that they are often lost in their little intellectual bubble.

Other INFP types? They’re busy frolicking through the fields of feelings, not as consumed by the endless pursuit of wisdom.

The Loner versus the Social Butterfly

Every INFP likes a bit of alone time, sure. But our INFP 5w4 pals take this whole idea of “me time” to a new level.

They’re the embodiment of “alone but not lonely.”

In fact, they often prefer solitude to social gatherings to recharge and ponder over life’s mysteries.

This differs from other INFPs who still enjoy the occasional boogie on the dance floor or a heart-to-heart with friends.

Your Personal Sherlock Holmes

INFP 5w4s have a unique knack for observation that would totally win them a round of “I spy with my little eye.”

They’re detail-oriented and have an uncanny ability to catch the nuances missed by other INFP types.

These guys could probably deduce your favorite childhood toy from a brief conversation.

It’s all fun and games until they start guessing your passwords.

Unlike other INFPs, who operate more on vibes and feelings, these detective-wannabes tend to base their analysis on the cold, hard facts.

What Are The Major Fears and Desires of the INFP 5w4?

Fears

Being overwhelmed by the world and its demands.

Being seen as incapable or incompetent.

Being too exposed or vulnerable.

Becoming useless, redundant, or irrelevant.

Losing their cherished independence.

Having their thoughts and feelings invalidated.

Being misunderstood or misinterpreted.

Desires

To possess a profound understanding of the world around them.

To be seen as insightful and capable.

To express their unique individuality without fear.

To create lasting, meaningful impact in their chosen arena.

To maintain their independence and personal autonomy.

To communicate their thoughts and feelings accurately.

To be fully understood and accepted.

Now for the juicy part. These fears and desires are like the rudder of the INFP 5w4’s ship, steering them through the stormy seas of life.

Their fear of becoming obsolete, for instance, might make them the Hermione Granger of their friend group, constantly hoarding knowledge like a dragon with gold.

On the flip side, their desire to express their unique individuality might make them the Picasso of their era, creating art that’s as eccentric as their Aunt Edna’s holiday fruitcake.

In essence, these fears and desires push our INFP 5w4 to seek out knowledge and understanding while maintaining their precious autonomy.

How Do I Know If I’m An INFP 5w4?

Here’s how to figure out if you’re an INFP 5w4 or if you’ve just been watching too many moody indie movies lately.

Questions to Ask Yourself

Do I daydream about saving the world, but get anxious at the thought of a group meeting?

If you’re an INFP 5w4, you’ve got big dreams and a little bit of social anxiety. You’re the superhero that’s just too introverted to leave the house.

Am I a philosopher in skinny jeans?

Deep thoughts? Check. Trendy outfits? Check. INFP 5w4s are like the existential hipsters of the personality world.

Do I love humanity but kind of hate people?

This might sound like a contradiction, but INFP 5w4s are the type to dream of world peace while having a ‘no visitors’ sign on their door.

Do I feel misunderstood or am I just listening to too much Billie Eilish?

INFP 5w4 types often feel misunderstood. Or maybe it’s just too many moody tunes.

Do I enjoy solitude or am I just allergic to drama?

For INFP 5w4s, a quiet night with a good book often trumps a night out on the town.

Key Signs and Behavior Patterns

Deep Diver

You’re not afraid to dive deep into your own emotions. You probably know yourself better than you know your Netflix password.

Solo Artist

You prefer a solo stakeout in the corner of a coffee shop rather than a buzzing social event. And let’s face it, your alone time is anything but lonely.

Creative Soul

You’ve got more creativity in your pinky finger than most people have in their whole body. You’re the Da Vinci of daydreams.

Sensitive Sage

Sure, you are sensitive, but also wise beyond your years. You’re like a fortune cookie wrapped in a wool knit sweater.

Idealistic Introvert

You have big dreams for a world you’d rather observe from a distance. You’re basically an introverted superhero.

Philosophy Fanatic

You could be fascinated by everything from Star Wars theories to the meaning of life. It’s all about the big picture for you, even if that picture includes lightsabers.

Drama-Dodger

Despite your emotional depth, you try to avoid drama like it’s the last slice of pizza at a party. You’ve got enough going on in your own head, thank you very much!

What’s The INFP 5w4 Man Like?

Daydreaming Dynamo

Hold on to your hats, because a male INFP 5w4 is about to take you on a 4D roller coaster ride through his imagination.

These guys are like the Lovechild of Picasso and Tolkien, with an imagination that’s so rich, it makes Warren Buffet blush.

They’re also world-class daydreamers, doing anything from fighting intergalactic wars to being the last human savior – all while waiting for their morning coffee to brew.

Emotionally Intense Introverts

Our INFP pals are like adorable little hermit crabs – they retreat into their shells at the slightest hint of conflict.

They’ve got emotions as profound as the Mariana Trench, and they feel everything intensely.

This emotional depth can make them seem a bit moody or aloof, but in reality, they’re just having a heart-to-heart chat with their own feelings.

Seekers of Significance

INFP 5w4 dudes are a bit like Indiana Jones on a relentless quest for significance in their lives.

They want to do something meaningful, not just pay the bills or master the art of microwave cooking.

Don’t be surprised if they change careers or hobbies more often than Taylor Swift drops a new album – they’re not flaky, they’re just constantly looking for their ‘grand purpose’ plot twist.

What’s The INFP 5w4 Woman Like?

The “Who, Me?” Complex

These ladies could seriously win an Oscar for their portrayal of “Innocent Bystander” in any conflict.

They’re peacemakers to the core, so if you ever find yourself in a squabble with an INFP 5w4, there’ll be more shoulder shrugs than at a chiropractic convention.

They’re as non-confrontational as a goldfish in a fishbowl.

Sensitive Nooks and Crannies

Picture an English muffin – they’re all soft with loads of warm, tender insides, right? That’s your INFP 5w4 gal.

They feel feelings on a level that Dante didn’t even get to in “Inferno”.

But hey, at least their emotional depth makes them a hit at poetry slams and indie music festivals.

Curious Cats

They love to learn, research, and probe the depths of whatever interests them.

Whether it’s the mating habits of snails or the life cycle of a star, you bet they’ll have a seven-book series ready to recommend.

They’re like the Hermione Granger of reality – but with less magic and more melancholy.

INFP 5w4s In Relationships & Compatibility

Dating an INFP 5w4? Sweet baby Jesus, you’re in for a ride.

This rare personality combo is an intriguing blend of introspective philosophers and passionate idealists.

Charmingly elusive, they have loads of deep thoughts, feelings, and wow, what a wall of solitude when they need alone time.

MBTI Matches

ENFJ: You know how magnets work, right? The strong, extroverted ENFJ blends beautifully with the introverted, dreamy INFP. Sparks fly, just like a Nicholas Sparks movie, but without the inevitable tragedy.

INFJ: Imagine two psychic unicorns reading each other’s minds. Yeah, that’s the INFP-INFJ combo. Lots of beautiful understandings and bonding over shared idealism.

ENFP: Pair the INFP 5w4 with the slightly more outgoing and extroverted ENFP, and you get “Party in the front, introspection in the back” – kind of a personality mullet.

Enneagram Matches

4w5: The INFP 5w4 and 4w5 are like two peas in a misunderstood, individualistic pod. They understand each other’s need for authenticity and solitude, basically the “you get me” kind of relationship.

9w1: This combo is like a hammock on a lazy afternoon, peaceful yet deeply meaningful. The 9w1’s calm demeanor beautifully balances the intensity of the INFP 5w4.

6w5: The 6w5 brings a level of loyalty and security that the INFP 5w4 deeply appreciates. It’s like having a home security system, but it understands your fears and validates your feelings.

Tips for Interacting with INFP 5w4s

Understand the Space-time Continuum: INFP 5w4s need their solitude like sourdough needs a good rise. Give them their space, and they’ll be all yours when they emerge from their introspective cocoon.

Dig Deep: Skip the weather chat – it’s the intellectual and emotional deep-sea diving they crave. Ask them about their dreams or favorite Russian novel, and boom! You’re on their favorite-people list.

Patience, Young Grasshopper: With an INFP 5w4, relationships are a slow dance, not a rave. Give it time. Remember slow burns create the most enduring heat. It’s like making a good Bolognese.

Best Careers For The INFP 5w4

Key Skills

Communication

Creativity

Problem-Solving

Critical Thinking

Teamwork

Best Jobs

Counseling/Psychology

Writing and Editing

Teaching and Education

Art and Design

Environmental Science

The INFP 5w4 personality type is well-suited to careers that leverage their empathy, creativity, and desire for deep understanding.

Key fields include Counseling/Psychology, where their strong communication and problem-solving skills can help others navigate their emotions.

Writing and Editing, which allows them to express their creativity and critical thinking.

Teaching and Education, where they can influence others positively and satisfy their love for lifelong learning.

Art and Design, which provides an outlet for their creativity and individuality.

Environmental Science, where they can make a difference by preserving the environment.

These careers also benefit from their ability to work well in teams, adapt to new situations, and think critically to solve problems.

Final Thoughts

And there you have it, the elusive INFP 5w4, a rare combo of dreamy introverts and analytical observers.

They’re a medley of sunset gazing from a window while simultaneously dissecting the meaning of life – fascinating, right?

Remember, folks, knowing your personality type isn’t just a party trick.

It’s the key to understanding why you can’t help but ponder existence while everyone else is doing the Macarena.

Boom! Personal growth and healthier relationships, here you come.

Official post by Joanne at Sacred Joanne

https://sacredjoanne.com/infp-5w4-personality/

[scribblingplace]

Griffin x Reader - An Existential Crisis

Pov: Your invisible boyfriend has broken in at two am to complain at you.  What else is new?

Griffin is having a time and you try to cheer him up.  This has been sitting in my WIP’s for ages, half way done.  And then someone dropped 13 chapters of an Invisible Man x Reader on AO3, and I got some writing inspiration back.  So, this is done, I guess.  It’s done enough. 

“Have I wasted my life?”  

“Pardon?”   

God you didn’t even hear him come in, which is surprising given that Griffin, for all he’s invisible, is not a stealthy man.  

“I asked,” he begins again slowly, voice regaining its habitual undercurrent of irritation.  “If I’ve wasted my life.”  

This is what you get for leaving the window open, assailed with existential quandaries while you’re halfway through brushing your teeth.  You spit into the washbasin and turn to try to find him.  

“I heard you, I just...don’t know why you’re asking.”   

He lets out a groan and you hear the bed creak in complaint as he drops onto it, sprawling if the depression in the bedding is any indication.  

“Because-” he snaps, then stops himself, tone softening  “I don’t know, I thought-” there’s a shift in the blankets and then he picks up the pen on your nightstand, toying with it absently.  “It all just-  It’s been years, I’ve gotten nowhere.”  

The pen drops and he flops back onto the bed, voice sinking to something terribly quiet.   

“It’s all so pointless now.  I’ll be stuck like this forever and for nothing.”   

He’s not, strictly speaking, entirely wrong, as much as it’s awful to think it, and would be worse to say it out loud.  

“Scoot over, I don’t want to sit on you,” you say instead of answering him properly and wait a moment for him to indicate he’s moved, watching the bedding for any signs of it, in case he’s not feeling communicative.  

There’s a shift in the sheets and you plop down beside him, leaning on your elbows and resting your chin in your hands.  “I’ll take the prolonged silence as a yes.”  “No,”  You start, hardly sounding sure of yourself,  “you haven’t-” 

“There’s no point in lying, we both know you’re terrible at it.”  

“Well, what do you want me to say?  Why ask if you already know the answer.”  

“I was hoping you’d disagree with me.  Normally you’re quite keen to do that.”  He huffs.    

“Well normally you’re wrong.”  Oh, oh that came out so harsh.  And the guilt for it is apparent on your face immediately.  “I didn’t mean-” 

“It’s fine.”  He sounds so tired, just admitting it like that.  

“No.  No.  You haven’t wasted your life, your life’s not over yet to start with.”  You manage to sound convinced of that at least.  “You’re just, in a bit of a rut right now.”  

“I’m legally dead twice over wanted for murder and if I publish my work I may as well consign myself to the gallows, as it links me directly to bashing a man’s brains into jelly..”  

“A big rut then.”  He sums it up well, so you don’t have much to counter him with, you grimace apologetically.

He groans.  You lean more heavily on your elbows, and the silence stretches out for a while.  

“Did something specific bring this on?”  You ask after a bit.  It could just be a bout of introspection, or a case of the morbs, but, well if you knew what prompted this maybe you would have some idea how to get his mind off it.  

“You haven’t read the paper lately have you?”  

“Depends which paper.”  

He rattles off the name of one of the science magazines he has stacks of in his own flat.  One you admittedly haven’t been reading.  It’s his field, not yours and generally if there’s anything that will catch your interest Griffin comes to show it off like a dog with a particularly nice stick.  

“Cranely was mentioned, he’s hinting at a theory, a general principal-” The malice in Griffin’s voice is impressive.  

“Your general principal.”  

“I Thought I’d kept it well enough hidden, he has the brain of a maggot, he had to have-”  

Griffin cuts himself off mid rant and curses vividly before the mounting energy seeps out of his tone. 

“But, eventually someone will come to the same conclusions as I did, without all the arson, and they’ll publish it and take the credit, and I’ll just, sweat under these stupid bandages until I die in a bar fight.”  

You take a look at the indentations in the bedding and go to squeeze what you hope is his hand, in what you hope is a reassuring way, and find his fingers.  

“It’s a predicament, can you publish your work anonymously?  Or under a fake name?”  

“It wouldn’t be the same.”  

“But no one else could say they did it first.  Maybe you reference your own work and just, I don’t know, pretend you’re some other scientist, who’s discovered it?”  

“Perhaps.”  He doesn’t sound sold on the idea.  But getting Griffin to take to someone else’s suggestions is always a bit of a process.  

“Do you want some tea?”  Sure, you were going to bed.  But now he’s taking up most of it.  So you’re going to have to put that aside from now.  

“I shouldn’t trouble you any longer.”  That’s a yes, as far as you’re concerned, and as close as you’ll get to an apology for breaking in.

“Too late, you’re here, you’re bothering me, Earl Gray alright?”

“Yes.”  He still sounds a little sheepish as you move to reheat the leftover pot from earlier.  

“I’m out of sugar, and milk.”  

“That’s alright.”   

You hum as you make the tea, anything to break the morose silence, tossing him a blanket to drape over his lap so he won’t burn himself on the mug when it’s ready.  He catches it, the fabric hanging in the air before hovering over his lap.

“I wouldn’t have minded the gallows really.”  He says, adjusting the fabric, you pause mid pour.  

“Pardon?”  

“There was a point, after Iping, when I realized that to publish my work would mean turning myself in, I’d accepted that, more or less, if I could only finish the project I wouldn’t have minded.  I’ve always lived for my work.  Certainly didn’t have anything else to look forward to beyond completing it.”  

You plop down next to Griffin again, and hand him his mug.  “Lord,” you don't really have anything else to say.  

You can see hints of Griffin’s face outlines in the steam off his tea, he looks very pensive from what you can gather.  You watch him take a sip and promptly spit it out back into the mug.  The liquid the only visible part of the action.  

“This is awful.”  There are droplets of tea on his chin and he turns to look at you, probably glaring.  “How long did you steep it?”  

“Twenty minutes.”  

There is another silence, as he lets this atrocity sink in.   

“It makes it stronger, it has more kick!”  It’s a flimsy defense, and your tone reveals you know it.  But you hear a reluctant sort of chuckle.  

“Kick?”  He asks, somewhere between appalled, skeptical and amused.  “There is something very wrong with you.”  

After everything he’s just dropped and the several major felonies he’s reminded you he’s committed in the last five or so minutes of conversation, it takes some real gall to say that.  

You drain your mug, doubling down.  He offers you his in judgemental silence.  You take it and place yours on the floor.  

Some of the tension seems to have eased, at least for the moment as you two sit next to each other, you press your side against his and he relaxes at the touch.  

“I don’t anymore,”  He starts up again, almost hesitant to break the reprieve from his thoughts.

“At least, I’d rather not, since I have concerns other than my research, at present.”  Given the halts in the sentence you expect this is going in a sentimental direction.  All compliments given sound like they’re being forced out at gunpoint.  It’s endearing in a strange way.   

“Such as?”  You think you can afford to prod a little.  

“You,” his tone drops to an awkward mumble, he pulls away a little and you think you can hear him scratching the back of his neck.  “I’m just, happy enough that- how things are-”  He cuts himself off, maybe he hasn’t quite figured out what he’s trying to articulate, since you can hear his foot tapping now.  

“Really? Even though I steep my tea for twenty minutes at a time?”  There’s a smile tugging its way onto your face.  

Another awkward laugh.  “Yes, even with your many deep personality flaws.”  He says, sounding a great deal more assured than he has all night.  You chuckle too.  

“Good, glad spending time with me is slightly more appealing then execution.”  

“Much more appealing,” he corrects.  

“But it still leaves me in a quandary, if I can’t publish my work and someone else does first I’ve made myself a freak for nothing, but if I do, while I’ll have the recognition I want, I will have to deal with, all the crimes I’ve committed, and I’m not so resigned to that now.”

He stands, and paces, you suspect the floors are starting to get worn down from the circles he walks in when he’s thinking.  

“Which brings me back to the initial problem, I’ve wasted my life on a grand project that can never amount to anything.  I’ve wasted my life.”  You hear the crack of his knuckles as his fists clench and unclench.  

“I still think it’s a bit early to call it.”  

“Why? The most I can hope for at this point is to make myself visible again and then what?  Carry on doing grunt work and beating the daylights out of people until I can’t anymore?”  

You think for a moment to point out that lots of people have terrible miserable jobs, so really he’s just back at the baseline in that scenario.  

At least, if you’re back where the conversation began he’s less morose, more himself about it.  

“No. No.  Firstly it doesn’t actually matter right now, since there’s nothing you can do, in my flat, at half past two in the morning about it.”  At least this time maybe you can come up with a better response.  

“Second, last time you burst in here it was to tell me you’d made some impressive progress with the last labrat.  So you’ll figure out how to be visible again, eventually, probably soon.”

You would stop to let him answer, but you need to power through this while you have any idea what you’re doing.  

“Thirdly, we’ll figure out some way for you to publish so you get your due credit and don’t have to go to jail in the process.  I don’t know what that is, maybe we just flee the country right after, I’ve always wanted to go to America.  But we’ll cross that hurdle when we come to it.  Okay.”  

“Really?”  He’s stopped pacing.  

“Really what?” 

“You’d run off overseas with me.”  

“Sure.”  You think it might be the late hour talking, but it’s not like you have such a remarkable life here in London that you couldn’t make a new one somewhere else.  “Why not.”  

“I hadn’t- I wouldn’t expect you too.”

“I know.  But I think I’m an accomplice after the fact at this point, so we’re in it together.”

“Oh.  Good.”  Had that really not occurred to him?  It must not have, given how short his response is.  

He starts his pacing again after a moment, you lean back on the bed and sip your tea and yawn.  And his steps pause again.  

“I should go.”  

“Maybe, I do have work tomorrow.  But, you can stay, if-” 

“No, it’s - I’m fine.  Things seem less of an insurmountable mess.”  He seems a little surprised by the admission, you are too, given that you don’t think you’ve actually done anything very useful, or really proven his initial concerns wrong.  But it’ll do for now.  

“Okay, then you know where the window is.”  You say, gesturing vaguely at it with your mug before setting that down too, you’ll do dishes in the morning.

“Night.”  You say as the window opens.  

“Night.” He says back, you like to imagine him waving, then the window shuts and you flop into your bed.  

[codenamesazanka]

Warning: Rant, character bashing, lots of opinions

I'm saying it outright. I hate Deku. He is entirely underwhelming as a character, much less as the main character, the shonen protagonist of the series.

It's a 'different' type of dislike, though. I feel like I could've like his character. There's nothing greatly disagreeable about him, he's as inoffensive as can be, he's an optimistic, considerate, and polite boy, he's as plain as he is said to be, and that's fine.

My issue is that he's not the character he's said to be. I, personally, just don't buy that he "possesses a drive to save others that eclipses all common understanding", or that he's super intelligent with great analytical abilities that he actually applies on the battlefield, or, in general, he's as amazing or heroic or compassionate as he's apparently supposed to be. How can he be inspiring if he barely challenges any aspects of the society he lives in. Deku is a super good example of the terrible use of "Tell, Don't Show". We're told about his amazing traits, but he rarely follows through; when we do see hints of it, it's lauded but frankly I think it's typical behavior and (this though is not quite his fault) written so stiffly and awkwardly I'm not convinced.

(Honestly I might even call him a Canon Mary Sue. He has no interesting or distinguishable flaws, unless having a shit for brains attitude is one but that's not acknowledged by the narrative. Breaking bones is not a personality trait. If he has a Hero Complex, it's not even the interesting ones where he fucks things up even more; or carries crippling guilt about circumstances beyond his control; or focuses completely on saving people to the point of rejecting almost all human connections and keeping deadly secrets - which is All Might's big flaw.) (Well fair, he does this in the most recent chapter but did it need to take 300+ chapters? Plus I sense the way it's framed is that it's the radical, but right course of action.)

Say what you want about Villains and redemption/shouldn't be redeemed/too evil to be saved/justice/etc, but I think this 'Incredible Drive To Save' should've included Villains from the start. Why does Deku want to "Save people with a smile on his face"? Assuming it's empathy, he should have felt some towards everyone he encounters, whether it's sensible or not. "Why are you so angry?", "You shouldn't go about things this way", "What caused them to be like this?", "Why is there evil in the world?" even. I'm still fuming over his Mall Encounter with Shigaraki, where Shigaraki pretty much reveals his damage: "All Might acts like there's no one he can't save"; but ultimately Deku goes "Wow, that sure is an opinion."

What kind of inane response is this??? There's little pushback from the narrative either, so this isn't pointed out as a failing of his (because, again, he has no big flaws). And he's supposed to be smart and caring. Yes, he does ask All Might right after the Mall Encounter, "Was there anyone you can't save?"; but essentially the replies he gets is "Don't worry about it" and Deku immediately largely puts it out of his mind "Oh whew, I was about to do some introspection and reflection". There isn't even the daunting, kinda-existential anxiety that people get when they realize it's impossible to save/help everyone - which is something, like, medical workers have to learn to deal with - that sharp sense of the inevitably of death, of loss, failure, guilt. I'm not asking for him to come to the conclusion that everyone should be saved - he could've decided nah, Shigaraki is too ugly to be saved and I would've been fine with that, it's part of the character role and potential development - just that he should've had a conclusion at all.

There are the latest chapters where Deku decides he wants to try saving Shigaraki first (though killing him is still on the table), true. Him wanting to save Shigaraki after seeing AFO merged with him, after seeing The Crying Child - but see, I don't think it qualifies because I think it's the bare minimum about of consideration, the typical response to seeing the body horror of warped, fused flesh, to seeing a small sad little boy. I think it shouldn't require "You look like you needed saving" for a true Hero to consider saving someone. Not for someone who is supposed to be unique and special in this regard.

*

I've complained about this before, but the trouble with Deku was evident from the very beginning.

Again, Deku wants to save people with a smile on his face, and again, I’m assuming it’s empathy. We're shown this on the very first page, as he attempts to protect a friend(?) from bullies, but imo like it felt groundless because who was the kid he was protecting? We never see him again. Did Deku's standing up to Bakugou work, and the kid was saved? Or did they both got beaten up; but afterwards, being the kind boy Deku is supposed to be, he still gets to his feet to help the boy, to apologize for failing.

But more significantly, this theme of saving was overshadowed immediately by his focus on superpowers - that he was quirkless. Next page, his focus was on ‘Woah, giant villain and superpowers!’ Instead of like. Helping people. (Though I chalk this up to early installment weirdness)

What should’ve happened if the theme was ‘SAVE PEOPLE’ Is something like: The opening sentence being “People are not born equal. This is the harsh truth I learned when I was four. I knew that... but despite my powerless, I still wanted to help. That was my first and last setback.” And the panels/images themselves (of little Katsuki and his friends) implies that people on the world thinks you need power to help people.

When he saw the villain attack on way to school, Deku can be wow’ed by the spectacle! But then he notices a kid crying and offers to help find his mom. He can be interrupted by a Hero saying he (the hero) will take over, he can find the mom and realize he’s late for school (and so that shows he’s willing to sacrifice something of his to help others! Because of his altruistic nature!). A scene like that, of him helping the lost kid, we would know that he wants to help *anyone*. At school, though, he still gets bullied for not having powers. So he’s mulling over that when he meets All Might, and asks the question.

It proceeds as usual for the next few events: When the sludge monster attacks Katsuki, he can still go gawk at the scene. He can still hesitate. In canon, it's only when he realized the victim was his friend that he jumps into action, which I thinks undermines the theme of 'wanting to save indiscriminately'. IMO, it would've been better that Deku sees it’s his friend, but he still hesitates. “There’s nothing I can do right? All Might himself said so...” But when he sees Katsuki’s *face* of fear, he runs to help. Instead of seeming like he helps only because he realizes it’s his friend, he helps because he feels too deeply about trying to save Katsuki.

Admittedly these are minor, personal critiques; but all in all, the first chapter fails to establish Deku is the willpowered, champion of wanting to save people he's supposed to be.

--Which is fine, if it's acknowledged in the story later, that maybe he wasn't the True Blue Hero he's supposed to be at first, but he can change and still become one. But it's not - Deku is apparently special, without anything special to show for it.

*

I read the one-shot "My Hero" - the prototype for this series - that Horikoshi published years ago, before My Hero Academia was created. I also found it underwhelming, but that was due to personal tastes (I wanted more explosions and dumb violence); as a story on it's own merit, the logic and progression was solid.

The Villains Heroes fought were 'Aberrations' - true inhuman monsters that showed no sentience that would eat people - so the focus could be solely on saving humans. The main character - Jack Midoriya - his original goal was less 'save people' and more 'become a cool hero', before learning that saving people is what true heroism is about, hero license unneeded. (Moreover, he really did 'save' someone without being a hero - by working hard, he was preventing the company from becoming ruined completely, which the CEO had confessed and thanked him for. )

This version of Midoriya didn't exactly needed deep empathy or compassion for that, just a strong willpower, which he effectively demonstrated by chasing after a childhood dream even as an adult salaryman in a tanking company, even though he had anemia and no training and no license. He insisted on this, to the point of getting hurt by being dumb, of being petty over someone dissing the Hero who inspired him in the first place, of skipping out of work and going vigilante. Not the most upstanding guy, but he came through in the relevant themes of the story, in being the character the story needed him to be.

Jack Midoriya was an unimpressive, weird-looking, weak, pitiful, somewhat selfish, awkward salaryman with no great aspects that 'eclipses all common understanding'. But he was a far stronger character than his incarnation Izuku Midoriya could ever be (so far).

[lindendragonart]

M and R for the ask game?

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Uhhhhh so many. Ok so you all know my Ahit prince longfic, my Nyakuza au fic, and my Hunter Gatherer au, and the angsty Toh Hunter one-shot, which is, at the time of writing this, the only fic I've publicly posted so far, but I've got more crap, mostly Hunter-related, mostly due to discord shenanigans.

I was recently thinking about how Gus and Willow have been pushed to the side. But oh I can't create content of them myself, I only ever create content of the specific character I'm fixated on, unless I can make some kind of tangential relation-

Gus and Hunter both have some type of gifted kid burnout and don't want to disappoint their parental figure.

Now there's obviously some major differences here, the most obvious that Perry is not abusive and doesn't seem to be a bad father in general, but I still feel like he's projecting his desires onto Gus and that is not good.

I had a lot of individual Hunter scene concepts/future episode predictions, but then I realized I could compile all of them into the same timeline if I keep the plot vague and ambiguous enough and mostly focus on the character study/character introspection part of writing. Hunter finding he's a Grimwalker and having an existential crisis over it is the main premise, then we delve into his thoughts during and after the Day of unity. Despite being titled "Grim-fated" the ending is happy/hopeful.

In Hunter Gatherer au I had Belos make Hunter's replacement sibling, and then some part of me went "You know what I'll do it again." So uh yeah, I have another self indulgent au that is canon-compliant 'till after Eclipse Lake, but Belos created a backup Grimwalker so… baby sibling! Running away! Palistrom bonds making the baby project emotions onto everything also made of palistrom wood.

On the topic of that, I always liked the idea of post-canon Hunter, assuming he's a grimwalker, becoming Bat Queen's protege, learning about himself, discovering his abilities, hosting palisman adoption day in other parts of the isles.

But the beginning of his tutelage admittedly did not go smoothly, considering that after he unlocked his latent palistrom abilities he got hit with waves of emotion from every palisman in the vicinity, and we all know how much inner turmoil all these palismen hold. So yeah that made Hunter very sensitive and prone to emotional outbursts at the slightest provocation until he could learn to get the palistrom hyperempathy under control.

I also got the concept that King's species are stonesleepers so Hunter's lungs were actually harvested from one of King's relatives. The main premise is basically Hunter feeling guilty for every breath he takes cause it's not really his own, knowing that a life had been taken to grant him his, wondering if it would have been better if the stonesleeper was alive instead of him, just this strange type of survivors guilt.

And uh, now this one started out as a discord discussion on whether or not the Owl gang would be willing to assasinate Hunter to stop the Day of unity, then it devolved into a joke about Hooty owl-pelleting him into the basement, and then somehow evolved from crack fic concept to actual story about Hooty stockholm-syndroming Hunter (only half-joking but hey, even that is better than what Belos is doing to him so I see this as a win). So yeah that's a thing that ended up getting far more serious and whiplash-inducing than planned, despite the silly moments inherently tied to the premise. Bany is basically co-creator on that one. (I should really clean up my concept doc and show them the scene snipets)

Btw you can ask me about any of those. The questions motivate me to actually write. (Gosh I gotta get back to ahit)

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

Yeah, my style always slightly shifts under the influence of an amalgamation of all the writers I've recently read, but I still stand that Lemonadesoda and Banyanas have had the most influence on me considering how much I've discussed stuff with them. They're some of the first fanfic creators I've reached out to form a steady online friendship with and ask for advice and brainstorm concepts. And it's a combination of Lemon's work and the realization that some of my ideas are just too detailed to simply draw a scene and then tack on an explanation, that kinda broke me out of that shell and made me snowball into actually writing in the first place.

Thank you for the question!

[symptoms-syndrome]

Lately my patience for bullshit has been extra thin, I think. I'm usually good enough about it to not be a dick, but grrr sometimes I really fucking want to.

Just a little bitching and moaning below the cut.

For some reason my fuse is especially short when it comes to self-pitying and entitlement. Not necessarily that the two are related (though sometimes they fucking are!!!) but those two things for which my seemingly endless patience (or the collective seemingly endless patience, as I in particular DEFINITELY have an end to my patience) has a definite end.

Anyway there's someone in a discord server I moderate who's been self-defeatist almost constantly, and in a very attention-seeking way. Which I knowwwwww isn't necessarily "bad" or "wrong" (I DEFINITELY did that as a teen, though this person is mid/late 20s) but it sure is fucking annoying. And as the resident mental health knowledgable person in the whole damn server, I've been trying to GENTLY push some coping skills across the table. Or another part gently pushes coping skills across the table while I fume behind the curtain.

It just pisses me off! The idea that people chose to sit in their sadness and push away every chance they get to make anything better at all! And don't fucking lecture me about how everyone's at a different stage because I KNOW. It doesn't mean it doesn't still piss me off. It's still fucking annoying. I associate it with being a stupid teenager, not being an adult. Maybe it's because I'm jealous they're allowed and able to do that, while I didn't have time to do that as an adult because I had to get shit done. Maybe it's just that I'm unempathetic and missing the compassion key other parts have or whatever the difference is. Do they not realize how fucking draining it is to everyone around them? It's a fucking bummer, dude! And then they have the fucking gall to be like "nobody likes spending time with me :( I have no friends :(" maybe because you won't shut up about how no one cares and your life sucks all the fucking time! If I was out with someone having a good time and they told me nobody liked them I'd be pretty fucking insulted! And of course I care when people are sad or upset or hurt or whatever, but really only when it's something that makes sense. If it doesn't make sense to me it's just annoying in my eyes. You're not the only or even the first person to be sad! And this person in particular keeps being all fucked up about these huge existential questions about who they are or whatever, which I get, but you get there when you get there and you need to do the small boring shit first, like some CBT or whatever. But they don't want to do the small boring shit because they're laser focused on this one Giant Answer, which whatever not my problem I'm just giving some shit that could help but leave it if you don't wanna use it. But they have the audacity to be like "when will I care about myself" and my man, that's up to you bud! That's 100% on you. They act like recovery is something that will stumble upon them by chance instead of something fucking hard to achieve. I GET they feel all alone or whatever but they seem to be under the impression I just got lucky with recovery. Which is frankly insulting. I don't tell them that though. Someone who's much kinder than me was real nice about everything and talking shit through which means it's MY turn to bitch about it on the internet away from their eyes and ears.

Anyway I'm sure I could be all introspective about this and maybe later I will be, for now I'm just going to be a lil hypocrite and bitch and moan. Whenever other parts help these kinds of people I want to yell that we should just leave them to figure out their shit on their own. And occasionally they listen but most of the time I'm dismissed.

I think a lot of the others feel like a "bad person" cuz of me. Which whatever. I would say I feel bad but I'm not going to lie about it. I do what I need to do and say what I need to say and I'm the one responsible for getting us out of a lot of bullshit to begin with so I know they're grateful and all even though they feel guilty and fucked up about me. On a whole (probs bc of the autism) we have very low/no empathy, and I think a lot of others make up for it by being extra kind and compassionate, I just don't bother. I'll help because I'm not a total asshole, but if someone doesn't wanna accept the help that's their problem and I won't bother trying to pull them out of their own shit. God (and Seba) help those who help themselves. You gotta pull your own damn weight.

[sheresh0y]

Mar'eyce: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Mando OC Kaiyah Awaud

Word Count: 5.9k

Rating: M, 18+, no younglings. This is a mature fic.

Warnings: dead body mention, angst, we get a little too introspective and existential in this chapter, extensive talks of loss of parent and loss of spouse, hallucinations, swearing, minor character death, too much Mando'a, I realized too late that this accidentally turned into a slow burn oops lol.

Author’s Note: I'm going on an optimistic limb and saying that most updates from now on will be on either Sundays or Mondays. If anything changes I'll let you know, but for now I think this is best. No beta, extended note, translations, and lore at the end.

Summary: "Would they and could they follow each other to the ends of the galaxy?"

Read from the beginning: Mar'eyce Masterlist

(gif credit to oraliaonettii on tenor)

Kaiyah had been in hyperspace for nearly a week straight. A tedious, awful, boring week. Dantooine was on the other side of the karking galaxy, at least from Arumorut. She was aptly reminded of why she never became a beroya in the first place. Too boring. The week, however, left more than enough time to think about the dead Kiffar she had in a duffel bag behind her.

The ship Kaiyah borrowed wasn’t much bigger than an X-wing, it could squeeze maybe three people in the entire thing and that was a big maybe. She never had to worry about getting her own ship, if she left Arumorut for anything it was day trips, supply runs, even when she was busting up the underworld the pilot used their ship.

So, Kaiyah was stuck with a rank duffel bag and suffocating guilt in a seven-by-three space for days. On the surface, the job worked. She sacked out for fifteen standard hours with no dreams after she got to hyperspace. The cloudy, foggy feeling was gone and she didn’t feel near as cranky or paranoid. It was nice to be in control of herself again.

Unfortunately, being back to herself meant consequences and questions. What was the Kiffar running from? Was it Harbinger? Why would Harbinger have anything to do with a non-Mandalorian on purpose? Kaiyah checked the body over after her nap, even did a scan with the handheld medical device Ro and Ba’buir insisted she carry just so she could check for trackers or chips that some slavers put in people. She couldn’t find anything. No tattoos marking them as property, no chips claiming stake. Who was this Kiffar? And just what were they wanted for?

As Kaiyah lowered onto the dock in Arumorut, she commed Harbinger. She wasn’t dragging a dead body through town just so he could look at it, if he came here, saw the Kiffar, and paid her at the docks it would be a lot easier to dump the bag into a ravine and only have to deal with this in her nightmares. Much to her non-existent disappointment part of Harbinger's entourage showed up instead, the man with blue and maroon armor strode up and looked in the bag, nodded, and tossed a pouch of credits at her.

“They had some death bed confessions, any chance I’ll have a target on my back?” Kaiyah asked as she fumbled the deceivingly large amount of money. The man turned his head to look at her, the helm he always wore shined glossy in the afternoon light. It didn’t gleam like Mando’s beskar, it was more like satin. Coated. It bumped and moved awkwardly against his body, not fluidly like it was a part of him.

The man shook his head at her, “It shouldn’t. Thank you for your service, ma’am.” Kaiyah watched as the man took the bag with him and when she couldn't see him anymore she turned to finish cleaning the ship. The way he threw money at her and called what she did a service felt like he was shooing off a particularly annoying handyman, paired with his tinny and staticky vocoder he sounded like the stormtroopers that always thanked her when she turned in a bullshit tip while she was a rebel.

It was degrading and insulting, nothing like when Mando thanked her. His voice was always warm and he always meant what he said. Kaiyah wished more people in the galaxy were like him.

“Kaiyah Isabeth Awaud! Where have you been? Do you know how worried we all were?” Nejaa nearly screamed as they jumped from one of the seats in their granddaughter’s karyai.

Kaiyah cringed as she heard her middle name drop. It was only used in the worst situations, like this one, she supposed. Placing her helmet on the side table by the door, she strode through the rest of the house shucking her armor. “Dantooine. Harbinger had a job, I took it. It’s not a big deal,” Kaiyah shrugged as she set the pieces on her counter and pulled out cleaning supplies.

“It is a big deal, no one knew where you were-“

Kaiyah tuned out the tirade, she had heard enough of them. Accountability was important, they needed to know where people were in case there was an all-hands-on-deck emergency. Blah, blah. She knew. Wiping down the metal her thoughts turned back to the possible assassination.

Maybe the Kiffar was too close to something, knew something that someone (namely Harbinger, he was her only suspect at the time) deemed they shouldn’t. Kaiyah thought of the only thing no one in town knew about and interrupted her ba’buir, “What’s Harbinger clearing the forest for?”

Nejaa look affronted at being cut off and sputtered at the shift in conversation, “I don’t know. Nobody does, but I assume it’s for more training ground. It wouldn’t do any good to remodel Arumorut proper.”

Nodding, Kaiyah twisted it back and forth in her head, one on hand it wouldn’t. Move or demo all the houses and put them where? In the field, so you can move them back? On the other hand, it was Harbinger, he would do something so asinine. “Do you know where he hung out in the galaxy? He’s your nephew after all,” Kaiyah grunted as she scrubbed at a stain.

“Nathan didn’t say anything to me. Excited to see his youngest come home with a wife, all he could talk about was how he was beating me in the grandchildren department. How he’s claiming to have twenty I have no clue,” Nejaa swatted Kaiyah away and picked up a different solution, pouring it directly on the hal’cabur and letting it soak there. “Why?”

“The job I did for Harbinger, he said it was underworld and that there wasn’t a puck. I figured it was another hunter. Someone that no one wanted to admit they had a bounty on, you know? I don’t think it was. They weren’t a slave, I checked, but they said ‘at least he can’t get me now’,” Kaiyah picked at something on her nails. Avoiding her ba’buir’s eye line she finally whispered, “Did I just kill someone for Harbinger?”

“Fob or directions?”

“Fob.”

“Then probably not. Fobs come from Guild work, I think. If your that paranoid about it you should ask your beroya,” Nejaa jabbed. Turning to the stained chest plate, they wiped the stain off without effort and moved on to the vambraces, dismantling them before scrubbing between the buttons with a toothbrush.

“Mando isn’t my beroya,” Kaiyah muttered and walked into the kitchen as she felt the heat rise on her neck.

“Yet he’s the only one you respect enough to call ‘Mando’. He asked about you, you know. Wondered where you were and if we’d seen you around. Wasn’t very sly about it, honestly,” Nejaa opted to leave out the three in the morning spiral he sent them all into when he stormed nearly every Awaud house in search of her. It wasn’t their place to tell Kaiyah, even if they wanted to.

Not everyone agreed - when could Mandalorians agree on anything was the question - but Nejaa thought that love was a choice. A series of choices, choosing that person over and over even when it was hard. Loving someone didn’t mean that the couple would never struggle, it meant choosing and staying. Since Mandalorians married forever, it was important to Nejaa that even though the Ka'ra picked every Mandalorian's soulmate, they all got the choice to stay, even Nejaa.

They had never had a formal divorce from their partner, even when the two separated. It was surprisingly amicable, especially since Nejaa got to keep Kai. They both knew what was going to happen on Concord Dawn, they knew what Death Watch was planning. Nejaa couldn't stay somewhere just to die and their partner was tired of fighting.

In all, they thought that forcing two people together was never going to work because it wasn’t a choice at that point. The couple would just go through the motions until death or hatred and they wouldn’t want that for anyone.

Nejaa would never say anything, even if Kaiyah and Mando didn’t end up together like the Ka’ra thought they should be. The two had to make that choice together. Would they and could they follow each other to the ends of the galaxy?

Kaiyah figured it was best to let everyone ream her at once. If Ba’buir was that upset about her disappearance, chances were everyone else was too. It was the first rule of Mando school: don’t go off on your own, you or someone else could die.

Tann would never admit to it but she thought that when Kaiyah was gone for a week and a half that her aunt died. Kaiyah let her get in a solid punch. Dagon guilt-tripped her about it all since he couldn’t throw a punch and his sister-in-law would never let him. Ro teased her about Mando some more, “Nearly busted my door down trying to find you. You would think he lost something important.”

Kai gave her the best-disappointed look he could muster under his circumstances. It felt like everything took more energy than it should, the only reason he mustered up the strength to get himself out of bed every morning was that Kaiyah would force him if he didn’t. Between the routine his daughter and buir set up he now puttered around his house, mostly in suspense of a surprise visit from one of them. He swore to the manda they traded days since the two of them never showed up on the same day.

To make her disappearance right, Kaiyah was pressured into multiple rounds of cu'bikad by Tann and her brothers. At the kitchen table and away from prying ears, Nejaa and Ro filled Kai in on what had happened, Dagon had already known due to being nosy and worried about his husband’s midnight activities. The Zabrak was under the impression that they should up the pressure, force them to be around each other until one of them finally gave in.

In Dagon’s mind, Mando had already let Kaiyah know he trusted her implicitly, children were guarded very carefully and not just anyone was allowed to handle them. In addition to that, the tribe he was a part of was very closed off, they were secretive about their families and tried their best to remain as impassive and unapproachable as possible. Dagon was able to crack some of their shells by charisma alone, but it begged the question: why would Mando leave his child with someone who wasn’t one of his people?

Nejaa and Ro immediately vetoed it. Nejaa for their personal reasons and Ro brought up the fact that if anyone had forced the two of them to date it would have ended in disaster. As Kai listened he decided he was on the side of leaving them be. He was proud of his daughter finding her soulmate (kind of, technically Mando was the only one who knew) and was excited for Kaiyah to start that part of her life but not at the expense of her resenting them. If the Ka’ra wanted them to be together, they would figure out.

As Kaiyah played with the kids she spiraled about her missions lately. Ryloth and now Dantooine had ended in disaster by her standards. She still hadn’t told her father about Cerna and at this point, she wasn’t sure she should. It had been six weeks. What if he hated her now?

The Awauds believed that no one truly died as a Mandalorian because people remembered them and Kai clung to that belief with Ilyah. When Dagon and Ro named one of their sons after her, using her old clan name as Ellis's birth name, the man sobbed openly. Talking about her made the tension leave his body and the rest of the Awauds tried their best to remember new things about her; favorite jokes, food, scents. Anything to keep Ilyah 'alive'.

So, to Kaiyah, it felt like it didn't matter if the old rebel captain was saying all those things. It was a moment of weakness that cost her mother part of her soul and no one could forgive that, especially not her father. Ilyah was half of Kai and that was proven when she took half of him with her.

It was a subject that was tiptoed around, no one had the vocabulary to talk about it. It was labeled as “the accident” or just plainly “well, you know”. On top of that was Kai’s behavior afterward. Was this something that happened to every Mandalorian or just those that were lost violently? Was Kai and Ilyah’s bond stronger somehow? There wasn’t a way to talk about the accident without talking about Ilyah so nothing was ever said and now Kaiyah didn’t know how to approach this new territory.

As the night started to wind down and the rest of the Awauds made their way home, Kai and Kaiyah were eventually the only ones left. Manda seemed to have made the decision for her and figuring it was now or never, Kaiyah sat next to her father at the table, on his right side like always. Kai perked up slightly, his kids still came to him for advice every once in a while. Mostly just talking things out and coming to their decisions on their own and he expected some exasperation at the family, maybe now that his daughter had a soulmate some advice that he could help with.

“I killed Cerna. On the Ryloth mission.”

That was not something he ever expected to hear. Cerna? Their old captain, Ilyah’s best friend, hells at one point they even made her Kaiyah and Ro’s godmother. That Cerna was on Ryloth? It made no sense. Cerna was New Republic and had no business being on the Outer Rim, he had been keeping tabs on her after the Awauds left the Rebellion.

Kai’s dark eyes bounced around his daughter’s face, looking for something- anything -to tell him that this wasn’t true. Maybe Kaiyah had just killed someone that looked like Cerna. That had to be it because if Cerna was gone then the only people who could remember Ilyah properly were the Awauds.

“She was the slaver. I tried, buir, I really did. She wouldn’t tell me it was a mistake or listen to me at all. She-she just started saying the worst things. About everyone. I-I don’t know what happened, I don’t know how she ended up there. All she said was that the New Republic was awful and that the kids were good slaves beca-because they’re Trandoshans. Told me your speeches were bullshit and buir was always meant,” Kaiyah swallowed ache in her chest. She could do this. She could look her father in the eye and tell him why she killed his friend.

Kaiyah continued, trying her best to blink back the tears that were threatening their arrival, “Buir was always meant to die.” She decided to change the wording at the last minute. No one needed to relive the worst moments of their life. Ilyah’s freighter being shot down by anti-air cannons was certainly Kai’s.

Her father never really emoted normally, Kaiyah knew that. It was a lot of blank stares, sometimes the family could use his body language as a cue, but more often than not it was just guessing. Now though, Kai looked like rage. His heavy brows were drawn down and in, jaw clenching so hard veins in his face bulged out. His eyes were hard and cold and a very different kind of empty at this moment. Like he had to wipe away the fact that his daughter was sitting across from him.

Taking a shaky breath in, the tears weighing down her eyelashes starting to escape as Kaiyah tried to apologize, “It’s no excuse. I know. I-I should have been better. I... Ni ceta, buir. Ni ceta.” She just kept repeating the apology, hoping that somehow Kai would understand. She knew what she did and it felt like she had personally killed her mom as she looked at her dad, unwavering in his seat. The disappointed anger was palpable.

Kai stared at his daughter, trying so hard not to cry under the weight of his stare. She wasn't successful, not by a long shot, but she was trying and it ripped Kai in two. He spent so much time in his head that people would think he had everything figured out by now. And sure, he used to be able to fib his way through it, act like he knew what to do, but could he pretend to forgive this?

There was one less piece of Ilyah in the galaxy now and it was Kaiyah’s fault. Could he ever look at his daughter again knowing this? No matter what Cerna said she was remembering his wife and that was better than no one remembering her at all. To Kai, it was a day too soon approaching now, that one day no one would know Ilyah and everything she did. Realization dawned on him that no one would ever know her, not as he did, and it broke his heart all over again. No one knew her anymore. No one knew tor'ika, not anymore.

When the silence went on for too long Kaiyah got the message. Her buir was upset and rightfully so. Kaiyah was just one more thing to add to his list of disappointments. Scrubbing her face in an attempt to get rid of the sticky feeling of the tears left behind, she stood, “For what it’s worth, buir, I meant it. Ni ceta.”

Kai didn't even hear the door as it closed, barely saw his daughter leave his house. Ilyah was always better at this parenting stuff. She was fun and supportive, going above and beyond for their children and their interests, and always knew what the right answer was, especially when it came to the creed. She was the one that instilled the sense of justice in their children, to Ilyah manda meant guardian. This larger-than-life sense of passion and duty. She only ever gave one speech in her life and it was to the kids right before their Verd'gotens.

"To be a Mandalorian means you have the knowledge and capabilities to do the right thing, no matter the cost. It is your responsibility when you swear this creed to do that. Do you understand? That everything we trained you to do is to not only take care of us and each other as aliit but those who need it. If you two decide to swear to manda that you are strong enough to do this you not only become warriors but stewards to this way of life. Champions to no one and protector of everyone. You don't do it for the recognition or the fear that comes with the mantle you will carry. You do it because you heard the call and are answering it."

Kai hadn't known until that moment what being The Way meant to Ilyah and the intensity that she felt for it. That it was important for her children not just to be good warriors or kind people, but honorable Mandalorians. He felt like he was at an impasse because technically, Kaiyah had done the right thing. Ilyah would have been proud of their daughter for doing everything she was supposed to. She not only protected her family, she defended children too. It was what the Mandalorian Ilyah raised would do. It was no different than when she mauled Harbinger.

But this right thing had the wrong consequences. There were so few people left to talk about Ilyah that it was a crime to wipe that out. It was a good thing that was bad. Again, Kai was left asking himself could a bad thing and the right decision exist?

Not the first time, he wished that he was on that stupid freighter. Ilyah wouldn’t have let any of this happen. She would have least said something, no, no. She would have said the right thing.

Kai ran his fingers through his hair, stressed for the first time in years. It wasn't a feeling he liked. The pit that writhed in his stomach like a snake nest, making him relive all of his worst decisions and dark thoughts. A tapping sound on the front room window had Kai jerking his head up. Was it Kaiyah? Did she come back? Could he show her that he wasn't mad, just so confused?

A black glove knocked on the window, a smile peeked out from the corner. Thin lips, sharp and wicked pulled in an all-knowing grin. Almond eyes crinkled in smugness looked right through the distraught man at the table.

Ilyah.

It couldn't be. Not now. Not after this many years. Kai grimaced to himself. He thought he was over this. He saw her so many times after her death, thinking that Ilyah hadn't truly died, it was just a nightmare, only to be plunged back into the real world where she had.

The figment of his imagination knocked again. Louder and clearer this time. Kai squeezed his eyes shut. Covered his ears.

No. No. No. Please, not now.

It was incessant. Sharper, repetitive. It wouldn't stop. He could feel it in his heart. Hear it in his blood. It was unending.

He had to get it to stop. How did he get it to stop? What did buir say? Face it down and show it it's not real? He could do that.

Ripping the front door open, Kai wildly turned on his porch. Ilyah was standing at the end of the street, helmetless but armored. Her pauldrons winged out from her shoulders making her look so much bigger than he knew she was. While she didn't enjoy being a 'feared warrior' she leaned into the stereotype. Said making her opponents shit their pants was the easiest way to win.

Ilyah gestured Kai closer, "Catch me if you can." She takes off running. Down the street and into the town center and Kai doesn't think twice about his decision. Their part of town is empty, everyone in their homes tucked away. No distractions. No trip-ups.

He nearly touches her, catching the top pauldron because grabbing the kama didn't count. Ilyah disappears. Reappears five feet away, diagonally.

Kai can’t stop. Not now. Not when he’s so close. He can hear her, he swears it. Ilyah laughs, a tinkling bell kind of sound, “You’ll have to be quicker than that, alor.” Closer to town now, Kai is forced to duck in between people and vendors. He doesn’t hear the shouts, doesn’t see the shock. He can smell her, the lotion she uses is minty and medicinal. Twisting into an alley, he trips over himself in his haste. He can’t lose her. Not again.

Kai stops. He’s lost in the alley, an alley he doesn’t recognize. He turns.

To his right, like he’s clearing a blind spot.

One hundred and eighty, he’s watching his six.

To his left, nothing.

Facing three hundred and sixty, he catches a glimpse of her kama, now Kaiyah’s, fluttering behind a crate.

He takes off in a sprint again, his chest is tight, pulling in ways he didn’t know it could anymore. Kai passes through a haze of jogan pie and gags. Ilyah couldn’t stand the fruit, would claim she was allergic just to get away from it.

He’s in the town square, he thinks. He doesn’t know how he got there, it’s loud. So loud. He can’t hear her anymore. He doesn’t see her anymore. Her lotion has faded into the background and he's spinning trying to find it again. It’s the damn jogan fruit. It upset her. It made her leave.

Kai collides with something, heavy and metallic. The blank T-Visor of an unpainted beskar helmet cocks to the side like an interested owl.

He sees her, over the Mandalorian’s shoulder.

Ilyah.

He found her.

Finally.

She’s pointing at the Mandalorian, mouth carved in a wicked gleam.

He understands.

Kai clasped his hand around the man’s shoulder like he used to do when Ro was small, “You’ll be okay. It will all be how it’s supposed to.”

Brushing by the man, Kai followed his wife home.

Finding Mando was a lot harder than Kaiyah originally anticipated. Usually, she could just find him at home or if she was lucky around town somewhere. This morning, it appeared, luck was not on her side. Not that it ever really had been, Kaiyah thought to herself bitterly. Luck wasn’t for her, even if her armor donned the color. The purple accents were mostly a bitter commentary on the fact that more often than not she just… got lucky.

Kaiyah got lucky when she didn’t die in the explosion that killed her mother, she got lucky with the jobs she took, not every Mando’ade was able to do what she did, most taking on jobs to feed their clan the best they could. Living amongst other Mandalorians, even. Knowing she had a home in a galaxy where most people didn’t. Her entire life she had scraped by on the fact that she had gotten lucky. It seemed though that that luck had finally run out.

It was stupid to tell Kai-buir what had happened on Ryloth and it had been so long that now it looked like she had been actively trying to hide it. The luck that webbed Kaiyah’s life together like spider silk had been swiped through when she opened her big, fat mouth over the situation.

Of course, your luck doesn’t extend that far, di’kut. You wanna test fate you jump off a building, not ruin what’s left of your father’s half-life.

Kaiyah was new to guilt, she hadn’t dealt with a lot of it over the years. The things she did were things that she needed to do to survive. To protect. To serve. She could squint and turn her head at a lot of the Maker-awful things she had done and say it was for the greater good. Live her life with the knowledge she had done the right things and not war crimes.

She thought that maybe, possibly, hopefully, she could mirror her buir. See how to navigate this sticky tar-like feeling that was pulling her down and have some kind of help. Confide things to her father again, like the family they used to be. Kaiyah should have started with Harbinger. That’s why she was looking for Mando after all.

The nagging thought hadn’t left her, even after talking to Ba'buir, that maybe Harbinger had taken a bounty out on someone and she had unknowingly committed an assassination. It wasn’t like that would be her first one, not by long shot, but her cousin could have just asked instead of this wild goose chase.

Wandering up and down Arumorut, stewing in her head, Kaiyah kept an eye out for the beskar wall of a man. Mando was a rare breed, the focal point of any room when he wanted to be, or a wisp of blaster smoke that quickly faded into the background. Kaiyah could be looking right at him and not know Mando was there until he wanted her to know. It had happened before and she desperately hoped he wasn’t trying to use against her again.

Tann had wanted to learn more about swordplay, hoping to pick up the skill that not only her ba’vodu used, but her Ba’buir Ilyah too. Of course, Ilyah could also use a blaster, where Kaiyah could not. They just never seemed to work for her, jamming the second she put her hand to one or smoking out of places they shouldn’t be.

Because Ro wasn’t as good a swordsman as his sister, he volunteered her for the training, which hadn’t been a problem until Kaiyah had gone to pick up Tann from school. Arumorut education was different from the rest of the galaxy, every parent volunteered time to teach something to the children that wasn’t Mandalorian related since that training was handled by the parents. Unaware that Mando had been teaching that day - she hadn’t seen him in the schoolyard where children were being picked up or inside the classroom when she had peeked in impatiently - Kaiyah let her niece run her mouth a little too loudly and a little too long.

“Look! Look, Kaiyah! Your boyfriend brought paper today, can you believe it? I didn’t know paper still existed,” Tann gushed over the project, holding it just out of her aunt’s hands for the sake of its integrity.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Stop letting your Edalinare put worms in your ears,” Kaiyah rolled her eyes in a huff.

When her view finally got straightened out again, there Mando was. Leaning back on the door frame not ten feet away, fingers tucked in his belt loops and ankles crossed looking the perfect image of ease as his T-Visor was staring right at the two Awauds, he knew exactly what Tann was saying. Kaiyah swore he wasn’t there before, he hadn’t been there the entire time, she would have known. At least, she hoped she would have.

“Come on, he is too! Buir told-“

“Tann, I love you, please stop talking,” Kaiyah whisper-pleaded, her voice nearly an octave higher out of embarrassment as she pushed the pre-teen away from the schoolhouse.

Keeping that memory at the forefront of her mind, Kaiyah made sure to double-check every glance for the silver Mandalorian. She had almost made a complete circuit of the town, ending up by The Covert’s edge next to the docks when she found him, a bag slung over his broad shoulders and hands full of supplies with the cradle floating a step behind him.

“Mando! Wait up,” Kaiyah called out, jogging up next to him. He didn’t wait for her, in fact, Din nearly tore out of the town like a bat of hell.

“Long hunt?” she tried asking conversationally, waving to his things.

Din grunted, giving his best attempt at a nonanswer. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he planned to avoid her.

“You could always leave him here, I wouldn’t mind watching him again,” Kaiyah offered. Honestly, Vor’ika was probably the best baby she had taken care of in years. Slept through the night, ate well, whatever Mando was doing was working.

“That’s not necessary,” Din said, nearing running speed, hoping she would get the message. He did not want to have the conversation she wanted to have.

“Oh, okay. I just had a quick question for you-”

Din groaned. He was so close to getting out of here, away from this soulmate nonsense. Even Paz was drinking the crazy punch, asking Din if he should talk to Dagon about setting him up and finding that special someone. It was insane, truthfully. No matter how much the town tried to convince him otherwise, no matter how he might have felt about Kaiyah, his attitude remained the same. People weren’t puzzles, they were born complete, no need to force two people together because of a myth.

“Am I bothering you, Mando? Because you can just say so,” Kaiyah didn’t expect the insecurity that peeked through the question. She was a grown woman, a Mandalorian, men shouldn’t make her feel fragile.

Din cursed himself at the sound of her voice. He was being rude. Not only that, he was being rude to the only person in town that actively sought him out. Not the kid, him. Din. If it was a soulmate thing he would just deflect. He could do that, it's not like he would be coming back here anytime soon. Forcing himself to slow down, he answered her question, “No, you’re not. I apologize."

Going through all the ways she could kill a man as a pep talk, Kaiyah tried again. “I had a question about fobs, I got back from a job recently that didn’t have a puck but had a fob. Is that a Guild thing or an anyone thing?”

“More often than not it’s Guild work, but it depends. What was the job?” Based on her question, it felt like Kaiyah didn’t work in the Guild often so Din didn’t feel too bad about breaking any rules. It wasn’t like Karga was around to stop him.

“Assassination, I think. Harbinger wanted proof of death.”

Din hummed to himself. Anyone with a chain code could have a fob, pucks were mostly rap sheets with a last known to get you close enough to let the fob work. Running through all the other work he had done was hard, it mostly blurred together. The only job he had ever taken without a puck was the kid’s, even with Ran there were schematics and a plan.

“Did Harbinger tell you last known?”

“Dantooine, why?”

Now it made sense why she was gone so long. Dantooine was on the other side of the Outer Rim, it took her days to get there and back. “More likely than not he got the fob from the crime lord who wanted a message sent. Don’t worry about it,” trudging back up the foothill Din thought the conversation was over.

“The quarry just said something weird at the end. ‘Now he can’t get me’. If you’re right someone put the fear of The Maker into that Kiffar,” Kaiyah muttered as she trailed behind him.

“Crime bosses thrive on fear. Don’t think too much about it. That’s what Harbinger wants.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because he seems like the type of jackass to do that sort of thing,” Din responded right back. The Crest was in sight, he could finally get back to what The Armorer quested him with and away from whatever was going on here.

Kaiyah looked up at the gunship, it was old. Old, old. Like, The Rebellion would have used this in the war kind of old. Watching as Mando walked up the ramp, she was struck with a sort of longing. There wasn’t anything here left for her. Harbinger was running town better than she ever had, her father didn’t want her around, Ba’buir Nejaa was fully retired, and Ro had a family to take care of, he didn’t need to babysit his sister until she got her life together. It was like all the ties and things she could think to stay here for didn’t exist anymore.

Mando had it good in Kaiyah’s eyes, a job that he couldn’t be ousted from, no ties to anyone but Vor’ika. He could just up and leave whenever he wanted and she wanted that too. Traveling wherever she wanted, making her own money, and taking care of people she wanted to, that sounded like the dream.

Feeling brave, Kaiyah shouted to Mando again, “Got room for one more?”

It had been weeks of searching. Nobody could find him. It was like the old chieftain just disappeared. Ro had forced the search radius to its limits, there were only so many days a person could go without food. All of Arumorut poured out into the forest, every able-bodied individual combed through the forests, mapped out river flow, time seemed to stop in the settlement as they searched for Kai Awaud.

The last accounts of him have people stating he was feral, running through the streets until they lost sight of him.

A wake was held, a ceremonial pyre burning for the lost alor.

Kai wouldn’t say he’s lost now. Not anymore. He knows where he is.

Home.

Among the stars.

Translations & Lore (in order of apperance):

Beroya: bounty hunter

Ba’buir: grandparent

Karyai: living room

Hal’cabur: chest plate

Alor: leader

Ka’ra: stars, myth of the council of kings that guide Mandalorians. In this AU they are also the people who decide soulmates.

Buir: parent

Manda: heaven, collective soul, and guardian.

Kai-buir: masc parents were usually three letters and then ‘buir’. Femme or single parents were usually just ‘buir’.

Cubikahd or cu'bikad: In canon, basically chess with knives. Sabine and Fenn Rau play it in Rebels, according to Wookiepedia it’s played on a hologram where two players gets four knife pieces on a cube board with the objective of capturing the other players pieces. In Legends and on the Mando’a website it’s played on a checkered board with up to four players and they use real knives. A mishmash of darts, chess, and ludo it’s seen as a rough game that non-Mandalorians should not play. I liked the Legend aspect better mostly because I feel like we have too much holochess in Star Wars and Mandalorians are the CEOs of Doing The Most.

Ni ceta: groveling apology, extremely rare.

Tor’ika: Little justice. Kai’s nickname for Ilyah since her armor was the color for it.

Aliit: family, clan

Mando’ade: children of Mandalore, Mandalorians.

Di’kut: idiot

Ba’vodu: Aunt/Uncle

Edalinare: Zabraki, family

Vor’ika: Little green

Extended Author's Note:

Kai and Ilyah hold a very special place in my heart, Ilyah was actually the mock up for Kaiyah before I decided that she would be too intense for someone like Din. I then made up Kai, someone to mellow her out just a little as two side OCs in this AU I really had no plans for. I was going to start from scratch and create a Mando that would fit better with our resident space dad, but I couldn't get away from these two. I ended up writing their entire story, from birth to falling in love to death before I even touched Mar'eyce. They were my first OCs ever, actually, and I'm sad to see them go. For now. I do intend on editing and posting their story after I'm finished here (if I ever get finished here. We'll see how S3 of Mando goes). I know that posting that end bit about Kai doesn't really make sense in the scheme of things for this fic and it was hard to flesh them out when they were both at the ends of their story but I felt that Kai and Ilyah deserved their own 'soft epilogue' and it fit right here.

Thank you for bearing with me,

Elle 🧡

[girl4music]

Early morning perusings: A 'thing' is both thought and form. Thus, everything is beyond our understanding.

Without 'yin' and 'yang' there would be no experience of anything ever. And the whole thought of that is incomprehensible to me as there wouldn't even be 'thought'. And 'thought' is the fundamental of every 'thing'. That is not an exaggeration. A 'thought' is a thing in it's fundamental existence. In fact, most would probably say that a 'thing' cannot exist if it is ONLY thought and not form. Well, in that case, there is many formless things we need to reconsider calling a 'thing'.

'Love'.

'Energy'

'Electricity'

'Harry Potter'

If only form is a 'thing', then there is much about our existence and experience we should not call a 'thing'. So what else can we call it instead? An "idea"? A "concept"? A "substance"?

Thought exists if "things" exist. There would be no "thing" without thought. So to distinguish the differences between them is really quite pointless. Because 'form' itself is just another type of thought from the mental type. It is just one with energetic development behind it. And because two or more people can see and hear and feel "form"... It is often assumed that that is what is 'existence' and what is 'reality'. But like I said... If that is true, then there is much about 'existence' and 'reality' that we miss. The entire human experience is both of thought and form. So much so that there really is no separation or division between them. So that means that when the potential is excluded, the understanding is half-done. It means half of the understanding of reality... Or of existence...

Of the very "science" of it...

...

Is missing.

And you see, this is what Albert Einstein was trying to do. He was trying to unify all understandings of reality or of existence. He basically said that if the point was not to understand existence fundamentally, then there was no point to existence at all. Now that I disagree with, but I do understand why he thought that. Our understanding was incomplete in his eyes. In his mind, 'The Universe' was not unified because it was not understood entirely. I would rather put it as The Universe does not need to be entirely understood, but humanity should realize that "understanding" is what "The Universe" actually is in it's own experience. The Universe is fundamentally a formless thing. One formless thing at that. And that is why a "thing" of any form exists to us. Now to entirely understand that is impossible. Even for a genius, as THE GENIUS himself found out. It cannot be entirely understood. Only partially. And that's because only a part of what is going on is included in that understanding. The other part is excluded. Denied even.

I think a problem we have in understanding 'The Universe', of existence itself, is that we understand it in 'parts'. Because the thing is that there are no 'parts' to existence. It's all or nothing. The very nature of 'existence' is for everything to come and go together. There is no "part" to it. Form and thought come and go together. Form and thought imply each other. Form and thought are within and without of one another. How can you possibly "understand entirely" that?

I love Einstein, don't get me wrong. I thought he was brilliant. I do still think he is brillaint. But he was in way over his own brillaint head if he truly believed "unifying" the theoretical meant entirely understanding 'The Universe'.

"The Unified Field Theory".

How bold. How grand.

Realistic? No. Effable? No.

No theory will ever work to understand 'The Universe' because 'The Universe' does not need theory. WE NEED IT! And that is just something we do not get. Will not ever get. The fact that we think existence or reality itself needs a reason, needs an answer to exist or to be real. So I propose instead we should change the way we think and believe about reality or existence itself because our experience is fundamentally a "thoughtful" one. Before physical interaction there is the connection of mind and matter. A connection of which is so truly seamless, you could not distinguish one from the other. Nor should you. That is the only "understanding" we should have of reality or existence. Anything beyond that is a fool's game. We'll never truly see the end of our introspection if we carry on trying to "understand" passed and beyond our experience. That won't work. I am putting forth a suggestion that our experience should be what we understand 'The Universe' to be. And not just OUR experience of it but that of the experience of everything that is capable of experiencing. That of consciousness. That does not 'negate' or 'exclude' form. It does not deny the 'physical' or the 'tangible'. It does not make 'fantasy' more important than 'reality' or make 'theory' or 'philosophy' more important than 'science' or 'mathematics'. I am simply saying it ALL GOES TOGETHER. You cannot 'part' nature. That is what science is currently doing and has been attempting to do for decades. Getting to the bottom of it by slicing the very fabric of 'nature' in half. And they still believe that is the answer. And what for, exactly? What is the need to answer for? What is the POINT? What you're trying to do is better UNDERSTAND reality. Not better actual reality. And I suppose the excuse is that if you understand it better, you can actually better it. No... Better understanding it often leads to worsening it because science does not know when to leave well enough alone. And to think I am just some random white girl from some random town with a mind that is far too active in the early hours of the morning saying this. Postulating is fine and is fun. Attempting to use that postulation as a means to pack the entirety of The Universe in a pretty neat basket? Or to cut it down so that the mathematical equation fits on a t-shirt (e=mc2, anyone?)... Which is exactly what scientists and philosophers alike try to do on a daily basis... That's a fool's game. You'll be there forever and you'll miss out on the actual joy of experiencing. Of living. Just as Einstein did. He was so absolutely wrapped up in his equations and his theories that he forget to actually Live Life and neglected his family. He got lost in his own brillaint head and died unresolved.

I would honestly love to continue Einstein's work on the Unified Field Theory. Because it is without a doubt a brillaint theory, that could explain so much about how existence even works. But if it also means taking on his beliefs and his insistence to exclude quantum physics... I'm not interested. Because unlike him, I believe classical and quantum physics are happily married. I see no quarrel between them. He always did. And yes, it has a lot to do with my personal worldview. I won't deny that. I am biased towards my own personal understandings. But it also has a lot to do with the fact that I believe all worldviews are viable and can and will work together whether I agree with them or not. Whether I think they make logical sense or not. I don't agree with classical physics - or at least much of it. I think it is the wrong understanding of reality. An incorrect picture of existence. But despite that - I do also think it is very useful and beneficial to evolution. To have a wrong and incorrect way of understanding is not necessarily a bad thing so long as you don't close the book on everything else. Every other understanding, point of view, worldview... As long as you stay open-minded and open-hearted. Wrong and incorrect understandings have helped us shape reality from purely thought into form. Have helped us "create" much of The Universe... As well as "destroy" it. Humanity always needs a reason to do anything, right? Albeit a very bad one... But that's subjective of course. But I'm not gonna go into that.

I don't think it is lost on us as a species that this world (Earth) is one of thought and form tied together. Not most of us at least. But it is lost on us that this world (Earth) is a metamorphosis in constant change and evolution. An organism of it's own generation. And it is certainly lost on us how WE fit into that. Or indeed, are also, that. And as a logical opinionated person who does use understanding to a great degree in their conclusions about reality and existence, I think that is a perfectly plausible explanation to reality and existence. It's one that does not disclude "God" or "The Big Bang" or any other interpretation whatsoever. It is one that does not completely side with either classical or quantum physics or of "relativity VS quantum", as the age old debate goes. It is one that does not deny the "spiritual" or the "mechanical" worldviews of The Universe. It is one that is open-ended. And I am always willing to see any and all sides of the argument as I am one that believes in evolution in every way possible and that everything contributes to evolution in every way possible. Yes, even the Darwin "evolution" interpretation as restrictive as it is. I think it's all viable. I don't think any one theory or interpretation nullifies the other at all. Even if they completely contradict. Even if I completely disagree or have bouts of cognitive dissonance on it. I just think it all works in the sense that 'yin' and 'yang' works. Yes, that is the interpretation and worldview I go with most over all. But there is always room for others, for more or different information, and I welcome a great rousing debate on the subject. I don't take the argument so seriously. It's fun to me to peruse and prod existentialism. I believe it is possible to not see the 'The Universe' in 'parts' while still understanding everything has a part to play in it.

I think we take words too literally sometimes. Terms and definitions should be loose, not literal. Especially since they're made up in the first place. And going back to my original rant, I said that a thing would not be a "thing" without thought. Well, it would also not be a "thing" without word either. And while I do agree that words are important to experience. I don't agree that they should be used to term and define it - or nature. And this is because everything IS nature. And you cannot term and define the everything. You cannot box in The Tao. In many Eastern cultures The Tao is 'God'. It is beyond 'God' even. It is The Everything there is. Including that of which CREATES and DESTROYS The Everything there is. It is the fundamental source and fabric of reality and of existence itself . Of ALL THAT IS. And I understand ALL THAT IS as NATURE. And I stop right there. I don't go any further than that because words can only go so far if they are ever useful to understanding anything at all. Thoughts also... Only go so far. At some point you just have to give it up and take it as being beyond you. Beyond your capabilities and capacities to understand. And believe me, in spiritual circles, that's as "enlightened" as you're ever going to get. Ever going to achieve. If you want to move beyond that, you're setting yourself right back on the path to delusion. It is beyond you to move beyond it. In scientific circles, that's the equivalent of letting your theories or logic overcome your common sense and practicality to actually do "science". There is a point. It's not for me to say whether we should or shouldn't step beyond that point. Or insist it. But it is my belief we shouldn't. A belief based on the evidence being so far that we just make things much worse and much more complicated if we try to. And based on the consequences of that means living and experiencing takes a backseat. Goes into the background. That should never happen. Living should always be forefront of every picture we paint. The quintessential experience of everything is nature itself. Is 'God' itself. Is Tao itself. And I just think to want to go beyond that or to need an answer for that... That's a fool's game. I won't play that game. I'm not a fool.

I understand everything as 'yin' and 'yang'. The principle and process. The what and the how. I do not attempt to understand beyond that. I do not need to understand beyond that. Because I understand everything as 'yin' and 'yang', I understand how life itself connects and contradicts both at the same time. I understand how it is happily married and unhappily divorced at the same time. I need no further understanding than that.

'Yin' and 'yang' is it for me.

Done.

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Blending left field jazz elements with club tropes to forge something truly new, Emma-Jean Thackray's work is never less than riveting. New album Yellow is out on July 2, with the composer commenting: “It’s a record about togetherness, the oneness of all things in the universe, showing love and kindness, human connection. I approached the record by trying to simulate a life-changing psychedelic experience, an hour where we see behind the curtain to a hidden dimension, where the physical realm melts away and we finally see that we are all one.” Set to be released via her own Movementt imprint, the album is led by gorgeous new single 'Say Something' - opening with glimmers of Rhodes piano, it leans on that hi-hat shuffle before Emma-Jean Thackray uses her voice to elevate the song. A plea towards communication, it's a powerful introduction. [via Clash]

Philadelphia punk rockers Mannequin Pussy have released the title track to Perfect, their upcoming EP due out May 21. The new song comes with a flashy music video that’s inspired by the kitschy glamor of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, too. Musically, 'Perfect' is a distorted blaze of rock guitars that sees vocalist-guitarist Missy eviscerating the idea that people must manicure their own social media presence. “Last year, I found myself spending more time on my phone than I ever had in my life… I realized that through years of social media training, many of us have grown this deep desire to manicure our lives to look as perfect, as aspirational as possible,” explained Missy in a statement. “We want to put ourselves out there, share our lives, our stories, our day to day — and these images and videos all shout the same thing: ‘Please look at me, please tell me I’m so perfect.’ It’s simultaneously a declaration of our confidence but edged with the desperation that seeks validation from others.” In the accompanying music video, directed by Missy, viewers get to watch as a 10-year reunion at Sugarbush High slowly unravels. It opens on three former classmates, all three of whom are pregnant, dishing some hushed gossip and talking about how they want to get plastic surgery that’s so good they mistake one another for strangers. Cue two students-turned-drag queens making a grand entrance and strutting their stuff on the dance floor (mirroring the 1997 comedy classic) while old classmates gasp, shield their eyes, and panic. Meanwhile, Mannequin Pussy can be seen tearing up the band stage while they perform live. [via Consequence]

Following the release of her debut EP I Can’t Cry For You in December, Manchester’s Phoebe Green is back with new bop ‘IDK’. “[It] explores a complete detachment from reality, observing things from a place of total apathy and feeling as though I’m witnessing my life as a bystander with little to no connection to it,” Phoebe explains. “It’s a horrible state to be in, I think it happens when I get overwhelmed.” [via DIY]

Fast-rising French-Korean artist spill tab is unveiling her latest mesmerising single ‘Anybody Else’. Accompanied by a new vid directed by friend and collaborator Jade Sadler, spill tab says, “This song is cheesy as fuck but I love it, it’s pretty straight forward, a little shameless - the lyrics are sort of a way of expressing my love without openly saying I love you. Jade Sadler (the video director) and I just wanted to have a shit ton of fun on this one. We thought about something with narrative or plot and it was just getting to be too corny. I wanted something lighthearted and playful, so we decided we would have all of our homies in this video paired with different colors and angles and set designs. I’m so excited with the way it turned out.” [via DIY]

Willow Kayne has shared her debut single 'Two Seater'. The Gen Z talent links together huge opposing forces, creating her own potent brand of rebel-pop. New single 'Two Seater' finds Willow blazing a trail, upending convention through melding together differing sounds. The lush, 90s inspired soundscape leans on nostalgic impulses, but her punk-like disregard for convention is sheer pop futurism. Produced by DANIO, it finds Willow Kayne coming into her own completely off the bat. [via Clash]

BENEE has shared a video for her single ‘Happen To Me’. It’s the latest cut from her debut album, Hey u x, which arrived last November featuring guest spots from the likes of Grimes, Lily Allen and Flo Milli. “This song is super important to me,” she says. “It’s the opening track [on the album]. It’s the first song where I’ve written about anxiety. The lyrics are pretty dark. Life is pretty crazy right now, and I think it’s important to talk about this kind of stuff.” Of the video, she adds: “Stoked to be sharing this music video with everyone! I filmed it with a bunch of mates, and it was the coolest set! Hope you love it as much as I do.” [via Dork]

Los Angeles-based art-pop artist Kit Major has shared the music video for 'When the Drugs Don't Work,' a more introspective stab at her signature dark, electropop sound. Blending driving dance beats and thumping hyperpop-influenced synths, Kit Major creates an intoxicating elixir of soundbites and grit. Taking inspiration from Charli XCX, Billie Eilish, and Charlotte Lawrence, 'When the Drugs Don't Work' dives into the overwhelming vulnerability and panic of failing to curb a depressive episode with medication. With this release, Kit Major furthers her efforts to be open and make light of her mental health struggles. On the video, Kit Major shares, "'When The Drugs Don't Work' was filmed in one weekend, directed by my best friend in my departed grandparents' now empty house. We filmed this in quarantine without a crew and worked to create a dark & twisted fairytale together. When I first started thinking about the video, I knew I wanted a more lighthearted take to balance the darker theme of my mental health in the song. I wrote the lyric, “little princess hurt locked away inside her palace,” because sometimes when I'm isolated in my room I visualize myself as a Disney princess running inside her castle, instead of being in my bed, surrounded by empty water bottles. This song was written from a mix of different perspectives including my own, my persona, and outside voices. I think we accomplished the storytelling behind WTDDW by portraying the importance of imagination and trusting yourself."  Alongside, director Noël Dombroski adds, "WDDW is a raw, introspective song from Kit that shines a light on parts of herself that at times may be hard to face. We were lucky enough to be able to shoot at Kit's late grandparents' house, an emotionally significant location that acts in the video as the inside of Kit's head. We wanted to challenge viewers to look at every facet of themselves and realize that each part is valuable, even if you may not like it. A conversation we had a lot was about the color scene, where the image of Kit is being pulled apart by color channels. You may hate one of those colors, but you still need it to create that full image. The same can sometimes be said about depression - it may be a layer of yourself that you don't care for, but without that experience, I don't know that WDDW could exist." The music video dives into the psychological turmoil at the heart of the track with a hyperstylized touch. Spotlights wander through a funhouse version of Kit's childhood home, hunting down our protagonist, who we find trapped behind bars, downing teardrops from teacups and champagne from the bottle. Simultaneously unnerving and stimulating in a Paranormal Activity-meets Alice in Wonderland aestheticism, the music video for 'When the Drugs Don't Work' dives into the floating images of a mental breakdown with a fever dream lucidity.

Number One Popstar continues to prove herself as a powerhouse, shaking up the music world with her fresh, unapologetic beats. This week, she shares another one, her new single 'Forever 21.' And no, it’s not about clothes. 'Forever 21' begins with a kicking beat, but subdued with reflective, twinkly keys. It’s a perfect mix of existential dread and dance. Carrying this vibe throughout, it breaks in between with a beaming guitar-driven bridge. Lyrically, the track makes us question why brands and media make it seem like our twenties are our prime, when we still have our whole lives ahead of us? Despite the effervescent pop sound, Hollowell got vulnerable about her past and its effect on the song, saying, "I initially started writing 'Forever 21' when I found myself looking back on my early 20’s, wanting to recapture the hopeful and dumb feelings of my youth. But the longer I spent on the song, the more it became a reflection of the loss I faced when my parents passed away in my early 20s. I started looking at my own fear of death, of dying like them. I really didn’t know where my life was headed back then. […] I eventually turned that painful experience into a motivation to go after everything I wanted in life. To be seriously less serious, recognizing everything is fleeting.” Like her other music videos, Hollowell likes to flip popular culture and societal expetations on their head. While also bringing the fear of aging to life, she also reminds audiences to stay present instead of holding on to youth. [via Earmilk]

Following in the footsteps of Prince and Lizzo, Dizzy Fae is set to become the Twin Cities’ next pop sensation. She just dropped her brand new track, 'BODY MOVE', and much like the name suggests, it will make you want to move. Self-described as alternative R&B, Fae takes a few notes from contemporary hyperpop artists like Charli XCX and Doja Cat with an industrial iciness that plays off the technicolor pop melodies. It’s an influence you can hear on 'BODY MOVE', produced by New York’s Stelios (Young Thug, SZA). The track builds itself off a snappy, rubber band bass line indebted to pop’s recent disco revival. “It’d be so cruel if I didn’t let my body move,” Fea’s voice loops through a robotic filter. A buzzing drum machines barrels in at the chorus, transforming the lightly retro groove to a futuristic club track more akin to the production styles of 100 gecs. But for all the modern influences, the Ying Yang Twins reference shows she’s a student of all types of music. [via Consequence]

Technically, 'Your Power' is not the lead single from Billie Eilish’s newly announced album Happier Than Ever. The album includes two songs she released last year: the jazzy, well received ballad 'my future' and the contemptuous multi-format radio hit 'Therefore I Am.' However, 'Your Power' is the first song Eilish has released since announcing the new album, debuting her new look, and officially commencing her LP2 era, so there’s definitely a deep sense of anticipations around the song. Eilish teased 'Your Power' this week with a brief sound snippet featuring acoustic guitar and the words “Try not to use your power” sung to a Feist-y melody. Now the full song and its Eilish-directed music video have arrived. The completed record remains as soft, pretty, and devastatingly sad as the preview audio. In the clip, a slow pan across a mountainside in the Simi Valley reveals Eilish in the clutches of a gigantic snake. (A press release specifies that it’s an 80-pound anaconda.) [via Stereogum]

[adamgeorgiou]

Arthur, My Cousin and Me

I don’t know how to detangle Arthur from myself enough to write dispassionately or accurately. Instead, what follows is something like half him, half me. It’s more journal entry than elegy. To a general audience, that might make this less interesting than it otherwise could be, but it’s what I’ve got. Remember this if and when you get to the end. 

Anyway…

I feel like I knew Arthur. Then I heard what others had to say and saw what others had to feel. Following his death, I still feel like I know him. In certain ways better than most or all. But there’s a part of me that’s often strained to believe that I was in more of his inner circle than I actually was, and his death exposed the truth of my position.

It’s a practical observation, not a dramatic one. I’m not saying he had a dominating and hidden alter ego or that he pitied me. It’s simpler: his death revealed my confidence in our bond as an illusion innocuously leftover from being kids together, from back when we actually spent serious time together. I want him back now like I’ve continuously wanted back what we lost long ago, but now it’s double-permanent and legible. Before it was remediable and blissfully hidden — embarrassing in hindsight, like most nostalgia. 

But he also had that same nostalgia and held onto it, too, which makes me feel better. That mutual thread to our shared past was strong for both of us. It gave us a lot to lean on, but we leaned on it a little too heavily. Without that crutch, our adult lives were mostly opaque to one another, but also we were getting close again, involving each other again. Building anew. The left hook following the right. It’s a shame we weren’t closer than we were, when he died. It’s a shame our getting closer was cut short. 

I guess it makes sense, generally: as adults, we’re all doing niche things, and niches are small and excluding, so everything else trends towards becomes small talk. (And that’s fine and right, because focus is necessary for growth. Just try and stay loyal, which Arthur did and my cousins do.)

Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was uniquely outside of Arthur’s confidence, but more that we had both (or all) grown a bit into our own isolation. In any case, I mourn the loss and its new finality.

So that’s him and I as adults, apart. Who was he, though? What can I tell you?

Well, I’ll briefly start with me, for context. Who I am is still him, the result of his influence, for sure. Of growing with, then adjacent to him, then apart, then converging again (more on the converging, later). If you distilled me down and got rid of all the litter and trivia, the rare and potent stuff remaining would be similar to what I knew of Arthur. We had the same essence, as I saw it. So I can show you that reflection, and you can tell me if it’s accurate (See: first paragraph’s disclaimer). (Also, note my calling out our similarity is carefully placed right before I go on to flatter him best I can — tactics, baby — but don’t read my ego into this. What follows is all my cousin.)

Arthur and confidence. Old saying: the pro fails more often than the amateur tries.

The subtleties of his personality were sophisticated and complicated. He could spar at an exceptional level from an early age. But he started out lazy and overthrowing a lot of his punches, gassing out quickly. 

As a kid, he was autistically independent, preoccupied and hyper focused, but without any of the social hangups. He could talk to anyone and impressed everyone. He was adored, and rightfully so, but he also marched to the beat of his own nunchucks, exclusively. You couldn’t bullshit him, and you couldn’t placate him unless he was genuinely fascinated with what you offered. This is how kids should be, insatiably curious and wild. It was my favorite era of his, and where we spent the most time together. I was such an asshole to him, and he still always hung out with me. And we followed each other into a lot of similar interests.

Then he got his first hit of testosterone, and followed a phase where he literally held a fist up in every photo taken of him. Ha. Puberty’s a bitch. That didn’t last long. Reality checked and he stabilized. The important thing is that he knew he wasn’t going to watch, he was going to play. I loved him here, jealously and from a further distance. I couldn’t hang.

Then maturity: The firm handshake, the direct eye contact, the bright teeth, the smiling cheeks. Approachable, but not daffy. If anything his charisma was a prank and shrewd tactic; a car salesman during the first act, a playful subversion before the intellect and wit made their debut; or, worse for you, they didn’t. You’d start talking to Arthur and think you were walking in on a frat-boy breakfast table, then he’d go on to tell you why your problem was really because of what Robert Moses did back in ‘56, or he’d ask if you thought the The States were in a similar stage of decadence as Rome before its fall.

To him, your reason was more important than your choice, which is an axiom of all good conversation, one that most people are afraid to admit because doing so requires the ability to tread water. It’s easier to talk about the weather or watch sports. But Arthur wasn’t afraid of going deeper, and he had the tact to know when it was the right thing to do.

He was a man of appetite. A true traveling gourmand. He could scoff at you from within a seersucker, but he never compared oysters. If a menu offered Seattle’s or Rhode Island’s, he’d reply, “keep ‘em coming” and demand littlenecks or (and) crawfish to follow. He was less interested in varieties of wine, more in varieties of tomato and whether you had a good coarse salt.

He was spoiled rotten — as we all were, and mostly by the same sources — but he lacked pretension, except for that deliberately wielded for ironic effect. Underneath all his developed and developing taste was a lot of comical stoicism — laughing at gross injustice and absurdity, but also doing something about it, literally. His principles were conjured up from experience with the trappings of pleasure, with readings of history, with a variety of surprisingly worldly stories. I always wondered where and how he got it all. The guy had seen things, but not that many things. How was he always so versed? I don’t know, but if you’ve ever watched him eat a box of clementines straight up, wide-eyed in a wrinkled rugby shirt, then you would also know he was more pensive than pleasure seeking.

Entertainment was a defense, one he was growing out of as he realized it interfered with his goals and their requirements. A defense against what? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect the typical. On one hand, a lack of patience and a petulant refusal to be bored. On the other, the existential and solipsistic. A defense against the subconscious shame and pain of cynicism. Was love real? Was wealth worth anything? Was the world bogus? Was anyone authentic? Ethical? Himself? Others?

Look, I’m not saying he was overwhelmed with this gooey crap. He was a thinker, not a navel gazer. I don’t know if he even said any of this stuff out loud, but anyone with a brain is going to ask some questions about the life they’re living and the society they’re in, and most of us don’t like the first obvious answers we come up with. Then we do something about not liking those answers. We put fingers in our ears some of the time, we do what’s easy some of the time, and we do what’s difficult some of the time. And also, anyone with any talent is going to find themselves bored among the average, and falling short of their own standards. These were Arthur’s struggles, I think. At least, they’re kind of my struggles, and Arthur seemed to harmonize with me when we’d commiserate. Or maybe we were both pompous assholes, wannabe aristocrats from the suburbs. Or maybe that was just me. Ha.

To some, it might seem appropriate to haunt him here in this postscript, as if to justify his death as the terminal approach of a depression into cessation. Let me be clear: this was totally not the case, from my vantage. Instead, the above attitudes are more like the required cost-of-entry to a great show. If the unexamined life isn’t worth living, it does not mean the examined one is easy to live. The alternative is Judge Judy and a monogrammed armchair. Not for Arthur. Caulfield eventually quits his bitching, but he has to eat a lot of shit first. Siddhartha finally leaves the brothel, but he had to walk in that door in order to walk out of it later. Hard times are the prerequisite to epiphany. Painful and confusing; but hopeful, not despairing. 

And you could tell Arthur was among this company because the personas he employed became increasingly sophisticated, useful, attractive, and comfortable. From the brawling, pack-leading, indulgent, jokester/show-off into the relaxed, independent, luxurious, conversationalist who wasn’t as afraid to let his guard down, who was increasingly responsible. He was cultivated. He had a tamed self-consciousness (as we all aspire). It was impressive to watch him pull his own strings, to compare that with your own attempts and be humbled.

And thus, as I see it, the irony, hard to swallow, is that Arthur was finding answers to life’s hard questions in fistfuls. Love was possible. Work was worth it. Viktor Frankl was right. And he was learning patience and conviction, already better at their practice than most (e.g. me). As Dan put it, he was just taking off. He jumped and then a hand reached up from the almost escaped gravity and cut him by the heel.

A complete, but simple tragedy.

Complete, because the good guy lost. 

Simple, because Arthur’s life was not some melodramatic airport novel. His death was a lightning strike, a deus ex machina in reverse. A two sentence accident, not an assassination. Not much more to be read from it. Mortality is hard, right? (See: Genesis).

And for all my elaboration, I don’t even think Arthur was all that noxiously introspective or exceptionally self destructive either. The guy knew how to love and be loved. How to let his hair down, appropriately. How to shift gears and drive forward. How to resist temptation. How to find and be good company. How to stare at a fish tank. How to sit and read. How to eat fruit in the sun. He was typically bright, with a lot of flair and personality. I know he was grateful.

Or I’m wrong. Maybe I’m inventing a story to make sense of something more concealed or of pure chaos. I don’t know. I don’t think so.

In any case, it’s a tragedy. And regardless of what is true, I’m still glad I got to hear his story and be part of some of it. He was and remains a good influence to me, a fellow bright eyed boy attempting to sustain himself in the body of a straight-backed man. He’ll live on for a long, long time. And I keep talking to him.

That’s some of what I knew of him. And given this is my catharsis, forgive me further, but more about me:

Sadness, gratitude, and disappointment. 

I’m sad. Still? Yes. Always? Probably not. The inevitability of death hits a certain emotional bedrock after enough love is lost. I’m probably not there yet, still more distance to fall, but things are tapering off, in the aggregate. Maybe I’m just cold. 

Sadness is the least interesting. I am separated from someone I love, and that sucks. We all have people we’ve loved, and we are all damned to lose them. But yes, I get those black bile clutches to the chest as I’m reminded that Arthur (et al.) is gone. And I wanna hold your hand, if you’re feeling it too.

It’s a curse that requires gratitude. Time keeps on slipping, and the portion of time that one spends with good people is shorter still. I’m thankful for Arthur’s good company. From childhood to peerdom. This is what I’ll try and focus on. It’s the mantra I’ll repeat. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Then there’s the sulking disappointment. My head slowly shaking, my eyes unfocused contemplating the loss of the unpredictable conversations, the refreshingly interesting trivia, the uniqueness, the independence, the honed never impersonated taste, the great breadth of knowledge, the artful ball busting, the avoidance of cliches, the shared recommendations, the belly laughs. Obnoxious mutual indulgence — food and talk — during Thanksgiving at Stacy’s table, the shared past at Everit Ave, the just started planning. The feeling of a just missed answer to the question of how to get it back, continuously nagging.

More on that: I’m dealing with a huge mess of unanswerable questions and impotence. There’s so much broken by his leaving, least of all in me, and I can’t fix any of it. No way to organize it. I can’t even help others fix it. Acknowledging the impossibility of the situation seems better than ignoring it, so I will (…acknowledge that death breaks the world and makes inconsistent a lot taken as granted). Arthur’s death is an oily surreal void in the middle of the road. A portal to nowhere. And sure, life will go on. We will preserve. Time heals all wounds. That’s all true. But any schmuck can offer a platitude. I want to be responsible for what he’s left behind, in precise detail. I want to pick up the slack, fill in the blank. But what was his remains his, locked up behind whatever door his soul is now shut. It’s maddening.

I went so far as to tell Olivia that I was her brother, too, and that I would be there for her. Idiot. I love her, she knows I love her, I know she loves me. Yada, yada. I need no pity for my vomiting on the rug. My point is: I can’t be Arthur. I can’t even be close to Arthur. Adam — while still pretty good — isn’t a substitute for Arthur. I apologized for being so naive and sloppy, but the moment taught me what I was trying to say above: that I am ignorant of so much of Arthur’s life, and in ways that can’t be remedied by interviewing his friends or reading his book or wearing his shoes, sort of speak. A lot of it isn’t just unknown, it’s unknowable.

This requires more thought. Surely something can be done. Entropy can’t be rewound, but duct tape can keep a plane in the air. So here’s something I’m going to try: I’m going to be more vulnerable. I’m going to expose myself the way a brother or a son might, and see what happens. It won’t transform me into a replacement, and I’ll probably make a clown of myself. But it’s worth a shot. To build different connections, instead of replicas. I can already see that the cousins have been hammered stronger by this. Now it’s time to be deliberate, and keep that train going, if possible. And yea, I’ll do the practical stuff. You can’t call Barb, enough. And I’ll call Liv, too, but with finesse, without overdoing it. And the rest of our family, as well, because we all lost something. For some a spleen; for others, more vital organs.

Moving on.

It’s further maddening to have Arthur’s death aligned and intertwined with so much of my pleasure. I’m a week into marriage. I’m ecstatic and overwhelmed by the potential of my future. I’m also newly terrified of losing a child not yet even conceived. That’s a fun one. Probably a lot more neurosis to come. But, yea… it’s a violent set of waves to endure and ride. It’s exhilarating and crushing, and guiltily I’ll admit, more of the former. I’m pronoid.

The guilt compounds as I realize that I’m only comparing the conflict between my pleasure and pain, when the actual accounting includes my pleasure, my pain, and all the pain of all the others he left behind, those we both loved. What about Alexandra? Barb? Liv? Dan? A dominating, trailing factor; ego-hidden and selfishly deprioritized. What would Jesus do? Not have a wedding during shiva, although I appreciate all the encouragement and insistence from the also mourning invitees.

Back to Arthur and I having grown apart and then, more recently, back together:

There exists a line separating most relationships. On one side of the line you have people who have a reasonably complete model of you in their head. (See: Theory of Mind.) On the other side of the line are people who have a functional model; they know what they need to know to get the job done, but they don’t know, perhaps have never seen, the whole thing. For ex., a spouse vs a colleague (most of the time). 

The line is called intimacy, and relationships on both sides of the line can be valuable, but the intimate ones have more potential in both directions, fat tails; the intimate ones can yield fortunes and bankruptcies. Acquaintances are tepid.  

I described it above, how Arthur’s and my relationship moved from the intimate to the distant. I’ll skip further detailing that transition, and just get to the thing that hurts now: we were getting markedly closer, again. I could see the trajectory of our friendship and would bet on our returning to intimacy and confidence.

If the isolation of vocation and growth drives most bourgeois adults apart and into impersonal silos, then eventual mastery and plateau allows room for a focus on humanity, again. And humanity is universal and objective. People can stand on it, together, and get to know each other (again). That’s where I felt Arthur and I were.

I felt like Arthur and I had taken two separate tracks at a fork 15 years ago, and just recently those two roads started to merge back into the same path. We had stories to tell each other, of our time in the wild. It was the basis for a new bond, perhaps stronger than the old one.

Unsolicited phone calls. Talks of marriage, health, wealth. Suggestions of books and podcasts that were actually followed through with, instead of disappearing into the void like most cocktail party prescriptions. We’d follow back. Not rushing each other past awkward silence. Being patiently invested in one another. Showing up. Talking about vulnerable topics, like fears and aspirations for careers, and relationships, and family. And then, right during the peak of this rekindling, this jubilee, he died. And I doubt that I was the only one whose newfound growth and compatibility were cut short. You’re not alone.

So I hurt for the spent love, yes, like that of most grief. But I hurt more for the lost potential. I had so many fresh dreams that included him. It’s disappointing and sad.

To be clear, I’m disappointed in what’s lost, not disappointment in him. I blame him for nothing, even if maybe I should or others do. But any of his mistakes could have easily been mine, and so I sympathize. I’m not angry. Ambition implies risk. Vice is vice is inevitable. Growth means growth from something. Different contexts, need not apply.

Anyway, what else? The thing I linger on now is a weird faith. I have little faith or rather I have difficulty finding faith. I scrutinize faith until it’s demoralized. And yet, the discontinuity introduced by Arthur’s absence gives me faith, illogically but compellingly. I don’t strive for it, it’s simply there, point blank. I can’t explain it, but I can describe it.

Arthur is gone forever, and Arthur is part of my future. Both irrevocably true, yet incompatible. What to do about it? Apparently, not much. My mind absolutely and happily refuses to budge. The feeling that Arthur is part of my future supersedes the knowledge that he’s not. Knowing he’s gone does nothing to my belief that my future includes him. So it continues to. Sue me, I can’t help it.

See you in the funnies, Arthur. (More trivia: I never called him Artie or Art or Archo. He was always Arthur to me.)

Lastly, some good, more recent memories (skipping some that have already been shared):

The last thing I spoke to Arthur about was extensive advice, over the phone, on how to structure a prenup. “Don’t put anything about kids in there, because the courts won’t accept that you understood what you were agreeing to, prior to actually having the kids.” Smart. “Everyone should get one! The courts encourage it! Helps ungunk the works.” Ha. Kelly and I never got a prenup, but the candid advice on such a touchy subject makes me laugh.

Eating a whole pig at a communal table, biergarten style, at Saxon and Parole, in New York. Arthur talking the whole table’s ear off about everything, and then after discussing eating brains, we asked the chef to bring the pig’s over, and he did. Afterwards, walking to our trains, jolly, drunk.

Visiting Arthur in Scotland. Going out to some Uni warehouse party, and me getting lost with some bird. I didn’t have a working European phone, and so when I got home at dawn, seeing him and his big bravado looking like a worried mother goose made me laugh and proud, like a big brother again. Him cooking the two of us mussels and linguine with three whole heads of garlic. Delicious. Steak in Edinburgh, and him showing me the castles like he was himself a duke, personal friends of Hume and Smith.

I wished we went on more walks together.

Us planning on going to Joe Beef, in Montreal, with Alexandra and Kelly.

Him calling me to tell me Anthony Bourdain had died, and subsequently talking about it. “If he can’t make it, who can?” There’s that cynicism again. But it was a candid moment. And we ended that talk, more or less, believing we could make it, even if Bourdain couldn’t.

Discussing whether we were fated to end up like our parents. 

Him shooting the .38 up in Gilboa.

Legos, spanky, ice box bedroom, V8-turbo toilet, the pool, the trampoline, the screen porch and its green furniture, endless chicken rolls followed by cold pizza, karate in the basement (no shoes on the mats), rolling on the carpet (i.e. roll mosh), forts, the Barbie game on the gateway computer in Izzy’s room, Snood, army men in the mud ripping up sod by the square foot unit, jealousy listening to Timberlake camp stories, the suburban with 100 blankets in the third row and Don McLean on the radio, toxic farts, the Pokemon store, the Pokemon cards I’d steal from him after going to the Pokemon store, a million cups of Lipton at Barb’s table, Rage Against the Machine in Dan’s car, lanyards, fishing in the Hewlett Bay, Harry Potter, him never sleeping over my house and getting rides home at 2am after attempting to (me pissed), hiding in that lone pine tree in the front yard, making window art out glitter glue, salamanders, watching him attempt to ride a bike in the driveway.

A menial history, but ours. Anyway…

Arthur, you were great. It’s not for me to say that you’re now resting in peace, because I think you were pretty zen while you were alive, in your own pastel-colored kimono kind of way. So instead, I hope you’re as satisfied there as you were interested here. I’ll see you soon, and until then, I’ll try and hold the line for you. Love ya’.

[neonlustmusic]

Pathos is the Los Angeles-Based Philosophical Post-Punk Band You Always Wanted

Pathos is a 4-piece band out of Los Angeles that makes fast, introspective hardcore post-punk. Their latest release is a 2019 EP titled Allergies to Living People. The EP, a breath of fresh air in the current smog of L.A.-based bands, features honest and cathartic songs which see the band practicing self-analysis or self-reflection. The themes and attitudes expressed on this album make the band similar to Minor Threat or Black Flag. I think they could appropriately be called a millennial academic’s Black Flag. For anyone wanting a smart punk band, a band that has read some philosophy, but also doesn’t try to indoctrinate you, Pathos is the band for you.

Having been following the band since their debut in 2017, I can affirm that Allergies to Living People, the band’s 3rd EP, is their best offering yet. It is a dark, fuzzy, melancholic, and moody collection of sounds that reminds me of Joy Division and Surf’s Up-era Beach Boys, but with more emphasis on nausea.

Clocking in at just under ten minutes, ATLP is loud, angsty, emotional and self-examining. Touching on several existential topics, the EP could be seen as an intro to Camus or Sartre, putting into practice that essential tenet, “the unexamined life is not worth living,” which is interesting considering their debut EP is titled Examined Life. On ATLP, however, the band takes that tenet and puts it into practice. Imagine the singer live-streaming human activity and offering real-time analysis and biting commentary. That’s Pathos.

But if you’re thinking of the privileged brand of existentialism, you would be mistaken to think the songs contain anything like ennui. The songs could have easily drifted into hopelessness and apathy. Instead, the songs are filled with optimism. The lyrics are concrete, rooted in authentic experience, most obviously the singer Art Ramirez’s attitude and perspective. And he uses that as a springboard to excellence, not into the deep end. The band flirts with wallowing in melancholy and then ghosts the misery, never texting her again.

The intro song “Benign Indifference” puts the punk back in post-punk. It’s a great introductory song, and the fastest one on the EP. After getting that explosion of energy right at the start, the EP progresses to more nuanced and ambiguous territory.

Using distorted, surfy, dreamy riffs, the band hits its high note on songs like “Easy Free,” where Ramirez says “In the present life,/hurt don’t go away/But I’d rather have fun today/But It’s hard when everything around sucks/It never ends.” There is something Sisyphean about that statement. It’s an expression of despair/existential angst, a response to the difficulties of being a young working-class person in Los Angeles, but it also addresses the situation from a point of maturity. It’s not wallowing in despair, it recognizes it, and builds from it, despite the difficulties involved.

On ATLP, the band seems focused on affirming life even if it sometimes leaves a bitter aftertaste, as illustrated on “Awful Taste All the Time,” even if the realities are uncertain, frustrating, and disappointing. The band seems to be responding to the prompt: yes, the world is terrible and nausea-inducing, so how do we live our lives? We just have to deal with the cards we are dealt, and open our eyes, and be the best we can be, the album seems to be saying.

On “Awful Taste All the Time,” Ramirez offers his actions as a template: he speaks about breaking away from chemical dependencies as crutches, and instead facing difficulties head on. The songs speak of troubles only to emerge with a positive outlook: the demand to live without apathy towards others, since many people may be going through the same struggles. In other words, living responsibly. Simone de Beauvoir would be proud.

The Existentialists, however, were responding to the atrocities of World War II. Pathos can be seen responding to the horrors of being a millennial American who is also a critical student of history, wise beyond his years, one who must endure the common class struggle and modern racist world.

While the band’s early music was critical of society and confrontational, like on “Long Gone” a song from their first EP, where Ramirez says, “I’ve got your attention/My tired brown skin making you reactive/I’m the weirdo in a dark dirty corner/Fuck the manager I wanna see the owner,” today, the band is meditative, but calculating, offering a double dose of focused music with mature themes. Compared with earlier releases, Allergies to Living People is the logical next step, and here the music is more ambiguous, rewarding repeat listeners with increased insight.

Continuing the strive towards excellence outlined in the music, the band itself is very much aware of the societal structures that oppress individuals and they seek their dismantling. In 2020, the year of worldwide protests and demonstrations, the band showed their support for the movement with fundraisers for local Black Lives Matter chapters, an appropriate move for a philosophical punk band like Pathos.

Don’t let your parents or Twitter tell you that a Philosophy degree is worthless. It’s actually a very efficient lens for millennial punk bands. And if you’re looking for a smart band with teeth, Pathos is that band.

Follow Pathos on Instagram: @thepathos Follow Pathos on Twitter: @wearepathos

Bandcamp link: https://thepathos.bandcamp.com/album/allergies-to-living-people

[soulvomit]

I have thoughts about this [the decline of anti-codependency/anti-neediness culture] relating to the deflation of the middle class, but it’s probably complicated.

OK, so... to expand upon this...  Basically... one of the problems in 80s/90s anti-codependency/anti-neediness culture, is how little it already took into account the *actual material, lived realities* of anyone other than upper middle class women. This wasn’t necessarily always the case (for about five minutes in the beginning, there were all these attempts to address this problem), but somehow after the mid 70s, it slowly deteriorated into white yuppie neoliberal cultural posturing the way that lots of other things did.  It’s easy to say “don’t be needy” when by “needy” we just mean lonely, as opposed to actually *materially/structurally requiring anything* and having anything that actually traps you in your situation *for structural reasons.*

Telling a woman who can’t afford child care that she’s just staying with her  spouse because she’s codependent, isn’t exactly helpful. Same with telling someone who’s desperate to partner up but they’re also living on couches or going through roommate drama. 

Anti-codependency/anti-neediness got weaponized against women whose lives didn’t seem absolutely seamless, and who didn’t have the luxury of prioritizing their own aspirationalist goals.  Actual support groups were one thing - because Women Who Love Too Much arose out of the 70s empowerment/independence movement, and Codependents Anonymous was still pretty close to its recovery roots. But you know how Tumblr takes an idea that’s good from the outset and just dumbs it down into meaninglessness? Like the term “trigger,” for example?

By the 1990s, a non-codependent, non-needy woman was someone who didn’t actually require anything, whose life appeared seamless (in ways it can only appear if you have helpers behind the scenes).  Anti-codependency/anti-neediness were probably so appealing because 1) it was easy to dress them up as feminism and 2) they were remarkably compatible with the unwritten rules of male-dominated and professional work cultures (because they were already the rules of professional *men.*) You’re not supposed to ever give away that you face any gendered structural difficulties such as child care, elder care, etc., or have any gendered responsibilities, EVER.  If it’s a problem that an upper class person would hire away or that a heterosexual man would delegate to women, then you need to make it absolutely invisible. This isn’t your dates’ problem, it’s not your friends’ problem, it’s especially not your boss’s problem. That’s how gendered social and cultural obligations were treated. The big unwritten rule was this: you must make your life appear as drama-free and seamless as white Boomer men’s lives appeared to be. And there are absolutely *no excuses allowed* because material, lived realities Just Don’t Exist! Instead... it’s all in your head! You’re CODEPENDENT. You’re NEEDY. The reason you stay with that abusive husband is because you’re an existential void (who makes this stuff up, the abusers themselves?) who needs to join a self-help cult, the reason you depend upon relationships is because you’re emotionally broken somehow. It couldn’t POSSIBLY be because you can’t rely on roommates and can’t move back home/have no access to child care/he’s financially controlling and you have no other options/he’ll find you and kill you if you leave! The fact that you take care of other people (such as a disabled spouse or an aging parent) is because you’re CODEPENDENT, not because your family or social structure are POOR. The reason you have to go with your parent or partner to all of their appointments couldn’t be because they are dealing with marginalization and you have to advocate them, it MUST be because you're an enabler!  Basically, lots of supposed neediness and codependency was actually upper middle class befuddlement at the shape of poorer people’s lives, especially as relates to the gendered role of caregiving. 

And as the middle class shrunk more and more, the space between the real world and the “ideal reality” proposed by workshops and therapists and coaches and self-help cults, actually began to look like hot air. It increasingly had nothing to do with the “actual lived reality” faced by many actual people.  I still feel like I see some of this thought but it’s mostly in very, very specific spaces: such as “Lean In.” There is only so long you can run away from dealing with actual structural issues. These books and this psychology were largely marketed at Boomers, too. They didn’t speak to the social and economic realities that Gen X and younger increasingly had to deal with.

At that point, many of the books and guides became increasingly impractical and started to pivot to actual woo-woo and magical thinking: The Secret, etc. And the markets for specifically gendered advice started to be more and more traditionally based, so that stuff like Laura Doyle’s “The Surrendered Wife” started competing for bookshelf space in the self-help section. Lots of women decided that educated upper middle class women’s ideas about how to be “empowered” had nothing to do with the actual shape of their lives, and the new neo-traditionalist minded books spoke much more to that. This same dynamic is also a factor in how so many formerly feminist women went right wing, aside from white women just prioritizing their race. Also, real anti-codependency and real anti-neediness - as opposed to merely privilege - take ACTUAL WORK AND INTROSPECTION, and the market for self-help cults, mainstream books, and workshops is always about magic bullets. 

[a-crimson-lion]

Strengths... and Weaknesses

I think an appropriate phrase for this post would be:

"Lord forgive me... I'm back on my bullsh*t."

Anyone who's been viewing my tumblr recently knows of my excessive hatred for one Katsuki Bakugo. I have stated time and time again that he's a gigantic asshole who only managed to tone it down a notch or two as of late. He might be the slightest bit more tolerable then he was at the start (I'm not the type to say that Katsuki had no development; I'm the type to say his development is there, but it's slow and poorly executed), but he's still overall an asshole.

In fact, before I start this post, I want to make a few things clear on where I still currently stand with Katsuki, as a person who has only seen up to Season 3 of the anime and read up to the Shie Hassaikai Arc in the manga.

First off, let's address one of the more triggering parts of the series: Katsuki's suicide instigation. Horikoshi has apparently stated that he "went too far" with Katsuki in the first chapter of the manga, and for me and maybe a few others, that sounds like if Horikoshi was given the option, he might have written out that scene entirely. Well, okay then, I understand that much; I mean, Katsuki was never that level of harsh once the story started to really kick off. So what does that change?

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

From where I stand, even if you ignore or flat out rewrite Katsuki telling Izuku to kill himself out of the story, that still doesn't change the fact that Katsuki is still a terrible person with very little development. He still bullied Izuku since they were kids. He still burned his notebook and threatened Izuku while burning his school uniform to not go to U.A. He attempted to harm Izuku on their first day at U.A., and during the Battle Trial, used a highly dangerous piece of support gear which could have very much killed Izuku (instead of, you know, using the capture tape?). He's still anti-social as all hell, which isn't a crime in and of itself until you realize that being a hero requires at least some form of cooperation. Even Eraserhead, an underground hero (which is probably as potentially anti-social as you can get) still at the very least has to work with other Pros and the authorities with some level of respectful communication. Katsuki's on his way to becoming the second Endeavor (which, depending on how the latter's redemption pans out, might be even worse than before).

That last bit is probably more the fault of my second grievence: the narrative coddles him too much. Yes, being consistently kidnapped by villains is very much not okay and is probably very traumatising, but that doesn't mean he's realizing he's becoming a better person. After the sludge incident, he didn't bother Izuku because he was too occupied with his own inferiority complex; he was angry at himself for not being "strong enough," and spent his time up to the entrance exam stewing in his insecurities. While at U.A., he gets no form of proper addressment for his actions. Eraserhead is willing to restrain Katsuki, but he won't expel him, or at the very least talk to him. Katsuki goes volatile during the Battle Trial, but no one discusses and addresses how much excessive force he uses. During the final exam, Katsuki isn't docked for his initial inability to cooperate and the fact that it took a literal punch to the face to begin doing such, and even then, Izuku caried his already beaten body past the gate, which means he technically passed. He should have been failed for his actions, maybe the villains wouldn't have been able to kidnap him during the Training Camp arc. Speaking of which, why doesn't he go back to camp and save his classmates the trouble? He just wants to fight, and this simple-minded desire ends up getting him kidnapped. And what does he learn from that kidnapping? Again, "he's weak." No introspection on his behavior except for a minor one before Deku vs Kacchan 2. No discussing his actions because he can't bring himself to be the bigger man and just talk to All Might. No, he has to bring out Izuku in the middle of the night and pummel him, and we're supposed to feel sorry for the kid because he's going through an existential crisis. Which I would feel bad, had it not been for the fact that it could have been avoided, AND his behavior aside, he's going through all the wrong coping methods. I don't care if he only knows how to express himself with violence, that fact alone warrants heaps upon heaps of propery therapy, NOT FURTHER VIOLENCE.

Before I officially take a complete dive into "anti" territory, let's look at one last thing.

Remember after Kamino Ward when Katsuki had Denki electrocute himself and he gave Eijiro some money as compensation for spending it on some fancy binoculars. Well, some of the antis I've seen have claimed the money was stolen from Denki. Personally, I don't see it. I can see Katsuki causing Denki to electrocute himself to show his begrudging care for his fellow classmates (even if it's still trying to grow). I can see Katsuki giving Eijiro money for his troubles, even if it's a blow to Katsuki's pride. I just can't see Katsuki stealing money from other people. Sure, he's an asshole, but he's not a thief. His morals are warped, not corrupted beyond the point of redemption.

Okay, so what dud I really want to talk about? Oh, right: Katsuki's obsession with strength.

We see this about three times in the manga. The first time is when Katsuki is saved by All Might at the USJ. He quickly dismisses Izuku's praise of him dodging because he didn't dodge: All Might pushed him out of danger. He won't take credit for a feat he didn't do. This segues into the second instance: his fight with Shoto. He wants Shoto to go all out in order to prove once and for all that he's the strongest in their class. Only Shoto is going through personal issues that Katsuki knows about because he eavesdropped. Even when Shoto manages to releaae his flames, he quickly snuffs them out because change is gradual; he still has to get used to the new implications of using his fire. (Sidenote: not an excuse for Katsuki's dickish behavior. Tenya and Shoto were initially percieved as assholes, and they managed to bridge that disconnect eons before Katsuki has.) Of course Katsuki's pissed at this, but I feel like he completely ignores Shoto's personal baggage and instead focuses soley on his physical strength. We'll get back to that later, but for now, let's move on to the third incident I can recall from the top of my head: Katsuki vs Setsuna. Remember that part of the Joint Training Arc where Katsuki saves Kyoka, because he FINALLY understands that saving people is important? Well, yes, but partially no. Katsuki didn't save Kyoka because of whatever goodness there was in his heart; he saved her because he thought getting a 4-0 victory was something worthy of the strongest heroes, and he even explicitly stated this. He's still focused on strength, and completely ignoring the more social aspects if heroism aside from prestige.

Remember after Deku vs Kacchan 2, where All Might says he focused too much on Katsuki's physical strength and not his emotional strength. Yeah, he's not the only one...

Katsuki himself never pays attention to the emotional side of himself. Years upon years of praise and his own decisions have led him to believe that his strong quirk and overall strengths are all he needs to become a hero. His brutal and excessive technique makes him a powerhouse to be reckoned with, but it also makes him predictably stubborn. Running away isn't an option, he has to duke it out with no remorse. The Number One Hero is about to curb stomp you? Don't run away and pass the test, try beating his ass and end up losing your lunch! Potentially dangerous villains trying to kidnap you? No worries, just keep fighting because you're a badass and no one tells you what to do- and oh, you got kidnapped. Even when confronting Izuku on his quirk, the possibility of Izuku getting his quirk for something other than physical prowess is a foreign concept for Katsuki. He ignores any and all chances of it being possibility, going so far as telling Izuku to shut up when he tries to explain himself, and even outright attacking Izuku after he tries deescalating the fight multiple times, only conceeding to Katsuki because he believes he's responsible for Katsuki to some extent (because Shonen Protagonist).

His obsession with strength is in character, but dear God it's getting old... and it's selfish.

Virtually everyone else trying to be a hero has a reason for getting stronger that isn't inherently to flaunt their superiority. Ochako? She wants to make money so her folks can rest easy. Tenya? He wants to live up to his family's legacy. Shoto? He wants to be able to protect his mom. Eijiro? He wants to be like his chivalrous idol, Crimson Riot. Izuku? He wants to get a better grasp on his quirk so he can save more people. Katsuki? He wants to prove that he's better than All Might from a physical standpoint, using the title of "Number One Hero" to elevate his status and earn the attention of everyone around him.

...see the disconnect?

I don't have a well thought out conclusion to this mess, so I'm just gonna close with this tidbit: Katsuki and Izuku sometimes do the same things for different reasons. Getting mad at Shoto? Izuku wants Shoto to go all out because everyone else is going all out, and he wants Shoto to move past his father's control; Katsuki wants Shoto to go all out because he wants to prove he's undoubtedly stronger. Idolizing All Might? Izuku admires All Might's ability to inspire and save people; Katsuki just pays attention to the physical strength and prestige, electing to ignore everything else. Saving people? Izuku saves people selflessly, with no inherent regard towards himself (he will gladly break a few bones or risk doing so just to save kids, for crying out loud); Katsuki only saves people because it strokes his own ego (the only time he ever truly went beyond was in an unnecessary fight against All Might; Two Heroes is the only exception). I'm pretty sure the list goes on.

I just hope that Katsuki learns somehow, some way, that physical strength isn't everything. Victory isn't everything. 'Cause if he doesn't, he's in for a world of hurt...

...and it's not gonna be something he can just explode and be done with.

-Crimson Lion (6 September 2019)

[sekritjay]

How about someone from the Mighty Nein for the playlist thing? Dealer's choice :D

(I spent 10 or so hours on this AND I LOVED EVERY BLOODY MINUTE also the meme technically only asks for one character but that doesn’t make any sense oh god what did I do)

Awkwardly I’ve already done something like this for every member of the Mighty Nein. However that was 8 months ago and things have changed since so why don’t we update the list for what we know today? After all, things have changed since these imbeciles were blithely waltzing into trouble wherever they go. No, now they are now well aware that they blithely waltz into trouble wherever they go

Fjord - Country and western is too easy a choice to make and during Oppressive Megasnake era Fjord I had picked out classic post-punk and goth rock for him. Although he still hasn't dealt with his personal insecurities, hey, his new mam is there to give Uk’atoa a good slap when he gets bullied so his playlist would reflect that - we’ll go for post-punk revival instead, a more joyous alternative to post-punk’s occasional excess of miserablism

Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand

Party’s Over - Interpol

Little Illusion Machine - Arctic Monkeys w/Miles Kane

Fuck Forever - Babyshambles

Exits - Foals

Beauregard - Beau hides her insecurities behind bravado and bluster but beneath her dudebro exterior it’s becoming increasingly evident to her friends and comrades that despite her status as the group’s fleet fighter she’s probably the only one wondering where all the puzzle pieces fall - and what will be the result. Last time I assigned alternative r&b to her, we’ll go for something more introspective this time around and give her something folk oriented instead

What’s it For? - Hannah Cameron

Far Away - José Gonzalez

Wild Fire - Laura Marling

Aristotle Ponders the Sound - L.A Salami

Mind on Fire - Aisha Badru

Caleb - I based Caleb’s playlist based on what he might listen to before everything he worked for went up in flames so why don’t we see what we can do with who he is today? After not-defecting to the Dynasty he now has a goal to work towards - for better and for ill it seems. A little more difficult to find something appropriate but let’s give it a go shall we? Dark and hardcore is the name of the game today, politically charged and ready to burn it to the ground

The Underside of Power - Algiers

Never Fight a Man With a Perm - IDLES

Out of the Black - Royal Blood

DEUTSCHLAND - Rammstein

Riot! - Arrested Youth

Nott - I had difficulty with assigning a playlist to her last time and honestly, despite revelations regarding her background and family I’m still kinda struggling to give Nott something appropriate now. Certainly I don’t want to do a repeat of last time (mostly because I hated what I came up with) so why don’t we skip this one this time? I’m sure you people can come up with something appropriate for her

Yasha - Hard last time, a little easier this time. But not by much, and only because they crammed all her backstory and left it on one of the biggest cliffhangers I’ve ever encountered in popular media. The contrast between her barbarian background and her shrinking violet personality is perhaps the most interesting aspect of her character so like last time I think we can stick with the post-classical theme for her

Mountain - Ludovico Einaudi

Saman - Ólafur Arnalds

In the Light of Air 1. Luminance - Anna Thorvaldsdottir

A Lamenting Song - Max Richter

Ninna Nanna - Ballaké Sissoko

Jester - Finally! In contrast to her friends Jester, always the heart of the group, was never particularly hard to figure out both in terms of music taste and genre association. Since it’s summer why don’t we go down that avenue this go around? 

T-Shirt Weather - Circa Waves

Baby Blu - Nilüfer Yanya

Pretty Shining People - George Ezra

No Pressure - Mahalia

Side Effects - Jade Bird

Caduceus - Caddy Shack seems to be having a hard time lately and the only thing that seems to keep him going is his unwavering dedication to his god, destiny and oh my god these kids are like a couple of paths away from an existential crisis. Or two. Last time I assigned reggae but on reflection this is A - too easy, 2) too obvious and iii. evidence that I was getting impatient. So what shall we pick this time then? I’m still feeling the light touch so we’ll go for some classic porch plucking blues and tie in his apprehension at y’know, facing death directly for the first time

Goin’ Down Slow - St Louis Jimmy Ogden

I Got to Cross the River Jordan - Blind Willie McTell

Walking Blues - Rory Block

Grinnin’ In Your Face - Son House

Delta Getaway - Eric Bibb

Mollymauk - I did one last time but erm... listen I don’t want to introduce a bit of gallows humour here but I think it’s safe to say that it wouldn’t make any sense to do a Mollymauk playlist this time because he ah, shall we say, hasn’t had any character development since the last playlist

[theinquisitivej]

SteamHeart Episode 18 Reactions

Chapter Eighteen: Where Will You Be?

The full episode can be listened to here.

An episode of quiet introspection and softly spoken declarations of resolve.

After Abigail made her speech in the theatre to the people of Indianapolis, she spends part of her evening on top of SteamHeart, finding Annie had the same idea. The chapter more or less focuses entirely on this scene, taking the opportunity to delve into some of Annie’s thoughts on recent matters, and Abigail’s questions about the future. The action of Abigail sitting down so that they “tentatively rested our backs against each other” sets the tone. It makes this an intimate moment where the two may not necessarily see each other (suggesting that they don’t have as much of an understanding of one another as they will by the end of this conversation), but they nevertheless share enough trust that they can each have their back to the other person and let their guard down, despite their tentativeness indicating that this doesn’t come easily.

         Annie initiates the conversation, commending Abigail on how she handled herself in front of the crowd. She notes the impression of humbleness Abigail gave off, as this is unusual for her. Abigail chalks it up to the stage enabling the performer in her, but Annie follows up on this remark by asking if that means she wasn’t really feeling humble as she said those things. This is the first of multiple points in the conversation where the two characters ask a searching question of the other, hoping to incite honest responses as the interviewee looks deep within herself. On this particular matter, however, Abigail, changes the subject, enquiring whether they’ll be departing Indianapolis tomorrow. Annie answers yes, as she believes the team is ready. Abigail takes her turn at a probing question as she asks if Annie feels she is ready. Like Abigail, Annie hesitates, not giving a definitive answer. It seems neither character has all the answers about how they feel.

         Annie apologises for not being a better leader, which, you know, it’s been a little while, so it might be clearer to me where this is coming from on the re-listen, but I felt Annie was being a little hard on herself with this remark, though I do understand why she would hold herself up to high standards. Abigail however responds half-jokingly that she was ready to take the sheriff badge off of Annie herself. Annie starts to share, telling Abigail that the death of the Arlingtons brought into focus how responsible she is for all this. Suddenly the feeling of there always being someone back at high command is pulled out from under her, and it seems like, in practice, her word is where all the important decisions get made. That’s definitely a lot to take in for a mission this important, even for an officer with as much experience as Annie.

         Abigail points out that the group and the country still has Truth and Katherine looking out for them. Even after conceding that, Annie worries about what will befall them if they lose Harry. She defies estimation – what Harry can create and invent is so valuable and beyond what other people can either imagine or bring into being, and that’s how Annie saw Thomas and Sarah. They both envisioned a future where humanity could survive into the new century and worked tirelessly to make that happen. Without people like that, people who weren’t just visionaries but actually had a decent idea how to make those visions into reality, Annie doesn’t have high hopes. Abigail argues that, while folks like Katherine aren’t “beyond genius”, that doesn’t stop them from being able to make a difference and contribute to that optimistic future coming to pass. She’s finally able to give Annie an answer and say that she meant what she said during the speech, or at the very least said “what I hope is true”. That’s enough to give Abigail fuel to keep trying to manage the hand she and the rest of the world have been dealt. And whether it’s from her own internal strength, talking this over with Abigail and hearing her words, or a combination of both, Annie resolves to focus not on whether the new higher ups can match up to the old, and instead look to her own status as a figure of authority and work on being a better leader.

         Abigail echoes my sentiments from earlier and says that Annie shouldn’t hold herself to “beyond genius” levels of acumen. When Annie deflects this by asking what the consequences will be if she doesn’t shape up, Abigail tries a different approach by running the title question of the episode – where will you be? Specifically, when, or if they are successful in this mission and they survive into the next century, where does Annie want to be? Essentially, Abigail wants to know what Annie’s best case outcome of all of this is, and, more importantly, she wants Annie to know as well, because she suspects Annie hasn’t allowed herself to entertain the thought, and having it might just give her something to work towards.

         The first thing she knows is that she wants to live in a future where she’s done killing people, and she holsters the gun which she had out, indicating her vigilance against the threat she’s constantly thinking about. After that, she has fun thinking about the possibility of pursuing her sewing, something which Abigail definitively says she won’t take part in due to her distaste for dresses (which she demonstrated in the run-up to the ball earlier on in SteamHeart). As for Butler, Annie wants him to be safe and done with the army as well, but she shares her worries that it might be difficult for him to give that up after being so adept at it for so long, something which Annie understands and seems to share. It’s not that they enjoy killing, but the pride they take in seeing through the many dangerous missions they’ve taken part in is compelling. Even after knowing each other so well, we see that there are some situations Annie and Butler can’t say with certainty they’d know how the other would act.

         When Annie asks Abigail where she wants to be, she’s able to say with relative ease what she’d envision James wanting to do – take on Thomas’ position. However, she admits to having no idea what she wants, as this topic was a means to helping Annie be optimistic about the future. Abigail’s certainty in what the other half of her pairing would want to do and lack of certainty for herself is a contrast to Annie, who has more ease in saying where she’d like to be than she does with giving an answer on behalf of Butler, her partner. Duos and partners with singular bonds are a recurring theme in New Century, but moments like this demonstrate how different each pairing is. The suggestion of following Commander Wilson’s path and becoming an explorer holds some appeal, leading to Abigail listing off his numerous roles, including a spy, diplomat, geographer, and even translating the Karma Sutra, which, even in an alternate America that’s lived with the Wendigo for more than a decade, is causing quite the stir. But that kind of life is not quite what Abigail wants, and, speaking honestly, she admits that the future terrifies her. That’s something I’ve experienced at different points in my life – I vividly remember facing feelings of existential anxiety as a kid when I thought about the future as a concrete thing that I’d have to face one day. I’ve improved and more or less got over myself, but I’d be lying if I said those fears have entirely gone away.

         Going back to Abigail, she brings up her desire to find her parents, the one vision of the future she still holds onto, even after so much time having passed since Secret Rooms. This prompts a conversation about whether this is for the best, as Annie argues that she’s chasing the past, fighting against a decision her parents made to safeguard her future. Abigail counters by voicing her own displeasure at having her life be decided for her, a part of her character which the Definitive Edition of Secret Rooms brought into focus. This hurts Annie, as Abigail is inadvertently suggesting that she wishes she led a life where she wouldn’t have met her or the rest of Team Steam. She doesn’t mean to imply she feels that way, but it’s understandably still upsetting to hear. Abigail states she’s “a painfully honest son of a bitch”, pointing out how the openness of conversations like this can be a positive experience with the potential to sooth recent sadness and provide a rekindled sense of optimism for the future, but it can also lead to feelings coming out in the open which hurt to hear, even if the person feeling them doesn’t intend them to. That isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, and can be part of the process of being more honest with one another, but it is something to be conscious of in heart-to-heart conversations like this. In this instance, it leads to the slightly inflamed (but admittedly kind of amusing) exchange of Annie calling Abigail a “stubborn red headed mule” and Abby calling her a “stuck-up murderous pixie” (which, upon reflection, is a harsh jab against a person who’s just shared her regret at leading a lifestyle where she has to kill people). Even so, the two can agree to Abigail wanting to take control by getting to the Wind Doors and hopefully make a difference, and Annie doing her best to help her get there. They get up as the conversation draws to a close, and as they head down below, Annie asks if she can borrow Abigail’s “Indian sex manual”, to which Abigail responds “I left my copy back in Washington” with an audible smirk on her face. It’s a funny, but oddly sweet way to end the exchange, as it’s both a moment of down-to-earth levity after a deep conversation, and one last piece of honesty shared between the two where Annie expresses an interest in the book, and Abigail admits to owning a copy.

         Before we reach the credits, we hear Harry’s brief letter to Truth, which was sent from the Indianapolis Outpost, meaning she sent it before they would leave the next morning. Harry misses her sister and appreciates her kindness, but she doesn’t “need” to return home. Instead, she asserts that they are traveling on the road again today. This resuming of the journey has that much more weight behind it as a result of Harry deciding its time to move forward as SteamHeart’s mechanic and driver. And she does this “for mum and dad”. A short but powerful and emotional close to the episode.

         The performances of Laureta Sela and Sharon Shaw are spot on in this episode. The chapter hinges entirely on Abigail and Annie’s conversation, and each voice actress conveys the earnestness and emotional weight of what’s being said. It’s not a moment of the story where emotions are exploding out in a climactic fashion, but are instead being softly explored in a quiet setting where each character assesses where they are and where they’re heading, and their performances make that compelling from beginning to end.