#its taken me so long to reconcile all these different emotions

[unforseenkiss]

having this weird emotional breakdown where I'm bawling and laughing at same time and I have no idea why ?? like it just feels so ridiculous to be sitting here fucking sobbing for absolutely no reason out of the blue that I have to laugh about it cause wtf ???

[the-one-where-casey-watches-tv]

True Detective episode 1.08 "Form and Void"

I love anthologies. I love the endless potential, and the early seasons of American Horror Story really prove the extent of that potential. It’s also so much cleaner than having a bunch of spinoffs (tell me why American Horror Stories is a thing? Anthologies by definition don’t need a spinoff. Just do it next year). But the later seasons of AHS also embody the downfall of anthologies: if they do too good a job, it can be hard to get excited about the next season because you know that everything you liked about it will be different next time around.

I’ve only seen season one of True Detective, and I’m really trying to talk myself into pressing on, not because I didn’t like it, but because I liked it so much. The people behind this show built themselves some massive shoes to fill, and I’m skeptical that it can be done. Everything about this first season was incredibly deliberate; it was gripping and compelling at every turn, and it all served a larger theme. It even managed to come around to an uplifting final message, which I was pleasantly surprised by as this was one of the darkest things I’ve ever watched.

I tend to cover finales, and that’s because endings are so important to me. It absolutely makes or breaks my entire impression of a show (I reminisce sometimes with “remember when I liked Ozark?”), and True Detective’s season one finale drew a powerful underscore on everything I’ve loved throughout this entire journey. This is a story with purpose, that knew exactly what it was about. As a whole, it had the power of its own Rust Cohle who said things like “I know who I am. After all these years, there’s a victory in that.” and “Given how long it’s taken me to reconcile my nature, I don’t think I’ll forego it on your account”.

Matthew McConaughey in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

“Form and Void” finds Rust and Marty on a boat, holding Steve Geraci at gunpoint, a former sheriff who holds key insight into the Marie Fontenot case. Cohle forces Geraci to handle the tape he stole from Tuttle and watch it, eyes glued to the TV. Geraci watches, screaming as he does, reacting even more strongly than Marty. Some people seem to find it cheesy that rather than showing us the tape, they show us these ‘hard, seasoned men’ struggling to watch it, but I think that’s exactly the point.

A crucial thing this show is about is the difference between bad and evil. Marty’s a pretty bad guy I’d say- lies, cheats, beats people up, calls his daughter and wife whores- but he’s also a human being with emotions and limits and can function in our society. The crimes of this case are on the fringes of humanity. This show does a great job displaying the depths of these atrocities without forcing us to look at something unspeakable. Making the characters do it for us not only shows us the nature of the crimes, but the nature of the people. Errol Williams Childress, the man with the face like spaghetti, the undocumented Louisiana man who committed these crimes, is as evil as a person can be while still being a human being (“he’s worse than anybody”). And fighting him with such force makes Marty a ‘good’ man in the biblical sense, despite being so flawed that he’s hard for regular folks like you and me to really get behind.

Marty struggles a lot with his conscience over the course of this story, and Maggie ultimately acknowledges that he “didn’t know who he was, so he didn’t know what to want”. Rust, who, of course, knows exactly who he is, doesn’t have patience for Marty’s hemming and hawing. When Marty asks if Rust ever wonders if he’s a bad man, Rust doesn’t hesitate to say that “the world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door”. The idea that bad men can do good- by protecting the world from worse men- is a major takeaway, and one that I really like.

Woody Harrelson in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

And Rust may have been stewing in a storage unit obsessing over this for years, but it’s ultimately Marty who finds the key clue that brings everything to a head. He recognizes a fresh coat of green paint on a house in Erath, drawing the connection to the green ears in the description of their subject. Adrenaline pumping from the new discovery, Marty and Rust head out to find out who painted the house.

An interview with the old woman who lived in the house in ’95 confirmed that she had her house painted by men who worked for her parish- the Tuttle church community. Rust and Marty were able to track her husband’s payment for the job to Childress and Son Maintenance, which yielded an address to the Childress property. They head over. This is it. This is the place. Rust can tell by the taste of the air.

“That taste. Aluminum, ash. I’ve tasted it before”. Marty, used to his partner saying weird shit, but ever the human being who’s realizing they’re walking into a life-threatening situation, simply says, “you still see things ever?”. Rust replies, “It never stops, not really. What happened to my head, it’s not something that gets better”. Not a reassuring answer to Marty, but Rust’s proximity to insanity is the very thing that keeps him safe amongst actual psychopaths. Similarly, Marty’s ability to read people is a skill the show makes sure we’re aware of despite his gruff, bumbling personality.

That skill is what made Marty feel comfortable calling Papania, one of the two interrogating officers when they arrived on the scene. But alas, there’s no service. That’s typically a frustrating and unnecessary roadblock in suspense stories, but it just feels realistic out here in bumfuck Louisiana. So, Marty forces his way into the home in search of a landline while Rust secures the perimeter. Marty overpowers Childress’s girlfriend (wife?), but not before she can say some truly haunting shit about the man they’re here for.

Ann Dowd and Glenn Fleshler in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

Rust, meanwhile, has encountered him face to face. He has his gun pointed squarely at Childress and tells him to get on his knees, but Childress simply says “no” and runs off. Why Rust didn’t just shoot him, like Marty did to LeDeux’s crony 17 years ago, is a valid question. I think at this point in time, Rust has a lot less stamina for bureaucratic coverups, paperwork, and debriefs and a much greater willingness to die. Not to mention, they don’t really have any legal standing to be here in the first place this time around. He’s going to see it through, all the way through, in the beating heart of this operation.

Which turns out to be an absolutely terrifying maze of tunnels lined with stick-work much like those found at the crime scenes. Rust winds his way through, but every corner he rounds with his gun drawn just makes the dire situation all the more evident. He is at every disadvantage, no idea where he’s going, while Childress clearly has eyes on him. His voice carries through the maze, somehow coming from somewhere, taunting Rust, guiding him right where he wants him. “Come on inside, little priest. To your right, little priest. This is Carcosa. You know what they did to me? What I will do to all the sons and daughters of man? I am not ashamed. Come die with me, little priest.”

Woody Harrelson in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

I’m obsessed with Childress calling Rust little priest. In addition to the obvious irony of this being a church-based cult- and Rust looking down at organized religion altogether- he is super preachy in his way. He says some stuff throughout this whole season that really grinds you to a halt. My favorite is one of his earliest revelations of his personality, one that stuns Marty into regretting having asked him anything at all: “I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist by natural law. We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, an accretion of sensory experience and feeling, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody is nobody. Maybe the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming, stop reproducing, and walk hand in hand into extinction. One last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.”

It may not be Jesus, but it’s a hell of a response to the simple question of “are you a Christian?”. And when it comes down to it, isn’t sharing your opinion on humanity and what we should do with it all that preaching really is?

Anyway, Rust enters the offshoot of the tunnels that Childress directs him to. It turns out Marty was right to be worried about those hallucinations of Rust’s. He looks up at the sky, visible several feet up into the air, and a spiraling galaxy fills his field of vision. Rust is distracted by it when Childress charges him with a knife. If that hadn’t happened, I think Rust would’ve gotten him in one. But Childress stabs him deep in the stomach and twists, holding him up in the air by the blade.

Matthew McConaughey in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

Marty bursts in behind them, prompting Childress to drop the deeply wounded Rust to the ground. Marty doesn’t hesitate to fire three shots into Childress that hit him in the shoulders and chest, seemingly to no effect. Childress charges Marty, hurling an axe head-over-handle until it buries itself in Marty’s chest. Marty dislodges the axe and uses it and all his strength to hold Childress at bay.

When it comes to scary things, I’m usually most affected by the occult. Things like demons, ghosts, possession etc. are terrifying to me. Things you can always see, that die for good in ways we can measure and understand typically don’t bother me as much. But Childress is so fucking scary. The ideology and staging of the killings was eerie every step of the way, but this final confrontation is so well executed. Childress is as powerful and able to withstand as much as I can reasonably believe possible in a human being, and Marty and Rust suffer the most serious of injuries that they can plausibly walk away from. Rust’s managing to get to his gun and shoot Childress in the skull is, in a way, scary in and of itself because it confirms that this really was an actual person who walked among us.

Matthew McConaughey and Glenn Fleshler in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

Marty and Rust have had a bond all along, but their recovery together in the hospital is a wholesome confirmation of that. Despite everything that happened between them and the rage Marty felt towards him when they parted ways years ago, Marty and Maggie both refused to entertain the idea that Rust had done something evil. In fact, they took offense to the thought, putting an abrupt end to any conversation that started to go that way.

After Childress is dead, Marty crawls to Rust and puts pressure to his stab wound while they wait for help to arrive. Recounting it later, Marty says he sat there “with his friend’s head in my lap”. Once both of them are lucid in the hospital, Marty, less seriously injured, wheels himself to Rust’s hospital room. Rust is himself, that is to say, not warm and cuddly, instead preoccupied with the fact that he had come across Childress in their original investigation and failed to put the pieces together. But Marty takes him in stride, telling him not to ever change, and he’ll “be back tomorrow, buddy”. They send each other off with a flip of the middle finger.

Marty proves himself the most at the very end. I was impressed with him for understanding his faults and truly giving Maggie the space to move on. And I was impressed with him for staying by Rust’s side even as he continued to heal faster than him. Despite Rust’s resistance to the idea, Marty insists on seeing to Rust having a place to stay when he’s released- that things are “already arranged”.

In the rawest- and most optimistic moment of the whole show- Marty wheels Rust out under the stars for a non-sanctioned smoke break. Rust breaks down, in itself a true sign of his bond with Marty, and opens up through his tears: “There was a moment… I know when I was under in the dark, that something… whatever I’d been reduced to, you know, not even consciousness… it was a vague awareness in the dark, and I could… I could feel my definitions fading. And beneath that darkness, there was another kind. It was deeper, it was warm, you know? Like a substance. I could feel, man, and I knew, I knew my daughter waited for me there. It was so clear. I could feel her. I could feel… I could feel a piece of my pop too. It was like I was a part of everything I ever loved, and we were all… the three of us… just fadin’ out. All I had to do was let go. And I did. I said ‘darkness, yeah, yeah’. And I disappeared. But I could… I could still feel her love there, even more than before. There was nothing but that love. Then I woke up.”

Still from "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

We’ve heard from Marty, from the Tuttle parish, and various believers along the way, that there is more beyond. More after. But hearing Rust say it makes me believe it. He was wrong about there being nothing and us being no one. It’s a beautiful moment. But there’s more.

Rust breaks down after this, and Marty shows a soft side of his own. He tries to bring Rust back by asking him about something he’d mentioned years ago- that he used to make up stories about the stars when he lived in Alaska. Either Rust humors him or the invitation to talk about that really does anchor him, at least enough to ponder some more; either way, he finishes Marty’s prompt.

RUST: I tell you, Marty, I’ve been up in that room looking out those windows every night here and just thinking… It’s just one story. The oldest. Light versus dark.

MARTY: Well, I know we ain’t in Alaska, but… appears to me the dark has a lot more territory.

RUST: Yeah. You’re right about that.

They ponder the night sky a little longer. Rust asks Marty to take him to the car. He’s had enough of hospitals. Marty knows Rust well enough to look out for him, but not to argue with him. He obliges. As they’re about to part ways:

RUST: You know you’re lookin’ at it all wrong. The sky thing.

MARTY: How’s that?

RUST: Well, once, there was only dark. If you ask me, the light’s winning.

Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson in "Form and Void". Image courtesy of IMDb.

On that honestly beautiful note, we fade out. It’s an incredibly more positive answer to Marty’s question long ago of why Rust hasn’t just killed himself if he sees humanity in this awful way. His answer at the time was that it must just be his programming. But he’s always seen the potential in the light. Never delusional about how much darkness there was, hence his perpetual melancholy, but always aware of the possibility of the good. That’s the real reason he’s kept fighting. Someone like Rust Cohle seeing that potential makes me believe it’s really there.

So, here’s the biggest question: should I watch season two? Will it hold up to the real beauty I found here? Drop me your thoughts on Marty, Rust, and all things True Detective.

[eco-lite]

New Star Trek book review!

Diane Duane is one of the only people I trust with Spock’s character. Besides Original Series writer Dorothy Fontana and Leonard Nimoy himself, nobody else captures Spock in the way I see him. So obviously Duane’s novel Spock’s World is essential reading for me.

This book takes a very literal approach to the title, splitting its time between the present day plot and an account of Vulcan’s history going as far back to the literal formation of the planet. The “Enterprise” plotline focuses on the current tensions on Vulcan, whose government is teetering on the edge of seceding from the Federation. Each chapter of the “Vulcan” plotline follows people (all implied to be Spock’s ancestors) living during critical points in Vulcan’s history, from the planet’s genesis to Spock’s birth.

It was really interesting to see Duane’s take on Vulcan’s history. We don’t know much from canon besides the fact that Vulcan’s history was very war-torn until Surak’s philosophies of logic and embracing diversity caught on. In my head, I always imagined that following Surak’s teachings allowed the Vulcans to finally reconcile their differences and work together to achieve all of their technologies and space travel. But Duane posits that Vulcan had already developed many advanced technologies and was using them for intraspecies destruction long before Surak. It was these technologies’ horrifying power that jolted Surak awake and inspired his future teachings. Duane also claims that the Romulan split was post-Surak, which… idk, that just seems way too recent to me. I’m not buying that bit. But my favorite aspect of the “Vulcan” chapters was the visual motif of Vulcan’s sister planet T’Khut standing watch over all Vulcans, and Vulcans in turn looking to her for guidance and inspiration. I could picture the looming T’Khut’s sunset visage so vividly. Wonderful imagery.

While the “Vulcan” plotline shows us Vulcan’s past, the “Enterprise” plotline shows us the threat of its possible future outside of the Federation. Despite the popularity of Surak’s “infinite diversity in infinite combinations” philosophy, xenophobia is very much alive amongst the Vulcan population. Certain individuals (I won’t give it away, but I will say I think it’s VERY contrived) have taken advantage of the population’s anti-human sentiments to leverage their own agendas. It’s up to Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Sarek, and others to convince the public that secession is not the answer. McCoy in particular really shines in this story. Despite how often he gripes and pokes fun at Spock’s Vulcanisms in the show, he adamantly believes that the relationship between humans and Vulcans benefits everyone and is a crucial part of what made the Federation the utopia it has become. Everybody clap for character growth! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 There are also many delightful moments of the triumvirate just hanging out and chatting while they’re on Vulcan and the Enterprise, which we love to see.

My main gripe with this book (besides the contrived antagonist) is that there’s not enough Spock content! For a book called Spock’s World, I expected it to be from his perspective. There are a couple of scenes from Spock’s POV, but Kirk is the main perspective here. And though Kirk is great, Spock is who I’m really here for. I wanted to get deep into his feelings about the situation given he’s a child of both worlds. But I guess I’ll stick to AO3 for the truly emotional fanfiction.

Other than that though, Spock’s World is full of great character moments and interesting exploration of Vulcan’s history. A must-read Trek novel. Thank you, @dianeduane !

[personalcjcjcj]

the course of love

love is a skill rather than an enthusiasm

our understanding of love has been hijacked and beguiled by its first distractingly moving moments. we have allowed our love stories to end way too early. we seem to know far too much about how love starts, and recklessly little about how it might continue

in the beginning: love means admiration for qualities in the lover that promise to correct our weaknesses and imbalances; love is a search for completion. it reaches a peak when you feel that you can reveal all of yourself, which you sometimes keep hidden for the sake of propriety.

being married may be associated with caution, conservatism, and timidity, but getting married is an altogether different, more reckless, and hterefore more appealingly romantic proposition.

marriage: a hopeful, generous, infinitely kind gamble taken by two people who don't know yet who they are or who the other might be, binding themselves to a future they cannot conceive of and have carefully omitted to investigate

taking the blame out on your partner -- they are the center of your emotional universe, and by extension you feel they are responsible for the things that happen in your life (also because you can dare to be extravagantly unreasonable to them more so than any other person in your life) -- like childlike attachment towards parents

Romanticism is more about the quest to find love than to give it

having a child teaches you about giving love without expecting anything in return -- this is a love not based on admiration of strength but rather compassion for weakness/dependency

sex and parenthood: in some ways, you may have found a partner who resembles your parent. when you have a child together, that will bring forth their parental qualities and identity much more, increasingly obscuring their sexual selves under that parental cloak. they look more like your parent again, and hard to have sex with that

arousal also has to do with the urge to join together, which implies there is some sort of separation leading up to it. but when every part of your life is joined together as it is in a long-term marriage (living, finances, chores, kids), there is minimal "me/you" vs "we." one needs a certain amount of autonomy in order for being undressed to feel like a treat

adultery can be a symptom (of feeling rejected in the marriage)

jealousy can be stupid but it still happens and is still instinctive, and sometimes wisdom is knowing when wisdom is not an option

marriage: a deeply peculiar and ultimately unkind thing to inflict on anyone one claims to care for

on one hand, a marriage is about understanding each other, but on another hand it's also about diplomacy (because people seek both stability/security and adventure in their relationship and this is impossible to reconcile, leading to occasionally ricocheting thoughts that one needs to have sensitivity towards expressing with no filter)

learning and dealing with each other's attachment styles is an act of love -- love as a skill, not just an enthusiasm

maturity comes from seeing each individual as a vulnerable being motivated by imperfect things like anxiety/fear and having sympathy for them

no one is perfect if you get to know them. they're only the most perfect-appearing in the beginning

they have been married for 13 years, but only now does rabih feel ready for marriage. given that marriage yields its most important lessons only to those who have enrolled in its curriculum, it's normal that readiness should follow and not precede the ceremony itself, perhaps by a decade or two.

ready for marriage if you are:

giving up on perfection (because nobody is perfect)

giving up on being fully understood (there is no way to fully understand someone else over the course of time, and so someone is not automatically inept or crazy when you inevitably run up on the limits of your understanding)

admit that you are crazy (only when you are alone with nobody to confront you do you think you are normal and good)

it's not their fault (getting mad over in-laws, dishes has more to do w the impossibility of the institution of marriage than them as a person)

ready to love rather than be loved (as a society we are fixated on the latter, and this is how we are first exposed to love as a child, but expecting the same from your partner is a recipe for disaster)

ready for a life of sexual frustration (monogamy can be hard, but infidelity can arouse the most primitive jealousies and abandonment issues in your partner so better not to)

ready and wanting to learn from your partner (there will be ways in which they are better than you, and you should be open to their teachings)

aware that you are not compatible (the Romantic vision of marriage stresses the importance of finding the "right" person, which is taken to mean someone in sympathy with the raft of our interests and values. there is no such person over the long term. we are too varied and particular. there cannot be lasting congruence. the partner truly best suited to us is not the one who miraculously happens to share every taste but the one who can negotiate differences in taste with intelligence and good grace. rather than some notional idea of perfect complementarity, it is the capacity to tolerate dissimilarity that is the true marker of the "right" person. compatibility is an achievement in love; it shouldn't be its precondition)

you understand that the love stories in films and books is not real, and you shouldn't be measuring your relationship up to it

do you feel that, with this person at your side, you are able to handle things life throws at you?

[korasonata]

I think this is just what my blog is now. Model streams have taken over. Sorry, not sorry. Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo paper model streams part 5! (Featuring a heavily sleep deprived Joe)

—

Cleo (talking to her cat): Ok. You have had attention. Are you— are you going to go? *pausing* This is the sort of thing I ask Joe. Umm… *laughing*

Joe: Constantly!

Cleo: *laughing* You’ve had your attention, can you go now?

Joe: Can you just not be here. *both laughing*

—

Cleo: Yeah, I have to start gluing things to other things. Badly. And, uh, realizing where I’ve messed up. Which is EVERYWHERE!

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo (totally not fine): Its fine. It’s fine. I’m fin— how are you Joe?

—

Joe: It makes about as much sense as anything else I do? So…

Cleo: I mean yeah. I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it cause I’m not rude. But, you know.

*both laughing*

Joe: Now you’re just lying to me!

Cleo: *laughing* WOW!! Joe!! My heart is just hurting! Now.

Joe: Mhm.

Cleo: You can tell can’t you, I’m deeply— intensely wounded by that statement that you just made.

—

Joe: I was gonna say, we’re gonna have to call whatever the British version of an ambulance is.

Cleo: Um, I think— and I could be wrong here, the British equivalent of an ambulance is…an ambulance.

Joe: oh, ok that’s really good to know. Cause like, not that I’m planning on getting injured while I’m over there, but like—

Cleo: I mean, if you carry on talking that way you might.

Joe: I mean if I meet you, then there’s a chance that somethings gonna get shoved in my eye or something.

Cleo: Somethings gonna get taken off.

—

Joe: I mean, they say it’s the shotty carpenter that blames his poor tools, but I mean look at this.

—

Cleo (about her bisexual tags on twitch): Hold on, hold on, I need to explain what “visibility” means to bisexuals. Bisexuals are often— um, hidden in the community. They are often, um, not treated as either part of the gay community and the straight community doesn’t really appreciate them either. So, having visibility for bisexuals is very important. As it is for any other place. Also having those tags on your stream show that you are a safe place for those people to go. So, you know, actually labeling those things is important because it shows people that they are not alone. And not being alone? Really important. (To Joe) Sorry, am getting frustrated.

Joe: As somebody who’s been alone for the last year and a half with this stupid isolation, uh, yeah.

Cleo: Yeah! Being alone and not feeling alone is really important.

Joe: If you need to be explained at this point in the pandemic why feeling alone is not good, like I don’t know what to say.

—

Cleo (reading chat): What’s my favourite minecraft mob? Do people have favourite minecraft mobs?

Joe (very tired): Just say whichever mod’s here. Who’s got a sword *scrolling through Cleo’s chat* umm… yeah it’s AnnaBomBanana. Is everyone’s favourite minecraft mod.

Cleo: …moB.

Joe: …MOB! OH!

Cleo: *continuous laughing*

—

Joe: This is gonna go off of the rails further and further. There’s no— there’s no rails anymore! It’s just, somebody has scrawled “here there be dragons” on the ground.

Cleo: I mean, isn’t that pretty much how you live your life anyway?

Joe (high pitched squealing): It kind of is. *laughing continues*

Cleo: You know. Here there be dragons— Sometimes it’s not dragons. Sometimes you might be lucky.

—

Joe: So, like, one thing you can do is after this project you can build tiny dollhouses. And create like a bedroom for each of your tools. And so the knife can just be in the knife room. In the dollhouse. And it can have a knife day.

SILENCE

Cleo: Umm…I’m gonna pretend like what you said made sense.

—

Cleo: I could have said something really nasty then, but I’m not going to. See? I’m growing as a person Joe.

—

Joe: You know what? Hold on, we’re gonna— we’re gonna— at the point where NJ is concerned about my caffeine intake, I’m gonna go get a red bull and I’m gonna take my headphones off before anybody can tell me otherwise, byeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Be right back!!!! *leaves*

Cleo (calling after him): Well done Joe! I believe in you! *narrating* She did not in fact believe in Joe, and was very concerned.

—

Cleo: I know when there’s a bad idea. It’s when Joe has made it. Joe has suggested it, that’s— that’s when you know it’s bad.

—

Joe: I know that there are ways to have computers automatically send invites, but that’s a good way, like, I know there’s a saying like, to error is human, but to screw up like a hundred thousand things all at once—

Cleo: That’s the Joe Hills Difference.

—

Cleo: Ugh, I feel like poop today.

Joe (genuine): I’m sorry.

Cleo (tiredly): No, that’s ok…(groggy) I’ll torment you…later…it’ll make me feel better…

Joe (equally as tired): Yay!

—

Joe (about Cleo and Xisuma): But Cleo, you’re the responsible adult in this scenario, so yeah you probably should have some answers.

Cleo: X is almost as old as I am.

SILENCE

Joe: …it’s a maturity gap?

Cleo: *laughing* Is that why I’m here with you?

Joe: …no.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: I say very confidently.

—

Joe (teacher voice): Quantum mechanics is a fundamental theory in physics that provides a description of the physical properties of nature at the scale of atoms and subatomic particles—

Cleo: *flipping him off*

Joe (blissfully unaware): Now classical physics! The collection of theories that existed before the advent of quantum mechanics—

Cleo: *trying to ignore him*

Joe (carrying on): Quantum mechanics differs from classical physics in that energy, momentum, angular momentum, and other quantities of a bound system are restricted to discreet values—

Cleo: *fingers drumming impatiently*

Joe (still going): Now! Quantum mechanics arose gradually from theories to explain observations which could not be reconciled with classical physics—

Cleo: *physically going through all 5 stages of grief*

Joe: (insert continuously long string of rambling science here)

Cleo: *mutes Joe*

—

Cleo (responding to her partner in chat): You have the movie poster for Dora the Explorer? Cam, I’m suddenly questioning our relationship now.

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Yeah, I knew I was gonna get blamed for that eventually.

—

Cleo (frustrated): I’m gonna kill someone. And since the person who made and designed this castle isn’t here…(trailing off) Hi Joe.

Joe (accepted his fate): Hello.

—

Joe: Have you ever officiated a wedding?

Cleo: No I haven’t. Why, do you want me to?

—

Joe: Oh! Oh! I found my cross stitch the other day!

Cleo: Oh cool!

Joe: *rummaging in the background* Yeah, so, I don’t know if you’ve seen this before—

Cleo (excitedly): ShowMeShowMeShowMeShowMe!!!

—

Joe (reading chat): Am I excited for Minecraft Live? Umm…

SILENCE

Joe: You know, so much of life is minecraft, but you know, maybe this is just a step too far. You know? Um, I think Mojang asked if they could and never stopped to ask if they should. Um, you know, I think their decision in particular to clone dinosaurs at the event as part of their Jurrassic Park, uh, map thing that they put out— which, also, it’s not even like the Jurrassic Park movies are really for kids, but here’s— here’s Minecraft with Jurrassic Park in it, and also we’re gonna clone a bunch of dinosaurs for this livestream, it’s like *groaning*. I dunno. I’m dubious. I think it’s gonna backfire. Ya know, there’s like 4 cautionary films about why you don’t clone dinosaurs. And they’re just jumping in feet first. So…but, you know, I’d like to be wrong about this. Maybe it’ll go great.

Cleo: …are you having a moment Joe?

—

Cleo (reading chat): “when the arts and crafts streams become Cleo with a scream mask” I am not X. I am not X, I promise you I’m not X. I just don’t have a face.

Joe: Heh

Cleo: And if I was— hang on I’ll be back in a second.

Joe: …wait, did you just realize that you do have a scream mask?

Cleo: No, I have a better mask. *leaves*

SILENCE

Joe: *watching Cleo’s stream intensely*

—

Cleo: Are we seriously doing guillotine jokes right now? I’m not saying I disapprove, but

Joe: yeah, we say “Giatine”

Cleo: That’s ok, you can be wrong.

Joe: …It’s a french word.

Cleo: And? You’re allowed to be wrong.

Joe: …*deep sigh*

—

Joe: It’s funny too. Because people will tell me that I don’t seem like a very— like, mostly my coworkers. Like, would tell me that I didn’t seem like a particularly emotional person.

Cleo: *bursts out laughing*

—

Joe: Yeah, I feel like I didn’t make a lot of…visible progress today…but…it’s fine…

Cleo: I made progress for both of us Joe.

Joe (tiredly): Thank you Cleo… (resting head against the ring light)

SILENCE

Cleo (tenderly): …You’re welcome.

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! Feel free not to answer this question if it is in any way too much, but I've been wondering about something concerning the "western" mdzs fandom. Lately, i have seen multiple pieces of fanart that use what is clearly Christian symbolism and sometimes downright iconography in depicting the characters. I'm a european fan, but it still makes me vaguely uneasy. I know that these things are rarely easy to judge. I'm definitely not qualified to do so and was wondering if you have an opinion

Hi there! thank you for your patience and for the interesting question! I’ve been thinking about this since i received this ask because it?? idk, it’s difficult to answer, but it also touches on a a few things that I find really interesting.

the short answer: it’s complicated, and I also don’t know what I feel!

the longer answer:

i think that this question is particularly difficult to answer because of how deeply christianity is tied to the western art and literary canon. so much of what is considered great european art is christian art! If you just take a quick glance at wiki’s page on european art, you can see how inextricable christianity is, and how integral christian iconography has been in the history of european art. If you study western art history, you must study christian imagery and christian canon because it’s just impossible to engage with a lot of the work in a meaningful way without it. that’s just the reality of it.

Christianity, of course, also has a strong presence in european colonial and imperialist history and has been used as a tool of oppression against many peoples and nations, including China. I would be lying if I said I had a good relationship with Christianity--I have always faced it with a deep suspicion because I think it did some very, very real damage, not just to chinese people, but to many cultures and peoples around the world, and that’s not a trauma that can be easily brushed aside or reconciled with.

here is what is also true: my maternal grandmother was devoutly christian. my aunt is devoutly christian. my uncle’s family is devoutly christian. my favorite cousin is devoutly christian. when I attended my cousin’s wedding, he had both a traditional chinese ceremony (tea-serving, bride-fetching, ABSURDLY long reception), and also a christian ceremony in a church. christianity is a really important part of his life, just as it’s important to my uncle’s family, and as it was important to my grandmother. I don’t think it’s my right or place to label them as simply victims of a colonialist past--they’re real people with real agency and choice and beliefs. I think it would be disrespectful to act otherwise.

that doesn’t negate the harm that christianity has done--but it does complicate things. is it inherently a bad thing that they’re christian, due to the political history of the religion and their heritage? that’s... not a question I’m really interested in debating. the fact remains that they are christian, that they are chinese, and that they chose their religion.

so! now here we are with mdzs, a chinese piece of media that is clearly Not christian, but is quickly gaining popularity in euroamerican spaces. people are making fanart! people are making A LOT of fanart! and art is, by nature, intertextual. a lot of the most interesting art (imo) makes deliberate use of that! for example (cyan art nerdery time let’s go), Nikolai Ge’s What is Truth?

I love this painting! it’s notable for its unusual depiction of christ: shabby, unkempt, slouched, in shadow. if you look for other paintings of this scene, christ is usually dignified, elegant, beautiful, melancholy -- there’s something very humanizing and humbling about this depiction, specifically because of the way it contrasts the standard. it’s powerful because we as the audience are expected to be familiar with the iconography of this scene, the story behind it, and its place in the christian canon.

you can make similar comments about Gentileschi’s Judith vs Caravaggio’s, or Manet’s Olympia vs Ingres’ Grande Odalisque -- all of these paintings exist in relation to one another and also to the larger canon (i’m simplifying: you can’t just compare one to another directly in isolation etc etc.) Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling the Angel is also especially interesting because of how its portrayal of its content contrasts to its predecessors!

or! because i’m really In It now, one of my favorite paintings in the world, Joan of Arc by Bastien-Lepage:

I just!!! gosh, idk, what’s most interesting to me in this painting is the way it seems to hover between movements: the hyperrealistic, neoclassical-esque take on the figure, but the impressionistic brushstrokes of the background AAA gosh i love it so much. it’s really beautiful if you ever get a chance to see it in person at the Met. i’m putting this here both because i personally just really like it and also as an example of how intertextuality isn’t just about content, but also about visual elements.

anyways, sorry most of this is 19thc, that was what i studied the most lol.

(a final note: if you want to read about a really interesting painting that sits in the midst of just a Lot of different works, check out the wiki page on Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa, specifically under “Interpretation and Legacy”)

this is all a really long-winded way of getting to this point: if you want to make allusory fanart of mdzs with regards to western art canon, you kind of have to go out of your way to avoid christian imagery/iconography, especially when that’s the lens through which a lot of really intensely emotional art was created. many of my favorite paintings are christian: Vrubel’s Demon, Seated, Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, Ge’s Conscience, Judas, Bastien-Lepage’s Joan of Arc, as shown above. that’s not to say there ISN’T plenty of non-christian art -- but christian art is very prominent and impossible to ignore.

so here are a few pieces of fanwork that I’ve seen that are very clearly making allusions to christian imagery:

1. this beautiful pietà nielan by tinynarwhals on twitter

2. a lovely jiang yanli as our lady of tears by @satuwilhelmiina

3. my second gif in this set here, which I will also show below:

i’m only going to talk about mine in depth because well, i know exactly what i was thinking when I put this gif together while I can’t speak for anyone else.

first: the two lines of the song that I wanted to use for lan xichen were “baby, I’m a fighter//in the robes of a saint” because i felt that they fit him very well. of course, just the word “saint” evokes catholicism, even if it’s become so entwined in the english language that it’s taken on a secular meaning as well.

second: when I saw this scene, my immediate thought was just “PIETÀ!!” because LOOK at that composition! lan xichen’s lap! nie mingjue lying perpendicular to it! the light blue/white/silver of lan xichen in contrast to the darker robes of both nie mingjue and meng yao! not just that, but the very cool triangular structure of the image is intensely striking, and Yes, i Do love that it simultaneously ALSO evokes deposition of christ vibes. (baxia as the cross.... god..... is that not the Tightest Shit) does this make meng yao joseph of arimathea? does it make him john the evangelist? both options are equally interesting, I think when viewed in relation to his roles in the story: as a spy in qishan and as nmj’s deputy. maybe he’s both.

anyways, did I do this intentionally? yes, though a lot of it is happy accident/discovered after the fact since I’m relying on CQL to have provided the image. i wanted to draw attention to all of that by superimposing that line over that image! (to be clear: I didn’t expect it to all come through because like. that’s ridiculous. the layers you’d have to go through to get from “pretty lxc gifset” --> “if we cast nie mingjue as a christ figure, what is the interesting commentary we could do on meng yao by casting him as either joseph of arimathea or john the evangelist” are like. ok ur gonna need to work a little harder than slapping a song lyric over an image to achieve an effect like that.)

the point of this is: yes, it’s intentionally christian, yes I did this, yes I am casting these very much non-christian characters into christian roles for this specific visual work -- is this okay?

I obviously thought it was because I made it. but would I feel the same about a work that was written doing something similar? probably not. I think that would make me quite uncomfortable in most situations. but there’s something about visual art that makes it slightly different that I have trouble articulating -- something about how the visual often seeks to illustrate parallels or ideas, whereas writing characters as a different religion can fundamentally change who those characters are, the world they inhabit, etc. in a more... invasive?? way. that’s still not quite right, but I genuinely am not sure how to explain what i mean! I hope the general idea comes across. ><

something else to think about is like, what are pieces I find acceptable and why?

what makes the pieces above that reference christian imagery different than this stunning nieyao piece by @cyandemise after klimt’s kiss? (warnings for like, dead bodies and vague body horror) like i ADORE this piece (PLEASE click for fullview it’s worth it for the quality). it’s incredibly beautiful and evocative and very obviously references a piece of european art. I have no problem with it. why? because it isn’t explicitly christian? it’s still deeply entrenched in western canon. klimt certainly made other pieces that were explicit christian references.

another piece I’d like to invite you all to consider is this incredible naruto fanart of sakura and ino beheading sasuke after caravaggio’s judith. (warnings for beheading, blood, etc. you know.) i also adore this piece! i think it’s very good both technically and conceptually. the reference that it makes has a real power when viewed in relation to the roles of the characters in their original story -- seeing the women that sasuke fucked over and treated so disrespectfully collaborating in his demise Says Something. this is also!! an explicitly christian reference made with non-christian japanese characters. is this okay? does it evoke the same discomfort as seeing mdzs characters being drawn with christian iconography? why or why not?

the point is, I don’t think there’s a neat answer, but I do think there are a lot of interesting issues surrounding cultural erasure/hegemony that are raised by this question. i don’t think there are easy resolutions to any of them either, but I think that it’s a good opportunity to reexamine our own discomfort and try and see where it comes from. all emotions are valid but not all are justified etc. so I try to ask, is it fair? do i apply my criticisms and standards equally? why or why not? does it do real harm, or do i just not like it? what makes one work okay and another not?

i’ve felt that there’s a real danger with the kind of like, deep moral scrutiny of recent years in quashing interesting work in the name of fear. this morality tends to be expressed in black and white, good and bad dichotomies that i really do think stymies meaningful conversation and progress. you’ll often see angry takes that boil down to things like, “POC good, queer people good, white people bad, christianity bad” etc. without a serious critical examination of the actual issues at hand. I feel that these are extraordinarily harmful simplifications that can lead to an increased insularity that isn’t necessarily good for anyone. there’s a fine line between asking people to stay in their lane and cultural gatekeeping sometimes, and I think that it’s something we should be mindful of when we’re engaging in conversations about cultural erasure, appropriation etc.

PERHAPS IT IS OBVIOUS that I have no idea where that line falls LMAO since after all that rambling I have given you basically nothing. but! I hope that you found it interesting at least, and that it gives you a bit more material to think on while you figure out where you stand ahaha.

was this just an excuse to show off cool (fan)art i like? maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(ko-fi)

[makeste]

A theory I have seen is that Fuyumi wants the family back so desperately, because she and Toya experienced the better Endeavor, where everything was alright. My guess is that after his decent into abuse its stopped being like a normal family and Natsuo and Shoto never experienced a normal family. But that is just a therory

okay so speaking as someone who grew up with an abusive and neglectful parent (though in my case it was my mom rather than my dad)... it’s complicated. there are a lot of emotions there. I think one of the things Horikoshi has really excelled at with the whole Todoroki plot is the way that he’s used the four siblings to show the different ways that children respond to parental abuse. and I can say from personal experience that all of them are valid. not just the bitterness, anger, and resentment that Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto have all shown at times, but also that intense (but tentative, almost wishful-thinking) longing to just have a normal family that we see from Fuyumi. speaking again from experience, that last one isn’t an outlier at all. in fact, in my case, I’d say that was honestly the strongest feeling out of all of them, and it even fueled a lot of the other three emotions. btw just a heads up I’m gonna delve into some personal stuff here briefly, so yeah. I won’t put details, but if anyone wants an abuse trigger warning added to the post or anything like that, just let me know.

so the thing is, even during my angriest times, if some magic wish-granting genie had poofed in and told the child me, “’sup, I’m here to solve all of your family problems, just tell me what you want me to do,” I wouldn’t have wanted them to take my mom away and lock her up somewhere and make her suffer or anything like that. honestly, even during the worst of it, the thing I wanted more than anything else was just to have a normal family. my mom had a lot of untreated mental health issues, and it was basically a situation where you never knew which version of her you were going to get on any given day. so there were times when she was a kind and loving mother who took care of me and my siblings. and there were a great many more times when she was temperamental and erratic, and we all (my dad included) basically just walked on eggshells around her and did our best to lay low and try not to bother her because even little things might set her off, and we never knew how she was going to react. and my dad worked a lot, and my sibs and I were homeschooled for reasons which I’m not gonna get into because this post is already veering off on too many tangents, but anyway so the short of it is that my sibs and I grew up in this unstable environment and ended up more or less raising ourselves. and I resented my mom a lot for that, growing up, and I still do honestly.

now a lot’s happened since then, and she’s gotten some help, and my siblings and I are all adults now and we’re more or less good, even though we all took a certain amount of Psychic Damage along the way and we’re each still dealing with that. and we each have different relationships with our mom now, and a couple of my sibs are even fairly close to her. but for my part, I pretty much have no relationship with her at all outside of seeing her a few times a year at family get-togethers and the like. the thing is, even though my mom did eventually (after a LOT of false starts and struggles and heartache) get some help, she’s never really shown remorse for what my siblings and I went through because of her. she’s never taken responsibility for any of it. she blames a lot of other people, and will go on long rants about all of the terrible things that have happened to her and all of the horrible ways people have treated her (some of which is true, and some of which very much is not). but there’s never even the slightest acknowledgement of any of the things she herself has done to hurt others. she either passes the blame or just pretends it never happened. 

and honestly, it sucks. even now, there’s little to no real desire to change on her part. she’s gotten therapy and meds now, and so emotionally she’s much more stable than when we were kids, but one of the unfortunate results is that it’s all the more clear now that a lot of her behavior never had anything to do with her mental illness at all. she just didn’t care at all about how she was hurting others; or at the very least, didn’t care to face it. and that’s just how it is.

anyway, so I’m sorry to keep breaking away and telling you guys my own life story lol. but the point I’m trying to get at here is that I actually relate to Fuyumi so much, though. what I wanted more than anything was for my mom to care, and to say she was sorry, and for me to be able to believe that and to trust her, and for her to actually change. that was it.

and so for me, here’s the biggest difference between the Endeavor situation, and my own and so many others. the difference is that unlike people in real life, we know Endeavor is actually remorseful for what he’s done. we know it for certain because we’ve seen it for ourselves, from his own point of view. the manga actually lets us get inside his head and shows us that he really is sincere, that he really is sorry, and that he really is trying to change. and that’s something that’s impossible to get in real life. that certainty that the person really means it, that they’re genuinely remorseful and committed to making amends.

and for me, that’s fucking wish fulfillment right there. for the abusive parent to finally realize the error of their ways and be sorry and try to do right by their kids. I fucking wanted that. hell, I still want it, even though I’ve made my peace with things the way that they are. that chance to somehow heal the broken relationship, and have your parent genuinely try their best to be a real parent to you, even if it’s years after the fact? shit. I’d take that in a heartbeat.

and so when it comes to Fuyumi and her attempts to get her family to reconcile and experience a few normal things, I f feel that. I really do. because when you’re growing up in that type of situation, normal is all that you want. and I don’t think it’s anything that requires an explanation on her part, because it’s not actually an unusual reaction at all. it’s natural. it’s the most natural thing in the world. honestly it’s annoying that fandom sometimes tries to shame her for having those feelings. like honestly, fuck that. because the thing is, I’d wager that almost every kid who grew up with an abusive parent has at some time or other felt the exact same way.

and that includes Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto as well. literally the only difference between them and Fuyumi is that they feel that Endeavor’s change of heart is simply coming too late. it’s not that they don’t want their family back, just like she does; it’s that from their point of view, it’s something they can’t get back. for Fuyumi, that dream of having a normal family is something she’s still seeking. for Natsuo and Touya, that dream of having a normal family is something that was destroyed. something that Endeavor killed. something they’re in mourning of. and so Touya wants revenge for it, and Natsuo is trying to pick himself up and move past it. and meanwhile Shouto is caught somewhere in the middle of all of those reactions, because he’s still trying to decide whether or not he can ever bring himself to trust his father again. he’s somewhere in between his brothers’ mourning and his sister’s hopefulness. sort of a Schrodinger type of deal lol.

but anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that all four siblings are really experiencing the same thing, just in different ways. Fuyu may be the one arranging family dinners and the like, but that same longing to be part of a normal family is at the core of Natsuo, Shouto, and even Touya’s behavior as well. Natsuo’s hurt and resentment, and Touya’s spite and bitterness, come from being denied the thing they want. and Fuyu’s shaky attempts at reconciliation come from her desire to still obtain it somehow. but at the end of the day they’re the exact same feelings. and they all come from the same place.

anyways, hopefully that makes some kind of sense. basically, everyone is valid. Fuyu is valid, Natsu and Shouto are valid, and Touya is murdery which isn’t cool, but his feelings are still valid too nonetheless. hugs and therapy for the Todoroki children in 2021, Horikoshi. please and thank you.

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

Zutara. My otp since I first watched as a 10 year old in 2005. Hopefully you'll be kind to them 😉 I'm convinced they'll be cannon in the live action 😅

Alright... *starts digging grave*, I think Katara and Zuko have a wonderful platonic relationship and for them to have a romantic relationship would (1) undermine Zuko’s redemption arc and (2) undermine the found family aspect of their friendship. I don’t have an issue with anyone who ships Zutara and I do not engage in shipping drama, but I think their platonic relationship is too damn important to favor a romantic relationship I don't really think has chemistry. 

Personally, I have never gotten romantic vibes from them like... at all? I think the progression of their friendship was important in terms of the show’s themes of forgiving those who deserve it and finding support in people you least expect, but I just don’t get chemistry from them. I’ve always been a Kataang fan but how I feel about Zutara has nothing to do with that. Avatar is one of those shows where I would have been totally fine with it ending with no romantic pairings because the found family aspect of it is so much more powerful. 

If anyone has spent 5 seconds on my blog, you know that Zuko is my favorite character and I think he deserves nothing but love and support after all the shit he went through. But a big aspect of why I care about him as a character is that he put the work in to make amends. He didn’t just show up one day saying “I’ve seen the error of my ways, sorry for all the stuff I did, I’m good now” and that was that. He had to work for forgiveness and he did it because he realized the fire nation was wrong, his father was wrong, and he was wrong. His decision to switch sides had nothing to do with any connection with the gaang because he didn’t really know them. His decision to switch sides stemmed from 3 very important things: 

(1) He felt guilty not for betraying Aang and Katara in Ba Sing Se, but Iroh. He realized his uncle was the person who had given him unconditional love while Azula and Ozai’s “love” for him was entirely dependent on his ability to provide them results. From this guilt, he was able to realize that his uncle had made the right decision in siding with the Avatar and more importantly, that Ozai was wrong and that all the abuse he endured under him was undeserved. 

(2) His experiences in the Earth Kingdom as a refugee. This post explains it really well, but Zuko’s realization that everything he’s believed about the Fire Nation has been wrong is rooted in his moment of empathy with Song and her matching burn scar, his empathy with Lee who lost his brother like Zuko lost Lu Ten, his empathy with Jet who lost his way going to extremes for a cause, and, yes, his empathy with Katara who’s mother was taken from her by the Fire Nation like his was. The reason he switches sides is because after all of those experiences, he can no longer be callous or unfeeling towards the Earth Kingdom like his father or sister. The people of the Earth Kingdom either empathized with him for the pain he went through and appreciated him for his desire to help the helpless (Song, Lee, Jet) or feared and hated him for being part of a country that caused their suffering (Lee, Lee’s mom, Jet, Katara). Throughout season 2, Zuko realized the extent of what the war meant for the other side. 

(3) The realization of the extents his father would go to and the truth about Ozai’s amorality. This point is kind of just the culmination of everything in the last two points, but all that set up comes to fruition when Zuko attends the war meeting where Ozai decides to use Sozin’s Comet to commit genocide. By this point he’s racked with guilt over what he did to Iroh, he’s empathized with people who have suffered and is coming to terms with the fact that it’s not only the people of the earth kingdom that have unnecessarily suffered because of Ozai, but him as well. In that meeting, he expresses adoration for the Earth Kingdom being proud and strong and Ozai’s response is to burn it to the ground. It’s the same treatment he gave Zuko at the Agni Kai when he stuck to his morals and refused to fight and was met with abject cruelty. At that meeting, Zuko realizes that his father is wrong and that he was always wrong. He realizes that millions of people will suffer at the hands of this man who is so incredibly wrong and lacking in empathy. 

SO, keeping all that in mind. His redemption arc doesn’t stop when he switches sides, it keeps going as he makes individual amends with Aang, Sokka, and Katara. It keeps going as he learns from the dragons, as he chooses what he believes in over his girlfriend, as he risks his life to protect the gaang from Azula, and as he tries to help Aang, Sokka, and Katara find emotional closure in different aspects. He helps Aang overcome his fear of firebending. He helps Sokka regain his honor. And he helps Katara address her grief regarding her mother’s death. These four episodes are some of the best in the series because it’s not just Zuko working to make amends because he wants them to trust him, but it’s him empathizing with their trauma, their guilt, and their fear of failure because he’s been there. 

Alright, that’s a whole essay regarding why Zuko’s redemption arc works, now what does this have to do with Zutara? Here’s the deal: if any aspect of Zuko’s decisions for his redemption were influenced by romantic attraction to Katara, it would undermine the meaning of his choices for him. He made the choices to be better because he empathized with a nation of people who needlessly suffered. He made the choices to be better because he learned to cut himself off from the need to please his abusive father and accept the unconditional love of his uncle. His choice to help Katara find her mother’s murderer stemmed from empathy and his desire to be better than the people who hurt him and hurt others. The reason Katara’s resentment towards him hurt him so much was because he was trying so hard to be better than the people that were feared and hated. Katara treated him like Lee’s mom and Jet did when they realized he was a firebender (that being said, Katara was justified since Zuko’s decision to side with Azula resulted in the fall of Ba Sing Se and nearly resulted in Aang’s death), and he didn’t want to be that person. He didn’t want to be hated or feared anymore and he was willing to do anything to move past being viewed like that. So Katara’s decision to finally forgive him? It’s the point where she realizes he’s able to empathize with her over his mother’s death where her mother’s killer could not. She realized that he was different and had changed because he put the work in. And that’s huge for his redemption, not for any kind of forming relationship because that’s not the point. 

Now, concerning the whole found-family aspect I love so much? Zutara as a romantic pairing would undermine the beauty of Zuko’s ability to find a loving, supportive group of people that he was missing his entire life. Katara does not work as a romantic partner for Zuko because she works as his replacement sister. The fact is that Zuko’s actual family experience was founded on fear and not love, but the idea of “usefulness”. Zuko and Azula were only valued by Ozai so much as they were useful to him, which is why he favored (not loved) Azula, she was useful to him and Zuko wasn’t until he “slayed the Avatar”. Iroh (and Ursa for a time) was the only person who showed him unconditional love and support, but that wasn’t enough to snap him out of the need to please Ozai. Zuko rooted his entire self worth in what his family thought of him and engaged in very self-destructive behavior throughout season 1 to prove himself because he “didn’t want [his] father to think [he was] worthless”. Even throughout season 3, he still thinks that his uncle’s love for him is conditional (”my uncle hates me I I know it”) until he’s proven otherwise because that’s what he’s been taught. So him joining the gaang, that’s the first time in his life he’s really met with the concept of people liking him for himself, not for his ability to be useful (his family, Jet) or because they think he’s someone he’s not (Song, Lee, Jin). He’s met with friendship: people making fun of him in a playful way instead of tearing down his insecurities and vulnerabilities (”mind if I watch you too jerks do your jerkbending?” “so all we need to do is make Zuko angry, that should be easy enough”, “look, it’s baby Zuko!”, “actually I think [the play portrayal] is pretty spot-on”), people trying to help him fix his problems (”you need to go back to the original source”) instead of making him feel weak for not being able to solve those problems in the first place, and showing him express appreciation and encouragement (”you’re pretty smart”, “to Zuko, who knew after all the times he tried to snuff us out, today he’d be our hero”, “I’m going with Zuko!”). And that’s so. Damn. Important for his ability to heal after how he was treated for his entire life. He’s introduced to the idea that people want him to be around and they want to include him in their circle for being him. Up until the finale, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to reconcile with Iroh or if Iroh will accept his forgiveness, but these people have given him a home in their group and he’s not afraid or insecure around a group of people for the first time in his life. 

And that’s why Katara has to be the one to defeat Azula: because Azula couldn’t be the sister Zuko had and Katara could be. It’s a tragedy that Zuko and Azula were driven apart by Ozai pitting them against each other, the corruption of firebending throughout the ages so it’s regarded for its power rather than its energy, and Azula’s own insecurities and fears of losing power because, like Zuko once did, she only considers herself to be worth anything so long as she’s better than him. The abuse he endured had an effect on her to because so long as she saw that Ozai’s “love” for Zuko was conditional, that meant that his “love” for her was conditional as well (”you can’t treat me like Zuko!”). Zuko and Azula could never support each other and they could never trust each other in the way that Sokka and Katara could. They wouldn’t sacrifice anything for each other because they were conditioned to survive, to leave behind the lesser sibling in order to get ahead. But at the Agni Kai, Zuko jumps in front of the lighting for Katara because unlike Azula, she has supported him since she forgave him and is there to back him up. She thinks he can be Firelord and she thought his uncle could forgive him in a way that Azula just never could. And that’s why Katara has to be the one to defeat Azula. Not because of any romantic attraction for Zuko, but because he’s protected Aang and Sokka and her and Toph and their little found family. It’s because he’s one of them. So in that moment where Azula is defeated, screaming and sobbing because she’s lost and that means that she’s the weaker sibling, she’s gone and it’s tragic. Zuko looks upon her and he wishes it didn’t have to be like this, but it is and it’s tragic. It didn’t have to be how it was but it did and it was awful and Azula is left broken, hating her brother with murderous fury. But he’s not alone.

He has a new sister who will protect him and fight for him when he’s lost his own. 

(addition: I want to make it clear that this does not mean I think Azula is irredeemable. Her actions and outlook are 100% a product of Ozai’s abuse, as I explained. I do not think that’s she’s beyond redemption, but by the finale she was still a villain and her goal was still to kill her brother so she could be Firelord. That’s not to say that she couldn’t have eventually healed and been able to reconcile with him, but by the final Agni Kai that’s not where their relationship was. The fact that she and Zuko had a toxic relationship was not her fault, but they still had a toxic relationship built on distrust and competition where Zuko and Katara’s friendship was built on support and protection. I am entirely sympathetic towards Azula, but just because she was redeemable doesn’t mean she was redeemed and just because there was potential for her and Zuko to eventually have a better relationship doesn’t mean that they did by the end of the series.) 

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow Part 9/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7  Chapter 4: Part 8 | Part 9  You are Here

From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix. This part ~  876 words –  Virgil, emotions. -----

For the record, Virgil did not storm off angrily; he walked emphatically. There was a difference, and Virgil was well in control of his own self despite the pressure building behind his eyes. He rubbed them raw on the way out of the lounge. Away from… whatever that was.

Virgil’s long strides were no match for Alan and Grandma, that second hesitation of a family divided all he needed to get a head start. Once he stepped away, his feet did the rest, leading him toward his studio, creating distance between himself and the situation, the fact that they thought Gordon had died, that his partner wouldn’t look at him and that he and their eldest brother had teamed up against him. That he was on his own to reconcile the hurt in his heart.

He marched past his easel and the half-painted canvas waiting upon it. The field of yellow sunflowers just starting to emerge upon the background of the Kansas sky was too dazzling to look at in that moment. The storm brewing beyond his windows was much more apropos. Their island paradise blurred beyond the large glass panes of his art sanctuary. Between the moisture stuck to his eyelids and the sprinkle tapping at the structure, he saw only a haze of grey.  

His shoulders shook with the effort to keep himself collected where he stood with one arm draped over his torso, clasping at the opposite wrist where he rubbed his fingertips over the protective flannel sleeve.  A heaving breath sucked in his pain, swallowed it down deep where he could keep it hidden in his gut.

It was about Gordon, really; he knew that.

But for all Virgil’s degrees in engineering and his medical licenses, for all the time he spent honing his skills protecting his brothers and learning what they needed by their body language not what came out of their mouth, and the time he dedicated towards helping Gordon in particular with his injuries, he didn’t have the skillset required to fix this strange, particular condition that had taken hold of their brother nor, it seemed, their relationship.

He needed to fix it.

Yet he still didn’t know what he did, what caused Gordon to treat him so harshly.

No, that was a lie. He knew why Gordon had hesitated in his presence; he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.  

The reality was that somewhere along the way, he’d lost Gordon’s trust. Whether it was the fact he couldn’t keep a steady hand to heal him properly in the medbay, or the fact that they couldn’t find him before he was injured and Thunderbird Two was too far behind, or the fact that Virgil had been so focused on the rescue that he hadn’t noticed Gordon being taken in the first place, or all of those reasons together, he didn’t know.

While Scott was the one that would be more inclined to lay the guilt thick on himself on the best of days, Virgil couldn’t sugar coat the response he’d gotten. It was enough for Virgil to not trust himself.

He didn’t blame him, and he knew trust couldn’t be earned overnight. It was one of the strongest forces in the world, but as fragile as pastels, powder disrupted with the smallest of vibrations, and once settled anew, it would never be as radiant.

And it would take time. Like the clouds rolling in, at their own pace, with the accompaniment of rain nudging the glass.

There was music on the edge of his fingers, pressure at his wrist where subconsciously he imprinted sonatas into his skin. Minor key. Because that was the song he felt his trapped piano cry out to him from the distant lounge.

He heard the footsteps cut through the song before the timid knock on the door.

“Virgil?” Alan called through the closed door. “Grandma wants to bake. Can you come help me? Please.”

Grandma baking was not a good sign; stress-baking was often the cause for when she mixed up baking powder and baking soda. It told him she was hurting. So was Alan. The “please” stabbed at him, reminding him that his family was in pain too and that he was only alone out of his own choosing. They didn’t have to leave when Gordon threw Virgil out, and yet they followed him anyway.

And he’d hidden.

“Coming!” He turned away from the growing storm and crossed the length of his studio in just a few long strides, opening the door to a red-eyed Alan who fell quickly into his arms.

“You ok?” the younger boy croaked into his chest before Virgil even had a chance to think.

He wrapped his arms around the smaller figure, pulled him closer, fingers enveloped in blond hair. Not the right blond. “Not really. You?”

“No,” Alan admitted. “I thought I lost a brother today.” He pulled away, with a sheepish shake of his head. “I needed that hug, wanted it to be his. You’re the closest to it at the moment.”

“How about one more?” This time the hug was for them, until the drifting smell of burning reminded them that they had both a kitchen to save and a Grandma to comfort. ----

[nyrandrea]

Your Enemy

I’m on a Mystery Skulls kick right now so here have a one-shot fic with plenty of Arthur and Lewis angst with a dash of fluff!

Summary: In a brief respite amongst the chaos, Arthur tries to reconcile with a long lost friend.

Takes place during the events of The Future.

Enjoy!

“Lewis...?”

 The name felt foreign on Arthur's tongue, almost taboo in a sense. Probably because he had found out the truth only moments ago while hanging over a pit of glowing magenta stalactites, only to be dropped down by his best friend's skeletal hand.

In a strange way he felt at peace as his body silently dropped through the wisps of pink smoke. He had finally found Lewis after months of painstaking searching, but there was a sharp jab that threatened to break through his ribs; that pang of betrayal, and a vague sense of de-ja-vu.

There was nothing else he could do now but stare up, maybe even reach out in some sort of last-minute grand gesture to show that he still cared. Not that it mattered; it would all be over soon.

But then... there's something there. It's hard to tell with Lewis, always has been, but there's a flicker of emotion. A little doubt at first, then realization kicks in, his eye sockets crease down into an expression that Arthur can't really read from this far down.

Sorrow? Regret? Guilt?

A small glimmer of hope buds in his chest as the ghoul seems to reach out.

The spikes beneath start to crumble into dust, and the world around them warps.

The crackling of a gunshot rings out.

And suddenly Arthur was back in the truck, smothered by a mountain of cardboard boxes.

Senses sharpened by adrenaline, Arthur held his breath, straining to hear with whatever concentration he had left. There was a clink as something hit the metal floor next to him, but he didn’t want to open his eyes in the fear that maybe that ghost – Lewis – might be hovering over him with second thoughts.

A few more shots blasted through the truck, and there was a grunt from Lewis as a bullet hit him square in the chest. It was only a few moments later when muffled shouting came from outside.

…Uncle Lance?

Shit.

With one hand to steady his racing head, Arthur finally came to, his eyes darting around the truck for Lewis and his uncle – neither were there, and it was starting to grow eerily quiet.

His gaze fell onto a dark grey heart-shaped locket that seemed to beat with a life of its own, albeit weakly. On closer inspection, there were cracks laced around it; some were light, while others seemed to cut deep.

Wait, wasn’t this the same heart that Lewis had on him? Maybe the shock had messed with his head, but he was pretty sure it been a bright yellow before. Now it just looked…sad.

Part of him knew it wasn’t his place to go prying, but something compelled Arthur to open the locket up, despite the fact that it would probably piss Lewis off even more than he already was. And there was still his uncle to think of.

Still, his entrancement got the better of him.

Inside was Lewis, of course, but there was Vivi too…smiling up at him as he cradled her in his arms.

There was that pang again, and Arthur couldn’t help but frown as he stared down at the picture. They were a great couple, nobody could deny that, but weren’t they meant to be a team? A family? Did Mystery not matter to Lewis anymore? Did…did he not matter?

But as he squinted, he swore he could see the picture… changing – different colours and figures warping into the frame with every pulse. Lewis and Vivi were still there, but now Mystery was too with a fang-filled grin – to which Arthur couldn’t help but shudder at – and…he was there too. His eyes widened as he watched himself slowly manifest in the corner, smiling up at the camera with a cheesy smile and a peace sign.

Stunned, Arthur could only keep staring as the heart started thumping erratically before suddenly being snatched from his grasp. Fright gripped him like nothing else on this earth as Lewis glowered down at him. It wasn’t like before, when he was in full-on anger and murderous rage mode. No, this was more like an annoyed scowl as if he had just caught Arthur looking into his secret diary.

Which…wasn’t far from the truth, honestly.

As the spectre turned his back to Arthur, shock seemed to overtake him as he fell to his knees; his broad shoulders trembling as he seemed to just stare at the picture in silent disbelief, as if he just couldn’t accept what was right in front of him.

Was…was he…crying?

“Lewis…?”

When Arthur received no answer, he mustered up enough courage to slowly shuffle his way up from behind, but the closer he got, the bigger and more menacing Lewis somehow became. Not to mention the sweltering warmth that seemed to emanate from him like a blazing aura, threatening to melt his skin if he got too close.

For that reason alone, Arthur stopped there, just about an arm’s length away.

From here, he could observe his best friend – or sworn enemy, seeing as he had been trying to kill Arthur – and make out just what the hell had happened to him. From the jutting ribcage and skull-head to the fact that he floated, it was safe to say that Lewis was, in-fact, dead.

Arthur swallowed a hard lump down his throat.

They had been looking for him for months now – well, Arthur had, as Vivi had no recollection of her boyfriend whatsoever – and they had unknowingly found him at some dusty old mansion. What had he been doing there? Why was he so angry looking all the time? How did he die?

The questions swirling through his head were interrupted though when he heard a sob rattle out from the ghost; it was quiet, almost a whisper, but as deep as a rumble of thunder rolling out in the distance.

It was a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle with apprehension, and he could feel his body start to kick into fight or flight mode.

Mostly flight.

But this was Lewis: the guy with the level-head, the caring big brother, the kindest friend that anyone could ask for. And now he was upset and… Arthur couldn’t just let that slide, despite everything.

With a deep breath to console himself – as he had done before with Mystery – he reached out a trembling hand, only hesitating when the heat started to become unbearable, like he was testing fate with an open fire.

But he had come so far, there was no point in pulling back now, not when he had a chance to finally reconcile with his friend.

Maybe even ally.

At the very least an acquaintance.

However, when he finally laid his bare hand on Lewis’s back, he was surprised to feel that it wasn’t sizzling like bacon in a frying pan, but instead the heat was…almost pleasant to the touch. Still intense, but not excruciating.

Still, there was a moment then. A moment in which Arthur could feel Lewis’s body jolt in surprise at the sudden touch before going rigid in realization. He could only hope that this was the good kind of surprise, the kind that Lewis would open up his arms and they would embrace in tears as they had done many times in the past after a particularly cheesy chick flick (in which Vivi would just roll her eyes and comment that she was supposed to be the woman in this relationship.)

Hopefully not the kind of surprise that would get his ass burned to a crisp.

The reaction he got wasn’t one way or the other though, as Lewis only turned around to gaze down at him with black tear-tracks running down his skull. It wasn’t a particularly fond look, nor was it a hateful glare. He was just…indifferent, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the shivering excuse of a mess that was trying to pat his back in a weak attempt at comforting.

“H…Hey it’s okay, L-L-L…”

Lewis’s violet pupils constricted into slits as his eye sockets frowned in irritation, which was enough to send Arthur scrambling back as the ghost rose from the ground and towered above him.

“Don’t patronise me.”

“Holy shit,” Arthur muttered in awe – or horror, he couldn’t even tell what he was really feeling right now. “You can talk?!”

A dry look was his response.

“Sorry Lew,” Arthur said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “It’s just really weird seeing you like- “

A snort of derision suddenly cut him off.

Arthur couldn’t help but be a little taken aback. Lewis had always been so patient – having been brought up with three energetic little sisters – and always had his back when it came to exploring haunted places.

Well, Arthur really had Lewis’s back, since he was hiding behind him all the time.

Now here he was, sneering down at him with his arms crossed like some tough bully of the playground that had just asserted his dominance by stealing Arthur’s lunch money.

“Look at you,” he drawled out. “Calling me ‘Lew’ and pretending we’re still friends after what you did.”

Arthur flinched a little and cocked one brow up in confusion before scuttling back even further when Lewis quickly swooped down to his level, shoving his cracked heart into his face.

“This doesn’t change anything, do you understand?!” he barked, using one hand to pull Arthur up by the collar of his shirt when he tried to shrink away again, while the other pointed to the picture of the group.

Arthur weakly nodded, hoping he would be spared if he agreed.

“This…is a mistake! It shouldn’t be there! It shouldn’t…”

Lewis trailed off and let Arthur drop back down to the ground as the poor man’s sides heaved in both relief and exhaustion, like he had holding in his breath for an eternity.

Skeletal fingers traced around the picture longingly, like he was remembering his previous life. All the good times they had together, even the bad times; all precious memories that he wished would fade away so he wouldn’t have to endure this pain any longer.

“You…shouldn’t…”

“…be there?” Arthur finished for him.

Lewis closed the heart with a forced click.

“Exactly.”

A heavy silence settled between them as Lewis stared down at Arthur for a moment longer, narrowing his glowing eyes before making a "Tsk!" of disapproval and turning his back on him once again, this time with more purpose as he strode towards the front of the truck trailer. Leaving Arthur behind.

Again.

“Well, why shouldn’t I be?!”

He flinched slightly when he saw Lewis pause at the door, his towering figure silhouetted against the full moon. The little bravado Arthur had dissipated as quickly as it had come, and there was a niggling thought at the back of his mind that suggested that maybe he should just let this go. Let Lewis go. It would make his life a lot easier. Hell, maybe he could just retire from Mystery Skulls altogether, lead a normal life as a mechanic at his uncle’s garage.

If he survived tonight, that was.

Arthur shook his head. No, he couldn’t think like that. Not anymore.

“Excuse me?”

Lewis turned his head to the side, glowering at Arthur as if daring him to test him again.

And he did.

“Why shouldn’t I be in the picture?” he asked, his tone wary but stern enough. “I-I have a right to be there as much as you or Vivi or, hell, even Mystery! We were a team!”

“Were.”

“Wh…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play innocent with me.”

“What the hell, Lewis?!” Arthur snapped, finally deciding to stand up to him, both metaphorically and literally. “I don’t deserve this, any of this!”

He gestured wildly around the van, as if he were still in that cave of purple death.

“What did I ever do to you?!”

“What did you ever…?”

A combustion of pink flames swirled violently around Lewis’s body and threw Arthur back into the cave. The roaring of fire drowned out his pitiful cries as Lewis lunged forward and held him up by the neck and suddenly he was over that pit of spikes again. Arthur’s body screamed so much in protest that he almost wished for Lewis to drop him, and to let him fall this time.

“What did you ever DO to me?!”

Arthur flinched as Lewis tightened his grip, and the longer he looked at Lewis’s eyes the more shrunken his pupils became; soon enough he was staring into two soulless black pits.

But despite this, despite the sleepless nights looking over his shoulder, despite that he couldn’t take much more of being rag-dolled all over the place, he couldn’t back down now. This was Lewis. Kind, caring, gentle-giant Lewis who wouldn’t even raise his hand against a fly. He was still in there, somewhere. He just…had to be coaxed out somehow.

Raising his robotic arm – because his other was far too weak at this point – he reached out and brushed his fingers over the cracked heart, feeling its pulse even underneath the metal digits.

“I was looking for you, Lew.”

Startled, Lewis loosened his grip.

“What?”

“You just…disappeared,” Arthur breathed. “Mr. and Mrs. Pepper had no idea where you went, and Vivi had no idea who you even were anymore. It was like you just vanished off the face of the earth, I was convinced you’d been abducted by aliens or some shit.”

He laughed, if you could call raspy wheezing that, and his lungs immediately regretted it; the heat of the flames that licked around them and fumes of smoke not helping. But Lewis’s face of how dare you make casual jokes when you should be begging for your life was just too funny to him.

“We searched all over the states for months, but you didn’t even leave a trail or anything. I was so close to giving up but then…the mansion and well, the rest is history I guess,” he finished with a weak chuckle.

Lewis still failed to see the funny side of it as the cave was swept away in a cloud of purple smog, leaving them back in four enclosed walls. The spectre let Arthur’s limp body slide back down to the ground with a tired grunt and hovered back as if he had been struck down.

“You’re lying.”

Arthur sighed and ran a hand down his singed face, pinching his nose in frustration. He was becoming much less afraid of Lewis and more…frustrated. How much was he going to have to drill it into that thick skull of his that yeah, they were actually friends once?

“Why would I lie about something like that? Wouldn’t you have done the same for me?” he asked.

Lewis seemed to flinch at the question.

“…You would, right?”

He couldn’t believe that he actually had to ask and felt even worse at the fact that Lewis wasn’t answering him. Vivi wouldn’t have hesitated; she was a ride or die kind of girl. Mystery was loyal, even if he did rip his arm off for…whatever reason. It must have been a good one. That’s what he told himself anyway.

Even if his skull lacked the hydration needed, Arthur could still see that Lewis was sweating bullets.

“Well, guess that’s my answer then- “

“You couldn’t have been looking for me!” Lewis interrupted. “Not after you…,” he trailed off, looking to the side, as if in thought.

Arthur gave him an expectant look as he waited for him to finish the sentence, frowning when it never came.

“After I…?” he motioned with his hand, as if it would somehow jog his memory.

But one look told him that Lewis hadn’t forgotten, he just wasn’t telling.

“Lewis, what did I do?” he asked again, his tone changing.

There was yet another moment of hesitation before Lewis finally said, “You really don’t remember, do you.”

Something must have happened in the past that Arthur’s mind had blocked – much like Vivi – something so horrible that it pushed Lewis’s vengeful ghost to come after him with murderous intent.

…Murderous.

A couple of tears pricked at his eyes.

“Remember what, Lewis? Wait, did I do that to you?!” he screamed, the ghost flinching a little as he did.

Arthur desperately wanted to stand, run up to him, shake the confession out of him. But his body refused, so he was doomed to be stuck on the floor in a pit of musty cardboard and impending despair.

All anger melted away from Lewis’s eyes, replaced with…something else.

Sorrow? Regret? Guilt?

He didn’t care.

He wanted answers.

“Goddamnit, tell me what I-!”

A rush of white and blue suddenly crashed in between them from above, and before either could even react a flash of white-hot light blinded them before engulfing the whole truck with a pillar of smoke and fire.

                                                            xxx

Arthur should have been dead; he knew that much. But despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him, it seemed that heaven nor hell had any reservations for him today. Figures.

He stared up at the night sky as his vision slowly came back into focus, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Clearly the truck exploded, hence him lying on a bed of ash with his body covered in charred debris, but what had caused it?

Rolling his head to the side, he could just about make out two blue figures darting and clashing it out in the distance – one was clearly Vivi (how could she even move like that?) –  though steel beams and parts of the truck blocked his vision of the fight, but…what was helping her? Some kind of big dog?

Mystery?

His vision still wasn't the best but Arthur knew he wasn’t hallucinating, he was pretty sure he had seen Mystery like that before; a tall and lean beast with more tails than he could count, when he tore off his arm.

Why was it all so hazy?

Throwing his head back, he closed his eyes for a moment to drown out the confusion. Maybe even calm down a little.

“Arthur!”

Or maybe not.

A small part of him was grateful though as a pair of massive hands heaved the blackened, twisted metal that had been pinning him down and pulled Arthur to his feet, keeping a steady grip on his shoulders when his legs buckled beneath him.

“Are you okay?”

Arthur gave him a dry look.

“Yeah, stupid question. Is anything broken?”

“I thought this was what you wanted.”

Now it was Lewis’s turn to scrutinize, to which Arthur muttered a meek, “Sorry.”

The ghost sighed and swung Arthur’s arm around his shoulder – though he barely managed to reach it – and put his other arm around his waist to keep him grounded.

“Are you able to walk?”

Arthur looked away and managed a weak nod, hoping the heat in his cheeks went unnoticed.

As they traipsed through the uneven rubble – Lewis steadying Arthur whenever his leg got caught on something – the clashing of metal was even more prominent now and…did it suddenly get chilly?

“To answer your question from before."

Arthur side-eyed him.

"I would look for you."

He managed to crack a small smile, "Thanks."

"Not that you'd be hard to find, with those lungs of yours. Vivi would think you were a banshee and drag me with her."

His smile changed to a grimace, "...Thanks?"

The lightened mood dipped for a moment as Lewis paused to look ahead.

"I didn't want any of this."

Arthur stayed silent.

“To hurt you, I mean,” Lewis clarified. “I was just…so overcome with rage that everything else became a blur, I never really stopped to think for a moment that maybe…,” he trailed off then, as if thinking hard on what his next words might be.

Deciding to stay quiet and listen, Arthur desperately hoped he was about to get the answer he needed right now.

“Ah, I think that’s your uncle there.”

His head snapped forward as his gaze fell upon his unconscious relative. With a gasp he loosened himself from Lewis’s grip and surged ahead, despite the ghost’s protests.

“Holy crap, Uncle Lance?” Arthur turned him onto his back and gave him a good shake. “Oh my God, is he dead?!”

“Relax. He’s still breathing.”

“The hell did you do to him?!” he barked back, much to Lewis’s surprise.

“The uh…explosion must have knocked him out,” he flustered, rubbing the back of his magenta hair.

“Explosions don’t punch you in the face.”

“Don’t they…?”  he tried with a shrug but dropped it when Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Blind rage, remember?”

Deciding to ignore him, Arthur just about managed to heave his uncle onto his shoulder, much to his and Lewis’s surprise.

“Must be the adrenaline kicking in,” he figured.

“Isn’t that usually reserved with running for you?”

Arthur deadpanned, before adding, “You’re cracking an awful lot of jokes considering the danger Vivi’s probably in right now.”

That caught his attention.

“Wait. Vivi’s here?!”

“Uh…yeah, didn’t you see her in the van when you were chasing us? Ah, wait-“ he stopped, feigning sudden realization.

“Right. Blind rage, got it.”

“Arthur!”

Before either of them could get into another argument, a terrible rumble shook the earth beneath them as a tsunami of thick blue and white plant vines twisted and snaked through the ground at an impossible speed.

Heading straight for them.

“What the fu-“

“Not her again,” Lewis growled, much to Arthur’s complete and utter bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, her?”

“I’ll explain later, just get ready to run.”

“Wait!” Arthur called out, catching Lewis’s attention. “Just tell me. D…Did I…? Was it…?”

He thought at the very least he would manage to get the question out without becoming a stuttering mess. What little determination he had was gone for good now, replaced with his all too familiar one emotion of fear. His stomach was in more knots than the monstrous plants that towered above them, and now he was doubting if he even wanted to know what crucial little detail Lewis was hiding from him.

The one that, deep down, he already knew.

A heavy but delicately placed hand on his shoulder brought him back from the endless pit that was his guilty subconscious, and as he looked up at Lewis, he was brought back to a time when they were just about to head into whatever dangerous, horrifying excursion that Vivi had planned for the night, and Lewis was the rock that would get them all through it. No matter what.

“There was a time when I would have said yes; that there was no doubt in my mind.”

A jolt of guilt surged through him.

“But now I’m not so sure. It’s not…really as clear as it was before. But I- we’ll… figure it out.”

His grip tightened slightly.

“And if it turns out it really was you, and you’ve been playing me for a fool, then I’m going back to plan A. Sound fair?” he said with a friendly slap on the back that nearly sent Arthur hurtling forward.

“Sounds fair,” he replied with a nervous grin.

In the end, Arthur figured he would probably get what he deserved. But for now, he wasn’t worried about the future.

For it was time for the past to catch up.

xxx

Just a note to say that this isn’t a sequel to my other MSA fic ‘Cave of Regret’, which you can read here!

Apologies for any errors, it’s currently 3am 

What did you think? Let me know!

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

[retvenkos]

OK so i just had the horrible thought of: (tw//depression, selfharm mention)

what if matthias never became a druskelle and... i have Thoughts. to say the least.

first off, he would literally be such a different person. my first q would be, "is his family dead?" is yes, this story is even more tragic than that of his canon timeline.

bc i have the idea/headcanon that becoming a druskelle gave him a purpose/something else to focus on rather than being swallowed by his grief of losing his ENTIRE family.

but w/o this sort of crutch... matthias would fall right into that pit of despair. i dont think he would harm himself or anything bc in my head, i believe its seen as "wrong" to harm oneself over something like that.

i feel like fjerdans as a society are very much "move on and let it go" kinds of people. (i can expand on that: i personally headcanon that when something tragic happens that the person is allowed to visit the ice court or some kind of place of worship to djel and "give" her their grief. in this sense they may seem very dismissive but its a way for them to move on and live)

so when matthias' family dies, he does this. he goes and prays the grief away. but it doesnt work. and so he thinks everyone around him has lied his whole life. hes a child with no family so he already feels MASSIVELY displaced and doesn't know who to turn to.

i think he'd be really lost and that hurts to think about because he really found his people with the other crows. even with all of their differences, the crows ARE his people. and it makes me sad i thought this cursed AU up JGDSBJGSDBGJ

rowan!!!!!!! your mind is so powerful,,,,,

i 100% agree that matthias used being a drüskelle as a way to Not Deal with his emotions on a heartbreak level, but rationalize in his mind that he is doing something, because he's learning how to avenge them. honestly, i think that his family being killed by an inferni is a big reason why he mistrusts grisha - the drüskelle training certainly informs his decisions, but i also think that for a long time, he was able to justify that what the drüskelle are saying must be true, because look what happened to his family. (which, complete sidenote, but i think that's also why nina saving him and also having been a soldier whose life was torn up by the fighting makes such a perfect catalyst for his transformation. it is yes that he ~loves her~ but also that like,,,,, he begrudgingly sees how similar they are, and also can't reconcile the fact that a grisha saved him. that not all grisha are the same! that not all grisha are the people who killed his family! idk. there's just,,,,, a lot there.)

and i agree that without a family - without some scaffolding when he's young and without some purpose afterward,,,,, matthias would flounder. he'd definitely have a rough go of it - and judging by how angry he was when he was a boy, i'm not entirely sure that he would search for purpose in benevolent ways like rebuilding his town. i honestly think that whether he is taken in by the drüskelle or not, matthias' quest for purpose in life would always lead him to taking revenge on grisha. i imagine there has to be fjerdan grisha hunters that aren't drüskelle. and maybe they're not hunters per se but slavers - like they sell grisha to kerch as indentures or sell them to the wandering isle for their blood in a quest to "rid their land" of grisha or something. i think that matthias - young and angry and looking for some way to get rid of the anger in his chest - might just fall into that. i mean, we already know he's malleable, based off of how jarl brum was able to influence him, so it's not a stretch that someone might find this boy and use him for their own nefarious purposes. even though matthias' family gave him morals and a heart, i think it would be easy for him to fall in with a crowd that like and,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, not to say that what the drüskelle are doing is okay (because it's not, dear God it's not),,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, but i think without the religious influence, matthias would be a much harsher character to literally everyone. redeeming him would be so much harder, because he'd literally hate everyone, imo.

he'd hate the grisha for what they did. he'd hate his country because it did nothing to save him. he'd hate the people who underestimate him. he'd hate the people who hate him. he'd probably even hate the people he's worked with his entire life, because he knows it's not the life his parents would have wanted him to live but what can he do? and most of all,,,,, he'd hate himself.

honestly, this is a cursed au but it makes me think sO. MUCH. about how society shaped matthias but beyond that - how he latched onto this idea of religion that really gave him purpose and a way to subconsciously deal with a lot of Stuff that he didn't want to work through. it gave him a way to file it away and push it under the bed - get the thoughts away before they ate him alive. without that religious influence, and becoming jaded and malleable,,,,,,,,,, matthias helvar would certainly not be an easy character to swallow (relative, of course, to his already difficult-to-handle nature).

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Snap Part 1

Read on Ao3 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Inspired in part by the lovely @random-snippets‘s post here

Warnings: roman angst and everything that goes with it. self-esteem issues, self-hatred, insecurity. sympathetic everyone

Pairings: roceit, platonic DLAMPR

Word Count: 5540

Most things in life are flexible to some degree. You can push and pull and bend them in certain ways and, to some extent, they will comply with you. There are some things that you can bend and bend and bend. Creativity is one of these things. Creativity, imagination, dreams...they can be shaped and changed into whatever you want.

Bend...and bend...and bend...until they snap.

Janus enjoys teasing.

He finds that it often reveals true intentions much better than simply taking someone at their word. Plus, the range of reactions he gets is endlessly amusing.

Patton will stutter and stammer adorably, or he’ll put on his Dad Voice™ and attempt to scold. Logan, depending on what sort of mood he’s in, will sass him back or give him a death glare. Virgil definitely isn’t the type to snipe back, keeping up with Janus blow for blow. Remus is…Remus.

But Roman…Roman is different.

Roman used to be the most fun to tease, puffing himself up in a fit of righteous princely indignation to defend himself, going red in the face only to be set off again moments later. Janus could spend hours just tilting his head this way and that as Roman muttered himself in and out of circles and paradoxes and contradictions. It used to be quite an effective way to shut the prince up, letting him stew in his own thoughts.

It’s still an effective way to silence Roman, but it’s changed.

It started after the wedding.

Roman had shut himself away in his room, much to the chagrin of the others. They expected a temper tantrum, they expected sulking. Logan and Patton were constantly on standby for the minute Thomas would start being affected by it.

They didn’t expect Roman to emerge a few days later and quietly ask to talk to each of them.

He apologized.

A proper apology; for mocking his name, for calling him evil, for dismissing him out of hand. Janus can only guess by the looks of pleasant confusion mirrored on the other Sides’s faces that they received similar apologies.

Janus hadn’t been surprised when Roman extended a nervous offer of having him and Remus come around to their side of the Mindscape more often, saying that they had…valuable insights to offer. He hadn’t been surprised to see Roman extend the olive branch to Remus, only for Remus to promptly snatch it up and hug his brother so tightly Janus winced in sympathy for Roman’s ribs.

Patton, as was to be expected, was overjoyed, throwing his arms around the princely side in what could only be described as euphoria. Logan had been surprised, saying he hadn’t expected Roman’s surprising amount of maturity regarding the issue, including the way Roman had promised to listen to him more often. Virgil had shrugged, saying it was about time Roman started doing that anyway.

He hadn’t thought anything of it, not really. And it had been pleasant, being listened to. Not being treated like a villain.

He should’ve known it wasn’t going to be only a few days for Roman to completely change his black-and-white view of the world.

Roman listened more, that was true, but he didn’t talk as much either. He stood quietly, occasionally asking softly for clarification.

“…L-Logan?”

Logan pauses mid-sentence, glancing over at Roman. Roman sits there, twisting his fingers together.

“Yes?”

“Can you…slow down a little bit?”

Logan blinks. He’d been talking about recent discoveries made in the field of quantum physics, just getting to the part about how SUSY particles could reconcile the different interpretations of the expansions of the universe. Roman had been the only one who volunteered to listen, and he half-expected Roman to dismiss the topic entirely or say he had some important thing to go to. He had not been expecting this.

Roman did not seem to interpret his silence in this way.

“It’s just,” he stammers frantically, “it’s not that I’m not interested, I am, I can assure you, I’m just…I’m having trouble keeping up with you.”

He balls his hands up tightly in his lap, staring at Logan with a frantic sense of urgency.

“It’s okay if you can’t or you don’t want to, y-you’re not boring me, I promise, and I don’t want you to stop, but can you please try and talk a little slower? I don’t…I don’t want to miss anything,” he trails off.

“It’s…it’s quite alright, Roman,” Logan says carefully, “I’m happy to slow down.”

Roman’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Okay, thank you, I don’t know what’s going on with me today.” He taps the side of his head with a self-deprecating smile. “Not all here, it seems. Sorry, Specs.”

“You needn’t apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “I would be more than happy to slow down. Are you quite sure I’m not boring you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Logan smiles. “…good.”

“C-can I say what I’ve gotten so far,” Roman asks hesitantly, “and then you can correct me where I’m wrong and then jump back in when we get there?”

“Of course.”

Roman had Remus share almost as many ideas as he did, but he didn’t share his own as much either.

“Roman? Do you have anything to add?”

Roman shakes his head, a small smile on his lips as he watches Remus bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet.

“I believe we have a solid idea,” he says, gently elbowing Remus, “and there is nothing I can do to improve it.”

“You know, Ro-Bro,” Remus says, shoving Roman back, “you’ve gotten so much less boring.”

Roman chuckles lightly, picking himself up off the wall. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Oh, I am!” Remus claps his hands. “But are you sure we can’t build in the part about—“

“We are not unearthing a roadkill corpse, Remus.”

Roman didn’t puff up when he was teased anymore, but he didn’t defend himself in any other way as much either.

“Could you be more extra,” Virgil sighs, nudging Roman, “really, Princey?”

Roman pauses, before slowly lowering his hands. “I am, aren’t I?”

Virgil’s eyes widen. “Guys! Guys, I got Roman to admit that he’s extra!”

“You did what?” Remus vaults over the couch. “You did it!”

“That is in fact a marvelous breakthrough,” Logan says, drinking his coffee, “especially for Roman.”

“Good to see you’re finally developing some self-awareness, kiddo,” Patton says with a wink, patting Roman on the shoulder.

Janus smirks, shifting in his chair. “Yes, because Roman’s observational skills have always been at the forefront.”

“Alright, alright,” Roman says finally, waving his hand, “I’m extra, I get it.”

It took far too long for them to realize that just because Roman’s behavior had changed, it didn’t mean he wasn’t still struggling with the ramifications of it. It took them far too long to realize that Roman still clung to the ideas of heroes and villains, the roles had just shifted. It took them far too long to realize that the ego, still hiding its black and blue skin, was still living in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It took Janus far too long to realize he wasn’t doing his job.

“Oh, come now, I’m only teasing.”

“And that’s supposed to make everything better, is it?”

Janus pauses, the sharpness in Roman’s voice killing the follow-up in his throat. His eyes don’t widen at how Roman looks at him. For the first time in a long time, Roman’s gaze is filled with fire as he stares at Janus. It gives him pause for a moment. Just a moment. Then his smirk is back.

Good. You were starting to get boring.

“You realize that saying you’re teasing doesn’t make it hurt any less, right?”

“Oh, sweetie, there’s really no need to get so worked up—“

“Don’t pretend that your intention has not been to make me uncomfortable.”

“Then why’re you letting it get to you so?”

“…so if Remus tries to knock me out with his morningstar, I shouldn’t get hurt because it’s his intention to hurt me?”

Janus blinks. This is absolutely the direction he thought Roman was going to go. “That’s not quite the same thing.”

“So I shouldn’t prioritize emotional and mental pain the same way as physical pain?”

“…I didn’t say that—“

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it frustrating to have your words taken out of context and applied in ways you obviously didn’t mean? Wow, I wonder what that feels like.”

Janus’s surprise is hidden quickly as Roman takes a deep breath in. He expects Roman to bite back, to push, to hurl acid-laced insults at him. Given how Roman has been taking most of…this lying down as of late, he expects it, even if he would be a little...disappointed. In some way, he doesn’t deserve it.

That’s exactly what happens.

“…I understand that you care and you help in your own way. And I’m grateful for it, really, I am. You…you make people look at themselves—really look and you make me think and it’s great but it’s exhausting.”

Roman buries his face in his hands, pressing his fingertips hard to his eyes. It doesn’t hurt to see him so…tired.

“I can’t—I can’t do this all the time. I can’t do this most of the time. You know that. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were the point.”

“…I do have a point.”

“You always have a point. That’s the problem. You are nothing but points, there’s nothing to you but—“

Roman stops, taking a deep breath and pressing his forehead with a fist.

“No, sorry, that’s…that’s not true. The version of you that you choose to present to me and to the others most of the time is nothing but points. There is no softness. No give. Not an ounce. It’s always a fight. I have to…double and triple check every single thing that comes out of your mouth, and I’m not…I…”

Another deep breath. Something softens.

“I respect you. I admire you. I like you. But I don’t know what you want from me.”

Janus isn’t shocked.

Not just at the fact that Roman is expressing all of this out loud, not just at what Roman is saying, but how the bitter taste slowly filling his mouth isn’t coming from any of it.

Roman isn’t lying. Not about this.

What happened in those days when you shut yourself away?

It takes him a moment to realize Roman is waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

Roman huffs. No malice behind it, just exhaustion. “You enjoy putting me in situations that actively make me uncomfortable and you have enjoyed hurting me in the past. Try again.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then Roman sighs.

“Look, I don’t think I’m in the right space for this conversation and the last thing I want to do is mess this up any more than I already have, can we…can we do this later?”

He nods slowly, even though it takes him back to hear Roman ask for something. It doesn’t sting a little to know he isn’t the one that’s made it easier for him to do so.

“Thank you, I—you...you know I care about you, right?”

Not many things can take him by surprise, not many things can make him more surprised than this conversation already has, but this…this earnest confession, this does. He nods.

“Good.”

They don’t speak for days. They don’t even see each other for days. Then Roman has an episode.

The others are away, helping Thomas. Roman is alone. He rides the attack to its end but he’s still trying to recover. This one was bad. He needs to get up, he needs to eat, he needs to drink, he needs to but he knows if he stresses out too much about this, he’s just going to send himself into another attack. He’s trying to breathe but it’s hard. It’s so hard.

Janus wasn’t even looking for him. And yet there he is, sprawled on the floor, hunched over, hands trembling as he struggles to breathe. For a moment he worries at how much he can feel that Roman’s afraid. Afraid of Janus. Janus…he hasn’t exactly shown him his…full capabilities.

And, in his defense, really, Roman is so clever, so sweet, so open that he can’t help but play with him, test him, poke at his comfort zone just enough to see him squirm. And Roman is lovely, truly, he is. And yes, part of him was thrilled when Roman finally snapped at him, but he’s right. Janus is…he has not been good to him.

Time to change that.

He approaches slowly, crouching, and offering a hand. The suspicious look that he gets doesn’t hurt his chest. He does blame him. But Roman trusts, he trusts too easily sometimes and this wouldn’t be the first time Janus has ever taken advantage of it. He tries to convey that he won’t break it when Roman takes his hand. He tries not to think about how much of this is Roman going along with it if only to prevent himself from being hurt.

He leads Roman to one of the common spaces on the Dark Sides’ hallway. It’s almost never used anymore, not since the barrier between Light and Dark started breaking down. He looks at Roman to see such an unsure expression that he can’t help the soft noise when he guides him to sit on the couch.

Janus keeps Roman in the corner of his vision as he carefully shrugs off his cloak. He considers draping it over Roman’s shoulders but decides that might be a bit too much. Too much for right now, even as his mouth starts to taste bitter.

What does he want? Roman can’t stop thinking it. He’s three seconds away from another attack, what’s happening, what’s going on, I don’t know what to do—

A gentle hand cups his chin and he distantly thanks whatever higher power there may be that Janus’s gloves aren’t a bad texture. But then he has to make eye contact and oh it’s the worst. He doesn’t know what’s keeping this fragile peace. He knows Janus will see through any mask he tries to put on right now.  

But not wearing a mask…he’s not sure he remembers how to do that.

He tries.

I’m trying, I’m trying so hard, can’t you see? Can’t you see that if you just tell me, I’ll be good? Whatever you want, I can do it, I promise, I’ll be good, I can be good, but I can’t do it if I don’t know what you want and if you tell me I’ll do it, just tell me what you want me to do, I can’t figure it out, I want to be good, but I don’t—I can’t—what do you want?

Janus sees. He sees all of it and it doesn’t break his heart.

He lets Roman go, the ache getting worse when he immediately shuts his eyes. He crouches, waiting.

When Roman opens his eyes again, he tries to offer. What do you want? Let me help, if you want?

Too much, perhaps. So he tries smaller.

Roman’s unsure when he offers his hand again. He…Janus doesn’t like being touched. But would he really be offering if he wasn’t okay with it?

Janus smiles when Roman reaches a trembling hand out. Slowly, carefully, he takes it in two of his, playing with it gently. Running his fingers over the back, tracing the knuckles. Roman’s hand is so much more...worn than the others. There are calluses, scars, so many stories that Janus can’t help exploring, smiling a little when the light touch makes Roman twitch. Even here, Roman’s scared of doing something wrong. His fingers tremble, try and move to match the shapes he makes.

Keeping Roman’s hand in his, Janus stands, tugging in a gentle ask for Roman to come with him. Roman stands up too fast and a second pair of arms shoots out to steady him. He looks so small…smaller still when Janus sits them down on another couch, between his legs.

Stay with me, Roman.

Playing with his hand again gets his attention, the second pair of arms holding Roman close. He waits. Waits to gently tug that hand a little closer. Roman shuffles. His phone tumbles out of his pocket and Janus catches it with his third pair of arms, setting it carefully on the table.

He lays back, all six arms accounted for. Waits.

Is something you want?

Roman looks so apprehensive, reaching out with his other hand. He folds Roman in gently, letting him move at his own pace, easing his weight down on top of Janus like they’re afraid of hurting him. As soon as he’s all the way down, still propping himself up to keep the weight off of Janus, Janus embraces Roman tightly, smiling a little at the way he instantly goes limp, exhaling sharply. Part of him takes a little selfish pleasure at having Roman in his arms; he’s so warm, he’s just the right weight, he fits so perfectly. But he’s still so tense, poor thing…

Just as he did with his hand, he explores gently. He lightly traces up and down Roman’s sides, wiggles his fingers as he runs them along Roman’s spine. Smirks a little when he feels Roman’s muscles tense and shift as he squirms under the gentle attention. Sweet little thing is ticklish too, hmm?

Like Roman, he doesn’t want to risk breaking this moment with too much noise, but he has to really fight the urge to coo and fuss when he starts scratching his hands through Roman’s hair. Roman whines for him, completely involuntarily, and it’s so small and tired and hopeful and adorable that he can’t help seeing if he can make him do it again. He can.

They have no idea how long they lie there but an alarm on Roman’s phone breaks the silence. Janus barely glances at the label—‘stop and get back to work’—as he shuts it off. He laments its intrusive presence as Roman startles horribly, scrambling up. And he can’t help himself, he catches him.

Roman should get back. He should do so many things but Janus is being so kind and he’s not too warm and Roman has no idea how he’ll react and what if they never get this chance again and he’s holding him so gently and the way he’s looking at him…

Is this something you want?

Janus lets out a soft oof when Roman throws himself at him, wrapping his arms around him so tightly he’s sure it hurts. But it’s the thing he wanted and the thing Roman wants and it’s perfect.

He clings to Roman just as tightly until his own arms ache from it. Still, he holds on, until Roman slumps, burying his warm face into his scales without hesitation. Roman’s breathing stutters, he’s still so scared...so Janus softens, gentles his grip, goes back to the soothing touches from before. Tries to lull Roman back into that half-doze they were in before. It takes a long time, much longer than he’d like. Roman keeps jerking himself awake, his fists clenching and unclenching, unsure where to put his head, where to put his arms.

He breaks finally when his fingers hit a sensitive spot on Roman’s back and Roman gasps, Janus instinctively holding Roman closer and smoothing the hair away from his ear.

“Shh…shh…” One pair of his arms come up to hold Roman’s hands. “Shh… shh…”

I want you to calm down, Roman, that’s all I want right now. Shh…

It takes several minutes of careful shushing to get Roman to relax, several more before his breathing evens out and he dozes, right there in his arms.

They still need to talk. Roman’s carrying so much grief with him that, now that he’s looking, he can see the strain. Roman is so tired, he can feel it. And he desperately wants to know what happened to turn Roman into this frightened creature, constantly bracing for a blow, so confused in the face of any affection. But for now…

He’s self-preservation, protection when protection is needed most. Of course he can be caring.

He leaves Roman in Patton’s care, giving them the space they need to make sure he doesn’t push. Not now, perhaps not ever. He receives a gentle thank-you when they happen to pass in the corridor. And it’s…good. There’s a sweet aftertaste in his mouth when he talks for a few days.

A few days later, his mouth tastes horribly bitter again and he knows it’s time. He appears to see Roman sitting ramrod straight, staring at the wall.

“…well, you certainly look as calm as can be.”

“Oh. Hi, Janus.”

“Hello. What seems to be troubling you?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry. I’m alright.”

The lie tastes sour. “May I join you?”

Roman nods.

“Thank you.”

“Did you need something?”

“Are you…in a proper enough headspace to have that conversation?”

“…yes. Yeah, I think so.”

He can’t quite taste another lie. This is probably what Virgil means when he says it’s important to trust people about their own boundaries.

“I have a proposition for you. I would like you to hear me out before commenting.”

“Of course.”

“…you lie quite often.” Roman nods. “You are not of the opinion that lying is inherently wrong.”

Roman shakes his head nervously.

“You use lying as a defense mechanism to protect yourself, don’t you?”

A new wave of bitterness.

“…do not be afraid,” he says quietly, “it’s quite common.”

Roman’s brow furrows a little.

“Your first response to any question that causes a heightened emotional response is usually a lie,” he explains, “because your instinct to protect yourself kicks in and forces you to say what you think the asker wants to hear.”

Roman’s mouth tightens.

“It also coincides with the need to make yourself as small as possible. If you…do not require many things, or if you do not actively contribute to things that require any extra effort, odds are you will not be hurt.” Janus tilts his head. “I believe Virgil calls it ‘being low maintenance.’”

Roman huffs a laugh and looks away.

“Does that sound about right?”

“…mhm.”

Janus fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket almost absentmindedly. Roman has developed a…particular style of dishonesty that intrigues him.

Roman is very open about vulnerable topics; speaking freely and without hesitation about how he feels about his looks, his mannerisms, his sexuality, pretty much every aspect of themselves that the Sides can think to ask about. But that’s not the same as actually being vulnerable. It’s hiding behind too much honesty, taking advantage of the fact that others don’t tend to talk about those types of topics in that much detail to let them mistake it for actual vulnerability. But it’s not. It’s just a different type of hiding.

It’s not a lie. Not even a lie of omission. Which means it’s harder for Janus to detect. Even harder for the others. So it’s easier for them to believe Roman is more honest than they are. Which let him get away with lying, let him get away with sacrificing his own needs, let him get away with hurting himself.

The pitch is the easiest part, Janus decides. Definitely.

“Virgil and I have an arrangement of sorts,” he opens with finally. “Logan helped us figure it out. If…one of us receives an answer they believe is untruthful, a second chance is offered.”

“A…what?”

“If I ask Virgil a question, or if Virgil asks me a question, and we don’t believe the answer we receive to be true, we say: ‘second chance.’ Then we have another chance to answer. There are never any consequences for lying, or choosing to take the second chance.”

“…so…”

“So if I were to ask you what’s troubling you—“

“It’s fine,” Roman says quickly, “really, it is.”

Janus gives him a small, sad smile. No, no it isn’t, but this will serve as a good point.

“Second chance?”

Roman’s mask slips. It’s a good mask. Right up there with Patton, and Logan, if he’s being evaluative. Perhaps even up there with his own. But it’s cracking.

“You know it’s unwise to try and lie to me, dear,” he pushes.

Ah. Too much. Fear swells up behind Roman’s eyes and he stammers.

“…I…”

“If you do not wish to tell me,” he soothes, “I will not force you too.”

“Then I would rather not say,” Roman says carefully, each word laid down for Janus’s inspection.

“And there are no consequences.”

The wave of pure relief that washes over Roman is enough to make Janus smile properly. There’s a horrible moment where he looks like he doesn’t believe it, he’s waiting for the punchline, but then it doesn’t come and Roman just slumps, a massive weight rolling off his shoulders. Janus can’t help but watch the corner of his mouth tick up higher and higher as he realizes it’s okay.

“Well, judging by that expression,” he says, “this certainly will be awful for you.”

Another thing about Roman is that for some reason, probably tied to his connection to the Imagination, is that he has this…field around him. Janus is sure Logan’s not interested in it at all and they haven’t spend hours upon hours talking about it. But he can feel the wave of care and love and relief that hits him, making his heart ache pleasantly in his chest.

It’s gone far too quickly and Janus isn’t saddened by it, his brow furrowing when Roman fidgets with his hands, obviously trying to work up the nerve to ask something.

“…why…when you said this was common,” he says eventually, “what did you mean?”

Ah. This won’t be difficult at all.

“The…sophistication of your coping mechanism indicates that it has been developed over a long period of time,” he starts.

“…okay?”

“Not uncommon in victims of abuse.”

“What…what are you talking about,” Roman stammers, obviously trying to laugh it off, “I—I haven’t been abused.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s…oh, Roman…

“We have ridiculed you for expressing vulnerability,” Janus murmurs, “we have ignored you when you express deep feelings. Sometimes, when you attempt to speak about them, we tell you that your feelings are not worthy of your reaction, or we are indifferent.”

Janus shifts, letting his regret bleed into his voice as he continues.

“We have manipulated you to get what we want. We have used shame to make you feel bad.” Janus clenches his fists in his lap. “We have led you to believe things are your fault when they aren’t. We have pushed you to question your sanity.”

There’s an awful silence.

“We’ve been gaslighting you, Roman,” Janus murmurs, “and worse. Tell me, what does that sound like to you?”

Any semblance of relief from earlier vanishes, replaced by denial, worry, panic, and so much anxiety for a moment Janus worries Virgil’s going to be summoned.

Then his mouth fills with an acrid taste, coating his tongue so much it almost chokes him.

“…I’m sure you know that I’m summoned by continuous lying.” Why I appeared in the first place.

Poor Roman barely hears him enough to nod.

“I know what the lies are when I hear them.”

Another nod.

“Which means,” he murmurs, reaching out and gently touching Roman’s temple with two fingers, “…I can hear these.”

Roman freezes.

“There. That.” Janus’s eyes widen. “Oh, oh no, sweetie, I’m not here to be cruel to you.”

Roman doesn’t hear him.

“Breathe, honey, come on…in for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”

Roman’s not breathing at all. Janus leans forward to try and help when Roman’s mouth opens, his voice sharp and determined.

“When people lie,” he says, “does it hurt you?”

“What?”

“Does it hurt you?”

He knows what Roman’s asking and he adores it, of course he does. He adores that Roman’s so worried about hurting him, not himself, Janus, that he’s willing to punish himself by forcing away a defense mechanism that he’s had for years because it might be hurting Janus. He loves it.

“…no. Not a direct correlation,” he says, “no. More often than not, I can tell or sense what the truth would be and…that is not often pleasant. But no, Roman, you are not physically injuring me when you lie.”

“And what about when you’re telling the truth?”

“…sweetie, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself far more that you’re going to hurt me.”

Roman’s face pinches as he looks away, so determined that it looks completely painless. It doesn’t hurt.

“Would you like a hug?”

“N-no, no, I’m fine.” Roman’s hands don’t shake. He doesn’t hunch around himself protectively.

“Second chance?”

“…please?”

“Come here.”

He’s warm, but not warm enough. His aura is relieved, but not relieved enough. He’s still, but not still enough.

The bitter taste in Janus’ mouth isn’t horrendously painful.

“No, sweetie, you’re not being inconvenient.”

You have hidden this so well, so well we never realized how much this hurts you.

“I’m not angry with you for trying to protect yourself.”

I will be the first to admit that I have…not acquitted myself well from the things I have done to you, please let me try now.

“You’re not hurting me.”

Don’t deny yourself comfort, especially when you need it so badly.

“And no, sweetie, I don’t hate being touched as much you think I do.” Janus does find it easy to cry, he does get overwhelmed easily. And yet the lies he can hear right now threaten to make tears spill over. “…must you be so cruel to yourself?”

“…sorry?”

Ah, yes, apologies. That’s a conversation for another time. Janus sighs, running a hand through Roman’s hair. “At any rate, it’s not like you’re nice and warm and much better suited than the others.”

Finally, the bitterness recedes, just a little. Janus swallows, washing away the last vestiges on his tongue, cuddling Roman closer. He looks down, seeing his mouth open and close. Laying a finger gently against his lips, he shushes Roman as he tries to speak.

“Hush, you don’t have to say anything, sweetie. I understand.”

“Okay,” Roman huffs, “I will say the whole…mind-reading thing is not ideal.”

Fair enough. “I am only paying attention right now because you seem to be having some difficulty speaking,” he murmurs, chucking him gently under his chin, “I will not be all the time.”

“Okay.”

“Or you could simply…not lie to yourself.”

“Unrealistic.”

It makes him laugh a little. “Something to work on, no?”

Roman nods, gently head-butting Janus’ hand. He smiles, cupping Roman’s chin, idly tapping his fingers. The smile grows when Roman closes his eyes, tipping his head back so Janus can scritch lightly.

“Perhaps it will help you with these,” Janus murmurs, lightly stroking his fingers over the shadowy bruises just below Roman’s collar, “hmm?”

“…Thomas, huh?”

Janus raises an eyebrow when Thomas summons him. “Well, this is entirely expected.”

“I need your help.”

“Then this can’t be serious at all.”

“It’s about Roman.”

Janus pinches off the rest of his sarcasm. “Tell me.”

“I, uh, I made a…discovery,” Thomas says, “about…things.”

“How remarkably descriptive.”

“You know the phrase ‘bruised ego?’”

Janus stiffens at Thomas’s words. “…I am familiar.”

“…turns out it’s a lot more literal than I thought.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

It’s Janus’s job to protect the ego.

What…what has he done?

“He doesn’t care for you at all, sweetie.”

Roman opens his eyes, peering up at him with poorly disguised hope.

“Neither, for that matter,” he continues, running a thumb over Roman’s jaw, “do the others. Virgil, for one, despises you for being able to make him feel so wonderfully safe.

“Patton thinks the absolute worst of you—“ he pats Roman’s cheek— “and the care that you give so freely to others.

“Remus, well, he of course doesn’t value you at all,” he drawls as he tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, “let alone your willingness to touch and interact with him as he’s so used to that.

“And Logan would definitely prefer it if you were to never be so clever and considerate ever again,” he finishes, stroking his thumb across his forehead.

“I don’t think,” Roman murmurs, “that I’ve ever been so glad to be pretty fluent in sarcasm.”

“Yes, your sarcasm is absolutely awful.”

“Yes, I know, I love you too.”

He expects a familiar bitterness to wash over his tongue. It doesn’t.

Oh.

Oh.

“You don’t have to say it,” Roman mumbles, almost about to doze off in his arms, “you don’t have to say anything. It’s just…it’s there if you want it.”

“I definitely won’t take it,” he says as he presses their foreheads together, “and you definitely can’t fall asleep right here.”

There needs to be another conversation. He needs to know what happened after the wedding. He needs to know how, or perhaps more accurately, why Roman changed in the span of only a few days. He needs to know how Roman got so good at pretending.

He tries not to think about how much worse he’s made it.

…he also would like to know exactly what Roman meant when he said he loved him.

[destiny-smasher]

Life is Strange: True Colors

Leading up to the release of Episode 1 of TellTale's The Walking Dead game, I was working freelance for GameRevolution at the time, lived in the area, and had the chance to play a build of the game to write a preview on it. I remember comparing it to Mass Effect because, at the time, there just...weren't games of that subgenre. Of course, by now we've seen an explosion of this type of game - the 'narrative/choice-driven game,' spearheaded and even oversaturated by Telltale to their own demise.

Out of all of the games that have come from that initial boom, Life is Strange by DontNod was and still is the most influential on my life, but I also have always harbored really conflicted feelings about it - especially with how it resolved its narrative. Hell, if you're reading this, you're probably aware that I spent a few years of my life creating a sequel fanstory which I even adapted a chunk of into visual novel format. Hundreds of thousands of words, days and days of life spent essentially trying to process and reconcile my conflicted feelings about this game's conclusion(s). Since then, I've been experimenting with interactive fiction and am currently developing my own original visual novel using everything I've learned from both creating and playing games in this genre. It's a subgenre of game I have a lot of interest and passion for because, when handled well, it can allow a player to sort of co-direct a guided narrative experience in a way that's unique compared to strictly linear cinematic experiences but still have a curated, focused sense of story.

Up until this point, I've regarded Night in the Woods as probably the singular best game of this style, with others like Oxenfree and The Wolf Among Us as other high marks. I've never actually put any Life is Strange game quite up there - none of them have reached that benchmark for me, personally. Until now, anyway.

But now, I can finally add a new game to that top tier, cream of the crop list. Life is Strange: True Colors is just damn good. I'm an incredibly critical person as it is - and that critique usually comes from a place of love - so you can imagine this series has been really hard to for me given that I love it, and yet have never truly loved any actual full entry in it. I have so many personal issues, quibbles, qualms, and frustration with Life is Strange: with every individual game, with how it has been handled by its publisher (my biggest issue at this point, actually), with how it has seemingly been taken away from its original development studio, with how it chooses to resolve its narratives...

But with True Colors, all of those issues get brushed aside long enough for me to appreciate just how fucking well designed it is for this style of game. I can appreciate how the development team, while still clearly being 'indie' compared to other dev teams working under Square-Enix, were able to make such smart decisions in how to design and execute this game. Taken on its own merits, apart from its branding, True Colors is absolutely worth playing if you enjoy these 'telltale' style games. Compared to the rest of the series, I would argue it's the best one so far, easily. I had a lot of misgivings and doubts going in, and in retrospect, those are mostly Square-Enix's fault. Deck Nine, when given the freedom to make their own original game in the same vein as the previous three, fucking nailed it as much as I feel like they could, given the kinds of limitations I presume they were working within.

I'm someone who agonizes every single time there is news for Life is Strange as a series - someone who essentially had to drop out of the fandom over infighting, then dropped out of even being exposed to the official social media channels for it later on (I specifically have the Square-Enix controlled channels muted). I adore Max and Chloe, and as a duo, as a couple, they are one of my top favorites not just in gaming, but in general. They elevated the original game to be something more than the sum of its parts for me. And while I have enjoyed seeing what DontNod has made since, it's always been their attention to detail in environmental craftsmanship, in tone and atmosphere, which has caught my interest. They're good at creating characters with layers, but imo they've never nailed a narrative arc. They've never really hit that sweet spot that makes a story truly resonate with me. Deck Nine's previous outing, Before the Storm, was all over the place, trying to mimic DontNod while trying to do its own things - trying to dig deeper into concepts DontNod deliberately left open for interpretation while also being limited in what it could do as a prequel.

But with True Colors, those awkward shackles are (mostly) off. They have told their own original story, keeping in tone and concept with previous Life is Strange games, and yet this also feels distinctly different in other ways.

Yes, protagonist Alex Chen is older than previous characters, and most of the characters in True Colors are young adults, as opposed to teenagers. Yes, she has a supernatural ability. And yes, the game is essentially a linear story with some freedom in how much to poke around at the environment and interact with objects/characters, with the primary mechanic being making choices which influence elements of how the story plays out. None of this is new to the genre, or even Life is Strange. But the execution was clearly planned out, focused, and designed with more caution and care than games like this typically get.

A smaller dev team working with a budget has to make calls on how to allocate that budget. With True Colors, you will experience much fewer locales and environments than you will in Life is Strange 2. Fewer locations than even Life is Strange 1, by my count. But this reinforces the game's theming. I suspect the biggest hit to the game's budget was investing in its voice acting (nothing new for this series) but specifically in the motion capture and facial animation.

You have a game about a protagonist trying to fit in to a small, tightly knit community. She can read the aura of people's emotions and even read their minds a little. And the game's budget and design take full advantage of this. You spend your time in a small main street/park area, a handful of indoor shops, your single room apartment. It fits within a tighter budget, but it reinforces the themes the game is going for. Your interactions with characters are heightened with subtle facial cues and microexpressions, which also reinforces the mechanic and theming regarding reading, accepting, and processing emotions. And you get to make some choices that influence elements of this - influenced by the town, influenced by the emotions of those around you, which reinforce the main plot of trying to navigate a new life in a small town community.

When I think about these types of games, the conclusion is always a big deal. In a way, it shouldn't be, because I usually feel it's about the journey, not the destination. And as an example, I actually really dislike the ending of the original Life is Strange. I think it's a lot of bullshit in many ways. The setpiece is amazing and epic, sure, but the actual storytelling going on is...really hollow for me. Yes, the game does subtly foreshadow in a number of ways that this is the big choice it's leading up to, but the game never actually makes sense of it. And the problem is, if your experience is going to end on a big ol' THIS or THAT kind of moment, it needs to make sense or the whole thing will fall apart as soon as the credits are rolling and the audience spends a moment to think about what just happened. When you look at the end of Season 1 of Telltale's The Walking Dead, it's not powerful just because of what choice you're given, but because through the entire final episode, we know the stakes - we know what is going to ultimately happen, and we know the end of the story is fast approaching. All of the cards are on the table by the time we get to that final scene, and it works so well because we know why it's happening, and it is an appropriate thematic climax that embodies the theming of the entire season. It works mechanically, narratively, and thematically, and 'just makes sense.'

The ending of Life is Strange 1 doesn't do that, if you ask me. The ending of most games in this genre don't really hit that mark. When I get to the end of most game 'seasons' like this, even ones I enjoy, I'm typically left frustrated, confused, and empty in a way.

The ending of True Colors, on the other hand, nails everything it needs to. Handily, when compared to its peers.

If you're somehow reading this and have not played this game but intend to, now is probably where you should duck out, as I will be

discussing SPOILERS from the entire game, specifically the finale.

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Firstly, since I don't know where else to put this, some criticisms I found with the game. And honestly, they're all pretty damn minor compared to most games of this type.

Mainly, I just wish the whole Typhon thing was handled a bit more deliberately. It's a bit weird to do the 'big evil corporation' thing (especially when a big corporation like Square Enix occupies as much as or even more of the credits to this game than the people who actually MADE it?) without offering more explanation and subtlety. The game certainly makes some efforts but they're mostly small and mostly optional, like background chatter or a handful of one-off bits of documentation/etc. you can find in the environment. I feel like Diane in particular needed to be fleshed out just a little bit more to really sell us on how and why things like this happen, why corporations make decisions that cost people their happiness, security, and lives and they just get to keep on doing it. I think just a little bit that is unavoidable to the player that puts emphasis on maybe how much the town relies on the money/resources Typhon provides would've helped. Again, this is minor, but it stands out when I have so little else to critique.

I would've liked to get more insight on why Jed is the way he is. No, I don't think we really needed to learn more about his backstory, or even really his motivations. I think we get enough of that. I just think it would've been great to somehow highlight more deliberately how/why he's built up this identity overtop of what he's trying to suppress. Maybe even just having Alex internally realize, "Wait, what the hell, Jed has been hiding these emotions and my powers haven't picked up on it?" or something to that effect could have added an extra oomph to highlight how Jed seems to be coping with his emotions by masking/suppressing them. Also really minor complaint, but again...there's not much else here I can think to really improve on within the confines of what's in the game.

The game doesn't really call Alex's power into question morally. Like. Max has an entire meltdown by the end of her story, second-guessing if she's even helped anyone at all, if she has 'the right' to do so, how her powers might be affecting or expressing her own humanity and flaws...this story doesn't really get into that despite a very similar concept of manipulating others. There's like one bit in a document you can choose to read in Alex's 'nightmare' scene, but that's really it. I feel like this sentiment and how it's executed could have easily been expanded upon in just this one scene to capture what made that Max/Other Max scene do what it did in a way that would address the moral grayness of Alex's powers and how she uses them, and give players a way to express their interpretation of that. Also, very small deal, just another tidbit I would've liked to see.

When I first watched my wife play through Episode 5 (I watched her play through the game first, then I played it myself), I wasn't really feeling the surreal dreamscape stuff of Alex's flashbacks - which is weird, because if you're read my work from the past few years, you'll know I usually love that sort of shit. I think what was throwing me off was that it didn't really feel like it was tying together what the game was about up until that point, and felt almost like it was just copying what Life is Strange did with Max's nightmare sequence (minus the best part of that sequence, imo, where Max literally talks to herself).

But by the time I had seen the rest of the story, and re-experienced it myself, I think it clicked better. This is primarily a story about Alex Chen trying to build a new life for herself in a new community - a small town, a tightly knit place. Those flashbacks are specifically about Alex's past, something we only get teeny tiny tidbits of, and only really if we go looking for them. I realized after I gave myself a few days to process and play through the game myself that this was still a fantastic choice because it reinforces the plot reasons why Alex is even in the town she's in (because her father went there, and her brother in turn went there looking for him), and it reinforces the theme of Alex coming to accept her own emotions and confront them (as expressed through how the flashbacks are played out and the discussions she has with the image of Gabe in her mind, which is really just...another part of herself trying to get her to process things).

By the time Alex escapes the mines and returns to the Black Lantern, all of the cards are on the table. By that point, we as the audience know everything we need to. Everything makes sense - aside from arguably why Jed has done what he has done, but put a pin in that for a sec. We may not know why Alex has the powers she does, but we have at least been given context for how they manifested - as a coping mechanism of living a life inbetween the cracks of society, an unstable youth after her family fell apart around her (and oof, trust me, I can relate with this in some degree, though not in exactly the same ways). And unlike Max's Rewind power, the story and plot doesn't put this to Alex's throat, like it's all on her to make some big choice because she is the way she is, or like she's done something wrong by pursuing what she cares about (in this case, the truth, closure, and understanding).

When Alex confronts Jed in front of all of the primary supporting characters, it does everything it needs to.

Mechanically: it gives players choices for how to express their interpretation of events, and how Alex is processing them; it also, even more importantly, uses the 'council' as a way of expressing how the other characters have reacted to the choices the player has made throughout the game, and contributes to how this climax feels. We're given a 'big choice' at the end of the interaction that doesn't actually change the plot, or even the scene, really (it just affects like one line of dialogue Alex says right then) and yet BOTH choices work so well as a conclusion, it's literally up to your interpretation and it gives you an in-game way to express that.

Thematically: the use of the council reinforces the game's focus on community; and the way the presentation of the scene stays locked in on Alex and Jed's expressions reinforces its focus on emotion - not to mention that the entire scene also acts as a way to showcase how Alex has come to accept, understand, and process her own emotions while Jed, even THEN, right fucking at the moment of his demise, is trying to mask his emotions, to hide them and suppress them and forget them (something the game has already expressed subtly by way of his negative emotions which would give him away NOT being visible to Alex even despite her power).

Narratively: we are given a confrontation that makes sense and feels edifying to see play out after everything we've experienced and learned. We see Alex use her powers in a new and exciting way that further builds the empowering mood the climax is going for and adds a cinematic drama to it. No matter what decisions the player makes, Alex has agency in her own climax, we experience her making a decision, using her power, asserting herself now that she has gone through the growth this narrative has put her through. Alex gets to resolve her shit, gets to have her moment to really shine and experience the end of a character arc in this narrative.

Without taking extra time to design the game around these pillars, the finale wouldn't be so strong. If they didn't give us enough opportunities to interact with the townspeople, their presence in the end wouldn't matter, but everyone who has a say in the council is someone we get an entire scene (at least one) dedicated to interacting with them and their emotions. If they didn't implement choices in the scene itself, it would still be powerful but we wouldn't feel as involved, it'd be more passive. If they didn't showcase Alex's power, we might be left underwhelmed, but they do so in a way that actually works in the context through how they have chosen to present it, while also just tonally heightening the climax by having this drastic lighting going on. If they didn't have the council involved, we'd lose the theming of community. If they didn't have the foil of Alex/Jed and how they have each processed their emotions, we'd miss that key component. And if we didn't have such detailed facial animations, the presentation just wouldn't be as effective.

Ryan/Steph are a little bit like, in this awkward sideline spot during the climax? Steph always supports you, and Ryan supports you or doubts you conditionally, which is unsurprising but also ties into the themes of Ryan having grown up woven into this community, and Steph being once an outsider who has found a place within it. They're still there, either way, which is important. The only relevant characters who aren't present are more supporting characters like Riley, Ethan, and Mac. Ethan being the only one of those who gets an entire 'super emotions' scene, but that also marks the end of his arc and role in the story, so...it's fine. Mac and Riley are less important and younger, as well, and have their own side story stuff you have more direct influence on, too.

But damn, ya'll, this climax just works so well. It especially stands out to me given just how rarely I experience a conclusion/climax that feels this rewarding.

And then after that we get a wonderful montage of a theoretical life Alex might live on to experience. Her actions don't overthrow a conglomerate billionaire company. She doesn't even save a town, really. If the entire council thinks you're full of shit, Jed still confesses either way - because it's not up to the council whether he does this, it's because of Alex, regardless of player choice. Honestly, even after a playthrough where I made most choices differently from my wife, there weren't really many changes to that montage at the end. It'd have been great if it felt more meaningfully different, but maybe it can be. Even if not, the design intent is there and the execution still works. It's a really nice way to end the story, especially since it's not even a literal montage but one Alex imagines - again, her processing what she's gone through, what she desires, expressed externally for us to see it. And for once, the actual final 'big decision' in a game of this type manages to be organic, make sense, and feel good and appropriate either way. You choose to either have Alex stay in Haven Springs and continue building her life there, or you can choose to have her leave and try to be an indie musician, with the events of the game being yet another chunk of her life to deal with and move on from (I haven't really touched on it, but music, especially as a way to express and process emotions, is a recurring thing, much like photography was in the original game, or Sean's illustrations in LiS2). For once, a climactic 'pick your ending' decision that doesn't feel shitty. It's pretty rare for this genre, honestly.

I could - and already have, and likely will - have so much more to say about this game and its details, but I really wanted to focus on touching upon a main element that has left me impressed: the way the entire game feels designed. It feels intentionally constructed but in a way that reinforces what it is trying to express as a story. It's not just trying to make people cry for the sake of 'emotions.' It is a game literally about emotions and it comes to a conclusion in a way that is clearly saying something positive and empowering about empathy and self-acceptance.

Storytelling is a craft, like any other, and it entails deliberate choices and decisions that can objectively contribute to how effective a story is for its intended audience.

A good story isn't something you find, after all.

It's something you build.

[gretelsfifthcousin]

Blooming Wishes

(Transcribed directly from the game, errors included.)

Esperia’s Traditions

Gifting flowers on special holidays has become an unspoken practice among the people of Esperia.

- Gretel Hawke

In the sweet wedding of the couple led out of the forest by deer, the bride threw flowers picked from the forest to the guests who came to wish them happiness, hoping the one who caught them would be as happy as they were. The young man who caught the flowers amidst the lively uproar also received sincere blessings from people. Perhaps infected by the sweet atmosphere, he became absorbed in skillfully weaving the flowers into a bracelet. He passed the crowed and went straight through the gates of happiness, running all the way, letting the breeze blow by him until he arrived at a small house, where a girl with a smile as beautiful as a flower lived. Panting, the young man knocked on the door. Before the girl could react, he grabbed her wrist and ran all the way to the nearby forest. The girl was taken aback by the young man, but lifted the hem of her skirt to run with him. She was full of curiosity and affection, her eyes fixed on his back. The young man had reached the forest, and even with a deep breath could not contain himself. He held up the rudimentary bracelet he had made himself, and said dryly «look!» The girl’s rosy face was more beautiful than the flowers. She seemed to know what was about to happen, as she had a slightly expecting smile. The young man couldn’t think straight, but managed to ask loudly «Will you spend the rest of your life with me?» From then on, lovers often used the flowers they received from weddings to make such bracelets for each other in the hope that their love would last. Nowadays, people also use their own flower bracelets to thank the people who have helped them and to pray for a happy and fulfilling life.

- Gretel Hawke

Forest Sonnets Legend has it a long, long time ago, a pair of lovers went to the forest in anger at their families’ opposition to their love, but they were unable to find their way out for a long time. They were desperate, but they snuggled together under an ancient tree and made the decision «If we can never find a way out, we’ll simply live here». There was however, a miraculous turn of events. Deep from within in the dark forest came a beautiful doe, her whole body seemed bathed in light as it looked at them with bright, gentle eyes. They looked long and hard at the doe, obviously of a different species, but they could see the emotions hid behind those serene eyes, as if the mother of life was blessing her child to be happy forever. The beautiful doe then raised her head slightly as if to greet them, and turned away slowly to leave. The tip of her nose touched a branch that was growing sideways, bending the wildflower that grew with it. The two finally left the forest guided of the doe, and the girl took pity on the broken flower, so she picked it and carried it with her. They came out of the forest as if blessed by the gods. They reconciled with their families, full of affection and trust despite their troubles along the way, and the lovers eventually went together to the temple of happiness. Their meeting of the magical doe in the forest was announced at their wedding, and all those told thought it a miracle, and as time passed in gradually turned to legend: If two lovers go into the forest hand-in-hand and see a beautiful doe and return with the first flower it touches, their love will be blessed by the gods. Though the legend can no longer be traced back to its origin, when you think about it, the forest must signify a predicament, and the doe the determination of the two to spend the rest of their lives together. And nothing else matters, the most important thing is that the two join hands, hoping for a better future, and to overcome all unknowns the future holds.

- Gretel Hawke

Event Items:

Sweet Sensation: A small, vibrant flower from the forest, with a message of eternal happiness. Because of its pure and beautiful appearance, it is suitable for decoration and is now planted by people throughout Esperia.

Flower Bloom Bracelet: A handmade bracelet made mainly of Sweet Sensations, that hides the givers well wishes.

[tawakkull]

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 78

Chaos and the mystical world of faith

Today, everyone breathes resentment, swallows hatred, curses all that is deemed to be an enemy with a fixed and determined passion, as if programmed for fury. The ink that flows on the pages of newspapers, the pictures that are broadcasted over the television, the electromagnetic waves that resonate on the radio scratch our ears like illomened screams emitting from a variety of places—in the mountains or on the water, in the valleys or up in the hills; they strike our eyes like photographs that make us shudder and they open wounds in our hearts. These epics of hate that we hear of day and night and that startle us, all these illomened screams, make us sick at heart, and yet the people who seek a cure for these ills are few indeed. Their thoughts go in different directions, but they always seem to arrive at the same point: money, financial prosperity, and success.

… emotions base, desire consuming The meaning that flows over from the gaze is full of contempt for the subject of God. Akif

Very few are exempt from such a turbulent point of view; no difference remains between what is collective and what is not, between capitalism and communism and no difference remains between these and liberalism. The distance in nature—between those who attach their lives to the considerations of eating and drinking, resting, and earning money, having a good time in general, and, other beings who are obliged due to the unchanging character of their nature—becomes smaller day by day. The basic differences between the two sides vanish into thin air one by one, and humanity seeks new directions, despite its own nature.

Religion, piety, morals, free thought, our own perceptions of art are thought little of; power has become so ulcerated as to be unrecognizable, fantasy has taken on the image of ideas and these disagreeable ideas are being forced upon others. Indeed, I have to say that I have a hard time understanding the inner drama of such a terrible fanaticism. Nowadays, when enlightenment has become widespread, when intellectualism is at its apex, the fact that science and ignorance should meet at the same spot, contrary to the distance that one would expect to exist between them, suggests a dark complicity and makes the existence of a serious problem obvious. Such a contradiction gives us the impression that the emotional will of some people is miles ahead of their intellectual and logical will.

I believe that in such a dark period, when opposites have become intertwined, when in different sections of society chaos is heaped upon chaos, when dark acts of different origins have darkened the face of the Earth, when what is underground reigns over what is above, when polemics and dialectics have become so popular with so many, when hearsay, especially through the use of media, is welcomed as acceptable merchandise, when the lives of others has begun to be the sustenance of our existence, when the soul of unity has been shaken and different groups are scattered everywhere, when hopes are shattered and wills are paralyzed, when souls give up the fight against desire, there is a burning need to turn toward our own spiritual sphere and listen to our own inner world, to tear ourselves from the dark atmosphere of the bodily realm and sail into the magical atmosphere of a hearty and spiritual life. Those who do not fall into lethargy and return to themselves as soon as possible will feel the magic and charm of their own inner world; the unfortunate who fail to return and remain in between, or who remain on the other side, continue to resent, hate, slander, lie, and feel contempt, they continue in the dissolution and obstinate disagreement which they have practiced until this day, and even in climates where the sun continues to shine they will dream of dark things, they will mutter dark thoughts, always seeking dark places in which to hide and dark corners in which to live.

One hopes that they would be able to feel the joy of the blessed days and nights that we experience, when showers of light reach everywhere. One hopes they too would abandon the heresy, atheism, dissension, and sedition in their hearts and that they would be able to respect the chosen understanding and stance of every single soul! Maybe one day these wishes will be fulfilled, but the selfproclaimed enemies of God, the prophets, religion and piety—once having breathed nothing but materialism, having gone into a frenzy denying divinity, and having plunged into the quicksand of anarchy and nihilism—will never be able to breathe this reviving air. Oh dear Lord, had you only made yourself known to them and released the chains from their hearts!

In every community and society there are people who are inclined to abandon their faith and there have been many times when such people have spun out of control; other communities and societies do not have such powerful places to seek refuge when faced by these abysses and weaknesses as we have. Indeed, they have thoughts which soothe, beliefs which reconcile, days and nights which tremble with joy, festivals and carnivals; but, these days, these nights, these festivals, these carnivals are devoid of any holiness. They are like fireworks, shining for a moment and then are gone, giving only instantaneous pleasure; they are ephemeral and physical, not promising anything in the way of spiritual joy. Indeed, in their worlds you cannot feel the greatness of faith to God, nor can you feel that souls are free from the boundaries of time and space; everything starts with a false and transitory happiness, and takes place in a delirium of flesh. All is then transformed into painful memories, regrettable dreams, and disappointed hopes, and finally everything simply disappears.

In this spiritual atmosphere where we are closely bound to God, every sound, every word, every action is felt like a nursery rhyme and listened to like a melody. These shower down upon us like the rain; we soak up the bounties of these showers. The moon changes its form every night, as if signaling particular times and happy hours, the sun moves to a new spot on the horizon at every dawn, awakening our feelings and thoughts in a new period of time, causing our dreams to follow it, presenting memories to us that resemble the river Kawthar, promised to us in Heaven. The past becomes like a veil of many colors draped before our eyes, the happy future is the apex of our dreams, waiting for us with open arms and we, who have been freed from the narrow confines of time, live the multiplicity of yesterdaytodaytomorrow simultaneously and, like the angels, feel all the joys of surpassing time. It is impossible for those who are not fed from the same source as we, those who do not share the same feelings and thoughts as us, to feel and understand the holy depths in which we lose ourselves or the happiness and joy that we sip like the rivers of Paradise.

Our faith, our horizons of thought, and our manner—characteristics of the fortunate, but at the same time belonging to a littlewronged nation of this part of the world—have become, through being formed and reformed in the mold of the collective personality, greatly refined and adorned with universal values; this is a situation that exists in no other community; this is so much so that those who spend time with us need not stay long to be aware of this difference. The truth is that in these differences, the holy sadness of our hearts and the enthusiasm of our souls, like water running between the rocks, is felt and heard. Indeed, those who listen to what we have to say always hear the melodies of the pain of separation voiced along with hope; they hear the notes of reunion, of the sweet and eternal search for home in our intonation and manner. Indeed, while on the one hand we murmur “Oh, cup bearer, I have burnt in the flames of love, give me a cup of water,” on the other we say “I have dipped my finger in and tasted the honey of love, give me a cup of water,” and thus we are able to turn our grief into smiles. Our tongues speak sometimes of love and sometimes of weariness; though love and weariness cause pain to others, in them we always hear, like Rumi, the poem of longing for the realm that we have left to come here. Love and weariness to us are like a plea from the tongue of the soul, stemming from a sorrowful desire for eternity. Since our beliefs and feelings take us to the magical worlds of beyond, we almost always feel sadness and joy intertwined; we hear the sounds of crying and laughing as different notes of the same melody. We respond to the troubled heaving of our breasts with smiles on our faces, as our eyes overflow with tears, our conscience takes upon a red hue with the roses of the Iram[1] gardens.

Even though it may not be easy for every individual, our connection to God is the most natural attitude that we can adopt; our relation with Him is like a spell that transforms all the moments of our life into enthusiasm and joy. Our hearts that beat with feelings toward Him fill and refill with the dream of this gaze; we are able to live through the bitterest autumns in our hearts because we have the joy of spring. Our souls adopt the most enviable attitudes with instincts of particular feelings and joy that are the result of our connection with the AllGlorious One; thus transformed, they make us feel a refreshed enthusiasm, a new opening and revelation, even at moments when we are filled with sadness and grief. Pleasure or sadness, revelation or sorrow, all these emotions undergo metamorphoses in our hearts that beat with faith and speak to us of the most natural pleasures and the most realistic expectations. It is a fact that we, too, experience interconnected moments of ease and hardship, sweet weeks and bitter days, light and darkness which come and pass, like day and night. However, we sip the unsurpassable benevolence and joys from the hands of all these tribulations, because we have our beliefs, our connection to the Just One and our hopes! Those who do not recognize the trials and pleasures to be the product of the same will writhe in neverending agony, while in our own atmosphere we see clearly that everything will be transformed into deep compassion. Taste a whole life, with its bitter and sweet facets like Kawthar, in everything that we eat and drink, at every place that we inhabit, with all the beautifully divine discoveries of our own inner world, with all of their different wavelengths, feel our sorrows shrink in the face of happiness, feel our pain melt away in pleasure and feel how our lives flow into glazed cisterns in a spectrum of colors. Our mortality is transformed into eternity; we exude smiles even when we cry.

In our world, the beliefs and the expectations that emerge from the heart of those beliefs are so intertwined with our lives that each chapter of our lives lends us the wings of the station of prayer and takes us to the gate of the Hereafter. It takes us there and lets our hearts drink of the beauties of heaven. In this way, we feel as if we are inhaling the scents of heaven. Even if we should let ourselves be swept along by our daily lives, the calls for prayer, songs that exalt God, the various sounds of prayer, the recitation of the names of God, those who give Him thanks, calling out His Uniqueness, letting this spill from the windows of the mosques, all draw us to their climate; they paint our souls with their hues, they give a tambourlike voice to our hearts, they make them sigh like a flute and excite them with the happiness of music. These sounds excite our souls and we are charmed by the mysteries pertaining to God, the charm of these mysteries which comes galloping from the depths of our inner world and which spreads to all our senses, this charm which tints the gardens of heaven in our thoughts and which flows past our lips like cascades of inspiration. Thus charmed, we stand awestruck.

This charm, this recognition of the mysteries pertaining to God, reaches a higher level on the blessed days and nights when limitless abundance and bounty are showered upon us. This is true to such an extent that everything around us ascends in a state of joy, every corner takes on a spiritual hue and the excitement of our souls, aiming at metaphysical destinations, reaches its apex, or in Sufi terms, our souls reach the highest heaven of maturity. To the degree that we can hear and listen to what is all around us, we too, rejoice like children who feel as if they are in the fair grounds of joy; thus we experience the happiness and joy of a feast day.

In such a world, the dawn flows into our houses from the doors and windows like an awaited guest; the evening comes into our private chambers like a lover and sits by us; the night clings to us with its associations of reunion with the Confidant; and in every valley hands are raised up toward Him in prayer, ready to receive the gifts that will come from Him, assuming a state of metaphysical tension with the power of the soul, sighing, saying “Hold my hand dear Confidant, hold it, for I cannot do without You.”

In such a world, the prayer roars like the booming voices of Gulbang hymns[2] and echo like the voice and breath of the divine depths; the warm solitude of the night envelopes our souls like silk; our pulses beat with the excitement of one who has received good tidings. Perhaps some of us keep singing His praises, come rain or shine, like the nightingale that breaks its heart in an effort to express the ideal rhythm for its emotions with the most touching of sounds. In a word, everyone is humming a melody with neverending agony and joy, neverfading love and excitement, listening to the shivering of their souls and letting others hear it too. Everyone sighs with the fever of love and makes other people feel it too. Yes, as they reflect on the excitement in their souls and the inspiration of their hearts, expressing themselves one last time, they become the mouthpiece for the feelings shared by all and they are able to speak of the hidden meanings that they want to speak of but fail to verbalize.

The horizon of living yesterdaytodaytomorrow at the same time with such a degree of faith and hope, of love and recognition of the mysteries that pertain to God gives such a depth to life that each heart in the orbit of the hereafter finds itself wrapped up in the melodious harmony of emotions and ideas and is freed from the limiting, stifling effects of matter. I believe that the strongest basis of all human relations, the purest source of all pleasures, and the fountain of all love, longing, attraction, and gravity is this faith and hope. Every disciple of the heart who attains this faith and hope can experience and feel the state of being outside of time, with the ability to sense all of its depths.

Indeed, to the extent that one can attain this view, one can feel existence in a different manner, evaluate things in a different way and melt in on oneself with the color, taste, aroma and accent of manifestations from the Eternal; these attributes pervade everything and people can reach a second existence with a new “birth after death.”[3] During such joyful hours, when the internal gaze is focused on that which is behind the visual scene of existence, one feels all the joys of being. One feels as if one has taken a shower in wisdom, as if one is freed from the weight of all things that are alien to one. The distant heavens shower blessings down upon these hearts, hearts thirsty for love and galloping with longing and affection; all hearts that live in fear of drying up are quenched. Celestial flowers flourish in these showers adorned with dreams!

Some of us may not be able to comprehend the state—a state which becomes a succession of struggle (to come over the darkness with its all connotation) and dawn—of these people of faith and horizon; but all these are phenomena of the heart, soul and emotions. Living through the countless revelations of life, no one but the active heroes of the dawn and of the great strife can understand this love, enthusiasm, poetry, and music poured into our souls by the Eternal One. Those who do not understand this will not be able to understand us, either. Those who remain distant to this fine and delicate life live in the darkness of this distance, while the comprehension of those who have found a position from where they can view the truth in such a way that it appears as obvious as it really is always feel this gift in all its wavelengths, sip it like the rivers of Paradise and live their earthly lives as if in Heaven.

Who knows how many more times we will speak of this neverending pleasure and joy, in the delight of a festival, of a feast day! How ever many more times we may speak of it—the faults of the speaker’s mode of expression aside—we will still listen with pleasure and try to share it with others.

[1] A place mentioned in the Qur’an (al Fajr 89:7-8), “… the city of Iram, with lofty pillars; the like of which were not produced in all the land.” [2] Hymns sung in the mosque in unison by the congregation. [3] The change communicated along these lines is not to be related to reincarnational notions.