#let me love fi!!!!!!

[bokettochild]

To Wield The Master Sword

Okie, so, TP manga has me thinking and thrumming, so here we go, a fic about the boys discussing the Master Sword!

The manga showed me some parallels between warriors and Twilight and their relationships with the sword, and I wanted to write about it, but also include the contrast of Legend's relationship with the blade, because his is more like Sky's than most of the others'. There is some obligatory Wild angst and bitter Time, of course, but also a fun littol theory I've recently had that I threw in on the side :)

Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 Version

"Vet, are you okay?” 

It’s quiet, the camp usually is after dinner. Sometimes someone decides they want to tell a story, like Four with his octorocks or Wild’s many, many, many shenanigans, but tonight they don’t. Tonight, most of the camp sits about, watching the fire and enjoying the peace. They’re tired, all of the heroes are. It’s been a long day and the battle they’d fought against a monster camp had left some nasty injuries. Nothing fairies and potions couldn’t fix, but it still leaves the heroes exhausted; too exhausted to chatter or fuss much. 

Except Four, because Four’s mind must be spinning right now, so of course he’s looking for a distraction. Of all the distractions to choose though, Legend has no clue why the smithy chooses him. 

“Vet?” Time repeats from across camp, concern in the old man’s face that so rarely appears for anyone outside The Trio, “something the matter?” 

It’s probably the way he stares silently across camp, eyes fixed on the Master Sword, that has them worried, and when one points it out, the others look as well until Legend sits back, dragging a hand over his face and shaking himself slightly. 

“Legend?” Hyrule asks, quiet and soft, voice tinkling like a bell. 

The veteran hero sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes falling shut for a moment to recover from having stared, unconsciously, for so long without blinking. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” Warriors challenges as he adds a bit of kindling to the crackling fire they gather around, casting strange shadows dancing across his face the closer he stands to it. His scarf is so going to catch fire if he doesn’t step back soon. 

“The Master Sword,” Legend answers, words immediately drawing the attention of the Chosen Hero, who looks up from the carving he’d been working over to glance at the sword laid carefully beside him. 

“What about her?” Sky asks. 

The vet blinks, eyes taking a moment to focus, but when they do they rest on the sword again, a frown furrowing his brows and pushing them low over snapping violet, nearly the same shade as the blade’s very hilt. “Our relationships with her,” he answers, hand dropping from his hair as he leans forward, arms resting over his knees and hands left hanging as he continues to stare at the sacred weapon. “None of us seem to think the same way about her, do we?” 

Gazes are exchanged while others avoid the eyes of their brothers, but Sky in particular trails sapphire eyes over each and every one of them, curious but guarded; they've all heard Time’s opinion about the sword after all. 

“I suppose we do,” the old man in question hums, one brow arching as he regards the young veteran curiously. “What about it?” 

“I just...” the vet shakes his head. He doesn’t need to expand on how much he knows, just wave it off like he does with most things he really shouldn’t know, “it’s just a thought.” 

“You’re right though,” Four muses, tapping at his chin. He's probably latching hold of the subject matter to get the voices in his head to still, or at least to focus on the same thing all at once rather than trying to balance their different trains of thought and opinions all at once. “I've never wielded it, and Hyrule’s only held it once, but I suppose all the rest of you have used the same sword, haven’t you?” 

“Not the whole time,” Twilight corrects, leaning back into his seat, his protégé resting beside him and watching him closely, curiously, “I carried the Ordon Sword for a good portion of my journey.” His callused hand closes around the hilt of the afore mentioned sword like it’s a habit, warmth in his voice when speaking of the blade. “’s a trusty thing, forged by the best smith in the kingdom.” 

Twilight’s adoptive father, Legend’s mind supplies despite himself. 

“I carried a borrowed sword to start mine off,” Wind offers, “but I got the Master Sword towards the end of things. I didn’t get to keep it long though.” 

It’s telling who calls the sword ‘it’ and who uses ‘she’ or ‘her’. 

“Sky must’ve had her all along,” Warriors observes, shooting one of his best smiles at the gently smiling god-slayer, “after all, she likes him best.” 

The sword can’t talk, not to normal Hylian ears anyway, but she does chime softly at the words. Sky’s eyes soften at the sound, ears twitching slightly as he lays one hand on the hilt of the blade, familiar and fond, but bittersweet for reasons Legend knows well.  

“Doesn’t care much for you, it seems,” Twilight remarks, smirking over at the captain in the way he only ever shows Warriors. Legend himself gets something a bit more disapproving, but fond, something warning and yet amused, like Twi is used to dealing with someone like him and knows that egging them on only asks for more trouble than otherwise. With the captain though, he eggs away, and Warriors always responds. 

“We got along alright,” the captain shrugs, trying to seem unbothered and failing horribly. Legend knows he isn’t the only one who can sense the unease to the man as he stands before the fire, watching it rather than stepping back to his seat, shoulders tight. “I mean, once we understood each other.” 

“How long did that take?” Hyrule asks, genuinely curious. 

Legend doesn’t miss the slight flinch, or the way the captain’s jaw stiffens. “Too long, in my opinion. Like I said before,” and there’s his charming smile again, directed at the traveler and sneaking past Hyrule’s defenses, appealing to the younger’s childhood fantasies of knights in shining armor with charm and wit to spare (that Legend is spoken of as one of those knights will never not make him question the sanity of the generations to follow his own), “I wasn’t the wisest about wielding her. The Master Sword grants you power when you hold it in your hands, as you felt-” 

The other heroes shift. Four is curious, listening with his head tipping ever so slightly on one side. Hyrule is most certainly intrigued, but Time’s eyes flit down, lips and brows twitching into a scowl. Unlike their mentor though, guilt lines the faces of both the rancher and champion, Wild’s eyes heavy on the captain’s shoulders as the man turns to better face Hyrule, thus missing the laden stare of their newest. Twilight’s different though; Twilight winces, hands squeezing the grass as he bites his lip, gaze fixes on something Legend can’t see, pain in his eyes that he’d question if Ravio hadn’t already passed on everything he knows of the heroes of past and future. 

That had been a conversation, the merchant throwing his feet up into his lap and ignoring Legend’s scowl of disgust in favor of blathering on about some woman named Midna and her wolf companion, or the scarfed captain who pushed himself too hard, or the kid hero with eyes like an old man’s and a mask affixed at his hip, or the boy who could control the wind, or numerous other people he’d met and befriended (Legend had, quite correctly, read that as “scammed”). It had been a subject they’d discussed at length in the weeks following Raio’s return. Whenever chores became too tedious or Ravio got tired of the quiet or Legend’s voice cut off, declaring that his word limit for the day was well surpassed, Ravio would launch into one or another of his stories and Legend would listen, soap-suds up to his shoulders and tickling his nose, or grime streaked across his cheeks and caught under his nails as he worked the pathetic remains of the cottage garden. 

He hasn’t shared what he knows, be it from the books of heroes he’d read as a child, the Palace he'd discovered in the dark world, holding four shattered heroes as captive, or the stories of his housemate, but it nags at him every so often. 

Like now. 

“-it’s an amazing thing,” Warriors continues, entirely unaware of the thoughts assaulting the veteran’s mind. “The problem is,” the man goes on, smile cracking slightly and then falling, eyes gaining a stern look to them and brows furrowing, gaze dropping from Hyrule to rest on the fire again, much like Twilight’s own, “it’s a power that’s easy to abuse. I found that out the hard way; relied too much on myself and my strength and became too lost in my own power, and so I lost sight of what I was supposed to be fighting for.” 

Twilight's eyes flicker up at that, recognition, shock and pain written clear across his face, and this time not going unacknowledged by the rest of camp. 

“Twilight?” Wild asks, watching his mentor warily, worry and curiosity both clear in cornflower blue. The single word earns the captain turning, eyes meeting with the rancher’s with small start and holding, a wry smile touching the man's face. 

“You too?” 

“Word for word,” Twilight rasps, “nearly got me killed.” 

The captain nods, wary smile still in place. “Took my own shadow kicking my ass for-” 

A strangled sound escapes the rancher as he starts as if to rise, brows furrowing, “Ordonia, no way-” 

The captain arches one perfect brow so high it disappears behind his coiffed hair. “Same hat?” 

“Down to the stitching,” Twilight blinks, looking more shaken than he does on the few occasions when Time has turned on him with that disapproving stare they all know the rancher dreads, “a ghost have to kick your ass too, or...?” 

“A kid,” Warriors scoffs, and Legend knows which. The little boy with the masks; Mask, apparently, because soldiers aren't the brightest people and apparently that extends to naming techniques. According to Ravio though, the kid went by another name as well, though less used and only spoken once, in a complaint while wrapped up in the merchant’s arms, sullen and frustrated with those who seemed older than himself; the Hero of Time. “Little tyke handed it to me and slapped me back to myself,” fondness touches his eyes, warmth and longing both, “don’t know where I’d be without that little shit-stain.” 

Time, sitting not far from his pup, looks away, eyes catching with the twinkling ocean blue-green of the sailor as the younger smirks up at him. The man says nothing though, only rolls his eyes and makes a halting motion to keep quiet. 

Legend smirks. They really think they’re so clever, don’t they? Well, it’s Warriors’ own fault for being blind if he misses that. 

“What about you, Sailor?” Sky asks, tearing his gaze away from the exchange between the two brothers whose relationship in past has been most heated and fraught with fuss and jibes to instead watch their bright and sunshine filled youngest, “what was the sword like for you?” It’s hopeful, but with a hint of worry as the hero’s fingers follow the patterns set in the hilt of the sword in question, guilt warring with hope on his face as he waits for his answer. 

Wind frowns, smiling apologetically. “I only had the sword so long,” he answers. “Honestly, I’m surprised she even let me wield her at all, but when she did,” he smiles, eyes clouding slightly as he thinks back, “she was a good sword. Lighter than I thought-” and he doesn’t- none of them miss the flinch of the two older heroes “-but strong,” Wind settles on. The sailor smiles at Sky, bright and warm. He’s apparently chosen to neglect the part about letting the Master Sword sink beneath the waves, still set in the skull of his enemy. Not that it’s the kid’s fault, Ravio had assured him back then, helping him clean up shattered porcelain from when he’d dropped a plate at haring the words because- the master sword? Left beneath water and land by a hero who’d lived and won? He’d always put it back at the end of the quest himself, each time hoping it was the last time but also regretting the goodbye as his hands had lingered, fondness still stirring for the spirit that sang to his own when he held her blade, ears trying to tune her out as he’d walk away once more, only to come stumbling back a year or so later in need of her again. 

Honestly, the way Warriors goes on about his exes has too many similarities to Legend’s relationship with that sword, and he’s not sure if he thinks that humorous or disturbing.  

Not that he has a love life of his own to compare it too, or anything else really.  

Sky is smiling though at Wind’s words, hand’s motions stilling to something more fond than it is worrisome as he answers. “I’m glad she could help you, Wind.” 

“Me too.” 

No one asks Time. They all know how Time feels about the blade; how he sees it as a curse, a curse that Legend knows is more blessing than the man will understand. He’s listened to Fi explaining why their world is the way that it is, how the hero fell and how she’d flickered back to seal him as a child, but how it hadn’t been enough, how time was split and how saving him from seven years of suffering still resulted in their world where death haunted the hero’s title and left Hyrule in ruins. He’d listened and taken it to heart, but knows Time doesn’t know, and can’t. Hearing that time split at all, that Wind’s world was drowned, seemed to be enough for the man, and childhood resentments aside, even Legend doesn’t want the guilt of a fallen Hyrule resting on Time’s shoulders. 

“How about you, Wild?” the sailor passes, and attention shifts to the champion, “what was the Master Sword like for you?” 

The hero in question doesn’t look at them, the self-hating look on his face again. “Cold. I- I almost wasn’t even worthy of her,” and that startles them, because they all know Wild's a skillful hero, and his heart is as big as the world he’s set to protect; how did Fi not consider him worthy? 

“She’s weaker in my time too,” Wild adds, fidgeting with his hands. “I- I had to take trials to repair her, but-” they aren’t enough, the heroes hear, though it isn’t spoken.  

“Oh,” Sky murmurs softly. 

“Sorry,” Wild breathes, gaze lifting to meet sapphire before falling again nervously. “She’s a great blade, when her power is there, but...” there’s a hint of a smile now, playing over the champion’s face and pulling at his scars as his gaze trails to the subject of their discussion, “she was a magnificent thing before,” he offers, “I only lasted as long as I did against Ganon’s armies because of her.” 

But it wasn’t enough, they all know about Wild’s “Nap” and the state of his kingdom. 

Sky nods, slow and solemn. “She must have trusted you a lot,” the Chosen Hero says. 

Wild flinches, 

“I can see why she’d want to wait until her power was restored before trying to fight with you again,” and there’s so much pride and adoration in the skyloftian’s eyes as they catch Wild’s, so much so that the champion’s breath catches in his throat, “she wanted to give her best for you, just like you did for her.” 

Well, that seems to have Wild malfunctioning, likely calling into doubt whatever hatred he’s had for himself or self-doubt from not being able to draw the sword the first time. Good, kid needs a swift kick to the ass to jolt him back to the reality where he’s a capable and admirable hero and not a pathetic idiot who’d failed everyone. 

Beside the vet, Hyrule shifts, big golden-brown eyes turning on him with the same sort of wonder as he’d held while listening to the captain, but stronger, somehow. Legend is his personal hero, his favorite, the one he’d begged for stories about as a child and then had to admit to, later, months ago, that he’d done as much. “What about you?” 

He can feel the eyes of the others, waiting and expectant. He's the most experienced hero here after all, the one with the most adventures and the most monsters to boast at defeating. They all know he’s been through hell six times over, so it’s no surprise that sympathy and resignation emanate from them, Time watching him like he thinks Legend will speak in a similar manner to himself, and Twilight and Warriors both offering something consoling like they’re certain he’d been forced by the blade to face his greatest demons to be worthy of it. 

It’s heavy, their expectation, but he shoulders it like he’s shouldered everything that brought him to them and made him worthy to stand beside them, breathing softly as he fingers the blade laid at his own side. No one’s made the connection, not even Sky; the metal has been tempered and the hilt repainted after four hundred years of rot and decay. It’s heavier, now, than it was before, but sharper too; brighter, bolder, more at home in his hands then any weapon he’s found and collected before or since finding her. 

She fits. Fits in his hand like she was made for him, always has. Even at eight years old when the sword was as big as he was himself, she’d been perfect, and he smiles as he fondles her cross guard’s feathered design and traces the crisscross ribbons of her hilt. “She’s amazing.” 

He doesn’t see it, but the faces of the other heroes crease with confusion, shock even, at the reverence and adoration in his voice, even as Sky’s eyes shine again with brightness and hope at the words. 

“She’s...” she’s the perfect fit, the perfect size, the perfect companion. Her singing had set him at ease when he was too tired to rest easy, had assured him he wasn’t losing his mind when the world crumbled around him. She’s heavy in his hands, assuring that she’s there, making him strain just enough to assure that it’s not a dream where nothing bears weight and nothing holds him down, but light enough to fly with him through battle and be wielded with one hand or two, though her length would suggest he need the latter.  

Expectation rings in his ears in the silence that falls over the camp, but all he can do is smile and worship the blade with hands that had forged her back to full strength and restored her from a crumbling artefact of a fallen hope and back to a shining symbol of strength to those that see it.  

There aren’t words for that though, not in Hylian or Labrynnian, of Holodrumese or Subrosian or Lorulian or Hytopian. Not even the flowery and soul-touching expression of Koholint’s twisting tongue can encapsulate the feelings that blossom in his soul when the blade is in his hands. 

“She’s a decent Old Girl,” he says at last, knowing it isn’t enough, but tone carrying every bit of love he’s gained for the sword’s spirit as it guided him through a trouble ridden and tumultuous childhood and forwards into manhood. “Best sword a fellow could ask for.” 

As if in response, both the blade in his hands and the one at Sky’s side chime softly in return. 

The Chosen Hero’s eyes are shining like stars when they catch his own, and bright constellations reflect back in shades the same as the hilt of blade itself. 

[susiehunsecker-remade]

the girl from that show with a doctor in it. or something

[sketchncanto]

Felìz Cumpleaños to my favorite middle aged babies!! ✨💕🦋

Doubling this as my submission for today’s encantober prompt, ✨Miracle✨

[technically-human]

There are currently 6 requests left on my inbox, and it might take me a while to do them all, but don't worry, I've received them 💕

[yuripira4e]

I love the trope of “kid without a mother/father figure discovers magical world and gains 4 of them”

[mushroomsie224]

Thinking about them again and realising that I don't like the idea that Greylock was practically a bully to Cedric in their schooldays or that Cedric hated him. To each their own, but I think they're just two dorks with a bit of rivalry who get super competitive at times. They get along quite well together when they're not competing! Well, and when Greylock's not pranking him. He's just the annoying friend, I guess. I don't want Greylock to ever stop being annoying, and I want Cedric to be seriously concerned if he does stop.

As for why Cedric wouldn't consider him a friend: this is Season 2 Cedric. Literally his whole arc is about friendship.

[sysig]

He was a human pirate, which you wouldn’t think you’d have to specify and yet (Patreon)

[3gremlins]

i just love that a show as big as doctor who came out with its whole chest and said FUCK YOU TERFS YOU ACTIVELY MAKE LIFE DANGEROUS FOR TRANS PEOPLE AND YOU HAVE NO PLACE HERE

like tysm, russell t davies <3

(also finally justice for donna)

[j-liz]

It's HEEEEREEEEEE!!!!!

[dangraccoon]

my never ending struggle of “do I ship Codywan or am I in love with one of them” can be answered easily:

[n0bluev]

@fushiglow hmm….wonder who i’d draw this for all of a sudden and why… 🤔🤔

[chronurgy]

reminding myself that I can make it through the next few weeks because after this is all over I get to spend four days living in the natural history museum and have a month to read some good books

[roxyandelsewhere]

calling this one "Gospel on the mountain"

inprnt | society6 | redbubble | teepublic | ko-fi

[emotionally-charged-arson]

Character Spotlight: The Chemist (Ayreon's The Source)

Ask and ye shall receive.

In the grand scheme of countless intertwining Ayreon headcanons infesting my brain, I like to have a nice, compact theme to refer back to for each album. Arjen is borderline intentional about not putting themes in his work, but they creep in anyway and you can dig them up and work off of them with a little elbow grease.

For me, The Source is about loss of purpose, which is sort of an overarching theme of the Forever saga anyway, but it shows up on a more intimate level in this album. Especially when you pull traits for characters out of thin air when you're 14 and eventually find a red thread through the lot of them you didn't actually plan for.

I did a really general overview of most of my versions of the Source cast and their whole deal while they're on Alpha. Just a whole mess of science, religion and state all crammed into one, eventually leading to the 'Frame taking over. In some way or another, these people all know each other and support a cause of some sort. When they're forced to leave their home planet, they have to grapple with the fact that their lives there were altogether pointless and figure out how to embrace the sense of rebirth that's a part of the Forever package.

Almost all of their arcs follow the same overall timeline: they had some *thing* they had worked towards for the better part of their lives, it's all ripped away in an instant with Alpha's destruction, and during their time on Starblade, they work their way back up to a new sense of collective self-worth.

There are, however, a few notable outliers. The Captain, The Chemist and TH-1 still have that theme thing going for them at the end, but how they get there is a little different.

So. Chemist. Like I said, pretty much everyone in the cast has an idea of who everyone else is. Not this guy.

Thomas Giles Rogers is an organic chemist with zero personal affiliation with any other character pre-album story. He graduated from the same enormous central university most of them did, but had no interest in tying his research, much less his entire career, to the fate of the planet itself. Not that he was ever offered or cares about politics at all, but still.

His motivations lie on more personal grounds. Giles is prone to stress, nervous breakdowns in academic settings, all that fun stuff. He always has been. His doctoral dissertation and the ten years of his career following it were dedicated to the synthesization of safe alternatives to sensory deprivation drugs. Either supplemental to the process or replacing it entirely. His "big" project for most of that time was an injection meant to temporarily alter the human respiratory system, allowing someone to breathe underwater for therapeutic processes.

The endeavor was a total failure, for all the resources put into it. Giles is forced to abandon the project after years of constantly being denied grants to pursue its production. People not prioritizing what he wants to use it for, his ineffective presentation, him refusing to let people hire him for research to weaponize it, whatever. All that work was for nothing and it takes genuine a toll on him.

It's really just a career slump, but his self-worth is so firmly attached to his perceived academic success that he can't cope. Four years before TDTTWBD, he drops all his research, picks up some entry-level lab tech job and just goes through the motions. No grandiose motivation to save the world like the rest of these yahoos, just surviving.

But anyhow. Russell does his thing, the 'Frame takes over, and one way or another everyone except Giles is crowded in Nils' basement accepting their fate and hopelessly looking for livable planets with no power or digital resources.

Gross oversimplification of Chronicle I, by the way. Russell drags a broken android into the place, Floor shoots Simone's ear off, etc.

The only remotely plausible option is Y, pretty grim given that the surface is uninhabitable and colonization could only occur if everyone somehow grew gills. As Hansi laments when a switch goes off in his brain and he remembers some science expo he went to a few years back, where some guy was presenting prototypes for...pretty much exactly that.

By pure coincidence, Giles is one of Simone's clients, signed onto her private practice she started after quitting her job as the previous president's counselor. She knows where he lives and works, and she and Tommy manage to track him down amidst the literal apocalypse outside (on account of Tommy having no scientific background and pretty much no other use to the group than scavenging for essentials on the surface in this part. Bonus points that he knows how to use a gun and supposedly doesn't care about his own death).

Giles, like a lot of people has basically been hunkered down in his apartment since the 'Frame took power (about three weeks) and is all paranoid and starving when they find him but they find him, take him back and convince him to pick his work back up all the same.

So he's part of the group now, and alternative to everyone else on Starblade who has no point to their lives now, Giles has FAR too much of a point. Using years old notes and limited resources, he has to create the greatest scientific advancement in the history of mankind in the maybe....six months that people onboard are able to live outside of suspended animation. The total extinction of the human race to follow if he fails.

This...does not mix well with

1. his whole self-induced, major-accomplishment based pressure thing since it's a wildly amplified version of it

2. The fact that he killed a woman during Run! Apocalypse! Run! (defending another character but still) and his control to give life and take it away over so many people, existing and prospective, constantly rotating in his brain

3. The more upbeat, hopeful characters unwittingly holding their expectations for their brave new world over him and what Liquid Eternity needs to be to satisfy them

4. Pretty much everyone else involved in the political side of things deliberately ceased contact with friends or family outside the party's inner circle, to prevent distractions or the possibility of blackmail, while they were still on Alpha. That devaluing of personal relationships is what they're conditioned to and this is more the focal point of Tommy, Floor and Tobias' sort of...joint character development situation, but it has an effect on Giles. This much more openly sensitive, emotional guy is surrounded by these jaded assholes who have no sense of the pressure he's feeling in more ways than one. This effect also applies to James (Historian) in a way, and the two actually kind of have a rapport going about it at the end of Chronicle II (syncing up with their little Condemned To Live duet), but the only person who seems to fully get what's happening to Giles is Simone, someone who deliberately separated herself from said jaded political asshole clique and who has prior knowledge of his experiences on account of literally being his therapist.

All in all just. Not having a good time, insisting that he has to do this alone and eventually external assistance from one or more characters being the only thing that solves it.

The other part of this compact theme thing is that our purpose, our humanity, is defined by our relationships and reliance on other people. We need something to strive for in order to feel like a person, and ultimately that 'something' comes down to either the preservation of the self, the other, or of the collective.

Once you resolve that, there is one other thing that defines the human experience and that is death.

Death and a point, a person, to avoid it in the name of. And Liquid Eternity took both of those things away. From there arises stagnation and a lack of purpose with no means of escape, the hallmark of the Forever Race.

-

-

-

(gosh, I wonder if that ties into members of the party forcing away loved ones in the name of their progress even though it was pointless in the end. Or TH-1's self-preservation being their downfall after all the talk of cooperation and acceptance of emotional openness. Who's to say.)

[novadreii]

rewatched arrival for the hundredth time. this movie never fails to gut punch me with its approach to determinism. louise embracing her future that she knows every moment of, despite the tremendous loss and pain it contains, with open arms. she doesn't hesitate, or ruminate on how she can try and change it. she accepts it all, the good and the bad, because what she gains is worth it, so many times over for her. she steels herself against a certain future and runs forward to meet it all, to love, learn, and lose, and trusts and leans on herself to live through it all. because that's what life is; it's the joy and the suffering. to try and isolate the joy alone is madness, futility in its purest definition.

comparing her line of thinking to a palindrome (how she named her daughter, hannah), the movie kept emphasizing, "it's the same backwards as it is forwards." it doesn't matter if you can see the end; life is the same whether you live it "forwards" (without knowledge of the future) or "backwards" (with foresight). it doesn't change the significance of your life experiences; to try and avoid certain future pain just because you have the knowledge of it is a zero sum game. you think you win because you avoided pain, but you also avoided the joy that preceded it. the metamorphosis. so you still lose if you try to win, and vice-versa.

all you can do is rush forward and take it all head-on. see this whole beautiful mess as your one most precious gift; this one life, this one chance, a laughably miniature blip on the colossus that is linear time, to experience all there is to feel before you return back to an eternity without perception. it's all worth it, because only in living a full-fledged life open to everything it has to offer does the experience of living turn out to be greater than the sum of its parts; it's in trying to beat the system (avoid pain) that we actually lose.

"if you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?"

"maybe i'd say what i feel more often. i...i don't know."

[atthebell]

bell I do have a crochet question for you. how do you get better at freehanding things? is it just experience? bc I've been crocheting for a few years now but I still sweat if I can't find a pattern for what I want to make 😭

so my initial answer is just fuck around and find out-- as in just start making stuff, sometimes don't even try for a specific shape, just do stuff and see what shapes you make and get a feel for how increasing and decreasing impact a work, how to incorporate larger stitches (i.e. switch from sc to dc to make one side of the round taller), all that kind of stuff. and maybe try and make something purely based off an image-- as in, no pattern, no fucking clue how to go about it, just go at it and see what you get. it won't always be pretty, but it'll teach you! and practice helps immensely, so you can even just work on things you do have patterns for/know how to make and that will teach you how shapes come together and how to sculpt something (bc that's what amigurumi is, really, just figuring out how to sculpt something with loop & hook-- imo, it's what makes crochet pretty different to other fiber arts, although you can do 3-D stuff with them as well) into what you want.

my other answer is i've been crocheting for thirteen years and i consider myself pretty damn good at it and i still whine and cry when i can't find a pattern for what i want 😭 i think getting really good at tracking stuff down and also sometimes just resigning yourself to having to buy a pattern is really the answer. also, tbh, you can look at how someone else made it and try and replicate that without a pattern-- if you sell stuff, i recommend you still credit the original designer, since you are basing it off their work, but looking at how someone else made something and trying to do the same thing is how a lot of artists build technique. again, don't rip them off entirely, but going "how tf did they make this?" and trying to do something similar can help you learn more about how pieces are put together.

also ravelry, pinterest (if you know how to use it properly and are willing to deal with the spam/clickbait fake pins... bane of my existence), various pattern databases, and, tbh, just rando people's blogs are your best friend. i have a few amigurumi artists where when i'm just absolutely lost, i go on their sites and search up what i'm trying to make to see if they've done it before, and sometimes they have! elisa's crochet has really cute stuff, as does ami amour, and you can find way more people through instagram (the one and only time i will recommend going on that site)