#some sort of breaking point where they realize they need to change the fundamentals of the relationship to survive w time/space or end it

[m0tel6mxzzy]

i’m sorry i keep watching law and order and later seasons where it’s implied olivia and elliot want each other but aren’t doing anything abt it and yet olivia has to play therapist for his anger issues 😭😭😭 like no. it’s giving “i can fix him” and it’s dead ass the latest episode of organized crime

[shadowetienne]

Lyrical Analysis of OnlyOneOf's "dOpamine"

This is based off the official translation of the lyrics provided in the CC on the "dOpamine" MV. I did transcribe them so that I could look at them all at once, so any errors or mismatches in what I have quoted here are transcription errors (or something having changed in the CC since I transcribed it).

General ideas that I've taken away from the lyrics of "dOpamine" are that this is a story of first realizations of queer love/attraction, and that it deals with the obsession and fascination that can reside within that initial realization.

I think that there is also a question posed within thinking about this song: How can you have a fully happy and healthy love when the world/society seems to be entirely against it and the one possibility you are grasping at feels like the only possibility in the world?

[Note: this is long, I've gone through the lyrics in a lot of detail. I'm really just spinning off my thoughts on what story I think that this is telling. I would love to hear what other people think too!]

I know that we've all seen it at this point, but if you've stumbled across this and want to know what I'm talking about (or just want to watch it again, I get it) here's the MV:

Now that we're all on the same page and thinking about the lyrics, lets break this down!

FIRST VERSE

The song starts in an introspective place with:

Rummaging inside my head When I see you, my neurons wake up.

This introduces us to a place where the narrator is very much in their own head, but he has an immediate, instinctive/not thought out response to the object of the song.

This is followed by:

Like breathing, I want I want, I want, I want What you got

This particular set of lines is really interesting to me because breathing is a need, a very fundamental one, not a want or desire. It frames the entire song that this desire is being compared to breathing. It's sudden, necessary, instinctive. It also isn't normally something that you think about, breathing happens in the background, until you struggle with it and it's all you can think about. As a set up to the ideas of obsession, and potentially unhealthy love, further in the song, the feeling of this love as a need, of this ability to know the self and love in the way that comes naturally like breathing, is an understandable impetus to getting to that obsessive place.

A fantasy called love wakes me up Nobody knows, broken my heart. I used to be so bland But it completes me in a flash.

Calling love a "fantasy" makes a lot of sense in the context of queer love that is just being realized and that can't really societally be spoken. This is something that is heartbreaking to realize when it feels that no one can know you, can understand you, can let you just be you as a person with this sort of feelings of love.

But at the same time, it brings this idea that this love completes the narrator. Before knowing and understanding this about himself, he was "bland" and perhaps just going through the expected motions.

Let's get into it deeper, Even if it gradually ruins me.

This is where I start bringing in my question of "how can you have a fully happy/healthy relationship in these circumstances?" There is such an intense desire to have that connection, to get into a deeper, more fulfilling relationship, even if it ruins the narrator. There is no good option here. Will that relationship ruin the narrator from inside or outside the relationship? Who knows! But this relationship is on some level dangerous to the narrator. There's the danger from society: ruined career, ruined relationships with family and community. And there's the personal danger of an obsessive relationship, one that ends up hurting everyone involved. This is something that is a bigger danger in a relationship with the fearful rush of secrecy.

PRECHORUS 1

The prechorus has small changes each time, and this is my breaking up of the verses, but it feels like it goes here to me.

I can't control, I lose control.

I feel like one of the big things in the process of coming to terms with one's own queerness is losing the need to control and instead moving to accepting and understanding oneself. Feelings get away from you, and if you are trying to control them instead of work with yourself within them, they become this thing that can run away with you and your ability to make good decisions. I feel like that is sort of a part of what this song is about!

Adrenaline circulating in my blood vessels Blood that's gotten hotter.

I think that this framing is interesting because adrenaline can come with excitement, but it is also very much tied with fear, and there's an undercurrent of fear that sort of runs through the sound and the lyrics of this song. The fear of losing control, the fear of not knowing how this is going to go, the fear of wanting so so much that it consumes you. But that fear is also exciting!

Touching, just our reaction Feel it ecstatic emotion I want a stimulating moment. More intense, Endless thirst.

Ecstatic is a very strong word here, this is such an intense feeling, and how much better could it be? How much more could it be. There's definitely a feeling tied in here of finally having experienced something that really reaches the narrator, that makes him deeply feel this emotion, it's not just a physical response to this touch, it's hugely an emotional one. It brings us to "endless thirst" which again, like breathing earlier in the song, "thirst" is a need, not a want. It's also of course used idiomatically. The intensity of these feelings, of encountering this sort of love for the first time, is building into this all consuming need, instead of just a want.

CHORUS

This is what brings us to the titular idea of dopamine, and definitely the framing that this has fully gotten into unhealthy territory, though I'll circle back to that at the end.

You're my dopamine, dopamine Spreading and spreading, throughout my entire body Addicted (Addicted) Addicted to your love Addicted (Addicted) Addicted So beautiful.

This framing of love as an addiction, as something all consuming, and also the focus on dopamine (in itself neutral, but with the idea of chasing "dopamine highs" that you have to do more and more to achieve, which they've discussed some behind the scenes) brings us this idea of the love that is being experienced as overwhelming. It feels good, but it's taking the narrator away from everything else. It's too much for him. It's really interesting to end that chain of "Addicted" with "So beautiful," because it does sort of imply that it's not necessarily fully a bad thing either.

You're my dopamine, dopamine Cutting off and cutting off my rationality Addicted (Addicted) Addicted to your love Addicted (Addicted) Addicted Losing everything.

This half of the chorus does frame the potential problem, the reason this is an addiction, something that is concerning to the narrator: "cutting off my rationality" and "losing everything."

The feelings that the narrator is experiencing are overwhelming to the point that he can't think. He can't make good or clear decisions, he's just chasing the feeling that this sort of love is giving him. He's not sure if he's making good long term decisions because he is so overwhelmed. And that potentially has him making huge decisions that could change his life, that could have him lose a lot in his society, without actually giving it proper thought.

And that is scary! That brings us back to that adrenaline from earlier. And here, the message sort of feels like, the narrator needs to think! He might not even be making the wrong decision, but it's not being made in a way that will help him long term.

SECOND VERSE

This verse really digs into the way that the narrator feels (at least initially) in this relationship/encounter, this dynamic that is making him realize his queer feelings.

I can feel my heartbeat Like walking on a cloud Everything from the tip of my feet feels so light It feels like a dream.

This sort of feeling in a relationship feels incredible, it doesn't feel real! The narrator is almost relieved in how he is feeling light! But still, it doesn't feel real. In the moment of the connection, the relationship overshadows all those fears that we were just talking about.

Perfect visual stimuli I can't keep my two eyes away, I can't concentrate on anything else Feeling dizzy all day If I get to know you deeper I know I won't be able to get away.

Very quickly, we get back to those overwhelming feelings though! This dream is incredible, but it's also frightening, it's something that sucks the narrator in and he can't get out of. He can't step back from this realization, and it's making have hesitations. But even so, he can't back away from this realization.

PRECHORUS 2

This is mostly the same as the first prechorus, but there is an important change in the discussion of adrenaline that shows the progression of what is going on in the story of the song.

Can't stop the adrenaline Engraving it in my cells.

At this point, there's no stepping back. The narrator has learned about himself, about what he wants, about what it feels like. He can't back away, the knowledge is filling his understanding of himself. And he just wants it more and more, to the point of it feeling like a need.

CHORUS 2

We at this point can see a little more about what the narrator means by the love that he is feeling cutting off his rationality, but the bridge/third verse is what all of this is really leading into.

BRIDGE / THIRD VERSE

There is obviously a shift in the music here, also a shift in the tone. This is where we can really see that the relationship has run away with the narrator, what he's been saying about losing control, and losing rationality. This is where the utter overwhelming nature of it, and what is frightening the narrator becomes clear. This is really the pivotal point of the song.

I want you I stay up-up-up-up-up-up-up all night Getting thrilled Feel like Can't live without you, You're my only one, hana [one]

We can see how this is consuming the narrator. I think that the "Can't live without you" like is the one that really got to me. It's this idea that there is no other person who could make the narrator feel like this, and he feels like he needs to be able to feel like this now, now that he knows that it's an option. There's all this fear, all this need and want, and right now, it's all focused on this one person, this first person that the narrator has been able to feel like this with.

And that's a relatable, understandable queer feeling. Up to this point, the narrator has been repressing that sort of emotion and want, not daring to even really think about it, let alone experience it, and now he knows what it's like. But it was so hard to get here the first time! How could there be someone else that he could feel this way with?

What makes me laugh is only one Everything's interesting if it's you Especially, even more so, Just like this, more It's OK for my uncontrollable heart to ruin me

This set of lyrics is so overwhelmed, but it's interesting to me that the narrator is saying that "It's OK" that he's accepted the potential for ruin. I think that there's an element of in all this overwhelm, which is probably too much and not healthy in the long run, at least, finally, this feels right in a way that nothing like this has before.

PRECHORUS 3

We've lost the lines about control, and the lines in general have just changed a little bit, but we come back to our chorus lead in, if abbreviated. We have an interesting changed line:

Touching, new reaction Feel it intense emotion I want a stimulating emotion More intense So crazy oh.

It's interesting to me that at the end, we move to it being a new reaction. The narrator is realizing more and more about his feelings, and maybe starting to see a little further, but this is still something new and growing and evolving for him. It's what keeps him absorbed in all this. It's just "intense" here, not ecstatic anymore. There is no more adrenaline mentioned here, but that sort of build up of fear/adrenaline is remembered here.

CHORUS 3

With the final chorus, we are left on the line to finish the song:

I'm losing myself

I'd say that in a way to lead into the rest of the album, we're going to think about figuring out who the narrator is after this realization and intense, overwhelming set of feelings. The narrator has learned something about himself. He knows now that he has this attraction, that it's intense and feels incredible, but it also scares him, and it leaves him uncertain of who he even is now, of his relationship to his past self and society.

CONNECTIONS AND CONCLUSION

I think that this song is a really interesting counterpoint and echo of "libidO" because it's about instinct and unrestrained feeling, and how frightening and overwhelming they can be. When we look at this song in the body of OnlyOneOf's work and in the context of the rest of the album, and it's eventual conclusion in "gravity" we know that OnlyOneOf is leading to the message of "it's OK" and "you're allowed to feel the way you feel." Even so, these are some really understandable, big feelings for our "lovers who have not been blessed." It's good and scary at the same time!

I also think that this really ties into new relationship energy and the realization that you have to find a place of balance, to negotiate and stabilize the relationship after that initial burst of everything being new and exciting. It can't build forever, it's unsustainable and unhealthy. This song is very open ended, where will this go? It's all so new to the narrator!

I do think that it's also in conversation with many of OnlyOneOf's songs about guilt around attraction, and I like that this song isn't guilty textually, even if it is afraid! That's a feeling of progress in the overarching narrative voice of OnlyOneOf's albums.

[autisticandroids]

yknow those episodes where a character's whole personality gets split into 3-5 different distinct separate bodies? what bodies would cas have? I feel like it'd just be a mess tbh, imagine 5 different castiels all of them loving dean to a certain extent but showing it VASTLY differently. one cas would literally want to murder the others lmao

okay so i don’t actually think this trope would be an effective tool for analyzing cas? he’s not conflicted enough in himself. he’s too impulsive, too singleminded, too uninhibited. like, in the end, cas always ends up doing whatever he wants. there aren’t multiple discrete voices vying for control, really, or rather, if there are, one is always significantly stronger than the others. like in the end cas will always end up eating raw meat off the floor, you know? he’ll do what he wants. if i was going to do personality splitting i’d do it to someone intensely internally conflicted, like dean.

however, because i’m in an essay writing mood today, i’ll answer a question slightly to the left of the one you asked. cas may not be internally conflicted, but he is intensely changeable. these two things are related, actually; the same impulsivity and singlemindedness that mean he doesn’t have a ton of internal conflict at any given time mean that different ideas sound good to him at different times, because he isn’t really thinking about, say, what future-him will think of them. and he’s not really trying to maintain an image or identity. he’s just doing what feels right at the time, which is very different at different times and in different situations.

anyway, that in mind, i think a lot about ways to bring together many alternate versions of cas which sort of correspond to different times in the show.

i have a fic in my head about a bunch of cas-es pulled from alternate timelines by some kind of spell. so this would be set during the widower arc because the basic impulse here is to show dean a very bad time. just absolutely put him through hell. also, all the alternate timelines are different because different stuff happened, not because cas made different choices, because if we’re torturing dean it has to be like 5x04, the changes in cas can’t be cas’ fault. they have to be dean’s or just like, the universe’s (which makes them dean’s).

so dean is trying to bring cas back, and he finds some kind of spell that can bring someone “from another world.” and he tries it because hey. can’t hurt to try. anyway i’ve thought a long time about different versions of cas i would put in this and here is what i have. in order of when the timeline split off.

- a cas who never raised dean from hell. think 14x13 “lebanon.” this one i’m not too sure about, like, this could be fun, but i don’t know if it’s different enough from the next one. like this castiel would have lived through the averted apocalypse and subsequent general fuckery that happened as an angelic footsoldier, which would actually be pretty interesting now that i think about it, especially since all that stuff would have gone down soooooooo differently without cas specifically for your average angel footsoldier. like cas has PERSONALLY caused more upheaval in heaven in twelve years of spn than there seems to have been in millennia. so he would be the point of view of a normal footsoldier from a totally other world.

- a cas who died mid season four, and is pulled out of the empty in 2017 by this spell. i’m not sure when this cas died. my thoughts are (1) killed in on the head of a pin by alistair, (2) killed during his torture in the rapture, or (3) simply never resurrected after lucifer rising. (3) makes the most sense, but that cas has already thrown away everything for dean. i prefer the idea of a cas who loves dean, is already on the brink of disobedience for him, but has not yet taken the plunge. both on the head of a pin and the rapture are great places for this, and they both have strengths and weaknesses. if he died in the rapture, he was killed by heaven, which is fundamentally more fun, but he was also really very much over the edge already. if he died in on the head of a pin, he wasn’t killed by heaven, but he is perfectly teetering on the brink of falling for dean. regardless of when he died, the purpose of this cas is to be horrified at all the various and myriad ways he has destroyed and corrupted himself for dean in the other timelines.

- possibly endverse cas, who would have died in 2014, but like s4 cas, would have been pulled from the afterlife by the spell. i’m not so sure on this one. we as a society love endverse cas but i dunno what purpose he would serve. maybe endverse cas didn’t die in 2014, and instead was imprisoned by lucifer, because, you know. he’s the only brother lucifer has left. so he is very excited to see dean alive and well, since his dean is dead, and, not being an angel, cas can’t bring him back. the purpose of this cas would be to horrify dean that cas loves him and needs him so much, and to disgust the other cas-es with his neediness.

- a cas who was in some way on better terms with dean during s6. maybe dean and cas ride off into the sunset together after swan song instead of dean going to live with lisa, maybe dean prayed to cas while he was with lisa because he missed him, who knows. either way, cas has dean’s help with the angel revolution in season six from the start, and never goes to crowley. the plan cas and dean come up with to beat raphael includes breaking into the cage and stealing the grace of michael and lucifer, freeing sam and adam in the process. incidentally, it also involves cas possessing dean, because if cas is gonna eat archangel grace to become more powerful, he’s going to need a stronger vessel. so cas and dean have a whole like. midam situation happening. they’re a double archangel together, and godstiel never happened so none of the other terrible apocalypses that stemmed from that happened, and everything is pretty cool where they’re from, and also they’re obviously uhhhhhh SOME kind of together. the purpose of this cas is to upset dean because this cas shows how much better everything could have been and how much better his and cas’ relationship could have been if dean had simply been more considerate of cas in s6, and also freak dean out with how uh. close. this dean and cas are.

- a godstiel who managed to swallow purgatory without swallowing the leviathans and remained god. he’s probably soooomewhat less scary and murdery than canonverse godstiel because no leviathans, so you know, not as many angel purges or massacres on earth. and he probably went and fixed sam’s wall within about three days because cas is prideful but he does NOT like it when dean is mad at him. so they did kiss and make up, and so this cas would have had dean to act as his morality chain. but he’s still very scary and godstiel. and also he refers to dean as “The Beloved” you know. his purpose is to freak everyone out, because he’s scary, but also, for the past cas-es, because he is a terrifying abomination that they could never imagine becoming, for the future cas-es, because he is a reminder of their worst selves, and for dean, because he is a reminder of how dangerous cas is, but also because he uh. obviously has some feelings about his dean. unclear if they are consummated or not.

- a cas who naomi never rescued from purgatory, and who stayed there. hasn't spoken to another being in half a decade, has not recovered from his emotionally destroyed state in purgatory in s8. believes at first that the spell is his dean rescuing him, and is crushed when he realizes he was wrong. like endverse cas, his purpose is to show dean how much cas needs him and depends on him emotionally, and how he (dean) is capable of destroying cas, as well as his guilt for leaving him in purgatory and how lucky he is that his cas got out. this is especially noteworthy since the guilt for leaving cas in purgatory is part of the reason dean is trying to get cas back.

- a cas who stayed human after season nine, and has built himself a small human life over the next four years. he has a job and an apartment and friends outside the winchesters and yes, he still goes hunting after work sometimes, and he's still in contact with dean, but he is also independent in a way no other version of cas has ever been. he exists to freak out dean because dean has never seen cas independent of him. he is also fairly bitter at dean since dean did kind of stop spending time with him when he was no longer useful, and our dean feels guilty for that.

- a cas who showed up twenty minutes later in 10x03, finding sam dead and dean gone, and had to chase down demon dean, and has now spent three years following demon dean around as his tragically adoring stalker, because he hasn't found a way to resurrect sam yet and he doesn't want to put dean through the demon cure until he can save sam because he doesn't want dean to experience that guilt, but he also adores dean and wants to keep an eye on him and keep him safe and also keep him from doing anything too heinous, so he just covertly follows him around the country and watches from a distance as he commits various murders and fucks his way through every local bar scene. and occasionally cas finds dean something to kill, when the mark gets hungry, and drops it in his path. his purpose is to freak dean out with the lengths cas would go for him, and the depths cas would sink to.

anyway. lebanon cas and season four cas are horrified and perhaps disgusted (lebanon cas more than s4 cas) by ALL of the later cas-es, and how far they’re fallen, all of it for dean. godstiel and archangel cas being abominations, endverse cas and s9 cas being fallen, even purgatory cas and demon dean’s cas for their total dependence on dean.

purgatory cas and endverse cas are just happy to see a dean, even if it’s not their dean. demon dean’s cas, too, in a way. he’s happy to see a dean who is still human, who he can still have as a friend.

human cas is pissed to see that he was right, that dean would have stuck by him if he’d still had his powers, that this version of dean is doing spells to try and bring his cas, who is still an angel, back, whereas he and his dean only see each other once every couple months.

everyone is terrified and disgusted by godstiel, as i said before.

they’re mostly kind of thrown by archangel cas. a lot of them are jealous. godstiel is furious because how dare anyone, even an alternate version of himself, take dean as a vessel (even if dean likes it). godstiel isn’t really there, though, he resisted the summoning and just sort of popped his head through to see what was going on, and he goes back to his own reality pretty fast without murdering anyone.

also to be clear dean has not at this point examined or acknowledged any feelings he may have about his cas besides “friendship,” nor has he wondered what feelings his cas may have for him. given how many of the cas-es were clearly in some kind of relationship with their dean (endverse cas, archangel cas) or just openly in love with their dean (godstiel, purgatory cas, demon dean’s cas), dean is forced to reevaluate the nature of his and cas’ relationship.

[tennessoui]

So I love your keeping up with the Skywalker/Kenobis au😍!!! It's adorable and it makes me so happy to read aaaand I wanted to ask what you think Satine's reaction is to Obi Wan basically getting himself a husband two kids and a dog like 2 months after she's left him? Like if they randomly ran into each other and Obi Wan is with his whole family and is carrying Leia, while holding Luke's hand and Luke is holding the dogs leash, while Anakin is I dunno monologing about something as he usually does

hi!!!! thank you so much for the prompt i love it <3 I thought a really long time about this prompt because I kind of knew what I wanted to do but I also didn't want to throw satine's character under the bus to accomplish it because i think from what Obi-Wan's told us about his marriage she's completely justified to want a divorce, so she's not necessarily a jealous ex in this snippet. But she's sort of angry, which i feel is fair!! i also (for reasons we will hopefully see tomorrow) changed your 'two months' to '3 years', so this happens 2 years after the Skywalkers move in, which is one yearish after the divorce! mostly because Something Else happens about 2 years after the Skywalkers move in and I have an ask cooling in my inbox asking about That that i want to answer tomorrow and these two felt like they fit together

(big sigh)(2.5k)(this is Obi-Wan's POV so its a bit pretentious and also a bit sad)

It’s a very strange thing, what the body remembers but the mind forgets.

“Obi-Wan?” A tentative voice asks from his left, and he knows that voice intimately. That voice had been at one time the most beautiful sound in the entire world. That voice had been what he heard before going to sleep, what he waited on tenterhooks to hear upon waking. He’d heard that voice cry, scream, laugh, gasp, moan--he knows that voice, and for a second his body responds the way it always has to that voice.

Butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns to look at Satine for the first time in almost three years.

“Satine,” he says and clears his throat and tries again. “Hello there.”

She smiles delicately, as if she’s unsure of her welcome. Obi-Wan’s never seen Satine shy, but he supposes he’s never seen how she acts around her ex-husband.

He surreptitiously glances to where Anakin and the twins are standing in line at an ice cream truck. It had been a nice day, so they had bundled the kids and the dog into Anakin’s car and gone to the city park with loose ideas about kite flying. Perhaps a picnic.

Perhaps twenty yards from the parking lot, Leia had spotted an ice cream truck from her perch on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and the twins had successfully convinced Anakin to make a quick pit stop on their way up the park’s central hill. It had been a very easy sell. The sweet tooth is most definitely inherited, and nothing Obi-Wan really shares, so he had taken Chewie and gone to sit on a near park bench, graciously pretending not to hear Anakin tell his children to let the old man rest.

That had only been five minutes ago.

“Would you like to sit?” Obi-Wan asks politely, gesturing to the part of the bench he’s not taking up.

“If you have the time,” Satine responds just as politely. Obi-Wan wonders if this sort of false veneer of courteousness is putting her teeth on edge as much as his.

Do you remember how you left? Would you like me to recall the amount of things thrown by you, or would you like to do the honors? He imagines saying.

Only if you would be so gracious as to recite the long list of things you called me, he can imagine Satine responding.

That sort of conversation would be better than this. More honest. It’s a strange hurt, to realize you’re lying to the person you used to think you’d always be truthful to.

“Oh,” Satine says when Chewie immediately starts sniffing at the hem of her dress. “Is this...your dog?”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to wince. He had. Well. He had been quite against getting a dog when they’d been married. Or a cat. Or anything, really. He had vehemently protested the idea of a pet.

Of another living thing in their house.

“Ah,” he says. “Yes. His name is Chewie.”

Satine pets him with just the right amount of pressure to have Chewie tilting his head eagerly for more. “Chewie?” she asks incredulously. “I always figured we would have to name any dog or--child after some sort of literary figure.”

Obi-Wan pretends he doesn’t notice her hesitation. He has to pretend he doesn’t notice her hesitation. “I originally wanted to name him Dante,” he admits instead. “Leia compromised down to Danny, but I just couldn’t do that to the poor dead man.”

“Oh,” Satine says and then she’s quiet. Obi-Wan can just imagine the sort of things running through her head. He would deserve all the mean-spirited barbs she could throw at him now. He reminds himself that he understands that.

I hadn’t thought you knew how to do that, he imagines her saying. Compromising, I mean.

Or, does the dog hair everywhere drive you as crazy as you used to say it would?

Or, perhaps worst of all, how much has your library of dead mean kept you comfort these last three years?

Instead she gently strokes the dog’s head and refuses to make eye contact with Obi-Wan.

“You look well,” he says, breaking the silence first. He thinks she’s probably put in enough work in speaking first for a lifetime.

“Thank you,” Satine responds, tucking a piece of her ash blonde hair behind her ear. Obi-Wan catches a glint of a ring on her finger from the action. He doesn’t know if it was purposeful or not, doesn’t blame her either way. It’s been three years. Their lives are their own now. There’s always going to be those years where they...converged, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he regrets them. He might never regret them, no matter what he thought shortly after the papers were mailed in.

After all, he’d never have met the Skywalkers if it wasn’t for the divorce.

“You as well,” Satine says, crossing her ankles. It’s her version of a fidget, Obi-Wan thinks fondly, and then wonders if he’ll ever forget that sort of information.

He smiles. “Yes, I’m...well.” He coughs and glances over to the ice cream truck. Leia waves at him from where she’s curled into Anakin’s chest, very near the front of the line. Anakin and Luke are looking at Obi-Wan with almost the same expression of pinched worry. Anakin most probably because he knows who Satine is. Luke because the boy has gotten quite possessive of Obi-Wan’s attention in the last few months.

Obi-Wan smiles slightly to let them both know that he’s fine. “I’m very well,” he tells Satine, turning back to her.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” she says, and it sounds like the most honest thing she’s said this entire time.

“Thank you,” he responds, and that’s the most honest thing he’s said today too. He knows she won’t understand exactly what he means, but it feels nice to say it anyway. Thank you for the years we were happy. Thank you for leaving before we could really start hating each other. Thank you for the divorce. Thank you for the Skywalkers.

There’s very loud footsteps on the pavement and then suddenly a blond blur is clinging to Obi-Wan’s knee.

“Obi,” Luke says very reproachfully.

Obi-Wan automatically fixes the boy’s fringe. “Yes, little one?” he asks, very, very aware of the way Satine’s posture has shifted from almost relaxed to preparing for battle.

“Daddy wants to know if you want anything. He says they have those pop--pop--cycles that you like.”

Obi-Wan switches his attention away from Luke so that he can raise a very scathing eyebrow at Anakin, who shrugs as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He had most certainly told Anakin that he was fine and that he didn’t want to spoil his lunch. Sending Luke over had not been a friendly check-in. It had been an invasion.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin’s son. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

These words seem just as foreign to Luke as they did to his father, because he squints up at Obi-Wan before shrugging and clambering up into Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Who is she, Obi?” he asks, not quietly at all.

Obi-Wan sighs. And then resists the urge to sigh harder when he catches sight of Satine’s pinched face.

A thousand conversations rush back to him.

“My career has to come first, Satine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“A child? At my age?”

“It’s Obi-Wan, not Obi.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, dear. Our lives would change. Fundamentally. We’d have to compromise, we’d have to figure out a way to be there for them whenever they needed it. I know people manage. But would we?”

“Don’t--”

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t want children.”

“Don’t call me Obi.”

He understands perfectly why Satine looks as if someone has just fed her half a lemon. He does.

She’s run into her ex-husband at the park and settled in to have a civil conversation with the man, only to see that he owns a dog (which he had been against when they were together), has a child (Luke isn’t his, of course, but he can understand the confusion), and lets that child call him one of his most hated nicknames.

“Obi?” she asks, which is probably starting out small, something he is very grateful for.

“Who are you?” Luke asks more forcefully, gripping onto Obi-Wan’s shirt with his little hands. Of all the times for the boy to decide to speak up to strangers--

“I’m Satine,” Satine answers graciously. And then, “Who are you?”

“Luke,” the boy says, far less graciously. “Obi lives with us.”

“Us?” Satine asks, mostly to Obi-Wan. “You mentioned a...Leia earlier?”

“My sister,” Luke interrupts before Obi-Wan can, perhaps, explain the situation. “We’re twins.”

“Twins!” Satine gasps in a way that’s most definitely pointed and directed at Obi-Wan. “Obi, I hadn’t known you had twins!”

“I…” Obi-Wan starts to say that he doesn’t, but the twins have started shooting him very hurt looks every time he corrects strangers on the fact that the twins aren’t actually his. He’s mostly stopped correcting people now because Luke and Leia’s betrayed expressions are really, quite frankly, works of art.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice interrupts him to his right. It’s a familiar voice, one that he’s heard as he falls asleep, one he’s heard first thing in the morning, one he’s heard cry and yell and gasp and laugh, one he thinks to himself might just be one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world.

Without his permission or even his consent, butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns from Satine’s rigid expression to Anakin’s slightly manic grin.

“Anakin,” he says, standing immediately with Luke cradled in his arms.

“We got you the red popsicle because Luke never came back,” Anakin says, thrusting the icy treat forward as Leia tries to clamber on the bench to hand Luke his own chocolate-covered cone.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, all thoughts about his appetite for lunch pushed out of his mind by the size of Anakin’s smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Anakin ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, his face turning red like Obi-Wan’s popsicle. Obi-Wan thinks he’s never been this hopelessly endeared in his entire life.

“I should be going,” Satine says suddenly, standing up. Obi-Wan is a bit ashamed to realize he has forgotten her in the wake of the arrival of the Skywalkers.

But he knows he should not leave like this. They deserve more than this stilted sort of interrupted conversation.

Gently, he sets Luke on the ground despite the boy’s protests and chases after his ex-wife.

“Satine, wait,” he pants as he catches up with her.

“What, Obi-Wan?” she asks, voice strained and eyes a bit wet. “What else do you want me to see? What else is there left? I get it, alright. I get it. It was never you--it wasn’t--it wasn’t that you didn’t want pets or kids or--or all of it. You just didn’t want them with me. It was me. All along.”

She turns away, wiping frantically at her eyes. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s ever felt worse.

“No,” he insists, reaching out to touch her forearm, painfully aware of how public they are right now. “No, you’ve got it wrong. It’s not...it was never you. It’s just…”

He pauses and tries to find the words to describe the past three years of his life. That first year of despair and hopelessness and isolation. And then the way Anakin and his children had crept into his life like a summer sunrise in the dead of winter, unexpectedly and then slowly and then all at once.

Obi-Wan shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. There’s no way to describe something like that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. “It’s just…them.”

Satine takes a few moments to breathe before she turns to face him. She’s smiling and it looks mostly like a grimace, but he’ll accept it as more than he deserves.

“Oh Obi-Wan,” she says, laying a hand over the hand he has on his arm. “You always had so many rules.”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to bristle, reminding himself that Satine has the right to say anything she wants to him today and the amount of hurts they’ve dealt each other still probably wouldn’t be even.

It takes him completely by surprise then when she hugs him. He hugs her back automatically, blinking stupidly further into the park.

“I’m glad you’ve found your exceptions,” she whispers to him as she pulls back with a sad smile.

“Satine,” he says, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with that and falls silent. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his bearded cheek.

“Glad to know I can still make you speechless,” she tells him wryly.

“Always,” he promises her, and she laughs. Obi-Wan is suddenly struck with a sort of gut-wrenching realization that she used to be his best friend as well as his wife. He had lost both in one fell swoop.

“I think I just put you in a world of trouble,” she smirks, tilting her head back down the path. “Your partner doesn’t look very happy.”

“He’s not my--” Obi-Wan starts to say and then decides fuck it. He shrugs. “It was nice to see you again, Satine. I hope. I. I really am glad that you’re doing well.”

Satine smiles and squeezes his hand once before letting go. “You too, Obi-Wan. You too.”

When he gets back to his family, Anakin is staring intensely down at his shoes, while Luke and Leia are glaring just as intensely up at Obi-Wan.

“Who was that?” Leia demands immediately.

“Satine,” Luke relays to her, as if the word means one hundred terrible and tragic things.

“An old friend,” Obi-Wan corrects. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I just...I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Did you?” Anakin asks, strangely intent as he looks down at Obi-Wan’s face.

“I did,” Obi-Wan tells him. It sounds like a promise. Yes, seeing Satine had been a peculiar twist of fate, but it had felt like a goodbye. To her. To the last vestiges of their marriage. To the man he had been when he had been in love with her.

The realization feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t. Instead of ruminating on it though, he holds his hand out to Luke’s sticky fingers. “Shall we?” he asks, as Anakin falls into place on his other side, Leia held firmly in his arms. “It’s a fairly large hill, are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes!” Luke insists enthusiastically, all thoughts of the blonde woman his Obi had been talking to immediately forgotten.

“Perhaps by the time we get to the top, we’ll be prepared for lunch,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin wryly. The other man laughs, but his eyebrows stay pinched. Obi-Wan has the strangest desire to kiss them smooth, to lean over and kiss Anakin’s face until he’s blushing and laughing and light as he knows he can be.

But it’s very obviously not the time and place. Such a step forward needs both a proper time and place. After all, you may have multiple loves of your lives, but you only ever kiss each of them for the first time once. And Obi-Wan is pretty sure he’s only got the two; he’s not looking to mess this one up.

[shadowfae]

hiii! so a friend directed me here and i was wondering if u cld share abt how you found out you were godkin? only if youre comfy! because ive kinda had like. how do i word this. Vibes or Feels that kinda direct me towards the whole i might be a god of sorts kinda thing ? if you have resources and dont mind helping,, please direct me to them :D ~ @missing-crown

I want to start this essay off by saying flat out: wars have been fought, genocides have been committed, and empires have risen and fallen trying to answer the simple questions of “What is deification, and how do we incarnate and control it?”.

If you do not think you’re up the challenge of answering that question for yourself, even with years of study and slow training to take up the mantle of literally being the most powerful form of the Chosen One trope, then you’re probably in the wrong place. I say this as someone who is deific down to the blood and bone, as someone who has looked for other gods, and largely found very little in the way of anyone who understands anything like my experience. In this way, I am utterly alone, and I detest it, but if me penning these words gives someone else the gospel they need to explain themselves in a way I recognize as kin and kind, then I will do it.

But before I truly get into it, I will very nicely ask you to swing down to your local bookstore or library, pick up a copy of Seanan McGuire’s Middlegame, and take a walk down the improbable road with Roger and Dodger. The differences between you and I and the twins of the Doctrine of Ethos are simple and threefold: we cannot manifest, we are forbidden to use our powers the way they can use theirs, and there are (hopefully) no secret alchemist cults trying to murder us when we don’t play nice with their fucked-up science experiment.

Roger and Dodger are gods, true gods, gods I recognize in myself and in the godkin I have met who have spoken about themselves enough for me to understand that we are indeed talking about the same thing. Disappontingly, I see minor spirits far too often misunderstanding the nature of deification, or at least, understanding a version of it which is fundamentally antithetical to my experience. They may be deific; but either they suck at illustrating their point, or I am something far beyond deific, and I am again alone.

With that introduction, I need to talk about three things in order to answer your question. Two methods of deification and three definitions of ‘god’ in a hierarchy that only exists because humanity has not yet perfected their understanding of what is fundamentally and always beyond them. Two kinds of gods, honest gods, that split the difference between deific, divine, and legendary. Once you understand that, I can talk about godkin, and what it’s like to be me, and maybe by the end of it you will either recognize yourself in this, or run away screaming as most mortals will do.

The first method of deification is what I will call the incarnate gods- Roger and Dodger are good examples, so are most Legendary Pokémon, and Kaname Madoka from PMMM. They are laws of nature, concepts of creation, and calculations of cosmic proportions that also occasionally exist as people when they design to do so. They are not meant to be people, they are bad at it, I do not recommend being mortal and fucking around with them. You will simply die. I would not fuck with them outside of my own world that I created, where I get to be a form of incarnate god. You cannot overpower them: they ARE the rule, and they will change it if they need to. You can’t ruleslawyer gravity like a 2007 troll physics comic. An incarnate god of gravity will simply turn reality on its head and cause you to implode. If you are this type of god, I cannot help you. My understanding of them comes from being an Absol, and little more.

The second type are gods of domain and prowess: Zamorak (from RuneScape), Akemi Homura in both her awakened Witch and Devil forms (from PMMM), and yours truly. Quite a few of us, although not all of us, were originally mortal. Mortals amped up on so much power we are no longer bound by mortal laws. There is a difference between deification and simply stopping your clock to gain immortality. Mortal magic and deific magic are fundamentally different. Down to, I would argue, the atomic structure. Deific magic is pure in a way mortal magic could never be. To give a mortal more than a drop of deific magic heavily diffused in something safer and more understandable would be to quite literally burn them to ashes. Or rend them into a different, unspeakable form. Or turn them into living topiary. We are nothing if not unpredictable.

It’s the difference between a handful of dirt and pure neutron soup. Usually, in order to become a god like this, it requires the intervention of an incarnate god in some form. In Zamorak’s case, it was several Elder Artifacts and falling almost facefirst into halfway incarnating himself into the law of entropy. In Homura’s (at least in canon PMMM), she fucked with the laws of consequence and time to the point where she became the only expert they had on either of those and both laws decided to simply incarnate into her, and then she used that to cause problems. For me, it was having my entire magical and physical structure reorganized and rebuilt by an incarnate god of malevolent energy, and then I used what was a watered-down copy of the Devil of Devils’ glory to weave my own world into being where I was more or less the absolute arbiter of the laws of reality.

In PMMM Rebellion, when Homura fights Kyubey in that pretty lace dress of hers, that is approximately the magical prowess an awakened god of our capability will show casually. She has complete control over her domain (her labyrinth) and the reality of it, it takes no more than a glance or a thought to almost entirely reshuffle it. Her minions, who are little more than vaguely autonomous thoughts given some power of their own, may break that reality in whatever means necessary so long as it is to fulfill Homura’s current motives. Her domain falls apart when she does, and she is not separate from it; it is a consequence of her existence. Asking what came first, the god or their domain, is a simple chicken and egg question. It’s usually the domain, in our case; in the case of incarnate gods it’s a philosophical shrug and a nice headache.

You’ll notice I said awakened: that is because Zamorak is a great example of a god who isn’t entirely awakened. In canon, that is - the one I work with is awakened enough to fuck with his domain, which is what makes him quite useful to work with, although I do wonder what he’s getting out of me if not magical theory and utter adoration. Zamorak in canon is a god who ascribes himself to the philosophy of chaos and personal strife, completely unaware that he is incarnate enough not to change the law of entropy but to suggest things to it. He’s a god of chance masquerading as a god of personal improvement, and once he figures that out (and passes that knowledge onto Armadyl, who is his true light counterpart), he’s going to change the very way magic works. Guthix did everything in his power to try and become incarnate. He failed. Zamorak did it entirely inadvertently, and that’s the trick: the nature of deification is to follow the domain and influence it to your will. When laws of existence become people, they will do as people will, and people typically have ambition. Gods who are also people got that way for a reason. They always have a motive for doing so. It’s never accidental.

So, with a slightly more informed understanding of deification, or at least the versions of it that I understand, I can talk to you about me. What it’s like in the here and now, and how I knew. It took me years to get to this point, and I’ve much the way to go. I know more than I did when I was questioning; deeply more so. I don’t expect anyone questioning to be as sure as I am, and in ten years I will be far more sure of entirely different things, and if I’m lucky, this as well. But, let us begin again.

To be deific is to wake up in the middle of the night feeling like a black hole. You are vast, and you are dense, and the moment someone touches the skin of your sternum they will be sucked in like a movie's portrayal of quicksand. To be so vast on the inside, surrounded by empty air and gentle white noise like the faint pull of gravity that does not touch you. To feel so powerful as to be untethered wholly from the world, aware that you will blink and be floating alone in a space that you cannot touch and so too cannot touch you. You blink, and it is gone, and you are again in a normal body as a normal person, and you roll over and go back to sleep.

To be deific is to watch the seasonal changes and feel flashes of worn leather rope between your hands and the maddened singsong of the Wild Hunt, chariot reins in your hands and baying hounds that feel like fingers, like wings, like extensions of yourself that can be shifted around with barely a thought. To feel halfway like a black hole walking down the street, halfway caved into yourself and barely contained, incapable of truly understanding how you can be so far apart from it all without anyone noticing that something is off.

To be deific is to be a fourteen-year-old girl in one moment, unable to understand what draws her so to the wilds if not the song of sympathy that she knows she can understand if she reaches a little farther, a little farther past the barrier that prevents any mortal, psychological mind from understanding the call. To play a pixelated game and have everything rush back. To relive millennia in a single sennight, to go from chipped to broken, utterly broken, as the power comes rushing back and the slow, dawning realization like the day that there is no controlling it. That there is no controlling you.

Millennia of sins come rushing back, and you're mortal again, and you know the only way to bring a god to their knees is to kill them. And if you were spared, if you were brought down without dying, then there was a reason. That someone must have thought you worthy of fixing it. That you should now spend the next several years coming to peace with being a Devil, the cruelest of the cruel, amending fences and repenting your sins.

To be deific is to realize, quite suddenly and without ever actually having the thought, that understanding things through a Christian lens is utterly bullshit and absolutely does not apply to you. Now, your duty is not to repent, or to fix, or to find any sort of salvation. You are the monster queen, the king of the damned, the Devil of a world you made with blood and tears and sweat and magic. To retake the crown, you have to accept yourself. Acceptance does not mean dwelling, or sorrow, or refusing to take the steps forward that will carry you to the crown and halo and horn of deification.

The powers feel less overwhelming as you grow into them. You don't forget the rage. You understand your close friend's words over and over, as the lesson teaches itself. How a Devil so much less powerful and yet so much older than you once looked you in the eye, drink in hand, and gently told you that a single mortal can bring down a Devil, if they try, and believe wholeheartedly in their quest. Do not disrespect mortality. It brings nothing but death.

You wonder briefly who brought you down. You decide, as the lessons prove themselves, that you don't actually care. You're the mortal now, and mortal legends die. Mortal legends change the song of sympathy and the rules of the deific. In order to return, you too must follow the only path a mortal can take to become deific.

To be godkin is to become deific with every step. It's not to seek the divine from outside of it. It's to become it again, and reclaim it; find what was inside all along and grow yourself around it, until it can no longer be pulled from you again without scattering your ashes and stardust among the cosmos, never to return.

To be godkin is to never forget the moments of pure rage that none but powerless fourteen-year-olds can manage. To be godkin is to be an adult with their memory pressed into your skin. To be godkin is for that rage to never truly leave you.

We stand up again and stare at the emotions that are awake when we are not. We wonder what it will take to manifest again, to only twitch a thought in any direction and reshape the reality around us. It is an extension of our being, and the less aware we are of it, the less effort it takes us to remake the world. It is the nature of deification, to change the laws of reality at our whim and will.

To be godkin is simply a matter of knowing that, and forever reaching to do that once more. If only to feel whole and vast, as we always have been.

[hex-sealedfusion]

i have some (sloppily written) thoughts idk where to put them so im putting them here lol

What we know about mikage (spoilers):

-akio is the one that isolated him from his peers in the first place but looking back he attributes it to being a "robot" (the reason the system has given him and which he comes to believe)

-that tokiko and mamiya's relationship with mikage mirrors akio and anthy's relationship with utena

-represents an utena who thinks they can fix the system from within instead of destroying it

-like utena his memories are fallible and the hands pointing at things throughout the episode are meant to be the viewers sort of "guide" to ascertaining the truth of the memories a la the hand of god of the director

-akio set him up for failure from the very beginning by isolating him, making him feel special, then persuading him to burn down the research hall (similar to what he does with touga in the last arc)

-the lines between tokiko and akio are blurred heavily when you consider their romantic involvement with each other and its possible she could've become an akio were it not for her brothers death and mikages subsequent mental break/burning down of the research hall. Just as its never made clear how much of his image of mamiya is anthy's influence

-suffers the same fate of utena; realizes ohtori represents the whole system that he wants to revise and is promptly rejected by said system; sent somewhere else. But unlike utena who has anthy find her and help her out in the movie, mikage has spent the last x amount of years clinging to memories even as they dissolve in front of him. His last meeting with tokiko in the present during the shadow play is very sad, tokiko acknowledging that she loved him but that in his self isolation, a state where he is ignoring time, as well as the burning of the memorial hall has created an insurmountable gap between them. The sole different between him and utena is that when presented with the castle he took it, only noticing its inadequacy after the fact.he failed because he wanted to change the system to accommodate him (a lot can be said about homosexuality and how hes trying to make a system where male rose brides are acceptable) and because of this has no real connections to rescue him

-its implied that the "research" they were doing was to open the way to the castle but when you learn more after finishing the series perhaps akio was experimenting on them with his projector/thats how it was built/perfected? Extra poignant considering so much of the self he has created is based on illusion or altered images? Perhaps the dead bodies in the nemuro memorial hall scenes were killed during this experiments, driven to similar breaking points?

-mikage as a fellow adult like akio but who has been regressed to a state of adolescence by the system (akio) is also a fun concept

-another fundamental difference between utena and mikage is that mikage is so much more calculating whereas utena relies on intuition and spirit- twice mikage recognizes that he doesnt have a real path to victory (once in the past once in the present) like some sort of chess analyst and refuses to move (”i will not duel with them”) utena on the other hand would never let the thought even cross her mind even if it was the truth, and would always feel the need to act even unto her dying breath

[eliemo]

Blameless

Summary: Logan knew it was only a matter of time until Thomas found out, but he had no intention of pushing Virgil out of his comfort zone. Unfortunately, things are a bit different right now. 

Masterpost

Notes: I plan on writing the “incident” mentioned throughout this fic sometime soon. It’s killing me to plan out

Logan had known it was only a matter of time until Thomas found out. 

He’d been the one to suggest telling him right away, just days after Virgil’s past had come to light. After all, it couldn’t do any harm to have him on the same page when it came to redirecting a harmful mindset.  

But he’d quickly dropped it upon seeing how distressed the idea made Virgil. Logan wasn’t quite sure what he was so afraid of, (Rejection? Dismissal? Annoyance?) but he had no plans to push the anxious side out of his comfort zone. 

Unfortunately, things were a bit different right now. 

It had been almost a week since the...incident had occurred, and while things were steadily improving, they were still hardly back to normal. 

Virgil was still horribly jumpy, wide eyed and trembling far more than usual, apologizing relentlessly for even the smallest things like he was terrified they were all still upset with him. 

Not that anyone had been upset with him to begin with. Just...stressed and worried, was all. They’d all triggered some kind of panicked response from Virgil before, but last week had been a whole different story. 

But that was in the past. It wouldn’t happen again. 

That being said, Virgil still needed time. And Thomas wanted to film today. 

Logan had done what he could to get the date rescheduled, but logically, there was no reason not to film today. Not without a viable excuse, and he knew better than to push the idea of telling Thomas the truth. Virgil would open up when he was ready. 

So now they were all in Thomas’s living room as usual, sharing wary glances as they talked through their host’s latest problem, hoping he wouldn’t notice Virgil was just a bit quieter than usual. 

Virgil’s hands were still wrapped in bandages- and Logan made a mental note to check how those were healing when they were done here- but he was able to keep them hidden beneath his sleeves. 

The issue today was fairly standard- Thomas panicking over a reaction from one of his friends, frantically scrambling as he tried to figure out how to respond and move forward. 

It was the kind of discussion that would usually have them all bickering, shouting over each other with no real malice, probably getting frustrated and carried away in the process until they inevitably came to some kind of conclusion. 

Today, they were careful to keep the volume low, cautious not to lose their temper, Patton and Roman sending less than subtle glances Virgil’s way every few minutes. 

Really, with how obvious they were being, Logan would be more worried if Thomas didn’t pick up on something being off. At the very least, he was bound to be feeling a little extra anxious recently. 

But he hadn’t said anything, Virgil left to his quiet fidgeting from his usual place on the stairs, so perhaps they could--

“Virge? What do you think, buddy?” 

Then again, perhaps not. Thomas was speaking softly, and Logan knew he was only trying to gently encourage Virgil to voice his thoughts, but the anxious side still jumped at the sudden attention, eyes widening slightly. 

“I...s-sorry, what?” 

“I was just wondering what you thought,” Thomas said. “About what Patton was saying.”

Logan saw Patton wince at the question, at the way Virgil was beginning to look helplessly cornered, Thomas still watching with oblivious confusion. 

He should have tried harder to get them to reschedule. Today was a bad day. 

“I- um, I don’t know,” Virgil said. “Sorry, I-I was just, I was…”  

“Zoning out a bit?” Thomas offered, his smile easy and gentle. He’d meant it lightly, Logan knew, but Virgil actually flinched at the implication. 

“N-no I was listening,” he said quickly. “Or, I- I was trying to, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to space out.” 

“What? No it’s...It’s fine, Virgil. Honestly, we were all just rambling at this point, right guys?”  He turned, just in time to see the worried glances Patton and Roman were failing to hide. 

“Right!” Patton exclaimed, too quick and too cheery, and Logan resisted the urge to groan at how utterly horrible the two were at nonchalance. “Everything’s ok! You’re doing great, kiddo!” 

Virgil sunk even further into his hoodie, fiddling with the strings, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world, the attention clearly overwhelming. 

Thomas noticed, frown deepening, and he quietly cleared his throat before turning to the creative side. “Roman? Can you stop the recording for a sec?” 

Roman hesitated, looking to Patton and Logan as Virgil began noticeably trembling. But he did as he was told, moving to shut the camera off as Patton hurried to Virgil’s side, talking too softly for the others to hear. 

“Alright, what’s going on you guys?” Thomas asked, missing the way Virgil flinched again. “Logan tried to change the schedule earlier, which we all know is unheard of, and all of you are acting...really weird.” 

Logan opened his mouth to answer, everyone else stubbornly silent, but Virgil beat him to it, his voice heartbreakingly small. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, we can...we can keep f-filming, Thomas.” 

Immediately, Thomas’s expression softened. “Hey, buddy it’s ok. I’m not upset, I just wanna know what’s going on. Obviously something’s been happening for a while.” 

Virgil stared resolutely down at his lap where Patton had intertwined their hands, and Roman was shifting restlessly by the camera, clearly waiting for someone else to take the lead. 

Logan sighed, realizing that despite his own lingering stress, he was still the most composed person in the room. As was usually the case. 

“Thomas,” he said, hands automatically fidgeting with his tie when the others turned their attention to him. “There was a...situation a few days ago. It’s been sorted out since then, but today might not be an ideal time to film.” 

“A situation?” Thomas echoed. “Is...is that why I had a panic attack earlier this week?” 

Virgil’s head snapped up at that, kept only from scrambling to his feet by Patton’s tight hold. “You felt that? I- I’m so sorry I thought I...y-you said you felt fine and I thought--” 

“No, no, Virge it’s ok.” Thomas was moving towards the stairs, crouching to Virgil’s level, careful to keep a couple feet of space between them. “It wasn’t that bad. Your panic attacks don’t usually get to me, but this one felt...different.” 

Virgil shrugged, but offered a reluctant nod. “Yeah it was...more intense than usual, I guess. Sorry.” 

“What did we talk about, kiddo?” Patton squeezed Virgil’s hand, smiling sadly. “You don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” 

Virgil didn’t answer, still refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, shoulders hunched under the weight of their stares. 

Thomas inched closer, ankles brushing the stairwell, finally breaking the silence. “Virge, can you...tell me what happened?” 

Logan was actually surprised by how quickly Virgil shook his head, looking like Thomas had just suggested something ludicrous, like talking to a cute guy in public. He’d known Virgil was adamantly against telling Thomas any of this, but he hadn’t realized just how hesitant he was. 

“I-I can’t,” he stammered, looking to Patton for help. “I can’t say, I’m sorry, I just...I can’t tell you.” 

“Perhaps it is time we told Thomas,” Logan suggested. “He’s bound to find out eventually, Virgil. And I can assure you, there is nothing to worry about.” 

“But of course, you don’t have to!” Roman added, looking almost just as nervous as Virgil. “It’s entirely up to you!” 

“I’m not gonna pressure you into anything,” Thomas said. “But you know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll do what I can to help.” 

Thomas’s living room was silent for a long moment, the only noise being Patton’s overly exaggerated breathing to keep Virgil from hyperventilating. They all waited, patient and silent, careful not to do anything to make the anxious side feel rushed. 

Logan blinked, surprised when Virgil’s eyes were suddenly locked onto his. 

“Can…” he paused, chewing on his lip. “Can you tell him? Please?” 

Logan gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded. “Of course. Would you prefer to be in the room or wait somewhere else?” 

Virgil hesitated, free hand tugging at his hoodie, glancing up at Thomas as if to make sure he wasn’t upset with the change in plans. 

“Do you want to wait in the other room, kiddo?” Patton asked. “I can come with you if you want.” 

Virgil nodded, the relief in his eyes painfully obvious, but Logan didn’t miss the tremble that stayed in his hands, the wary, anxiety riddled glances he kept sending Thomas’s way as Patton led him up the stairs. 

“I’ll come get you in a few moments,” Roman called, moving to sit on the edge of the couch, wringing his hands in his lap. “Teach?” 

Logan cleared his throat, adjusting his tie again as he turned back to Thomas, suddenly painfully unsure how he was supposed to continue. 

“Right...Yes. Well,” he started. “A few weeks ago we became aware that, ah...actually Thomas, would you like to sit down?” 

He was stalling and they all knew it- he wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle. But Thomas went along with it anyway, sitting opposite of Roman while Logan awkwardly remained in his usual spot, careful not to fidget. 

“You are, of course, aware of the other sides.” 

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “The dark sides, right?” 

“You have, being a complex and emotional person, many facets of your personality,” Logan explained, ignoring the question. “Some are not as...developed, or as fundamental as the four of us. Most you will likely never interact with. I doubt they even have the ability to manifest.” 

“Okay?” Thomas looked to Roman for some kind of clue, concern clearly morphing to confusion. “What does this have to do with Virgil?” 

Roman clasped his hands in his lap, switching between staring intently down at the floor and looking at Logan- who was frantically trying to figure out the best way to put the delicate situation. 

“Soon after we had accepted Virgil as one of us,” Logan said. “It...came to our attention that he was not...treated well, in a sense, by a majority of the other sides.” 

Roman scoffed. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

“We had all noticed right away, of course, that he was uneasy around us, and always a bit on edge. We all thought he was merely nervous about being rejected again and assumed it would pass.” 

Logan was resolutely not looking at Roman. He would not lose himself, would not fall apart in front of Thomas. He was simply restating facts. That was all. 

“I found him in my room about two weeks into our attempts to get to know him. He was borrowing some reading material and he...well, he believed I intended to strike him as punishment, since he was used to that being standard.” 

Logan risked a glance up, allowing himself to be relieved at Thomas’s expression. He was horrified, as was expected, but there was compassion and understanding flickering in beneath that. 

He wasn’t sure what he had been so afraid of. Perhaps Virgil had been rubbing off on him a bit. 

“But he’s...he’s alright now, isn’t he?” Thomas asked. “I mean, he knows he’s safe with you guys. Right?” 

“It’s a...work in progress,” Roman admitted, and Logan quickly jumped in to elaborate at Thomas’s growing distress. 

“And he is making a great deal of progress. We’re all very proud of how far he’s come in such a short period of time. But it is not something that fixes itself right away.” 

Thomas nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face, and Logan shared a worried look with Roman, both sides at a loss of what else to say or do. 

“How long?” Thomas asked suddenly. “Do you know...how long it went on for?” 

Logan shook his head. “Not exactly. We’ve all...helped Virgil talk through his experiences in chunks whenever he is comfortable. But from what I’ve gathered, it would have been several years at the very least.” 

That, clearly, was not what Thomas had wanted to hear, distress only doubling as he dropped his head into his hands, Roman frantically attempting to provide comfort. 

“Thomas--” 

“Years?” Thomas pushed himself off the couch, Roman hurrying to follow. “It went on for years and I just-- fuck I just let it happen?” 

“You did not let anything happen, Thomas.” 

“He’s my anxiety, Logan!” Thomas shot back, and Logan couldn’t help but be thankful that Joan wasn’t over to hear this particular rant. “It happened in my head and I didn’t even--” 

“Thomas.” Roman’s hand on their host’s shoulder shut down his rambling, the Prince's voice uncharacteristically grim. “There was no way for you to have known. None of us knew- hell Virgil didn’t even know it wasn’t normal!” 

They’d all gone down a spiral of self blame, obsessing uselessly over what could have been since they’d found out what Virgil had gone through. 

If they had just been kinder to him, welcomed him sooner, tried harder to get him to open up from the beginning, then maybe they could have stopped it, saved him from the treatment sooner…

But there was no use in those thoughts. All they did was upset Virgil, who refused to allow anyone to feel guilt over him, half the time convinced he was still just a minor inconvenience. 

“Placing blame is not of importance,” Logan said. “What’s important is Virgil’s safety, and learning how we can undo what has been done. He’s been...conditioned to have a very unhealthy mindset.” 

Thomas took a shaky breath, still much more pale than Logan would like but noticeably more collected than before. 

“You guys found out about this a while ago,” he said after a moment. “What about this last week? You said something else happened?” 

And just like that the tension in the room skyrocketed once again, Roman meeting Logan’s stare with wide, questioning eyes. 

It was like they hadn’t talked about it. They’d had several long discussions, both with and without Virgil, doing all they could to ensure nothing like that ever happened again. 

But Logan didn’t think they’d ever really...recounted out loud exactly what had happened. They all knew. They didn’t need to relive the details. 

Which was illogical, of course. It happened, it was terrifying at the time- the glass, the blood, the way the mindscape had been too quiet- 

But it was over now. It was a mistake, an oversight, and it wouldn’t happen again. And Thomas had the right to know. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Thomas said, and Logan was surprised by the sheer force of the relief that hit like a tidal wave. “It’s ok. I trust you guys to take care of him.” 

“We will,” Roman agreed. “Always.” 

Logan nodded and Thomas took a breath, running his hands through his hair before glancing at the empty stairwell. 

“Roman, do you think you could go get him? I wanna talk to him if he’s up for it.” 

The creative side nodded, glancing at Logan for some kind of unspoken approval before hurrying up the stairs, disappearing the way Patton and Virgil had left, leaving Logan and Thomas alone in the suddenly much too quiet living room. 

The logical side adjusted his tie once more, eyes trained on the floor. “Virgil has been worrying over your reaction for weeks,” he said. “Please attempt to keep your emotions in check.” 

He couldn’t help but think back to that first day, when Patton had lost himself in his emotions, and Virgil had been convinced that anger was directed towards him. 

Luckily, Thomas seemed to pick up on the uneasiness because he just nodded again, glanced once more at the staircase, and moved back to his spot on the couch. 

“Did...did Deceit hide this from me too?” 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Logan said, and unfortunately that was the truth. He didn’t know. “But from what I’ve gathered, I don’t believe he ever laid a hand on Virgil.” 

That, of course, didn’t mean he hadn’t known about the abuse. No one had really gotten the nerve to ask the dark side about the affair.

But there wasn’t a need to fill Thomas’s head with any more doubts.

It wasn’t long before there were footsteps from the stairs, Virgil reluctantly following Patton into the living room, Roman lingering a few paces behind. 

Thomas waited until they were all off the staircase before scooting over, patting the spot next to him. “Hey, Virge. You want to come sit?” 

Virgil shrugged, shoulders hunched and hands buried in his pockets, but he made his way over to the couch, sitting as far away from Thomas as possible. 

He didn’t look like he was panicking, Logan noted with some sense of relief, just miserable and wary, like he was expecting the worst. 

“Did Logan tell you?” Virgil asked, pressed up against the back of the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest. 

“Yeah, he did.” Thomas moved closer, still careful not to crowd the anxious side. “Buddy...do you think I’m gonna be mad at you?” 

Virgil shrugged. “No. I...I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“I don’t think Thomas has ever been angry with you, kiddo,” Patton pointed out from his spot by the window. “And I really doubt he’s gonna start now.” 

“Of course I’m not angry with you, Virge. Why would you think that?” 

A beat of heavy silence, and for a second it looked like Virgil would refuse to respond at all. But there were no tell tale signs of a panic attack, even as he took a small, trembling breath. “Because you should be.” 

It was mumbled, barely audible, and Logan frowned as Thomas looked like he’d just been slapped. “I- what?” 

“You should be,” Virgil snapped, finally looking up to face the others. “All of you should be! You should...you should be furious with me and you’re not and it’s been months and I don’t get it!” 

His breaths were steady, albeit labored, eyes wide as he met each of their stares, voice only slightly wobbly, and Logan briefly wondered how long he’d thought about saying this. 

Roman took a careful step forward, still hesitating by the stairs. “Virgil...why do you think we’re going to be mad?” 

It was a question they’d all asked him before, when he got that panicked look in his eyes when he thought he’d done something wrong. But this...Logan knew this was something different. This wasn’t panic. 

He didn’t like it any better. 

“I don’t,” Virgil argued. “I know you won’t be and that’s the problem.” 

No one knew what to say, exchanging helpless glances as Virgil took a steadying breath, finally focusing on Thomas. 

“I just...let them do that to me,” he said. “They said I had to be- be h-hurt and I just believed them like an idiot. It probably just hurt you and I didn’t even realize!” 

“Virgil, there was no way you could have known. You thought what was happening was normal.” 

“How is that any better, Logan? I thought I deserved it just because they told me I did. I never tried to fight back! It just...to me it just made sense. I deserved it. I...I still think I do sometimes.” 

“Virge--” 

“But you’re all so nice to me. I just...I-I love you all so much and I don’t know how...I just keep messing up and panicking over stuff I let happen to me and making your lives harder and it’s...what if I don’t get better? After what happened last week how long are you gonna…” 

He paused with a shaky breath, clearly resolutely determined not to cry. “What if I don’t stop doing this to you? I-I keep...doing this and- and I try to listen to you but sometimes I...I get it. I get why they did it. I mean, if I’m just such a fuck up that that’s the only way to control me, then why don’t you guys just do the same thing and beat the shit out of me so--”

“Virgil!” 

Logan hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he could see Virgil getting more and more worked up, and the last time he’d brought up any of them getting fed up enough to resort to violence Patton had burst into tears, which would do nothing to help the situation.  

Luckily, the flash of fear in Virgil’s eyes as he fell silent only lasted a second, recognition taking over as his shoulders dropped. 

“Sorry,” Virgil muttered. “Sorry I didn’t mean to say all that, I know you guys...I know you won’t do that. I just worry...I don’t know.” 

Thomas was scooting closer again, watching Virgil with an expression Logan couldn’t quite read. Sadness, definitely. But it was also fond, something protective and kind. 

Logan thought Thomas was the only person kind enough to look at their anxiety like that. 

Good. Virgil deserved that kindness. 

“Virgil,” Thomas said, arms now open and inviting, his smile warm and genuine. “Come here?” 

Virgil didn’t hesitate. His face crumpled and the facade he was trying so desperately to put on faded as he fell forward into Thomas’s embrace, holding him tight. 

Logan smiled, sinking out along with Roman and Patton. They would need to talk about what had happened- all of them, but it could wait. 

Virgil needed some time with Thomas, and Logan had no doubt he would be taken care of. 

To Virgil’s own, silent amazement, he managed not to dissolve into tears the second he realized Thomas not only wasn’t upset with him, but offering physical comfort. 

The others had sunk out sometime into the hug, leaving the two of them alone on the couch, and he did his best to breathe through the lingering panic at the memories of what he’d just said. 

Thomas didn’t let go, but didn’t try to pressure a conversation either, seeming to know Virgil needed some time to find his voice again. 

Instead he just leaned back slightly, enough so both of them were resting comfortably against the back of the couch, and turned the tv on to some mindless show, the background noise helping to ground them both. 

His arms were still wrapped around Virgil, comforting and safe, and the anxious side’s breath hitched as Thomas began carding fingers through his hair, unable to stop himself from leaning into the touch. 

Thomas shouldn’t be taking care of him like this. Not when Virgil had done nothing but hurt him. 

He pushed those thoughts away, closed his eyes, and willed his mind to focus. 

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, everything fuzzy and far away, but Thomas never pushed, waiting until Virgil was ready to talk on his own. 

“I’m so stupid.” 

The fingers in his hair stopped, just for a second, before starting up again, even more gentle than before. 

“You’re not,” Thomas said. “You’re not, Virge. You were being hurt and manipulated. It wasn’t your fault.” 

He’d heard this all a thousand times before. It wasn’t his fault, it was manipulation, his reactions were normal, he shouldn’t blame himself. 

It helped to hear, sure, but only in the short run. It all came creeping back eventually, taunting, jeering voices mercilessly screaming in his head. 

“I know,” he said against Thomas’s shoulder. “But I believed them. I know what they did wasn’t my fault but I never questioned it. I hated the way it made me feel and I still never tried to get it to stop.” 

“You thought you didn’t have a choice.”

“Nobody else would be stupid enough to believe that,” Virgil muttered. “You wouldn’t, the others wouldn’t, I just always thought...I thought I was helping but I always just make it worse.” 

For a second, Thomas didn’t answer, the low volume of the television the only sound in the living room. For a terrifying second, Virgil thought Thomas was going to agree. 

“You make us better, Virgil,” he said, the same words Princey had spoken in his room. “Not worse. Never worse. Don’t forget that.”

Thomas pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Virgil’s eyes, carefully moving a hand under his chin when the anxious side averted his gaze. 

“You aren’t stupid, buddy. And you did not deserve that. Any of it. You couldn’t have known- we all treated you like a villain, and you thought you had to be the bad guy.” 

Virgil shrugged, taking a shuddering breath. “I thought...I was just trying to protect you.” 

“And you do,” Thomas said. “You always have. Nobody blames you for believing what they told you. Especially not when you were scared.” 

Thomas finally allowed Virgil to look away, the side staring down at his lap, forcibly reminding himself not to pick at the bandages under his sleeves. 

“I hated it,” he mumbled, face burning. “I wanted it to stop so bad so I don’t know why...why I can’t accept that it’s over.” 

“You’ll get there,” Thomas promised, more certain than Virgil had ever heard him. “You’ll realize someday you didn’t deserve it. We’ll show you that you deserve to be loved, Virge.” 

Thomas pulled him close again, the hug tight and desperate on both ends, and for just a moment Virgil thought that with an embrace like this, a family so open and understanding, he would never be afraid again. 

[drivingsideways]

so what were your final thoughts on my mister?

It’s probably the best show I watched in 2020, and will probably remain in my top shows of all time as well! I mentioned some of the reasons why in a post I did a while back but can’t find now because tumblr’s search function + my terrible tagging system = disaster. But I’m happy to talk some more about this lovely show!

First though, let me get the things I didn’t enjoy out of the way- this is mostly just that it has pacing issues and honestly could have been two or even three episodes shorter. 

On the flip side, one of the charms of this story is that it’s not in a hurry to get anywhere, allowing its characters and its audience enough breathing room and time to get where they need to be. 

And they are such lovely characters! You can tell that the writer and director loved these characters, all of them, not just the two protagonists. Every one of them is necessary to the story being told, no matter how much screen time they have; taking one of them out of the story would be like removing a piece of tile from a beautiful mosaic. 

As for the story-it’s honestly one of the most compassionately told, uplifting stories about what it means to be human and live in our imperfect world as our imperfect selves that I’ve watched. 

The show covers a lot of ground, but in particular I was thrilled by how this was a story that basically talks about the damage that our patriarchal society, with its very masculine coded ideas of honour and shame and success does to all of us, but to men in particular. What’s particularly lovely about this show is that its fundamental view is so compassionate that its answer, its thesis is that the only way of escape from the prison of a terrible, all pervasive system is love;  love that is outward looking as much as it is inward looking. And it’s all forms of love- romantic, filial, platonic, and just more fundamentally- reaching out one human being to another. It takes an entirely different approach from many Western shows that I’ve seen tackle the same themes; there the answer always seem to be that the most radical act of liberation is self-love; this is often achieved through acts of brutal physical violence (think of the number of stories that feature women with guns that are sold as empowering - and they often are, but imo, in a very limited way) or otherwise a sort of journey of self-discovery that ends with the characters realizing their own worth and therefore becoming “free” (though nothing, absolutely nothing changes around them from a systemic point of view). It’s often implied that this achievement is entirely self-propelled, self-generated through strength of character and relentless determination and the people around the character have very little to do with this transformation. 

My Ahjussi’s take on this strikes at the heart of the lie that is this premise: that we can exist and thrive as solitary islands with dependence and social connection being weaknesses that we ought to shed along the way to achieving some higher level of perfect contentment as emotionally well adjusted persons who need nothing external to themselves to maintain that contentment. 

Instead, My Ahjussi’s protagonists are two people from opposite circumstances who are nevertheless drowning because they are unseen. Dong-Hoon’s perfect-on-paper life hides his deep misery that comes from playing by the rules that require men to repress their emotions and perform masculinity  in a particular way; Ji-an is an outcast/ society reject because we live in a society that hates poor people, and consequently has little use or regard for its rules, that she constantly breaks, even though it often makes her situation worse. But it’s the only way she knows to survive, so she keeps doing it.  Their solitary emotional battles have exhausted them both; it’s only when they reach out to each other and end up fighting each other’s battles for them that they begin to find a way out of it, and together. For Dong-hoon, that’s letting go of the stifling honour codes of masculinity to admit vulnerability and therefore bring an honesty into his relationships that fundamentally changes them for the better and for Ji-an,it’s finding Dong-hoon and via him, people who genuinely are interested in her welfare and not in her usefulness to them. Both of them, in the end, are saying “I can’t do this alone”, and the story reaffirms both the truth of that vulnerable cry and also reminds us that as human beings we want to give people the help they need, because on a deep level we do have the connection of our shared humanity that can and DOES win over whatever our  current late capitalist dystopia has taught us to expect or want. It’s beautiful and radical and just the story we need in these times. 

tl;dr...Anon, I loved it. 

[maxwell-grant]

The crossover fic + learning he's a favorite of yours has me curious: do you think it would be possible to tell a satisfactory Shadow vs. Mr. Mxyzptlk story? I think he'd fit surprisingly well in that milieu as a credible threat: he's something of an older, mistier, shadowy world, kin to fairies and elves and imps, pixies and sprites and genies, bound by old laws and dressed like a parody of 20s/30s class, beyond The Shadow's usual powers and yet...THAT. There a thematic in to this throwdown?

I had never actually thought of Mxy in that light, even though it's very much in line with what he is, because Mxy is one of those characters I don't tend to think about much. He's one of those ready-made perfect villains who pretty much guarantees a fun and creative time whenever he pops up uninvented. Like The Ventriloquist for Batman, he is so uniquely a product of how Superman works and what his stories allow for, that I can't say I ever thought of taking him for a spin outside of them. But there's definitely stuff to work with in putting him and The Shadow together.

Come to think of it, if there's a Superman villain I think Walter Gibson would have liked to play around with, it would be Mxyzptlk. Mxy stories are fundamentally about Superman being thrust into a position where his only way out is to solve puzzles and turn the tables using nothing but his wits, and Gibson spent the majority of his career before and after The Shadow as a writer of books on magic and puzzles, both of which show up a lot in The Shadow stories. You see it even in several covers which contained clues for the stories within.

To an extent, you could argue that The Shadow might figure out quicker a way to trick Mxy, because The Shadow's already has to utilize a constant amount of trickery and deceit and puzzle-solving in his daily adventures, it comprises almost the majority of what his stories are about under Gibson. The usual Mxyzptlk narrative is one that's well within The Shadow's domain.

But on the other hand, it's definitely some extremely unusual territory for The Shadow, villain-wise. A villain who eclipses his powers and scope to such an extent is completely unheard of. The one time I can think of where he fought a villain this weird and who he was completely powerless against was when he met Suven The Clown King of Venus (who's definitely a character that could show up in this meeting), and even then Suven was just a weird alien who looked gigantic next to the shrunken Shadow. Even on the few occasions where The Shadow encountered other aliens or eldritch monsters, he was able to find a way to stop the threat for the moment or even kill it, which is definitely not happening here, because Mxy is a whole other level.

Superman has the strength and endurance and superpowers to roll with whatever mayhem Mxy throws his way. If Mxy decides that The Shadow’s looking too pale so he's gonna give him a tan by throwing him in the sun, what the hell is he gonna do to stop him? I imagine that Mxy would likely take a different approach to messing with The Shadow, since he can't tank nukes like Supes and he's not really a good sport about the game. 

Fine, whatever, Mxy's a creative sort, he's got a couple of ideas for messing around with Mr Grim-n-Serious over there, show him what an Eldritch Monster looks like past the squid monsters and dragons he may have met.

The idea I'm getting here is, on one hand, Mxy attacking The Shadow with the usual goofiness he brings with him. And on the other, him realizing that messing with The Shadow's dignity isn't as fun as he thought he'd be, so he instead goes full SCP Foundation/Awful Hospital/Ice Cream Man on The Shadow until he's stopped, trapping him in amusing and horrifying eldritch nightmares and situations that he has absolutely no way to escape until he solves the puzzle. 

I mean, he's not fighting Superman here, he can kill this guy with a blink, even just stopping his heart with a thought. No fun in that. He's gotta beat the "Master of Darkness" at his own game. He's got a point to prove.

I imagine that much of the story would play out of The Shadow having to piece together what exactly has gone topsy-turvy in his reality, whether it's Commissioner Weston eating spiders for breakfest or the entirety of Manhattan sans him going blind and all lights going out across the country. And when Mxy comes out with that shrill SURPROISE!!!, assuming The Shadow already knows what he needs to do, then he falls for whatever gambit The Shadow's had to cook up to trick him. 

At the end, Mxy is an arrogant bully who lords power over those that can't fight back, and The Shadow's a master of beating those by turning their arrogance against them. It's Duck Amuck, except Bugs is a mind-breaking sadist and Daffy has to fight back.

I imagine something akin to a particularly funny scene from a story called Face of Doom, where a gangster traps The Shadow in a room surrounded by armed henchman so he can enlist him into taking down the city's leading criminal, The Face. The Shadow unmasks himself as Cranston to gain his trust, and the two proceed to talk plans. I'll post the sequence below

Calmly, The Shadow was removing his slouch hat. His arms spread, the black cloak began to drop from his shoulders. Clipper's nervousness changed to elation. If ever a criminal fooled himself, Clipper did so at that moment.

Though The Shadow voiced no agreement to Clipper's offer, the crook was confident that it was sealed. The Shadow was taking a step that no other criminal had ever witnessed.

When Clipper's squinty eyes saw the hawkish features of Lamont Cranston, the crook displayed another of his downward grins. There wasn't any question about the prisoner really being The Shadow.

"A ritzy mug, ain't you?" voiced Clipper. "Well, that makes you the real McCoy. One thing we'd all figured, Shadow — we guessed you was a high-hat guy.

"'You don't get out of here until The Face is croaked! Say, though — maybe one of your ritzy friends could put up a good front with The Face."

"There are others, who might serve. I have agents, you know."

A shrewd gleam brought new ugliness to Clipper's eyes. He had heard of The Shadow's agents. It would be smart stuff—using them to get The Face, then disposing of them afterward. Clipper couldn't hide the eagerness that betrayed his new scheme.

"Good stuff," agreed Clipper. "But how am I going to reach those guys and get them to work with me? They only take orders from you, don't they?"

In reply, Clipper saw Cranston pick up the black cloak and hat. He handed the garments to the crook. For the moment, Clipper was puzzled; then he saw Cranston's hand extend the discarded gloves.

"I get it," chuckled Clipper. "You want me to rig up like I was you. Then the guys that work for you will listen to me. How do you handle them—with some password?"

"Usually," replied The Shadow. "Try on the cloak and hat first, Clipper. I must study the appearance that you make."

It seemed like a give-away of The Shadow's game. Any one could stage this Shadow stuff. All he had to do was masquerade in black, spring a shivery laugh, and shoot quick with his guns. If Cranston could pull it, Clipper could.

The Shadow spends a couple of paragraphs calmly walking Clipper through the steps necessary to pull off a convincing Shadow performance, almost like he's directing him. And then this happens:

The back of Clipper's neck was exposed. Though The Shadow's voice was still the leisurely tone of Cranston, his left hand had lost its laziness. Behind Clipper's back, that fist whipped an automatic from a shoulder holster. Clipper didn't scent the move until the muzzle of the .45 iced his neck.

"It won't work, Shadow," rasped Clipper. "You know it as well as I do! One pop from that gat of yours, the mob will pile in and croak you! There's a wicket in that door; they'll use it!"

The Shadow had shifted low behind Clipper's back. The crook could no longer observe the reflection of Cranston's face. He could still feel the pressure of the gun muzzle on his flesh. "Climb off my neck, Shadow," warned Clipper. "It ain't getting you nowhere!"

It was getting The Shadow further than Clipper guessed. The gun muzzle was actually gone from Clipper's neck. His impression that it rested there was merely an after effect, from former pressure.

Crouched low, The Shadow had now reached the door. Before Clipper guessed what was up, The Shadow twisted the door knob. Wrenching the door inward, he pulled himself behind it.

At the same moment, The Shadow snapped a quick command, in a rasp that resembled Clipper's own harsh tone:

"The Shadow's yours, gang! Croak him!"

It ends for Clipper about as well as you'd expect.

One of the things I like most about Mxy is that you can't take shortcuts with him. It's not like how it is with Riddler stories, where you can half-ass the riddles because you know Batman's gonna win once he touches Riddler and the story's gonna end in a punch-up, Mxyzptlk is completely invincible unless you solve the puzzle he presents, and you'd think of course that, surely, he can't fall for it this time.

He's a wise guy, see, he's seen all of Superman's tricks by now, and what's that dumb old Shadow gonna do that he can't see a mile away? This is almost too easy.

It's so easy, in fact, that The Shadow even agrees, he's lost it completely, and the way he could possibly beat Mxyzptlk is by calling one of his agents to save him, and he's prepared a list of some of his smartest, cleverest agents for this moment. But, no, he wouldn't dare put them in such danger against this invincible, immortal genius, someone has to take this list from him and run, but ZOINKS, Mxy's taken the list. So he's gonna start seeing who is it that the Shadda thinks is smart enough to take him.

Clyde BurKe? Like some dimestore journalist's gonna have a shot, just cause he solves crossword puzzles. Lamont Cranston, yeah, more like, LAMEONT CRANSTON. Harry VincenT, who, the dumb kid who tried jumping off a bridge once? Come on, you gotta give me a hand here, Shadda! Let's see, Pietro, what, some cook? Ya kidding? Moe ShrevnitZ...actually, Shrevy's allright, scratch that one. ShrevY, hey, come on, that's cheating, ya just put Shrevnitz's name again, ya dum-dum. Mr Xanadu, hmm, catchy name but probably not a real guy. And Margo Lane. Yeah, smart dame that one, she could probably figger something out. And ya keep writing everyone's name's weird - WAIT

I KNOW WHAT YER TRYING TO DO HERE.

I KNOW YOU GOT SOME CLEVER SCHEME HERE, I'D SEEN THIS BEFORE, IT'S AN OLD TRICK.

YOU EMPHASIZED THE LETTERS SO THE REAL SMARTEST GUY YOU KNOW WOULD BE HIDDEN WITHIN THEM, SO THAT SOMEONE ELSE COULD FIND HIM.

HAH, THAT'S RICH. THAT'S KID'S PLAY. WHAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T FIND THIS

KLTPZYXM

BY MYSELF?

.

.

.

aw crickets...

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16 // Ch 17

Read on: Ao3

--

Killian is reading in the garden when it starts to rain. It’s not a lot, just drops against the thin pages of his book. He’s nearly to the end of Jane Eyre now. He’s honestly ready to be done with the book. Where it had once been enthralling, it now seems tiresome. The pain of the loss of Alice lingers folded in it’s pages.

He’s wondering if he should seek some refuge from the rain, when he looks up to see Emma running across the field. She’s windswept, her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Yet she’s still beautiful, like a Romantic heroine, her dress sticking to her torso. He can tell there are tears in her eyes.

He rises to his feet, striding as quick as he can to her. They meet in the middle. He wraps her in his arms quickly. Something is wrong, he notices instantly, from the slump of her shoulders and the desperateness she clings to him with. Her hands knots in the back of his shirt, holding on to him.

“Emma, love?” He asks into her hair. “Whatever is wrong?”

It must be the statue, he thinks. It must have gotten into her head. He should not have left her there by herself. She had heavy emotions that he should have been there to help her with.

“Killian, I can’t,” she mumbles, her voice half delirious.

“Can’t what?” He prods, fear trickling through his body.

She sniffles and whispers again, “I can’t.”

It’s windy outside, the rain picking up, and he can’t hear her well.

“Come, love,” he says. “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting bad out here.”

She shakes her head against his chest, “No. I can’t.”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “You’re going to catch a cold, love. I want to hear what’s upset you, but some place a bit less damp and cold.”

“No, no,” she says. “We can’t go into the castle. I can’t deal with it.”

“Deal with what, Swan?” He asks, slipping his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. He raises them to his lips to kiss them softly. They are already freezing.

“They’re going to tell me that I’m the lost princess,” she whispers. “And I’m not ready for it.”

He tries to process what she is saying. She’s the lost princess. She’s not ready.

His mind flits through all the evidence that he’s been trying to not point out for so long. The uncanny resemblance between the girl in Killian’s memories and Emma herself. The name. The accent. The right history. The scar on her shoulder. Even the chin. Killian’s spent so long trying to get Emma to remember something. For the connection to hold. And maybe, just maybe this visit to the gardens triggered the very thing that Killian’s been dreaming of. Maybe, even after last night’s fight, she has finally had the epiphany that he knows, he’s certain, must be coming.

But maybe that’s not it? Killian doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Reality rushes through him. Maybe the Queen or Regina just think that Emma is the lost princess and they want her to go public about it for publicity. Maybe now they’re manipulating her, asking her to pose as the princess. For what? For Misthaven Morale?

He’s going to need more information. Emma’s given him such few words, but his mind is spinning with possibilities. He knows, he’s certain, that something fundamental, potentially something he’s yearned for, is changing right here and now.

He brushes his hand against her hair softly, like he would a timid animal. She curls into him more, shivering.

What she needs, he realizes, obviously isn’t to go back into the castle. She needs to talk and in more than one way, unfreeze.

“Come love,” he whispers into her hair.

He leads her out of the castle grounds, the statues and winter garden behind them. Looking back now, he’s uncertain why he thought it was a good idea to take her there when she was in a bizarre state from the night before. As they weave down the cobblestone, she sniffles now, looking a bit less anxious. He thanks the gods for that.

There is a little tea shop in the grey stone shops lining the road. Called “The Castle Gate Cafe,” it’s lace doily sort of place. The counter boasts an assortment of cakes. He situates Emma in a table that’s tucked into a bay window off to the side that overlooks a damp patch of garden.

As he orders an Americano, a cappuccino, and a slice of lemon lavender cake, he glances back at Emma. Her face is distant, as if her thoughts are in another world.

When he comes back to join her, he presses a cappuccinos into her hands. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, her shivering subsiding.

“Sorry,” she says, after another pensive sip. “I must have seemed crazy back there. Or pathetic.”

“Emma, love, you seem traumatized,” he tells her.

She swallows, “I think I am a little.”

He takes a bit of the lemon cake. It’s sweet and soothing. He puts a piece of it on a fork and passes it to Emma. She takes the bite and gives him a smile.

“I was really affected by what I saw in gardens. I felt so ashamed for scamming the queen. I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. I was like in a weird trance or something, I swear. I felt like an out of body feeling, I don’t know.”

He takes a bite of cake and nods at her to continue.

She rambles, ”So, I went into the castle and all of a sudden, Mary Margaret was there and I just had to tell her everything.”

Killian chokes on his cake, “Everything?”

“Yeah, about the opera and our old plan and everything,” Emma manages.

He frowns knowing this means risking her security in Mishaven, her trust with the Queen, and the possibility of her returning to the country- and to him. “What happened?”

“She didn’t care. Killian, it’s crazy. She said that it doesn’t make a difference. She loves me,” Emma admits.

He reaches out to take her hand. Killian knows how much this means to her- to get the Queen’s affection and approval, to be loved by a parental-type figure in the way she’s always yearned to be. He knows it because he’s wanted it too. That’s part of why he’s never taken Ruby’s Granny’s generosity for granted. He rubs his thumb against her palm, part of him so understands and is proud for Emma.

“That’s marvelous, Swan,” he says.

She takes another sip of cappuccino, before she presses her lips together, and looks up at him.

“But then all of a sudden, Prime Minister Mills walked in,” she tells him.

He lets an eyebrow lift in place of a question.

“And she said that she took DNA from us both, without either of us knowing,” Emma says.

Killian thinks back to the week before, the suspected break-in. Of course it wasn’t the hooded man, it was the Prime Minister.

“We’re related,” Emma tells him. “I’m Mary Margaret’s daughter.”

So he was right.

He’s been right all along. It’s her. Emma is the girl from his childhood. It was Emma who he used to play games with in the castle courtyard. It was Emma who he used to eat sweets with in the kitchens when the cook would make them an extra treat. It was Emma who he ran across the field with that dark night. It was Emma who saw his brother right before he died. It was Emma who was now his sovereign. Emma.

“You’re the lost princess,” Killian says.

He feels a weird bit of emotion well up in him, a feeling of completeness that now is crescendoing. The girl who disappeared that night has been found. The lost girl who never had a family has been welcomed home.

When Emma looks up at him and sees the emotion in his face, something changes in her too. Tears spring again to her eyes. He quickly moves from his seat to slide in the booth next to her. His arms wrap around her. His lips kiss her hair. He tries to hide his sniffles, but he can’t.

She wraps her arms back around him, burying her face in his chest.

“We found you, Emma,” he whispers. “You came home to us.”

She sniffles.

“Killian, I don’t know how to react to this,” she murmurs back. “You’re crying, Mary Margaret is crying. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t feel like a princess. I don’t feel like my life is changing. I still don’t remember anything. It’s not like a sudden dramatic flashback or anything. All of these people keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be crying, but I don’t even know.”

Killian tries to be attentive to her. He realizes that Emma isn’t experiencing this moment as he is. He needs to be there for her. Princess or not, Emma is his girlfriend. She needs him to support her through this emotionally cataclysmic moment.

“Don’t know what?” He asks, brushing another hand through her hair.

“How to be a princess? How to be a daughter? I’ve only ever been Emma Swan. I’ve only ever been lost or alone or fighting for myself. I just want to go back to Durham and write my thesis. I don’t want to learn how to curtsey or use dumb shrimp forks or whatever people do in those Hallmark lost princess movies.”

“I’m not quite sure what a Hallmark is,” Killian replies.

“It’s not important,” Emma says, sniffling and sighing. “It’s just. I’m not really sure I ever wanted this.”

“Emma, you have a family,” he says emphatically, tears still in his eyes. “You have a real life fairy tale. You weren’t reading Blanche Neige all these years to run away from that. Princess Emmaline Georgette Analise Charmant Blanchard Nolan, I promise this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She smiles and sniffles and nods, “Yeah, I think I know that. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”

He hugs her tight.

“I still don’t know what to do,” Emma says. “I ran away from the Queen.”

“You ran away?” He laughs.

“Yeah, I didn’t know how to react and she was crying and I absolutely couldn’t be in that room another moment,” she says.

“Oh love. Oh Swan,” He says, amused. His voice is still ragged from tears. “I think we should go find your Mum now. She’ll be wanting to hug you too after all these years.”

--

They walk back into the castle. Emma has to fight against everything inside her that says to turn her back, head for the Misthaven airport, and take off for North Carolina. But Killian’s hand inside her own helps, a lot actually. She lets it ground her, stabilize her. He’s still looking at her with tears in his eyes that makes her uncomfortable, but she’s managing.

Queen Mary Margaret and Prime Minister Mills are standing in the foyer when they arrive. She realizes that everyone else is gone- the secretaries, the dignitaries and diplomats, or whoever else might be in the castle. It’s just them.

“Your Royal Highness,” Regina says, “I’m truly sorry for springing the news on you in an improper way. I apologize.”

Emma tucks some hair behind her ears. It’s still damp from the rain earlier, which has now turned into a gentle mist.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m sorry for running away. It’s an old habit, I guess.”

“Emma,” the queen says finally, her voice choked up.

Mary Margaret takes a step forward, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.

Emma realizes that like it or not, this is her life now. She can keep running from it. Or she can embrace it. It doesn’t mean she needs to give up everything. Those details- her thesis, her livelihood, the dumb shrimp forks- they can be sorted out later. But right now, she’s just found out that this woman who has been nothing but a kind motherly figure to her these last few months is her actual real life mother. The least she can do is hug her.

She crosses the space and steps into her arms. It feels like melting, like comfort. Like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day. Like turning the doorknob on your apartment door. Like a bowl sized cappuccino made just how she likes it. Like home. Mary Margaret, Killian, Misthaven- this was her home. She has a home. She is home.

“I’ve had a few assistants go out to get some Mamie’s coffee and croissants for you,” Mary Margaret says. “And we’ll call in some take away later for dinner.”

Emma doesn’t say that they just got coffee, because really, she always wants coffee. And it sounds, oh so cozy, to drink more coffee in this castle with the Queen. With her mom.

“I was thinking that I could give you a tour of the castle,” Mary Margaret says. “And then maybe, this is silly, but we’ve got these old home videos David used to take of you as a child. They’ve been too painful for me to ever watch, but maybe, since you’re here- we could watch them together.”

Emma smiles. She could do this. And maybe the home videos might even help her process and visualize and remember.

“That sounds great,” Emma tells her.

“I’ll just see you later then,” Killian whispers from behind her.

“No, no,” Mary Margaret says. “Please, Killian, you are family. Stay.”

Emma turns to smile at him and offer him her hand. “Stay.”

--

It’s late that night when they make it back to Emma’s apartment. After the long, harrowing, revelatory day, the clean white apartment and cozy house plants are the perfect greeting.

Emma is pretty sure she’s never been so tired. The rain and the emotions of the day have left her past drained. She leans on Killian as they walk in.

“Shower,” she mutters, as she stumbles towards the bathroom.

When Killian doesn’t follow immediately, she turns to him, “You too.”

He chuckles, before following her into the bathroom. She turns on the shower and cranks it up as high as it will go. That’s all she can think of right now- warm water and then a long sleep in her bed.

She strips off her clothes. Despite how tired she is, she glances behind her to see Killian’s expression. It’s something of admiration as he takes her in. She smirks and raises her eyebrows, before stepping in.

He’s inside the stream with her, sooner than she expects. The hot water alongside Killian’s arms wrapping around her lulls her and she feels the stress of the day leave her. She lets her eyes flutter closed as she leans back against his chest.

“What did you think of the evening with your mum?” He asks.

Emma smiles at the fact she has a mother. It’s a fact that is going to take a very long time to accept and set in, but for now she’s honoring her personal intention to embrace it.

“It was good,” Emma says.

“You know you can be honest with me,” Killian tells her, his hands moving to rub her shoulders. She realizes all the tensions she’s held in.

“No, I’m being honest,” she insists. “It was like having a family. A very rich, ridiculous family. But a genuine cozy little family.”

Killian nuzzles her hair, before moving to get her lavender aromatherapy body wash. He dabs it on a loofa and begins to rub it all over her.

“It was weird with those videos,” Emma murmurs.

She thinks back to the happy memory from less than an hour ago: of her, Killian, and Mary Margaret piled on a couch in one of the more comfortable lounges of the hilltop castle. They’d had takeaway pizza, which Emma could process now as a gesture from the Queen to be “chill” and let her ease her way into this.

They’d watched these videos of Emma with her family as a child. Baby Princess Emma waltzing with her father. Baby Princess Emma riding around on Prancer in the woods. Baby Princess Emma giggling as she plays tag with Killian down palace corridors. It’s weird to look at that little girl and know that it was her who did those things.

“I guess,” Emma says, as Killian switches from washing to shampooing, “I’ve been thinking for the last months, since I got here, that Princess Emma is this other person. A person who probably hates me for impersonating her. A person who is far more innocent than myself. A person who is probably dead.”

Killian starts rubbing shampoo into her hair and it’s fundamentally soothing. She lets out a soft sigh.

“It’s just weird to think that she’s me,” Emma says. “We are one in the same.”

She turns to face Killian and looks up at him. “You aren’t saying anything. I’m just monologuing here.”

He shakes his head as he runs his finger along the scar on her shoulder.

“I know, love,” He says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve thought you were her this whole time. I know you don’t want to hear it.”

She takes his hand from her shoulder to bring it to her lips to kiss his palm.

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says. “As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew you had your suspicions the whole time. Even last night, you did. And in the end it doesn’t matter, because here we are anyway.”

Killian reaches behind her to turn off the water. He kisses her softly before opening the curtain. He passes her a towel and she wraps it around her shoulders, following him out of the bathroom.

She pulls on a Duke Writing Studio t-shirt and a pair of underwear, before toweling off her hair and crawling into bed. Killian is already there, arms ready to pull her close.

Her eyes flicker closed naturally and she sighs softly.

She supposes that is another good, but terrifying thing about this whole situation: every obstacle of distance that was between her and Killian has faded. Misthaven is her home now.

She knows that she has plenty of thoughts about that to fret over in the future. A tendril of fear and another of anticipation wind in her stomach, but for now the wave exhaustion crashes over and pulls her under.

--

The next morning, Emma tries to fall into her normal schedule. She needs routine and hard work to ground her. She always has. It’s a coping mechanism.

Killian is still sleeping when she wakes. She makes coffee in the French Press before heading to her desk overlooking the park. She pulls the soft grey blanket off the couch and wraps around herself, before opening up her thesis materials. She’s just a happy little Emma in her quaint, minimalist Misthaven apartment enjoying her coffee and working on her PhD.

She doesn’t know much about what the future holds, but it has to hold her dissertation. She’s spent so much time on it. She’s put in so much work. Looking at it now, she hopes that she won’t look ridiculous for writing her thesis on her own mother’s work or specializing in the literature from the country she is now sovereign of. But she thinks that if she can keep the Blanche Neige secret under wraps and she can probably pass off a decent thesis.

She smiles fondly at herself as she starts typing- she can be the first Princess with a PhD. She googles it just to fact check herself. Frowning, she realizes that a Japanese princess has already beat her to it.

A princess , she reminds herself. She’s still processing it. If she’s being honest, she’s probably at a sort of denial stage in the process because she’s feeling pretty chill about it. The shock of it has worn off, but she’s certain that the reality hasn’t set in yet either.

“How is my princess this morning?” A groggy voice asks from behind her.

She turns to see a disheveled Killian leaning against the door frame of her bedroom. He’s just in boxers and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

She purrs, “Come here.”

He walks behind her chair and loops his arms around her. She feels the scruff of his beard on her cheek as he leans down to give her a kiss.

She turns her head to kiss him on the lips, her hands cupping his face to pull him down to her. His body curves around hers to deepen the kiss and pull her close. She feels so soft and delicate, like she’s something so precious to him. She’s grown to like that feeling- like she matters.

Her arms lift to his shoulders and he uses his own arms to lift her. Her legs curl around his torso.

“Sorry about the coffee breath,” she whispers, self conscious.

“Dammit Emma,” He whispers, as he falls onto the couch.

She transitions perfectly into straddling him. Her hands dive into his gloriously disheveled hair. His head lowers to kiss her neck, then her collarbone, before he settles to lick at the base of her throat.

She hums in pleasure. All her thoughts, her worries, her cares are gone. All she can think of is Killian, the man she loves- and it’s bliss.

Then a phone's ringtone strikes the air and the spell is broken.

Emma stumbles off of him to head for her bedroom where her phone is lying on her bedside table.

“Hello,” she asks, not pausing to glance at the number.

“Emma, darling,” replies Mary Margaret.

Her mom. The queen. Blanche Neige. It’s almost dizzying.

“Oh hey,” Emma says, sitting on the side of her bed.

“I was wondering if you and Killian would like to join me and Regina for brunch,” she says. “We have a lot to go over- publicity, citizenship, castles, balls.”

Emma can hear a smile in her voice, but her own stomach churns. The denial phase is slowly slipping away into something else, some sort of reality setting in. She can’t have slow and silly mornings with her boyfriend because she has princess responsibilities.

But she feels, alongside of that, a weird sense of duty well up in her. Of course, she must be at this meeting. She can tell that just like the night before, the Queen is trying to make it easier for her. She isn’t throwing her into royal duties, just inviting her to a casual brunch.

“Yes, certainly,” Emma says. “We’ll be there.”

“It’ll be at my place,” Mary Margaret says. “The Summer Palace. I’ll send a car for you in about a half an hour. See you then!”

Killian pokes his head in and she explains the brunch meeting.

“I’ve actually got work this morning, love,” He explains. “I can skip it, for certain, darling, if you want. I don’t want you to go alone if you are nervous.”

Emma can’t believe she forgot that Killian has a life outside of her. But of course he does. She senses that everything for them is going to change very soon. “Publicity” the queen said. It may be one of the last times that Killian will get to work in peace, or work at all.

“It’s fine,” Emma says, rising to meet him and kissing his cheek. “Go to work, Killian.”

They launch into action, mutually displeased to leave behind their moment on the couch, but both busy with their plans. Emma changes into a pair of black jeans and a sweater, hoping that it’s a nice enough outfit for brunch with the Queen. Her hair, messy and tangled from sleeping it in wet, goes up into what she hopes suffices as an elegant top knot. A spritz of perfume, a bit of concealer and mascara, a peck on Killian’s lips- and she’s out the door to meet the car.

The Christmas decorations are up in their full glory when Emma arrives at the summer palace: fairy lights, garland, and wreaths of evergreen adoring the palace. She exits the car and is greeted by a doorman who informs her that the Prime Minister and Her Majesty are in the Forest Room. Emma nods and makes her way through the palace, trimmed with Christmas cheer, before finding the tea room.

“Emma, darling,” Mary Margaret says, crossing the room to envelop her in a hug.

Emma wants to resist, because that is her instinct. Flashes of Ingrid, of other foster parents flash through her mind. People she thought she could trust, but proved her wrong. It’s hard to believe that there is actually someone here who truly loves her and won’t leave. But it’s true. So she lets her mother hug her and lets herself relax into the hug. A part of her that has always been raw and ragged, now feels soothed.

“Did you sleep alright?” She asks.

Emma nods.

“Well there is fruit and patisserie on the sideboard, coffee and tea as well. If you prefer a hot breakfast, you can just order from one of the footmen,” The queen directs.

Not being fussy, Emma takes some strawberries and a pain au chocolat. She fills one of the dainty mugs with coffee and then joins Mary Margaret and Regina at the table.

“Shall we dive into it?” The Prime Minister asks. “We need to decide when to send out the press release. I’ve already had it drafted and you can review it if you please.”

She pushes Emma a piece of paper with the official Misthaven seal on it. Emma tries to skim it, but her mind is too all over the place to focus.

“I think it’s best to do it as soon as possible,” Regina informs her. “It would be disastrous if the information was leaked from someone else. Obviously there will be a lot of commotion about it at first. This is, afterall, a nearly impossible event to happen- lost princess finds her way home. So I expect that we’ll have a fair bit of international coverage. It’ll be best if you lay low during that time, avoiding reporters and the like. However, once it dies down, you should be fine. Misthaven is too small to have the insane paparazzi that English and Swedish royals face.”

Emma nods. The words paparazzi makes her squirm and want to run away. She thinks about the simple pleasure of drinking coffee at Mamies or sitting, editing her paper, in Killian’s pub. She wonders if she’ll ever get that pleasure again. Or at least how long she’ll have to wait to do that again.

“We’ll hire you security as well,” The queen adds. “At least until the hype dies down and even after, so we all know you are safe.”

Emma nods again. She wishes she brought a notebook to take notes.

“You’ll obviously move into the house in the Southern Valley,” the Queen tells her. “And we’ll have to make plans for the Christmas ball. It’s a bit last minute for a dress, but we can figure something out.”

Emma feels her forehead crinkle, all of it hitting her too fast to process.

“But, I’m leaving Misthaven next Thursday to be back in America for Christmas,” Emma says. “I already bought the ticket.”

The only way that Emma could buy the ticket was through her grant and fellowship. There was no way she could afford it on her own. She couldn’t just buy another one because she changed her mind about when she wanted to go back.

“What do you mean going back to America?” Regina asks, perplexed.

“To go back to Duke and finish my PhD,” Emma explains.

“Well clearly that isn’t important now, is it?” Regina says.

“What do you mean?” Emma says, startled. Her mind races with defensive thoughts. She can’t lose her thesis. “That’s everything. My life’s work.”

“Emma will finish her PhD,” Mary Margaret says. “Of course she will.”

Emma feels her pounding heart decelerate.

“It might be in your best interest, however,” the Queen says. “To take a semester off. See if you can take a small leave of absence. I’m sure it’s understandable, just so you have time to transition.”

Emma wants to say no. She wants to say that she spends Christmas with Belle and her father each year. She wants poinsettias in the green house and presents under the tree.

But then she thinks about waking up on Christmas morning with Killian beside her. A Christmas tree in her own house. Emma’s never even entertained the thought of having a house of her own before because it seemed too impossible. But now she’ll have one and a family of her own to spend Christmas with. Yes, she’ll have to stay. It seems silly now to have even thought otherwise.

“What about my flight home?” She asks. “I already bought it.”

“Don’t take it, obviously,” Regina says. “I’m not even sure why we are talking about this. You’ve just inherited a hundred million euros, I’m not quite sure why you’re hung up on this.”

Oh.

Emma tries to process a hundred million.

She thinks about stealing concealer from the drugstore because she couldn’t afford it and she wanted to cover up the bruises.

She thinks of eating a grilled cheese every other day and sleeping in the library.

She thinks of all the opportunities she said no to- studying abroad, nights at the theater, dinners out with professors- because she couldn’t afford it.

And now she has a hundred million euros.

Emma doesn’t realize she is crying until her fat tears fall into her coffee cup, a sob coming out of her chest.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, coming over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, what is it?”

Emma tries to breath and chokes on her breath, a hiccup forming.

“I’ve never had money like that,” she says. “Nothing close to that. I’ve always had to scrape and fight for scraps. I don’t know how to have this life now.”

Mary Margaret and Regina exchange a look and the Prime Minister leaves the room.  The queen lowers herself down so that she meet Emma face to face.

“Emma,” the queen begins, rubbing her back as tears tumble from Emma’s eyes. “I am terribly sorry that you’ve lived a life you didn’t deserve. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to experience such horrible poverty and so much financial anxiety. I’m sorry for every moment you’ve been lonely. Every moment you’ve wondered where your mum was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tuck you in at night and take you on nice holidays and buy you new books. I can’t begin to understand what your life has been like, but I can tell you it’s going to be better now.”

Emma sniffles and looks up at her.

“You’ll never want or fret about money. You’ll be able to help others with that money, make a difference in the world. You and Killian will be able to give your kids everything you didn’t have,” The queen says.

The queen beckons Emma into another hug and she obliges.

“You are going to have a good life now, Emma,” the Queen tells her.

Eventually Emma’s tears lull and Regina returns. They start to make plans for Emma’s move, which is to happen in two days. They take her measurements to send to the dressmaker for Emma’s dress for the ball, which will also double as her public debut. And they pass along a debit card for her new royal bank account. Regina advises she starts updating her wardrobe with pieces that are “couture” and informs her that once her move is finished, a stylist will come to help her look a bit more sophisticated.

The comment makes Emma want to roll her eyes, but she decides that isn’t very princess-like and resists.

It’s overwhelming and totally new. But Emma is trying, with all her might, to shove the walls down. If they come up now, she’ll only hurt Mary Margaret and Killian. She hasn’t worked this hard to turn on them.

As the driver takes her back down from the mountaintop palace, she leans her head against the window. She imagines herself turning into a tree, roots growing deep into the ground, branches reaching towards the sky. She tries to think of herself as being unmoved here, firm of purpose and place. Growing a home here in this place, here in Misthaven.

She has the driver drop her off at Mamie’s, where she gets a cappuccino and reads a book of fairy tales. Emma decides she needs to make the most of her last few days of anonymity. It starts to rain again, the weather decidedly cold now, Indian summer behind them. From Mamie’s, she can see Killian’s pub across the street and across the blustery street she can just make him out at the counter. She sends him a text telling him to come over when he finishes his shift.

As she flicks through her phone, she realizes she has a text from Belle.

Sorry to change our usual plans girl, but Will invited me to Misthaven for Christmas to meet his family. Any chance I can convince you to stay in Misthaven for Xmas as well?

Emma taps back.

Haha I just decided today to stay in Misthaven for Christmas too.

Emma smirks to herself and sips her cappuccino as she waits for a response.

Yes, amazing!! Can you stay with Killian then? Is it okay if Will and I take back his apartment?

Rolling her eyes, Emma replies:

In a huge plot twist, I’m actually getting my own place in Misthaven. I’ll explain more later on facetime when I am not at a coffee shop. Loooong story.

[batmansymbol]

Omg this chapter with Ron! And you posted a chapter count! I absolutely love your writing and this story ❤️ what did you used to think of Ron and what made you change your mind about him? I'm having similar feelings Tm

sweet anon!! thank you so much for reading and yaaay for the Feelings TM :) honestly, i’ve always loved Ron as a character. he feels so real to me, flawed but in a way that’s consistent with his strengths. it’s more my feelings on Ron & Hermione’s relationship that have changed over the years.

i had this debate with somebody a few years ago about the way Ron is portrayed in Goblet of Fire, and how that plays into many readers’ negative feelings surrounding Ron/Hermione ... idk, though. some of it i stand by, but since then, i’ve realized that i would have been perfectly, 100% happy with Ron and Hermione getting together if Ron hadn’t been so short-changed by the major plot beats of Deathly Hallows. i’ve started to feel that DH does a real disservice to the Ron of books 1-6.

first off, it seems so ridiculous that Ron would be the grouchiest one while Horcrux hunting, JKR claiming he’s used to a comfortable life at home?? Ron grew up in extreme poverty! His parents’ bank account in Chamber of Secrets is virtually empty!! With seven children, one underpaid working parent, and a family culture that refuses to accept help, I find it really hard to believe that the Weasleys didn’t struggle with food insecurity at some point in Ron’s life.

tbh, if anyone should have been the grouchiest during camping, it should’ve been hermione, lol. when has she ever handled stress particularly well? she’s gotten snappish during exam seasons dating back to the first book.

more rambly thoughts under cut

honestly, the way Ron’s prodigal subplot plays out in DH is, imo, the reason that many people leave the series dissatisfied that he and Hermione get together. We see a Horcrux-brainwashed Ron who’s uncharacteristically resentful and snide, then totally absent, and then, because Hermione is so furious with Ron when he returns, he spends part of the book forced into the role of a hen-pecked husband type, steeping in Hermione’s stony silence or making desperate attempts to placate her. When I was a kid, I read all this and got really annoyed with both Ron and Hermione. Now I’m just annoyed with the way it was written.

Like, okay. I understand that JKR wanted to address, once and for all, Ron’s insecurities. Fair. And the forest scene where Ron saves Harry, then destroys Slytherin’s locket, is a good one: it both unveils Ron’s Harry/Hermione worries and offers Ron an act of heroism. That’s clearly what JKR was going for with this snippet of conversation:

‘You've sort of made up for it tonight,' said Harry. 'Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life.'

'That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was,' Ron mumbled.

'Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was,' said Harry. 'I've been trying to tell you that for years.'

But this is basically it for the peak of Ron’s arc in the book, and I don’t think it goes far enough. I don’t think Ron needed to save Harry, to get reassurances from Harry, because that still fundamentally revolves around Harry. I think Ron needed to blossom out in a different, complementary direction—to develop the strength that we saw all the way back in Philosopher’s Stone: Ron is a strategist, and this is a war. I mean, come on. Chess is a war game!!!! lol

Imo, for the final book, Ron really deserved a sequence of leadership, designed, planned, and executed in his own way. (Maybe he could have designed the Gringotts or Ministry break-in?) Sure, JKR dropped the ball in books 2-6 developing his strategic strengths, but she still could have drawn on Ron’s groundedness, his deep knowledge of the Wizarding World, and his clear-eyed loyalty as a basis for him being the strategist of the group. She could have claimed that in Harry’s absence from the Quidditch team in HBP, Ron had continued to develop his strategic skills as a team leader.

Either way, Ron certainly shouldn’t have been detoured at Shell Cottage for months (!) because of bad luck with the Snatchers. I really feel he should have been undertaking something independent, ultimately proving to himself that he’s his own person outside the frame of Harry’s reference. Then, in service of the Ron/Hermione relationship, we could have seen Hermione’s admiration for Ron’s abilities and achievements in the way that Ron admires hers, which is especially necessary because neither Hermione nor the reader got to see Ron’s big Quidditch win in OotP..... aaaaaa

anyway, given all these feelings, you can see why i did what i did with the fic. i really feel that ron was short-changed at the last second instead of being able to display all the ways that he’s grown over the series (getting over his Harry-as-Champion complex in GoF, turning from self-hating Quidditch failure to triumphant Keeper in both OotP and HBP). but that’s life!!!

[lakemojave]

Supergiant Games: Same Bones, Different Skeletons

I just finished a retrospective of all 4 games by Supergiant on my twitch channel, and I have a few thoughts I wanna connect and questions I wanna explore. My love for these games is real strong and i could write a whole essay just gushing about them, but I wanna give some thought to what makes them so compelling: not just to me, but to damn near everyone I’ve talked to on their discord who feels the same. I myself rank Bastion among my favorite games ever, and Hades is climbing that list at a clip. And even though I could take or leave Transistor or Pyre, they keep pulling me back.

But I could talk a whole lot about each game’s appeal and waste a lot of time. I’ve gushed enough to my friends about how Bastion and Pyre’s rugged, apocalyptic atmospheres draw me in with their incredible vibrance to contrast. I could talk about how Ashley Barrett’s vocal tracks carry Transistor on their shoulders, or what makes Hades so much goddamn fun that the game doesn’t really need to be much else. But I realize that if the Supergiant library is so universally appealing to me, there must be some sort of connective tissue between them--some sort of fundamental similarity that makes them work. After thinking about it for more than five minutes, it turns out there are many; some are pretty obvious, and some less so. This brings me to the conclusion that the Supergiant library, with its four wildly distinct and different games, still follow a noticeable formula--one that is flexible enough to allow such completely different games.

Game Design

The Supergiant library are all essentially top down action rpgs, Transistor having the most elements of the genre. This is still a pretty weak connection, given how different they all play from each other. The only two that have much overlap in the most basic sense are Bastion and Hades, with the same general fast paced, real time combat. On closer examination, the two games have enough differences in the variety of mechanics at play, (Bastion with its multiple weapon slots and a shield, Hades with its sheer number of commands) that even they are hard to compare.

There are, however, several mechanics that the library loves to use. The first that comes to mind are the difficulty conditions: idols in Bastion, limiters in Transistor, titan stars in Pyre, and the pact of punishment--and arguably Chaos boons as well--in Hades. Their function is simple: increase your challenge for a little extra reward. Bastion and Pyre go the extra mile by fixing in world building elements to this mechanic; Bastion’s idols inform about the game’s pantheon, while Pyre informs about its, well, evil pantheon. The use of these conditions is indicative of Supergiant’s game design philosophy as a whole--you, the player, can make the game as hard or easy as it takes for you to have fun. The inclusion of infinite lives in Bastion or god mode or hell mode in Hades further builds on this point. This library is designed for all sorts of audiences, whether they want to be challenged by their games or simply immersed in the story.

Another repeating mechanic in these games are the use of challenge rooms, which started in Bastion as the training grounds and, to a lesser extent, Who Knows Where. In Transistor they are the sandbox test rooms, and in Pyre they are the beyonder crystal’s scribe trials. They appear in Hades a little more ambiguously; the infernal troves or Erebus rooms are not quite the same, but they serve a similar function. This function is a momentary break from the gameplay loop for a little extra reward, much like the previously discussed conditions. Transistor and Hades’ challenge rooms offer relatively negligible rewards; the sandbox rooms simply offer xp and unlock tracks for the jukebox, while the Erebus tiles offer double the reward for any normal tile. Bastion and Pyre go the extra mile by giving specific, long term rewards for their challenges. In Bastion’s training grounds, the Kid earns weapon specific abilities that are among the game’s most powerful; in Pyre’s scribe trials, exiles can earn character specific talismans that feed their specialization. For the most part, these rooms give the player a low stakes opportunity to practice, hone their preferred playstyle, and reward the effort, all while being completely optional.

Akin to these breaks in the game loop are designated resting areas/hub worlds. The Bastion, the Sandbox, the Blackwagon, and the House of Hades each offer a moment to interact with characters and lore, goof around with the environment, buy permanent upgrades, or just take a break. Transistor utilizes this function the least of the library, since it never once requires the player to enter the space. Pyre utilizes it the most since it has the most breaks in both frequency and number. In a way, this decision is both a game design and storytelling choice. Between all four games, perhaps excluding Transistor, this is where the majority of story beats take place. It is where the player can read up on some fresh lore or meet the ever growing cast of characters, and eventually grow to cherish them (as I often do playing this library). Without little breaks like these, the climactic or world/story shaking events that take place out in the actual playable space have no impact or narrative weight. The fact that all these sort of interactions are completely voluntary also rewards the player in the storytelling sense; by choosing to engage with the figures of the story rather than having that choice decided for them, the player feels as though they themselves have agency in the story unfolding.

Style

Perhaps the most distinct part of the Supergiant library, (and perhaps what I personally love most about it) is its aesthetics. There are few games that look, feel, and sound the way these games do. Yet, the four of them hardly resemble each other. Bastion is a rugged, frontier-esque sci fi apocalypse, Transistor is a sleek, cyberpunk apocalypse, Pyre is a high fantasy purgatory space, and Hades is simply stylized Greek mythology. It is a shock to remember, then, that these four games are all designed by the same artistic team.

I confess I don’t know much about art, so I don’t have anything too profound to say about Jen Zee’s art style, besides that I like it a lot. It is also worth noting that despite her spearheading art and character design for the whole library, each game still looks visually distinct, and not just in their overall aesthetics. Take the character design of the library, for instance. Bastion’s human figures tend to be short, stocky, with exaggerated facial features. Their colors are highly saturated, with a soft, almost blurry quality that gives a level of warmth to the fatalistic atmosphere. Transistor’s characters, barring Red, tend to be based around palettes centered around a single color, such as the Camerata red and the spectrum of the function character profiles. Pyre is the first of the library to use talking portraits, which contrast robed figures with stark color palettes and simple designs with unrobed figures with much noisier details. Hades is easily the most distinct of all four, using simple colors and thick outlines on all its characters. The most consistent feature of all their designs, as usual, is how wildly different they are. For Hades, Zee makes sure that characters only look alike in any way if they have some relation to each other, such as the Furies, Achilles and Patroclus, or Zagreus and his parents. On the whole, the versatility and variety in the character design is impeccable.

What I most enjoy about these games is Darren Korb’s soundtracks, which continue to vary wildly. From the closet-recorded Bastion soundtrack to the whole two and a half Hades score, Korb’s scoring keeps improving and changing in the 10 years Supergiant has operated. His music, which adds and changes motifs as each game progresses, contributes to the atmosphere just as much as the visuals do. Whenever he teams up with Ashley Barret to add vocal tracks to certain parts of the game, they always manage to place them at critical narrative or emotional beats, turning them into the games’ most memorable moments. The team goes one step further every game by incorporating a musician or source of music into each game, giving the music just as much character as the one performing it. It also sneaks its way into the aforementioned hub worlds by providing the player a means to play their favorite tracks whenever they want (except in Hades, where they have to pay in game for that privilege). In essence, Korb makes sure to give each game a distinct feel through its music, but familiar enough to connect the library in the player’s mind.

Just as Supergiant gets so much mileage from Korb and Zee alike, they also manage time and time again to make use of Logan Cunningham’s top notch voice over work. Originally the sole voice actor at Supergiant Games, Cunningham continued on from famously narrating Bastion as Rucks to remaining a ubiquitous voice throughout the library. His role as the Transistor in the game proper drives the emotional core of that game, and his role as the Voice/Archjustice proves to be a solidly effective, yet distant antagonist. In Hades, his roles are somewhat overshadowed by Korb’s performance as Zagreus, (which I’m still blown away he still had time to do) but his performance as Lord Hades is still excellent. Supergiant also uses Cunningham in Hades to sort of satirize how often he narrates for them by casting him as the narrating Old Man, then allowing Zagreus to break the fourth wall and acknowledge him. It is as if the team at Supergiant knows how much they use the same stylistic team, then mocking that same choice.

To other studios: learn from Supergiant

I’m running out of things to say and my ball of yarn that connects all these newspapers and polaroids on my wall is running thin. I would talk more about Supergiant really knows how to end a game and frequently does so in similar ways, or that their library is a masterclass in character-driven stories, but this little essay is long enough.

Instead, I wanna talk about how Supergiant does something right which so many AAA developers and publishers don’t seem to understand. To contrast with the Supergiant library, consider Assassin’s Creed, another franchise I have spent an embarrassing amount of time playing. This franchise releases a game almost every year, and in my experience, when a company does this, you tend to get the same pig with a different paint. From the original Assassin’s Creed to their most recent release, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, the differences seem to be night and day. Combat and free running are far more complex than they once were, rpg elements to story and gameplay have been introduced, composers, writers, voice actors, and cast members have changed with each release, and the sheer size of the game has become staggering. Yet, in the 13 years and 11 main releases in the game’s history, (plus spinoffs) any change has not only felt incremental over time, but fundamentally insignificant to the skeleton of the game. Assassin’s Creed 1 and 2 play and feel differently, but the differences are subtle. The bones are different, but every year they assemble to form a vaguely Assassin’s Creed shaped thing. People who play games tend to hate this and frequently berate companies for this practice; Bethesda and GameFreak receive the same criticism that their games are so formulaic that their new releases might as well be carbon copies of the ones before it.

Yet, Supergiant Games, with its four games over ten years, has used essentially the same team and building blocks to make games that can hardly be considered interchangeable. Whether its the passion of this humble little indie studio or the sheer talent of this team, Supergiant takes the same pile of bones and assembles them in a different shape each time with care and attention. They are proof that a formula doesn’t need to be tweaked or altered or given a different coat of paint in order to be accepted; instead the formula needs versatility, the means to produce a fresh result each time. It also works best when we adore the result every time.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

invisible string

Prompt 1 (invisible string by Taylor Swift) from the Klaine/CC Valentine’s Challenge 2021. 

Thank you to @klaineccfanficlibrary for jumpstarting this series for me!

Summary: they were always meant to be together

Announcement: this is also the first installment of my folklore series. It pairs well with Lover. I’ll be arranging the stories at some point so they read in track order. Enjoy!

AO3

Green was the color of the grass

Where I used to read at Centennial Park

I used to think I would meet somebody there

Blaine thought it must be strange to sit in the park trying to read but getting distracted by the greenness of the green. The people walking past him didn’t comment on his odd behavior. New Yorkers didn’t care about what other people were doing, they had places to be and no time to care about weirdos admiring grass while sitting on park benches. 

But Kurt Hummel wasn’t a true New Yorker. He may fit right in with the city folk in terms of fashion and efficiency yet Kurt was still fundamentally a small-town boy. 

He had an eye for details and Blaine had an eye for Kurt.

He loved watching Kurt perfect a particularly challenging dance routine in class. He enjoyed watching Kurt analyze food menus when they went to get lunch together as if deciding on the right dish was going to affect how the rest of his day was laid out. Blaine liked walking with Kurt and actively seeing Kurt take in his surroundings, the strangers walking past them, and the city itself all around them. Sometimes, if Blaine was extremely lucky that day, Kurt would turn to him with a smile—just a little grin, no teeth—and make some sort of comment about what a fellow student was wearing and chuckle under his breath about it when it was particularly bad or sigh in awe if he had been out-fashioned. 

On that Friday morning, Blaine was waiting to meet Kurt for their usual coffee date. Well, not quite a date, just a tri-weekly coffee before their shared dance class. Sitting on a park bench admiring the grass's coloring because he didn't have Kurt to admire instead. 

It was in a taxi that same night when Blaine realized he was in love with Kurt Hummel. 

They had been out dancing with some friends from class celebrating the end of midterms week. Kurt and he decided to share a taxi home because they both lived in the dorms. They were slightly sweaty, the cab driver refused to change the station from something other than whatever radio talk show he was listening to, but they didn’t really care. They had each other and didn’t need music anymore. 

Blaine just kept thinking how easy it would be to walk his fingers over to Kurt’s hand and intertwine them. It shocked him so much that he shuttered and Kurt asked him what was wrong. Of course, he stammered out “nothing” and tried to calm himself down.

The taxi wasn’t dark because the city was never dark; Blaine knew if he started to blush Kurt would notice. So he willed himself to breathe and suddenly they were at the campus and going their separate ways while promising to text each other when they were safely inside their dorm. That was that: Blaine was in love with Kurt and he had no idea what to do about it. 

****

Teal was the color of your shirt

When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop

You used to work at to make a little money

Colors were always very important to Kurt. They were a way to express himself without too much fear of being treated definitely. At least the bullies weren’t offended by the colors he wore, just the fact that he existed and was very obviously gay.

Now colors weren’t just shouts into the world about his sexual orientation (though they did help with that as did his love of layers), they were emotional markers for him. Reds for romance, blues for sadness, gray for loneliness, etc.…

He started to notice colors more and more often as he spent considerable amounts of time with a fellow student, Blaine Anderson. Like the yellow bowtie, he wore the first time they grabbed coffee. It had been the first weekend of the spring semester, so late in January that they were discussing the possibility of a snow day during the first week back at school. Kurt had been in his element, plenty of layers to remove in the warmth of the coffee shop. Blaine had adorable light gray earmuffs and mittens resting on the table. 

They learned a lot about each other that day. Blaine had lived in Roosevelt, NY with his older brother for most of his life until moving to the city for university. He really was only an hour from home, he often said. 

They met at NYU. 

Kurt was a Performance Studies major at Tisch and Blaine was an education major but they both found themselves in an elective dance class spring semester. They were both freshmen, new to the city, and had a love of coffee. With dance class at 9 am, they made a habit of meeting for coffee beforehand. Friendship just blossomed from there. 

It was the end of March now, spring break over and done. Blaine was in the middle of this tale of his 16-year-old self working at the yogurt shop, somewhere between him spilling a pint of blueberry yogurt on his teal shirt and the tie-dye effect that occurred, Kurt realized for the first time: I’m in love with him. 

They weren’t even dating. They had only known each other for two months. Yet, here Kurt was walking by this boy’s side laughing at his ridiculous antics, and very much in love. 

****

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

One year after their revelations about each other they were sitting in Centennial Park near where Blaine grew up. Instead of simply admiring the grass, as Blaine usually did when he came here, the couple laid out a blanket and had a picnic in it. Blaine had packed everything but Kurt had made all the food. They were a team now if only for the last six months. It’s been the best six months they had ever spent in New York, which was really saying something for Blaine because he had been living here his entire life and Kurt had spent his whole life fantasizing about it.

But somehow their relationship exceeded all of those fantasies and surpassed all of those previous life experiences. Maybe it was because they were doing this together and not alone. For so long they had both been gray and now they had color. 

They had found a love that was worth everything they had already gone through and worth anything that they would go through in the future because they had each other and they knew it. Even though it only been six months, Kurt and Blaine knew this was going to be forever for both of them. 

One single thread of gold tied them together and neither of them were ever letting go.

[mbti-and-academia]

INTJ vs INTP cognitive mechanics - an analysis based on an observation

With study of the cognitive functions I'm finally starting to recognize what INTJness actually feels like.

The other day, I was going through a programming tutorial as part of a larger book on the functional programming style. I was modifying the example slightly to produce a different output, and suffice it to say it wasn't working. I called on my INTP, who is doing the same tutorial, to see if they could figure it out.

Basically, my approach was trying to "tap into" my Ni, looking over the script from a zoomed-out perspective and getting a feel for where the problem might be. I get the general feeling that the second half of a certain function isn't working. I test this assumption, I was right - so now I try to narrow down in my mind where it "seems off", and come to a vague conclusion that it's probably the order of execution. I test this assumption. It works. The example is now working as expected. I don't have a clear, 100% understanding of why exactly the order of the statements was causing the particular bug, but I move on, because I realize that this kind of error is more of a general silly-mistake in how I wrote the algorithm, and isn't something instrumental to the greater goal - which is understanding the mechanics of the functional style.

My INTP friend, in contrast, looks at the script not from a zoomed-out perspective, but goes through the logic, one step at a time, analyzing exactly what each statement does and the effects it has - and how the result should look at each point in time, and why, until they figure out exactly what was wrong and why. They didn't just get a vague intuitive understanding of how to fix it and move on, they understood in detail how every single component interplays with every other, why the statement execution must be in this order for the algorithm to work, and all the other ways changing the order of the statements would affect the output. They have understood all the mechanics of the algorithm through pure logic, and it took them much longer to move on than it did for me - but unlike me, who was doing the problem for its general purpose within the goal of understanding functional programming, they felt that understanding the algorithm (which on its own is not related to functional programming at all, and is just a modified sort algorithm), was something they wanted to understand all the components of, regardless of whether it is meaningful to the purpose of the assignment.

This felt like a very illustrative moment in understanding the differences between how INTP and INTJ approach problem-solving. Of course, as INTJ I am also compelled to learn the mechanics of all sorts of things, even those irrelevant to the overarching goal of whatever the book or the tutorial or class or the thing I am studying is right now - but I would tend to note them and set them aside for later to learn, as something separate from the process. I went back over the sort algorithm with a more Ti approach myself later, after I had grasped the concepts in the chapter I was working on, and was ready to take a break. The first "goal" was gaining an understanding of the concepts in that chapter of the tutorial, and I did not allow myself to be distracted from this purpose - but when it was done I went back to the algorithm I got wrong and Ti-ed my way through the logic, step by step. But this happened in a separate process from doing the tutorial, and a separate timeline - I didn't allow the "working on this chapter" timeline to fork into the subprocess of working out this unrelated algorithm error for any longer than it absolutely needed to.

For my INTP friend, however, following this unrelated tangent - right then and there, in the middle of the process of understanding the chapter and in the same timeline - was something perfectly natural. It was natural for them to make many "deep forks" in the path to understanding the chapter, almost so much so that they may not even make it through to the end of the chapter, and instead get lost in the study of the forks and tangents along the way. As an INTJ I just could not do this - I would feel very mentally unsettled about this.

I feel the INTP approach with Ti/Ne is very thorough but incremental and undirected in its understanding; the Ni/Te approach of the INTJ is a lot less thorough, and more "overarching" - focused more on setting up the "skeleton" or the inner structure of the framework first, and then filling it out with details - and being always painfully conscious of the shape of the path one is following. Almost as if there is always this voice nagging you that this item may be irrelevant right now, come back to it later. It is like an architect trying to capture the overallness, or a writer trying to synthesize the outline of the entire story out of thin air first, and then refining all the generalities and fleshing them out. The coherent whole comes first, and is always there and always something one is deeply conscious of, and driven by. It is like the INTJ is going through every process with a general (usually not very detailed) map or compass that they follow, always internally tugging them back to North, whereas INTP is wandering through all the nooks and crannies of the landscape without a map or a compass, and seeing what kind of fascinating mental discoveries they have on the way. They may have a purpose in mind, but it can be diverted away from indefinitely and come back to later, if there are more interesting paths to explore on the way - whereas for the INTJ the interesting paths will be noted and come back to later, as it would feel "wrong" in a fundamental way to divert away from the purpose.

I still have a difficult time figuring out how Ni worked the way it did - I suppose part of it is that I already have a decent amount of programming experience, and was able to subconsciously extract a deep pattern from what I had experienced before, without knowing where exactly I had seen this before or what it was based on. My intuition was like a synthesis of patterns I had extracted before - like a deep-learning algorithm "figuring things out" from intermediate representations. This may be why it required a lot of Se input and Ti-type analysis in the very start of my programming study before I could begin to "grasp" it, as it served to "feed" my Ni with raw materials and structures to synthesize patterns and meta-patterns from, and later synthesize hunches like this. So now I can often "feel" the way to solve something, without explicitly working through the logic.

Naturally everyone who gains proficiency or experience in some field finds themselves doing this - as humans we are equipped with all the cognitive functions, after all - but as an INTJ it is my first instinct to do this to everything, and is my most visceral response to a problem - and the impulse to analyze with Ti usually comes later, as a conscious decision. As far as I understand it, for my INTP friend it was the opposite - the first response to a new concept or a problem is to analyze it and all its components and understand every small piece of the mechanics - even if they get an Ni "hunch" about what is wrong, they tend to not trust it as much, and the impulse to analyze is first and foremost.

Just some rambling observations on Ti and Ni mechanics.

[kurodachimagic]

Chocolate and Cherries - Chapter 3

Summary: When Adachi falls into the arms of a kind stranger his life changes for the better.

Rating: Pg 13

Tags/warnings: Fluff, getting together, au, Writer Adachi, Chef Kurosawa.

Word count: 6.2k

A/n: This story was written for the cherry magic mini bang! Thank you@hiwatari-art for inviting me to join! Had a lovely time working with you as always. Thank you to my other artist over on twitter guacagabs. The entire story is being posted right now.

Read on ao3

Adachi adapted to his new and strange life as a wizard fairly quickly. He realized that he just needed to take the morning train before rush hour and the night train after it to avoid most of the accidental mind-reading incidents. It cost him precious time out of his day, but he didn’t mind it as much when he gave in and started typing on his phone to put his best foot forward in maintaining his writing schedule. Some sacrifices needed to be made and such was life.

With his writer’s block under control, Adachi threw himself fully into his book. Every second that was not spent working or sleeping, he was writing or doing research for it. Days soon started to merge into each other, but that was completely fine in his opinion; as long as his book became a reality, he was willing to sacrifice his free time.

At some point during the following week, Adachi ran into Kurosawa while taking out the trash. He turned around and there he was, sporting a bright smile that was akin to familiar with how much they had been seeing each other. Then, something odd happened. Adachi felt blush rising to his cheeks as he stood so close to his neighbour that he could smell his cologne. He instinctively closed his eyes and inhaled that sweet aroma, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure of what could have caused him to react like that, but he clearly needed to rest for a bit. Maybe so much work was giving him anxiety. He said a quick goodbye to Kurosawa and rushed back home.

The following day Adachi pressed the wrong button in the elevator and exited one floor below his own. Not noticing his mistake, he tried to open a door that looked just like his, only to jump back when it opened swiftly to reveal Kurosawa wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Adachi choked on his own spit, his eyes unable to ignore the fact that Kurosawa was not wearing a T-shirt - or clothes at all for that matter - and that his hair was dripping onto his torso, the droplets continuing to travel down his body in a mesmerizing way.

“Hello!” Kurosawa smiled. “I think you got the wrong flat - unless you wanted to pay me a visit.”

“Uh, yeah,” Adachi said, his eyes finally meeting Kurosawa’s. Then, he noticed a familiar smell, perhaps vanilla and chocolate.

“Would you like to come in?” Kurosawa asked, setting his hand on the doorframe, his fingers softly brushing against Adachi’s.

Adachi suddenly felt as if he was inside of a movie, romantic music and all. He could see Kurosawa pulling him inside by the belt loops and kissing him deeply as he dropped his work bag to the floor. He moaned, letting himself be guided into the flat without breaking the kiss, the door shutting behind them just as the towel started to come undone on its own, revealing Kurosawa’s -

Adachi removed his hand from the door frame and blinked repeatedly. “I have to go, sorry!” He mumbled and ran the remaining flight of stairs leading up to his flat, before hurrying inside and locking the door. ‘What was that?’

That night Adachi paced so much around his flat, for a moment he considered the possibility of the floor just giving in and him falling straight into Kurosawa’s flat. Had those been Kurosawa’s thoughts or his own?

--

Ever since that night, Adachi’s thoughts and dreams were plagued by Kurosawa’s face and his naked torso. It was often some sort of fantasy where Kurosawa cooked for him and fed him wearing only an apron or coming up in only a towel, asking to use his shower as he bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair.

After many nights of waking up with a start and drenched in sweat but awfully satisfied, Adachi had no choice but to start questioning his sexual orientation. Maybe there was an actual reason he had never felt the need to pursue a woman. To be sure of his conclusion, he would need to avoid Kurosawa until he had found a definitive answer.

--

Funnily enough, the more Adachi avoided any and all common areas in the building, the more he saw Kurosawa. His plan had a fundamental flaw: they lived in the same building and Kurosawa knew exactly how to find him.

Perhaps the reason he had never come knocking on his door was the fact that they saw each other fairly frequently - increasingly so, even - but now that Adachi had made the decision to avoid him, his neighbour just kept coming up under the most ludicrous pretences.

Sometimes he would come asking for cooking ingredients like milk or sugar, two other times he brought Adachi’s post up, one time he offered to take out his trash for him since he was on his way down. You see, the nice old lady living next door had laughed at Kurosawa’s demands and told Adachi that his neighbour was a professional chef and she knew for a fact that he always had cooking ingredients on hand because he did her shopping every day as well as bringing her food or cookies on occasion.

Adachi had blinked repeatedly, truly baffled by his behaviour but at the same time, he had started to look forward to their little meetings, especially now that there was no doubt that Kurosawa was purposely seeking him out - and baking him cookies in the middle of the night.

He’d narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he took advantage of this new source of information and asked about Kurosawa’s girlfriend, but after providing a short description, he found out that the woman in question was his sister. To his surprise, this made him feel absolutely gleeful; it brought such a huge smile to his face that he felt a bit flustered and after a quick thank you and a small bow, he ran back home.

He had flopped onto his bed and placed his arms behind head pondering about this new development. His reaction to finding that Kurosawa did not have a girlfriend, paired with all the dreams Adachi had had about him, had made him realize that he was interested in him, as a person, as a friend, and as everything the other was willing to give him. The problem was that Adachi had no romantic experience at all and the sole thought of going in search of Kurosawa had made him feel sick to his stomach, so he’d decided to wait for the perfect opportunity. That day came two weeks later.

A Friday night, barely past midnight, Kurosawa knocked on his door, once again, with a box quite similar to the one he had received before.

“Hi,” Kurosawa said, biting his lip.

“Hello,” Adachi answered with a small smile. “What can I do for you, Kurosawa?”

“I hope it’s not too late. I wanted to ask you a huge favour.”

“No, of course not,” Adachi said, purposely placing his hand on the door frame, closer to Kurosawa’s. “What do you need?

As if they were magnets, Kurosawa rested his head against Adachi’s hand. “Would you try these cookies for me? I think this is the final version of my recipe.”

Adachi gasped. He could see how long Kurosawa had been working on the recipe, how nervous he was to get his approval, not only because he had inspired the cookies but because he trusted his opinion.

“Absolutely, I love cookies,” smiled.

The image changed before his eyes. Adachi sat on his sofa with a grin, Kurosawa straddled his legs and fed him bits of cookie, watching him raptly, asking if he liked them.

Deciding it was best to stop snooping in Kurosawa’s mind, Adachi removed his hand from the frame and took the box before walking in. “Come in, please. I’ll make us tea.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Kurosawa walked in, set the box on the coffee table and looked around curiously. He grabbed a cookie before coming to stand beside Adachi, watching him fill the kettle and move around the kitchen.

“What?” Adachi asked, feeling Kurosawa’s eyes burning holes through him.

“What?” Kurosawa said in the same exact tone.

Adachi blushed and focused his eyes on his tea set. “You are looking at me weirdly!?”

“Oh,” Kurosawa laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s just - would you mind trying the first cookie without the tea? It could change the flavour profile.”

“Oh. Of course!” Adachi said, extending his hand to grab the cookie but Kurosawa was having none of it. Instead, he held the cookie to Adachi’s lips, waiting for him to just take a small bite.

With a resigned sigh, Adachi bit into a cookie and moaned as a bit of cherry exploded inside his mouth adding a touch of tartness to the chocolate. He didn’t really realize what he had done until he saw Kurosawa’s eyes widen.

“Is it that good?”

“Yes,” Adachi said, trying to regain his composure. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever tried. I could eat them every day for the rest of my life.”

“I’m glad you like them. I created this recipe thinking of you.”

“Really?” Adachi asked, already knowing the answer.

Kurosawa simply nodded.

Adachi closed his eyes trying to find the courage needed for what he was about to do. “I wanted to talk to you,” he finally said.

“Oh?”

“I know why you keep coming,” Adachi said as he stepped closer to him.

“Why?” Kurosawa asked, taking another step forward, his lips almost brushing against Adachi’s.

Adachi looked at his lips and closed the distance between them, surprising even himself with his boldness. He felt Kurosawa’s hand on his arm, grounding him.

Suddenly, they were standing in the kitchen, cooking together, wearing matching rings. Then, they were walking under the moonlight with sakura petals falling over them. The image changed again and this time, they were standing at the altar, Kurosawa giving him a lopsided smile as he said “I do.” The scene rapidly changed, Kurosawa picked him up and threw him into their bed effortlessly before crawling over him, kissing him, slowly removing his clothes one by one until -

Adachi gasped and stepped back, bringing a hand to his lips, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Then, he smiled realizing how right that felt even if their lips had barely touched.

Kurosawa’s usual smile deepened as he pulled Adachi close for a proper kiss; the first of many.

[mittensmorgul]

(1 of 3) Mittens, I know you're more of a 'what is on the show' than the 'what is around the show' but I was wondering if you had some more resources or information regarding something; i keep seeing here and there people talking about the show that Cas took on Anna's role (that Anna was supposed to become more important/the angelic guide/the love interest but because of the better chemistry the writers switched the roles around and "gave" cas what was to be Anna's role)

(2 of 3) That seems to be a common statement coming from a lot of fans/meta writers. I know I have parroted that as fact in my early days in the fandom as well. But when I actually went looking for actual sources for that theory, I came up empty. I find lots of people talking about it as given fact/gospel truth, but nothing for direct sources. It’s not in the Nicholas Knight season books, I haven’t seen any interviews or magazines that have TPTB talking about that.

(3 of 3) Admittedly I only got into the fandom in the s12/s13 time period, so missed so much of the early meta and interviews and things and it’s possible my Google-Fu has failed in finding where there is clearly sources for this. So, do you know if there is any veracity of this refrain that “Cas took the role they had originally planned for Anna’ theory? Thank you!

First off, HI! :D

Second, you’re correct. I think at this point it’s some awful game of telephone, that somewhere down the line there was a post detailing how the narrative actually handled it with a sort of tl;dr-- Anna was originally created to be a sort of “information key” for the Winchesters, a guide to open up their understanding of Angels via one that had also experienced humanity first hand, you know? But instead of giving her that role, THEY ALREADY HAD MULTIPLE EPISODES WITH CASTIEL and by the time Anna appeared, FANS HAD ALREADY BONDED TO CAS, and rather than expanding Anna’s role and killing off Castiel (whose only purpose at first was to rescue Dean from Hell and ensure the Winchesters participated in what Heaven needed them to do...), they chose instead to expand Cas’s role as an already established character via Anna’s introduction.

Anna WAS ALREADY ENTRENCHED IN HUMANITY HERSELF. But Cas? They could send Cas on a similar journey of discovery, and demonstrate that process of an angel truly falling in love with humanity, showing us how he came to the realization that heaven was corrupt, his mission had been corrupt.

Anna... could never have been THAT.

The show would’ve been fundamentally different if they’d actually killed Cas off and installed Anna as their guide to Heaven Stuff. It would’ve been a lot more “telling them how bad Heaven was” or “how controlling it was” or whatever, and way less struggle to understand and overcome. Even if she remained human, she would’ve been an information dispensing machine in ways that Cas could NOT be without having endured a similar journey for himself. And that.. would’ve been boring and preachy and weird.

And they decided VERY EARLY in the writing of s4 that Misha as an actor and Cas as a character, and his exploration and education about humanity and heaven was the story they wanted to tell. So if anything, Anna was merely one of the keys that unlocked that potential for Cas. I don’t even know if Anna wasn’t created SPECIFICALLY TO SERVE THIS FUNCTION FOR CAS. But that seems most likely to me.

Like... they decided that they would expand the character of Castiel to allow us to learn about angels, about Heaven, and the profound lack of understanding the angels harbored about Free Will and Love and Humanity. But they needed him to begin questioning his orders, to start opening some of those “doorways to doubt” that would allow him to feel emotions. And angels, as they were created, weren’t supposed to be able to do that. So THEN they created Anna to demonstrate that, while excruciatingly painful, and one of the “worst things” an angel could do according to Heaven, an angel COULD become human, could experience these human things, and actually CHANGE. That was her function. I don’t feel that she ever had any other intended role in the story than to show Cas that there might be another way, a bigger truth, that he had to discover for himself.

If Anna had remained and Cas had died, *we the audience* would never have seen this process for ourselves. There wouldn’t have been any struggle over it. It would’ve been an entirely different story. Unless Cas had instantly and unproblematically chosen to become human, or to throw in his lot with Dean after 4.10, there was no way for him to take over Anna’s story. Though there had been potential for Anna to have taken a bigger role in the narrative if they’d decided to go that route after Cas’s initial run on the show as “Heavenly Advisor on Angel Stuff to the Winchesters.” But by the time Anna ever even showed up, the writers had already decided they were Team Cas, and I don’t think there was ever really a serious consideration to replace him with her.

And like... that’s not how stories work, either. They’d already established Cas as a character in 4.01. Anna’s introduction was in 4.09. If anything, they may have briefly considered giving a bigger role to Anna, but it would’ve defeated the point of a lot of storytelling they’d already done building up Cas to the point they’d already chosen to take him, even by 4.09. Cas was already being Demoted By Heaven in favor of Uriel, who was much more willing to press Heaven’s agenda than Cas was. Or at the very least, as of 4.07-- an episode where Uriel was only there supposedly as a “specialist” to handle the specific task (or threat of the task) of smiting the whole town-- Uriel was installed to keep an eye on Cas and Cas was no longer ordered to interact with the Winchesters without “supervision.” And supervision that came with the “specialist in smiting” level of threat attached to it.

Cas was already beginning to doubt, to waver on the plans, and Anna just helped push him over the edge by 14.16 (and unmasked Uriel’s duplicity and Heaven’s unreliability). So. Once those earlier episodes had already been written and in process of being filmed, there was no erasing that story they’d already started telling.

tl;dr: they didn’t “give anna’s role to cas,” they created anna to show him the potential of humanity, and unlock the possibility for him to go on this journey we’ve been watching for the last 12 years. I have no idea (despite having been around a bit longer than you, but still only lurking in fandom meta spaces since s7) how that has morphed in fan dialogue into something that makes so little sense as to break reality... >.>