#using qua for the points

[tomicscomics]

12/16/2024

Pass me the SUMMAtriptan.

The saints' RPG adventure continues every Monday and Friday through December!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Continuing from the last few cartoons, an angel is running a fantasy RPG for some saints in heaven, namely Sts. Thomas Aquinas, Joan of Arc, Francis of Assisi, and Nicholas of Myra. They haven't quite gotten past the character creation/introduction stage yet, but I'm sure they'll find their way eventually! 2. The angel asks Thomas to introduce his character concisely. Some TTRPG players tend to overthink and overstress about their characters before the story has begun, leading to massive backstories and extended physical descriptions. 3. Thomas introduces his character in a very quick and simple way, just as the angel requested. However, just as the angel thanks him for not taking forever, Joan asks a question that causes Thomas to go on a long philosophical monologue, much to the angel's dismay. 4. Thomas's monologue is styled after his summa articles. He was a prolific theologian and philosopher, and some of his most famous works are his summa articles, in which he'd present a philosophical position, then several strong arguments for and against said position, ending in an ultra-strong and super-reasoned conclusion. Unfortunately, he never actually wrote about fantasy RPGs, so we won't know his real opinion on them in this life. That said, I did my best to capture the format and flavor of his articles. 5. Magic in fantasy has been a point of debate for Christians for some time. Should it be allowed? Is it of the devil? Is it a slippery slope? Is it a gateway to death metal, drugs, and Catholicism? My basic opinion is that fictional magic is simply a storytelling device. What you DO with that device is another question, but the device itself isn't evil. I've heard opinions going both ways, but what do YOU think?

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

that particular flavour of caitvi stans screeching at critics of S2 about how, "you just wanted a simplistic happy ending! you can't handle the NUANCE! you have no MEDIA LITERACY!" while simultaneously insisting that we should all unquestioningly accept and praise arcane for giving us caitvi, which they hold up as the sine qua non of wlw representation, because their primary basis for comparison is... legend of korra. is she-ra. is owl house. is steven universe.

none of this is shade on those shows. all of these are okay-to-good-to-great shows, that did genuinely brave things with regard to representation and which often handled mature subject matters in age-appropriate ways. you know what they also are?

children's cartoons. they are cartoons for children.

sorry, when shows like black sails and andor exist, which have prominent wlw characters/ships, and which embed those ships in actually well-written, complex, adult narratives about freedom, oppression, rebellion, and self-determination, arcane doing a, "diversity win! your cops are lesbians!" is not enough for me to give it brownie points.

[the-littlest-goblin]

As I’ve alluded to, I think a lot of the failures of c3 can be traced to the fundamental gap that, in a plot where so much revolved around “”the gods”” CR never answers the question:

What the fuck is a god?

Others have made excellent points in how we talk about epic fantasy and the difficulties in fully receiving a world where gods definitively exist. What's interesting to me is that, if you really want to get deep into the philosophical weeds (and I always do), then what does it actually mean when we say "gods exist" in Critical Role?

Disclaimer: this isn't exactly as comprehensive as I would like but what I hoped to articulate in one meta post is more like 2-5 thesis proposals in a trench coat, and I still want the catharsis of yeeting my thoughts into the void so I can finally take a nap. I tried to limit the academia of it all but there's still plenty of jargon, and also a bibliography because I like to show my work.  

Short version: Godhood/divinity is a semantic lacuna in the CR's worldbuilding. That's not a bad thing, in fact it's kind of necessary. The problem arises when the plot makes gods and godhood a central problem without resolving or even acknowledging the barriers to understanding those concepts, thus leading to hours of dialogue, plot beats, and a supposedly climactic resolution which all amount to nonsense if you look too closely.

As anyone who’s so much as dipped a toe into philosophy will tell you, you gotta define your usage of terms or the discussion is DOA. On all levels of CR text, words like "god"/"the gods"/"divine"/"deity"/etc. are used interchangeably in so many contexts, and the meaning of those terms is only accessible via contextual implication, and the deducible meanings in so many of those contexts directly contradict each other. C3 especially reveals a dissonance between how the mytho-cultural text approaches divinity compared to the contours drawn by the mechanico-ontological text.1

The former in Exandria refers to "the gods" in terms of the Pantheon, a definite collection of individual entities. These otherworldly beings of Tengar, a realm of pure possibility. But "god" is also a rank within D&D's cosmic taxonomy—a rank to which, in Exandria, other entities can rise via the Rites of Ascension. The Matron is a god same as the others; Tharizdun is part of the pantheon but separate, not of Tengar. Maybe a "god," maybe not?

In the mytho-cultural role "the gods" play in Exandria, their being-qua-being is positioned as necessarily plurally defined and unknowable, but nevertheless possessed of immense "cosmic power" befitting their role in the Creation myth and ongoing worship. It makes perfect sense that the in-world mythology is (intentionally) plural and contradictory. However, as others have pointed out,* Exandria's socio-political and cultural worldbuilding vis a vis religion are (less intentionally, I would imagine) rather underbaked, leaving significant gaps in our understanding of what the gods (and religion) mean for the cultural part of mytho-cultural. 

Now let’s get into the latter. Because CR isn't just a narrative—it's a ludonarrative, and the game mechanics have huge ontological implications.1 

In the mechanico-ontological sphere, the gods are positioned as sort of exceptions to the rule, by which I mean, like, we don't get stat blocks for deities. Which again, on its own, makes perfect sense! D&D focalizes the PCs, and so on the purely mechanical level, gods/the divine are subordinate, acting only through proxies. This is necessary for the game-narrative D&D supports. Giving god-level power explicit stats would be a catch-22:

first, it would severely demystify "cosmic power"—to define is to limit, after all. Not doing so can imply an ontology where gods are not confined by mechanics—their powers go beyond, their powers are not only unwritten but unwriteable.

secondly, if the rulebooks were to even attempt codifying mechanical abilities on par with the semantic associations of “god-level” power, then it would be very difficult to maintain either the PCs focal role as agents of the narrative or a fairly balanced game, much less both. We saw this play out in Downfall—the point of the mechanics in the final battle outlined the huge disparity between mortals and gods.

Speaking of Downfall—as well as their mechanic and mythic existences, the gods also exist on the narrative level as characters. As such, we must necessarily consider questions of agency and consciousness in qualifying their existence, but fuck if that isn’t a messy question on the one layer, let alone putting it in the contexts of these shifting, intersecting layers.2 Keeping it brief though, the gods’ narrative agency is subject to similar issues as their mechanical powers.**

Being an exception to the rules of mechanico-ontological existence only holds together so long as divinity remains separate from everything governed by mechanics when mobilized in a narrative. I'm not trying to nitpick—Matt's "NPCs are not governed by the same rules as PCs" MO isn't automatically world-logic breaking, and there's a degree of pedantry on that front that is simply unsportsmanlike. But the problem in c3 specifically is that the plot focalizes the gods and divinity as a construct in such a way that invites—demands even—closer inspection. And the coherence between the structural layers of the narrative breaks down quite quickly under this scrutiny.

It's not like c3 brought this theme out of nowhere. Disproving that there is any essential divide between gods and mortals defines the zeitgeist of the Age of Arcanum. The Matron’s ascension proves that, however the difference is defined, the state of being one or the other is traversable. Exu: Calamity brought this up plenty: Laerryn contends that the distinction is access to the Celestial plane, and seeks to dissolve the difference by achieving large-scale interplanar travel for all of Avalir; Zerxus embodies that so called "divine magic" is not strictly tied to a worshipful relationship with a deity.

In c2, god-or-not is a huge element of Jester's arc with the Traveler. Her build shows that, despite the very different class abilities/powers of warlocks and clerics, there is no mechanico-ontological constraining the distinction between a warlock patron and a god. These are roles defined through a relational existence, not in keeping with any essential taxonomy of substances.1 The Traveller’s position in the cosmic taxonomy as an Archfey has less bearing on the type of magic he can grant than the belief and conviction on the side of the grantee. Similarly, there’s the Luxon in all its mystery—a god but not a pantheon deity? Divine but not a god? The semantics seem less and less significant. 

Now’s probably a good time to remember that CR is a story, and stories are representative constructions wherein any logic other than narrative logic is secondary. D&D as a story engine allows fictional representation to evoke a unique facsimile of materialism because the diegetic laws of physics are established in such detail via mechanics. But still, in a fictional world, metaphysics kind of are physics, and also kind of are semiotics, and both answer to the symbolic. It's fun (for me) to dig into the worldbuilding using philosophy as a framework, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if the philosophy finds gaps so long as the rest of the narrative elements cohere around those gaps.

In c3, they do not. 

Next to c3, c1 gets the closest to leaning too hard against the logical house-of-cards making up cosmic ontology in Exandria due to the importance of the Divine Gate in defeating proto-god Vecna. The Divine Gate is, imo, the material nexus point where all the semantic and ontological contradictions coalesce: it was created so as to specifically block gods from traversing out of the Celestial plane, but is permeable to mortals. Presumably there is some quality or essential substance that decides who can move through it and who can’t—but what is that? What is the substance of divinity, not in the ontological sense but in the materialism of arcana? It’s not something exclusive to denizens of Tengar, because the Matron is also trapped; perhaps “divine” is a misnomer, and it only traps the specific entities designated at the time of its creation, regardless of any shared essential quality? Except no, because Vecna was able to be trapped behind it as well. 

On the flip side, the great thing about the Divine Gate is that it encompasses and narratively justifies that catch-22 of divine mechanics by adding the element of time. The gods used to be un-writably powerful Pre-Divergence, hence their cosmic standing, but the Divine Gate limits their powers of acting in the present, allowing for their mechanical impotence. The Divergence and the Divine Gate incorporate the gods’ disparate ontological states into the history of Exandria, a physical and temporal division that allows for these contradictions to coexist in separate corners of the narrative.*** 

This coheres throughout campaigns 1 and 2—even when c1 started approaching concepts of “divinity” more closely, the plot maintains a separation between mortal stakes and divine stakes. Vecna was Vox Machina’s problem because he posed a threat to mortals; he posed a threat to mortals because he was seeking to achieve god-level power on the mortal plane. We don’t need to know what the “power” exactly means to know it would be a huge imbalance. The threat is nullified by trapping Vecna behind the Divine Gate. We still don’t know what he is vis a vis godhood, but we do know his powers of acting and affecting on the Material Plane are curtailed and as such he’s not mortal’s problem anymore. Compare this to the Bell’s Hells attitudes towards their joint BBEGs of Ludinus and Predathos. Ludinus is the threat on the Material Plane; for much of the campaign, BH cap off cyclical debates on the gods by agreeing that stopping Ludinus is their actionable concern. In the end, however, Ludinus’ rhetoric succeeds in focalizing cosmic concerns: the narrative concludes with the resolution to the questions of ‘what to do about the gods and Predathos,’ reifying Ludinus’ view that the cosmic structure was a problem to be solved (despite the complete lack of supporting evidence to that point). Meanwhile the resolution to the—previously central—question of ‘what to do about Ludinus’ is ‘leave him to his cottage-core Thanos epilogue,’ as though he is not nor has he ever been a primary source of conflict.

I think Predathos is where the irreconcilability of material substance and ontological substance really start to chip away at the foundations of narrative coherence. The “God-eater” must be subject to the same questions re: “so what do you mean by god?” The takeaway is that the Predathos lore is frankly a hot mess of ludonarrative dissonance—perfect illustration for the other side of that catch-22 I was talking about!

 In theory, Matt could have introduced Predathos into Exandrian cosmology without it becoming a narrative problem, had it remained at a sufficient distance from the immediate plot to sit comfortably obscured in the same miasma of metaphysical unknowns as the Luxon or Tharizdun. It’s Ludinus and all the discussion surrounding these cosmic entities that shines a glaring spotlight on the contradictions by way of placing the gods into an ethical framework and using that judgement as a basis for praxis. Moral philosophy is not my area, but as far as it intersects with ontology: it is, to put it mildly, very fucking hard to put a subject under ethical judgement when said subject has no defined being as such that it’s very subjecthood is in question. 

What I’m trying to say is that you hold a guy in a very different ethical standing than the sun. The Dawnfather is both and can be reduced to neither. He is a character in a narrative with agency and personality and relationships at the same time he is a mechanical construction that has no independent existence and extremely limited powers of acting, and all the while he is semantically presumed all-powerful.

*I can’t find the post now to link it but I’m 99% sure it was by @utilitycaster

**For an illustration of (non-game) narratives where a pantheon of gods explicitly exist, are in possession of a certain cosmic power, and are direct narrative agents, see: Homer. I ran out of steam before getting to the full comparison I wanted to make, maybe I’ll get to that in another post, but trust me when I say it has massive implications—like, ‘requires a totally different method of engagement with the work, one which heavily departs from, and at times directly contradicts, literary and pedagogical tradition since at least the early modern period’-level implications.

***In terms of Pre-Divergence depictions, frankly I need to finish rewatching both Calamity and Downfall (possibly multiple times) to properly incorporate Brennan’s contributions to the text into this consideration. Drive-by assessment though, as it pertains to the main campaigns: we see glimpses of what the gods powers of acting can be without the Divine Gate, both with Asmodeus at the end of Calamity and the final battle in Downfall, to use as a comparison. These are useful for when c3 brings up the possibility for an alternate state of affairs while providing no examples for what those alternatives would entail. 

1. Bryant, Levi R. “Substantial Powers, Active Affects: The Intentionality of Objects.” Deleuze Studies 6, no. 4 (2012): 529–43. http://www.jstor.org/stable/45332014.

2. The structuralism I’m employing follows a number of works and theorists, namely Roland Barthes for lit theory and Richard Schechner for performance theory; the most relevant direct citation is Daniel McKay’s book The Fantasy Role-Playing Game: A New Performing Art (2001), which references both of the above and many others.

[snowlithills]

Theses on Monsters, China Mieville

1.

The history of all hitherto-existing societies is the history of monsters. Homo sapiens is a bringer-forth of monsters as reason’s dream. They are not pathologies but symptoms, diagnoses, glories, games, and terrors.

2.

To insist that an element of the impossible and fantastic is a sine qua non of monstrousness is not mere nerd hankering (though it is that too). Monsters must be creature forms and corpuscles of the unknowable, the bad numinous. A monster is somaticized sublime, delegate from a baleful pleroma. The telos of monstrous quiddity is godhead.

3.

There is a countervailing tendency in the monstrous corpus. It is evident in Pokémon’s injunction to “catch ’em all,” in the Monster Manual’s exhaustive taxonomies, in Hollywood’s fetishized “Monster Shot.” A thing so evasive of categories provokes—and surrenders to—ravenous desire for specificity, for an itemization of its impossible body, for a genealogy, for an illustration. The telos of monstrous quiddity is specimen.

4.

Ghosts are not monsters.

5.

It is pointed out, regularly and endlessly, that the word “monster” shares roots with “monstrum,” “monstrare,” “monere“—”that which teaches,” “to show,” “to warn.” This is true but no longer of any help at all, if it ever was.

6.

Epochs throw up the monsters they need. History can be written of monsters, and in them. We experience the conjunctions of certain werewolves and crisis-gnawed feudalism, of Cthulhu and rupturing modernity, of Frankenstein’s and Moreau’s made things and a variably troubled Enlightenment, of vampires and tediously everything, of zombies and mummies and aliens and golems/robots/clockwork constructs and their own anxieties. We pass also through the endless shifts of such monstrous germs and antigens into new wounds. All our moments are monstrous moments.

7.

Monsters demand decoding, but to be worthy of their own monstrosity, they avoid final capitulation to that demand. Monsters mean something, and/but they mean everything, and/but they are themselves and irreducible. They are too concretely fanged, toothed, scaled, fire-breathing, on the one hand, and too doorlike, polysemic, fecund, rebuking of closure, on the other, merely to signify, let alone to signify one thing.

Any bugbear that can be completely parsed was never a monster, but some rubber-mask-wearing Scooby-Doo villain, a semiotic banality in fatuous disguise. It is a solution without a problem.

8.

Our sympathy for the monster is notorious. We weep for King Kong and the Creature from the Black Lagoon, no matter what they’ve done. We root for Lucifer and ache for Grendel.

It is a trace of skepticism that the given order is a desideratum that lies behind our tears for its antagonists, our troubled empathy with the invader of Hrothgar’s hall.

9.

Such sympathy for the monster is a known factor, a small problem, a minor complication for those who, in drab reaction, deploy an accusation of monstrousness against designated social enemies.

10.

When those same powers who enmonster their scapegoats reach a tipping point, a critical mass, of political ire, they abruptly and with bullying swagger enmonster themselves. The shock troops of reaction embrace their own supposed monstrousness. (From this investment emerged, for example, the Nazi Werwolf program.) Such are by far more dreadful than any monster because, their own aggrandizements notwithstanding, they are not monsters. They are more banal and more evil.

11.

The saw that We Have Seen the Real Monsters and They Are Us is neither revelation, nor clever, nor interesting, nor true. It is a betrayal of the monstrous, and of humanity.

[katareyoudrilling]

So Quite New a Thing - Part 1 (Marcus Pike x Female Reader)

Series: So Quite New a Thing

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: Your best friend’s younger brother has returned to your hometown after a difficult break-up.  He was so annoying when you were growing up, but have things changed since then?

Word count: 6.8k

Rating: Series is eventually Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Reader is in her 30s but has no physical description.  Enemies to friends to….? Mild angst. A touch of peril. Suggestive art.

A/N: Get ready for a slow burn! I dreamt up this idea in 2021 and I wasn’t sure the day would ever come that I would write or share it.  Biggest of thank yous to @burntheedges for your amazing help.  I probably would have given up without you. Title comes from the E.E. Cummings poem “I like my body when it is with your body”

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Dividers by @saradika

Series Masterlist  |  Marcus Pike Masterlist  |  Main Masterlist

Taglist - link in my bio!

You

“Everybody say ‘Tiffany!’” you direct, pointing the phone at the bachelorette party in front of you.  Tiffany stands beaming in the center holding her painted canvas proudly.  Maybe teaching bachelorettes how to paint martini glasses and stiletto heels isn’t high art, but it’s fun and you enjoy it.  Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do it forever.

You hand the phone back to one of the girls and they quickly huddle around to make sure one of the many photos you just took did them justice.

The rest of the class clumps in their small groups, complimenting each other’s work.  You make your way over to the one solitary member of the class.

“Hi, Maude, what did you paint tonight?”  Maude comes to class at least once a week, but rarely paints what you demonstrate.  You don’t mind.

“Well, dear, I was inspired by the female energy in the room tonight.”  She gestures an elegant, wrinkled hand towards her canvas.  It’s covered in broad strokes of magenta and purple… and is clearly a vulva.

“I can see that,” you say, stifling a laugh.  “It’s magnificent.”

“It is,” she states.  Maude is not lacking in self-confidence.

“Maude, can I be you when I grow up?”  You give her peck on the cheek while she chides you about enjoying your youth while it lasts.

Gradually the class trickles out into the crisp autumn evening as you gather cups of paint brushes and take them to the sink.  Maude, as always, is last to leave.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” you ask as she makes her way to the door.

“No, dear.  It’s only a few blocks.  I can still manage that.”  She can manage much more than that.  You’ve never known an octogenarian with so much energy.

“Ok, I’ll see you next week then!”

“Goodnight, dear.”  She leaves with an air kiss, and you bolt the door behind her.  After straightening up, you turn off the main lights of the studio and make your way to the back to wash brushes.  It was a full class tonight, business is good.  You get to work rinsing and drying, laying all the brushes out on towels beside the sink.  

With a sigh, you turn to your tote bag stashed in the corner.  This internal debate is a monthly occurrence.  One Saturday a month, you go to meet your best friend at a bar down the road after your evening class.  It’s a deal you struck when you moved back to town.  The bar scene is not your favorite, but you know you’ll have fun once you get there.

You pick up your bag and head into the bathroom.  When you emerge, you are less art teacher and more single-woman-in-her-thirties.  

You check all the locks, turn out the lights, grab your jacket, and head out into the night.  The sharp, cool air instantly clears the paint fumes from your nose.  It smells like frost tonight.  Fall is your favorite season here.  The increasingly chilly nights, the bright colorful leaves, the scent of fireplaces put to use once again.

You smile to yourself as you walk down the brick sidewalk.  Your paint studio is on the main strip of the quaint downtown.  Victorian houses line the side roads with their colorful painted trim and overflowing gardens.

You can hear Scotty’s Pub before you can see it.  Most people gather at the same place on Saturday nights, since there aren’t many options unless they want to drive an hour into the city.  Not many people do, so there’s a regular crowd you can count on to be at Scotty’s.

Noise and warmth tumbles out the door as you make your way inside.  You don’t come here often enough to be considered a regular, but you’re with Bridgette, so it’s pretty close.

You take a look around the room and spot Bridgette up at the bar.  She’s perched on a barstool flirting with a man to her right.  She’s touching his arm and batting her eyelashes.  He seems into it.  Good for her. 

To her left, you’re treated to a view of long, long legs and a delightfully tiny ass wrapped in denim.  Your eyes travel upwards to slim hips and broad shoulders covered in a tightly stretched patterned button-down.  He’s leaning both elbows on the bar, his back to you.  He has dark, neatly styled hair and you think you spy a razor-sharp jawline. You will have to investigate.  It’s been a while since someone has piqued your interest.

You make your way over to the bar, weaving between tables of rowdy football fans, so glad that you put in some effort tonight on your appearance.  As you near Bridgette, she catches sight of you and squeals your name.  You told her you were coming, but she’s surprised every time.

The mystery man to her left turns at the sound of your name.

Fuck.

It’s Marcus.  Bridgette’s younger brother.  The fun killer.

You completely forgot she said he was coming tonight.  The fizzy bubbles of anticipation pop in your stomach.  Bridgette grabs your arm and pulls you into a quick hug.  “You’re here!” She’s clearly had a few drinks already. 

“Hi Bridge, having a good time tonight?”

“Always!” she replies.  “Hey, you remember Marcus, right?”  She grabs his arm.

A stricken look passes over Marcus’s features before he arranges them into a polite smile. Clearly the feeling is mutual.

“It’s good to see you,” he says nodding at you while stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.  You ignore the pleasant way his deep voice rumbles through your body and instead focus on all the times Marcus ratted you and Bridgette out to your parents when you were growing up.

You give him a tight smile and turn towards the bar to order a drink.

“Let’s get a table!” Bridgette herds you and Marcus away from the bar, her man forgotten.  “My two favorite people need to catch up!”

You raise your eyebrows slightly, why would you need to catch up with Marcus? But you know better than to argue with the force of nature that is your best friend and so allow yourself to be led to a snug booth against the wall.

You slide stiffly into the seat across from Marcus with Bridgette following after you.  At least the conversation won’t drag with her around.

“Oh wait! I’ll be right back,” she backs out of the booth and takes off across the room.  You spoke too soon.

You sigh and take a long sip of your drink.

“So… uh… Bridgette tells me you own an art studio?” Marcus begins, voice strained. You guess he wasn’t planning on being marooned with you either.

“Mmhmm,” you answer.

“That’s really impressive,” he says.  Dear lord, he’s really trying to do this.  You sigh again.

“Thanks.  Bridgette mentioned you were coming home.”

He nods and sips from his drink.  The glass looks tiny in his hands, not that you’re looking, you’re an artist for fuck’s sake, you just notice things.

While you’re just happening to notice things, you take in the lines and angles of the man in front of you.  You can see hints of the gangly teenage boy he was, always following you and Bridge around, getting you into trouble and not the kind you were looking for.

He’s grown into his features now.  Your artist eye traces the curve of his nose (like a goddamn sculpture) down to his plush and pouty lips (straight from a Renaissance painting) to the Adams apple bobbing in his throat…

You come back to yourself with a start.  What the fuck? You’re supposed to be making small talk with your best friend’s brother, who you don’t like, not ogling him.

Marcus’s eyes dart away from yours and he clears his throat.  “I… umm…” he starts, just as Bridgette crashes back into the booth, flopping dramatically next to Marcus.  He mumbles something under his breath you don’t catch, expression more pained than ever.

His discomfort is written all over his face.  You don’t like to bail on Bridgette, but sitting across from a man who clearly despises you was not what you had planned for this evening.

“Sorry, loves.  Did you catch up?  Did she tell you about the studio, Marcus? He works with art you know, isn’t that cool?  You have so much in common.” Bridgette takes a breath, preparing to launch into examples.  You interrupt her.

“Sorry, Bridge, I’m not feeling great.  I think I should go.”

“Nooooo! You just got here!”

You wince and scoot yourself out of the booth.  “I know, sorry.  You guys have fun.”  You grab your purse and quickly make your way to the door.  When you glance back, Marcus is watching you.  You quickly turn away and leave.

Marcus

Marcus fishes his phone out of his pocket.  It’s making the most ear-splitting noise.  Bridgette must have changed the ring tone again.

He sighs as he answers the call from his big sister.

“Hey,” he answers wearily.

“What are you doing?”

“Just taking care of stuff”

“Marcus, so help me if you are in the grocery store on a Friday night.”

Marcus glances up and down the cereal aisle.  How did she know?

“I… uhhh…”

“Marcus, this is just sad.”

“It’s the least busy time.”  He tips a box of granola into his cart.

“I don’t care.  You’re wallowing and it needs to stop.”

“Wouldn’t you wallow if you were me? She broke our engagement, then I see her again and she’s with him? Let me buy my groceries in peace.” He sighs.

“Look, Marcus, I know it was rough and you have every right to wallow, but it’s time to move on.” He scoffs.  “I’m your big sister.  You have to listen to me.”

“Right. Because you’re the responsible one.”

“No, because I’m the fun one.  Come to movie night tomorrow.”

He pinches his nose, a headache brewing in his temples.  “She doesn’t want me there.  You saw how she acted at the bar last weekend.”  You couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“She wasn’t feeling well.” He rolls his eyes. “I heard that.  She wasn’t.  She won’t mind at all if you come along.  You need to get out.”

“Fine. Text me the details.” If Bridgette wanted this to happen, it was going to happen.  Best to get on board and save some time.

“Bring drinks and snacks, since you’re at the store it will save me a trip.”

“I’m hanging up now.” He hangs up on the sound of Bridgette’s laughter and turns his cart toward the snack aisle.

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

Marcus let’s out a sigh as he knocks on the door.  Your place hadn’t been difficult to find, but only because he had pressed Bridgette into giving him actual directions.  Not the, “it’s around there, you can’t miss it,” nonsense she usually tries.

He had promised her he would try to have fun tonight.  A task that will be monumentally easier if you refrain from looking at him like you hate his guts.  He, on the other hand, will try to refrain from looking at you like you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

Marcus lifts his hand to knock again when the door opens.

You stand before him in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, sobbing.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” Marcus’s law enforcement training kicks in trying to identify a threat.  “What’s the matter?”

You gesture for him to follow you into the apartment, tears streaming down your face.  “I’m fine.  Don’t worry,” you say, sniffling.

Marcus follows you in, unsure.

That’s when he sees it.

Huge brown eyes staring at him from the television screen.  A parade of emaciated, trembling dogs set to Sarah McLoughlin.  You were watching the sad dog commercial.  Of course you were crying.

“Why are you watching this?” He turns to face you.  Your eyes once again glued to the screen as tears stream down your face.

“Look at them.  It’s so sad.”  You gesture towards the screen.

“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to watch it.  How about we change the channel?  That’s what I do.” Marcus spots the remote on the coffee table and makes his way toward it, setting down the grocery bag of snacks he brought along on the counter.

“Ugh, men,” you scoff, “so scared of emotions.” You find the remote and switch the tv off.

“It’s not about being scared of emotions.  Clearly you don’t know me very well if you think that.” He could leave it there, but something propels him to keep going.  It’s not like you can think any less of him than you already do.  “Do you want to know why I turn it off?  It’s because if I let myself watch that, I would feel responsible for every animal in that ad.  I would berate myself for not donating every extra dollar I had to help them.  I have spent a lot of years learning that not everything is up to me.  That I can only do so much.”  He rakes his hand through his hair as images of all the world’s problems flash through his brain, all the bad things that have, or could have, happened to people he cared about.

“I… I didn’t know,” you respond hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.  You don’t really know me.  You just think of me as Bridge’s annoying little brother.” He smiles wryly.

“Well, yeah, I mean you were always following us around and tattling to our parents.”

Marcus sighs. “I just wanted you two to be safe. You know how Bridgette is.”  Goodness knows common sense wasn’t her forte.  It felt to him like the only choice.  Be the responsible one.

“Oh, I didn’t think of it like that,” you reply quietly, the tension in the room thawing slightly, “And now you’re in the FBI.  That makes sense.”

Marcus shrugs.  “It’s complicated.”

“Brigette told me a little about what happened.  I’m sorry.”  Marcus feels shame rising up from his gut. Having his personal life failings widely known is not his favorite.  “She sounds like a real bitch.”

That startles a surprised laugh out of him. “Is that what Bridgette said?”

“She said worse,” you smile at him.  The first genuine smile he’s seen from you since being back.  It lights up the room.

“Where is she anyway?” he asks, allowing the conversation to drift away from his miserable love life.

“She’s probably running late, as usual.  I’m sure you’re familiar with that.” 

“Very,” he chuckles. You look through the contents of his bag and hum in approval, grabbing some bowls to dump the snacks into from the kitchen.  Marcus takes a look around your apartment.  It’s an attic space, so the ceiling juts at strange angles.  There’s a nook by one window with an easel.  Rays from the golden evening sun fall across a half-finished canvas.  Every surface is covered with beautiful, colorful things.  A stark contrast to Marcus’s current apartment.

It's so warm and homey.  Very you.  Even if you haven’t shown him that version of yourself yet.

You invite him to sit down on the sofa.

“What are we watching?” he asks, sinking into the cushions.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s my turn to pick.  So, if you were hoping for an action movie, you are out of luck.  Bridgette picks those.”

“That’s ok, I’m not really an action movie kind of guy.  What’s your pick?”

“Roman Holiday.”

“One of my favorites!”

“You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head.  “Dead serious.  Scouts honor.”

You snort laugh into your drink, it’s adorable, “You were a boy scout, weren’t you? I forgot.”

Marcus shrugs and smiles.  “Now if Bridgette would get here, we could get started.”

Just then both your phones ping with a text alert.  Bridgette isn’t coming.

Marcus heart sinks. “Oh, well… I guess I should go.”

“No, don’t.  It’s a great movie, stay and watch with me.”

“Are you sure?  I don’t want to intrude.”  The atmosphere is totally different than at the bar the other night.  Maybe you really weren’t feeling well and Bridgette was right. He would be stupid not to take the opportunity to spend more time with you, if you’re offering.

“Of course, I’ll make some popcorn.”

“That sounds great, thanks.”  He settles deeper into the couch cushion just as a gray cat hops into his lap and stares at him with unblinking eyes.  He stares back.

You return with a bowl of popcorn, setting it on the coffee table in front of them.

“Oh, I see you’ve met Winston.  You can pet him if you want, he’s very friendly.”

“Winston, huh?  Very dignified.”  Marcus reaches a tentative hand towards his head and he rubs into his palm.  “I’ve never really been around cats.”

“Well, I have two.  Winston and Penelope.  She’s around somewhere.”

Winston is now turning in circles in Marcus’s lap, gently pawing at his clothes.  He settles into a ball and begins purring.  The sound is oddly comforting.  You navigate to the movie and press play.

You

You really should wake him, but he looks so peaceful.  The movie is over, Gregory Peck has long since left the palace behind, breaking your heart all over again.  The screensaver bounces around the screen.

You take a minute to take Marcus in.  He’s objectively gorgeous.  Dark hair, long legs, broad shoulders… he’s any woman’s dream.  The fizzy feeling from when you initially spotted him at the bar is back in your belly.  He didn’t seem to despise you tonight.

Knowing a little bit more of why he was the way he was as a kid has dissipated some of your negative feelings toward him.  Thinking back on all the times he got you and Bridge in trouble and looking at it from his perspective of just wanting to keep his sister safe… well, it’s something you can understand in your 30s that wasn’t so obvious in your teens.

You’ve looked longer than you can comfortably justify, so you clear your throat.  “Are you ok over there?”

Marcus stirs, eyes popping open. “When did that happen?  Did this cat drug me?”  Winston is sprawled out across Marcus’s chest.  Limbs loose and dangling.  Marcus has been methodically stroking his head without even realizing it, even in his mostly-asleep state.

You chuckle, “Kitty mind control.  So relaxing right?  He likes you.”

Marcus looks back down at Winston’s relaxed body. “I don’t understand.  This cat’s comfort is now my top priority.”

“Like I said, kitty mind control. Cats are a good judge of character, you know.” Marcus looks at you inquisitively, not daring to shift his body lest it disturb Winston. Your heart swells a little. “They don’t like controlling people because they can’t be controlled.”

Marcus hums. “My therapy must be working,” he says half to himself before darting his eyes to you in a panic. “I… uhh… I mean…”

“It’s ok Marcus, you don’t have to tell me anything.” Marcus’s personal issues are none of your business, but you find that you wouldn’t mind providing a listening ear if he wants to share.  It’s a surprising thought.

“No, it’s ok,” he sighs.  “It’s just that… I have had issues with being controlling in the past.  It comes with the responsibility thing, I think.  I tend to decide how things are going to go and forget I’m not the only one involved.” He speaks softly, stroking Winston’s soft fur.  You listen quietly.

“Did Bridgette tell you why I’m here?” he asks then continues before you can answer. “I asked for a transfer… to a remote desk job.  Away from there… away from her.  I mean, she wasn’t there, but she was supposed to be…”

“I’m sorry, Marcus.  It sounds really tough.” He sighs deeply and rests his head against the back of the couch. “You know, I came back too,” you offer.

He turns his head to look at you, soft brown eyes urging you to continue.

“I tried to make it in New York.  It was really, really hard.  I had a bad breakup and just had to get away for a while. Not that different from you.”

“How long have you been back?”

“I guess it’s been five years now, huh, a bit longer than I intended.”  The admission makes you squirm in your seat.  Your sojourn back to your hometown was supposed to be temporary.  The last time you renewed your lease you didn’t even think about how long it had been, just signed the paperwork and continued on with your life.  You brush the uncomfortable feelings aside and turn back to Marcus.

He looks so relaxed and open and… in need of a friend. It might be time to truly start over.  And that has to start with an apology.

“I’m sorry about the other night… at the bar.” You pick at the hem of your sweatshirt, looking down.

“You weren’t feeling well, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“No, that’s not it.” you sigh, and look up at Marcus. “I let old stuff get the better of me and it seemed like you didn’t want me there–”

“I wanted you there.” Marcus interrupts.  He’s looking at you so intently.  Chocolate brown eyes burrowing into yours.

“Oh… I… guess I misunderstood,” you reply, haltingly, trying to square the way he looked at you that night with this new admission.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Marcus scoots Winston off of his lap, sits up and turns toward you.  “I was… uncomfortable… that night.  But it wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you.  You seemed like you didn’t want to see me… which I guess is true.” He lets out a rueful chuckle.

“Again, sorry,” you wince.

He chuckles.  “How about we make a fresh start?”

“I’d like that,” you smile. “You know, you should come to one of my classes. You work with art, right?”

“I work with it, but I don’t make it,” he shakes his head.

“It will be fun.  A creative outlet might be just what you need.” You’d like to see what Marcus is like when he isn’t trying to be responsible for everyone.

“I’ll think about it,” he smiles down at Winston and a strange warmth blooms in your chest.

Marcus

It sounded like a siren in his pocket, what the fuck? He hadn’t even been in the same room with Bridgette since her last call. How could she have changed the ring tone again?

“What have you done to my phone?” he answers with a frustrated sigh, only to hear cackling on the other end of the line.

“It’s either this or hiding glitter in your apartment, little brother. Which would you choose?”

Marcus shudders. Glitter is forever. “The phone.“

“Thought so! So what are you up to? Better not be groceries again.” She’s never going to let that go.

“No actually, I’m going to a painting class.” See, there.  Not wallowing.

“No way! So I guess my little plan worked!” she exclaims.

Marcus stops dead on the sidewalk. “What little plan?”

“Movie night. I knew you two would hit it off.”

“Wait, that’s why you didn’t come?” Marcus pinches between his eyes. Thinking back it made perfect sense. Inviting him to the bar and pushing them into a booth then running off. It was all a set up.

“I know you like her.”

“You… what?” His heartbeat picks up speed. 

“Marcus, it’s so obvious. The way you always followed us around. I think you’d be good for each other. You both just needed a push.”

If pushing wasn’t Bridgette’s specialty then what was?

“Bridge, I don’t think she feels that way about me. We cleared the air the other night but that’s all it was. I think we can be friends now.”

“We’ll see.”

“I mean it Bridge.” Marcus tries out his sternest voice.  It has never worked in the past on his sister, but maybe this time.

“Just don’t rule it out, ok Marcus?” She replies gently, which is even more startling than her usual cackling laughter.  “Have a good time, love you.” Then she hangs up, leaving him to ponder her words.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Marcus steps into the studio a few minutes before the class is supposed to start.  Already, small groups of friends chatter excitedly to each other.  Art covers the exposed brick walls of the studio, samples of past classes, he assumes.  He takes in the cacophony of colors, so much like your apartment, and smiles.

“Marcus! I’m so glad you made it!” You make your way over to him with a big smile on your face, so different from how you greeted him the last two times he’s seen you.  The first with such disdain and the second a sobbing mess.

“I’m here, I don’t know if I am going to be any good at this,” he admits sheepishly.

“You don’t have to be any good.  I just hope you have fun.”  You lead him over to the end of a long table.  “I have you set up here, across from one of my regulars.”

The table is lined with stools.  At each place, there is an easel with a canvas, a paper plate with splodges of paint, a variety of paint brushes, a cup full of water, and some paper towels.  At the end of the room is a raised platform with a full height easel with a finished painting and another with a blank canvas.  There’s also a table sporting all the same supplies.

“Take a seat, we’ll get started in a few minutes.” You squeeze his shoulders and make your way to another group that has just arrived.

He watches you greet each of your students as they come in, showing them where to sit, friendly and welcoming, setting them all at ease.  He can’t take his eyes off you.

“Well, well, well, who are you?” Marcus’s gaze snaps to a new arrival taking the seat across from him.  The elderly lady in a brightly colored kaftan and dangling earrings looks him up and down.  “I’m Maude. You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?” 

She extends a bird-like hand in his direction.

“Uh, hi, I’m Marcus,” he replies, flushing to the tips of his ears. “You must be the regular I’ve heard so much about.” He puts on his most charming smile.

“Ahh, you know our teacher. Such a lovely young lady.” She gives him an assessing gaze.  “We’ll see about you.”

“We’re just friends.” Marcus gulps, he just came to paint, not to be interrogated, but at least he knows something about that…unlike painting.

Just then, you reappear over Maude’s shoulder.  “Hi Maude, I see you’ve met my friend, Marcus.  Behave, ok?”  Maude harrumphs and you wink.  “I’m going to get us started.”

You make your way up to the platform at the end of the room, all eyes turn in your direction.

“Welcome everyone, I’m so glad you could make it out tonight.  We are going to be painting this fall scene.” You hold up the finished painting featuring a tree with a swing and colorful fall leaves.  “I’ll walk you through it step by step, but feel free to make it your own! Let’s get started.”

You instruct the group on which brush to use and colors to mix as you talk them through preparing the background of your painting.  Marcus follows your steps, mixing yellow, white and brown and filling in his canvas with long strokes.  Next you add some orange and darker yellow, making abstract blobs of color that will come to look like trees.  Soon the whole canvas is full.  Marcus’s looks pretty much the same as your example.  He gives himself an internal pat on the back.

“Ok, now we’re going to add our main tree.” You explain which brush to use and show how to use brown and black to paint the trunk of the tree up the right side of the canvas.  Soon twisting branches unfurl from your trunk and reach across the top of the canvas. “I’ll come around and help if anyone needs it.” You set down your supplies and a hand goes up on the other side of the room.  You make your way over to them.

Marcus focuses back on his canvas.  His tree is coming along.  It doesn’t have the same realistic depth to it that yours does, but it’s ok.  He concentrates on layering the brown and black and making his branches split and twist.  He sits back with a satisfied sigh.  It’s acceptable.

“Having fun yet, Marcus?” Maude’s voice floats over his canvas.  He peers to the side to see her.

“I think it’s going alright.  How is yours?”

“Oh, it’s going very well, dear.  I’m inspired tonight.”

“Glad to hear it.” Marcus smiles and turns back to his painting.  You are once again up in front of the room.

“Now the fun part… leaves! My tree is going to have dark red leaves, but yours can be whatever color you like.” Again, you demonstrate, making it look as easy as breathing, as your tree comes to life with layers of color. “I’m also going to show you how to add a fence and the tree swing, but just take your time.”  You explain how to have your fence get smaller as it recedes into the background and how to put down the general shape of the swing seat.

Marcus sets to work, following your instructions.  He’s concentrating so hard, he doesn’t notice you come up behind him.

“You’re doing great, Marcus! Are you having fun?” He sets down his brush and looks up at you.

“You make it look so easy.  Mine doesn’t look quite the same as yours.”  His fence posts are blocky and the wrong size.  The swing just looks weird.  He sighs. “I’m trying, but it looks like a lot of mistakes.”

“It shouldn’t look like mine, Marcus.  It should look like yours.” You smile at him.  “You know, I don’t see mistakes, I see your style.  Everyone’s is different and wonderful in its own way.  Let go.”  You squeeze his shoulders reassuringly.

“Thanks,” he replies, voice rougher than he expected as emotion wells up in his throat.  It’s so hard trying to do everything just right all the time.

You move to stand behind Maude.  Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand.  “Oh my!” you stifle a giggle distracting Marcus from his thoughts about perfectionism and letting go.

“I was telling your friend that I’m inspired tonight.” Maude explains serenely.

“I can see that! I can’t wait to see how this one turns out.” Marcus raises an eyebrow in your direction, and you shake your head slightly, eyes sparkling.  You pat Maude on the shoulder and continue to work your way around the room.

Marcus turns back to his canvas, repeating your words about his style being his own in his head.  He tries to let go of making it look like your example and just enjoy making the scene come alive.  You get everyone’s attention once more to add falling leaves and highlights of white on the fence and swing to complete the painting.

Marcus does as you showed, but also tests his own ideas, adding a knot to the tree trunk and some flecks of yellows in the leaves.  He sits back and surveys his work with satisfaction.

Around him, people begin packing up their belongings.  You drift through them offering to take pictures of friends and couples with their paintings.  He looks around and notices how every painting is just a little different and it makes him smile.

You make your way to him. “It looks great, Marcus.  I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“You know what, I am,” he responds with a smile. “I think I’ll hang it in my apartment, it’s a little short on art at the moment.”

You give an approving nod and walk over to see Maude’s.

“What do you think, dear?”

“It’s a masterpiece,” you intone with a smile.  “Marcus, come see.”

He gets up and walks around the end of the table and stops short.

On Maude’s canvas, where a tree should be…is a naked man…that looks an awful lot like him. He coughs out an embarrassed laugh.  It’s abstract and not explicit, thank god.  His… manhood… is artfully obscured, but it is flattering all the same.

“I told you I was inspired.” Maude smiles at her painting.  “I hope you don’t mind, dear.” She reaches out to pat Marcus’s arm.

“Not at all,” he chokes out.  “I’m honored.”  Maude gives a satisfied nod, as though that’s the only possible answer.  Marcus rubs the back of his neck and catches your eye, laughter dancing across your features.  He can’t help but smile back.

As the studio clears, Marcus hangs back.  He helps you gather up the unused supplies, piling the paintbrushes by the sink.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” he says, taking his place next to you to clean brushes, following your example.

“I’m glad you did too.  Sorry about Maude,” you bump his shoulder.

“No, you’re not,” he laughs.

“No, I’m not,” you look up to him smiling.  “That was pretty tame from her.”

He smiles down at you, so close in the darkened studio.  His gaze flickers to your mouth.  There’s a smudge of orange paint on your cheek.

“I like you not being mad at me,” he murmurs. You swallow and he watches your throat.

“I like not being mad at you,” you whisper back.

Marcus turns back to the paint brushes and so do you.  You rinse them quietly side by side for a few minutes.

Marcus clears his throat, “Since you’re not mad anymore, maybe I could take you to dinner sometime? As friends?”

“Friends. I’d like that,” you reply quietly, a smile in your voice.  Marcus smiles down into the sink. It was a start.

You

You are finishing washing the last of the class’s brushes when you hear Marcus’s knock on the door.  Drying your hands and hanging up your apron, you cross the studio to let him in, nerves jangling.  But not because of your dinner with Marcus.  That is just as friends after all, the fizzy feelings you’ve been having aside.

You open the door and Marcus greets you with a big smile that suddenly falls when he sees your face. 

“What’s wrong, are you ok?” he asks, stepping into the studio.  It’s not lost on you that this is now the second time he has arrived to find you upset.

“I’m ok, it’s just… Maude didn’t come tonight.  She always comes to this class.  I’m worried...” You wring your hands in front of you and Marcus gathers them in his larger ones.

“Let’s go check on her.  I walked here, but I can go get my car and be right back.” He searches your face, his eyes full of such concern it makes you melt a little.

“She’s only a few blocks away, we can walk.  Are you sure you don’t mind?” You grab your jacket and bag.

“Of course not, let’s go.”

Marcus ushers you out of the studio and waits while you lock up.  It’s another crisp evening and you take a deep breath of air, trying to relax.  You’re probably overreacting.  There are lots of reasons Maude may have missed the class, but your mind starts spinning

What if she fell in the shower? What if she cut herself cooking? What if… What if…

“Hey, it’s going to be ok.” You startle as Marcus interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

“How did you…”

“I know an anxiety spiral when I see one,” he smiles at you warmly, kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’m just so worried.” You try to take a deep breath.  Worrying won't change anything. You just need to get to her house.

“I know. You care a lot about her, don’t you? How long has she been coming to your studio?”

You exhale, thankful for Marcus’s ability to make conversation.  “She’s been coming for a few years now.  Every week.”

“Does she always go off-script with her paintings?”

You laugh. “Pretty much.  She treats it like open studio time, which is fine with me.  Most of my customers want and need the structure of the class to help them create.  Maude… not so much.”

“She seems like a very special lady.”

“She really is.” You’re so thankful that Marcus gets it.  “You know, she doesn’t always take her paintings home. It’s about the process not the product, but she took the one from your class..”

“Are you saying,” Marcus clears his throat, “that that painting may be hanging on a wall in her house?”

“I think you need to prepare for the possibility,” you laugh.

Marcus rubs the back of his neck as his cheeks turn pink.  It’s adorable.

You turn onto Maude’s street and arrive in front of her colorful house.  She definitely embraced the Victorian architecture.  You ascend the front steps and ring her bell, but there’s no answer.  Stepping back from the front door, you try to see in the windows, but the curtains are drawn.

“I just don’t know… I think I’ll go around back.” 

You’ve watered Maude’s plants and fed her cat on a few occasions, so you know where she keeps a spare key.

You and Marcus make your way around to the back of the house.  The windows are dark here too.  You knock on the door to no response, so you go digging for the key. You find it under the base of, what can only be described as, an erotic sculpture.  Maude is nothing if not consistent.

You open the back door and step into the dark space.  “Maude? Are you here?” you call as you make your way down the hall to the kitchen.  Marcus follows close behind. You turn the corner into the kitchen and gasp.

Maude is laying on the ground, eyes closed, next to broken dishes.  “Oh my god!” you exclaim, running to her side.  Marcus follows you in quickly and begins assessing her vitals, in a way that shows he has done this before.

He pulls out his phone to call 911. “She’s breathing, thank god.”

“Maude, can you hear me?” you plead with her as Marcus talks to the dispatcher.  Her eyes flutter as you take a cold hand into yours.  “We’re here. It’s going to be ok.”

. . . . . . . .

You lean back against the wall next to the door to your apartment.  Adrenaline has long since burned through your body leaving bone-tired exhaustion.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our dinner,” you look over at Marcus, who looks just as exhausted as you feel.

“Do not apologize to me.” He says sternly.

You had stayed with Maude at the hospital as long as they would allow, Marcus by your side.  She was stable, but dehydrated and suffering from a broken hip that would need surgery.  The doctor told you that she had likely been on the floor for 12 hours.  The thought just breaks your heart.

You reach out to take Marcus’s hand.  He lets you.  He didn’t have to do what he did for you tonight, but you’re beginning to realize that it’s just who he is.

He ran to get his car when you and Maude left in the ambulance and arrived at the hospital shortly after with snacks and water.  When he saw you shivering in the cold hospital room, your jacket was not nearly warm enough for the arctic conditions, he gave you his coat.

You’re still wearing it.  It smells like him, so warm and inviting.

The years you spent resenting him feel like such an enormous waste of time and energy right now.

The fizzy feelings you’ve been having the last few days only grew watching him tonight, so sure and competent… so caring and thoughtful.  He could have left you so many times tonight, but he refused to consider the idea.

If you were being honest with yourself, you don’t want to be friends with Marcus.  You want more.

“How can I thank you for tonight?” you ask, gently interlocking your fingers with his.

He steps into your space, looking down at your intertwined fingers and then up into your eyes.  “You don’t have to thank me, but I would still really like to take you out.”

“As friends?” you ask.

“As whatever you’d like.” He smolders down at you and your belly flips. “Is this when I admit that I have had a crush on you since I was 14?” He smiles sheepishly.

“Are you serious?” you laugh.

“It wasn’t just to keep Bridgette safe that I followed the two of you around.”

You shake your head in disbelief.  “How did I get this so wrong?”

Marcus shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.  What matters is we are here now.” His eyes flicker to your lips.  His body is so close to yours that you can feel heat radiating off of him.  You want him even closer.

“Kiss me, Marcus.”

And he does.

A/N: Eek! Sorry not sorry to leave it there! I originally planned to post this story in chapters, but after getting into it, decided it makes more sense in 3 big parts.  I hope you will stick around for Part 2!

Series Masterlist |  Marcus Pike Masterist | Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

[grandhotelabyss]

You said in your ancient Sandman blog post there’s a way to read Death as the villain of the comic. Would you elaborate on that?

Can we distinguish her cheery pragmatism from a complacent nihilism? It may be poetically apt for Death to have the manner of a good service worker, a cute (but not conventionally sexy) barista, the better to draw us in to her realm; a comparison to Gaiman as crowd-pleasing author, crowd-pleasing because of his charmingly "harmless" put-on, and comfortable in the routine exercise of his vocation, behind which he is monstrous, suggests itself. But if Gaiman were more spiritually serious, or spiritually serious at all, he would have shown what hides behind Death's human-flattering veneer, would've given Death a Krishna-reveals-himself-to-Arjuna moment, as Alan Moore might have. (This point applies to the portrayal of all the Endless, but it would have been most damaging to Death qua the series icon and mascot, as Gaiman's canny projection of the self-image of the female audience he pursued.) This unintentional ambiguity—pragmatic cheer as the camouflage of lethal power—exists on the plot level, too. I understand Gaiman wished to use the structure of a Classical tragedy, but still, his more novelistic literary mode gives us free rather than fated characters. On her first appearance, Death chides Dream for not asking for her help—but once the situation becomes clear, why doesn't she do anything? Why does allow Desire's plot to unfold to the bitter end? Death enframes Dream's story; she is essentially complicit in the scheme against him. The rules governing the Endless seem mutable enough—Destruction leaves, Delight becomes Delirium, and, indeed, Desire scripts Dream's doom—which means that Death could attempt to avert the tragedy. But why should she? The whole narrative tends toward death, and thus toward Death. The moral of the series is that Dream must change, but fan-favorite Death remains throughout the most static character, and morally undamaged by her stasis, or so the narrative implies. She enforces the status quo in the series' universe: a cute authoritarian. Behind her mask is Gaiman's own complacency and ruthlessness; the mask itself is his preferred erotic type, a spiritedly young but ultimately docile woman.

[max1461]

Ok like. Not to get too hung up on this. A Chinese invasion of Taiwan would be extremely bad, as are all wars of aggression, and I don't want to even indirectly suggest that it would be acceptable. But if we're trying to compare "degree of international destructiveness" between the US and the PRC, well, one extremely crude way to put numbers to the issue is to look at population size. Taiwan has a population of about 23 million. In 2001, Iraq had a population of 25 million and Afghanistan had a population of 20 million. If we want to go back further, Vietnam had a population of 25 million in 1955. Again, this is really crude, and I'm sure there's a better way to measure the destructiveness of a war. I don't think using the nominal monetary value of the damages is reasonable, because that just directly values the lives of people in poor countries less. Maybe monetary value of damages in PPP would be reasonable.

In any case, I think the population numbers suggests that, between the US as it stands in actuality today and a hypothetical China that decides to invade Taiwan, in the course of the two countries' recent illegal wars of aggression (even if, for the US, you only want to count Iraq as meeting that description), the US will come out as having been more destructive.

This doesn't account for everything. An invasion of Taiwan would cause enormous economic impacts globally due to its centrality in chip manufacturing—very bad for everyone. This analysis does not take account of China's illegal territorial belligerence in the South China Sea, or the US's various illegal regime change operations and other violations of foreign sovereignty. Oh, right, if we want to go back to Vietnam for the US, maybe we should go back to the invasion of Tibet by the PRC. The invasion of Tibet seems to have involved less than 1,000 deaths, so not really a comparable military conflict to any of the others, but still bad as a war of aggression qua a war of aggression.

It's maybe relevant to also mention the political outcome of these wars, although I think that's a secondary issue in all cases. The US-backed regime in South Vietnam was extremely brutal, the North Vietnamese regime was also brutal but has largely calmed down and Vietnam seems to be doing pretty well for itself. Of the two I think South Vietnam was clearly more oppressive. The Republic of Iraq is something of an Iranian puppet state but still seems better than Saddam's government. The Islamic Republic of Afghanistan was better than the Taliban government by far, in just about every regard. I don't think these latter two positive outcomes were anywhere near worth the death and destruction wrought by their respective wars, but politically they were positive.

PRC rule of Tibet is considerably better than the previous Tibetan government, which was a Buddhist theocracy. PRC rule of Taiwan would be considerably worse than the democratic Taiwan we have today. I don't think the positive political change in Tibet justified a war of aggression, but the costs were substantially lower than any of the US's remotely comparable wars.

There's also an important point to be made that, whereas the US invaded and set up puppet governments in Iraq and Afghanistan, China directly annexed Tibet and would in a putative invasion of Taiwan directly annex its territory. This is perhaps moderately more morally problematic in itself but more importantly is a much greater flouting of international law, which is a very bad precedent to set (or to continue to set, after Russia's invasion of Ukraine). For this latter point the invasion of Tibet is too old to matter but an invasion of Taiwan would matter very much.

It is also relevant to point out, again, that a Chinese invasion of Taiwan has not in fact happened, and to my understanding US military analysts don't predict the PRC to be close to attempting any invasion at present.

In any case, I think the analysis that China is more belligerent on the world stage than the US simply does not hold up to an encounter with the facts. This makes arguments to the effect of "the US needs to do whatever it takes to maintain its hegemony to prevent worse powers from taking charge" look extremely dubious. In terms of foreign policy, the US is the worse party, even in a world where all major parties are quite poorly behaved. The US has more civil liberties than China at home, but China also makes no effort to export its ideology the way the US does and the USSR did. Chinese domestic policy is not of much relevance to international politics in this way, I don't think, other than that perhaps having a democracy as world superpower increases the prestige of democracy and encourages it via soft power. I'm sure it has a marginal effect, and I'm sure it has a more-than-marginal effect on how many countries claim to be democracies. Not sure if I'm convinced of much more than that.

One way or another, arguments that we need the US to be world police continue not to hold up especially well to scrutiny.

[nexisnue]

ᝰBANKOTSU ─ SFW and NSFW Romantic HCs

pairing(s): bankotsu x gn! reader

warning(s): NSFW ; sexual content ; depictions of violence ; blood ; characters are of age

note(s): something to get this blog started...also because i heard there was an inuyasha sequel. watched it. suffered. 345 minutes gone. rip.

ᝰSafe For Work

For one thing, Bankotsu is unafraid to speak his mind and express how he feels. If you're the object of his affection, don't be surprised if he doesn't hold back when it comes to showing you how much he cares

Big on physical affection, especially when he’s comfortable with someone. Hand on your waist, arm slung over your shoulders, pulling you close just because. Sometimes it's just his way of saying he likes having you close.

But as much as Bankotsu's a physically affectionate guy, he's not the type to be all over you in front of others...

He's not ashamed of you nor is he trying to hide anything, he just thinks those private moments are more special when shared away from prying eyes.

He reserves the heavier stuff behind closed doors when it's just the two of you;

Kisses fall into this category.

He loves kissing every inch of you. From your face, neck, hands, or anywhere on your body.

But if he had to choose, your lips would always be his top priority.

Still, nothing leaves him all mushy and sappy than when you're the one peppering and showering his face with kisses.

Do that every night and he swears he'll fall harder and deeper for you.

Battle scars are a part of the life he leads and while he takes pride in most of them, there are a few that carry stories he'd rather not dwell on.

But he won't stop you from running your fingers over them, softly tracing the ragged lines that marred his skin. He’s used to rough hands and gentle contact is rare, and he’s a sucker for it. He won't say it out loud but he craves and cherishes that kind of contact with you.

Bankotsu’s definitely the type to enjoy a bath together, not just for the usual reasons, but because it gives him an excuse to have you close — especially when you're washing his hair and braid it afterwards.

It puts him at ease having your fingers run through his hair and massage his scalp.

It's not intended to be sexual but he's a bit of a tease, though, so you might find him nudging things in a flirtatious direction if he’s in the mood.

Loyal...to a fault.

Some might call it devotion, some might call it obsession—it’s a fine line, really The point isss, he’s all in. If you ever so much as doubt that, he’ll go to ridiculous lengths to prove otherwise. He’ll carve it into stone if he has to.

You’re his, and he’s yours—end of discussion.

Quick to jealousy. But it isn't his fault people just don't know their place (preferably 10 feet away if their words and gaze start carrying a little too much intent)

If you’re oblivious to it...well...you’re getting an earful later, because how could you not notice when it was so obvious someone else was shooting their shot!?

That said, Bankotsu's not the overbearing, possessive type. He trusts you. Confident enough to know he doesn't need to police your every interactions. You can talk to whoever you want, be friendly, socialize...but the moment he picks up on that kind of interest from someone else—or god forbids, from you— the mood shifts.

He has something to say...or do.

He likes knowing your focus is solely on him. Always. And he definitely won't shy away in asserting his place in your life even if it means going as far as sending that someone to an early grave.

Your bullshit is his bullshit.

You wanna do something dumb? Great. Sounds like a good time. You have weird habits? Fine, he probably does too. You wanna do something absolutely unhinged at godforsaken hours in the night? Say less, he's already on his feet.

Half the time, your antics fuel his own, and before you know it, you’re both enabling each other in the worst (or best) ways possible.

If you're a fighter like him, Bankotsu's idea of quality time is throwing down in a sparring match.

Nothing gets his blood pumping than when you show off your fighting prowess. There's something undeniably sexy about someone who can go toe-to-toe with him and hold their own.

Get a good hit in, and he might just have to pin you down and kiss the fight out of you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ᝰNot Safe For Work

He's not unduly concupiscent. Despite his youth, he doesn't have a high libido...but he indulges in physical gratification every now and then.

With that established, how he behaves in bed is dependent on his mood or your preference.

Although, most of the time, he likes it rough and hard (whether he's penetrating, the one getting penetrated, or none at all, go wild with him).

Switch (I don't make the rules and I'll debate anyone on this/j). He prefers dominating/topping but he won't turn you down if you want to switch the dynamic.

Whatever you're down for, he's in. He's willing to push himself out of his comfort zone if you suggest experimenting or try out new things in the bedroom.

Weird kinks? Some freaky stuff you like? No need to tell him twice, his clothes are already off.

His stamina is ridiculous. But it's none too surprising. All those years of training, fighting, and honing his skills aren't for nothing; so rest assured he can go for hours until you tap out.

Bankotsu's either a sadist or a masochist under the sheets. Or both. Take your pick.

Undoubtedly, he'll leave bruises and teeth marks all over your skin, enough to draw blood. It gives him a dark sort of satisfaction knowing that they won't heal until a little later.

Likewise, he enjoys it when you rake your nails along his back until he bleeds and mark him with your teeth in turn. Pull his hair. Hurt him. Leave bruises. Pain is pleasure.

Press a knife or blade against his neck while you're riding him and he's already throwing his head back, falling closer and closer to the edge.

Very vocal. He won't shy away when it comes to letting you know (or hear) how good you feel or how much he loves how you make him feel.

Missionary, cowgirl, mating press... basically any position wherein he's able to face you and have easy access to your lips. He enjoys watching your face twist in pleasure and eyes roll back as he fucks your brain out.

A tease in bed. You don't know how much he loves the sight and sound of you begging and drooling for him to do something as he denies you orgasm for the umpteenth time.

Or when you beg him to stop after making you come so much until you're shaking with oversensitivity, eyes glazed over and muttering incoherent words.

If you're AFAB, having a kid is nowhere near on his list of priorities but damn does he love cumming inside you and fucking his release back in.

On the rare occasions when he's feeling particularly soft, he'll go with gentle sex— exploring every crevice of your body with his touch and tongue while he whispers praise and words of reverence against your skin.

Aftercare cuddles are the best with him. He makes sure to clean you up if he left you too exhausted to move and join you under the blankets after, drawing mindless patterns on your skin as you both drift to sleep.

Covering up the visible love marks on your skin is a job for later.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[kenomacreature]

SEMI-COHERENT MUSINGS ON THE METAPHYSICS OF DELTARUNE

Exploring such topics as: - "what are the Depths?" - "what's with all the water references?" - "why do Darkners know all that stuff?"

Chapters 3 & 4 are fast approaching, the time we have before we’re faced with an influx of novel topics for speculation is running out, and I still have some leftover thoughts on the first two chapters that I'd like to get out there in writing before that happens. These thoughts primarily center around the metaphysics of Deltarune’s diegetic world, and various discursive methods that might be employed to help elucidate its nature.

This will be a loosely structured collection of thoughts that draw heavily from philosophy, literary theory and mythology, so if you don’t like pseudointellectual ramblings this is your warning to close the tab.

All of the points made here will be ancillary to the premises I argue for in my essay titled The Magic Circle. You should probably read it first!

Crossing the Fountain – art vs. byt

Much of my Magic Circle essay is concerned with the almost magical way in which one’s experience of reality is mentally transformed when under the spell of art or fiction. Indeed, this is the source of the essay’s title, and what I argue Darkness in Deltarune represents. I wanted to illustrate this idea a little more.

In the essay, I quoted J. Huizinga’s Homo Ludens – in that book he's talking about games and play specifically, but one of his most salient observations is that play is undergirded by an impulse to abstract from immediate reality that is shared between many branches of culture, including all aesthetic traditions. Huizinga is not the only theorist who noticed that art (which I define to include games and play) is experienced as a break from ‘immediate’ or quotidian experience. Russian Formalist Viktor Shklovsky posited that art was a transformation of everyday life into its own seperate realm. In his analysis, he put forth an oppositional model between art and what the Formalists called “byt” – an evocative term which could be translated as “life,” but also evokes the way in which life stabilizes into predictable molds.

Within the realm of byt, we experience events causally – and causality, as David Hume famously noted, is at bottom arbitrary. Art, on the other hand, is constructed towards certain ends – it is teleological. In art, essence precedes existence.

In byt, there's material – paper, canvas, film reel, computer code. In art, there are (artistic) devices – stanza, perspective, montage, mechanic.

Byt produces recurring patterns and routines that threaten to turn us into automatons. Art de-familiarizes, jolting us out of the narcotic patterns of everyday experience by presenting us with novelty to reflect on.

Now, you may or may not find this model for understanding art convincing or all-encompassing, but I think it provides a useful idea for understanding Deltarune's metatext.

When we interact with art or fiction, we voluntarily undergo certain illusions. When I read a story, I condition myself to think that I’m reading something that actually happened. When I watch theater, I condition myself to think that the actors are actual people, and the stage is a real environment. When I watch a film, I condition myself to think that the camera doesn’t exist; that it is a window into a different world which is also somehow not of that world. And when I play a (narrative) game, I condition myself to think that I am not interfacing with a program, but a world of its own. Of course, these self-imposed illusions are in no way totalizing. There is always a part of us that remains aware of the artifice. But our experience qua art operates under these illusions – we might say that there is always a part of us experiencing byt too, but this part is marginalized when we’re absorbed in an aesthetic experience.

Some readers might be scratching their heads at what any of this has to do with Deltarune, so I'll make the connection clear: Deltarune itself explicitly formulates Dark and Light – obvious analogues for fiction and reality (or art and byt) – as separate worlds, existing in a similar oppositional balance. Darkness transforms everyday objects – the raw material so to speak – into narrative devices, like characters and settings. In Deltarune there is a dual-reality to everything that comes into contact with Darkness (or the power of art). Might we climb one step up the hierarchy and try to use something akin to this oppositional model to explain the ways in which Deltarune refers to reality from within its fictional domain?

For example, there is the uneasy fact that we are an active force within the narrative, instead of just an invisible spectator. Sidestepping the question of whether the force we’re embodying in the game is supposed to literally be us, the player, at the very least the characters can only understand us in more conceptual terms, as some sort of in-universe deity or anomalous entity. So there’s us – the player – and there’s the Angel – our in-universe embodiment.

So what about the character who contacted us – what about Gaster? In The Magic Circle, I discussed how the information we have about Gaster leads us to think that he exists in some sort of transcendent state as a result of his experiments with Darkness. From that, I extrapolated that Darkness was the fundamental substance underlying Deltarune’s reality (which we can fit into another binary: there’s Darkness, the magical substance that makes up the reality of Deltarune’s world, and there’s what the concept clearly allegorizes: the creative or imaginative capacity of human beings – which is what gave rise to Deltarune, the video game). Gaster’s “transcendent” state trades heavily on video game creepypasta tropes; he’s like a ghost haunting the code of the game. And as it turns out, Deltarune has explicitly made the move to extend its diegesis to its code with the inclusion of a character who seems to be stuck there.

If the code is a part of the diegetic world, we can extrapolate another binary: there’s the code or internal workings of the program, and there’s “the Depths” – a higher (or deeper) metaphysical layer of Deltarune’s world that transcends time and space. Worded differently, the Depths are what we get when the 'eye of the narrative' turns its gaze towards the code of the program.

To close off this section, I want to mention that in Shklovsky’s theories about art and narrative, he makes heavy use of a machine metaphor; he wanted to focus on the ways in which art was a constructed object abiding by its own internal rules. The specific word the Formalists preferred is “device”. In fact, one of Shklovsky’s most well-known essays is titled “Art as Device”. Just something to think about for you Device Theory fans.

Water, Darkness and Chaos as Symbolic Motifs

Water is everywhere in Deltarune. The magical worlds we explore are given form by “fountains” and “geysers”. Onion-san talks of ominous songs under the sea. Ocean.ogg briefly plays after we fall into the supply closet Dark World. And the source image of IMAGE_DEPTH, the background of the GONERMAKER segment, is apparently of an ocean. What gives?

The basic gist is that water has an extremely long and prominent symbolic history in mythology, and figures especially prominently in ancient creation myths. One of the earliest creation myths we have, derived from Enūma Eliš, a Babylonian poem of the 2nd millenium BCE, describes a primordial state consisting of nothing but two deities – Abzu, god of the freshwater ocean, and Tiamat, god of the saltwater sea; from the “comingling of their waters”, all of creation emerges. This is consistent with what we know of ancient near-eastern cosmology in general; they viewed the world as essentially like an air bubble. In the beginning, there was water. Unordered, chaotic, formless. Then, something happens to produce the earth and firmament, both disc-shaped, which separate this cosmic ocean into heavenly waters above the earth (the source of all rain), and lower waters of the deep (the source of all rivers, springs, fountains and geysers).

This cosmological account survives into the Biblical narrative. From Genesis 1:6:

and God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.”

The ancient near-eastern flood narrative, which likewise is preserved in the Bible as the story of Noah’s ark, is made less arbitrary with this in consideration; its basis is not merely that drowning in a storm is a scary concept (though it certainly is) – the real symbolic threat of the flood is of a return to pre-creation chaos. The gates of heaven opening and all of creation coming undone. From Genesis 7:11:

In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened.

(Sound familiar?)

The idea of water as underlying all reality cropped up not just in religion and mythology, but also philosophy. Thales of Miletus, credited since Aristotle as the world’s first philosopher, famously believed that all of reality was made up of water. Thales and his philosophical successors are sometimes called material monists for their belief that all of reality was composed of a single ultimate substance – the arche from which everything originates.

Thales’s idea was no doubt influenced by the cosmological picture painted by mythology. Though not identical to the near-eastern accounts, the world of ancient Greek mythology is preceded by a state of primordial Chaos – a vast chasm, abyss, or emptiness. Though we in the present day might be tempted to understand Chaos as something like space, ancient commentators such as Pherecydes of Syros interpreted it as water. It was the fluid, formless and undifferentiated nature of water that made it such an enticing candidate for the pre-creation substance.

Chaos was also associated with darkness. Unambiguously born from Chaos are Erebus and Nyx – deified personifications of Darkness and Night. And this is a point of similarity with the ancient near-eastern accounts. From Genesis 1:1-3:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.

In short, the primordial state across world mythology tends to be that of an infinitely dark, chaotic ocean.

The parallels to Deltarune are obvious, and having tracked the symbolic history which the game is working with can, I think, lend us a better understanding of "Darkness" as it appears in the game. Needless to say, all of what I've discussed supports the thesis I laid out in The Magic Circle: that Darkness is the arche or prima materia of Deltarune, the underlying substance that its reality is made of. Likewise I think we can intuit what “the Depths” are – simply what in the Hebrew Bible is referred to as “the (great) deep”. A mass accretion of formless Darkness which sits below reality itself. Dark Fountains are formed when the fabric of reality is pierced, creating a gap from which Darkness bursts forth. And since Darkness is the “raw material of reality” so to speak, the Darkness forms a new reality within the old one. But too many holes in reality threaten to “burst the air bubble”, so to speak, and flood the world with Darkness.

I created the above diagram a while back, and used it in The Magic Circle - no doubt you'll notice the similarity between this and the earlier diagram of the Biblical cosmology. The funny thing is that this connection wasn't consciously intended at all; I was barely aware of what the Biblical cosmology was like when I made the first version of this image. That makes me feel like I'm on the right track.

I do want to make something clear; the world of Deltarune isn't necessarily a literal Biblical style air bubble, with a disc-earth and dome sky. The air bubble thing is just for the sake of visualization. I think the Depths are more like a different layer of reality, simultaneously "higher" and "deeper". It's not that there's literally a bunch of dark water under the ground; what Kris is really stabbing is, again, the fabric of "phenomenal" reality itself.

Another thing I want to note; these early mentions by Toby of concepts relating to twilight or the meeting of light and dark have long been a topic of discussion in the community. I want to formulate my understanding of what its significance is.

The first thing God does in the Biblical creation story is summon light. Light meeting the darkness is presented as a precondition to any further creation. Likewise, fiction (darkness) can not exist without an observer in reality (light). The meeting of light and dark is a fundamental condition of art; it can't exist without somone to "shed light on it".

It could also well be referring to the Roaring; when the distinctions between light and dark threaten to dissolve, that is when we must travel to the "edge of the shadow" (the outer boundaries of the dream, near where reality is), and "shatter the twilight reverie" (twilight: when only the sun's afterglow remains) (reverie: being lost in a dream).

On Darkner Knowledge

As established earlier, Darkners are teleological beings whose essence precedes their existence. That is to say, they’re created with an inherent purpose. This purpose is what Ralsei and Queen call “the will of the Fountain” – a guiding force determining the nature of the Dark World and its inhabitants, originating in the Fountain’s creator. In my Magic Circle essay, I used this fact to explain the behavior of Darkners, and why certain ones (like King and Queen) know things that they seemingly shouldn’t (like the fact that the Knight exists, and what their title is). On this latter part, however, I didn’t go into too much detail. Here, I want to elaborate on it a little by invoking an argument made by René Descartes in his Meditations on First Philosophy, known as “the trademark argument”.

(Don’t worry, I’m not actually going to get into the weeds of Descartes’ philosophy. It might be fun to talk about how Descartes’ idea of hierarchical degrees of reality, which consist of infinite substances, finite substances and modes, correspond to Deltarune’s Angel, Lightner, and Darkner hierarchy, but I don’t think it would unearth any particularly useful insights.)

The (very simplified) trademark argument goes something like this: God must exist, because I can conceive of God, his features (that he is an infinite and eternal substance), and the fact that he is altogether more real than I am despite me not possessing this degree of reality. The idea can’t have come from me, but it must have come from somewhere – consequently it must be that I have this idea innately as a sort of “trademark” of my creator.

Now, I very much doubt anyone who's reading this finds the above to be convincing evidence for God’s existence. Thankfully, we aren’t setting out to find out whether God exists or not. The God in this scenario – the Knight – is someone we know exists, and how the relevant knowledge is possessed really does require an explanation (unlike in Descartes' argument, where the notion that an explanation is needed for how we can conceive of the idea of God is dubious at best).

Of course, I don’t mean to imply that the trademark hypothesis is the only possible explanation you could offer. Obviously, you could posit that the Knight entered the Dark Worlds and imparted the knowledge personally. But to do this you’d have to deny the Kris Knight hypothesis, marginalize the religious subtext, assert that there’s no meaning to certain patterns between Chapter 2 and 3 (such as the main Darkner bosses being activated before the Fountain Creation), ignore the latent implications in Queen’s dialogue, among other things – and I’m not interested in doing all that. For the moment, the trademark hypothesis seems much safer, not least of all because it explains other mysterious details too.

Consider the fact that Darkners are aware of the battle system, and know how it works. Do we suppose that someone went around telling each and every Darkner the mechanics of the game? Or does it just make intuitive sense that Darkners would be created with certain ideas that are consistent with their purpose?

Granted, there is still some weirdness left over that we’d have to explain. For example, Darkners – most notably Ralsei but others as well – know about the player’s button configurations. We might be tempted to just chalk this up to the necessities of tutorializing, but the game calls attention to this by having Susie ask questions about it. The trademark hypothesis doesn’t explain why Darkners specifically would be stamped with this knowledge while the Lightners are left out.

The best explanation I can come up with is that since the Dark Worlds are created by Kris, and Kris almost certainly has forbidden meta knowledge imparted by Gaster, the Darkners likewise inherit that knowledge since Kris knows that the player will be controlling them when they go to seal the Fountains, and is aware that we will need some level of guidance.

Conclusion

All right, that’s pretty much everything I wanted to get out there before Chapters 3 & 4 release. Thanks for reading! I hope this wasn’t complete babble to anyone who’s not as knee-deep as I am in random literary theory and philosophy.  

[greenerteacups]

I am very interested to see if you have any thoughts on religion in the Harry Potter universe, your characters (specifically Draco and McGonagall) seem to have a pretty good understanding of the Bible ("who is this Methuselah of a rat?") But it seems odd to me that none of the pure-blood families in Canon have any overt religious beliefs. Even the muggle-borns don't seem to have any which is rather absurb when you think about it.

I'm sure you've answered this question before but I am a poor internet sleuth and outside of cntrl F'ing your books I don't know how to find out your previous response(s).

Thank you for your continued work and hope all is well with you and your family

I'm in solidarity with you about the intransigence of the Tumblr search function, which is useless, and honestly one of the perks of Tumblr as a social media site is that basically no one can find anything you've ever said unless they saved the link on sight or are willing to commit hours to scouring your blog for it. Privacy ICON!

My brain is itching like I've written about this before, but I think the answer would be that most pureblood wizards in Britain are culturally Christian, because Hogwarts observes the religious holidays of Easter and Christmas, but not religiously (we don't see any wizards going to church). Since Christianity way, way predates the Statute of Secrecy — although the SOS is just barely younger than Protestantism, conceptually, which is another chip on the pile of my increasingly un-crack "wizards are culturally Catholic" headcanon — the schism between wizarding and muggle culture would postdate Christianity. So you'd have familiarity with the Torah, the Bible, the Quran (respectively). You'd have cultural familiarity, too, because a lot of the literary touchstones would make use of Biblical references, so the Bible would still be a necessary cultural text for students. (The way my English teacher put it was: "I don't care if you don't believe one word of this, but a whole lot of books you do want to read will make more sense if you've read it.") The question would then become how much stock wizards put in those beliefs, which is ultimately a question of whether Jesus Christ is unusual qua wizarding standards, to which the answer is: yeah, he might be! The miracles break several of the established rules of magic in the wizarding world.

The other problem is that if wizards aren't Christian, then they still can't be pagan, because pagan magic in-universe is just straight-up technology. I've incorported pagan festivals into my fanfic because it makes sense to me that wizards who use these pagan ceremonies and traditions would celebrate it, but as we know it, the wizarding world isn't a terribly spiritual place. The most we get is the idea of Merlin as a kind of prophet/Christ analogue, which would be my starting point if I wanted to flesh out a full system of pureblood religion — probably some offshoot of Catholicism that incorporates pagan elements and recognizes Merlin as a prophet, possibly with conflicting sects fighting over the divine status of various muggle prophets.

[olderthannetfic]

The pigheaded approach to religious abuse that the trauma comes only from the religious aspect of the abuse is also stupid.

Yes the religion was used as a tool of abuse. Yes it was the tool that also shaped your abusers. But religion isn't like a unique tool of abuse and power.

Doesn't mean religious trauma isn't valid, but that personal trauma can't be universally applied when the religion is so huge and with so many niches.

There's a reason why with Christianity in this case, there are so many cult like sects of the larger denominations. People who want power take a something like Christianity, then shape it into a tool that fits their need to they can use and abuse their followers, and said abuse then trickles down. Mega churches are one example. Those scamming pastors who demand you pay them to fulfil miracles or other bullshit. The religion is the cleaver, but it's still the butcher that holds the cleaver who did the killing.

Yes even some of the older roads of Christianity has that problem. But again, the cleaver and the butcher. Parts of the religion are misrepresented, changed and even erased to keep said power, and make sure the cleaver is ever sharp. The question is just if the people in power are going to use the cleaver to hurt.

Yes you can have your issues with religion as a whole, but I honestly feel like too many people are so insanely focused on the religion, they almost forget that the abusers chose to be abusers. Even if someone was a victim of abuse, you have choices to make.

Being religious or non-religious has nothing to do with being a good person. If that was the case, then there wouldn't be abuse from places with different values, people who have no religious beliefs, etc. Even if we isolate Christianity and Islam and try to point at them as the bad players, then different religions shouldn't have abusers because the Christianity and Islam are the problem. But that's not the case.

The truth is probably closer to something like, if religion didn't exist, abusers and power hungry assholes would just find a different way to cause the same kind of trauma, just without the label "religion", and it'd just continue because it changed faces.

By the end I lost steam, because I noticed what a huge fucking topic this is and I'm woefully unequipped to even unravel not just hundreds, but thousand of years of religious and other cultural impact on humans.

--

Nerds are perfectly capable of starting cults based on turning into LOTR characters or channeling Final Fantasy ones or whatthefuckever.

I think a lot of the people I grew up with would do well to look at what state Buddhism is like vs. California hippie meditation seminars and at how many self help weekend away places are also mega scary cults before they wail about how Christianity/Islam qua Christianity/Islam are the issue.

[turbulenthandholding]

The Bear Season 4: Theme Prediction

I have a little Season 4 prediction that I’ve been playing with in my head pretty much since Season 3 came out and I wanted to write it up before the year ends.  

Since Season 2, they have been more overt with picking a theme to pull references from in The Bear.  Season 2 was sports, in the lingering presence of Coach K and Jimmy telling Carmy that the real fuckup of the 2003 Cubs playoffs run wasn’t Steve Bartman but rather an unforced error by Alex Gonzalez.   Season 3 was full of gorgeous film references which also tie closely into sleight-of-hand or magic (the legerdemain) and 4th wall breaking references we get as well.  

In an effort to try to predict where we are going in Season 4, I have been thinking about the following:

As we round what seems to be the third act of the whole arc of the show, what themes would make sense?

And, related to that, it feels like we are going to be out of the freezer and actually vibrantly collaborating in Season 4…

The whole “The Bear is NOT a comedy” discourse in wider media (about which I disagree with everyone lol)

Are there specific Chicago things that could be referenced, like the city’s political notoriety?

My prediction is that Season 4 is going to pull from a theme of comedy – specifically improv comedy.

Modern improv came out of the University of Chicago in the 1950s, pulling from older forms of comedy and theater (like commedia dell’arte, featuring improvised dialogue).

This grew to the formation of the ImprovOlympic (now iO Theater) and The Second City theaters/training facilities as well as touring groups and other theaters and the vibrant improv scene that still exists in the city today.  

This theme feels possible to me because:

Improv is done by adding and building (the improv concept of “Yes, and…”), collaborating, being open (as Luca told Marcus in season 2)

Improv and comedy have deep roots in Chicago (and leaves room for an actual Bill Murray sighting (after Mikey’s Ceres story in season 1))

There’s a through line between earlier mentions of comedic media (i.e. Carmy and Richie quoting Blues Brothers, posters, fuckin Kevin McCalliper) and the Season 3 theme of filmmaking that would be an interesting through line of continuity here

Season 3 was Carmy (and, consequently, almost everyone else) being stuck and improv is distinctively about motion and movement and creation.

Season 4 could bring a return to form of the same style of comedic moments we saw earlier in the series (i.e. the surge rates, fucko scene and pretty much all of Dogs…)

Focus (Or, formerly, Point of Concentration)

Focus is a fresh start.  The past is made to loosen its grip. - Viola Spolin

As I was doing some background reading for this, a major theme arose to me in probably the watershed text related to improvisation - Improvisation for the Theater by Viola Spolin.  Spolin was an acting teacher and coach.  Her work heavily influenced not only her son (Paul Sills, who was the original director of The Second City in Chicago) but also countless improvisers and actors through her improv games and methodologies.  

In the third edition of her book, she writes about how she renamed one of her preeminent concepts, Point of Concentration, into Focus:

“Focus”…suggests to me a moving energy, like a ball in a constant state of movement, the players all acutely conscious of everything going on around them while keeping their eye on the ball.  Similarly, whereas “relationship” is static and implies role playing, “relation” is a moving force – seeing, hearing, perceiving. (page liv)

Focus is a word that is very familiar to us in The Bear, particularly in relation to Sydney and Carmy and their relationship:

…I just need your focus like you need mine.  I…I don’t want to share it, I’m sorry…

…you deserve my full focus…

There is an interesting aspect to the way that Viola Spolin writes about what happens during improvisation; there’s almost a metaphysical or psychological or spiritual quality to how she discusses it, which feels similarly to me as the Season 3 references to Freudian psychology.  I feel like this concept could inform Season 4 in the same way.  

Anyway…I’m going to wrap this up by leaving this passage from Spolin’s book here, which speaks to me of our two chefs.  May we see their mutual focus only grow into Season 4.

This combination of individuals mutually focusing and mutually involved creates a true relation, a sharing of a fresh experience.  Here old frames of reference topple over as the new structure (growth) pushes its way upwards, allowing freedom of individual response and contribution.  Individual energy is released, trust is generated, inspiration and creativity appear as all the players play the game and solve the problem together.  “Sparks” fly between people when this happens. (3rd edition, page 24)

Things to read if you are interested:

Excellent short article on the history of Improv in Chicago

Viola Spolin's book Improvisation for the Theater - pdf of the 1st edition here in full for free

Also an extra article on Viola Spolin because turns out the roots of her improv work are really cool

[sequinsmile-x]

Loquacious

/lo·​qua·​cious./ adjective: tending to talk a great deal; talkative.

Whatever the dentist had given Aaron had apparently made her usually stoic, quiet, husband the chattiest man on the planet. 

-x-

Hi friends!

Some silly, fluffy, and hopefully funny nonsense for you on this Wednesday evening. I'm gifting this to the lovely @em-prentiss because our Hotchniss brain powers somehow connected and encouraged us to both write Aaron high af at the same time haha

I really hope you like this, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of dentists/dental work

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She feels nauseous. 

It swirls in her gut, forcing her to press her fingers against her lips to stop her from retching, worried she’d throw up right here in the dentist’s waiting room if she didn’t. She was almost used to the nausea itself, it had been weeks of it now. Everything seemed to trigger it, making her stomach flip and twist as she tried to breathe through it. She was always oddly proud of herself for pushing through when she could, her other palm pressed against her still flat belly as she tries to ignore the scent of antiseptic in the air that had set her off the moment they’d walked into the dentist’s office. 

“Mrs Hotchner?” 

She looks up from where her gaze had firmly been fixed on the ground and she frowns when she sees the small cup of water being held out to her. The knowing look on the receptionist's face only deepens her confusion as she takes the drink from her. 

“You were starting to look at little green,” the receptionist says, uncurling her fist and dropping a couple of individually wrapped mints into Emily’s other hand, “I was the same way when I had my first,” she says, winking, “The mints help.” 

No one other than Aaron and Emily’s OBGYN knew she was pregnant. They hadn’t been trying all that long yet, only a few months had passed since she’d stopped taking her birth control, and she’d been nothing short of overjoyed when the first pregnancy test she took came back positive. Everything else in her life had been so hard to get, so fiercely fought for, that she thought this would be the same. Another thing for her and Aaron to survive together as they tried to grow their family. 

She was 10 weeks along and pregnancy was kicking her ass. She was exhausted all the time. Emotional. Nauseous. And her boobs hurt so much she felt like she could cry. She was surprised no one on the team had figured it out yet, that they hadn’t realised that over the last few weeks, she hadn’t been to any crime scenes, not when the smell of one almost made her throw up, and that she was largely just doing victimology. 

She knew that they’d have to tell everyone soon, and she was excited to share it with the people she loved, but she would miss this just being something between her and Aaron. A secret they shared in the privacy they so rarely had - his hand pressed against her stomach as they talked about everything their baby would and could be.

Emily stutters on a laugh and shakes her head, “How did you…”

The receptionist smiles kindly, “When you know you now,” she says, standing up straight again, “Your husband is all done, so when you’re ready you can go back and get him.” 

Emily sighs in relief and nods gratefully. He’d only had two teeth removed, a hit from an unsub distributing previous dental work to the point where they couldn’t be salvaged, but she’d been worried. She knew it was a simple procedure, that she’d seen him go through worse. She’d sat by and watched him recover from things most people couldn’t even imagine and she’d done since long before they were together. It didn’t make it any easier - and the hour she’d sat in the waiting room with nothing to keep her busy except the rolling nausea in her stomach and the sound of drills from the procedure rooms had been some of the longest of her life. 

She drinks the water, only sipping half of it so she doesn’t get carried away and make herself sick, and pops one of the mints into her mouth before she heads to where the receptionist had directed her, excited to see her husband. 

She hears him talking before she even enters the room, his voice muffled by the wooden door. As she enters the room, her eyes wide as she looks at her husband. The left-hand side of his face was swollen and numb. The grin he was throwing her, one she could only describe as goofy was lopsided, and his eyes were dazed. 

“Hi honey,” she says, walking over and sitting next to him, relief vibrating in her chest when he squeezes her hand back, “How are you feeling?” 

“Mouth hurts,” he replies, his words slurred ever so slightly, a lisp chasing every syllable as his tongue tries to figure out what the hell is going on. He turns to look at the nurse and points at Emily, “Didn’t I tell you she was pretty?” 

The nurse suppresses a smile, her lips pressed together as she talks over him, clearly aware that he simply wasn’t going to stop talking just because she’d started. 

“Yes, Aaron you did,” she says, turning her attention to Emily, “He’s been talking about you a lot, Dr Harris actually had to ask him to stop so he could extract the tooth.”

It was far from the first time she’d ever seen him on painkillers. They usually just made him sleepy, and more than once he’d fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder on the jet home when he’d been hurt on a case. This, she was quickly realising, was different. 

Whatever the dentist had given Aaron had apparently made her usually stoic, quiet, husband the chattiest man on the planet. 

She smiles softly at him and runs her fingers through his hair, “You’ve been bragging about me?”

He nods earnestly before wincing, “Always.” 

She presses her lips together to stop her smile from getting any wider and she looks up at the nurse, “Is there anything I need to know?”

“Here is some gauze and some more pain meds,” she replies, handing Emily a bag, “He can use an ice pack when needed and as from tomorrow I’d recommend salt water rinses-”

“Gross,” Aaron interrupts, his face screwed up as Emily shoots him a look before she turns her attention back to the nurse.

“No food that will require a lot of chewing, and make sure he is careful when brushing.” 

Emily nods, her eyes flicking to her husband when he reaches for her hand, linking his fingers through hers, “Of course.” 

“What about kissing?” Aaron asks, his brow furrowing in frustration at the sound of his own voice, his tongue heavy in his mouth, “Is kissing okay?”

Emily sighs, ignoring how she could feel the nurse's amusement radiating off of her, “Honey-”

“Kissing is needed,” he says, looking earnestly at the nurse, “Have you seen how pretty she is? I need to be able to kiss her.”

The nurse, to her credit, doesn’t laugh, but she does clear her throat as she nods, her eyes sparkling as they meet Emily’s, “Kissing is fine, Aaron. Don’t worry.” 

Emily squeezes his hand as she looks down at him, “Come on, let's get you out of here,” she says, desperate to get him in the car and home before he says anything else. 

She thanks the nurse and then the receptionist as she walks past, her cheeks warming again as the other woman winks at her. Aaron stumbles ever so slightly when they get outside, as if the fresh air knocks him back, reminding him that he’s pumped full of painkillers and whatever sedative they gave him. She wraps her arm around his waist and smiles when his automatically loops around her shoulder, pulling her closer as if he’s the one providing the support. 

“Let’s go home,” she says as they approach the car, but he stops, still able to use his strength against her even in his impaired state, and she furrows her brow when she turns to see him staring at her, “What's wrong?” 

“I can’t go home, I need to go to work.” 

She thinks he’s joking at first and she laughs but it fades when she realises he’s being serious. She places her hands on her hips and shakes her head at him, “Aaron, baby, you’ve just had two teeth removed. You can’t feel half your face.”

“I don’t need my face to do paperwork,” he says, his attempt at a stern expression somewhat lost when half of his face doesn’t comply. “If you take me home I’ll just drive there myself.” 

She sighs because she knows he would. He’d rest for approximately two minutes before he got in the car and drove himself to work. She rolls her eyes and steps closer to him, making sure she stamps a kiss on the cheek he can feel before she pulls back. 

“Fine,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him, “I just had to marry the most stubborn man on the planet,” she says, shaking her head as she unlocks the car and slides into the driver's side, grateful when he at least doesn’t argue and gets in the passenger seat. She clips her seat belt into place and checks his is secure too when he’s done it, and she catches him staring at her, “What?” 

“You’re so good at looking after me,” he says, his smile still wonky and dazed, “Jack and the baby are so lucky to have you.” 

She leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth, “I think you’ve said more to me in the last few minutes than you did the entire first month I knew you.” 

He frowns, “That’s not true.” 

She hums, “Whatever you say, honey.” 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and sends two quick texts to the BAU group chat before she locks it and puts it down as she starts the engine. 

As predicted he wants to come to work. If any of you say anything about his lisp or his swollen face I will kill you.

We both know I’m talking to you, Derek.

___

He talks the entire car ride to the office. 

She has to press her lips together to stop herself from laughing more than once, his constant stream of consciousness, mostly about her and how much he loved her, as entertaining as it was embarrassing. 

He’d never been shy about his love for her, not in private anyway. He always told her how much he loved her, how much he appreciated her. But this was something else, unbidden and wild as it spilled out of him without thought, his words slurred slightly by his half-numb face and the pain meds that were making him loopy. 

“Want to know my favourite thing about being at work?” He says as they get out of the elevator, and nods, regretting it when her stomach rolls a little, “That I get to sit at my desk and look at you.” 

She shakes her head lovingly and she stops them, “Want to know my favourite thing about being at work?” 

“I want to know everything about you.” 

She chuckles and bites her lower lip before she leans in, making sure no one would be able to hear her if they walk past, “That occasionally, my husband will sneak away and make out with me in a supply closet.” 

He attempts to waggle his brows at her but fails, “We can do that later if you want.”

She kisses his cheek before she pulls back, heading for the doors into the bullpen, “Baby, I think making out might be a little beyond you for a couple of days.” 

“But the nurse said we could kiss,” he grumbles as she pushes the door open, and she can see the delight that passes over Derek and Dave’s face as they step into the office, but all it takes is her raising her eyebrow at them for them to clear their throats, tight smiles thrown their way as Derek mumbles under his breath. 

“Looking good Hotch.” 

“Do you need help getting up to your office?” Emily asks Aaron, ignoring Derek and the others completely, and she regrets it the moment she asks. The unfiltered love she’d quickly become used to in the last hour or so flashing across his face before he leans in and kisses her cheek, sloppy and uncoordinated as he presses his lips against her skin. 

“You’re such a good wife,” he says as he pulls back, his smile wide, “You’re such a good mom,” he adds, and she knows what was going to happen a split second before it does, his hand reaching out for her stomach as he carries on talking before she can stop him, “I can’t wait to have this baby with you.” 

She sighs and closes her eyes, the moment of silence that follows what he’s said all too brief for her liking before she hears a gasp from JJ. 

“You’re pregnant?” 

Emily turns and looks at the team, and she nods, clearing her throat as she reaches down and squeezes Aaron’s hand before she removes it from her belly, “Yes. I am.” 

JJ pulls her into a hug, and Emily watches as Derek smiles and pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending a text that she’d bet her trust fund on going to Penelope. 

“Congratulations,” JJ says, squeezing her tightly, “I’m so happy for you.”

Emily hugs her back, wrapping her arm around her briefly before she pulls back, “Thank you,” she says, throwing her husband a look, “We weren’t planning on telling anybody yet. But we’re excited.” 

Dave muscles his way in for a hug, before he pats Aaron on the shoulder, “I’m happy for you both. I assume I get to be god-father.” 

“It makes more sense for someone younger than them to be godfather,” Spencer says, smiling when Dave narrows his eyes at him, and Emily turns to Aaron, shaking her head as he watches everyone else. She slaps his shoulder gently, her eyebrow raised as their eyes meet.

“Now you’re quiet?” She asks, opening her mouth to gently berate him, any attempt to be mad at him pointless when he was looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars herself, but she’s cut off by a delighted squeal as Penelope walks into the bullpen. 

“Peaches, you’re pregnant?” 

Emily groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, “I should have just taken him home.” 

___

Aaron grumbles as Emily lifts his head up just long enough to slip in underneath, taking her place back on the couch, before lowering him back down onto the cushion on her lap before she holds an icepack against his cheek. “There’s something wrong with this,” he complains and she smiles, running her fingers through his hair with her free hand. 

“What do you mean?” 

He stretches his jaw and then groans in pain, “My pregnant wife looking after me,” he complains, his lisp almost entirely gone, “I should be waiting on you hand and foot. Bringing you water and ginger ale and rubbing your feet.” 

She chuckles and gently runs her knuckles up and down his good cheek, “You can do that tomorrow when you feel better,” she replies, her smile turning into a smirk, “Plus I think you owe me as many foot rubs as I want after telling everyone about the baby.” 

He grimaces and reaches up for her hand, linking their fingers together as he drags her hand to his lips and kisses them, “I am so sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay, honey,” she replies, “It’s not how I thought they’d find out. But I’m glad they know,” she says, her smile so wide her cheeks ache, “It makes it feel more real, you know?” 

“I know,” he says, and he turns his head and presses a kiss against her belly before he looks back up at her, “I really love you, Em,” he says, the same dopy smile he’d had all day spreading across his face, “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” 

Emotion she doesn’t understand, something she blames entirely on the baby, builds in her chest and she blows out a slow breath, “I love you too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” 

He smiles widely at her, but it slowly fades as if something is dawning on him and he groans, “You’re never going to let me live today down are you?” 

She laughs loudly and shakes her head, pushing his hair away from his forehead, “Oh, absolutely not.” 

-x-

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[irrealisms]

it's different this time, there's water liner notes

fic here if you haven't read it!

the original title for this fic was the (possibly) last summer, from this margaret atwood poem. this has been true for a couple months, since it was just a fic idea that i probably wasn't going to write. i was so excited for it! i love They are hostile nations & i haven't gotten to use it for a fic title yet! and i Do still very much recommend it both qua poem and as a pairing for this fic

(i got the fic idea after the first vitalasy stream on s6; it changed from "fic idea i probably won't write" to "yeah okay i need to write this" after the second one)

but then i was struggling with Writing Happy Things and batting around ideas of what specifically they're doing in the fic and got the idea for a Funnest Room Competition Take Two, and soooo recently i had been thinking and talking about the vitalasy & zam conversation i transcribed, where zam is convincing vitalasy to come down a 1x1 hole and vitalasy mentions the moment from s4 where zam jumped down a similar 1x1 in order to kill herself on dripstone and vitalasy followed immediately and died as well, and zam says It’s different this time, there’s water and I’m down here. the way that this is a physical representation of the ways it's different: in s4, when zam wanted to prove her love to vitalasy, she killed herself, in a microcosm of so many of the problems in their relationship. in s6, she tries to recreate something that vitalasy loved. it's safe; there's nothing there to kill herself or anyone else. you can't take fall damage or die on dripstone. there's water. and-- in the original Funnest Room, vitalasy's room had a secret entrance which led to a room with a lectern. the room with the lectern (and what was hidden behind the lectern) is, i think, familiar enough to all eclipse fans that i don't need to belabor the point too much, but it's a similar concept: making their base again, but it's different this time. no dripstone, no secret passages. they're trying again, but this time they're doing it without the problems that tear them apart. so. new title

btw have new fans seen the OG funnest rooms. they're so incredibly ugly. i love them so dearly. look at these and know that they all three have even more details that i couldn't get in the screenshot, such as "an end crystal" and "concrete powder being repeatedly shot up and then falling back down"

look at them. aren't they wonderful. anyway back to the fic

i...sort of considered either "zam-and-subz conversation about eclipse" or "zam coming out" having more of a presence. but it was never more than sort of; i was pretty solid early on that i didn't want this to be a reconciliation fic, i wanted it to be a post-reconciliation "tentatively learning to love each other again" fic. all the big dramatic moments are in the past. now: a moment of happiness, together.

something i wanted to make clear is that it's a very temporary moment of happiness. vitalasy is only on the server for very short periods of time. zam and subz have other plotlines and alliances going on (or, in subz's case, lifesteal public) that they can't & don't want to drop. the server itself is going to end. but....it's still real? and what it symbolizes in their relationship, that they're repairing it and getting closer as friends again, is going to keep being real.

the idea to intersperse some of the most painful moments of s4 is one i went back and forth on a bit but eventually decided in favor. they have a lot of very genuinely hurtful history that is sort of coloring every interaction. in the present day, they're able to move forward from it, but it's not...small? it was really bad, they all hurt each other a lot.

related to moving forward. something i said on discord about this fic: "i have written two Not A Fix-Its that do canon divergence from s4. i have broadly maintained my stance that they are doomed from the moment they got together & you cannot fix them. but it turns out that you can fix them and the way to fix them is by going forward instead of backwards."

uhhhhh i'm not sure how obvious this is but all three of them are sort of on high alert trying to Be Careful and Manage everything so everyone stays happy and nothing explodes horrifically. this is most obvious from vitalasy bc he's the one whose pov we're in but rest assured: zam and subz are doing it too. this will get better with time as they get used to each other & nothing continues to happen.

which: i do think that in fact it will not explode horrifically! not only have all of them grown as people since s4, there's also a thing of... eclipse federation only went as bad as it did in s4 because their long-term season goals were fundamentally opposed and vitalasy had important reasons that he could not tell zam the full truth about things. neither vitalasy nor subz have long-term season goals in s6; none of them have material reasons to lie to each other or keep secrets. i think they'll be fine.

change vs staying the same is another big thing. subz isn't a builder anymore, zam is. zam's a girl. but also there's the same hammock, the same familiar friendship. the things that are the same, the things that are different. once again this ties into the title & where it came from & why it applies to the fic.

uhhhhh zam gives subz slime blocks bc they were the walls of subz's funnest room. what zam may not know is that they were ALSO the walls of the post-s4 vitalasy&subz house. anyway that's a thing

vitalasy's cat isn't referred to by name because its name is vitalapuss and vitalasy is a PG streamer who tends to avoid the name. sorry vitalasy.

vitalasy smiles a LOT in this fic and there are two references to vitalasy's face hurting from smiling. this is because i watch vitalasy pov when he streams on s6 and when he puts on facecam he is ALWAYS smiling so so so big and occasionally mentioning how his face hurts from smiling so much. lifesteal makes him happy 🥺 (this in turn makes me happy)

similarly: vitalasy cubito often spins when Particularly happy and i so rarely get to include this bc i usually write vitalasy miserable. but he gets to spin here!!!

behind the scenes fact: i wrote the entire first draft of this fic a week ago in a single 6-hour sitting, from 11pm to 5am, while incredibly sick and off-and-on feverish. and then a week later (today) i did a bit of vod review, did 50 words of edits, and posted it. halfway through writing the first draft vitalasy tweeted that he was going to upload again accompanied by a gif of eclipse federation. i take nothing but Ws forever

discord message by me at 3am: "i cant believe he did this. he Heard me writing eclipse federation happy ending and was like Not to worry. i will make this real for you"

also i mentioned this earlier but i struggle SO MUCH with writing happy things. i'm proud of myself for both this fic and my previous one (memory foam, the tgcf fic, not the previous lifesteal fic) for being happier than my usual? in both of those fics there's still very much The Past Horrors but i'm expanding my repertoire! and from the reaction i think i did a good job of it ^w^

for eclipse fed particularly though there's also a thing of.... the reason i didn't see myself writing happy things for them wasn't just bc i'm bad at writing happy things, it's also bc they were doomed when they were together and incredibly unhappy when they fell apart and i couldn't imagine a path from where they started to a happy ending. certainly not in s4, and s5 didn't really give me hope there, either, with zam refusing to talk to vitalasy about the previous season, and then with subz and vitalasy both banning themselves off the server and quitting content creation (cutting off the possibility of any future reconciliation or even further interaction within the context of the lore). and then, well, s6 happened. vitalasy and subz are back; vitalasy and zam had a genuine conversation about s4 which went better than i could have imagined. this happy ending hasn't happened for them, and it may never, but i have genuine hope for them and the future of their relationship on lifesteal in a way i never have before, even when they were together the first time. i'm-- genuinely, truly so glad to have been wrong.

[fagtainsparklez]

duo name meanings: QSMP

TNT duo: quackity + wilbur

based on their dream smp characters.

in the dream smp, wilbur's character was heavily associated with TNT, having blown up his own nation. while not as heavily associated with the block, quackity used TNT a handful of times himself, attempting to destroy the egg with it and later going on to blow up purpled's UFO.

BBQ: quackity + badboyhalo

based on a combination of their names.

a semi-common thing for quackity's fanbase is to combine a name/theme of another streamer as opposed to an actual "duo" name. for example, quackity and karl are called honQ. the "BB" comes from the first two letters of "bbh" and the q from the first of "quackity".

loan shark duo: quackity + foolish

based on their dream smp characters.

a "loan shark" is someone who lends out money with extremely high interest rates, often to people they know will be unable to pay up. on the dream smp, quackity's last arc was partially based on him recruiting others to join his city, although his measures of recruitment tended to be extreme, such as blowing up someone's house, or in foolish's case, letting him die just to prove a point. additionally, the name borrows from foolish's skin having shark accessories/accentuation.

dap duo: quackity + slimecicle

based on their dream smp characters.

in the dream smp, charlie's character had a tendency of asking others to "dap him up!" quackity was the first person he'd interacted with, and therefore, the first person he asked that to, connecting the two despite slime going on to ask that of multiple other characters as well.

chaos duo: quackity + cellbit

based on their penchant for chaos.

quackity and cellbit tend to both have overdramatic moments that quickly spiral into chaos. quackity in particular can be unpredictable, both as a chracter and streamer.

crazy duo: quackity + forever

N/A

speculation: a parallel to quackity + cellbit's name of "insane duo".

duck duo: quackity + baghera

based on both of them being associated with ducks.

on top of quackity's name, his old avatar used to be the toontown duck. baghera's skin is a duck.

hammer duo: quackity + etoiles

based on an interaction between the two.

etoiles once hit quackity with a hammer. the name stuck.

quachu: quackity + nihachu

based on a combination of their names.

a semi-common thing for quackity's fanbase is to combine a name/theme of another streamer as opposed to an actual "duo" name. for example, quackity and karl are called honQ. quachu borrows the "qua" from quackity and "chu" from nihachu.

cabinet duo: quackity + tubbo

based on their dream smp characters.

on the dream smp, both quackity and tubbo were a part of jschlatt's presidential cabinet, trapped under a government that continuously abused them and their people. the two bonded over their unfortunate situations, and stuck up for each other when things got rough (which was often).

sand duo: wilbur + philza

based on wilbur's bit of eating sand.

during a hardcore stream, wilbur appeared in phil’s TTS, starting the conversation by going, "phil, have you ever eaten sand?", as phil was clearing draining a lava lake with sand and wilbur suggested eating it in order to get it to go faster. this bit would continue on for at least 14 minutes, with wilbur switching from TTS to vc to give phil (and chat) further insight about his sand-eating agenda.

cat duo: wilbur + jaiden

based on their interactions.

when the two met, cats were one of the first things they discussed and bonded over.

oxeye duo: wilbur + slimecicle

based on tommyinnit's lava ravine mod video.

during tommy's video, wilbur and charlie played a nonsensical game of placing items in the same chest and acting as if each had a specific attack, defense, layout, etc. one of the items they played was an oxeye daisy, which was also the last item wilbur gave to charlie before "going submersible."

honey duo: wilbur + roier

based on their flirting.

early on in the qsmp, wilbur referred to roier as "mi amor". in return, roier responded with, "i love you honey", or something to that effect.

streak/tetris duo: wilbur + cellbit

based on both of their characters having (had) white streamers in their hair / based on the streamers being known to play (and rage at) tetris.

when wilbur’s character was revived on the dream smp, he came back with a white streak. when cellbit was kidnapped by the federation, he woke up with a white streak.

despite both of them enjoying tetris, they've been known to be driven slightly insane when losing.

square duo: wilbur + felps

based on someone's dream.

the person who coined the duo name had a dream that felps was the first person wilbur ran into when he returned to the server, and the two got to know each other while breaking down felps' square.

father duo: wilbur + forever

based on their love for their kids.

despite being unable to be there, wilbur cares a lot for tallulah. if he could be present in her life, he would, as that little girl means the world to him. forever is largely regarded as one of the most protective parents, constantly fretting over richarlyson and telling him to put on his armor. he has a strong sense of protection over all the eggs, as well, as seen with the ninho project.

joy duo: wilbur + pac

based on the “lovejoy” name.

despite never meeting him, pac has been very eager for wilbur's return, and was one of the people most looking forward to his arrival when the "surprise party" billboards went up. this led to fans joking about how much he was acting like a fangirl, spiraling into the coining of joyduo.

rain duo: wilbur + nihachu

based on their origins smp characters.

on origins, wilbur was a phantom, and niki a merling. due to phantoms burning in the daytime and merlings being unable to exit the water, the only time the two were able to truly talk and bond with each other during the day was when it was raining.

quirky duo: wilbur + tubbo

based on their personalities.

both wilbur and tubbo are known to be quite eccentric. yeah that's all i got for this one.

hide duo: fit + pac

based on the hide and seek arena.

during a game of hide and seek, pac said goodbye to fit by calling him "big daddy", causing fit to panic and fumble so hard it took him multiple tries to find his warp point back home.

dad duo: philza + luzu

based on their paternal roles/influence.

luzu, of course, is a father in real life. while phil doesn't have any biological kids of his own, wilbur and tommy have essentially adopted themselves as his kids. wilbur has canonized this dynamic in at least three different smps, dubbing himself as phil's son in the dream smp, origins smp, and the qsmp.

death duo: philza + missa

based on their associations with death.

phil is commonly associated with death, or lack thereof, with his irl wife (kristin) canonically having been the goddess of death on the dream smp, as well as his reputation of being an unkillable hardcore player. he's been dubbed "the angel of death" on multiple servers; for being a killing machine on smpearth, and for his wife being the goddess of death on the dream smp. missa's connection comes from his skeletor skin and the different fandom interpretations of his character's appearance.

sugar duo: philza + forever

based on forever being phil's "sugar baby"

during the brazilians' first day on the server, phil took forever under his wing, giving him a bunch of items and supplies to help forever get started. forever was quick to dub phil his sugar daddy, and the name was shortened to just sugar for simplicity's sake.

codebreakers: philza + etoiles

based on their duel against the codes during the elections dinner.

when the codes attacked during the dinner, phil and etoiles were the two main fighters, and the only ones not to get teleported back by admins. additionally, the two of them have been the ones to most express their bloodthrist towards the codes, consistently challenging them to battles and calling them out for cowardly behavior.

goldfinch duo: foolish + jaiden

based on yellow birds.

in the words of its creator (@/inzerogravityy on twitter), "goldfinch is a yellow bird, and yknow jaiden is a bird person, and foolish is a totem that's made of gold which is yellow."

parrot duo: roier + jaiden

based on their habit of mimicking (ie “parroting”) each other.

contrary to popular belief, this has nothing to do with parrots, the bird. it’s because jaiden and roier have a tendency to mimic each other’s mannerisms/phrases! for example, roier’s insistence of hatsune miku being real comes from him hearing jaiden say so, and jaiden’s constant repetition of spanish phrases is because of spending so much time with roier.

rose/flower duo: cellbit + jaiden

based on cellbit’s visit to bobby fields.

when cellbit first visited jaiden's new house, he was very impressed and in awe of her build, to the point where he later admitted it nearly made him cry. jaiden's house, and bobby fields itself, is covered in roses, and recently, cellbit has also decorated his own home with them.

bird duo: baghera + jaiden

based on both of them being associated with birds.

baghera’s skin is a duck, and jaiden is well-known for being a bird lover, having two birds of her own irl. additionally, q!jaiden has been assigned as an avian by the larger fandom.

land duo: foolish + badboyhalo

based on their dream smp characters.

during the l’sandberg arc, bad had created a nation within foolish’s summer home and claimed its independence, despite foolish’s constant protests. multiple land disputes broke out between the two over toll gates, cacti, supreme fridges, and more, culminating in foolish blowing up l’sandberg. this rivalry between them has extended to the qsmp, as well, with bad consistently monitoring foolish’s builds and whether he has “permission” to build on those lands or not. 

theory duo/bros: maximus + badboyhalo

based on them being the original theorists.

before cellbit founded the order, maximus and bad were the first to start theorizing that something was wrong with the island, and the first to truly start digging deeper into what the federation was hiding.

gossip duo: cellbit + badboyhalo

based on their penchant for gossiping.

bad is not only a known gossiper, but known to start trouble just so he has more gossip to spread around. cellbit, while not as extreme, also enjoys his fair share of gossip, and the two have shared multiple gossip sessions over their fellow server members.

lamp duo: badboyhalo + baghera

based on bad gifting baghera a lamp.

during an investigation, bad gifted baghera a blue lamp. not only was this a pretty big thing considering q!bad's penchant for stealing and hoarding furniture, but also because the lamp was blue, ie skeppy-colored. bad tends to be especially protective and territorial over blue furniture, so gifting it to baghera was truly a testament of their friendship and how much he trusted her.

sweet duo: badboyhalo + etoiles

based on their interactions.

despite being some of the server's strongest and most decked-out warriors, etoiles and bad are total sweethearts to each other, as well as most of the other server members.

build duo: foolish + vegetta

based on their building prowess.

vegetta and foolish were some of the first on the qsmp to take up the idea of a large, intricate base, both taking it upon themselves to build massive towers. both players are known for their building outside of the qsmp itself.

castle/simp duo: cellbit + vegetta

based on their builds / based on their love for their partners.

both vegetta and cellbit have quite impressive bases, with vegetta's tower having since expanded outwards and cellbit's own castle.

people know not to mess with foolish because that would incite vegetta's wrath, and no one wants to ever be on his bad side. he's provided foolish with multiple illegal items because he loves him so much. alternatively, cellbit is absolutely whipped for roier. he absolutely short-circuits whenever his husband is around, and would do anything to ensure his safety/happiness.

misclick duo: mariana + slimecicle

based upon unfortunate canon events.

both mariana and charlie have ended up accidentally killing eggs by misclicking, whether it be by destroying their bed or by sweeping edge damage.

glass duo: roier + slimecicle

based on an ongoing bit of charlie breaking roier’s windows. 

charlie has a habit of entering buildings by breaking the nearest window instead of walking all the way to the front door, a habit that was especially noticeable in roier’s house. not only did charlie visit a lot, often breaking multiple windows during one visit as he came in and out of the house, but roier would have a notable reaction, likely due to the different norms between american and hispanic servers. 

backfly duo: vegetta + slimecicle

based on the combining of "backflip" and "fly".

charlie and vegetta once jumped down from the top of vegetta's tower with their gliders, attempting to see how many backflips charlie (el backflippo) could do before hitting the ground. the answer was 6.

green duo: mike + slimecicle

based on the green of their skins.

both charlie and mike have green as the most prominent color of their skin, with mike's eyes, shirt, boxers, and shoes, and charlie's eyes, shirt, br'aad's sash, and slime.

fonduo: slimecicle + baghera

based on their conversation on debate day.

baghera and charlie spent a good while talking about fondue together. more specifically, gruyere, as charlie couldn't manage to say it properly and kept asking baghera for assistance.

guapo duo: roier + cellbit

based on their communities' initial reactions to the other.

when cellbit was first added to the qsmp and outside communities got acquainted with him, roier's community (+ roier himself) were quick to talk about how handsome he is. in return, cellbit's community was also quick to highlight how handsome roier is, and the two grew a fast but unbreakable bond.

(la) realidad duo: roier + forever

based on the two discussing “the reality” of latin america. 

when forever was building the multiple bus stops + roads to the favela, he encountered roier in front of the oxxo. him and roier got to talking about “la realidad” (the reality) of living in latin america, destroying the road to be pull of pot holes and uneven terrain, as that is “la realidad” for most areas. they have since continued this bit, still keeping it to centering around the reality of latin american life.

ohnana duo: maximus + forever

based on the ongoing "oh nana" bit.

while the entire server has gotten into the "oh nana" bit at one point or another, maximus and forever are by far the most involved. everyone else has mostly dropped the bit and will only do it when a large group is involved, but forever and maximus have essentially turned it into a greeting between the two of them.

insane duo: cellbit + forever

based on their behavior.

cellbit is known to drive himself insane and go to extreme lengths to solve whatever puzzle has been put in front of him. forever is known to drive himself insane with projects that anyone else would balk at, such as copacabana and ninho. on top of that, they just drive each other insane and to the extreme.

smart/genius duo: baghera + cellbit

based on their penchant for enigmas.

baghera and cellbit have gotten very involved in the server's mysteries and uncovering the truth. they're both very smart and have keen eyes, especially when paired together.

smooth duo: pac + felps

based on their flirting and demeanor.

in comparison to the other brazilians, pac and felps are by far the calmest of the group. additionally, they're "smooth" flirters, having even kissed during festa junina.

piranha duo: pac + forever

based on both of their characters being flirts.

in portuguese, “piranha” is slang for a woman that sleeps around. both forever and pac have become semi-infamous for flirting with the other server members. 

mean girls duo: baghera + forever

based on mean girls, the movie.

baghera and forever are known to provoke and poke fun at each other constantly. they also have a penchant for gossiping and talking shit, although largely as a light-hearted joke and nothing actually serious. additionally, baghera and forever's characters are both blond, fitting the usual "mean girl" stereotype.

pacman duo: pac + etoiles

based on both of them having pac-man associations.

both etoiles and pac have a pac-man symbol on the front of their shirt/hoodie.

baguette duo: nihachu + tubbo

N/A

green box duo: tubbo + philza

based on their dream smp characters.

the backstory for c!tubbo was that he was found on a box on the side of the road by philza. the "green" was added due to both of their skins having green as a major color.

beets duo: tubbo + foolish

based on their dream smp characters.

to "fix" his consistent issue of starvation, tubbo decided to build a beet farm to have a consistent source of food. foolish ended up jumping in on the bit, and soon enough, a fairly notable area of the greater dream smp had been turned into a glorified beet farm.

[handeaux]

Cincinnati Inventor Samuel Barriett Said The Dead Speak, But Left Three Widows (And A Mistress) Mystified

Over its long history, our beloved city has never lacked for cranks, kooks and oddballs. If Cincinnati ever unveils a Screwball Hall of Fame, it will be densely populated, but Samuel Lawrence Barriett would certainly occupy a central display.

Barriett was known as an inventor, and it is true that he held some patents, but his greatest talent was self-promotion. The fact is, lots of people acquired patents for their inventions, but Barriett built his reputation on descriptions of inventions he never actually finished. So effective was his salesmanship that Cincinnati newspapers shamelessly compared Barriett to the “Wizard of Menlo Park” himself, Thomas Edison.

So, what did Barriett actually invent? You must certainly be familiar with the self-oiling ring oiler, the improved punch, the automatic switch for electrical apparatus, and the automatic return rheostat. No? How about the electrical process to depilate sealskins? Or the self-belter for sewing machines? All very useful devices, no doubt, but hardly on the scale of electric light bulbs, phonographs and motion pictures.

Barriett was certainly adept at promoting his own image. When Cincinnati’s entire electrical system went kaput in 1902, the relatively new Cincinnati Gas & Electric Company (previously the Cincinnati Gas, Light and Coke Company) was befuddled. Barriett offered a $30,000 wager to the electric utility as a guarantee he could solve the problem within two hours. CG&E President Andrew Hickenlooper may not have known electricity, but he did know flim-flam, and told the Enquirer [27 September 1902]:

“We will have nothing to do with this man Barriett, because he talked in a manner that impressed me he would be unable to aid us in anyway.”

This is not to deny Barriett’s creativity at all. During the Spanish-American War, Barriett was hired to churn out artillery shells at a factory connected to West Point. He dramatically increased production while lowering costs. Barriett also developed an electric motor of his own design and built a factory in Cincinnati to manufacture it.

But the inventions that built Barriett’s reputation never saw the light of day. Barriett created quite a stir with his announcement that he would soon offer for sale a device that sounds remarkably like Dick Tracy’s Two-Way Wrist Radio. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [23 October 1904]:

“Barriett has about perfected a little instrument which a man may carry like a watch. It is in fact a limited wireless telephone affair that will carry messages, he says, over a radius of four miles and is for pocket use.”

He also claimed to be working on a sort of videophone, long before television itself had even been invented.

“Barriett has for over a year been working at times on a system all his own, whereby he proposes to make it possible for a person talking over a telephone to see the one at the other end of the line. This has been wrought upon by others, but he affirms that he has a scheme by which this will be accomplished.”

But perhaps the farthest out unpatented invention Barriett boasted about was his method for contacting the dead. He told the Enquirer:

“If the dead speak they shall be heard, no matter if they speak here or elsewhere. I have a plan by which I hope to artificially produce a magnified or refined sense of hearing. When I have concluded one step in this direction it will lead to others, which will culminate in an instrument, by which a man hidden away in a cave or under the sea, far removed from ordinary sound, may hear the spiritual voice, if it exists in the universe.”

For someone so interested in listening to the dead, Barriett was abnormally reluctant to join the departed. He was obsessively paranoid to the extent he would not open mail addressed to him, either business or personal, because he was convinced someone was trying to kill him by an explosive device. He had no qualms about letting his secretary open all of his mail.

For someone so averse to dying, it is therefore beyond ironic that Barriett apparently died by suicide in a Dayton, Ohio, boarding house in 1905. Although friends and business associates vociferously protested that Barriett had no reason to take his own life, investigators discovered that he had locked himself in his room and turned the gas up to full pressure. According to the Enquirer:

“They claim there was a stifling odor in the room Tuesday night, which was doubtless created by unconsumed gas. This, they believe, produced asphyxiation.”

Whether his death was intentional or accidental, Barriett created a most interesting afterlife when three widows appeared to assert their claims to his estate and it was revealed that his business partner was probably also his mistress.

The first wife to emerge was Georgia Barriett, living in New York with two daughters aged 15 and 9 and an infant son. For several years, Samuel Barriett had lived with this family in an apartment on Park Avenue in Walnut Hills. About a year before his death, he and Georgia separated and she moved to New York City, taking the children with her. It came out that Samuel Barriett had applied for a divorce from Georgia five years previously, but the divorce had never been finalized and he continued to live with her for four years as man and wife, qualifying her – even if the divorce had been finalized – for status as a common-law wife.

No sooner had Georgia Barriett staked her claim, than Mamie Barriett of Brooklyn announced her intention to prove that she was the only true and legitimate widow of Samuel Barriett. She arrived in Cincinnati with a young son. It appears that Samuel Barriett married Mamie in 1888. Samuel was arrested on their wedding day for “some mysterious charge, in which a woman was involved.” It proved unclear whether they had ever divorced.

As the two Mrs. Barrietts and their attorneys lined up for a legal showdown, word arrived that there was yet a third Mrs. Barriett in Texas with another child. The Texas widow was identified as Barriett’s first wife and it appeared they were legally divorced.

The source of much of this marital information was Mrs. Lena Behrens, regularly described as Barriett’s secretary. Mrs. Behrens was indeed the secretary, but she was no stenographer. She owned and operated her own saddlery company and was a major investor and an officer in Barriett’s corporation. As his business partner she held the position of secretary in the Barriett Motor Corporation of which Samuel was president. Their tangled relationship caught the attention of the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune, which published [16 February 1905] an exposé outing Mrs. Behrens and Mr. Barriett as something more than business partners. The newspaper revealed, for example, that they just happened to live at the same address. Mrs. Behrens, herself a widow, was described as “a most attractive woman of 28.” She (actually 38 years old) denied anything other than a business connection:

“People circulated romantic stories, and I have suffered much to be with him and aid him to the success that seemed within his reach just before his death. Mr. Barriett was one of those peculiar men given to study and experimenting, and not disposed to make love, but, nevertheless most lovable.”

In other words, “We were just good friends.”

Curiously, the two battling widows and Mrs. Behrens all admitted to pouring large sums of money into Barriett’s business. It was not a good investment. At his death, Barriett’s estate was worth just $5,000 and his debts far exceeded his assets. The widows were fighting over the widow’s allowance – a few hundred dollars – rather than any windfall. It appears neither got anything because the estate was declared insolvent, although Mrs. Behrens may have received a small amount as a creditor. The corporation reorganized and renamed itself and was eventually sold.

Samuel Barriett, who has not communicated from beyond, is buried in Spring Grove Cemetery. His widows rest elsewhere. Lena Behrens died in 1949, aged 82, and is buried in Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville.