#you’re inextricably connected

[cuporbuster]

death. taxes. a mcdrai no look pass.

[gamesetart]

hngnngngnng sweet and easy universe……

need Pat to fuck you and tease you about how he knows you’re thinking about Art even while Patrick is stuffed deep inside your little pussy. He’s so mean, teasing about how Art isn’t going to be as deep as he is, he’s not going to know what the fuck to do with pussy this tight, this wet, this sweet.

It’s adorable that you don’t even care that Art’s not going to fuck you better than Patrick can. You’re in love with each other. But Patrick doesn’t have to love you to make you feel good, he just has to love your pussy <3

Well yes! 😁🫶

well. yes. (again, had to break the laptop out for this ur so yummy)

"a terrible sweetness" (a patrick interlude)

tags: patrick zweig x fem reader, p in v, mild daddy kink, implied patrick zweig x art donaldson, implied art donaldson x fem reader. nsfw. minors DNI.

You didn't ever mean to fuck him more than once. Patrick was supposed to be a hookup, a momentary balm to soothe your seemingly insatiable need. He's a frat party fever dream, a fantasy through amber-coloured glass. And he's a saved contact on your phone and a text message at one in the morning:

patrick (frat) 1:47 am

in town, wyd?

So you start to fuck him a little more regularly. With Art's permission, of course, you're a lot of things, but you're not a cheater, for fucks' sakes. It's weird for Art, grabbing lunch with Patrick knowing he's been inside Art's girlfriend, and probably will again before his weekend visit is over. But he almost likes it. Because that's his Patrick and his girl. You've managed to inextricably connect two of the most important people to him, and by having both Tashi and her boyfriend, you've tied the final knot. The four of you, all tied together because you can't keep your pretty hands to yourself.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Patrick taunts, scissoring his fingers open inside you.

Some days, he doesn't bother with much prep - the tight feeling of him bullying inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him, is dizzyingly addictive - but there are nights where it's like he can read your mind, and he finds sick satisfaction in drawing things out so he can tease you. About Art, his Art, his sweet Artie, your lovely, doting, idiot boyfriend, who, for all the goodness in the world, wouldn't ever be able to fuck you like Patrick does.

And he likes knowing he's caused all of this. Patrick knows Art better than Art knows himself. Fucking you is like fucking a part of Art by proxy, and the fact that you're both thinking about him is almost laughable.

"I'm always thinking about him," you return, balling your hands up in your sheets.

He's got you splayed out on your bed, his body between your spread legs, his hand reaching between your bodies to fuck in and out of you with two quick, strong fingers. Patrick's head is right above yours - you could have kissed him, if you wanted. But that's not really what he's for, sweet presses of lips while you 'make love'. Patrick is for the clash of teeth and tongues while you fuck. His eyes are impossibly beautiful, bluish green, the pupils ringed with a sunburst of hazel and gold.

"So am I," Patrick spits back, and it makes you clench around him, hearing confirmation of that single unifying detail, the single nexus between the two of you.

Art.

"But he can't fuck you like I can," Patrick continues roughly.

He pulls his fingers from you, much to your disappointment. (And excitement: not cumming on Patrick's hands just means you'll cum more around his cock.) He brings the slick, shiny digits to your lips, smiling roughly at you.

"Clean that off for me, will ya, doll?"

Patrick likes that he can treat you in a way he can't treat Tashi. She's a lot of things, but she won't let him degrade her. Not the way he degrades you; he's using you as much as you're using him, and he won't let you forget it. He likes that when he holds his fingers up to your mouth you suck them willingly into your mouth and swirl your tongue around him to really make sure you're licked all of yourself off him, likes that you seem genuinely disappointed when he takes them away. Like a dog losing it's favourite toy.

He lines himself up, dragging his cock meaning up and down your slit. Kisses it against your clit, slaps it there for good measure. You moan, eyes fluttering shut, rolling back in your skull. Patrick knows what he's doing, always does. Patrick knows how to fuck. Patrick knows how to make you feel so, so good.

His palm slaps across your face, not very hard, just as a reminder. The crack of skin forces your eyes back onto his smug face.

"No, no, keep your fucking eyes open," he goads. "I want you to look at me, and think about him, when I fuck you."

It's with that promise that Patrick finally spears himself in you, all at once, bottoming out in one rough, steady thrust. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes open as you all but scream, walls stretching to take him, clenching around his cock when he finally lands home. He gives you no time to adjust, though, pulling out again, almost all the way, and slamming back in.

"He couldn't fuck you like, this could he?" Patrick groans. His eyes are half-lidded and his pupils are blown so wide they look black. Lust. That's all this is. That's how you like it.

"N-no," you gasp, rolling your hips up to meet him. "Not like this, fuck, you feel so good."

"Yeah, I do," Patrick says, dragging a hand down your body to palm at your tits, rolling one nipple between his fingers.

The thing about Patrick is he fucks you like he doesn't care about you. Which, to an extent, he does, you're dating his best friend and you've slept with his girlfriend and you're actually really funny and smart and interesting so he can see why Art likes you, but Patrick isn't in love with you. You both know it.

"So good, so fuckin' good, god, you fuck me so good, you're so big," you chant helpfully.

His hips move with a fluidity that is almost mesmerising - strong, fast, powerful. He's a hurricane. You can't bend Nature to your will, but if you're very clever, you can learn how to move with it, to learn to ride the waves, match the tide. That's what you have with Patrick. Organised Chaos.

"He wouldn't know what to do with all of this," he pants. "And when he does fuck you, you're gonna miss me. Because no one's gonna fuck you as deep, no one's gonna take care of this sweet little princess pussy like I do."

The idea of that gets you both going. For Patrick, it's the idea of Art's sweet, blushing face, his fumbling hands, his shaky moans, moans Patrick's become too familiar with at the Academy, the late nights when Art thinks no one can hear. But Patrick can. Patrick always can. For you, it's the idea of the tables turning. It's the horrible, taboo idea of Art finally, finally fucking you, and getting a reminder of Patrick. You can practically see him in your head, the expression he had when he was fucking himself into your sheets.

You know Patrick's right, and it hardly matters. You're in love with Art, not Patrick. One of these days, you'll probably marry him, (he's won you over to the idea, honestly, the whole kids and a house life. With Art, the idea becomes sweet.) and you'll have a gorgeous wedding and his ring on your finger. You're not going to marry Patrick, he's not for that. He's for this. For the now - college dorms and too much beer, texts too late at night or too early in the morning. So you tell him.

"Yes, yes, fuck, you're so good," you whine, and every word comes out shaky and fucked. "No one's ever fucked me so good, only you, Patrick, only your cock, god."

"Yeah, that's it, baby, tell me how good I fuck you," Patrick moans. "Tell me how well I cuck your fucking boyfriend."

That's it. That's all it takes for you to cum around him, because it's gross, and it's a fucked-up thing to say, and it's so mean, and you're trying to picture Art saying something like this to you, doing something like this to you, and you can't. Patrick fucking laughs when you clench around him, shaking. But he doesn't stop. He fucks you straight through it, and then he just keeps going. It's unfair, the fact that he has the stamina of a fucking race horse when he wants it. You've had nights where you've cum four times before he's cum at all, and by the end of it you're only half there.

You don't really have words, but you try. What comes out is a broken, "Patrick-- fuck, Art-- can't-- fuck."

"I bet he wants to put a baby in you," Patrick teases, slamming in and out like he wants to break you. "Bet he wants you to make him a daddy."

He's starting to think maybe he's thinking of Art while he fucks you, too. Keeps seeing images of Art in his head - Art writhing under him, Art begging for him, Art's voice, not yours, chanting, "fuck, yes, daddy, daddy, fuck!"

Patrick slips one hand down to play with your clit. It makes you sob, voice climbing another octave. Your whole floor probably hates you. Your RA probably hates you. Your neighbours definitely hate you, and maybe they hate him too. They're probably all jealous.

"Come on, doll, you've got another one. Cum on my cock. Pretends it's Art's."

He's kind of pretending your cunt is Art's ass, so you'll at least be even. You sob, legs shaking, hands fisting in the sheets so hard they might rip. It's good, so good, too good. Your entire body is on fire. You're clenching around him, and it's like every thrust drives his cock right up into your cervix.

You gush around him right as he fills you up. You're on the pill, of course, but for a moment you pretend you aren't, pretend it's Art emptying his balls into you, filling you up, pretend you're making Art a daddy. It's a nice thought.

You're never going to marry Patrick Zweig. It's probably why he fucks you so well.

[twistedlily]

Crackpot Theory: Five and Viktor are the Beginning and End to Everything

A friend told me months ago to write an essay after hearing my crackpot theory about this show that is my Joker, so here I am, doing just what I was told. (Yes, I know this won't come true. That's why it's a crackpot theory. I'm only writing this for fun and to get this idea out of my head before S4 drops tomorrow. Anyway!)

Disclaimer: I will be using Vanya and she/her pronouns to refer to the comics character, and to the show character in S1 and S2, and Viktor and he/him pronouns for S3. I am doing this for the sake of more easily understanding which seasons in the show I am referring to when I mention my points.

Anyway, without further ado...

I am putting too much faith in the show's writing here and am convinced that the show is hinting that Five and Vanya/Viktor are the key to everything.

Here is why:

In S1, we see quite clearly that Five meant something to Vanya. She tells Pogo in the first episode that "You know what's stupid? I used to leave the lights on for him. ... Every night I'd leave a little snack and make sure the lights were on." Following that, we also see Five return, looking exactly the way he did when he left, and one of the first things he does is make himself a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, which is the very snack that Vanya would continually make for him when he was gone.

Later on in the episode, we see him get attacked by the Temps Commission, and after said attack, the place he goes to for safety is—Vanya’s apartment. There, we get to see her patching him up, get to see them talk and in turn have a better understanding of their particular dynamic. Vanya asks him why he’s at her apartment. He says, “I’ve decided you’re the only one I can trust.” She asks him why he’s opening up to her specifically, and at first, he says, “Because you’re ordinary.” Of course, those words sting with her, and it shows on her face. So he amends his statement shortly thereafter, with a “Because you’ll listen.” The show quickly establishes that Vanya found Five important in her life, and in turn, affirms that he finds her meaningful as well.

Unfortunately, as the first season continues, we don’t get Five and Vanya interacting together as much, if at all. The second episode features Vanya managing to briefly stop Five in his tracks after he declares she’s too young and he made a mistake in trusting her, saying she “hasn’t seen him in a long time” and that she “doesn’t want to lose [him] again.” But then he leaves her apartment, and he makes little to no effort to contact her for the rest of the first season until it becomes apparent that she is far more important to the end of the world than he initially believed.

However, we do see more of their intriguing bond in the moments we’re shown of their shared past and younger years, with how Vanya shaking her head gave him genuine pause before Five’s impulsive decision to leave and perform spatial jumps in defiance of Hargreeves. Additionally, her name was the first Five called after landing in the apocalypse, and as we are made aware in the first episode, he found her book and read it while away. In said book, she writes that he "was [her] sole confidante." He even writes in the book, and continues to do so upon returning to 2019.

(A little note on something I found fascinating that may be something, or may be nothing: when drunk, Five tells Diego that he’s “the Four frickin’ Horsemen.” Traditionally, the Four Horsemen signify the bringing of the Apocalypse to the world, hence the tale of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Now, in the show, if Five is the Four Horsemen, and Vanya is the Apocalypse... does that not mean they’re inextricably connected?

Again, this could mean something, or it could be me seeing things where things were not meant to be seen.)

I will also note that their bond in the show does not, in fact, come from the comics. The comics feature a Vanya who is emotionally linked to Diego, and the Five we see in the comics is far colder than the one in the show. He even tells Vanya outright at the end of the Apocalypse Suite arc that he “never liked [her].” So this shift in relationship dynamics does exist purely in the show, which I personally find works in its favour due to its character-driven nature.

Anyway, let us move onto S2 and how it too shows their bond, and we start off with Five insisting that Elliot search for sound waves as he tries to prevent a second apocalypse via the Cold War, given Vanya’s sound manipulation power. Does that explicitly show their bond at all? Granted, no, but what happens later on when Five manages to find Vanya does—he finds her in a cornfield and gives her a rather soft smile as he introduces himself as her brother. He then proceeds to inform her (over a cup of coffee) of what happened in S1, but notably pauses and swallows when she asks what caused the apocalypse. He then states, “Asteroid impact,” and omits her role entirely, because he cares enough to not want to hurt her, which exists in contrast to how he acts around every other member of their so-called family, i.e. constantly insulting them and threatening to harm them.

This is also seen in how Five firmly insists they "need to stick together," and how he would, most likely, blink into the car when Vanya plans to drive away from him if it were anyone else, but instead takes a breath and knocks on the window to get her attention. It may be because she’s a bomb that he doesn’t want to set off, but given his behaviour around her even in S1 before she’s revealed to have powers, we get to know that he is and always has been patient with her, and impatient with everyone else. He even mumbles to himself later on about how "she'll come around. I know she will."

Also noteworthy is how his old body self learns from Luther that Vanya is the reason for the apocalypse, and in response to this news, all he does is shrug and say, “Fair enough.” It is remarkable how the very thing that he obsessed over for decades upon decades in the apocalypse is set aside with a simple acknowledgement of its cause being his closest adopted sibling.

(Another thing that I find most intriguing is how in the comics, Five’s calculations to return to his timeline and escape the apocalypse are not, in fact, bungled when he finally attempts to jump again. He realises through Dolores that he “forgot to subtract the two from the one” and only fails in his goal when the Temps Aeternalis pulls him out of the time stream against his will. In contrast, the show has Five arguing with his old body self, and the apparent solution to his calculations is a misplaced decimal point—“It’s 0.57, not 5.7!” which may be me reading into it too much, again, but if not, then an argument can be made that Five and Vanya (Number Seven) are meant to work together and stay together, instead of being placed apart due to circumstances beyond their control.)

Moving onto S3, there is the same issue as present in S1 wherein Five and Viktor rarely get to talk to one another. The only instances of their relationship coming into play are when Five runs back to ensure Vanya/Viktor is okay when they’re being attacked by the Sparrows, the easy acceptance of Viktor changing his name and beginning to transition, and of course, the talk they have near the end of the season. The talk in which Five is caring and vulnerable enough in his lecturing about powerful people and ants to tell Viktor, “If you ever need anything, I’m always here for you. But lie to us again... Viktor, I’ll kill you myself.”

There is, too, the fact that they share a long look at the end of the season before walking off in different directions, yet again separated instead of going off together.

The trailer for S4 revealed that this time, Ben is the cause of the end of the world, and it seems the show is gearing up to explore the Jennifer Incident and Ben’s death in detail (which, alongside the Sparrow Academy, the comics have yet to touch upon fully). While I am aware this show emphasizes that this so-called family is stronger together than apart, and I don’t mean to undermine their marketing with this essay, I do find this message does not yet work unless every member of the Academy is willing to work together and stay connected. Obviously, this includes Five and Viktor especially, seeing as Five set out to save the world from the apocalypse at the beginning of the show, and Viktor was the cause then and continues to cause problems for everyone.

In conclusion, I (most likely falsely) believe that the show is pointing at a resolution for its “oh no the world is ending” plot that torments each season via the full reconciliation of Five and Vanya/Viktor’s bond and that ultimately, these two teaming up and properly communicating with each other will be the way to get to a timeline where the world doesn’t end for once and happy lives can be had for all.

If you’ve read all of this, I thank you for sitting through it. If you disagree with it, that's totally fair, and I welcome you to keep scrolling and ignore this post entirely.

[jackshiccup]

whatever you do, do not think about the layers behind jack saying, “we’re good friends, the wind and i.” the implication that jack and hiccup were meant to cross paths, to find one another at all points in their lifetime even if they weren’t aware of who they were to each other yet. that their first and second lives are inextricably linked— hiccup, as a spirit, drawn to jack when he was still human while jack, as jack frost thrown back in time, drawn to hiccup in his present. that their love and friendship is a circle, in a way that they’ll keep meeting in the middle over and over and over again. in a way that it’s infinite and transcends time as long as there’s proof of memory. in a way that there is no telling where their story really begins or ends, only that it exists, that it's continuous. in a way that it’s inevitable, fated, like every moment that passes, whether they spend it together or apart, are all puzzle pieces that connect. that their love is constant, always in motion, in a way that’s tried and true.

whatever you do, do not think about how they both waited 300 years (and some more) until they could experience what it was like to have a companion again. i repeat, do not think about, “you were always there. weren’t you? you’re the wind.”

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I HAVE AN obsession with the color green. It’s a color of opposites. Green is life, growth, and health. It’s also sickness, greed, and envy. It’s good and bad at once. And it’s everywhere this afternoon as I sit down with actor, producer, author, and entrepreneur Sam Heughan — most recognized for his starring role in the Scotland-based time travel drama “Outlander.” His shirt bears a green tartan pattern, somewhere between jade and emerald. To my right, the glass bottle of his new gin is a transparent seafoam. Above my head is the leafy expanse of a tree, planted in the courtyard of New York’s Crosby Street Hotel. The gin we sip tastes green: grassy and alpine, fresh as menthol and bright as a sour apple. Most vividly is the green in my mind’s eye: the wet, rich, misty green of Scotland, a place Heughan speaks of with rapture.

Missing home is what drove Heughan to launch his spirits brand Sassenach, after the Scottish Gaelic word for an English person, or rather, an “outsider.” “When I was in London away from home, a jobbing actor, missing Scotland, I remember my first time trying a single malt whisky and I had such an emotional reaction,” he recalls from across the table, his bright blue eyes wide. “It reminded me of Scotland.”

I remark on the gin’s legs, thick and viscous, streaking the sides of my glass. Heughan nods, “I increased the strength. It just gives it a bit more weight. I love a bit of weight on my tongue.” Toasted oats give a creamy feel to the cornucopia of flavors present in the liquid: pine resin, heather, blackberry leaf, blaeberry — and, again, that sour green apple. “There’s no citrus in Scotland. That’s why I chose apples,” Heughan explains. “I remember as a kid, picking them and throwing them at people, eating them, then being really ill because they’re so sour.”

Heughan’s family — his mother, brother, and uncle — still live in Scotland. His uncle used to have a ceilidh band. “[Ceilidh is] a traditional Scottish dance,” he explains. “It’s madness. Everyone’s drinking whisky and the dancers get faster and faster and there are lots of spinning people around.” Heughan listens to a lot of Scottish music. He later sends me a song called “Blackbird” by Martyn Bennett, known for mixing dance tracks with traditional Celtic music. I tear up at its aching slants. “It makes me homesick for a home that’s not mine,” I message him. “That’s Scotland,” he writes back. “It does that to people.”

Sam Heughan Is in Good Spirits Image Float

Heughan was raised by a single mother in the south of Scotland — the rural stretches of Dumfries and Galloway. “Spent a lot of time on my own pretending I was a knight or Robert the Bruce.” The land’s botanicals now flavor his gin. Courtesy of Sam Heughan.

“It’s one foot in the present, one in the past,” muses Heughan about his country, adding a splash of tonic to my gin, whose flavor now reveals a pleasant salinity. “The castles. So many great battles. You

can feel the history. I think that’s what makes it so magical.” This history is inextricably linked to ritual, observed in Scotland to this day. Take Beltane, a pagan ritual beginning serendipitously on Heughan’s birthday, April 30. “You’re supposed to stay up all night and wash your face in the fresh dew when the sun rises, then go to bed and dream of your future spouse,” he describes. “It’s all about rebirth and nature.”

We talk about other parts of the world that have shaped him, as I remark on his fusion accent: a bit Scottish for sure, but mixed with something else, sort of American and British, too. America’s opportunity and diversity captivate Heughan. He came here for the first time at 18, hostel hopping in San Francisco. “I remember looking at the Golden Gate Bridge for hours, playing my cassette of ‘(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay’ by Otis Redding over and over. I was living on $5 burritos — one a day. It’s all I could afford.” He speaks of Hawaii with reverence — the local culture’s connection to wildlife and the sea. He spent time with a fisherman and his family there who taught him the Indigenous way to fish: “Gut it straight away. Take out the heart, say a prayer, and throw it back into the ocean immediately to allow the soul of the fish to live on.” New Zealand also moves him. He was there recently and learned about tā moku, the art of Māori tattooing. “You sit with an artist and tell him your story. He chooses where it goes on your body and makes it there and then. He stuck [the initial sketch] on my left forearm here, and it was all about my mom and my brother and the absence of my father.” He wants to return to New Zealand and get the tattoo next time.

My gin has opened up even more, spreading out into softer, aromatic florals as Heughan uncorks a bottle of his whisky. “People have called you a global heartthrob.” I begin, “Is that a role you’re —”

“Who has?” His eyes grow bigger in feigned shock. (Fun fact: the Sam Heughan fanbase even has their own name — “Heughligans.”)

“Someone I talked to in the subway.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely, pouring new glasses.

“Do you,” I continue, taking a sip, “feel comfortable in that role?” The whisky tastes like a spicy Werther’s caramel.

“My character is what some people aspire to, and I understand why. He’s this incredible human being who’s just so in love with his wife and does the most romantic things. Selfless. People then think you might be that person. I’m certainly not. But it’s something to aspire to.”

“Are you comfortable,” I press, “being an object of desire?” Heughan shares that in earlier years, he was treated in a way that would no longer be tolerated. “I’d be asked, ‘What’s under your kilt?’ or ‘How do you get your abs?’ I wish I did have abs! We were just in a different industry. I don’t have resentment or a grudge. But I would like to be seen for the work that I do, rather than my looks.”

While he’s still based in Scotland, Heughan also has a house in LA, a city he’s not exactly sold on. He toys with the idea of New York as his next home base. He loves it here. “The cocktail bars. Cycling along the West Side. SoHo. The river. Getting a ferry. I’m so into ferries! I’ll go to Staten Island, then come back again. We got a helicopter the other day back from the Hamptons — I don’t like helicopters. They’re not meant to fly. However, seeing the Statue of Liberty from there, it’s so good. New York could be my city.”

I show Heughan around some local spots that evening. We sit at the bar of Superbueno for mezcal drinks and tacos. The music gets louder and so do the crowds. Mouth full of al pastor, I semi-shout a question in Heughan’s direction, asking if he ever gets overstimulated. “No, not really,” he replies simply, between chewing. At 6 feet, 3 inches, Heughan towers over seemingly everyone. Maybe it’s calmer up there. There’s an overall good-natured quality to him; it’s soothing to be around.

We head to another bar, Mr. Fongs. The air is thick with the smell of trash and rats dart to and fro. A subway thunders overhead as we walk below a bridge in Chinatown. “This is awesome,” Heughan murmurs. We order the bar’s specialty: salty plum old-fashioneds. “I want a place where the second I walk out my door, I’m right in the center of all of it,” he says decidedly, whistling a little at the (notoriously strong) drink. “Right in the middle.”

Heughan is noticeably unadorned. I suggest some rings and an ear piercing for his New York era. A candle light flickers against his cheek, evoking another world — someplace old and rural and rugged. At this moment, I see his character, a fantasy projection of the leading man. But really, we’re just in Chinatown, weighing the pros and cons of earrings on men. “Sadly I don’t think I’m quite cool enough,” he sighs, “to pull that off.” ▪️

Our Contributors

Sophie Mancini Writer

Sophie Mancini is an editor at Departures. Born and raised in New York City, she holds a degree in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University and has a background as a writer in brand and editorial.

Diana Markosian Photographer

Diana Markosian (born in Moscow, 1989) is a Russian-American photographer of Armenian descent. Her work explores memory and place through a layered, interdisciplinary process that uses photography and video. Her photographs have been published in National Geographic, the New Yorker, and the New York Times.

Robert Ormerod Photographer

Robert Ormerod is a photographer interested in telling stories. He is based in Scotland, working across the U.K. for titles such as National Geographic, The Guardian Saturday magazine, The New York Times, T Magazine, The Wall Street Journal, and Bloomberg Businessweek.

Tom Craig Photographer

Tom Craig is a photographer and director whose work has been featured in Vogue, i-D, and Vanity Fair. His work is driven by a desire to tell stories and the urge to travel. His work often blurs the line between fashion photography and straightforward reportage.

**Full article from @departures www.departures.com

[belaephemeral]

of flesh and bone, thunder and lightning

Pairings: Wanderer x Reader (gender-neutral) 

This oneshot will refer to Wanderer as “Scaramouche”. Feel free to replace this with the name you chose for him as you read!

Summary: Every gesture, touch and action that you share with him is something that you will always treasure. From the way his eyes securely lock onto yours, like two puzzle pieces falling into place, to the fingers that interlock with yours, like threads of an interwoven tapestry of adoration that perfectly weave together; it simply just isn’t enough. But what you always desire for are the kisses that are oh so characteristically him. You yearn for the invigorating way it nourishes and rejuvenates the ardour that blooms in your heart whenever he conveys his endearment through a loving and intimate embrace. 

Word count: 3000

Author’s Note: Happy belated White Day everyone! (I meant to post this earlier but I had a presentation and a mock exam. Sorry for the wait!)

(PS: I named Wanderer “sayang” [“love/darling” in Bahasa Malaysia] because I couldn’t think of a name that would fully reflect his personality and what he means to me. I will always refer to him as “Scaramouche” so, I gave him a cute pet name! Though I was extremely compelled to call him baby girl. Haha, let me know what you named him!)

From the moment of his conception into that hollow, artificial shell to his current incarnation as the enigmatic, wandering wayfarer, the former renowned Balladeer isn’t well versed in the language of intimacy. In fact, he is rather perplexed with your inherent fluency in it. 

One evening, he found you peering over his shoulder as the clouds soared overhead and the ink of nightfall spilled onto the expanse of sky that hung over your forms. “What do you want from me?” he inquires brusquely, inexperienced with the notion of being inextricably tethered to someone. A connection forged by the countless moments you have shared together, the numerous battlefields you have both emerged victorious and triumphant from as you stood over the bodies of your enemies, and the several occasions he’s learnt that he could tolerate your presence and the serene silences that envelop you both after a tiresome day. “Do enlighten me as to what you are thinking - though I can’t guarantee I’ll retain interest in this conversation if you simply wanted to engage in small talk.” As expected. There’s that honest and straightforward reaction that you’re well acquainted with and a familiar demonstration of his infamously sharp tongue and blunt remarks. 

Absent-mindedly, you gingerly draw the pressed hems of his white collar closer to the centre of his chest, your hands slowly reaching towards the various embellishments that adorn his body and minutely adjusting them to their rightful place. Scaramouche notices the way your brows knit together, as though you were slightly vexed by the mild breeze prior that put them into a state of disarray and disturbed them from the rich cobalt and baby blue fabric that they were fastened to. 

Inquisitively, his orbs observe your movements, waiting for your next words. He  waits with the patience you would never have been able to rouse within him when you initially met. Gradually, your eyes meet his, and you struggle to conceal the beam that threatens to spill onto your face. The expectant look that glazes his features and the way your hands smooth out the folds of his signature attire reminds you of your various encounters with the felines you’ve run into throughout your journey. Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair just as you did with the inky-black shorthair you met a few hours ago, you tilt your head up to peer into his dark pools of purple and whisper, just loud enough for him to catch your words amongst the whistle of the wind and the howl of the approaching night: “The sun is setting; shall we retire for the night?” 

Scaramouche isn’t used to physical displays of affection: your touch makes him flinch momentarily, but his muscles relax as your presence permeates into him and your delectable scent renders him defenceless. Simultaneously, his thoughts are occupied at the irony of how you intend to maintain his aesthetic integrity despite the grime and dust that speckles his pristine ivory outfit and the minuscule crimson cuts peppered onto his smooth and unblemished pale skin. 

Continuing your tentative ministrations, you gaze into his dark indigo orbs, which are flecked with specks of aquamarine and royal blue - you gaze into them as though you’re searching both for an answer and searching for a glimpse into what could possibly run through that inquisitive and yet tranquil mind of his. 

Abruptly, his head snaps away from yours, the ornaments adorning his body twinkling as he does so. He exhales, releasing a sound that, to an ordinary passerby, verges a fine line between mutual amiability and absolute contempt. In reality, he uses the derisive scoff that escapes him to try and conceal the flush that creeps along the apples of his cheeks and flourishes to the tips of his ears. Slowly, he closes one eye and snidely peeks at your form with a timbre full of mirth and he softly purrs: “Hmm? What, you can’t fall asleep with me around? And here I was - assuming you had something important to tell me. Well, despite expecting more, I guess it can’t be helped.” A glint of playfulness flashes onto his crystalline orbs. Candour laces every sentence that leaves his mouth but his words betray the way he unconsciously beckons you ever closer to him to witness the stars string themselves into constellations before your very eyes.

“Well, if it is ever anything about you, it most certainly is important to me.” The former Fatui Harbinger isn’t as sly as he thinks he is - your perceptive gaze catches traces of the pink that dusts his bewitching visage and the slightest dilation of his obsidian pupils. After he finally unravelled the persona he had skillfully hid underneath his artificial facade, you revel in the way your closeness flusters him and you relish in the way you are the only person he’d traverse these lands with to find his true identity and meaning in his newfound life. 

“It’s astonishing how you can utter that without an ounce of shame. I guess it’s by your nature - fortunately your fighting capabilities and, well, decent appearance compensate for your rather brazen personality.” 

With an astounded gasp, you lightly swat his shoulder, earning the faintest snigger from the male. Eyes glinting with mischief and a subtle smile curled with mirth, he observes you once again chuckling exasperatedly at his antics. “Well, excuse me for caring about you - aren’t you freezing in that outfit? At this rate, you might catch a cold.” As the moon rises, the temperature slowly depletes. The chill of the wind bites into your skin but Scaramouche seems unfazed by it - he, in fact, basks in the gusts that periodically billow by. His brows are no longer furrowed and his jaw unclenches, content with the way the breeze tousles his deep purple tresses and causes stray strands of hair flutter against his face.  

Gently, you slink your arms around his shoulders, your fingers drawing nonsensical shapes on the nape of his neck. “I need to have my sparring partner in tip-top shape. Nursing you back to health is not something I want to add to my itinerary - you should be well-aware that my schedule is completely full.” You add haughtily, his teasing remarks spurring you to counter his verbal advance with a challenge of your own. “And I’ll have you know that in the time it will take for you to recover, my combat proficiency will certainly surpass yours in no time. If that’s the case, then I assume that you want to lose to me again?”

“Why you-” his head dives forward as he launches an attack on your jugular. “Rest assured, I do not have a delicate constitution, unlike those other ordinary mortals.” As he buries his nose into your collarbone and his digits trace your ribs and waist, you convulse with laughter as his touch dances against sensitive parts of your upper torso. Your hands attempt to resist his ministrations, but his physical strength overpowers you, not that you were putting much of a fight in the first place, and you’re stupefied by the teeth that unexpectedly graze your clavicle and leave the affected area tingling with electricity. Audaciously nipping your neck as you titter, he softly murmurs against your skin: “I’ll let you stew in your victory for today, koibito, but I’ll have you know that I do not intend on losing - must I remind you of who remains the reigning champion in all of our duels?” 

Averting your head away from his firm grip, you blow a raspberry, sneering smugly at him: “Sure, call it whatever you want Scaramouche - construe the indisputable fact that my talents and ability outclass yours, which obviously excels way beyond your current capabilities, into whatever palatable narrative that will satiate you. Just accept your defeat already.”

His eyes catch yours and one of the corners of his mouth lifts upwards, just enough for you to notice the glint of his boyish fangs. “Oh, koibito, you’ll renounce those words once I conquer you on the battlefield tomorrow. I’ll remind you of the sweet taste of my overwhelming prowess.”

His intoxicating presence infiltrates your senses like a potent toxin: he renders you defenceless to his reticent whims. From prior fleeting meetings and brief acquaintanceship that solidifies into something more, it is in moments like these, you can feel the pulsing and robust bond that has bound you two together - a bond you nor he could sever without incapacitating the other that has been irrevocably tied to this everlasting string that connects your beings. 

Swiftly slicing into the universe that has formed between you and him, a drop of rain splatters onto the plane of grass that lays beneath your feet. A few droplets multiply into a light drizzle, which then gradually lead to a downpour that descends relentlessly onto your figures. 

Yelping as a cold stream of water cascades down your back, you instinctively pull Scaramouche closer to your form. Reaching your hand above your head, you promptly draw one end of his hat downwards in a futile attempt to shield both you and him from the torrential rain. Over the thundering pitter-patter descending above you, you make out an exasperated yell erupt from the form within your grasp: “Seriously, you’re using my hat as an umbrella?! The audacity!”

“Stop moving your mouth and start moving those legs! Let’s hurry to the house before we’re both soaked through!”

Briskly, your hand wraps around his lithe waist whilst the other clasps his nimble wrist. You pull him firmly towards the quaint cottage that Granny Ruoxin kindly let the two of you reside in after taking care of throng of Treasure Hoarders and stray agents of the Fatui who sought to disturb the peaceful village. 

As the rain pelts down onto the vibrant expanse of orange and yellow fields, Scaramouche stumbles and teeters as he loses his footing. The dirt dampens with the downpour and the muddy surface threatens to pull him down as his ukon-geta sinks into the moist soil underneath his figure. Noticing his struggle, you whisk him into your arms. Hoisting his frame closer to your chest, you support his waist in one hand, tucking his form closer to your bosom as his legs are securely lifted up with your other hand. 

Scaramouche’s features contort into one of shock but he is unable to fully explore his sudden astonishment as your ministrations cause him to desperately cling onto your shoulders to avoid falling down. Incredulously, he shouts: “A little warning would have been nice!” Closing his lids, to calm his thundering heartbeat and to allay the sudden spur of bewilderment, he hollers: “Is this really necessary? You shouldn’t fret over me in such a situation - put me down and take care of yourself first.” 

Fidgeting in your hold, he ruffles like an agitated and displeased feline, clawing his way out of your secure embrace. For once, it isn’t because your actions have aroused that inherent feeling of vexation or irritation that wells in his being. For once, (even if these are things he’s thought about countless times, but he internally, indignantly and stubbornly refuses to accept this) he’s concerned about the hefty burden carrying him places on your form, already weary with the elemental reactions inflicted onto you and the countless swords and weapons you had to defend yourself and him against. For once, he’s afraid you’ll become ill with every transparent drop of water that descends onto your exquisite profile. For once, he’s at a conflict between relishing in how your arms sturdily and firmly grip his form with the same overwhelming strength and power he’s witnessed in innumerable battles, and reprimanding your foolish selflessness that blinds you from the danger of trekking through the vast plains of terrace fields and hills that await you on your journey to the quaint village. 

“Pipe down, Scaramouche, do you honestly think that I would let you walk in this storm with sandals like that?” Glancing at the clogs that limply hang from his feet, he grimaces at the soil that cakes the dark wooden soles and he’s starkly reminded of the pain that shot up the length of his calf when he stumbled moments ago. 

“Hmm? Cat got your tongue? If so, hold on tightly, ohimesama, let me take care of you now.” It’s astounding that even here, you’d snarkily tease him so. It’s astonishing that even now, you don’t seize your romantic advancements - not as you briskly send a cheeky wink and gallantly march towards the cozy cottage that awaits the two of you. Heavy rainfall splatters relentlessly onto your visage, which seems even more breathtaking as the water highlights your charming features. (Not that he’d actually vocalise these thoughts - maybe it’s because of his pride or because he’s afraid of inflating your ego any more than it already is. Perhaps it’s because he trips over the words he wishes to tell you, your beauty petrifying him so much so that he feels vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before and flustered that he lacks the same amount of experience you hold in amorous endeavours.) 

After being well-acquainted with your headstrong, albeit also quite frustratingly stubborn and obstinate, nature, he surrenders to your whims. The only thing he can do is to securely loop his arms around your neck and, begrudgingly, use his hat to provide some way of deflecting the incessant downpour. He flushes at the way you reflexively move your head closer to his, your damp strands tickling his jaw. Instinctively, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, tucking yourself into him to cover what little could fit underneath his headwear. 

It certainly will be a long journey back to Qingce Village, he muses, gazing beyond the tempestuous storm and the clouds brewing with strobes of lightning. The tenacious glint never leaves your captivating optics even as you inhale and exhale shakily whilst climbing the rolling hills and undulating pathways to your desired destination. Even as your chest heaves under his weight and tracks of rainwater stream down the curve of your cheek, the edge of your chin and the hollow of your neck, your hold is unfailingly firm under his lithe thighs and the broad column of his back and shoulders.

He’ll have to reward you for your efforts later - such chivalrous acts deserve commendation - something that even he is aware of. He acutely recalls how much you you yearn for his recognition - albeit not explicitly, he knows how voicing your merits inextricably affects you. Who is he to deny you your well-earned praise? Who is he to not demonstrate his utmost gratitude of your efforts? He’ll certainly show you his appreciation - he just hopes you’ll be able to bear the gravity of his newfound passion - a sudden onslaught of fervent ardour that consumes him wholly. It would be an expression you would have never expected from him but like your proficiency in wielding the elements, you’ll diligently endure him. After all, that’s what is expected of the partner of the former renowned Balladeer. And he knows you definitely won’t disappoint.

_____

Scaramouche isn’t one for showing his admiration outright - especially not in broad daylight and exposed to the judgemental scrutiny of outsiders who have no right to learn of his ardent affinity for you. He absolutely abhors the idea of anyone seeing how your actions make him putty in your hands. He detests the thought of anyone seeing how a heart manifests in his artificial rib cage, rattling against wire and alive and beating within that hollow shell of his puppet body. 

Under the private gaze of the moon and your eyes only, away from the daunting, captious view of the outside world, he unravels himself to you. His touch is inexperienced, but as his reincarnation’s name suggests, he craves discovery and desires exploration. 

Like electricity, his lips leave supple trails of kisses along your jugular - his actions igniting sparks in their wake and making your skin tingle with a numbing and thrilling static that persists even as he draws himself away from you. Despite the stringent, blunt and yet considerate facade he performs in-front of others, you can taste the lingering remnants of his territorial, cunning and dominant persona through the way he smirks against the expanse of your clavicle, and writes his name with the purple and light red flowers that begin to blossom on your torso. You’re submerged in the palpitating sensation he sends throughout your body, conducting a current of his fervent ardour to every area of your pliant and yielding form. It spreads through the vast network of veins and blood vessels that come to life with every caress of his hands. It jumpstarts an uproar of passion that had once lay dormant deep within the core of your being for so long, awakened by the energy he fuels into you with every movement of his deft digits and the ravenous purple orbs that bore into yours. 

Eagerly and rapaciously, he consumes the sounds that escape your mouth, punctuated by the roaring strikes of thunder that briefly illuminate your entwined figures resting on your shared double bed and guided by the sustained metronome of the rain that continues to fall outside and casts shadows along the mahogany floors of the cottage. Selfishly, he drinks you in like you’re the only entity that will satiate this vehement desire - like you’re the only person to satisfy this intense hunger that ravishes his entire being. He delights in the way you squirm underneath his form, desperate to chase him, to hold him accountable for the pulsating ache he triggered into every single inch of skin, flesh and bone within your body, to ensure he’s responsible for the searing libido that courses through every fibre of your being. 

Even within the haze of frantic, erratic movements and desperate, yearning caresses, he realises that in this moment, you never fail to make him feel like he belongs. Your presence provokes him to feel like he was always destined to be engulfed wholly by your tender embrace. Like he was preordained to be irrevocably tethered to your celestial presence, like he was fated to be loved by you. To return your fervent reassurances that ensure he is more than an just the discarded puppet he was born as, and the comfort you provide by will-fully devoting yourself to guiding him to the future that he deserves, he’ll drown you in his affections. 

Ever chasing the next thrill, the next competition, he’ll see how long you can withstand before he completely overwhelms you. 

After all, he’s grateful for everything you’ve done for him. This is just one of many ways for him to show his appreciation.

[bigskydreaming]

Speaking of topics I feel are under-explored (he says, as he careens wildly into the blog after a week without speaking of any topics whatsoever) I feel like there’s a LOT that can be done with the juxtaposition of the individual Batfam members’ infamous trust issues & secrecy....and the fact that even when they don’t get along, the Batfam members are so inextricably connected that to reveal one’s identity means basically revealing everyone else’s too.

Obviously ‘giving away the family secret’ is a trope that effects most of the DC franchises that involve secret identities.....its not like Superman can reveal he’s Clark Kent without people drawing the connection to the rest of the Superfam, same with the Flash characters, etc, etc.

BUT.

Combine this with how DC adds Batfam members to basically any franchise they can think of, in an effort to capitalize on the high profile nature of those characters & their connections.....and just how damn MANY Batfam characters there are with secret identities compared to a lot of other franchises, and how between them they span most teams and organizations in the DC universe.....

Few other superhero families have AS MUCH of an issue with this as the Batfam does, basically.

BUT.

Now, for added seasoning, throw in the Batfam-specific factor that MANY OF THEM VERY FAMOUSLY DO NOT GET ALONG FOR EXTENDED PERIODS OF CANON.

And this suddenly becomes a much more intricate situation for the Batfam members. Or at least has the potential to be.

Because like, for the most part? The other superhero families are usually more....on the same page, in most respects. Like if one of the Superfam feels they have to reveal their identity to someone or wants to trust a friend with it, the rest of the Superfam is likely to just nod and go with it.

The same can, uh, very much NOT be said for the Batfam.

So I just think it can be very interesting to delve into how various Batfam characters feel about just HOW intertwined their identities are. Their attitudes towards specific instances where one of their relatives tells someone new who they are, when this family is full of people with GINORMOUS trust issues - and who often don’t even trust each other, at least not with things that potentially make them emotionally vulnerable.

How they feel about their relatives giving away the family secret to someone they don’t know. Situations where Bruce is like umm Dick does your therapist really NEED to know our secret identities and Dick’s like well yes Bruce, on account of therapy is super not useful when you’re LYING to your therapist about most of your life. 

How does Jason (especially in eras where he’s known to be legally alive again) feel about Bruce revealing the family secret to various JLA teammates that Jason would never in a million years willingly trust with his own identity? 

Is Cass ever resentful about being bone-deep CERTAIN she can trust someone with her identity, and wants to, and feeling that she has to factor in how this will affect her various siblings, even if she doesn’t particularly LIKE one of them, like Jason? And vice versa?

Do Dick and Tim feel Bruce is a hypocrite when he just unapologetically announces someone new has been brought in on the secret, as though its a done deal and he never even thought twice about it, when they’ve struggled with WANTING to tell people the family secret only to hold back and watch their relationships with a friend or new connection suffer, because they feel Bruce would never approve of them telling this person?

Does Duke second-guess how strong his ties are to the Batfam as a whole, especially members he’s barely ever had opportunity to interact with, and so worry how they feel about the Family New Guy coming INTO the family secret with a lot of close friends already in on HIS secret identity, and thus affording him a close circle of friends he never even has to struggle with whether or not he has the right to tell them, the way most of the other Batkids have struggled with telling their various friend groups? How DOES Tim feel about the fact that Bruce made him keep his identity secret from even his Young Justice teammates for YEARS while Duke gets his close friends grandfathered into the family secret from day one?

Do any of them ever like, feel that one of the others has told someone new just to spite them in some way? Do any of them ever think that they could get through to one of their enemies who’s trying to turn over a new leaf by showing they trust them....but then hold back because they don’t think its fair to ask the rest of their family to trust said enemy with their identities too? Does Jason ever drop into the middle of one of Dick’s fights just to be like “Okay don’t read anything into this because I’m still currently Not Speaking To You because of Reasons, but uh, what’s this I’m hearing about DAMIAN spilling the family secret to one of his classmates and should we be reading Implications into that?” 

(I strongly headcanon that Jason, even when he’s estranged from various family members, is like, an incurable gossip who’s like NOT THAT I EVEN LIKE THESE PEOPLE but I am INVESTED in knowing the juicy details of their private lives for reasons completely unrelated to things like ‘giving a shit about them.’)

BUT I DIGRESS.

Anyway, I’m just saying like. The conundrum of having a secret identity with HUGE stakes attached to the reveal of said identity....when one is part of a huge, sprawling and highly dysfunctional family where ‘they can’t get along even with a gun to their head’ is a thing that literally happens all the time in canon.

[twelvegrimmyplace]

Nick Grimshaw on kindness, queerness and life lessons as a grown-up.

Gay Times Honours Issue 2023

Friendly media mogul Nick Grimshaw, aka Grimmy, has done it all. He’s introduced his parents to Lady Gaga and, recently, even had tea with Harry Styles. Now, however, the former Radio 1 DJ is getting acquainted with something else – growing up. 

Getting older, no doubt, is terrifying. Carefree late nights with mates at sticky, flooded gigs are suddenly swapped for questions revolving around major milestones: partners, career, and, of course, kids. Close friends are no longer egging you on to ditch work and hangout or checking in to see if you’ve actually drank water. Instead, you’re trying to squeeze in a meetup between deadlines, dates and an ever-growing to-do list of life admin. And Grimmy is no different. Booze-driven afterparties have morphed into nourishing Sunday roast dinners with Mesh, his fiancé. Girl dinner Quaver packets have matured to conversations – on his glitzy new foodie podcast Dish co-hosted by Michelin-star chef Angela Hartnett – with Miriam Margolyes on how she likes her mashed potatoes. 

Having the big four-zero on the radar prompted a new perspective for the presenter. What was once maligned (“I felt like growing older was the end of something or deeply depressing,” Grimshaw admits) has been, mostly, embraced. It’s less coming of age but, rather, coming to age. Still, new digits doesn’t need to mean the fun is over. In fact, just last night, Grimshaw partied late with celebs Jake Shears, Amanda Lepore, Jodie Harsh, and Mutya Buena in Soho. Here in Holborn, however, things are much more mild. Sure, there’s some tasteful framed nude art to our right and Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ crackling over studio speakers but nothing beats a good old-fashioned launch party, or a karaoke b-day bash taking place later this evening in central London. 

Nursing a non-alcoholic beer, Grimshaw scoots across a black leather couch, arriving fresh from a photoshoot, something he describes as his “Naomi Campbell moment”. Comfortably clothed in a light-wash denim shirt and distressed jeans, he kicks off the conversation as if reuniting with an old friend. “I've never taken stock before. I'd never sat down and thought about myself, ever, and I don't think people do,” he says. Since his early twenties, Grimshaw’s image has been inextricably tied to two things: big names and his infamous towering quiff haircut. At some point, he acknowledges, you will have heard his quick-fire Mancunian comedy soundtracking your early mornings. Whether he was making jokes with Taylor Swift or having the early hours crashed by Charli XCX, the presenter became a known face at the Beeb. In his autobiographical book, Soft Lad, Grimshaw reminisces on the pull the small screen had on him as a young child. Armed with a love for glamour and theatrics, the events he saw on the telly called to a younger Grimshaw who dreamed of moving out of Manchester to take on London. 

Onboarding, in 2012, at Radio 1 to cover The Breakfast Show was something the podcaster remembers clearly; “There was a lot of pressure”. His days of spinning songs and connecting with artists over music became more than a vocation, but a specialism. While he does admit, sheepishly, that there were days his hangover ran over into work hours, he’s since taken time to reassess his habits and lifestyle. “When I was 23 I was getting absolutely wasted and doing it like a Geordie Shore night out,” he says. Now, Grimshaw is more conscious of being selectively sober in certain environments. “It can be really hard to go out and connect with people who are drunk and you're not drinking. But, sometimes, you have the best nights ever. I went out last night and went to a really fun party up until 1.30 am and had really good chats with loads of people.” He’s taking stock of the bigger moments around him, particularly ones that bring him closer to friends and family – “It's about learning. It's about growth,” he says earnestly. 

At 39, Grimshaw’s longevity has something to do with his candour and bonhomie. The most common compliment doled out about the presenter is his warmth. As a child, he recalls, the label “soft lad” was stuck to him, presenting his sensitivity as something to be ashamed of. But, years later, it’s become something – like his favourite Maison Margiela knit sweaters – that he wears openly. “At school, I always felt on edge that I was going to get beaten up or laughed at. When you've had that, you learn empathy and you think about how people might feel or what they're going through,” he explains. 

Realisng he was gay, as a child, filled Grimshaw with dread as he feared what it would mean. With limited queer culture references growing up (just Elton John and Lily Savage) his feelings were fully realised, aged 11, when he developed a crush on a poster of England footballer David Beckham pinned up on his bedroom wall. “You know what’s funny, not that I’m doing Miriam Margolyes press, but I saw her yesterday. I'd never met her and I went into her dressing room. Before I could say hello, she pointed and exclaimed: ‘You’re gay!’ and continued with ‘So, my dear, nice to meet you.’ As I got into bed last night, I thought about how that would’ve killed me if I was a teenager, but it was a really lovely bonding moment.” 

Though being a presenter and DJ took up most of Grimshaw’s early adolescent years, his move to writing has allowed him the space to trawl through his past years without expectation. From reassessing his comfort with queerness to realising the strength found in the LGBTQIA+ community outside of his town in Greater Manchester, Grimshaw is grateful for the relationships he’s built with those around him. “I learn constantly from the queer community. It’s that notion of being yourself and leaning into yourself which can be hard to do if you're queer, especially if you've had that knocked out of you when you're a kid,” he says. “The community are essential in helping everyone, and me, support one another.”

Soft Lad and Dish capture different versions of Grimshaw; the quirky characteristics of a presenter that couldn’t surface in a music hotbed. In his new roles, the presenter-meets-podcaster chats to hot-shot talent while unravelling stories centred around food, famous friends and frenzied stories. His book is an homage to his parents (“I realised how important they were shaping me – I love them contractually, but also really love them) and to his English and Irish roots. Bookended between stories of queer curiosity and his loathing for football, tales of community and camaraderie at Radio 1 surface. “I loved it when we had a great guest from the queer community. I had great times with Sam Smith, they would be a riot and would really gossip with us when the records were on and tell us stories that we couldn't have on the radio. Troye Sivan was a great time as well,” he recalls. 

Another memorable moment was his run-in with an early-era Lady Gaga, in Notting Hill, before she became Mother Monster as we now know her. “I did my first interview with Gaga years ago, for the telly, and it was when she was brand new. ‘Just Dance’ had just come out in America and she was making a bra out of gaffer tape on a dressing room floor,” he says, laughing. “I brought mum and dad along because they were in town so they met her right at the beginning of her career. Ever since then, whenever she'd come onto the radio show, she’d ask about my mum and dad.”

Grimshaw’s stories of famous crossovers are, understandably, endless – even if they’re ones he’s told plenty of times before. Up until recently, he’s remained embroiled in an ecosystem of music promoting a “product” but, now, he feels like his new projects allow for authentic conversations about people and their interests. His mantra, nowadays, is this: “Living in the full, truest form of yourself, without fear and judgement.” For a young Grimshaw, this unbridled queer joy took the form of “glamorous” drag shows where he dressed up as Cher for his family. Today, it’s about cooking in a kitchen packed with too many guests (and remembering to drink water). Turning 40, at one point, felt like a frightening due date. Now it’s a milestone Grimshaw is ready to take on.

[moltengoldveins]

irl friend: so… you’re making a language. molten: yes. irlf: and said language works in large part by using compound words and words with more than one meaning to emphasize, recontextualize, and change the implications of a sentence? Which results culturally in names often being made of two or more words with two or more disparate meanings, words that change and develop when taken in the context of one another? Like the name ‘Kalikon,’ made of the word kali (precious, metal, gold, valuable) and kon (heart, soul, star) coming to mean ‘precious heart’ or ‘heart of gold’ or ‘golden star’ or ‘steelhearted’? molten, grinning: yeah! It’s like my favorite aspect of the language! irlf: and what’s the word in this language for ‘blood’? molten, confused: uh, theknōn. It also means covenant, or honor. I made it cause I’m a Christian and those concepts are pretty inextricably connected in my head. irlf, at the End of her Rope: and the word for ‘promise?’ The word for ‘partnership’ or ‘marriage’? The word you spent twenty minutes explaining to be because English doesn’t have a word for what a qpr is and I’m not ace? molten, sweating:……. Bade. (Bah-deh). irlf, suuuuper done with my bull crap: so. The word “theknōnbade”? molten, beginning to realize she is in fact Not Subtle: …….. blood covenant of brothers. irlf: and just out of curiosity: how recently did you read Orphan’s Path, you shmuck?

[iamnmbr3]

what do you think of that harry chose the first time he rode a broom as his happiest memory for casting patronus?

I'm not gonna say it's definitely drarry but i really don't think that time harry was in happy mood or feeling for flying, i feel he wanted to take rememberall and was a bit nervous for flying for first time(as much as i remember)..plus that memory is involved with a person he hates *coughs* his arch-enemy *coughs*. I know it is possible that draco was not important when it came to his first flying experience but then he notices him a lot in general.

I'm confused what'd you think?

And a question is had harry ever wished that draco wouldn't be in his life anymore and that he can live in peace?do you remember anything related to that?'cause sometimes i personally feel the only chaos he wanted in his life was to fight with draco and not more than that(like voldemort and all)

Once he kicks off from the ground he does enjoy the sensation of flying and find it effortless and exhilarating. He’s also excited to find something he’s actually good at.

It’s a big moment for him - and like many big moments (from meeting Voldemort for the first time since he was a baby or speaking parseltongue for the first time or defeating Voldemort) it’s a moment that Draco is involved in. They are inextricably connected and witness or play a role in many of the pivotal moments of each others lives. So yeah. Hilarious that Draco’s there for the moment he thinks of first. Draco is also the reason he’s able to cast a Patronus successfully the first time (at the match) btw.

Also, I love the second question because you’re right he never does. Other people do tho - for example in the beginning of the fourth book Ron and Hermione talk about how they were wish Draco had gone to Durmstrang instead but Harry doesn’t join in.

[likeadevils]

Me being very smart. I think Taylor's next album if its' break upish it will feature songs like Midnight Rain, Question and maybe Maroon on it (Just listing break up songs from last album main). Midnights may have had omens she was thinking about leaving maybe but it's hardly a break up album like the main version ends on "you understand me" vibes.

i agree that tortured poets is going to be mostly a breakup album, and that midnights is more of a “why am i like this?” album then a breakup album. but, i also think it was a breakup album, just about a future nebulous breakup that was she was trying to wrap her head around. and because it was nebulous, and because she wasn’t 100% sure if they actually were going to breakup… she told stories about all the things in her life that this reminded her of. she was staring down the question “how will i feel about this in the future?” and tried to answer it with “well, how did i feel about it in the past?”

like, midnight rain and question— the reason she was doing that soul searching is inextricably linked with her thoughts about leaving. midnights rain is a breakup song about choosing fame instead of marriage, you’re losing me crescendos at the line “i’m the best thing at this party, and i wouldn’t marry me either”, question is about a relationship that fell apart because it was impossible to balance privacy and commitment, you’re losing me ends with the narrator begging their partner to make a choice.

i’m also confused by what connects the three you picked, beyond just being her most recently released break up songs? cause like, yeah, there’s gonna be break up songs on the next album. reputation and lover had breakup songs on them, poets definitely will

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — October 08-14

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This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

10-08 → The Instagram posted nine photos from the MYFM live show.

→ GXG posted a photo of Gong Jun from the airport in Paris, highlighting their clothes.

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted nine photos of Gong Jun in a puffy coat. Caption: "Boss fights for the first place (the first person to wear a down jacket)!"

10-09 → Fresh posted a Q&A video featuring Gong Jun. [subbed video] Fan Observation: It was noticed that he had some scratches on his left forearm. At the time of this post it is not known when this video was filmed.

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of "Zhang Zhehan".

10-10 → Vogue+ posted a video featuring Gong Jun for their issue that he acted as guest editor on. Caption: "Even under the packaging of the entertainment industry filter, people can still clearly perceive @ Gong Jun Simon as a person under his handsome appearance. of truth and intensity. He is not perfect, and is even a little cutely clumsy, often showing subconscious and natural reactions inadvertently. Compared with the stereotyped popular idols, people can observe more emotional resonances similar to themselves in him. Sincerity and warmth are his most dazzling shining points, and are also the source of his concern for autistic people. Rather than clinging to the unreachable distance and insurmountable barriers between hearts, the simple big boy hopes to open his heart."

→ The Instagram posted a video of "Zhang Zhehan".

→ Gong Jun posted a douyin of himself in Paris. Caption: "Shake the Paris inventory #check in a new look"

→ GXG posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

10-11 → Vogue+ posted a teaser video for the photoshoot they would release later. Caption: "There is always an inextricable connection between the soul and emotions, and for the autistic group, the innate sensitivity can also be converted into strength, insight, and perception. Under their brushes, the strong emotions overflowing with colour always hit the soul so directly; on their canvases, the creative patterns are freely telling their love to the world. What kind of emotion is that? Let us follow the guest editor of Vogue+ October issue @ Gong Jun Simon to collect every bit of tenderness like the clear sky after the rain, and listen to the voice from the soul."

Ten minutes later they posted another teaser video. Caption: "✨The stars put together a gorgeous night, 🎨colourful brushes depict the appearance of the world. On top of this gentle blue sky, everything is unconstrained imagination. There are no so-called identity labels here, and there are no boundaries. Natural talents and abilities are the best answers. What kind of imagination for the future does the unique inner world of autistic people contain? 🎈Let’s release the balloons with good wishes. @ Gong Jun Simon, the guest editor of the October issue of Vogue+, will come to this colourful but silent territory with us."

→ Vogue+ posted the cover of their October issue featuring Gong Jun. Caption: "Autism is not a disease, but a lifelong disorder. Autistic people have social communication difficulties. Their inner world is colourful and single-minded. Each of them is unique. They just use their unique perspective to perceive the external world and give them some friend-like support. They may be like us. Share their view of the world. How to observe? How to listen? How to be patient? Whether it is those who love them or those who are loved by them, they have also learned to cherish the colourfulness of life, learn to appreciate different beauties, and learn to feel the silent poetry because of getting along with autistic children. And @ Gong Jun Simon is also one of them. For him, getting along with autistic children is a rare form of 'mutual healing.'

This is the original intention of this cover co-creation plan. As the guest editor of the October issue of VOGUEplus, Gong Jun hopes to use fashion and creativity as a source of public welfare to focus on this special group and let more people understand autism in the right way. Help them obtain more social resources and live the normal life they deserve.

During the co-creation process, we were also amazed by the talents displayed by many autistic children. We used their paintings as fashion design inspiration and told you their stories."

This was reposted by Gong Jun's studio with the added caption: "Transcend spiritual barriers and immerse in wonderful fairy tales. @ Gong Jun Simon listens carefully and protects the innocence and beauty."

→ Vogue+ posted their interview with Gong Jun.

→ Vogue+ posted nineteen photos from their shoot with Gong Jun. Caption: "The world is not black and white. Everyone should have the right to open their heart and show their personality. Sometimes, our tolerance can also be transformed into a strength to support the diversity of this world. 'As a group of people with autism, they live in their own unique world. It is difficult for the outside world to receive their expressions. Therefore, we need to "listen attentively" and give more love and patience to their hearts. I have heard many stories about autistic families, and I hope that through this focus and communication with Vogue+, more people will pay attention to them.'

In the creation of the October issue of Vogue+, we worked with guest editor @ Gong Jun Simon who always falls into emotion invariably. Under the paintbrushes of autistic people, the gorgeous colours always contain emotions blooming on the canvas, freezing those beautiful imaginations. Even in the paintings of adults with autism, we can still see those symbols of freshness and purity. Although his increasingly mature brushwork means that he is constantly growing in his own universe, the beauty he creates remains the same. We cannot bear to break this peace and happiness. Only by listening attentively can we see their true inner thoughts."

→ Vogue+ posted another twelve photos from the shoot. Caption: "Autism itself is a description of a group with essential barriers to social interaction, and each of us is also likely to encounter varying degrees of difficulties and obstacles in this society. Before we have any contact with the autism community, there always seems to be an invisible wall between us and them. Although we can see each other, we don’t quite understand each other’s world.

'At first, my knowledge of autism was limited to some information on the Internet. I also saw on the Internet that there is an organization in Beijing that focuses on helping autistic children and families, and that they organize charity companionship activities. Having this can really help. It is a way for me to get to know, contact and love them freely.' As the guest editor of the Vogue+ October issue, @Gong Jun Simon was fortunate to learn about the Beijing Xingxingyu Education Research Institute by chance. There, for the first time, he learned deeply about the way to get along with autistic children, and felt their unique cuteness; their innate talents in music, painting and other artistic fields; their use of color and unique imaginations… They are 'children of the stars.' They have built a small world for themselves and use interactive methods that are not easily accepted by others to try to establish connections, and their small world is not easy for us to see because it is too pure. For this special group of people who need a lot of encouragement and tolerance to open their hearts, perhaps equal love is the gentlest answer."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a video from the Vogue+ photoshoot. Caption: "Stop at the Children's Castle and indulge in radiant reverie. @ Gong Jun Simon uses relaxation and ease to apply for a moment of freedom." BGM is It's Not Your Toy by MokkaMusic and 我喜歡 by chill boy.

→ Gong Jun posted twelve photos from the Vogue+ shoot. Caption: "Listen carefully and embrace innocence." He also posted eighteen to his Xiao Hong Shu, caption: "Come Colour the world🎨" and ten to his Instagram, caption: "🤫 ! Listen!" (originally in English)

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a brief clip from the Vogue+ shoot. Caption: "What does it mean? I can’t understand"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a douyin from the Vogue+ shoot. Caption: "Sit on @ Gong Jun Simon's time machine and return to childhood~"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted twelve behind the scenes photos from the Vogue+ shoot. Caption: "Restart childhood and capture purity. @ Gong Jun Simon touches the dreamy miracles and looks for vitality."

→ Xie Yiwen, Xie Yihua's sister who co-owns the EHz.Z trademarks, made a post (link leads to screenshots) on her Instagram showing that she designed the costme worn by Zhang Sanjian at the 10-07 MYFM live show. Almost immediately after, the EHz.Z Weibo deleted a post they had made referring to the outfit as "high end." Previous pieces she's made were sold online for 100RMB.

10-12 → Vogue+ posted a written interview with Gong Jun.

→ Vogue+ posted three vlogs [1] [2] [3] by Gong Jun from the photoshoot talking about some of the outfits. Subbed videos: [1] [2] [3]

→ Vogue+ posted five miscellaneous photos with quotes from Gong Jun. Caption: "Open this issue of the magazine, and you will also receive the fixed column #Gong Jun's healing handling#, travel through time with @ Gong Jun Simon , and see '"Me" having a conversations with "me". Here are also the puppies that I met when I went camping in my daily leisure time; the healing sunset I saw after a tiring day of shooting; the cute little things I bought at the corner store and the brilliance of life.' It is heart-warming moments like these that constitute Gong Jun’s little world.❤️" Fan Observations: Regarding the "'Me' having a conversation with 'me'" one: the Vogue+ photoshoot was released on the release anniversary of Zhang Zhehan's mini-album, I Met Myself.

→ The Instagram posted a video of Zhang Zhehan in the outfit Xie Yiwen made.

10-13 → Gong Jun's studio posted ten photos of Gong Jun from that day. "Extremely elegant and interpreting classic style, @ Gong Jun Simon sets out on a journey to explore the secret realm of the Fantasy Sea."

→ Gong Jun attended an event for Tiffany & Co.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a video of the earlier photoshoot and another at the Tiffany event. Caption: "The blue sea surges and the mist rises. @ Gong Jun Simon explores the story of the ocean."

10-14 → Gong Jun's studio posted nine photos of him from the Tiffany event. Caption: "The spirit of the deep sea rests on the chest, and the bright crown interprets romance. @ Gong Jun Simon traces mysterious legends in the fantasy sea."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a douyin from the Tiffany event. Caption: "In the secret realm of the fantasy sea, the aloof male god @ Gong Jun Simon performs the ultimate nobility." BGM is Golden Hour by JVKE.

→ Tiffany & Co. posted two photos of Gong Jun from the previous evening's event. Gong Jun reposted this with the added caption: "Wander the secret realm of the fantasy sea and encounter the wonderful life of the deep sea."

→ Tiffany & Co. posted a collection of photos of celebrities who had attended their event.

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of "Zhang Zhehan".

→ Gong Jun's studio posted updates on the lawsuits previously made public on 03-17 and some new ones, showing that some have been won. Among those being sued are antis, whalers, and Grifter Wu; Grifter Wu's account is connected to CAPA, so it's possible that Gong Jun's lawsuit against him could be useful for Zhang Zhehan's case. Caption: "The latest progress of Mr. Gong Jun’s reputation protection case is explained below. We will always insist on using legal means to protect Mr. Gong Jun’s legitimate rights and interests, and all compensation received from the case will be donated to support public welfare projects."

Additional Reading: → The scam gang is now trying to sell claims that Gong Jun and Zhang Sanjian are "back on good terms" and that there were "reasons" for the divorce video. 🤡

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[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Vast!Jon AU snippet (which I screaming like an angry badger)

Martin/Jon Childhood Friends

Will they/won’t they (they will)

A plane crash! Angst! Drama!

Vast!Jon, professional photographer

Lonely!Martin, professional baker

Old guys playing dice with the universe!

Nothing is sacred here.

Martin has signed a contract he shouldn't.

The Lonely has him.

Jon is not okay.

And no, Jon: Elias is not on your side.

-----------------

Whatever Jon expected to happen tonight, it did not involve a bunch of old men yelling at each other.

Well. Not yelling. But the tension and lying smiles and flashing eyes are nearly enough to send Jon running out of the room.

If Martin had returned any of his calls or texts, Jon would have. But Martin has not.

Jon will not leave.

“Really, Peter, I thought we had an understanding,” Elias is saying, absolutely condescending and yet somehow absolutely terrifying, like Death in a board meeting.

“You can’t just pick up every interesting one that pops along,” says Peter Lukas, who clearly does not want to be here, is the only one of the men who’s physically imposing, and also seems most likely to bolt. “How was I supposed to know he was connected?”

“You ask, as we have all been doing - with respect - for the past dozen years.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” says Simon, who visibly thinks this is all hilarious and doesn’t give a damn who knows. “This is easily resolved, isn’t it? After all, none of our prodigies bear single marks these days! Maybe we can dangle him and see what else bites.”

Lukas looks disgruntled.

Elias claps his hands, a pleased and satisfied punctuation. “Yes! A lovely idea. We can send out word - you wanted eyes on his little show, anyway, did you not? - and reap the multifaceted reward.”

“There. Problem solved.” Simon’s smile says he knows it isn’t.

“That doesn’t work, Elias,” says Lukas.

“Oh, why not?” Elias says, smarmy as hell.

“Because the entire nature of my patron precludes sharing! Elias, you’re being an ass.”

Simon cracks up.

Jon does not. 

He literally does not have a place at this table - he’s in the corner on a spare chair, silent while the three of them argue around Elias’ desk. 

He has no room to argue. He’s brand new. He doesn’t have a bargaining chip.

He also knows - and Elias made damn sure he did - that he is not strong enough to go against Peter Lukas, and if he did try, he would be lost, swallowed, thrown in whatever the Lonely is, and gone forever.

But that’s where Martin is now, and Jon is not okay.

Elias scoffs. “Peter, you’re being unreasonable.”

“No! We’ve finally found exactly what we’ve been looking for all these years, and you’re telling me you want me to share him? Absolutely not!”

He's funny, Lukas. He’s sitting there, but he almost isn’t.

There’s… there’s something around his chair. Obscuring him slightly, making his form just a pinch out of focus.

Subtly, quietly, Jon lifts the camera around his neck to see if he can spot it through the viewfinder.

Well. He can.

Elias glances his way once.

It's a keen look. He absolutely knows what Jon is doing - and he does not interfere. “Nobody is asking you to give him up, Peter, that’s not what’s happening - but you managed to pick someone inextricably tied to our current golden boy, and that means he isn’t fully suited for the Lonely, anyway, is he?”

Elias absolutely knows that’s not true - Jon sees it on his face - but Peter falls for it at once.

“I thought you were smarter than that,” snaps Peter. “That’s what makes him perfect. One deep relationship to sever is a perfect sacrifice for my patron, and I’ll have you know - ”

Peter starts ranting.

It’s all about loneliness, and the cost, and the necessity, and the beauty, and the uselessness of love, and the deception of intimacy, and - 

Jon tunes him out.

He’s awed, momentarily, at what Elias just did. In one sentence, he prompted Peter to admit that Martin needs a rescue, and at the same time got Peter distracted by intentionally misrepresenting the Lonely so he’d get all heated.

Jon is very glad Elias is on his side.

He glances through his viewfinder again. That fog is right there.

So is the path leading into it, disappearing somewhere between the gentle billows.

Elias had said that if Peter threw him into that place, he’d be lost.

Elias never said anything about walking into it on purpose.

Jon glances up again.

Elias glances back. Just one, tiny look - not concerned. Focused. Intense.

Surely, if Jon were in danger for what he was thinking (and he had no illusions that Elias couldn’t see that), Elias would warn him.

No warnings. Only that unblinking, unwavering focus that Jon was still trying to get used to.

So.

Martin was lost in that fog, somehow.

And Jon sees a way in.

Calmly, quietly, Jon stands.

Peter pays no attention at all. Simon has gotten involved now (“Oh, come on, next you’re going to say your damned patron cares who gets eaten”) and Peter’s turned on him, saying all kinds of horrible things about loss and life and love and how foolish Simon is to get invested in anybody.

Without the camera, Jon sees nothing.

With it, he sees the path, and almost swears it’s beckoning.

Calmly, quietly, Jon walks right in.

Peter startles. Jon sees that.

But then Peter and the Institute and everything else is gone. Coldness envelops Jon, and the deep, soft-edged aching of loneliness and despair, and now, the only thing here beside the mist is Simon’s lingering cackle.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

“Differentiated Extensions of Love” Rewritten May 25, 2023

There is nothing inherently wrong about being mediocre. The only problem with mediocre people is that they tend to try to cut down exceptional people, those who have accessed their hearts, gifts, and other potencies. For so long I tried to fit in, but I have never truly fit. I was born with a way of being and an embodiment that was often noticeable out of a crowd. When I look back, I see how often I have stood out. Even when I tried to be swallowed up into the background, I would be spotted and pulled up front and center. And the more I learned to cultivate deeper states of love energy, a divine energy, the more distance was brought between me and mediocre people. I don’t say that as a slight; it is just what it is. The lineages I was born from do not want to me to play small or be shrunken or average. I had to learn to accept this default setting but also the flavor of genius I had deliberately cultivated and stop trying to fit closer into the likeness of other people, many of whom I adored in some way. If you love mediocrity, that is also beautiful because you have discovered something you love in this world. We are inextricably connected but we are not the same. And that is also beautiful. We all possess the spark of divine consciousness within us just as we are, so be blissful and badass in your mediocrity, but do not attempt to pluck the rare flowers. We are not enemies; we are just not the same. How beautiful we are in our differences. —India Ame‘ye

****************

“Do not diminish any part of your light just so you can appear humble. Humility doesn’t require you to hide, ignore, or numb truth: your natural beauty, gifts, strengths, talents, and achievements.” —India Ame’ye, Author

False humility is deeply colonial way of operating in the world. When we have tapped into whatever the things are that make us great and impeccable in what we do, we must be able to name it and not pretend like we don’t know who we are. We must not pretend that we are not great because our gifts begin to weaken. People like Muhammad Ali, Tina Turner, Kobe Bryant and many others  knew this very well of themselves, but it’s also time for non-celebrity folk to remember who they are.  When we step into greater versions of ourselves, it is not just for us. We are indeed mastering the 3D illusion that begins to move this earth realm forward for everyone. We begin to know that nothing outside of us gives us any real power. We go beyond the crystals, cards, waist beads, the Bible cold water therapy, terms like “goddess” and even yoga. Even though these tools can be a highly supportive on our journeys, we start to to realize that true ascension (regeneration and restoration) happens from the inside out. It’s the willingness to develop a true relationship with the whole self -spirituality/sexuality/practicalities and the accompanying principles of what it means to be truly alive and living in miracles, instead of looking to something outside to make us feel safe, powerful, or great. Learning to not fit in or follow the crowd when it feels most truthful is one of the best self-love acts you can do to evolve your life force energy. Being able to name a thing a thing and accept what is instinctively shape shifts your life into more harmony.

“You’re simply the best, better than all the rest.” -Tina Turner

“I’m the greatest.” -Muhammad Ali

We live in a "we-are-all-the-same and we-all-are winners- so-everyone-gets-a-prize" type of society. This kind of mediocrity is what many people are teaching their children.But it's not the truth. We are not all the same. We all won't get a prize. Because not everyone is willing to go the depth and distance into their bodies--into their unconscious, into their softness and strength, into opening their bodies, into alchemizing all the fear and shame in their root, or doing whatever it takes or what is required and not merely stay on the surface of life where everything has been decided, outlined, scripted, or ordained for us as pattern, habit, conditioning, or limitation as if we do not have any sovereignty over the trajectory of our lives.I love when the national champions of women's basketball, Angel White and the rest of the LSU team refused to go to the White House after Jill Biden suggested Iowa, the losing team, should also come. Never in history has the losing team been offered to come to the White House. Angel clapped back at Jill and basically said..."only winners come to the white house. And we are not all the same."Recently after posting how I corrected someone that I wasn't 27 but soon to turn 47, someone suggested I shouldn't say/celebrate my age because age is just a number and we can just pick the age we desire to be. I understood what she trying to say and appreciated her sharing, but age isn't just a number. But it's never too late to start recalibrating the body and life narratives, and that's also incredibly miraculous and beautiful, yeah!

Everyone ages differently based on what is true for them in their psychology and how they have been caring for themselves (their cells). I told her that I desire for people to know I'm 47, and that I'm proud of that. I don't want to pretend I'm in my 20s. I wanna be  47, loudmouth, full of sass, compassion, and agility, and proud that I have taken good care of my body, spirit, and psyche over the years and never wavered from doing so no matter how much stress, trauma, and drama I was moving through. Nothing in this universe stands alone--everything is cycling in relationship to everything but we are not the same while being inextricably connected. Everything in life is connected in an interlocking divine sequence like DNA strands and we can share our unique gifts and specific talents in various dimensions, whether in the physical or in the quantum, yet we are still differentiated and not the same. And it's also beautiful. We will all have a different reality for what 50 years old will look and feel like. It's part of my dharma to disrupt people's programming around many things, including the aging process, moving the body and psyche beyond lack and scarcity codes, being spiritual but also mastering the material world, and the magic of tapping into authentic self expression, raw natural beauty, and slow life living in female physiology and how softening and strengthening our bodies evolve the larger world forward.

So many of us are afraid of our largeness. We don't want offend other people with our greatness. And we shield ourselves from shining in order to be non-disruptive and aligned with the default small comfortable self-image given to us and to keep other people we love comfortable in theirs. It took decades for me to realize that I actually wasn’t a shy demure person. I just didn’t want people to say “who does she think she is? She thinks she’s cute or something.”  But it’s so strange because I realize why shouldn’t I think I’m cute. Tina Turner did not go on stage thinking she wasn’t cute. Nor did Muhuammad Ali--he even called himself “pretty.” All the years I had been naming myself “shy” and growing into that label was me being more invested in the programmed persona of who I thought I was that kept me seemingly safe in my youth.  If you desire to be your full self, fullest expressed and create the greatest experiences, there has to be a part of you that knows that you are great and that knowing doesn’t diminish any other’s person’s greatness. Yet some people are going to feel intimated and overshadowed by your light but that is not your issue or responsibility. Too many of us live dimmed and afraid of who and what we really are and the real frequency, eros, and power that move through us. Do not deny your light from shining bright. All the ways we shrink, freeze, and depress (press down) our energies and potential over the years actually effects the root of our bodies, our mobility, as we age. So while we think we are keeping safe, we are actually rupturing our safety and wondering why we have the problems we have with our bodies.

One thing I love about traveling is that I get to experience reality beyond Western conditioning and common limitations on what's possible. I see beautiful people in their 70s and 80s full of power and mobility and have longevity, carrying big baskets and furniture on their heads and content with owning very little, despite the narratives western people tend to place on their experiences, assuming them to be poor. It's beautiful to witness other truths and create your own new narratives from there. 

[good-wine-and-cheese]

Hi hi! I really really love your Monster fics, the emotions always have me in a grip ;u; sorry to be throwing you back since I'm late hahaaaaa, but for the fic asks: D (A Hand to Hold and/or Don't Turn Around), F, S

Thank you!! <3 I'm so glad you enjoy my stories ;v; and thank you for the ask!!!

Writer asks

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

A Hand to Hold: Not in particular, but I offer you my Guriten playlist anyways:

Don't Turn Around: So, the fic itself is an Orpheus & Eurydice retelling mostly inspired by a pair of songs by Arcade Fire. It more directly references "It's Never Over (Hey Orpheus)" which opens with the lyrics Don't turn around right at the beginning.

Just for comparison's sake, here's the companion song, Awful Sound (Oh, Eurydice):

The entire reflektor album fucks like crazy btw.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Sorry this is going to come from my Astro Boy works just bc that's what I'm currently working on and therefore what's eating my brain matter but I think it would have to be this one:

“The public thinks of you as a part of the robot rights campaign. You’ve been inextricably connected, no matter how you position yourself. It would be easy for you to join me.” Tenma’s brows pinched together. He wasn’t really…. asking that, was he? “I’m sure that would be a good look. ’Terrorist Tenma is accepted into Robot Rights campaign’. It would be the end for you.” “And they’re already running with that, aren’t they? It wouldn’t change a thing.” …But it would. Of course it would. Right now, Hiroshi could order a retraction. He could publicly state that Tenma’s involvement in his campaign was incidental only, that he was an aid in his physical recovery and not a part of the robot rights movement. He could do that and it would regain him credibility with the press. So why was he– “Unless you’re saying that you don’t want to. I understand, of course.” “I didn’t say that.” But he should say that. If he pulled out now, if he refused Hiroshi outright, then the robot rights movement would be able to regain its momentum. Tenma’s presence would do nothing but drag it down. With his help, Hiroshi’s championing would come to a screeching, sputtering halt. Is that what you want? For me to destroy your…

Sorry it's more than just dialogue, but with the way I write inner monologues it kind of matters. Anyway what gets me about this scene is that it's all in code. Like, sure Ochanomizu would like Tenma to be part of his robot rights campaign, but that's not actually what he's asking. What he wants is for Tenma to be a part of his life. They used to be close. He wants that back.

But on the other hand Tenma is a very troubled person with a very bad track record. He causes problems, he doesn't fix them. And the thing is he knows what Ochanomizu is really asking, and he's stuck between wanting to be part of his best friend's life again and the dread of knowing the type of person that he is - that he'll end up ruining everything. He doesn't trust himself not to hurt Ochanomizu.

It gets brought up again later in the chapter and they blow the whole thing open and have a proper discussion about wanting to be in each others' lives but it just Gets to me when they have these kind of coded conversations that both are fully aware of the real meaning but it's just easier to Not Deal With It right then.

Thank you for listening to me ramble about poorly adjusted old men

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I don't know if it's a "fandom" trope specifically but I am obsessed with having one half of a pairing be dead and appear to the other half as a kind of psychological manifestation (or an actual ghost) that both haunts them and helps bring about catharsis of grief and forgiveness. If I can somehow involve the sea it's even better.

[sheikitoff]

breath of the wild as evermore

if you’re up on your taylor swift lore, you know folklore and evermore are considered “sister albums” - both written and recorded during the pandemic, released five months apart, with a shared “cinematic universe” of sorts, and both characterized by taylor as getting lost in the woods (artistically) and staying there for a while. all of that is true, but if folklore is a lush forest in summer or high fall, evermore is a forest in late winter - the trees are bare, the world is quieter, and all around are signs of death and decay; yet even still, peeking out from the snow are hints of life returning, of nature in all its persistence gearing up to bloom again.

like MM, BOTW is a game about dealing with the apocalypse, but while in MM that apocalypse is imminent, in BOTW it’s a few generations past, still in living memory for some (like the zora) but for the most part the formative shadow under which the people of the world were raised and which society is just starting to emerge from. (this is a real sidebar, but i’ve always thought MM and BOTW were the zelda games most visibly influenced by ff7; in MM, with the moon hanging over the world, akin to meteor in disc 3; in BOTW, i see the final shot of midgar’s ruins overtaken by nature in every corner of hyrule.) but botw isn’t evermore just because it’s a sister to mm/folklore. evermore is an album of aching grief, not just for things lost but for potentials never realized, for “could-have-beens” that never were, for longing after that which was once in your reach but no longer is; “we could just ride around / and the road not taken looks real good now.” i think the champions’ fates are among the most haunting of any zelda characters; they were all brilliant and talented, in their primes, leaders in their communities, brave and true with full lives ahead of them, and they all died horribly, trapped and alone. whether or not mipha’s feelings for link were requited or not, she’ll never know, and link will never have the chance to respond one way or another; “i guess i’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show”.

evermore is also an album about figuring out who you are (or are going to be) after a loss: “and in the disbelief / i can’t face reinvention/ i haven’t met the new me yet.” in botw, this theme is prevalent on both an individual and a societal level; link spends the game both learning who he was before and who he is now, through finding old memories and through making new ones, and likewise hyrule is rebuilding itself, trying to figure out what it’s going to become, but that future kingdom hasn’t quite taken shape yet (nor have it’s tears- sorry for the pun, i’ll stop now). “there is happiness / past the blood and bruise / past the curses and cries / beyond the terror in the nightfall.” yet people are relentless in their persistence, their determination to keep going, to create life out of a wasteland of death; and through the tarreytown quests the game makes you a party to this, makes you and link engage with the way humanity refuses to be stamped out. “oh, i can’t / stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows / and now i’m covered in you.”

here’s the part where i say, full disclosure: i played BOTW in the weeks before and months after my grandmother’s death, and for me that game is inextricably tied to my grief. on evermore, taylor has a song grieving her grandmother (see “marjorie”, pack tissues). i don’t believe that’s why i think evermore is BOTW, and i think i’ve proven that here, but it’s be naive of me to think there’s no connection going on in my subconscious because of that.

another difference between MM/folklore and BOTW/evermore is in the pacing; even though both albums are roughly the same length, folklore feels very tightly paced, extremely sonically coherent, with one clear central vision. evermore is a bit more meandering, more experimental, more willing to sit in silence and sadness and watch the frozen landscape for a while. it still plays with different characters and fictional storylines (and like in MM, link/the player spends a lot of BOTW in the role of observer), but they’re not as interwoven as those on folklore; likewise, in BOTW the characters are spread far and wide across hyrule instead of largely gathered in clocktown, their lives are far less intertwined, and while the NPCs do all have scheduled trajectories of sorts they’re far less strict or significant than those of MM. (also of note; while in folklore, the “teenage love triangle” of songs - cardigan, august, and betty, each from the point of view of a different character from the same love triangle - has resolution, a degree of closure, and some real catharsis on “betty”, the evermore equivalent, ‘tis the damn season and dorothea, have no resolution or closure or catharsis of any kind. unfulfilled, just like the champions’ lives and potential.)

all of these themes and ideas are also summed up within one BOTW character: zelda. unfulfilled potential is the name of the game with her, as she’s constantly told she’s a failure for her inability to unlock her powers, while also being shut off from all her research, her potential as a scholar and any potential discoveries her passion could have led her to, and any lives that knowledge might have saved. (in age of calamity, we learn that zelda’s research into technology could and would have been able to save at least some lives, but the canon of that game is questionable, and regardless BOTW zelda doesn’t know any of that because it never happened; she’s just left with the possibility that maybe she could have uncovered something, but no certainty.) zelda’s grief goes without saying, as we see her breaking down in flashbacks, and her longing - for her powers, to be a scholar, to not be a princess, to be free of the burden of prophecy - is everywhere. (not to mention, the game opens with link hearing zelda’s voice but unable to reach her; whether you interpret their relationship as romantic or not, the whole game is framed with a longing for something you can’t reach). and the persistence of hyrule in surviving and rebuilding despite the calamity is reflected in zelda’s persistence in holding ganon at bay for a whole century; and, in the “true ending” scene you get for unlocking all the memories, we see her already making plans for hyrule, for where to go next and how to move forward.

there’s a lot more i could say, but i’ll end with the final track of evermore, fittingly named “evermore”, which i think sums up the themes of this game so well: “and i couldn’t be sure / but i had a feeling so peculiar / this pain wouldn’t be for / evermore.”

addendum: ah, crap, i meant to write something about the champion’s abilities as representation for still feeling the presence of loved ones after they’ve passed, and “if i didn’t know better / i’d think you were still around / i know better / but i still feel you all around”… ah well, it’s long enough as it is