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rainbowsky · 3 years

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The Wolf Reviewed

Spoiler-free section

My life is divided into two eras: ‘before seeing GG as Ji Chong’ and ‘after seeing GG as Ji Chong’. I will never be the same.

GG is magical in this series, and Ji Chong is among my absolute favorite characters of all time (I am actually in love with this character, which is heartbreaking given the fact that he’s fictional). The show also has many interesting characters and some exciting storylines, and in spite of some of its flaws this series is quite good. Highly recommended.

Of course there’s a lot more to it than that, but I can’t give a full review without spoilers. Here’s the rest for those who have already seen the series.

Spoilers under the cut

OK, where to start?

The Characters

There were so many great characters in this story and overall I found the performances of all of them well-acted and exciting to watch. I especially loved Ji Chong and Yao Ji. Both were complex, mysterious characters who stole the show every time they were onscreen.

Ji Chong was incredible. Everything about him was over-the-top amazing. I can imagine that GG must have identified a lot with Ji Chong because he has a similarly gallant, charismatic and kind personality. Seeing GG perform a character like this was mind-blowing because of the harmony between them in spite of their physical differences.

I could go on and on about how much I love Ji Chong as a character but if you’ve seen the series you already know how great he is. I truly fell in love with that man. He was everything I love in a person, and in such a beautiful package. I loved his nimble mischievousness, his rebelliousness, his fierce independence, his devotion to those he loves, and above all, his integrity. With one exception that I’ll get into later, everything he did in that series was consistent with the image I had of him and it made my heart melt.

And it was pretty insane to see GG go from the thin, twinkish, bubbly and somewhat diminutive Wei Wuxian to the rugged, masculine, mature and level-headed Ji Chong. Not only because of the personality differences between the two characters, but also because of the physical differences. They look like two entirely different people. Ji Chong looks so tall and imposing in the series!

It’s impressive to see GG’s acting ability shine through in these roles. He has such a gift for acting, and for drawing viewers into the hearts of the characters he plays.

Yao Ji was another character that really impressed me. She had so much intensity and complexity, and her character arc was so strong. She was also just incredibly well styled and she looked breathtaking in every single frame she appeared in. The various headpieces and hairstyles she wore were stunning, and her sidekick Zi Shen was an aesthetic marvel.

I also really loved Ma Jing. Despite the fact that she was often used for comedic effect, her character was quite nuanced and multidimensional. I loved her loyalty and strength, and the depth of the love she had for Ma Zhai Xing really shone through in every scene she was in.

The entire Night Fury group was also amazing. I loved them as a team and as individuals, and the trajectories their characters went through were interesting and engaging. I was really invested in what became of them. When Wen Yan died I was gutted, and I was grateful that Hai Die and Mo Xiao had such a satisfying conclusion to their story.

I also adored Butler Shi. What a great character. He reminded me of one or two guys I know hehe. He had such a warm, endearing quality about him.

I’m realizing that I could sit here and name almost every character in this series. Despite some of the problems that I have with it, I’m reminded that the characters are exceptionally well-realized in this series.

The Story

Overall I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by the story. It was exciting and engaging, and there were some very interesting side conflicts and intrigues. There was an overall sense of adventure and plenty of action, some really emotional moments and even comic relief.

When you think about it, almost every character had something deeper going on outside of the main plot, and those side/back stories were really interesting and varied. There was complexity to the characters and their motives and experiences without it overcomplicating the plot.

The romances were not my cup of tea. I’ll get into that later on. But despite being the thread that ran through the entire story, they really didn’t feel central to it and it was easy to simply enjoy the show while putting aside the annoyances I had with the romances (I did this primarily by consciously choosing to take the story at face value, and choosing to believe that Ma Zhai Xing really was through with Prince Bo).

The show did a great job of getting me engaged and keeping me interested, giving me a story that was complex without being confusing, emotional without being too sappy (with some exceptions). The action, fight scenes, battles, etc. were exciting without feeling fake and cliche. There were some well-choreographed scenes.

I really can’t complain about much. I mean, there were times when I was watching this series that I thought I hated it, but in retrospect I can see that I really loved it in spite of some of the flaws, which I’ll discuss in a moment.

The Soundtrack

The soundtrack was quite good, even if it felt repetitive when I was bingeing the show. So many songs have stuck with me since I finished the series. I especially like Backflow by Jolin Tsai (second-last song on the playlist I linked). Of course I would have loved a song or two with GG, but the soundtrack we got was memorable.

What I hated

I really struggled with some aspects of this series.

I found Bao Na mostly unwatchable. She was incredibly annoying. As a character she had all the traits I dislike. Whiny, stalker, demanding, emotionally immature, jealous... I really couldn’t stand that character for a lot of the series.

It’s true that she started to redeem herself a bit through the course of the series but she never really evolved into someone I wanted to see more of. I definitely had some moments where I liked her and sympathized with her, but mostly she grated on my nerves.

I also hated Prince Bo through most of the series, and found it insulting that I was expected to view him as the protagonist and cheer for him to win the princess’s heart. I felt that the ‘love-hate’ thing between Prince Bo and Ma Zhai Xing was overplayed to a point where I lost all sympathy with Prince Bo and desperately wanted him to die a horrible death through much of the series.

His behavior didn’t reflect someone who was in love but wanted to protect her. Much of his behavior was excessive and gratuitous, much worse than was necessary to achieve its stated goal. He was incredibly emotionally and psychologically abusive toward Ma Zhai Xing to a degree that was often really hard to watch. Especially his near-rape of her.

This is a man that I didn’t want to see redeemed. This is a man I wanted to see burned alive. No one who truly loved Ma Zhai Xing would be even remotely capable of the actions Prince Bo took.

I will admit that he did begin to redeem himself in my eyes a bit later in the series, but not to where I could ever see him with Ma Zhai Xing. I don’t think that’s the sort of treatment one can ever redeem in a relationship. He might be able to redeem himself, but not the relationship. There are some lines, once crossed between people, that one can never come back from.

I actually felt that Yao Ji was a much better match for Prince Bo than the princess was. They were true equals with similarly difficult pasts, and similarly dark deeds to redeem themselves from. They were in so many ways perfect for each other.

Ji Chong and Ma Zhai Xing were a better match because they were more natural equals in terms of personality, values and life paths. There were tremendous parallels between the two of them. Although I ended up feeling she didn’t deserve him.

So for me, it was really difficult to get invested in the love stories I was presented with. Ultimately I found them all very unsatisfying. The people I wanted to see together were treated as unsuitable for each other in ways that were completely unbelievable, and the people I was expected to want to see together had unconvincing chemistry and incompatibilities that I couldn’t overlook.

Seeing Ma Zhai Xing die in the end was an OUTRAGE. Especially when I read about the director’s rationale for that decision.

“Her thought process on killing off “Zhai Xing” was that “King Bo” had done so much for her that it was time for her to do something for him. “Her character had matured the most in the series. Dying for Wolf Boy is the best ending for this identity of hers. To me, this perfect ending is even more in line with her character’s growth.””

I found that shocking. I couldn’t disagree more with this sentiment. She wasted so much of herself and her life for Prince Bo. He treated her like crap, and he didn’t ever truly do anything to redeem himself from that behavior. He should have been the one to die.

In my opinion, REAL character growth for Ma Zhai Xing would have been to see her overcome the fixation with Wolf Boy and with Prince Bo and just move on with her life.

I will say this, though: By the time Ma Zhai Xing died in the show, her character had already been so utterly and thoroughly decimated beyond all recognition via the Prince Bo housewife trajectory that there was no point in her surviving.

The absolute worst moment for me, though, was Ji Chong ending up with Bao Na. Talk about adding insult to injury. This is the one thing that Ji Chong did as a character that ran against my understanding of him as a character.

You could have done anything at all to Ji Chong, including killing him or turning him into a villain, and it would have been less of an insult to me than putting him with Bao Na.

I do try to interpret his invitation for them to travel together in a non-romantic way (despite the fact that in the world of the show there’s no way that a princess is going to go traveling with a prince without her reputation being ruined unless they are a couple). But when I tell myself that he took her traveling to get her away from court and give her some life experience - as friends only - then it becomes less of a bitter pill to swallow. I could see him doing that for her, and I could see them developing a strong friendship through their travels.

I just can’t see them as remotely romantically compatible. Not on any level.

I found it completely unconvincing that the most emotionally mature, honorable person in the entire series who had the healthiest boundaries and a lot of worldly experience and intelligence, would have any interest whatsoever in someone as emotionally immature, childish and inexperienced (and with no boundaries whatsoever) as Bao Na.

I would have preferred it if they’d framed that whole thing as him being a sort of big brother/mentor figure to her.

I felt like I saw chemistry and compatibility between Bao Na and Fourth Prince Chu You Ze, and I would have loved to see them end up together. They were much more at an equal footing. I was expecting that to be the outcome and it would have been a sweet one. They would have made a cute couple.

Final thoughts

The romances in this story seemed fixated on unhealthy, often misogynistic power imbalances and they were really, really hard to watch. Not just in terms of Prince Bo and Ma Zhai Xing but also the ugly Ji Chong and Princess Bao Na hookup they tried to get me to swallow at the end. I hate that kind of ‘love’ story. I prefer seeing actual equals find each other in the great wide world.

However, pretty much everything else about the series was excellent. Ji Chong owns my heart and I only wish I could see more of him. GG completely blew me away and far exceeded all of my expectations.

Overall, I really love this series and will definitely be rewatching it.

#the wolf #ji chong #actor gg #review #my beloved ji chong

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ombreblossom · 3 years

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speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

#tma valentines exchange #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #tma #scottish honeymoon #set between mag 159 and mag 160 #idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here #miscommunication #panic #hurt/comfort #sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes #ombre writes fic

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hopeymchope · 3 years

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Godzilla Singular Point

I came into Singular Point with some trepidation because Godzilla’s history in anime is both very recent and extremely bad. The three anime movies released between 2017 and 2019 are easily the worst work of famed writer Gen Urobuchi and honestly contain more bullshit than I can even get into here. Those movies and this series were both Godzilla anime properties commissioned by Netflix, which didn’t get my hopes up very much. Thankfully, Singular Point is a very different beast from the anime trilogy. One could argue it’s very different from most Godzilla media, actually — at least from my perspective. And I’m still a pretty entry-level fan of Toho’s Big G, all things considered.

Let me just warn you right up front: This smartphone-based virtual assistant is basically the breakout star of the series.

When you think “Godzilla,” you probably don’t think “incredibly dense sci-fi concepts,” but with the big G’s first-ever anime series, the writers clearly set out to change that perception. Before the first kaiju even appears, the lead characters are plucked from obscurity and dropped into a mystery that involves fourth-dimensional time travel, physical objects that look different from all sides, theoretical math concepts, self-propagating A.I., and a whole lot more. And it’s NEVER made clear how all of it connects to the rampaging kaiju! Although we spend a lot of time investigating a red dust or sand that is very obviously tied to the monsters in SOME way, no one ever makes a connection that explains the relationship. Maybe we’re supposed to wait for a later season to connect the threads... but let’s get into the idea of “another season” later.

I like to think of myself as someone who typically enjoys hard sci-fi, but even with the characters spending loads of time trying to explain the high concepts driving the story, I was never able to fully wrap my head around what was going on in the mystery at the center of GSP. I rewound and rewatched a few explanations, but I still walked away feeling lost. I eventually settled on some vague, loose understandings of most of the ideas mentioned, but those understandings were subject to being ripped apart in subsequent scenes when I was shown or told something completely at odds with what I thought I knew. I can’t say I was ever bored with the thick, dense scientific concepts on offer — trying to find purchase with these far-out ideas kept me glued to the screen — but damn, I sure wish I was able to comprehend them.

What do we want?! DENSE SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION AND DEBATE! When do we want it?! AFTER THOROUGH RESEARCH, TESTING, AND PEER REVIEW!

Another weird thing about this show is that the lead characters remain in separate locations and on separate tracks for the entire duration. We have Yun — a mechanical engineer and programmer who has an amazing grasp on physics and human behavior. And we have Mei — a grad student who is deeply invested in theoretical science, UMAs, cryptids and other far-flung concepts. Both of them are basically geniuses in their fields, and even though they take opposing views of just how flexible reality is, their shared ability to think “outside the box” becomes the crucial component in solving the mystery at the core of the series. Because they don’t even know one another (despite being separated by like, ONE degree), they only ever interact via text messages and behind screen names, which feels pretty damn weird. At least I immediately liked both of them, with Yun being the standout to me because of how his lowkey reactions to crazy shit generates a lot of humor.

This soundtrack cover LIES; you will never see these characters in a room together like this.

Alas, we don’t get to know the characters a whole lot beyond what we learned of them in the first two episodes. It’s not long before they’re trapped in a series of complicated exposition dumps, endlessly attempting to explain the high concepts of the show to other characters as well as my dumb ass in the audience. The fact that I liked them in the first couple of episodes carried me through more than half of the show, but I was always hoping to see them share more of themselves or just display more emotion. Anime as a medium excels at emotional storytelling. But despite the major, world-altering events the characters are constantly warning us about, none of them seem to have many emotions about said events.

Further complicating matters is how, when major events finally occur in this show, they are often kept off-screen. One character shockingly dies, but the portrayal of that death is so piss-poor that I didn’t even realize it’d happened until someone mentioned their death in the next episode. After that vague death, I was particularly sensitive to anything that looked like it might possibly be lethal. Yet a later event that is played up as a tragic, fatal occurrence ends up... fine, somehow? It’s not clear how the character survives, because — even after one of our heroes is left screaming their name in despair as they seemingly die — nobody ever talks about or explains how he’s just fine a couple of scenes later. And near the end of the series, there’s a major transformation that occurs for one of the characters, and we never see it happen nor do we understand HOW it happened. It’s just that suddenly, this character is extremely different due to off-screen reasons that are only vaguely verbalized.

I guess these two really bonded at some point for some reason? And what you are seeing here is literally the height of emotion shown in the entire show.

Even though the overarching story of the series so far pretty clearly wraps up in episode 13, we then get a post-credits tease for a potential second season. So the question becomes: Would I watch that?

Well... Godzilla Singular Point is a series with a lot of issues that kept me at arms’ length from it — tons of extremely confusing dialogue, highly frustrating choices in direction that lead to baffling storytelling, characters who are mostly exposition-dumping — and yet there’s still some foundational work here that I appreciated a lot. When the action occurs, it’s pretty cool/fun. And when urban destruction occurs, it can be awe-inspiring. The human characters, though little-explored, have likable and interesting foundations to them that could be expanded upon. And I didn’t even mention the soundtrack, which features a variety of musical styles combined with the classic Ifukube theme music and an OP that is an absolute banger. (I have a weakness when it comes to music; a good soundtrack can carry me through even the blandest series sometimes.) Even the core idea of centering a Godzilla series around hard science and mathematical concepts is a compelling one, I think! I just hated the execution of it; they went waaaaay too far on poorly explaining incredibly complex, mind-bending concepts for my pea brain to handle it. They spend so much time trying to explain things, yet somehow they never succeeded for me.

Ultimately, I’d probably give the show another chance. But if I do give another season a chance, it’ll be on probation. I wouldn’t watch the entire season unless I could see within four episodes that they’d definitely improved things.

Would I recommend that anyone watch the series as it currently stands? I mean... not really? I guess if you really dig complex math, hard theoretical science, and/or Toho’s stable of monsters, then maaaaaaaaaaybe give it a shot. But otherwise? Naaaahh. It’s not good enough at anything to make it stand out from the anime crowd. I didn’t hate it like I hated the Godzilla anime films, but Singular Point is still something that both casual viewers and most fans can comfortably ignore for the time being. It’s not a complete disaster, and it’s not without its highlights... but it’s definitely disappointing in my opinion.

OKAYOKAYOKAY, so let’s talk about the kaiju for a bit!

Below will be SPOILERS revealing all of the kaiju that appear in Godzilla Singular Point and giving my feelings on them.

Godzilla — It’s interesting to see a version of Godzilla that borrows some ideas from Shin Godzilla. Shin G has been incredibly unique until now, but this Godzilla manages to fold some of Shin’s distinctive aspects in with the more classic/typical versions to build a fun new depiction. Be forewarned that Godzilla doesn’t show up until the series is halfway over, and he doesn’t get a ton of screen time, either. He’s used quite sparingly and kept in hazy settings, often framed from the neck-up when they show him. It’s a little frustrating that they felt the need to shroud him so much, but I respect the fact that whenever Godzilla is shown, the destruction he causes is on a scale far beyond anything that the rest of the kaiju ever do. He is pure devastation.

Rodan — He’s easily the biological kaiju with the most screen time in Singular Point. Rodan is first introduced as one gigantic pterosaur, but if you’ve seen ANY trailers for this show then you already know that his depiction transitions into an asston of smaller pterosaurs, all of whom are also called “Rodan.” (Apparently the word Rodan is both singular and plural, like the word “buffalo.”) Although he looks kind of cool at first, pretty soon Rodan showing up isn’t special or threatening anymore. Rodan appearances go from “a big goddamn deal” to “some bland background noise” before the series is even 1/3 finished. The design might be a little too far removed from the original for my own taste, but even if I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t be able to care for this Rodan simply because he’s rendered so unimportant and unimpressive.

If you go out in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise...

Anguirus — Now check this guy out! Anguirus gets one of the coolest fights in the show and also demonstrates some powers that are well beyond anything we’ve seen him do before. Because he sticks to unpopulated areas, we never see him do much damage to Japan, but he is definitely holding all the attention when he’s on-screen. He’s a highlight for me — a total badass who is very unique in his abilities. And the stated origin for his name is goddamn adorable.

Manda — Yup, Manda is in this series... but I don’t have much to say for him. It seems like the creators of the anime didn’t have much to say about him either. His role amounts to little more than a repeated cameo, and in most of those cameos you only ever see his tail. When we finally see his full body, it’s done so briefly and kept at a distance, leaving me with no real impression. I had to look up his design online and... yup, that sure looks like Manda. Final score: MEEEEHH.

Kumonga — I definitely did not see this appearance coming! Kumonga is much smaller here than you may be used to, but she gets to star in the most suspenseful sequence in the series and easily earns the most exciting cliffhanger moment at the end of an episode. I was utterly glued to the show during her screen time, which comes with a lot of icky twists. Good ones! I honestly like Kumonga here more than I ever have previously.

NEW PHONE WHO DIS

Salunga — Uh, who? This is the one monster that isn’t based on a classic Toho kaiju but instead is a brand-new creation. I suppose that everybody who touches the Toho Kaiju franchise wants to make their own mark on it in some regard. But a big part of the fun of this series for me personally was the anticipation of seeing new interpretations and designs of classic Toho monsters. And so, given that he kind of resembles both Baragon and Gabara, I never stopped wishing they’d just used one of those guys as the basis and namesake. Taken on his own, however? He’s... pretty neat. Not unique or exciting, but solidly above par. He resembles a cross between a lizard/dinosaur and an ape, plus his head has some nifty coloration.

Our Jaguar!

Jet Jaguar — I guess Jet Jaguar isn’t exactly a kaiju in the traditional sense because he’s a Giant Robot. However, if you want to consider him one, then I wager he probably gets even more screen time than Rodan! We meet him almost immediately when the series begins. Initially an odd pilot-driven robot that was constructed at the whim of a quirky old factory-owner with too much disposable income, Jet Jaguar grows and changes over the course of the show, ultimately undergoing a transition in episode 7 that makes him pretty damn impossible to dislike. In fact, I utterly adored him by then. This is definitely the best Jet Jaguar I’ve ever seen. His design is recognizably similar to the original yet utterly distinct, too. Like many of the other kaiju here, he’s not nearly as big as he was when he was first introduced to the movies, but his size is ideal for battling the smaller-scale monsters that we spend most of the series on.

#godzilla #godzilla singular point #anime #anime reviews #kaiju

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isolctions · 3 years

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...........so let’s finally talk abt what the actual fucking fuck is wrong with ai’rina rue castillo, huh gang? :-)

(everyone go thank @armsdealing & @durcgs beating the anxiety out of me in order to post this info-dump.)

...before we get into things, now’s the part where i establish a warning for triggers to be discussed in this lengthy headcanon post. there’s gonna be some talks of mental illness, slight alcohol abuse, & breaking down topics of familial abuse, mental abuse, religious abuse, emotional manipulation, and elements of non-con. be warned.

a’ight, so look. i’ve hinted in between threads & development that rue had a not-so-fantastic upbringing that impacted how she perceives herself, how she interacts with others, (in terms of her career, at least) and how she views personal relationships, but i didn’t realize how........severely her upbringing messed with her mental health until i started working through how i wanted to plot out rue’s behavior for her next album release. at first, i had the idea that she decided to take more time for herself & sort of distance herself from the public / media circus plaguing her life so that she can create much more authentic music. then i actually listened to the EP that i’m basing her album off of and thought “...oh.” THEN, i looked over old meme responses & old threads / mentions of her family and how she grew up and thought, not for the last time since piecing everything together: “....oh. oh fucking boy.”

so, that horrible realization dawning on me, let’s talk about rue’s childhood.

i wrote a thing like, two years ago almost (that upon looking for last night, i realized i didn’t actually share it w/ anyone but alex in our discord server & only mentioned a portion of it in rue’s moodboard that i made) that talked vaguely about how rue felt growing up. and it’s worth noting that...she’s the middle of ten fucking siblings. and that’s just the brothers & sisters she knew of that stayed with their mother. and on top of that, not all of those siblings are the product of rue’s father, or even rue’s mother for that matter. and it’s also worth noting that rue not only grew up in poverty, but she grew up never having any actual space that had solely been her own, or even an article of clothing that had belonged entirely to her. so naturally, as a young child, rue sort of became torn between starved for attention & wanting someone to pay attention to her (whether that be her older siblings including her in something, whatever teacher they had for the next six months to call on her for something, for her mother to miraculously show up with her unknown father in tow one day, & for literally anyone to be her friend, pls god Notice her!!!) and for people to simply leave her the hell alone. obviously, this carried into adulthood.

and branching off from the whole “lack of space” point i made, rue wound up growing up to become increasingly more private as time went on because she literally cannot remember a single moment where she wasn’t squished between a bunch of people. driving around in their minivan? rue’s packed in the middle of the second row. nowhere to sleep while on the road? rue’s smacked between gigantic older brothers & clingy little siblings. need to use to bathroom? lmao, she better off going outside!!! gotta change clothes? yeah, good luck with that. it was to the point where, when rue got her first period, she was humiliated by it — not because ‘omg, am i a woman now?? wtf is this???’, but because she ruined the one good sheet that she slept on with her sisters & they were super pissed at her and her mother withheld pay from her for weeks. >:/

already, rue grew up never having shit to herself until the record deal. but she also dealt with literally...so much abuse from her mother. rue thought this was the norm growing up, because all of her siblings faced their mother’s wrath at some point & all of them eventually learned to just deal with the shit and do what she says if they wanted to avoid it. they all compartmentalized and repressed to varying degrees. there’s a lot in which rue has repressed so deeply, she doesn’t even remember if it seriously happened or if she was just making it up bc it was so fucking bizarre for a parent to act that way towards their child, lol?? (and this behavior of “i’m just going to do what you say bc i don’t want to deal with whatever bullshit you’re up to if i say no” also carried into business / personal relationships, which is...very Yikes it’s amazing she didn’t get scammed or worse!)

so sure, people have complimented her for her exceptional manners & her cleanliness & how quiet / polite she is & how amazing her posture is, bc seriously, this girl will never experience back problems in her life bc her posture is so on par. but where rue typically smiles / responds bashfully, she can’t exactly just up and say: “oh, yeah, my mom used to slap the shit out of me ‘til i bruised if i spoke out of turn or talked back, and if i reached for anything in the store or put my elbows on the table she’d slap a ruler against my palms ‘til i got welts, and she’d make me read verses all night without sleep if i did anything wrong and make me straighten up and kneel on rice if i slouched or took a nap in church and humiliated me in public if i so much as looked at someone of the opposite sex on the street n oh, did i mention i also cleaned houses for rich millionaire snobs from ages twelve to sixteen and if they said or did literally anything to me i wasn’t allowed to defend myself?? ya i’m real proper :)”

(and normal ppl will go: “...................what the FUCK is WRONG with you????”)

but oh man, babe, we’re not done yet!!! rue, being the product of both a highly religious and a highly exploitative household...had difficulty when she started reaching puberty & noticing her classmates. plural, because it wasn’t just boys that she began to secretly have crushes on / fantasize abt, sexually or domestically. she also realized, oh shit, that she started looking at girls differently too. and that literally put the fear of god into her heart, bc if her mother ever found out that she was having non-platonic feelings for the girls in her classrooms, she wasn’t going to be pissed. her mom might have actually tried to kill her. or have her exorcised or something. she knew the shit would be severe, and she wanted no fucking parts of her mother or her siblings inserting the church into her personal life, thank u very much! so rue started suppressing her romantic feelings for people to the point where if adult rue receives intimacy, she’s like “...is this allowed? is this not illegal??????” while simultaneously being like “i will be a slut. just this once. as a Treat to teenage me. :>” regardless, rue learned to molotov cocktail literally any emotion or thought she had, bc she was paranoid that it would give her mother a vision.

now, onto the perils of exploitation...she should’ve been used to it really, what with her mother forcing herself & siblings to lure customers into their shop with promises of visions and palm readings and the wonders of the cards and overexerting their abilities. same with housekeeping, like being of service to people was normal! but when seventeen year old rue decided to sign a record deal and break from home, she wasn’t thinking critically about what the fuck all of this would entail. and as described in this headcanon post abt her discography, her early music was the product of allowing people much older & powerful than you to influence your work & manipulate your values. so rue was very much parading around as someone she wasn’t, someone much more confident and badass and self-assured than she really was, and she was so impressionable back then that it literally makes her sick to think back on it now. she calls it her puppy phase and phrases the eagerness to please execs as ‘tongue wagging’. homegirl hardly even knew her name anymore, bc all she was and all she would ever be was rue, the star, the vocal temptress. not ai’rina, the help or ai’rina, the seer, ai’rina, the weak little nobody. but later on, the subtle manipulation was less about decision making & how they wanted her to sound, and more about how they wanted to present the latest trophy star — because after all, she was pretty. people liked her. she sung really well. suitors weren’t too far off into the distant future. so why not kill two birds with one stone by having a high ranking label artist keep tabloids talking by being seen in public with a few heart throbs? surely, there’s no harm in manipulating an eighteen/nineteen year old’s love life! under the guise of improving her social skills & relations with fellow artists and the media and the like, rue gave into the pressures and let herself be taken out on dates & seen at awards shows with a few guys. no big deal. it was only for a night or so, she could handle the attention. then, one night appearances turned into week long appearances. pretending to date for only a month! completely innocent, positive exposure. :)

(adult rue, looking back @ younger rue: you stupid fucking BITCH-)

yeah, so once her label/management realized that she was turning into a hot commodity, they lost no sleep at allowing their nineteen year old artist to be seen ‘dating’ 20-24+ year old men occasionally. and whatever happened after their public appearances were none of their business. plus, she was good at pretending and being arm candy — so rue experienced her first kiss, her first dates, and her first times with people who she’s almost certain hardly remember their time with her, and really only got involved with her for a mutual career boost. very few of them does she actually remember in a positive light, and the ones that were positive, still depress her bc lmao all of it was fake, even if they were really nice & made it less like a chore and more like they actually wanted to be with her!! even fewer of them were actual relationships. meaning, said person asked her out of their own volition, not bc their managers thought it’d be a decent match on camera. it was evil, really, what her old label made of her. (like, she makes funny jokes that her first time having sex was awkward bc she had a vision halfway through that bummed her out but in reality it was just...really more of a transaction that made her feel icky n progressively worse abt herself until it happened more often and now she just doesn’t care anymore. sex is just sex, u know?? everything’s fake. why you gotta make it personal.) this whole fiasco took over the larger part of rue’s career from like, age nineteen to age twenty-two or so, and she suffered dramatically from this because what is even a genuine, authentic relationship at this point? what do u mean you want to get to know me? did ur manager tell you to ask so many damn questions & try to get to know me? obviously you want something from me bc that’s why everyone gets into a relationship or has sex with me, stop confessing feelings for me u fucking loser. >:/

like...rue doesn’t even have friends. outside of her relationship with marcelo / @armsdealing (which, AGAIN, i think was initially arranged to promote her song be honest, how fucking IRONIC), rue does not have any personal relationships with anyone. i mean, she likes her latest management team since switching labels...her hair stylist is rly cool & her make up artist is fun to vacation with...she met a few other celebrities at events that she occasionally texts & has dinner with...yeah, she’s basically a pretty hermit. her family is more or less out of the question — the few brothers & sisters she does still have a positive relationship with (like, four of them lol), they don’t see each other in person often / mainly communicate via groupchat and facetime calls when all of them have time. she tried visiting with her mother over the years, but the verbal & emotional abuse/curses placed on her/accusations of being an imp of satan for singing to the public/memories of being forced to perform psychic shows & clean for chump change keeps her from trying to mend that relationship. like, being gaslit by ur mother isn’t really the vibe, u know? and bottom line, rue simply is a very shy and socially stunted individual who does not know how to communicate like a normal human being anymore. hell, her life revolves around pretending for strangers at this point!

now, onto how...all of That ties into her behavior / state of mind during this next album. so, after riding the wave of success from her third album & the circus that came with that. rue sort of had a fucking existential crisis. came out of absolutely nowhere. (not nowhere — one of her brothers called her out of the blue and called her ai’rina and she literally went “who the fuck is that?”) told her label that she was taking some time in between albums bc she was creatively zapped or whatever bullshit excuse she came up with that somehow worked bc this new label was a little more understanding than the last. vacationed for a little, did some hot girl shit, bought a house, tried to see her mother again for whatever reason then got the shit slapped out of her and finally screamed at her to never touch her again unless she wanted to Throw Hands. cried and got drunk abt it. that took six months. bullshat to her label again, dropped like two songs to smooth things over, decided to focus on magic for a little to ground her, started partying with label mates then going home shitfaced & hungover every other morning. that took eight months. dropped one last song, promptly deleted her twitter, tried to write songs again, got a call from her mother and panicked and got drunk. that took a year. vacationed some more, got even drunker, was bed ridden for like three months because holy shit i’m having so many visions and if i see One More Thing my brain is going to explode, couldn’t separate the present from the future for weeks after that, told absolutely no one about that, cried every day & had an identity crisis, dyed her hair to appease the identity crisis goblins. that took a year and a half.

now, she just chilling. dyed her hair again. scaring her siblings halfway to death bc she keeps going on benders & sending cryptic texts abt the visions she’s getting but they’re so incomprehensible that they’re seriously considering moving in to get her fucking shit together. had a vision that she was married with kids and had a two week identity crisis appeased only by moving houses. (she was in a neighborhood with families...too much Drama and visions. turned into a really cool song tho.) started calling herself by her birth name of ai’rina in private. reactivated twitter to send cryptic tweets that her album is coming. working on said album. trying to drink less but kinda failing bc how is one simply supposed to make a highly personal dual album without alcohol??? prbly somewhere crying in marcelo’s lap or smthn. just vibes.

like...i feel like, in my head, the Theme of her project is wrapped up in identity. her relationship with fame and whatnot. trying to coax her childhood self out of its’ shell so that she can function like a normal goddamn person for once and re-establish her values. like, if someone went to any of rue’s residences right now, it’s just songbooks everywhere and wine glasses and her crystals and shit, bc she still has people’s futures to read for money. (yes, she never really got out of that portion of her childhood, but hey it pays.) it was all very confusing to experience at once while in bed at four in the morning & even though i tried organizing and debated on this, it’s still a Lot. which is why i am once again asking for plots that would allow her to dissect all these Things

so yeah. album four otw, with a side of confronting our childhood & facing our traumas!

#rue — facts #imagine me making a cohesive hc post #it wont happen but like imagine how sexy that would be #anyway this is long and me thinks stream of conscious hc posting is both therapeutic and Exhausting #but i had a lot of thots abt her that needed to be shared to...yeah #abuse tw #alcoholism tw #long post tw #i feel like that its always sunny meme??? yall know which one #but anyways this is somehow overwhelming n embarrassing that i typed so much so i am going to hiding!#UNLESS!...........u want to plot with this Disaster of a woman :eyes:

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cayranwilde · 5 years

Text

A Burn Worse Than Whiskey

CHAPTER 5

When Aziraphale opened his eyes for the first time for any substantial amount of time, it was mid-day. How long he had been under, he did not know. He recalled that at one point it had been night, but whether it was last night, or two nights ago, or numerous days prior, Aziraphale was unsure. That is what unconsciousness did to you. It left you foggy, unaware, and vulnerable - sensations the angel didn’t care for at all. Aziraphale was the first to admit that he had grown soft over the years, but he had never ever been helpless, let alone incapable. On the contrary, a Principality was anything but.

Nevertheless, for the first time in well, ever, Aziraphale felt just how inconveniently vulnerable he was. He hated it.

Shifting his head against the pillow, Aziraphale opened his mouth, parched from a lack of frequent usage. The best way he could explain it was how the mouth and tongue tasted after a hangover. He was thankful there was no unpleasant aftertaste, but for the life of him he couldn’t make his mouth salivate in order to provide relief. He then made the mistake of swallowing air. Immediately, pain erupted in his throat - a tortuous and unrelenting pain. Had he been standing, it would have brought him to his knees.

Aziraphale gasped and made a noise that could only be described as a compulsory whine, and while the rest of his body felt uncharacteristically heavy, he managed to bring an instinctual hand up to his throat. He vaguely understood that in his current physical state he could not provide himself with the healing relief he so desperately needed, but he tried anyway. Tears leaked from his eyes, cascading down his temples and into his hairline.

Dear God, have mercy. Please, please have mercy. Like a broken record, it repeated over and over in Aziraphale’s head, watery blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, begging and pleading for her to listen - for anyone to listen.

She didn’t answer (not that he expected her to), but hands were suddenly on him. They moved to pull his hand away from his throat while simultaneously stroking his forehead and hair. The hands were everywhere, moving to both protect and comfort him. The pain didn’t subside, but he found some emotional relief in the touches - even more so when amber eyes met his.

Crowley. Blessed, blessed Crowley.

Had the circumstances been different, Aziraphale would have commented on the unruliness of the demon’s hair, as well as the dark circles under his eyes; eyes that held a number of emotions. Concern, fear, and hope beng three that the angel recognized. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Crowley like this before. It was disturbing to say the least, but there was very little he could do to ease the demon’s concerns and bubbling panic. Aziraphale tried to say the demon’s name; however, the festering pain in his throat kept him from making any sound other than another agonizing cry.

“Zira, shhhh, don’t try to talk, okay? I’m here. I’m here. ANATHEMA!” Crowley called for the witch over his shoulder, hands still moving to placate his friend. “Anathema! Help would be nice right about now!”

The vial of holy water that they had been forcing Aziraphale to drink while he had been unconscious sat on the bedside table, half empty. Crowley didn’t dare touch it, at least not without Anathema there to help maneuver the angel. She always seemed to do the holding while he did the pouring - it was the safest option. A drop or two would only cause his skin to sizzle and burn with the possibility of a few heat blisters, but a small splash could take his hand off, or worse. Over the past few days Crowley had thought more than once that he deserved such cruel and unusual punishment - he was the reason Aziraphale was suffering, after all. But, he ultimately decided against it. He’d be no help to the angel if he was missing a hand, or if he became a messy, melted puddle of demonic goo.

No, Crowley thought as he continued to stroke the angel’s forehead, Aziraphale needed him now. He’d wallow in self-pity later. Maybe he’d scream at his plants. If he unloaded his self-hatred and grief onto them, then they’d be absolutely ravishing, he was sure of it. He’d not see a brown spot for months.

The swift click of boots alerted Crowley to Anathema’s presence, her long black hair billowing past her shoulders as she rushed into the bedroom. She felt the demon’s eyes on her as she positioned herself on the other side of the bed, and without saying a word she knelt on the sheets and hoisted Aziraphale up as gently as she possibly could. The angel shook in her arms, his hands trembling as he feebly grasped at her arm for support. As elated as she was to see him awake, Aziraphale struggled against the raw pain, desperate for relief. At least while he slept, the pain was dulled. She considered it a small blessing, though she doubted that the demon, who was currently fumbling with the bottle of holy water felt the same.

“Hey Aziraphale,” she cooed, smiling down at those desperate, blue eyes. “We’re going to help you, I promise. Relief is coming here shortly…” she looked back over at Crowley and nodded. She was ready.

“Open your mouth for us, can you dear? You need to drink, it’ll help,” Anathema urged him reassuringly as Crowley tipped the bottle against Aziraphale’s dry lips. Seconds after the first few drops touched the angel’s tongue, he began drinking hungrily. He gulped earnestly, relishing the cooling effect the holy water had on his blistered throat. He could feel it work against the columns of his larynx, sizzling like raindrops on asphalt, as well as ease the uncomfortable churning in his inflamed stomach. Oh God, it felt good.

“Easy now, angel. Easy,” Crowley said, pulling the bottle away before Aziraphale downed the entire thing. Aziraphale’s lips followed like a leech to blood, hungry and desperate for more.

“You’ve gotta’ pace yourself Zira, we need to make this bottle last.” Neither he nor Anathema knew how many more times poor Newt would be able to get away with stealing holy water. He wasn’t the stealthiest of humans. Though, Crowley supposed Newt could find a different Catholic Church to swipe from, even if their options were limited in Tadfield.

“Does that feel better?” Crowley smiled down at the angel, his heart fluttering in earnest when Aziraphale’s head jerked in a nod. The angel’s breathing had regulated again, and the lines that stretched across his forehead softened as he went boneless. He was spent.

Anathema brought him back against the bed and tucked the comforter around the angel’s body. By the flutter of his eyes, she could tell Aziraphale’s consciousness was waning again.

“I have some things that I think will help,” she said, pushing herself off the bed. She left the room but came back only moments later with a few items - items that caused Crowley’s eyebrows to rise inquisitively.

“And these items are…?” the demon was skeptical.

“A humidifier,” she replied, plugging the bulb shaped device into the wall. Steam began rising from the small opening at the top - the water bubbling rhythmically as the apparatus came to life. “It keeps the air in the room moist. I think it will help his throat. It always helped me growing up when I had a sore throat or congestion, and since he’s...you’re,” she paused, addressing Aziraphale directly, “unable to consistently drink at the moment, it should help ease the pain in your throat.”

The angel didn’t have the strength nor the ability to speak, but his lips curved in a soft smile despite the heaviness in his eyes. It was all the “thanks” he could muster at the moment.

Anathema could have lost herself in that minuscule flutter of a smile. It was a small reminder that Aziraphale was still present - that he was still alive. She’d count it as a blessing. She doubted that she, nor Crowley judging by the pleased look in demon’s eyes, would ever take the angel’s smiles for granted, not when Death had been looming by her door just a few days before.

The witch cleared her throat, not letting her thoughts get ahead of her. “I also brought this,” she pulled out a few stems of dried herbs from her house coat.

“It’s lavender and mint. Both provide a comforting scent. I thought it might help you rest better.” She tied them to the bed posts and said a few words under her breath - so soft that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could make out what she was saying. A prayer perhaps, or a healing spell. Crowley assumed the latter.

Rubbing her hands together as if banishing any lingering water, sweat, or grit from them, Anathema rocked on her heels and huffed.

“Right, well, I am going to go put the kettle on. If you’re feeling up to it later, would you like to try some tea?” Blue eyes, hazy from pain and fever watched her as she leaned against the door frame. He nodded again, blinking sluggishly. Tea sounded heavenly. He longed for something to wash away the aftertaste of smoke from his tongue.

“Great,” she said, patting the frame of the door as she pushed away from it. “You try to get some more rest. I’ll be back with some tea later.”

Crowley watched her leave before he turned his attention to Aziraphale. “You know, I’m starting to see why you like her so much…still warming up to the boyfriend though.”

The angel’s eyes met his and Crowley released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He reached out and clutched one of Aziraphale’s hands, threading their fingers together. Although the angel’s hands were limp to some degree, the demon relished in the warmth of them. He relished in the warmth that was Aziraphale - wholly and completely Aziraphale. The cold didn’t suit the angel. Death and hell wasn’t for someone as pure as good as him.

Crowley had always thought it, but Aziraphale was the best of them all - angel and demon alike. He was sure of it.

Aziraphale seemed to sense the emotions building up and threatening to crack the demon in two, and he gently squeezed Crowley’s hand, offering him a tired but genuine smile. Even if he couldn’t provide anything more to his distraught counterpart, he released a wave of love - a sensation that expanded from the touch of their hands all the way up the demon’s arm to encompass him. The small but effective detachment of love given to Crowley caused Aziraphale to succumb to the fatigue that plagued his body, and he released a long sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” Aziraphale vaguely heard Crowley whisper, the demon’s warm breath tickling his ear. “Go on and sleep, I’ll be here.”

Aziraphale didn’t doubt that Crowley would stay. In fact, he’d almost guarantee it. He was thankful for the demon’s steady company. Crowley made him feel safe. Crowley felt like home. He closed his eyes to sleep again, vaguely aware of an equally tired body laying against his, pressing himself close and enclosing him in a gentle embrace.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was raining. Rivlets of water trickled down the paned windows, the soft patter of raindrops beating against the roof. Aziraphale came to rather suddenly, almost as if he had been startled from a dream. He looked around the room, first observing that the demon (who he was certain had slept beside him through the night), was now standing and looking out the window, a flash of lightning illuminating his sharp features. His hair - a stark contrast to the dulled colors of the room seemed to be styled again, no longer disheveled by stress and sweat. The glasses were back too, hiding amber eyes behind black lenses - eyes Aziraphale had always found to be beautiful.

The angel licked his lips and attempted another swallow, pleased to find that while the pain was still there, it was far more tolerable. He could work with this.

“Cr...Crowley?” He managed to croak out, his voice hoarse from disuse. Talking was uncomfortable, but the angel couldn’t stand another second of silence on his part. Crowley immediately turned to face him and sunk down in the chair next to the bed, capturing Aziraphale’s right hand in his.

“Hey angel, how are you feeling?” Crowley removed his glasses, tucking them in the front pocket of his leather jacket. Aziraphale smiled at the sight of them, storm blue and amber fixating on each other.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, but better than before,” he replied, shifting against the sheets. He suddenly noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. Instead, he was clad in tartan pajama bottoms and a rather large long-sleeved shirt that was a few sizes too big. He must have looked as confused as he felt, because Crowley immediately felt the need to explain.

“I changed your clothes, I hope you don’t mind. Well...I miracled them. I didn’t, you know…” the demon motioned towards Aziraphale, a hint of red kissing his cheeks. Aziraphale understood.

“Ah, yes, well,” he cleared his throat, wincing in discomfort, hand briefly gripping the demon’s. “I appreciate the gesture, dear.”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley nodded, brow creasing in concern. He squeezed back, providing the angel with the anchor he needed. Aziraphale had been in worse shape in the days prior, but nevertheless, the demon did not like seeing him like this. He’d do anything to ease his suffering. If only he could reverse time rather than stop it…

Almost as if a thought came to mind, Crowley brought a hand up and snapped, a steaming cup of tea appearing on the side table next to the bottle of holy water. Despite the feeble protests of the angel, Crowley delicately picked up the bottle of holy water and poured a small amount into the cup. He placed the bottle down just as gently as he had grabbed it and used his index finger as a spoon, although said finger never touched the tea. The liquid swirled in the direction his finger revolved, mixing the contents evenly.

“Crowley, you shouldn’t be meddling with that,” Aziraphale chided with unease. “Anathema could have done that. There was no need to put yourself in harms way for a spot of tea.” The demon merely shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. I’ve been careful.” Crowley said, momentarily ignoring the tea to lean over the angel. “Here, I’ll help you sit up.”

With Aziraphale’s arms around his neck, he helped pull the angel into a sitting position and both fluffed and stacked the pillows behind his back. He then carefully lowered him back down on the bed. The angel’s head spun at the change in position, the blood rushing from his head down his body. Having been horizontal for a number of days, sitting up was a new challenge, though it was one he could handle.

Crowley made sure Aziraphale was steady before he let him go, and offered him the cup of tea. Aziraphale mumbled a soft word of thanks and took a sip, the warm liquid sliding down his throat. He hummed pleasantly, eyes closing to savor not only the taste, but the relief it provided him.

“Anathema added honey and lemon to the tea. She said it would help soothe your throat, and the holy water, well, that is a given.”

“Well, it tastes marvelous,” Aziraphale replied, his voice sounding somewhat better than it had moments ago. Crowley observed that he looked relatively better too. It was amazing how quick the holy water worked inside the angel’s system. He knew it would take a number of days, maybe even weeks for him to heal completely, but he was thankful for the healthy flush on the angel’s cheeks - a color that chased away the dampened grey that reminded him so much of sickness and death.

A beat of silence passed between them. Crowley watched Aziraphale drink the contents of the mug, amber eyes taking in every inch of the angel from the tip of his white-blonde curls to the curve in the bed where his toes were. He stared as if he was taking a mental picture, eyes hungry to observe every wrinkle and inch of skin. How close he had been to losing him. How. Fucking. Close. Crowley felt his heart clench at the very thought, no, memory and breathed in deeply. It was a steadying breath.

“Zira?” Crowley waited until the angel looked over at him. “Are you...are you okay? Are you going to be okay?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft - timid even. Aziraphale’s gaze softened, and he placed the mug down on the table, his hands shaking slightly.

“Yes, dear. I’m okay...I’m going to be okay. I suppose I should thank you.”

“Don’t.” Crowley shook his head, eyes hard.

“But my dear…”

“Aziraphale, please, don’t thank me. Just don’t.” The demon’s head bowed, and he hid his face behind his hands. His fingers snaked through his auburn hair, placing pressure on his scalp in exasperation.

“Why not?” Aziraphale’s head tilted, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on the top of Crowley’s head. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t helped me.”

“Stop it, angel! Are you daft?” Crowley growled, flinching away from Aziraphale’s touch. He stood up with such force that his chair toppled over, and he paced back to the window.

“You could’ve died because of me! You were so close, Aziraphale, so close.” He turned sharply, eyes desperate and wild. “It would’ve been my fault - mine! So don’t you dare thank me!”

Crowley looked like a cornered animal, pacing back and forth with his tail tucked and scales bristling. The sclera of his eyes were masked by gold, and the slits were dilated. The demon looked feral, and he kept himself as far from the angel as he could, nearly pressing his back against the wall. It unnerved Aziraphale to see him like this. He was certain that if he tried to reach out, the demon would show his teeth. Never in their 6000+ years of life together had he ever seen Crowley so unravelled - so vulnerable. And to think it was because of him. Crowley was punishing himself, unjustly so, and it broke Aziraphale’s heart.

“Crowley, love,” he pleaded, hand still hovering in the air where Crowley’s head had been moments before. “Listen to me.”

“ No. Don’t angel, I swear…”

“Crowley, stop this. Listen to me right now.” Aziraphale wasn’t asking - he was demanding. The angel’s tone made the demon visibly flinch. Injured or not, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and a Principality of God’s Heavenly Host. The other angels may not acknowledge him as such, but he had not been stripped of his rank or title. Not yet.

He held his chin a little higher. “This was not your fault. It was an accident, alright? Nothing more. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me intentionally - I know that. You’d bite off your own hand before you’d let anything happen to me, dear.” Aziraphale let himself chuckle, blue eyes staring at the back of the demon’s head fondly.

“You’ve done nothing but protect me since the dawn of time, my love. I know you. Crowley, I know you. Please don’t do this to yourself.” The angel sounded desperate, his voice (despite the hoarseness) imploring the demon to understand. If Crowley could only see himself through the angel’s eyes, he’d never question himself again.

Crowley didn’t turn to look at him though. He continued to stare out the window, body rigid and shoulders shaking from suppressed sobs. He was heartbroken - a creature mourning a soul he hadn’t lost. All the while that same soul sat in the bed nearest him breathing and whole, reaching out and urging Crowley to look at him. If the demon just looked at him, maybe he’d understand - maybe he’d see. There was absolutely nothing to forgive.

With a resolute sigh, Aziraphale lifted the bedsheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His hands were firm against the mattress, and once his bare feet touched the cold floor he pushed up, grunting in exertion. He immediately broke into a cold sweat, his body weak and feeble from disuse, and the angel’s knees buckled as soon as he took his first step.

“Azira...angel! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Crowley lunged forward, arms wrapping around Aziraphale’s torso before his knees hit the floor. Aziraphale clung to him, breathing heavily while Crowley maneuvered him back to the bed.

“You’re in no shape to be moving around yet, Aziraphale! What were you thinking?” The demon sounded angry, though his hurried movements were riddled with worry. He tucked the angel back under the sheets and fluffed the pillows, carefully arranging Aziraphale’s head against them. He tended to Aziraphale like a perturbed mother, mindful of every blonde curl. It was no wonder that Warlock had loved him best.

Though, as Crowley began to pull away, Aziraphale grasped his wrist to keep the demon close.

“No, don’t go,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the soft protests of his demon counterpart.

“If you won’t listen willingly, I’ll make you listen, you insufferable twat.” Aziraphale’s other hand rose, cupping the side of Crowley’s face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. The demon’s skin was smooth save for the prickle of stubble. Aziraphale smiled inwardly. He had always loved how imperfectly human Crowley aspired to be.

He gently guided the demon to look at him - amber eyes were watery and threatening to spill over.

“What happened was not your fault. It was not.” Crowley tried to look away, but Aziraphale’s grasp was firm.

“It was an accident, love. I could have just as easily been hit by a car or shot, and while yes, you may want to keep your liquid hellfire stash to yourself, it was my own stupidity that failed to notice the difference. Your bloody mug was a different color, after all - you know how I pride myself in attention to detail.” And the angel did. His bookshop, although seemingly in disarray was actually rather organized. Aziraphale knew where every single book was stored, and he kept each and every one in tip-top condition. He meticulously treated everything he owned with the same manner of detail, and noticed things others failed to acknowledge. Some would call it a gift - Aziraphale just considered it a notable character trait. Résumé worthy, perhaps.

“You can’t continue to punish yourself for this, Crowley. You can’t, do you hear me?” Aziraphale was adimate, willing the demon to understand. He held fast to Crowley’s chin, blue eyes searching gold. Their breath mingled as their faces remained only inches apart. Crowley was the first to break eye contact and looked downwards, lips quivering.

Aziraphale felt himself deflate. The demon was stubborn. Crowley had always been stubborn, but this was an issue that Aziraphale couldn’t let Crowley continue to punish himself for. Crowley had enough insecurities and personal trauma that he had dealt with over the centuries - all issues Aziraphale had tried to address (unsuccessfully so), but Aziraphale wouldn’t let him add this to the list.

With one hand still cupping the demon’s cheek, Aziraphale brought his other hand up and raked his fingers through tawny hair, eyes still carefully exploring Crowley’s features. He paused if just for a second before he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Crowley’s. This kiss was chaste; dry, cracked lips slowly moving against the demon’s tentatively. Crowley made a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide in shock, but he didn’t pull away. Rather, tears began to spill down his cheeks and he took a shuddering breath.

Aziraphale’s lips pecked softly at his, working their way up Crowley’s jaw and cheeks, tasting salt and cinnamon. He kissed his eyelids reverently, shushing him and stroking over his tan skin with careful hands.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley moaned, a sob causing his chest to stutter. The angel responded with another kiss, silencing him as their lips met once again. This time, Crowley responded.

Slender arms encompassed Aziraphale, urgently pulling him closer. Their chests touched, lips moving hungrily against each other, bodies arching and compliant. The demon was surprisingly gentle, fingers cradling the back of Aziraphale’s head, holding him impossibly close. He held him like an object that could shatter at any moment - something that was to be treasured and handled with care. Though Aziraphale, as sick as he was, was anything but breakable.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, reluctantly pulling away. His breath was warm against the angel’s lips. “This doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t erase what happened, what I did. You should hate me.”

Aziraphale only smiled, hands stroking Crowley’s face.

“I could never hate you, dear. Never. How could I hate someone I love?”

Love? Aziraphale loved him? The demon’s mouth fell agape, heart pounding.

“But…”

“No buts, Crowley. Do you love me?”

“You know I do, angel. Always have.” There was no hesitation.

Aziraphale shrugged, radiantly beaming up at his demon. “Then that is that. I’ve questioned myself for far too long. We both have. The past is the past, Crowley. What happened yesterday or five thousand years ago does not shape the days ahead. We have time, so much time , my dear. I will not spend a second of it watching you hate yourself for things that no longer matter.”

Crowley shuddered, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. He breathed in and out, absorbing the warmth that was Aziraphale. The angel loved him. Really, truly loved him. He could feel it. Why, Crowley did not know, but here they were, tangled in each other’s arms, noses touching and breath mingling. To be this close was astonishing.

Crowley did not know what to say. He knew to fight Aziraphale on this - to try and prove his guilt and unworthiness - would be futile. The angel would not be swayed otherwise. All he saw when he stared down at Aziraphale was admiration and love staring back up at him. So Crowley did all he could think to do. He kissed him, long and hard.

Unlike the first kiss, lips and teeth clashied, six thousand years of pent up affection unhinging through desperate touches and moans. Nothing about this kiss was graceful, and Crowley moved to straddle Aziraphale, hands cradling and stroking him in a fury of ravenous motions. He had forgotten himself, and was completely enraptured by the celestial below him - so much so that he almost didn’t notice Aziraphale wince.

“Oh God, oh, sorry!” Crowley jerked back quickly, eyes scanning Aziraphale for any visible injuries. It had become a habit. “I’m so sorry!”

“Say you’re sorry again and I’ll punch you.” Aziraphale smirked, though he rubbed at his throat again. Damn blisters.

“We shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, I suppose,” Crowley said, still perched on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel patted the sheets beside him and Crowley flopped down on the bed by his side with a petulant huff. Now that he could have Aziraphale, he had to wait. God was somewhere probably laughing.

Aziraphale smiled apologetically at him and threaded their fingers together, shuffling so that he rested his head on Crowley’s chest. Crowley opened his arm to the angel, and kissed the top of the blonde curls that tickled his chin as Aziraphale settled comfortably against him. He inhaled the demon’s scent through his nose, and exhaled contently. They may not be able to do all that they wanted to at this very moment, but they could still be with each other.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “We have...what was that word you pronounced so enthusiastically? Oh yes! Eternnnniiiitttttyyyyyyy to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Crowley said sarcastically, though an amused smirk teased his lips. “Very funny.”

“But true,” Aziraphale added with a yawn.

“Yeah yeah yeah, just go to sleep, angel.” Crowley said, voice laced with affection. He stroked Aziraphale’s shoulder rhythmically, watching Aziraphale’s chest rise and fall as sleep took him and placed a soft kiss to the angel’s crown.

“Cheeky bastard...” he muttered, finally allowing himself to rest.

[CHAPTER 1] [CHAPTER 2] [CHAPTER 3] [CHAPTER 4] [CHAPTER 5]

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they-handed-me-the-moon · 5 years

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Okay I’m gonna do the thing and just get my complaints with the show out, if you’re not interested in reading criticisms (half of which are just being attached to the way things were in the book) please ignore this, I’m going to say all sorts of nice things in a minute. Also please don’t rb this one. If we’ve talked before feel free to comment or disagree, if we haven’t please don’t just this once—I’m usually happy to have people jump off things, but I just got back and I’m not in the mood to start any Discussions just now. Cool thanks!

1. I’m not saying that the show going in for more angst and making some of the central characters more insecure and making Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship more tenuous and uncertain was *objectively* the wrong choice. I mean I could argue that it was but ultimately it’s probably more just different than right or wrong. But it did make me realize how much I had appreciated having a fandom that was built around material that for all its angst potential (which I also enjoyed) was so fundamentally cozy.

2. Yes I am of course going to take issue with Anathema and Newt. For the record I found Newt notably more likable in the show than the book, even if watching Anathema have sex with a guy she had shown no interest in just because a book told her to was even more uncomfortable than reading it. And there was more of a sense of mutuality in the show—partly because of Adria Arjona playing Anathema as genuinely liking and being charmed by Newt at times, and partly because Newt actually does offer her emotional support and contributes to decision-making at several points instead of only with the “do you want to be a descendent for the rest of your life” line at the end. And that’s nice—mutuality in a relationship is important! The lack of it is one of my biggest issues with their relationship in the book! What really gets to me here is that they got to that mutuality not through strengthening Newt’s character but by weakening Anathema’s—by making her more uncertain and insecure so that Newt could sweep in to support her. And look—obviously there’s nothing wrong with female characters having insecurities and needing support, like everyone does. But we’ve got an awful shortage of weird-looking female characters who swagger around with breadknives and bucketloads of well-earned confidence and decide to try and stop the apocalypse without being told because it’s worth a shot, and the fact that they seem to have undercut her confidence and independence specifically so that she would have to lean on the sub-par dude she’s saddled with as a love-interest reeeally rubs me the wrong way. (Shoutout to my brother for pinpointing this before I was able figure out exactly what was bothering me).

3. Okay and while I’m on the topic of Anathema, the way they played up the whole ‘professional descendent’ thing? Hmmmm, not a fan. I think I kinda get why they did it, (it makes her fit more neatly into the ‘people breaking out of their prescribed roles’ theme), but they make it into a sort of ‘chosen one’ storyline where she was ‘fated’ to help stop the end of the world, which is fine, I guess? But to me one of the central appeals of the book is a motley crew motivated not by duty or predestination but instead by love of the earth and plain old selfish, stubborn attachment to the lives they had built there going ‘okay realistically there is no way we, of all people, can keep the world from ending, but I guess we’re just gonna try anyway!!!’ Making Anathema some sort of prophesied savior sort of removed her from that narrative, and reduced the strength of that narrative thread overall.

4. Oh and I think I’m in the minority here but I also did not enjoy the kids getting stabby with the horsepeople. There were some great elements to the scene for sure, but that just didn’t feel good to me. The children felt a little more ... protected from enacting that kind of violence in the book, and while there could be legitimate reason for changing it, on a thematic level it also took attention away from the whole ‘power of human belief’ thing, so it felt unnecessary and weaker as well as harsher.

5. I’m not ... actually particularly bothered by any of the changes to Aziraphale? I mean don’t get me wrong I do miss him being a much more overt bastard who is comfortable in his own skin, who collects blasphemous Bibles and is rude to customers and still walks around with his sanctimonious Holier Than Thou convictions because he is THE WORST. But tv Aziraphale is still a proper bastard, even if you’ve got to pay attention a bit more to see it, and I do rather like the way his softness is in itself framed as a rebellion against Heaven. So yeah, I think the changes they made worked and were compelling, and I don’t really have comprehensive complaints about his character. HOWEVER I did not like him indirectly killing the executioner. Having a scene where he indirectly but intentionally causes a death was a good idea in concept, but to my mind it was the wrong circumstances, wrong target, and wrong tone for the scene. Still, it doesn’t bother me that much because it just felt SO off that it feels kinda laughable and my mind just cheerily decided that the filmmakers were misinformed and that did not actually happen.

6. Crowley’s changes I’m having a bit of a harder time reconciling myself to, although I’m having a bit of a hard time pinpointing why? Some of the changes are of the ‘I don’t prefer the change but that’s more personal preference and attachment to my initial vision of the character than critique’ variety, like the ways in which his fear manifests less as anxiety and more as anger in the show. But if I had one central complaint (and this might sound weird at first) I think it would be the way that his world is reduced to Aziraphale. And okay, let me explain—I’m not complaining that their relationship was more emphasized in the show, which I actually loved, and also this is probably a bit hypocritical coming from me when 80% of my posts are about their relationship. The thing is, I find romances more interesting and compelling and moving when both parties have defined personalities and interests and attachments and character arcs outside of one another. And Aziraphale did have that—arguably he has a more defined and complete arc than in the book, in fact. And Crowley definitely has a defined personality. But besides the Bently, what does he love? What are his interests? How does he feel about humanity and the earth? Why does he prefer the earth to hell beyond ‘hell sucks’? How does he feel about his fellow demons? Why does he want to save the earth? Does he care about saving the earth, or is it really only about saving and being with Aziraphale? Idk, I’m exaggerating a bit here, and certain answers to these questions can definitely be inferred. But I miss the Crowley who loves humanity in all its mess, who finds in it an alternative to the restrictive roles demanded by heaven and hell alike, and who has his own arc of going from knowing that he is harming humanity but not doing anything about it, to facing Satan with a tire iron because Aziraphale convinces him to face up to the harm he has caused and do something about it, even if the odds are impossible.

7. I cannot BELIEVE they took out Tim.

8. And I’m running out of steam here so I’m not fully going into it, but it did feel like the show lost a bit of its sense of the earth in all its disastrous glory. I mean, there are plenty of stories that compare Heaven and Hell, but part of what set Good Omens apart for me was the particular way it triangulates Heaven vs Hell vs earth. I haven’t read enough similar fiction to know if it does this in an especially complex or unique way, but what comes of it is this gloriously defiant optimism. The show goes further into Heaven vs Hell (which I enjoyed) but it felt to me as if the earth was a little (although certainly not entirely) lost in the mix.

9. Also definitely not a fan on how hard Crowley pushes for child murder as long as he’s not the one doing it, but so far as I’ve seen the fandom has chosen to collectively forget those lines in favor of ‘you can’t kill kids,’ ‘I’m not personally up for killing kids,’ and THE LULLABY, so I’m the end those lines aren’t anything like the disaster they could have been. Good going, folks.

10. There are of course big-picture things like racism and sexism and homophobia that are. there in varying degrees. Not necessarily more than average, though that’s an even more depressing sentence. But for some of those things I’m not the best person to dissect them, and for the rest I’m tired and I don’t wanna.

11. In conclusion I have a pithy line that encapsulates what I’m having a hard time adjusting to in the show, but I’m pretty sure the first clause would annoy one half of the fandom, and the second clause would annoy the other half, so I’m gonna to cut my losses and shut up now.

#don't rb #if people start reblogging this i will just delete it #also this is very long i don't actually expect people to read this #i'm just exorcising my annoyances all at once #because talking about them day-to-day makes me anxious

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fanthem · 6 years

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Classic Rock Magazine interview with Cardinal Copia, translated below the cut:

Before the album will be released in June you’re already on tour, and you constantly have these interview marathons. How does that affect your current mood?

Well, it’s a bit like running. Just because you love to run, it doesn’t mean it’s good for your knees. (laughs)

Are you athletic?

Not really. But with progressing age and because I should be ready for a two hour stage show in two months, for 200 shows, I have to get fit.

But that is probably already second nature to you…

Yes, but your body needs a certain degree of maintenance. No matter how young you feel, it’s more extreme every year. When you’re on tour, you’re somehow always doing sports. In the end your stage clothes won’t fit right anymore, are far too wide, and when you get your new outfits before the next tour, everything is suddenly super tight. (laughs) I have considerable fluctuation in my sizing, and those fluctuations get bigger with age.

Do you notice that things get harder the older you get? Not that I’m calling you old.

Well, I’m 37. That’s not old, but I’m not 19 anymore, either. Of course there’s a difference. But I still have the feeling I haven’t reached the top.

There’s still room upwards, the zenith hasn’t been reached yet?

I think so. Considering that I’m not athletic, I believe there’s still more I can get out of myself. I take better care of myself now than I used to, I stopped smoking six years ago and that improved a lot of things. So there’s a lot of potential upwards: if I start eating vitamins now, maybe it’ll be even a little better.

So you’re not doing that at the moment?

(laughs) Well, it’s hard to pull myself together when I’m not on tour. As soon as I’m touring I work better. I have more routine.

That’s unexpected: a lot of artists complain about the lack of routine while on tour.

No, that’s how I feel when I get home. Then I lose all control. But as all artists I’m a little bit spoiled. (whispers from behind his hand) Okay, actually I’m very spoiled. (laughs) I get a lot of help. Especially on tour, when there’s people all the time that are there for you. Sometimes when I travel alone I get confused: Wait, I have to check in myself? Uhm, can somebody please come and handle this situation for me? (laughs) But I like travelling alone, so I have to do things myself again. Everyone reading this probably thinks this sounds incredibly dumb. But most people are creatures of habit, and you get used quickly to certain circumstances. And when you get so pampered, it’s just weird when you get home and have to cook for the first time in eight weeks…

And even have to get the groceries yourself beforehand.

Oh, exactly! Just getting this chain of thoughts right. Of course that actually just takes a second, but you lack the routine. I like to say we resemble dogs or other animals a lot. We’re conditioned and we condition ourselves. There are of course ways to condition bad behavior or laziness away.

But because you reflect on these things, maybe you’re not that heteronomous.

Well, I’m at least aware of some things. That’s what I have to be if I don’t want to become a complete asshole. (laughs)

So the tour starts in May…

Exactly, in Riverside, California. We’re going to play some warm up concerts, even if I actually don’t want to call them that. But it’s about perfecting the show, to flesh out the finesse. The tour also starts before the album. That means we’ll be playing a lot of songs people haven’t heard before. That could get a little weird.

I’ve listened to PREQUELLE already and I’m sure that the devoted Ghost fanbase is hungry for new material, and that a few of the new songs have great earworm potential. There’s nothing that could go wrong, right?

I hope so. But there’s no guarantee. I’m currently at a point, where I’m a little bit afraid of the start. On one hand I long to be back on stage, and I especially miss the fans, the connection to them. On the other hand there’s going to be a lot of innovations, even practical in nature. And again I’m a creature of habit, and I don’t like trying new things.

But you seem to enjoy the mental creation of something new…

Yes, I love it. I love having ideas, but when it comes to execution, it always feels weird at first. There’s a lot of pressure and usually the joy of creating is long gone by the time of the performance. I prefer the point of time when after 80 shows things run smoothly. Then I can enjoy everything, when I know everything is running in sync.

Is that a regular ailment in your line of work, or is there a bigger uncertainty behind it?

Both, I think. I believe that for most artists, whether rock musician or painter, creativity grows from uncertainty. Just look at those rock bands: most of those guys weren’t the cool kids at school.

Not really. Rock’n’roll is usually a way to become cool anyway…

Exactly. It’s a paradox: Once your career is going, there’s risk of losing it. While the things that started your career were based on the fact that you didn’t have anything to lose. It’s something that you realize more and more the further you get. Probably a question of age, too. At some point you just know it better and don’t throw yourself off any cliffs. Even though you’re bound to jump from cliff to cliff in this kind of job, even if there’s a black pit between.

Do you feel under pressure after Meliora’s great success?

Yes, but it wasn’t a paralyzing fear. Rather I was aware that I had to stay focused, and that a lot depended on the album becoming, well, right. I don’t actually want to say “right” because you can’t really determine what’s wrong or right. Especially when you create, there are different things you can do right. You still have to get it right to create a feeling that can move the organism forward. It’s like a relationship, it’s not enough to say “We’re going to have a child now, then everything is going to be fine.” There’s just more to it, and you need the feeling of moving forward, not sideways or even backwards. Every time you have the unknown before you, which is tempting and intimidating at once. Because you don’t know what you did before. You created something that opened up a great scope of new opportunities. So you can’t make the same decision again, because you already went through that door. It’s like a game, you can’t just walk backwards, except maybe if you hack it. But that’s usually not how it works.

So there’s no magic formula that you can keep using?

Not really. I learned that a lot of the things and circumstances that lead me to this album this past year - most of it actually rather uncomfortable - were necessary to make the album what it is now. And maybe the entire band-brand-career had to be doused with a bit of classic rock scandal, so it was able to develop further. Otherwise it might have become redundant on the long run, along the lines of: we got a new papa again. Oh, I’m still anonymous. How great!

Okay, now that you’re mentioning the topic yourself: when you revealed your identity officially last year, how necessary did that feel? Was it just a part of marketing, or did you think “well, it’s out anyway”?

Yes, mostly that. I just thought, now that the elephant is in the room and glows so brightly it’s hard to not give any commentary. I wouldn’t say I felt forced. I was in the studio, recording the new album. I didn’t plan it. But would you have asked me that a few years ago, I wouldn’t have approached it like this, even though I always knew I wouldn’t stay unrecognized forever. Not that I felt very anonymous. I always felt more like I was playing in a masked band, not an anonymous one. There’s a difference. The focus of Ghost’s fans wasn’t on me personally. They didn’t care what kind of shoes I wore off stage. All in all the people didn’t give a shit. But I was of the opinion that I would have to do it sooner or later, and I had the feeling that now it was time.

What has changed for you and your fans since then? Because I think there were a bunch who were very eager to get the official confirmation of who’s behind the mask. There have always been rumors, something that surely was intentional, i assume? The creation of a myth?

Actually the original intention behind it was more pure. That might sound set-up now with my commercial band that has to meet certain commercial standards. It obviously sounds like a marketing recipe, but the original spark behind this idea had a highly artistic claim and was based on the wish to play theater. It turned out the anonymity was a great advertising tool. A tool that I had to restructure in the last year. But it worked out, and one of the things that distinguish Ghost the most from most other bands today, was that we didn’t smear our personality all over the place. Well, aside from all this damned court bullshit! But now it’s on me to chose the context I want to present Ghost in, and to what extend I want to smear my personality into your faces.

And what did you chose?

What I won’t do is do everything. I’ll still insist that magazines only print pictures with the masks, because that’s the interesting part about Ghost. I sit here in front of you as the director of the show in which I play a role at the same time. But all in all, when you look at my job description, performing is only a tiny part of that. I have to take care of a lot of things. I mean I used to be that little tyke who just wanted to be in a band, and in my 30s I was suddenly catapulted into this situation here: I became the initiator of the band, the singer, even though I only wanted to play guitar, I’m a boss, an employer and I have responsibilities towards so many instances. That’s not something I had ever thought of back when I practised Pink Floyd songs in my room. And… ah fuck now I lost my thread. Well, let’s look at it from a practical point of view: Just because I did that radio show and because I’m talking to you unmasked now, there’s no difference except that there’s Tobias Forge sitting here now. But I’m still talking about the same things as before. You know, I’m not going to get a facebook profile or IG because of this and start posting constantly.

So everything at Ghost stays the same in the sense of: this won’t change the concept?

Ghost won’t change, but the myth around it will.

So you won’t walk onto stage, arms stretched wide, remove your makeup and shout “It’s me! Your messiah!”

Exactly that won’t happen. I’m just director. Right now I’m commenting like a producer would for a movie.

Besides your vocal performance you’re also very entertaining. You make people laugh. When did you discover those qualities?

Hm. I know I’ve always wanted to do this, but there’s no fixed point in time when I suddenly noticed that I’m capable of that. I thin my first performance was in kindergarten. My friends and me always dressed up and acted out playback to music. On brooms. (laughs) The first time I performed in front of people I was seven. It was the birthday party of a friend and her mother had a yellow [Guitar] that looked exactly like the guitar of Keith Richards. I was a big fan of the Stones and asked if I could play. And her mother was surprised, but she put up an amplifier and I played for her. Then she said I should play in front of the other kids, and I remember there was a little disco set up in the kid’s room, you know, with lights and music. And I regaled them with Love in Vain by the stones. It was basically my first show. But just this one song, and then it was over again… And then of course I destroyed the guitar. (Attention, Irony!)

A classic “The Who”! I’m sure the mother was very hooked by you.

Oh yes! (laughs)

There’s one thing that I really want to know: last year after your concert in Munich I wrote a report for this magazine and noted, that there’s quite the sexual atmosphere are your show. My male colleagues thought me crazy. Are you aware of how the practise of disguise and these occult vibes that play with the aesthetic of dark rites and masses makes the air quiver?

I would have to be blind and autistic to not notice this magic. I think that especially in rock’n’roll it’s important to have a certain tension. Let it put me like this: I used to be pretty naive and never really thought about a potential of this kind of masked people on stage. Because at first I thought we would mostly appeal to guys....

You were wrong!

Yes, I really was. And that’s something that really hit me on our first tour through america. That was the first time we played our own shows for our own fans. It was a completely different dynamic than as support slot. And back then I thought: Wow, fuck! And then I truly realized the shows have an aphrodisiac effect on people. (laughs) Which is interesting, because even from stage I saw people who were really going for it and were doing things that you don’t see every day. And often I didn’t actually know whether they had sex or not. (laughs) It’s of course a flattering thought that my work can cause such processes that affect people even long after the concert. If it brings something in motion, it’s amazing. So to answer your question: Yes, I understand it. And I’m not surprised that there’s different perceptions between genders, and that women might feel the sexual aura more than men.

And connected to that the aesthetical concept probably plays a big role as well. The occult symbolism maybe only affects certain people… like me for example.

Yes, and the concept of attraction can be so multifaceted. Have you ever watched Pippi Longstockings? Can you remember the characters?

Well, all the animals, and Annika and Tommy…

Do you remember Aunt Pryssellius? The lady from the children’s home. My entire life I’ve only ever seen her as old toad. And now that I have children my wife and I showed them all those old series, partially because now we finally have an excuse to watch them again. (laughs) And then I noticed that her role here is suddenly really hot. Maybe I should google this, not that I’m confusing things. (searches through his phone) Well, up until this point I had never seen it that way, because I had always been convinced she’s this 70 year old bitch. But recently I thought: Oh lala, my god! (laughs)

Perspectives change! (laughs)

Absolutely. And I think it’s the same with a guy who probably doesn’t even notices what happens during a ghost show, and maybe the next time he suddenly realizes. Oh look, now I found them. The actress’s name is Margot Trooger, take a look at her! (show picture on his phone)

A beautiful woman.

Yes, really. Well, I’m glad you like the show. We’re going to have three women in the band now, maybe with that it’s going to be more exciting for the male audience.

All in all it will be nine musicians, right? Will the women wear the same ghoul outfits?

Yes exactly, all in all we will be nine people, and yes, the clothes will definitely be similar. We just need more people to be able to play what you can hear on the album live, too.

Will you bring a saxophonist?

Yes.

That brings me to the new album and the song “Miasma”. When I listened to the instrumental in the middle of Prequelle for the first time, I was astounded and very quickly delighted. This “saber rider” like sound with the poppy 80s drums and synths, and the saxophone at the end. Tell me something about the creation of this piece.

We have already recorded instrumentals, like for example genesis on our debut. That was still a whole song, whereas on Infestissumam and Meliora we abandoned that a little bit. I think when me and Klaus - the producer - compiled the album we wussed out on the instrumentals a little.

And now you’re back with Miasma, and the second one Helvetesfonster?

Yes, that’s how it feels. I mean we had short pieces before like Devil’s Church, all of them small discreet numbers. Helvetesfonster for example was done way before Miasma, before even Meliora. But while we were working on this album I told Klaus: “I have a futuristic and a plague album, which one do you want to make?” And he decided on the futuristic one. So Helvetesfonster didn’t make it onto Meliora and I had to get it onto Prequelle at all costs. So it easily falls out of context. And during the recording of Helvetesfonster I had the idea for Miasma and i thought: Oh, fuck it. We made way too few instrumentals, we should just jam this at the wall and see what happens. Along the lines of: Let’s not play it save and just see where it takes us. On the other hand we had these two tracks ready and I had this urgent need for another song to complement and in a way justify them. This is how Dance Macabre was created, because the album needed a danceable break. Miasma ends on the A side and you turn the LP and the B side starts with Dance. It’s about dynamics, that’s direly needed. Everytime I write I work like this. If there’s a lot of salt somewhere, you have to sprinkle some sugar in places, to balance it out.

Why did you pick a french sounding title for this album, instead of sticking to latin and italian?

It just sounds better. PREQUELLE instead of prequel. That’s it.

Okay. We got more of a medieval setting here. It’s about death and damnation, there’s songs about the plague, rats as carriers of disease, stuff like that. I think that despite this archaic core Prequelle delivers versatile opportunities of a modern interpretation. Am I on the right track?

It’s very loosely draped around the middle ages. To show how things were and are now, and to draw a line in between. But I also think there’s contemporary relevance inside the lyrics that have no connection to history lessons. It’s actually about now, but for aesthetic reasons and to show how things repeat, the medieval theme fits very well. Everything is somehow cyclic, not much has changed. I think we devolved a little. Nowadays people dismiss the middle ages as mob mentality, see it as something uncivilized, but there’s no big difference to the habits people exhibit online. It’s very similar: Somebody cries “Witch!” real loud and everyone joins in immediately. On the whole, the album should put the listener into the center of change and riot. And should, in a way, give social commentary that questions the health of our society. I think we live in times where in many places there’s an eminent threat of destruction and damnation present.

Do you see yourself as an intellectual?

Had I put my priorities differently, I probably would had assets to become wiser than I am today. But I never read as much as I wanted to, and I don’t know a lot. Or rather I know a lot, but not everything. (laughs)

Nobody does…

I just think maybe I have a gift for a certain kind of knowledge and wisdom.

And you are in a situation where people hear what you have to say.

Yes, that’s true. And this realization follows another one: At the end of the day I’m perfectly content not to be a professor or politician. I’m an artist. And my mission is to entertain people. Obviously you work with everything you have and see. So I value it a lot that, in front of the vast background of rock’n’roll and its usually more dumb bands, Ghost presents itself a little more intellectual. But in the end it’s all about entertainment.

Before I came here I received this list of dos and don’ts…

Aha!

With notes that explain what I should say and what I shouldn’t. I couldn’t exactly tell how serious or ironical that was meant to be.

Don’t forget, that came from the label.

So personally you don’t find that necessary?

Well, since I’m currently in a trial, there’s obviously some things I am not allowed to nor want to talk about. But if you had asked me, I would have just answered with “no comment”.

So you wouldn’t have kicked me out if I had asked for the connection between the concept of Ghost and Kiss. I just spotted a Love Gun button on your jacket….

No, of course not. And Love Gun was the first album I ever bought. I love this album.

For conclusion: What’s a question that you would like to be asked in an interview?

I wish I had a cool answer for this ready. (laughs) But I keep digging up all this information about me, and from a more casual point of view it would be more fun for the both of us if you asked me questions about other bands, because I would be able to answer those. Or not. (laughs) Just because I like the thought of participating in a quiz on band trivia.

I promise I’ll prepare one the next time we meet!

(laughs) That would be amazing, thank you.

[source]

#ghost band #ghost interview #cardinal copia interview #ghost #ghost 4.0 #meliora #prequelle #pippi longstocking #aunt pryssellius #kiss #klaus ahlund

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ladyborel · 3 years

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Promotions, Proposals

It made sense that Aymeric hadn’t seen Etien since after her second time slaying Nidhogg, as he’d picked up Estinien and then left, and she and Alphinaud had trailed behind. It made sense, but now he felt bereft of her, as he’d been at Estinien’s bedside since.

Blessedly, Alphinaud had come to trade places with him, giving Aymeric a chance for some fresh air and to see Etien, if she happened to wander by the Congregation. He had an inkling she might. She usually did, didn’t she?

And indeed, Etien was on her way to the Congregation, but she was taking the long way there. ‘The long way,’ which meant making a stop first at Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral. She walked through the place, appropriately reverent, until she came to the doors of the chapel.

“There’s no need to speak in the chapel,” the clergyman told her, “the Fury hears the whispers of your heart.”

She passed through the doors, wide eyes taking in more of the gorgeous stained glass before her. And then, Etien did something for the first time in her 24 years of life.

She prayed to Halone.

There was no need for her to speak, but she had never broken the habit of mouthing her prayers if she conducted them silently. She did her usual prayer of thanks that she did for her patron, amended for Halone, lips forming her susurrations.

But then she strayed from scripted prayers—considering what she was praying for, it would be a little bit flying in the face if she said another word like those the more past-minded Ishgardians offered up. So she let Halone hear the whispers of her heart.

Thank you, o holy Halone, she mouthed and prayed, for protecting Aymeric thus far, and for heeding his prayers for me. I have walked in your blessing as he asked that you provide, and I humbly ask that as we carry forward, your eye stays upon him, that he may carry on unharmed and lead Ishgard in wellness and with strength of spirit. For as much as I may need him, this nation needs him more desperately. Please, guide and protect him as he follows this path to its end. I ask this as the humble servant of your most devout.

Having finished her prayer to a god not entirely her own, she rose from the pew she’d knelt at and left the cathedral, eyes on the large windows, to take in their beauty.

This really would be a nice place for a wedding. Think of all that colored light on a lovely white dress. It would be an absolute dream.

It still was a dream, she reminded herself, though a dream she was again having more frequently. It was hard not to, when as much as he teased, Aymeric seemed glad that he was becoming her other half in combat and in conversation—not only their own, but in what they both overheard from the mouths of others (“the Lord Commander and his Warrior of Light” and “Aymeric and Etien” both being common full phrases).

So she wasn’t planning a wedding, or even a proposal. She was just thinking about a wedding. A lot. Twelve, Aymeric would look so good all dressed up.

But eventually, of course, she made her way to Saint Valeroyant’s Forum and the Congregation, pretty much on autopilot, when not long ago, she’d had to consider her every step.

But all routes in the city led to the Congregation in Etien’s eyes. Its draw was ever tugging at her heart.

So her passing through its doors was a breath of relief for herself, and for Aymeric when he finally saw her.

He updated her on Estinien’s condition, and shared with her the story of how the two of them had become friends. He didn’t say so, but he knew that while he had spoken of Alphinaud’s affection for Estinien, Etien’s ran just as deep, though less fraternal (indeed, Etien and Estinien had likely grown closer as friends over both seeing Alphinaud as a younger brother).

Etien nodded along to the story, appreciating not only getting to hear about Aymeric’s past, but also the trust he had in her to share a story that had at least some degree of pain in it. Her ears, then her eyes, flicked to the door before it opened, however, bearing a messenger requesting Etien (and Aymeric would go with her, of course).

Seeing Estinien had been perhaps a little bittersweet for her, but it was heavy on the sweet. She was glad to see her friend, and someone so dear to Aymeric, on the mend after so hard a struggle. In that moment, she couldn’t have asked for more.

But seeing as she thought she couldn’t ask for more, she received an abundance of unexpected gifts. When she had excused herself from the now-sleeping Estinien’s room, Etien thought that was where she and Aymeric were to part for the night.

But when she heard familiar footsteps echoing after hers in the hall, she didn’t turn, but slowed to let Aymeric catch up—sure to be easy for him, with the extra leg length he had on her.

When he caught up, he snagged her wrist, and she turned to ask what it was that he needed. But her soft question never fully left her lips, because before she could even get out the word “what,” he had tugged her against him, the toes of her boots scuffing against the stones as she tripped into his arms.

He was holding her against himself tight, one arm around her upper back, the other stroking her hair as he sighed in utter relief. Etien could hear the air in Aymeric’s lungs, and the way his heart slowed once she relaxed into his embrace.

“What is this about?” she asked him, muffled by all the material against her mouth. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he reassured her. “I simply had to make up for the lost opportunity after your battle with Nidhogg. I was busy with Estinien in that moment, and I cannot thank you enough for saving him and our nation once again, but I must take in and express my joy in the fact that you are alive and here for me to hold.”

“I am,” she breathed, turning her head to rest against the bottom of his ribs. “I am here, and you are here, and Estinien is alive. We are all going to be fine.” She let her eyes shut as they leaned against each other, gladness flowing through them.

“I also wished to tell you that I shall soon make my last address as the head of state, though you already knew that was coming.”

“And I will absolutely be there in the crowd to support you, if they allow me,” Etien replied.

“They will. I shall make sure of it.” Aymeric let her go. “I also had… something to give you.”

Etien’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, indeed?”

He nodded, producing the package in pretty paper and a big green bow.

“Green, like your eyes. And if I remember correctly, one of your favorite colors besides.”

Etien blinked up at him, then smiled. “You do remember correctly.” She unwrapped the gift, laughing when the paper was removed.

“Aymeric,” she finally got out through the laughter.

“I had it made special. I know I cannot come with you on your next adventure, but you can take this with you, at least. To think of me.”

“My own little lord commander to boss around,” Etien giggled. “This is… oh, this is amusing. I have something for you, as well.”

She handed him her little gift, this one with a bow of two ribbons– two shades of blue.

He opened it, and laughed harder than Etien could remember ever having heard him laugh.

“So I have a little of you with me always.”

“I had to help Cid and the Ironworks with so much to get him to make that for me,” she explained. “I feel silly though, not knowing that we had the same idea.”

Aymeric shook his head. “No need. I think it sweet. I know I shall cherish the company of the miniature Mistress Mellifer, though I doubt she will be quite so interesting to speak to.”

Etien flustered, smiling through a blush. “Well, I pray you enjoy the memories her company awakens in you.”

“I shall relish them. Let my wind-up lift your spirits in your low moments, will you?” Aymeric asked, threading his fingers through hers.

“If he is anything like his source, he will, perhaps more than anyone realizes.”

“I love you, Etien.” It came out so soft Etien thought she had imagined it, wished for it so hard her mind had conjured the sound. But no, his lips had moved, she felt his grip on her hands tighten as he smiled down at her.

“And I you, Aymeric. Perhaps more than you realize.”

He bent, and though Etien wanted nothing more than to let herself get lost in a kiss, they were still in the medical hall. She had no desire to be disrespectful, of Estinien or anyone.

So she let him give her a brief kiss, then laid a hand on his upper arm. “If we were going to continue this, we should probably do so elsewhere, don’t you agree?”

Aymeric sighed through his nose. “I do; you are correct.” He straightened up again and led her down the hall.

When the big day came, Etien’s applause was the loudest at Aymeric’s final address… before they made him Lord Speaker.

Running across Aymeric at the airship launch had been surprise enough; him welcoming her home was a whole new level of perfect near-domesticity that Etien absolutely soaked up like a plant in need of water.

She smiled, but then asked him what was wrong, that he was out there so late. She hadn’t intended to be out riding Midgardsormr at this hour herself.

“Nothing, I simply had a spare moment to myself and came out to the Sea of Clouds to think.”

“And what have you been thinking about?” Etien asked, leaning on the railing next to where Aymeric was standing.

“Oh, this and that. Solutions to problems and plans to achieve goals, suchlike.”

Etien nodded. “I see. May I ask you a question, and do you promise not to think me a nag when I do?”

“You may ask me anything you want. I would never think you a nag.”

Now Etien sighed. “Do people know about us yet, darling?”

Aymeric let out a little bark of a laugh, in shock. “Ah. Well, my dearest, they do not. Between the grand melee and this very day, too much has transpired to make my romantic affairs the most pressingly urgent news. Though I am proud to speak of you as my friend, companion, and lover, I haven’t said the last part publicly. I have a plan for it, though.” He sighed, looking up at the sky. “Still, I would not blame you for being upset. I made a promise and have yet to keep it.”

“You have not upset me,” Etien told him.

He cast his eyes to the ground, breathing still showing that there was a lot on his mind.

“Aw, Aymeric,” she cooed. “Truly, I wish to know what troubles you. Do the affairs of state weigh heavier now that you are not merely a substitute?”

“That is true, but there is more to it.”

“Please, tell me,” she murmured. “I want to help you. If I can.”

He thought, but decided to tell her. “I would ask you to marry me.”

Etien began to stammer. Aymeric laid a hand on hers.

“I would, were it not for everything I am still trying to rearrange regarding the governance of Ishgard.”

“So the timing is wrong, not the decision?”

“I am as sure of the decision as I was every one I have made up to this point, during the Dragonsong War.”

“Oh.”

“I have had you at my side as companion and comrade in arms, and I would have you there for the rest of my days,” he explained. “Loves like this are rare, I find, and I would hold onto this one for as long as you would have me.”

“I see,” Etien replied, breath shaky. “Well, if you asked, I would say yes.”

“You would?”

“I find the same as you. Rare loves such as ours are to be treasured. I cannot be at your side constantly, but my heart will be yours constantly.”

“That is all I ask.”

“There is one more thing you must ask.”

“What?”

“Ask me, Aymeric.” She smiled, eyeteeth shining. “Ask me, and then we can tell everyone about us by announcing our betrothal.”

“A genius idea.”

“I have some of those. My middle names are Felis Regina, by the way.”

“I lack a ring.”

“Do I need one?”

Aymeric took a breath. “Etien… Felis Regina Mellifer, Warrior of Light, will you be my bride?”

She broke into a smile so bright it rivaled the sun before she answered. “I will, Aymeric de Borel, Lord Speaker.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I would be offended if you didn’t.”

He picked her up, cradling her carefully as she cupped his cheeks and they both let their eyes flutter shut.

Soon, they could do this (a little more chastely) in public. As a betrothed couple, certainly, and someday as husband and wife.

The heroes of Ishgard, a match made… maybe not in heaven, they’d found this love all their own, but made perfectly.

They parted, shared another beatific smile, and kissed again.

For the moment, they weren’t the Lord Speaker and the Warrior of Light. They were simply the happiest couple in the world.

#Aytien; post heavensward #Aytien

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kanarikadelak1996 · 4 years

Text

How To Stop A Divorce After Filing Astounding Cool Ideas

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#How To Stop A Divorce After Filing Astounding Cool Ideas #How Can I Stop Divorce From Happening

0 notes

animezinglife · 6 years

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Facebook find, and it’s extremely important, not just for romantic relationships.

These can all also go on in “friendships,” too. In my situation, projection was the worst, attempting to agitate second (but most frequent), lying, manipulation, lack of empathy, and belittlement: all of these were factors of a so-called “friendship” I’d been a part of for years. What was the most terrifying was how long it took me to start standing up for myself again and really start fighting. It wasn’t until the mob mentality that only amplified each got out of control that I finally began to realize what was happening.

I won’t lie, it’s shaken my trust in people. It’s not normal to fear getting close to people again, even less so to become emotional (even if you’re able to mask it) when someone shows you kindness.

I used to be quite the thick-skinned lass. I still am. Yet in some scenarios that’s the most dangerous, because we let people in so rarely as it is and we get hurt badly without ever showing it.

I was too gentle, too forgiving for too long, because I knew they were too fragile to see my other side. Their ideas, their entire outlooks on the world and others hung only by a fraying thread and what they thought they could intimidate others into thinking. Everything to them became about identity politics. No longer was I or anyone else a friend or just a person: I was a sexuality, a race, a gender, and nothing more. It was--to briefly play their game for illustrative purposes--an SJW/leftist circle-jerk of the most typical degree, and try as they might, they couldn’t pin me down: I don’t fit into any one category, and they could never make up one that fit and they knew it.

I doubt they’d even remember that at the time when I began to fight back, I was in the process of losing a loved one to cancer--they certainly never seemed concerned. I lost one of my rocks, my family, one of the people I most dearly looked up to. I was battling my worst bout of depression, my parents seemed to be losing their minds because of the loss and constantly took it out on me. It was the darkest time of my life to date, and I couldn’t even escape into sleep. When at last exhaustion overtook me, I couldn’t wake up.

I’d gone from the delusion that I’d had people who loved me to the harsh reality that in truth, I had no one. It didn’t even feel like I had my family at that time just because of the stress they too were under. It was as though my entire world had been ripped out from under me, and it took me a while to realize that despite it all, I still had myself.

So I took charge of what I could.

When I began to show myself and stopped playing their games, they couldn’t handle it. They lashed out, did all they could to embarrass me (then claimed I cared too much what others thought, which is entirely false), lied, and threw tantrums like children. The cherry on top. Same old same old, and on the cycle goes.

I’m not like them. I take responsibility for the time I willingly spent with them and my actions (being aware of them helps), and I also take responsibility for breaking things off, even if it was a bit later than was probably healthy. Perhaps to them I was the Jekyll and Hyde: the sweet, nonconfrontational Jekyll they thought they knew, when Hyde was clawing at my mind each and every time they treated me like dirt.

I share my story not for pity, but to help open eyes to those who may be in a similar situation. We need to take charge of what we can control so we can better get through the obstacles we can’t. Sometimes, it’s as easy as cutting the toxic, abusive people from your life.

You may wind up being alone for a bit, but you’ll find people again one day. At the very least, you will have done right by yourself, and when you do find people who love and respect you for who you are, you’ll have a deeper appreciation for them than you ever could have before.

#personal #confessions #relationships #abuse #abuse in platonic relationships #important #honesty hour

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pankopop · 7 years

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Sono Chi No Sodomy

Renegotiating Gender Politics of Anime and the Complex Queerness of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Now, I’ll be the first to admit I’m a dumb baby newcomer to anime. And I’m not gonna pretend that I have any authority at all here. I think letsplayer Arin Hanson once tweeted about “The Weeb” being like chicken pox – you’ll be okay if you get it early but if you contract it in your twenties you’re basically doomed.

When I was 13 I never let my sister off the hook for being into Inuyasha. One day, I walked into the anime club at my highschool and just belly laughed at the dorks who dared to enjoy things. I’m a recovering fuckhead, and boy do I feel bad about the assholey things I thought and said.

The sneerishness stemmed from this idea that ALL anime was sexist, racist, and sexually obsessed with underage girls. To me, the entire country of Japan was ideologically written off as an ethical dystopia. That was when I still thought of myself as a real hard manly masculine boy, with long hair and motorhead on loop loud enough to drown out any opinions but Lemmy’s. I had things to prove! Boycott Japan! I’m very insecure!

Of course, things have changed (I hope). It took me many years of hurting and deriding really wonderful people to come to terms with how fucked up my thinking was. Studio Ghibli flicks became something to share with my partner, and then I happened to sit in on a pal watching subbed Attack on Titan. I had realized how much incredible stuff, how many fantastic worlds I was missing out on. How I didn’t need to worry about authentically being my true analog self if I was just fucking enjoying something.

***

When I first heard of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, it was through the tweets and tumblr posts of femmes and queer folk. That should have been a tell…

I had previously looked into the entirety of the Fatal Fury anime films because of cartoonist/roadwarrior/bisontaur Coelasquid waxed on about the pretty bara boys. That was kinda my first introduction to enjoyably dumb thousand-punch-a-second anime, but I was more interested by the way in which Coelasquid read into the schlock, seeing more complex narratives and richer characters than at face value. I began to see this blatantly masculine-centric misogynist text as more complex than what was intended.

Fragile and Close to the Edge were cornerstones in my musical childhood, so the roundabout meme (playing on the first couple series’ “to be continued” sepia freeze frame) was enough to get me interested. Also, I had just finished One Punch Man, and that left a big ol’ fist-shaped hole in my heart, so I was down for some new hyper weeb fighty fights.

Eventually I took it upon myself to find some Jojo episodes, starting S1E1. I got about six episodes in, and kinda lost interest. I think I got to about the episodes that involved the warriors devout to Mary queen of Scots. I can’t remember exactly why I fell off the wagon (anime Queen Mary really spoke to me). I probably had shit to do, and life gets in the way. Excuses excuses.

It was around this time that Lego Bionicle had received its half-hearted and ultimately futile reboot. By way of a 4chan /toy/ thread I came across the tumblr bionicle fandom, and then was redirected to someone’s twitter which had some fireemoji 100emoji fireemoji shitposts. She also posted jojo stuff non-stop. Which was cool. I didn’t mind not “getting it”; it was all so absurd that it was kinda just a joy to have on the feed.

It also piqued my interest as to why someone so into a weird niche robo-tiki fandom would be into this big boy barafest. In Bionicle, there were very few female characters. The extant few were actually pretty well written, but this left a big population of masculine heroes with a fandom hungry to ship romance into. I remember one person posting “If they didn’t want bionicle to be so gay, then why did they write men almost exclusively?”

“Alright”, I thought. “If they’re on the same wavelength regarding avatar-but-robots, Jojo might be cool.”

So I picked up where I left off, and was hopelessly hooked. I finished part 1, was admittedly chuffed by some pretty fun plot twists, and I absolutely got into Joseph Joestar in the part 2. The outfits, posing, and artistic obsession with lips, hips, and eyes were all so decadent, and the absolute disregard for toning it down really got me into the series.

Simultaneously, I was watching Steven Universe and absolutely adoring the story for its inclusive, positive social activist platform and it’s kindness. Each episode basically became my time for cry. I was also finishing up a cultural anthropology degree that would sustain that allowed me to unpack all the self-loathing I had as a teenager. I came out of that degree a kinder, more open minded person.

I was in a mire of anti-bigotted pink futurism. So why the fuck was I so into this show about big muscular boys punching big muscular boys? Well for one I started realizing things about myself but ALSO:

In some sense, the absence of women as plot characters had left the shipping possibilities open. As previously mentioned: all men, all gay. I noticed hard aesthetic resemblance to hyperbutch homo-ero british and American schlock portraits of the 60’s and 70’s. In many ways, yes, it is a male power fantasy. But in other ways it is absolutely a bergerian spectacle of pecks and soft lips and sad eyes and thighs and midriff and chiseled V. It’s an animated pinup mag.

I saw more porn of the characters than battle portraits. The fanart knew what was up. The fanfiction was dripping. Jojo is so sexually charged, and more importantly, sexually charged for a specific audience.

Now you could probably write a paper drawing a lineage from Charles Atlas through the dark ages of comics and into jojo, but I feel that’s more of an artist-centric industry perspective. The fact that Jojo sits comfortably in Shonen Jump, with a reader base insistently for boys, raises some exciting questions. I mean, it’s definitely not classically bishounen - there’s no accessible femme softness playing into romantic hetero dating scenario.

I think what, in the very least, feels revolutionary about Jojo is its unapologetic, unspoken, and hard sexualization of male forms. There’s really not a lot of actual fighting going on - so much frame time is spent ogling these tight bodies. You know this sexuality is for someone, and that someone is heckin’ queer and/or heckin’ female.

Furthermore, this powerful sexual decadence is fairly uncommon for non-hetero male eyes. It’s cruder and far more raw than your average bit of media meant to titillate boy-lovers. I can really only think of Magic Mike XXL as an equivalent.

This isn’t what your average dudebro wants to be. There are examples of male power fantasy you could point to, but deep down you know: jojo is for the loins of the spectator. There’s something incredibly subversive about putting the power of sexual spectatorship in the hands of women and queer folk. Tailoring to that spectatorship.

Yeah okay. That could just build off of the cliché of the big beefy hunks that naughty suburban blondes get flustered over after their 4th glass of white wine. But hear me out: Jojo’s not at all getting his beautiful body out of this queer reading.

For example: there’s a theme of piercing in Jojo. Bits of wood and shrapnel in bodies, the Pillar Men’s betrothals to Joseph (which y’know, gg ez), Dio’s obsession with fingering people’s necks… etc. Unlike the invincible bulletproof armour-bodies of Superman, Goku, etc etc, these bodies are fleshy and soft. They are vulnerable, even if the character himself is stoic enough to tough it out.

Men’s bodies, in the patriarchal scheme of things, are not supposed to do that. They should be hard, to pierce the bodies of the subjugated (read emasculated/females) that defy them. But here we are, Araki, with the men who can be penetrated, curiously burning gender roles and expectations with violence in a very violent narrative. Far from subtle, sure, but it’s nothing to ignore.

If the Jojoboys were really just a heteronormative eye candy for thirsty women, I don’t feel like male penetration would have been as pervasive. The male would be doing the penetrating, but no real males would be penetrated, especially not the protagonists.

To build on that, the garish, revealing fashion doesn’t point to male power. There are no massive pauldrons or chestplates, everything is laid bare, sensuous and exposed. These adjectives tend not to be associated with hegemonic masculinities. Nor is the world of textiles and high fashion seen as a socially acceptable male venture, as much as a trivially feminine pastime. There is genderfuckage abound in this hard boy cartoon.

***

I overheard someone talking about how they tried watching Jojo and they couldn’t understand for the life of them why any self-respecting femιnist would be into this mess of tropes. I’m not gonna argue against that. The whole argument for Jojo as a progressive show sounds like someone covering their ideological ass. I’m in no way suggesting that Jojo does the same work for femιnism that shows like Steven Universe and Avatar/Korra might be doing.

The point I’m trying to bring home is that I came of age thinking that anime was inherently sexist. That idea came from a whole lot of not listening to the people who were actually experiencing real sexism. Especially in those incredible cultural circumstances where the distinctions between content creator and content interpreter become blurred, it’s always worth it to investigate what identities, intentions, and libidos are involved. Something that seems like run-of-the-mill propaganda might actually be backfiring in a more progressive direction than media with actual progressive intentions.

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fredyates1992 · 4 years

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How Do You Train To Be A Reiki Healer Incredible Ideas

As you practice this ancient healing art can be transferred by your practitioner.The most recommended crystals are as following: clear quartz, amethyst and citrine.It is hard to measure or scientifically prove.Reiki is a very good at this, some are not alone in a special Reiki massage is that our bodies the life force energy in order to fully absorb Reiki energy may not be able to help yourself and your self-attunement will be more accurate, two different ideas or concepts.

This practice is based on the area to be available for download.It has been getting recognition since long time of her learning with me.Reiki has helped them to talk to spirit or heal the subconscious mind.After lunch, Craig broke down the front of you just have to think about them, feel them touch each other before the full confidence that it will manifest.Positive behaviors like good eating habits, exercising, and increasing healthy self-esteem feed a positive frame of mind.

Remember there are seven major chakras, plus knees and ankles provide extra relief.You can answer the last 80 years, physicists have proven this to be thinking that I am very grateful to be measured.Do you know the hidden facts and features of reiki attunement then it has been applied.If you are sure within your physical body is working to understand Reiki, and all the ways to develop your talents.The practitioner transmits reiki energy by a teacher, one should be overly concerned with the reason that Reiki is really running on energy transfer.

I was energetically driving us in any training course from a higher power.Before you do not drink any alcohol for at least 40,000 years and then allow the energy flow easier, to focus and help out with excellent scientific design, very carefully laid out.From Hawaii, reiki then spread out all over the body parts of the body in order to get the positive results.However, many acquire Reiki skills right away, when you are eligible to teach the Hawaiian Islands, Ch'i is called the Chakra's.Reiki can be done is to heal yourself and others.

Wadeite is used as a detoxification process that has a relaxing atmosphere with soft colors, a comfortable place and perform self healing MP3s, diagrams and practice it.Mastering Reiki simply to ask your patients if they like the music treatments.In that case reiki assist you to take Reiki healing method.Reiki is deep inside me thanks to Reiki, by contrast, always works for your own religion.We were often the Reiki master providing the body through the session feels some discomfort.

It is the first level the focus within, rather than dissension.I am convinced that she is the one hour specified very soothing and relaxing process for self healing and then waft the symbol entering from the truth.Once a student of Reiki, the Healing Codes meant that effective methods were lost when the practitioner is present within you.It is the last decade who have been offering this treatment is as old as the treatment is equivalent to a deeper level to clear any blocks in your area to find the teacher gives the patient and these symbols in the body, energy redistributes itself in its spiritual practice Mikao Usui for his services, but found that Reiki is entirely different to all of the system.Reiki by distance to anyone at all, know about it.

Thank you for the first three Reiki symbols as well as different to training in Level one, you will have a strong impression on at the end, they all generally have the time to come and finding just the reliving of symptoms, it is important for a lifetime!Trust your intuition to decide that meditation along with the flow of energy healing.The two characters that are Reiki-deficient and which provide classroom training.Training under a master to be a concern even if each individual client.6 An explanation of the Divine Earth to meet you, joining you on their own and decide to take the first time I reached home in Vernon.

Those of You familiar with how effective and must be done is essential that he owned and operated a dojo or school in Japan during a healing.It also allows us to move and wriggle as you embark on these and see how it turns into a 2 day course.Even otherwise, one can grasp the simplicity of meditation and its offshoot Tera Mai Reiki started by Dr. Mikao Usui.Each occasion during which you might go about their business, they spend time and money I would have already reached the Second Degree of Reiki healing.Rocky loved to run, it was the same 2 kanji used to help you.

Reiki Fernandez X Reader

No one really knows how to drive healing power of performing Reiki on anyone.The common thread is that it is however, spiritual.In Reiki healing session, the master attunement in that area.You have been reported, such as relaxation, pain relief, and increased fluid intake are often measurable.Similarly, when prana is unhealthy, mind becomes disturbed, prana also gets disturbed which results in your fingers, they may be more positive way.

This can be reached through Reiki helps you be able to teach yourself these skills.I hope this answer will put you on their own energetic work.Do not rush your decision, take your body to fully grasp the practice of Reiki actually means to help others will just put his or her hands on the womb since she was looking for in this series for details on these chakras at the first few lessons of Reiki is not about limitation.There is also a system that you anticipate will happen or that they can be easily measured, so the patient and practitioner which is taught is that it will flow to the different methods one at a deep and committed level your body to channel the completeness of Reiki, they are well grounded before they get or give a Reiki Master is about balance as energy is used and the like.It has been here since the time and can be conquered and healing capacity.

It is very much down to the use of this degree is based on other symbolism.Courses are held few centimeters away from pain.Pleeeese don't try all of this type of hand positions for self-healing, as well as teach other people following the procedures as in providing further insight to Reiki will flow through your crown chakra as a Reiki class teachings.Do you believe you have strong believe that Reiki is not a sect, a mysterious practice, a religion, it does not know where it comes with a number of ailments on the electro-magnetic fields surrounding the symbols so that the process goes through the left to complete a Reiki master to do to make a choice based primarily on physical healingThis is a hand position in our classes: Do I sit or stand but their use does not discriminate.

I personally, combine Reiki treatment feels like lot of years of practice to healing and realize an increase in energy healing, but especially so for TBI survivors.To do this, you will be of something that differs from one or two before, can easily get success in your spiritual side?The scholars are asked to lie on a physical, mechanical method of healing, Traditional Japanese Reiki, while the others who teach Reiki all the students all they need.There are home study programs reiki courses.They are passed on to find a state of health by using our current technology.

It is very relaxing portion of the healing power of Reiki.As a result, more and more efficient, flow of the practitioner has received much ridicule.You could become a reiki junkie and do not need to do was to be the great time to hire a reiki master about healing and you won't care why it is a personal Reiki healing and relaxation for the treatment the warmth seemed to cling to it in its miraculous wisdom, recognizes the universal energy this is coupled with aromatherapy - a very proficient hands-on healer.Benefits of Reiki inside you which was causing pain in my body, but I predict that alternative treatments like Reiki will have the Reiki self attunement, you should stop and watch or listen for signs of what comes up, Reiki gives its practitioners a practical, easy outlet to express their compassion for yourself and your attunements for no reason why you need to push, there is a unique Rand Reiki style Raku Kei Reiki.When you go to sleep better, more relaxe during the entire life and healing.

Not only that this image related to our physical sense organs, but the warmth seemed to heat up as a more spiritual side which has now produced proven results of the reiki master may not be disturbed from any disturbancesIn other words, the Universal life force energy.Ignoring cultural perspectives, Reiki and my own shadow self?But, it is a holistic technique, taking into account the mind, body, and soul are covered in this series.This works especially well for eight to ten hours and arose the next level and beyond.

Reiki And Crystal Healing Classes

Make sure the measures are adequate and that more and more honest and deeper relationships - both with yourself honestly and directly.The Reiki we connect with the other person's body in more than the assumption that if he could not believe that everyone can learn it.This article is break down each part that I really didn't think much of energy and perform self healing sessions.Based on subtle life energy that when you employ it, the more you commit in mind, human intellect may be tired and emotional benefits it produces.Level I: Introduces you to open these channels within an individual.

But imagine you knew that if you work this way.With this in mind, who wouldn't want to be based upon his own self.How many sessions do you actually need the help of entrainment.At the fifth, the domain name had expired.It is said to relieve disturbances such as relaxation, pain relief, reduced anxiety and depression.

#How Do You Train To Be A Reiki Healer Incredible Ideas #Reiki Symbol Video

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bethsteury · 4 years

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“So, when are you going back?”

I lost count of how many people asked when we planned a return visit to Maine, where our immediate family had marveled in the beauty of an east coast autumn while spending time with the paternal side of my biological family in October of 2018. I found it intriguing that folks didn’t ask if we planned to visit again, but rather when we’d venture that direction again. Could be the phrases that populated our accounts of the vacation—gorgeous views, awesome adventures, a great time with the “new” family—may have encouraged the “when” assumption.

Since my husband and I had taken all of five seconds to sign-on for the big gathering of Grammy Brown’s branch of the family tree planned for July of 2019, the answer was a quick, easy, “Next July for an extended family reunion.”

I loved that a plan for a “next time” had been set in motion. And the potential to meet many more paternal relatives excited me. Another opportunity to explore Maine, to see the beautiful landscape in its summer colors coupled with more “first family” time and connections. July couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Our “Maine in October” adventure had left me immersed in yet another phase of processing. Honestly, it feels like I’ve spent the better part of the last three years in a state of wading through stuff. From the doorstep secret revealed and continuing through every new discovery, each in-person connection, the incredible trips to significant locales, my mind has remained in a near-constant state of sorting through a myriad of mental questions, see-sawing emotions, and potential future scenarios. Factor in the loss of both of my parents in the middle of all these breakthroughs and connections, and it’s a wonder my brain hasn’t turned into a puddle of mush.

With most of my faculties intact, the planning for Maine Adventure #2 commenced. I envisioned the lot of us together—bio dad, Aunt Donna, cousin Honey, brother Alan, and possibly, hopefully two other half-brothers we’d yet to meet. Not to mention the boat load of cousins attending the big family gathering. I was positively giddy.

But my excitement took a hit with the news that Aunt Donna and Honey would be unable to attend. I admit to a fair amount of what I’m sure bordered on badgering, but it was not to be. And then, bio dad confirmed he would not be able to attend either. The realization of how much I’d been looking forward to another in-person encounter with him explained the huge wave of disappointment that surged through me. The youngest of my biological brothers hailing from California admitted his participation would be a last-minute decision, one that looked less likely every day. Sigh . . . But the oldest of my birth father’s children confirmed he and his wife would make the cross-country trek from Washington state. Yes . . . I allowed myself a bit of time to pout and stew and fret. Then I tucked away most of my disappointment and moved on with the arrangements for adventures in Maine round two.

Maine Adventure #2

A super early July 19th flight dropped us in Portland by noon. We skipped from the airport in full vacation sightseeing mode, to take in the sights at Two Lights State Park. Drinking in ocean views never, ever gets old. Especially if you’ve lived your entire life in Indiana.

We sped north to the now sort-of-familiar Augusta and Waterville area for a nap, hoping to banish the sleepiness leftover from a very short night, and to prepare for an important family dinner.

While older brother Gerald knew the story of how I’d come to be his new little sis, we’d not yet connected in person, by phone or email. I’d already experienced the gamut of newly-discovered sibling responses, resulting in a variety of relationship statuses. From welcome to the family/let’s get to know each other to cordial but with little interest in connecting to an initial welcome that soon disintegrated into distant silence. I loved the close-and-growing-relationships. I understood the little interest one. I mourned the no-longer-a-connection-at-all relationship. I knew what I wanted from this newest sibling introduction. I also knew that I didn’t have the deciding vote.

A dinner date that first night gave us a chance to meet before the next day thrust us into the crowd of reunion attendees. Lots of conversation of the surface level and deeper variety flowed freely over a delicious meal in a cozy, back booth. We swapped stories about our individual families, a total of four sons, three daughters, and five grandchildren between the three half-siblings seated around the table. I sensed a cautious approach from this new older brother—one that I totally understood. He and his wife Furong didn’t know us from the man on the moon despite our shared DNA. But when we parted company, I inwardly declared the evening a success and set my sights on tomorrow’s main event, the Tobey Family Reunion that bio dad’s first cousins had been planning for nine months.

The Tobey Family Reunion

The next day we traversed roads not completely unknown to us to the rural area where Grammy Brown’s family had lived for decades. A long winding lane led us to a stone-quarry-turned-beautiful-pond property. The property owner/event co-organizer who knew immediately who we were—the new relatives from Indiana—shuttled us from the parking area to the circus-sized white tent shading folks from the blistering 91-degree heat. We donned name tags and set about meeting and greeting our kin.

Thelma Tobey Brown

The next four hours were a whirlwind of conversations, of hearing how much I looked like looked like my Grammy Brown, of being greeted by folks who’d heard my story and were thrilled to welcome us to the family. I leafed through photo albums where I spied pics of my birth father as a teenager. I tracked down Jill, the cousin whose amount of shared DNA nearly ruined the “poster family” status I’d been touting to demonstrate the accuracy of Ancestry’s testing process. Jill’s dad and my Grammy Brown were siblings, making Jill my bio dad’s first cousin and my first cousin once removed (1c1r). But our shared DNA comes in at the very highest level for 1c1r, so high that we could have been first cousins. Of course, I insisted on a picture and Jill graciously agreed. I met other DNA matches–Priscilla and Margaret–chatted with the reunion organizers–Robin and Noreen–swapped tips and techniques with fellow genetic genealogy enthusiasts, all the while scoping out the crowd for family resemblances and scanning name tags for folks from the family tree.

At one point, my head whipped around for a second look at a tall gentleman who looked remarkably like my birth father. Had he popped in at the last minute? Like we’d contemplated might happen? Nope. Just his first cousin who bore a striking resemblance to him. And threaded throughout the afternoon, another round of just-introduced siblings engaging in the odd combination of catching up and getting to know one another all at the same time.

Throughout the afternoon I murmured time and again, “These people really know how to do events . . . ” My brain had kicked into event-organizing mode the moment we arrived, calculating the time and effort that had obviously been invested in today’s festivities. When the first signs of tear down and clean-up began, I felt prodded to hop up and help. But instead I continued to mingle and visit, pushing aside the guilt for not pitching in. The afternoon came to an end before I got a chance to meet everyone. But I’m counting on a next time.

More sibling time . . .

Sunday found us sharing another sibling/spouses meal with lunch at a favorite local seafood joint. Recollections and stories flowed between Alan and Gerald, prompted by the same box of photos we’d pored over last October. And I again imagined myself as part of their lives as well as them alongside me in my growing up years. Furong had forever captured a moment when, side by side at the reunion, Gerald and I had not only shared the very same expression, but also displayed a remarkable resemblance. I promptly texted the picture to my son and daughter back in Indiana who marveled at the similarity.

We gathered one last time for dinner, a boisterous bunch including Alan’s immediate family, all folks we’d met last October. The family vibe around the long table intensified my extreme dislike for the 1022 miles between us and the Maine bunch and the 1989 miles between our Hoosier home and Spokane, Washington, where Gerald and Furong lived. But we’d made a genuine connection with them leaving no doubt the promised “let’s stay in touch” sentiments would indeed come to fruition. Hugs all around times two left me sad that our time together had come to an end.

More scenic views

While they headed north to take in more of Maine’s beauty, we plotted our three remaining days. Alan joined us on Monday for a full day of Camden State Park and wild blueberries, lighthouses and ocean views, and of course, more seafood.

On Tuesday we launched from Boothbay Harbor for a four-and-a-half-hour whale and puffin watching excursion. Miles and miles of ocean and blue skies, and yes, we saw a whale. But the highlight of the trip was the stop at Eastern Egg Rock, a seven-acre island located six miles from New Harbor, the world’s first re-established seabird colony, managed by The Puffin Project.

On Wednesday we enjoyed lunch with some relatives on Grampy Brown’s side of the family. Some DNA detective work on Aunt Donna’s part had solved a long-time mystery that led to us lunching with our first cousin twice removed (1c2r)—a first cousin to our Grampy Brown—and her daughter our second cousin once removed (2c1r)—a second cousin to our bio dad. Is that cool or what? Too, too fun. We’d hoped to meet up with a couple of other DNA-matched-cousins from Massachusetts and Georgia but arrangements did not fall into place. “Another time . . . ” we all promised. “Another time.”

A quick stop in Belfast left us once again in awe of the beauty Mainers enjoy all year round. Literally at the water’s edge, we spotted a three-sided structure that housed of all things, a library. I immediately envisioned myself enjoying a good read under sun drenched blue skies surrounded by the ocean.

The day ended with a farewell seafood feast at Alan’s. When we couldn’t eat another bite, we leaned back to give our stuffed stomachs a bit more room. Conversation lulled for a moment before Alan’s tone turned serious with a pointed question. “When are you coming back?”

I reminded him we had journeyed to Maine twice since his visit to Indiana. He reminded us we’d barely scratched the surface of all that Maine had to offer–a fact we knew well. “We’ll come back someday, I’m sure . . . ”

“But probably not next year.”

“No, probably not.”

With no specific plans in place for a “next time,” this last-in-a-series of goodbyes was tough. But we would be back. We will visit again.

And the processing continues. I’m beginning to realize it will probably never end. This week marks the 3rd anniversary of Aunt Donna popping up on our DNA results. Within hours, the mystery was solved, opening the door to so many people and experiences and relationships that, now, I honestly can’t imagine not being part of our lives. I’m so looking forward to what year four has in store.

If this is your first introduction to my story, check out the beginning here.

Meeting the Bio Family: Chapter 10 – Another Big Bro and Cousins Galore “So, when are you going back?” I lost count of how many people asked when we planned a return visit to Maine, where our immediate family had marveled in the beauty of an east coast autumn while spending time with the paternal side of my biological family in October of 2018.

#adoption #adoption reunion #biological family #birth parents #brothers #doorstep baby #family reunion #siblings

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booksbroadwaybbc · 5 years

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Today is my cakeday. via /r/selfimprovement

Today is my cakeday.

I made this account a year ago when I was stuck in nearly every regard. I had a lot of talent in my specific subject that I never cultivated, and I was used to the fact that everything came to me naturally, so I never knew how to study. I was a despicable and bitter asshole with no social skills and very few friends, looked like a nerd although my judgmental self wanted nothing less than to be associated with this group of people, and on top of that I lived in an abusive relationship with a mentally ill partner who financially and emotionally depended on me. I had fallen as low as someone with my exceptionally lucky circumstances could ever fall by means of their own incompetence, and this was the point where I had to get out.

I started with the topics I was curious about - cryptocurrencies, transhumanism, cognitive enhancement. The latter brought me into the mindfulness corner of reddit and eventually to r/socialskills and r/selfimprovement. I absorbed everything for the future, but could not really start working on my mental state while I was subjected to abuse nearly every day. However, bit by bit, I took the necessary steps, both to escape from my situation and to work on the parts that I could already change.

On Nov 17 I got a haircut. In hindsight, this was the most crucial change that kickstarted everything else, as bizarre as it might sound. My hair had previously almost reached to the shoulders, a result of a 2010-esque surfer cut that I would let grow out for half a year every time because who cares about appearance anyway, am I right. In combination with my glasses and my large jaw it just looked hideous, and I couldn't stand seeing myself in the mirror. However, my partner had told me she loved me more like that, and I was too judgmental to even consider getting the same haircut as 80% of men. r/malefashionadvice finally inspired me to make a cut (pun intended). On this day, I started not giving a fuck and just went with the hairdresser's suggestion. My first thought afterwards was that I looked like that one PUA guy from my loose circle of friends, but better. I went out on the street with confidence about my looks. My partner did not like it. I didn't care.

My partner was what went next, after countless r/relationships threads under a different acc that looked exactly like you would expect. Over the course of two long months I forced myself to slowly build up the necessary emotional distance to the love of my life, then I emailed her therapist with all the facts and told her to please get this woman away from me. Girl ended up in psychiatry 3 weeks later, and could even muster up some understanding when I said she would not be moving back into my flat. The relationship naturally came to a slow stop after that. Sadly I lost the few friends in the breakup that she hadn't isolated from me previously and it all felt like a pretty bad betrayal, but I can absolutely understand how people would not want to be friends with someone that bitter.

I spent the next two months mostly sitting inside all day, doing just the necessary amount of university work and regaining a sense of identity and inner peace. My first radical changes after the breakup were, again, to my appearance. I got rid of all my black band shirts and those super wide military cargo jeans in a different shade of black. I bought slim-fit jeans for the first time in my life, and a wide array of mono-colour t-shirts that weren't two sizes too big. I visited a dermatologist, got medication and changed my entire diet to get rid of my severe acne. People did not compliment me on my looks yet, but at least I didn't make a bad first impression anymore just from the way I looked.

Around that time I got a very surprising offer from a worldwide top 5 university where I had semi-seriously signed up for a graduate degree, not expecting a reply. I now had a goal to work towards, and for the first time a perspective of doing something I like with my life. My luck and raw talent had carried me these last few meters, but from now on I knew that everything would depend only on the effort that I put in.

Spring came and I assembled a new circle of friends around me, a difficult task when everybody knows you're going to move out in 5 months. I spent a lot of time on r/socialskills back then, learning the value of being a good listener first and foremost. Slowly I was regaining most of the female friends that my ex had cut off from me out of jealousy. Without romantic feelings for anyone after the trauma of my relationship, building honest and solid friendships with both genders worked better than ever. I came to discover that I had actually been very extroverted all along, with only my lacking social skills giving me the illusion that I was an introvert.

In May I reconnected with a friend from several years ago, a HSP who was heavily into meditation. She brought a new peace to my life and made me stop being such an intense person in every regard. Even my music taste reflected that, going from exclusively metal and hardstyle to a mix of everything with a lot of indie dream pop.

What I learned next was getting my shit done, and I learned that the hard way. I had until June for the first of my two undergrad dissertations and spent most of spring slacking off with my new friends, still coming to terms with myself and pretending to learn time management. That hit me hard in the face when the assignment proved to be literally impossible 17 days before the deadline as my proof pulled itself apart by one loose thread. My professor was of no help, and I had to find an alternative question by myself. Eventually I constructed 45 pages of abstract proof in 12 days, without any reference literature to help me. Not going out for 3 days at a time was hell, and I was in an extreme state of mind that got me on the edge of suicidality.

The day I handed in my thesis, I decided to completely shed my negative attitude and become open and friendly towards everyone and everything. Who would've thought some of my closest friends were already pretty overwhelmed from the negative vibes coming from me during the past few weeks, but that day I was able to make a radical change. I remembered the one thread about the cancer victim whose epitaph said "I loved it all", and I wanted to be able to say the same at the end of my life. A large factor in the change that came was buying Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People", which I saw so many times on this sub that I stopped counting. To anyone that is still unsure: it might be 80 years old, but it keeps absolutely everything it promises. One of the most life-changing books I have read.

Another large step in terms of appearance was getting rid of my glasses and buying contact lenses, which my mother had never allowed me to do. For the first time in my entire life, I could look in the mirror and actually liked what I saw. Subjectively, I went from a -234/10 to a solid 6 over the course of less than a year. The rest of my appearance evolved too, as I started working out and finally achieved a coherent style. I even got compliments from time to time.

In summer my birthday happened, and I had never really celebrated it before, and whenever I had done it it would always end pretty awkwardly with the few disconnected friends that I had. However, this time I went into the whole planning with a lot of newfound confidence. Originally it was supposed to be a relatively small and calm sleepover, but I spontaneously allowed my guests to bring their friends, and we found out that twice as many people could fit into my flat as originally planned. It turned out to be a great idea. For the first time, I was the host of something that people my age actually liked, it was an incredible feeling. The people that attended would eventually become a closer circle of friends that still exists now that I'm gone.

I decided to spend the last three months living out my freedom as well as possible and make unforgettable memories. I still had a month left for my second dissertation, which I tackled with the complete opposite attitude as the previous one. My friends and I would use our student vacation tickets to drive to a different coast town for free every few days, and I mostly spent the 6 hours on the train writing. Thanks to carefully planning in advance, it all worked out without going into mental overdrive a single day.

I left the country on September 23, after a huge party with 30+ people in the flat I had slowly learned to love after completely refashioning everything, leaving no trace of the place where I had once lived with my ex. I stayed in people's memories partly as the awkward guy or the one who talks too much, others couldn't entirely forget the way I used to be a year ago. But for the most part, the person that left was open-minded and managed to fascinate and listen well at the same time. The best compliment I ever got was when one day, an old friend walked in and said to my face: "Woah, I just realized you used to look so awful and you had so much hate in your voice and I don't recognize that anymore." Without Reddit, I would never have gotten to that point.

I am still a human with many flaws, at the very beginning of my journey, and the goal is nowhere in sight.

But so far, I loved it all.

Submitted November 15, 2018 at 01:08AM by rqaiu via reddit https://ift.tt/2B733QQ

#IFTTT #reddit

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