Gladheonsleeps

My partner asked me last night if Fox/Hound was a ship and idk why it never occurred to me before, but imagine the angst potential along the lines of the movie The Fox and the Hound (which absolutely devastated me as a child). Anyways, I had to make an art about it

FINN my BOY

The Force Awakens introduced so much potential, with this literal no-name stormtrooper who could have come from anywhere in the galaxy, taken and molded and pushed into serving the First Order with no identity beyond being a good little cog in the machine, and the first time he gets to see up close and personal how that machine steam rolls over innocent people in its path, his reaction is to give a hard pass

I just. Words do not describe how much I love this concept. And even better, this is a main character, one part of the Big Trio we were meant to get for this trilogy, he's not a throwaway background "move the plot a step forward but otherwise don't do anything" guy, he's not a traitor who does one helpful thing and then dies for it in the name of freedom or revolution, he gets out, and even with clear reluctance, he finds something bigger and better to throw himself into

And yeah, there are the obvious parallels with the clone troopers of the old Republic, literally created to be cogs in their machine, born with numbers instead of names and given extremely little autonomy but for what they carved out for themselves in a hundred thousand unique little ways - but even beyond all of that, I look at the clones, I look at FN and his fellows, I feel like Maz Kanata seeing the same eyes in different faces

Those are children raised to be living weapons

Those are people raised strictly and sternly and told they have no choice, why would they even want a silly choice, this is the best and only option, this is the only thing they'll ever be good for-

But Star Wars is all about choice

Yes, Finn's squadmate died in front of him, left that bloody handprint on his helmet, but that's not a loss that rips apart his world. That's not a farmstead burned down, a species massacred, a planet obliterated. That's his reality, that he and all his fellow troopers are meant to live and fight and die for those above them - it should, in theory, be the easiest thing in the world to stand up, to shoot, to get back in that transport and return to the First Order and continue onward

But it isn't

Maybe Finn could have been Force sensitive, maybe that was never in the cards, but regardless, he heard those screams and saw the falling bodies, he went back up on the shuttle and saw a captured enemy pilot and he chose

The greatest tragedy of the clone troopers is that at the final moment, when Operation Knightfall kicked into full gear, they didn't get to choose. A set of pre-determined words flipped a switch inside their heads, and good soldiers follow orders, sir, if the Emperor declares these folks are traitors, well, traitors to the Empire must die, and once they're all dead we move on to the next set of orders and the next, good soldiers follow orders, so do good citizens of the Empire, those that don't get to deal with the consequences

How many of their ghosts got to cheer, when a nobody no-name kid, molded to wear white armor and shaped to hold a blaster in his hands, heard his orders and refused, and then went on to choose a course of action that helped take down the biggest superweapon the galaxy had ever seen?

The clones seized what choices they could, with their names and their paint and whatever else they managed, up until the biggest choice of all was stripped from them

FN-2187 didn't even get those tiny scraps of self-expression, of identity, of any choice at all, until he found himself on the edge of a precipice all his fellow squad members jumped into without a second thought, and pulled himself away

Also it shows a lot about their view of themselves and their personality - if they'd go for it and HOW they would go about it.

Reverse AU

And like there was no permanent cast, all these celebrities seem to have gotten a scene or part of a scene to do (i’m not sure exactly, I did not ever watch Quibi and thus haven’t seen this yet), and then they just… recreated it as best they could. At home. Under quarantine.

So like, you had Jennifer Garner in a blanket cape playing Princess Buttercup AND the Booing Old Woman with a crowd comprised entirely of stuffed animals:

Or Taika Waititi paying Westley off a badly-drawn Inigo on a piece of cardboard held in front of someone’s face:

And it’s all just delightful.

But my absolute favorite part of this thing that I’ve sadly never seen but assume is probably absolutely hilarious and a treasure and I want to find it some day and watch the whole thing… is that Carey Elwes is in it.

As Prince Fucking Humperdink.

Here ya go

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching. 

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat. 

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions. 

somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.

i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing. 

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.

she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.

one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

Khazad November day 25: Dori!

So excited to share this illustrations I had the pleasure of creating for Bloomberg Businessweek for the article “The Steamy, Magical and Now Very Lucrative Romantasy Business” by Hannah Miller and Madison Muller.

Such a fun one to work on!

It demonstrates that piracy has always lay at the heart of media preservation; and