man of next year

A Finite Amount of Love

The first time Rose did it, it was out of ignorance.

The second was desperation.

The third time she did not do it. If she had, it would have been purely malicious.

She resisted it the fourth time too, and the fifth, the sixth and the seventh. 

The eighth time she never got the choice: she died first.

The first, though—the first was Adam. An eager and honest bucktooth man with blond hair in ringlets that reminded Rose just a bit of her own. Adam was the first human Rose fell in love with, and it was different. It wasn’t her normal human love, that soft and gentle maternal kind. This love was bubbly and effervescent. It was walks alone just the two of them that felt giddy and new and anxious eager jolts in her mind of touching his skin and investigating his lips and getting close, close like humans do, in a way that wasn’t fusion.

And 58 was far too young an age, Rose thought, for Adam to fade. He burst out in sores that corrupted his human form and could not heal, would not heal, and no human could save him. So Rose did. Adam died, and Rose shed just enough tears to bring him back into existence.

Things didn’t change all at once. For years nothing was different than the novelty of Adam’s ringleted hair truly matching Rose’s. But humans experience the passing of decades different from Gems. Adam grew solemn when all his friends died. He made new ones. Then 50 years later, they all died as well.

Adam’s body remained healthy. But it seemed the human mind wasn’t equipped for centuries of life. Maybe humans had a finite amount of love packaged into them, meant to well up from the soul for 70 or 80 years at most. Adam ran out of love. He packed his things, just a single bag on his shoulder, and he told Rose he would leave forever.

Rose let him go, but her heart still broke, because Gems work on a much larger time scale.

Samuel was the next man in her life, a mere 30 years later, and he was spry, bubbly, energetic, overflowing with a sort of giddy love that Rose felt would last and last. She swept him up in her arms and spun with him on the briny beach front, her bare feet molding in the sand as they swirled and danced, day after day, year after year. She and Samuel married, as was a custom among Samuel’s kind, and he gathered a batch of humans larger than Rose had seen since the victory against Homeworld.

Samuel turned 75 faster than Rose could measure. He was gray and worn, thin and knotted at the joints, senile and immobile when Rose still wanted to dance with him on the beach. He did not wake up one morning, and it was too soon for Rose. She wept, honest heavy wet tears that poured the life back into a husk that dried too soon.

Samuel lasted another 75 years after that. But he burned down, slower than Adam but still the same. His human light died. He wept too hard for his family and friends, for the children of his first marriage and his children’s children, and their children… He grew solemn, and cold, and inconsolable, and one day he told Rose he wanted to explore the ocean with his infinite age. Alone. Without her. His human love had burnt itself to the wick.

The heartache hit worse. Rose gave her hand and heart and time to no other man for decades. Not the curious sailors who came hat-in-hand to the Temple. Not the outcast townsfolk who came to investigate the myths of the magical women out by the briny shore. She waited, and waited, until that ache in her chest grew too heavy, and she let a young and spindly man named Wilson woo her. He took her out to sea on a rickety hand-crafted boat, and he pointed out the wonders of the vast sea to her, and Rose wondered silently if ever they might cross Samuel’s path.

Wilson grew old when Rose was not paying attention. She went to visit him one day, and found only a sickly man curled up in bed, breathing in wheezes, blinking through milky eyes. Garnet found her that evening, Garnet with the ability to see the paths laid out ahead of her. She warned Rose not to follow through this time, and Rose did not. And Wilson died.

Mark with the thick orange brows was slowly whittled down to thin scraggly gray hairs, like fuzzy caterpillars resting on his lip and brow the day he died. Seth had only hit 30 when his carriage was lost off the side of the road in a blizzard, his body found days after. Wallace made it to 76. Jeremy to 64…

When she met Greg, Rose reached a selfish conclusion. She would be the human this time. She would be the human wife that Adam, Samuel, Wilson, Seth, Mark, Wallace, Jeremy never had…she would be the one to give him a child.

And she would die first this time.

The other men had seemed so peaceful when they passed, Rose thought in hindsight. A life well-lived. A life fulfilled. Not like Adam, not like Samuel, whittled down to husks and then nothing but a puppet on strings, in a body strewn about, too spent and stressed for a human. She wanted to know that peace of a life lived to its end. She wanted to pass on her chance of experiencing the world to a new human, a new generation, like all humans were so happy to do.

Rose died first. Steven lived on.

Lars has not visited Beach City in centuries. Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst still live there, he knows that, but he never knew them well. He never properly met the green and blue ones either.

He travels sometimes. Mostly he lingers. Wherever he ends up. It’s all a blur. Where he’s been and where he’s going. Just not Beach City. He’s visited those old homes too many times, and he saw them all demolished over time. Nothing’s left for him there.

Lars does not quite know where he is. He does not particularly care. It’s indoors, and dim, and a man is logging orders on a holographic tablet one table over. It’s a restaurant of sorts. Lars doesn’t need to eat, but if he orders a coffee, they will probably let him linger longer.

Lars stares out the window. He does that often. He’s run out of other things to do over the years. He’s gotten numb to most of it.

A shadow of a man slides into the booth with Lars. He takes the space on the opposite side of the table. He’s wearing a rain poncho, a thin and ultra-light orange material for maximum hydrophobic effect. He looks old, eyes lined with wrinkles beneath the hood. Lars swallows the urge to ask him what he wants as the man lowers the hood.

His hair cascades in ringlets, each the same pale and luminous pink as the hair on Lars’ head.

He sticks a hand out, and offers a thin smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes.

“I’m Adam. I noticed your hair from the other side of the bar. Sorry to intrude, but could we talk a moment…?”

Day 19/100 of Productivity: 10 September 2017

I’ve been busy revising a bunch of Japanese recently as preparation for my yearlies next term

man yearlies is definitely my favourite time of year

4

Ink commissions from Anime Revolution!! It was a fun con, nice crowd with amazing artists! Thank you to everyone who came to visit us, I had a really good time, Hope next year the con is settle on a different weekend of Pride weekend, cuz i wanted to go there! lol 

EYYYY I still got to draw my badass gurl Emily and my cute robot husband Danse 😤👌

What the last Swanqueen scene should look like

*make sure you read till the end!!!*

EMMA:
You… You saved me.

REGINA:
Did you ever doubt I would?

EMMA:
Truthfully… The coffin gave me a pause.

REGINA:
Well you never have to worry about that again, Miss Swan. I will always save you.

EMMA:
You promise?

REGINA:
I do.

SWITCH to a LONG SHOT with Emma and Regina staring at each other. And FINALLY in a moment of despair both women embrace into a hug as a beam of light takes over and

EXT. NEW YORK. DAY.

FADE into the streets of New York. CLOSE UP to a young man running down the streets, through some stairs as he enters a church. Henry in a FUCKING HURRY. And we SWITCH through a couple of scenes until he finds a white door. And we find Emma in a bride’s dress.

EMMA:
Did you find them kid?

HENRY:
Yes!

EMMA:
Oh good! I can’t believe we left the rings at home.

There is a knock on the door and David walks in with a radiant smile on his face as he sees his daughter.

DAVID:
Oh Emma… You look beautiful.

EMMA:
Where’s mom?

DAVID:
She’s with Regina.

EMMA:
Is she ready?

DAVID:
They are. Everyone is waiting.

CUT to Regina standing in front of a mirror, as she admires her long white dress.

MARY MARGARET:
You’ve never looked more beautiful than today.

REGINA:
Thank you. For everything.

SWITCH to David and Emma beginning to walk through a hallway, SWITCH to Regina and Mary Margaret also walking through a hallway. Both woman walking. wearing beautiful white bride dresses. CUT to everyone waiting at the altar. CLOSE UP to some of our favorite characters, THEN we CLOSE UP to Robin and Hook dressed in tuxedos. The doors open and Emma walks in first with David by her side as he is walking her down the aisle, as her and Hook exchange looks and a small smile. SWITCH to Regina walking in with Henry next and also exchange looks with Robin. It’s obvious it looks like a double when SUDDENLY Robin and Hook step aside AND Regina and Emma turn to face each other knowing they finally found their happy ending. And slowly the image transitions into a drawing and we realize we are looking at a picture. In Henrys book.

A man sits next to a young girl (8-10 years of age) and we realize this is Henry reading to what will possibly be his daughter.

HENRY:
“‘I do’ said the savior and the evil queen. And so what started as a battle between good and evil turned into the most unique tale of all fairy tales. The story of how the savior and the evil queen fell in love. And they lived happily ever after.”

YOUNG GIRL:
Again daddy, again.

HENRY:
Again? Oh no, it’s time for you to go to bed my little princess.

YOUNG GIRL:
Tomorrow?

HENRY:
How about we visit your grandmother’s tomorrow and they can tell you how it all happened?

Henry smiles and turns the light off. SWITCH to the young girl who is sitting in her bed, still staring at the drawing of Emma and Regina as she finds something oddly familiar. CLOSE UP to a picture of Emma and Regina and she smiles and its clear she realizes who the evil queen and the savior are. She closes the book and settles it next to her bed. CLOSE UP to the tittle “Once Upon a Time” as a beam of light shadows the tittle.

THE END

That character, yeah that one tall, muscled and handsome guy with a lot of baggage and no real communication skills
  • Other people in the fandom: This guy? He’s the topiest of all the tops. He's the kind of take clothes of with his teeth and leave marks in his partner's body, snarls and grunts and growls...
  • Me: *Snorts* Suuuuuuuuuuuuure. He's a bottom. He bottom's them all like a fucking king, totally a bottom, a power bottom indeed, make the guys cry in bed, wrung them out until they can't get it up again, pretty much a size queen and cockslut. Kinky as hell, probably a sub too.
the story so far (complete):

There are wars happening in other worlds, but they are other people’s wars. This is your war: your war is a search. Your war is chasing and being chased. Your war is unblemished fingers and smoothed-away scars, the same blooming of a bruise over your best friend’s eye. You are never dead. You are always young.

Your war leaves no room for casualties.

Here is what you have learned: everywhere in the multiverse is exactly the same. Here are the cities, here are the towns and the people who live in the towns, or the people-analogues who live in the town-analogues, the point of the metaphor being that everything exists in relation to everything else. Infinite verisimilitude. Here are the worlds that resemble the world that you were born on, the one that some of you don’t remember.

“I was twenty when we left,” your other best friend says to you. “I’m still twenty, I guess. It was a long time ago.”

She had only just finished school, she says to you. She had gone out to dinner with her friends to celebrate, and the next day she had pulled on her red jacket and then there was the press conference and boarding the ship. She talks about it like it happened in another life. It did happen in another life, not this life where she does not age (she should be old, she says to you) and you do not age and the two of you watch old movies on the couch in the living room and your brother walks in and lies across the two of you and you push him off the couch and your best friend laughs.

The world narrows to a ship, a set of rooms not meant for long-term cohabitation, four bedrooms that you swap between the seven of you. You and your brother, you and your other best friend, you and your boyfriend. The world narrows to the way your best friend laughs, your captain’s voice over the intercom, quiet conversations with your boyfriend in the dead of the night. Night-analogue. Time is a concept for other people.

You have: 365 days, 24 hours, 60 minutes — ship’s time. The years pass differently on different planets. Orbits are different. Mathematics is different. The slicing of time changes with every new world. You celebrate alien holidays. You wear alien clothing. You are the aliens.

Your brother stopped learning math thirty-something years ago. You’ve stopped learning how to read, mostly. Your brother and you race through worlds like playgrounds. It’s hard to see the worlds as anything but temporary constructs. Here are the only real things in existence: the Starblaster, the Hunger, the seven of you sitting at dinner that your brother has cooked, talking about what you are going to do next. The long stretches of time between world and world, like a breath held in the lungs, just waiting to land and search and run. Your days not filled with desperation.

There are the good times: Shooting ranges and fireworks and water gun fights. Sunrises across orange skies, passing a wine bottle from hand to mouth to hand on the bank of a foreign river, board game nights and watching old tv recordings from planets that no longer exist. The comfort of company, here are seven hearts that have learned to beat like one.

The best times: sixty years and you look at the man standing next to you and realize that maybe a perfect love does exist. You are not sorry that you made him wait. He says he regrets not asking sooner. You say no, no this was right. It was the only way this could have gone, sixty years to wear the edges off your sharpness, sixty years to build him solid and secure. No other world where you meet as equals.

In another world your boyfriend is old and you are in the prime of your youth and the two of you never intersected.

All planets look the same when being assimilated into the black. You do not dream about it. You sleep and you wake and you dream about the kaleidoscopic everywhere that no longer exists for you, face pointed forward, no turning back.

Everything in the world is always the same. The ship, the crew. The world is never the same, planet and planet and planet like a row of dominos knocked down one after another.  

If you stop running everything dies. If you keep running you will eventually stop. You are fighting a war against an enemy that does not die. You are always dying.

You drape yourself over your boyfriend’s shoulders. He puts his hand over your hand and laces your fingers together.

“Babe,” you say. “What do you know about liches?”

Queer Activists I'm angry I didn't learn about earlier

1. Harvey Milk.
Thanks to Dustin Lance Black’s film ‘Milk’, this story has gotten some more recognition in recent years. Harvey Milk was the first openly gay man elected to public office in the United States in San Francisco in 1977. He was assassinated the next year.

2. Cleve Jones.
Oh boy. This man has arguably done more for the movement than any other individual (imo). He worked with Milk in the mid-70s, made the AIDS quilt in the 80s, and has worked for the gay rights movement for decades. Watch 'When We Rise’, also from Lance Black, or read Jones’ book of the same name.

3. Jamie Lee Hamilton.
Jamie Lee Hamilton is a trans woman, former sex worker, and activist from Vancouver. She provided safe spaces for other sex workers, harassed City Hall about the dozens of women that were going missing until they listened to her, and is just an overall badass. I learned about her by reading an article by Michael Harris called 'The Unrepentant Whore.’


This is an extremely small list, but these are the three that I didn’t learn about until I started to dig into the history of the LGBT+ community, and the ones that I was shocked I hadn’t heard about earlier. I’ll probably update this as I learn more. Feel free to add your own!