#/ Tearing me asunder / --- INTROSPECTION ---

[taiinted]

     CITY AESTHETICS

bold what applies.    repost,   don’t reblog.

smoke escaping a dark alley.   speckled lights up a skyscraper at night.  the business of the morning rush to work.   the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries from bakeries in the early morning.   the crack of dawn walk of shame.   lines of cabs and buses filling the main streets.   sunrise breaking over the skyline.   neons flashing against brick.   lightning bolt cracks in the pavement.   sunset streaming through buildings.   a theatre district full of tourists and performers.   night time rain hitting long glass windows.   activity on every street corner.    shattered glass littering the concrete.   wind tunnels passing through a maze of buildings.   churches nestled within high rises.   breakfast on a small balcony.    sirens echoing and bouncing off the inner city walls.   dirty rivers breaking up the concrete jungle.   season changes:   burnt orange of autumn trees, light white snow of winter,   midday sunshine of summer,   blooming flower bushes in spring.   crystal canals littered with houseboats.  dusk falling and lights flickering on.   lightning striking the tops of skyscrapers.   vague reflections in the water of fountains.   cigarette ashes in the gutter.   darkened and empty side streets.   lines of people and chatter outside of clubs.   fire escapes trailing down the sides of buildings.   high ceilings in industrial studio apartments.   rainbow hues reflected in glass.   cityscape views from monuments.     rain gutters swelling during heavy downpour.  a park oasis in the middle of the city.   new years fireworks lighting up the night sky. airplane trails littering the sky.   polished corner offices.   strip club pamphlets strewn across the damp footpath.  rooftop gardens.   oil pools staining asphalt.   skyscrapers protruding thick cloud.   helicopter spotlights.   litter piles surrounding dumpsters nestled down alleyways.   window displays of designer stores.   streets lined with thin trees.   the contrast of the white paint and asphalt at crossings.  street views from the bathroom windows.   lowlit bars permeating red light.

TAGGED BY :  @hebled <3 TAGGING :   @blccdharmonyx ( Larkin ) @gretaphasmatosmartin @yetfierce @polyphagist​ @thprofessor​ @richardxoliverxmayhew​ @hellsurvivr​ @elenaloveablekotsala​ ( Elena ) @perfectanguish​ @malka-lisitsa​​   and anyone else who sees this. 

[alicewhimzy]

Today I forced chatgpt to write a poem about the Moral Orel episode Nature. I gave it a few extra details to work with and this is what it gave me.

TW! FOR BLOOD, GORE, RELIGIOUS THEMES, GUN MENTION AND CANNIBALISM. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

"In the hallowed realm of the wilderness, we embarked,

Father and son, united in pursuit of primal conquest.

The haunting echoes of an ancient narrative whispered,

The tale of Abraham and Isaac, their bond, their test.

With eager hearts, we ventured forth into the wild,

Clay, my father, a figure of strength and guidance,

And I, Orel, a youth yearning for validation,

Bound together by blood, by shared ancestry.

The sun cast its golden glow upon the rugged terrain,

Nature's cathedral adorned in autumnal splendor,

And in this sacred theater, our fates entwined,

Weaving a tapestry of revelation and despair.

As we journeyed deeper into the heart of the hunt,

A subtle unease began to taint the pristine air,

The scent of sacrifice, an offering to the gods,

The cruel duality of life and death woven in our steps.

Like Abraham of old, my father wore the weight of destiny,

A divine command whispered upon his ear,

To offer his own kin as an act of unwavering obedience,

To test the boundaries of faith and loyalty.

The sacred blade glistened in his trembling hand,

Its edge kissed by the whispers of divine decree,

And as his eyes met mine, a plea for comprehension,

I saw the reflection of a tortured soul torn asunder.

But unlike Isaac, spared by divine intervention,

I found no deliverance from the hand of fate.

A gunshot shattered the stillness, tearing through flesh,

And pain, sharp and unrelenting, became my crucible.

Blood stained the earth, an altar of sacrifice,

And in the depths of agony, reality fractured,

Visions plagued my wounded mind, a maddening dance,

Clay, transformed into a lupine devourer of his own kin.

Goya's haunting brushstrokes danced before my eyes,

The visage of Saturn, consumed by monstrous hunger,

Clay, now a beast, tearing into the tender flesh,

His own offspring, victims of his insatiable appetite.

In the throes of anguish, I questioned the divine,

The God who demanded such ruthless tests of faith,

Did the heavens delight in the suffering of mortals,

Or was our pain a mere shadow of human frailty?

As I lay wounded, my faith teetered on the precipice,

Not lost, but unraveling, like a fragile thread,

I yearned for answers, for solace in a chaotic world,

To reconcile the monstrous with the divine.

The wilderness became my sanctuary of introspection,

A cathedral of questions, of doubts and exploration,

For I, Orel, no longer bound by blind allegiance,

Found liberation in the brave act of questioning.

Does God exist, I pondered, amidst the bloodied earth,

Or is He but a figment of our longing, our fears?

I did not forsake my faith, but in the crucible of pain,

I discovered the strength to challenge, to seek my truth.

And so, Orel emerged from that hunting odyssey,

Not unscathed, but awakened, with eyes unveiled,

The scars of revelation etched upon my wounded flesh,

With a heart that dared to question, to embrace the unknown."

...Damn. 😐

I like it. A bit heavy on the purple prose but still, nice! 😁

[musicarenagh]

Unleashing Fury: Avalon Stone's "Drag Me" In "Drag Me," Avalon Stone, the voracious siren of alt-rock's tempestuous sea, casts her spellbinding voice into the maelstrom of our souls—crashing waves against craggy despair with the ferocity of Poseidon in a fury. The track emerges from the shadows like a phoenix wrought from grunge's ash and alt-rock's flame; it sears its indelible mark onto our quivering psyche with Caleb Bourgeois' guitar wails that pierce veils between reality and abyss. https://open.spotify.com/track/6BrdR1H4uZlzhHnmYq0LPB?si=83cc3b7ccb984bab With every strum, pluck, and howl within this anthem to resilience—a diorama illustrating battles fought in silence—the curtain rises on an opera penned by demons confronted under spotlight’s merciless scrutiny. Herein lies not merely a song but an odyssey that traverses through hellfire caverns of mental torment only to emerge baptized in cathartic reverberation. Wes Bartram’s drums thunder like heartbeats ensnared in Dante's inferno while Donovan McKinley’s bass lines weave sorrows into tapestries lush and intricate. Avalon herself—goddess cloaked in mortal vestige—rends nights asunder with vocals both celestial choir and banshee’s lament; her lyrics a call to arms amidst sinewy chords of entrapment. Kevin Dietz orchestrates behind curtains unseen, yet his alchemy transmutes suffering into soundscapes raw and unflinching. [caption id="attachment_55323" align="alignnone" width="1365"] Credit: Lucky Seven Photography / copyright Avalon Stone Music[/caption] "Drag Me" isn't just heard; it’s experienced—an electric shock therapy jolting numb hearts back to life's chaotic dance floor. It spirals unforgivingly toward crescendos high before plunging listeners into introspections deep as oceanic trenches where light fears tread. Amidst stocks overflowing with musical banalities dressed as profundity—"Drag Me" stands defiant: a monolith carved from anguish real bearing testament to beauty birthed through pain rending air itself pregnant with possibilities anew. In anticipation we percolate for "Chained", naught but salivating acolytes at Avalon Stone's altar waiting for sermons woven out of darkness destined be dawned upon ears unworthy. In essence: To devour "Drag Me" is to stare down one's own reflection besmirched by tears yet undeterred—a euphoria laced indictment echoing long after silence has reclaimed its throne. Follow Avalon Stone on Website, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram and TikTok.

[myriadof-fandoms]

on the matter of running up that hill (angst, introspection, 1.3k)

It doesn't hurt me

Do you wanna feel how it feels? 

Do you wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me? 

Do you wanna hear about the deal that I'm makin'? 

max is lying on the floor of billy's room.

the room still reeks of him somehow. months into him being gone. dead. not gone like he'd planned; leaving hawkins behind in a cloud of dust while he's pushing the camaro past its limits. 

billy's dead and what was left of the camaro has been sold as spare parts. max has to start accepting it.

it's not like she can forget it. not when everytime she sleeps she lives through it again. 

in his room it's easy to pretend though. his cologne lingers in the corners and the covering of the couch keeps the smell of cold smoke. 

max hasn't ever expected to find the smell comforting.

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get him to swap our places

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

Be runnin' up that buildin'

Say, if I only could

part of her doesn't even quite understand why she can't face it head on. 

not like it's supposed to hurt. billy hated her. she hated him. 

but kate bush is singing into her ears, drowning out the screaming of neil and her mother, and something rings so true. 

You don′t wanna hurt me

But see how deep the bullet lies 

Unaware I'm tearing you asunder 

max has spent a lot of time trying to remember every meaningful interaction she had with billy.

she’s gone through the rage filled months directly before and after they moved to hawkins. the days on the road when they moved and screamed together to his music because they both never learned how to deal with anger in a way that wasn't letting it out.

she’s gone over that time when he came into her room when she was reading and sat down on the floor by her bed time and time again. when he'd rested his head on the edge of the mattress and turned to her, giving her the full view of the slowly healing bruises and cuts on his face. bruises that neil put there because billy failed at bringing her home. she remembers the shame burning through her, the awful mixture of guilt and righteous anger. and it's becoming harder and harder to remember the exact sound of his voice but she remembers how he said i'm sorry then. an awful, foreboding echo of his last words. 

the months that followed where they were fine, where she understood and didn't cause him any more harm by not knowing and pushed his luck by being late. where he stayed away from her friends and their fights lost their vigor.

she remembers every single time the two of them laughed together about stupid shit.

Oh, there is thunder in our hearts 

the song might as well could been addressed to billy. he was all thunder. so much rage stored in 6 foot human being. a loudness that scared the shit out of max. 

he was never really lightning though. 

only loud, empty noise that couldn't actually harm. 

max hates the nightmares the most when she remembers him in the sauna, after he was forced to actually cause harm and the way it twisted him up. the way he cried, and begged, and how helpless he seemed. 

max keeps getting pulled into analyzing his actions like she can finally figure him out past the grave. ultimately, she doesn't know if billy loved her. but he died for her and her friends. 

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

Oh tell me we both matter, don′t we? 

max does know that he hated her sometimes. the two aren't mutually exclusive though. she's learned that lesson well enough. 

every day she wakes up and doesn't know if it'll be a day where she cries for her big brother or a day where she curses his name.

she’s been thinking about the memory el saw of him and his mother in california. max never really knew billy when he was happy. sometimes in the middle of the night the knowledge that that must have been one of the last times he was ever actually happy settles on her chest and presses the air out of her lungs.

You

It's you and me

It′s you and me, won't be unhappy

she knows she was luckier than him. she was happy with her dad. and she’s happy with her mom most days. she was happy before july. 

but how is anyone supposed to be happy after seeing their stupid, awful brother sacrifice himself? 

her mother picked up the tape for her. max likes the entire album but running up that hill has taken the top spot for her.

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I′d get him to swap our places

Be running up that road

Be running up that hill

Be running up that building

See, if I only could

billy would hate it. or rather he'd pretend to. she's stolen his fleetwood mac and springsteen tapes. (is it still stealing when the person you're stealing from is dead?) he wasn't half as picky when it came to music as he pretended to be. 

max is fairly sure he'd like this. it's sad enough. tough at the same time. he'd like the way kate makes her business clear the moment the song starts. she's making the deal, it's not up for debate for her.

billy never really had a thing for church, for the concept of god though. maybe that would set him off.

she drags herself up on the bed and curls into billy's pillow. 

It's you and me

It's you and me, won't be unhappy

the smell of his hair is fading quickly. maybe because her own hair is covering it up. she hasn't slept in her own bed in weeks.

max hears the words and yearns. because that's what she wants. she wants to be gone in billy's place. let the fucker deal with the confusing feeling of guilt and hate and anger and so much pain it keeps choking her. max has had it. if she could she'd rather not feel at all. 

Oh, come on, baby

Oh, come on, darling

Let me steal this moment from you now

Oh, come on, angel

Come on, come on, darling

Let's exchange the experience

one of the worst things though is that she knows for a fact that billy wouldn't allow it to happen. billy wouldn't have ever let anything actually bad happen to her. the only person who was ever allowed to be mean to her was him. 

he shielded her from neil and he hated lucas the moment he saw them fight, a threat to her wellbeing in his eyes, one that he couldn't control. he pushed people over at the skate park  when they made her fall after they’d only been living together for a month, and he lost it when he found her alone in the middle of the night with a bunch of boys he didn’t know. with some distance a few things have started to look differently. 

she still doesn’t know why he protected her, if it was a sense of obligation, the threat of neil or actual affection. she’s never going to know.

he was still a piece of shit and he hated her guts and she hated him and she misses him so much it makes her want to die. 

there is a rooted knowledge in her stomach that knows they would've gotten better, that they already were doing much better, more talking and less yelling. 

it makes her sick to think about.

she owes billy. she owes him more apologies than she can count. and she owes him her life and her friends' on top. 

and she'll never even get to say thank you.

she hears his voice clear as day in her head. 

And if I only could

I′d make a deal with God

And I'd get him to swap our places

I′d be running up that road

Be running up that hill

With no problems

i'm sorry. 

max turns up the volume on her walkman.

[celestialholz]

Tony Bennett - Close Enough for Love (Audio)

... So I’ve seen y’all recently, with your lovely Qcard song suggestions, all of which are very valid and I adore you for them, but if you’ll allow to wade in, mes captaines, I’ll raise you: space jazz, on their anniversary, with a twist chucked in because it’s me. This was a date idea at one point for the side blog (come say hi to some galactic idiots over at @ask-q-and-picard, if you’re up for such things ^_^), but this narrative was far too sprawling, so here we are! Welcome to around a thousand words of softness, a sprinkling of angst, a side order of introspection, and a god who can’t dance to save his own immortal essence.

(This isn’t a songfic as such guys, but you’ll get the most from it if you have a listen to the above whilst reading, thematically as well as lyrically. Let Tony Bennett melt your soul with his deeply appropriate words and delightful voice. <3)

* Also, as promised, ma’am - @q-card, have fun with this cosmic romance!

“Left foot first, Q.”

“Dammit, Jean-Luc, I don’t -” His footsteps are automatically corrected, the movement vexingly smooth, and he barely represses a snarl at his lover’s grin.

“You’re omniscient, my dear - how can you be so awful at waltzing?” He queries, voice a teasing lilt.

Q sniffs haughtily, offended.

“You know how to have fun,” he points out dryly. “Hardly makes you a natural at it. I’m not used to coordinated movements, man - I just sort of... saunter, and everyone’s just naturally impressed.”

“That’s why I’m trying to lead you,” Picard exclaims patiently, tightening his grip as he encourages the god backwards, deliberately slowing their pace. “You’re improving, if it means anything.”

“How the hell did you -” He sucks in an unnecessary breath as he’s swept against that broad chest, sprinkle of salt and pepper hair so maddeningly concealed by a jet-black tuxedo. “Where the hell did you learn how to do this, anyway?”

“I’m French,” he says, as though that explains everything, or indeed anything at all. Q blinks, baffled.

“The waltz is Austrian, you entire -”

 “European, then - it’s popular everywhere. Now, stop talking, will you?” Picard levels him with a stern exasperation. “It really doesn’t matter how poor your steps, Q - it’s all about the ambience.”

His deity grudgingly obliges, directing a glare to the old-school record player that rests off to their right; he snaps softly to restart the jazz track, attempting to absorb the steps as comprehensively as the words sink into falsely human skin, penetrate the entity thrumming in contentment beneath.

“You and I, an unmatched pair, took the time to touch, to share. Worlds apart the night we met, we braved the odds and won the bet...”

Gods, how long had he spent assuming this completely unattainable, this easy contact, the gentle heat now strewn through their acquaintance? Mere shards of cosmic time, but evocative of forever to a lonely, uninspired deity; a multitude of ultimately meaningless instances he’d tried so very hard to infuse with grander purpose, to express in a thousand universal languages that his beloved couldn’t hope to understand precisely what he couldn’t say…

His precious human had gotten there eventually, and as damned as he’d be to admit it aloud, it’s all the sweeter and warmer for the wait. He’d been expecting it to dull over the years, this calm sharing of his life, led in tender movements across the cosmic landscape; his captain is the introvert to his eccentricity, the tempered observer to his mischief-making, the mortal to his eternal: always quiet, always stalwart. Their ethics fail to align even now, and yet that silent yearning for adventure, to be more than they ought to be, continues to lead them as easily as Picard in their silly dance.

... It isn’t supposed to be so enchanting. His siblings think him quite mad, and perhaps he is, but he’d sooner tear the universe asunder than lack this wondrous connection.

 “How old-fashioned, pure romance; shared a kiss, we shared a dance...”

They’re slowing down, he acknowledges vaguely, as though Jean-Luc Picard doesn’t lack enough haste as it is; he takes a brief moment to awkwardly rest his chin upon his lover’s scalp before they’re gently pulled apart by kinetic flow, and the human smiles up at him tenderly.

“See, you’re not so bad when you aren’t overthinking it.”

“Shame we can’t all be idiots,” he bites back harmlessly, smirking. Picard draws them apart just enough to roll his eyes at the tease.

 “Oh do get off your high horse, mon dieu. At least I understand basic movements.”

Q laughs softly, steps lighter for the repetition through an advanced mind; he shifts snappily, avoids crushing a toe or two. It’s hardly conducive to the mood, after all, having to fix broken bones mid-routine, though it’s perhaps a more appropriate metaphor for their overall relationship than their now smoother performance.

The piece soldiers on blithely, suitably suave as a scene-setter.

“Not just lovers, more than friends - who knows where one starts and one ends? Tracing lights through sleepless nights that I’ll remember always, always…”

Q clasps their joined hand more firmly, so beautifully unified; their relationship has been the merest moment of his existence, yet it’s been more fulfilling than every fragment of the millions of years that have preceded it. He’s whole, finally, yet it’s all so very fleeting – all he’ll be left with within the blink of an eye is a frosted emptiness, colder than the space they occupy, and it’s enough to freeze him prematurely solid.

“Long goodbyes and tearful looks hold up well in poems and in books, but you and I have life to hold the greatest story never told…”

Live in the moment, you complete fool, he scolds himself silently, swaying elegantly now against his captain, hoping his sudden melancholy isn’t as visible as he fears it may be at Picard’s quizzical glance upwards.

“I can’t help but feel that anyone waltzing their way across the Magallenic Stream ought not to be so pensive,” comes the tranquil observation, grey eyes sporting a dash of worry, and the god allows a lightly bitter smile to coat human lips for a moment; a twenty light year-long dancefloor impossibly forms their stage, a flattened covering to the stellar river that connects the Milky Way to the vastness beyond stands as his grandiose anniversary gift, when all he longs to do is present him the universe on a silver platter.

“I hasten to remind you, mon capitaine, that you were quite content to do this in your quarters,” he points out in exasperation. “A tragedy, truly.”

A forehead meets his neck, their dance once more stilted to a simplified, vaguely rhythmic sway, and a gentle curl of a chuckle rises up in a vibration.

“Yes, well,” he mutters, “I’m rather unimaginative, as you’ve so enjoyed exclaiming for the past decade.”

A decade is nothing, less than, even. Why, then, does it feel like everything? He swallows ice, ripple running through his lover.

“It’s been a good decade,” he murmurs faintly. “Really quite an exceptional one, actually. The best, undoubtedly.”

Even fully versed in the linguistics of Picardian romance, he’s still evading the eloquent depth that comes so naturally to him.

The future’s for another day, not for tonight, he reminds himself sternly. We don’t ruin tonight, Q.

“The most wondrous,” Picard concedes warmly, “though I feel I’m at risk of seeming distinctly ungrateful. I’ve yet to give you a gift.”

Q can’t help a bark of disbelieving laughter – an absurd notion, honestly.

“Not sure what else you’re referring to the past ten years as,” he breathes, to a soft sigh.

“A gift to myself as much as to you,” he replies truthfully, and stars, he knows his Jean-Luc is a man of words, but must they always burn so delightfully? “No, I was thinking something far more… permanent.”

He doesn’t need to breathe, however biologically accurate his masquerade, though the absolute lack of oxygen that permeates open space suddenly seems a notable problem.

“… What?” It’s barely a blurted whisper, strangled by the purest hope and the deepest despair, because he can’t mean -

“You heard me,” Picard replies tenderly, and they’ve stopped dancing entirely now, though the embrace is no less fierce, the stare no less richly sincere. “I’ve been thinking on it, and… well, I’ve never been especially keen on the idea of ceasing to exist in the first place, and though forever is utterly incomprehensible to me currently, I believe it might not be so nightmarish –”

He doesn’t get any further for a good while; the breathlessness is spontaneously a problem shared and halved at the same time as they kiss, only the innate capacities of godhood keeping one of them alive.

“If you’ll have me, of course,” the captain adds eventually, the moment he’s freed, lips brushed rouge and eyes hazed, and by the galaxies if it isn’t the most precious thing a deity could ever hope to see; Q bursts into giddy laughter, runs a soft thumb down a smooth cheek, barely deigns to believe his own superlative good fortune.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” He answers, beaming, and he couldn’t mean anything less if it was bidden so by his own omnipotence. 

“Well, if we’re speaking comparatively -”

“Hush, you wondrous being,” Q whispers, lips upon his cheek, and he’s never feel so desperately enamoured by anything, anyone. “Ambience, darling - jazz is restarting.”

“Ah. Of course.” Picard grins, and a god spontaneously decides that he’s going to spend the next ten decades weaving sonnets dedicated solely to this evening across the literature of space-time as they retake their stances, and he snaps fingers through a distinct visual blur.

... He isn’t going to cry. He’s a damned Q, however frighteningly unimportant that seems in the arms of the mortal he adores.

“Not perfect yet, but close enough for love...”

Omniscience will give an entity the knowledge of there being no such concept as karma, so perhaps it’s irony instead that has his learned skill fly instantly from his brilliant mind as he stumbles over thin air, before almost immediately straightening, tux magically unruffled, beloved human so dreadfully amused.

“Shut up, okay? I’m emotionally compromised, and frankly allowed to be. It’s my anniversary.”

Picard chuckles in utter warmth, and concedes the point - perfection has no place here, or wherever they will ever happen to be.

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1525 (Ch. V) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Chapter Summary: Coffee and a conversation - neither the reader or the angel suspects how a sweetly simple start will lead to heartbreaking complications.

Series Masterlist

V.

Castiel notices the alteration of a week’s long routine immediately upon entering the cabin; his final armload of tinder teeters when he perceives in his preliminary survey of the space he expects to see you occupying the you-sized void located beside the stove.

Every morning prior you huddled as a human pillow fort there; blanket draping your bulwark frame, despotic frown armoring your aspect, you dwelt near the heat source prepared to catch his eye as soon as he sought for yours to commence his daily plea for armistice to end that siege of silence.

The composure ruffled for a moment by the dread of a renewed isolation returns to the angel in the galvanizing sound of a heartbeat resonant somewhere within; casting his focus backward along the wall, he hones in on the owner of that soothing pulse.

On this morning, you sit at a rustic stout log-legged table constructed from the lacquered cross-section of a hundreds of years old oak not unlike the one you nearly perished under; the rings signifying the tree’s longevity multiply like ripples of a stone tossed in a stream, so tightly stacked as to be indiscernible from infinity itself. Situated beneath a square western facing window, gauzy gingham curtains pinned aside permit both a wash of light and the wintry view an entrance.

You seem lost in the vista; outward gaze unperturbed, your lips purse to cool the coffee raised to them. The dimmed gold diffusion that suffices for a sunrise these days radiates in halo effect around your profile.

Of secondary - albeit curious - concern to the relief he feels in what appears to him to be a positive and heavenly amendment of attitude in a heretofore dourly resigned disposition, a second untouched mug occupies the tabletop. Dwelling out of your easy reach, the significance of the surplus cup puzzles him.

Even more so unnerving to him is the enigma of the chair opposite you shifting suddenly asunder the table; in his distraction, he perceives the movement as occurring seemingly of its own volition rather than relating to the slide of your socked foot inviting him to fill the seat.

“I made you a cup of coffee,” is all you say, outward glance through the glass unbroken.

Balancing the heaped wood long enough to pivot and let it loose in a controlled, but raucous, roll from his arms onto the stack adjacent the door, he mostly manages to stifle the shock subverting his angelically stoic sensibilities over the scene.

When he wheels round, your focus is fixed on him; amusement hints in laugh lines skirting your mouth and a glint of mischief in your gaze.

He doesn’t drink coffee, but he’s astute enough to understand the gesture is more than just a cup of coffee - it’s an olive branch. He brushes off the bits of bark and incorporeal clumsiness clinging to his vessel and crosses the room in a brisk stride.

Sinking onto the seat, spine rigid, he clasps his fingers on the glossy ringed surface in an effort to affect an appearance of relaxation; fidgeting in their ill-feeling fitment, he ultimately relegates the difficulty of the calloused and uncalm digits into his lap and out of your sight.

“Um-” peering into the mirrored surface of the murky brown drink, bright block of window light shimmering your reflection thereon, he recalls the human proclivity for niceties in lieu of satisfying outright an inquisitiveness to know what caused your reconsideration of his charity- “thank you.”

You wince a little at that; the judder of the table undulates your image in his cup. It’s you who should be thanking him. You wouldn’t even have coffee if he hadn’t resupplied the cupboard a few days ago from God knows what resource he found in his wanderings.

All subtle trace of gaiety flees from your features; your chin bobs once under the burden of the guilt-ridden acknowledgement. Bringing the rim of the mug to your mouth, you sip, swallow hard against the throat thickening reminder of your boorish behavior, and permit a sliver of apologetic humility to emerge as a quiet murmur. “It’s the least I could do.”

Following your cue, glad to give one of his hands a useful purpose, he takes a tentative sip from his cup. The heat and acidity of the molecular explosion tickles his vessels tongue. While the impression is by no means a pleasant one, it’s one he bears out by forcing a compact semblance of gratitude into the curvature of his standard pout.

“It’s-” he clears the cough contracting his lungs- “uh-”

“It’s terrible.” You chuckle, allaying his stuttered struggle to maintain diplomacy. “Trust me, the taste improves with cream and couple pumps of cinnamon dolce and vanilla syrup, but even the Starbucks on every corner business model couldn’t survive in the present market climate.”

Your attempt at levity face plants in the slow-motion tilt of Castiel’s head and introspective tapering of his lashes that tell you he doesn’t get that particular reference.

He watches you endure another self-deprecatory gulp of the scalding stuff. “I’ll take your word for it,” he determines, although the doubt deepening his tone insinuates he’s not at all convinced.

No longer able to mince matters of caffeine with those regarding his celestial origin - the elephant in the room trumpeting caution in affront to your humanity - you set your mug and elbows before you to put his intent, once again, to the test.

Intensity shines in your irises as you lean forward on your seat, asking, “What’s really your deal anyway?”

He doesn’t so much as blink those blues at the rapid difference of direction from the realm of the mundane to more mortal concerns. He also misconstrues your meaning by offering a curt correction that, “Deals are for demons.”

You clarify. “I mean, what’s an angel doing patrolling out in the middle of no man’s land?”

The drop of his gaze and slouching of shoulders betray his discomfort, yet no immediate reason springs to his mind to evade providing an honest answer. “It’s a punishment.”

“For what?”

Pain dampens the countenance that rises to resolve on yours. “Pride.”

Your brow quirks, “Pride?”

He nods; hesitance to speak aloud for the first time about his past and how much to share stymies his tongue. He runs a broad fingertip along the outline of a blackened ring on the tabletop, relaying the outermost layers of his remorse as he absentmindedly follows the ashy line.

“When I realized angels were purposely abetting the breaking of apocalyptic seals, I rebelled. It was already too late to stop that seizure of power which was set so precipitously in motion, but I thought absolute disaster might be mitigated. Many of my brothers and sisters died because they followed me believing we had a chance to save this world for humanity. We– I- failed. And now-” He averts lashes wetly damned by sorrow to the window and all the barren ‘and now’ plainly evidenced beyond it.

You slump backward into the chair, astonished by the unguarded anguish of a being whose species as a whole you lately considered as incapable of feeling genuine emotion. “This … this isn’t what I expected.” The muffled acknowledgement of his outstripping your expectations isn’t one you necessarily meant to utter aloud.

He sniffs against the well of tears he thought long ran dry and looks once more at you. “I don’t think this is what any of us expected.” He judges the confusion contorting your forehead at his restatement as a want of further elucidation rather than his misunderstanding yet again what you’ve said. “That is to say except maybe the Apostle John, but he always was something of a catastrophic thinker. None of us could have guessed the Book of Revelation would prove so, well-” he pauses to exhale a sigh redolent of regret at not heeding the warning- “prophetic.”

“I meant you. You’re not who I expected you to be,” you add fuel to the foray of misperceived meanings hovering in the air between you. “That’s a good thing,” you reassure the fret of his brow; a small smile brews on your lips as you raise your cup. “So what happens now? I know you said angels don’t do the whole deal thing, but this seems a little unfair, you taking care of me. What do you get out of it?”

Mimicking the casualness of your sip, he picks up his mug and swirls a mouthful; there’s a subtle sweetness he could grow accustomed to underlying the molecules this time. Adams apple bobbing as the coffee trickles down his gullet, he says, “More of this, I hope.”

“Stale coffee?” you tease; sloshing the grainy dregs around the bottom of your emptied cup, the porcelain emits a hollow thud when you set it on the table.

Tone softened by a sincerity of want toward your continued company, he corrects, “Conversation.”

“I think I can do that.” You accept terms that, despite their being undemanding on his part in exchange for his invaluable protection, leave the angel feeling he’s gotten the better end of the bargain.

Next Chapter: VI

[thekrazykeke]

Rip Me Asunder

Title: Rip Me Asunder

Fandom(s): Black Panther, MCU

Relationship(s): Nakia x OC. (past) T’Challa x Nakia. T’Challa & Nakia.

Request: Yes, but also I really wanted to write this.

Summary:  “When you loved someone and had to let them go, there will always be that small part of yourself that whispers, "What was it that you wanted and why didn't you fight for it?”

Warning(s): Angst. Failure to communicate, complicated past relationships, insecurity. Avengers: Infinity War spoilers.

Listening to: Beyonce’s Love Drought and Sandcastles

Tagging: @maddiestundentwritergaines @elaindeereads @wakanda-inspired @chaneajoyyy

Normally I do reader inserts. This one is an original character x canon pairing though. I’m not expecting a big turn out for it and that’s fine. I just felt like writing angst after listening to these sad songs. 

You can really feel Queen Bey’s raw grief and a tear came to my eye.

There might be another part that explains what the heckie is going on, potentially from Nakia’s POV, or at least a neutral point of view. I don’t know. Like I said, this is just some angst that I needed to write to prove to myself I could still write something needlessly sad. 

LOL! 

As usual, if you enjoy this, like and reblogs, please <3

~

Teyana Howard is not someone prone to deep introspection and melancholy. 

And really, that’s for the best, as to get to that point, it usually involved several shots of strong liquor. Although she’s playing little spoon to the fiercest, most beautiful, and strong willed woman that she’s ever met, Tay does not feel safe nor cherished. 

The embrace feels possessive and restrictive. 

It feels like a thousand little ants are crawling all over her skin, making her itchy and uncomfortable.

With a careful touch, she reached for Nakia’s arm, which is slung around her waist, and gently pushes it aside, tucking it around a pillow. Nakia let out a sleepy, dissatisfied whine, “Mmfphm”, and rolls over.

Unaware that she’s even holding her breath for those few precious moments, Tay releases a soft sigh of relief, sliding out of bed, pulling the covers over the other woman. For a second, she just stared at her, eyes roving over the sleeping figure, drinking in how relaxed and peaceful she looks while asleep.

Then Teyana steps away from the bed and temptation, turning away. Walking barefoot across the plush carpet, the fur tickling her toes, though distantly, she can recall her mother in the back of her head scolding her for walking around barefoot, so she slides on her house shoes as soon as possible. Grabbing the silky bathrobe off the back of the chair by the vanity table, she pulled it on, tying the sash in a loose knot to cover her naked body, save for her pretty pair of underwear, and with a final glance back at the person in her bed, Tay slipped out the bedroom, closing the door with a quiet ‘click’.

The blinds are drawn and the curtains are closed, but as she pads across the wooden floors to the bathroom across the hall, very faintly are the color pink and yellow. It’s not even fully dawn, or at least just barely so.

Once she safely inside the bathroom and the door is locked, Teyana goes about her morning routine, turning the shower on, adjusting the hot and cold nozzles so a fine stream spills out. Discarding her bathrobe and panties, she enters the shower, closing the glass door to keep out the chill. As the water hits her, at first, she flinches, and then relaxes. Grabbing her bath pouf, she squirted some shower gel onto it and began the process of getting clean, once that’s done and she rinsed it off, she repeats this again with regular soap. 

Before long, she hears a knocking on the bathroom door. 

Eyes opening, and wondering when she’d closed them, Teyana contemplated just remaining quiet and hoping Nakia would get the hint to go away. However, that wouldn’t work. With a quiet sigh, she turned the water off completely. Opening the shower door, she stepped out onto the shower mat, snatching a towel and wrapping it around herself quickly. 

Dragging a hand over her face, feeling terribly exhausted all of a sudden, she strides over to the bathroom door and unlocks it. Nakia stands there, somehow managing to look put together and unfairly pretty, even at this ungodly hour and Teyana feels resentment zing through her bloodstream as the dark skin woman just stares at her, or at least, rakes over her body.

Usually, that would garner a tease, maybe some playful quip...

“My eyes up here.” Nakia snaps her gaze to her face and has the grace to look sheepish, apologetic. “I thought you’d be gone by now. Off to do his bidding.” 

Nakia’s features tighten. “It is not like that--”

“Isn’t it? He snaps his fingers and--”

“--If you would just listen to me--”

“You jump to do what he says, dropping everything important--”

“Stop being so jealous!”

And there it is. The elephant in the room. The truth of it all: Tay’s jealousy of the Wakandan king, T’Challa, Nakia’s whole ass ex boyfriend, who she neglected to mention was, ya know, mcfuckin’ royalty.

Tay goes to jab a finger in her direction and then note the horror in her eyes.

What?

Glancing at her hand, with a sinking feeling in her gut, she realize that she’s...fading. Turning to dust. Then she look back at Nakia, and her eyes are wide, huge and glassy, as she reached out to her and despite the argument the argument that y’all were just having, Teyana reached back, up to her elbow has disappeared, distengrated. 

Teyana still tries to touch her. Tell her that she’s sorry. Anything...!

Then, blessedly at the end, in no time at all,

Darkness.

[thesleepiestspiny]

Imprisoned Once More

  As the construct that contained the six chosen rushed to the opened gate, Mezalmeron tailed behind them.

 He didn't even NEED to kill them. His entrance into the world was assured either way. He could tear it asunder before they had a chance to turn around. But they had earned His scorn. He would ensure they stayed together, if they desired unity. Stuffed into a single prison where they would sustain Him.

As they cleared the gate, those observing the portal stared in horror as a massive claw grabbed the edge, followed by a carapaced, pointed leg. The void god dragged himself out of the portal, hand outstretched to catch the group. That's when he heard a noise resound through the minds of all those present. That of the young Heartmender.

"NOW!"

And that's when Gaianyx sprung from the earth, wrapping the ends of her tail around his claw and leashing herself to the earth with her power. "Pitiful fragment," he bellowed "You could barely hold me for mere moments the first we met." As He began pulling against her grip. She could feel her spine being tested as she did her part.

"We need only mere moments." she said in a voice that almost sounded like a growl.

It is then He saw the night sky... Blink.

The accursed voidwalker. The one who controlled space.

He tried to duck back through the portal, but Gaianyx's grip was strong. He resorted to holding the portal open with his bare strength, a feat he managed rather well.

It was then that the chosen circled back around. Now that he was at least partially in the mortal world, he had weight. He had mass that must be very delicately balanced on those pointed legs, Aquaria reasoned. Using all the strength they could muster, they pulled his foot loose, and caused his grip to slip. He had just enough time to see the portal close as he tried to turn away.

It closed directly over His body, directly down the middle. And kept closing.

It was then that for the first time anyone had known, they had heard Him scream in pain. And Everyone, had heard it. It resonated throughout the world as the collapsing gateway tore his body in half almost completely lengthwise. For a moment, the eye they could see darted between the gods present. The orange gem of an eye locked onto the tiny white and green goddess and the silver-clad construct next to her.

It looked. Sad.

As the body began to collapse in on itself, reverting to a glob of dark matter that balled up tighter and tighter until it disappeared, leaving only an orange, pulsing diamond that seemed to contain the entirety of it.

Miraluna moved forward to inspect it as it seemed to gently drift away from her. From his perch, Kitumbron opened a gateway behind it, allowing it to rest in a pocket prison.

"You will have time to examine it later, Heartmender. For now, we must tend to the chosen to grant them their bodies once more."

... "Of course, Voidwalker."

----------

Within the pocket dimension, the core of a god's soul waited. A space of absolute darkness, save for itself, was all that existed here. Mezalmeron had himself been fragmented. It could be argued he himself didn't exist anymore.

This terrified it, but not nearly as much as the introspection it was forced to go through, with no other stimulation than its own memories.

It looked back on everything Mezalmeron had done. It remembered that tiny voice in his head. The one that had only grown weaker since he killed his sibling.

It remembered, because now that voice was all it could hear. All it could be.

It knows it should feel free. But all it feels is regret. Regret, and fear.

It wanted to say sorry. Just as it had wanted to so, so many times before. But it knew that was their call to make.

But as the fragment had resigned itself to its prison, it heard something. The familiar, almost silent sound of spacial distortion. The Heartmender had entered the darkness. Her cloak was blinding in comparison.

"...I need to know." she said, plainly. Her hand gripped her weapon, clearly prepared for an attack as her halo churned like gears behind her. "Why you were doing this."

She approached carefully. The core seemed. To tremble at her approach, even if it made no effort to move. She gently placed the tips of her fingers against one of the faces of the orange diamond, and felt a rush of emotion as usual. But she didn't sense the rage she expected.

Miraluna saw fear running rampant at the sight of a red and yellow marble in space. She saw terror, hearing about the creation of life. Terror at the idea of being replaced. She saw anguish as a vision of herself and the chosen drifted into view, and the only reaction to the pain of being destroyed being that of resignation.

She stumbled backward.

"You... you were. Scared?"

She heard a low, ashamed chime. A 'yes'

"Scared, of being replaced by us?"

That same broken 'yes'

She sighed as she gently rested a hand on one of the diamond's faces, as if placing a hand on someone's shoulder. As long as she'd heard of the void god, as long as she'd seen him, he had been rage and evil incarnate. But what laid before her was anything but.

"...Are you Mezalmeron?"

.... A long. Pregnant pause. As if thinking.

'i dont know'

"...Do you feel like you're him?"

'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help' 'yes' 'i dont know' 'help'

A black tar began to drip from it as it quaked. Miraluna's eyes widened as she fumbled to use a wave of her power to try and calm the fragment. That. was a panic attack, she was pretty sure. All of this began to remind her of what Armerane described the separation between him and his alter had been like. Like being locked away in the back of your head, unsure what thoughts were even yours. With that, she got an idea.

..."Do you remember everything that happened?"

'yes.'

"Do you regret what you'd done?"

'yes' 'yes' 'yes' 'yes' 'yes'

"...Would you want to make up for it?"

'yes'

She nodded. All of those answers were very immediate. This was something she'd have to talk to the rest of the Pantheon about.

"Would you be okay if I left for a time?"

Another long pause. 'yes'

She gave it a gentle rub on the 'shoulder', and moved backward slightly.

"Thank you for answering my questions. I'll be back soon."

With that, she turned around and slipped through the invisible gateway she entered from. And the fragment waited for its sentence.

[sasorikigai]

" it's not the same without you. " - ( Jade )

'𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦' 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴. || @reliquice || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || In Hanzo Hasashi’s darkest hour, when he finds no blooming flower amidst the private rose gardens in his residence, when his fate feels set in stone, and particularly when he feels alone despite numerous allegiances around him with same aspirations for the realms, his inner demons take the lead. His wounded mind again does bleed, and at closer look, one could see his mind is scarred, all the while his path to redemption is barred. As his psyche slowly drifts away from the safety’s shore, these unknown regions never frighten him all the more, lest the weariness sits in his gut as if it will split and tear him asunder to naught. Yet, Grandmaster Hasashi’s defiant resolve becomes the wafting embers, never giving away the ravaging havoc of furious storms perpetuating his being, as his restless soul distorts in a wicked, twisted way. 

Off to the unknown land his sails were set, and Hanzo dod not even notice yet. The Outworld’s inhospitality as as infamous as the Nether’s, and the pyromancer would have long accustomed to the fathomless dark, as the harrowing wind blows gelid and merciless. Yet, he sails on, with his Phoenix’s plumage, not reckless and impulsive as Scorpion, the vengeful, hellbent wraith on a death wish, but as a reborn, reforged, and revivified mortal human who could be more like an immortal, but never impervious nor invincible (regardless, still with a death wish). Despite the odds stacked against him, Hanzo Hasashi had endured drowning beneath the sanguine squelch of pummeled stillness, akin to desiccated leaves rotting, the stagnant puddle emitting the stench of death and decay. Perhaps it was his tormented heart and soul crying out an animalistic roar, shattering the window of silence and sending ominous crows into flight. Their shrieks could be heard, echoing against his eardrums, as his thousand yard stare lingered atop the snow-capped mountain peaks in the long distance. Probing and fueling the campfire before him with his extended bare hand, his persistent gaze travels back to the reality, breaking his deep introspection. 

“I feel the brutal wind of familiarity against my clothed skin, and I constantly struggle with livid bruises, bones dislocated and flesh swollen, yet no orchestrated thrall of disconcerting violence would truly perish me, dare to plunge me into the inevitable finality of death,” there would be no saving grace for him, as long as the cleansed hellfire burned in tandem with his scarred kintsugi heart, along with his indomitable soul. Subconsciously, Hanzo Hasashi still contemplates and wonders - too often - what would happen if he simply stayed here, on this nice, cold ground of Outworld, forever. He shifts, relishing the wavering kaleidoscope of colors, as he visibly struggles to straighten himself, resuming his ramrod posture. The familiarity of excruciating pain may cause him to look so pale and terrible, with embedded misery of forgotten terror causing significant anguish upon his chiseled countenance. However, it was the memories of Harumi and Satoshi that kept him bay with unconquerable strength and will, with a certain sense of pride as he would think of the happiest day of his life when he held infant Satoshi in his arms, with Harumi’s hand clutched tight in his much larger one. 

“I could say the same of your land. Outworld has been upturned to manifest itself as the eternal battleground, of harrowing dominion,” he could never conceal the heart-wrenching bitterness tinged upon the gravel of his timbre, echoing sensitivity and desperation as his fingers smooth over the bandage around his torso, tightening the end to secure the knot. “I am only a mortal warrior who willfully participates in endless feats of strength and endurance until my time comes to exit this world. Until collapse, until I have to accept that my failure and shortcomings are final, or I may not even exist as I continue to live in struggle among the curdled screams of the suffering. I will do whatever takes to manifest the scorching flames of my soul, to challenge the barbaric brutality of the likes of injustice.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[rushsongreviews]

Rush Song Reviews 034: Cygnus X-1 Book II: Hemispheres

LISTEN HERE  

Song Title

Cygnus X-1 Book II: Hemispheres

Album

Hemispheres

Year

1978

Lyrics

PART ONE: PRELUDE

When our weary world was young The struggle of the ancients first began. The gods of love and reason Sought alone to rule the fate of man. They battled through the ages, But still neither force would yield. The people were divided, Every soul a battlefield.

PART TWO: APOLLO (BRINGER OF WIDSDOM)

"I bring truth and understanding, I bring wit and wisdom fair, Precious gifts beyond compare. We can build a world of wonder, I can make you all aware. I will find you food and shelter, Show you fire to keep you warm Through the endless winter storm. You can live in grace and comfort In the world that you transform." The people were delighted Coming forth to claim their prize They ran to build their cities And converse among the wise. But one day the streets fell silent, Yet they knew not what was wrong. The urge to build these fine things Seemed not to be so strong. The wise men were consulted, And the Bridge of Death was crossed In quest of Dionysus, to find out what they had lost.

PART THREE: DIONYSUS (BRINGER OF LOVE)

"I bring love to give you solace In the darkness of the night, In the heart's eternal light. You need only trust your feelings; Only love can steer you right. I bring laughter, I bring music, I bring joy and I bring tears. I will soothe your primal fears. Throw off those chains of reason And your prison disappears." The cities were abandoned, And the forests echoed song. They danced and lived as brothers; They knew love could not be wrong. Food and wine they had aplenty And they slept beneath the stars. The people were contented And the Gods watched from afar. But the winter fell upon them And it caught them unprepared, Bringing wolves and cold starvation, And the hearts of men despaired.

PART FOUR: ARMAGEDDON (THE BATTLE OF HEART AND MIND)

The Universe divided As the heart and mind collided, With the people left unguided For so many troubled years. In a cloud of doubts and fears, Their world was torn asunder into hollow hemispheres. Some fought themselves, some fought each other. Most just followed one another, Lost and aimless like their brothers, For their hearts were so unclear, And the truth could not appear. Their spirits were divided into blinded hemispheres. Some who did not fight Brought tales of old to light. My Rocinante sailed by night On her final flight. To the heart of Cygnus' fearsome force We set our course. Spiraled through that timeless space To this immortal place.

PART FIVE: CYGNUS (BRINGER OF BALANCE)

I have memory and awareness, But I have no shape or form. As a disembodied spirit, I am dead and yet unborn. I have passed into Olympus As was told in tales of old, To the city of immortals, Marble white and purest gold. I see the gods in battle rage on high, Thunderbolts across the sky. I cannot move, I cannot hide, I feel a silent scream begin inside. Then all at once the chaos ceased. A stillness fell, a sudden peace. The warriors felt my silent cry And stayed their struggle, mystified. Apollo was astonished; Dionysus thought me mad. But they heard my story further, And they wondered, and were sad. Looking down from Olympus On a world of doubt and fear, Its surface splintered Into sorry hemispheres. They sat a while in silence, Then they turned at last to me. "We will call you Cygnus, The God of Balance you shall be."

PART SIX: THE SPHERE (A KIND OF DREAM)

We can walk our road together If our goals are all the same. We can run alone and free If we pursue a different aim. Let the truth of love be lighted, Let the love of truth shine clear. Sensibility, armed with sense and liberty, With the heart and mind united in a single perfect sphere.

Summation of song in one sentence

The mind requires balance between wisdom and love

Best Lines

Apollo was astonished; Dionysus thought me mad. But they heard my story further, And they wondered, and were sad.

We can walk our road together If our goals are all the same. We can run alone and free If we pursue a different aim. Let the truth of love be lighted, Let the love of truth shine clear. Sensibility, armed with sense and liberty, With the heart and mind united in a single perfect sphere.

Worst Lines

None.

Overall song impressions/thoughts

So all that bitching I’ve done in the past about hating science fiction and fantasy? I’m going to be a hypocrite and say that I love this song. As a matter of fact, of all of Rush’s “long” songs, this is my favorite. I know that this is blasphemous, but I like this song more than 2112 

Why?

I struggle with remaining objective and rational while still trying to engage with others personally and emotionally. Trying to find a balance between wisdom and love is a universal trait in all of us. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s argued when the disembodied spirit of the explorer from Cygnus X-1 Book 1 is deemed the god of balance by Apollo and Dionysus.

I love everything about this song (the music and the lyrics) when the explorer catches the attention of Apollo and Dionysus. There’s a sense of triumph in emerging from the black hole of Cygnus X-1 and bringing balance to the two hemispheres of the mind.

This song (and the Hemispheres album as a whole) almost broke the band, but it also marks a shift from pure science fiction and fantasy towards a more introspective, humanistic approach to lyric writing.

And if there’s anything we here in the United States need right now1 it’s a balance between the heart and mind.

Ranking

5 Hentor Sportscasters out of 5

Up next: “Circumstances”

1. I’m really trying to avoid political statements, but it’s hard to do right now considering the state of political discourse in this country in 2017.

Originally published August 27, 2017

[central-and-remote]

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Literature, Literary Theory, Deconstruction, Alternate Universe - College/University, Kinda, College Student Eren Yeager, Writer Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Angst, Depression, Existentialism, Introspection, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Rated Explicit for later chapters, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, omg this sounds so depressing, i swear it's not that depressing, probably a little bit depressing, Smut, goddang it Summary:

“There is something tempting about chaos. Perhaps it is the falling apart, the loss of control, the disorder, the lack of form - is that it? The desire to fall apart? Why does one want to fall apart?”

The cultural and political hegemony of Jaeger Press House faces an unexpected challenger when a new author appears in town. Levi Ackerman's 'Metaphysics' rouses interest in many of Shiganshina's citizens, but the reaction it sparks within the young student Eren Jaeger may turn out to have greater consequences than anyone could have foreseen. Levi Ackerman is the master of taking things apart, of dismantling, of deconstruction; and he might just tear everything asunder - for better or for worse. ____

so I actually finished this fic !! who would have thought ! not me !! you should really go read it !

[taiinted]

WHAT TAROT CARD ARE YOU?

THE LOVERS. 

The bounty of your heart is abundant. warmth extends from your fingertips, and your smile has the power to light the darkest of rooms. your presence is a comfort– a gift– it is something to be cherished. just beware of stretching yourself too thin; a heart cannot be full if it is constantly emptying itself for the benefit of others. extend that mercy to your own heart, so you may continue to love and let yourself be loved. your chest is not an empty cavity. / NUMBER: 6 / UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices / REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

tagged by. @demcnsinmymind ( I sort of stole it )  tagging. @shotgunshellsandfeathers @monarchdream @malka-lisitsa @hauntrcss​ @hebled​ @demonstigma​ @historylived​ @blccdharmonyx​ @hellsickle​ @divineflares​ @sunsymbols​ @iincantatorum​ @dieangelo​ @xxxlovedandlostxxx​ @itsagentzero​ @desafrey​ @viagothedandy​ and anyone else who sees this. 

[blackkudos]

Frankie Knuckles

Francis "Frankie" Nicholls (January 18, 1955 – March 31, 2014), better known by his stage name Frankie Knuckles, was an American DJ, record producer and remixer.

He played an important role in developing and popularizing house music in Chicago during the 1980s, when the genre was in its infancy. In 1997, Knuckles won the Grammy Award for Remixer of the Year, Non-Classical. Due to his importance in the development of the genre, Knuckles was often known as "The Godfather of House Music."

Career

1970s–1980s

Born in the The Bronx, Knuckles and his friend Larry Levan began frequenting discos as teenagers during the 1970s. While studying textile design at the FIT, Knuckles and Levan began working as DJs, playing soul, disco, and R&B at two of the most important early discos, The Continental Baths and The Gallery. In the late 1970s, Knuckles moved from New York City to Chicago, where Robert Williams, an old friend was opening what became the Warehouse. When the Warehouse club opened in Chicago in 1977, he was invited to play on a regular basis, which enabled him to hone his skills and style. This style was a mixture of disco classics, unusual indie-label soul, the occasional rock track, European synth-disco and all manner of rarities, which would all eventually codify as "House Music." The style of music now known as house was of course named after a shortened version of the Warehouse.

Knuckles was so popular that the Warehouse, initially a members-only club for largely black gay men, began attracting straighter, whiter crowds, leading its owner, Robert Williams, to eschew membership. He continued DJing at the Warehouse until November 1982, when he started his own club in Chicago, The Power Plant.

Around 1983, Knuckles bought his first drum machine to enhance his mixes from Derrick May, a young DJ who regularly made the trip from Detroit to see Knuckles at the Warehouse and Ron Hardy at the Music Box, both in Chicago. The combination of bare, insistent drum machine pulses and an overlay of cult disco classics defined the sound of early Chicago house music. A sound which many local producers began to mimic in the studios by 1985.

When the Power Plant closed in 1987, Knuckles played for four months at Delirium in the United Kingdom. Chicago house artists were in high demand and having major success in the UK with this new genre of music. Knuckles also had a stint in New York, where he continued to immerse himself in producing, remixing, and recording. 1988 saw the release of Pet Shop Boys' third album, Introspective, which featured Knuckles as a co-producer of the song "I Want a Dog."

Work with Jamie Principle

In 1982, Knuckles was introduced to then-unknown Jamie Principle by mutual friend Jose "Louie" Gomez, who had recorded the original vocal-dub of "Your Love" to reel-to-reel tape. Louie Gomez met up with Frankie at the local record pool (I.R.S.) and gave him a tape copy of the track. Knuckles played Gomez's unreleased dub mix for an entire year in his sets during which it became a crowd favorite. Knuckles later went into the studio to re-record the track with Principle, and in 1987 helped put Your Love and Baby Wants to Ride out on vinyl after these tunes had been regulars on his reel-to-reel player at the Warehouse for a year.

As house music was developing in Chicago, producer Chip E. took Knuckles under his tutelage and produced Knuckles' first recording, "You Can't Hide from Yourself" Then came more production work, including Jamie Principle's "Baby Wants to Ride", and later "Tears" with Robert Owens (of Fingers Inc.) and (Knuckles' protégé and future Def Mix associate) Satoshi Tomiie.

1990s–2010s

Knuckles made numerous popular Def Classic Mixes with John Poppo as sound engineer, and Knuckles partnered with David Morales on Def Mix Productions. His debut album Beyond the Mix (1991), released on Virgin Records, contained what would be considered his seminal work, "The Whistle Song", which was the first of four number ones on the US dance chart. The Def Classic mix of Lisa Stansfield's "Change", released in the same year, also featured the whistle-like motif. Another track from the album, "Rain Falls", featured vocals from Lisa Michaelis. Eight thousand copies of the album had sold by 2004. Other key remixes from this time include his rework of the Electribe 101 anthem "Talking with Myself" and Alison Limerick's "Where Love Lives".

When Junior Vasquez took a sabbatical from The Sound Factory in Manhattan, Knuckles took over and launched a successful run as resident DJ. He continued to work as a remixer through the 1990s and into the next decade, reworking tracks from Michael Jackson, Luther Vandross, Diana Ross, Eternal and Toni Braxton. He released several new singles, including "Keep on Movin'" and a re-issue of an earlier hit "Bac N Da Day" with Definity Records. In 1995, he released his second album titled Welcome to the Real World. By 2004, 13,000 copies had sold.

Knuckles played as resident DJ at Genesis (Osaka, Japan) for one year (probably in the late '80s or early '90s).

Openly gay, Knuckles was inducted into the Chicago Gay and Lesbian Hall of Fame in 1996.

In 2004, Knuckles released a 13-track album of original material – his first in over a decade – titled A New Reality. In October 2004, "Your Love" appeared in the videogame Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, playing on house music radio station, SF-UR.

Death

In the mid-2000s, Knuckles developed Type II diabetes. On March 31, 2014, he died of complications from the disease in Chicago at age 59.

In April 2015, a year after his death, Defected Records released a retrospective compilation, House Masters Frankie Knuckles, the tracklist for which had been selected by Knuckles before his death. Also, the same month, as a tribute to Knuckles, a version of his song "Baby Wants to Ride" was released by Underworld and Heller & Farley to mark the year anniversary of his passing. It went straight to number one on the UK's first ever Official Vinyl Singles Chart. All proceeds will go to the Frankie Knuckles Trust / Elton John AIDS Foundation.

Awards and honorable recognition

In 1997, Knuckles won the Grammy Award for Remixer of the Year, Non-Classical. In 2004, the city of Chicago – which "became notorious in the dance community around the world for passing the so-called 'anti-rave ordinance' in 2000 that made property owners, promoters and deejays subject to $10,000 fines for being involved in an unlicensed dance party" – named a stretch of street in Chicago after Knuckles, where the old Warehouse once stood, on Jefferson Street between Jackson Boulevard and Madison Street. That stretch of street, called Frankie Knuckles Way, "was renamed when the city declared 25 August 2004 as Frankie Knuckles Day. The Illinois state senator who helped make it happen was Barack Obama." In 2005, Knuckles was inducted into the Dance Music Hall of Fame for his achievements.

In media and popular culture

Films

Knuckles was featured in the documentary films Maestro (2003), written and directed by Josell Ramos, The UnUsual Suspects: Once Upon a Time in House Music (2005), directed by Chip E. and Continental (2013) about the Continental Baths.

Games

October 2004, "Your Love" appeared in the videogame Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, playing on house music radio station, SF-UR.

Selected discography

Releases

"Rain Falls" (single)

"You Can't Hide from Yourself" – CBS Records

"Tears" (single) Frankie Knuckles presents Satoshi Tomiie – FFRR

"Your Love/Baby Wants to Ride" – Trax Records

Beyond the Mix – Virgin Records

"The Whistle Song" – Virgin Records

Sessions Six – Mixed by Frankie Knuckles – Ministry of Sound

Choice: A Collection of Classics – Azuli Records

"Keep on Movin'" – Definity Records

Remixes

"Change" – Lisa Stansfield

"Someday (I'm Coming Back)" – Lisa Stansfield

"Never, Never Gonna Give You Up" – Lisa Stansfield

"Let the Music (Use You)" - The Nightwriters

"Turn it Out - Patti Labelle

"Deep Love" – Dada Nada (Robert Ozn) (Remixed by Knuckles and David Morales)

"Power of Love/Love Power" – Luther Vandross

"Left to My Own Devices" – Pet Shop Boys

"This Time" – Chanté Moore

"Happy" – Towa Tei

"Let No Man Put Asunder" – First Choice

"Ain't Nobody" – Chaka Khan

"Watcha Gonna Do with My Lovin'" – Inner City

"Talking with Myself" – Electribe 101

"The Pressure Part 1" – Sounds of Blackness

"Where Love Lives (Come on In)" – Alison Limerick

"I Want a Dog" – Pet Shop Boys

"Notgonnachange" – Swing Out Sister

"Time Will Tell" – Nu Shooz

"Because of Love" – Janet Jackson

"Love Hangover" – Diana Ross

"Let Me Wake Up In Your Arms" – Lulu

"Bring Me Love" – Andrea Mendez

"Rock with You" – Michael Jackson

"Scream" (remixed by Knuckles and David Morales) – Michael Jackson

"Thriller" (remixed by Knuckles and David Morales) – Michael Jackson

"You Are Not Alone" – Michael Jackson

"Closer Than Close" – Rosie Gaines

"Un-Unbreak My Heart" – Toni Braxton

"I Don't Want To" – Toni Braxton

"Sunshine" – Gabrielle

"Baby I" – Ariana Grande

"I'm Going to Go" – Jago

"Blind" – Hercules & Love Affair

"You've Got the Love" – The Source featuring Candi Staton

"Million Dollar Bill" – Whitney Houston

"Forever Came Today" – The Jackson 5 (Released On The Remix Suite)

"Wrong" – Depeche Mode

"Don't Wait" – Mapei

"Reflections" – Isabel Rose

"If I Fall" – Myon & Shane 54 with Cole Plante

Wikipedia

[thepowerofyourotherhand]

From Chaos to Calm: Drawing and Collaging Our Way Through COVID-19

The anxiety we have all felt in the face of coping with COVID-19 is universal. To one degree or another we have all felt it. Anxiety comes in many colors and themes. It may appear as fear of the unknown, of living in highly unpredictable times and with circumstances out of our control. Then there is the fear of coming down with the virus. For many millions, panic about financial survival weighs heavily. Many are scared about day to day challenges, such as schooling children at home, finding much needed supplies that have become scarce, or care-giving sick family members (whether they have COVID-19 or not). We all need ways to release this build up of anxiety from the body and mind. If we don’t, our immune systems can be weakened (the last thing we need right now). As Dr. James Pennebaker’s research shows, writing about trauma or crisis strengthens our immune functions. My research with children showed that drawing and writing about anxiety has health benefits. (Edinburg School District, Edinburg, TX, Jefferson Elementary School, 2013-14.) I’ve also observed that creating collages depicting chaos, followed by collages of calm, can bring about a deep state of inner peace.

Scribbling it out Scribbling with both hands, as well as writing with the non-dominant hand, are great ways to shed anxiety is bottled up in the body. Using both hands for these stress scribbles helps balance my brain and appears to regulate the nervous system.

Letting my non-dominant hand add words can help as well. The looser the writing, the better. Sometimes a simple image will tell the whole story, as in this “Long windy road” scribble when I realized that sheltering in place could last awhile.

 When scribbling out my stress I always find that I draw my way to another mood, one of acceptance and calm. The colors often change, as in this stress series when red and black suddenly turned to yellow and blue. I was also healing from a collar bone fracture and bruised arm and found that all the scribbling I had done made my shoulder and arm feel much better. On the last drawing, I wrote, Mending the Fracture.

Collage: Feelings piece by piece Another great medium for dealing with anxiety and chaotic feelings, is collage. The very act of tearing images out of magazines is cathartic. Sometimes the subject matter in the photos expresses accurately how we feel. That was certainly the case with these photos of trash from an article in National Geographic. Just recognizing how the photo depicted my jumbled up feelings was healing in itself. But I went even further and scribble my mixed feelings out onto the next page, forming the background for more photo fragments of trash.

The words, Finding Our Way to the Future, amidst all the chaos of COVID-19 jumped out at me from the magazine pages. There was something positive we could do. Shelter in place, wear masks in public, protect ourselves and others from this mysterious virus, which was turning up new symptoms every day and striking new unsuspecting populations, like the young.

On the facing page, I placed a photo of the cosmos torn asunder. I got the feeling that this too would pass. The split seemed to represent a big divide between “life before COIVD -19” and “life after COVID-19”. I had not idea what that meant logically, but my intuition said there would be a big sea change in our lives. And yes, it would be a “trip on the wild side” as the words stated.

As usual, this morphed into another mood and a new message on the next page. Holding pictures of underwater images and a deep sea diver with the caption, Get a clearer picture of the… inspired me to write the words…Inner World. That’s what all this chaos and stress were leading me to. I added to the left, Healing through travels in Inner world. After that I wrote Visions of the heart.

It was clear that sheltering in place while also recovering from a fractured collar-bone were forcing me inward. Time to introspect, feel my feelings, and listen to my heart. At that moment I noticed a Get Well card from a friend siting to the side of my work area. The sentiments were perfect for this moment. So I glued the card into my journal. The words, Time and rest, gentle healing, and a deep-down cared-for feeling!…echoed exactly what I needed at that time in my life.

Later on in my journal I expressed the “vision of my heart” by creating collages of places and scenes I associated with peace and well-being. Safe and beautiful places I’d been to in Hawaii and other spots on the planet.

This led to a collage I call, Calm, that speaks for itself. A cozy, safe sanctuary in which to rest, relax and recover.

  For more activities in scribbling and collage, please see my books: Drawing Your Stress Away and The Art of Emotional Healing. These journal pages also appear at my YouTube channel, Lucia Capacchione, in the series: The Creative Journal Goes Viral - Part 4. Lucia Let us know what you think of this post in the comments below. Follow us and be updated by email when new blog posts are published.   www.luciac.com www.visioningcoach.org Order The Power of Your Other Hand (Conari Press 2019) at Amazon.com via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dp3JRR

[taiinted]

──   Top  5  song  associations, share  the  top  songs  in  your  playlist  that  most  inspire / represent  your  muse  the  most. Bonus  points  if  you  include  lyrics  to  go  along  with  it.  

1. Hostage of love  ━━  Razorlight.  I am a sinner And I am a saint I am a devil I am a ghost at the wake I feed the swell and pull Of your tears as they break I am the limit of The load you can take. 

2. Ashes  ━━ Celine Dion.  What's left to say? These prayers ain't working anymore Every word shot down in flames What's left to do with these broken pieces on the floor? I'm losing my voice calling on you  Cause I've been shaking I've been bending backwards 'til I'm broke Watching all these dreams go up in smoke.

3. Ride  ━━ Lana del rey.  Don't break me down (Don't break me down) I been traveling too long (I been traveling too long) I been tryin' too hard (I been tryin' too hard) With one pretty song (With one pretty song) I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast I am alone at midnight Been trying hard not to get into trouble, but I I've got a war in my mind I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes It's all I've got to keep myself sane, baby So I just ride, I just ride

4. Iris  ━━ Goo goo dolls.  And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't wanna go home right now And all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life And sooner or later, it's over I just don't wanna miss you tonight And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

5. This night  ━━ Black lab. There are things, I have done There's a place, I have gone There's a beast and I let it run Now it's running my way There are things I regret That you can't forgive, you can't forget There's a gift, that you sent You sent it my way So take this night And wrap it around me like a sheet I know I'm not forgiven But I need a place to sleep

TAGGED BY. No one. TAGGING.  @demcnsinmymind @demonstigma​ @luposcainus​ @starlyht​ @ofwondersandhares​ ( Sean ) @manneatcr​ @historylived​ @iincantatorum​ ( Devlin ) @itsagentzero​ @spiritsfound​ @korinthiakos​ @rassilcn​ @seesgood​ @hebled​ @blccdharmonyx​ and anyone else who sees this.

[taiinted]

rulesㅤ: make a new post and spell out your url with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your urlㅤ!  

This night -  Black lab Ashes - Celine Dion  Its all coming back to me now - Celine Dion  I don’t love you - My Chemical romance Numb - Linkin Park  The animal - Disturbed  Everlong - Foo fighters  Desire - Meg Myers 

tagged by: @demcnsinmymind  ( thank you <3 )  tagging. @heartxshaped-bruises @xxxlovedandlostxxx @magicnerd @creelsclocks @halfdevils @blccdharmonyx @itsagentzero @richardxoliverxmayhew @malka-lisitsa @gormez @maliignant and anyone else who sees this.