#(the things that exist on this strange and wonderful planet ...)

[goldensunset]

*gets hit over the head with a cartoon anvil* oh dude i just had a thought. out of all of darkrai’s various villainous schemes? the one and only thing he actually successfully accomplished ended in him indirectly saving everyone. sick.

hero and partner would have never met if it weren’t for his attack. and if they had never met or bonded? whole entire story turns out different. the lack of the relic fragment obviously would prevent hero and grovyle from being successful for one thing. especially when you consider grovyle didnt plan out the whole ‘finding the hidden land’ thing in advance clearly and just in general he could’ve solved lots of problems if he had honestly told the people of the past what he was trying to do and earned their help. like clearly these two weren’t great at reaching out to people if that never even came up in the plan

but even further than that… if hero hadn’t fallen into a strange new world with a blank slate and no connections other than grovyle, here with only a mission and a firm resolve for a heroic death… nobody would have been there to mourn hero or grovyle after their disappearance. either no one would’ve known they existed or they’d be branded as criminals. (and i wonder how long after their defeat it would’ve taken anyone to realize what they did. probably until the time that had stopped in those various regions started flowing again.) and even if the world had forgiven them? it was partner’s grief specifically that saved the people of the future. dialga heard that cry of heartbreak and changed things because of partner’s deep longing. you couldn’t have gotten that without true friendship. and by extension the other people of the future lived because of that. dude.

if hero and grovyle had been strong enough to overcome him and succeed in their original plan somehow they would’ve also saved the planet but like they would have killed themselves and everyone they knew and would have hardly minded because all they would’ve known was darkness and bitterness (other than celebi of course) and they would’ve been ok with it. but the way it happened instead was everyone got to enjoy the new beautiful world of light. hero and grovyle were separated but like. at least they’re both alive and they have the hope that the other might be alive too and they have other friends now too. better than both being nonexistent… darkrai’s plot redirection caused a ton of angst but ultimately all he did was accidentally introduce a lot more Power Of Friendship into the narrative and that’s exactly what fixes everything

[threadbare-art]

Where I come from is a world of bone and dust No need to change or readjust Where the plight of human beings is ignored And all I am is always bored!

[letoasai]

The Youngest Ancient

An idea where the JL has gotten word from Green Lantern that a planet has been destroyed. That threat is headed for Earth. 

We could blame it on Darkseid despite the fact that i don’t actually know if that’s within his power set. Bad guy of your choice. Keeping it vague works too. 

Danny finding out that one of his planets is gone and he’s not having it. 

~~

They were short on time. Monumentally short on time. Usually everyone would look to Batman in a situation like this. It wasn’t like his numerous contingency plans were a secret. The problem was time and an overall lack of information about the coming threat. All that was clear was the fact that Earth was in danger. 

Not even a normal, run of the mill danger, but the planet bleeding out of existence kind of danger. Supposedly it could happen so fast that the citizens of Earth wouldn’t even know it had happened. 

“There’s always begging an Ancient for help.” Constantine muttered, lighting another cigarette. As many members of the League as possible had gathered but brainstorming could only get them so far. 

Multiple gazes snapped to him but it was Wonder Woman who spoke first. “You think petitioning the gods would be a wise course of action?” 

“Could be the only course of action.” Flash muttered though no one looked happy about it. 

“Nah, it’s a much crazier idea than that.” Constantine said flatly. “We’re not talking about any of those old hats we’re used to dealing with. I mean an Ancient. Their powers are next level stuff. Above the gods on the totem pole, if you will.” 

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “You want to bring in a complete unknown.” 

“I want the planet to fucking be in the same spot tomorrow, mate.” Constantine snapped back. They were out of time but he evidently had more practice at being reckless then the rest of the League. “Heard tales of a new baby Ancient. A likable kid that has many of the heavy hitters doting on `em. Word is the baby Ancient is rather agreeable. Makes deals. Likes to explore. That kind of thing.” 

“Baby Ancient.” Superman repeated, clearly hearing the oxymoron in that title. “How does that work?”

“Well they gotta come from somewhere, don’t they?” Constantine shrugged. He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to ask. 

“I’ve heard the same rumors.” Zatanna heaved a sigh, adding credence to Constantine’s claims. “Even if they can’t do anything themself, they might have enough pull with one of the other Ancients that can.” 

Flash clucked his tongue. “We literally have everything to lose if we don’t do something. If no one else has any other ideas then we need to give it a shot.” 

“How long do you need to prepare?” Batman asked, his frown obvious. He never fully liked ideas that he didn’t have a hand in.

Constantine sat up straighter, taking a pull from his cigarette and already looking exhausted. “Gimme an hour.” 

“I’ll help.” Zatanna said, already standing. 

“Forty minutes then.” 

~

The light of the summoning circle was hard to look at. It was like a mini supernova right in front of them. The colors would have been amazing to look at if anyone could have opened their eyes to see it. 

When it dimmed, leaving only a toxic looking green glow around the circle, a young boy floated in the center. His hair was white and flowed even in the tightly air controlled Watch tower. The freckles across his face seemed to glow just like his green eyes. 

He was cute, and couldn't have been more than fifteen. He wore a skintight black suit, calf high white boots, and had a strange looking thermos hanging off his belt. So this was a baby Ancient. He looked utterly perplexed. 

“Um…” He blinked, taking in every member of the Justice League slowly.

“Welcome to the Justice League Watch Tower.” Wonder Woman said, ever the diplomat. “We apologize for summoning you on such short notice.” 

“Oh. Okay.” He was still blinking owlishly before his eyes locked onto one of the windows that currently had a vast view of space. The boy all but purred at the sight. “You can call me Phantom. What do you want?” 

“You’re the new Ancient?” Constantine asked without as much tacked.

Phantom sighed, shifting to sit even as he floated. “So they tell me. I didn’t know there was going to be a superhero test.” 

“We summoned you to request assistance if you are able to give it.” Batman said, taking over. “A threat is coming to destroy the Earth and we don’t have much time. Is there something in particular you would want in payment?” 

“Besides souls.” Constantine muttered which subtly alarmed everyone within earshot. 

“Destroy…Earth?” Phantom repeated slowly, head tilting. It was slowly occurring to everyone that maybe a baby Ancient really was too young to deal with something like this. “Why?”

Green Lantern sighed, arms crossed. “I’m likely the cause. Earth is the home base for Lanterns in this sector. The previous planet destroyed was also a home base.” 

Phantom’s eyes jerked up, his full attention on Green Lantern. “Previous planet destroyed? Where?” He paused, “And when? I have been feeling a little off.” 

No one knew quite what to make of the strange comment, but Lantern continued anyway. “A planet in the neighboring sector, 2813. It has been eight days, and before long, that threat will be here.” 

“Is it possible you know of a way to prevent the destruction of Earth?” Wonder Woman asked, but Phantom seemed distracted. 

He removed his gloves and was looking at the back of his hands. When that didn’t seem to tell him what he wanted, he tugged on his sleeve, making the fabric go invisible in small sections so he could easily look at his skin beneath it without the cumbersome task of rolling his sleeves up. 

He was covered in glowing freckles, just like on his face, but one by one the League members took notice of the way they moved. Phantom would twist his arm one way and then another and each set of freckles would be replaced by a completely new set of glowing little spots. When that didn’t show him what he wanted, he kept looking, checking both arms first before moving down his chest slowly. 

The League could do nothing but watch the strangeness before them as their follow up questions went ignored. 

When he got to a spot under his ribs, Phantom screeched. “It’s gone!” 

“Phantom…?” 

Phantom looked out the Watch Tower window, his face morphing into one of fury. His eyes shined brightly and whatever he was looking for, he clearly found. 

“T̢̜̞̮ͭ̓ͫͦh̨̻̼͓͓̜ͭ̈͆ȃ̴̩ͅtͯ̚͏͇̮̖̙ ̡̭͎̝̟͇͙̏ͣ̑͛m̵̭͉͈̳̟͎͈̲̋̋o͈̮̫͓̪͔͐͠t͉̬̉͒̈́ͪ͠h͉̠̭͓̞͎̺͓ͥͥ͘e̅͗̔̿҉̞̪̺̮̗̜r͙̪̼͈̐̉͞ ̫̥̳̿̾͒͑͞f͔̟͈͍ͯ̊̏́ù̶̯̬̫͈͕c̲ͣ̓̿͠ͅk̦̘̖̭͕͉̹̥̈̍̈́ͤ͘e͚̬͗͡ͅr̛̤̩̺͂̃̇̉ͅ.”

To say the Justice League was surprised by the shift in the boys tone was an understatement. 

“Yeah, i’ll stop your threat.” Phantom growled, easily leaving the summoning circle. He shifted right through the wall and directly into space without a care. 

Silence filled the room, no one entirely sure what they’d done by summoning a baby Ancient. “So that happened.” Flash commented. “Are we still planning for doomsday?” 

“We’ll see…” Constantine muttered. “Though if that kid gets hurt, might be bad for the universe.” 

“Not what we wanted to hear, John.” Wonder Woman said, looking out the window. Nothing looked unusual to her. 

~

In an hour's time, Phantom returned just as distracted as he’d been when he’d left. He remained seated in the air as he held what looked like a cracked marble in his hands. It was surrounded by a mist, and inside sparked with many different colors. 

Phantom seemed to be sealing the crack, a smile on his face. 

Batman was the one to approach, and if he was anxious it was hard to tell. “Phantom.” He greeted cautiously. “You’re back.”

“Uh huh.” Phantom said, eyes glittering happily at the marble. “I got rid of your problem. Earth is safe.” 

“Got…rid of.” Batman repeated slowly, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. 

“So we’re good?” Flash asked. “Good work, kid.” 

“Yeah, he deserved it.” Phantom said, finally cradling the smooth marble in his palm. 

Constantine was still smoking, but his eyes were narrowed. “Do i wanna know what you’re doin’?”

Phantom beamed. “I got my planet back! It was a little broken but i fixed it.” 

“Your planet?” Green Lantern repeated, adrenaline hitting him. “The destroyed planet!?” 

“Yep.” Phantom looked pleased with himself. “Now i just gotta set it back in time eight days to get everyone back on track and i can put it back where it belongs.” 

“Put it…back.” Batman seemed to have trouble with the skill set of one teenager.” 

It was Superman who slid closer with a disarmingly charming smile. “May i ask what kind of Ancient you are. I admit i don’t know much about them.” 

Phantom perked up. “I’m the Ancient of Space!” He ignored Constantine’s groan from across the room. “I’m really glad you guys called me about this! It would have taken me a while to find a planet destroyed out of the natural timeline.” 

“And you have time abilities?” Wonder Woman asked softly. Time and Space was a heady combination. 

“Nope! But Clockwork does.” Phantom said. “He’ll do it for me.” 

“Will he?” The Flash stared. 

Phantom didn’t seem to notice the incredulous looks. As far as he was concerned, everyone was simply taking his explanations in stride. Tilting his head back his eyes shimmered with power. “Clockwork!” he called, voice reverberating oddly. No one missed Zatanna paling or Constantine cursing. No one had time to ask either before a tear appeared just to the right of Phantom. It split the very air apart in a green haze before a portal opened and a man floated out. Wrapped in a purple cloak, the man floated like Phantom did but had a ghostly tail instead of legs and off putting red eyes. 

He had a staff donned with clock gears and mechanisms that ticked in an unsettling way. No one needed an explanation, which was good because Constantine wasn’t going to give one. 

This was the Ancient of Time. They had two Ancients in the Watch Tower. 

Phantom didn’t seem bothered and held out his marble with a smile. “Fix!” he asked cheerfully. 

Clockwork turned from what appeared to be an adult man to an elderly man in the blink of an eye. “You know time is sensitive, Phantom. Not everything can be changed on a whim." 

Phantom’s smile lessened. He looked back and forth from Clockwork to the marble and back to Clockwork again. “I’ll cry. Swear to the Ancients, i’ll start crying.” 

The elderly Clockwork shifted back into the form of a young man. “Do you think tears will alter the timeline?” 

Batman smiled, almost. He knew a mischievous teen trying to get his way when he saw one. That theory proved correct when Phantom honestly did begin to sniffle, eyes becoming damp. 

“An asshole destroyed a piece of me.” Phantom said, lips wobbling. “I felt it. I didn’t feel good.” 

Clockwork’s form shifted again, this time into the form of a young child. He heaved a sigh, “If you start weeping you’ll summon the others.” 

Phantom nearly whimpered, holding out the marble still. Every member of the Justice League watched with bated breath. 

Clockwork crossed his arms. “How far back do you want it?” 

“Yay!” Phantom beamed immediately, impressing upon how young he must have been. “Eight days! Actually, maybe nine. That might be better for them. I’m sure the…Green Lantern…people… can explain that they lost little more than a week in order to be brought back. That’ll be fine, right?” 

Green Lantern was too stunned by the question to answer but it was fine since it seemed to be rhetorical coming from the young Ancient. 

Clockwork turned back into an adult and held his staff out over the marble Phantom held. There was no discernible change other than the hands on the staff’s clock face moving. Phantom was nearly bouncing in place which was interesting to see considering his feet weren’t on the floor. 

“Thank you, Clockwork!” Phantom said, looking delighted and completely missing the way Clockwork just sighed fondly. 

“Hurry along home before the yeti’s start to look for you.” Clockwork said in a fairly familiar tone. 

“Yes, yes.” Phantom said distractedly, tossing the marble up in the air where it disappeared. He tugged at his black suit right over his ribs and did the same invisibility trick again. He shifted twice until he found the patch of skin that held the group of freckles he wanted. 

No one was close enough to see for themselves, but Phantom crowed happily. “Good! It’s back where it’s supposed to be!” 

“It’s back?” Batman asked, a hint in his voice saying he had a hundred more questions. 

“Yep.” Phantom said. “It’s really annoying to me when someone destroys one of my stars or planets before their natural life cycles have worn out.” 

“Is that a map of the galaxy on your skin?” Wonder Woman asked, charmed by the constellation of freckles across his nose and under his pointed ears. 

“No.” Phantom said. “It’s a map of every universe on my skin. They overlap so sometimes i gotta hunt for the one i want a little.” 

“Every…” Superman sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him. 

“Come, Your Majesty.” Clockwork said, opening a shockingly green portal with his staff. “You’ve had your fun.” 

“Okay, okay.” Phantom mumbled. 

“Majesty?” Zatanna whispered, confusion coloring her tone. 

Phantom whipped back around to look at her with a sheepish grin. “Ah, yeah. I’m the King of the infinite Realm. Let me know if anyone else messes with one of my planets! Bye now.” 

The Ancients departed and Constantine started wheezing. 

“I take it no one knew the baby Ancient was a king?” Flash asked, a very startled silence taking over the Watch Tower. 

~~

I know i originally said that the planet had been destroyed but that somehow turned into it being eaten or absorbed or something so Danny got it back. 

I really just wanted Danny to find a missing planet on his skin and freaking out over it. 

Feel free to take this idea, though i’m sure something like it exists already. ^__^

Master List

[yandere-wishes]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡Acolyte⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

𐙚Yandere! Qimir/The Master x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: Your loneliness is suffocating, engulfing. Qimir is the only one who seems to subdue the pain. But every forbidden fruit has its price.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, gore, angst (at the end), author having an anxiety attack over this fic  

🪐Note: Why is the longest thing I've ever written for a fandom that barely exists? Anyway, here's the long-awaited Qimir piece!

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : Disturbia - Rihanna, Dark Vacay & Motion Picture Soundtrack - CAS

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🍓⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your master's anger is tangible. You harbour it stubbornly on your tongue. Relishing in the frustration. You aren't sure how many times you've cut out your soul to place at a master's feet. Gnawing on perfect lips to keep quiet during another scolding. Your new master's disappointment reverberates through the room. Thick and oozing like an infected wound.

You messed up again.

"We do not injure other padawans during training. We do not lash out and attack, especially when your training partner has fallen. How have you trained for so long without comprehending these basics?"

The rage that boils inside you is not Jedi in nature. It's something else, a bizarre second, something ancient, ghoulish. An all-consuming fire that burns inside your veins. It shouldn't feel so welcoming, so familiar.

You roll your eyes.

"With all due respect master. How is one to win, if they do not strick when given the opportunity? That too should be a basic notion, no?"

You see the anger snake across your master's face. A defeated, disgruntled, glance that you've become a bit too acquainted with. This is the look that all your previous masters give you. And yet none have yet to master its eeriness quite as well as your first master. Master Sol.

Your master sighs, a piercing noise, deflating every ounce of his willpower. You are exhausting to be around, his annoyance is becoming discernible. "Master Sol is coming by the temple to check your...progress. He's requested a few items to take back with him. Please go fetch them from the apothecary."

Progress is a gentle word and Jedi love using gentle words. It's easier to say than the full truth. Sugar-coated things always taste better.

But the sugar refuses to stick to you.

It burns away in your bitterness.

Coruscant is a distant memory, it was never your home to begin with. But the high bustling volume is something that is hard to forget. Here things are quiet, you slip through the bazaar undetected. Small basket clutched tightly. You wonder what's dragging your former master halfway across the galaxy. You wonder if it's really just to see you.

You gaze blankly at the holographic list. A few rare herbs and some medical roots. This planet grows them in abundance, and the local apothecary carries more than its fair share.

The apothecary is an old, disheveled thing. The older Jedi say that its presence is as old as the temple itself. Odd how some things have a will of iron. You gently rap at the worn metal door, waiting for an invitation to enter. The hinges cry as the door opens ever so slightly. You squeeze in, surveying the cluttered den. Careful to avoid the half-empty bottles and neon puddles scattered across the floor.

"Excuse me" your voice holds an urgent annoyance. Where is the pharmacist? What kind of store owner abandons their shop in the midday? You run your fingers across the strange bottles, letting your nails pick at the murky glass. The colors flash, begging to be freed, strange space pinks, and summer oranges all trapped inside square prisons. Baby poisons dying to taste the world, burning it if they must, but experiencing it nonetheless, tasting their own form of freedom. Funny, they almost remind you of yourself.

Trapped and fatal.

"Hello?", the voice behind you is languid, dozy. Mirroring a late afternoon nap. When the man next speaks you notice a lyrical lint "What brings you here little lady?". You turn to see it, the voice, or rather the man harboring the voice. He's loosely robed and shaggy in the way that only the most spirited vagabonds are. He smiles tenderly upon seeing your face, strange red fruit caught between his teeth. "I um...I" you click your tongue anxiously against the roof of your mouth. Feeling around for those pesky words, in the end, you just shove the hologram holder forward, hoping he'll understand.

"Oh, I see, out here doing some chores?" You nod, mind preoccupied with the otherwordly fruit. "what's that?" you ask, schoolgirl curiosity lacing your voice. "What, this?" he asks holding the freckled thing between his fingers, it's only in the mild light that you notice the shimmering gold scattered across its red skin. The stranger laughs, walking closer, he places the hologram base on the black table, clicking it on as he studies the list. "They're called strawberries. They're from the forest planets, not many grow here in the mid-rims." He's nimble as he packs the herbs and roots, fumbling with the straw ties. "care for a bite" he asks, handing you the bitten fruit.

Hesitantly you bite.

Letting the sweetness erupt on your tongue.

"Thank you" you mumble trying not to moan at the foreign taste. The stranger laughs, it's a cheery noise like birds chirping in first bloom tress. "you're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asks stepping around the table, eyebrows furrowed, caught in a dream he doesn't seem to understand. You choke on the rogue static as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded dreaming of nothing. "Here..."

"Wha-" your voice catches in your throat, it's getting harder to breathe.

"Your supplies" He hands you the brown paper bag, motion a little too phlegmatic to be right.

"Oh, right...thanks" You anxiously shove the bag into your basket and scurry out of the shop. Holding your breath.

"Come back soon." the voice chirps behind you.

Your old master arrives by spaceship, a newer, albeit worn model. The landing pad ejects to reveal a small escort.

Master,

Knight,

Padwan,

Apostate,

You stand still watching as they descend. Bits of envy bubble in your throat watching your former master and his band of little heroes. You wish you had their belonging. Forgoing the loneliness to find kinsmanship with your coterie. You swallow down the bitter thoughts as they finally approach you.

Master Sol's smile reaches his eyes. Gentle and wise. The true epidemy of a Jedi in every sense of the word. Funny how he now has two failures under his belt. None of which are capable of scratching his shining repute.

His hands are on your shoulders, bright smile. "My padawan, it's been too long." You try to bow, awkwardly and stiffly. "Mater Sol, I'm grateful you've come to asses my progress". If he hears your doubt he doesn't show it. Instead, he reintroduces you to Yord, Jacki, Osha.

You try to be polite. Gulp down the awkwardness

You imagine the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Remember their stiff sweetness and prickly tasteless freckles.

You smile. Easier this time.

They'll stay here for some time. Hunting assassins and documenting progress in their free time. Jacki seems more invested in your training than you are, trying to teach you everything she knows. At least she doesn't mind the rough play, the violent strikes, and sloppy prideful defenses. She speaks in pointers and parries. She's the one to drag you along these assassin hunts. Welcoming you...or at least trying to.

But there is something else at play. Darker, broader, Sol and Jecki welcome you into the fray. Yet you still feel your old master's hesitance, he's still wary of you. Worried about your anger, your defiance.

The distance grows, some icy void.

Sol used to tell you fairytales. This was back when you'd been young and bright-eyed. Freshly welcomed into the order and still overflowing with artless hope for a colorful future.

But even back then, he had known there was something wrong with you.

Looking back it was evident.

Every story started and ended the same. Little princess against the big bad world. Holding out until her prince came along. Only problem was the morals never registered right in your little messed-up brain.

Why didn't the princess fall for the dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones? Why didn't she swoon and sigh over someone rousing, compelling? A paradox wrapped in black ember? Why settle for a sun-painted prince, with no complexities, no mysteries to unravel?

You would have married the dragon, or the wolf, or the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

Even back then, it was evident something was wrong.

The temple's roof isn't restricted per se.

It's rather abandoned as opposed to forbidden.

Maybe that's why you find solace here. The abandonment feels familiar, similar. The chipped cement kisses the soles of your feet, you imagine it's something like walking upon the rough terrain of a star.

You breathe in the night air deeply.

Expecting the fragile scents of moonshine and star glitter.

Instead, you choke on heavy mist and blood-drenched air.

The thing standing in front of you isn't human. It can't be human. It's created from the blackness, ebony in all the ways a living thing shouldn't be. For a second you think you're staring at a black hole. No doubt this creature crawled out of one.

What sheer willpower one must need to drag themselves out of endless nothingness?

"Little Jedi should not brave the night alone."

It speaks

"There are far too many monsters roaming in the dark"

Its face never moves, statue in all the ways the figures towering over the entrance aren't. This statue is something else, a lost page to some forgotten epic. Carved from gems born in darkness. Evil and rotten.

"What are you?" your voice susurrate, quivering in this surreal scene. The air is thicker now, overflowing with raw static.

Your fingers itch for your saber. Only when the cold metal kisses your palm do you regain some semblance of reality.

The hiss, the green light.

The figure chuckles.

Its voice bouncing from every direction. Everywhere all at once. When it speaks the air cackles, raining as if it were a frightened child.

"I am something akin to you, another child of the force" His voice comes out distorted, uneven in tone. "I am what's birthed when one learns of the true strength of the force."

Your body moves on its own, feet kicking the ground sprinting faster and faster before the final leap. You aim for the helmet, for the morbid toothy grin permanently etched within steel. In a flash the word stills, floating around you like fluorescent bubbles, the rain tumbles around you, curving and diving for the wet ground. It dares not land on something within his grasp.

You feel the slithering across your body. They start from the ground, summed from the unknown depths. Clinging firmly to your ankles before inching up your knees, your hips, your neck.

long, slipper tendrils curling around your body. The figure watches, bare arm outstretched. You should probably be focused on how the unseen things are inching closer to your mouth. Not on the toned muscles and limber fingers of the monster. Not on how, for a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile appears genuine, caring, aimed straight at you.

Only You

They finally reach your lips, prying your teeth ajar and flooding your mouth. Sinking deeper and deeper into your soul, your mind, you.

The smile grows.

In a blink you're suspended in the space between worlds, dark damning thing cradling your body.

"The dark side once belonged to the Jedi, yet they chose to discard it. Deeming it malignant, ungovernable."

Your weightlessness unnerves you. You're malleable in this void.

"Those few who embraced its calling were dubbed Sith." He says the word with such fervent pride. Devoted to it's weight and all it carries. You try to roll the word off your own tongue only for it to burn the roof of your mouth.

The stranger stalks closer, lethal and lithe.

The void vibrates, the darkness bends to his will.

He reaches down to cup your face. His fingers feel warm, welcoming. You nuzzle into his palm, fighting the urge to kiss each finger and suck on the dark force they emit. "You..." he starts, his voice shakes you to the core. Its horror amplifies with the proximity. You wonder if it'll cut through steel, armor, flesh.

your flesh.

"You aren't like the other temple dwellers. You have potential."

His thumb presses your lower lip, demanding entrancing. You comply, needing to feel something solid.

Something you've been denied your whole life.

"They keep you locked away. Trading you between craven masters. Seeing who can tame you first."

He nicks his thumb on your teeth,

Pressing bone into dentin.

His essence drips into you.

He tastes of power.

Of dark, dreadful things you can not name.

"They do not know how to train you. How to use your power..."

The world crumbles, ebony midnights giving way to reality. You feel yourself fall, plunging through the air like a comet bent on destruction.

"They only break you further"

Your knees collide with the harsh ground. Skin splintering in the aftermath giving way to bruises and bloodmarks.

The ground feels too solid beneath you.

A poly, a ruse.

You all but expect to melt through it. Slipping and falling into the vacuum, into him, once more.

He hovers above. Absolute in his strength. You're beginning to believe that blackholes birth divinity. Eyes shimmering with fanatic fidelity, staring up at the holy creature commanding the storm.

"Teach me..."

You've never begged for anything so terribly in your life.

But you need this.

this power

this control.

him.

Sol never told just how the princess met the villain.

He never said it wasn't love at first fright.

Sol insists that the local apothecary knows the truth behind the Jedi-killer. Definite that the unseemly man can tell you something important. He sends Osha inside to play Mea. To get the man to talk.

You crowd around the communicator urging back giggles. Yord's chin is placed upon your shoulder and Jecki's cheek rests against yours. Their touches come so early. And yet they are utterly alien.

"He will be so pleased." No sooner have the words chime from the corroded speakers that Sol is ushering you all towards the small metal hut.

Yord entwines his fingers with you as he runs.

Jacki wraps around your arm.

You feel at times they are trying to tame you.

Befriend the feral puppy they found in the backyard.

The apothecary's face is utterly stunned. He's stammering over his words fear glistening in his eyes as he stares at Sol. "Please, please don't wipe my memories. Or whatever it is you Jedi do." A rosy blush colors your cheeks, at his terror. It's terribly amusing seeing someone so carless, anxiously list off everything he knows. You almost feel bad for the poor scared man.

There isn't anything important here. But Sol decides that you will all return at midnight. The Jedi-killer will be back. Apparently, Qimir -that's his name, that the strawberry-eating, disheveled pharmacist's name- is holding something of value for her.

There's a tug on your wrist as you go to follow the others. Gentle and firm as he pulls you to his chest. "Come by tonight. I'll have some strawberries waiting for you." why does he feel too genuine? When you turn to look at him, he's painted in his usual sweet carefree smile that tugs at your heart.

He looks so innocent...

Starlight really brings out his eyes. He's laughing with a nervous smile,

School-boy crush on full display. You're licking strawberry juice from your hands as you listen to him talk. Backs pressed against the rusty wall and bodies half sprawled in the dirt. He's telling you about the first time the Hutts made him retrieve a plushie for their son from another solar system.

Qimir's voice feels like rose peddles melting into your skin. Sweet, jejeune, free. You offer him a berry from your pile. Watching tentatively as he submerges the red fruit into his mouth. Missing your fingers by an inch. He's laughing after the fact, head thrown back as if he's about to engulf the stars. You decide to laugh too.  

"Are you really that lonely," he says in a voice that's almost not his own. You're not expecting the invasive question, although you guess he means well. The words still cut deep. Piercing through the laughter, stunning you for a breath too long. "No...I'm a Jedi, we do not-"

"Form personal connection. I know...But you just look so lonely." He shuffles closer, the dirt particles almost look celestial in this light. Your fingers pitch a civil war. Pinching and clawing at each other. "No, yes. I don't really get along with the others." He rolls his eyes, bored and amused in the same breath. "Yeah, no wonder your money." He's picking at another strawberry, letting the crunch fill up the silence. You're beginning to think he just likes having something to chew on. Gulping down the anxiety with something toothsome.

He's a little closer now, fingers gingerly tucking back your hair. His fingerprints reverberate across the shell of your ear. Lips gliding against yours. You swallow as his lips fall across yours, pushing sweet stars past parted lips. He tastes of odd things, whimsy things. Everything you'll never come to understand. Xeno fruits and asteroid fields. His fingers glide up your arms, leaving moondust in their wake. He slowly parts, holding you softly with his soulful dark eyes

"You taste so sweet"

Strawberry, Starberry, You kiss him a little too deeply.

Maybe your new master is right.

Maybe there are other ways of being a Jedi.

The movie playing is doused in shades of rose and lilac. Gentle in all the ways. Everyway. The twi'lek girl is in love with the zabrak boy and their families do not approve. You think you remember Sol telling you a similar tale.  

The makeshift auditorium is cozy. Brown couch housing the three of you and your armada of blankets and popcorn buckets. Jacki's head is in your lap, you're playing with the end of her braid imagining the hair to be the lace of a Love-sick girl's ballgown. Yord's arm traverses the length of your arm, absentminded as he studies the motion picture, poking holes in the lose rose-tainted plot. Your head rests against his broad shoulder taking in his new cologne.

Maybe you really did miss them.

Jacki reaches for the popcorn, offering you some before shoving a handful into her mouth. You think the little symmetry-less kernels would taste better with a strawberry glaze. Qimir flashes across your mind, smiling sweetly as he tilts his head.

You think you're a little too similar to the star on screen.

Pinning after forbidden love,

Forbidden power.

Master Sol is growing acutely aware of your drastic improvements. He's noticed the betterment in your offense, your defense. To the way, you wield your saber, your techniques, and yourself. There is esteem in the way he smiles. In the words of praise, you've longed to hear. But you notice the lingering glances, the undertone of skepticism and worry when he asks about practice. He doesn't need to know of the black-glad creature that trains you in the unholy hours.

He doesn't need to know how beautifully your new master sculpts your rage into lessons. Teaching you how to wrangle the force and control it. How to use it to make the world bow.

These things will remain secret. For you fear Sol and the others will strip them of you. Strip them of the new master you've come to worship.

"Do you think people glow when they fall in love?" Jacki's voice is filled with sleep. Eyes closed as she murmurs remnants of movie memory. "No, I don't believe they do" you answer. "too...bad" There was a yawn there darling and vigorous like the rests of her. She looks so sweet like this, infantile in all the ways she can't be. Little girl dreaming of something impossible. You wonder if Sol's told her the fairytales too. You kiss the crown of her head, your baby sister you think. And big brother Yord, snoring with his head thrown back.

Maybe you should test her theory. rising softly from the couch you make your way to the door. Throwing one final glance at your sleeping siblings. Before going to find Qimir.

His lips ghost over yours, spilling star-clad secrets between each kiss. The apothecary has never been so dark, so secret, so secluded. Qimir's lips glided across your neck biting the flesh and licking the little diamond droplets of blood. Your nails rack across his spine, the wool of his throw-over itching the backs of your hands. "So precious" he mumbles, voice ridden with want, need. it's criminal how desperately he needs to feel you. You writhe under him, "Qimir, kiss." you whine. His lips feel like a lifeline, something keeping you sain. He pushes fireflies and lava pearls inside you, carving you open and enjoying you

He always enjoys you.

It's foggy outside when his tongue clashes against yours. A thick unsettling mist banging against the darkened window. "You're custom-made for me" Qimir mumbles against your lips. "Custome tailored" you boldly correct. "ummm, sure" his hands pinch at your hips, clawing mindlessly and leaving tails to your thighs. But the sensations are growing distant, you hear the heavy hum of saber activation. You psyche cracks

The world is dark,

He alone is absolute.

Your master's mask flashes dangerously across your mind. "Master Sol would be disappointed". You've heard that line a million times. Still, the words cut a little too deep coming from your demiurger. "Gullible" you don't understand, what have you done to earn his rage? He's gone, leaving you in the emptiness, you taste the charcoal from the landscape under your tongue.

Still, you long to call after him.

"Master"

The darkness subsides with the feeling of softness across your muscles. A breeze stirs you from the clutches of slumber. "Good morning" Qimir chirps, soft smile greeting you as you open your eyes. "Qimir, when did I?" he laughs, it's such a pretty sound this early in the morning. Sweet like caramel tea. He kisses your forehead. His quietude is commendable, he tries to calm you with feather-light kisses. You laugh pushing the covers away and still. Frozen.

What's this

The nightgown is lacy and short. It drapes expensively against your skin. Marring it with its tenderness. "Qimir, what's this!" he chuckles, "I couldn't let you sleep in those robes, they looked uncomfortable." You want to argue, to scream, and be angry. But the rage boils down slowly as you notice something dangling around your wrist. A bangle, and an anklet you notice later, black and gold entwined in patterns mirroring lighting stricks. "They're from Korriban, I had some relatives there." oh, why does that planet sound so familiar? "Thanks, but ask me next time before you go playing dress-up doll with my sleeping body" He pouts and can't help but trail a string of mouthy kisses across his neck. Qimir shuffles pulling you onto his lap. Pushing his nose under your chin. His eyes are honey-deo, adoring and scheming. "But you're mine." The possessive ness that flesh across his face is alarming. So is how tightly he grips your waist. It's only in this state of half-undressed that you begin to notice the taut muscles of his arms.

During your most recent lesson, your master gifts you a ripe juicy strawberry. He says it'll focus you, replenish your wither strength. You eat it a little too quickly, forgetting to savor the pink blush within. You believe too ferociously in everything your master says.

He can never be wrong.

You love the way your new master splatters blood across your sleeves. Be it yours or his enemies. He's started taking you out on his kills, having you watch as he hacks and mauls. His enemies must die, no one who doubts such marvels should be granted the privilege of life.

He's only ever spoken in half-riddles.

"Unfortunately legacy is a fickle thing. Tenacious, fervent, yet frail and erratic. No matter how hematological, we all read our bones differently."

The rain falls to your ragged heartbeat. Fast one minute and slow the next. You stick out your tongue desperate for a few drops. Your body is on fire, every muscle pushed to its limit. But the Force is screaming inside you, thumping dangerously between your fingers. You're ready for the next round. Saber ready and only half mesmerized as your master pulls out another blood-red saber. You charge, rage pumping deliciously through your body.

You forget to ask him where he got the berry from.

The next Jedi to die will be Kelnacca. That's why Sol is dragging all of you to the forest planet of Khofar. You think the name is utterly hilarious, the others don't understand the mirth.

Between briefings and Jacki and Yords packing quarrels. You sneak out to say goodbye to Qimir. Scribbling a half eligible not to leave for your master. But the apothecary is deserted upon your arrival, only a taped note on a half-full mortar.

'Gone to get more Strawberries.

Be back soon.'

You wonder if Khofar has strawberries.

Strawberry, Starberry, you're falling between the cracks of so many.

The Sun on Khofar is red, barely breaching the thick canopy. Maybe it's for the best. This scene is not one to remember, but how can you make yourself forget?

Death looms.

Permanent, Eternal

The fighting began in twilight.

The sky has grown two shades darker since.

He had floated in from the high reaches. You'd almost called out to him, 'master', the words die bitterly on your tongue. His saber ignites in the carnage, light growing redder after each kill. The bodies fall haphazardly stirring the quiet night.

Your saber falls onto the woodchip ground. No sound. He has followed you here. Yet it is not you, he seeks. Your master mask is haunting, in the dark the silver mouth glows bright white. Even against a massacre

the smile never relents.

He twirls the red saber with lethal accuracy, red arc severing another life. 'Take the right!' Jacki screams through the force, her eager voice bouncing inside your cranium. 'Don't' you scream but she's already attacked.

Saber sings saber.

Golden light flickers.

Forward. Backward. Lunge. Parry. Flunge.

Just like you practiced. Back in the quiet of the training room. Is it too late to return to the matted ground and wooden swords? Too late for safe comfort?

You won't take it for granted this time you swear.

Your master attacks with vicious zeal, cutting through the light. His black robes bleeding into the night. Jacki, scurries backward, trying to block with every ounce of strength. In one swift move, she spins freeing herself and assaulting his head with the metal of her weapon.

The mask clutters to the ground.

You scream.

He looks every bit the villain here. Blood drenched, water drenched. Smiling like the wolf in a child's picture book. Qimir's face stares back at you, hair matted to his forehead. He's panting, spent. You've never seen him toil. Dreaming him incapable of harm.

Yet he stands above the corpses. Wolf's teeth bared as he slices through the little girl.

It's been years since Master Sol tucked you into bed. Years since he's read you a story and listened to your baseless questions about romances.

You've finally gotten your answer. Painted in a shade of red indistinguishable from black.

Because the villain is too vile to be loved.

You run, catching the limp corpse before it joins the rest, you cradle her close. Tears landing on the orange of her face. There are no strawberry romances here. No sweet forbidden fruits. Just pain, hollow, empty, rotten. "Jacki" your voice muffles into her robes, rain-soaked, tear-soaked.

"Was that its name?" his voice doesn't sound right. No cheerful hellos or drowsy laughs. It's all menacing now, grating and hollow lilt. "Qimir" you wail, sob half caught in your throat. "It can't be you." He shakes his head, smile crooked and maniacal. "I'm afraid so, little one." The force pushed you up, pulling you to him. Qimirs head tilts, his fingers dancing around your throat. Squeezing squeezing squzing. Your glossy eyes take in his unruly appearance. Even now your master looks utterly perfect. Muscles relaxed as he steals your breath. "Master" you whine, your heart shouldn't be hammering like this, leaping through beats like something lovesick.

"(Y/n)" golden light fills the clearing. Yord runs, Prince Charming in every way you should have loved.

Qimir releases you, only to nestle your neck in the crook of his arm. "Don't worry darling. I'm almost done." He blocks the first attack.

Second, third. Yord scrambles to pull you away, missing each time. "Let her go" The urgency in his voice rattles you. He did love you.

Little sister, little princess.

Why is only starting to make sense now?

There's a crack, so loud it echoes across the woods.

"NO"

Yord's body joins the rest.

no no no

"Where were we?" Qimir is every bit the villain.

The dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

"You lied to me, you killed them. Why, why would you do this."

"Because the Jedi say I can not exist." Sith, right those things were supposed to be evil. Hailing from Koriiban, the evil Jedi forced to flee. And here you were having so readily given yourself to the enemy.

The blood flows free in the rain. Dozens of bodies drained.

There's a river of blood. You kneel by the holy thing, dipping your cupped hands into the crimson. You drink deeply from the massacre thinking it'll taste sweet. Qimir pulls you in holding your throat as he submerges you.

Baptized in blood

The world flashes red.

It feels so free here. Floating weightless, letting everything be. The rage can not find you in these depths. Free like an adrift astromech. Free to float amongst the stars.

When you emerge again. The world has grown brighter. You see the wide-eyed bodies, even Sol is among the dead, you swear you see disappointment in his lifeless orbs. You gulp, swallowing the euphoric faint. You see your new master before you. Swimming to him carefully, following the gentle tug of the force. Prey meets predator. Qimir chuckles, the water is shallow by the banks. He sits awaiting, on his makeshift throne.

There is no sympathy here you should know better

"You took adorable" Qimir rasps. Hot breath fanning your ear. "Master Qimir" you mumble shifting as he pulls you onto his lap. He laughs this is submission, a breath away from grasping his desire. He cups your cheeks, drifting his hands to your shoulders. Pulling you closer, bodies melting into one.

His kisses still taste like strawberries. Sweet and metallic. All possession and domination. Biting lips and tongue and flesh. Spilling fresh poison with each snip of your neck. He licks the blood from your fingers with feral pleasure. Swirling his tongue around each digit and pulling it further down his hungry mouth. You swallow the darkness from his tongue, letting him snuff out the little embers of light. The stars are burning away bit by bit. He pushes you under again.

Mornings on Khofar are dark, caught in a perpetual twilight. Qimir wraps his robes around you letting the midnight sink into your bones. "The ships a bit of a walk. But we should be there before noon." You paddle after him. Fingers lashing awkwardly at his hand. He turns and offers you that tilted smile once more, mask bouncing in his free hand.

"Master qimir" you confess, it feels so light on your tongue. Like clutching dying white-dwarf-stars behind your teeth. He chuckles, snapping a berry from a nearby bush. His smile sings of triumph, victory, earned in blood. He places the fruit amongst your teeth. You, his little war prize.

"My little acolyte"

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku

[wonderjanga]

Billy and Bars

Now, as you probably know, most of the time Billy is ages 8 to maybe 15 (that’s what I’ve seen anyways) and of course, his Captain Marvel form looks like an adult. So, it wouldn’t be strange for an adult to ask another adult to go to a bar with them. Which is why Billy is caught in a dilemma. On one hand, he could just say no, but after a long mission where they’d all spent like two days on an alien planet under constant heavy fire from a cute and cuddly, yet surprisingly bloodthirsty race? It’d be weird not to accept. They might suspect him for being a kid! And boy, Billy does not want that. But on the other hand, he’s not of legal drinking age.

He ends up going with them anyways. Now, all the heroes are sat at a dingy bar in Central City, out of costume, of course. Though, some of them cough Bruce cough Diana cough Arthur cough and you can’t forget Billy, still in Marvel form. (He took a page out of Supe’s book and wore glasses. He’s also for some reason wearing Hawaiian print. (He didn’t have actual adult clothes and needed to borrow from a bargain bin))

Billy thankfully found a loophole for this whole mess. That’s right, this guys gonna be sipping virgin margaritas for the rest of the night. And, he try as many flavors as he wants because you wanna know the best part? Bruce is paying for everything! If Billy could jump in joy, he would. It didn’t matter that Hal was a little obnoxious when drunk off his mind. He’s dealt with worse and it’s not like it’s all that bad. He’s kinda funnier than usual this way. He gets the spend the rest of the day with people he considers friends, that’s all that really matters.

GL: “Dude, why do you keep ordering virgins?”

Crap. What does Billy say to that? Right off the bat, Billy ignores Solomon’s first, and quite frankly, wild lie to tell.

Marvel: “Hmm? Oh uh… I… like the way they taste…?”

He’s a bad liar.

Aquaman: *drinking beer* “Try again, bud.”

Okay… It looks like he might have to listen to Solomon after all. Gosh dang it.

Marvel: “Uhm… I kinda used to maybe sort of might’ve had an addiction and had to go to AA a long time ago.” *Sips drink*

He was always better at lying when the lie was already prepared.

*Whole table goes silent*

Marvel: “Uh… I’ve been sober for a while. Like…” ‘Twelve years, Billy,’ Solomon supplied in his head. “…Twelve years.”

*Table is still silent.*

Flash: *Interrupts silence by slamming hands on table* “Dude! You cannot keep dropping Marvel Lore Bombs™️ on us like this!” (Btw this is the same universe as the Marvel Compilations post. I didn’t mean to write it like it was the same universe but I might as well connect them cause why not)

Marvel: “Whaddya mean?”

Superman: “Well, Marvel…” *scratches back of head* “You kinda have this tendency to… Gosh, how do I put this?”

Martian Manhunter: “You drop obscure information about yourself at random times.”

Wonder Woman: “Then you just go about your day like you didn’t say it in the first place. For example Cap, you can’t just tell me that at some point you were an Amazonian, you were there for my birth, and then just walk off.”

GL: “Marvel, how old are you?”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuhhhhhhh….”

Batman: “You date back to having existed before Mesopotamia. I want to know the answer to that question Marvel.” *Bat-glares Billy while sipping from his drink.*

Bruce was definitely going to add the AA thing to his quite small folder on Marvel.

The night continues on with the other members of the JL grilling Billy for more information about himself, which Solomon helps with by either supplying him with lies, or with things previous champions did. By the time the night was over, Billy never wanted to go to a bar again. He unshazamed in an alley and went home to his little place. He bee-lined to his sleeping bag and just when he was about to fall asleep, something popped into his mind:

‘Why didn’t I just say I didn’t like the way it tastes?’ That thought kept him up for a couple more hours.

[qqueenofhades]

i registered to vote for the first time ( i feel old) now that im an adult but my state has closed primary elections which i was wondering if you have an opinion about. my initial thought was that its bad because i had to register democrat (rather than my states green party which represents my beliefs more) just so i could vote between democrat candidates, which feels like being pressured into supporting the weird pseudo two party system we have. but then i looked it up and apparently a reason for this is so that people from opposing parties wont purposefully mess up the votes just so that their preferred candidates have an easier time winning, and i think that makes sense too. but is that actually the reason theyve closed it or is it just to force us dem/republican?? cause it feels strange

Okay, look. I respect the fact that you're a young person, and I appreciate that you have not only registered to vote, but plan to vote in the primaries, so I don't want to lecture you too much. That said: I am taking you out for coffee, I am sitting you down, I am looking into your eyes, and I am urgently telling you the following:

The Green Party is a scam. It is a scam. It has existed for decades in American politics as an empty shell corporation weaponizing the good intentions of young people like yourself, because all it theoretically stands for "it's good to save the planet maybe." Which is not something that any non-insane person seriously disagrees with, but there is no world in which that cause is actually furthered by registering/voting Green (you mentioned that you did vote for Democrats, which -- good, but listen to me here, youngun, okay?) It ran Jill Stein in 2016 to siphon more votes from HRC, and this election it plans to run Cornel West, a pro-Russian tankie who positively equated Bernie and Trump, as another spoiler candidate. It does not stand for "protecting the planet" or America in any real way. It has never elected a single senator or congressman, let alone a president. It stands for empty performance/grievance political theater by those people who feel too morally superior to vote for/affiliate with Democrats, often because the internet has told them that it's not Cool or Hip or Progressive enough.

If your main priority is climate/the environment, you're doing the right thing by registering as a Democrat and voting for Democrats. (Also: the adjectival form is Democratic. It is the Democratic party and Democratic candidates, otherwise you sound like the Fox News host who wrote a book literally entitled "The Democrat Party Hates America.") They are the only major party who has in fact passed major climate legislation and have made environmental justice a central tenet of their platform. As opposed to the Republicans, whose Project 2025, along with the rest of its nightmare fascist prescriptions, openly pledges to completely wreck existing climate protections and forbid any new ones, just because we weren't all dying fast enough under their death-cult rule already. That's the main logical fallacy I don't get among both the Online Leftists and the American electorate in general: "the Democrats aren't doing quite enough as I'd like, so I'll enable the active wrecking ball insane lunatics to get in power and ruin even the progress we HAVE managed to make!" Like. How does that even make sense?

On a federal level, the Greens have contributed nothing whatsoever of tangible value to American or international climate policy/legislation, environmental justice, or anything else, because as noted, they don't have any elected candidates and mostly focus on drawing voters away from Democrats. There might be plenty of good candidates on the local or city level, which -- great! Vote away for Greens if they're available, or the only other option is a Republican! But on the federal/primary level, please understand: once again, they are a scam. There is no point in affiliating yourself with them. You're welcome to register Green and vote Democratic, if that makes you feel better or if you prefer having another label next to your name, but once again, I'm telling you in my position as a salty Tumblr elder that they have done nothing but harm to the causes they claim to care about, because "environment" is such a nebulous priority and has demonstrably been hijacked to stop the American government entity, i.e. the Democrats, that is actually working to improve on it.

As for your question: nobody is "forcing" or "pressuring" you to vote in primaries. By your own admission, you made a conscious choice to register as a Democrat in order to vote for Democratic candidates. If you were just a regular registered voter of whatever party affiliation, you would vote in the general election for whatever candidate the primary process produced. But if you are sufficiently vested and committed to that process that you would like to have a say in who is running under that party label, it is not unreasonable that you would register as a member of that party. Nobody has twisted your arm behind your back and made you do so; you are taking a considerable level of initiative on your own. Likewise, open primaries can be both a good and bad thing. This falls under the "the political system we have is flawed, but we can't magically pretend it doesn't exist and act according to our own fantasyland versions of reality" thing that I keep saying over and over. So yes, if you want a role in shaping the Democratic candidates who emerge from a Democratic primary process, you will usually register as a Democrat, and nobody has forced you to do that. It's that simple.

Likewise as a general programming note: I'm trying to cut back on politics a bit right now, because I don't have the spoons/bandwidth/mental health to deal with it. I apologize. So if you've sent me a politics-related ask recently and haven't received a response, I'm not deliberately or maliciously ignoring you; I just am not able to handle it as much as usual and will have to put it on pause. However, I feel as if this is important enough to be worth saying, so, yeah.

[mariacallous]

My earliest memory of 4chan was sitting up late at night, typing its URL into my browser, and scrolling through a thread of LOLcat memes, which were brand-new at the time.

Back then a photoshop of a cat saying "I can has cheezburger" or an image of an owl saying “ORLY?” was, without question, the funniest thing my 14-year-old brain had ever laid eyes on. So much so, I woke my dad up by laughing too hard and had to tell him that I was scrolling through pictures of cats at 2 in the morning. Later, I would become intimately familiar with the site’s much more nefarious tendencies.

It's strange to look back at 4chan, apparently wiped off the internet entirely last week by hackers from a rival message board, and think about how many different websites it was over its more than two decades online. What began as a hub for internet culture and an anonymous way station for the internet's anarchic true believers devolved over the years into a fan club for mass shooters, the central node of Gamergate, and the beating heart of far-right fascism around the world—a virus that infected every facet of our lives, from the slang we use to the politicians we vote for. But the site itself had been frozen in amber since the George W. Bush administration.

It is likely that there will never be a site like 4chan again—which is, likely, a very good thing. But it had also essentially already succeeded at its core project: chewing up the world and spitting it back out in its own image. Everything—from X to Facebook to YouTube—now sort of feels like 4chan. Which makes you wonder why it even needed to still exist.

"The novelty of a website devoted to shock and gore, and the rebelliousness inherent in it, dies when your opinions become the official policy of the world's five or so richest people and the government of the United States," the Onion CEO and former extremism reporter Ben Collins tells WIRED. “Like any ostensibly nihilist cultural phenomenon, it inherently dies if that phenomenon itself becomes The Man.”

My first experience with the more toxic side of the site came several years after my LOLcat all-nighter, when I was in college. I was a big Tumblr user—all my friends were on there—and for about a year or so, our corner of the platform felt like an extension of the house parties we would throw. That cozy vibe came crashing down for me when I got doxed the summer going into my senior year. Someone made a “hate blog” for me—one of the first times I felt the dark presence of an anonymous stranger’s digital ire, and posted my phone number on 4chan.

They played a prank that was popular on the site at the time, writing in a thread that my phone number was for a GameStop store that had a copy of the ultra-rare video game Battletoads. I received no less than 250 phone calls over the next 48 hours asking if I had a copy of the game.

Many of the 4chan users that called me mid-Battletoad attack left messages. I listened to all of them. A pattern quickly emerged: young men, clearly nervous to even leave a message, trying to harass a stranger for, seemingly, the hell of it. Those voicemails have never left me in the 15 years I've spent covering 4chan as a journalist.

I had a front-row seat to the way those timid men morphed into the violent, seething underbelly of the internet. The throbbing engine of reactionary hatred that resented everything and everyone simply because resentment was the only language its users knew how to speak. I traveled the world in the 2010s, tracing 4chan’s impact on global democracy. I followed it to France, Germany, Japan, and Brazil as 4chan's users became increasingly convinced that they could take over the planet through racist memes, far-right populism, and cyberbullying. And, in a way, they did. But the ubiquity of 4chan culture ended up being an oddly Pyrrhic victory for the site itself.

Collins, like me, closely followed 4chan's rise in the 2010s from internet backwater to unofficial propaganda organ of the Trump administration. As he sees it, once Elon Musk bought Twitter in 2022 there was really no point to 4chan anymore. Why hide behind anonymity if a billionaire lets you post the same kind of extremist content under your real name and even pays you for it?

4chan’s “user base just moved into a bigger ballpark and started immediately impacting American life and policy," Collins says. "Twitter became 4chan, then the 4chanified Twitter became the United States government. Its usefulness as an ammo dump in the culture war was diminished when they were saying things you would now hear every day on Twitter, then six months later out of the mouths of an administration official."

But understanding how 4chan went from the home of cat memes to a true internet bogeyman requires an understanding of how the site actually worked. Its features were often overlooked amid all the conversations about the site's political influence, but I'd argue they were equally, if not more, important.

4chan was founded by Christopher “Moot” Poole when he was 15. A regular user on slightly less anarchic comedy site Something Awful, Poole created a spinoff site for a message board there called “Anime Death Tentacle Rape Whorehouse.” Poole was a fan of the Japanese message board 2chan, or Futaba Channel, and wanted to give Western anime fans their own version, so he poorly translated the site's code and promoted his new site, 4chan, to Something Awful's anime community. Several core features were ported over in the process.

4chan users were anonymous, threads weren't permanent and would time out or "404" after a period of inactivity, and there were dozens of sub-boards you could post to. That unique combination of ephemerality, anonymity, and organized chaos proved to be a potent mix, immediately creating a race-to-the-bottom gutter culture unlike anything else on the web. The dark end point of the techno-utopianism that built the internet. On 4chan you were no one, and nothing you did mattered unless it was so shocking, so repulsive, so hateful that someone else noticed and decided to screenshot it before it disappeared into the digital ether.

"The iconic memes that came out of 4chan are because people took the time to save it, you know? And the fact that nobody predicted, nobody could predict or control what was saved or what wasn't saved, I think, is really, really fascinating," Cates Holderness, Tumblr's former head of editorial, tells WIRED.

Still, 4chan was more complicated than it looked from the outside. The site was organized into dozens of smaller sections, everything from comics to cooking to video games to, of course, pornography. Holderness says she learned to make bread during the pandemic thanks to 4chan's cooking board. (Full disclosure: I introduced Holderness to 4chan way back in 2012.)

"When I switched to sourdough, I got really good pointers," she says.

Holderness calls 4chan the internet's “Wild West” and says its demise this month felt appropriate in a way. The chaos that defined 4chan, both the good and the very, very bad, has largely been paved over by corporate platforms and their algorithms now.

Our feeds deliver us content; we don't have to hunt for it. We don't have to sit in front of a computer refreshing a page to find out whether we're getting a new cat meme or a new manifesto. The humanness of that era of the web, now that 4chan is gone, is likely never coming back. And we'll eventually find out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"The snippets that we have of what 4chan was—it's all skewed,” Holderness says. “There is no record. There's no record that can ever encapsulate what 4chan was."

[bummblebe]

"You look pretty.."

Bumblebee x Reader

Word count: 613

Summary: A short Bumblebee oneshot inspired by the audio from Hot Rod (2007).

Song choice <3

> Brazil - Declan McKenna

Light pollution from the city no longer felt like an obstruction when you stood in your silent neighborhood, now in front of your garage; you were glad to see the stars at their full potential, lighting up the sky one-by-one in full view. You were dropped off at your place by none other than Bumblebee, always spending the last few minutes of the day spent together either gazing at the stars or having late-night talks; it's become routine at this point. A few moments to unwind in comfortable silence has always been a highlight, the two of you just enjoying each other's presence even while there are no words exchanged.

Tonight, you thought this to be another wordless soon-to-be goodbye.

Your eyes stayed fixated on the countless stars, your irises shifting ever so slightly to every new one you found, it really did feel endless.

Bumblebee's optics stayed fixated on you, the same fascination.

Some of the stars looked to be a lot rounder than a few others, a lot more noticeable than the typical shapeless glimmer. Your mind wandered, maybe it was a planet you had the privilege of being able to see with your naked eye. It doesn't make any of the surrounding stars any less special--no--it's just appreciation for a different kind of beauty. Alternatively, you remember reading somewhere that the stars you see in the sky in the present are actually impressions of what they looked like thousands of years ago, and that those stars probably don't exist anymore. It's strangely beautiful to catch a glimpse of a sight of 10,000 years ago, even if its bittersweet to know that these stars truly are gone now. You wondered, almost laughing to yourself, at the thought of if the autobots began their journey to Earth in the 9th millennium BC and only landed now in the 21st century.

Bumblebee stayed fascinated, not at the stars as he's done on other nights, but on you. Your eyes slightly widened in wonder, shifting in constant activity as you take in as much as you can of the night sky. He looked upon you in silent admiration, optics softening in a pale-blue glow. Really, he was doing the same thing you were doing, only he was appreciating his own different kind of beauty.

Bee couldn't help it.

"..Krrsh.. -- You look pretty.."

You snapped out of your stargazing, turning to face the mech, clueless. "Sorry, what was that?"

Bee gave a surprised whir and scrambled back to his full height, alarmed at his radio unintentionally exposing him outright. He bumped the lower plating on his chassis over and over with a fist to get himself to shut it.

Unfortunately, even with every hit he gave to his chest, his radio kept going.

"Zrt! -- Uhh-" Hit.

"-- I said-" Hit hit.

"-- You look shitty! -- Kzrt!" He winced.

Bee backed away quick, panicked whirs and mechanical trills filling the air. "Goodnight, Denise!" He gave a swift two-finger salute and bailed, quickly transforming back into the Camaro and speeding away, tires screeching as he did. 

You stood there, completely stunned; the only thing you could hear were the night crickets and Bee's roaring engine, gradually getting quieter the farther he drove away.

The smile that crept up to your face couldn't be helped. You shook your head to yourself, heading inside to your house as the smile never went away.

You may have not heard the first thing he said in the moment, but you sure did recognize the sound-bite the longer he kept talking.

Bumblebee really did call you pretty.

The electric jump you felt in your stomach couldn't be helped.

[space-australia-stories]

A human explaining the joke of “space Australia” and how everything in Australia wants to kill you.

The ship had just finished a routine resupply, and with it, came the shuffling of many crew members. Some were taking leave, some were being reassigned, some were coming, some were going.

Qithar was not up for reassignment, and so went on with his normal duties, as old crewmembers left new faces took their places. This particular ship was relatively diverse - hosting crew from many different species, including humans, who had only recently joined the Federation.

Qithar was only just starting to understand their strange behavior. They were far-and-above the most outgoing species he’d ever encountered, and they integrated into most crews with little to no hassle. But once you started learning of their home planet, called “Earth” and how the humans lived, they suddenly didn’t seem so friendly.

It was common for humans to live in places with climates or regularly occurring natural phenomena that would render them inhabitable to Qithar’s own species, not to mention the other lifeforms that inhabited their planet.

As he was completing an inspection in the cargo bay, Qithar overheard several of his human crewmates conversing and laughing. From the conversation, one of them appeared to be telling some newcomers about life on the ship and other species they may see aboard.

“I think it’s sort of easy to forget that humans and our way of life aren’t the norm out here,” the seasoned crewmember was saying. “I think a lot of non-humans think we’re crazy, or insanely resilient.”

The others laughed. “How so?” one of them asked.

The first crewmate hummed. “Well, there was that one time we had a spider infestation in the kitchen. Weird space spiders with like, twenty legs and one really long, goofy-looking antenna. They were like, maybe the size of a housefly, and pretty harmless, all things considered, but all the non-humans were deathly afraid of them for some reason.”

Qithar remembered the infestation. He had been nearly brought to hysterics when he found one crawling on his morning rations. The ship had never had a pest infestation before. What if they carried some unknown disease? Just one bite, and the ship could say goodbye to all of it’s living crew. He remembered being horrified at the human’s reactions.

The human crewmembers had offered to study the spiders (for science) and then dispose of them, since everyone else seemed so reluctant. At the end of the study, they explained their conclusions so nonchalantly, to the horrified reactions of everyone else. Apparently, the spiders were relatively harmless, though they did bite (using their strange antenna), and could feed off blood or other bodily fluids from many different species. The humans explained that the only side effects were small itchy bumps, causing temporary discomfort.

It didn’t stop the rest of the crewmembers from being cautious. Really, it made them question the sanity of the humans on board. Why would they deliberately get close to something that feeds on your blood, and wounds you in the process?

Qithar remembers the humans laughing, and one of them saying that there were bigger and meaner ones in “Australia” (where ever that is). He figured it was another human-occupied planet, and vowed never to go there.

Pulled out of his thoughts, Qithar noticed the human crewmember was finishing his story. “If you think about it, to everyone else, Earth is to the rest of the Federation what Australia is to us.”

“Space Australia,” laughed another crewmember.

“Exactly!”

This marks the second time Qithar had heard of this planet. In morbid fascination, he wondered what horrors might exist on this “Australia” that would make humans consider it dangerous. Seeing as there were several humans right there, he felt inclined to ask, if only so his nightmares didn’t come up with something worse.

“Excuse me,” he called to them, catching their attention. “I’ve heard it mentioned before, but what is this ‘Australia’ that you’re talking about?”

The first crew member smiled at him, in that uniquely human way. “Oh, it’s just a little joke we like to share,” he explained. “Australia is a continent on Earth with the stereotype of having lots of really deadly creatures that always seem like their out to get you. From experience, most non-humans view Earth that same way.” He shrugged. “Hence the joke that Earth is Space Australia.”

“There are things on Australia that try to kill you?” Qithar asked, latching onto those words.

“Eh, not directly. They’re just animals defending themselves, and humans are the ones getting all up in their business anyways.”

“You mean humans actually go to Australia? Knowing the dangers?”

The human crewmates all shared an amused look, the first one with a look on his face that said ‘See?’

“Yeah,” he replied. “People live there permanently. It’s actually pretty populated.”

Qithar could feel himself getting lightheaded at just the thought. Actual people living in a place that so frequently tried to harm its inhabitants that they’ve made a joke about it. He thought the rest of Earth was terrifying.

“Thank you,” he managed to croak weakly. He turned away from the humans and went back to his work, but he couldn’t get the conversation out of his head.

That night, he dreamt he was chased by a massive space spider, with twenty legs and a long antenna, and prayed he would never be reassigned to Earth.

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter eight: In which the Express celebrates the Day of the Dead with you

Dan Heng’s room was nothing short of simple and surprisingly comfortable.

You’ve been digging around the archives again after your short trip to your favorite desert planet, ready to contribute to the logs that made up Dan Heng’s archive.

He’d allowed you to touch the monitors and type in what you wanted, surprising even Himeko as he was usually rather cautious to let other people(usually March, bless her heart) roam around and touch his things unless they only wanted to read up on things.

You thanked him for that, of course. It was rather sweet of him to allow you to do this.

And so you typed away— made little personal notes on what the culture was like, and people that you also knew as yourself and not Delia. While Dan Heng’s records of Sigonia IV already existed, you were compelled to make your own as well, as a thank you to the people that had been so far hospitable to you.

You haven’t seen little Kakavasha in your visit, so you too wondered how he is now. He’s probably an adult— not so little anymore, growing into the familiar visage of “Aventurine” that you knew in your past life, but you hope it’s not the same horribly tortured man you know.

There was still discrimination, even a bit more than a decade since the freedom of this clan— they still warred with the Katicans here and there, but the disputes were more manageable, less genocidal as the Avgin were more protected by humanitarian groups.

But there wasn’t really any real interest for the cultures of people that had been long discriminated even with your intervention, and if no one was going to do the job of helping them at least preserve a certain view of it, you’d do the job yourself.

Sigonia IV would not be the only place that would stay in the archives for the other future Nameless to find, maybe one day you’d ask for Boothill’s planet, because while it no longer existed, you believed it wasn’t fair for it to die along with him.

You’ve made notes of it, here and there from what little you could get from some books that made mention of it and Boothill’s ramblings. While you could always consult Fuli for the rest of the things, it felt disrespectful towards your friend. You may be an Aeon now, but you knew honor— prying without your friend’s permission felt invasive, you weren’t a human anymore, but you know that kind of stunt wouldn’t be something he would appreciate.

Suddenly, you wondered about the planets you’ve accidentally destroyed, about the lives you had taken without meaning to, and the ones you drove mad beyond your control. Your typing still continued, undeterred by your silent grief as information flowed into the data bank without even a slight inaccuracy despite the difference in how you felt.

You should grieve for the ones who were lost, you thought to yourself. Glancing at the date present in your monitor, you found it was the best time too.

The Day of the Dead.

You’re not even sure if people even celebrated that holiday in this world. Maybe Halloween, but you doubt Dia de los Muertos, as the Latinos would call it, or Araw ng mga patay, as the Filipinos would say, is something widely celebrated in an expanded universe such as this.

Maybe you’d find a world that does celebrate it someday, but for now, maybe you’re going to be alone in giving acknowledgment and silent grief to the ones that had been lost.

You weren’t very close to a religion in your previous life as a human, but now that you thought of the holidays that gave people solace and something to celebrate, you began to feel a little strange that there was no god you could pray to as you were now technically one yourself.

Worshippers weren’t so bad now when you think of it as people laying their problems to a willing ear they can’t see or hear to give them the peace of mind they desired.

You finished up the logs, determined to plant the Avgin’s language inside of it next on the next time you’d touch the monitor. But for now, you had a goal in mind.

——————————————

Some researchers knew you as a grieving Aeon, with your cries reaching the far ends of the cosmos for reasons they sometimes don’t understand.

They observed you once again, mindful to keep their distance from hundreds of light years away as the telescope that found your distant visage caught on the fact that you were crying yet again. But this time, you’re quiet. There was no horrible song of lament that fried wires and caused damage, this one was silent, this one was red.

The liquid that flowed from what seemed to be your eyes was crimson, your lips pressed together as your expression looked forlorn. The telescope saw your hands move, then suddenly, nothing.

You did not want it to see you.

——————————

Setting up an altar was relatively easy, decorated with flowers you’d grabbed from a world away in the expanse of a mountain and a lot of candles you’ve carefully lit.

Lives lost in the fight of freedom, and the lives you took without meaning to. There were too many to count, and you doubt Pompom would like to have the train set on fire.

There were no pictures, no relics, there was simply you, the flowers, the altar, the candles.

Welt had passed by your room and seemingly recognized the decor, quietly joining your side as you started to kneel in front of the altar and mumbled something along the lines of a familiar prayer that he vaguely recognized.

Sometimes Welt forgot you were a human in your previous life. You’ve told him before, when you disclosed things about yourself to him and Himeko.

There was no god that you knew to pray to here, and to make it stranger, you were one yourself. Maybe you were trying to emulate it— old habits maybe, old bits and pieces of your human personality, and reliving specific memories. Or maybe you’re just trying to commemorate those you’ve lost in the way you knew a distant life away.

Welt joined you in your prayer. There is no god to direct his thoughts to, but there’s a strange sense of peace there regardless.

Welt stood up after a few moments while you stayed, lingering before eventually leaving the room.

“Why does it smell like candles burning?” March asked as she encountered him in the hallway.

“It’s for a celebration.” He said. “A day to remember and honor the dead.”

She looked a little confused. “Day to honor the dead?”

“Yes, you can join [Name] in their room if you’d like. It’s not a bad thing, although I can understand why you’d be confused— it’s not widely celebrated after all.” Welt smiled as March slowly nodded.

————————

You weren’t in the room for much longer, opting to head to the kitchen so you could make something to eat. You were there for at least two hours, and everyone seemed to leave you alone to your devices as you made some dishes you remembered from a past life.

Some comfort food, and fluffy bread.

You brought it to the dinner table with a smile as Pompom trailed after you to arrange the bowls and plates for everyone.

Once you were done, you made do of calling everyone in to eat. They don’t really ask why there’s a different feast of savory and sweet food on the table that was clearly not Pompom’s cooking.

Welt looked at you in a certain way that you know that he knew things, and you sent him an appreciative nod as you gestured for everyone to sit down and eat.

“These are some.. recipes that I know from my homeworld.” You began. “These typically aren’t stuff you would get when you’re celebrating the holiday in a very traditional way, but sadly my knowledge of cooking is… kinda limited.” You scratched your temple awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize for it.” Himeko said. “It’s the intent that counts.” She smiled, then placed some bread on her plate and stew in her bowl.

“You’re right.” You gave her a small smile of your own.

You failed to spot Dan Heng at the corner of your eye, looking at the bowl of stew in contemplation as Welt’s words sprang up memories of old friends lost in a life he didn’t want to remember.

Maybe he’d allow himself to grieve losses just this once, even if that person who’s lost those people in a distant life away wasn’t him anymore. Maybe for those that Blade had taken from him too in this life.

“Are you okay?” March nudged him gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He said, blinking and snapping out of his thoughts before sinking his spoon into the stew.

Dan Heng found comfort in its flavor.

—————————————

March had taken photos of your room with the altar after dinner, plastering it into her wall with the label “Day of the Dead” in earth colored frames that contrasted the aesthetics of her room. She didn’t mind as much, surprising even herself as she was rather picky about her own decorations.

However, this was something that you shared with them, and that mattered to her. She couldn’t remember her past, and so to have a small piece of someone she knew that saved her was a nice feeling because she didn’t really quite know you. She doubt she ever would actually know you in the way the older crew members do, but that’s okay, that meant she could know you through the new memories she’d create.

She thought of you for a moment and what you’d lost, and she also wondered about the past self she can’t remember. Did she have people that she lost too? Were there people that lost her? Were there people that missed her?

She remembered her conversation with you, a strangely solemn topic for a girl so bubbly like her.

“What do you usually do?” She asked, clearly referring to the little holiday.

“People usually prayed, then offered food and flowers to their dead and all that.” You replied. “I thought it’d be a little nice to honor the people lost along the way. It’s a thing in my old world to not forget the dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She found herself saying. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You don’t have to worry, it’s not offensive at all.” You smiled and patted the spot next to you. “It’s a pretty big celebration in my world, and in some countries it’d be a lot livelier than this.” You said as she went to sit next to you.

“They’d wear costumes and make up and bring out live music and everything. The food’s a lot better too I think— there’s too many for me to remember, so the ones I made weren’t the traditional ones people ate during that day.” You explained as she listened attentively.

“That’s okay, it was delicious anyways.” She giggled, shifting slightly to adjust herself before settling in comfortably in a few moments of silence.

“Do you…. Miss your old world? Ah— you don’t have to answer that.” March sputtered, realizing her mistake.

“It’s okay. And yeah… maybe just a bit. I’m not sure how to feel about it to be honest.” You said, glancing at the windows of your room.

She couldn’t see what kind of expression you were making, and so she found herself hugging you. There was something inherently sad about you despite your antics, like you’ve lost too many things.

You returned that embrace.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX(HERE), Part X……

Interludes: one, two…

Special chapter: link

Yeeeeee hello y’all!!! Pushing this chapter out in celebration of All Souls Day! :DD

I hope all of you are well! Also I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions regarding the series, so drop any thoughts, don’t be shy <333

[icysnails]

Hello. I was wondering if you could you write a platonic angst story where the reader is Blade's child. I was thinking that because Blade barely spends any time with the reader unless it's during one of their extremely harsh training sessions the reader decides to run away especially after one particularly rough training session where the reader was injured after they accidentally talked back and that night the reader starts packing their stuff but they accidentally left behind their late mother's pendant and Blade found it the next morning. (I hope you're okay with writing this and I wish you a good morning, afternoon or good night ☺️)

Family.

A/n: Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request!! I am so sorry this took so long- school + extracurriculars started so I had way less time to work on writing outside of school (TvT) But this was so much fun to write! I got a little bit carried away and it ended up being a found family type thing with all of the Stellaron Hunters– I tried to focus on Blade being a father figure as much as possible though! I hope you have a fantastic day, and I hope you enjoy!! ૮꒰ ˶• v •˶꒱ა ♡

Warnings: all relationships are platonic, found family trope, betrayal, suicidal ideation (Blade), mentions of death, reader's parents are dead, flashbacks, reader runs away, mention of bullets + broken glass, overthinking, Blade being insecure, reader uses a sword, reader gets injured a couple of times (If i forgot anything, please let me know!!)

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Pairing: father figure!Blade x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), mother figure!Kafka x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), sister figure!Silver Wolf x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC)

Word count: 7.3k

Blade is a cruel man. 

There is no love in the red pools of his irises, no signs of any humanity. Dark circles adorn the skin just below his merciless stare, eyebrows slightly furrowed in an eternal state of aggravation. It was no wonder enemies cowered at the mere mention of him. He holds nothing back, and if an enemy was unfortunate enough to meet the steely edge of his sword, they were sure to be broken and lifeless by the end of the encounter. Unfortunately, he isn’t much different off of the battlefield either. 

Blade is bitter and selfish and cold, to the extreme that even Kafka and Silverwolf are convinced that he has forgotten how to feel.

The thorns of the mara in his veins torment him constantly, the pain never faltering, even after decades. The other Stellaron Hunters had begun to wonder if those thorny, agonizing vines had punctured through his heart as well. It would be understandable, to an extent. After all, he is a man who has experienced endless with suffering and loss, his mind poisoned with grief and the sole desire to die. No more pain, no more fighting, just darkness- the mere thought was enough to drag a bitter smile out of him.

He was used to the dark, used to feeling like an empty vessel. 

But why, if he was so familiar with agony, would he impose that same feeling on you as well? 

You had always been alone. You were only a toddler when your parents were taken from you, the only proof of their existence being a necklace your mother left with you before she died. You had spent your youngest years void of any parental guidance, hopelessly wandering between foster homes and planets, hoping someone would take you in. You gave that up by age ten, running away from your home planet to travel the galaxy. From that point on, most of your time was spent sneaking onto Starskiffs, hiding in empty cargo compartments on any moving vehicle you could find, and even stealing authorization keys to search occupied space stations, all in search of someone whom you could call family. 

But what exactly did the word family mean?

You always thought it was a strange word. It had such a subjective meaning, yet it was talked about so often. You didn’t understand what it meant, and no textbook definition could help you. All your efforts to find its meaning were in vain. And yet, your curiosity haunted you. 

With every new destination, the word family buzzed among the crowds constantly. No matter where you had landed yourself, all you could do was spectate. You watched as children laughed and clung to the legs of their guardians, as relatives sobbed in unified grief over flower dressed gravestones, and as teenagers linked arms with each other, growing away from the protective grasps of their parents. 

Every planet you traveled to, every dragging, lonely step you took, that sickening, seemingly joyous word that made you feel so isolated was there.

Six months after you had ran away, you went out alone to buy food. It was late at night, and you were preparing to head off to another planet the next day. Luckily, you bumped into a nice shopkeeper earlier who gave you some extra credits because she thought your coat was cool (in reality, she was just worried about you wandering off all alone, but didn't want to pry about your parents' whereabouts). So, you headed out amongst the crowds as you always did, pouch of credits in hand and determination plastered on your face.

But a woman stopped you on the way there and asked why such a young child was wandering around alone at night. She had a little girl with her, who looked no older than you. 

She asked you if you had any family she could call to come and get you, with the assumption that you were lost. You couldn't say anything. Instead, you just stared, your wide-eyed gaze pinned on the child that almost mirrored you. Almost. Perhaps if the world were kinder, your eyes could have donned the same innocent, joyful light. One of her hands was encased by her mother’s, while her other hand kindly reached out towards you. A cheerful “hello!” rang through the air as she tried to shake your hand. 

You stepped away from her. It was hard to breathe. You had seen all this before. Yet why was it so painful this time? 

Internally, you demanded the Aeons to tell you why the truth of your situation had to be rubbed in your face so blatantly. You were alone. You wondered if it might be good to explain that to them, to create some kind of connection with these people, but no words would leave your throat. Your heart felt like it was splintered in two.

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring, but you were sure the devastation tearing you up inside was evident on your face. The woman called out to you one more time, her worry falling on deaf ears as you backed away slowly. You took one more look at the girl before turning on your heel and running as fast as you could, sobs wracking your chest so deeply it hurt. 

You hadn’t returned to that planet since then.

You wanted the life that little girl had. You wanted to have a guardian.

But as the years went on, nothing changed. Your travels continued, and you came to terms with the fact that you might never know what family felt like. You made acquaintances as you traveled, friends, even. They never stuck around for long, though. The darkness always swallowed them up one way or another. And with every loss, the painful void in your chest numbed and steeled over a little more.

You thought that your life would always be this way. In truth, you had forgotten that there was any other way to live.

However, that was before a certain group of Stellaron Hunters swept you away from your life of solitude, and recruited you into their dangerous yet thrilling world. 

A year later, you found yourself on a sand covered planet. You were on a train, heading to one of the planets' larger cities from a smaller town. There wasn’t any way you walk- it was too hot and the distance was too far. Otherwise, you would have spent your savings on something other than train tickets.

The trip was uneventful and for most of it you just stared blankly out the window, exhaustion and boredom settling in your bones. You were tired from running errands for the previous town's residents- it was onerous but it happened to pay well. Though you were happy to have a break, your mind wasn’t used to the quiet. The barren landscape outside did nothing to help. It was a dry, flat expanse that was dotted only with dead weeds and the scraps of broken automatons. In short, nothing of interest.

Aside from that, all was going well. You had enough credits to last you at least six more train rides and get food and extra supplies, and you had several acquaintances with whom you could stay in the next city. You made a point not to talk about your budgeting skills, as it would usually spur a torrent of questions from whoever you were talking to. You couldn’t blame them though, children your age typically didn’t devote themselves to a life of aimless travel. 

The train stopped right on time, and you stepped onto the platform that was crowded with people. As usual, you were met with the sight of teary-eyed relatives hugging each other, children running around and playing, and couples greeting each other. You kept your head down, feeling more inconvenienced than sad. In their excitement, the crowds always seemed to block your path to the other platforms. Besides, they say time heals all wounds, so why would you care, anyway? You awkwardly shoved your way toward a nearby stairwell, grunting as several people bumped into you. Just as your fingers made contact with the stair’s banister, ear shattering sirens echoed throughout the station.

Emergency lights flashed on and off in a blinding rhythm, the red glow engraining itself into your mind. Suddenly, pixelated bullets flew towards the ceiling, shattering several of the glass panels. Screams rang out in response, and the previously happy crowd flew into a panic, ducking to avoid the broken glass. However, the glass shards evaporated into more pixels before they could hit the crowd, preventing any damage from being done.

Amidst the swarms of people trying to escape, you cautiously walked closer to the source of the commotion. You really shouldn’t have, but the nagging curiosity in the back of your mind compelled you to do so. And even if it seemed dangerous, there was something off about this incident. After all, if the initiators were out for blood, wouldn’t they have attacked the crowd directly? If whoever caused this wasn't intending to cause harm, they must be looking for something.

As you got closer, you saw three figures: A magenta haired woman with lightless eyes, a pistol in one hand, and a glowing thread of purple silk in the other. She was leaning back against one of the platform’s pillars, watching the whole scene with fake amusement. The second person you saw was a smaller girl decked out in a myriad of purples and blues, her drill style ponytail swaying as she typed up coordinates on a hologram screen. And lastly, you saw a red eyed man with a glare so sharp it made your heart sink. You certainly did not want to be subject to whatever rage he had stored away. From the looks of it, he could kill you in a split second.

For some reason, all three of them seemed familiar. You couldn't quite place it, but you quickly realized, you knew who they were. Their faces were plastered on all of the IPC’s wanted posters, which were scattered on literally every planet you had been to so far. You couldn’t remember their names exactly, but you knew that, together, they were known as the Stellaron Hunters- the universe’s most wanted criminals. You should have recognized them from the pixelated bullets earlier- how could you have been so naive?

You could have tried to run, but it would be futile. You were already out in the open, and they had already seen you.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man dressed in black set his gaze on your shaking form. There was no way you’d survive this encounter. Absolutely zero chance. He stepped toward you but was interrupted by the sound of a clanging of a spear. The station’s security officers surrounded the Stellaron Hunters, demanding that they freeze and turn themselves in immediately.

You covered your ears and ducked as a fight broke out, the Stellaron Hunters throwing themselves into battle. Your eyelids were screwed shut in fear until the sounds of fighting had ceased. When you opened your eyes, you looked up to see that all of the guards had been knocked out, and that the taller woman standing above you, watching you in a way that was eerie, yet... comforting somehow. Even so, your better judgment caused you to back away, frantically scrambling on the hot cement of the platform. The red eyed man yanked you to your feet before you could stand up, and a panicked noise left your throat as he dragged you toward his two companions. you caught a glimpse of his sword that was poised in his other hand, taking note that he was ready to strike if necessary.

“It’s a kid.” He grumbled, still glaring at you. 

The tall woman chuckled and took a step forward, observing the way you struggled to get out of her companion’s grasp. You were getting more anxious by the second, she could tell. No matter how strong and collected you acted, you were still just a kid, and you had the minimal strength of one.

“Let them go, Blade. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

Small, scared breaths left your throat as you were released, your shaking legs failing to hold you up. You fell to the ground, staring in shock at all that had occurred. What would have happened if they didn’t let you go? How much danger were you really in, and how the hell were you still alive?

Then, the monotone voice of the grey haired girl met your ears. 

“What a waste. Looks like those signals were nothing but a glitch.” She sighed. “There's nothing for us here.”

The scary man who grabbed you- Blade, as the woman called him- looked down at you crumpled form, eyes softening just the tiniest bit. Your fearful gaze met his, and you didn’t dare move. The two other hunters made conversation about their next moves in the background, while Blade narrowed his eyes coldly.

“Why aren’t you running?”

…What?

“Go. Lingering here will only bring you suffering”

Your fearful gaze then turned to one of confusion. It was unclear if his words were meant to be a warning or advice. Either way, it gave you the strength to pull yourself off the ground and attempt to respond, but all that came out of you was a strangled groan. Your body hurt, and everything had happened so fast that your mind was still trying to catch up. It wasn’t that you were trying to make an impression by staying, you just couldn’t bring yourself to run because of the adrenaline coursing through you. You hunched over and placed your hands on your knees to get your bearings. After a few minutes, you finally responded.

“Y- yeah, I… uh…” You hesitated, unsure of what to say. “...I have another train to catch...?” 

It came out like a question, which was unintended. It was the truth, but you were so nervous that you would say something wrong and provoke him. Your life may have been spared for the moment, but they could still change their minds, and you didn't want to re-dig your own grave.

The man beside you let out a small sigh before turning his gaze back to his two companions.

“Fine.” He muttered.

A few moments passed with you and Blade sitting in comfortable silence. or, it was comfortable him, at least. He was still and silent, ignoring you entirely. You just kept fidgeting the whole time, unsure if you should stay or run for the hills. It was borderline suffocating. thankfully, the tall woman came over again, ending your misery.

“Well, we’re off.” She said to Blade, prompting him to walk towards the edge of the platform where the smaller girl stood. Before walking off, she turned to you one last time. 

“Take it easy, kid.”

Something in your heart screamed at you to speak up. A strange urge began eating away at you, telling you that if you didn’t do something right now you’d regret it for the rest of your life. But do what? What could you do without potentially dying? It was stupid. And dangerous.

But that old feeling of longing, that desire to be a part of something wouldn’t leave you alone. Your desperation to attain a family of your own had been reawakened. Your undying hope, which laid dormant for years, was now ruling your judgment.

Just as they turned to leave, you stumbled forward and cried out.

“Wait!”

All three heads turned towards you. 

A purple set of eyes knowingly scanned you as you trembled, a smirk growing on the woman’s face. 

You anxiously gripped at your clothing, trying to summon up the courage to put on some kind of brave face for them. Before you think, pleas for them to take you with them were spilling from your throat. You told them that you wanted to see the universe and that if they gave you that opportunity, you’d do whatever you could to assist them. It was a partial lie- exploring the universe did sound fun, but it wasn't what you were truly after. Your true motivations were far too personal to tell them just yet. It felt like a wound had unexpectedly reopened ever since they arrived, and you were sure you’d crumble if you forced yourself to explain.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. You had the strangest feeling that they already knew your story to some extent. Even without the influence of your longing, you couldn’t deny that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wasn’t every day that you came across three highly skilled fighters who could quickly travel anywhere they wanted. You could save years worth of credits and injuries if you went with them.

Once you had finished your frantic explanation, you took a breath to calm your pounding heart. The silence you were met with was deafening, which you took to be a bad sign. A deep chuckle reverberated through the elegant woman’s chest as she took a decisive step closer to you. She hummed in amusement, holding her hand out for you to take.  

“You may not be crucial to our mission,” she leaned down to your height, voice almost a whisper, “but if that’s what you want, then who are we to disagree?”

You took her hand, heartbeat slowing to a calm pace as you did so.

The days you spent with the Stellaron hunters were some of the most peaceful days you had ever experienced. 

You weren’t constantly slinking around trying to find information and resources for your travels, and it was the first time you had slept in a room that had officially been dubbed as your own. You weren't hopping between inns and the homes of your few friends. Even expenses weren't an issue anymore. It felt strange to have time on your hands. Guilt inducing, even.

You didn’t get too caught up in that though, since the confusion and questions plaguing your mind happened to be stronger than your melancholy. It was beyond your understanding how three of the most dangerous criminals in the entire universe could be so kind and willing to take you in. Perhaps it was because you had seen too much. You were a witness to Blade knocking out over ten armed guards. However, they were so powerful that they seemed to be able to get away with anything. Either way, you were a part of their goup, and that's what mattered.

As time went on, you grew closer to the Stellaron Hunters. Especially Kafka, who you learned was much less intimidating in regular life, and Silver Wolf, who was still as deadpan as before, but seemed subtly happier with you around. You also were officially introduced to Blade, and were promised that he wasn't always so brooding. That was hard to believe, though.

Silver Wolf was like a sister to you. She dragged you with her everywhere. She said it was a part of your duties to accompany her on errands, but in reality, she just enjoyed having you with her. Whenever a battle presented itself, she would have you on the sidelines cheering for her as she obliterated enemies in the blink of an eye. It was clear that your support went straight to her ego, but she also secretly wanted to impress you so that you'd view her as some sort of mentor. Silver Wolf wanted to be a reliable guide and friend to you, especially after you had been alone for so long. Thankfully, you didn’t mind spending time with her. In fact, chatting and playing video games with her became one of your favorite ways to kill time. The latter was clearly her passion– after all, her combat techniques were solely revolved around her exceptional hacking skills. 

Silver Wolf taught you how to play all her favorite games, staying calm and patient with you when you kept losing. Often, she would discreetly take you out to arcades during your free time, and every time it would be humbling due to your lack of gaming experience. However, losing meant that you had more time to watch her win, which was never boring. In any other situation, you might have been jealous, but it was just so mesmerizing to watch her play. Besides, she gave you all her prizes, so you weren’t going to complain. But what you found to be even more amusing was watching her lose it over the few games she hadn’t mastered yet. Her face would contort into one of sheer disbelief and anger as she held onto the machine tightly, aggressively mashing buttons and mumbling insults. You would always laugh and try to cheer her up in response. It always gave her a huge ego boost, and convinced her to try again, despite still being angry. You never expected to gain such a dear friend when you joined the Steallaron Hunters, and you wouldn’t trade any part of your friendship for the world.

Kafka was another story, though.

At first, Kafka terrified you. She held so much power over the other hunters- well, really over everything, that you were sure she’d destroy you if you stepped out of line. Her empty eyes and ruthless reputation didn’t help either. 

Ever since your arrival, Kafka kept a close eye on you. She made sure that you were alright as you settled in, and that you weren’t feeling unsafe or lonely in your new environment. She offered you comfort and advice and cared for you like the mothers you had witnessed on your past journeys. 

One night, a month after you had arrived, you hurt your leg on a walk and Kafka was right there to patch you up. She shushed you gently as you tried to protest that you were fine, and dragged you to the nearest chair so you could sit. She took a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet, and began tending to your wound. You winced as rubbing alcohol combined itself with your blood, and you quietly explained that you had been doing this your whole life- that it wasn’t her job to take care of you. Kafka paused and looked at you, eyes showing a rare glint of sadness. She whispered to you that those days were over. You weren’t alone anymore, and you should ask the three of them for help whenever you needed it. You weren’t a burden to them. 

Kafka wasn’t sure what the cause of it was, but something in her chest began to ache when she saw you injured. She had never felt fear before. She deemed it impossible before you came along. She had always been known as a ruthless, unshakeable force of danger, who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. But now, she had to keep you safe. Part of her wanted to berate herself for getting so protective over someone, for willingly weakening herself by caring about you. But you needed safety and a group of loving people to return to. You were just a kid, after all, and even after the short time you had been traveling with them, she had begun to feel like your guardian.

Tears filled your eyes, her words weighing down on your lungs. You couldn’t truly believe her. Not after all you had been through. But even so, Kafka was right in front of you, smiling softly, waiting and willing to take care of you. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It was a foreign feeling, one that scared you more than anything else. But you were safe. You were at home. 

So you let yourself cry. Your heart split open, all the bottled up agony from your past finally bursting out. You curled into yourself, the gash on your leg long forgotten. Kafka kneeled before you and gently wrapped her arms around your shaking form. One of her hands carded through your hair, while the other rubbed your back soothingly. Gentle whispers fell from her lips, promising you that she was with you. You were safe.

You weren’t sure how long had passed when you calmed down. Maybe it had been hours. Whatever the truth was, Kafka remained by your side, not pulling back until she was sure you were okay. After you had stopped crying, she leaned back, meeting your sad, exhausted stare. She looked down at your bleeding wound, grabbed a roll of bandages, and cautiously wrapped it around your leg. When she was finished, she smiled and stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder. You matched her smile, assuring her that you were fine.

However, after a moment, Kafka’s comforting smile was replaced with a teasing smirk. Confusion sparked in your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed as if to silently ask what the problem was. She just chuckled and took a seat across from you, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back as though she was assessing you. Her next words not only shocked you but caused your entire being to wilt in annoyance and anxiety.

“I think it’s about time we start training you in combat. If a scrape has you in this much pain, imagine the damage a real battle would do. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?” 

She paused, thinking for a moment before reaching her conclusion. 

“Yes… I’ll have you train with Blade. His abilities never disappoint.”

And that was how your ongoing feud with Blade began. 

When Kafka decided to pair you up with Blade, you were pissed. However, you knew she was right. If you were falling apart just from accidentally scraping yourself, how were you supposed to handle actual threats? You would be utterly useless in a fight. And if anyone managed to get past the Stellaron Hunters and attempt to harm you, you would be dead on the spot. There wouldn't be a fight, just abrupt darkness, and a very disappointing end to a life such as yours. It would shatter the hearts of Kafka and Silver Wolf, who had already sworn to protect you at any cost. As you got older, the target on your back only became bigger. With the Stellaron Hunters’ reputation becoming more notorious by the day, civilians and authorities alike were bound to find out about you. Self-defense was a necessity.

But Blade never spoke to you. You felt as though you were a nuisance to him. Just another issue to be dealt with, another soul to pester him throughout the day. The way he glared at you made you wonder if you had done something wrong, or if you were imposing by being around. He made you feel out of place. Even after thorough reassurance from Kafka and Silver Wolf that his behavior was entirely normal, you still couldn’t help but worry. It was only after several months had passed that you came to understand that it truly wasn’t you- he was just grumpy. And that began to annoy you. If he wasn’t open to being somewhat nice, then why should you bother? You could glare back just as hard, and ignore him just as easily. If that's what he was getting at, then so be it. However, Kafka was the leader of both of you, and she wanted you to train. Despite your mild hatred of Blade, Kafka already had done so much for you. She only wanted the best for you. You could at least attempt to abide by her wishes.

So you gave in and begrudgingly stated training with Blade. 

For a few hours every day, you and Blade would find any open area and he would walk you through different defense techniques. You expected the technical side of it, but you did not expect that you would be sparring right off the bat. On the first day of training, he threw you into your first match and charged at you with the assumption that you had sharp enough reflexes to block him successfully. Obviously, you weren’t at all prepared since you had zero experience with combat. Turns out Kafka really wasn’t kidding when she said Blade knew how to fight.

Lessons carried on like this for weeks. You would return from sparring exhausted and bruised, feeling completely done with everything as you limped to your room to sleep. You felt generally bitter, making it hard for Kafka or Silverwolf to help, and Blade just acted like it wasn’t his problem. The most he did was help you up, and that was only if you put up a good fight. But thankfully, after a while, Blade began to notice how badly the sparring affected you. It wasn’t like you were on the brink of death, but you were still in pain. And given your age, there was no doubt that it was a lot more overwhelming than anticipated. So Blade subtly began to take care of you a little more. It wasn’t much- he mainly just gave you icepacks whenever you needed them and helped you walk, but it was the most he knew how to do. He was clueless when it came to caring for people, especially children.

You were a persistent kid, which Blade found surprising. He thought you would have given up within the first week of training, but you just kept working at it. And while Blade found your stubborn behavior annoying most of the time, it assured him that you had enough courage to fight alongside him and the others. He knew you didn’t like him much, and he knew a part of you blamed him for the injuries you got, which was reasonable. As annoying as you found him, Blade never gave up on you, even when you messed up or got so frustrated that you cried. He never babied you during these moments either. Instead, he would walk you through what went wrong and have you run through the solution until you had it down cold. Even if you were upset, he wanted you to push through it and use your anger to become stronger. You had been fighting your whole life. You had the tenacity and potential to gain the strength that you required. Blade could tell that, even after joining them, you wanted a purpose. You wanted to explore the universe and find your place among the glowing webs of stars. However, the beauty of the galaxy came with dark and unfamiliar territory. If you were to traverse the universe, you had to learn how to handle to darkest parts of it.

Little by little, you improved. You worked as hard as possible until you were able to withstand Blade’s strength and evade his attacks properly. You had a long, long way to go before you could actually defeat opponents, but you could at least hold them off, which was just as important. Despite how grueling Blade’s teaching methods were, you did come to respect him more as your mentor. He looked out for you in his own distant ways and seemed to actually care about you. In truth, Blade had started getting protective over you- not that he would admit it. It wasn’t an overbearing kind of protectiveness- he just wanted you to stay out of trouble. It was nice to pass knowledge onto someone, and protect them from the world's dangers by doing so.

The truth was, even if Blade acted indifferently toward you, he secretly was really proud of you. He admired your kindness, even after all the pain you had been dealt. You kept smiling and picking yourself up, finding your back to the light time and time again. Perhaps that's what made you so different from him. His will to keep fighting was growing fainter by the day.

Even with your differences, you both became closer. Blade kept an eye on you whenever you left the ship, talked with you whenever you got bored, and even helped you whatever chores you had to do. Sure, you were stubborn, but Blade never grew to dislike you. Your relationship felt routine and safe- it held a sense of comfort that felt normal. Blade caught himself questioning if this was what family was meant to feel like. He couldn't remember, but a faint, distant memory assured him that it was. If he could contribute to the familial safety you longed for so much, he would gladly do so. 

Was that even possible, though?

Blade had very little experience with love of any kind. Any memories he had of his past friend and family were long gone. His own sense of self was unstable, so how could he provide stability for you? He couldn't bear the thought of causing you pain. Or, there was a chance that he would rub off on you. That you would start to become like him. That prospect was enough to make him feel sick. So he began distancing himself from you in any way he could.

Now, whenever you crossed paths he would treat you especially coldly. Most times he saw you, he walked past you and pretended you didn't exist at all. He was back to being rude and dismissive, even more so than when you first met him.

Instead of encouraging you during training, he would call you weak and pick apart everything you had done wrong. This was not received well by you. After all, you didn’t know if Blade’s behavior was your fault, or if this was just how he truly was. You felt dejected and lonely, even with the support from Kafka and Silver Wolf. Though you loved them immensely, Blade was also someone you cared about, and you didn’t want to lose another parental figure. After weeks of being ignored, hatred replaced any good image you had of him. What used to be a safe, happy friendship soon morphed into an incessant rivalry. 

It felt like Blade only wanted to see you unhappy. You imagined that he was secretly gloating over your distress- that you were nothing more than a temporary amusement to him. But you were wrong. So, so very wrong. Blade hated seeing you upset because of him. He was failing you by ignoring your wellbeing. You were just a kid. More importantly, you trusted him.

But it was for your own good, wasn’t it? His past was dark, and perhaps he was too, by nature. He would never forgive himself if he allowed harm to come to you. Even if that meant leaving you behind. No, he would much rather watch you grow up and live happily from afar. 

Kafka still wanted you to train though, so Blade couldn’t avoid you entirely. Sparring was the only time he saw you anymore. Your sessions with him were difficult, but not because the material was hard. In fact, it was harder for Blade than you. You would glare at him constantly and show complete indifference to everything, making it nearly impossible to communicate with you. He wasn’t doing much better either- he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you. It felt like the consequences of his neglect were crawling up his back, ready to snap at him at any moment, and he knew that any day now, you would finally break. Soon, everything would fall apart.

You knew Blade was heartless, but his cruelty was amplified when you trained with him now. He went all out, forcing you to scramble for scraps of knowledge he had previously given you to win. But that wasn’t enough this time. You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to continue. You felt smaller and weaker than you had ever felt before.

Lightning-fast blows struck you from all sides, the scent of bloodstained spider lilies clouding your senses. You weakly pulled your sword out of its sheath and tried to block his attacks, but doing so would knock you off balance from the force of his blows. You fell back on the ground, coughing and clambering to your feet, promptly hurling yourself towards Blade with hopes of hitting him just once. Built-up anger from the last few weeks rushed through your heart, tears of desperation dripping down your cheeks. God, you were tired of this. Blade used to be your friend. You wanted to know what changed, and you wanted that piece of your family back.

In your fury, your reaction time fell short. Blade darted behind you and shoved you to the ground, watching coldly as you crumpled over in defeat. A glint of regret shone in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up by turning his back to you. Once more, you picked yourself up, your throat burning from the lack of a break. It must have been hours since the start of your match, but it might have just felt that way because you were the one getting injured. Never before had Blade fought you this hard. You weren’t prepared, and he knew that. You internally questioned if he was actually trying to make you despise him, albeit sarcastically. It hadn’t occurred to you yet that it might actually be the case. You shakily lifted your head to look at him, angrily mumbling something that Blade couldn’t understand.

Blade took a breath and turned around to face you, blank expression unwavering. 

“What was that?” He growled. The world seemed to fall silent as you locked your gaze with his in an act of defiance.

“I said, I hate you!”

You hated that you were crying. You hated feeling weak. You hated what he had put you through.

But you didn’t hate him. Not entirely.

You wanted to hate him fully. You wished you were strong enough to. But even then, as you wiped your tears and walked out, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. Maybe it was the memories you had of when he felt like family, maybe it was inherent kindness or just plain stupidity. You couldn’t feel hatred. All you felt was dejection. So naturally, you began spiraling. 

If Blade didn’t want you around, there was a chance Kafka and Silver Wolf didn’t want you either. If it was possible that they secretly hated you too, you wouldn’t allow yourself to withstand their rejections as well. You might as well just get out of their way, and save yourself the trouble. It was nice feeling happy for a while. But it wasn’t what you were made for. It wasn’t how you were used to living. Perhaps this was a sign that your destiny rested in the familiar arms of solitude, away from the glowing crowds.

That night, when you returned from training, you bid Kafka and Silver Wolf goodnight and began packing your bags. When you were sure everyone had gone to sleep, you took your leave. You slipped out of the ship’s main entrance, the frigid night air numbing the uncertainty in your chest. You started walking, not sure where you were headed. You were out of practice with your usual travel routines, but that wasn’t important. As long as you were away from the Stellaron Hunters, you would be safe. Lonely, but safe. But even with your half hearted reasoning, you still felt a sinking feeling that this wasn’t right. That you might regret this. You shoved it off, cursing at yourself quietly for getting so softhearted. It was time to cut ties. It was for the best.

However, you had made one vital mistake. While preparing to leave, you had purposely left behind any photos or items given to you by Kafka, Silver Wolf, or Blade. In your rush to leave, you accidentally left behind something incredibly important to you: your mother’s necklace. 

You took it off and left it on your desk by accident. It was the last existing link between you and your biological parents and you cherished it because of that. So when Kafka found it the next morning, along with your neatly made bed and discarded photos, she knew something was very wrong. Silver Wolf burst into your room shortly after she found them, questioning Kafka about your whereabouts. She had no answer, all she could do was say she hadn’t seen you. Silver Wolf left worried and agitated, grumbling about how they had to find you. As Silver Wolf left, Blade approached your doorway with the intent of finding you for your training session, because at this point you would have been late. Gripping the necklace tightly, Kafka turned to face Blade. She knew there tension had been growing between you and him for the last month. If he was the cause of your absence, she would not let him get away unscathed.

Blade’s expression was serious, but Kafka could see the glint of confusion in his eyes. He seemed entirely clueless, so perhaps interrogating him wouldn't do much.

“There’s no sign of them anywhere on the ship,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “There’s only this.” Kafka gestured to the thin chain that lay forgotten on your desk. Dread immediately shot through Blade’s heart.

You had left.

And it was all his fault.

He neglected you. You had every right to leave. He was meant to be a guardian to you. It was his job- no, his privilege to keep you safe, and failed to do so. And now you could be anywhere in the galaxy, wandering aimlessly once again. Blade carefully took the necklace, trying to keep his composure as questions and visions of the worst raced through his mind. What if they never found you, or what if you had gotten hurt? What if it was too late, and you were already–

He didn’t allow that thought to finish itself. Catastrophizing would only slow the process of finding you. 

But would you even want to come back? Why would you, when you felt unwelcome enough to leave in the first place? And even if, by some miracle, you came back, would you ever trust him again? If you ever granted him forgiveness, would he even deserve it?

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That was why he pushed you away- so you would leave him alone. You were gone now, and he had gotten what he wanted. Was he truly so terrible that he would still be unhappy, even after he had achieved his desire?

It wasn't meant to go like this.

You weren't meant to leave them. It was his fault though, so maybe it was best to let you go.

Kafka’s piercing gaze bored into the side of Blade's head as she watched the gears turning inside his head. She took a short breath before heading towards the door. She was scared of losing you, and angry that they hadn’t noticed your absence until now. There was no time for emotions such as anger. You were missing. They had to find you.

Blade stood in the center of your room, now entirely alone. The metal of your necklace dug into his skin as he clutched onto it for dear life, his eyes falling to the pictures on your bed. You seemed so happy before. So did Kafka and Silver Wolf- he was happy too, though he was reluctant to admit it out loud. He had broken the loving family you had brought together. A strange family, but a family nonetheless. 

Blade kept staring. He wished he could go out looking for you. Unfortunately, wishes are not reality.

Blade would not search for you that day. He would be chained to where he stood, fighting with himself internally as time slipped by quietly. You could have died already. And he was just standing there, staring.

No, he would not look for you.

Because the truth cannot be denied, nor masked with excuses- in the end, Blade is a cruel man.

One who cannot be changed by anything.

[tossawary]

You know, given all of the cloning and other evil experiments that Palpatine apparently had going on, it's a little remarkable in hindsight that he never targeted Shmi Skywalker personally.

Like, this woman apparently reproduced asexually and gave birth to one of the most powerful Force-sensitives of all time; I don't generally characterize Sith Lords as having great scientific curiosity or a sense of wonder for the universe (or bothering to remember "little" people exist most of the time), because their whole deal kind of precludes that, but it seems reasonable that one might conclude that there's potential power in investigating this.

If Anakin was friendly with Palpatine for the latter half of his childhood, it seems like it could have been relatively easy for Palpatine to learn things like 1) Anakin's midichlorian count (which he can use to tell Anakin that everyone else is just jealous of his power) and 2) Shmi's situation on Tatooine (which he can use to foster resentment between Anakin and the Jedi Order for not helping Shmi too). Just get Anakin a little frustrated and he'll probably start talking! Palpatine could make some concerned offer to send someone to check on Anakin's mother - it is the least that Naboo can do for the family that helped to save them, the Chancellor might say, but he would prefer that such favoritism remain a secret between them - and then Sidious would have Watto's exact address no problem.

And it's not like it would be hard to kidnap Shmi. Palpatine (as Sidious?) could pick some random bounty hunter and order them to go buy her, because this amount of money is presumably pocket change to him, and if Watto resists selling her off to a stranger, the bounty hunter can claim that they've come on behalf of her son. And if that doesn't work or if Shmi is already with the Lars family, there's always violence. Palpatine can just lie to Anakin and say that his agent discovered Shmi was targeted by enemies of the Jedi Order. Oh, what a shame they didn't protect her!

I don't know what would happen from here. Sidious could potentially contract the Kaminoans as a private, anonymous citizen to research Shmi and see if she'll be useful to him at all; the Kaminoans seem to be in the business of designer babies for specific clients (Jango + my vague memories of some "Clone Wars" comic). Which means that Shmi could be unhappily, awkwardly hanging around Kamino, probably still enslaved, when Jango Fett and the clones business is going on. For years, potentially.

Ideally for the Sith, the Kaminoans would be keeping Shmi in an entirely separate facility most of the time, away from the army intended for the Jedi and the Republic. But Jango might be sent around the planet on errands or something and the Kaminoans might need to use very specific equipment at some points, and I am a fan of grand plans being ruined by chance encounters or workplace logistics, so I think it would be fun if Shmi met Jango or Boba. Maybe Palpatine assumed that the Kaminoans had already disposed of Shmi or were keeping her on ice, due to a badly worded email or something else mundane, because the Kaminoan forgot the right Basic word (it's not their first language!!! or a translator malfunctioned or something) during their space phone call.

There's lots of Canon Divergence directions for this, like more serious angst or drama or thriller horror being imprisoned by a Sith Lord (somewhere besides Kamino) or discovering what's being done to the clones. Shmi could end up being rescued by Jedi and helping uncover Sidious. Or she could have a different tragic ending.

(This whole post regarding Shmi and cloning is partially inspired by that one post pointing out that Rey looks a lot like Shmi, and given the strange circumstances of Anakin's birth, any attempt to clone Anakin might have created a clone of Shmi instead. I still think a "Rey as Anakin's clone" is a fun sequel trilogy AU.)

I'm leaning towards fix-it and comedies of errors ideas because the prequels are tragic enough for me. Currently, I'm thinking about Shmi eventually ending up as part of young Boba Fett's gang somehow, because it's amusing to me that he was somehow a recurring antagonistic figure on that TCW show despite being a child. The other bounty hunters are like, "Kid, did you... bring your mom on this mission...?" And Boba Fett is like, "No!!! She's my ship mechanic!!! But if you touch her, just so you know, I will fucking kill you."

I think that both Anakin and Boba would fucking hate being adoptive brothers in any way, shape, or form. And the idea of Luke and Leia someday having an "Uncle Boba Fett" is also very funny to me.

(EDIT: I'm currently dubious regarding a Jango/Shmi ship because Jango does participate in the creation and enslavement of the clone army. Like, it's the Kaminoans who do it, they hold most of the blame and they would have gotten someone else if Jango hadn't done it, but Jango is very much there and at the very least complicit in a horrifying series of crimes against millions of people. Depending on how you characterize Shmi Skywalker, an enslaved woman, I don't really think she'd be cool with that. She let her child go off to become a Jedi because she thought it would be a much better life for him, while Jango sold his own "children" off into war for money. So, I'm currently thinking that Shmi might like the innocent child Boba, but she might honestly dislike Jango quite a lot.)

[intuitive-revelations]

Theory: Something serious is up with the TARDIS

I had been wondering about this all series, but after Rogue today, it's finally been confirmed that something's going on with the TARDIS (on top of all the other arc threads going on!).

The moment I picked it up was in The Devil's Chord, where the TARDIS makes a strange groan and creaks after landing back in 1963. Ruby thinks it's from Maestro, but the Doctor says it's "something else". As of today it's happened again, twice! Once in the episode itself, once in the next time trailer. The exact same sound effect!

Someone on reddit pointed out a few weeks ago that this sound appeared even earlier too, in Wild Blue Yonder (notably also when we first saw Susan Twist, had gravity changed to mavity, and welcomed the Pantheon into the universe). Each time, it's also had attention drawn to it. Here's a video of each scene, followed by a direct comparison of each sound:

(I did have a quick glance to see if it appeared elsewhere, maybe even during Flux. As far as I can tell however, Wild Blue Yonder seems to be the only non-S14 appearance.)

What's more, going back to that Reddit thread, someone pointed out what the Wild Blue Yonder script says about this moment:

And then the TARDIS seems to moan. The Doctor fascinated. DONNA: Is it working? THE DOCTOR: I think so. Strange. He reaches out, touches the TARDIS, wondering. And that 'strange' will come back to haunt him, one day. But now...

(Suddenly the TARDIS freaking out over Donna's spill might make a bit more sense...)

So what the hell's going on?

Well, between a trailer scene and some news that just came out a few hours ago as of writing this, I think I may have an idea. Given it's based on trailer footage uploaded and then removed from YouTube, I'll put it below beneath a read more:

In a removed Disney+ teaser trailer we get two frames of the Doctor screaming out into space (with Mel behind him). Except it's not from "his" TARDIS:

It's the f*cking memory TARDIS!

And here's the thing. Not only was this trailer scrubbed from the Disney+ and BBC channels, but in the other trailers, this clip is entirely different! Not only is Mel gone, but the TARDIS interior is now Fifteen's own, and the TARDIS is in a different, generic region of space.

Just before this, we also see a similar nebulous region of space matching the unmanipulated clip.

But why on Earth is this such a big deal, that the BBC/Disney would go full MCU and give us a deliberately altered clip? The only previous time I remember Doctor Who doing this was for Series 10, hiding the plot point of the Doctor's blindness. It's not because of Mel, who literally appears in the released trailer. It's also seemingly not because of the background, despite it also being altered (unless the two moons are a clue with the planet being Gallifrey or something - the thought had occurred to me - but that's such a tiny detail, and we also only see one sun). Instead, it must be the Memory TARDIS. But why?

In-universe, I have no idea. On one hand I'd be delighted to get some answers as to its nature. Assuming it's connected to the groans we've been hearing, then it could be the TARDIS undergoes some sort of metamorphosis into this state? But we've seen the TARDIS change all the time, whether for safety, to recover or whatever. I also can't imagine general audiences are falling over themselves to find out the in-universe explanation for a Classic Who re-release framing device. Not to mention, apparently the sound will go on to "haunt" the Doctor...

...maybe the TARDIS straight up is taken out of commission in some way? And the Memory TARDIS isn't the same ship, but the Doctor's way of saving the day without her? Maybe even remembered into existence Fitz/Amy style?

Out of universe however, it's just been announced yesterday that we're getting more Tales of the TARDIS.

And not just more omnibus stories with past characters returning for in-universe commentary... but with Fifteen and Ruby! What's more, it's apparently a one-off, right before the finale (but, note, after the first part next week).

Which means it's important. Possibly extremely so, given the edited trailer scene. It might even serve as an interquel, given Fifteen and Ruby are somehow in it.

I've seen two common theories. Either a) it will be Pyramids of Mars, and we're getting Sutekh in the finale (presumably with Fifteen and Ruby partially because of bringing back Elizabeth Sladen obviously not being an available option - and even if you thought up another character, eg. Luke, I doubt Tom would be interested, at that point anyway), or b) it will be something tying into Susan returning.

Honestly between the remaining trailer clips (eg. sandstorms and dusty planets), a tease RTD supposedly gave in DWM, and an old interview with him where he supposedly floated the idea of bringing back a Classic Who for a finale and airing the original serial on BBC3 beforehand, I'm kinda leaning towards the prior, even though it wasn't at all on my radar.

However, this still doesn't actually answer what's up with the TARDIS.

It could quite literally be anything. However, here's a few ideas, some reasonable some weird, that I have come up with:

Old age / stress. This is a weird one, but oddly enough something I had thought of once in the past, and I just saw someone else come to the same idea on Reddit. The idea is that while the Doctor has a new regeneration cycle and now a good few years, if not decades or more, of rest and recovery, the TARDIS may struggling in it's own right (especially if it is somehow old enough to have once been the Fugitive Doctor's). However, while this could be something interesting to explore, and I think isn't entirely mutually exclusive with other options, I can't imagine going anywhere near a storyline of the TARDIS itself 'wearing thin'. Besides, if we did, I like to imagine it would have been foreshadowed with size leakage, as per Name of the Doctor.

Relating to the above, could it be something linked to the TARDIS splitting in The Giggle? However, the sound starts before then (not that that means much to the TARDIS, but still).

Laws of rationality breaking down. This one makes the most sense in a lot of ways, between the expanded universe (particularly Christmas on a Rational Planet) and Flux, we've seen the TARDIS cannot survive in an irrational universe. While time has stabilised for now, we're still seeing magic and other Old Time forces encroaching in on the Web of Time. I'm a bit torn with this one however, as while it works from a lore and writing perspective, plus matches with this starting in Wild Blue Yonder (right after the Mavity incident... interestingly), it seems odd it's not more connected with what happened in Flux? Why are the sounds and effects on the TARDIS completely different?

Something to do with the Doctor's fobwatch. In Rogue, the Doctor blames the sound on indigestion. We know we're getting more Timeless Child related stuff - could this somehow be linked to Thirteen dropping the Division biodata module deep into the TARDIS? Would be a weird time to pick this up though, and I'm not sure exactly how that would have had such an effect.

The most actually likely, but least possible to theorise about: it's something time-wimey to do with Ruby, the villain(s) of the story, and/or Susan Twist, especially given this started after her first appearance.

Regardless, I'm just excited to see what's up with the Memory / "Remembered" TARDIS, because it's seems we're about to learn something...

[aurorasgate]

my dragon

sylus x lounge singer!reader

warnings: fem!reader, reincarnated lovers playing on his beyond cloudfall myth, mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort themes, inspired by this song: real low down lonesome by early james and sierra ferrell

the neon lights of the club line the familiar path from the back entrance to the dressing room, the vibrant red shining down from the ceiling to help guide your way against the pitch black walls with intricate gold embellishments but it’s a walk you could make in the dark at this point. 

it’s quiet, cold, enough so you can hear the click of your heels against the tile and swear you’re only a degree or two away from seeing little clouds with every breath you take. the rest of the staff have likely already settled in, ready to welcome those of the n109 zone who were welcome behind these doors. soon the place would be filled, noisier, hotter, and you’d take your place on the stage. 

the dressing room has a different atmosphere entirely, bright white lights from the globe bulbs that screw into every side of the mirrors that line the entirety of one of the walls is near blinding as your eyes take a few moments to adjust and makes the room significantly warmer than the hallway just outside it. it’s set up as if it was supposed to be packed with performers but it never is and for all you know, never has been. only your favorite mirror towards the back ever has belongings near it.

since you’ve made your way to the n109 zone and found yourself employed at this club, it’s only ever been you and, at sparse times, your accompanist and duet partner liam but he never seemed too keen on staying back here for longer than necessary and you don’t blame him. he was born for the stage, for the piano keys that melt into melodies under his fingertips and the mic that’s stained with the pomegranate colored lip stick he wore each night.

but you aren’t sure you could say the same about yourself. you’re just about positive you were.. incomplete and there wasn’t a single place you belonged in this world but you were starting to make your peace with that in the desolate land of the n109 zone. it feels like so long ago that you ended up here and decided it was as good as any place to be lost and this night club became like a second home.

there was something you admired about it that was like a fragment of a dream not quite within your reach but that was branded into your soul. the chapel like building a strange landmark you hadn't expected to find here, let alone with a bar hidden behind the black brick. but within the ornate victorian gold, red and black interior caught your eye, the music stirred something within your heart, the booze delicious on your tongue and its stage quickly became a place to be someone else for a while. someone who wasn’t missing a part of their soul.

because ultimately, that is who you decide you were. a person with half a soul and no way of finding the other half.

it’s the only words you could put to how you feel day in and day out with the gaping hole in your heart that bleeds into your lungs and finds life in the words you sing each night. a cavity in your chest that fauxs the feeling of some form of completeness on a stage of black and gold but only feels truly full, filled with golden rays of light and unbelievable warmth, in the most ridiculous of your dreams that you hadn’t dared to speak out loud to anyone else on this planet. 

how could anyone else possibly understand when you tell them the only thing that has even made you feel whole, completely and utterly whole in the most wonderful of ways, is a place you don’t know has ever truly existed in philos or any other planet in the vast galaxy? a powder blue sky that’s a stark contrast to the n109 zone but nothing like that in linkon or anywhere else you had travelled daring to chase after it. a seemingly endless field of green grass littered with blossoming datura of reds and pinks and purples, the smell of flora and dirt and a hint of smoke, and.. a dragon. your dragon. with stunning ruby eyes and black horns and a long tale that keeps you close and promises you there is another half of your soul to be found and loved in the most devouring of ways.

each time you’ve opened your eyes however, that mirage of completeness, of love and warmth, was gone. you didn’t wake up in a field of flowers and blades of soft grass and there was no dragon in your arms. not a single one to ever be found and fuck knows if they’d ever existed to begin with outside of fairy tales. not that it stopped you from finding pieces of him everywhere you went or dreaming of him still.

you were always a dreamer and not even the devastation of waking up only half full had killed that part of you.

you see your dragons horns in the dark pointed eyeliner you touch up after slipping into the dress that hung on the wall opposite the mirrors. you chase after his ruby eyes in the same shade of lipstick you apply after downing the bitter sweet shot the bartender had left for you before you arrived, a routine you’ve both come accustomed to in order to help calm your nerves even if it’s shit for your vocal cords. but despite your attempts to feel closer to the dragon you see in your dreams, to slip a little further to that place engraved on your heart, nothing about your dragon is reflected back at you in the mirror now. there’s only you; half a soul, lost and adrift in your daydreams of a place that certainly wasn’t here in the n109 zone and yet you’re so unwilling to leave when it’s the closest you’ve felt to something. something you couldn’t put a name or a coherent thought to. 

what a silly thing you are, you think as you open the dressing room door without looking back and steel yourself with a deep breath mixed with the scent of your perfume and the alcohol on your lips. through the thick curtain separating the lounge area with the back of the house, you can hear the muffled sound of liams piano skills that fill the main space while they wait for you to join him. 

a silly little thing, you repeat to yourself when the curtains part for you, hoping for a dragon in a den full of wolves. 

༻✦༺

like every night you take the stage, it’s just as the alcohol in your belly spreads to your veins that you get lost in the music, each word you sing becoming more powerful and lovely, amplified by the mic you hold onto like it’s a part of you. your fingers run along the warm metal stand, catching on the dangling beads you’d used to make it more your own while your other hand brings the mic so close one might consider it a teasing lovers kiss with the way your lips only just caress it before parting for the bellowing melody that leaves your lungs and catches the attention of every patron in the room.

you feel each and every one of their eyes on you but meet none of them, insteading finding your usual vision points around the room; the painting of a crow near the bar, the very fake plants that separates some of the booths in the back, the one table that’s mismatched compared to every single other one in the bar that sits near the front of the stage. you know the moment their gazes shift too, when liams deep sultry voice joins yours as he continues to play the piano that’s so close you can feel the vibrations against the skin of your partially exposed back with every key he hits.

it’s a comforting feeling, one you gratefully take in and ride from one song to the next, helping to lull you to a place where you aren’t so incomplete. a place between your dreams and the reality of your loneliness. 

that is, until you’re thrown off your axis. scratch that - it feels more like you’ve been kicked in the chest right off the side of a very tall mountain and are free falling through clouds, brought down from your proverbial high by a presence that you feel before you see.

it’s a bone deep feeling, one that makes you ache and yearn and want to cry out. you hardly feel like your continued singing is masking it either with the way it reverberates back into your lungs and you don’t know if you can keep it up or how much air you’re taking in or if you're choking on your heart rather than singing like you thought and when you see who has brought you to such a state, you feel warm tears flowing down your cheeks before you ever get a chance to register them welling in your eyes or attempt to stop them.

and the source of it all, the man who has flipped your world upside down by simply walking into the room, sees it all.

you know he does with how his scarlet eyes are locked onto yours from the moment you’re in each other's view and for several moments, all while you stare at the other, it feels as if you’re the only two people in the world. you can’t hear anything but your heart, that for the first time in your life beats so strongly you wonder if this is what everyone with the entirety of their soul feels like all of the time and if the man staring back at you is feeling the same. your mouth moves on muscle memory alone but you have no idea what the lyrics leaving you sound like as you take him in; the silver of his hair your fingers ache to card through it, the way he towers over everyone else in the room and how he wears his red and black suit jacket like the colors were made for him and him alone.

familiar in the way you find your dreams but you know you’ve never seen him before. you’d have never forgotten meeting him. not in this life.

only when mr. clyde, the manager of the bar, demands his attention does the world where it's just the two of you shatter, the pieces of it laying at your feet as if they’re waiting for you to put each sharp shard back together, piece by blooding piece as they cut through your flesh, all the while your tears continue to fall. it seems so similar to the first day you had dreamed of your dragon and you left it slipping through your fingers when trying to make sense of it.

you want to scream for him not to go when you see mr. clyde gesture to a place you cannot see but don’t know if you're relieved or mortified when the silver haired man takes the lead to an open booth in clear view of the stage and the manager follows with obvious reluctance. you don’t care for what they’re discussing, don’t know how or if you’ll be able to take your eyes off of him or how long you’ll be able to stand here singing like you're fine. 

because you are certainly not fucking fine. this is the least amount of fine you’ve ever felt but it’s so different than anything you had experienced in your entire life thus far. 

you reach for something, anything, to keep you grounded - your mic stand and the beads that now painfully dig into your palm at the force of your grip and the way you will them to keep you from collapsing. you search for a sound - liams piano at your back starting a song that all too well sums up your lonely heart up until just a few moments ago. you keep staring at the man, unsure if you could look away if you tried but not wanting to try at all. you find only half your bearings but let it help the lyrics flow from you in a way that they never had before, full of emotions you can’t quell or quiet or stop. not as half a soul trying to forget but as you. just as you are; a dreamer with blossoms, a dragon, in your heart.

despite your blurring vision making it nearly impossible to see, these damn tears you can’t stop, you can feel those striking ruby eyes on you, drowning out every other person's existence, helping you put together the mirage that leaves only the two of you in the world and paints you both in a field of datura. it’s nothing you can explain to anyone in their right mind but it’s unbelievable in a way you hardly have words for and instead let show in the passion of your singing. 

it’s the first time you felt like you belonged here, like there was something, someone, you so desperately wanted to preform for and let them see you. truly see you in all your maybe not so incomplete beauty.

by the end of the song, you hardly feel like you can breathe or stand and in the lingering applause you bring the back of your hand to wipe away the tears staining your cheeks. All too quickly the man has seemed to finish talking with mr. clyde and is ready to make his departure. he looks back at you, holding your gaze with an expression you can’t decipher for another long moment before walking away, his long strides quickly making his figure disappear into the dark entryway. the distance he puts between you feeling like your heart is being ripped in two.

before you know what you’re doing but uncaring of the consequences or how crazy you might seem and certainly feel, you’re running. the clash of your mic and the feedback from the speakers drowning out the clicking of your heels against the tile, the call of your name from liam and the protests of those you clash into and nearly shove over in your departure.

you don’t register any of it or how awfully painful it is to run in heels or the cold night air of the n109 zone as you throw open the door without losing a bit of momentum. you can’t think of anything but the figure in front of you and the distance you’re desperate to close between you.

“wait!” you call with a voice you don’t know how you found in this state. you think you might not have spoken them at all had he not reacted to it.

his back straightens, his shoulders pulling back as if your words had tugged on a leash around his neck. before he can turn around, you’re there, grabbing onto the fabric of his jacket, fighting for air, not letting yourself admit just how terrified you are to have him walk away from you, how much you don’t want to see him go.

even in heels you have to look up to meet his gaze and in the reflection of his eyes, it only now hits you how much of a mess you look but you can’t pay it any mind, can’t look back and don’t give him a chance to speak or say anything lest he reject you completely and toss you to the side.

not yet. not until you know.

“ha- have we met before?” your voice is weak but not from your little running stunt. no, it was all him and the tug of his lips and the aching familiarness of him that leaves you breathless and trembling as you hold onto his arm. it can’t be.. he can’t be..

he doesn’t shake you off but instead reaches out to you, tanned fingers caressing your cheek with a tenderness that has tears welling in your eyes all over again and you swear when you try to blink them away, you see an outline of your dragon's horns utop his head and feel the warmth of his tail wrapping around you.

“i guess you don’t remember after all,” his voice is deep, almost hurt, resounding in your chest like it was all you had ever longed to hear and the hold you have on him grows tighter. 

maybe you don't remember. at least not all of what he might be implying and the words of your truth feel crazy, absolutely insane, as they sit on your tongue but something about the man in front of you coaxes them out of you, spoken into the world for the first time in your life and feeling so tangible you hardly know what to do with yourself beside throw yourself into his chest, holding onto him so tightly it hurts as you say the words against the warmth of his jacket. “you’re.. my dragon, aren’t you?”

he chuckles in response, the melody of it vibrating through your body but there’s more relief to it than humor. you’re thankful for the strong arms that wrap around you in return, keeping you from falling to the ground but even more than that, they tell you just how right you are. “you are always so bold, o great sorceress.”

[crguang]

ocean eyes

You’ve never seen the ocean. Kafka introduces you to it.

fluffy as fawk, recycled the idea from that fic but it’d be like a prequel technically, 2.3k words

A/N: couldn’t stop thinking about kafka loving the sea she’s made for me atp. title only makes sense because of the other fic lol

The sea breeze washes over your being, it caresses each strand of hair and softly touches your skin like gentle hands cupping your cheeks. You feel it in your ears, a sound you’re hearing for the first time; its warmth seems to enter your lungs and clear it of past impurities with every inhale, and you wish to take a deep breath to keep it inside your chest forever.

The sensation leaves you immobile. In front of you, the ocean. A myth come true, its beauty rivaling Idrila’s. It’s vast, bigger than your mind can comprehend even after so many years spent traveling the cosmos, and a deeper blue than the sky it’s reflecting. Water has never been so alive, with waves crashing on the shore and currents on the horizon, you are facing an entity larger than life. Its depths create and harbor life that you won’t ever get to see. Your mortal eyes can only perceive a fraction of it, so small and significant. You didn’t think it was possible for water to kiss the sky, having the proof before you fills you with wonderment. Among it, some strange feeling nestles in your throat. You stand as it curls around your vocal cords and leaves you mute. Words are useless in front of something so grand, you realize, they fade away as if they've never existed at all. You lose yourself in cold blues and the occasional whites of flying seagulls, in salty air that quickly becomes your favorite scent, and you can’t speak for a long moment.

Lithe fingers, laced with your calloused ones, tighten their hold on your hand. It takes a couple blinks to tear your eyes away from the boundless sea, and you turn to Kafka’s fond smile. She’s watching you, drinking you in like you’re the precious sight and not the limitless expanse of water on the coast. A thumb swipes over the crease of your eye, lingering at the corner for a second too long, and you realize she’s wiping a tear away.

“Oh,” you exhale softly, bringing your free hand to your face. Your cheeks are wet with silent tears and you sniffle as you wipe them from your skin. “I didn’t even notice.”

“What were you thinking about so intently just now?”

You look back at the sea, an ache in your throat. The sun hides behind thin clouds and paints the world in soft colors.

“I was wondering if my planet was ever this pretty. I wish my mother could have seen it.”

Your home world fell victim to a Stellaron, like plenty throughout the galaxy. It dried most of your rivers and evaporated many of your lakes, transforming seas into lands full of sand. Water was a limited resource and a tedious thing to acquire. You remember stumbling on a picture book with various shades of blue filling some of the pages and asking your mother about it. That evening, she explained the ocean to you; never-ending, deeper than mortals can comprehend and filled with creatures your childish mind could merely compare to alien life. You thought she was making stuff up, maybe embellishing a mundane truth, but she spoke of the sea with the same tenderness she used to tuck you into bed. As you grew, you understood that it was longing in her words, a deep desire for something she would never experience in this lifetime. To you, it felt pointless to yearn for something she didn’t know; your mother was born long after the Stellaron infected your planet and spread its cancer to the roots of your world. You didn’t understand how this desire was born, where it came from. Yet, in her eyes resided a wistfulness that was only extinguished the day she died. She left the waking world longing for the sea, and memories of her constrict your chest as you stand at the edge of it.

Kafka hums, pivoting to face the water. A gentle silence settles between you as you watch the waves rise and fall on the shore. Her bare palm is warm against yours, it grounds you to the sand beneath your feet. Seagulls make a grating sound, you discover, but even their squawking can’t ruin the view before you. You feel a sudden restlessness to touch the water, to have it envelop you entirely until you feel yourself disappear in it as if absorbed.

“Can we go in the water?”

Kafka smiles. “Sure.”

Your hand slips from hers and you step out of your slides, sinking your toes into the hot sand of the beach. Sand is something you’re familiar with, it reminds you of your mom and your broken world. Comfort fills you with every step towards the waves. Kafka follows beside you, used to the sights and the sensations. She comes here every summer, but this is the first time she’s brought you along. You understand why she’d want a place like this all to herself, it brings forth a sense of serenity best enjoyed in solitude. Or, at least it did, before. Before experience brought you closer.

You hesitate somewhat once you reach the water. Your feet are submerged in it and suddenly its vastness becomes a little terrifying. Kafka walks in further until she’s standing waist deep in the water, circling hands creating ripples around her. She turns to face you with a silent question on her stretched lips.

“…I don’t know how to swim,” you confess uselessly, prompting a chuckle out of her. She knows that, obviously, since you’re unfamiliar with large bodies of water.

“We can stay on the shallow end. Don’t want you drowning on my watch, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the others.”

Kafka holds out her hand. You take it with some reticence. She brings you close enough for wet fingers to squeeze your waist affectionately. Her easy expression makes you at ease, she seems different on this planet, more carefree. She’s not wearing her contacts and her ponytail is lower than usual, its tie looser around her long locks of hair. You’re privy to a side of her you had no idea existed and you’re honored by the trust she puts in you.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, looking down at your wobbly reflections.

“Mm, I like it.”

You dip your hands beneath the water and turn your palms to the sky. Algae brushes against your calves as you move around. Kafka lets you explore, head tilting back to face the sun. You venture a bit further until your neck is the only thing sticking out of the water. Impulsively, you squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your nose with two fingers and sink into the water. Every sound is muffled in your ears, and in the darkness everything is pointless. This is different from a shower or being caught in the pouring rain, you feel light. weightless, insignificant. You wonder if that’s what your mother longed for, this freedom to be anything and anyone, drifting through the boundless sea. You emerge with a little gasp, rubbing the water out of your eyes before blinking them open.

You’re careful not to stray too far from where Kafka is drinking in the faint sunlight. Her eyes are closed when you glance back at her, chin tilted to the heavens. Her shoulders have turned a rosier color from the sun and her dark, backless bathing suit contrasts beautifully with the clear ocean blue. You walk towards her, flicking your wrist to send water flying her way. Her brows twist for a second before she looks at you with a small smile. Kafka always smiles a lot, more often than not to unsettle her opponent or prey, but there’s a softer edge to the ones she’s had since you arrived on this planet.

“What do you usually do here?” You ask, moving closer to her.

“Float. Wanna try?” Kafka holds onto your waist when you’re close enough to reach, pulling you towards her. “I can show you.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You’re not going to drown.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kafka playfully rolls her eyes and takes hold of your chin with a few fingers. Her gaze follows the movement of her thumb across your jaw, then flicks up to meet yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” she says, leaning in to press her lips on yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as her mouth slowly moves against yours. She pulls away after a moment and looks at you. “Do you trust me?”

“At times.”

“Well, trust me now.”

One of her hands is placed on the small of your back to support you, the other gently guides you onto your back by applying pressure on your chest.

“What if I float away,” you say, a tinge of panic enveloping you, and you grab her wrist to stay upright.

Kafka can’t help the amusement on her face. “To where?”

“Far, I don’t know.”

“Would you miss me?”

You pout. “It’s a valid fear to have.”

“It’s really not.”

“What if I float to the deep end, then it’s too late to come back and I drown because I can’t swim?”

Kafka looks at you for a moment, eyelids lowering and an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like she’s thinking of something funny.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“You killed three flying beasts twice your size at once, last week. You're scared of a little water?”

“Fuck you,” you try pushing her away, but she only presses you further into her with her arms around your waist, a laugh escaping her. “There’s nothing little about the fucking ocean.”

“Relax,” she drawls, “it won’t work if you’re tense.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Kafka curls a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly brings you closer to capture your lips with hers. Her head tilts to kiss you better, and you can’t focus on anything but the sweet kisses she presses against your mouth. Your wet hand trails up her spine, causing droplets of water to slide down her back. Your lips part to deepen the kiss when her tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You forget the argument, your muscles relax as her chest touches yours, and by the time she pulls away with a soft exhale through her nose, you almost forget your surroundings. You chase her lips as she leans back, planting a few more chaste kisses on her mouth. She indulges you for a minute, the fingers on your nape tightening their grip for an instant. You’re breathing heavier when she separates from you for good and smiles.

“Now, let’s try it again, mmh?”

Kafka teaches you how to float in the water with firm hands and occasional teasing jabs to which you would respond if she wasn’t the one standing between you and drowning. In the end, you spend most of the day at sea, learning how to keep water from going up your nose without using your fingers and the basics of swimming. Your fingertips are pruned hours later as you emerge from the water. Kafka’s still under— you bet on who could hold their breath the longest— so you dive back beneath the surface as quietly as you can. She calls you a cheater afterwards, but you distract her with wet, slippery kisses.

You’re drying yourselves on the beach as the sun sets below the horizon. You sit on your towel next to Kafka, who’s reclined on her elbows. Her eyes are closed, not a crease between her brows, and her head is tilted upwards. Before, you thought she was sunbathing, but now the temperature is slightly lower than this afternoon and the sun is no longer visible in the sky. You think perhaps she’s simply enjoying the sound of the waves and the salty air like you did earlier. It’s funny, she hasn’t told you what this place means to her; it clearly holds some sort of significance if she returns to it annually. Her way of revealing herself is unconventional at best and a little clumsy, like a fawn taking its first steps. She presents you the sea, this part of her she keeps hidden from everyone, and says nothing else. You watch the lines of her nose, the curves of her lips and their pretty pink color. Her face is bare from any makeup, her hair loose and her expression so relaxed she might’ve been asleep. She’s beautiful. You’re no longer gazing at the ocean, though you feel a familiar sense of wonder as you observe her. Your heart is light in your chest and you suddenly understand how your mother could yearn for something she’s never experienced before.

Kafka’s eyes slowly blink open. She tilts her head to meet your stare with a smile, and you long to love her like your mother longed for the sea.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

You nod. Your limbs move before you can stop yourself; you straddle her waist, sitting on her lap and snaking your arms around her back. Kafka lets you bury your nose in the crook of her neck, using a hand in the sand to support the both of you.

“What’s that for?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as you breathe in the smell of the sea on her skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, pressing a kiss to her skin.

Your mouth trails up her neck to her jaw, tasting salt, and Kafka hums when you kiss her lips. It feels different to kiss her after getting acquainted with the ocean because you finally have something to compare the weightlessness that overwhelms you with each of her fervish kisses. A hand tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer until she reclines on the ground and your body follows without missing a beat, lips locked.

You pull away to breathe in, only slightly, reveling in the sensation of her hand up your back.

“You’ll get sand in my hair,” Kafka mutters into your mouth.

“I’ll wash it for you.”

On a deserted beach and with the sea as your witness, you kiss her until the moon ascends in the sky and the waves grow stronger behind you.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🎡Cosmic Messages for Workers of Light ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Those of you who’ve always had a feeling that you were born to do something important; those of you who’ve recently been feeling like you’re being called to something higher than the mundane; YO, this reading has appeared in your Reality now to signal that the lights are green~🥝🥦🥑

Many people have been on different timelines that are now converging as one singular trajectory of where Humanity is heading. It’s a little bit more convoluted than that tho, because we each experience this Game a whole lot differently, too. But essentially, we’re wrapping up karmic cycles and entering a Golden Age of Workers of Light~★

Technically speaking, the essence…the theme…of the New Age of Aquarius is accountability. This is an era of accountability, folks. People can no longer be supported by any kind of cosmic power to perpetuate deceit and the misuse of knowledge.

‘But when knowledge is abused or put to the servility of coining wealth for a few, without respect of the treasury which all inherit, then humanity departs from the machine and all is toil without profit. For the false-hearted who would tear knowledge apart, diminishing the light and shielding its beams from us, will make mechanicals of us all.’ – excerpt from Manifesto of The Guild of Artificers; The Steampunk Tarot

What’s your current timeline? Which trajectory of the future of Humanity are you on? This reading serves as a prelude to what’s going to be revealed more in-depth in the ‘Lion’s Gate Portal to XXX’ PAC~💋

INTELLIGENCE: Mission Mind Control (1979) on Nuclear Vault

TECHNOMAGY: Probability Alteration and Luck (Energetically Programmed Audio) by Sapien Medicine

deck-bottom: XXI The World Rx, Silver Geographer (Francis Drake) & Priestess of Shine

[PAC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – You’re Going to Change the World by Making It Innocent Again

ANGEL NUMBERS: variants of 585, 627, 657, 757, 818, 828

the meaning of NOW – 6 of Pentacles Rx

Have you ever had glimpses of imagination, or a sense of knowing, or it’s just a feeling, like you were dropped to Earth by mistake? Perhaps it’s a feeling as if you were a Greek god banished from the realms of the gods and entered Earth as a form of punishment? Or a bit of a feeling like you got scammed and arrived on the wrong Planet? LMAO Why am I thinking of that Bollywood movie called ‘PK’?

The alien kid arrived on a strange Planet: Earth. And Humanity—Indian primarily—befuddles the living shit out of him XD I think you’ve known for quite a while that you’re not from around here. You’ve never really fit in. I think you weren’t treated nicely by most people—could be your own blood ‘family’, could be your schoolmates, teachers, neighbours. Just basically, you’re seen as a bit of a freak.

It’s hard for you to feel a sense of community. No matter what stage of Life you are in, it’s always felt like that. If at the moment of reading this you’re older in age, I think you’re managing a lot better now. You’ve learnt to be OK with your own company because you’re the most smartest and interesting person you could have conversations with. But if you’re comparatively younger, you’re probably still going through the motion, and that’s OK, because it’s just part of the lore building ;P

bridging the future – King of Wands

The simplest truth about your existence is that you aren’t meant to ‘grow up’ in the same sense as most other people do. Growing up is a wonderful thing, of course, we all need to grow up and become smarter and amazinger! But what doesn’t sit right with you is people’s twisted idea of ‘growing up’ is all about. To most lame-ass Humans on this Planet, ‘growing up’ means abandoning the core essence of what makes you, you.

On this Planet, ‘growing up’ means letting go of your innocence and simple kindness in exchange for survival and brutality (in the workplace, I guess). Here on this Planet, ‘growing up’ means burning your passion to ashes; not living Life fuelled by a burning passion. Here, ‘growing up’ means being punished for authenticity and the childlike courage to question authority. Growing up, here, means becoming complicit to evil abuse of power and greed.

How are you supposed to comply to any of that? Don’t you realise how pure your Heart is? Your sense of justice is clear since day one. It’s something you may not be able to express clearly but you know what’s right and wrong on the basis of what’s good and bad for people as….just people…not numbers or statistics or traffic or casualties. ‘People are PEOPLE, dammit!’

you’re going to MAKE IT – 3 of Cups Rx

You’re befuddled? This world is befuddled! If you’ve chosen this Pile as your main pile, you have it written in your Soul’s blueprint that you’re going to be involved in the politics of the world. Yes, some of you could become politicians or activists, but even those that aren’t interested in any of that, you’re still going to have opinions and perspectives that touch on the subject of Humanity and how psychopath politicians are fucking things up for Humans.

You know what I mean? Some of you could become world players that implement new laws and principles in your society. Some of you will have the power to influence public opinions so that people begin to demand accountability from their corrupt governments. Back to basics, baby. What is Humanity, basically? What does it mean to even be Human living in a Human World, basically? You’ve questioned all of this and you will one day have a platform to extend this musing to a larger audience.

The lights are GREEN now. You’ve experienced so much personal conflict with people who don’t understand your values, all so you would learn to forge connections with people who are just as innocently passionate as you are. That was your training ground, bitch~♥︎ Your personal experiences were a microcosm model of what’s going to sweep out the entire world in the coming decades, if not centuries.

Basically, it's time nations started actually taking care of their own issues before they raid and destroy other nations for resources is what your Soul is understanding.

TIMELINE🔻💛

daydreaming – Gold Magus (Johannes Faustus)

engaging in Reality – Priestess of Innocence

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – You’re Not Confused; This World Is; So You’re Alright

ANGEL NUMBERS: variants of 111, 123, 222, 414, 444, 647

the meaning of NOW – 9 of Cups

Head in the clouds, baby? You’re the type of person who has many dreams and ideas, and it’s like, it’s easy for you to get interested in all kinds of pursuits. But then, it’s also just as easy to lose interest in all of those novelties; it feels like your heart and mind are always being pulled by newer interests or topics. I’m reminded of this meme or whisper that says something like, ‘Not tonight babe. A YouTuber has just posted a 4-hour video about a topic I’ve never heard about before.’

You like to study new things or basically just drown yourself in new hobbies/interests because you’re trying to make sense out of your very existence. I think you’ve felt incredibly confused your entire Life. If not ‘confused’ per se, it still feels like you’re lacking a sense of direction. You don’t really know what’s the purpose of being here on this Planet. You’re weirded out by the fact that you’re not motivated by the same things that others have convinced you to get excited about.

‘Why am I not motivated by these promises and achievements? Damn, I simply can’t be motivated by something as unromantic as that. There’s no Life in any of those pursuits. My God, what should I be interested in for me to motivate myself to make something out of myself? I really don’t know what to pursue in this world. I don’t even know how to live…’ So you continue to daydream but your heart is quite heavy sometimes.

bridging the future – Ace of Cups Rx

Pile 2, you are magic, you know that? Being the way that you are, you aren’t in the wrong for being rather ‘impractical’. If anything, you’re so high-vibrational that you still remember that physical manifestation comes from the dream world first. I think you’d resonate with being a very Feminine person, aenergetically speaking? Maybe you have a strong Moon/Neptune placement in your birth chart as well.

You remember on a Soul level that all dreams can become real as long as you keep on to them. Your being a dreamer who dreams ‘too much’ is not wrong; it is this world that’s too rigid and restrictive. It’s grotesque how society has set up so many rules that limit what a being as divine as you can and can’t do/create. They say the sky’s the limit; in your case, your faith’s the limit.

There are many wonderful things that you want to make manifest but you often tell yourself that you’re dreaming too much or that there’s no way someone like you could ever achieve that. That’s where you’re doing ‘wrong’: the not believing in your own ability to create your dream Life. Remember that successful people usually say that the Life they have now exceeds even their ‘wildest’ dreams.

So dream wild. Dream big. Even if you don’t believe you can exceed your expectations, can’t you still believe that you’ll manifest something very similar?

you’re going to MAKE IT – 9 of Wands Rx

Stop stopping yourself, OK? Stop gaslighting yourself for fuck’s saké. Right now, you need to stop believing that Life’s supposed to be hard work and lived logically. You literally deserve to get paid for just existing. That sounds extra narcissistic but hope you get the idea. This modern society that favours hard work and believes that only after you’ve worked really hard can you then be worthy of a lot of abundance is stupid. This world is confused. People have forgotten the essence of dreaming and living in ease.

Some of you will resonate with being a fairy or an elven soul, and so you believe from the depths of your heart that people should be allowed an easy existence in harmony with nature. Some of you will resonate with being a futuristic alien android being who believes that human lives can be made easy with the right use of technology.

All in all, cosmically speaking, your Soul came into this world to be a ‘lazy’ genius who will switch things up for Humanity so that everybody can have an easier time existing on this Planet. Geniuses are never lazy, bitch. Not in the mind! If wanting things to be more streamlined and easy to do makes a person ‘lazy’ that’s hilarious. So what’s a not-lazy person? A low-IQ idiot who perpetually works hard because they got scammed by capitalism?

TIMELINE🔻💙

daydreaming – Green Magus (John Dee)

engaging in Reality – Priestess of Ambition

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Illuminate Others’ Paths by Simply Expressing Your Truth

ANGEL NUMBERS: variants of 211, 217, 303, 522, 814, 999

the meaning of NOW – 3 of Swords Rx

Do you know that you’re an energy worker? I almost feel you’re a miracle worker. You’re somebody who has a special power in the way that you express yourself, whether in writing or spoken. It’s not so much what you say or write or do, it’s HOW you say or do or write your truth that moves people’s hearts. You have the power to stir some shit up in people’s aenergetic fields LOL

You have both the power to destroy your enemies and heal those who want to get better in the world. If your power is speech, it’s the aenergy with which you talk that empowers people. Ionno, think JFK, MLK? Or some fascinating YouTubers who make us feel like, ‘Oh this guy/gal is my spirit animal!!!’ It’s their aenergy, right? Same with writing or any other thing that you do. It comes natural to you to create some kind of a ripple in people’s consciousness.

For other people, just tuning in your aenergetic space stirs them. That’s why you experience a lot of extremes. Good-hearted people feel immensely healed, comforted and uplifted in your presence or when they talk/text with you. But the false-hearted ones, they also know there’s something about you that calls out their bullshit even when you’re not ‘saying’ anything. There’s something about you that inspires people to be better! And that’s fucking annoying to narcs and the losers of the world LMAO

bridging the future – 10 of Pentacles Rx

I see that you’re honestly not the kinda person who’s ambitious about changing the world, about influencing the world. Not in that ambitious manner like some activist or whatever. Your Soul is very incredibly superbly soft; you ain’t an activist, you’re an artist; you ain’t a fighter, you a lover, baby~ So I get that you sometimes don’t really know what to do with yourself XD Like there’s this desire to heal the world, but you don’t think of yourself as someone who’s fighter enough or strong enough to do any of that.

WRONG. You’re the kinda entity who’s already doing all that healing stuff by simply being the amazing person that you are. Your aenergy is like a combination of both Pile 1 and 2. The half of you is superbly soft and dreamy and you’re so kind and empathetic; the other half of you is fiercely protective of those who are hurting, and you do a lot to make things better and easier for them—in your own practical, seemingly small ways.

The good news is, you really don’t have to be a fighter if it doesn’t suit you. Basically, you just have to be yourself and express your truth. In whatever way you find most suitable to you. Your power lies in your communication, self-expression, connection. You’re going to be a trend-setter, babe~ A trend-setter of authenticity, yup, ‘real authenticity’, ironically; not ‘fake authentic’ that’s propagated by a lot of narcs on the Internet LOL

you’re going to MAKE IT – 3 of Pentacles

With narcs who are pretending so HARD at being good, you know it’s all skin-deep; it’s all just jargon. And they’re gonna get really good at weaponizing self-love concepts to justify shit behaviour, deadbeat behaviour, toxic tendencies, gaslighting atrocities and all that shit, you know? With you, your VIBRATIONS can’t be faked, let alone emulated. The world needs a role model like you. That’s why you’re going to make it. Your Soul Mission ain’t just about you, babe~

You’re literally going to be the example whom people bear witness for what being authentic is all about. They will watch you and come to their own conclusion what a genuine soul looks like. You’re reminding me of Dr Jordan B Peterson. Yep, that kinda vibe. Be weird all you want, be scandalous all you want, the right people will see that your INTENT has been good all along. And in that sense, the people who CHOOSE to view you badly are the CLOWNS, and they’re gonna be proving that to themselves.

In essence, most people’s idols are all LIARS!!! You’re meant to break that, destroy that, and usher in a new era of influencers/celebs/thought leaders/spiritual teachers/all kinds of public figures that actually operate on Light—real information and real intent—instead of fake-ass jargon that lies to people’s faces with semantics and optics! Your aenergy is insane it’s literally gonna change the world massively, and upon finding this reading, you’re riding on the winds of CHANGE so get fucking READY, bitch~! \`★_★`/

TIMELINE🔻🧡

daydreaming – Green Astronomer (Nicolaus Copernicus)

engaging in Reality – Priestess of Illumination

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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