#I imagine this happening in the tree somehow don’t think too hard about this

[katisbadatnames]

Yeah this is exactly what happened

hello isat fandom I have arrived!

please accept this humble offering

[magics-neptunes-things]

Feelings (5)

Hi guys!

New chapter for this Serie, I hope you'll like it too :) Don't be shy about telling what you think about it, or asking if you want to have something special in it. I had a request from here for this one, so I hope it will be ok like this :)

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Suggestive, sex talk (?)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Saying goodbye to Alessia was hard, but you didn’t have the choice. You knew since the start of all this that it would happen, but that doesn’t mean it was making things easier.

You find your apartment like you left it, your friend Sofia came several times to ventilate it and take care of your olive tree. That you renamed Olivio, with all the imagination that is yours. The only thing that changed, is that there is no Alma laying on your couch like she was used to do when you were away. You always hided your keys under your doormat for her to come, but you asked Sofia to take it away for now. You still have things belonging to Alma in here though.

You send them to her by the post before going to your first training session. Your Spanish teammates look at you with friendly compassion when your arrived and you realize that you almost forgot that you lost a finale several days before. Alessia made you forget.

You find your habits really quickly, even if Laia Codina or Jenni are not part of the team anymore. But Ona being one to replace them, you’re pretty sure that Lucy isn’t too mad. You still have to talk to her about Alessia though, you knew that she went on holidays with Ona and didn’t want to bother her. And you teased her so much about Ona that you’re sure she won’t miss to tease you back for now.

Cata Coll is one of your closest friends here and it’s with her that you appear for the first time back on Fc Barcelona Feminin’s Instagram. The training was lighter the first days, but you soon go back to the real session.

“So. You and Less?” asks Lucy one afternoon where you are at her flat after the training.

“Yes?” you answer innocently.

You were playing against each other at Fifa on Playstation, Lucy’s actually crushing you with Manchester City. You’re still trying to figure how she can be good at everything.

“How did you get together?”

“What tell you that we are together?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe because you were making out in the plane when I came back to ask if I can borrow your earphones?”

Sitting on the other couch while scrolling on her phone, Ona can’t help but snort. You don’t mind her being here while you’re talking about your love life. You like her and she’s your mate’s girlfriend. You better get along and for now it’s working great. You smile too, to be fair, even if you blush lightly.

“We didn’t put a label on it, so I don’t know if I can call her my girlfriend” you answer, frowning softly.

It was the truth, even if you both said that you won’t go for someone else. You really hope that no one will catch Alessia’s eyes at Arsenal or even London. She’s starting again in a new environment; she doesn’t know everyone for now. You trust her obviously, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t lose interest in you.

“We did that at first too” Lucy answers. “Long-distance was hard, but really worth it if you’re meant to be.”

You hum, missing the complicit smile between Ona and Lucy. You sigh when Lucy scores another goal just before the end of the game. With a disgusted air, you let the controller fall on the couch.

“I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship before. It’s strange, to be honest, not being able to take the girl you like on date or something.”

“It is” Lucy smiles, patting your knee softly. “If you need advice or only talking, you can come to me. Or Mariona, she’s dealing with it for longer that I was.”

You nod. You somehow forgot that Mariona is dating Alessia’s teammate. Maybe you can take planes together sometimes, you think with irony.

“And Alma?” Lucy asks.

“Never heard from her again. I send her the things she left in my apartment and that’s all.”

********

You took the habits to call Alessia every night. She’s usually cooking her diner and put her phone against one of her kitchen walls to be able to cook while talking to you. You can really look at her for hours doing it. You only regret not being able to stick against her while she cuts some vegetables.

“What do you like to eat?” Alessia asks you that night.

You were silently observing her, lost in your contemplation.

“Oh uh… It depends” you shrug. “I’m not really difficult, I mean I think?”

Alessia laughs softly.

“I cooked for Leah two days ago, it was entertaining” the blonde says.

You smirk, knowing exactly what it could have been. You never met anyone as picky as Leah when it comes from food. You can guess her choice when you go to restaurant with her, it’s always the simplest dish.

“Why do you ask anyway?” you ask Alessia.

She looks genuinely surprise by your question, stopping to cut her carrots to look at you better.

“Don’t you come next week to London?”

“Yes?”

“Well I want to cook for you, obviously. We chose to get delivered almost at every meal we share when we stayed at home, but I really want to cook for you.”

“Ok” you smile softy. “Only if you let me take you on a proper date.”

“Is that even a deal?” Alessia smiles at you.

You feel your heart beating faster and God, how did you survive when she smiled at you that way in front of you?

Several days later, you were leaving training in hurry. You have two hours to go to the airport after your session and you came with your suitcase to go for it straight after your shower.

“Why are you in such hurry?” Jana asks from her cubby.

“She’s going to her girlfrieeeend” Cata sings from her spot.

“Girlfriend?”

Keira’s voice came from the other side of the room, and you flinch. Right, you didn’t talk to Keira about your new relationship. For your defense, you were thinking that Leah would. You grimace to Cata, grabs your suitcase and go for the exit.

“Say Alessia I say hi” Lucy shouts before getting hit by Ona on her arm.

“Alessia?”

You giggle when you hear the surprise in Keira’s voice but don’t take the time to answer, too scared to miss your plane. You jump in the taxi waiting for you and went for the airport.

It’s only when your luggage are taking care by the company that you take your phone off of your pocket. You wanted at first to write to Alessia to let her know that you were on your way, but you have some messages from Keira too.

Keira 🥠 Alessia??? Like in Alessia Russo? You better answer me right now, Kid.

You Who’s Alessia Russo?

Keira 🥠 You little shit. Bring back some Scones.

During the two hours and twenty-one minutes of the trip, you slept. You went to bed late this week, not being able to hang up with Alessia, even if you knew that you would see her today.

You are alert when you arrive in London, by dint of traveling from this airport, you know it by heart. There is an hour of time difference with Spain, so you feel like you have only left Spain for an hour and a half. The sandwich you snacked while waiting for your suitcase will allow you to wait until you arrive at Alessia’s, who promised to cook for you tonight. You know that you have at least one hour to go to Alessia’s house, London traffic jam being awful.

You were taping on your phone for an Uber when a voice next to you make you jump out of your skin.

“Hi stranger!”

You jump, turning around only to be face with the mischievous face of your gi… Alessia. She was supposed to be at London, not at the airport. You might look stupid when you look at her with wide eyes and your mouth slightly open. It made Alessia giggles, and you feel your stomach make a jump at the sound.

“Lessi? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I have a great visitor coming to mine this weekend, so I decided to come to take her home.”

“No, I mean…”

“I know what you mean” Alessia laughs before kissing your cheek. “I changed my media hours with Kyra to be here at the right time.”

“Oh.”

You blush and let Alessia takes your suitcase. You then follow her to the parking lot, slaloming between people. You want to take Alessia’s hand in yours, but you don’t want to make her uneasy. There are a lot of people here.

You are happy to be sitting on the passenger’s seat of her car, who is definitely more comfortable than your seat on the plane. You can’t stop to look at her and just because she’s just next to you right now, you softly stroke her cheek before taking her hand in yours.

“I missed you” you mumble when she looks at you.

She is driving and you should have taken the opportunity to kiss her before you left the parking, but you maybe will have plenty of time to do it at her home.

“I missed you too” Alessia smiles.

She asks about your trip; you ask her about her day and finally the journey for her house isn’t so long. Even if there are a lot of people on the road at this time of the day.

“Leah wants to meet you during your stay” Alessia said at one time during the trip. “I told her not today because you will be tired, but maybe tomorrow morning? She can come to have a brunch or something before the game?”

“It sounds nice” you smile, not mentioning that only seeing her is enough for you.

Alessia had a game tomorrow afternoon, but it let you all tonight, all day after the game and all the next day too. You will leave on Monday morning very early to be at training in the morning. And you are determined to enjoy it the most possible.

You are happy to find Alessia’s house too, looking around you, you notice that some things as changed since you came the last time. She added some decorations. Alessia showed you during one of your FaceTime, but it’s different like this. You just have the time to look at the picture she took in Australia during the World Cup, before you feel her arms around you.

“I didn’t have my hello kiss.”

You smile, putting your hand on her arms.

“That’s a shame. It needs to be fixed.”

“It does.”

You turn around in her arms, passing both of yours around her neck. You take the time to look at her properly, her eyes, her freckles, and her smile, before leaning in to kiss her. You can’t explain how much you missed that feeling. Alessia sighs against you and you get even closer to her, melting in her embrace.

“That’s better” Alessia smiles after the kiss.

She then kisses your nose, your forehead, both of your cheeks and finish on your lips again.

“Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap while I’m cooking?”

“Like I’m going to sleep instead of being with you.” you snort.

Alessia rolls her eyes but takes you by your hand anyway. She made you sit on a stool at the central island of her kitchen with a mug of tea. You listen to her, Alessia making almost all the conversation, but it’s always like this between you. You love to hear her talking, trying to remember every little thing she says to you.

Your eyes are going sometimes on her bum, you have to admit. But if she notices, she doesn’t say anything. You proposed to help her two times, but she refused, saying that you can help tomorrow. You will.

Her lasagna is amazing.

“It’s my Nona’s recipe” Alessia smiles when you compliment her.

You made the dishes for her, ignoring her protests, and end up cuddle with her on her couch in front of some film she chooses. But you don’t even try to look at it, you are way more interested about your girlfriend than Blake Lively fighting for her life. You try hard not to bother her too much, but you can’t stop yourself from kissing her cheek, her hair or playing with her fingers.

But Alessia doesn’t seem to mind, actually she has a small smile on her face every time you look at her.

“I missed your smell” Alessia mumbles after another kiss.

You smile, because you said yourself the same things a lot of time during the time you were at Barcelona. And you promised yourself that you will take one of her hoodies when you will leave.

You stroke the skin of her neck with your nose before kissing it several times. But then she softly bites your ear, and you feel your body being swept by electric currents. The sensations are hard to ignore.

They are so hard to ignore that you found yourself with your girlfriend, both naked, some hours later, laying in her bed. Alessia is laying on her back while you are on her belly. One of her hands is playing with your hair and you are trying hard not to fall asleep already.

“Can I ask you something?” Alessia whispers “But you have to promise not to mock me.”

“Of course you can Sweetheart. I won’t make fun of you, promise.”

You turn your head on her to have a better look at her and even if the light of her bedside lamp isn’t strong, you can see that she had blush. You watch her bite her lip and fight the want to bite at it, too. You need to stay focused; you are curious about what is in her mind.

“So… As you know, you are my first girl experiment” she begins waiting for you to hum before talking again. “Well to know how to do things right, I made some research and…”

“You made research?” you ask with a smile.

But Alessia frowns, slapping you softly on your arm.

“Babe, you promised!”

“I’m not making fun of you” you swear, still smiling. “I find it cute.”

Alessia groans and you giggle softly, moving a little on her to be able to kiss her cheek. She’s hot under your lips, attesting of your girlfriend’s blush. She smiles though and clear her throat nervously before talking again.

“So, like I was saying, I made some research and I saw that there is a lot of things to use when two women are, you know, having sex?”

“Yes?” you only say, not wanting to interrupt her again.

“It made me wonder if maybe you like to use them? And if what we’re making is annoying for you. And then I thought that maybe I should buy some of them, but I didn’t know which one you like, or you want?”

She stops talking, a little out of breath. She talked quickly though and that might explain that. She seems nervous so you take her hand in yours to try to sooth her a little bit.

“Ok, first, what kind of things did you see?”

Alessia blushes violently and you can’t help but smile again.

“Alessia Russo, did you watch porn?” you laugh.

“No!” she shouts, sitting up in the bed. “I went to website selling toys, I didn’t watch adult’s movies.”

You roll your eyes, asking yourself how a girl you just have sex with can be so shy about something like that. But that’s the innocent part of Alessia talking maybe. And you love it as much as you love every other part of her. You sat too when she sat up and you take support on her knees to lean on her and kiss her.

“Ok first of all, what we are doing is absolutely perfect to me. It’s special because it’s you and I love every second of it, every time even more.”

You are close to admit how much she affects you, but it’s not exactly admitting that you are in love with her for years. You want to reassure her anyway; you had your first time with someone before and you don’t want Alessia to feel insecure. Or worst, not enough.

It seems to work because she is smiling again, and you can’t resist to the want to kiss her again.

“But if you want to try some things together, we can do it too. Or if you miss something –“

“No” she cuts you, shaking her head. “I don’t miss anything I swear.”

She’s blushing again but you feel like she’s telling you the truth. When she talks again, she’s mumbling, looking at her fingers.

“It’s just that I never felt that way before and I want you to feel as good as I am.”

You could literally melt right now. You take a big breath, drawing her attention on you again.

“Lessi, you have no idea how good you make me feel. Really.”

She seems skeptical though, looking at you attentively. That girl will be the death of you.

“But I’m not experimented like the other girls you slept with” she points, frowning. “How can it be as good as you say?”

“I told you. Because it’s you.”

She looks at you for several seconds before smiling shyly, and you are smiling back. You are touched that she had this process and how much your well-being count for her. You sometimes struggle to realize that after all those years you are Alessia Russo’s… things. You really had to talk about it at some point, but the talk you’re having tonight is maybe enough for now.

“Do you want to buy some things though?” Alessia asks. “You didn’t answer about you having anything, but I don’t really want to use something you already… Well, you know.”

“I understand” you smile softly. “We’ll look together, ok?”

Laying down on the bed again, you take her in your arms this time, kissing her softly. She seems to be relaxed now and you let yourself go against Alessia’s mattress. You love sleeping here. Everything smells Alessia.

“By the way, please don’t tell Leah what we’ve done tonight. We’re not supposed to do something physically tiring the night before games.” Alessia smirks several minutes after, making you laugh.

********

You need a little bit of conviction to get up from the bed and your girlfriend embrace the day after. You are still a bit tired and it’s only the idea of Leah coming to find you both in bed because you are late that makes you get up.

“You are late” Leah grumble when you arrive with Alessia.

“Sorry, sleepyhead here had trouble getting up” Alessia smirks.

“I’m on the Spanish schedule, it’s not my fault” you yawn.

Leah don’t have time to grumble one more time, because the waitress came soon after to give you the menu to chose what to eat. You study it with seriousness, your stomach feeling a little bit empty.

“The usual Less?” the waitress asks to Alessia.

You frown, looking at your girlfriend who nod and give her menu back. Leah passes her command after her and you have to fight the strange feeling you have to ask what you want too. Leah seems to have forget about your delay when the waitress left, but you still have that mix of jealousy and discomfort. Alessia never hide what she does during her day, and she told you several time that she went to brunch or eat breakfast with some of her teammates, but you never imagined that there will be a pretty brunette who seems to know your girlfriend’s order by heart.

“I’m talking to you, Sleepy” Leah says, kicking you under the table.

“Wow, way to hurt your opponent?” you grumble while Leah rolls her eyes. “What was it again?”

“Keira. She asks me to remember to bring her Scones.”

“Oh” you smirk softly, remembering what happened in the locker room yesterday. “She told you that she knows about Alessia and I?”

You explain to Alessia yesterday what happened, and she’s smiling too. She didn’t look sad or hurt that you kind of forgot to talk about it to Keira.

“She told me she discovered because your teammates can’t keep their mouths shut” Leah smirk.

“It was Lucy to be fair.”

Leah rolls her eyes one more time while Alessia laughs, but your smile is quickly faded when the waitress is back. She once again turns in Alessia’s direction with a big smile at first, before giving Leah’s plate then yours. You don’t like the way she looks at your girlfriend or even how she smiles at her.

Your eyebrows are still frown when you look at your plate and suddenly the bacon in it doesn’t seems as yummy as it should. Being already concerned by your changing mood, Alessia discreetly take your hand in hers while Leah is concentrated in her plate.

“What’s up?” Alessia whispers.

“Nothing” you say, forcing a smile.

But that doesn’t work. Alessia frowns, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Communication, remember?”

You sigh softly. She’s right, you promised each other to always talk to the other is something is wrong. But you don’t want to do it here.

“Later, ok?”

Alessia nods, but she doesn’t let go of your hand and relax only when you start to eat. The food is delicious to be honest and you understand why Alessia keep coming here. You don’t know what you will say to her about your feelings, you feel bad at the idea of depriving her from this menu.

When you’re finish, you went right to the stadium. You follow Leah in the parking lot and then follow Alessia who introduces you to the different places and people who punctuate her training sessions. You meet almost all of her teammates too, even if you know some of them already. Like Laia Codina, who you know because she was at Barcelona and that you are happy to see again or Beth Mead with who you play for England.

You already know Lia or Jen because of Leah and you are kind of relax around the team. When they need to get training, Alessia goes with you to the friend and family section, holding your hand.

“So, what happened during the breakfast?” Alessia asks.

You sigh softly. You have forgotten that you were supposed to talk to your girlfriend about this. You look at her and she’s already looking at you, concern in her soft baby blue eyes.

“It’s nothing, it’s just… that girl from the Café? The waitress?” Alessia nods, so you continue. “She was looking at you like you are the most beautiful thing in the world and she’s right because you are, but it makes me realize that she can see you every morning if she wants to and I can’t. And that made me miss you, which is probably stupid because you were sitting right next to me, but…”

You shrug, not knowing how to end your sentence. But Alessia nods once again, seeming to understand what you were meaning. Which is already relieving at your eyes. She squeezes your hand softly before answering.

“It’s not stupid at all, I understand the feeling. I miss to have you next to me in the morning and falling asleep against you at night. I miss you almost every second of the day. But we chose to give us a chance and we knew what it would be. I’m sure it’s worth it.”

You feel your heart fluttered once again and you look around you to be sure that no one is near you, before taking her tight in your arms. She holds you as tight as you are doing, and it help you to feel better.

“I have nothing to worry about, right?” you whisper with your chin on her shoulder.

“Nothing.”

She backs her head to have a look at you and she’s smiling softly. You trust her, of course you do. She’s like the sweetest and the gentlest human being. And then she kisses you, not long but softly.

When Alessia left you in the family and friend section, you go to look for your seat, but you are soon spotted by Amanda, Leah’s mom. She waves at you and makes sign for you to come to her, which you do because no one can refuse anything to Leah’s mum.

“Hi darling!” she says happily when you are at her level. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, uh…” you mumble while she hugs you.

“Leah told me why you’re here, but don’t worry your secret is safe with me.”

She smiles at you, taping your cheek in a motherly way before making you sit next to her. You recognize next to her Leah’s nan, who you salute too. Amanda looks at your shirt, raising an eyebrow.

“Not wearing an Arsenal jersey?”

“Alexia would probably kill me if I do something like this” you laugh. “Maybe she would make an exception for Alessia’s, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why that? Everyone seems to think that Less and you are good friends.”

Amanda seems to know what happened in the social media, with the video of you going to recomfort Alessia after the finale in Australia. Everyone said how much you are a good friend, choosing to make your friend’s feelings better rather than being focused on yours.

“I’ll think about it for the next time” you promise.

“Great. In the meantime, wear this.”

Without letting you the time to look at what it exactly was, Amanda put one Arsenal scarf on your shoulders. Leah’s face is print on it, and if you don’t see at least one twitt or one TikTok editing you with your friend, it would be a miracle.

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter twenty two | pjm

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. consensual objectification. d/s dynamic. over the panty sex (is this just called dry humping?) fucktoy-ification? teasing. orgasm denial.

AN hi :) i'm so sorry i made you wait so long for this. it's been a rollercoaster these last two years, and i hope you can forgive me for my long absence. if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear from you: what stuck out to you, what you're hoping will happen in future chapters, or just how you've been. i've missed you. and, as always, thank you for reading <3

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: RULE BREAKER

You don’t talk or think much about your childhood. You like to imagine that when you turned eighteen those years whispered away into the ether of time, as irrelevant and dusty as the old photobook that stays on the shelf, eternally unopened. 

As a child, home was multiplied and many. It was the many places you lived, as you moved often, following your father around with his job. But it was also many in the sense that you learned at a young age that home didn’t have to be a place you lived. Home was between the worn and finger-marred pages of the books you fell in love with, home was the wisping scent of fresh (if not often burnt) pastry in your grandmother’s kitchen each time you visited, home was the place you yearned to travel to but never made the time to visit. 

But as you close the book in your hands, the words echo in your mind: 

Are you going to come home? 

You feel far away from home, even though you find a great deal of comfort in the walls of Namjoon’s mountain house. Ahem, mansion. Confusion riddles little holes of worry through you. Where is home, anyways? The small apartment you left empty in the city? The question opens a void in you. Why bother with home anyways? Sure, home could be anything if you tried hard enough, but couldn’t the opposite be true too? That if you tried hard enough, you wouldn’t need a home?

Still, void and all, the question nudges you. 

Unsettled, you clamber down the tree and make your way back towards the house. The sun has risen higher in the sky and breaks through the chill ever so slightly. Worried that you’ve just abandoned Jimin this morning and that he’ll wake up alone, you quicken your pace. You creak the door open, waving at Jungkook and Jin and Taehyung in the kitchen, who are huddled over the coffee, waiting for it to finish brewing. 

“A watched pot never boils,” you call out to them, noting that Jungkook looks a little cheerier than he had the past several days. Jin’s hand rests on Jungkook’s lower back and a little wave of joy jolts through you as the older man throws you a little smile. 

“Watching it actually makes it go faster,” Jungkook says, his eyes glued to the coffee. “A little motivation and encouragement always lends a helping hand.” 

You smile at that and continue making your way towards Jimin’s bedroom. You pass one room—a gym of sorts filled with a few cardio machines, a set of free weights, and a large mirror, and you’re surprised you didn’t notice it before—and pause. 

Namjoon is spotting Hoseok as the latter bench presses what looks like an unreasonably heavy weight. 

As you watch them, the dream from last night floods back to you. 

The music filtering through the night. The tightness of each man’s grip on you as they spun you through the ballroom, the floorboards creaking beneath you, the high of attention sitting heady in your chest. 

And too, you can’t forget, the way they stared at each other in single-minded competition, hackles raised, teeth gritted. You can’t forget the darkness that swirled at their feet, and you wonder too, if you’re letting your dream drift into the world of the living too.

But here they are, fondly smiling at one another. Had you made it all up? Well, of course you made it up. It was a regency-era dream for god's sake. But the tension? The competition? As Namjoon helps Hoseok lower the weights to the bar and hauls him to his feet, you’re sure it’s all in your head. 

“Nice, man,” Namjoon says, grinning and clasping Hoseok on the back. 

Before they see you, you continue on. Just as you’re about to open the door to the bedroom you’ve been searching for, it swings open before you. Jimin steps out. 

“Oh. You’re awake!” you say.

“I am indeed.” 

“I’m sorry I left this morning—“ 

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice, a little dust mote of it that you catch. 

“I went to go read in a tree,” you offer quickly as an explanation, hoping it will make up for the disappointment of waking up alone after not spending a night together in a while. 

“In a tree?” 

“In a tree,” you confirm. 

He chuckles. “That seems like a good enough reason to abandon me. I gotta be honest though—“ He steps closer, lets his gaze flicker down, and toys with the hem of your shirt. “I was looking forward to waking up beside you.” 

“Were you?” you smile. 

“I was. I was even looking forward to potentially getting to wake you up.” He says it with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh? And how would you have woken me up?”

His hand drifts lower, beneath the band of your leggings. “You know, it’s really easier to show you, rather than tell you—” His hands pause. “What’s this?” Jimin sends you a knowing look. 

“What?” Your mind sputters as you struggle to come up with what he might be talking about. But he steps closer to you, a hand drifting down to your hips, a finger pulling your shirt up. With his other hand he plucks at the band of your panties. 

“This,” he emphasizes. 

“Oh.” 

You’d nearly forgotten the promise you’d made to Jimin. But now it all comes rushing back, how he’d made you promise in those early days in the house to forgo any underwear. At the time it’d been a silly dare, but the seriousness in his eyes makes you reconsider. 

“What? Do I have to remind you every day?” he says gently. “Or perhaps I haven’t been spending enough time around you, and you’ve forgotten your promise to me?”

“N-no,” you say. “I mean maybe. Maybe I want you around more.” You sidle up to him, running a finger up his chest. “Maybe… I want you to remind me.” 

Jimin steps closer to you, pressing you against the bedroom door. You gasp when he leans in close, close enough to kiss you, but doesn’t. 

“I think you forget too quickly that  I told you there’d be a punishment if you ‘forgot’ about our little rule.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head as you look at him. “What kind of punishment?” Panties or not, it seems like you win. 

“Like I mentioned earlier, I think I’d rather show you than explain it to you. Let’s just say I’m a hands-on kind of teacher.” 

You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he presses close, his lips a centimeter away from yours, his hands cupping your cheeks before wandering down to explore your body. You reach for him, struggle to bring his lips to yours, but he shifts his attention elsewhere, leaving you hanging. His hands rove over your body, his lips dip out of reach. So you change your plan of attack too. You let your hands wander over him. When you feel his breath quicken against you, you release him, dipping your head below his chin.

You glide your lips down Jimin’s neck, slow and intentional; a calculated move. You let your breath whisper against his skin, and you can’t help but think back to that night with Yoongi and Namjoon in which sensation—even the lightest of touches—had meant so much to you. To your body. You want to play Jimin like they played you. 

His hands tighten in your shirt, knuckles whitening. 

“Inside,” he gasps, and the desperation in his voice makes you think that he’s lost a bit of his fine-tuned control. His eyes are blown wide. He looks like he could eat you up. “Inside,” he repeats, but enacts the command himself as he pulls you through the door with him, making it sound a little more like a plea than you think he intends.

The pair of you tumble onto the bed, a mess of limbs and lips, teeth, hands. 

He captures your lips, finally, kissing you. The kiss is anything but gentle, nearing the edge of pain, his teeth knocking against yours, nipping at your lips. You groan into his mouth as his hips cant against you. 

It’s not long before he begins to tug at your clothes. 

Then he pauses, lifting your head from his lips. You’re sprawled atop him and you lift yourself up on your hands. 

“What?” you inquire curiously.

“I’m going to ask you to do something.” 

“Alright.”

With a leveled gaze, he says, “Strip.” 

He pushes you off of him, and you kneel at the foot of the bed, pausing a second, before making the executive decision to stand and undress. It’ll be more, well, graceful that way, you think. The alternative is flopping around on the sheets like a beached hammerhead shark trying to get your pants off. 

So you do as you’re told. There’s something about undressing before him, as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. There’s something about undressing for him, while he watches on, his gaze drinking you in that has sparks running through your body.

Slowly, slowly you slip off your top, and wiggle your leggings off your legs. You try to make it a little sexy, glancing up at him from time to time, to find that warm darkness swirling in his gaze that you love so much. You trip once, because you’re staring too much. 

“Keep the panties on,” he says when you go to pull them down.  

“Oh. Okay.”  Your brow furrows and you can’t help but let a little bit of the disappointment you’re feeling into your voice. You’re a little confused why he would ask you to keep them on when they were the problem that started all of this. 

He stands then, walking towards you. You hold your breath. He finally arrives before you and places his hands on your hips. His fingers toy with the trim of the panties, and goosebumps race along your skin from the delicate touch. 

“What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“You’ll see.” 

With that he hooks a finger under the band of your underwear and lets it snap against your skin. You cry out, more in surprise than anything else. 

“Did that hurt?” 

“No, not really.” 

“Good.” He grins. “Now, I want you to be honest.” 

“I’m always honest.” You correct yourself: “Most of the time. Most of the time I’m always honest.” 

Jimin chuckles at that. 

“Fair enough. But I need your most-of-the-time-always honesty now.” You nod, your hand drifting upward to grip his forearm. 

“Of course.” 

“I want to try something out with you. Something new.” 

“New?”

“A new kind of play.”

Your mind reels with the possibilities. What could he possibly suggest? Chastity kink? Tittyfucking? Technojizz? Ballcuzzi?  

“I want to use you like a toy,” he whispers. “I want to fuck you like a toy. I want to talk to you like a toy, treat you like one.” Your eyes widen when he says it. His eyes go wide too, drinking in your every microexpression, as he waits for you to respond. 

“A toy?” 

“Yes.”

“Where did this come from?” you say it with a little smile, and trace your finger along his jawline. He relaxes at the touch. 

“I saw the way you reacted during group play. When Jin was talking to you, saying things like, ‘You want to be our slut. You want to be our whore.’” Just hearing Jimin repeating Jin’s words sends a shiver through your body. “He didn’t say it like I would have said it, but I knew he wanted to.” He presses his lips to your ear while his hands rove over your body. “You want to be our toy, don’t you?”  

The answer is easy. “Yes.” 

“You want to be used by us, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes.” 

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. So tell me. Tell me what you want to be.” 

“I want to be your toy.” 

“Good.” He grins. 

He lets his hand drift down to your underwear again, fingers trailing along the inside the elastic hem before plucking at them once more. He seems to like the way you flinch. 

His fingers wander down your skin. He traces your hip, before flicking his fingers beneath the hem that circles your thigh. Slowly, he creeps closer to where you want his fingers most, but before he can touch you, he pulls his fingers away. You nearly groan, and a fleeting grimace crosses your face. Jimin catches it. 

“Patience would look so pretty on you,” he says, and the sting of his words is delightful. 

“Hmph.” 

His fingers continue to explore the thin piece of fabric that separates you from total nudity. They’re not a particularly pretty pair of underwear: they’re nothing more than a tan color brief. 

You say as much to Jimin, and tell him you wish you were wearing something sexier. Lace, maybe. Something black. 

“True,” he replies. “But you know why I like these?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I can see you dripping through them.” 

You warm at the implication.   

“And when I push my cock against them, I’ll see me on them too. I’m a visual man, you know.” He kind of chuckles at that last bit, like it’s some sort of inside joke with himself. 

When he drops to his knees, like that first day in the forest with him, you gasp. Finally, finally, he’s going to touch you. 

But when his tongue presses against you through the fabric of your underwear, it’s only half the sensation you need from him. Still, it feels good, a gentle warmth spreading through your abdomen as he licks and presses against your clit and vulva. 

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against you. 

“I’m—“ 

“You’ve soaked your panties through.” 

You warm at the thought, such little stimulation getting you so ready for him. You wonder if he’ll fuck you hard and fast or if he’ll take you sweet and slow. If he’ll take his time with you. Whatever he decides to do, you know you’ll be happy to have him fill you as you currently clench and tighten around nothing. It’s an empty feeling that sifts through you. 

When he’s thoroughly soaked your underwear with his mouth, he stands and kisses you. You can taste the ghost of yourself on him, and it reminds you of the smell of first summer light hitting the ground at dawn. A space when it is neither day, nor night, but some third plane of existence. Like that, in this moment, you feel like some third kind of creature. Neither yourself entirely, nor Jimin, but some other, third thing that you could only become in his presence. You can feel the shit-eating grin that glides across his lips and presses into yours as he walks backwards, leading you back to the bed. 

There’s something different, too, about all of this, about the way he kisses you today. There’s an edge of desperation, of frustration that you can taste on him. His movements are quicker, less languid. His lids are lidded. His breath comes quicker.  It’s delightful. 

But it’s also brand new. It feels like he has let a part of himself loose from under his usual state of control, and you wonder if your most recent conversation with your friends—where you discussed emotionality and feeling—had anything to do with what he was going through. What he wanted. 

An edge of anxiety tickles at your throat as you think of it. Does he want something more? 

He seems to notice your hesitation. 

“I just want you right now,” he says, as if he’s read your mind. He stops you at the edge of the bed, turns you so that the back of your knees hit the mattress.  You’re not sure if he’s a mind reader or what. 

You fall back into the bed, Jimin leading you down gently with a hand against your back until you sink into the soft bedding. You can’t help but giggle at the gentleness. Not that you have anything against it, but in this moment you feel anything but a toy. The way he looks at you makes you feel, well, precious. 

He breaks his gaze to kiss you again, tongue pressing against your lips. 

“Open up for me,” he says. “Like a good kitten—Like a good toy.” 

You do as you’ve been told, opening your mouth and letting him swirl his tongue through you, swiping at the roof of your mouth and sending tingles down your spine. 

His hands drift down your body before slipping beneath your panties. You glow, so eager for his touch, groaning as his fingers swipe against your clit. Just once. But as if he’s just realized a mistake he’s made, he rapidly pulls his hand out. 

“Oops. Got a little caught up.” 

You pout. “What, you’re not going to touch me like that? There? At all?” 

He pulls back enough to flick his gaze between your eyes and your lips. “Be a good toy and just do what you’re told.” 

“Oh?” The bratty part of you flickers and rises up.

He silences you with a kiss, his fingers circling around your clothed entrance before trying to press in through the thin fabric of your underwear. It’s like he’s trying to finger fuck you through the wet cotton, pushing it into you with his fingers. The pressure surely is something, but it’s not even a hint of enough, and you find your hips bucking up against him, seeking more attention, seeking more pressure. 

“So needy. So desperate.” 

He continues until the yearn within you aches.

“Stop playing,” you gasp. “Just give me your cock. Want you. Want your cock. I’ll be your toy, just–just use me like one.” 

“Don’t good toys say please?” 

“Please, sir.”

He freezes above you. 

“Sir?” 

“I—I… It just slipped out!” 

He grins. “I kinda like it.” He hums, as if contemplating it, then nods. “And since you’ve asked so nicely—“  

Jimin leans back enough to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He takes his time, while the knot in your belly begins to recede. You sit up, eager to help him out of it, but he quickly swats your hands away. 

“Patience, kitten.” 

You don’t say it, but your crossed arms and pout say, “Fine, sir,”  loud and clear. He laughs at your expression. 

“Don’t you worry,” he says, tilting your chin up. “I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?” 

He takes his cock out, stroking it once, twice, his hand gliding expertly over the soft and sensitive skin. 

“I’m going to use you like you’re good for.”

“Like I’m good for?” You echo, desperate for him. 

“All you’re good for,” he whispers in your ear and the words send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.  

With one hand, he takes your ankles and pushes them over your head.

“Hold them.” 

He then settles between your legs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock. With a movement that seems far too familiar to him, he slaps your pussy with his hard and dripping cock, and you groan. Fuck. 

Lowering himself to you, so your thighs press into his shoulders, he finally aligns his cock with your clothed vulva. 

And then with one careful movement, he grinds against you. The simple movement is enough to make you cry out. 

“Fuck, Jimin.” 

At first it’s slow, his cock pressing against your vulva in rhythmic pulses, your clit. At one point he pulls back and presses the head of his cock to your clothed entrance and presses in. 

You whine against him, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He simply returns to continuing his thrusts. You’re just as wet as he is hard, soaking your panties, his precome painting them too. 

“Maybe I would have woken you up like this. Wouldn’t you have liked that? Waking up to my hard cock pressing against your clit, me ready to come, just from rutting against you? Wouldn’t that make you happy, to know how good you make me feel?”

You look down to where your bodies are pressed together. His cock rhythmically pokes up, the head dark and heavy. Sometimes though, the head of his cock gets stuck on your underwear, pushing the fabric higher and tighter around you. You groan at the sight. 

“Don’t you love how good you make me feel?”  

Your hips buck together, finding a desperate, shared rhythm. Your breath, too, matches up. 

For a moment, your eyes lock. All you can think about is how damn pretty he looks when he fucks, his dark hair falling into his face, his cheeks flushed, his plush lower lip caught between his teeth. And he looks back. 

But then his eyes flicker away from yours. 

He fucks you over your panties, murmuring how good of a toy you are for him, how he wishes he could fuck you properly, fill you up.

“Please,” you gasp, desperate for more. “Fuck me.”

“When you behave,” he grunts. “I will.” Another thrust. “When you follow my rules, I will.” 

When he comes, he presses the head of his cock to your clit. You can feel it twitching against you as he groans and sighs, his come painting your panties white. 

With the head of his cock pressing so rhythmically against your clit, you’ve built up to a delicious pleasure, so close to coming. 

“Jimin, Jimin, I’m so close. Please.” Your hips tilt up, searching out the pleasure he keeps denying you. 

But Jimin just grins at you and sighs dramatically. His breath still comes a little quickly, he seems a little winded.  

“If only you hadn’t been so intent on misbehaving earlier. Maybe I could have let you come.” 

“Oh, come on,” you groan, about a second away from throwing your fists on the bed in proper tantrum form. “You’re in charge. You write the rules. Who said you can’t let me come?” 

“The rules I wrote say so, actually.” 

You huff. 

“Well then. Maybe I’ll just have to take care of it myself.” 

In a swift action, Jimin leans over you, pinning your hands above your head. Your breath leaves your lungs in a quick gasp. 

“Wha—” 

“I think you know you’re not even supposed to be thinking about that, let alone doing it.” 

You tilt your head.

Jimin laughs, a hint of playful hardness in his voice. “Don’t you remember?” You shake your head. “You’re forgetting all of your promises today, aren’t you? Jin had you promise that you wouldn’t be coming unless it was because of one of us.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Shit. I forgot.” 

“I know you forgot.” 

You throw your head back and groan. “But I thought you said you’d always take care of me.” 

“I did. And I do. But sometimes it’s good for you to wait a little for your reward. Today you took your punishment—” He tilts your head up so you’re looking at him and the pout that had taken over your face fades a little. “And tomorrow, I’ll give you your reward.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Fine.”

“You think you can do that? Wait until tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh. 

“You’re so good for me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. His hands glide down to your hips, dipping beneath the band and you think, oh, maybe he’ll do it now. But your hopes are quickly dashed when he tugs on them and says, “Maybe it was a good thing I had you wear these afterall.” He shimmies your come-stained underwear down your thighs. “Easy cleanup.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, always surprised when Jimin’s practical side pops out alongside his gregariousness. But he balls the panties up, and before tossing them into the laundry basket near the door, holds them up in his hand, shaking them, as if directing attention to them. 

 “I should remind you why I asked you to do this?” 

“I know why you asked me to. You liked the secret of it—?” You think back to what he had said to you, all those days ago, though it feels like a lifetime ago:

“I like walking around, knowing I’m the only one who has your sweetness on my tongue. I love talking to the others while getting to taste you still. Getting to remember the way you squirm underneath my touch. I do it because I want to.”

You still shiver, thinking of those words. But that had been before everyone knew about you and Jimin. 

“I did like the secret of it,” Jimin says, breaking through your reverie. “But there’s more than that, too.” 

You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to go on. 

“There’s knowing you do it for me.” 

He grins, before strutting to the bathroom. You watch his ass as he goes. Plump, you think. When he returns, he’s cleaned up and still grinning. Mulling on what he’s said—”for me”—an image of all eight of you on the living room floor arises. What are the boundaries between one person and another with this set up? What are the lines? What is owed? Your head spins, and you settle into the pillow. You’re still humming in the sensation of your dwindling pleasure, receding far away from your orgasm, and you sigh. 

“If the only way people are going to punish one another around here is by giving them blue balls, I’m going to get tired reeeeal quick,” you murmur to yourself.

“Is that so?” Jimin says from behind you as he collects your clothes. “If that’s the case, we better start coming up with new forms of punishment.” 

“Yes, maybe you should,” you say, mock-grouchily. 

“I’ll start thinking up new and innovative ways. Maybe I’ll consult Jin—he seems creative when it comes to this stuff—especially if you’re going to be so quick to forget what you promised him.” He helps you into your clothes again, but remains naked himself. 

“But—” 

“No buts.” He seals your silence with a kiss. “Just do what you’re told.” The statement stings through you like a bolt of electricity. As much as you hate to admit it, you love when he tells you what to do. Even if you love fighting against it just as much. “You know why you should do what you’re told?” He continues, as he kisses down your throat.

“Why?” 

“Because then I can reward you. I can make you come again and again until you’re crying to stop, or hold you at the edge long enough that when you’re finally ready to tip over, it’s the best fucking orgasm in your whole life.” 

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you saying you’re the best fuck of my life?” 

“No. Not yet. But I can be.” He pulls away from you enough to see the shit-eating grin on your face. 

“I think some of your friends might fight you for that position.” 

“Maybe they should.” 

“Maybe they should what?” a voice comes from the door. 

“Hoseok—” 

Hoseok stands in the doorway, a confused look on his face. You imagine what he must be seeing, a naked Jimin in bed, and you, now entirely naked, too, now that Jimin stripped you of your panties, tangled up in each other. 

“What’s going on here?” Hoseok asks. 

“Do you really want to know?” Jimin asks.

“Um. Not really.” Then his gaze focuses on you. He lingers on your face, reading you, trying to figure you out. But then he catches himself. “Uh, maybe I should come back later.” 

“No!” you say, perhaps a little too eagerly, sitting up. “What is it?” 

“I just was looking for you,” Hoseok says, a little shyly. “I was hoping to steal you away.”  

“Let me get dressed.” 

You stand up, and pull your clothes back on, noting how Hoseok’s gaze flickers to you just in time to see you pull on your leggings without any panties on underneath.  

Jimin sits up quickly, pulling a pillow over his crotch for the sake of Hoseok’s modesty. “Just so you know—if you’re going to go together—I already said that if someone was going to wear panties that someone wasn’t going to be able to come.” He turns to you. “So don’t you go running off to lover boy, thinking you can get your rocks off.” Jimin turns his attention back to Hobi. “This one is very much not allowed to come. At least for the rest of the day.” 

Hoseok coughs. 

“Oh, I, uh, I wasn’t, I wasn’t presuming.” 

“Yes you were, asshole,” Jimin laughs. “We’re all presuming.” 

Hoseok flushes red all the way to the tips of his ears at the implication, but you find it charming. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok says.

You glance at Jimin, who leans back with his hands laced behind his head. He looks like the perfect image of relaxation and… is that pride? There’s a soft smile curving at the corner of his lip, a kind of jesting smirk. 

“Go on,” Jimin says. “I’m already taken care of.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Asshole.” 

But you stand and make your way to Hoseok nonetheless. 

“You have time?” he asks.

“I have all the time in the world.” 

← || series m.list || →

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

THANK YOU FOR READING! 🔆 if you enjoyed this, please consider telling me what you think by leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! i love chatting with you all! 🔆 want to read more stories?

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[bri-cheeses]

Good Friends - Part 3

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 487 | Part two is here |

-

“Thanks for that,” Evan said sourly, still looking annoyed.

James winced. “I’m sorry.”

A long suffering sigh escaped Evan. He looked down at his drink.

“No, no, I know you are.” James frowned at the defeated tone of Evan’s voice. “And I shouldn’t take it out on you. I just get tired of the way he reacts to things sometimes, that’s all.”

And if that wasn’t one of the saddest things James had ever heard, he didn’t know what was. He didn’t want to overstep, but… he liked Evan, despite not talking to him all that much. And when James cared about someone, he hated to see them unhappy, so he just couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Then why don’t you say anything about it?”

Evan’s eyebrows pinched at James’s words, and he looked in the direction that Barty and Regulus had gone off in.

“We’re getting there,” Evan said decisively.“It’s slow going, sure, but it’ll work out.”

James decided against pointing out the fact that Evan sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince James. And with his refusal to burst Evan’s bubble, they settled into a comfortable silence.

At least, James thought it was comfortable. Evan looked content with it, but as a general rule, James had never been the best with silences. But if Evan didn’t feel like talking, then that was fine by him.

Just when James started to fidget with restlessness, Barty and Regulus returned.

Evan, of course, lit up like a Christmas tree. James imagined that he looked similar as Regulus walked toward him, looking simultaneously heavenly and downright sinful as always. Merlin, James loved him.

“What did you do to get Barty back to normal?” James asked, voice low. He was curious about how one went about handling this whole situation.

Regulus leveled an unimpressed look at Barty, who was busy handing Evan a drink, letting their fingers brush against each other for just a bit too long. James felt a frown tug at his mouth at Evan’s pained expression.

“I just told him that you had a hard time distinguishing platonic relationships from romantic ones.”

James turned to look at him.

“Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Sorry, but it worked. They’re back to their usual idiotic selves, so I think it was a win.”

And James immediately realized that Regulus was right about them being back to normal. Barty had a fond look on his face as he watched Evan gesture about something that had happened, occasionally spilling a bit of drink over the side of his cup as he moved. Each time, Barty would step closer and right Evan’s hand for him, the tiny action somehow so intimate that it felt like an intrusion for anyone to be watching it.

And despite Barty’s flightiness, James chose to believe what Evan had said earlier.

They would work it out.

They had to.

-

(The End!)

[elvensorceress]

wip wednesday

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some more of this little thing 👀

When Buck opens his eyes, someone is sitting on the couch near his feet the way Chris does. Someone who shouldn’t be here. Buck sits up frantically and stares at the vision of Eddie, healthy and beautiful and here and unharmed. 

Buck is dreaming. That’s it. Has to be. Wow, he actually fell asleep? Enough to dream? 

“Hey, Buck,” this Eddie says softly, and it sounds so real. It’s gentle and loving and full of warmth like Eddie always is when they talk. 

Buck reaches for him. He sits up and needs to hug him, hold him, feel him alive and breathing on his own. But when Buck reaches him, he touches nothing. There’s nothing to touch. 

He’s dreaming. It’s a vision. Nothing solid. Buck sags and sits back on his side of the couch and stares instead. Maybe looking at whole, healthy beautiful Eddie will somehow manifest this into reality. “You’re not real. You’re not here. I’m dreaming, right? And talking to myself? Apparently.”

“Either that or I am,” Eddie says. 

Buck hadn’t considered that. Maybe Buck is the one who isn’t real. Maybe none of this is real and the whole of his existence is in his mind. Or in the mind of someone else? 

Who knows. It’s too convoluted and too much to think about. But he’s read about this happening before. Someone’s loved one in the hospital, near death, and how their family had dreams or visions of them visiting. Maybe relaying messages. Maybe offering a comforting presence. Maybe nothing but the imagination of a mind wrecked by tragedy. Doesn’t really matter either way. 

“Why are you here? Buck asks him even if he’s talking to himself. 

Eddie swallows and looks pained. And so real. So, so vividly real. Even if nothing is real anymore. “I wanted to be with you.”

Buck reaches for him again because he has to. Eddie offers his hand in return this time. 

Their fingers go through each other. Not touching. Nothing to feel. Nothing tangible. 

They can’t touch.

Why would they? Even in a dream, they don’t get to have anything of each other. 

“Please don’t die,” Buck says. 

Eddie gives him a pained smile. “I’m trying really hard not to.” 

Buck knows that. He knows Eddie would fight. Is fighting. He had to say it anyway. “Why did you— why? I mean I know it’s our job and that’s what we do. But what happened? Why— why was it like that? Why did it end up like that?” 

Did you do it on purpose? Did you sacrifice yourself to save Tommy? Did you do that?

Eddie looks away from him, exactly how real Eddie would. He shrugs. As if it’s nothing. As if it’s just an accident. As if there was no emotion behind anything. “I know you need him. I wasn’t going to let you lose him.”

Buck closes his eyes, bends his head, and just wants to cry again like he has been for more than two weeks. “Eddie,” he sobs and clutches himself around his chest, around his own body since he can’t touch Eddie. “I need you, too. I can’t— This isn’t okay. This is worse. This is so much worse. Not that I want it the other way. It would have killed me, too. But. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you. I need you, too.”

“I figured,” Eddie says quietly. So quiet and strained and absent and distant. Too distant. “If you had to choose. You already chose. You picked him. I couldn’t let you lose him.” 

At this point, Buck isn’t sure which is worse— if this is real and what Eddie really thinks or if this is his own mind telling him what he already feels guilty about. 

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

To Watch Over You

Rating: K+/General with mild themes

Setting: mostly between the end of the Invasion arc and the beginning of the Arrancar arc.

Synopsis: Momo recalls when she woke up after Aizen’s betrayal, and the guilt that it entailed.

AN: a random drabble I wrote while in the middle of writing the winner of my latest poll. I realised after writing this I’d like to write more about Momo after Aizen left the Soul Society and she recovered in Fourth Division.

It’s a scenario I don’t think is likely to have occurred, but I still wanted to explore it.

Anyhow, hope you enjoy it!

__________________________________

It’s a small memory, one that Momo doesn’t care to recall often.

The first thing she remembers is the smell, a combination of medicinal and sterile scents. Before even she blinked her eyes open, she knew it was Fourth Division.

It was dark, with only a faint ceiling light and the moonlight peaking through the curtained windows illuminating the room. She got lost watching the faint shadows of tree branches dancing across the ceiling, forgetting for a moment she’d just woken up with no memory of what had happened before.

 Slowly, her other senses came back to her. Her mouth was dry and tasted bitter. Her skin was also dry, a sheet came up to her shoulders, and her head rested on a firm pillow. Her toes were cold, but her fingers were warm. Her left arm rested over the sheet, and in her peripheral, there was an IV bag and the tube led to somewhere underneath her sleeve. A drowsy fatigue lingered, making her eyelids head, whispering for her to close them and return to the darkness.

What kept her from doing so was the pain that came from her abdomen. It simmered beneath whatever the officers had administered her with to dull it. She didn’t move a muscle, afraid to flare it up.

When she parted her lips to call out for someone, she couldn’t find her voice. How long had she been here for?

She concentrated on the ceiling, but her head was fuzzy. Her mind swirled around, making coherent thought impossible. Memories wanted to rush forward, but she pushed them back down with what little strength she had. It didn’t stop her from remembering the source of the pain, and without realising, she’d lifted her hand beneath the covers and put it over her abdomen.

She bit hard on the inside of her lip as her eyes stung and clouded with tears. She couldn’t block out the memory of Aizen’s smile. It had been warm and gentle, but suddenly morphed into something cruel and victorious. Then, it vanished, and she’d fallen to the floor. She’d barely felt the pain and could only stare ahead as darkness crept in.

She shook her head, trying not to sob. He couldn't have done it, she must be misremembering. And if he had, it surely wasn't of his own volition. Someone was controlling him somehow.

She should get someone. She opened her mouth again to try and call out, but when she turned her head to the right, she was rendered speechless.

Toshiro sat in the chair beside her bed, his arms loosely folded and his head craned to the right, almost resting on his shoulder. His eyes were shut, and to Momo’s muddled bafflement, he was asleep.

The sight of him is enough to make the memories fall back. The beginnings of a smile twitched on her lips, temporarily forgetting where she is and other painful memories that threatened to surface.

How can anyone sleep like that? she wondered. It’s going to hurt if he stays like that.

She gingerly began to sit up. She cringed at the stiffness of her arms, but still used them to push herself up. She kept her legs still, even as the abdomen pain flared up. She struggled for a moment,and her skin almost broke out in a sweat when the threatened pain became too much.

It was as though she stood on edge of a cliff, with another cliff in front of her she needed to jump to. For a moment she got lost on that idea, imagining the scenario playing out her head. She frowned when a almost a whole minute had passed and she hadn’t done anything else. My head’s a mess.

With a grunt, she forced herself the rest of the way up -- she did this while absently imagining herself jumping to and landing on that other cliff. She caught herself from doubling over, hands flying ahead of her to land on either side of her sheet covered legs. Her hair, tied in a side pony tail, fell over her left shoulder.

The fatigue was stronger, coming crushing over her in a wave. She tried to shake it off, gritting her teeth as she forced herself to lean back until her back was against the pillow and headboard.

She returned her attention to Toshiro. He hadn’t stirred. She isn’t surprised; he’d been able to sleep through loud booms of thunder whenever she slept over at his house when they were children.

He’d been close, his elbow only centimeters from the edge of the bed. She reached across, planning to shake his shoulder. Her hand stilled before she could touch him, her pinkie and ring fingers only a hair’s breadth away from his haori.

Something in her caused her to hesitate. She watched her childhood friend sleep. The light illuminated the side of the face she could see, showing her faint bags under his eye. Why wasn’t he sleeping?

Several heartbeats later, the image of Toshiro staring at her in shock hit her. Her eyes stung anew and she snatched her hand to cover her mouth. Her chest clenched, almost as painful as the abdomen. Tears flowed down over her fingers.

What have I done?

She’d raised her sword against him, had betrayed his trust, and thought him a murderer despite her reservations. She’d been conflicted when she’d confronted him, so determined to believe in Captain Aizen’s final wish but doubting – knowing completely – that Toshiro wouldn’t be capable of such a heinous crime.

She must apologize to him and explain what was going through her mind. She tried to think of where to start. Any ideas or words she began to conjure up were tumbled away by the disorientation in her head and the memories making her chest hurt. The overwhelm her, images flashing of what happened, until she can't take it and buries her head in her hands, almost screaming for them to stop.

The movement of her arm caused the pole the IV was attached to to clatter behind her. With a gasp, she peaked through her fingers at Toshiro. He stirred, falling further to the right, and his elbow shifted into his lap, out of reach. He did not wake.

Slowly, as if her hands were keeping the memories at bay and removing them would cause them to flood her mind, she drew her fingers away. She focused on her breath, trying to catch it.

She was scared to speak with him, but she also needed to. She wanted to seek forgiveness, but he may not give it to her. It’s within his right not to, and that hurts her…and yet some part of her hoped, or perhaps even knew, he might.

It wasn’t enough to make her reach out for him again.

“I’m not ready.” she whispered to herself, a tremor running through her raspy voice. “I’m sorry, Shiro-chan...but I'm not ready.”

Despite the pain in her chest abdomen, the fatigue came rushing back like a wave rapidly crashing in during a high tide. It was stronger this time, enough to convince her to let it ebb her away back to the darkness. Her movements became slow and sloppy when she wiped away her tears and eased herself back down. She tried to lie as she had before, her left arm over the covered, her legs straight, and her head turned to the ceiling.

She couldn't turn her head back to the ceiling, however. She continued to stare at her childhood friend. He's at peace now, and she'd almost disturbed it. But really, hadn't she done so already?

I'll talk to him tomorrow, she thought absently, I'll know to say by then.

The last thing she saw before shutting her eyes was Toshiro, still asleep.

She’s brought out of her reverie when the Captain-Commander gives her the cue to come forward. She finds the strength against the nerves to walk forward, coming past Yamamoto and Chojiro, but only staring at the gigantic screen before them.

Momo's heart palpitates as she watches Toshiro expression change from confusion to shock. He murmurs something she doesn’t hear. As she approaches, more memories come flooding back. They make her raise a hand to chest, as if to ease the squeeze they cause to her heart.

He says her name, and she can only say his back in return.

They stare at each other for what feels like an hour, before Toshiro’s schools his expression and he speaks again, asking if she should be up.

While answering back, she thinks on those memories, ones that she is going to seek forgiveness for, including for that night in the Fourth Division. While it pales in comparison to the other transgressions she’d committed against him, she feels a strange guilt about what happened that night. She'd woken up the next day, this time during the day and alone. The day after she’d awakened, Toshiro had left for the World of the Living. When she’d received news of this from Isane, it occurred to her she hadn’t thought about why he was at her bedside.

Had she expected him to be there for her when her recovery was announced? Isane had said he'd visited her almost twice a week ever since she's been transported to the Fourth Division. But why, after everything that had happened between them, had he come to visit her at all?

She could’ve spoken to him that night, but she hadn’t. She feels as though she had tricked him, and the disorientation of her mind was no excuse, no matter what Isane told her after she confessed what happened to her fellow lieutenant. Or maybe he already knows, had seen the way her head was turned was different from when he'd fallen asleep. Would it be easier if he knew?

A part of her had tried to reason over the last week that if she’d spoken to him that night she might have made things worse, or said something she hadn’t meant. And would he have wanted to speak to her? In the days after leaving the Fourth Division, she vaguely recalled voices sounding through the darkness. She couldn’t make out what they said, but she knew who they belonged to. Renji, Izuru, Isane, Unohana, Rangiku, and some of her subordinates. Toshiro’s hadn’t been among them. 

In the present, a silence has fallen between them as she stares at the floorboards, lost in these thoughts. She tries to both decide where to begin and muster up the courage to speak. First, she’ll discuss the worst of her wrongdoings against him, then the night she woke up. He may not view it was something to feel guilt over, and she may seek forgiveness if only to ease her conscience. She would've laughed to herself if she felt it appropriate; she wishes she were older.

With her plan in mind, she says the words she’d wanted to say to him that night. “Hitsugaya-kun…forgive me.”

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 15

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: swearing, horror descriptors, violence/blood, characters being in danger - people are getting fucked up, but the worst is yet to come (I'm so sorry)

A.N.: I couldn't do it, Chat, I had to split this chapter up into two parts - shit has officially hit the fan

Running is not your favorite activity. Never has been, never will be, and yet here you inexplicably are, hauling ass through the woods of your nightmares like your life depends upon it – which it absolutely does. 

There is no question in your mind as to what will happen to you if you are caught, and it is that very thought that spurs you on. The Demogorgon ate Barb, and if you are not quick, and careful and extremely fucking light on your feet, these bats are going to eat you. 

Somehow, you don’t imagine they’ll do you the courtesy of killing you first, either. 

So no, running is not something you particularly enjoy doing (it’s a wonder you went and willingly volunteered for this – the things you do for love). You might even be inclined to say that running is awful.

Always has been, always will be.

It’s nothing but the terrible sensation of feeling every part of your body moving, shifting awkwardly under the duress of being suddenly thrust into motion, forcing you to become painfully aware of yourself in ways you are typically content to ignore. 

But you’re not thinking about any of that. 

You’re not thinking about the way your lungs are heaving and quickly growing tight and raw, how your knees and ankles are already stinging with every pounding step you take.

You’re not thinking about the walkie-talkie strung around you, thump thump thumping awkwardly against your side, strap chafing against your neck, corner digging sharply in, and grinding a bruise into your hip.

You’re not thinking about the trees and branches reaching out to snag you and slow you down at every turn, and you’re absolutely not thinking about the cloud of certain death tailing not so distantly behind you. 

You’re not thinking at all— you’re just running. 

Faster than you ever have, faster than you ever thought you were capable of, so fast it feels a little bit like flying.

The only indication that the bats have taken the bait is the rushing sound of hundreds of flapping wings and wiry bodies moving through the trees around you like crashing thunder. You know you should be scared out of your wits – you’re sure you would be if you were any smarter, but you’re not. 

You’re just running.

Suddenly it’s like the forest is not even there. There are no bats, there is no Upsidedown, no impending doom brought upon you by some bullshit wizard out of Eddie’s imagination – it’s just you and the wind upon which you glide.  

You’re too caught in the half-drunken state of giddy nerves and adrenaline to be worried about not being scared. The absence of your fear leaves you feeling more than a little bit astounded at how well you’re doing. 

You marvel at your pace – how you haven’t stumbled or faltered even once, how fast you are. 

You could almost laugh out loud at the feeling of it, the freedom – then again that could just be the heady intoxication of running for your life, but you can’t presently be bothered by things of the rational world. 

You’re winged Icarus taking flight, skirting the sky, chasing the wind, led on by the distant themes of the loving Metallica tribute raging on. 

You run hard and fast, without abandon or fear of things like the fragility of your squishy mortal form, flailing desperately as you take flight. 

Nothing can touch you — nothing but cruel irony and raised tree roots.

In an instant, it all comes crashing down. Your foot snags, and you stumble with a harsh, breathless expletive, very nearly tumbling ass over teakettle, and the terrible sobering reality of your frailty comes rushing back to you. 

Suddenly, you remember that running is terrible, and you’re actually very bad at it. 

It’s all chaffed thighs and twisted ankles, huffing and puffing and feeling every drop of sweat that comes cascading down from all the nooks and crannies in your body that you spend the duration of your days mostly unaware of. 

You’re no golden icon stealing their freedom on a wing and a prayer, you’re nothing more than a mediocre student with a shitty car, oblivious parents, and no academic ambition – more than that, you suddenly have the very good sense to be afraid again, and it hits you like a brick to the face.

This isn’t some agonizing fifth-period excursion into the sadistic tendencies of your gym teacher – this is honest-to-God danger. You are being hunted and if you are caught you will die. 

You may very likely die anyway – that’s just the name of the game.

Suddenly, you can feel your blood turning to sludge in your veins, your legs starting to tremble, and your lungs beginning to spasm with each greedy intake of air, but despite all of that, you keep running.

You run, because what other choice have you got? 

The wailing screech of Eddie’s guitar is the guiding beacon, tugging on the strings of your heart and sending you sailing through the woods toward safety, but the squeeze of Dustin’s watch strapped to your wrist is a ball and chain, dragging you down further and further into the loamy earth with every second that ticks away too fast.

As if to drive the notion home, the watch pipes up, beeping a shrill call, an unhelpful reminder of what will happen if time runs out before you make it back.

You resist the urge to check the time – you know you’re already behind schedule, but you don’t think about that. 

You don’t think about tripping or the bats or how slow you are, and you certainly don’t think about getting caught, being torn limb from limb and eaten alive — just like Barb — don’t think about it, don’t think about it — don’t think just run! 

You focus on your breathing, and you try to remember what Steve told you.

In and out. Deep, slow breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

Don’t gasp for air. Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t pass out — don’t trip.

Oh shit! 

Your foot snags another tree root and for a second you imagine they must be sentient, lifting up to purposely slow you down like something out of The Wizard of Oz. 

You always hated that movie.

You stagger, arms windmilling, legs kicking out – your palms kiss the ground but you don’t fall. 

You keep running.

Beep beep — the goddamn watch is mocking you.

It’s got to be, because how else can time be passing so quickly when every bit of physical education you’ve ever endured has existed in a bizarre never-ending loop of slow motion.

Why is this so different?

Because you’re running for your goddamn life, Stupid.

Beep beep — Better pick up the pace.

Master of Puppets is still a distant sound, and despite how far you think you’ve come, you’ve still got so far to go.

It’s not getting any closer… why isn’t it getting any closer? 

Slowly, the nagging pull of hideous reality creeps up and begins to whisper to you. You hear it over the rip and pull of your breathing, murmuring terrible secrets through the thunder of your footsteps, the hammering of your heart, the roaring of your blood, like poison in the ear. 

It tells you all the things you don’t want to hear – it tells you you’re not going to make it. 

Desperately, you try to find your bearings and locate yourself out in the dark without taking the time to look around. You can’t afford to take another tumble, but without looking you’re running with blinders on.

Everything is so different on this side, in the dark landmarks are only vaguely familiar and trees all look the same. That much is true up in the real world, but down here it is multiplied tenfold. 

That voice is still whispering, telling you that somehow you’ve turned yourself around, that you’re headed away from the trailer and thats why the music isn’t getting any closer.

Suddenly, you can’t help but get the irrational sense that you are headed toward the Creel House instead of away from it, and it’s enough to send your heart rocketing up into your throat like it means to escape and abandon you to your ever slowing pace. 

Somehow, cooler heads prevail, and you swallow back that fear like bile rising in your throat. You know you can’t afford the luxury of second-guessing yourself – not with hell snapping at your heels like this, so you dig in.

You run, and you trust, and you hope beyond hope that you’re headed in the right direction.

Fuck running, fuck Vecna and his shitty stupid bats, and fuck this fucking place. 

There is no gradual end to the woods. 

The tree line stands a stark barrier, still and silent until you shatter the illusion of peace. You burst through the trees, out into the open ground, and shockingly cold air that has you gasping out, like being submerged in a freezing pool. 

Out of the woods, you are freed from the bone-crushing haze you hadn’t realized had descended upon you until it is gone. The open air fills you with a strange clarity, and suddenly, like lifting a veil, you can see – the edge of the trailer park lies beyond. 

The music is loud now, loud enough that you can feel every chord striking in your back teeth.  

You laugh out a loud, breathless thing that presents itself as much more a desperate shout than anything else. In the distance, you can almost see Eddie and Dustin, crouched atop the trailer.

Little victories are victories all the same, and you watch with something that could almost be misconstrued as glee as the bats shift up in one dark cloud of movement, suddenly much more interested in the sound that drew their attention in the first place. The potential for a larger, more appealing meal than the one you present. 

Another beep yelps at you from your wrist, and this time you dare to steal a foolish glance at the watch. The numbers count down at a rapid pace, just as you imagined they would, pale glowing green signifying a head-on collision with your doom — t-minus sixty seconds, less than a minute to go. 

You kick your knees up higher and throw your arms out in the hopes it might make some minute difference.

Must go faster… must go faster!

You can see them now, no real details, just the suggestion of figures perched atop the trailer, backlit with every angry flash of lightning.

You see Dustin crouched beside the amp, and you see Eddie thrashing against Sweetheart in time with the wailing screech of the solo you’ve long since stopped hearing over the roaring blood in your ears. 

You’re in the home stretch — you’re going to make it. 

You take another hard step, and without any sort of prelude to the danger awaiting the ground crumbles beneath you. Your attention snaps to your feet on instinct and your stomach bottoms out in what can only be described as pants-shitting terror as you realize too late that the road is gone. 

Scratch that — the ground is gone, replaced instead with a yawning chasm of darkness, like a terrible grinning maw, splitting the land open to swallow you whole.

You gasp out a breath you can’t spare and try in vain to dig your back foot into the loamy brush that isn’t there, desperately hoping somehow, you’ll land on solid ground and not go cartwheeling into the abyss. 

It’s always the hope that kills you. 

Before you can react, gravity reaches up to snatch your forwardmost foot and drags you over the edge. Overhead, the swarm pays you no mind as you plummet, still hurdling on toward the deafening sound of Eddie living out his wildest Metal-God wet dreams. 

Sweetheart wails out a keening cry of ecstasy on a high note, the sound is tinged with the faintest hint of a terrified shriek as you drop out of existence.

You fall, something reaches out and snags you, and just as quickly as your plunge begins, it ends.

You come to a hard, lurching stop, and your head snaps backward, cracking against something sharp and solid. It sends stars and colors skittering brightly across your vision before they are quickly banished by shadows creeping in like the tide, and you lay where you landed, dazed and spinning.

Don’t pass out, You tell yourself as you sink further and further into the darkness below, don’t pass out…

...

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

The sound is a faint stabbing thing, prodding you back to life. You groan out a ragged sound as, slowly, you begin to come back to yourself, shifting and attempting to sit up to middling results.

Your head feels fat and swollen – it protests the way you attempt to shake your senses back into place with the bright bursts of an oncoming migraine. The harsh jerk of your head sends your brain buzzing frantically in your skull before bursting, leaving you terribly nauseous and with the vaguest sensation that you are spinning.

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

It takes a very long moment for you to remember where you are and what happened to get you there.

You remember falling, the harsh start and stop of the motion, how you’d cracked your head on something when you landed — a rock maybe? 

Everything hurts, but at least it’s an indicator that you’re not dead — now if only you could open your eyes. Your lids slide over your eyes like sandpaper and you are almost half convinced that you imagined the sensation when the darkness does not disperse. You blink, once, twice, three times to no avail – your vision does not clear, and slowly, you come to the terrifying realization that sometime in the last few minutes, you have gone inexplicably blind. 

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

You’d once seen a Dateline special about a man who was hit in the back of the head during a bar fight and had his retinas snap as a result — a one in a million chance, they’d called it, but the thought causes your stomach to heave all the same.

How far-fetched would it be to assume you could be that one in a million, considering the rotten turn of your luck over the past few days? 

Oh God oh Christ! You think, opening your eyes as wide as they will go against the wall of black in a desperate attempt to kickstart your vision into working order.

Your mind screams at the thought of being stuck down at the bottom of some pit, dying down in the dark without even having the courtesy of seeing what kills you.

Suddenly, there is a flash to your left – you scream and recoil only to be met with another on your right as something flails pathetically in your peripheral vision. 

After a heart pounding moment, you heave out a sigh of relief as you come to realize that it is only your hands, windmilling above you as you instinctively fight the gentle swaying of your body in what’s left of your momentum. 

A cursory glance upward confirms what you knew all along, that you haven’t been struck blind, after all. In the intermittent flashes of light, you can see your dingy sneaker snagged in a gnarled swathe of roots and branches, jutting out from the side of the open earth, holding you suspended only a few feet down — thank fuck for that. 

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

Dangling upside down by one foot, staring into the impenetrable dark of an apparently bottomless chasm with little to no hope of escape is not the worst-case scenario, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly not ideal. 

As you begin the arduous task of getting yourself upright again, you become aware of the hot bloom of blood spreading across your scalp from whatever you’d smacked it on.

Suddenly, you can’t help but imagine it dripping from the ends of your hair, down into the dark to pique the interest of something else – something ancient and terrible slumbering deep down in the dark.  

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

You remember then that there are other things to be afraid of down here, other beasties than the bats still wheeling overhead.

You don’t know what a Demogorgon is supposed to look like or whether it happens to live at the bottom of highly inconvenient chasms in the earth only to be summoned by the smell of fresh blood and stupid girls overexerting themselves, but you aren’t expressly keen on sticking around to find out.

You haven’t seen that movie, but you have no interest in starring in the sequel, and it is enough to light a fire under your ass … or over it, considering your upside-down state. 

You twist and bend at the waist until you can catch a fist full of roots and begin the Herculean task of trying to navigate free of the tangle without losing your grip and dropping off into an inky black eternity. 

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

You try not to think about the last time you did a sit-up as your abs burn and your back creaks and you grunt out the effort of trying to pull yourself up and out of the darkness. 

You twist and tug and finally — finally — manage to get yourself sitting upright again, and then you climb.

Fingers in the earth, hand over fist, you claw your way up and over the lip of the chasm and haul your sorry carcass out of the pit. 

Beep beep — beep beep — beep beep.

Back on solid ground, you lay panting, shivering for the overexertion of your muscles and the way the dank air has settled on the sleek sheen of sweat coating every inch of your body. 

You roll over onto your back and watch the bats wheel overhead. You keep breathing, the storm keeps on raging, and very slowly the horror of this strangely peaceful moment begins to dawn on you.

It’s quiet.

Holy shit – holy fucking shit, it’s quiet. 

“Oh, shit!” You gasp, lurching up with enough force that your head threatens to start spinning again. “No, no no no no!” 

There’s no music, no screaming orgasm of a guitar solo, no voices shouting your name and urging you to get up off your ass. There’s nothing but the incessant beeping of the watch. 

You’re on your feet before your body has anything to say about it, hands fisted in your hair as you scan the horizon, desperately searching the trailer tops for any signs of human life.

Dustin and Eddie are gone.

Your heart jumps up into your throat and lodges itself there before beginning to swell, choking you and stopping you from making any sort of sound. 

The trailer is teeming with bats, not a scrap of the dingy tin siding is visible beneath the writhing mass of bodies — even under the squirming mess of fear that your brain has devolved into, you know you couldn’t get within ten feet of that place if your life depended on it, which it does.

You missed your window. The bats beat you back to the trailer, and that means you’re trapped out here. 

When your heart finally slips back down into your chest, it settles there with a deafening thump and pulls loose the stopper on your bottled fear — you’re filling your lungs before you’re even aware of what you’re about to do. 

“EDDIE!” You scream, your voice breaking in a potent combination of desperation and sheer volume. 

You don’t remember a time you’ve ever screamed that loud – you’ve long since been conditioned to stay quiet and well-behaved by parents who were far too busy to have a rowdy child on their hands, but desperate times call for desperate fucking shouts, and it leaves your vocal cords raw and trembling.

There is nothing but the hollow sound of your voice echoing back at you, less muted than it had been back at the Creel place, but no less haunting. 

It’s a very foolish thing to do, especially when only moments before you’d been gripped in the very rational fear that there are other things skulking about — things much more likely to hear you than Eddie will be, closed up in the trailer a hundred yards off, but you’re just about ready to come apart at the seams watching the bats overtake the structure. 

You suddenly feel hideously exposed. 

You fist your hand in the front of your shirt, clawing at the space where your heart ought to be, where you can feel it beating against your ribs as you feel the black grip of panic closing in on you.

You know what you’re supposed to do, but the trailer is there – it’s right fucking there — and you can’t get to it. 

You spin around in aimless circles, looking for somewhere to go, some way around this bullshit hole in the ground and the bats that will surely tear you to pieces once they notice you standing there, and you come up empty. 

There’s nothing you can do, no way to get Eddie’s attention without alerting the bats… you’re supposed to go to the van…

And then you remember the walkie-talkie.

Your mind detaches from your body as you reach for it and find nothing but air. It’s not slung across your body like it had been only moments before, a constant companion bouncing against your hip and digging deeper and deeper into the bruise it made with every step you took from the Creel House to here. 

Your stomach drops into your ass, and you feel like you’re going to be sick as you realize it’s in the pit. 

Gravity must have taken it when you fell, taking with it any hope of communication, of rescue. You stand frozen, staring into that terrible darkness that your eyes refuse to adjust to. Its churns and writhes and remains impenetrable, unknowable, and you feel your hands curl tighter in on your chest.

Suddenly, you’re six years old again, trembling in the aftershocks of a nightmare and facing the immense darkness of the hallway that leads to your parents’ bedroom. 

Salvation is right there, and you can’t get to it.

And then the darkness speaks. 

In a moment of profound panic, your mind goes hideously blank and your name ekes up out of the pit.

Look into the abyss and the abyss will look back …

The noise comes again, strangely familiar in a way that makes your skin crawl, until you realize why. 

It takes a long, terrifying moment to realize that your name is not being spoken by some kind of horrible eldritch beast – it’s coming from the radio – it’s coming from Eddie. 

A bloody red flash of lightning reaches as far down into the dark as it dares and there you see it. The walkie-talkie, hanging by its strap, clinging on to a particularly gnarled root as it sways under its own weight — suddenly, there’s still a chance. 

You drop instantly to your belly and inch forward, resting your chin on the lip of the crevasse and spitting dirt as you extend your reach for the boxy piece of tech. You’ve got to get it, but you’re not about to go any further back into the pit then you absolutely must — you reach for the thing, waggling your fingers like somehow, it’s going to Go-Go-Gadget extend them far enough to snag it, but it’s no use.

Your arms aren’t long enough, and the walkie remains far out of your reach.

Something strikes you — raking talons come down to tear across the top of your head to snag your hair.

Bats… how could you have forgotten the bats?

It wrenches you backward, tearing from you a loud cry of alarm before you jerk free of its claws. You briefly entertain the notion of abandoning the radio and heading for the hills, but if Eddie is going to save you, you’re going to tell him what’s happening, so against your better judgment and every natural instinct you have, screaming at you to RUN, you scramble forward again, desperately reaching for the radio all while doing your best to brace against the monsters wheeling overhead.

You’re not nearly close enough to reach the thing, but you’ve come too far to give up on it.

Your name comes up from the pit again, garbled and half cut off in the static of the interference of this place.

“–o to– an!” The walkie commands you.

Caution be damned, you push out further than before, bracing your hips over the crumbling edge of the earth and extending your arm far past its reach, trusting in some higher power that you will not go tumbling into that great expanse. 

You wince under the way your shoulder clicks painfully on the edge of hyperextension, and you reach reach reach as that same garbled command is fed through a paper shredder and out from the walkie-talkie, Eddie imploring you to do something. 

“Go–t– th– va–!” 

Your fingers brush the strap once, twice, three times. You teeter further than is rightly wise and hook a finger in the Mylar just as the ground shifts beneath you again. You blink back visions of toppling forward, of things rising from the earth with grabbing hands to drag you down into the depths, and you close your fist, scrambling backward just as more of the loamy earth gives way.

You don't even wait to catch your breath before you bring the walkie up to your mouth, pressing the button on the side and shouting down the line.  

“Eddie help me I can’t get to you the road is gone and the bats are everywhere I don’t know what to do!” 

The second you take your thumb off the button, your instructions come screaming over the radio, loud and clear. 

“Go to the van!” Eddie shouts, “RUN!”    

You’re only granted a microsecond to wallow in the despair of that command before another one of the bats strikes the ground hard beside you – a big one, easily the size of a golden retriever, scrambling forward with a toothy screech as it reaches for you. 

You scream, pushing up with a desperate gasp, and bolt back into the trees, back the way Eddie showed you on the other side. 

It doesn’t take long to get through to that lonely stretch of highway. There sits the van, just as Eddie had promised it would be, though suddenly looking much more like a tired sagging animal on this side than the crouching beast you know so well. 

Time is stuck down here, he’d said, it’s still November ‘83, he’d said. 

Somehow, the van doesn't seem to have gotten that message.

It’s long abandoned, listing hard to the right on flat tires. It’s caked in thick layers of dirt and grime and wrapped in a constricting swathe of vines that reminds you far too much of a snake strangling its prey than you’re comfortable with, considering you intend to barricade yourself in the belly of the sad creature before you.

You don’t have time to ask whether this is actually a good idea or not, because the bats are swarming, snapping at your heels, whipped into a frothy tizzy over the trailing scent of freshly spilled blood and fleeing prey. 

You hit the van at a flat sprint, crashing into the side panel with a bang as you slap your open palms against it in a desperate search for the handle. You don’t find it until you’ve circled halfway around to the back door, and even then, it takes several hard tugs to pry the thing open.

A bat strikes the panel beside your head, and then another, cracking the glass and startling you into screaming as you crank the door open as far as you dare and squeeze through the gap.

You slam the door and throw your body across the truck bed in one swift movement, colliding heavily with the back of the driver’s seat and curling in on yourself, watching the hazy shadows of dozens of little bodies come crowding together in the spot where you were just standing, blocking out any semblance of light there is in this place. 

Your body throbs with adrenaline and burns in a hundred different places where the woods tore at your skin and clothes, all while your heart hammers against your ribcage like it means to burst forth. Dark spots and flecks of light burst in the dark and you sit there gasping for air, just like Steve had warned you not to. Your head swims and suddenly you can’t help but get the sensation that you’re swaying. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’ve strayed the line into hyperventilation, and that you’re going to pass out if you don’t manage to slow your breathing. 

If you pass out you’re dead, you got that?

You swallow hard against the copper you can suddenly taste flecking up from the back of your throat and pull your knees up to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut and channeling all your limited focus into taking deep, steadying breaths, just the way you’d practiced.

Deep breath, in through the nose. Out through the mouth. Rinse and repeat until you don’t feel like you’re this close to fainting any longer. 

It doesn’t work so well with your lungs spasming under duress and refusing to inflate again. 

Then you can hear the crackling sound of someone calling your name over the radio.

You fumble frantically in the dark for the walkie-talkie, hearing the sound of your name getting a little more desperate with every passing moment. When you finally get your hands on it, you snatch it up and press the plunger.

“I’m here,” you gasp, “I’m here.”

“No, you’re not!” Dustin fires back, “Where the hell are you?”

You open your mouth to try and explain, but before you can get a word out, Eddie’s voice comes ringing frantically over the line. 

“What happened? Baby– what happened?”

You don’t get the chance to answer him before something hits the side of the van with enough force to rattle the windows and send it swaying on its creaking shocks.

For half a moment you don’t dare to breathe as you’re flooded with images of the constricting vines stirring to life and crushing the van flat with you trapped inside.

You realize with a sickening start that not only was this very bad idea, but that your safe haven is very likely about to become a corroded steel coffin. And then it happens again, and again, boom after thunderous boom like being caught in a torrential hailstorm, or a fucking tornado. The van rattles and rocks and shifts violently as dozens of bodies strike the steel paneling, hitting the vehicle on all sides.

When the first of the indents begin to implode inward, you throw yourself to the bed of the van, scrambling to hide in the filthy blankets and things that belong to an Eddie that doesn’t exist down here. 

Then, without much in the way of warning, the left-hand side of the van caves in entirely and splits open. There are suddenly dozens of little creatures there, fighting to get through to you, fighting each other, and the sides of the torn metal digging into their ugly little faces as they try and force their way through.

You watch in horror as the jagged edge peels back their skin, flaying them alive and spilling their thick, black blood, and they just keep coming, thrashing, and reaching and screaming like they don’t even feel it, like they’re just that desperate to get to you.

You scramble backward, but before you can realize that there’s nowhere to go, the van is struck again with that same force. This time, the van rocks up on two wheels, sending you sprawling as it lists hard to the right. With a sad and ominous groan, gravity takes it, sending you scrambling for purchase, reaching out to brace yourself against something – anything – as the van tips and begins to roll.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The commotion that comes pouring over the radio is absolutely terrifying, like nothing Dustin has ever heard. A roaring static boom of crunching, creaking metal, and breaking glass, intercut with a healthy dosage of angry static and the chewed-up sound of your screaming.

Dustin feels like he’s going to break into a thousand tiny pieces as he stands paralyzed, listening to the soundtrack of something terrible and violent happening to you. He doesn’t know what to do – he’s got to do something, help you somehow, but his mind has gone blank.

For all he knows he could be listening to you die, and he can’t do anything about it – he’s got to save you, but he knows there’s nothing he can do.

You didn’t make it…

Dustin’s fingers are trembling as he fists them into the gray sweater he’d shrugged into for battle and tries to convince himself that you’re okay.

Maybe it’s not even you making those awful sounds, maybe you lost the radio somewhere, escaped whatever the hell is happening on the other end of the line, and are headed back to them as they speak. Maybe you just got sidetracked and you’re about to come pounding down the back door, screaming to be let in. 

Maybe he’ll wake up in a second and discover this was all just a terrible dream and none of this ever happened. Chrissy’s not dead, Vecna’s not real, and everything is sunshine lollipops and rainbows.

Maybe maybe maybe…

After a moment that feels like an eternity, the sounds finally stop, and then there is nothing but white noise – Dustin can’t breathe. 

Eddie hits the button on the side of the walkie, cutting the static and speaking your name into the silence. His voice is uneven and immediately betrays the facade of his calm.

Nothing.

Once more, he presses the button and calls your name, same tone – same wavering lilt in his voice. 

“–come in…”

Static.  

Dustin can’t decide if he’s about to vomit or burst into tears.

“Eddie–” he starts, unable to keep his voice from quavering with emotion, “What—what do we do?”

But Eddie doesn’t hear him, or he just plain ignores him, and Dustin’s heart is in his throat for it. For lack of anything better to do, he asks again.

“Eddie, what do we do?” 

Silence.

The muscles in Eddie’s jaw flex as he grits his teeth, and the walkie-talkie begins to tremble in his hand. He inhales sharply in a highly disturbing way that leaves Dustin suddenly half afraid that he’s about to come apart at the seams.

He hates this he hates this he hates this — why did Eddie tell you to run? Why couldn’t you make it back to them? Why won’t Eddie just talk to him? 

Dustin hiccups and seizes Eddie by the sleeve of his jacket, tugging hard on him, like somehow, it’s going to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in, like somehow it’s going to bring you back. 

“Eddie–!” He cries. 

Eddie wrenches his arm free and shushes him harshly, calling your name once more, louder this time, failing entirely to keep his voice steady. 

He has officially lost his cool. 

“–Come in, Baby…  come in, come in, come in Goddammit! We really need a sign of life here…” he pleads, growing more frantic by the second, fisting his hand in his hair and breathing hard like he can’t get enough air, “I-I need— I need a sign. Just give me a sign – just tell me you’re okay … Baby, please—”

BOOM. 

Their heads snap up toward the sound like meerkats moving in tandem as an air of doom settles heavily over the room, slicing through any kind of premature settling grief. 

They’d been so worried about what was happening with you that they’d conveniently forgotten to be afraid for their own lives. Just because they are inside does not mean they are anywhere within the arena of safety.

As if to punctuate that fact, outside, the screen door begins to rattle loudly on its hinges like it’s caught in a hurricane. It thrashes and whines against the barrage of whatever is happening just outside the door before there is the scream and pop of it being torn away entirely. 

The bats are through their defenses.

“Eddie?” 

“...Oh, shit…” 

BOOM. 

The front door rattles under the duress of the bats all hurling their weight against it, scratching and clawing and beating their wings in a frantic attempt to get in.  

“Eddie!”

“Oh, shit!” 

The clock is ticking. Phase Two is now in effect, and it’s time for the pair of them to get the hell out of Dodge, but you’re not here, and you’re not answering. 

BOOM.

They’re swarming the trailer, scrambling all over the reinforced tin siding, and scratching at the windows. 

They have to get out of here. They’re going to die if they stay, but they can’t just leave you. Steve explicitly told them not to be heroes, but somebody has to do something. 

BOOM.

Dustin never should have brought you into this, he should have left you alone, kept you far removed from this place and everything that goes with it. You have no business in the Upsidedown, he has no business in the Upsidedown. What the hell does he think he’s doing here? He’s not a hero, he barely made it through the last three times this happened, with the Demogorgon, with D’art, the Mindflayer – he’s just a kid… then again, kids always make it out of horror movies, don’t they? 

BOOM. 

Then again, maybe not.

“What do we do?” Dustin yelps, flinching hard against the way the door bends inward ever so slightly before snapping back into shape, “—Eddie, what do we do?!”

BOOM. 

This time the sound comes from the other end of the trailer, from Eddie’s bedroom – the ceiling is shaking. 

Before Dustin can stop to consider why that is happening and what that means for them, Eddie is a blur, sprinting down the hall faster than Dustin has ever seen any one person move. 

He reaches the open door the moment the ceiling caves in.

Suddenly, there is a mess of leathery writhing bodies fountaining down into the room like water rushing from a burst pipe. He is vaguely aware of screaming as a flurry of wings and talons rear up in the room beyond.

They’re in the house. Dustin thinks, Jesus Christ, we’re gonna die down here…

Eddie reaches for the doorknob, and something reaches back, rearing up and knocking into him hard enough to send him sprawling backward. 

For a terrifying moment, Eddie stays down and Dustin stands frozen, watching with unbridled terror as he thrashes and writhes beneath the thing that has him pinned – a bat, easily the size of a bulldog — snapping and biting and doing everything in its power to make a meal out of him. 

Dustin hasn’t even realized he’s even moved before he watches his foot collide heavily with the bat. Its features cave in and squelch grossly around the toe of his sneaker before bouncing off and back into the room.

He has no idea how or when he crossed the room, but suddenly he’s got his hands in Eddie’s jacket and is trying to pull him back down the hall.

He can’t save you, wherever you are, but he can save Eddie — or at least he can try. 

Eddie surges forward out and grips the knob, whipping the door shut with a heavy slam before falling backward onto his ass, taking Dustin down with him.

For half a moment, it’s all either of them can do but sit there on the floor in stunned silence, gasping for air.

Dustin’s still got his hands fisted in Eddie’s jacket, holding him to the spot where he’s half pressed against him, leaning back over him where he landed. He’s a lot heavier than he looks.

“Holy shit.” Eddie grinds out between breaths, “Christ, that was fucking nuts — did you see that?”

Dustin nods, though only because he can’t breathe well enough yet to speak. 

When he fails to provide a verbal answer, Eddie twists around to look at him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and rolling in terror.

 “Are you okay? You good?”

Dustin can’t decide how to answer that — no, he is absolutely not okay, but he’s alive, which is more than he thinks he can say for the bat he just spiked into the far corner of Eddie’s bedroom.

He opens his mouth to answer but the sound dies in his throat when he notices the thick trickle of blood bubbling up from a deep gash in Eddie’s forehead, oozing down to collect and drip from the end of his nose.

It turns Dustin’s stomach. 

“You’re bleeding.” He gasps, more a general statement of gut-wrenching terror than anything else. 

Eddie’s brows inch toward one another, disturbing the wound between them. He reaches up with a shaking hand and he wipes at the bridge of his nose – his fingers come away stained crimson, and it leaves a hollowed-out look splashed across his features, the same one Dustin can feel gnawing at his insides. 

That thing went for his face … it tried to eat his goddamn face.   

BOOM.

The front door heaves under the until-then-forgotten duress of more bats, still trying to get at them, and wrenches them back into the moment. There’s no time to assess the gravity of the situation, just how well and truly fucked they before the bedroom door shudders – a violent response to the question before that sees Eddie scrambling backward an inch. 

Dustin doesn’t blame him. It’s well past time they got the hell out of here. 

All around them, the doors continue to rattle on their hinges – bedroom door, front door, and now the bonus of the side door, all bending and creaking, somehow miraculously keeping their shapes under the violent battery of the things desperately trying to get in – the things that want to eat them. 

Before Dustin realizes what’s happening, Eddie pulls him to his feet and back through the length of the trailer, and suddenly he’s standing bathed in a pool of golden light. 

He flinches and recoils as something long and cylindrical hits him in the face — thankfully it’s only the bedsheet rope. He realizes with a start that he’s standing below the gate, looking up into the relative safety of the real world just beyond. 

Yes, of course that’s where they should go, because that’s where the bats are normal sized and not inclined to eat faces, but suddenly there is the nagging press of the question: what are they going to do about the bats once they get up there? 

How are they going to stop them from following them through?

“Go on,” Eddie says quickly, wiping hopelessly at the blood coating his face, all he does is smear it, “Get up there.” 

Dustin just stands there, blinking back at him.

He’s frozen to the spot, unable for the life of him to make his legs move as he watches the blood bubble up from the wound in Eddie’s forehead and leak down into his eyebrow. 

That thing went for his face. Jesus Christ, it literally tried to bite his face off! Things like that are not supposed to happen to them. Other people get killed – Barb and Mews, Bob Newby, Billy Hargrove and all the people who were assimilated by the Mindflayer, but not them — they’re kids in a horror movie, they’re supposed to be safe!   

“Dustin–!” Eddie snaps, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him, effectively cutting off the long tide of panicked blubbering Dustin hadn’t realized he’d devolved into, “Stop talking and climb the rope!” 

When he still doesn’t react, Eddie takes matters into his own hands and gets under him, boosting the boy on his shoulders with only the slightest grunting effort. 

One thing about Eddie is that he’s a lot stronger than he looks. 

Dustin seizes the rope and clings to it if only so he won’t fall flat on his face. 

“Get your ass up there, Henderson.” Eddie snaps from below, giving him a hard shove for good measure. 

It makes the rope swing and Dustin is half surprised when it doesn’t disrupt the gravitational rift and cause the whole thing to come falling through. 

It holds, because it has to, and Dustin climbs because there’s nothing else to do. 

Hand over fist, inching up as quickly as he can while the thrashing against the doors intensifies. 

He tells himself that this is all part of the plan, as terrible a plan as it suddenly seems. Stick to the plan. That’s what Steve said, no matter what, stick to the plan… and don’t get killed – Eddie added that little zinger out of what Dustin had assumed was fatalist humor, but right here at this moment, it’s the driving force to get him up that rope as fast as humanly possible. 

Through one side and out the other, he flops gracelessly to the squeaking mattress below and tucks immediately into a barrel roll, clearing the way for Eddie to come crashing down after him – he never arrives. 

The rope stands swaying — empty — and when he inches forward to look back through the gate, there Eddie remains, standing on the other side staring up at him – or is it down? He’s still not sure, not that it really matters, because they don’t have time for him to sit and work that out. 

“Let’s go – we gotta go!” 

Something solid and clunky comes flying up/down through the gate, narrowly missing Dustin’s head and scaring the hell out of him. For half a terrifying moment, he thinks it must be a Demobat, screaming in to herald his violent and imminent death. 

He lurches back as he follows the arc of the thing, then stands staring at it where it's landed — it takes him a moment too long to realize it’s the walkie-talkie. 

It takes an even longer moment for him to realize that he doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“Eddie – what…?” Dustin begins, and then when he looks up, he sees the blade gripped in Eddie’s hand – his stomach heaves, “What are you doing?” the words barely manage to squeak their way out of Dustin’s throat — his tongue feels fat and clumsy in his mouth.

He knows exactly what Eddie is doing: he’s buying him a little more time, he’s going to get you from wherever the hell you’ve ended up — he’s making a big goddamn hero out of himself. 

In the Upsidedown, with the doors rattling on all sides, still bleeding from where one of the Demobats had just tried to make a meal out of him, Dustin watches helplessly as Eddie seizes the rope with his free hand.

“Eddie — don’t—!”

He slashes out and there is the quick sound of tearing fabric as the bed sheets split. For a brief moment, it hangs suspended, quivering as the dual gravity struggles to decide what to do. When they finally pull away from each other, torn ends trail like extended fingers, desperately reaching for one another. 

The rope drops over Dustin’s hand and down to the floor in a smooth, cotton pile, and he watches helplessly as Eddie gives him one final look before disappearing.

Dustin scrambles for something to do, somewhere to go. Somehow, he’s got to get back up there, but the predicament of how to ascend twelve feet into the ceiling without the use of a rope or ladder is an impossible one to solve.

He’s got to do something, he’s got to save Eddie — what was the point of the last week if Eddie gets himself killed down there? What was the point of any of this if he can’t save him? 

In a fit of desperation, Dustin seizes the walkie talking and jams the button with his thumb, screaming down the line for you — you’ll know what to do, you always know what to do — you’ll fix this. 

Dustin’s voice is frantic as he screams your name, and begs you to pick up — Eddie didn't follow him through the gate.

Eddie’s going to die down there. 

[trans-beast]

Day 1: “Whose your digimon?”

Icarus is gonna hate this answer, but honestly? Dorumon. My introduction to the franchise was Digimon World 4 on the Gamecube, and it remains one of my favorite games ever to this very day. I can’t put my finger on it, but the moment I saw Dorumon, I instantly knew I connected with him somehow.

When I took to the internet as a kid to learn more about him, I ended up feeling even closer.

Dorumon was an outcast. He was a prototype digimon with lots of potential to become lots of powerful things, and everyone hated him for being born with built-in favoritism from Yggdrasil. He was kinda like a stem mammal for digimon, a living digital fossil. And during the events of X Evolution, the movie Digimon World 4 was actually based on, Yggdrasil wanted to do a hard reset on the digital world, basically cause an apocalypse to clear up some space. And Dorumon was one of the few who was born with the X Antibody, a trait that ensures you don’t get nuked and will survive in the next world to come.

Growing up, I was an outcast too. I didn’t have friends. I became socially stunted, exacerbating the issue. I also felt like even if they’d let me hang out, I would quickly discover that my brain worked very differently. At 8 years old I already had a concept of the finality of death and was having a ludicrous existential crisis. Other 8 year olds were more preoccupied with whose action figure collection was cooler. I was always “weird”, “annoying”, “scary”…and I had to just settle for making friends with my cat, and any other animals I could interact with.

Then, next thing I knew, I now growled and hissed when I was upset, without really even thinking about it. It just…happened. People started treating me like a zoo animal. I definitely got some rumors spread about me.

Likewise, dorumon turned into all kinds of fearsome shaped, many of them dragons, with metallic powers to match. But underneath all that, he was still just a misunderstood creature, who still had it in him to be kind to others who didn’t attack him first. He’s die for the few friends he made. And I guess I felt the same way about my friends, once I finally got some human ones.

No matter how many teeth they had, all those big, intimidating dragons still had a layer of downy fur to cuddle into.

These days I’ve changed. I’ve gotten friends that I intend to hold very, very closely. I even have a boyfriend who I love deeply, he’s someone who loves me for me. I’m more interested in Gazimon now, who was always a second favorite for me even back then. Now he’s about even with Dorumon for me.

Why gazimon? Well, partially because he hits some of the same outcast vibes, but he also strikes me as more scrappy. He’s been dealt a bad hand, he has less impressive strength than dorumon and is better suited to being a malicious prankster rather than an actual threat. His main skill is to just stun you and run away. Dorumon gets to launch metal projectiles out of his mouth. Gazimon is an underdog. I love me an underdog.

What’s more, virus types with a demonic theme are definitely more my aesthetic. Christians hated me plenty, especially with the hissing and all, as you can imagine. Weird that they told me to go to hell, then acted surprised when I decided to embrace devils and hellfire as an aesthetic.

Gazimon is also my favorite color. Pale grey. He has that basic wild animal motif that always felt more “me”.

Icarus in particular has the following digivolution tree:

Zurumon

Pagumon

Gazimon

Devidramon

Mephistomon

Ornismon

Gargoylemon (Armor digivolution)

[talenlee]

Corrindale: A Place For Places To Happen In

Hey, what’s in the Pacific Ocean?

I mean that sounds funny doesn’t it? There’s nothing in the Pacific Ocean. Not really, I mean, there are places like Macronesia and Aotearea and Hawaii and Samoa and Guam and Japan but those aren’t in the Pacific Ocean, even if they’re literally surrounded by it. There’s several mountains, there’s a seam where the ground is being made brand new, the Mariana Trench, the Tonga Trench, and the Phillipine Trench, to just mention ones I’m reasonably sure still exist since I was in high school. Despite the presence of people living in the space within the boundary declared as the edges of the Pacific Ocean, the Pacific Ocean has a population of close enough to zero as to make no difference.

We think of the Ocean this way for a reason, mostly because we can’t put anything there. If someone did build a city in the ocean somehow, all Bioshock Style, it wouldn’t work as a fill bucket tool, a sort of capture the flag rules set up of filling in all the ocean as their territory – it would just be another place which, probably, had territory extending out to the edges of what they’d built a bit, like any land mass has.

This is how the people of Cobrin’Seil think of the Corrindale Forest. It is not a place, of its own, and nor should it be considered as such. The southern parts of the Corrindale forest rest at the equator and lick warm sea coastline. The people of Kyranou see the Corrindale forest at the edges of land when they go fishing. The people of Dal Raeda’s northern borders can stand on the beach and look across the bay at the southernmost parts of Corrindale Forest. Slinging to the opposite side of the continent, though, the only thing that stops the Corrindale forest going north is the inevitable boundaries of frozen ground: The forest thins out as it creeps up mountains and then tumbles down the far side of the mountain into the region that you’d call ‘arctic.’

That is to say, in comparison to Earth, the Corrindale Forest in its entirety reaches from about Mexico to Nunavut.

The character and temper of the forest changes, along this vast spread. When you stand anywhere in the forest you might imagine what you see is entirely homogenous, vast trees that create a dark and silent cloak in their midst, but travel a few kilometers north or south and you find the foliage different, the wildlife different, but once agian, homogenous. The vastness of a forest of this ilk is hard to explain. People avoid going off paths and trails in the forest because it’s so big, and so deep, that it’s entirely possible to be completely lost just by the environment itself.

There are beasts in the Corrindale forests, but the forest is, itself, the great, oppressive vastness that’s most disquieting. As one floats in the ocean and sees the emerging shape of a vast banking whale, so too one can stand in the Corrindale forest, and see stretching out all around, trees, offset to one another so that there’s no way to see anywhere that you’re not seeing a tree, no single sliver of visual space that is not occupied by trees near or far, and that when something emerges from the greyness and the fogginess created by the canopy of the Corrindale forest, that you do not know how far or close it really is…

Nor how big.

The forest was once this vast because of nature alone; leave enough trees alone for long enough, before people existed, and you’d get something of this impressive breadth. Now the Corrindale Forest is a thing maintained. People peck at its borders, logging and deforming and changing its shape a little, but that’s done as an act of daring, knowing that the forest has people who live there who will retaliate. What’s more it’s not a given? You don’t know who or where or on what time scale. What space within Corrindale exists that is definitively not Corrindale is territory that was hard fought for and in some cases resultant of an actual treaty.

Sometimes, you chop down trees to expand your farmland and a bunch of elves come out of the forest to interrupt. Sometimes, you don’t get interrupted and a gang of kobolds show up a week later to let you know you’ve given the farmland to a dragon sleeping nearby. Sometimes, nothing happens at all. Sometimes, something old stirs in the dark, and the treeline is restored and expanded.

Corrindale is a forest but it’s a forest the way the Daintree is a forest, the way that The Deep Dark is a forest, the way that the Moon is an Ocean. There is something about the Corrindale Forest that represents a vastness, a terrifying, ancient, darkness, and a reminder that it was here before every city and, if it takes measures, it will be here after they have all fallen and their parasites and hosts both have all rotted away.

There are, within Corrindale Forest, a network of Elf communities sometimes glibly known as ‘Elvish nations,’ which is a bit like calling a treehouse a fortress. There are the Portal Pathways into the Manses of the Eladrin and down into the linked world of the Drow’s Dreaming Dark. There are orcish communities and there are several druidic orders. Thing is, for each of these though, none of them are wholly contained in the forest. They all reach out and across into other spaces, none of them are entirely contained.

There are cities and there are nations inside the Corrindale Forests’s boundaries. There’s the Wu Kan’s only city, the mountain transplanted by Sunmon Tzu, where if you look behind the waterfall you find a hoard of gold overseen by a horde of monkey people. But, like islands in an ocean, they are not ‘in’ the forest. Corrindale Forest has two long strips of the King’s Highway through it, linking all the Eresh territories within Corrindale Forest. Those strips represent the single largest work project that exists within the Forest, stretched from almost the Dal Raedan borderlands up to the snowy fortress city perched above the snowline. The Ragauzan who patrol it are borderline pagans. The Church Authorities of Olifar have demanded that Raguzans who patrol there be cycled back to more central locations for fear of creating hooting cults of people who wear antlers and imagine themselves as snakes.

Corrindale is a place, but it is a place like an ocean. It is a place for places to be in.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[tatiletotesamaze]

"You know it's not that bad," she said around another mouthful of chips. "Other people have it way worse."

I nodded. My food was unappetising. Warm and spiced, just the right touch of greasy, it was my favourite pick-me-up. It turned to tasteless mush in my mouth.

Other people have it worse.

That was the day I decided to find these other people. I would get their permission for my feelings or absolve myself.

The first day of my quest, the very next morning after Amanda and I had talked over fried chicken, I went to my neighbour. She had three children and worked two jobs. Her partner also worked two. They hardly saw each other through the nights and the weeks.

"Oh, other people have it worse than us." She said, with a colicy baby on her hip and two kids not wanting to go to school. I helped her get them dressed, took them down to the bus stop while she fussed the baby. She thanked me. I felt nothing and nodded. "Have you seen Mrs So-and-so, one the corner? She's got in worse than me."

Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, had always lived in the building. I like to think that she'd always lived in that little flat on the ground floor and that the building has been put up around her. She had an old toothless dog that wagged its tail at everyone and they both smelled like roses.

Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, invited me in for tea. There was cake as well but its sweetness was too far away for me to taste. I asked Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, how she was.

"Oh I can't complain." She said and smiled. Her hands shook as she lifted her tea cup. The liquid was cool, too cold for me, so she didn't burn herself. "Ever since my Wilbur passed it has been difficult, but oh I can't complain.” She looked at her dog, who gummed at a worn toy rabbit that had turned grey after many years of being pink. I'd never heard of Wilbur before. Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, had been alone when I arrived, except for the dog. I nodded.

I helped with the dishes, took out the bins, took the toothless old dog for a plod around the gardens. His name was Poopsie, which somehow came from Parliament. He had arthritis in his knees, all four of them. He enjoyed the flowers and sunshine even if he couldn't get very far. Poopsie told me, as we sat in the shade of the only tree, that he was happy. That he had it good.

"But you have no teeth, and arthritis in all four of your knees."

"Yes," said Poopsie, and now I could see the proud dog of days gone by and the path of long years he had taken. "I'm not as I once was but you know, there are others worse off than me."

I sighed and nodded. He told me about a racing hound, three towns over, who had lost all her children in a flood. When I arrived the next day she was gone. I found only her owner, Mr. Who-owns-all-those-dogs.

"Hello Mr. Who-owns-all-those-dogs."

And Mr Who-owns-all-those-dogs shook his head. He seemed to me to be very deeply sad.

"She's gone," he shrugged and sighed. "Everything's been ruined by that flood. Look."

Council-house magnolia walls were stained with mud above the windows. A layer of dirt and other unmentionables covered the floor. I thought I saw a couch fallen in on itself, wedged in a doorway.

“It’s just so hard to clean up, you know?” He shrugged and sighed again. I nodded, pretending to know. “Sometimes I think it’s just better to rip it all out and start over.”

“It certainly does look that way.” I said. Mr Who-owns-all-those-dogs agreed with me, but in a resigned, dejected sort of way. I don’t think he knew quite what to do - I knew I didn’t.

“Could you at least help me move that couch?” He asked and pointed to the doorway. I noticed then the door had disappeared. Perhaps it had always been that way. I couldn’t imagine a flood, even one that could cover the ground floor windows, ripping a door off its hinges.

“Of course.” I said, not really understanding what I was getting myself in for. Even with everything that wasn’t happening to me; the bland food, the far away sunlight, the wind and the rain that never seemed to touch me, this was an experience to rouse even my failing emotions. About that sturdy frame, the fabric and the cushions had already started to rot. Rusted staples dug into my palms and my fingers. I think an exotic mould took root in my sinuses.

We pulled. We yanked and we heaved. We wiggled and pushed. He pleaded and swore. I stood and stared. The couch refused to budge.

“I’ll get the saw.” Said Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs, as he headed off down the dark, damp corridor and into the light. I watched the couch drip, drip, drip on the floor and looked at the mud on my legs. It was cold but I didn’t really care.

After a while Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs returned. I held onto the end of the couch again, feeling the mud squelch through my fingers. He sawed through the wood at the bottom, making the couch jump and shake in my hands.

“You know,” Mr Who owns all the dogs said as the wood started to splinter and snap. “I got off lucky. There’s a bunch of others down the road, the mud ain’t leaving.” He shook his head and kept on sawing until we had chunks of couch in a pile. Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs thanked me and we shook hands, not caring about the mud, for we were so very muddy by that point.

The next day I gathered my wits about me and went three towns over, to the bunch of others down the road. When I arrived they were knee high in mud with spades and shovels and ineffectual brooms. I grabbed a spade and started slinging mud. They nodded to me and I nodded to them and by the end of the day, with the sky pink and streaked through with blue, we were still knee high in mud. I went back the next day and the next. Each day we’d sling mud in skips and bins and buckets and each day the river would sling mud right back up at us. Around Thursday someone showed up with a digger. The spades and shovels and brooms couldn’t match up to the digger, so we all sat back and watched it work. By then I was used to being covered in mud. I felt more mud than person.

Someone shoved a drink in my hand and we got to chatting.

“Awful business, this.” Someone said.

“I know. But it’s getting better.” said someone else.

“Good thing that digger showed up.” said a third someone. I sipped my drink and nodded and was generally agreeable. Before the sun had even started to tint the sky orange, the digger was done. The skips and buckets and bins were overflowing but the streets were clear. The mud was coming out of the houses now but that was fine. It would collect overnight and be gone the next day, thanks to the digger.

No one showed that they felt their efforts were wasted because of the digger, and that was good, because then I didn’t have to pretend that I felt the same way. I didn't go back the next day and nor did half the mud covered people. The digger dug and there were other things to do. Instead I went for a walk in the park. It was sunny with a blustering breeze that chased the clouds away. The kind of day that looks beautiful until you step out into it and find the wind rattling in your bones too annoying, so you stay inside.

I watched as the birds were blown about and flowers had their petals ripped off. The wind was very strong but I didn't much mind, or care. I suppose it might have been pleasant in its own way. After a while of being huddled on a bench, trying not to fall off, a bird landed next to me.

"Hello." I said.

The bird looked a little startled, then it hopped over my legs and settled in next to me, out of the wind.

"Thanks." said the bird.

"No problem." I said, as I hadn't really done anything.

"It's awfully hard flying out there." said the bird, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, I'd imagine so." And I tried very hard to imagine it, but couldn't. Still, I think the bird accepted this.

"I'll stay here until the winds dies down, if you don't mind."

I nodded. We stayed there at least an hour, me being battered by the wind, which I'm sure many people would have described as 'angry', the bird rearranging its ruffled feathers. The wind eventually died down, to be swiftly replaced by rain. I left and the bird found somewhere else to shelter.

I walked Poopsie in the rain. He said the dirt, softened by the rain, was kinder to his knees. I worried that the cold would do him in.

"Maybe you should go on a trip," He suggested at the door.

"Maybe," I said, non-commitally.

"Oh," Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, lent on her door to let Poopsie in and smiled at me. "Are you going on a trip?"

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Ok same before BLLK I was like knee deep in JJK (do you have a fav?? I’m personally a raging Inumaki advocate LMAO) but after discovering BLLK and also seeing where the story went…..yeah….i can’t say I’m caught up on all the leaks (everything between Gojo sliced to Yuta copying kenjaku) only because I got so confused and I genuinely have no idea what happened I just know people were dropping like flies left and right…I’m hoping gege has a plan because not to be overly critical but I could not see ANY plot for awhile LMAO it was just kinda an ongoing toss someone into the Sukuna fight tag team whoops they died next person kinda vibe for me too….if I’m being honest I think I was originally captivated by the whole premise of jjk and the fighting curses thing that was most prominent in the content covered up to shibuya but I think I was slowly fading from culling games…something about it just seemed so different from what jjk had built up to be originally (or I just was too hard stuck on its original kinda theme of sorcerer vs curse strictly..simpler times…)

Also I don’t know how much you’ve seen of these but the recent exhibition content?? Where apparently gege clears up some stuff about the camellia being not a camellia and throwing people for a loop like I’m NGL I thought that was kinda ridiculous like huh??? I can’t tell if maybe it’s just a mistranslation but the never ending cycle of “DADDYS HOME”(meme ref I wouldn’t actually call gojo daddy for disclaimer’s sake LOL) to “it’s gojover” burnt me out…but LMAO I def remember reading culling games for the first time and talking to my friend being like yeah I’m just gonna wait for this to be animated because I have no idea how hakaris ct works

I love we have Otoya at one end of the disrespect spectrum yuki at the other and karasu in between LMAO

Ah yes agency my fav word fr!! Whenever I do in depth analysis I find myself gravitating towards talking about agency and will of certain characters I love how you developed this…also talk about scholar?? Pop off the amount of research/knowledge you took into account while writing this omg

And fr!! Bonafide soccer losers I’m sure they’d find their way to a field and a ball no matter what au they’re slapped in LMAO that being said cherry tree is also a personal fav of mine from your portfolio…the characterization for Rin was on point and aligned a lot with what I’ve understood to be his character LOL but yeah that tag is flooding (I could be wrong but sometimes I feel like saes is even more active??) it’s gotta be something about the Emo teal eyed dudes I’m somehow hoping at some point in bllk we see Rin get to redevelop his interests outside of soccer..(like the horror games and his personality kinda pre-sae trauma) but we’ll see how that goes LMAO

Back to research DOWN TO THE PLANTS IN HIORIS FIELD goodbye that’s some next level research I’m honestly living for it though!!! I mean I wouldn’t know which plants are native to Japan off the top of my head but I can imagine if I read something wrong about something I was familiar with I’d be a little irked the dedication you have is too real

SHHSHS GLAD TO HAVE YOU TOO HEHE I’m also hoping tabieitaken nation RISE honestly I’m sure they will I think they’re just kinda like…idk paywalled for lack of a better term behind the anime only/stuck in manga barrier I’m hoping we’ll get to see them in action from ep1!! Also yuki always almost seems like the third wheel to me LMAOA I think he’s just too dignified to stoop to their level of goofiness sometimes he’s just got that air to him….honestly I’m just excited to see all the new s2 characters in action with their dynamics and relations etc….im also kinda a nanase stan I can’t wait to see my headband boy in action…I think it’s funny how Isagi gets surrounded by people with accents and dialects I can fs see him being lost when they use region specific vocab LMAO

THANK YOUUU I know I just braindumped there so do take your time LMAO…I’m excited to read the karasu one shot and your other event works too!!! Will be back for commentary with each release o7

Also that shot of Karasu from s1 has me dying eightbit better give him compensation and do him justice s2 because that’s not Karasu that’s Kevin….like who is that man…..but no you’re blessing the Karasu tag never stop LMAOAO

-Karasu anon

i’m in pretty much the same boat!! i loveddd jjk and was p active in the fandom from like 2022-early 2024. my favs were megumi kashimo and yuta!! but i loved inumaki for a while hehe. i think some of my best fics are for jjk in terms of the kind of story i like to write 🤔 but i do agree that recently i’ve felt v lukewarm abt it

i feel like it’s a trend to hate on things that are popular which i don’t necessarily agree with but i just feel like i don’t really enjoy reading jjk anymore!! and i think a lot of its fans think popular = good which isn’t always the case. i also believe it gets a lot of praise which while some of it is merited (the things jjk does well it does VERY well) some it maybe not so much. for example i’ve seen a lot of people praising jjk for its female cast and honestly i don’t see the appeal. not a single female character is written as well as the male characters (including maki, who as much as i love her and as much as she is def above average for a shonen fc, is not really as well written as people make her out to be imo) and they all have dissatisfactory/vague endings (the way yuki tsukumo’s character was handled was a crime, same w tsumiki). i think a lot of fans think not sexualized automatically means good female character but that’s only one portion of it. jjk is kind of what i mean when i say i’m glad bllk has barely any female characters…i rather they don’t exist than get shelved for the plot/development of male characters/not even fully explored

also the way people were confused about whether nobara died for YEARS after it was shown in the manga and it was only cleared up in an interview is just. idk. i feel like i love what jjk could be (and again, i love a lot of things in it as well!! this is more me explaining why i’m not so into it anymore ig haha) and the things it set up to happen, but the execution isn’t really to my taste. different people will enjoy diff things but that’s just me 🤷🏻‍♀️ i keep up with it just because i feel like i have to?? i want to know how it all ends but i’m not emotionally invested like i used to be. also one thing i will say is i see a lot of analysis posts breaking down jjk and pointing out the different subtle details gege has put into it, and while i admire that level of attention i think those kinds of details should only serve to enhance a main story?? like the plot should be able to stand on its own without needing to have a very very deep understanding of many many nuanced topics. but again all of this is my personal opinion!! at the end of the day jjk is wildly popular and many people do enjoy it. gege isn’t perfect but no one is tbf so while i think criticism is good i would never bash on them for their ideas/work. at the end of the day it’s their story and the way they want to tell it is what they’re going to do!!

if soccer didn’t exist in an au they were put in the itoshi bros would simply invent it HAHAH omg i’m glad you liked cherry tree!! that’s like one of my least fav bllk fics i’ve written LMAO i feel like rin is so wiggly to write about (that makes no sense but basically he’s just hard to capture in my mind) that it was difficult despite being a relatively simple request 😫 yes i do think that sae’s tag is a bit more popular than rin’s!! maybe it’s because sae is being set up a bit like the gojo-type character who’s untouchably skilled 🤔 that kind of trope is always a winner w the fandoms i feel…i have to admire i think his haircut is weird asf 😔 i don’t think he’s UGLY but i also don’t know what everyone sees in him (i have to be careful though because the last two times I said this it was abt kaiser and otoya and. you saw how that turned out.)

PLSSS omg yes i sat there making sure white butterflies even exist in japan and everything 😭 there’s a line in hollyhock too where y/n compares reiji hiiragi to a hornet and originally the line referred to him as a vulture but apparently japan doesn’t have native vultures?? so it wouldn’t make sense coming from someone in the sengoku era to refer to a bird she would have had no chance at ever seeing. my philosophy is that it’s one of those things that people won’t care about if you forget (and sometimes artistic liberties can be taken) but the more careful you are to ensure you’re being as accurate as possible, the more the work really feels cohesive and believable ig?? 🤔 idk i think it just gives a more seamless vibe and you can def tell when an author is knowledgeable or at least did some research before writing abt a subject!! it always elevates a fic to me and i’d like to give that same experience to my own readers hehe plus i’m a bit of a perfectionist so i’d make myself do it anyways most likely

I AGREE i can sense them becoming popular they really are just fandom tropes as actual characters!! as long as their animation does them justices 😭 otoya and yuki looked okay in the last ep but karasu…they did my man a lil dirty icl 😔 omg that screenshot of him is so funny to me idek what it is he just looks so odd!! same in the epinagi movie though not to that extent 😔 i think part of it is that he’s drawn so sharply in the manga that in the anime he looks a little too soft?? for lack of a better word. also i got so used to him having black hair that i forgot his hair is technically purple-blue (karasu with black hair and purple eyes you will forever live in my heart). i was rewatching bllk a while ago and i saw him in that moment (he’s in the background i think he’s either judging shidou or judging raichi and gagamaru) and i had to rewind like HELP IS THAT KARASU?? but he’s kinda cute though…w his little 😒😕 expression…

also this is unrelated but idk how i just realized kurona was number 4 in second selection?? the way he beat literally every relevant character except rin is so funny (although tbf idrk how aryu and tokimitsu got 2nd and 3rd but then completely faded from relevancy after second selection)

[dfroza]

“I am God’s emissary to you, and I honor this call by focusing on what God is doing with and through you.”

growing A pure Tree:

“If the root of the tree is sacred, the branches will be also.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 11th chapter of the letter of Romans:

Now I ask you, has God rejected His people? Absolutely not! I’m living proof that God is faithful. I am an Israelite, Abraham’s my father, and Benjamin’s my tribe. God has not, and will not, abandon His covenant people; He always knew they would belong to Him. Don’t you remember the story of what happens when Elijah pleads with God to deal with Israel? The Scripture tells us his protest: “Lord, they have murdered Your prophets, they have demolished Your altars, and I alone am left faithful to You; now they are seeking to kill me.” How does God answer his pleas for help? He says, “I have held back 7,000 men who are faithful to Me; none have bowed a knee to worship Baal.” The same thing is happening now. God has preserved a remnant, elected by grace. Grace is central in God’s action here, and it has nothing to do with deeds prescribed by the law. If it did, grace would not be grace.

Now what does all this mean? Israel has chased an end it has never reached. Yet those chosen by God through grace have reached it while all others were made hard as stones. The Scriptures continue to say it best:

God has confounded them so they are not able to think,

given them eyes that do not see, and ears that do not hear,

Down to this very day.

David says it this way:

Let their table be turned into a snare and a trap,

an obstacle to peace and payback for their hostility.

Let their bright eyes become cloudy, darkened so they cannot see,

and bend their proud backs through it all.

So I ask: did God’s people stumble and fall off the deep end? Absolutely not! They are not lost forever; but through their misconduct, the door has been opened for salvation to extend even to the outsiders. This has been part of God’s plan all along, and so is the jealousy that comes when they realize the outsiders have been welcomed into God’s new covenant. So if their misconduct leads ultimately to God’s riches coming to the world and if their failure turns into the blessing of salvation to all people, then how much greater will be the riches and blessing when they are included fully?

But I have this to say to all of you who are not ethnic Jews: I am God’s emissary to you, and I honor this call by focusing on what God is doing with and through you. I do this so that somehow my own blood brothers and sisters will be made jealous; and that, I trust, will bring some to salvation. If the fact that they are currently set aside resolves the hostility between God and the rest of the world, what will their acceptance bring if not life from the dead? If the first and best of the dough you offer is sacred, the entire loaf will be as well. If the root of the tree is sacred, the branches will be also.

Imagine some branches are cut off of the cultivated olive tree and other branches of a wild olive (which represents all of you outsiders) are grafted in their place. You are nourished by the root of the cultivated olive tree. It doesn’t give you license to become proud and self-righteous about the fact that you’ve been grafted in. If you do boast, remember that the branches do not sustain the root—it is the system of roots that nourishes and supports you.

I can almost hear some of you saying, “Branches had to be pruned to make room for me.” Yes, they were. They were removed because they did not believe; and you will stay attached, be strong, and be productive only through faith. So don’t think too highly of yourselves; instead, stand in awe of God’s mercy. Besides we know that God did not spare the natural branches, so there is no reason to think He will spare you. Witness the simultaneous balance of the kindness and severity of our God. Severity is directed at the fallen branches withering without faith. Yet kindness is directed at you. So live in the kindness of God or else prepare to be cut off yourselves. If those branches that have been cut from the tree do not stay in unbelief, then God will carefully graft them back onto the tree because He has the power to do that. So if it is possible for you to be taken from a wild olive tree and become part of a cultivated olive tree, imagine how much easier it would be to reconnect branches that originally grew on that olive tree.

My brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be in the dark about this mystery—I am going to let you in on the plan so that you will not think too highly of yourselves. A part of Israel has been hardened to the good news until the full number of those outside the Jewish family have entered in. This is the way that all of Israel will be saved. As it was written, so it also stands:

The Deliverer will come from Zion;

He will drive away wickedness from Jacob.

And this is My covenant promise to them,

on the day when I take away their sins.

It may seem strange. When it comes to the work of the gospel, the fact that they oppose it is actually for your benefit. But when you factor in God’s election, they are truly loved because they descended from faithful forefathers. You see, when God gives a grace gift and issues a call to a people, He does not change His mind and take it back. There was a time when you outsiders were disobedient to God and at odds with His purpose, but now you have experienced mercy as a result of their disobedience. In the same way, their disobedience now will make a way for them to receive mercy as a result of the mercy shown to you. For God has assigned all of us together—Jews and non-Jews, insiders and outsiders—to disobedience so He can show His mercy to all.

We cannot wrap our minds around God’s wisdom and knowledge! Its depths can never be measured! We cannot understand His judgments or explain the mysterious ways that He works! For,

Who can fathom the mind of the Lord?

Or who can claim to be His advisor?

Or,

Who can give to God in advance

so that God must pay him back?

For all that exists originates in Him, comes through Him, and is moving toward Him; so give Him the glory forever. Amen.

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 11 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

In every generation, God makes sure a few survive the onslaught of judgment. The prophets call these the “remnant.” Paul sees himself living in a critical moment as fewer and fewer Jews pledge obedience to Jesus. But the Anointed’s emissary finds comfort in realizing how God’s faithfulness is playing out in his day. If you ever think that you alone are faithful to God, that somehow God has forgotten His covenant promises, think again. He always has a remnant.

The cultivated olive tree provides Paul with a beautiful image of how believing Jews and non-Jews were organically connected in the plan of God. Life flows from the earth to the branches—some natural, some grafted in—through the rootstock. Paul wants to make sure the grafted branches know they have not arrived on their own; their spiritual life and vitality flow from the root, Israel. God is the Farmer who has tenderly grafted them into the sturdy stock on the basis of faith. So pride and arrogance are completely out of place for those grafted branches. They will bear fruit only as they remain connected by faith to the stock.

Paul says that God’s mysterious plan for the ages is being revealed as the number of outsiders swells in the churches and as a part of Israel is hardened, at least for a time. But let’s not forget that hardening is not God’s unilateral action. Whatever hardening takes place happens first on our side before God reluctantly agrees. That part of Israel now hardened has already rejected God’s Anointed. Yet when the full complement of non-Jewish outsiders enters God’s kingdom, “all Israel will be saved.” But clearly “all Israel” can’t mean every last Jew, because Paul has already shown that not every son or daughter of Abraham is an heir to the promise.

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 22nd chapter of the book of Exodus:

Eternal One: If someone steals an ox or a sheep and either kills or sells it for profit, then he must pay five oxen for the one ox he stole or four sheep for the one sheep he stole. But if the stolen animal—the ox or donkey or sheep—is still alive and in his possession when he is caught, then the thief must pay the owner double. A thief must make restitution for what he has taken. If he has no means of doing so, he must be sold to pay for his theft.

If a person attacks a thief in the act of breaking into his house and the thief is killed during the attack, then the homeowner is innocent of blood guilt. It is different if the sun has already risen; so any homeowner who kills a thief during the day must be considered guilty of bloodshed.

Eternal One: If someone allows his animals to graze a field or vineyard until it is bare and then lets his animals wander over onto a neighbor’s field, then he must compensate his neighbor from the very best of his field and vineyard.

If someone starts a fire and the fire spreads and sets the thorn bushes ablaze, and eventually that fire burns up stacks of harvested grain and everything growing in the fields, then the person who started the fire is responsible and must pay reparations for what was lost.

If someone gives his neighbor money or items to keep for him and it is stolen from his neighbor’s house, then if the thief is captured, he must pay double for what he stole. If the thief is not found, then the person who owned the house that was burglarized must go stand before God’s presence so that He can decide whether he is the one who stole the property.

Whenever there is a breach of trust—regarding an ox, a donkey, a lamb, a piece of clothing, or any lost item—and the contested item is discovered in the possession of a neighbor and claimed by two different parties, then both sides must appear before God. If God finds the neighbor guilty, he must pay double for what he stole.

If someone leaves a donkey, an ox, a sheep, or any other kind of livestock in his friend’s keeping, and the animal dies or is injured or disappears while no one is watching, then the two are to make an oath in the presence of the Eternal. The neighbor must swear he had nothing to do with the loss of the animal, and the owner of the animal must accept his statement and not demand any compensation for the loss.

But if the animal was stolen while in his neighbor’s care, then the neighbor must compensate the owner. If it was torn to pieces by another animal, then the neighbor may use the remains as evidence, and not have to pay any compensation for the torn animal.

If someone borrows an animal from a neighbor and it is harmed or dies while not in the possession of the owner, then the borrower must compensate the owner in full. But if the owner was there when the animal dies or is harmed, then no compensation is required. If the animal has been rented and not borrowed, then the rental fee paid shall cover the loss of the animal.

If a man entices a virgin who is not promised to another man to have sex with him, then he must pay her father the bride-price and marry her. If the young woman’s father refuses the marriage offer because he disapproves of the man, then the man still must pay the amount of money that is customary for the bride-price for virgins.

You are not to allow a sorceress to live.

Anyone who has sex with an animal must be put to death.

Anyone who dares to sacrifice to any god other than the Eternal must be declared under the ban and destroyed.

Do not wrong or oppress any outsiders living among you, for there was a time when you lived as outsiders in the land of Egypt.

You must not take advantage of any widow or orphan. If you do oppress them and they cry out to Me, I will certainly hear them, and My wrath will be kindled. I will make sure you are slaughtered by your enemy’s sword, and your own wives and children will become widows and orphans.

If you loan money to any of the poor among My people, do not treat them as borrowers and act as their creditors by charging interest. If your neighbor gives his coat to you as collateral, then be sure to give it back before night falls—even if he has not repaid you in full. You see that coat covers his body and may be his only protection against the cold. What do you think he would sleep in? When he calls out for Me, I will hear his cry. I am kind and compassionate as you should be when a fellow Israelite is in need.

Do not curse the one True God or any rulers of your people.

You must not hold back or delay your offering from the bounty of your harvest or the juice of your vineyard. Dedicate every one of your firstborn sons to Me. But dedicate your livestock—your ox and sheep—to Me in sacrifice. The firstborn of your livestock may stay with its mother for the first seven days. When the eighth day arrives, give the firstborn to Me. You must be holy before Me. Do not eat any animal that has been torn to pieces by wild beasts in the field. Toss its remains to the dogs.

The Book of Exodus, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

The difference between these two situations is the difference between daylight and dark. If a homeowner is protecting his property at night and injures a thief, it is to be treated as a case of self-defense. But if the crime takes place during the light of day, it is not necessary to incapacitate or capture the thief; it is necessary only to recognize the thief and bear truthful witness against him in court. The right to personal property does not eclipse the right to life.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, may 13 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the wonders of the heavens:

Shalom chaverim. I took this pic of the Northern Lights last Shabbat after saying kiddush and praying with my kids... I didn't have time to get out my tripod and a do a time-release, but this snapshot gives you some idea of the glory we saw that night (Psalm 19:1-4).

And Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there. Thank you, Lord, for the great blessing of our mothers!

5.12.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

[darudedogestorm]

Too impatient to actually wait for anyone to send me asks for the warriors ask game plus I already typed it all out anyway soooo

👴 : fav elder?

It’s such a hard tie between Littlebird and Silverflame (yeah Yellowfang’s Secret was my favorite book as a child, how could you tell)… Silverflame and Yellowkit had such a sweet relationship (well, as long as it lasted, it was sweet). And I really appreciated Littlebird and Yellowfang’s interactions, too. Their friendship was also very sweet. I still remember that one scene where (sometime after Brokenkit shows up) Littlebird is like 🥺 you saying you dont have time for your old friends? for me? 🥺🥺🥺? Plus her comforting Yellowpaw after Silverflame's sudden passing.

On a related note, went to check their wikis and was absolutely blindsided that Littlebird is ginger. I always imagined her as pure white..

❓️ : fav total background character (im not talking minor characters like say. whitewing or moonlight, i mean cats with like…3 lines tops)

For the longest time my answer to this was Amberleaf. And honestly it still is. She’s Nutwhisker’s mentor in Yellowfang’s Secret, and she’s specifically noted to be especially strict, so it’s kind of like a “damnn you got stuck with the mean teacher” moment, but then she tells Nutwhisker something like “I will make you the best warrior you can be” so it’s like Ohhh she’s not 2dimensionally mean, she probably just has her own way of showing kindness and does actually value her charges 😭

📖 : fav comic page from any of the mangas and why

That one scene in Nighstar’s manga where him and Runningnose are travelling either to or from the Highstones, and they’re talking about how ShadowClan needs a strong leader. And the shadows of the trees cut across the orange field like tiger stripes. FORESHADOWING.

👶 : how old were you when you first touched a warriors book? howd it happen

Probaby like 7???? I don’t know the exact context leading up to this but I was at a friend’s house and somehow made contact with their Graystripe manga (specifically vol 2). They let me take it home to read, later they also did this with the 3rd Graystripe manga and Yellowfang’s Secret (eventually returned ofc). Fun fact I didn’t realize Silverstream was dead cause I didn’t know who she was aside from “Graystripe’s old girlfriend”, I vividly remember playing out a scenario of Graystripe and Millie returning to the forest and meeting Silverstream, using the three LPS I owned (one of which was actually given to me by the same friend… I still have her btw and her name is still Millie). Unfortunately quite literally 0 people at my school read Warriors (or if they did, they didn’t tell me) so I was alone in being a Warriors enjoyer </3

💢 : what scene made you the most irrationally angry upon first reading

The first thing that comes to mind honestly is Nightheart’s first couple of chapters in River, like the way the narrative bends to make him right. It was kinda infuriating. I can’t really remember anything else that made me actually upset though.

💧 : how many times have you cried over this wretched book series? any favorite memories

0 times, I have cried over media maybe thrice in my life. I don’t think I’ve really even teared up over anything happening in the books (tearing up is a little more common for me than actually crying). I don’t really feel much strong emotion tbh.

💋 : is there any ships out there you absolutely hate for genuinely no good reason at all. like its not problematic in the slightest, if anything it's one of the better ones, you just cannot bring yourself to enjoy it

Squirrelcrow… I don’t see the appeal at all. Idk that I’d call it “one of the better ones” or “unproblematic”, mostly cause it’s been literally almost a decade since I’ve read TNP so I don’t really remember much of how their dynamic was (or how it could have gone). I just super do not like Crowfeather and I can’t really see what sort of chemistry Squilf would have with him.

Bristleroot doesn’t exactly inspire rage in me but it does leave me deeply confused and a little unsettled. Like I guess it’s fine but genuinely when Bristlefrost “confessed” back to Rootspirit I thoughht she was lying to him, either for some sort of advantage re:the impostor or to spare his feelings somehow. It felt extremely forced. Sunbeam/Nightheart gives me similar feelings, maybe to a slightly lower degree because at the very least their interactions were mostly positive before Nightheart dropped everything to try and score a marriage visa out of her. Which was still pretty weird so it’s not like it’s better by much.

🐾 : have you ever named a cat after a warriors character OR given a cat a warriors styled name? if so, tell us the story

No but I gave my DOG a warrior name!! I had a mini ceremony for her and everything. I think her name was like Blackwhisker or something (Black- cause her fur was black, -whisker because I thought of her name on the spot and her whiskers were the first thing I noticed).

1️⃣ : was warriors your first animal based fantasy series? if not, what series was?

If it counts, I watched My Little Pony before I read Warriors. In terms of books I don’t really think so? Most of The Before Times is kinda blurry for me, and obviously there wasn’t anything that made as much of an impact as Warriors did.

👑 : when roleplaying (if you ever have roleplayed warrior cats), did you used to power play? be honest.

Nope, actually if anything I think I kinda underperformed… I was really socially anxious and would get so sick to my stomach even typing stuff out cause I thought somehow I would accidentally say something that would make everybody instantly hate me somehow. But on the forum I was on I needed to post at least once every 2 weeks to be considered active, and I loved it there too much to just leave. So on the RP threads, in the few times I posted, I had my character just sleep most of the time, with the idea that someone would wake her up (thus inviting me into the RP and making it okay for me to speak). This did not work out 90% of the time but that’s okay 👍

I did used to do Roblox RP on the Mandaka server though!! The thing about most Warriors RP servers at the time (especially Mandaka’s) is that there was no system determining who goes to what clan, so usually what would happen is 1 or 2 clans had like a million people and the rest had 3 or less. Not really a powerplay but I felt so fucking powerful the one time I singlehandedly restored ShadowClan from a 0 player clan (me being the first cat) to the most populated clan on the server that day. I reigned supreme as Creamstar and then Dawnstar (Creamstar’s deputy ended up having to leave for lunch or something). Considering Creamstar was murdered against the rules of the servers (wasn’t supposed to use claws, no random murders, yet was killed by a random ThunderClan patrol), I took it pretty gracefully I think. Though I did crush some kid’s dreams because they showed up acting as leader, and when I told them I was already leader they were pissed at me and told me it was their birthday so they should get to be leader. I think I just told them it was my birthday too (lie) and at some point they gave up and left. Keep in mind I was like 10 when this happened ^_^;

🗺 : first map you ever watched?

To be honest I don’t actually know… it’s probably not the first one I ever saw, but We All Still Die (hosted by WhiskerMoon) sticks out in my memory as being one of my early favorites.

🖼 : first amv/pmv you ever watched?

Either Blackstar’s Too White and Nerdy by Mama Tad or Brokenstar Has Bad Blood by Urnam7. (Fun fact… I got in trouble at my elementary school after-school care program for asking the teachers to play White and Nerdy cause it was ‘offensive’/‘inappropriate’…. I was like 7 I had no clue 😭) (Better fun fact, this was how I was introduced to Creature Feature).

🖌 : when did you make your first warriors oc? (if you say you've never had OCs, i dont believe you)

Maybe sometime between 6 months to 1 year of having read the books? Her name was Marigoldstar/Marigoldpelt (named after Yellowfang’s dead sister). I was salty that the clans left the forest (as a child I was very change-averse), so in my story, after the clans vacated the forest, twolegs somehow accidentally introduced some sort of nuclear goo that mutated the flowers in one specific area (probably former-ShadowClan knowing me) to be like 12 feet tall. Either before or after the goo incident did the twolegs decide to stop demolishing the forest, clean it up, and designate it as a nature preserve or something. Cats re-inhabit the forest and set up 3 clans, one of which was FlowerClan (because they lived in the mutated flower zone). Neither of the other clans got cool mutated goo based territories :(

Marigoldstar lived in FlowerClan, she had a sister named Daisy(something, I forget the suffix). Her mate was named Blazingfire, he was basically just a trophy husband. She had 5 kids, one for every mostly-solid color of cat that I could think of. The only ones I remember are Stormeye (her gray daughter that was born missing one eye), and Wolfheart/star (black and white daughter). Her dad, Wildstar, was the leader before her, and actually the subject of my first ever fanfic (I wanted to write the prequel first before the ‘actual’ story, but the thing is nothing really happens to Wildstar aside from the fact that he’s a pushover and his mom’s ex disliked him… as did his mom’s ex’s son but then he chills out). Literally in chapter 1 of his fic, some StarClan cat tells him (when he’s a new apprentice) that some day he’ll be a dad and that’s important, only FFN had this weird glitch where if you didn’t add spaces between periods it would delete entire chunks of your text, and because I didn’t know to do this (10 years old) the chapters were nigh-incomprehensible. The fic is gone but I found an archived version of it, which I still have saved.

It’s funny cause Marigoldstar never really had a defined story either. Her sister dies in an ambush to give her angst points, and then she becomes leader. I couldn’t decide if I wanted her eyes to be blue (goes well with her golden coat) or gold (matches her gold coat). I ended up deciding that her eyes were formerly blue but then turned gold after she got her 9 lives. It’s funny cause I actually really disliked blue eyes as a child but w/e ¯_(ツ)_/¯

📝 : if commanded to, without warning, approximately how many paragraphs could you write about your favorite warrior cat before you ran out of things to say

See this is difficult for me because I couldn’t tell you who is my #1 most favorite of all time off the top of my head, but most recently I wrote like 12 paragraphs (maybe a little less?) about Bluestar (see: AMVs)

💔 : have you ever lost friends over warriors related topics?

Nope, this implies that 1. more than 3 people I knew across my entire (irl) life read warriors, and 2. that they disagreed with my opinions.

🌈 : what's the most 2010s wcforum era esque fandom opinion you still hold onto and will fight people over (things like scourges collar color, dovewings eye color, etc)

I don’t think I have any in that vein… in terms of character appearance headcanons I am a firm believer in colorpoint Hawk and Moth (and Tigerstar clone Tadpole) but 100% that is absolutely not a wcforum opinion because it contradicts canon too blatantly lmao.

🆕️ : are you still up to date / reading the new books? if not, when did you stop?

Still up to date, actually I’ve just started book 4 of A Starless Clan. I put it off for a while because for some reason I had such a hard time sitting down and reading 3 and 4 through with my very legally acquired PDFs, and it did not really help that Nightheart is a main character. (He’s marginally more bearable in book 3 but, you know, I didn’t know that).

📱 : were you ever on warriors amino? (if you were, i'm terribly sorry)

Nope, the most involved I ever was in the fandom was on FFN forums (iykyk)

🏠 : about how much do your family know about warrior cats, if anything?

Once I spent like an hour describing the basic lore and entire events of the first series to my dad, like to the point that my throat was sore. He was actively listening and seemed happy to do so, but this was like 2 years ago so I doubt that he remembers anything about it tbh. The only thing my family really knows about warriors is that it’s about cats and I read it.

🎶 : give me a song you're surprised you haven't seen turned into a warriors pmv yet - and what character(s) you imagine it to

Ohhhh so many songs. Some of these are purely based on my own personal readings of the relevant songs + characters so it’s a bit more understandable, but ONE exception (that I’m actually hoping to make into a pmv myself) is just so obvious I’d have to make it its own post. Which I will, you’ll know it when you see it. Brief list of the songs though:

Community Gardens - The Scary Jokes ——> Mapleshade. Literally every time I hear this song all I can see in my head is Mapleshade. Opens (and closes) with her spirit taking notice of Crookedkit/Stormkit and deciding to manipulate him for her own gain. Everything in between is basically the events of Mapleshade’s Revenge; she thinks she’s safe from the eventual wrath of her clan because obviously she’s doing this for them, they need this, StarClan would never punish her or her kits because that’s just not an option in her mind. So it obviously comes as quite the shock when it really does happen (“the culmination of man’s mistakes came the day the sun ran so hot, it turned the desert to glass”), culminating in her revenge plans (“if there’s something to be learned from these losers… it’s that the price that you pay for arrogance and a false of immunity is to face the wrath of the dying star”). That line in my head applies both to Mapleshade ‘punishing’ those who did her wrong (the dying star—> cat no longer accepted into StarClan, arrogance/false sense of immunity—> the cats who tossed her aside think they don’t have to deal with the consequences of such an action), as well as StarClan’s ‘punishment’ of Mapleshade (who falsely believed that StarClan had her back). I say punishment for lack of a better word.

Cody’s Theme - AJJ ——> Lionblaze This one I get a little more why it’s not an actual AMV but god I want it to be so bad. Genuinely I don’t remember if Lionblaze being, like, unable to restrain his aggression/battle-hunger was only partially canon or fully fanon, but regardless I think this AMV would objectively fuck so hard. I had this epiphany reading this really excellent Warriors fic by Hissing Willow, their Po3 AU (link here). Wherein this song basically describes Lionpaw to a T. Several specific lines remind me of moments in the fic (“I set the mommy on fire, I set the baby on fire, not even Jesus could stop me” —> one part where he’s terrified that he’ll lose control and accidentally hurt or kill Ferncloud and her kits, despite obviously caring deeply for them; Spottedleaf in a StarClan dream, iirc, holds some mild disdain for him, though it’s possibly for [spoiler] reasons.) Anyway I think this could even work as an AMV based on the canon books. I always imagine the guitar instrumental moment (forgetting the word rn) in this song as the moment where he kills Russetfur, where he’s overcome with that aggression, and then once it actually happens he just kind of sits there in shock at what he’s done. (in the aforementioned fic there’s another moment that fits so perfectly with this but, again, spoiler for the fic… go read it right nowww)

Lullaby for the Taken - Kimya Dawson ——> Bluestar This is the one I need to make a separate post on because I have actually written out an entire, line by line analysis on how perfectly this song fits Bluestar. In fact it astounds me that this hasn’t been made so much so that I’ve been actively planning out a PMV for it. Which will take a million years but like I’ve done it before I’ll do it again. Anyway, in the 10 minutes it takes me to edit my analysis and outline for posting, go listen to Lullaby for the Taken, and then go read Bluestar’s Prophecy, and bask in how right I am about this.

🎥 : fav warriors related youtuber?

I don’t really watch any specific youtubers aside from maybe Moonkitti on occasion

❎️ : what's the weirdest crossover au involving warrior cats that you've made? (if you haven't made any, then what's the weirdest one you've seen?)

I don’t know about weirdest per say but the whiplash I experienced from finally finishing Worm to finding a Warriors AU not three days later was definitelly something. My personal AUs tend to be less “what would these characters be like in a clan” and more “what would these characters’ OC’s be like”. I just know that Boruto has the most edgy BloodClan “Scourge is my dad” OC and gets kicked for powerplaying and having “unrealistic names” on various Roblox RP servers.

🗳 : if you could make any cat leader of any clan right now, who would you pick?

I haven’t gotten past the first few chapters of Thunder yet but I think - and this has to be extremely sudden, right this moment, no time skips or anything - I think it would be extremely funny for Frostpaw to suddenly become Froststar. No warrior name or anything, just straight from apprentice to leader. Word of StarClan. RiverClan collectively in their dreams all receive the same omen/order from StarClan that Frostpaw is their new leader and can she please come and get her nine lives right now, thank you. Everyone is in a panic looking for where she could have possibly gone. Everyone in the conspiracy is carefully weighing the benefits of either assassainating her again or trying to turn her into a puppet leader, and neither of these options seem very likely.

🌟 : would you hypothetically go to starclan or the dark forest?

Hmmmm. See this kind of depends. I haven’t read Squirrelflight’s Hope so I don’t really have a solid idea of how the judgement process works (like how cats are chosen, specific rules if any, etc). Before that book dropped I always kinda interpreted StarClan as being more interested in if you followed the code, if not in spirit then in wording, as opposed to morality. Maybe also the potential of redeemability. Though biases seem to get in the way of this judgement (I’ll literally never forget the retcon that the site did for Ashfur’s judgement, saying that maybe Yellowfang’s judgement was influenced by the unhealthy relationship SHE was in, having distorted her own views of what’s ‘acceptable’ in terms of love… I’m definitely stretching the quote here but I literally don’t care). Anyway since I’m not technically a clan cat I’d probably go to wherever rogues go. HOWEVER, as a child, I REALLY did not like it when cats broke the code, because bro it’s literally so easy, I would give anything to be a clan cat like you and yet you’re throwing it away… Anyway on that basis, if I was a clan cat I would probably go to StarClan for following the code.

🤔 : what's the biggest series plothole that's bugged you?

Literally everything about Nightheart, again the whole narrative bending to making him objectively correct about everything. I swear to god in TBC Sparkpelt didn’t even neglect her kits, when she was with them I’m like 90% sure she was mentioned as actively trying to be there for them while recovering from PPD, after the initial "fuuuck everything is going so wrong for me rn".

But before that, it was the timeline inconsistencies between Tallstar’s Revenge and Yellowfang’s Secret. I couldn’t tell you what they were now, since I only ever read Tallstar’s Revenge once, but being a lifelong Yellowfang’s Secret scholar I 100% noticed some timeline inconsistencies that made the order of events in each book with respect to each other very unclear. It bugged me to no end. Being biased towards Yellowfang I preferred the version of events in YS, but knowing those inconsistencies even existed bugged me so bad.

😱 : how many people have you blocked over innocuous, not at all important warriors related takes?

Oh probably at least a few, but I don’t remember any in particular. Nightcloud haters are definitely on my blocklist.

☯️ : what dynamic between two cats has got you up at night pacing for hours? (romantic, platonic, familial, etc)

As someone who paces my house nightly regardless, the most recent Warriors character I thought of while pacing was literally every relationship Bluestar has ever been in (not specifically romantic, though idk that I’d call what she had with Oakheart anything more than a fling). Again, see my AMV section.

🌫 : what's a cat you genuinely forgot existed until recently?

Not gonna lie, pretty much every background character in the new books… Even the ones that got their time in the limelight, like Flipclaw, really only come to me if I reach deep down in my ‘Warrior Cats Current Allegiances Bin’ located deep in my brain. Literally as I write this I just remembered Cinderheart and Lionblaze had kits. Multiple of them in fact.

[axis-br42]

bad scenario, part 1

 I have to break this into a two part thing because of the word limit >:(

warning: blood, bad source memories, implied mention of my attempt in source, mentions of attempt at scrapping

reminder: somethings refer to my past in source and things that happened however this scenario itself did not happen.

I was in the scrap building in the scrapyard. Everyone thought i had done something bad again (it was never said what i did) . I was on the upper flooring of the scrap building leaning against the railing that kept me from falling. Though if i did it would not matter because the machines are not on. I was here because I knew no other engine would be here. I felt very saddened. “I promise, it wasn’t me, I don’t know what makes them think I did it. Or who told them I was responsible for what happened. But I promise it was not me. But they don’t believe me” I said to myself, I looked up and saw that they had installed cameras here. I wondered if there was anyone watching on the other side or if they could hear me. Just then, the fat controller walked in. He was cross. He started yelling and insulting me, talking about how I cause too much trouble and too much confusion and delay. He was saying how terrible of an engine I was. Then he said something that scared me. “I’ve tried it once before with her, but somehow she escaped, your warship diesels always seem to give me so much trouble, you especially, but this time, you won't be living this one” he said. My eyes widened. Suddenly  the floor in the centre below opened revealing a large metal shredder. It was loud and shiny, it was for certain brand new and it would work. It would kill me. I looked at Sir Topham Hatt.  He glared at me. He pulled out a controller and pressed a button. Two claw things came from the ceiling and grabbed a hold of both arms. It instantly tried to pull me off but I held on to the railing with my legs. I used Pinchy to snap them both and broke free. I climbed up a beam and onto a column. I clinged on to it afraid like a scared opossum holding on to a tree branch. I stared down below at the shredder imagining falling, it brought back memories of the bridge when I tried going after Lady and Thomas 20 or so years ago. when i let go on purpose. I looked at Sir Topham Hatt who was grinning evilly, I got flashbacks of the man who built my claw into me when I saw him. The column below me had started to shake because of me shaking in fear. I wondered how long it could hold my weight. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS! I PROMISE IT WAS NOT ME!” I begged. He said nothing, only went back to glaring. He pressed a button again and more claw things appeared. Two held me down against the column and one other grabbed a hold of my claw and started to pull. It pulled hard and tore out pinchy, pulling out the wires too. I gasped in pain, losing my breath from it. Blood poured from my back. I felt tears fill my eyes.

[janajelic]

Life is good.

How often did we walk around thinking that life couldn’t get worse than it is now?

How often did we think we are the only ones struggling?

How often could we barely handle the pain?

How often did we think about giving up?

And how often did we think that this will never end?

The answer is: often. Too often.

The minute something doesn’t work out we tend to believe that life is against us. We maybe handle the situation at first, thinking it will get better. But as soon as it takes longer than we like, when we lose control, we tend to almost give up. We humans can be so dramatic. But without that there probably would be no poetry, no paintings or music. No art in general. Art lives from pain; pain feeds our creativity.

The deepest poems, the most meaningful songs and pieces of art were created from deep pain, with deep pain. So, I guess it is somehow what keeps us alive. It reminds us that nothing is guaranteed, nothing lasts. Forever doesn’t exist the way we imagine it to. It’s a fantasy, and it hurts when fantasies blow off in nothing. But just as we learn that way that the good times don’t stay forever, we also see that the same counts for the “bad” ones. They won’t be there forever. But in the middle of a crisis we tend to forget that.

To be honest, the biggest developments I did were in my biggest crisis, in my worst times where I thought my life will look that bad forever. It gave me a whole new perspective on life. And I always look back at those times and think: “Who would have thought?”. I mean, who would have thought that losing my self means finding it, a new part of it. It’s like shedding skin. When a crab grows, it has to become soft, vulnerable. And vulnerable means the ability to be harmed. That’s what Dr. Gabor Maté said: To grow, you need to become vulnerable. A tree doesn’t grow where it’s hard. It grows where its soft.

So that also means that if we want to grow, we need to get hurt, right? I don’t want to say that without it, it won’t be possible. But if everything is good, if you’re comfortable where you are right now and think “well, things could stay like that”, or when things aren’t that good but fine enough to accept it, there’s no need to grow, right? Because, why would you change something if everything is just fine enough to stay there? Why leave that comfort zone?

From my point of view, there’s a pattern that runs like a thread trough everyone’s life, regarding the suffering we go through. It’s like it happens in phases. Where at one certain point you can’t ignore your circumnutates anymore, you have to change something. But it always comes creeping in slowly. It’s never just there suddenly, it has announced itself, several times, but we chose to ignore it.

The universe, God, Jesus or Holy Spirit, whatever you want to call it, always warns you. And it gives you a hint. It’s like a whisper, your soul knows already but your mind doesn’t want to accept it.

After some time, the whisper gets louder and the signs stronger, but it still gives you the choice whether to change on your own or to keep on lying to yourself. Even though it all doesn’t feel right you pretend it to be and it eats you up from inside slowly. It’s like you lose your light, you lose the connection to yourself.

After all the chances we had to see and accept the truth and act on it for the sake of our own and every other involved person’s wellbeing, if we still refuse to act, there will be no choice anymore.

Things will get so bad you will have no choice but to act and start a new chapter. And if you still don’t take action, life will take it for you, whether you like it or not. You could stand there crying like a baby that doesn’t get their toy, it wouldn’t care. Because there is this bigger picture that we forget to be aware of. We get stuck in situations we like because we don’t know that it can get even better. And sometimes we even think that we don’t deserve better. But we do.

And after some time passes, we will remember all these times where we didn’t want to take a step forward because we were so afraid that we won’t find something that good again, of that we will get lost, and maybe be alone for some time, and we will be thankful for that turn it took, because we changed with our life, that always goes together and can’t be separated. We humans are made for change, and we are made of change.

When we realize that, we’ll finally look back and think that, in fact, life is good.

[ichayalovesyou]

THE BIG VULCAN BIOLOGY POST (aka Vulcan is a Hell Planet)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a biologist, astrophysicist, neurologist, animal psychologist or literally anything that would qualify me to talk about this with 100% confidence. This is the result of dozens of headcanons and obsessive deep dive research. I don’t want this post to be three miles long, so after I address the planetary stuff I will oblige y’all with a Read More.

Adsfasdkfjhaslkdfh I’ve been working on this post for almost a month SO HERE WE GO!

First of all, Vulcan (aka T’Khasi) is a HELL PLANET, which is part of the reason they’re so badass, I say this for the following reasons:

No moon(s) (natural satellites)

Sodium (Salt) is so rare on the planet that Vulcan’s oceans are freshwater

It’s a “Super-Earth” (as in big chonkin’ planet of similar composition to earth in the “goldilocks region”)

Let’s do this.

“Vulcan has no moon Ms. Uhura.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

Tons of things change about our planet if there was no moon:

Much darker nights (no moonlight)

Much lower sea levels since there is no gravity from the moon to pull it upward.

Lower and weaker tides because the water is pulled by the sun instead of the moon, and it depends on how large the Vulcan solar system’s sun is for how big the waves are.

Stronger winds from faster planet rotation.

Depending on whether the axis of the planet would straighten or tilt further without the moon’s pull, combined with the faster rotation would lead to more severe seasons (strong tilt) or no seasons at all (no tilt)

The first factor may lead to Vulcan eyes being very catlike even if they aren’t nocturnal (I think they’re crepesucular but we’ll get into that later). Which given the likely nature of their blood and their herbivorous eating habits they probably aren’t. The sky would still be so dark that our human eyes couldn’t even see our hands in front of us, being blind when the sun goes down could be a death sentence. Alternatively, if they didn’t develop strong night vision that may be one of the reasons why they have such strong senses of hearing.

The stronger winds, faster rotation, and stronger (or nonexistent) seasons come from the lack of resistance and friction that stronger tides and the moon’s pull create on our planet. I suspect that Vulcan is larger, or at least denser than Earth, but I’ve been informed that according to the TMP novelization that it does rotate faster. I also think that Vulcan’s tilt is on the more extreme end to get the hostile extremes like storms and heat that we see on Vulcan.

If you look at this image of Vulcan, water covers way less of the planet’s surface than Earth. I don’t think this is necessarily because Vulcan has less water, but that it isn’t spread as far because of the lack of moon, and the fact that the oceans are freshwater, I’ll get into that shortly.

“My ancestors spawned from a different ocean than yours.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

In the Star Trek: The Original Series (third) pilot The Man Trap, there is a creature that kills its victims by draining their bodies completely of salt. Spock encounters the creature but does not die, implying his (and Vulcans overall) body contains little to no salt. His justification is that his species did not evolve from a salinized ocean.

What does it mean to have oceans with no salt?

This has to mean that sodium is a very rare mineral on Vulcan, as the reason our oceans are so salinized is due to erosion of minerals by rainfall, carried from river to ocean. Salt in the ocean is also generated by submarine volcanic activity, which means either that the volcanoes on Vulcan (which we definitely know exist) somehow don’t produce salt, or the vast majority of the submarine volcanoes have been inactive for millions if not billions of years. The active volcanoes on Vulcan must be very far inland and/or Vulcan has almost no rivers, which given how hot the planet is, wouldn’t actually be too much of a stretch of the imagination.

Which means every single lifeform on T’Khasi, including Vulcans, evolved biosystems that exist without (or with very little) salt content. Any salt that exists would likely be deep beneath the planet’s surface, and within volcanoes.

No saltwater has a ton of consequences:

Plants (like underwater algae) are rarer and may not photosynthesize the same way Earth plants do, meaning less oxygen and more carbon dioxide, which means more greenhouse effect, which means higher temperatures.

The lack of salt would also mean less diverse plant life (at least as humans know it) and given the lack of visible rivers and vast swaths of desert on Vulcan, we can safely say vegetation must be hardier and infrequent.

Lower sea levels as the oceans would have lower density due to lack of salt.

Little to no water convection, which salt is crucial for on Earth. Which means warm ocean water doesn’t move to cold regions and vice versa. Creating extremes, the equator being obscenely hot, and polar waters freezing at the poles more extensively.

Lack of convection means more frequent and stronger storms like hurricanes.

If you thought the lack of a moon made Vulcan inhospitable, compound it with the low sodium factor and you’ve got a planet of even more severe extremes than before. The heat, and the decrease of plant diversity definitely explain why the vast majority of Vulcan is rocky desert, even being near the water poses more extreme dangers than it would on earth due to the increased frequency of hurricanes.

“Mr. Spock is much stronger than an ordinary human being.”

-Kirk, This Side of Paradise

I am almost 100% sure that Vulcan is either bigger or denser than Earth. Which would explain why Vulcans are so much stronger than Humans and other species that exist on similar gravity worlds.

Effects of a high-gravity planet or “Super-Earth” include:

Everything is shorter or has very strong foundations, plants, animals, structures, and people.

More “Armageddon” class asteroids would hit the planet (like the one that killed the dinosaurs and created the Gulf of Mexico)

Larger liquid mantle under the planet’s surface, higher pressure under the surface as well.

Weaker magnetic field due to lack of convection in the planet’s core (not to be confused with the mantle interacting with the planet’s crust). Which means a weaker atmosphere, lower magnetism in surface metals, and increased vulnerability to solar flares.

More volcanically and seismically active due the the increase in the mantle’s size and generated heat, more earthquakes, and more volcanic eruptions.

Would have to have a smaller sun but be closer in orbit to it than earth.

Extremely deep oceans, potentially with water under so much pressure at the bottom that it becomes solid like ice. Luckily Vulcan is not an ocean world, because the pressure would block the planet’s core from interacting with the atmosphere, which would prevent life as we know it from happening.

There is plenty of evidence for this on so many levels. We never see any plant life similar to trees on Vulcan. Nor animals significantly larger than Vulcans, the ones that are bigger are much more muscular. Vulcan’s sky is more red than blue because of the lack of oxygen molecules for the light from the sun to filter as blue. I actually headcanon that Spock is unusually tall for a Vulcan because of his human heritage (Leonard Nimoy was around 6ft tall) , and may have had heart and muscle problems in his teens and early adulthood while on Vulcan.

Perhaps Vulcans are the result of many more extinction level events than we are, contributing to their hardiness. Perhaps they are, evolutionarily, not too much older than we are, and had more incentive to develop extraterrestrial technology than we have, so that they could repel Armageddon Class meteors and defend their planet against Solar Flares? Space travel being born out of self-preservation rather than curiosity. Which would absolutely account for their attitudes in the beginning of Star Trek: Enterprise.

It could be that Vulcans still maintain a semi-nomadic lifestyle even today because their planet is so incredibly volatile. Unsentimental and utilitarian in anything less than the most sacred of architecture long before they adopted the teachings of Surak. Their own survival more valuable than any structure that would inevitably be damaged or destroyed by their planet’s harsh environment.

In summary, Vulcan is a Nightmare Planet because:

So, so many much natural disasters, like, so many, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, hurricanes, twisters, just, so many more than Earth.

Water is relegated to specific locations in the world rather than spread across it due to lack of flow and lower sea levels.

Extreme temperature changes, intense heat, intense cold, hard to breathe, stronger gravity.

Due to the planet’s hostility, there is a smaller diversity of life than we have here on earth, which means fewer and hardier food sources that, like Vulcans, are very difficult to kill.

So… How do they handle it? What features have they developed to adapt and thrive in such an inhospitable place?

First thing is first, lets talk about

BLOOD

“My hemoglobin is based on copper, not iron.”

-Spock, Obsession

Funny thing is Spock, it’s not hemoglobin at all! It’s hemocyanin! In fact, there are earth animals that have it, among them Horseshoe Crabs, crustaceans, mollusks and spiders!

Hemocyanin is blue when it hasn’t been exposed to oxygen, and blue-green when it has, according to some sources on Vulcans their blood is orangey red when unexposed to air and that’s why they have pink lips and so on, but we can brush that off as chemical variation within their hemocyanin. Better yet, maybe it’s trendy for Vulcans to wear pink lipstick nowadays, ‘cause Surak knows how horny Humans and Vulcans are for each other XD! Anyway!

Hemocyanin does quite a few things that our blood can’t, it’s uniquely built for high pressure, low oxygen environments, as well as endure temperature extremes like cold (not unlike nights on their planet). Not only that, but it coagulates and clots WAY faster than our blood. Which means wounds seal themselves off from harmful bacteria and stop bleeding much faster than hemoglobin. Pair that with the Vulcan ability to enter a healing torpor, no wonder Spock keeps surviving environments and wounds that would definitely have killed a human.

Now, the animals I listed don’t have veins, which for us carry oxygen around via hemoglobin, so it’s possible that the same difference that causes Vulcan blood to be a coppery orange-red beneath the skin, is the same reason they have veins. Allowing them to look more like us and lack the exoskeletons and deep ocean delving that their earth blood cousins have.

“The ship’s temperature is increasingly uncomfortable for me. I’ve adjusted the environment in my quarters to 125 degrees.”

-(Elderly) Spock, The Deadly Years

Oh goodie, the Vulcan blood temperature discourse has arrived, the age old question, are Vulcans warm-blooded or cold-blooded? The answer to this question is

YES

I am firmly in the small (but hopefully growing) camp Vulcans Are Heterothermic. Among the earth animals we know to be heterothermic are bumblebees, several species of bats, the opah fish, and the arctic ground squirrel. Of all these animals, despite the opposite temperature intensity of Vulcan’s environment, I’m basing how Vulcans function on the last one, the arctic squirrel.

Which means they can deliberately control their body temperature in accordance to the needs of their survival. I imagine, just as arctic ground squirrels can drop their body below zero as needed (entering what is called a “daily torpor”) Vulcans can do the same. In turn, they could possibly skyrocket their bodies to temperatures that would be a lethal fever for humans. Which makes both McCoy’s “nonexistent Vulcan metabolism” comments in various episodes, as well as describing his blood as “ice water” make sense. As well as Spock being able to handle the heightened body temperature caused by Henoch in “Return to Tomorrow”. It also explains why Spock was in far better shape than Bones in the freezing temperatures of the planet from “All Our Yesterdays”.

However, like arctic squirrel newborns, they start out as ectothermic (cold-blooded) which lends itself to the Vulcan infants needing even more skin to skin to survive than humans theory by @acesexualspock. Being born cold blooded would prevent them from immediately dying the second they were exposed to the dangerous extremes of Vulcan’s heat. I also think they slowly lose the ability to control their metabolic rate as they grow older, slowing down dramatically as they age, which is why Spock gets increasingly colder as he ages rapidly in “The Deadly Years”.

“The brightness of the Vulcan sun has caused the development of an inner eyelid.”

-Spock, Operation: Annihilate

I wanna thank @tribbleland for inspiring this part in particular.

I want to offer a special congratulations to furries people who let their love for anthro-cats bleed into their love for Vulcans, turns out Vulcans are very catlike! Like our feline Terran friends, Vulcans have what is called a Nicitating Membrane. It’s functions that would serve Vulcans well in their desert home include spreading moisture across the eye, protect the eye from small water and small debris (like sand for example), as well as protecting the eye from ultraviolet radiation, which is more or less what Spock said in that episode. Other animals that have Nicitating Membranes aside from felines is actually the majority of the animal kingdom, and primates (like us) are the exception and not the rule. I also subscribe to the idea that Vulcans have other desert dweller features like thick hair and eyelashes, sealable nostrils, big feet, a crepuscular sleep cycle (avoiding extreme midnight and midday temperatures), and a tough as nails digestive system!

As an added bonus fact since this section is pretty short: It makes purrfect sense for Vulcans to purr! In cats purring is an emotional regulator when they are angry or scared (Vulcans are ALL about regulating their emotions) as well as purring when they are happy. It is also a mechanism for healing themselves, their kittens, and their owners, the frequency at which cats purr (25-140 Hz) cover the same frequencies that are therapeutic for bone growth and fracture healing, pain relief, swelling reduction, wound healing, muscle growth and repair, tendon repair, and mobility of joints. I’m over here getting emotional about the mental image of like, Spock or Tuvok or smth sitting next to a wounded crewmember and just like, purring with a completely straight face and that is soft and just a little funny and I am emotionally compromised.

“And are it’s natives predatory?” “Not generally, but there have been exceptions.”

-Spock to Trelaine, The Squire of Gothos

Surprise! This isn’t just going to be about Vulcan dietary needs, it’s gonna be about animal behaviors and self-domestication as well! I was trying to think of herbivores that are capable of eating meat, and then this idea hit me like a bomb going of in my head-

Vulcans are like Hippos!

I don’t mean I think they used to be hippo-like (visually anyway) somewhere along the evolutionary line. I mean that they were probably big, extremely aggressive, pack roaming herbivores that are able to eat carrion when food is scarce. Have you ever seen a video of a group of Hippos smashing an alligator to smithereens? They kill more humans than any solitary predator on the African continent! What about a murder of crows killing a cat that injured one of them, or a group of bison saving a calf from a lion?! Herbivores can be insanely aggressive while still being social, plant-eating animals.

With that in mind, let’s talk about self-domestication! This is something that we humans (and to an extent, cats too) did way back in our biology according to some studies, we bred out aggression and bred in cooperativeness and curiosity. Cats, while partially domesticated by us, started looking for mates that were more sociable so that their offspring could exist closer to humans (and their food) as well as to tolerate other cats. While I do think Vulcans self-domesticated to a degree, I do not think they were able to do so nearly to the same extent as humans or our deliberately domesticated companions. Vulcan is a harsh, violent, and unforgiving planet, even more so than Earth, if Vulcans were naturally as friendly and curious as we Humans are now, they would not have survived as a species.

I believe this is why their emotions are so primal and strong, and things like Pon Farr and their unusually high wariness of the new and unexpected still exist so strongly. How do they live together in such high numbers and develop a functional society? They developed other means of coping as a work-around the impracticality of decreasing aggression!

“Call it a deep understanding of the way things happen to Vulcans.”

-Spock, The Immunity Syndrome

So, how do you have a species as aggressive, unforgiving, and frighteningly strong as Vulcans keep from completely destroying itself (aside from Surak’s teachings)? You take the empathy that humans already have, turn it up to 11, and tack on every evolutionary possibility to increase it. We already know how the Earth comparisons for Vulcan empathy: the extreme vitality of touch for the survival and emotional stability, cats purring to heal each other and themselves (and regulate emotions), nonverbal communication, the ancestral instincts of an infant animal being able to walk days after its born. What if we had all of these traits in remarkable spades, Vulcans certainly seem to! (Be prepared, the science starts getting a little squidgy because there are no real world comparisons and neurology research is very jargon heavy)

Electricity is a fundamental part of the biology of nearly all living things, it allows synapses to fire, regulates our internal organs, and gives us our senses of touch and movement. Skin to skin is so incredibly vital to the survival of infants, and the emotional stability for adults, that needing any more touch could be impractical and counterintuitive. So what if we got more from less? What if our sense of touch, and the acuteness of being able to read the emotions of others from body language and touch manifested as a form of what looks like from an outsider’s perspective, telepathy!

Now what if the radius of the sensation of touch could be extended much farther, say being able to sense someone to the same intensity I described in the last paragraph, like, through a wall or from across a room? What if you could connect to other lifeforms with the same ability like a chain circuit that could connect a whole species together in one giant circuitboard? I just described what Vulcans call the kwar’ma’khon, the telepathic energy that connects all Vulcans to each other!

Imagine having this same intense telepathic connection to someone for an extended period of time, like a t’hy’la or Bond Mate. What if you had a relatively easy to master non-lethal attack against other members of your species, that comes to you easily due to your intrinsic understanding of nerves and touch, like the Vulcan Nerve Pinch. In turn, what if, through the intensity of this connection you could transfer everything you knew and saw and felt to another person in the event of your death. That way, if you survived the harshness of your world without dying violently or unexpectedly, you could deliberately pass on that knowledge and those instincts to your next of kin, like the Katra. (thanks @distractedducky @spacedancer1701 & @find-me-in-outer-space)

Now, that’s A LOT of empathy on top of A LOT of aggression, if you don’t have a work around for any of these, as a species you’d be rendered a complete emotional wreck pretty much 24/7 (or whatever the time cycles for Vulcan are). Which is where @ineffablebuddies theory that Vulcans can control, or at least mitigate their incredibly strong emotional reactions the same way they control their nervous system and metabolic rate. Which is how they are able to be touch telepathic, able to enter a torpor at will, and be heterothermic in the first place. The only reason Vulcans come off as unemotional to us is because we simply do not see and feel the way that they can. Unlike us, because of their ability to control their own internal chemistry, if they follow Surak’s teachings and/or Syrranite ideology, they can take that emotional regulation to the extreme.

(BIG EXHALE) Congratulations on getting through this insanely long post! I hope you enjoyed it, if you want sources on any of my non-tumblr post research just let me know in the notes. LLAP! 💚🖖🏻💚