#I wish I could describe it better but that dream is a new core memory honestly

[gods-and-accolades]

Honestly one thing I’m still getting my head around is that the Gods will actually help you if you ask?? Like even though it’s been a decent amount of time now it’s still feels completely novel to me when I actually get help?

For instance, I have recently been working through my anxieties with Apollon and I had mentioned to him how I feel like I always have to be in control of my life because I constantly feel like things are going to go wrong. Then right after one of those conversations with him, I end up having a dream where a man (whose face I didn’t see sadly) took me a thousand years into the future. Time passed by in an instant as we watched as these future humans made settlements all throughout the solar system. We stopped by Saturn for a moment and we saw it now had a second ring around it, only this one was man-made, and on its surface was an enormous human civilisation, way too futuristic for me to even comprehend. It looked like it was built of metal and steel, but it somehow seemed greater than that. We watched in silence for a while as spaceships wizzed past us and the titanic cities hummed with life, and then the man then suddenly asked me:

“Do you think any of the people here know who you are?”

I woke up before I could answer. For a while after that, I was a little disheartened because, no, those futuristic humans don’t know who I am, so everything I do is a huge waste of time and I’m struggling for no reason at all. But during the day, I really thought about it, and the meaning of what I had been asked in that dream began setting in.

Like yes, it’s true those people aren’t going to know who I am. They aren’t going to know that my favourite colour is jade green or that my favourite animal is a penguin. But they’re also not going to know of my mistakes or my shortcomings, like the fact that I get physically ill at the thought of public speaking or that I’ve come close to dropping out of uni several times because I can’t handle it.

And for some reason, something just clicked in my head. I felt free from, albeit not all of it but, a lot of the anxiety I had been feeling recently. No one’s going to remember if I mess up here or there. The people of tomorrow aren’t going to care if we make a mistake today. So just go for it. Today is for us. Tomorrow is for them.

And I don’t know. I don’t know if it was Apollon in that dream or whether he was the one who asked me that question, but I think it was. Either way, it was what I needed to hear. And I think he knew that.

[kisuminight]

There are so many things that are just hanging around and percolating in my head about this one AU and I'm just going crazy about it? Also it's making me wish that I could draw, but alas.

So, DSMP Blade System AU, what do the Blades look like?

Well, for one, Blades are basically computer processors that are running an aether-based hardlight hologram for their body and they don't have a biological reproduction. So physically apparent sexual dimorphism is something that they can look like having, but they don't really have biologically sexual traits (not that this would stop a Blade from having fun if they want to). Also, a Blade's gender and pronouns are whatever they want them to be. Anyone's gender and pronouns should be whatever they want them to be, even in real life, but it's very unwise to try and mis-gender someone who can pull a weapon out of thin air if you piss them off.

This is a very long way of saying that I am trying to keep everyone's pronouns as they were in canon, no matter the choices I am making on their "default" appearance.

A Blade tends to have a "default" appearance that they take whenever they are first Awakened. This includes things like clothes, hair styles, and even hybrid traits. Some things, such as accessories that they gained in life, will drop like an item when a Blade reverts to core crystal. Regular clothes usually de-materialize with the Blade.

A list of Blades and their default appearances under the cut.

~

I have mentioned that c!Dream's default outfit in this is probably something like Yulia Jue's concept art from Tales of the Abyss. Dream tends to dislike the outfit and change out of it as soon as he can after experiments with c!Punz. His main issue with it is that it shows off his shoulders (aether lines visible) and has a window in the front that shows his core crystal (when shattering it is the one thing every Blade fears), and Dream has spent a while in this AU trying to hide that he is a Blade. He really would prefer if his default outfit was a hoodie, but Aegis Blades are always Peak Dramatic with their looks and this was one of the few things he retained.

Dream is discomforted by it, but not dysphoric? Like his main irritation is that sometimes he forgets to take off his hoodie before he and c!Punz run their experiments post-Staged Finale and then his hoodie gets...eaten, for lack of a better word. And it's just like ffs, not again. And then he steals Punz's hoodie until they can get him a new one.

The rest of his appearance includes slightly tapered ear points--not largely pointed, but just a bit of a tip, and long-ish hair (about the length in the concept art I included, but curly). Since his core crystal is green, it gives him a very woodland/forest elf-healer vibe if you manage to spot him in one of the few times he is relaxed and not hiding behind his mask. Post Staged Finale, post-Red Banquet when ew!Ranboo drops Dream off with the Syndicate, he uses this first impression as a way to throw off any of the members of the Syndicate who seem like they might figure out that he has a technique to keep his memories (and still remembers pre-Staged Finale stuff).

I'd say that his core crystal is closer to a bluer green than the yellow-toned lime-green that he favors for his hoodie, but the saturation of the aether makes his aether lines that lime color, except brighter and a bit more diffuse? I'm not really sure how to describe it. I've mentioned before, but it is a diamond/rhombus shape and located at the base of Dream's throat.

~

c!Techno does not get his anime pretty-boy look. Nope, this Techno is closer to a big bipedal pig. Obviously not completely--he does have hands. But his feet end in hooves, and he has a tail! He also has a long mane that he likes to braid. Since c!Techno is a Heartstealer, he cannot return to his core crystal. It's been so long that he doesn't really remember his default outfit, only that it had a lot of straps and buckles. The fabric is long since gone, but most of the straps were durable enough that they survived and were re-purposed for other things, such as billets for his horse saddles.

Techno's core crystal was originally a dove gray/silver, and his aether lines shone brightly against his pink fur. Becoming a Heartstealer tinged the aether with blood, so now his core crystal and aether lines are a dusty pink, like rose quartz. They can be hard to see against his fur. His core crystal is actually located on his back, between his shoulder blades. It has a diamond/rhombus shape.

Techno has lots of gold jewelry. He has his emerald earring (for emerald duo) and his crown, but he also has some tusk rings, a golden cuff that goes on his tail, and plenty of other things. While he has hands instead of hooves, he does have a black claws made out of the same material. The keratin extends back all the way along the finger, and it is jointed. The underside of his fingers are normal (finger pads are important for gripping things!).

~

c!Philza is an Aegis. Techno has only seen his default outfit once, when things got really bad. In the aftermath, the Goddess of Death showed up to reAwaken her Aegis Blade (Phil only requested to have his memories stopped the one time, now he is back to remembering after every death). Phil actually usually wears (most of) his default outfit. He is specifically wearing the bottom most and top most layers of it. Newly Awakened, he has about an extra 3 layers between them, and they're all flow-y and flutter-y with the sleeves artfully tied up so they won't get in the way of his bow skills.

The hat is the exception to this. Phil received his hat from Techno shortly after they became friends. Techno picked it up off the killing fields alongside Phil's core crystal, and gave it back after he was Awakened.

Phil's wings healed very quickly, the same way any other Blade's wounds would heal. He just can't use them at the moment because DreamXD's lockdown of the End and other things includes the ability to fly. As an Aegis Blade, Phil could get around this if he really wanted to, but he doesn't flaunt his powers much.

His core crystal is his crimson hardcore heart. It is located at the base of his throat.

~

c!Punz is also mostly using his default outfit. He basically just put their white hoodie on over it. I picture it as something like the outfit Canaan wears in the Canaan anime, except the top is black instead of red, and he has a grey scarf. Punz's medallion is also part of their default appearance.

He doesn't have any outstanding hybrid characteristics. Punz looks like a regular human Player, all the better to blend into the background.

His core crystal is indigo, and his aether lines are slightly lighter in color. Punz is almost constantly using their passive ability to disguise/make people Not Notice their aether lines, but he keeps their hoodie on anyway. Their core crystal is triangle-shaped, and located at the base of his throat.

~

c!Callahan has a default appearance that includes his antlers and deer-like ears. His original default outfit was a simple tunic and pants, that he changed for the Captain America outfit and the onesie.

His core crystal is a golden color. It is rounds and located over his heart, on the front of his chest.

~

c!Skeppy's default appearance is to look like a diamond statue. He is functionally indistinguishable from carved diamond until he starts moving. The way seeming-diamond moves like skin and muscle even if it looks and feels like sold rock can be a bit disturbing to those who are unused to golems. His eyes look like polished deepslate, and so does the inside of his mouth. His tongue is a ruby.

Skeppy's core crystal was originally round and colored pale blue like a diamond. It was located at the base of his throat. When he and Bad preformed their ritual, he took Bad's heart and Bad received a chunk of his core crystal. Now, his core crystal looks like a deep teal crescent. The aether lines are even darker, colored with a tinge of the blackness that comes from having Bad's heart.

~

c!Slimesicle - I'll be honest, I don't know that much about him or his content creator. I'd probably say that he is currently using his default appearance, which does include the shirt with the three heart markings on it.

He has the physical appearance of a slime hybrid, but he isn't actually slimy or generate any type of slime/mucus (because Blades are mimicking appearances, and do not carry over innate traits).

His core crystal is hunter green. It is a square shape and located on the side of his head. Because the core crystal is in an unusual place, Slime is one of the few Blades that has aether lines on his face as well.

~

Here is the concept art of Yulia Jue I was mentioning:

[stellocchia]

I really liked Wilbur's lore stream from yesterday, so you guys are getting a short stream analysis from me

As always dialogue is color-coded: Wilbur, Tubbo, Ranboo

And since I'm the least concise person ever everything is under the cut

The stream is (DSMP LORE) A Year Later

The stream starts with Wilbur singing the L'Manburg anthem to Ranboo. It is interesting to notice that, just like all the streams since he's been back he doesn't start off the stream by addressing chat in any way but already taking with someone in-universe.

"I'm a big big fan of the song (...) (Wilbur notices that Ranboo was muted) so sorry, let's try again: have you heard that song before?" "Yeah I have, I have. I have- I've had a friend that sings it quite a lot" “Good, good, and I was gonna say, it’s obviously based on Hallelujah right? But the thing is, the thing is Ranboo, right? But the thing is- the thing is Ranboo, right? Is that the reason we did it is because Tommy used to sing Hallelujah to the plants" "Oh, to the plants?" "Yeah! In- in the- around the- around the uhm... around the thing! You know the- the caravan? (...) so, my man, Tommy used to sing to the plants to make them grow better and that was the song he used to sing and so I thought what a way to honour Tommy, you know, one of the most- one of the most loyal members or of our fair nation than by naming the song after him, you know? And singing it based on his little- his little Muse. Tommy is a- Tommy is all of our Muse really I'd say"

I cut as much of this quote as I could while still leaving it well understandable and leaving in everything I wanted to talk about, but man is it long... So let's break it down a bit at a time:

1) The friend that Ranboo referenced that sings the anthem a lot is most likely Tubbo considering that they met him later on in this stream while he was singing that very song

2) The memory of the song seems to still be a particularly pleasant one for Wilbur, which probably explains why Ghostbur as well was so fond of it. He speaks about it positively throughout and it generally seems like an overall positive moment of reminiscence, probably because it's a callback to a simpler time when Wilbur too was, you know, happier overall. It's a reminder of a time before the worsening of his spiral.

3) Also interesting that they kept it in canon that Tommy singing to the plants was what inspired the anthem. Especially because I'm not entirely sure if that's the case considering that the actual anthem wasn't written by cc!Wilbur but by a fan upon his request (obviously this is outside the story).

4) Last thing I wanted to mention was Wilbur describing Tommy as a Muse. Muses in mythology are the inspirational goddesses of the arts, music, and science, Tommy aside from the anthem obviously isn't that. But it is interesting that Tommy does take a central role when it comes to motivating people. We could say that Techno's speech on the 16th was inspired by him since it was directed at him. Similarly, Niki and Jack had their arcs revolving around him. Tommy was able to rally the troops with ease multiple times. And Dream's obsession with him itself is the main motivator for, like, 90% of his actions. So, while he may not cover the role of a muse literally it's not a comparison that is too far off...

They headed to the museum afterward and took notice of the Ranboo poster being missing. And then they headed off to L'Manburg (which, by the way, looks amazing, thank you cc!Phil for that one).

"It goes by L'Manhole now apparently" "I- yeah it's kinda- ugh- I'm not a fan. It's kinda rude to L'Manburg's history, you know? It- it's called L'Manburg. It's called L'Manburg. NOT Manberg, not L'Crater or whatever. L'Manhole, I don't care, it's now L'Manburg, it's always L'Manburg, okay?"

It's interesting that not too long ago he was saying that even L'Manburg itself (with an emphasis on the name) wasn't what was actually important, the purpose of it was. He admits later on that he lied in that conversation, but it's impressive how quickly he trusted Ranboo enough to let him see how much he still cared about L'Manburg when he was so intent on lying about it not too long ago.

Wilbur's enthusiasm about seeing the flag is another nice confirmation about him still caring deeply for his old nation.

"Damn, I really went down to bedrock, didn't I? Holy shit I did- I did a number on this place" (I wonder why Ranboo didn't correct him on this, because Ranboo knows that Techno, Phil, and Dream are the ones who actually exploded the country down to bedrock...)

They end up seeing Tubbo on the other side of the crater and head over to him. While they're heading there Tubbo is singing the anthem himself in a very mournful tone.

One interesting thing that I noticed it's that it's Wilbur that heads towards Tubbo's location instead of having Tubbo go to him like he mostly did with Tommy for example. I suppose it could be because Tubbo having been a president himself is in less of a subordinate position to Wilbur than Tommy who's always been a simple soldier.

"It's like looking in a little mirror, look you're wearing my suit still? How long have you been wearing that?" "Oh I just put it on, just for today" (in a similar fashion to Jack bringing out the L'Manburg uniform to reminisce, Tubbo also brought out clothes he strongly attaches the memory of L'Manburg to)

"Ranboo have you met Tubbo?" "Yeah, yeah. I've- I've met him, I mean we've, uhm... we've been around" (Ranboo still minimizing his relationship with Tubbo to Wilbur. Of course, this is because he doesn't trust him but it's interesting that he isn't even honest about that)

After a bit of back and forth, Wilbur starts apologizing to Tubbo. At first, like most other times he's having a serious discussion he puts himself in an elevated position to tower over Tubbo. It's a neat way to show how his own desire for control affects him, having Wilbur literally elevate himself over others when speaking to them. Literally putting Tubbo down in this situation. Which does make the beginning of his apology very obviously feel insincere.

"I'm sorry for making you president specifically before blowing it up and I'm sorry for when I did this *pointing at the crater* and blew all this up and making this whole. I'm sorry that I uh- that I said that you were the president of a crater"

This is that first part of the apology I mentioned. Just to clarify, I don't actually think that it was entirely insincere. It just feels less impactful due to Wilbur putting himself in a position of superiority over Tubbo, especially because it's something we've seen him do before. It's also to be noted that this time, like others before, he seems to be apologizing less out of actual guilt and more out of a desire to earn forgiveness. Which is not a critique by the way. I just feel like that's a misconception Wilbur has, that apologies serve the purpose of confirming to him that he's doing a good job at changing more than to actually make amends for what he's done. The reason why I think that's the case for the beginning part of this apology as well it's because of how fast he went to ask tubbo if he forgave him, which did put a certain level of pressure on Tubbo in this situation.

"I mean it wasn't- this wasn't all you Wilbur" (thank you tubbo for finally dispelling some of those misunderstandings)

"Yeah so me and mainly Ghostbur honestly, like-" "Ghostbur" (some more of Wilbur not being too fond of Ghostbur)

"Right is he [Ghostbur] this obsidian crap then I take it and these- these fucking dumb lanterns up here" (a bit more)

To correct Wilbur's misconceptions Tubbo starts off asking if the other knew Dream, to which Wilbur responds with how much he appreciates Dream and how he's his hero, which makes Tubbo backtrack and blames most of Doomsday on Techno and Phil. Which, as we know, isn't actually accurate and I have a feeling that this misinformation will be harmful later on once Dream is out of prison (though I don't blame Tubbo for backtracking with how enthusiastic Wilbur is, that was the basic conflict-avoidant approach that Tubbo seems to prefer).

"They rained tnt for days" (if this is actually canon then Doomsday was even more of a tragedy than we previously saw it as. It was days filled with fighting and destruction. Then again, Tubbo has misremembered traumatizing events before)

"Techno and Phil, they hated the government. I mean it was partially my fault as well" "But you didn't blow it up" "No I didn't. I would never have wished or anything like this to happen" "So it was just Techno and Phil?" *long pause* "Y-yeees"

Two things to say here:

1) I appreciate someone in canon recognizing that it's not Tubbo's fault for what happened to L'Manburg and blaming the people who actually blew it up, similarly to how I appreciate Wilbur bringing up with Tommy that it was clearly Dream pulling the strings with his exile with Tubbo. It's nice having it stated plainly for people to hear

2) This is the misconception I mentioned. This is most certainly gonna backfire at some point.

After that Wilbur commends Tubbo quite a lot for rebuilding New L'Manburg (once again being dismissive towards Ghostbur) and is clearly enthusiastic about it, even going as far as to say that that mattered more to him than them building him a grave.

"I just, I feel lost without L'Manburg. All my core beliefs, everything died with it" "You feel lost without a nation..." "I have no purpose anymore" "I guess that's where anarchy fails" (I think this may be the first time someone admits it to someone else, even though that lack of purpose and feeling disoriented is very obviously a shared sentiment amongst the ex-citizens)

After that, it's when Wilbur invites Tubbo to join Paradise, the, supposedly burger van with a small house attached to it that wasn't supposed to become a nation. I have a feeling that the proposition coming right after that exchange may imply that Wilbur changed his mind on it. He does purposefully put himself again in an elevated position when making the proposition.

"Would you like to come join me in Paradise? Literally" "Hmmm, I'm not sure Wilbur. I'm not sure I trust you man, I need to- in order to follow someone I need to trust them" "Wait, wait but you- I thought you forgave me! I thought it was, you know it-" "Wilbur I forgive you because I like to hang on to the hope that people can change, but-"

This is what I mean when I say that Wilbur's apologies come with expectations for the person he's apologizing to. By asking Tubbo first if he forgave him when he originally apologized, he already made it harder for Tubbo to refute that. And now we learn that he expected trust to come along with forgiveness. He's not doing this maliciously of course, but he does seem to have some misconceptions on this.

"I know you had that- that at the festival? With Technoblade? I never spoke to you properly about this. I- I could have saved you" "But you didn't" (other people brought this up, but this is a neat little parallel to the one scene in exile where Ranboo was lamenting about how he should have gone with Tommy and Tommy shut him down pointing out that anyone could have gone but no one actually did)

There is a second round of apologies and Wilbur is still standing higher than Tubbo, BUT he does put himself on his same level after he did a bit more pushing and found that Tubbo was standing his ground. He finally puts himself on the same level as Tubbo and openly acknowledges his boundaries which is the first actual real effort to change that we've seen from Wilbur. Which I'd say is a pretty important step for him.

"Wilbur in order for you to gain my trust back you have to prove it, I can't just give it out anymore. I used to be able to but I just- I just can't" (acknowledgement of how Tubbo's trauma also affected him deeply)

"You know I still have dreams, right? Of the explosion. And- and of the fireworks. And- and all of it. I- I still- I vividly see all of it. Every day. It hurts. It hurts a lot Wilbur"

I want to commend Tubbo here for being able to open up like this, especially considering how much he generally leans into denial and how much he usually suppress. And on top of that this is Tubbo acknowledging that both Wilbur's actions (the explosion) and Techno's actions (the fireworks) have hurt him and STILL hurt him and affect him deeply. It's quite a big admission especially for him.

"Sorry feels like such a weak word. I feel like there's nothing stronger that I can say" (first time that he's standing on the same level of Tubbo while apologizing)

"You're so strong man. Genuinely. You just- just the fact that you proved to me just there that you have this memories, that you have this nightmares and you still find it in your heart to forgive me. That's... you're a fucking champion man. You- you're a hero"

It's interesting that the reason why he claims Tubbo to be strong here is because he forgave him. It's not something that's inherently about Tubbo, like the fact that he still found the strength to go on and rebuild after the events he mentioned, for example, no. What Wilbur brought up is the one thing that Tubbo did for him. Which tells me that he still clearly has a bit of way to go to learn how to make amends and how redemption actually works, but, you know, that's to be expected honestly.

Wilbur moves on by inviting Tubbo to at least come and see Paradise, just to see what they'd made and Tubbo refuses because he wanted to spend more time reminiscing. Wilbur this time respect Tubbo's boundaries with no pushing which is yet another step forward for him honestly. Wilbur also gives Tubbo a "lucky rabbit's foot" that Tommy gave him to cheer him up and assure him that he had no problems with him not going.

With this their conversation comes to a close and Wilbur and Ranboo head over to Paradise (though not before Ranboo has confirmed with Tubbo that he actually does want to be left alone).

"You know I was gonna say 'this is hard' but obviously it's hard. I mean, you know, I've..." (a bit of reflection on his actions for Wilbur, you love to see it!)

"It's gonna get better! It's gonna get better! And it's gonna be worth it when I see them smiling. All of them. Tubbo, Jack, Niki, Tommy, anyone!" (I'm pretty sure that this is a genuine sentiment right here. It really does seem that wilbur's Big Plan right now is just to make amends and change)

"Do you know who the original L'Manburg group were? Do you know who we were?" "I- I think most of them yeah... I think it was like: you, Jack, Niki, Fundy I believe as well" "Fundy was a bit after. Fundy was after we'd gotten independence"

I wonder if that's an actual misrememberance on Wilbur's part (c!Wilbur, not cc!Wilbur, I'm sure cc!Wilbur remembers this) or just him wanting to put some distance between his good memories of L'Manburg and Fundy. Because Jack and Niki weren't there for the independence war either and yet he singled out Fundy who was. And I doubt that he'd forget about his son being one of the people who lost their first life in the final control room. In addition to that Wilbur didn't mention Fundy before among those he wanted to make smile.

I really think that this was intentional and that it was because, well, Wilbur felt deeply betrayed by Fundy. And we as the audience know that Fundy only ever publicly stopped acknowledging him as his father to be able to stay undercover as a spy, but he doesn't. It wouldn't be so weird that he wanted to erase Fundy from his memories of the time when he was supposed to be happy.

"I try and keep this on the low because I don't want uh- I don't want people to use it against me is the main problem. I do wa- I didn't even tell Tommy, I lied to Tommy" "Yeah?" "I'll be honest I'm gonna tell him soon that I lied to him because if it- it kinda eats away at me. But I told- I told tommy that I didn't actually care about L'Manburg and that it was just like a tool for me to use to gain, you know, power and stuff, but it's not- it's not true. L'Manburg is- was really important to me. And it is still to this day"

Once again I'm surprised how little it took Wilbur to trust Ranboo with stuff he hasn't really told anyone else. Makes you really understand how low of an opinion of himself he has that when the first person that calls him "alright" out loud just gets his undying trust. Especially considering that Ranboo doesn't trust him back and hasn't been the most honset with him so far. It's also a nice spelled out admission for anyone who didn't get how much Wilbur cares about L'Manburg from the longing look he gave to the camaravan's replica in the stream where he said he never cared.

"I wanted history to live on, not as a stain caused by me, you know. I basically took a big shit on the history books it feels like" (just another interesting little insight on Wilbur's view of the situation)

"I've heard about what's Tommy's, you know, moved on... and how jack's moved on, and how Niki's moved on and everyone's moved on from L'Manburg at least partially, but Tubbo man, he's still..." (he only thinks the rest of them moved on because he hasn't spoken almost at all with two of them and he never really listened to Tommy. Also, again, Fundy is not mentioned)

"I don't know where I'd be without you [Ranboo] here right now man, I mean T-Tommy's great and all and he's here but I- I feel like, you know, I don't wanna- I don't wanna string him along too much because he's- I- when I look at him. When I look at him when he's helping me out building things with me I see the same eyes that looked at me when... when... There were some- there weren't some fun times in the ravine of Pogtopia. I wasn't a very well man and I can just see Tommy from that day"

This one was one heck of a confession!

I don't know if this is me misremembering, but I'm fairly sure that this is the first time he's admitted to not being great to Tommy specifically. Again, Tommy is the one person he met with so far that he hasn't apologized to. Heck! He told Tommy to his face that him being sorry for his actions didn't mean he wouldn't do them again. It's a pretty damn big admission to acknowledge that that behaviour (which is the same now, if not worse when only related to Tommy) wasn't good. It also shows that he's at least a bit aware of Tommy's emotions which is rarely shown honestly. Though whether he cares because of Tommy or because being around Tommy makes him feel guilty (which is what you'd expect him to feel) and he doesn't like that is to be determined still, mostly just because the phrasing was a bit uncertain at the moment.

"I know what it's like to have no one- or at least feel like no one trusts you. Uhm, and I- I've realized that if- if no one's with you then how can anyone really know when you've redeemed yourself? So that's why I'm here I guess" (Ranboo's answer to why he trusts Wilbur. Which he doesn't, but still)

And the stream ends with Wilbur saying he hopes Tubbo comes around to try out one of the burgers (though he does repeat that he doesn't want Ranboo to pressure him to join) and complimenting Ranboo a bit more.

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ bakugou katsuki x reader → ❝wait for you❞ part one

summary: bakugou is your best friend, you both dream to become great heroes. when bakugou ends up in a coma most move on but you can’t leave your best friend behind.  word count: 2k+ tags/warnings: romance, angst (with a happy ending eventually),  a/n: im alive! sort of. finally finished one of my many wips in between watching greys anatomy. shoutout to the show for some inspiration for this. those background patient plot lines hurt sometimes.

Bakugou Katsuki was your best friend. That might be hard for a lot of people to believe considering how hostile he could be sometimes. Most would describe him as feisty and unfriendly but there was always something that drew you to him. From the first day at UA, you knew he was going to be your best friend even if he didn’t want to at first.

It didn’t take long for him to start liking you back even if he refused to admit it. It was impossible for him to deny that it was nice to be cared about and it was harder to deny that he cared about you. It was something he never expected, to care about someone so much that when you missed a meal he would be shoving food in front of you, or if you were staying up too late he would force you to go to bed early. Even the smallest things about you concerned him.

The two of you made the perfect pair, you helped each other train and study. When he went through his worse times you were there for him, through the nightmares, through the panic attacks, you helped him when he didn’t want anyone to see him.

Bakugou wasn’t your only friend but your relationship with him meant everything to you. Your friendship with him ran deep. He was your person. He was the first person you thought about every day, he was the first person you told good news to, the first person you went to when you were upset.

Your friendship was everything to you and you always imagined it meant a lot to him as well.

Throughout the school years, it only got deeper. It was finally your last year of high school and you and Bakugou were both on track to become amazing heroes. Both of you had worked so hard to be at the top of your class and it was almost time to go into the real hero world. You had even both secured spots at the top agency you had been eyeing for a long time.

You wondered if you would be partners at your agency? That would be too perfect. Both of you had bright futures ahead of you but one day took that away.

It was a normal day, you and Bakugou were working your intern patrol shift. It was sunny but not too hot and things were reasonably calm. There were a few crimes to keep things interesting but nothing too dangerous. It was a good day.

The two of you were eating lunch, you had gotten your favorite sushi for lunch despite the fact that Bakugou wanted to get ramen. But fair was fair and you had won your game of rock, paper, scissors.

That’s when the chaos broke out. A villain was attacking and you both sprung into action without a second thought. It was going well as it usually did, you worked together flawlessly. A perfect team. That was until Bakugou took a hit neither of you saw coming.

The sight of him tumbling across the pavement made you sick. You quickly subdued the villain before running to Bakugou’s side. He was laying on the ground face down. You turned him over, his face was covered in blood. Your heart sunk at the sight of him, eyes half open and face bruised.

Sirens alerted them to the arrival of the ambulances.

“Katsuki, you’re gonna be okay. Don’t move, help is here.” You said, hand brushing against his face.

“I-” He said, his voice hushed. “Sunshine I-”

Sunshine. The nickname started out condescending, an insult almost but somewhere along the line it became endearing. A pet name almost.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t strain yourself, please.” You said, grabbing his hand squeezing it tight. “You’re going to be okay.”

Bakugou was put on a stretcher and rushed to an ambulance, you rode with them trying to stay calm as they helped him. You held back asking questions not wanting to interrupt.

Bakugou’s red eyes stayed focused on you as you held his hand while trying to stay out of the way.

“It’s going to be okay, you have to be okay. You’re my best friend.” You said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Katsuki I-”

Bakugou’s eyes slipped closed and it was hard not to tear up in fear. You wanted to tell him how you felt but you hesitated and now he couldn't hear you. Your heart raced in your chest. He would be fine, he always was. He was a fighter and he always pulled through.

Waiting was the worst thing anyone could sit through is the conclusion you came to. Sitting in the hospital’s waiting room staring at the patterned tile you were suffering. The thought of Bakugou in an operating room opened up hurt you to your core. The urge to sob was strong but you refused to. Bakugou would be okay and he would tease you endlessly if he found out that you cried over him.

Bakugou would be fine. You knew he would. He had to be.

Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou showed up, looking more scared than you had ever seen them before. You were familiar with his parents, they had invited you over many times for dinner and they always got along with you.

“What did they say?” Bakugou’s mother asked as she approached you, she grabbed your arms frantically.

“He’s in surgery, they aren’t saying much.” You told her. She let out a sigh sitting down next to you.

Time went by slowly as the three of you waited impatiently. Finally, the doctor appeared.

“Bakugou family?” He asked.

“Yes, that’s us.” Ms. Bakugou stood up along with you and her husband.

“The surgery went well, we were able to fix the trauma and bleeding in his brain. He’s patched up but there was swelling during the surgery.” The doctor said solemnly, his hands held together.

“What does that mean?” Mr. Bakugou questioned.

“The likelihood of him waking up is very low.” He said.

It felt like everything around you was falling apart.

“What do you mean he won’t wake up?” Mrs. Bakugou shouted. “If you fixed everything, what’s wrong with him?”

The doctor began to explain it but everything around you went fuzzy. You couldn’t hear anything, you felt sick. Before you could do anything else you ran outside of the hospital making it to a tree before throwing up.

Bakugou wouldn’t wake up. He was alive but he wasn’t going to wake up. The next year of your life was so clear in your mind, graduating, working beside Bakugou, climbing the ranks, becoming amazing heroes. Together. It was all gone, how were you supposed to go on without him? You couldn't picture your life without him.

You stood in front of his hospital room door still. If you stepped through that door you knew that it was over. The image of Bakugou standing strong next to you ready to face the world would be gone. The reality of what happened would set in and you could never go back.

It was easy to picture him, picture those moments with him. The first time you met him, you were both so young. He was so feisty and unwilling to befriend anyone. The memory of him yelling at everyone around you.

You could remember the day you had gotten through to him, had a heart to heart. His red eyes looked so soft for the first time and you knew that you would do anything to keep his trust in you so he would always feel safe enough to open up to you.

The memory of him in his dorm, scared and breathing quick after a nightmare. You had crawled into bed with him and held him. He protested at first but quickly realized you were more stubborn than him this time. Then he realized how nice it felt to be held by someone who cared about you, who wanted you to feel better. How safe he felt in your arms. The softness of his blond locks was unforgettable.

This morning was so clear, Bakugou in his hero costume laughing at a dumb joke you made. You would never see him stand tall again. You took a deep breath.

Softly you opened the door revealing the hospital bed. The sound of beeps filled the room. Walking up to the bed you took in a shaky breath.

Bakugou laid in the bed hooked up to wires. The side of his hair was shaved, where the surgery was. He was still, the steady rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life. He looked so peaceful.

You sat in the chair beside the bed, head in your hands, a broken sob coming out of you.

“You have to wake up.” You said looking up at him, taking his hand in yours. “I know you can pull through this, I can’t do this alone. What kind of hero would I be without you?”

There was no reply to your cries.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I let this happen." You cried. "I'm sorry we didn't get what you wanted for lunch. If I could go back, if I could do everything different I would. I wish it was me."

Tears streamed down your face as sobs wracked your body.

"You're my best friend, you're my everything." You cried.

Everything felt empty. Time passed, life moved on. Your friends, your fellow students tried to console you while they grappled with the fact that Bakugou wasn’t around anymore. Your teachers looked at you with sad eyes, knowing that these things came with hero work but you were far too young to be dealing with it.

Graduating, something you had looked forward to for so long tasted like ash in your mouth. Standing there with your classmates taking pictures, everything was numb. All you could see was Bakugou laying in that hospital bed unmoving.

Life moved on but you felt like you stood still. You started working at the agency and you worked hard doing your best. The only thing you could do was be the best hero you could be to prevent people from getting hurt like Bakugou did. Even as you progressed and life moved on you felt like time was frozen.

After every shift you visited him, you would bring your dinner with you and eat in his room. You would tell him about your day. On good days you could convince yourself he could hear you.

Time moved on and less people visited. Your fellow students got busy with their hero careers. His parents visited on the weekends, Aizawa would visit once a month. Sometimes you ran into him. The two of you would sit there in silence.

“Do you visit him a lot?” Aizawa asked.

“Everyday.” You answered. “Almost every single day.”

“Why?” He asked, his gaze not moving from his former student.

“He’s my best friend. I can’t stand the thought of him sitting here alone.” You answered, a tear dripping down your cheek. “If he was awake I know we would see each other every day, it feels wrong to not see him. Even if he is asleep, even if he doesn’t know I’m here. I can't go without him, even if he's just laying here.”

“I understand.” He said.

Aizawa didn’t explain but you knew deep down he understood how you felt.

It took time, you had a lot of time to think when you weren't talking out loud to Bakugou's unconscious body.  It took time but you finally realized something.

You loved Bakugou Katsuki.

Not just the way someone loves their friend, no something deeper than that. Why else would someone spend every day with their unconscious friend? Even as years passed.

Looking back it all made sense, how validating it felt to tell Bakugou about the highs and lows of your life.  How much you focused on the small touches between you and him. How the thought of not spending the rest of your life with him tore you apart.

How had it taken you so long to realize?

Everything about him made you feel alive. His shining qualities, his flaws, his quirks, everything about him made you happy.  You loved him so deeply, how had you never known?

You loved Bakugou Katsuki and it was too late to do anything about it.

Years passed. Your career progressed, you climbed the hero charts and you became the hero you and Bakugou always aimed to be. Even if you had made it to the thing you wanted more than anything else in life it felt empty.

All you wanted was your best friend there with you. You wanted to tell him how you felt. Not just his unconscious body. You felt like a ghost, all of your friends lived their lives but you couldn’t enjoy it. You didn’t go out with them, you spent all your time with Bakugou at his bedside.

Every day you hoped, prayed he would wake up.

Time was an odd thing, getting old felt wrong. You looked older and so did Bakugou even if he laid there unmoving all this time. His hair was longer than it had been but you kept up with it. The nurses let you trim his hair, shave his facial hair when you had the time. It made you feel a little less helpless.

It had been a long day, a bad day. People died, people, you should have saved. You should have been fast enough, you should have been a better hero.

Sitting next to Bakugou you told him about your day.

“I moved, I reached to grab them but I wasn’t fast enough.” You said. “They died because I wasn’t fast enough.”

The tears streamed down your face. You reached forward grabbing his hand.

“You're here in this bed because I wasn’t fast enough, I was a bad partner I should have saved you. I should have taken the hit for you. I wish it was me in this bed, I wish I was dead.” You sobbed, breaths heavy it felt like you were suffocating. You were drowning, you had been since that day.

The sounds of your sobs were loud, your hand limply grasping at his. Your breathing stopped at the movement under your hand.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at him. His eyes fluttered under his eyelids.

part two

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[ireallylikejonouchi]

𝙽𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚑𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠

Written and drawn by Shiibashi Hiroshi, Nurarihyon no Mago is a manga series that ran in Weekly Shonen Jump with 210 chapters, 25 volumes. It’s about a Japan that has a massive Yokai underbelly, consisting mostly of yokai yakuza clans that run certain parts of Japan. The protagonist, Rikuo Nura, is the third heir of the Nura clan, kingpin of Kanto. His grandfather is the legendary Lord of Pandemonium, the yokai Nurarihyon, but Rikuo is only a quarter yokai, having a half-human father and a full human mother. As a child, Rikuo thinks yokai are the coolest thing, but his classmates mock him for this, not believing that they exist, and finding it even weirder that someone could admire them. Rikuo is told that it is his destiny to take on this role, and that he cannot live a human life. Hearing stories about evil yokai who enjoy making humans despair, Rikuo decides that yokai are terrible and he wants nothing to do with them. When Rikuo’s classmates are attacked by some rebellious yokai from the Nura clan, who are unhappy about their new leader being a quarter-human child, Rikuo awakens to his yokai blood and transforms in order to defeat them. He decides here that he will become the third heir in order to subdue yokai that would bring terror to humans with his “Fear,” the power system of the series.

With the synopsis out of the way, from this point on there will be spoilers. Be wary. I’ll try my best to spoil only what’s necessary in order to get my point across.

The beginning of this manga takes its time setting up character dynamics with short story arcs, as well as establishing what the yokai of the world are truly like with various examples of opinionated yokai antagonists. Some consider it boring, and I can understand why, but I think it pays off very well. The characters are incredibly likeable and fun. Even the ones that don’t have very much development are still a joy to see on the page when they show up. Rikuo himself is simultaneously a complicated character and a very easy character to follow. The first chapter takes place a couple of years before the second one, and his childish judgement to go from worshiping yokai to hating them is intentionally so. The story is about his growth. Rikuo is told that he must take on this role, he denies, but eventually accepts under his own terms, and for his own reasons. This ultimately sets up what his character arc will end up becoming, as one of his final conflicts at the end of the story sees him battling against another half-yokai, Abe no Yoshihira, who believes it is his duty to follow his evil father’s plan because of his "cursed” mixed blood. Rikuo doesn’t simply reject this title, but he also doesn’t accept out of obligation. He accepts this as an opportunity to bring about change. The change he wants slowly evolves from protecting humans to bridging the social gap between human and yokai so that they may find peace together. Fate shouldn’t be fought against or ignored, but you must make whatever you can out of it. Rikuo feels that connecting human and yokai is something only he can do as a half-yokai, so he feels a responsibility to carry this out, yet it is also what he truly believes in and wants. He is a leader because he was graced with the opportunity to bring about a better world. Your fate is only what you perceive it as. The final villain Abe no Seimei believes that human and yokai are fated to be at odds forever, and that influences his evil plan to purify the world. Both are believers of fate to some extent, the message isn’t something as simple as “defy fate” or “there is no fate,” which I appreciate. This manga is very good about exploring all facets of the themes it presents, which I will give more examples of shortly.

The power system is an interesting one. To quote the wiki, “ Osore (畏, Fear) is the term that denotes the unique skills and traits of each yōkai. It refers to the "fear" of the unknown, an emotional reaction produced when the yōkai represent themselves as "monsters". As yōkai first existed as creatures who induce fear in humankind, the general concept of "fear" revolves around being feared and respected by humans and making them feel small and weak. It involves exerting a wall of pressure to make one's presence feel larger than the actuality. When done correctly, this also creates a change in the mood and surrounding air - as seen whenever a dense fog appears when a Hyakki Yakō gathers in the series. Itaku states that Osore only applies to scaring humans.“ Fear is an inherently negative word, especially when associated with demons. However, Rikuo is proud of his fear, despite scolding yokai who scare humans. Fear in this manga is not quite so black and white. Rikuo’s form of fear is reverence, admiration. He considers this to be a form of fear, and he is indeed proud of the awe he is able to inspire within his followers as well as his enemies. Rikuo is able to use a power that comes only thanks to his human side, letting a yokai haunt his humanity while keeping control with his yokai half, performing Equip and gaining that yokai’s powers, but only if they entrust themselves to him. It is the ultimate representation of the Fear that Rikuo believes in. For the core power system of the series to have such a double meaning about it speaks to the coming complexities, and it is incredibly fitting for this story, as I hope to convey.

Fate, lineage and connection to history are the main themes of this manga. Many of the characters in the story are tied to tradition before it starts, and have to be brought out of that by Rikuo and his progressive mindset. One’s blood is used to portray this theme in an interesting way. Rikuo’s father, Rihan, describes him as a symbol of hope for the future. Rihan longed for a world where human and yokai could get along, yet he came into constant conflict with both evil yokai and evil humans, as his son Rikuo would soon come to do as well. Rikuo loved his father, and carries on his dreams. However, similar to his “fate” of leading the clan, his respect for his ancestors is well-informed by his individual beliefs, and not from any kind of feeling that he MUST do what his ancestors wished. Abe no Yoshihira failed here, becoming a slave to his perceived fate. Hagoromo-gitsune, the main antagonist of the Kyoto arc as well as Abe no Seimei’s mother, was tied to her blood relations as well. She did everything for her son, who was soon to be reborn again into this age. She had her own image of an ideal world, erasing humans and making a world full of yokai, but she didn’t consider her child’s ideals, which she could have presumed from Seimei’s suffering he received when both human and yokai betrayed him. Seimei is born and casts Hagoromo-gitsune into hell, declaring that he will purify all life from the world, as neither human nor yokai can be trusted. Abe no Seimei is the agent of fate, declaring that all living things on Earth have doomed themselves to a fate of death thanks to their own horrible and greedy nature. Abe no Seimei is a half-yokai himself and he has found solace from neither of those sides. Rikuo, however, does not give up. He equips himself with the true fear of this reality that places him in-between two worlds, unable to fully enjoy life as a human or a yokai, refusing to resign himself as Seimei did, and instead fighting against the fate Seimei enforces by bringing together humans and yokai, including Hagoromo-gitsune, in order to seal the final blow against him.

You may be wondering what it means that Rikuo was able to finish off Seimei by fusing with his mother. Well, you see, Hagoromo-gitsune is sort of, in a way, Rikuo’s mother as well. You see, before Rihan had a child with Rikuo’s mother, he was married to another woman, Yamabuki-otome. For context, Abe no Seimei is a man who reincarnates throughout generations, as does his mother, Hagoromo-gitsune. Some time after Yamabuki-otome’s death, Seimei used her to take revenge on Rihan for disrupting his plans, by reviving her as a child and turning her into the host of the yokai Hagoromo-gitsune, sending her with false memories and subliminal orders to kill the man she loved when she was alive. Once she had killed Rihan, her human self hid itself away in despair and Hagoromo-gitsune was able to take control of her body for good. In modern times, after being cast into hell by Abe no Seimei, she is revived by Nurarihyon in anticipation for the final battle. After encountering Rikuo and his burning feelings in Kyoto, she had regained her human memories before being struck down by Seimei. Upon her most recent revival, she found she had feelings for both Rikuo and Seimei, and considers both to be her children. She regrets that her feelings for Seimei had ended up being met with treachery, and she goes to confront him. When she hears his full plan, she decides to do kill him herself, though she fails. She feels it her duty as a mother to make up for not understanding his suffering earlier, as it’s now too late to reason with him. Hagoromo-gitsune’s progression comes from her ability to find love for her yokai followers, considering them to be her children all the same as Rikuo and Seimei, and learns that she should have seen this love all along rather than being blinded by her obsessions with her blood son. Once again, she values her children and the blood she shares with them, but she is only able to find happiness when she realizes that the feelings she has for them don’t have to be restricted to only them simply because they are her kin, and similarly she does not need to follow Seimei’s plan just because she thinks it’s what a mother “should” do. Fusing with Rikuo is the culmination of this. While Rikuo is technically her kin, as Seimei is, we see through her arc that she has matured and learned to spread her love. So even though without context it would seem that she simply went from one child to the other, we can see the complexities of this and see how it relates to Rikuo’s arc, accepting something not out of obligation, but from your own will. 

By coming to a true understanding with the woman that Abe no Seimei had discarded, his mother, and her doing the same, an act that seemingly defies their fates (Rikuo’s fate to be a cold yokai ruler and Hagoromo’s fate to be a slave to her child’s whims), they’re able to defeat him and sever fate itself.

The Hundred Stories Clan Arc is one that I really appreciate for showing me how truly interesting Rikuo was as a character. I hadn’t realized it up to that point, and it’s clear why. His characterization and progression is subtle. The text doesn’t tell you how Rikuo grows, the art and his actions do. When humanity told of Rikuo’s half-yokai status is convinced that he must be killed for the safety of Japan, Rikuo is forced to face the fact that the humans he wants to protect are not perfect, and have as many imperfections as yokai do. Humans can be greedy, they can do horrible things when they’re afraid. In a backstory, the leader of the Hundred Stories Clan is shown to be a despicable human from Japanese history named Sanmoto Gorozaemon, who takes control of yokai to secure his political and social power, and turns himself into a yokai in order to secure that power. When a member of his clan is assaulted by humans who don’t care about the harm they’re causing, some of them even reveling in it, through facial expressions we can see him struggling with the thought of killing these humans to end the conflict, or out of revenge possibly. Shiibashi leaves this to the reader’s interpretation and it works wonders, he has no internal monologue relating to this feeling and nobody points out that he seems crazed or anything. It’s some panels that you could easily miss if you’re reading too fast.

In this panel, we are shown his reaction to a female yokai appearing and tormenting the humans that were tormenting him and his clanmate just moments ago. Even when he showed such rage at the humans, seemingly almost snapping, he decides he needs to stop the yokai from killing them. However, the expression on his face conveys perfectly how complex his emotions are over this. Despite how confidently he’s saying he needs to save them, his face almost looks like he doesn’t want to. Of course, he overcomes this and saves them for the sake of his dream.

It’s clear to see the moral dilemma he’s going through and it’s conveyed entirely through art and subtext. This is confident storytelling, and not to mention incredible artistry. Shiibashi has a certain maturity and respect for the reader that is hard to find in Shonen Jump manga sometimes.

Rikuo’s fight against the yokai artist Kyosai in this arc is notable for being similar to what I just described from the beginning of the arc.

Kyosai has an interest in turning human women into yokai using his painting techniques, including one of Rikuo’s classmates. Enraged, Rikuo engages him in combat with his newly acquired Attack Mode, which switches his Fear from a defensive technique to an offensive one, and changes his hair from white with black underneath it to having half of his hair being black on one side and the other being white. As the fight progresses, Rikuo is continuously injured and decomposed by Kyosai’s abilities, burning his flesh and scarring Rikuo black.

Rikuo’s deteriorating mental state during this arc is conveyed visually through his design, with both the way he is inked as well as his literally evolving design, his new transformation. He’s never had to confront these kinds of humans and yokai before. This leveling of suffering is new to our middle school-aged protagonist. After Kyosai is defeated, his momentary rage subsides but he is still scarred, physically and mentally. Encho, the acting leader of the Hundred Stories Clan, betrays Sanmoto’s reincarnated brain for personal gain, confusing Rikuo who is already in a fragile mental state. He struggles to comprehend the enemy, as he had been forced to face humans that he wanted to protect, yokai that despised those humans, and even his own best friends. Once again, exclusively visually conveyed and up to interpretation.

At the end of this arc, he accepts the help of his friends, his aide Yuki-Onna, and equips with her, washing himself of the stress he’s in and covering him in a beautiful veil of ice. His design goes back to normal in order to show this, and get across just how much his friends mean to him, in a truly impactful way that really strengthens the theme by giving real weight to his connection with both his yokai and human lives.

Every arc is strong in its own way, I simply wanted to discuss the few that best show what I’m trying to say. I hope you now understand why I love this manga so much and why I think you should read it. I promise the things I’ve spoiled here are only a fragment of the whole experience, and your appreciation will only grow as you experience the full context by reading the manga. If I got across what I wanted to, then you understand that this manga cannot be explained as much as it can be experienced. There are probably more things that I never noticed, maybe you’ll discover those before I do.

This manga is an ode to the future, to humanity. We can overcome our differences and coexist. Perhaps all it takes is for one person to take the fear that we as people feel in our daily lives onto themselves. The fear that there can never be change, the fear that our road only ends in sadness. The fear that our history defines us. The fear that we must conform to our duty. The fear that accepting a duty strips us of individuality. The fear that we can never bring these conflicting aspects of our mind together and find inner peace. The fear that we can never bring the conflicting aspects of people together and find true peace amongst ourselves. Not many people can overcome that fear, but he who is truly strong is he who equips that fear. He who takes that uncertainty of the future and uses it to empower himself and push for that change he wishes to see. This review is my ode to the man who was able to understand what makes people who they are and didn’t let that fear consume him. The man who equips true fear. Thank you for reading.

[theemptyskies]

So I was sitting, trying to work on a bit of art, when my mind took a left turn and was like "How would you turn Katara evil?". So over the course of three hours I wrote this. It's intended to set the ground work for what the rest of the story would be should I decide to continue it. Any future chapters would be much more detailed as that's where the bulk of the story truly begins. TWs: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Execution Style Murder, References to Early Childhood Trauma. I think that's all of them.

______________________

Blood's Calling

Absolute Power Corupts Absolutely. It was a foolish thought which had once caused Katara to swear never to bloodbend again. It was a memory she could recalled clearly, as if she was reliving the moment. She remembered sensing Hama's veins and arteries, flowing like rivers throughout her body. She remembers desperately grasping those rivers, ripping the will of thier controller away. Forcing the old master to submit to her. It was her first taste of power. True power.

She was no longer the weak child who watched as her mother resigned herself to death. She was no longer the young teen who froze in shock as a Fire Navy vessel slammed through her villages wall. She could use this. She could prevent other young children from being orphaned. She could...

That night the thought stopped there. It wasn't the power that scared her. No aspect of waterbending has ever scared her. What terrified Katara, was that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed forcing Hama to release her friends, saving thier lives. She loved the control, knowing she would never be helpless again. It felt wrong at the time, relishing in such a thing. Subjugation was what the Fire Nation was fighting for. So she swore never to use it again.

____________________________________________

That promise was not long lived. Storming the Southern Raider vessel was an opportunity she never believed could be a possibility. How could she possibly turn away the opportunity to bring her mother justice. To stop whatever future, monsterous actions these beasts were sure to commit.

Under the light of the full moon, her blue eyes, darker than the ocean's deepest abyss, bore into the ship as she flew closer. Calling out with her bending, nearly the entire crew was swept out to sea. Boarding the vessel, she made quick work of the few men left on the deck before storming inside, water trailing behind her. Katara had almost forgotten the former Fire Prince was with her until he stopped a solder attempting to enter through a door they were passing.

As the captains door was blasted open, she gave him no time to retaliate. His blood called to Katara, and she answered. The fire in his hands flickered out immediately as she turned his body against him. Images of her mother's body, charred unrecognizable. A smell of burnt flesh seared into her mind. As the memories assaulted her, Katara was left feeling one desire permeating her being. She would make him suffer.

She cramped his hand immediately before dragging him around, slamming the appendage into the floor. Katara smiled slightly, savoring in the power she now held over her mother's killer. She forced the captains arms behind his back, contorting the joints to near dislocation. His blood was singing to her, and unlike the first time, she was not afraid to grasp it.

Zuko's questioning of the man broke through her rage. Lifting him to look her in the eye, she knew within a moment that it wasn't him. As if being snapped from a trance, she realized what she had done, nearly torturing an man who'd never wronged her. Quickly releasing him, Katara heard the identity of her target as she walked away.

____________________________________________

She believed that was the last time she'd ever bloodbend. She was wrong. Since that day, the urge to bloodbend was stronger than before. Every full moon, she could sense the steady pulses of her sleeping friends, like faint whispers begging her take control. She chose not to of course. Katara couldn't imagine subjecting them to such a power again.

Time passed, the war finally ended, Zuko ascended to the throne. On the surface, the world was at peace, or so it seemed. Her epiphany came a few months after the wars end. It was a couple hours past sundown on the night of a full moon. Once again the desire to bloodbend filled her senses, withholding sleep from her grasp. Katara's recent appointment as ambassador to the Southern Watertribe brought her to Caldera, assisting in negotiating a trade agreement between thier Nations.

With sleep alluding her, she decided to walk through the the main city, hoping the cool night air would help clear her mind. Passing an alley, she heard an odd noise. Stepping into the darkness and turning a corner around the building revealed a sight that made Katara's blood boil. Backed into a corner by a man wielding a knife was a young woman, a small child was hugging the back of her pant leg, large innocent eyes reflecting fear. Looking at the child, her mind flashed to another little girl, standing in an igloo, not knowing that was the last time she'd hear her mother's voice.

Katara wouldn't let that happen again. Grasping the man's blood, she lifted him into the air, sending him crashing against the wall.

"Take the girl and go." Katara's voice lacked the passion that it typically carried. Instead, a cold voice, sharper than any blade of ice came from her.

She didn't give the man a chance to rise as she seized him again. Katara brought him to his knees, arms bent behind his back, forcing him to look up at her. Drawing water from her pouch with her off hand, a large icicle hovered in the air.

"Please..." His voice quivered with fear. The same fear that was in the child's eyes mere moments ago. She directed a dark glare at the man.

"How many have begged you the same way your begging me..." It was a whisper, however the words cut through the air like a knife. She didn't give the creature a chance to respond. With a swift motion, the icicle flew threw the air. A sickening thunk echoed in the alley, as the ice slammed into the monster's heart.

A crack of thunder preceded a downpour during her walk back to the palace. A sense of detatchment settled over Katara. Of course she considered it to be more of an awakening. Despite thier efforts, ending the war, negotiating treaties, writing laws, people were still suffering at the hands of monsters impersonating people. The legal system is slow and flawed. It let's too many slip through, allowing them to continue thier torment.

'I will never, EVER, turn my back on people who need me!'

The memory echoed through her being. An oath she swore, resonating from the core of her being. The legal system failed repeatedly but she would not. Katara had power. The idea of what true power was is something Katara never understood until now. The ability to take dreams, desires, and force them into reality. She could change things. Bring justice to people who've suffered and protect children from the horrors that still plagued the world.

____________________________________________

A year passed and one thing became evident. Katara needed to get stronger. She'd made strides in eliminating the beasts that stalked and preyed upon the innocent. But it wasn't enough. There were too many for her to only take action once a month. Traditional waterbending was too loud to use against them. If she was caught, her friends wouldn't understand. She needed to do this, to protect the people. She needed bloodbending.

The training started much how Hama had described inventing the bending form. She started with small animals, which she mastered rather quickly unsurprisingly. The larger ones, like the tiger seals, proved to be a much bigger challenge, one she eventually completed. The lack of the moon's light was a difficult obstacle to overcome Yet as she stood before the kneeling moose lion, whining in pain as it failed to break from her will, she knew she was ready.

The next year was far more successful. With the growing population in her own tribe, Katara had to make sure the vermin were weeded out as soon as possible. Patrolling every night she was home allowed her to remove sixteen threats to her people. She found another twelve during her trip to the Northern Tribe, where she helped negotiate an alliance with them. The corruption there ran deep. Extra effort would be made during her next trip.

The Earth Kingdom is by far where Katara made the greatest impact. Twenty three criminals were slew in Omashu, another thirty one during her month long stay in Ba Sing Se and fifteen bandits who tried to ambush her during her travel between the major cities. It was an interesting observation, how quickly the eyes on these creatures shifted from arrogance to fear once they no longer held the power. Not unlike the one in the alley that first night. So many of those beasts have been removed by her, and she knows she protected countless people in the process. Katara knew she was doing the right thing, hearing children playing outside only reaffirmed her resolve.

Katara had only been back home for a few days when Aang landed at her village center. Running out of her igloo to greet him, she hesitated at his serious expression.

"Aang, it's good to see you."

"You too, Katara. I wish it was under better circumstances though." Katara tensed at his words as Sokka exited thier igloo behind her.

"Hey Aang. What's up?"

"Zuko needs our help. There's a group of rebels in the Fire Nation. According to his letter, they call themselves the New Ozai Society. They want to dethrone him and restart the war." Aang said. Katara didn't give any outward reaction to his statement. She hadn't been to the Fire Nation since that first night in the alley.

"We'll help. Come on Sokka." Katara immediately cut in as he finished speaking. Turning, she headed back inside the igloo, lost in thought as she began packing. Her neglect of the Nation was clear. How could she allow those scum to coalesce into such a threat. She would make up for it during this trip. She needed a way to learn who all was involved and where they met. Someone who could get inside thier ranks. Who wouldn't report her own involvement to Zuko or her friends. Her thoughts led her to one person who would be accepted by them with no problem. She wasn't happy about it, but it couldn't be helped. At the very least the visit would be interesting. After all, with all of Katara's travels, she had yet to see the inside of an asylum.

"Appa, Yip, Yip!" Aang called, begining thier journey across the sea.

___________________________________________

So, as you can see, the route I would take to make Katara a bad guy would be to take a core aspect of her character (in this case "I will never, EVER, turn my back in people who need me." Still one of my fav moments for her character btw.) And twist it into something dark. I took the helplessness surrounding her mother's death to foster a craving for control within her which connected to bloodbending. I tried to depict a steady dehumanization of criminals in her eyes through the time skips. I felt really awkward writing dialogue but hopefully you all enjoyed my take on a Darker Katara :)

[hargrove-mayfields]

this is part two of this fic if you want to read that first!! warnings in the tags!

When they finally make the leap out of Hawkins, they move into a one story in Oregon, of all places. It’s not California, but it’s close by, and the doctors say that for the sake of Billy’s lungs, he needs a more mild climate than he’d have there. Besides, Billy insists that anyplace is home enough for him as long as Steve’s with him.

After a few months of living there with a nagging sense that something was missing from the space, they’re able to complete their new home when they find an upright piano for next to nothing on the side of the road to replace the old grand they had to leave behind at Steve’s parents place.

It’s much less sophisticated than what they’re accustomed to, the finish had long ago chipped off and half of the yellowed keys played the wrong notes, but they’re able to fix it up with some work.

Once it’s presentable, shined up and once again functioning properly, it sits like a trophy in the corner of their dining room, a symbol of what they could do with music. That graceful ability to grow and to change and to heal that they were so familiar with, and of the love that developed between them on the bench.

Billy plays more than Steve does, to keep himself occupied when he’s on his own and itching to get out there and break every rule of his recovery laid down by his doctors.

Even after he regains most of his strength, his hands no longer shaking from the simplest of tasks, the piano never loses its power to keep him out of his thoughts, chasing away nightmares and rampant fears so he can feel like himself.

The sounds of Billy’s playing carrying through their houses, the soft twinkling of keys as the first rays of sunshine cut through curtained windows is like an alarm clock, has Steve waking up in a bliss each morning.

Even in the winter, when the cold is especially hard on Billy’s body, his scars sore like they’re still new and his joints stiff and aching, he’s guaranteed to be up to play at the first rays of the morning sun, usually before Steve is even up for work.

One particularly snowy morning, when Steve wakes up to the usual melody of Billy’s playing with the sun in his eyes, he takes a moment to just stay in bed and revel in the warm music drifting in the room before he realizes he’s slept through his alarm.

He panics for a moment, shoves his glasses onto his face crooked and stumbles out of the bed fast enough he almost trips over the comforters still wrapped around him, but in his effort to stay upright he notices a note on the nightstand.

In Billy’s shaky handwriting it reads, “School’s cancelled. Thought I’d let you sleep in -B”

Steve chuckles to himself over the mix-up, and peeks out the window past thick curtains to see a few inches of snow that wasn’t there when they’d gone to bed the night before. He’s not one to say he hates his job, or even dislikes it, teaching is what he’d always wanted to do, but a thousand times over he’d rather be given the chance to stay at home with Billy.

Without bothering to change out of his pajamas, he pads down the hall into the kitchen, focusing on the song drifting in from the dining room, one he doesn’t think he recognizes, as he starts to make their morning white tea.

Billy would’ve rather it be a morning coffee, but that much caffeine is bad for his heart, so they settle for tea with honey and a pinch of sugar.

“Mornin’, Stevie.” Without looking up, he acknowledges Steve as he enters with two steaming mugs. “Did you get my note?”

“Wouldn't I be out the door by now if I hadn’t?” Steve sets their teas on the corner of the dining table to cool, and sits down so he’s straddling the bench. He situates himself so he can wrap his arms loosely around Billy’s braced torso, and rest his cheek against his shoulder so he can watch scarred hands as they glide across the keys.

Billy chuckles, smiles down at the keys. “Touché.”

Once he’s settled, Steve sighs through his nose and asks, “What’s that you’re playin’?”

“S’a song called When.” This tip of Billy’s tongue pokes out just between his teeth, his concentration on what he’s playing intense. He acknowledges Steve again when he reaches a slower part of the song. “You wanna hear it?”

An answer isn’t really necessary, Billy knows undoubtedly that Steve is interested in anything he does, but he gives a confirmation regardless. “You know I do.” He shifts until he’s comfortable against Billy’s side, and Billy starts into the song.

His voice is much better than before, now that his throat is healed. It’s still a little gravelly, gets deeper when he sings where Steve’s gets higher, but it’s smooth and warm and just about Steve’s favorite sound in the whole world.

Closing his eyes, Steve focuses on just listening to the magical sounds that Billy can make, on feeling the soothing vibrations of his voice as he works through the piece.

With words the song is vaguely familiar, and it’s truly a beautiful thing.

It’s a ballad to nature, ironic for someone who spends most of his day confined to indoors or his own backyard. The song is gentle, full of pretty trills to accentuate even prettier lyrics, but it takes on a melancholy tone, given the context.

Appreciation for life, for the world and everything good within it is something anyone can relate to, but apply it to a sick man and it changes the meaning drastically. Gives it more a sense of longing for these things, and it’s got Steve feeling overwhelmed by its sincerity.

Typically, Billy favored songs he thought were fun like The Bitch is Back and piano covers of songs far too hard core for the dainty instrument, so it’s surprising, hearing him pouring his heart out through an actual ballad, but Steve is glad for it, that fond and warm feeling growing in his chest at hearing Billy’s song.

The song trills one more time into a slow crescendo, and finishes off in a way that Steve couldn’t have been expecting with the words, ““When the whole world is filled, with Mother Nature's noises… that's the time to stuff cotton in your ears!”

The change of tone in the song is so abrupt it makes Steve open his eyes again and pull away from his hold around Billy’s waist, keeping his fingers linked but leaning way back to look at his face. Billy’d duped him, had him feeling all emotional before revealing his cards, his normal sense of humor.

He’s wearing a smile, crooked and relaxed as he takes in Steve’s reaction, the confusion at the pace change. Despite the humor twinkling in his eyes, he asks innocently, “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve can’t help but smile back, even if he shakes his head at Billy’s choice of song.

Still smiling, Billy kisses him, soft and slow in a way that has always made Steve feel like it was the first time, his heart doing backflips while he melts into the bench.

They pull away for a breath, and the moment passes bittersweet, just as many do these days. Giggle almost always turn to tears anymore, and Steve feels his lip start to tremble, feels Billy put a hand on the small of his back so he can pull him closer and sigh into his hair.

Billy’s dying.

The doctors say he’s only got a few years left in him, if that. His heart is worn out from too many surgeries and medications to keep the hole in his chest closed.

They can’t fix it for fear of doing nothing but speeding up the process. They’re stuck with the recommendation to take him home and make him comfortable that nobody ever wants to hear, especially not now, when they’re still young, supposed to be living their lives to the fullest.

He’s already lived longer than they initially estimated when his body started rejecting the transplanted lung a while back, but he’s sick, getting sicker all the time.

The weight he’d been able to put back on in the years following that initial hospital stay was gone again, and his lung capacity was worse every day to the point that even with the oxygen tubes he felt breathless and dizzy, and he was coughing up blood.

Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do when Billy’s gone. Doesn’t know if he’ll keep teaching, if he’ll leave the area, he doesn’t like to dwell on it too much.

But what he does know for sure, is that the house will never be silent, and the piano won’t be covered. Won’t be forgotten in that corner or left unplayed after he goes.

It will stay just where Billy left it, to commemorate him and all he’d done with it, to honor and remember his music through Steve’s own.

Moments like these, fleeting as they are, are everything to Steve anymore. When Billy isn’t here anymore, all he would have were the memories of mornings like these and every second together with him, sealed in a box in his heart where nobody could touch them.

To lose the person behind that, there are no words that can describe how hard that’s going to be. Loss has never been easy for Steve, and having time to anticipate it did nothing but draw out the pain of knowing what was coming, what he’d have to let go of.

But it wouldn’t hurt forever.

Of course he would allow himself the time to mourn, how couldn’t he, when he’d be losing the only person who’d been able to take every wish and dream he could ever have possibly had and make them all come true, who’d ever really loved him. But he promised Billy, and himself, that he wouldn’t let himself be sad.

Because he refuses to remember him by his lows, all the countless days spent in the hospital, sleepless nights when he’d have coughing fits and be in so much pain he couldn’t sleep, the teary eyed panic attacks when something triggered a bad memory. That wasn’t Billy.

When the time comes, Steve wants to keep making music. To use the very tool he’d given Billy after government conspiracy and more than a year in the hospital, back then to offer him an outlet to feel better, to now keep his memory alive. Give him a legacy.

In the moment, Steve lets Billy wipe away his tears and pull him closer still to kiss the top of his head. He chokes back a sob listening to that wavering heartbeat from where he’s drawn close, and tries to chase the thoughts away.

Because they’re here now. Billy isn’t gone yet and Steve isn’t letting go. Right now, there’s still time to create more moments to hold onto, to create something beautiful, melodic, powerful.

Steve taught Billy to play the piano, but Billy taught Steve how to live in the moment, how to care for someone with all of his heart. More than anything, Billy taught Steve how to grieve.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : broken facade ( part one ? )

— word count : 2.6 k words

— pairing : john wick x reader

— summary : john thought he could keep his old world dead and buried, he was wrong

— warnings : mentions of death, blood, extremely minor swearing, kidnapping, mentions of drugging.. idk maybe a bit of hurt and angst? idk where i was going with this i spent so long on it lmao im very sorry

Nothing can be heard over the continuous shattering of the fractured pieces of a silent promise he repeated to himself every morning he woke and the last thing that ran through his mind before he would cease to resist the urge to sleep. It’s the only promise kept hidden from you and there was no going back from its state of shards, what kind of man is he if the one thing he kept close to his heart is no more.

Never let that life lay a finger on them.

Now, here he is. Knowing that the life he had previously led has wormed itself back to him, it has sullied your spirit and for that, he can find no forgiveness in his soul for himself. It’s him that is why you have been torn away from him so mercilessly, why you are in the situation you are in. He would give his life a thousand times and a thousand times over if it means you are safe, away from the harsh and cold blooded world he knows so well.

Although, the remnants of his old life is not a friend greeting him after an age has passed, but rather.. a  foe that wishes to lead him down the trail to its murky depths.

He assumes that the steering wheel that is gripped so stiffly by his hands only wish to buckle and crumble under the weight he is setting down upon it, though there is no other way to channel the highly agitated energy that swirls within him. Until you are back in his arms can he find the strength to completely calm the brutal waters that wish to overwhelm him, the only thing saving him is the objective that is removing you from the grasps of the Tarasovs’.

The same is unable to be said for you, the fear that you feel coursing throughout your entire being is the only thing that you can concentrate on. This is the clearest you have been for days, since you had been taken from your refuge from the world. You are sure that you’ve been drugged, though you can’t decide truly if that fact is a blessing or a curse. Being an unwilling participant in whatever you had found yourself in would prove difficult for those who held your life in their hands, and as much as you want to put up a fight, it’s impossible. You can see just how tense everyone in this cold, desolate room is. It’s not ideal to prod and provoke the Devil, especially as it has the power to rip you from the reality you know.

Your heart swells from the haunting image that plays continuously like an olden film, with the grit and burns. It’s a desire that you yearn so intensely for to rid your brain of the bloodied and battered John, you had never seen him so defenseless. You wonder if he is still breathing, if he is suffering from being so broken.

“ hey! why don’t you just let me go? “ you call out to anyone in the room, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with the threads of the scarf wrapped protectively around your neck.

“ shut the fuck up! “

You switch your gaze from the man who yelled, knowing that there is no point in arguing, to the one playing on the game console. Fear and self preservation that rules your body into silence battling with the confusion you find yourself experiencing at how one of the other men could feel so relaxed to the point he can play games.

Though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped you think with a stern frown deeply painting your features, you simply wished you could be wrapped up in your duvet with a straight to dvd cheap movie playing.

The next moment a colossal bang erupted, spilling through the entirety of the room -- you have no idea where to look, your entire feeling as if it had been frozen in a moment of time. It’s not until a thud pulls you out of your cloud, and it’s one of the men who have fallen to the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight, you’ve seen such brutality in movies and television shows but never could they capture the true horror that lays in front of you.

The crimson liquid is never ending as it exits from the wound, you want to rip your eyes away from the repulsive scene yet you find yourself in a trance, with a magnetic pull that refuses to bend its will to yours. Only when your skin feels fingers digging deep into clothed flesh is your head able to turn, your feet already on the move. Your eyes refuse to acknowledge the further death that lay motionlessly on the floor, the bodies as cold as the temperature.

Rumbles fill your hearing, it’s hardly a chore to know that they’re under attack, by who you have little idea. Though a tiny spark of hope, so small it’s hardly noticeable, hums in your core. Perhaps it may be the authorities, here to put a permanent end to your newfound nightmare. Whatever it is, it has these men scared -- though, when you think back.. they have been on edge since you have had the unfortunate experience of knowing them. No matter how hard you previously tried to decipher some sort of idea, even a faded picture of what you have been caught up in, they were quick to respond with venom and hostility.

“ let go of me! “ words tumble from your lips as you try to dig your feet in further to the metal steps, hands clawing at the railings as if they could protect you.

Nothing is said to you, had it not been for the male’s grip on your arm, you could assume that they have no idea of your presence. Countless nights you had found yourself wishing for such, that they would forget your existence and you would be then able to escape. Never has that wish been granted.

Burns from the metal grasped so firmly scorch your palms, you can feel the need to survive driving yourself to fight and struggle.. opportunities to escape had been bare, the one presented now is one that you refuse to elude you so swiftly. Again, a body drops from a gunshot -- your shock proving more of a force than anything, because the hold that had been so secure on your arm severs without you comprehending it for a passing moment in time.

The leap your heart completes knows no bounds, the disturbance at seeing the violence occur at the man you have only known to be gentle and warm overwhelmed by your exhilaration that he is there and safe. John hardly acknowledges you as he passes your trembling form, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. It’s no surprise when you decide to turn away, not wishing to have your image of him shattered any more than it has already. Though, you wonder how detrimental protecting your dream like depiction of him is.

A faze, it’s all your mind can think of describing the journey from the harsh confines of the barren property to where you reside currently. The journey from one place to the other mesh together, your memories betraying you in your inability to process everything that happened.

A hand grazes your skin comfortingly, though the suddenness pulls you out from beneath your thoughts.

“ i’m sorry. “ John speaks, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

A frown sketches itself onto your brows as you turn to face him, you are unable to understand what he means by his words. The scenery passes by in a blur, stuck in a timeless state of thinking, you realise that you’ve not responded to him. How do you respond to something like? You wonder to yourself, loathing the fact that you cannot reply, a misunderstanding of rejection isn’t something needed for the moment. Against your better judgement, you need the opposite.

“ John - I - what? “

The feather like weight on your hand is still there, though now there is a contrast of tenderness and peace that had only known violence and blood exploring the expanse of his fingertips, only now a ghostly image not yet faded.

“ it got worse for you, because of me. “ he replies with a pitch as solid as stone, still refusing to make eye contact.

Though it’s not known to you that the reason he refuses to look at you is because he cannot yet come to terms with the fact that the two significant fractions of his life, the past and the present, have collided so effortlessly. He doesn’t yet want to acknowledge his part to play in the scars of his old word being the reason your surface now bears the brunt of being blemished by its cold, callous hands. He doesn’t want to have to bear witness to the tears that have stained your usually bright features, knowing the darkness that had once consumed his life wished to stretch its skeletal grip to you, threatening to eclipse the light of hope you unknowingly provide every chance he gets to set his sights on your form.

“ you’re not making any sense. “ you turn to face him now, trying to read his expression. Though, it’s at a loss. When he needs to be, he can be extremely hard to read.

“ that guy? the one I shot.. I used to work for his father. “

You blink, still failing to see the picture. You’re able to make a mental sketch, but you still need final pieces. Yes, he was connected.. but how is he at fault? Was it some sort of vengeance? Blackmail? The list is an endless trail your mind explores at the new piece of information, however it’s only John who can provide the key.

“ what does that have to do with everything that happened? “

“ there’s a reason why I’ve never told you much about my past. “ he replies softly, his mind wandering to find the most rational way to word the difficult tale, whose twists and turns trailed over it as if they were no more than a line of vines full of poison.

Though, the inner voice belonging to him knows there is no outcome that bodes well for him, the inevitable can’t be written off nor can it be denied.

“ so tell me, please? “ you plead with him, your nervous energy building and building in the tips of your fingers. They tap on the end of the car seat as you wait for his response.

“ before we met, I did things. I killed. “

It has to be quick John thinks to himself. There’s not a way that what he has to say, his past can be primped and perfumed into a pretty little picture, not when that picture is haunted by all the life that had been ripped from the world by his hand.

“ this is a joke, right? “ you laugh, incredulously. Gazing at his form it was as if the energy around him had inverted, there is no way that John, your John could do such things. The gentle smile of his, the thoughtfulness he demonstrates each day would battle his words, but the solidity and lack of humour being shown from him..? You’re tempted to believe.

“ I wish it was. “

“ there’s.. I don’t even know what to say. “ your brows furrow low, a bleakness setting itself into your expression as you try to come to terms with his answer.

“ you don’t have to. “ he speaks with difficulty, while he had expected more hatred from your eyes, he dares not to hope you will stay. Not after everything he has brought down upon you.

Fresh tears build up, until they are no more than a glassy barrier preventing clear vision. You will them to recede, to fade away until they’re nothing more than shadows. You have seen many horrors, more in the past week than your whole life and the man you love has had a direct part in that? You can’t erase the images of him gunning your captor, but you can’t erase all the sweet whispers after nights of lust and love, all the hours spent talking about life and what you would do. A stark contrast to the man you first got to know.

“ this isn’t something I can pretend to understand, but why hold something like this from me? Why wouldn’t you tell me eventually? “ you question, many emotions are clawing over each other to rise to your surface, preventing you from thinking straight.. yet it’s frustration that is victorious.

“ I never thought I'd be back. “

“ you need to understand, things like that? They don’t go away, they have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. “

“ yeah, I see that now. “

A groan erupts from your parted lips, dropping your head in your hands. Your fingers drag their way across your scalp, this is something you argue would be seen in a movie.. not your life. The feelings you have are conflicted and inconsistent, any normal person would jump out of the moving care.. but a part of you can’t cast him aside so easily. What you have, that’s what you know is real.

“ John, I - I need time. At the minute.. I just don’t know what to think. With everything that’s happened. “

“ I get that. You’ll be seen to, for your injuries. “

A smile, small in size lifts the darkness from your eyes ever so slightly. Your injuries are bare, save for a few scrapes on your face. It’s the mental ones that begin to frighten you. They’re not so easily treatable. A smile that wishes with all its might that it is so easy.

“ to be honest.. I just want to go home. “ you lift your head up from its concealment as you share to him your one simple desire, your eyes imploring him to follow through with your request.

“ soon. “ he finally turns his head to look at you, to finally see you properly. All he wants is for you to be safely protected in his arms, as he mutters countless apologies that he longs you forgive him for. By no means is he a perfect man, but he can strive for such for you.

“ John, I’m not dead. I’m just tired. “

“ please, don’t. “

It’s curious, the tone in his voice as he replies to you. You can’t place it, though it’s very unlike him. Your left hand removes itself from the warmth of his palm to place yours atop of his, lending your warmth and comfort to him. The fact that both of you have fresh mental scars from the ordeal is becoming promptly evident.

“ I just want to make sure you’re okay. “

“ John, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. This is just.. the craziest thing. “

“ yeah, and it’s my fault. “ he exclaims lowly, as if he’s speaking more to himself than you. Berating himself for something that was never in his control.

You shake your head, hating the way he’s talking of himself. It’s enough to rouse some anger within you, though you know better than to make the situation between the two of you worse.

“ look, I know I can’t make you think otherwise.. but you never took me away. You never hid me from building to building, you were the one who saved me. “ you argue, ferocity cautiously coating your words. Your grip settled on top of his hand growing. “ I can’t stop seeing what you did, but you were the one who got me out. I need some quiet from it all. “

Your words, you hope, are strong. Trying to separate what you have seen that day is not something that will come as light as the clouds above your head do when they shower upon you, the thought that you fear you may never do is something you keep close to your chest for now.

To protect the both of you.

[dreamingyouth]

[Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader] Part 6 - All I ever wanted

Hello and welcome to my Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader series ! If you’re new here, be sure to check the previous parts below :

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Words count : 3132 Warnings : Fight scenes (don’t worry, they’re very soft), slight angst I guess? And of course, my specialty. FLUFF.

This is the last part of my Darth Maul x Bookworm!Reader series. It has been a bit challenging, but I hope you’ll like it !

Days were getting shorter and shorter. It wasn't winter yet, though it definitely felt like so: temperatures dropped to a point where you couldn't go outside without your long, fluffy scarf, a sweater necessary in the morning before your house got warmer. It was time for hot drinks and homemade soups, soft plaids, and slow mornings spent reading. You would usually be grateful for such a setting, a comfortable solitude at arm's length; but this time, it was different.

Several months had passed since you first met Maul. He had told you how he temporarily settled on your home planet, seeking calm and peace for some time- away from the bustle of the Core Worlds; this was something you could understand, always making your trips to the busy city last no longer than necessary. Over the weeks, you grew closer to each other, getting to know the many differences between the two of you. These were moments you remembered fondly, bringing a soft smile to your face every time your mind wandered to each of your memories with the Dathomirian. You went from strangers to acquaintances, acquaintances to friends, friends to lovers. He understood you in a way no one did before. He knew your boundaries, your preferences, and respected them; which only made it harder when the time came for a much-dreaded farewell.

He had told you he was called for a job on another planet. Despite his promise of a fast return, you couldn't help but count the minutes, hours, days since his departure. You got accustomed to his presence, after all. His absence left an empty feeling within you, and your house was too quiet for your own taste; with him, the silence was comfortable, the mere knowledge of his proximity enough to reassure you. You weren't used to being alone anymore. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

The day was cold, and you decided to spend it taking care of your plants. You never had any, afraid of forgetting to water them or not being able to care for them properly; during the past year, however, you found yourself buying flowers, attracted to their vibrant colors. They brought life to your home, you thought, and you ended up getting more as time went by. Not once had you regretted it. But now, as you got to your bright red azalea, you felt a wave of sadness wash over you. Their color was precisely the one of Maul's skin, and every glance reminded you of him.

Wasn't it hard enough?

Your fingertips gently caressed the soft petals, gaze directed towards them yet not looking at anything as you were lost in thoughts. You happened to space out more and more lately, dreams of your loved one taking the better of you even in the middle of the day; and as a firm, loud knock on your front door resonated, you jumped, surprise confusing you for a second before you rushed to meet your unexpected visitor. Has he returned? Was your heartbreaking wait finally coming to an end?

The face you saw upon opening brought you great disappointment, and it must have shown on your face from how the stranger lifted an eyebrow questioningly. He didn't ask for any explanation, though; instead, he proceeded on greeting you politely, a small smile on his lips.

"Excuse me for showing up uninvited. I got lost on my way to the city, and I have been walking all morning... Could I ask you for some water?"

With a nod, you invited him in, closing the door carefully. This man was tall- taller than you, in fact, and he had an aura you couldn't quite describe. Letting your steps guide you to the kitchen area of your home, you couldn't help but notice something was off. It wasn't the fact that he was a stranger (you helped wanderers before, and it always unfolded nicely); there was something in him you didn't quite encounter before. It made you uneasy. Afraid.

"Who knew a Sith lord could be so weak as to fall for someone as insignificant as you? - Excuse me?"

You turned around, the puzzled look on your face contrasting with his scornful expression. What was he talking about? You didn't know any Sith. Was he one of them? Was this the reason why you felt so uncomfortable in his presence?

"Oh, then you are waiting for someone you know nothing about... how pathetic."

His low chuckle made you shiver. He did know about you waiting for someone- for Maul. Was he spying on you? You couldn't believe these words. You knew him. He gave you his hearts, and you gave him yours. How could this stranger pretend you barely knew anything about your lover, whom you met every day for several months?

"What do you want? - Don't you wish to see the real side of the one you love so desperately?"

You tensed.

"You're not living in a book, nor is he your fairytale prince. He's a killer. A murderer. His hands are stained with the filthy blood of entire organizations. From his most tender age, he has been trained to fight and kill, destined to serve the great purpose of the Sith."

You couldn't utter a single word. Part of you rejected these revelations, these lies you didn't want to believe; yet, doubt began to creep over you eventually. After all, he did hide his Force abilities from you. Could it be that he hid more? Could it be that the Maul you knew was nothing but a facade?

No. This couldn't be.

The sweet moments you shared, his words might have been made up. But you knew for sure he was sincere: his eyes couldn't lie.

"I can't believe you."

Before the stranger could say another word, the door burst open, revealing an enraged, red-skinned Dathomirian. Despite what you just heard, you let out a sigh of relief, and it took all of your willpower not to run and throw yourself at him. You never saw him so furious before. He barely even looked at you, his burning stare fixed on the other male who dared to enter your home; the latter didn't seem to care, though, a provoking smirk spreading on his face.

"Ah, there you are. Your Master has sent me to bring you back to his side for further training. I hoped to get rid of the problem first, but since you're here..."

Maul didn't take time to answer nor to let him finish, instead dashing forward with incredible speed. The next thing you saw was a flash of red light. This was your first time seeing lightsabers, and you were struck by the intensity of their glow, the intruder's single blade clashing against your lover's double one; you were in awe at how easily he wielded it, circles precise and perfectly controlled. This was something you were now forced to admit: he did receive training, for no one could improvise such skill. He had the agility of an acrobat, even in the small space of your home, and an uncanny intuition allowing him to predict the other's every move before he could hit. His feet were light and he moved with ease, but his arms seemed to have gained a strength you couldn't even imagine, pushing the opponent farther away each time. Given the apparent difficulty with which the stranger kept up with Maul, you guessed he underestimated him (which wouldn't be too surprising), his assumption and overflowing confidence putting him at a disadvantage. With a quick stab of the Dathomirian's lightsaber, he fell to the ground with a loud scream; and as you watched the scene unfold, you suddenly felt lifted from the floor, a gasp escaping you. Maul's hand was directed towards you the same way it was when he protected you from falling books, the day you discovered he was a Force user. This time, you were the one being held in the air, only to be put down behind the counter separating your kitchen from the rest of the room. A simple glance between the two of you was enough for you to understand. Stay hidden.

You disappeared from view, kneeling behind the piece of furniture. You could only hear what was happening now: the unusual sound of the lightsabers slicing the air, feet running on the floor to dodge and get the best angle to attack, the violent clash of the blades... until you heard a small gasp, metal hitting the ground, followed by a body falling with a loud thump.

Oh, how you hoped it wasn't him.

The uncertainty was already killing you; against your lover's silent demand, you peeked from the side of the counter, only to smile with relief. There he was, breathing heavily, but alive and standing. Some of his clothes were torn here and there, exposing his tattooed skin to the eye; fortunately, no blood was to be found, and you would've run to him if it wasn't for the terrifying silhouette in the door frame.

Only the lower part of his face was visible, his large, black hood hiding most of it. You didn't have to see his eyes to know he was a threat; much more than the previous one, he emitted an unsettling aura, and you weren't sure if the room darkening was one of his doings or an illusion of your mind out of fear. You soon found out that the worst wasn't even his appearance or his aura, as you previously thought. It was his voice.

"Very well, my apprentice. It is time, time for us to reveal ourselves at last. I am convinced you will not fail me on your next mission... Darth Maul."

You were speechless. If the first stranger's words weren't enough, now you had to accept the truth. Like many, you have read stories about Force users, about legends of the Jedi and the Sith. Fascinated, you had searched for more, gathering every piece of information you could find- even looking into hidden, sometimes forbidden resources. This was some time ago, but several things came back to you as you heard this stern, frightening voice. A Master. An apprentice. A title... Darth. The Dathomirian didn't seem surprised by these words, only confirming what you feared.

He was a Sith.

But wasn't he also the sweetest man you've ever met? Wasn't he the one to go the extra mile just to make you smile? To understand and meet every one of your needs, even if you didn't voice them? His gentle kisses, the way he held your hand so tenderly, his gaze softening whenever he looked at you... It was all too genuine not to be true. It was not just in acts but in both your hearts; it was a connection you two shared, which left you with no doubt. You loved him, and he loved you. You trusted him. This time was no exception.

A discreet side glance from him made your eyes meet; the tenderness and love he found in yours were all he needed.

"You will-

- I'm not taking orders from you anymore."

He turned around to face the old man, his double-bladed lightsaber firmly held in his grasp. The determination on his features made the stranger cackle.

"You are such a fool... Giving up a life of training and a promising future, just for the sake of a pathetic human."

This was the last straw. His eyes flaming with passion and fury, almost glowing in the dim light of the room, the red-skinned zabrak rushed to the man. His red blade clashed against his former master's two lightsabers relentlessly. He had one in each hand, both glowing with a bright red light; although it gave him more flexibility than having them joined like your lover's, it didn't seem to bother Maul, who kept on hitting with a speed you couldn’t follow.

The fight was impressive, to say the least. Your home wasn't big, but it was enough for them to move and engage in violent exchanges, the control they both had over their weapons revealing they had way more than a few years of training. The Dathomirian undoubtedly was an expert in martial arts: using his entire body to get strength and momentum as he swung his lightsaber left and right, he fought with aggressivity you never witnessed before, the look on his face enough to scare anyone away.

He looked almost bestial, his dark tattoos emphasizing the outline of his facial muscles distorted by rage. His teeth were bared, and he snarled at the other; he was a panther in the skin of a man, agile and inhabited with an untamed soul. His emotions were allowed to run free, giving him more and more power as they took over him: anger, hate, and lust for revenge were driving him wild.

But you were there.

The simple fact of meeting your eyes had helped him gain control over himself, and the love you both felt for each other saved him from sinking into madness. This was something he learned over those few months spent with you. Love wasn't pitiful or a sign of weakness: it led to greater passion, his need to protect you only making him even more powerful than he ever was. The stranger, whose overconfidence was made clear by his wide, creepy grin, didn't seem to realize this change; and in the move of a hand, he brought Maul's attacks to a halt, forcing him to stay down on one knee with a strike of lightning. You could tell he was in intense pain despite him trying to hold back screams, yet what could you do? You were no match for the old man. You weren't Force-sensitive, you didn't even know how to fight.

"I won't kill you... But I will take this life you failed to end."

The hood covering his face made the direction of his gaze unknown to you; his free hand, however, slowly lifted to point towards you, giving out an obvious clue as to what was to come. You held your breath, eyes wide as you prepared to suffer the same fate as your lover. This was the end. You didn't expect to die so young, to die like this. Glancing one last time at the Dathomirian, you addressed him by thoughts, even though he wouldn't be able to hear it.

'Goodbye, my only one... I love you.'

You weren't sure if you murmured those words or thought them, as you had planned; yet, their meaning appeared to have reached your lover, as he seemed to suddenly gain strength and willpower despite the intense lightning still torturing his body and mind. He straightened his posture, rising to his feet before his double blade returned with a burning red light. It caught his former master off guard, for no one had ever resisted such power before, not even Maul who he trained himself; and before he could react, the zabrak was already right in front of him, his lightsaber piercing him from front to back.

The lightning disappeared, the man's body falling to the floor like a rag doll after his former apprentice deactivated his weapon. His death wasn't enough for the Dathomirian to let go of the resentment he felt towards him just yet, more strokes of his deadly blade tearing the lifeless body apart in mere seconds. It was over.

There he stood, in the middle of the room, the forms of the two men he killed lying still at his feet; only then could you see his clothes being completely ripped, the wounds and bruises visible through the cuts clear evidence of his fierce fights. The silence seemed to amplify his breath, which he tried to steady the best he could.

A solid minute passed. His lightsaber deactivated once more, he kept it in his hand, barely daring to look at you as reality fell on him. He murdered them in front of you. He fought like a beast. His identity as a Sith was revealed to you. How could you not see him as anything but a monster now? A liar? Would you ever believe any of his words again, no matter how true they were? Wouldn't you be afraid of him?

These neverending questions brought a slight change on his face, which made him look almost vulnerable to you. If you were waiting for a sign to move, this was it; standing up again, you walked out of your hiding spot, feet speeding up your steps before letting you run to the zabrak. You threw your arms around him, holding him closer than you ever had- which surprised him; but soon, you found yourself in a stronger embrace, your body held right against his as you began to sob. It was too much in too short an amount of time for your quiet life.

"P-Please... Please don't leave again...

- I won't."

This request reassured him. He wouldn't be forced to leave your side or to leave you at all, and he was definitely grateful for this.

"He... He said- He called you Darth..."

This still shocked you; although you knew he wasn't anything like them (or at least, not anymore), you wanted to hear it from him. You needed reassurance just as much as him, after all.

A gentle nudge calmed you, his fingers caressing your head gently in an attempt to soothe your heart and stop your tears.

"I'm Maul. Formerly Darth, now just Maul. I've chosen my path..."

You looked up at him, his lips catching every drop falling from your eyes. The familiar intimacy comforted you. Maybe you weren't aware of this side of him before, but he was the same man you always knew, the one who claimed your heart his. His hand slowly caressed your face before he pulled you into a kiss you longed for, making up for the too many days you've spent waiting for his return; as you parted, you gifted each other with a tender smile.

"... and it's by your side, angel."

You couldn't help but let out a light, content chuckle at his words. Him staying with you was the greatest present you could ever ask for, and as you moved your arms to wrap around his neck, you came up with a request of your own- one you wanted to ask but never dared to.

"Maul... Let's leave. We can start anew, you and me... Let me run away with you. Forever."

You missed having your forehead against his like this, faces so close you could feel each other's warmth...

But this wasn't something you would ever have to worry about missing anymore.

"Of course. That's all I ever wanted."

-------------------------------------------

Am I emotional after finishing this series? YES I AM ;_; Thank you all for your support and your patience. I hope you enjoyed this last part ! I’m planning to continue writing, mostly for Maul, Savage and Feral. Maybe a bit of other characters if I have ideas. I have a reader insert project I might work on, but it might take quite a lot of time, so I’m keeping it secret for now haha !

This series is finished, but I might post some extras later. If you want to be tagged when they are out, or if you’re interested in being tagged in any future work about Maul, Savage, Feral or all three, please let me know !

Thank you again for your support and kindness. I love you all. xo

Tags : @maulieber​, @gooseyhouse​, @gczanetti1​, @noiralei​, @catsnkooks​, @brilliantbutbatty​, @mother-0f-monsters​, @farmelcarmel​, @raviolixxx​

[strongsassysexysloane]

Light the Fire

A little fun, light but you know me fluffy as hell with banter thrown, story. 

A night of games with friends around the fire. What could be a more perfect setting for boundaries to be pushed and secrets to be unveiled. The question isn’t if it’s going to happen but when. And your friends know that. 

. . . . / 1 / . . . . 

Tonight's plans had fallen by the weigh side as the case wrapped up later than you all planned. It was meant to be a fun night out to your local bar or two tonight but when you just wrapped up a case late this afternoon no one really wanted to venture out on the town well everyone except Nick. Nick was determined to get out and find a woman, he was dancing all the way from his desk to the elevator showing off his moves. The only amused person was Ellie. Your energy was low, you really wanted to nap or go to sleep early but there was a far better offer that you couldn't pass up. Jack's puppy dog like eyes and expression melted you to your core when it looked like you were about to refuse. So here you were curled up, arms wrapped around your legs with a beer in one hand watching the fire blaze in front of you, this was far better than sleep. Your closest friends around the fire, to bring in another milestone in your career.  

Ellie lifted up her glass, "Congratulations on one whole year on Team Gibbs!" Everyone else raised their respective drinks high in front of them.  

"Congrats!" Kasie smiled at you, taking a swig of her drink. She was sitting across the fire with her girlfriend, Isabelle but she preferred Bella, holding her hand while you all chatted and drank.  

Ellie put her glass back down on the small wooden stool in between you. "How does it feel?"

You contemplated it for a second, eyes on you as you stared into the fire and memories over the past year flooded your vision. "Well, I'm glad no one's calling me the new MsGee anymore."

Jack half choked on her beer. "Who the hell was calling you that?"  

"Nick for a short time and I overheard Morrison and Bares say it a few times in the beginning."  

"He was on the team for a while. It could be classed as a compliment?" Kasie tried to make it sound better than it was. Truth be told you knew McGee and knew he was one hell of an Agent but it still rubbed you up the wrong way. You only let Nick call you it for a short time.  

"Send em my way next time someone ever calls you that." Jack shook her head before taking a sip of her beer, her disgust clear as day on her face. You chuckled to yourself as she was definitely on the verge of drunk. The bottles of beer piling up beside her. She was sitting in a rather large, round outdoor couch. It was meant for two but she was happily stretched out with her ankles crossed. She was stunning with her hair loose framing her face with the light of the fire highlighting her features, her eyes sparkling.  

Her eyes met yours and you quickly realised you were staring. Noting that the conversation had died you quickly made a comment. "Will do, Jack." The corner of your mouth turning up into a half smirk as your eyes focused on the fire again. You didn't need her for back up but that didn't mean you didn't want it.  

The conversation flowed easily between cases. This was only the second time you had met Kasie's new girlfriend and she seemed nice enough. They'd met at a local farmers Market a month or two back. It was hard to keep track of time lately with case after case. "Wait, people actually keep their guns in the back of the toilet?"  

"Unfortunately, yes."  

"What do you mean unfortunately? I remember you whining and Nick bagging and tagging it." You chimed; Ellie smirked at your recollection.  

"Oh yeah."  

"Wrapped around you finger, I swear."  

Ellie laughed at you. "Hardly." She countered, hopping up, grabbing your fire poking stick and starting prodding the logs around. Once she was content with her efforts which you hardly felt any change but Kasie coughed a few times with the direction of the smoke change, she sat back down.

"So, here's a crazy idea.." Kasie grinned, glancing at Bella and then back at you. "How about a game of Truth or Dare to get this party kickin'" She did a little jig in her chair which made Bella laugh and Kasie beam. You knew that look, that feeling. You got it every time Jack smiled at you or laughed at something you said.  

You looked across at Jack who was looking at you for an answer. "If we do this, I need a lot more alcohol."  

"You could give away or do something silly if you consume anymore." Ellie winked at you; you saw that glint in her eye. The one that knew how you felt and who you had feelings for. This night was always going to be a tightrope of, if you did or didn't spill said beans.  

If it all went to hell you could just blame it on the alcohol. It was a perfect excuse and a horrible one. With that thought you stood up and walked around the chairs, stopping at the back of Jack's couch, letting your hand find her shoulder. She looked up at you with a lazy, drunken smile, her eyes sparkling and you couldn't help but smile back.  

"Want another beer?"  

"Yes, please." Her grin only got wider, her hand coming up to squeeze yours before you pulled away and walked up the path to her door which lead through the laundry to the kitchen. You had brought a case of her favourite beers for the night, they were soon turning into your favourites as well, every sip they tasted better and better. Taking four because you didn't want to come back anytime soon, you ventured back to the fire.  

"So, we guessed numbers and turns out you're going first." Jack said with a bit too much delight in her voice as you passed her two beers. "Thank you."

"For that to work don't I have to pick a number?"

"It's your party."  

"When did this turn into my party?" You squinted your eyes back at Jack as you sat down and popped open a beer.

"About a minute ago."

"Next time you're getting the drinks."  

Ellie snorted which drew both of your attentions to her. "You two are adorable."  

You couldn't see Jack's reaction because you were too nervous to look. Were you blushing? If Ellie's smirk was anything to go by you definitely were.  

"So?"  

You looked to Kasie. "Oh, truth." Praying to the depths of hell or the high heavens that someone wouldn't jump straight to it. You weren't nearly drunk enough yet to start with the things you were feeling about a certain Blonde, whiskey eyed female curled up enjoying the fire.  

She thought about it, a bit too long for your liking. Bella whispered something in her ear and it was like a light bulb went off. "Describe the strangest dream you’ve had in your life."

You let out a sigh of relief and ignored the snicker coming from Bishop. She was the last person you wanted to get a truth from, at least until you'd consumed both your beers. "Let's see.." You thought about it for a moment, nothing really coming to mind, you took a long swig of your beer to make more time go by then a dream came to mind. "Think it was after a late night watching Snowpiercer. The movie not the new Netflix show. Unsure if I was on a train, there were no windows but they seemed like carriages. Except it wasn't like different restaurants or living quarters or whatever. It was like different memories and moments of my life. How's that?"  

Everyone seemed to accept it as an answer. Now it was your turn, you placed your beer down and stood up, palms towards the fire for warmth. "Is there any rules of who I get to ask or can I pick anyone?"  

"Anyone."

"I feel like there should be a rule." Jack piped up too quickly.  

You quirked your eyebrow in her direction. "You scared Jack?"  

"Of you?"

"Just ask her already." Kasie sighed.  

You laughed. "As much as I would love to dare Jack-"

"What makes you think I would pick dare?"

You didn't answer her, your eyes dancing with hers before looking back at Kasie. "Bella."  

"Dare."  

"Woop, Go Bella!" Ellie swayed her hands in the air.  

You scratched your chin, thinking of something not too crazy for the first dare. Anyone else and you would've thrown them in the deep end but you didn't want to scare her off, not just yet. "Nothing too crazy. How about bark like a dog until the next dare."  

"Rrroof!" Bella barked, receiving a pat on the head from Kasie which she turned and panted to.  

Luckily for Bella she didn't have to bark for long. A few truths were thrown around from Kasie to Ellie and finally Jack answered dare. You could tell it was partly to relieve Bella. Ellie clapped furiously when she heard dare and took a long time deciding on what to do.  

"Need help Ell?"  

"Shut up you."  

"Drunk Jack is grumpy."  

She poked her tongue at you in response and you winked back at her.  

"With your eyes closed, feel someone’s face and guess who they are." You all stared at her, wondering where in the hell she had this happen to her before.  

"13th Birthday party." She answered without anyone actually asking.  

Jack closed her eyes instantly with a soft smile to her lips. When Ellie's eyes landed on you, you shook your head. That was a horrible idea and she pouted before turning to Kasie who got up and walked up and crouched in front of Jack. Placing her hands on Jack's knees for balance and to give her warning she was there.  

"Alright." Jack slowly moved her hands until they came into contact with her face. You watched as she cupped her cheeks, running her thumbs back and forth over her cheeks and you pushed away the gut drop that wished it was you instead. She took a beat and nodded, dropping her hands. "Kasie."  

"You felt her hair." You accused as Jack opened her eyes, locking with yours.

"She didn't." She stood up, walking over and sitting on Bella's lap. Her girlfriend wrapped her arms around her and Kasie's placed her hands on top of hers.  

"I'm just that good." She winked and took at swig of her second beer without breaking eye contact with you.  

The intense stare made you swallow hard. "Alright Jack. Your turn."  

Truth or dare went on for a few more rounds. Mostly easy truths and not too embarrassing dares happened. You found out how Kasie and Bella met and their first kiss, as well at Ellie's first kiss and Jack's not so great singing voice when she had to sing at the top of her lungs a random verse of a song. She claimed it would sound better at normal volume and with instruments. It wouldn't, you'd taken her to karaoke a few weeks back, she was better than average but still not as good as she made out to be. Not that you would dare challenge her on it.  

"We either need more alcohol or turn the heat up on these questions." Bella swayed her hips by the fire. It had begun to slowly die as you played.  

You stared at the glowing orange coals, mesmerised by the heat. "Got more wood, Jack?" You'd managed to go through the stack she'd prepared earlier but you knew she had more hiding somewhere.  

"Around the side." She made no attempt at moving from her spot when you looked at her, she just pointed down the side of her house.

You sighed, standing up slowly, "I'll get some." The ground swayed slightly as you walked in the direction she pointed. There was a tall stack of wood just around the corner, where Jack had pointed and you stacked up three, four, five logs and wandered back around to find Ellie sitting in your chair.  

"Smoke." Was the only answer you got as you stared her down.  

"Right and where am I supposed to sit?" You bent down, placing the logs next to the fire and one resting against an already burning log. Brushing off your hands, you pushed off your knees and stood up, grabbing your beer from the stool. She was right, the smoke was billowing right across her chair.  

"Here." Jack swung her legs around and placed the firmly on the ground with a thud. She patted the spot beside her with gusto and you swallowed hard. This was a terrible idea.  

The more you drank the less you cared if she caught you staring at her. You'd used the fire most of the night as a distraction but she was stunning laying on the couch in jeans, a cream baggy sweater and ugg boots. It was amazing how she could pull off any piece of clothing and still looked like a goddess. God you had it bad.  

Shaking off that, you mentally prepared for what happened next.  

You sat cautiously down beside Jack, leaning on the arm of the couch to give a bit of distance between you. There wasn't much, your thighs were just touching but that was giving more heat than the revamped fire was. She slid her arm along the back of the couch and you could feel her fingers on the cushion behind your neck. She was playing with the tag on the cushion but was she purposefully brushing against your skin? Surely not.  

"Well.. You going to ask someone?" You asked Bella as you lent forward prodding the fire with your stick. You needed to get away from Jack's touch but it didn't work. The fingers that were unintentionally touching you were now intentionally running circle over your back. You turned your head to look at Jack who was oblivious to her actions or has on a very good drunken poker face as she was sipping her beer without a care in the world.  

"Ellie."  

"Dare... woah. Okay, that's enough alcohol for me." She put down her drink to make it final.  

Bella was quick with a dare. Like she'd been saving it for a while. "Shout something in the street like crazy."  

Jack sipped her beer too quickly when Bella gave the dare causing her to heave a breath before spitting out, "Nothing too crazy, please. I like my neighbor's!"  

"Fine. Nothing you wouldn't say." Everyone laughed as Ellie got up and walked around the side of the house.  

"We need to be able to hear you!" Bella shouted as you all watched Ellie walk away. No one had any intention of following her.  

You all waited, there was nothing, she had either fallen over and passed out or was taking a long time figuring out what to say. Jack made a move to get up, her hand dropping away from your back but just as she was about to stand up Ellie screamed.  

"I FOUND NARNIA, FOLLOW ME!"  

You were in a fit of laughter from Ellie's choice of words and Jack's expression. "What the?"

"I googled it." Ellie popped around the corner of the house.  

Of course, she did.  

"My turn!" She rubbed her hands together, it almost looked mischievous and you were about to find out why. She looked at you and then quickly at Jack then over to Kasie and Bella. She moved over to Kasie, whispering something to them and they both nodded.  

You took a large mouthful of your beer, finishing it off. You searched for another one but only found several empty bottles scattered around your feet. Most were Jack's. The shuffling of feet getting closer got your attention back to the game at hand and Ellie was standing beside Jack close to the fire.  

"Ellie just ask it."  

"Okay Jack, truth or dare."  

"You know what my answer is."  

She didn't even take a breath, "Give the person to your left a hickey."

. . . . . 

:D Such a great spot to end the chapter right? 

[borkthemork]

Untouchable - An SU Fic

Summary: Steven gets reassurance after being haunted by a nightmare of his transformation.

A piece of an art trade with @Bellsnwhistles on Discord.

Word Count: 3,717.

Reblogs are appreciated!

-----

There were certain concepts that were hard to describe when it came to Steven Universe’s life. He struggled from his restless nights and the drowning anxiety, but it couldn’t compare to the daunting apprehension in being submerged in the deep and metaphorical when he became, for one day, the monster on the Beach City coast. The day where Steven felt nothing but the suspense of seawater, where the grasp of the physical was nothing but a dream, and the idea of being grounded became untouchable — untouchable in the worst sense of the word.

Steven felt it back when he was sixteen on the day he transformed. He felt the instability in support, how his nerves withered at the seams with each tactless decision and wary comeuppance. It was hard for him to think about those memories now as something tangible or real; in fact, he always thought of it as a dream. The memories and how it all led up to his transformation were so clogged in emotion that it couldn’t have been a physical event. The whole ordeal was a turbulent ocean, but something that couldn’t have been real. There had to be a misunderstanding, a shift in his family’s paradigms at the recollection of the event. When he asked for details, however, he was brought to the reality that his creature form was real. The monster on the Beach City coast, the one who’s reptilian head punctured the side of the temple front and ravaged waves at his loved ones, was him. Everything he had done was all him. But the discussions didn’t feel real even when he pondered over them. He didn’t feel pain in his jaw or the restraint of water against his purple-leathered wrists. There had to be a mistaken perception. The prospect of being out of control was too terrifying to describe.

Yet his therapy sessions made it clear to him that his monster form ruptured from the back of his spine. His loved ones saw it with their own eyes. They had the logic down-pat from seeing it happen right in front of them, and throughout all the reassurances he still felt pathetic, weak. He blamed it on the dark nights, the temptations of bad thoughts when his mind felt empty, and the feeling that always came back whenever he thought about his brief moment of hysteria.

Panic. Drowning. Lungs burned and writhed and useless. His mind at the incident was active in the blanket of darkness that enveloped him. Like a soul vacant of a corpse, kept secret in a location it couldn’t distinguish and was too afraid to explore, there were bound stimuli that haunted his mind and body. Where the weight bore on him like a planet upon his lungs, the fear was an overload, a bog, a decrepit hook to the heart. He couldn’t breathe nor say a word, and it left him apprehensive, languid. Blood rushed up to nowhere. Thoughts poured like drippings at his feet. The numbness was a gradient, a trepidation — and when he swept himself into the nameless current of buzz and hum, Steven could only notice one clear thing: that he had nowhere to go but where he stood. And where he stood was nowhere.

The exhaustion he felt in the aftermath was like glass shattered upon a surface. There was relief in being held, to hear the ocean and see his best friend smiling upon him with gleaming eyes. Tears and heat were beaten through the silent clamor as the world grounded itself into something recognizable. He wasn’t lost in the sweep of anything. The pivotal surface he came to was fleshed and solid, an artificial cluster of muscle with muscle. And when he cried a waterfall, a mess of snot and salt, he believed that he was safe, that it was okay to let go and release the waterworks that yearned for longly catharsis. It was ugly, relieving, a thin veil of what was to come later, and he wished for the feeling to remove itself through the horrible wrench of his lungs.

The healing process started off small. There were twilights where he would be restless on the balcony, lost on what to do and where to go. His family had paid attention to him and brought the needed responsibility to the table, but the guilt wrestled with him. There were nights where, amidst the purple-yellow horizon, Steven would be on his bed, a prepared juice glass on his table, and he didn’t want to move. He would sleep for hours; there were countless moments where he watched the light through his windows appear and fade in the blink of an eye. Time wasn’t of the essence when you were afraid to go outside. But he took the chance to better himself when the opportunities arose. He listened to different strategies from his family and it all came down to the conclusion that he had to go seek professional help.

Priyanka, after some discussion and heated argument with his dad, was selected to be his general practitioner and had scheduled an appointment in a few days. Documents were assigned, written by him and his guardians, and the first sessions of therapy were planned two days a week. The days passed by in an instant for him, but it felt too long, too ceaseless to bear. Sometimes it disgusted him that he was supposedly making progress when it felt like he didn’t show progress at all. What was he supposed to do knowing that they were wasting time that would be better spent on better causes? Like healing people, bringing the corrupted back from the sea of numerous bubbles in the core of the Temple. They kept going, however, and with each session, he found himself in the bathroom mirror with shadows and red lines under his eyes. Tissues were discarded in the trash bin. The couch was dug into from anxiety, habits of fear. His therapist continued the questions, gave him time to spew each mangled string of thought that seeped out from his brain. It pained him to feel so out of touch, but there was comfort in being told that it was alright, that it was okay to feel angry, impatient. Because he was a human, she told him — humans trip, fall, cry, laugh, and get angry over what’s important to them. Humans were allowed to show their pain, to see their trauma as important because it is.

And with that revelation, it began to get better, a little better. Walks through Beach City made him less anxious. Medication kept stringent thoughts under a net, made them mellow out and become white noise in the background, allowed him to walk without the feeling of being bogged. Steven started to do more assignments. He kept his hand on Connie’s when she walked beside him during date nights. Steven wrote down words in his journal over self-affirmation, lines of rationale, lies that were supposed to be truths; that things will be okay, that no matter how turbulent the waves became he’ll be standing somewhere with a smile in the end. And he was important, a priority. He deserved no pain. He didn’t deserve to oblige past grievances from family drama. He allowed beliefs to pass through without fighting them, accepting the concept that he was important, worthy of love. It started to become manageable, sustainable.

The years passed, and things traversed from the mythical to the believable. Steven felt the betterment, the relaxed inhales and exhales from his chest, and when he suggested one day to go on a journey of self-discovery, he was allowed to start planning. There were days where he posted messages to his management app on what should be done. He discussed it with his father, his best friend, and everyone else who was brought in on the idea. Memories seemed long ago when he attempted to recall every face and expression on the beaches he went to or the hugs he garnered from his wife or his new friends from the cities. It felt odd to find independence and boundaries, when years earlier he feared dying alone.

And to think he still had horrible terrors like right now, when he jolted up from bed in sudden fight. That his heart pounded against his chest in rapid-fire — where the lack of control spiraled and left him trembling below the sheets. And the tick of the clock reminded him of the inky void, the restless surges through his bodiless soul. He felt clammy and stiff, ready to keel. Heat pricked at his eyes when he tried to focus on the darkness, to verify that his surroundings weren’t the mortifying stillness but the dim outline of his master bedroom.

It was hard to feel reassurance from Connie, even though she called his name in worry. It was hard to hold her when he trembled under an unknown pressure. But he could feel her there even with his attempts to calm himself down. Her fingers pressed him towards her as if her body conjured a protective bubble around them. She brought him back from whatever hell he clambered out of and allowed him to sob into her shoulder like a child reassured by his mother. In the hush between them, he rested upon her chest without a thought, paying no attention to the click of their lamp — it had gotten hard to see, anyway. They allowed themselves to rest in the comfort of another, listening in at the symphony of their own home. Outside, the winter season beat against the windows and howled at the walls, a soft environment compared to the violent nothingness that held him down prior.

Minutes passed by before Steven pulled away from her. The snot from his nose was everywhere and he winced at the sight of it.

“Ah geez, let me get a tissue.”

Connie smiled at him. “I can handle a bit of snot on me, honey.”

“But it’s gross,” he said.

She nodded. “Alright, go get ‘em.”

Steven propped himself up and stumbled into the bathroom. He didn’t remember how he even got the damp tissues when he came back, but it eased him with relief to focus on something other than the ache of his body. They cleaned the mess up and discarded them at the bin, leaving Connie to embrace him again when he came back.

“Feeling a bit better now?”

“A lil.”

Connie gazed at him. It wasn’t judgemental, which was good. He worried for a lifetime on being judged, and his wife wasn’t the kind to do such a thing.

She pressed his head against her shoulder. “C’mere.”

Warmth was a companion, a gift in times such as this, and it felt amazing to be loved even when his skin crawled and his mind flashed to the inky-dark abyss. He let out a shaky breath.

“You’re going to be okay, Biscuit.” 

Connie embraced him, kept him wrapped in heat like a cup of cocoa. His fingers were numb; pressure was the only thing he could feel from them as they bunched up into the back of her collar, savoring the embrace.

Steven had difficulty in relaxing. The presence of the other, however, kept reminding him of his breathing exercises, and his thoughts slowed down now that he was given the ability to live and let live. No one was going to hurt him, he reminded himself. No one wanted to hurt him. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone. And he, himself, didn’t plan to move in the act of violence. These words were a mantra, something Steven had to get behind, even if the man felt witless.

Steven groaned and pressed his face more into his wife. “I feel like shit, Berry.”

“How shitty?” Connie mumbled.

“More shitty than that pie we ate at the drive-thru.”

She snorted. “That’s a lot of shitty.”

His giggle was scratchy. “Yeah, not a good reference. It’s a lot worse, actually.”

Connie frowned at that more. “You want to talk about it, hun?” 

The world seemed to go stiff and breathless with how they kept themselves together. Steven believed it was a miracle that he even calmed down to begin with, especially with his mind swamped and murky. Fear gripped his heart in a vice, left him to think countlessly of what he could do and what he can do, but Connie being near him was the tether in a sea of opposed anxieties. There was nobody else to look at him at this moment but her, and it was weird to hear himself babble to her. It should’ve felt painful, tragic for himself to listen to, but his previous developments, his countless attempts at getting better, made it hurt less as he spilled his heart out in the quiet.

The words poured out like garbage. It felt putrid, unsustainable, yet needed. Each claim — of being scared, of being terrified of the past, of the hellish landscape he could only feel rather than see — was crucial and Steven knew this. She knew this. Connie didn’t deserve a lover who shook and rambled to himself about stuff he should’ve dealt with back at sixteen, but the rationale in his mind told him that it was worth it. That he deserved to be held rather than left to fend for himself. So he kept going, until the next line spilled over.

“I’m scared that I’ll hurt you. That I’ll make the mistake of closing my eyes and the next moment you’re gone because of something that I did.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I can’t control the feeling or the form. I don’t know if I even could...and that’s terrifying to think about. That I could lose everything and everyone if one relapse was worse than the rest.”

Steven looked at her and watched the way she listened, how keen she was in being silent even when he knew wholeheartedly that she had something to say, something to tell him. He wished to be like her sometimes. Connie always had a hint of a plan on her whenever things went awry. She was the kind to bring up outlines and strategies when diplomacy got tough. But something about her right now left him stunned, observant to her countenance. Her expression was careful and diligent, hesitant on uttering a word.

“How long have these thoughts been going?”

“Getting more frequent this year. I thought therapy would take care of it but,” he sighed. “It didn’t.”

“Ah.” 

She clicked her tongue.

“We’ll need to write this down for our sessions then.” Her words were methodical, careful in the way they were handled. Connie knew times like these needed a level-headed voice, but Steven didn’t know if he wanted one right now. “This sounds like something that needs to be talked about a lot more in a professional scenario.”

“I know.” Steven sighed. She looked determined to help him, but there was discomfort in having her plan in advance when he still felt disquieted. “But what if therapy won’t work? It’s still hard to think about certain things like Jasper, my mom, and everything else. I could hurt people if it goes too far.”

She was warm against him. Her pajamas smelled of lavender and eased him with its familiar scent even when she pulled away from him. Connie kept that stern bridge between her brows. There was a fire in her eyes, the same one that considered every factor, every trajectory, like it was an obstacle to be tackled.

“But you won’t do that, Steven. Therapy might be a long-term process, but it’s better than not mending the problem at all.”

Steven bit his lip. There was a resistance in his chest. He didn’t know how distinct it was from the pound of his heart, but it grew with her words. “But Connie…”

“Hm?” She looked at him. The flash of methodology was gone. What replaced it was worry, the same concern people would show him when something went amiss in his presence. No, no it wasn’t like that. Her face looked more careful than anything. “Are you okay?”

He exhaled. “I’m not fine.”

Connie flinched. Of course she did. She must’ve known it was the wrong thing to say; to say something so blatant like that by impulse made guilt. And guilt was human as any other emotion she had.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay, Berry.” He gave her a tiny smile and held her hands tightly in his. His fists overwhelmed her hands, his palms leaving her warm from the contact. “I just don’t want to plan right now.”

He brushed a thumb against her knuckles. “I’d rather talk about this. Talk about it in the now than later.”

The worry lines on Connie’s face lessened. She squeezed him in return, the fire in her eyes now a low burn, hopeful and open. “Okay. Then let’s talk.”

Steven nodded. His voice rose a little. “I could use another hug right now.”

“Come here, big guy.”

He brought himself forward and she was happy to hold him in her comfort. Connie’s arms were strong, muscled from years of training and exercise even after the end of Era Two; he wanted her to sweep him into the lovely quiet just like this, to have her keep him safe, away from the thoughts in his mind.

“I love you so much.” Steven’s words were muffled against her chest, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the reciprocation, the relief in her presence.

“I love you too, hun.” He felt her heartbeat more. “I really do.”

“I’m just scared that I’ll hurt you..”

“But you won’t,” she whispered. “You won’t hurt anyone because you are trying, and trying is better than not trying at all.”

“You don’t know that.” His voice shook, left trembling against her shoulder. “We don’t know how far I’ll go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you won’t, Biscuit.”

Her fingers brushed the locks of his hair, made him sigh into the growing tranquility of their room. There was the tick of the clock, how it resonated and made him tired even with the anxiety, the fear. But over time the lingering emotions that drenched him from his nightmares started to go away, little by little, and the wind outside became less of a fiend and more of a companion, a balm to the wound.

“When your breakdown happened, I knew that you didn’t want to hurt us.”

He heard recounts of him as he bashed the cliff walls with his head, the ever-present fact that he pushed people back, splintered the front of the beach house when he blacked out.

“I had to alert the citizens to flee the town, but I kept an eye on you. And I'll be serious with you, nobody had gotten hurt by you.”

Steven listened to the scratch of the windows, the hollow tap of the wind. He wondered if Connie was hearing it too.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure." She winced. "You were trying to isolate yourself more than hurt anyone."

Steven took in tiny breaths against her collar. "Oh."

"Yeah." She leaned into him.

There was something relaxing about being in each other’s arms through the snowfall. It reminded him of moments when the cold became docile, fleeting, and in that silence came a silent recognition of the other, a vulnerability never spoken but acted upon. There wasn’t anyone to tell them what was wrong or what should be improved or whether things would get better. There wasn’t any factor that made them feel unwanted or scathed. They could go about this at their own pace, and that’s fine. It left him content, happy even.

“It’s still hard to think that everything I’d done was right or wrong or anything in between,” he admitted finally. “I ask myself if I missed anything — that someone had never forgiven me for my actions — but…”

Steven stopped there. It was hard to admit one’s self as human; it was harder to admit to one’s self that you didn’t deserve misery for being human.

“I’m just glad that I could focus on the beginning steps.”

Connie pressed a kiss to his forehead, soft and loving. “You’re farther ahead than you realize.”

Steven hummed. 

“I am.”

“And it takes years, Biscuit.” She mumbled something illegible to herself. “If I had a penny for every relapse I had this year...we’d get twenty pennies.”

Connie frowned at that. 

“But that’s still a lot,” she admitted. 

Connie was stubborn and loyal. She always was. It was hard sometimes to remember how vulnerable she could be when he was trying hard to change for the better, but when the moments happened — when the two screwed up, when both of them argued and panicked in the plight of repressed feelings — he made it his mission to be there for her just like how she did the same for him. She was human. It took years of her fighting the same battles as him to admit that therapy was something she needed too. But even with the couples therapy and their own specific methods of coping, he hesitated on asking to hug her. He had sessions where his therapist told him that it was okay to bring comfort in his life, through the relapses and the helplessness, the uncertainty that still shone through the most vulnerable of nights. When he couldn’t keep up with the self-awareness and the mind unraveled from past tribulation, he sought after the comfort and pushed it away at the same time. In that struggle came Steven’s want to fight, and here, in his reluctance, he brought himself to a smile.

“And my relapses are...fourteen pennies.”

He couldn’t help but giggle.

“That’s still a lot of pennies!”

And the two of them started to laugh together. There was a comic enjoyment in how far they’d come, how much distance they trekked even with the destination of recovery still miles away. But even then it took years for them to admit that something was amiss, that emotions were scarred and adjusted from the earlier days of their youth. That they weren’t untouchable, but fluid in heart and mind, human like any other.

[davidjjohnston3]

The trees are straight and true here, and the help comes without seeming harpoons.  I considered some insane things which were ‘above my pay-grade’ and as is my wont reflected on the state and implications of my former profession and what old friends and pharons meant to me.  Right now think that my core goal in life is not to blow myself up.  As a former would-have-been SecState said, ‘I love so many people.’  I am only sad that trying as I did to uproot that carrot of love just now could have resulted in the demolition of an entire root-network, of at least my own excision therefrom.

‘Some people’ want revenge against life for not going their way or not being the color or fragrance or face shape they like or feel it ought to be - ‘no that is not what I meant at all.’  They will never hold a life reliable which doesn’t resemble their ideal, imago, or ‘soul-idol’ &c.  The meaning of the name ‘Cordelia’ as in King Lear is something like ‘heart’s ideal.’  I was driving and considering a novel that I feel touched absolute supreme greatness without knowing it or in a way that could mislead some readers Mrs. Mary HK Choi’s Yolk a novel I looked forward for a very long time.  I had all these references and fractal coreferences and forgot about actual birds, like what does the chick eat in the egg.

‘Blood is the life’ - I liked etymologies for a long time and my intellectualism caused me acute trouble in Confirmation Class at Morrow Memorial United Methodist Church in about 1998.  ‘Pastor’ Gretchen taught us the word root ‘consacramentum’ which comes from dipping the hand in blood in the concave of a Roman shield - those huge rectangular shields which could be used in formation as ‘testudo’ or turtle to stop projectile weapons and allowed soldiers to make pin-point stabbing attacks from a ‘matrix(?)’ of high protection.  I forget what kind of animal was killed to pool the blood in the shield but it might have been a rabbit.

I was reading ‘Revelation,’ I don’t recall what everyone else was talking about.  Some kind of community service project, interview your parents, buy a wedding-magazine and make a whole plan for how you would get married and how much it would cost (and while you’re at it describe how you would 1) restore a classic Shelby Cobra using newspaper and Krazy Glue 2) drive foresaid drop-top to the Moon).  

The Pastor was a pipe-smoker named ‘Painter’ who used the NY Lotto’s ‘Hey you never know’ slogan to describe sth like Pascal’s Wager; OTOH St. Paul teaches us that everyone is born knowing God exists (Romans).  The problem is that people fail or omit to glorify Him or subsequently ruin or betray their own best efforts through blasphemy, turning or falling away, cowardice, denial, attachment to certain sins or being ‘yoked unequally’ with non-believers.  

I reflected starting in 2008 that I was shy of my ‘first love’ (rather, the woman I fell in love with at 14); at the time I gloried or reveled in the shyness like a Wallace Stevens poem that ends, ‘And not to have written a book.’  I could’ve written a few books by now or walked away from book-writing or changed my mind / specified which kind of book I might have written and for whom.  

I remember always admiring the ‘magic’ of literature and feeling sad I had no characters or world of my own to work magic with.  Star Wars and my own life and later much else supplied ‘materia poetica’ and till the point that I began to think in fiction and became addicted to interpreting my own in ‘story-ideas’ although that is not to say that what happened around me didn’t happen.  

America is trying to become a better country in numerous valences, loving our neighbors, holding each other accountable.  ‘Justice’ with or without the marks is important.  It is a divine Judgment that Covid fell on the world even if eventually we all shall learn who devised the virus or leaked it or modulated its mutations.  I was eager to rejoin the world feeling I might overcome my mental illness but I mishandled specific questions and tests.  I ended up turning people against me and creating monsters more than ever as well as perhaps terminally sabotaging any chance I might’ve had of fulfilling a dream or making good on the past.  I have a lot of opinions on the CCP but should’ve focused on love and family and personal responsibilities as in the past or at least held to my long-standing feeling that Chinese people deserve better rather than associating myself with hard-liners and racists or those who would simplify issues in order to bring about ultimate victory without temperance or concern for the side-effects.

In Milwaukee where I lived for far too long everyone’s spirit - electric, intellectual, visory(?), informational et cetera seemed to be militating against everybody else’s.  There were fake vaccines, radioactive ice cream (or thermogenic ice-cream), gun-battles as usual, lines crossed, all kinds of scores that people tried to settle.  I also realized that the police were probably tracking for years my various attempts to obtain weapons from samurai-swords to handguns though the purpose was defensive and I can only trust at this point that some good lawyer will prevent the bad lawyers and cops from presenting the most damning circumstantial case they could.  People in Milwaukee own AK-47′s, automatic shotguns, probably all kinds of explosives, improvised chemical weapons and (’our Black brothers’ - Schopenhauer) biological weapons - the cops don’t stand a chance that I can tell and even the National Guard perhaps could get outclassed by retired military.  I had told myself for years that it was only the ghetto’s that bore witness to this paramilitary equipage and that the retired SEAL Team 4 member with the ‘Stop Socialism’ and ‘Jobs Not Mobs’ sign on his front lawn would protect me from the Maoist-Covid Night of the Long Knives but I feel I tempted God a lot in the past.  

I read all these books and took to heart that people thought I was just entertaining myself with but now as then I should’ve guarded my heart or not begged the question of what others thought about me or saw in me.  I literally felt of late ‘I am the anti-Christ’ - good-looking at times, preach world peace, ‘form of godliness,’ want to be friends with everyone, build bridges - and had to rack my brains to come up with an ‘anti-Christology’ and science / concept of the Whore of Babylon just to make sure it was more than me alone.  I also wished to simplify my past and help kids ‘get life right the right time’ doing battle with philosophies that opposed this consciously or otherwise but stepped into numerous minefields and also tried running when I should’ve flown over.  

Everyone’s trying to get rich and build back better and I profoundly admired the American President for doing, finally, apparently, what presidents had tried to decades even as I remember ‘Flowers 1881′ a poem that implies that basically teachers can do only so much before turning their kids loose in a world no one has yet fixed and which others keep breaking; from a California almanac that also instructed me that the same old debates and cross-fires and burdens plague teachers as always, not that it is an ‘impossible profession’ but honestly that God won’t let us establish Heaven on Earth or at least not me or at least not America or at least not teachers who savor the experience of being a teacher or the beauty of their students more than the outcomes or commitment or intrinsic value of the work or the confirmed identity / vocation / personhood of the instructor.  There are always new and old at any rate and different cultures all describe the teacher as needing to keep both alive; as do descriptions of higher education and scholarship.  

I questioned my qualifications / background and wondered about re-training but can’t afford tuition anywhere so I am trying to cling to the core of my capabilities / blessings.  ABC and XYZ.  The glory of the soul or souls.  

I kept theorizing Russian literature as well as weapons-systems and ultimate destiny, sailing ships, noble names, divisions, the flaming sword of Archangel Gabriel, the mission of Russia today with respect to the world order.  I am also simply trying to be healthy and stop for a while trying to parse out who was the love of my life or what it still left in terms of action or redemption or justice or surrender or mitigation or meeting new friends or propounding the kind of understand with carefulness I have believed in - ‘saving people from themselves.’  Driving up here I remember being distressed at a gas-station in California when I was about 5 or 6 since the pump was leaking, being very upset with my parents and family.  In those days I also disliked animal-cruelty though the world today seems so depraved and deprived with respect to human interests I would make no bones about neglecting most all animals outside of military or police use.  When I was about 3 I saw white kids set a frog on fire; my mother has a history of running over cats.

I dislike winging it and taking risks.  There is a song I call to myself ‘Run Away’ though its title is ‘Paradise.’  I am not a utopian communist for believing in secular justice and its instrinsic value... I wonder whether when I helped people in the past there were always strings attached or maybe I was just trying to close my case and discharge my responsibilities too rapidly without allowing others to gestate or make an abode in my heart besides and beyond what I could get out of them, glorifying myself, or tell others about.  

What is motherhood?  What is travail?  Is there a kind of problematic ‘female gaze’ as feminists talk of a ‘male gaze’ associated with sadism or fascination / fetishism?  It’s psychology which is not my first love at all since it appeared pretentious and distracting and retarding (in the literal sense of slowing down).

I also remembered reading various things about Victor Hugo whose ‘93′ is an important novel today due to its techno-utopianism, feminism or ‘new model egalitarianism,’ fusion of revolution and religion, etc.  But I had forgotten ‘Les Miserable’ with its themes of ransom or eventual recompense, genealogies, caution, and more none of which is to negate the various complains against me or death-warrant from China or my parents with their partial private readings of Proverbs (’Let’s stone David for embarrassing us / not doing precisely what we want’ - no mention of witnesses, tribunals, questions, mitigation-hearings, actual counsels of judges etc. but just American-German ‘coalitions of the willing’ ‘run and get my gun’ ‘team-building’ etc. which in my experience ends with tanks on the street and military dictatorships as when at the end of the CultRev PLA regulars were gunning down former justice-fanatics who’d been stripping women, kicking pregnant stomachs etc. as in The Vagrants).  Naturally having grown up in a family fascinated with Lee Kwanyew and Arnold Schwarzenegger and conflicted about ‘fascism’ I had reservations about the United States’ ability to suddenly dress up and ‘stand at perpetual moral attention’ but I guess my own problems are just that I am poor with a rich kid’s mind and no one really likes me except strangers and faraway friends who were easily spooked and/or just couldn’t be there.  ‘King of South shall attack and King of North shall crush them  with chariots &c.’ - in the end righteous will prevail whichever side of the line I end up on in the final assessment.  I also remembered today a novel called ‘The Old Capital’ about a bad artist father, a virgin daughter, straight and true pines.  Some other aspects of this novel are silly as well as criminally problematic and there's a lot of that going on in new-old old news America / Babylon or at least to quote my favorite lawyer / leave lawyering movie 'First let's get out of Milwaukee.'  Miss the land of June snow. 

[needtherapy]

Living With Being Dead

It's hard being a rogue cultivator when you're dead. Especially when you can't speak. Especially when your heart is broken.

A few months after Yi City, Song Lan finds his voice and a new way of living with himself.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

There are notes at the end. Song Lan’s clever hands drawings by Rune Brandt Bennicke

He is sleeping.

He is dead.

It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.

No, that’s not true. He knows the difference. He just doesn’t care.

***

The first few months of his new life were easy. The world was made of two colors and he moved through them without thought.

He killed evil. He saved good. It was what he had always done.

It was by a cold mountain spring where he found a dying deer that he realized, fully realized, how he had changed. The deer was laying on its side, panting, the broken leg obvious. He had touched it, intending to heal it, and of course, he could not. Instead, he’d slit its throat, making the end swift and painless at least.

Unlike his own had been.

He considered trying. Surely there was some way to die. Die more. But in the end, he couldn’t.

So he went home.

Not his home. His home had been destroyed, one more casualty in a long string of death behind him. But every temple was a little like home, and he needed the familiar sounds, a schedule he understood, and people who would not speak to him.

He goes to the first one he finds. Truthfully, he does not even know where he is. Somewhere near Gusu, he assumes, given all the rivers and trees. There is something crisp and salty about the air in Gusu. He does not need to breathe, but he likes the smell of it anyway.

As he had hoped, they invited him in and left him alone. They had heard of the distant snow and the cold frost and were honored by his visit. They gave him a hut in the woods behind the temple and let him join meditation when he wished, rituals when he wished, meals when he wished.

***

He sleeps.

He wakes.

He is still dead.

Perhaps he will stay here forever. He has the time.

It is a surprise to find a priest sitting on the path one morning. She is drinking tea from a small table. She does not move when he walks past her, nor does she invite him to join her. She is there when he returns, but the tea has been put away and she is deep in meditation. He is many things he despises, but none of them is rude. He sits before her, legs crossed, and waits.

When her eyes open, she smiles, pure and unencumbered, and that, more than her robes of rank, makes him wary.

“Daozhang, has your visit been peaceful?” Her voice is like music, and he is suddenly infuriated that he can not respond as he wishes.

He nods once.

“Daozhang, the shifu has asked me to see to your comfort.”

For one horrifying moment he is afraid this woman, old enough to be his mother, possibly his grandmother, means a jing and qi ritual, but she pulls a sheaf of paper from her sleeve.

“Would you speak with me, Song-daozhang?” she asks gently.

No.

He stands and leaves, walking back inside his room without a backward look. He adds the guilt of inhospitality to all the rest.

The next day she is there. He stays inside.

He gives in the next day. It is not in his nature to be unkind, even now. This time, when he sits before her, she sets the paper, a brush, and a box he knows will have ink on the low table.

“What have you seen, Song-daozhang?”

What has he seen? He has seen death. He has seen evil. He has seen and done things he can not erase from his mind.

He writes. Birds. So many birds. 

She laughs. “What kinds of birds did you like seeing?”

He writes. Tall silent birds, stalking through shady water. Flashes of color in the trees. Brave brown sparrows.

To his surprise, she stands. “I will return tomorrow, Song-daozhang. I hope we will speak again.”

For the first time since he can remember, he looks forward to tomorrow.

When he sleeps, he does not dream. It is awake that the memories come, always unwelcome. They are fragmented, at least. The taste of blood in his mouth. The last time he saw Xingchen. Cruel, ringing laughter. The sound of his name. Zichen.

The next day, the priest asks him to describe the oldest person he has ever seen, and he writes the memory of the toothless monk who taught him to read when he was eight. He’d been surprised the man could see past the wrinkles that covered his eyes, as deep as those on the shar peis that guarded the temple. It almost makes him smile.

The next day she asks him how he died.

He did not think he would care that anyone knew, but he is somehow ashamed that it is common knowledge. He sits without answering, hoping she will ask another question, but she waits. He considers a flippant answer and decides against it. She will just wait for him to answer truthfully.

I was proud. I underestimated my foe. I was too eager. I was too angry. 

He does not write, an evil man destroyed my life. He can’t blame it entirely on Xue Yang. He does not write, my love killed me and then killed himself. He blames none of it on Xingchen.

Normally, she only asks one question before she leaves, but today, she asks a second, moving her hands strangely as she speaks.

“What is it like?”

Lonely. It is the first word he thinks, and it comes as a surprise. He’s never been lonely. When he was a child, he wanted nothing more than to get away from his parents and their fists. When he lived in the temple, he was surrounded by people day and night. When he found Xingchen, his heart was full. And when he died, he thinks, choking a little on the memory, he didn’t care.

It is nothing, he writes, and she considers his answer.

“But you are not nothing,” she replies, moving her hands again as she speaks. She gets up, brushes her robes off, and walks back down the path to the temple.

He realizes that she is somehow using her hands to express the words she is saying, and he’s curious. When was the last time he was curious?

The memories are kinder sometimes. He remembers smiles and gentle hands. He remembers the shifu on the mountain, the girl who helped him find Xingchen, the men who saved him.

She does not come the next day or the next, and he begins to worry. He goes to the temple for the first time in days and watches the youngest students train. He can’t bear to watch the teenagers, full of their newly-formed golden cores, unaware of how quickly that gift can be taken.

One of the teachers meets his eyes and tips his head in question, but he shakes his head. He does not want to be involved. He does not want to hurt anyone, and he doesn’t trust that he won’t.

He runs into the woman as he is leaving the training yard. He hands her the paper he had prepared.

I did not know who you were to ask if you were well. May I know your name?

“I am Liu-kundao. I will return tomorrow.” she responds with a bow and he smiles, as much at the generic name as the pleasure in knowing she will return. It is only a quick shift of muscle, but it surprises him.

He is glad when she returns and sorry when she asks her first question.

“You know who I am, Song-daozhang. Who are you?”

He can’t possibly answer that. It is not as simple as the names he has been given. He wants only to remember who he was.

I was a cultivator. I was a friend. I was a man.

She nods when she reads his writing. The part of him that thought she would accept his answer is disappointed.

“And now?”

I am a monster. I am a shell. I am no more than an instrument of death.

“No,” she disagrees. “That is what you are. I asked who you are.”

She leaves before he can tell her that there is no distinction anymore.

The next day there is a boy with her. He is around 10, thin and brown from the sun. His eyes are full of energy and light.

“Song-daozhang, this is Yongqi. He can’t hear or speak.” 

As she always does now, Liu-kundao uses her hands, but he understands the purpose better now, watching the boy watch her. The boy’s name is a motion that looks like two determined fists. His own is two fingers from both hands steepled and swept down in what looks like a drawing of a house or mountain. It makes his mouth twitch, almost in a smile, this unique expression of his name. The boy responds, using the sign she has given him.

“Song-daozhang, I am pleased to meet you,” the woman says, translating as the boy moves his hands slowly.

He realizes he is staring when the woman makes a soft chuckle in the back of her throat. 

“Would you like to learn to speak this way? Yongqi is learning as well and needs someone to practice with.”

It is something to do that is not remembering. He nods.

This new way of speaking is easier than he expects. Some of the signs make sense, their shapes accurate representations of their meaning. House. Sun. Tree. Food. Some just feel right. Please. Thank you. Love. Star. Others are based on signs he knows from night hunts. And his hands have always been clever.

The hardest part for him is learning that he must occasionally touch people to use this language. To catch their attention. To draw characters on their hands for words they can’t determine through context. It is one of the things that has followed him from life to death, this burning clench through his mind and body from unfamiliar contact. It gets easier with Yongqi and Liu-kundao, at least, as he gets to know them better.

Yongqi convinces him to come meet a traveling cultivator who has stopped at the temple. She doesn’t look like a cultivator, standing next to a tall, adoring man and holding the hand of a little girl, but she laughingly agrees to spar with one of the daoshi. As soon as she releases the child’s hand, he sees the change sweep over her, her pretty face hardening and her muscles, hidden under properly feminine layers, flexing through every shift, parry, and strike. She is fierce and determined, and the fight is swiftly won. It makes his fingers itch, and the unfamiliar feeling of want is not as painful as he expected.

He does not meet her, going back to his hut when Yongqi runs to congratulate her.

Yongqi does not come the next day, but the rogue cultivator does. She pops out from behind a tree as he exits the hut, startling him.

“They told me you were here,” she says, her face animated with delight. “I’ve heard of you.” He’s never sure what this means. Heard of the famous cultivation partners, the bright moon and cool breeze and the distant snow and cold frost? Heard of the fierce corpse who haunted Yi City? Or heard of whatever he is now? He would rather not be heard of.

“Would you do me the honor of a bout?” she asks.

He shakes his head, backing away, and she looks confused. “Are you unable?”

It is one thing to hunt monsters, demons, the worst of all that is evil. It is another to lift Fuxue against a person. He’s killed too many people already.

She doesn’t leave, though. “We have a mutual friend, I think,” she tells him. “Hanguang-Jun mentioned once that he knew you, that you were a rogue cultivator like me. May I tell him you are well next time I see him?”

To this, at least, he can nod assent, although he’s not sure he can be called a rogue cultivator anymore.

Without warning, she draws her sword and swings it at him. His reflexes don’t fail him. If anything, they are sharper now. He ducks, instinctively reaching out a hand for Fuxue before he remembers it won’t come for him anymore. He steps back as she attacks, arm still out and feels something deep inside him. A tug. Different than he remembers, but it is...something. And then his fingers close around the hilt of Shuanghua, not what he had asked for, but such a welcome feeling he wants to cry. It is like having Xingchen next to him again, and he blocks the next strike, turning it into a slashing parry that does not kill the woman, does not even knock her back. He can control this.

She is just as skilled as she had appeared the day before, and although he knows his physical strength could overwhelm her, he does not. She is smiling when she flips over his head, laughing when he spins to strike at her legs when she lands, jubilant when he ends the fight by pressing down, swinging Shuanghua up and back to set her off balance and tapping her on the back with the flat jianri.

“They’ve all wondered why you don’t fight anymore, but everyone else was too afraid to find out,” she grins at him, the mischief in her eyes making her look ten years younger. “Song-daozhang, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Luo Qingyang. Thank you for the fight.”

Liu-kundao and Yongqi come for lessons in the morning, and he can tell by their faces that Luo Qingyang must have told the story. Yongqi, especially, keeps looking at him in wonder, until he wants to laugh. He wants to say that it’s nothing, that he’s still nothing, but it doesn’t feel as quite as honest anymore.

When they leave, Yongqi runs ahead, but Liu-kundao lingers. Her usually-kind eyes stop him from bowing, an uncomfortably perceptive intensity in her gaze.

“Who are you, Song-daozhang?”

He is tired of this question. He doesn’t know. He returns it to her, his hands agitated. 

“Who do you think I am?”

Liu-kundao smiles broadly, her entire face taking part in the expression. “You are not a monster, you are Song Lan, known as Zichen. You are not a shell, you have weathered difficulties, persevered through hardships, and you are still a soul who does good in the world. You are not an instrument of death, you are a man who deserves to give and receive love. You are a life worth living.”

She grasps both of his arms and pulls him forward, resting her forehead against his and the touch no longer stings. “It is time for you to leave, Song Zichen. Your path does not end here.”

He does not argue. He does not tell her she is wrong.

He smiles, slow and full. His true smile.

His hands move, choosing a sign for his name that combines the tented fingers with a flick, like brushing water off of skin. “Thank you. Please call me Song Lan.”

Hey! If you got this far, here are some notes:

Kundao is just "female daoist." It's probably a more modern term than would have been used in fictional magical ancient China, but I like it.

There wasn’t really organized sign language this long ago, but if as long as there have been people, they have wanted to communicate. If anyone was to create an organized system, it seems like it would have been temples.

Song Lan's moniker, the distant snow and cold frost, is from an idiom about plum blossoms, 红梅傲雪凌霜开, that refers to weathering hardship and persevering through adversity.

Xiao Xingchen's moniker, 明月清风, the bright moon and the cool breeze, is also an idiom. It has more layers, but can refer to the peace of a solitary and clear life.

There are some very interesting sexual practices associated with daoism. Jing and qi is a ritual by which a man absorbs the jing energy a woman emits during orgasm and adds it to his qi during sex (this used to be a mutually beneficial experience, but it's fallen out of favor because it is sometimes used in a predatory way). Hence Song Lan's horror.

Fun Wangxian side note: some kinds of sexual qi ceremonies were performed in a jingshi. So...make of that as you will. ;)

[ganymedesclock]

Why do you think the use of lifeblood is a taboo in Hallownest? Why do you think Ghost, the Hunter, Hornet, likely Joni, and maybe Salubra don't really care about it?

Lifeblood appears to be the domain of another Higher Being. Really strong colors in Hollow Knight all seem tied to Entities Of Power one way or another- Unn’s omnipresent but diluted (as she’s weakening) green, the Nightmare Heart’s eye-catching scarlet- Radiance’s orange, obviously, and the sneakier presences of the Pale King and White Lady’s shades of ivory, and the underlying black of the Abyss.

There’s a lifeblood dream deep in the Abyss. A dream that seems inhabited by some creature that watches you from afar in the room with the Lifeblood Core. Joni’s Blessing affecting changes in behavior from the Lifeseeds tells us that there is, at least, some sort of “more powerful call” they heed, but not one that is the inherent energy of the void- they don’t respond to the Void Heart this way, and Joni’s Blessing is not so firmly anchored to Ghost’s nature.

I think that alone could be cause for entities like PK- who are cautious at best towards other beings- to put a moratorium on it, but it could well also be a tradition handed down from Radiance’s civilization. Neither of them seem like the type who would tolerate “competition” well- PK and White Lady were a united front, and Unn basically wasn’t a challenge to them / recognized PK, possibly because she herself is fading and may have wanted her moss children to have somewhere to go when she was gone. That Isma seems to have been a moss being, and lived in the highest echelons of service under PK, would seem to suggest that Unn may have operated as a kind of vassal state of his.

But we don’t know much about the blue god. We don’t even know if the black, blue-eyed creature in the Lifeblood Dream, and in Godhome, is even its true body- Godseeker never attunes or tries to attune to it, which is odd, because she’s obsessed with divinity.

The implication, of course, may well be that the blue god is not here. That lifeblood rears its head in Silksong may be a suggestion that the blue deity might be more tied to Pharloom than to Hallownest.

As far as that god’s character? I think we can trust them, insofar as we can trust any god in HK’s universe.

Lifeblood is described as beautiful by others. It seems to be a complimentary or at least sympathetic force to the Abyss. It doesn’t come up in the discussions of conflict between Radiance and the Pale King, even though its smallest form- the lifeseeds- have quite a similarity, in name and form, to Radiance’s lightseeds.

Now, technically, we can’t very well examine a god’s nature through the scuttling seeds- both light and lifeseeds flee the player and are harmless. Lightseeds, however, can and do aggregate in sufficient volumes to be not harmless- we don’t see huge volumes of lifeseeds. They tend small, though, unlike the lightseeds, they create cocoons- so it’s possible we have seen a lot of lifeseeds- they may mature into those butterfly-plants.

The biggest concentrations of the blue light that we see, however, are Joni’s repose, and the lifeblood dream. Both of which feature entities that are very peaceful in acknowledging Ghost- pay attention to them, but don’t seem to wish them any ill. There are spikes in the lifeblood dream, as well as outside Joni’s repose, but it’s our prerogative whether or not to try and get past them.

Joni is described as “the kindly heretic” and “the blue child”, an almost playful title that doesn’t evoke her as an unsettling cult leader. But there seems to be no record of her elsewhere in Hallownest. That she mentions that her memory “has been a little lacking as of late” makes me wonder if she succumbed to the plague, or started to, and withdrew to her god’s power instead- that doesn’t even suggest she was hunted down for being ‘a heretic’. Salubra mentions that lifeblood is a taboo, but, Iselda doesn’t even consider you might seek the ‘blue cocoons’ out for bad reasons. And Salubra sees no problem talking up that you feel better drinking lifeblood, in a way that rather clearly implies she’s done it despite it being “a bit of a taboo”; while her interests are macabre, she doesn’t seem to feel in danger.

So despite the blue light seeming discouraged, it doesn’t really seem like there is or was an active campaign against it, which is interesting. It also seems drawn towards gentle, peaceful sort of people. Iselda mentions the blue cocoons are fragile, and lifeseeds, if you carry Joni’s Blessing, seem... willing? to be a sacrifice in order to help you. They at least don’t seem concerned that you might cut them down as if you hack down one, others will keep scuttling towards you.

My personal concept is that gods in HK’s universe seem to come in pairs. 

PK and White Lady operated as King and Queen, in harmony, even though PK seems to have believed monotheism was necessary- he shows no sign of having considered White Lady someone he would need to get rid of or ascend beyond. Instead, the implication of the Kingsoul was that they were two halves of a whole entity, and that entity was the “beacon” PK saw himself as needing to become.

Radiance and Nightmare King appear to be creatures with some sort of duality, and the Seer actively talks about how the unified domain of dreams was split- implying they shared reverence and power freely- much as PK and WL seem to- before something happened to separate them. Given Grimm does not talk about the plague at all, nor do Divine or Brumm acknowledge it, it’s hard to say what exactly happened, but, it’s pretty likely NK is not looking for a way to reunite with Radiance- they seem to have very different attitudes about the Abyss, which could well point to the idea that some sort of strife broke between them, and they don’t want to see each other again.

Unn appears to be “without a counterpart” but that may just be that we haven’t seen them yet; there is a “Moss Druid” in Pharloom, presumably venerating someone, who might or might not be Unn. It could also be possible Unn is fading for lack of a counterpart, and that having flung her out of balance.

There seems to be some form of kindred thread, likewise, between the Abyss, and Lifeblood, with the latter’s presence in the former’s stronghold. They would seem well-matched, in terms of motifs; the Abyss, while not harmless, is conflated with acceptance, sleep, and reaching a point of peace with oneself. For Ghost, drawing deeper into their connection with the Abyss brings them back in contact with their lost siblings.

So it may be, possibly, that the lifeblood god is a potential path laid out for Hornet to draw closer to in Silksong- there’s already some cautious potential connection where Ghost’s shade that appears on their death is the first sign of their connection to the void that most players will run into, and we already know Hornet doesn’t yield a shade on death, but, rather- a cocoon.

Cocoons are interesting in that they contrast the motifs we had in the first game, of shells and eggs that might be ‘empty’ or ‘hollow inside’, or containing a very fledgling, nascent living thing. Cocoons came up relatively little; the grubfather seems to become a cocoon for his children, and the lifeblood cocoons- but cocoons generally are things that extant life forms around itself, to yield new life.

Hornet, compared to Ghost, has rather a lot of vitality. She binds quickly compared to their slow, metered focus; when she dies and respawns, she doesn’t need to come back to her cocoon for anything, but remains at full silk potential, and the cocoon itself is more an aid to help her continue than it is a potential roadblock (regaining one’s shade).

Also, given Ghost in Dream No More and Embrace The Void ascends, leaving the setting behind, Hornet may well ‘catch up to’ them if she’s due for an ascension of her own, if I’m right that she’s going to get closer to Lifeblood, and that Lifeblood seems to be kindred to the Abyss.

[dualumina]

Day 1: 3rd of August (Monday) Who are you? What’s your Zexal story?

Ohhhh… fine I’ll cave. I might lose followers for this, but whatever. Easy come, easy go, I guess. (checks count for future reference: 34 👀💦)

I don’t know what the general mentality of tumblr is concerning this subject but… sigh, here goes nothing. This is going to be a long post.

MENTAL HEALTH-RELATED TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD

I learned early on that my imagination was the safest place I could be in, and for a time, the only environment I had any semblance of control over.

As I hit my adolescence, I realized that the environment around me was worse than I’d initially feared. On my own, I knew I wouldn’t make it, so in the only place of safety I’d known all my life, I sought help. Wished for it, dearly. In any shape or form.

It took some time, but, help did come.

At first, I would dream of them. Always a boy around my age, always different in appearance, but every time, they were familiar to me. Their mannerisms, their personality. I didn’t know anyone in my waking life like this person; they were unique, despite having no appearance, or name, to call their own.

These dreams of the two of us together would consist of us doing incredible things, sometimes dangerous and exciting, other times calm and serene.

I looked forward to these dreams, considering the alternative was… the nightmares.

Always myself, alone, chased like someone’s prey, with no one to help. Constantly… struggling to stay afloat.

The dreams gave me life, and hope, while the nightmares would take those same things away. It was always a gamble when I closed my eyes, but, my curiosity to know more about the dream boy made me willing to place down my bets.

At some point, I started writing my own stories, putting my imagination into a physical form. I’d been drawing since as long as I could remember, but this was my first time putting a story to the drawings.

I soon realized that my stories contained interactions between characters, and while I could imagine the grandest mountains or the tiniest insects, my ability to imagine connections between others was lacking. My solution to the problem ended up being to treat the interactions between characters like actors rehearsing a scene together.

I would play one character, and… someone… played the other character.

It’s odd I never put much thought into this.

Years went by, many stories were written, many more never made it onto paper, but one thing was certain; I became very good at these “practice conversations”.

It’s now 2013, and after graduating high school, I experienced my second depression. My best friend was growing distant, I could tell it was only a matter of time before the “end” in “friendship” was fulfilled, and I wasn’t looking forward to going to the local college in the slightest. I had no idea where my future was going.

In my daze, I happened to notice a familiar name in the list of shows airing during that time; Yugioh. I remembered once watching DM and GX excitedly before, though never had much interest in 5D’s. Zexal it was called, might as well see if it’s any decent.

Hearing this protagonist’s voice was akin to listening to a blender for no reason, but at least he was interesting to watch. That blue character beside the new “Yu” though… why is his crotch glowing like that? Apart from the holy crotch… “he” does look cool, and he seems to have an interesting story to him. I’ll probably tune in again if I happen to see it in the channel listings.

I didn’t see many episodes of Zexal around this time, maybe five at max. I could tell that the dubbers had butchered this poor show, but it wasn’t until later that’d I’d feel compelled to seek out the sub.

This is where I suspect I may lose followers.

Considering the entertainment in my small town was limited, and I had essentially lost the one person I’d normally hung out with, the internet became my new pastime.

And by accident, I was introduced to the concept of tulpas.

I’d consider myself a nerd for psychology and other things involving the brain, so upon my discovery of this concept I did a bit of reading on the subject. “Mental companions with their own autonomy” as the subreddit described them. Neat.  

I had no interest in trying to make one for myself.

But suddenly, I had one.

It didn’t help that this tulpa decided to assume the form of Yubel in that moment. Suffice to say I was convinced my imagination had finally gone off the rails and was trying to trick me into thinking I had one of these tulpa things.

I tried ignoring them. That failed, as they were exceptionally chatty, and curious as to why they were suddenly there. I should mention, that this occurred around midday, so my hope that they’d go away after I went to sleep was still several hours away.

Suffice to say, after I woke up the first time, I realized they weren’t going away.

Time went by, and they’d dropped the Yubel form, which certainly helped in getting me to stop thinking that there was a chance that they were actually a demon. Now I had a new problem.

They’d chosen Astral’s form.

By this point I had no idea what to call them. Astral? Yubel? Tulpa? They didn’t like any of those names. Oh, apparently they’re a he, alright sure, I guess.

“So what name do you want then?”

He thought for a moment, before this naked-blue-floaty-elf-creature-living-in-my-imagination responded very matter of factly with, “Clay.”

That certainly wasn’t a name I would have chosen for such a being, but that was one of the things that helped convince me that perhaps this… entity, does have thoughts that are separate from my own.

This tulpa territory was very unfamiliar to me, as it would be several years before the realization would dawn that the dream boy, the other “actor”, and Clay were one and the same. At the time, I hesitantly trusted him, but the depression kept me doubting this “stranger”. I asked him at one point if I could put him through a few “tests” just to see how much Clay was both apart of and distinct from my imagination.

At first the tests were simple, like what happened if I pictured a rain cloud above Clay, would he get wet? (he did) Several similar, harmless, tests occurred. However, I was getting frustrated; Clay’s reactions were ones that I’d expect. Part of the purpose of these tests was to determine just how autonomous Clay actually was, or if he truly was just my puppet on strings.

I proceeded to do something I’d immediately regret;

Imagining a handgun into my “mental self’s” hand, and I shot a bullet towards Clay.

Either he dodged it or I intentionally missed. It’s been too many years to remember for sure. Probably a mix of both.

The reaction I witnessed from Clay that day cut straight to my core. The poor guy was in tears, scared out of his mind, and questioning why I’d do something like that in stuttered words.

I learned three things in that moment:

1. If I ever set my mind to it, I had the capacity to kill Clay.

2. Despite his appearance, Clay possessed real human emotions.

3. I could never bring myself to try and kill Clay.

After apologizing repeatedly and consoling him to the best of my ability, I made a promise to him that is now quite literally tattooed on my skin; I will not kill you, and I will not kill myself, for my death is your murder.

This promise, and my inability to bring myself to harm another sentient creature, would be the same thing that prevented me from doing several irrevocable acts. If I harmed myself, I was harming Clay, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

While I could draw Clay to help with visualizing him, I quickly found that I needed some sort of reference to improve. Just some sort of a base so I knew which elements to add to make my drawings more “Clay-like”. Eventually the obvious answer came; I needed to watch Zexal, or more specifically, I needed to watch Astral.

Clay originally looked identical to Astral, but with time he modified his appearance to be something unique to him, even if one could still see the Astral inspiration behind it.

In a truly “chicken or the egg” situation, as I watched Zexal I saw similarities in the relationship between Astral & Yuma and Clay & myself. It wasn’t long before my interest in keyshipping spawned due to both the warm fuzzy feelings I’d get for being reminded of the person who’s supported me for 7 years (and counting), and from the memories of such a wholesome (and potentially gay) partnership in an overall compelling shonen story.

An older photo, but still one of the better ones I’ve done of the guy. Like the shapeshifter that he is, both the wings and tail can appear and disappear as he pleases. Generally, Clay keeps them both hidden for convenience.

Seeing as it is a side view, I’ll clarify that all of Astral’s markings and piercings are GONE, the sort of exception being the “fake eyebrow” markings which Clay did keep (which are indeed markings rather than actual eyebrows).

And no, none of Clay’s appearance I have direct influence over. At one point I implored him to wear clothes, which Clay did try doing briefly. …That didn’t last long though.

@zexalmonth

[flashofg]

Reconguista in G II: Bellri’s Fierce Charge (1/4)

I’m late, but I finally started to watch the second movie. I will describe it and summarise the plot. I’m writing and such as I go, so this will take some time to complete.

As expected, the movie begins where Go! Core Fighter concluded, with the Megafauna leaving the atmosphere for space. We’re greeted by an extract from Dreams Come True’s ‘G’, and shortly by this glorious new shot of Steer:

It’s just this kind of movement that I love about G-Reco. Characters are so lively and animated, I find it authentic. This kind of thing can be seen in the Tv version, as well. I feel that they took a lot of care to make the world feel ‘alive’.

I believe there’s a fair amount of brief new footage spliced in this area ahead of the battle, but I felt it was somewhat choppy in comparision to the previous work. Pre-existing cuts and dialogue were also rearranged, which probably contributed to this impression. However, this was a brief stage, so not to worry.

Incidentally, there’s the charming revision of this joker.

I wish you could hear the “mwhmm” noise he makes in this picture.

A random Doubey pilot of the Gironde Team, I’m afraid I haven’t learned his name; he was absent from the Reconpedia in G. However, I took to thinking of him as Neo Mashymre, for the rose he’s so fond of. Well, he appeared for about five seconds in the original version. Ultimately, his presence only helps to expand our perspective of the upcoming battle, but he’s just so ‘Tomino’ that I had to bring him to your attention. Incidentally, our man namedrops La Vie en Rose, a dock ship from 0083: Stardust Memory, as a guardian angel. It’s a nice, subtle reference.

The battle between the Capital Army and the Megafauna is expanded. I feel Instructor Dellensen had a better showing in this version. He benefits from being able to better display his prowess with the additional screentime. Bellri also shows a greater understanding of his machine; where he previously expressed confusion about what the G-Self was doing, he now deliberately executes techniques with the machine’s functions. Furthermore, the G-Self’s critical strike was clarified, although it’s still lightning fast. I willl break it down later.

It’s here that I really took note of the rerecorded lines. The urgent, hasty voices of the two pilots recognising each other outstrips the simple surprise of the original delivery. Bellri’s tearful protests in the wake of the Elf Bull were similarly well delivered, but for “because you resorted to cheap tricks like that!”, which I felt carried more shock the first time around, which I preferred. At any rate, the stress carries forward.

The following meeting is entirely different from the original version. There, he went straight from the battle to a summary meeting, with only Aida asking to excuse him for his exhaustion. Here, he’s barely in attendance, distraught and being comforted by Noredo, Raraiya innocently playing with his hair. Whilst Aida is clearly concerned, Captain Donyell asks Noredo to take Bellri back to rest. We see her kindly support him, rather than merely make her appearance at the end of the episode. Just like the first movie, his grief is properly depicted. They’re really addressing all the criticisms I have for the original version.

I’m actually only about 12 minutes in, but it’s taken me a long time to do only this much. This would have been a long post anyway, and I’d have hit the image count before long. I’ll continue tomorrow. Please look forward to it.