#Sandstorm Verse

[cagedcats]

ThunderClan’s Power couple-

Aka my updated Firestar design, and finally a Sandstorm design (and yeah I’m a fan of Sandstorm being bigger then Firestar, sue me).

Squirrel and Lead both inherited Fire’s shortness so rip to them.

Been trying to remake the family tree to have Sandstorm connected to Bluestar. One idea making Redtail the younger half-brother to Blue. But it isn’t really working out cause whoops, if Willowtail is also a sibling then her and Whitestorm are half-aunt and nephew.

If I don’t do Willowtail following over as a sibling I still get an issue with Lionblaze and Cinderheart which is still a rip tbh.

The other option was making Stonefur her dad, but then I’d have to either A) give a little bit of brown into the design, or just make her a light brown tabby. And I don’t want either tbh. And also I still run into the same issue mentioned above.

If I don’t make them kin to Bluestar, I’ll probably still have them related to Dappletail. Just to explain the multiple litter thing she mentioned before Y’know.

[sarositara]

You drifted away from me like the sand in my hand and I don't know how to hold on, i don't know if there's anything I should have done to make you stay, and I let you slip away, the tighter you hold, the faster they slip away.. I don't want that either. Obviously the sand doesn't know right, the sand is completely unaffected by this...you have no idea how much you mean to me... Now that you're gone, it's me  and my empty hand with your imprints so hard to erase, reminding me the warm I felt once... How will I gonna forget that warmth? How will I not crave for it in my coldest days.. how will I forget the home it made me feel? How it made any sense when It slip away while tasting the same saltiness of my tears.

- Sitara 🖤🍷🥀🍄🍂

[rangers-are-cool-moved]

"Want to see 'ji-san!"

Ami hid a small smile at the tired but still excited words, not that she was completely surprised. She was escorting the Konoha born little boy to the Hidden Sand as per his mother's death wish. So that he could grow up with his father's family, instead of in Konoha in the orphanage. "There it is. Your Oji-san said he'll be waiting for us in the Kazekage Tower."

The not quite five year old peered in the direction of the entrance to the village and pouted when he couldn't see it anymore. Although he kept having to clear his eyes, due to the sand whipping up around them. He clung to her hand, giving up on keeping his eyes open when the sudden sandstorm became too much.

It wasn't unknown for sandstorms to suddenly and rapidly form in the desert like this. Yet it was still an experience that could be incredibly dangerous for even the most seasoned traveller should they encounter one. She pulled her Hitai-ate off and wrapped it around his head, using the cloth to protect his eyes. A layer of chakra protected him from any debris that could hurt him, before she picked the boy up and took off running.

This wasn't the first time that the silver haired kunoichi had been caught in a sudden sandstorm but never had she been escorting someone at the same time. As she headed in the general direction of the village, Ami sent out chakra pulses to make sure she didn't get lost. It also served another purpose: letting the Sand shinobi know that someone was caught in the storm.

[alice-everafter]

"Stop moving around, herbivore."

The otherwise heavy silence is broken by Leona's deep timber of a voice. Rolling onto your back puts you in line of sight of his bed, where you can see the Savanna prince half covered in sheets you couldn't even afford to breathe on. He's facing away from you, barely moving. If he hadn't just spoken you'd assume he was dead or something.

"I could hear your squirming from half way across campus. Settle down or get out, you're disturbing my sleep."

"...Sorry." Your throat twinges with the faint reminder of how you got to sleep in the dorm room of Leona Kingscholar in the first place.

After being so rudely ejected from your beloved Ramshackle home on such short notice, possible sleeping arrangements were few and far between. Now, you could've taken Ace and Deuce up on their offer, but Jack was... he was Jack. And only Jack could convince you to stay in Savanaclaw. But, then Leona had to come and say no, and then you panicked cause you saw yourself and Grim on the street. And that panic plus the sleep deprivation from finals lead you to perform your own rendition of "Cotton Eye Joe" outside his bedroom out of sheer desperation.

You didn't even get to the second verse before he bodily dragged you inside with a growl that had you accepting death like an unspoken principle.

The room was once again blanketed in a thick silence. Grim, who slept by your feet, didn't even make a peep. Banging those pots around while providing you backing vocals must've taken it out of him. Poor guy. Out of anyone in this room, he's the one you'd feel the most bad for disturbing.

So, with a sigh, you accept your fate and get up from your collection of floor blankets. Your destination being one of the Savanaclaw couches.

You knew your mind, you wouldn't be sleeping for a while. There was just... too much. Azul and his contracts, Jade and Floyd and their sharp teeth, Leona and his eyes. The ones that once looked at you like you were vermin to crush through the haze of a raging sandstorm. While Ruggie batted and kicked and cried for breath. And you swore his eyes had glazed over as he fell limp and━

"Hey."

You stop, both bodily and mentally, as his voice once again breaks the silence. There's a cold sweat you didn't notice gathering on your back. You turn to find him staring at you with those same green eyes. You can't tell if he's searching for something in you or debating heavily with himself. But, whatever it is, it isn't for long before he seems to come to a conclusion with a rumbling sigh.

"Come here."

What. "What."

"You heard me, come here."

To say you were conflicted would be the understatement of the century. You had just been spiraling not even 30 seconds ago and now the object of your trauma was beckoning you closer like the parent to your distressed child.

"I don't have all day, herbivore. You coming or not?"

"...It's night."

"..."

"..."

"Just get over here before I change my mind."

"Right."

He heaves another grumbling sigh as you shuffle across the room. Stood next to his bed gives you a view reminiscent of that time in the greenhouse. Him, splayed across his bed, hair cascading over his pillows. While you're stock still and more than a bit puzzled and kind of scared. Even though you're looking down on him, you don't feel like you have the advantage that you should. He looks almost too calm, too relaxed. Like he's assured of a victory yet to come.

That thought sends a chill up your spine, reminding you of the sweat that persists on your back.

"Well?" He raises a brow expectantly.

You blink, "well, what?"

"Are you laying down or what?"

"...Am I laying down or what?"

"Need me to spell it out for you? Or should I help you into bed?"

"Not necessary."

You don't know what possesses you━whether it's self preservation or annoyance or curiosity or just straight madness━but you get in. You pull back those luxurious sheets and slide beneath them where you're immediately accosted by warmth. Heat seems to be radiating from him like a fire.

The revelation is... not an unpleasant one.

You realize he's still staring at you. But, not intently, not like he's trying to pry a secret from you. Leona never looks at anyone like he means to take their person apart. He simply observes and acknowledges, anyone and anything.

"Think you can finally go to bed and stop flopping around like a dead fish?"

"...Haven't I dealt with enough fish today? And now you bring them up in Savanaclaw of all places. Is no where safe?"

You're surprised when his brows pinch in amusement and a short but gruff chuckle leaves his lips.

"My bad then, for touching on such a tender topic."

"Yeah, your bad indeed."

No one says anything else afterward and he seems to take that as an invitation to turn onto his back. Letting out a deep breath through his nose while nestling an arm behind his head, eyes sliding shut.

Somewhere between you climbing into his bed and him settling down to sleep, the sweat has cooled off your skin. Not to mention the sudden heaviness dragging at your eyelids. Seems that you would be able to sleep some after all.

You turn away and towards the open balcony, towards the spot where you had once laid and Grim continues to snooze. The moon lights up the room, and though it's not the sun, it still feels just as warm somehow.

Speaking of warm, there's a heater pressed to your back. Scratch that, Leona is pressed to your back. And that's his arm, sliding over your hip and resting draped over your side.

It feels like the world hiccups when you feel his next breath puff against your hair. But, surprisingly enough, you're not shaking in your metaphorical boots. Just... very confused, once again.

"...Is this supposed to be punishment for 'Cotton Eye Joe?'"

He says nothing at first, and you begin to fear for your safety before he eventually does.

"Whatever helps put you to bed faster."

That arm over your side moves before you feel his hand settle atop your collarbone. Those same hands that had once brought ruin and pain were now just a small brush away from your neck.

This should terrify you, but it doesn't. Because he's gentle in this moment. His arm isn't an insistent press, it's a steady weight. His hand isn't a branding clasp, it's a soft touch.

There are words left unsaid between you two that his body seems to carry instead. And you drift off with the feeling of his tail draping over your ankles beneath the sheets.

[ilovedagain]

A story of Damian's place in his family, told in verse.

There's a book in a library in Grandfather's castle, with people's illustrations and yellowed pages. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches spanning generations. And down at the bottom is Damian's name. Mother's face and name are there, a beautiful portrait and sprawling calligraphy. But the space for Father's place is empty. He traces his small fingers over the space where Father ought to be and wonders what the reason could be.

"Am I a bastard?" He asks Mother one day, his mouth and mind running as she runs a comb through her hair.

The comb stops. She meets his eyes in the mirror, facing him in the gilded frame. For a moment, it's as if her portrait from that book has come to life. "Why would you say that?"

"My father is never here. And his name is not in the book—the book of our family tree..."

Mother turns and holds his shoulders with careful hands. There is something in her expression that he can't understand.

"Your father is the greatest man," she says. "And you are his precious son. His name is Bruce Wayne and he lives in Gotham. One day, my love, you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows."

That is the day Damian steals the book and hopes. He hides, takes out a quill, and replicates with careful hands his family tree. It is with a child's hope that he draws sprawling leaves and bountiful apples, deep roots, and entwined branches. And in each apple, he writes a name. Ra's al Ghul. Nyssa Raatko. Mara al Ghul. Dusan al Ghul. Talia al Ghul. Bruce Wayne. And Damian al Ghul Wayne.

From then on, Mother regales him with tales of Bruce Wayne. The king who protects his city like a knight, the man whose love for people burned bright. Damian drinks up the stories he hears from Mother like thirsty roots, and he loved and loved. One day, his mother said, he will meet his father and find the same love.

Like a sprout, Damian grows. His feet are grounded, and his heart burns with sunlight. His hands are tough as tree trunks and calloused like them too. He sheds blood and bleeds from his blades. Then, night fades, dawn breaks, and his promised day comes.

He meets his father at Wayne Manor. He is everything Damian hoped he'll be. Except—

Except—

Damian is nothing his father wants him to be.

There is a family in Wayne Manor and Damian's not part of it. They come from different trees, and yet Father treats them like branches from his own pedigree. And Damian—Damian—is the unwanted one.

It doesn't make sense. It's nurture against nature. With every moment Father dotes on his wards, approves of their choices and hands them responsibilities—

but not to Damian, never, no—

Damian's heart rots. A worm finds its way into his heart and scours. He is spoiled skin streched over an eaten core. Yellowed fruit, left out, and nothing more.

And yet, he loves. He loves Father again and again: when he breaks his bones to save them all, when he admonishes Damian because he cares if his heir knows right from wrong, when he writes detailed notes about his wards and never forgets a word, and when he settles his hand on Damian's head in a rare moment—a warm weight, like feeling sunlight for the first time, and Damian leans into it.

Drunk with sunlight, he opens his sketchbook and draws the day Mother said he was ready to meet his father. It was the coldest night in the desert, with blue-tinted sand and red blood pouring from his victims. The sandstorm that shook his bones was nothing compared to the relief vibrating in his body when he heard those words: "Good work, my son. You are ready to meet your father."

There is a page in Damian's sketchbook from when he was young: a forgotten drawing of his family tree. An al Ghul is not one to concede, so Damian takes the page and tries to understand.

He reconstructs the tree with hope it will reconstruct himself. More branches. More apples. More sons and daughters, even if he has to pause because his hand shakes as he draws. Faces drawn in detail and referenced from a family photo he wasn't in.

He gives each portrait a personality. Richard Grayson is penciled in feather-light strokes, hair wind-blown. Jason Todd is inked again and again, lines darker and thicker each time. Timothy Drake is penned in simple lines and logical symmetry. Cassandra Cain is painted with a thin brush, every curve in her lips and line in her shoulders there for a reason. Alfred Pennyworth is drawn with exquisite detail in the finest fountain pen. Martha and Thomas Wayne are brushed to life with oil paint.

Father adopts new wards, Damian adds more and more. He thinks he understands. Father chose them all, but Damian he did not. There are blood ties that flow in veins, and then there are waters that flow in trees. Water may come from rivers, seas, ponds, and rain. Blood, however, is always the same.

Damian looks at the family tree he made. Father's side is vast and flourshing with new fruit. Mother's side is small and old. It looks like it's not getting enough water. Damian resolves to change that. Al Ghuls live in harmony with creatures spanning the globe and time itself. Surely, surely, he can do the same with his father's family.

He loves again and again: when he cuts through the air beside Father; when Grayson is the first to understand Father, and Drake is their first responder; when Todd swaps his bullets for rubber and Father claps his shoulder; when Damian fights with the blunt edge of his katana, and Father observes the cuts in his victims a second longer.

"Not everything is a fight."

Love feels like a fight. He fights love and it fights back. He holds his tongue with barbed wire and shoulders past names like 'Demon child'. He marks down their birthdays on his calendar because they say it matters. Leaves his heirloom daggers in the back of his closet, feels stripped naked even fully clothed, and tells himself it doesn't matter. He loves, and he remembers those words—"you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows"—and he finds his mother's side of the family on a blacklist, and silent stares are trained on him whenever "Ra's" is uttered as a suspect.

"Did he kill again? Whose blood is that?"

He loves again and again. The inside of his heart is flayed and raw, red lines crisscrossing his love. He loves until it consumes his heart, and then he loves again. When Cain is Father's choice for a partner and Damian is an obligation. When Drake is entrusted with a business empire and Damian is watched out of the corner of their eyes when he holds a kitchen knife. When Grayson is away and Father calls him, Damian is always here and Father seldom speaks to him. When Father suggests books for Todd to read and frowns at the men lying dead in a desert in Damian's sketchbook.

"Don't draw these things, Damian. Violence is not to be glorified."

He loves. And he loves. He loves and stays awake nights wondering why his family's love is a forbidden fruit. He deeply yearns but he's not allowed it. He reaches towards it and it reaches opposite. He kills little parts of himself to have it and it can easily live without him.

"Who did he kill this time?"

There is a page in a sketchbook in Damian's closet. With people's illustrations and fraying edges. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches sprouting apples. And down at the bottom, is Damian's name. On his mother's decaying branches. The poisoned apples.

[mickandmusings]

anticipation

pairing: indiana jones x f!reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: indy and y/n, history professors and close friends, are sent out on the hunt for an ancient gold amulet somewhere near cairo. hitting a stroke of luck, they find all the clues leading to the prize inside a cave, making indy's usual grumpy demeanor turn soft. however, as night falls on the desert, the pair find themselves taking shelter from a sandstorm in the cave, where they realize that the real prize was never any artifact.

warnings: fluffy, slight age gap (idk I imagined the reader to be at least like five or six years younger than Indy??) indy's typically gruff attitude (and gooey middle), clumsy reader, author loves history but isn't as well versed in ancient history so bear with inaccuracy

-

"Sweetheart, what the hell're you doing?" Indy's voice resounded through the empty cave both he and Y/N were walking in. Well, were walking in, til his partner stopped and dropped to the floor, her lantern close to the wall.

"Indy, come look, there's markings," Y/N's reply was smart, though she stumbled on a loose rock as she crouched down, nearly toppling over, but gained her balance and smiled at Indy. "I didn't fall that time!"

Indiana huffed out a small chuckle as he walked over to look at her discovery. After the past few years of bringing Y/N along, he'd grown used to her clumsy nature, spending most of his time helping her off of sandy ground or helping her limp along on a twisted ankle from a particularly nasty fall. If it were anyone else, Indy would grumble and leave them behind, but Y/N was the exception to nearly every one of Indiana's rules.

"Smart girl," Indy's voice echoed as his hands lightly brushed against the wall. Y/N felt her face fill with a red blush at Indy's compliment, even if he didn't mean it the way she wanted him to. Y/N's growing crush on her older coworker had started the moment she'd moved into the classroom across the hall from him. She had been intimidated at first, being the only female professor in the history hall. She had expected Dr. Jones to be just as avoidant of her as the others, but he had been the opposite. He had been dapper in his neat suit and bowtie, his studious glasses making him appear approachable. He had smiled and introduced himself, and the rest had been history-literally. The two would wave at each other down the hallway, swap conversation between classes and at lunch, and share books back and forth. Their at-work talks led to Indy inviting her to dinner (as friends, of course) and both of them grading papers in Indy's living room. After a year or so working side by side, Indy quickly realized that Y/N had an appetite for adventure, just like him. He'd invited her on a small dig that summer, and she'd been his right-hand ever since. Their easy friendship had quickly become the talk of the college, by teachers and students alike. Rumors floated through the air, talks of affairs and secret relationships, but none of them were true. Indy and Y/N were nothing more than friends and coworkers, as much as both parties wished they were more.

"Are those the ones you were looking for? The ones from the book?" Y/N's voice cut through Indiana's focus. Indiana's hazel eyes looked into hers, his heart skipping a beat. Her optimistic face warmed his heart. Despite all of the hell the girl had gone through on adventures with him, she still got excited when he brought her along on another.

"Yeah, yeah they are." Indy pulled the aged paper from his pocket, unfolded it and held it against the wall-the two were a perfect match. "We're in the right place, doll, just gotta find that damn amulet."

For the rest of daylight, Y/N and Indy move quickly through the dark cave, most times in tight quarters with one another. Indy is secretly in agony: every brush of her hand against his own, or his front pressed against her back in particularly small spaces sets his skin ablaze, and when her eyes light up at her findings or a narrow escape? Indy all but pulls her in for a heated kiss. The duo makes great time finding the amulet and pulling themselves back out, all limbs intact with minimal cuts and bruises, and Indy is grinning as the jewel shines in Y/N's hand. His shirt is ripped and there's a cut that needs cleaning across his neck, but his demeanor is spirited. He slings an arm around Y/N, making her heart skip a beat.

"Can't believe we made it out of that one, huh, sweetheart?" His voice is laced with a laugh, his other hand holding out the lantern that lights their way out. It's drawing towards sundown, and Indy and Y/N are quickly making their way towards the mouth of the cave they've been in for a number of hours.

"I wouldn't have made it out if it weren't for you, Jones. When I fell through that last trap door, I thought I was done." Y/N sighs when she catches a glimpse of the opening of the cave, ready to curl back into the bed she shared with Indy at Sallah's. Her muscles were aching, and she longed for a shower and a good night's sleep before their journey back home tomorrow. As they got closer to the front of the cave, Y/N's good mood deflated. She peered out the opening from a few feet distance.

"Indy, there's no way we're getting out of here. That sandstorm could take down a building, we won't last ten minutes."

Indiana stands behind her, peering over her head to look out the opening. He, too, sighed and let out a deep exhale, his hazel eyes darting across at the scene.

"Yeah, you're right. We'll have to anchor here 'til it passes."

Y/N sighs, dropping onto the cave floor and plopping against the wall. Indy watches her movements-he could tell she was tired, her body aching.

"You alright, Y/N/N?"

Y/N cuts her eyes up to Indy's, sympathy pooling in his irises.

"M'fine, just tired. Dreaming of a shower and our bed back at Sallah's if I'm honest."

Indy plops down next to her, planting their lantern on the ground in front of them.

"God, me too, sweetheart. Starting to think I'm getting too old for all of this."

Y/N rolls her eyes and lets out a chuckle as she leans her head on Indy's shoulder, feeling much more comfortable with Indiana's protection over her. Silence fell amongst the pair, and Y/N felt her eyes droop. She quickly popped them back open, knowing that she probably shouldn't be sleeping in a cave such as this one. Indy catches her tired actions and pulls her into his arms, making a blush appear on Y/N's face. She looks up at him with a face of slight confusion.

"Sleep, I'll keep watch."

Any other time, Y/N would have protested, arguing that she shouldn't let her guard down, that danger could still lurk in every corner. Today, however, she was too tired to even form a rebuttal, and let her eyes close as Indy's warmth lulled her to sleep. Indy sat leisurely, looking out the mouth of the cave, hoping that the sand storm would quickly dissipate, but his longing was in vain, it only seemed to rage. He, too, found himself dozing off, his mind only comprehending the sound of Y/N's deep breaths. He lifted the hat from his head onto the top of his face to block the light from their lantern, and fell fast asleep.

Neither of the pair woke for several hours, even when the sandstorm had passed, which worried Sallah. He worried his dear friends were stuck in a cave somewhere, or had been captured by their enemies. When he finally stumbled through the opening of the dark cave and saw the sleeping figures of Indy and Y/N, he let out a boisterous laugh that echoed off the walls. It startled both halves of the couple, Y/N jumping in Indy's arms as Indy's arms covered her protectively. Even as the couple registered their friend's presence, Indy's arms never let go of Y/N. He helped her stand and got them both out of the cave, following Sallah back home.

Back at Sallah's, Indy lets Y/N have the first go of the shower, leading to light teasing from Sallah and his wife. Both of them were aware of Indiana's feelings toward his fellow professor, and often poked fun at him because of it. When Y/N returned from her shower to their shared bedroom, hair still wet and dressed in one of Indiana's oversized button-downs, Indiana felt his heart stop. There was no way he could lie leisurely next to her without his feelings rising to the surface. She tossed her towel into a nearby basket, digging through her duffel bag for her hairbrush. As she moved across the room, she could feel Indiana's eyes on her, causing her face to bloom in a deep blush.

"I can feel you watching me, Indy. Is something wrong?"

Indiana shook his head, ditching his dingy hat onto a nearby table as he ran a hand through his hair. His throat felt dry, and Indiana became unnaturally nervous.

"Uh, no, just-shirt looks good on you."

Y/N blushes further, the brush in her hair stopping momentarily. She looks up at Indy, his hazel eyes warm, a small, albeit nervous, smile flashing across his face.

"Thanks. For the compliment, and letting me borrow it," she smiles, glancing over at him again. Her eyes catch the line of red under his chin and she remembers the deep cut he'd sustained. "That cut, on your neck, did you patch it? It's deep, Indy."

"Oh, no, kind of forgot about it."

Y/N shakes her head, grabbing the few first aid items she'd brought along from her bag. She motioned for Indy to sit on the chair in the corner of the room as she came close, looking into his eyes as she began to clean his cut. Indy's hands came to rest on her waist, an action that had Y/N's mind blanking, her hands still as she simply stared down at him. Neither of them said a word, but Indiana stood from his seat, his hands resting on either side of her face. The two hovered in one another's space, Y/N waiting in anticipation.

"Are you gonna kiss me or not, Jones?" Y/N whispered with a sly grin. Indy shook his head and finally connected their lips, melting into a heated kiss. Her hands came to his hair, pulling him closer, as his hands fell dangerously low on her back. Indy pulls away, looking at Y/N with a knowing look. His nose brushes against hers, his lips almost grazing her skin as he speaks.

"Did you offer to patch me up so you could seduce me, Y/N/N?"

Y/N chuckles, chastely kissing his lips.

"Hm, maybe," she smiles a wide smile up at Indy, who lets out a breathy chuckle of his own, pulling her closer by her hips. He places another smothering kiss on her lips, followed by a sly smirk as he speaks.

"Smart girl."

-

[merwgue]

ITS HERE, HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE MY WHOLE NEW ASS COURT AND YOULL READ THE FANFIC, THIS IS JUST A LITTLE HISTORY LESSON AB THEM🥹

The Zephyr Court: A Kingdom of Wind and Spirit

The Origins of the Zephyr Court

The Zephyr Court, known in their native tongue as Mahkamat al-Nasr (محكمة النصر), is one of the oldest and most mysterious courts. Nestled in the Nafas Desert (صحراء النفس), an expansive land where the sands stretch endlessly beneath a sky painted with perpetual twilight, the court was founded over ten millennia ago by the prophetess Al-Nasira. She is revered as both the creator of the court and the mother of its people. Legend has it that Al-Nasira, blessed with powers bestowed by the gods, harnessed the winds and shaped the first oases with her breath.

Under her guidance, the first inhabitants of the desert learned how to live in harmony with the harsh elements. They understood that while the wind could be their greatest adversary, it could also be their strongest ally. The desert gave them life, and in return, they devoted themselves to protecting it. Thus, the Zephyr Court was born—an empire forged from the sand, wind, and unwavering spirit.

The People and Culture of the Zephyr Court

The people of the Zephyr Court are deeply spiritual, bound by their belief in Nasreenism, the worship of Al-Nasira and the elemental forces that govern their world. Their society is built on principles of hospitality, generosity, and respect for nature, particularly the wind, which they view as a manifestation of Al-Nasira’s presence.

Despite living in the desert, they have developed intricate systems of water conservation, agriculture, and architecture that allow their cities to flourish within the arid landscape. Their sprawling capital city, Zahra al-Sahraa (زهرة الصحراء), or the Flower of the Desert, is a stunning marvel of stonework, with tall minarets, domed temples, and lush gardens that seem to defy the dry surroundings. Every street and building is intricately designed to catch the wind, allowing cool breezes to flow through the city. The air is always filled with the sound of the wind, which they believe carries the whispers of their ancestors.

Their culture is rich with music, art, and poetry. The people of the Zephyr Court believe that poetry is a divine language, and it is said that the winds themselves speak in verse. Their poetry often reflects their reverence for nature, love, and the ever-changing cycles of life.

---

Powers of the Zephyr Court

As descendants of Al-Nasira, the people of the Zephyr Court have inherited the ability to commune with and manipulate the winds. However, only a select few possess the full extent of wind control and elemental magic, known as the Ruh al-Nasira (روح الناصرة), or the Spirit of Nasira.

Wind Manipulation: The most powerful members of the court, typically the ruling Sultans or Sultanas, can command the winds at will. They can summon gentle breezes or fierce sandstorms, shaping the desert and protecting their lands from invaders. This power also allows them to move with the wind, traveling swiftly across the sands.

Spirit of the Winds: Those gifted with the Spirit of Nasira can tap into the wisdom of their ancestors, using the wind to communicate with the spirits of the past. These individuals serve as spiritual leaders, often acting as Oracles of Nasira, offering guidance to the court through the voices carried on the wind. It is believed that only the most pure-hearted and devout can hear these whispers.

Stormcallers: While most wind manipulation is gentle, some have the ability to call upon the fiercest storms. These individuals, known as Stormcallers, are both feared and respected, for they hold the power of destruction in their hands. Their role is to protect the court during times of war or crisis.

Healing Winds: The Zephyr Court also has a long tradition of wind healers, who can use the breath of the wind to cure ailments and injuries. It’s said that these healers can channel the wind’s vitality into the bodies of the sick, restoring them to health. The Temple of Winds houses many of these healers, who are sought out from across the realm.

---

Morality and Beliefs

The morality of the Zephyr Court is closely tied to their belief in the sacredness of the wind and their reverence for life. Their laws and ethics are built around these core principles:

1. Harmony with Nature: They believe that they are stewards of the land, meant to protect and honor it. Taking more than one needs, or destroying nature for personal gain, is considered a grievous offense. In the Zephyr Court, every drop of water is precious, and the balance of nature is always maintained.

2. Generosity and Hospitality: It is said that in the Zephyr Court, no door is ever closed to a stranger. Hospitality is considered one of the highest virtues, and refusing aid to someone in need is a serious breach of morality. Guests are treated with the utmost respect, and a shared meal is considered a sacred bond.

3. Strength through Unity: The court’s people believe that they are strongest when united, whether it is in battle, trade, or simply in their daily lives. Tribal divisions, while present, are rarely allowed to cause real strife, as they understand that survival in the harsh desert depends on their collective strength.

4. Warrior’s Honor: While the Zephyr Court is largely peaceful, they are no strangers to war. Their warriors, known as the Fursan al-Riyah (فرسان الرياح), or Knights of the Winds, are bound by a strict code of honor. They fight to defend, never to conquer, and take no joy in bloodshed. A true warrior is one who seeks peace.

5. Freedom of Spirit: The winds are free, and so too should the people be. The Zephyr Court believes strongly in personal freedom—freedom of speech, freedom to love, and freedom to follow one’s own path. Arranged marriages, for instance, are rare, as the court believes that love should flow naturally, like the wind.

---

History of the Zephyr Court

The Zephyr Court has seen its share of glory and hardship. At its peak, it was a center of learning, culture, and trade, with caravans crossing the desert to bring goods from distant lands. Al-Nasira, after founding the court, ruled for 200 years before ascending to the heavens, leaving her descendants to carry on her legacy.

The Golden Era: During the Golden Era of the court, they established themselves as mediators and diplomats between other courts. Their ambassadors were known for their wisdom and patience, often helping to broker peace between warring factions. Their University of Winds became renowned as a center for philosophy, medicine, and the arts.

The Sorrowful Drought: However, their prosperity was not without its challenges. Over 500 years ago, the Zephyr Court experienced the Sorrowful Drought, a 20-year period where no rain fell, and the oases began to dry up. During this time, many of their neighboring courts turned to war and conquest, while the Zephyr Court struggled to survive. This era of hardship is remembered in their culture as a time when the court had to rely on their spiritual strength more than ever.

The War of the Sands: After the drought ended, the court was attacked by a coalition of rival courts, jealous of the Zephyr Court’s recovery and wealth. The War of the Sands was a brutal conflict, but the Zephyr Court ultimately emerged victorious due to their superior knowledge of the desert and the powers of their Stormcallers. This victory solidified their status as one of the most powerful courts in the realm, but the scars of the war still linger in their culture.

---

Festivals and Celebrations

1. Rih al-Tahara (The Wind of Purity): As previously mentioned, this is the most sacred festival of the court. During this week-long event, citizens purify themselves spiritually and physically, offering poems and prayers to the wind. It's also a time for community, where families come together to renew bonds and offer forgiveness for past grievances.

2. Laylat al-Riyah (Night of the Winds): On the longest night of the year, the people gather under the stars to celebrate the Laylat al-Riyah. This is a night of storytelling, where elders share the ancient tales of the court’s founding and its heroes. The wind is believed to be especially active on this night, and many people claim to hear the whispers of long-lost ancestors.

3. Nasira’s Ascension: On this day, the court remembers the ascension of Al-Nasira to the heavens. It is a day of feasting, music, and wind dancing, where the people celebrate the life and legacy of their founder. The festival ends with a grand procession to the Temple of Winds, where offerings of incense and flowers are given to the goddess.

---

[henswilsons]

lafd updates kissing booth scene 😙

hi hi hello !! i was fortunate enough to get featured on an episode of @dispatchpodcast with the simply wonderful @burnthatbridge and had a truly delightful time, cannot recommend enough. i mentioned i had a few deleted scenes from lafd updates 2 and said “hehe maybe i’ll upload them during christmas”, and then as soon as rachel and i hung up i immediately forgot i’d said that so did not in fact upload them on christmas. anyway so better late than never? hope u enjoy hehe

this is lafd updates 2.5: kissing booth. aka will mia ever stop milking this verse (probably not)

Eddie has served two terms in the army. He has fired guns; he has killed people. He left his wife and his newborn son to do a military tour in the Middle East; he has lost countless people on the job.

And yet, somehow, this is his lowest moment: standing behind a kissing booth, wearing an LAFD shirt two sizes too small and a $5 FOR A KISS! badge.

It makes sense, he thinks resignedly to himself as the next woman steps up the booth. This is probably just karmic retribution for all the terrible things he’s done in his life. He’d thought he’d paid it back, by moving himself and Christopher to a new state where they’ve both thrived, taking a job that focuses on saving people instead of milling them down, but apparently not. Just when he thinks the universe has finished taking its turn laughing at him, he falls through another new, impossibly worse trapdoor of shame.  

He just didn’t realise this one would mean potentially contracting Covid or beard burn.

“Hello,” he says, anyway, because he’s nothing if not a diligent protector of state. Also Buck has promised him the mother of all blowjobs if he cracks eight hundred dollars. “What’s your name?”

The latest woman blinks at him, a little owlishly. “Um, Alice,” she says with a blush. “Hi, sorry, I just can’t believe it’s really you. You’re so handsome in person.”

“Ha, really,” Eddie says, as though ninety percent of the tax-paying public willing to spend their daily latte budget on a smooch haven’t said the exact same thing to him. He’s honestly starting to get a little offended on behalf of his station portrait; he didn’t think it was that bad. At least not the point where people are insultingly surprised by his apparent good looks. Maybe it’s the hair? “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alice. I’m Eddie.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m a big fan.”

Eddie reiterates: he posted about traffic and sandstorms. “Well, let’s give you your money’s worth.”

Behind manning a kissing booth, probably one of the more mortifying experiences of Eddie’s life had been discussing the parameters of what constituted a five-dollar kiss with his coworkers and captain. It’s good to know that at least two of his top five most humiliating moments have been solidified within a day; economical, probably, even if it means he needs to go into hiding for at least a week. Chimney had begun the team brief with, “Okay, but do you use tongue?” which was how Eddie knew he was in for a long afternoon. Or, the big banner outside the station with MR LAFD UPDATES MAN KISSING BOOTH INSIDE!! had been an inkling, but he’d been mostly optimistic.

“Like French kissing?” Bobby said.

“No one calls it French kissing anymore, old man,” Buck said. “It’s making out.”

“I,” Eddie said, “am not making out with people. I’m going to get the kissing equivalent of rug burn.”

Chimney had looked concerned. “A peck isn’t worth five dollars.”

“I didn’t tell you to charge five dollars per kiss.”

“Uh, if we want to beat out Station 19 for biggest donation, we’re gonna have to pull out the big guns.” Chimney then gestured at him, as though Eddie was in danger of forgetting that the culmination of the rivalry between the 118 and their biggest rivals rested on his shoulders. And tongue, apparently. He’d been having stress dreams for weeks.

“Yeah, you’re probably gonna have to use tongue,” Ravi said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Everyone in my mentions is talking about it.”

Maybe today would also encapsulate the third worst moment of Eddie’s life. If he played his cards right he might be able to hit all five. “About my tongue?” he said, tiredly. Three months ago, he would have been dismayed. He’s older and wiser to the whims of Twitter now; he’s resigned to his fate.

“#LAFDKissingBooth is trending,” Ravi said. “You better mint up.”

Eddie sighed anyway. “I liked it better when you were riding the coattails of my fame.”

“Oh, I still am,” Ravi said, and flashed his phone screen. “I run an LAFD Updates Man Updates account where I mostly just report on everything you’re doing.”

Hen was pretending not to find this deeply hilarious. It was fine; Eddie was used to being betrayed at this point. “Why?”

“Because I’m at, like, sixty thousand followers,” Ravi said. “By the way, everyone sends their best wishes about your defeat in Mario Kart yesterday.”

Buck said, “Ha!” like this was tremendously funny. “Update-caption.”

“Don’t you have anything to say about this?” Eddie said. “We’re dating.”

“And you’re about to make us hundreds of dollars,” Buck said kindly. “If you kiss them the way you kiss me we could probably charge eight or nine dollars for a kiss.”

“Oh, gag,” said Hen, at the same time as Chimney perked a finger up and broached, “Now, that’s not a bad idea.” There had also been a talk about Covid protocols and the implications of a kissing booth in the metropolis of California, as well as an agreed-upon number of seconds a kiss should last (six seconds, which Eddie had fought tooth and nail down from fifteen, what the fuck, Chim) and a loose script Eddie would follow, because apparently money in a box and then a smooch was “unromantic”, or whatever. “It’s the Mr LAFD Updates Experience,” Chimney said, emphasising the words in a way that they probably all started with capital letters, like a board game or bad dating simulator. God, it’s only a matter of time. “We need to generate good press for our charity auction in Christmas so hopefully we can sell off a date with you for over a grand.”

“We could start a farm in the mountains,” Eddie said to Buck. “Raise goats.”

Buck, who was an asshole for still sniggering at him, but also the love of Eddie’s life, said indulgently, “Goats are cool. Do you think we could make our own cheese?”

Their hideaway in the mountains where Eddie does nothing but spend time with his son and boyfriend making cheese and babying goats has kind of been the thing keeping him going through the afternoon. Even now as he leans in to kiss Alice, counting to six in his head (and keeping his tongue in his mouth, thank you), he lets his mind wander a little: pictures Buck in overalls and nothing else, milking cows and chewing on wheat. Mm.

It's not until she pulls away that he realises to his mortification he’s sprung to half-chub. Quickly he quickly slides the donations box in front of him.

Alice wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, looking a little dazed. “Damn,” she says. “If I pay another twenty what will that get me?”

Eddie tries for a smile. “Probably several rounds at Whack-A-Mole and maybe one of my captain’s smash burgers.”

Alice leans forward across the booth. “Just a smash burger?”

Eddie coughs. “Um, well. And Whack-A-Mole.”

“Lady,” someone loudly says in the queue behind her. “You got your turn. Stop holding up the line.”

Alice scowls, but drops twenty dollars in the donations box anyway before disdainfully swanning away. Eddie is sort of pleasantly surprised by this; he busies himself smoothing the bill down, does a rough estimate in his head with the amount of people he’s kissed across the afternoon and reckons he’s probably very near his eight hundred dollar goal, then looks up for his next customer.

And smiles.

“Well, hey there, cowboy,” Buck says, which is a poorly timed choice of words considering the trestle table they’ve got set up is only just covering Eddie’s boner at the thought of Buck murmuring yeehaw into his ear as they slow-fuck against a haybale. “I heard you’re giving out kisses?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Goat-rearing fantasies aside, he hasn’t forgotten it was Buck’s big mouth that landed him here. “It’s gonna cost you, you know. Five dollars.”

Buck pouts. “I don’t get a boyfriend deal?”

“You’re right. Ten dollars.”

Buck barks out a laugh, but pulls out a ten-dollar bill anyway. “Deal,” he says, tucks it into the box that only yesterday he and Christopher had spent an hour decorating at the kitchen table as Eddie fried gorditas at the stove. He leans forward, bracing his weight on the table with both hands. “So?”

“Well, let me give you your money’s worth,” Eddie recites dutifully, and it’s worth it for the way Buck laughs when he closes the distance, tasting his smile. Kissing Buck is familiar; grounding in a way, amidst the probably hundreds of strangers he’s kissed today. Buck tastes of the candy corn he’s definitely been sneaking behind Hen’s back, of the protein shake he and Eddie had shared on the car ride in; Eddie counts six seconds, but keeps a hand around the lovely curve of Buck’s face, where he can fit his thumb against the pulse in his neck. Buck bites a little at his lower lip; Eddie is on second twelve of fuck it and opens his mouth enough that he can lick his way in, chase out the bubbling laughter.

Behind them, someone wolf whistles.

Abruptly, he pulls away. Buck is still leaning forward, looking kinda dopey, mouth curved in that indulgent little smile of his whenever Eddie fucks up flipping pancakes or holds his hand in public. “Wow,” he says.

Eddie wipes his mouth. “Come again.”

“Oh, I will,” Buck says, who is predictable as the day is long. “Best ten dollars I’ve ever spent.”

He’s such a piece of shit. There’s no one Eddie wants to escape to the mountains to more. “Go help Bobby with his burgers, slacker.”

“And after I’ve made such a generous donation.” Buck leans away, and Eddie catches a glimpse of the people in line behind him, all gaping. Half of them have their phones out. Eddie altruistically lets this be tomorrow-Eddie’s problem. “How much have you raised?”

“With this?” Eddie flaps the latest ten-dollar addition. “I think this makes it eight hundred dollars.”

Buck grins. “Well, how about that, hey.”

“How about that.” Buck still doesn’t move away. Eddie sighs, but it’s mostly (read: all) for show. “What, Buck?”

Quick as whip, before Eddie can blink, Buck leans back in again over the table and pecks him, soft and slow. “Love you,” he says, and then darts off, leaving Eddie blinking after him.

The next person in line looks impressed. “Damn,” they say. “If I pay you ten dollars will you kiss me like that?”

“Sorry, boyfriend toll,” he says, and they good-naturedly snap their fingers. “But hey, nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

[direwolfrules]

Would anyone care for some unsolicited fanfic recs in this trying time?

Star Wars (because I have no other life):

(Re)convene by Nightfall_1409:

10 years after sacrificing himself for the Rebellion, Ezra Bridger is offered the chance to turn back the clock and alter the course of history forever- the Force sending back with him a ragtag band of heroes, all whom have proven themselves worthy of the chance, all of whom have the drive to prevent the events that turned their lives into living nightmares, all of whom have the chance to save their loved ones from their fates.

Now 35 years in the past, returned to the era of the Republic 6 years before the rise of the Empire, 3 years before the start of the Clone Wars, he has to unite his scattered allies- Ahsoka Tano, Din Djarin, Boba and Omega Fett- and put together the puzzle of what caused the galaxy to fall, or they'll all be doomed to watch it happen again.

Personal Thoughts:

I really like this one. Time travel is my favorite trope. It’s well written, it draws you in, and the author has done an excellent job of mashing up Legends and Canon in fun and unique ways.

It has everything: Force Sensitive Omega, Tired Space Dad Din Djarin accidentally becoming a main character, Ezra and Anakin as chaotic besties, no Jedi bashing, and much more that would be spoilers.

The author tries to update twice a month. It’s really good. Also this is the only one I’m including the summary for because I’m lazy.

Time-Traveling Artoo by SpiderMansUnfriendlyNeighbor

Crack fic go brrrr. Seriously though, it’s just Artoo fucking with Sidious and then kidnapping children to matchmake. I was laughing the whole way through.

A Means of Survival by LessAttitudeMoreAltitude

In which Ursa finds a half dead Jedi Padawan named Caleb and the Mandalorian Adoption instinct activates. Listen, Sabine has decided the Jetti’ad is her favorite person, they can’t just not adopt him

The Time Heals ‘verse by jessicas_pi

Force Sensitive Sabine travels back in time to the Clone Wars, accidentally bonds with a Force Entity that I’m 99% sure is the Brother, becomes Obi-Wan’s Padawan, and keeps accidentally-on-purpose bringing people back to the past.

Also Quinlan Vos is there.

It’s Sabezra if that’s a turn off for anyone.

You Either Die A Hero… by RennyBanette

The 501st gets trapped in a time loop on Umbara. Delightful crack full of Krell murder and fire.

The Desert Storm by Blue_Sunshine

This is the Star Wars time travel fic. It’s so good. 4 years after the fall of the Republic Obi-Wan gets caught in a sandstorm, and when it passes he’s back in time when Anakin’s just a three year old clinging to his mom’s skirt.

Naturally, Obi-Wan frees the Skywalkers, changes his name to Ben Naasade, takes his younger self as a Padawan, and gives Mace Windu so many headaches.

Featuring: Jedi Shmi Skywalker, Pong Krell getting his shit wrecked, Legends stuff, Jedi Shmi Skywalker, Mandalorians being awesome, Alderaan being awesome, Jedi Shmi Skywalker, Obitine, the Sith being evil and creepy, and most importantly, Jedi Knight Shmi Skywalker

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars AU Masterlist: Time-Travel

Navigation Post

Fun fact, tumblr allows 250 links on the old editor and 100 in the new. So. Network of masterlists.

Currently this list is separated into:

Time Travel AUs in the Wider AUs masterlist

Jangosoka

Ahsoka-focused

Disaster Trio (one or more, excluding Ahsoka solos or Vader solos)

Original Trilogy cast

Other

Time Travel AUs in the Wider AUs or Big League posts:

* Fake Spontaneous Training Bond

Uncle Ben and Little Luke

* Sandstorm Verse

* Obi-Wan Declares Himself Dad-Shaped

* Anakin and the Jedi Babies

* Rex and Anakin Raise a Family

Commander Buir: an excuse to let Cody be dad-shaped

* Dimension Hopping to an Omegaverse

Fake Sith TCW Trio (7.5k words)

Ghost Vader Shows Up To Help

Time-Travel Bosoka AU

The King the Soldier and the Spy

Parole Officer Fulcrum Steals Three Million Babies

-

Jangosoka

Fett and Fulcrum

Crack Ship Ahoy: Jango/Ahsoka

* Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice (4.7k words)

Rex Cockblocks Jangosoka (it’s more depressing than it sounds)

Accidental Mand’alor Ahsoka

Jangosoka scarring Obi-Wan for life

Go away, Skyguy!

Something that’s... approaching analysis

The nature of time-travelers and Jango

Jango gets catapulted to “The Book of Boba Fett” and refuses to believe that Boba is Boba, so Ahsoka gets involved

-

Ahsoka

Ezra and Fulcrum’s Wacky Adventure

Rex and Ahsoka are two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist

Breaking into Kamino

The Girl Who Died at Mortis

Ahsoka/Depa ft. jealous Bo-Katan and jealous Jango

Naming Conventions for time-traveler Ahsoka

Ahsoka’s Terracotta Army, which is honestly mostly @epicmusic42 and @graylinesspam

- A wee addendum

- New Mando Archaeologist

“On her way to fuck your dad” Ahsoka/Jaster, Jango staring in horror from the background

Ahsoka claims her mom is Daughter from Mortis

-

Disaster Trio (non Ahsoka-solos)

A Knight, a Padawan, a Captain... and Boba, tagged as “Boba and the Torrents”

Obi-Wan adopts Jango by accident

- Obi-Wan even lectures Jaster

The Future Assistant Dooku Didn’t Ask For

Are you done talking yet? (now with ficlet by @nevertheless-moving​)

Obi-Wan and Anakin as twins

The Nature of Time-Travel Romance (absolutely sucks for you)

My Obi! AU

- Addendum

Obitine + Baby Anakin

Inconvenient Crushes

- Arguments with Adult Obi

Jaster/Obi

Faustian AU: Anakin and Ahsoka go from TCW Mortis Ep. to TPM-era Kamino, and somehow become the AI that controls Tipoca city

Fulcrum and Old Ben

TCW Anakin ends up Dooku’s care between Qui-Gon and Komari since the Council can’t just give him Knighthood when there’s not a war

Physically time-traveled Anakin ‘kidnaps’ mentally time-traveled toddler Obi-Wan

-

Other Prequels/TCW Travelers

Time-Traveled Clones Give Anakin a Mental Breakdown

Time Travel to Release the Zillo Beast

Bo-Katan is here to ruin fix change everything

Conservation of souls retroactive clone eggs, Thumbelina/Momotaro/Kaguya style

Padme dies and wakes up fourteen again, goes for Sidious’s throat

12yo Shmi Skywalker, with memories of the next 35 years, hijacks a ship and finds Obi-Wan’s parents (one of whom is pregnant)

Cryo Kix wakes up, spends two weeks in the ST, and then falls backwards into TCW

Time-traveler Dooku (trying not to be evil, this time), mostly by @epicmusic42)

Dooku, who is older than Palpatine, travels back far enough that he can grab Young Palpatine for the Temple before Plagueis gets him

Dooku gets punted back to Galidraan. So does Jango.

Totally the Real Jango: some clones lie to bb!Jango’s face and claim to be him, from the future

-

Vader

Fox and Vader’s Excellent Incredibly Stupid and Homicidal Adventure

Future Emotions AU

Anon suggests Vader shows up in that short period between Amidala’s election as Queen and Palpatine’s election as Chancellor

Why we love Vader time travel fics

Vader and baby Anakin body swap through time

Vader time travels to be baby Anakin again, goes full vegetarian

Another Vader time travel (along with links to a misskirby au that is no longer available on her now-defunct blog)

DarthFett, possibly body swap

The one where Darth Vader travels back in time as a Kitten

Vader Swears Loyalty to a Clone Toddler

- With fic on AO3 written by @delightedlymisinformed​

Vader lands on Rattatak

Baby Vader (Raised a Sith, mental time-travel) finds padawan Obi-Wan for Help (also Maul is there)

- Maul is also an uncle for the Twins

-

Original Trilogy Cast

Time Travel ft. Leia and Vader

Han & Boba bumped to pre-TCW

- Addendum

- There’s more now

- A bunch by @uh-oh-its-bird

Luke Collects Last Names

Luke brings a porg

Ghost Aunt Leia

Leia Antilles, Senator of Serenno

- Addendum

Leia/Jango (Concord Dawn & Alderaan destruction comparison)

Time-traveled Boba, also this

Han shows up in pre-TPM, accidentally starts Being Dad at his pint-sized father-in-law

Fulcrum is how the twins know their pragmatism was justified even by pre-war standards

Somewhat Estranged ST-era HanLeia and pre-AotC Padme end up on Melida/Daan

De-aged Mandalorian cast (Din, Boba, Fennec, Luke) tossed into the months leading up to AotC

Leia when meeting AotC Anakin

-

Other

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

- Palpatine Tries to Arrange a Marriage

- Addendum

Maul: Motherfucker Unlimited

Artoo and Threepio cause problems

Rey ends up in the PT, then Qui-Gon’s new apprentice

Baze/Chirrut messing around with Jinn&Kenobi

Tarre Viszla is reincarnated as Bo-Katan's baby

Cal Kestis drops back to TCW, accidentally derails things because he didn’t know he was Obi-Wan’s bio kid

An ask I got about Obisoka and Anisoka

[austerlitzborodinoleipzig]

Tiny bit ashamed at how much that opening ceremony felt like it was designed for me.

The drag queens, especially the cast from Drag Race France

Aya fucking Nakamura

The olympic flame is a hot air balloon

Ravel

They played Géneration Désenchantée like they do at every gay event

They took all the touristic boats and lame restaurant ships to transport the athletes and it was glorious

The Zizi Jeanmaire hommage

The fucking Eurobeat medley with the Final Countdown and Darude Sandstorm.

Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre

Guillaume Diop, POB's principal being the star he is and being featured.

We got the fourth verse of the Marseillaise

And the French version of Do You Hear The People Song which is far far superior

Macron getting booed and generally looking like he had the worst time.

The ode to queer love that was so Gen Z

The segment dedicated to the European Union ? One of the main performers was bearded Rroma drag queen and if it's not a symbol I don't know what is.

Zinedine Zidane carrying the torch. Teddy Riner lightning it.

The whole Sororité fragment.

And Hymne à l'Amour.

[sleetsong]

This turned into a headcanon and now I must have a verse for this. Below is a detailed breakdown of the team, their move set and how they benefit eachother on the team.

It is not surprising that Ami is mostly a water trainer. However, her team is not just not for water & ice abilities but also for their ability to stall the enemy. A team built around set up and inflicting status on the other team.

#131 Lapras - Item: Damp rock (increases duration of rain). Ability: Hydration (heals any status in rain every turn rain is active) Nature: Calm (+ sp def , - atk) Life Dew - heal self and allies Snowscape - set up snowstorm (increase ice type defense by 50%, reduces solarbeam/solar blade power) Rain Dance - set up rain (lower fire type damage by 50%, increase water damage by 50%) Weather Ball - flexible depending on weather (rain = water, snow = ice, sun = fire, sandstorm = rock, no weather = normal)

#134 Vaporeon - Ability: Hydration (heals any status in rain every turn rain is active) Item: Leftovers (heals 1/16th HP per turn) Nature: Bold (+Def, -Atk) EV: 252 HP, 180 Def, 78 Sp Def Scald - burn/s.t.a.b. (same type attack bonus) Toxic (poison damage per turn, gets worse every turn) Ice Beam Rain Dance

#121 Starmie - Item: choice specs (+special attack, can only use 1 move until switch) / Choice scarf (+speed, can only use 1 move until switch) items are team dependent. Ability: Natural cure for status heal on switch Timid (+Speed, -Atk) EV: 252 Sp Atk, 252 Speed, 6 HP Surf Psychic Thunderbolt Ice beam

#478 Froslass - Item: Focus sash (able to survive a knock out when at full health) Ability: Snow cloak, boost evasions in snowstorm. Nature: Hasty (+Speed, -Def) EV: 128 HP, 130 Sp Atk, 252 Speed Will-o-wisp (inflicts burn / lowers attack of opponent) Hex (more powerful when opponent has status like burn/poison/paralysis) Blizzard (doesn't miss in snowstorm, 70% accuracy otherwise, most powerful ice attack) Snowscape - snow weather set up - ice types get 50% def (no damage to non-ice types), blizzard doesn't miss

#873 Frosmoth- Item: Sitrus berry (restores 25% health when health goes below 50%) Ability: Ice scales. Halves dmg from sp atk. Nature: Modest (+Sp Atk, -Atk) EV: 252 Sp Atk, 252 Speed, 6 HP Quiver dance (increase speed/special defense/special attack) Blizzard (doesn't miss in snowstorm, 70% accuracy otherwise, most powerful ice attack) Tailwind (increases team speed for set duration) Bug Buzz (powerful/accurage bug stab)

#914 Quaquaval - Item: Lum berry (heals any status, 1 time use) Ability: Moxie (increase attack every time it knocks out opponent) Nature: Adamant (+Atk, - Sp Atk) EV: 252 Atk, 252 Speed, 6 HP Aqua step (speed boost/water stab) Close Combat (most powerful move/fighting stab, lowers defenses) Ice spinner (removes environmental hazards from the field, very important against stealth rocks, which would do 25% total health damage against Froslass/Lapras, and 50% against Frosmoth) U-Turn (chip damage / strategic retreat / bug type coverage)

Vaporeon will be the main staller and weather setup. With a bold nature, and specialized training to bolster its health and defense, it relies on setting up Rain Dance. With it's Hydration ability, any status inflicted on it (burn/paralysis/sleep/poison) will be healed in the rain. Holding leftovers will be the only real recovery for it. Due to the 50% boost from Rain Dance, Vaporeon really doesn't need any investment in special attack for Scald to hit hard. From there, Scald and Toxic will be the primary threats from Vaporeon. 30% burn chance from Scald can shut down a physically offensive threat and inflict a status on anything immune to poisoning (poison/steel). Toxic will put a ticking clock on any pokemon that it hits, and is devastating for any defensive stalls. Ice Beam is a solid option for coverage, and the rare freeze/frostbite (depending on gen 8 / gen 9 mechanics) can occasionally turn the tide of battle, whether by incapacitating a threat, or shutting down a special attacker. It is meant to tank and 1v1 most threats that cannot hit it super effectively.

Starmie is the hyper offensive sweeper. Timid in nature, it has been trained for speed and offensive power. Depending on the team that they are up against (if trainer knows the opposition ahead of time), they will either use choice specs for improved power, or a choice scarf to outrun any faster threats (especially in the gen 9 speed power creep meta). Surf / Psychic are the primary moves to use for the same type attack bonus against neutral threats, and Thunderbolt and Ice Beam give Starmie near perfect super effective coverage in combination with the other moves (Bug, Steel, Fairy, Normal, Dark, and Ghost are the only types that are NOT hit super effectively by Starmie on its own). Really simple: just switch in, use the most effective move (that it is now locked into), and switch out when needed. Its Natural Cure ability will heal any status effects that may have affected it whenever it switches out.

Lapras is another pokemon filling a similar role to vaporeon, only it's more tailored for double battles and team support. It will know both Rain Dance and Snowscape to set up weather to support the team. The rain will be most beneficial for vaporeon in case it cannot set up due to a lack of safe switch in / in a double battle where it would be better for it to use a move, but will boost all water moves on the field. Snowscape is more beneficial for Lapras itself, giving it a much needed 50% defense boost to act as a real tank, and will benefit any ice types switching in. Due to the double weather coverage, its only offensive move will be weather ball, which is double power and changes typing when the user is under a weather condition (rain = water, snow = ice, sun = fire, sandstorm = rock, no weather = normal). Its final move is Life Dew, where it can heal itself and its ally in battle (ally needs to be on the field and participating in fight). Lapras has a calm nature, making it good in a crisis to care for its allies both in and out of battle.

Froslass is a debilitator in build. While fast like Starmie, it lacks the same power. Frosslass has a hasty nature that has been tempered somewhat on its training to increase its speed to avoid attacks and some physical conidtioning to be able to stay in the fight just a little longer. It makes up for this with situationally more powerful moves. This pokemon will most often be switched in after Lapras sets up snow to ensure that its powerful blizzard cannot ever miss, and to benefit from snow's defense boost to other ice types. Other than that, it relies on Will-o-Wisp to debilitate physical threats with burns, and boost the power of its own Hex move. If it ever encounters a threat that it cannot win against, it will use Destiny Bond to take down the enemy with it. In desperate battles, sometimes Frosslass will be sent in solely for its fast Destiny Bond to neutralize a team-ending threat.

Frosmoth, the most elegant pokemon and specially powerful on the team, also happens to be the most modest. Despite its modesty, and what the pokedex may say about its abilities, Frosmoth can and will sweep entire teams if not dealt with quickly. Its ice scales ability makes it surprisingly resistant to special attacks, and when combined with Lapras' Snowscape for its defense boost, this moth is suprisingly durable. Its first move in most situations is using Quiver Dance, where its special attack, special defense, and speed are boosted. This makes its Blizzard devastatingly powerful, especially when combined with the snowstorm weather effect, where it bypasses all accuracy checks. Outside of that weather, its 70% accuracy makes it a high risk/high reward move. For reliable damage, Bug Buzz will be Frosmoth's primary move outside of weather, or against grass/psychic/dark types. While another offensive move may be a more typical choice, Frosmoth can support the rest of the team with Tailwind: giving the whole team a temporary speed boost. This is very useful in doubles or right before a switch/imminent defeat.

Quaquaval is the ace up Ami's sleeve. The sole physical attacker, this pokemon can truly stand alone against most threat. It has an adamant nature, it is nearly impossible to get this pokemon to back down, whether its through its dance performances, or in battling. Its training focused on speed and power, which also benefits its dancing outside of combat. Its Moxie ability makes it more powerful every time it knocks out an opponent, and Aqua Step makes it faster every time the move is used. As such, if used as a revenge killer or to finish off an oponent near the start of the battle, Quaquaval will snowball HARD. It also knows Close Combat, its most powerful move but also lowers its defenses, but that is usually not a concern when its offense and speed are being boosted almost every turn. Ice Spinner is a powerful physical ice type move that can also clear hazards like Spikes or Steath Rocks from the field, the later of which is devastating for each ice type on the team (especially Frosmoth). Its final move, U-Turn, allows it to do damage before switching out for another pokemon, ensuring it will get decent damage before strategically retreating.

Art Credit

[val-victory]

Meet the Trainer

You can call me Val, i am an Ace Trainer from Unova on my way to become Champ. i can beat some of the Elite-4 but i lack the consistency to beat all of them. (and i am scared of the Champ).

Btw my Partner is Piper @/justyouraveragepoketherapist they are the loveliest Person i know.

Here are my two Teams, featuring the cutest and friendliest little Mons you could possibly meet.

6v6 Team: Glassstorm

Every single Member is immune to Sandstorm which is my Main Strategy with them (bring your Goggles if you wanna fight)

Scizor - "Sense"

My beloved. Even though he lost a Part of his Pincer, he still packs a Bullet Punch. He is emotionally dependent on me and follows me everywhere.

"Torterra - "Cheli"

he is just a sweet little Boy who often forgets that he is no longer a small Turtwig. a real gentle Giant, unless he wants to play.

Magcargo - "Kratik"

She is slow, but she warms my Heart and my Home. Literally, she lives inside of my Cellar and gives off enough Excess Heat to keep my Home at a warm 20 degrees even in the Winter.

Tyranitar - "Dess"

The bringer of the Sandstorm. Do not get on her bad Side, otherwise you will have to sweep the Floor(from all the Sand).

Mawile - "Schkrinkel"

He is cute and knows it, he constantly demands to be pet otherwise he will nibble on you with his small Mouth. But don't worry he might bite you with his Big Maw too.(positive)

Gliscor - "Fledex"

Tried to teach him Flight. didn't work. He's well versed in Literature and Art but because he can't talk he just hangs upside down on the Ceiling. i like his Pincers :3

3v3 Team: "Lightning Polygon Team Star"

Porygon2 - "Bit"

It likes to digitize itself and lives in my Computer, i don't mind since it never corrupts anything. Also i won't evolve it, i am not giving a sweet little thing weird Data from another Dimension.

Vikavolt - "Don"

i honestly think that she is evil. But since she listens to my Commands i don't have to fear for my Life, but sometimes when i hear her flying around... those Wings are the sound of Death. She is larger than a typical Specimen of her Species, the Alolans called her a Totem.

Toxapex - "Quäli"

He is so sweet, i like him a lot and even though his poisonous Stings hurt a lot and for a long Time, i can't be mad at him, he is just trying to hug me. i think it's mostly on me when he attacks me, since i disturbed him in his Aquarium.

//HUGE BITCH ALERT. do not attempt Contact unless comfortable with being Called a Shithead.

mild rules.

if you don't want to be yelled at you have to write in an overly friendly tone, hype up Val's achievements or write something like "genuinely curious". Expect a rude answer otherwise.

Val is not an evil Villain, don't treat her like one. treat Val like a rude Person who just took your Bus Seat.

Pelipper Mail:open

Magic Anons: off(unless you think that your idea is like really good but i will probably delete anyway)

Musharna Mail: open

[scarredsands]

Saya's survival skills in the desert are second to none. Even if she barred all of the prep she did for her multi-month long excursions, she still would be able to survive off the land and has many techniques under her belt that have saved her in a pinch.

Normally, she prepares her bike aptly before going out, ensuring every mechanism works properly. Parts that appear to be dodgy or worn are replaced, and she'll bring a small set of tools with her just in case she needs to make an emergency repair.

The bike itself is loaded with extra canisters of gasoline, a few emergency food rations, and tons of water. Her bike can fit a rather hefty load, and she will load it up to its absolute limits. Better safe than sorry!

The clothes she brings along are all light colors, and are loose fitting to ensure proper airflow and cooling. They are also moisture wicking, which only bolsters the cooling effect of these items. Goggles are a must, along with something she can wear over her mouth and nose. Both of these items prevent her from getting sand particles in her mouth and eyes, as valley fever is the last thing she wants to come down with in the middle of the wilderness.

For food, she relies on her emergency rations only in a pinch. Most of the time, she will hunt for food with her team. They all share their keep with one another, though Saya has to cook hers over a fire before she can safely eat. She also relies on desert fruits, like various non-toxic cacti fruits along with whatever else she can find.

Saya knows the ins and outs of desert plants, as taking care of plants (judging by her large collection of desert flora in her personal chambers), is a hobby of hers. She works with toxins found in some of these plants, such as the desert rose, and knows which flora are poisonous and lethal, and which are safe.

This knowledge is used to acquire water. Most species of cacti are very toxic as far as the water they store goes. The water of some cacti are heavy in acids and alkaloids, preventing thirsty wild pokemon and humans from taking advantage of it. However, there are a couple of cacti species that are safe as far as water consumption goes in a pinch. Saya knows these to be the prickly pear, and fishhook barrel cactus.

Though she is well-versed on the desert plantlife and knows where she can get sources of water from safely through these plants, she tends to only utilize that method in a dire pinch. Should she run out of the many gallons of water she brings, she follows the footprints of wild pokemon to fresh (and exceedingly rare) water sources found naturally in some parts of the desert. Other times, when that isn't an option, she will make a solar still or find sources of water via digging in areas with lush vegetation, or by digging in outside bends of dry creek beds.

Most of the time, she will do her traveling at night when its cooler. In the day, she will relax and stick to any sources of shade she can find. Sometimes it isn't an option and she will need to travel in the daytime hours, though she tends to mitigate it when she can by moving in the earliest hours of the morning, or at sunset. Her sense of direction is incredibly strong, able to pinpoint where she is and where she's going simply by looking at how the stars/moon move during the night, and by how the sun moves/is positioned in the day. Even in sandstorms, her sense of direction is impeccable, and where many people would find themselves getting lost or turned around, Saya can always find her way out.

[hum--hallelujah]

all ears and all scars - Danger Days/America's Suitehearts, Dr. Benzedrine & Horseshoe Crab character/relationship study & hurt/comfort

~

There's only so much a silent sandpup like him can do. Understanding only goes so far. In the end, it seems the others always turn to him, as if he has any idea what he's doing. All he knows is that he wants to make life better for them. It's the same thing they all want for each other, isn't it?

Benze wants to make life better by making it safer, offering help where it's needed, making something out of what he's lost. Sandman wants to make life mean something, be it by love or smuggling. Donnie wants to make the harm he's done mean something. Crab just wants to make his friends know that their lives do mean something, already, without any of that.

When Sandman and Donnie go to the races sometimes Crab stays behind. If they're not taking the van, there’s no point. They can’t all ride on Sandman’s bike, anyway. Half the time Crab and Benze stay back, do inventory, bicker silently and make each other crazy trying to read or talk. The fact that Crab’s shit at reading and Benze is shit at signing makes things difficult. But they make it work.

Crab will admit it can be frustrating. Not just that Benze never seems to be able to learn sign, that’s just the way his brain works, or doesn’t work; but that the other see him as someone solid, a fallback. He’s not too much of everything the way Sandman is, or trapped inside himself like Donnie. Benzedrine’s brain is broken. Crab is arguably the most steady of them, but they think he knows what he’s doing. They think it’s on purpose, instead of accidentally stumbling into exactly what he needs to do. He’s fumbling through everything and they don’t even see it.

It’s never bothered him as much as it should that he can’t talk anymore. The wound itself hurt like hell when it happened and it took a long time to get used to it, but it doesn’t cause him grief anymore. He thinks, sitting on a rusty stool in the garage while Benze flips through a medical journal one of their sources had slipped into a shipment as a bonus, humming something under his breath about surgeries and biometrics and cybernetic replacements, that it bothers the others more than it does him.

And oh, Sandman is chill about it. They knew each other as kids, though Crab was never as close with him as Donnie was, but meeting up again as they are now, one of them more jaded and one with vocal cords severed, never seemed to faze him. Most sandpups grow up at least vaguely versed in sign, anyway. But Donnie will never forgive himself, and Benze spent a week after they met trying to avoid him before asking, suddenly, if he could examine the wound. Crab had sat patiently, curiously, while the strange little guy’s hands had probed and pressed at his throat. Benze had apologized, said he wished they’d met sooner. Crab thinks he still regrets that by the time they knew each other it was too late for him to do anything. But Crab doesn’t care.

He waves a hand in the air for way too long before Benze registers the movement. That's how he knows it's bad. When Benze looks over, there's something faintly glazed in his eyes, like the blue has been mixed up in a sandstorm. He's not exactly focused. There's a wildness in his gaze. Not many people clock it, but Benze is a whirlwind. They see the soft roundness of his face, the wide eyes, the complete and utter lack of understanding of how life works in the Zones, the way he struggles with words and language, and think he's an easy target, something fragile. They don't know the heart that beats behind those soft clothes and sunburnt skin.

Benze might be crazy. His brain is definitely broken. He doesn't think the way anyone else does. He doesn't talk straight — tenses change a the time, his words come out in the wrong order, similar sounding words mixed up, syllables misspoken. There's times he gets confused about people's names. His own name, sometimes, even. The things inside his head just don't work right.

"Are you okay?" Crab signs slowly, concentrating on making the movements clear. He's known sign for most of his life but only had to speak in it for two years. His habits are sloppy, hands slurred.

Benze blinks a few times, quickly. "Am I... okay?" He checks, face forming into a quick flash of a frown. Crab nods. "Oh," Benze says. "I'm... thinking but fine?"

Crab doesn't think that's how he meant that sentence to sound. He forms his response off his best guess. Maybe they're always trying to translate each other. "Thinking about what?" There's about a half dozen phrases the two of them can bounce back and forth. They've had some version of his conversation, either out of concern or curiosity, enough times that this, at least, is easy to translate.

Benze takes a pause to process the question. There's an untidy stack of papers in his hand, pages torn from books, dictionaries, zines, anywhere Benze could find them. He looks like if he thinks much harder he's going to drop them. Crab huffs with a smile and leaves his stool behind with a hop, reaches out and takes the sheets from his friend before they slip and cut his hands. Benze might think Sandman is the careless one of the bunch, but Benze hurts himself more often than any other.

"You," Benzedrine mutters faintly, glazed-over eyes squinting upwards at Crab. "The... if I could... you... I want just..." he purses his lips the way he does when he realizes his words are getting all tangled up. "Maybe it's not too late?" he says shrilly, high pitched and hesitant and determined all mixed up.

Crab shakes his head. He sets the papers all down and snags Benze's hands in his own. Benze freezes, any small movement stalling completely as he jerks his eyes down to the contact. He'll let Crab know if it's too much. It always startles him but it isn't usually bad. It always startles Crab how warm his hands are, too. He always expects Benze's hands to be cold to the touch, but they're warm and soft and uncalloused. He wonders idly if Benze would let them paint his nails.

He's not gonna use any words for this. He's too much at a loss for that. He doesn't see his condition as something that needs fixed. But he's stopped being offended by Benzedrine's fixation on it. He's a doctor. He thinks he's supposed to fix things. Crab thinks it might be the only way he knows how to show love. He never knows what to say and he has to let his hands speak for him anyway. Sign isn't the only way to do that. If it all goes wrong they'll figure it out as they go.

He draws one of Benze's hands up and lets it go. Benzedrine's eyes become suddenly clearer as his hand hovers just over the thick, raised scar across his throat. His breathing hitches and his eyes flick to Crab's. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Crab isn't sure if he means for overstepping or for the wound itself. Crab shakes his head again either way.

Benze carefully runs soft fingers over the scar. The feather-light touch almost makes Crab flinch, but instead he leans into it, pressing his neck into Benzedrine's hand. It's an incredibly vulnerable position to be in. A doctor should know that. By the careful steadiness of Benze standing in front of him, straw-colored hair illuminated by ugly solar-rigged fluorescent lights, Benzedrine does.

Crab wonders if Benze can feel the fast, fluttery way his heart is beating. He's out of his depth, so far at a loss. He's trying to do the right thing and terrified it's wrong.

"Your pulse is fast," says Benze. His familiar fingers move from the pinkish scar to Crab's pulse point, pressing gently under his jaw. "Are you okay?" He asks, turning Crab's question back on him.

Crab lifts his hands up between them. "If you are," he signs, so wholeheartedly his hands shake. This whole thing scares him. Benzedrine's insanity, the mess in his head that drove him to shoot up just to get away from it. The fact that they'll never really understand each other. The way he's always offering reassurances but sometimes wants some for himself. If he can make others okay then maybe he can reassure himself next.

Benze stares at his hovering hands for a moment, then grabs them again, like he doesn't want to let go. "But you're shaking," he observes, almost clinically. "Your pulse is racing. You're nervous," he says. "You asked me if I'm okay but you're anxious." He says all this calmly and confidently, as a doctor, but then glances up at Crab with a question asking in his eyes.

Crab hesitates, but nods. He feels out of his depth, and he can't swim. Like the way it feels when you're falling asleep and jerk awake with the feeling that you're falling, losing your balance. Maybe that's it. He hasn't been sleeping well. Nightmares he can't tell anyone else about because they'd only make the life they've built worse. So he nods. And doesn't offer an explanation. He isn't sure he has one.

"Why?"

Crab shrugs. He suctions his tongue to the roof of his mouth, like sealing his mouth shut makes any difference. He shifts his weight, almost swaying back and forth on his feet.

Benze hums a few low notes, the way he does sometimes. They never have any particular melody. But Benzedrine has a beautiful voice. "Can I help?" He asks, half sing-song.

"I wish," Crab signs bitterly, pulling one hand away to form the words and mouthing them silently at the same time.

With unusual clarity, Benze peers up at him, before questioning, "You wish what?"

"You could help," signs Crab. He doesn't quite care if Benze gets it or not. Whatever strange nervous, feedback loop energy is hanging in the air says enough already. "I'm just tired," he adds. The doctor will accept that explanation even if Crab's own mind will not. He has no real reason to be bothered. He wasn't bothered a minute ago. He's supposed to be worrying about Benze, not the other way about.

Benze catches the last word, used enough in the station to be familiar to him. Maybe if the others used sign more, it would help him learn it better? Or maybe his brain just won't accept it, maybe things will always be stilted like this. "Tired?" He hums thoughtfully. "Are you sleeping enough?" He asks, his hands moving back to either side of Crab's neck. Much longer and he's going to start going through the motions of a checkup, lights flashed in eyes and all.

Crab nods. He's always some form of tired. Aren't they all? Sleep doesn't change it. Benze should know that by now. "Not always well," he admits, because he is a mostly honest person, unless you play cards against him.

Benze, after the cautious confusion of working out the words, nods, like he expected that. Maybe he did. Far be it from Crab to know what goes on in that cracked head of his. Far be it from Crab to know much of anything, maybe. He’s been operating on instinct for so long that paying attention starts to feel weird. Benze continues humming, a light sound that’s half thought, half music. It’s tense, like most things about him, but soothing.

His thumbs run over the scar over Crab’s throat again and he tips his head in a parody of a knowing shrug. “Bilateral vocal cord paralysis can lead to increased fatigue,” he says. It’s less cold, doctorish and more flowing into that continued subconscious hum he carries on. “You might not even notice it. The effort of even breathing takes more work due to the lack of function… here,” he says, pressing slightly on parallel spots at Crab’s throat. It makes Crab’s breath stutter outside his control, and his eyes lock onto Benze’s.

Benze is staring fixedly at Crab’s face, brows folded slightly, watching for his reaction. It’s unsettling. Still, despite instinct welling up inside him, he trusts that though Benze might be crazy, he’s still his best friend. He would never hurt him.

He forms one hand into the single letter 'Y' and his face into a question. Benze watches it intently, adds the two together. “When the vocal cords are paralyzed they usually fall into a default position that’s too close together to allow for perfect normal breathing. The remaining throat muscles have to pick up the slack, which requires more effort than simply the medulla oblongata and pons’ rhythms.”

Crab doesn’t know what much of that means. He doesn’t know much of anything, as a matter of fact. But when Benze moves his hands away, he knows he misses the touch. It’s a strange version of the kind of comfort Crab usually offers. He’s not used to being on the other side of it.

“Did you know you snore?” Benze hums quietly. He’s shuffling through his stack of papers again while Crab stands unsure of himself in the same place, and looking back over his shoulder. Crab shrugs. Makes sense, he guesses. Benze nods. “That’s why.”

Crab looks over Benze’s shoulder at the papers. He can read some of it, tentatively, uneasily. It’s all the things Benzedrine was muttering about earlier, he thinks. It unsettles him, but at the same time, this is how Benze cares about people. By caring for them. Maybe they’re a little bit alike in that way. He sets his hand on Benzedrine’s shoulder and reaches, fumbles more like, for a pen he’d seen him writing with earlier.

You don’t have to fix me, he writes next to the heading of a lone page of a heartless medical advertisement. It’s wobbly and spelled by sound, so probably not right, but Benze gets it right away. He stares from Crab’s shitty handwriting on the page and then into his eyes. Crab doesn’t know what’s going on in there, but does he ever?

“I know,” he says eventually. “But I still wish-“

Crab signs, “Wish what?”

“That I could help.”

Crab nods. He leans against the work table, stares down at the mess there. He taps one of Benze’s books. It’s one of the ones he goes back to when he’s trying to explain his practices. It’s old and soft around the edges and was written by a real human. Benze says it was one of the only things he had on his person when he broke for the Zones. The humanity is written in the pages. “Read to me?” He signs slowly, not because it’s something he thinks will help Benze. It might. Maybe even probably will. But it’s something he thinks will help him. Maybe even probably.

Benze’s eyes go wide and startled for a moment when he gets the gist of what Crab is saying. Crab thinks he pieces it together more from the gesture to the book and the asking in his eyes than by the actual words he spells with his hands. That doesn’t bother him. And Benze, after a few moments’ hesitation, leaves his stack of scavenged papers to reach for the book.

“Okay,” he says, not quite a question but nearly there. “…Inside?”

Crab huffs, the lift in his chest just brushing the edge of his lips. He nods, loops an arm around Benzedrine’s shoulders when he turns toward the door to the rest of the station. He starts to pull away when Benze tenses up, but he shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” Benze assures him. “It’s fine. You’re good,” he says, far more casual, loose even, than he’s seemed all day. Maybe the switch has flicked somewhere in that cracked brain of his, and the light is getting in. He glances sideways at Crab and offers a smile. His smile is always a little off. Too wide, not wide enough, too flat, something wrong in his eyes. But it’s genuine. He never smiles unless he means it.

They wind up settling on the ancient, worn-through couch in the lounge, where there’s a faint breeze pushing through the fabric covering a broken window. Crab taps the cover of the book again, drops his head onto Benzedrine’s shoulder and tilts it to look at him expectantly. Benze stares right back, like he always does. The sandstorm’s out of his eyes and now it’s more like that breeze.

Benze starts to read quietly, stilted at first before setting into that natural humming tone. It’s just the introduction, the most human part of the book, the part that talks about promises to be kept, lives to be saved. Crab’s head rests comfortably on the soft slope of Benze’s shoulder and the warmth of him beside him is comfortable, safe. His breathing rasps a little, but the doctor is right here. He’s asleep before Benze gets to the second chapter.

[johannwolfgangvongoethe]

Hello valued mutual-in-law (I am the twitter mutual of Matt’s whose friend is long term essaying with him over curiouscat, for context); I just wanted to say I just read your writing on disability within enstars you linked in reply to one of the curiouscat exchanges (which I’ve been reading bc I like seeing what both people involved have to say) + the post about guardianship re: the Merus that it linked to. Just wanted to say thanks for writing it all because it was really insightful — particularly the Sakuma segment, because I’m not very well-versed on the two of them and especially not with Rei, who I’m mostly acquainted to through being a casual enjoyer of the oddballs’ group dynamic, as well as a 2winkP (the latter of which provides sort of complicated feelings on him based on Setsubun & its aftermath, or general lack thereof that’s only really brought up in Nightclub from what i’ve seen do far;;). Like I did know to a basic degree about the Wagahai & Orei selves being personas but the detail in which you went into them + the way his disability affects him & his relationship with Ritsu really gave me some new insight on him & a motivation to learn more up on him.

Tldr; I enjoyed your thoughts and writings on the mixed bag of disability representation in enstars, thank you for writing all that it was nice insight, and it helped me understand the Sakumas — particularly Rei — better. Good posts op

HIIII holy shit, thank you so much for reading them. JUST HOW FAST WERE YOU.... i am really happy to hear you liked them!!! its just a lot of rambling but i love to yap + i love when others yap and it introduces me to a new perspective...... in my mind were holding hands and dancing in a meadow <:)

genuinely, i think no one can be immune to the oddballs, right. theyre just good. see.... my partner is a shuP and my bestie is a natsumeP and matt is a wawaP and i am a rei guy by necessity and ..... THIS IS HOW I KNOW NOTHIONG ABOUT KANATA.... i feel like often orienting oneself around enstars as a series is extremely about picking like a handful of charas to major in and knowing people who are into everyone else so you experience enough secondhand lore LOL

i extremely get you though, rei is not sympathetic. i am on pc but what i mean is 2winkP handshake emoji kogaP = Fuck That Guy

i could talk about rei (and ritsu for that matter. tho i havent read that much about him) in the context of disability forever.... and it feels important because it is an angle that discussion about him is just EXTREMELY lacking. it often feels like barely anyone bothers to think about how much being ill shapes his person, his relationships, his job, his actions.... and i cant really blame people either because they probably havent made the necessary experiences to really internalize how big of a deal that is...

and narratively..... there is a big trend of characters being very lenient with him and basically thanking him for being.... extraordinarily condescending, nosy, emotionally unavailable, and actively a danger for everyone involved. the worst examples that instantly come to mind for me are repayfes, setsubun (as you mentioned), and dont even get me started on hidden beast.

+ often hes some sort of deus ex machina plot device for lazy writing and its SO obnoxious.

setsubun specifically is so weird because i understand and support his weird cartoon villain act (as in, its engaging to read and an interesting manifestation of his issues) and obviously i LOVE the drama of characters being unwell and causing issues for others that way... conflict is great... but the way the twins react to it purely positively at the end is just a really disappointing. like i dont expect them to truly nail that hinata almost died an hour ago but come on. (ig sandstorm tries to pick up there....) also sort of why i never brought anything in there about being "monstrous" and how "monsters are created" up in my disability post.... really really fits the topic and a lot of it is coming from the horses (reis) mouth but the context hinata and yuta experience it in is just an entirely different one. hm....

its sort of a similar deal with himeru, right. narratively i am disappointed. they dont get chewed out by the people i want. and hes doing evil shit. but then i see him and i go :( thats my funny menhera man.......