#all he ever wanted was to live and as a creature born with the passion to live amongst men as much as any other man he couldn’t

[levitanias]

thinking about frankenstein's monster again, not anything in particular just kinda brain rotating him like he's the well liked side character of a bad shonen anime

[yandere-wishes]

♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢 ♡⠀

♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢 ♡⠀

Hot Take: Swan Lake (But make it Yancore)

Act 1 Scene 1

But has anyone ever thought about the misery that lies concealed beneath the waves of Swan Lake? A love that's molded over tenfold, yet still continues to rot?

Has anyone ever thought about how in love Baron von Rothbart must have been? How desperate he was to gain Odette's adoration that he sentenced her to his own prison? None shall have her, should he be unable to possess her. It's a promise he makes in a kiss of smoke and stardust. 

Rothbart is a creature sewn of flames and feathers. Carved from abomination and power. Strong and weak all in the same breath. Yet ultimately a prisoner too, just like his dear Odette. Rothbart's bones are his glided cage, his own powers his jailer. He knows banishment and imprisonment as if they were his architects. He recognizes isolation like the kiss of a lost lover. He's lord of the swans, the owls, the crows, the birds, he's the lord of everything except Odette's heart. 

So he curses her. Not out of malice, never malice, but out of love, devotion. Maybe, just maybe if she could bear his burden. she too would come to understand. He curses her with his likeness. Curses her with a lore and a crown and everything he has always had. He turns her into something only he could love. 

And at the end of the day, it works too...

Act 1 Scene 2

Poor Odette, poor sweet Odette. Everyone knows of her tragedy, her curse, her death. Yet has anyone ever seen the sorrow that resides within her brittle bones? 

Half swan, Half human. Yet never belonging to either world.

No one's ever thought of how she's felt throughout these years. The way the feathers stick out of her flesh even when she's human again. The way her voice imitates the call of a swan, every second syllable emphasized.

Even the full moon can not fully return that which Rothbart stole. 

Oh, Rothbart. Even his name sends waves of hate throughout her body. 

There's resentment in her bones. Hate too deep and passionate for words

What is this called again? Obsession, abhorrence, loathing?

Yet even with this spirited hate, all she can do is wait, wither away until imposible love finds her. 

But when Siegfried finds her that's when the world really starts to fall apart. Because he's a prince, cold yet lovable. Soft like dandelions and as precious as the lilypads that infest the pond. 

He's everything she's ever wanted.

And yet...

There's this leap in logic whenever he's concerned. He can't understand the pain she's been through. He'll never truly comprehend the weight of the curse. How suffocating its invisible shackles are, how deteriorated her mind has become. 

Siegfried is a prince in every definition of the word... 

But Siegfried can't understand the horrors she bears in her heart. The nightmares that never seize and the burden of living between worlds.

So maybe, just maybe that's why she throws herself into Rothbart's arms one dreadful night. Because for all his countless flaws Rothbart can -at the very least- comprehend her anguish. Who better to understand the burden of a curse than its caster? Then the one born with the same spell in his veins. 

The curse is straightforward "a spell broken only once you are loved by someone who has never loved before." 

Has Rothbart ever truly loved someone? Should she try to gain his love? maybe she's had it this whole time...Maybe she's also loved him this whole time...

Or maybe she's grown addicted to the sting of his teeth along her jugular and his bruising grip on her hips when they pirouette. Maybe there's a form of deification in the burn marks his feathers leave across her skin. A silent "I Love You" too fragile to be spoken. 

There's something wrong with his kisses - they burn like a thousand hells and leave an aftertaste akin to poison- there's something wrong with the way her name falls from his lips. 

There's something wrong with him...

So why is she starting to want him?

Maybe it's the trauma he's spilled into her lungs. Or how easily he makes the nightmares go away. Maybe it's the palliative sensation as he caresses all her flaws, kissing them as if they were holy. Maybe it's because whether swan or human she knows he'll love her. He'll understand. 

How she wishes sweet Siegfried could do the same...

Act 2 scene 1 

Odile chokes on night air and stardust. Bursting at the seams to be seen. She can't remember a time when she's been anything but darkness. Anything but a second thought. 

She was born with feathers and a body meant to endure. Her mother, the dark arts. Her father, the lord of all who fly. She is more creature than human. A testament to the dark. 

So what if she grew up spoiled? With every luxury thrown at her feet. It all means very little when you've never known the touch of another soul. When isolation has been your sole companion from the moment you emerged from your egg. 

There's darkness within her that her father nourishes. Yet not even he can provide her with mitigation, camaraderie, happiness. 

So maybe, just maybe that's why when she sees the prince for the first time. The world illuminates. She's sent to seduce him. To claim another victory for her father. But she positively melts when she feels his warm hands on her skin. The smile aimed at her is brighter than every ray of the sun.

If it's merely a deceit, then why does her heart pound like a caged bird among her ribs? Why does her blood flow to her cheeks upon seeing his smile? Why oh why does she feel this way, this need? To make him hers.

The black swan falls for the prince even if it's only meant to be a ploy, a ruse, another cruel game orchestrated by the wicked baron. How painful it must be to love for the first time and know it can only end in woe. How painful it must be to rot in endless heartache. 

How she wishes to kiss him, just once. As he holds her hand and dances with her in front of a royal crowd. His eyes shine with an adoration she's never seen before. Is this love? Is this what she's been robbed of her whole life?

How she dies a thousand deaths when Siegfried utters Odette's name. 

What she wouldn't sacrifice to hear him call her name instead...

Act 2 Scene 2

Imagine the black swan and the white swan actually get a chance to meet away from preying eyes and endless expectations. Imagine they understand each other's pain like two dying stars. 

There's a lake in a forest where dreams go to die. A sparkling oasis where curses run ramped. In the glow of a lonely moon, Odette sits by the lake. Watching her fellow prisoners dance the night away. 

Her heartache is unbearable tonight, she'll deem it a miracle should she see sunrise. Odile collapses next to her, bathing in her loneliness. A shade of grey encompasses the two of them, 

They're too tired to hate. Too tired to fight. For tonight they are both just lost souls looking for the light.  

Imagine the white swan and the black swan actually understand each other. 

One cursed to be a swan. The other born into its likeness. 

"I want to die," Odette mutters her tone is all burdon and pain. 

"Death would be too easy, dear princess. We were both made to suffer" Odile replies, stating the only fact she's still sure of. 

Odette stands, a queen with no crown. Her eyes staring at her flock of swans. She outstretches her hand and beckons Odile for a dance. Just two birds trapped within the same aviary.

Odile's hand fits perfectly in Odette's. Fingers entwined as if slipping into each other's souls. Two juxtapositions, dancing as if they were one. Each step mirroring the other. 

Every jete, every arabesque, every graceful move, further entwines their fate. Guiding them to an answer, a clarification neither knew existed. 

The younger swans gather around them. Embracing them. Odette and Odile were created for this world. Both doomed by Rothbart and revered by Siegfried. Stronger together.

Two birds of a feather, who must die together... 

Final Act

Imagine the black swan and the white swan decide to die together. Standing at the edge of the lake. Hands crossed, holding each other. Legs moving in a thousand tiny Bourrees. Siegfried and Rothbart cry out, trying to reach them. It's futile, the two swans have made their choice. The waves below beckon. 

Odette and Odile, know that together no one will ever hurt them again. 

Imagine sacrificing love in its entirety to ensure the safety of the other swans, of each other. Imagine accepting the curse, believing that one must embrace it to be able to live a prosperous life. The two swans fall together, a double suicide, an act of devotion. 

Maybe just maybe the world will finally learn how devoted and mercurial a maiden's heart truly is. 

Before the Prince and Baron can shed their tears, a creature emerges from the lake. A single swan made up of halves. A testament to both princesses. A queen in its entirety. Two wings of black and white hang from her shoulder blades. A crown of white and black adorned her head. There is no longer an Odette, a cursed girl awaiting love. There is no longer an Odile a baroness of evil. There is only the swan queen. 

And she will make the world bow. 

tags: @average-yandere-enjoyer @vereya @coral-relevium @overthinkingit56

[countrymusiclover]

1 - Two Different Princes

Part 2

A Wolf Among Dragons

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender

Author note - if I am getting anything wrong about Daemon or Aemond's characters please let me know how I can fix it for later chapters

At the age of ten and seven I was sent to King's Landing to get used to living my forever life with the King's brother who was to be my husband in the coming days. I wasn’t a fool who was going to believe that love would come from this arrangement. For he was much older than I was and had much more freedom. I thought wrong to my somewhat delight.

“Where are we going, Daemon?” I questioned once he had snuck down to my chambers and awoken me from my sleep.

He insisted that he must show me something that second. He was dressed in an all black cloak with the hood over his easily recognizable Targaryen white hair. “Just wait a minute and you’ll find out. Honestly I never thought you’d be this curious.”

“Simply because I was born a woman I’m told what things I am allowed to know and what I’m not.”

Daemon kept one hand around my forearm leading me out into a large pit like room with many torches lit to provide light in the room. “You’ll not be able to not do something when we’re wed. Just as long as you don't go against your new family. Does that sound like a good arrangement to you, little wolf?”

“Yes, my prince.” He squeezed my arm a little harshly, making me wince but I saw a smirk crossing his face once I had addressed him by his royal title meaning he liked it.

Daemon moved a few steps closer before I saw something coming to us in the light coming off the torch he was carrying in his other hand. “Drakari pykiros, tikummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa , Saelot vaedis, hen nuha eleni, perzyssy vestretis, se gelyn irudaks, anogrose. Perzyo udryssi eztmptos laehossi, harossa letagon, aot vaedan, Hae merot gieruli se haros bartossi, prumysa sovili. ( Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing, from my voice, the fires have spoken and the price has been paid. With blood magic, with words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing as one we gather and with three heads we shall fly as we were destined ).”

“By all the gods and new.” I sharply gasped, hanging my mouth open in shock seeing a large dragon head appear above us.

Daemon gazed down at me then briefly at his dragon. “His name is Caraxes and he’s my dragon.”

Caraxes intensely stared down at me and Daemon but by some miracle I wasn’t afraid around the large creature. Especially when I had Daemon beside me, although if he didn’t want to marry me he could very well kill me right now and no one would know. “So what do you think of him-“

I cut him off mid sentence, crashing my lips up onto his letting whatever excitement I was feeling take complete control over me. He leans his body against my chest deepening the kiss and I couldn’t resist doing the same after I had wrapped my arms around his neck.

Daemon finally was the one to break the very heated kiss between two people who weren’t yet married so if anyone had seen it would be found indecent. “Daemon - forgive me , my prince. I shouldn’t have done that.” Looking into his purple eyes I knew I had messed up and done something I shouldn’t have.

“Oohhh Lehna you and I are going to have so much fun together.” He cupped my face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto mine with the same passion I had moments ago.

“Visenya, get back here!” I called out for my six year old daughter who was running so fast ahead of me I wasn't too sure I'd ever catch up with her.

She stuck her tongue out at me looking over her shoulder before rounding the corner and I heard her bump into someone and objects falling onto the stone floor. “Catch me, momma - ow!”

“Are you hurt - Prince Aemond!” I gasped finding her being helped off the ground by the youngest son of Alicent Hightower who had married King Viserys after the death of his former wife Aemma years after I had spent a majority of my life inside the Red Keep.

The current queen had produced two boys and one girl in that time while I had produced two at one time. Daemon’s son Caraxes, named after his loyal dragon, was always attached to his father’s side if he could help it. “You don’t need to be so startled, my lady. The young girl merely slipped on my sword is all. No harm to either of us.”

“Gods be good then. I must apologize again, my prince. We were simply playing tag and she got further away from me than I originally intended.” I gave him a curtsy knowing my place as the wife of Prince Daemon was no more. Meaning I needed to address the young man correctly before.

Aemond rose up from the floor scooping up my daughter with her white hair and my brown eyes into his arms walking up to me slowly. “She’s a little beauty just like her mother.”

“Thank you, my prince.” I smiled, taking her from his arms where he noticed a blade holder on the side of my hip that was hidden underneath one of the layers of my dress.

“Do you carry a sword, my lady?”

Nodding my head slowly, yes I simply answered his question. “I do. My husband saw no reason why I couldn’t be allowed to be taught most things most men think are beneath them or something they can’t comprehend like we’re dumb.”

“You are rather intriguing, lady Lehna.” Aemond smirked back at me.

I blushed uncontrollably. “Thank you, my prince.”

“Call me Aemond. It shall make the conversation much easier between us.”

Visenya laid her head on the crook of my neck, getting bored of our conversation. “Momma, I’m sleepy.” She rubbed her closed eyes with her tiny hands yawning.

“I should be getting her to bed, my pri - Aemond.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side suggesting an alternative option rather than letting our conversation end here and now. “Perhaps we could keep talking after you put her down for a nap. If your husband doesn’t need you, hmm.”

“I don’t have any other obligations at the moment. Walk with me and we can keep talking.” I gestured my head over my shoulder back in the direction of my shared chambers with Daemon.

Aemond raised up a hand forward before we began our walk back where I had previously come from. “After you, lady Lehna.” I wasn’t sure what was going to come of this yet I had no desire to see him leave while Daemon was down in the streets leading the Citywatch of Gold Cloaks.

[iridescentscarecrow]

okay. thinking about reze growing up in the room. thinking about being told that you are a weapon from birth, that you will live & die as one. perhaps it is the only way you can live. the first time you're dragged into the basement you meet the husk of military violence, its congealed shrapnel flesh face to face. they tell you that you must die to become a hybrid, & then they kill /you/, the part of you that is truly yourself. the bomb devil burns your skin, & you laugh with glee to make it stick to you, to make them let you out of there, & perhaps you will have to become other people, at points. burning can be heartache and the girl can be a part of a beautiful romance... you are older now, wiser. you will never grow. your skin reforms over your bones every time you pierce it. you have become immutable thing, & in a way this is all they wanted from you. this sense of being & unbeing. you have grown up so hungry for affection & you starve yourself to eke out more hunger. that want is the only way you can realise yourself, that terrible, all obscuring, /burning/ want. & so you laugh, unafraid, you sink into your corporeality & let it form around you. you play funny jokes with the parts of yourself they make you take apart. your body becomes a part of you, & the screaming shrapnel digs its way into your stomach, settles, becomes still.. and then you grow older. still a teenager, but old enough that they send you out on different kinds of missions. you're one of the best they've ever had. they had a TV in the basement, with all sorts of grainy romance CDs. you could be the woman with rouged cheeks, the heartache, you could sink further into this sense of ownership you want over your body. you have always dreamt of romance, and now they let you live it, in fleeting glimpses. there are things you make yourself forget — other things that you invent to remember. you actress, you! did you have friends in the room? did you cut and paste them into your story? did you erase them? did they all die like dogs?

the boy with the blonde hair is a hybrid, too. you cannot make this ill fitting story rest on your actress self & so you pin it onto him, and tell him that you love him. the woman with the rouged cheeks always needed saving. you'll protect him, the poor child, born within violence, chained to violence, with the creature in his chest. the child who was the dog who died, not the dog who lived, not, not you. there is so much you can teach him. you who are older, wiser. the water is cool enough that the burning stops, it is made to swallow you whole, and so you teach him how to swim.

you are going to protect him, but the thing you have made yourself isn't enough for him to reciprocate, isn't enough to make the story you have written fit onto him. you have never had a voice so you take his. it's beautiful, isn't it? romantic? there are fireworks in the sky, what is lit up is fantastical, wonderful. he bleeds out in the dark.

you can feel his tongue on yours: this is what a kiss is. it is his first one, perhaps his second, perhaps his third. there was a lollipop, overwriting memory. there are things he must make himself forget, things he must invent, remember. he bleeds out in the dark, and his body is immutable enough that this broken part of you does not become part of his memory. all wounds heal. you understand that it hurts, of course you do. you give him another kiss, you burn up and explode. heat is the colour of passion, what a frenzied & doomed love..

it's ironic that you are dragged into water, that you wash up on the beach. you had taught him how to swim, after all, to put out the heat of the bomb. you are not sure of what expression to make, actress without act... romance without template. you stupid girl. you see a flower seller and think about miracles feigned, about acts acted, and you feel the story and all its context depart from you, and dare yourself to hope, wordless, writing-less.

you stupid girl. what are you without your hooks?you have given them up, and so she takes them from you. in an alleyway, she does not allow you to burn, burning is no element here. her weapon robs you of your weaponhood, your sense of possession over taking yourself apart. no funny jokes here. it's different when you're not the one doing it. and she takes everything else. she takes that moment before the second kiss after the fireworks, she takes its violence, its yearning, she wrings your storied self dead, and you realise that they did kill the rest of you with the bomb in the basement. the story says that one has to die before becoming a hybrid. you learnt it well.

the boy in the cafe thinks you have abandoned him with his flowers, a prelude to a new love in one of those romance movie CDs. this he remembers.

love is a genre, it excludes many things. you bleed out in the dark.

[manwrre]

i want a greek god!au for harringrove but instead of the traditional, dark romance between hades and persephone, i want that of ares and aphrodite.

and people would be quick to see billy as the symbol of war but can you imagine him as the goddess of love, beauty and sexuality/pleasure?

billy, whose heart takes up all of his strength— brought forth from the phallus of a cruel, tyrant of a father; a jealous and greedy being, who would sacrifice his child for his own gain.

billy, who crested beneath the moon on that faithful night, with a cowl of sea foam. who is held at birth for the first and last time, by the only mother he has ever known.

who blesses the women of cyprus with easy births and the children, with unyielding adoration. who councils young lovers and grants carnal satisfaction to the inexperienced and uncertain.

billy, whose favor is called upon at the beginning of one’s life by pain-stricken, young mothers in the early hours of the morning. his name is whispered again, at last, by those with their lives behind them; the invocation, a prayer for their loved ones on earth and their dying breath, the offering.

who, in return, is adored by the people of cyprus because why wouldn’t they be reverent at the sight of him?

with his golden mane of sun-bleached curls and eyes, the color of pafos’ waters. billy, who stands tall and firm and strong; a pillar for them to lean on.

who is quick to offend but easy to please. a sometimes ill-tempered, little thing. a jealous thing, who craves the feeling of being wanted and the intimacy, of being understood.

their fickle dove,

their valiant protector,

their god,

billy;

the revered.

and then, steve? as ares? my god.

this pillar of unbridled strength and faith within war—the spirit and essence of battle. stubborn and firm but so very just and passionate. he is brushed off as being cowardly and yet still, is the first to be called upon in moments of panic.

the god of kings and rulers and conquerors.

an untamable creature who has been bred for nothing but war and yet, does not fight the way that he falls; does nothing to soften the blow of love and has no armor strong enough to protect his heart in the face of it.

and like sex and war, love and hate, the blood spilled by virgins and enemies— the lines between steve and billy blur and meld. it’s hard to discern just where one ends and the other begins. they are one being, one entity; different sides of the same coin.

plato would later say that mankind was crafted in their likeness; four arms, four legs and a head with two faces.

born to be,

fated from the beginning of time

the violence of billy’s love destined to be matched only by the tenderness of steve’s violence.

[mrcaptainrex]

When We Are Worms.

Pre-Order-66!Crosshair x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, because Crosshair. Sleepy-Grumpy Crosshair. I can't imagine Crosshair being a lovey-dovey guy, so he's awkward and kind of a grumpy bitch. Sorry not sorry.

Summary: Crosshair and his lover talk about their theoretical life as worms instead of getting much needed sleep.

A/N: Yes I did just write a one-shot where worm-life is a metaphor for freedom. I hate how proud I am of this.

_________________________

Being a clone was a shitty way to live. Being an experiment was even worse. From the moment Crosshair was "born", he was raised on the expectation to be perfect. He was never allowed privacy, or a good meal, or even the chance to choose his own passions. He hated it. He hated that no matter how much he hated it, he couldn't imagine what else he could do. He wasn't exactly fit to be a cook, or a mechanic, or any other boring civie job. He had come to accept that no matter how much he wished, he could never be anything but a clone. A soldier. Property.

But not to her. To her, he was everything. A loving man who was good, smart, and funny. A man who she could imagine loving in any galaxy. A man who, if not for their unfortunate circumstances, she would have already married and taken far from this war.

Moments like this made it all worth it. Moments where his brothers were out, and it was just the two of them alone on the Marauder on a cool night. Where she lay next to him with her head on his chest, resting quietly while his hand stroked her bare arm. Moments where, for a second, they could be a normal couple. No war, no politics, no intruding-brothers. They were just two lovers, enjoying the presence of each other and the comfort their silence provided.

They were both beginning to drift into much-needed sleep when she broke the quiet.

“I just thought of something.” She said, lifting her head off his chest as if she had reached a brilliant conclusion.

“How unfortunate.” Crosshair mumbled. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

She thought for a moment, and then settled back onto his chest to look into his eyes. “Cross?” She asked quietly.

She only received a sleepy hum in response.

“You love me right? No matter what?” This finally got some of his attention. His eyes opened and met her own with confusion.

After a moment to come up with a sarcastic comment, he settled for, “It would appear that way, mesh’la.” He seemed satisfied with his nonchalant answer and laid his head back on the pillow, allowing his eyes to close once again.

“What if I was a worm?”

By now he accepted that he wasn’t going to sleep for a while. His eyes snapped open, with a furrowed brow and confused look in his eye. “What?”

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“Why the fuck would you be a worm?”

She couldn't help but giggle at his response to the illogical question.

“I dunno, weirder things have happened.” She thinks for a minute, trying to imagine a plausible scenario that involves turning her into a slithering creature. “What if one day I’m cursed by an evil witch, and I’m condemned to worm-dom for the rest of my life?”

Crosshair hums sarcastically, as if what she’d suggested was just as likely as getting an ingrown toenail. “Depends. Am I a worm too? It’d feel kind of zoophilist if I were still human.”

Despite the absurdity of the conversation, his words made her heart swell. She lifted her head from his chest and propped herself up on her elbows. “You’d want to be a worm with me?” She gasped.

He found it odd that such a conversation could still leave her enamored with him. He swore he could say anything and she’d still find the sweetest meaning behind it. Then again, she saw the good in everyone.

“I mean.. I would prefer it to being a human in love with a worm. What if I stepped on you?” She was sure she’d never been more in love with him.

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.” She whispered, placing a kiss to his nose.

“Clearly I need to step up my game, then.” She settled back onto his chest and continued imagining their lives as a squiggly object. As Crosshair finally allowed his eyes to drift shut..

“Where would we dig our hole?”

A sigh. “Seriously?”

“I’d want to dig it by the lakes on Naboo. Peaceful, moist..” While she was in dreamland, he grimaced at the repulsive ‘m’ word.

“Naboo would be a horrible idea. Tech told me Gungans use worms as garnishes. Alderaan would be better. It’s easier to raise wormlets when they’re not being eaten.”

She could have sworn she felt her heart stop beating for a few moments. "Wormlets?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, whatever the fuck baby worms are called."

He turned his eyes from the ceiling to look at her. To his surprise, he could spot tears in her eyes. Immediately, he thought he had overstepped. "I-I'm sorry. I know kids aren't.. can't happen for us."

She shook her head and blinked her tears away. "No! No, I'd love that. I just.. Well, I didn't know that was something you wanted.. Do you?"

A sorrowful sigh escaped his lips. "Maybe one day." He stretched his neck to place a chaste kiss to her hair. With as much love as he could muster after the exhausting events of the day, he whispered to her, "When we're worms."

He never thought he would say that to his lover..

"When we're worms." She repeated with a smile on her face. Satisfied, she snuggled closer to his chest and allowed herself to sleep.

Crosshair, on the other hand, found himself too pleased with the thought of the future to allow him to sleep.

One day, when the war had ceased to exist, or at least ceased to involve them, they would become worms, and dig their happy hole, in the softest of dirt, and safest of fields. Someplace where they could have as many wormlets as they want, and where no crow or gungan could disrupt their peace. One day, when they become worms, they would live as the happiest worms that ever squiggled. He was sure of it.

[anatheyma]

btd/tpof characters don't seem to have official birthdays so i wanna share my zodiac sign hcs

(i'm not an expert in astrology this is just for fun)

strade: sagittarius

this is a bit awkward to explain since i'm a sagittarius myself. i don't relate to him, but he definitely has to be a fire sign and this one seemed the most fitting out of the three. first of all sagittarians are considered lively, passionate, outgoing and charming - traits that i think fit strade's description. he's carefree and fun-loving i guess you could say, but also intelligent in a way, or at least has a good technical information. gato has mentioned that strade has a fear of being limited or locked up which goes well with the thing sagittarians have with their freedom.

lawrence: capricorn

now that is a capricorn man if i've ever seen one. they're described as critical, sensitive and cautious, struggling with letting people in. capricorns are happy being on their own and fall in love slowly, they have to take time to understand you at first. it's clear that lawrence doesn't trust people easily. to me it seems like he wants to be in control of things, too. on surface level, those antlers remind me of the symbolized mythological creature of capricornus and regardless of his love for plants, i associate lawrence with snowy forests instead of green. (capricorns are born december 22 - january 19)

ren: libra

i'm not only saying this because i tend to be head over heels for libras okay let me tell you something; libras are often extroverted and sweet. they avoid conflict which is why they tend to be people-pleasers and we know ren is one. even when he's older in tpof, you can kind of call him out for not making his own decisions, but instead relying on the chat's suggestions and opinions. maybe he struggles with making them himself... and what's the biggest libra stereotype again? yeah, exactly that. librans are ruled by venus, the goddess of love, so they adore beautiful things. of course he'd want to dress you up all pretty for the live streams <3

mason: taurus

i admit i haven't actually diven that deep into this character yet, but right off the bat he strikes me as an earth sign. taureans love to relax in serene, bucolic environments, which i guess you could call his cabin in the woods. they're also built for endurance and tasks requiring concentration and determination, traits that i assume must be helpful when hunting. mason comes off as resourceful and tough, just like taureans.

celia: virgo

my beloved celia... like virgos, she's hardworking and intelligent, but also uptight and easily frustrated. understandably so, imagine being married to a man when you could run away with me 🙄 anyway, they're also perfectionists at heart and she'd probably enjoy training you with diligent and consistent practice, you're her little mouse after all. oh, and virgo rules the digestive system. hand over those donuts, ma'am!

derek: leo

bet you thought i'd say scorpio because of his tattoo? nah, he has leo energy. he's confident - even arrogant - and fits the leo description of both luxury-loving and drama-loving. leos love to lead, be admired and receive praise and respect of others. i imagine derek's like that due to possible daddy issues. sorry to come for him like that. my opinion might be completely based due to growing up with a couple of brats from upper middle class families who happened to be leos.

[sciderman]

What was it like coming up with Anita’s design versus Olive’s design?

god! feels like so long ago now, i don't know if i can cement all my thought process - sometimes you just see something and it clicks into place - with anita, i needed something with a heart motif - something classy, and something fantastical. something that almost couldn't exist in reality. something made of dreams and rainbows. anita is a fantasy - the ultimate, divine diva who came from the heavens. the embodiment of truth and love.

the rainbow motif kind of came from anita being kind of a filter - she was born out of necessity for wade to be able to filter his emotions - i was in writers block with a truth anon and i needed anita to be that filter to get wade to express himself. so she's a prism of light. (it's also why i sneak in that pink floyd shirt constantly. hehahoheo...)

i think somewhere in a hunt for visual inspo i peeped this monstrosity. and i riffed on it.

this dress... dear god it's impossible. and kind of hideous. but there's something there. there's something there. it's as gaudy and loud and fantastical as anita has to be. added a garter (because she's playful, and i kind of just - love the garter symbolism attached to wade, and the traditions that are attached to it – all being tied to marriage and good luck all-the-while also being tongue-in-cheek) added evening gloves (she's a lady) and – vitally, the mask. because all in all, she's still putting on a show.

olive - olive's first ever look was inspired by a beautiful brighton queen - she had a kind of asymmetry motif to her outfit that i kind of really loved for peter - if peter would have a motif - it had to be asymmetry. two sided boy. one side slutty, one side conservative.

duality of olive... and oliver... early on i kind of wanted there to be a distinction between olive and oliver - olive me is this sweet, romantic creature. who's ready to give all of himself - and oliver me is...

bossy. slutty. whorish. demanding. they kind of melded into one - i think they kind of had to. but it's a conceit in olive's playlist too - two warring genres - the soft, hopelessly romancey tones of ella fitzgerald vs the sluttiest era of britney. peter's both of those things. a romantic idiot, but an absolute freak. i thought about having a half-mask sort of situation, like the classic way the comics drew his spider-sense -

i think i'll still do it at some point - a la one of those fun half-man half-woman vaudeville acts - i think it could be hilarious.

i'll do it one day. i'll do it one day.

it's kind of important that olive doesn't wear the mask, though, i think - so the funny little britney-esque microphone became my compromise.

the aerial silks were vital. vital. in fact, it's how i became obsessed with spider-man - i saw a spider-man themed aerial silk performer at a circus, and i could Not stop drawing spider-man since.

peter getting to be that sort of lithe, strong, athletic sort of queen vs wade's very classically feminine sort of queen.

the silks are important - i sort of have it living in my head, no matter how impractical it is, that peter spun those all himself. his entire costume came from him. hence all the pink glitter which, apparently, flows through his veins.

pink's kind of the colour of love, in the 9319 universe. literally.

peter's kind of a bottomless reservoir of love. which is great, because wade needs a lot of it.

i always think about how pink is kind of a softened red. peter's so full of passion, and rage, and red is so intrinsic to him - it's something he's scared of, actually. all the red that courses through his veins.

but when you soften him, he's all pink. all that passion and anger comes from love - it's kind of his lifeblood. it's the thing that consistently pulls him through, in every iteration of him. it's literally what pulls him from the brink of death.

sorry. wow. i'm going through all of these gymnastics to tell you why olive wears pink. why is my brain like this.

[tummyisyummy]

Name:Ziya

Height: 5’0

Birthday: March 12th

Age: 18

Magic: Plant magic

Occupation: Magic Knight

Squad: Golden Dawn

Birth place : unknown foreign country

Background:

Ziya was born in a foreign land. When he was a baby he was forcefully taken away by invaders in his homeland and was taken to a testing facility owned by these attackers. Since childhood he was sadly treated poorly being used for cruel experiments to enhance magic power. At age 14, he managed to escape from the facility and with the help of his new modified power (and cute forest friends :D) he has been able to live free and experience what it’s like to be a clover citizen.

Personality:

Ziya is a kindhearted soul who cares for all creatures. He’s always there for his squad mates (even though they’re never there for him ). He tends to keep to himself and is usually in the garden area of the Golden Dawn. He’s sometimes a little forgetful so a simple reminder will help greatly! He also gives out great advice! Anyone with issues always goes to him for some wisdom! He rarely looses his temper like RARELY, in fact nobody’s ever seen him angry or even irritated. He’s the nicest guy around so make time to talk to him ☆(－ｏ⌒)

Relationships:

Family

Who?

Friends

Mimosa vermillion

Plant buddies! When mimosa saw the passion and care Ziya has for plants she instantly became his friend. When both of them have nothing to do, they usually are having a pleasant conversation in the Garden! If you manage to come across them during a conversation you’ll hear them info dumping about all kinds of plants. They even hang out outside of the base! They’re besties for life !!

William Vangeance

“Woah, someone becoming buddies with a captain?” Now that’s unusual.. not only that he’s a foreigner 🫢”-alecdora probably . Same thing with mimosa he also noticed his passion for plants! He found him tending to the garden when he first joined. Ever since then they seem to talk on the regular and William even goes to Ziya for plant advice! The grass has been greener ever since he joined.

Isabella Roselei (belongs to mamavino 🚶🏾‍♂️)

Ziya was late out walking when he met her. While he was walking, he kept seeing these weird illusions. At first Ziya thought he was tired but, it turns out it was just some girl pulling pranks on him 😑 Now why would he hangout with someone who pranks him every time they meet? Welll he admires her carefree; independent nature. He sometimes wishes to explore more of this kingdom and even more. They bond over the places they want to/wish to go. Someday they’ll finally explore the world (._.)

Others:

Levi Foudre

He’s a little strange, but he has a good heart. He’s seems concerned for Ziya being in the Golden Dawn. Well since Levi does have more experience with royals/nobles and how than can act(especially around foreigners) so it’s only natural for him to be worried. Don’t worry Levi, Ziya is strong!

Trivia (^o^)／

Ziya has serial numbers on his neck from when he confined in the laboratory.(something like avernturines or something like Emma’s from the promised neverland)

He remembers nothing from that time( even though he got out 4 years ago )(he’ll remember due to a certain somebody (alecdora (ー_ー))

When he uses his magic, his hair tips glows. When he achieves a certain special form, his hair will fully change :D

He didn’t even know grimores existed till he lived in the Clover Kingdom

He can summon multiple arms

His original country is definitely based off the Middle East cultures

Only oc that has a hooked nose(in the black clover verse)

Can speak Arabic and English

Can Dance really well(even on water;D)

[animezinglife]

I'm really enjoying how different my Lavellan (Erelith) is from my Trevelyan (Mira). There are some constraints to that with the way the game is set up, but where Mira is admittedly more similar to me in how she thinks and views the world, Erelith is challenging me to branch outside that box.

Erelith loves the rush and thrill of life. Where Mira's more reserved, Erelith is more openly passionate. She cannot fit comfortably into a mold, and certainly has a harder time being able to separate herself from the Inquisitor role than Mira does. While it's not easy for Mira either (at all, given her humility and caution towards her own shortcomings), she at least clearly sees the reason to serve as a symbol towards the people doing so gives hope to.

Mira never claims to be holy. She simply hopes what she's doing as Inquisitor will be enough. She longs for a sense of safety, security, steadiness, and being seen as the human being she is. She's exhausted by the end of it all and is quite happy to retire to a quieter life with her husband. To Mira, there's freedom enough in pursuing one's passions at one's own pace, building a home full of love and friends, and doing good as she will. There's freedom in simply being Mira---not Lady Trevelyan, not a mage, and not the Inquisitor---and doing what she wants.

What she wants is to experience life.

Erelith cannot separate the pressure of being Inquisitor from herself. She's always searching for some piece of her that's missing and is always evading her. Too much structure and the thought of being caught in too "small" a world drives her mad: she constantly needs to be moving and on the go. She constantly seeks more but has trouble defining what that "more" is. That often drives her to be impulsive. It drives her to more quickly and decisively analyze risks, and she's far more likely than Mira to take them.

She struggled with her clan's small, isolated world. She struggles with the bounds being Inquisitor brings and having to walk on eggshells around nobles (which Mira hates too, but is more accustomed to by having been born into that world and dealing with Circle politics).

Meeting Solas is like finding someone on the same wavelength for the first time. The way he thinks and his journeys into the Fade paint a picture of a life that goes well beyond what she's ever imagined a person could achieve. He sees and understands worlds and creatures beyond the bounds and constraints of humans and the Dalish alike, and while they butt heads a little at first, she finds the way he thinks and speaks intoxicating. She wants to experience what he has (at least, what she interprets these experiences to be).

She feels a rush around him. Solas is exciting to her. Erelith's own sights are ever-expanding, and being near him and talking with him just syncs with that part of her brain that craves more. She kind of likes someone going toe-to-toe with her too even if she doesn't realize it's freaking Fen'Harel.

Mira wants to be part of this world (where she never felt like she was or could be before).

Erelith has always been too "big" for it. I think she's never understood just how deeply that runs or why that even is, and I suspect it's going to play a big role in her story.

I also think it's quite funny to consider how differently they think about the other's love interest, too.

Mira loves Solas. She is genuinely intrigued by him and could spend hours discussing magic, philosophy, and listening in mutually fascinated, shared respect towards each other. Yet they're so very different in terms of their lives and what they want from them, and they're not attracted to each other. Mira surprises Solas and undoes a lot of what he's believed about humans, and he cares for her as a friend.

Erelith gets along fine with Cullen even if she doesn't really "get" him. She respects him and what he's doing for the Inquisition. She has eyes, so I think she would make the simple observation that he's good-looking, but it wouldn't go beyond that.

Yet I also think if she were stuck in a room with him long enough, she'd throw herself off a cliff.

All this to say, I am thoroughly enjoying exploring these two in particular and everything their stories bring.

[nonagesiiiimus]

eden's tlt reread: a sidebar on names- palamedes (and cytherea)

i cannot stop thinking about the names of these characters and their many, many, many different references and deeper meanings. i haven't even finished my chapter two analysis because I am thinking about names so much. i know i've talked about it before. I am going to talk about it again. sue me. i want to talk about Palamedes and Cytherea's names. i will eventually get to chapter two. but for now...

Palamedes Diomedes:

Palamedes was originally going to be named Diomedes, who is also a figure in the Trojan War. Diomedes was the King of Argos, a friend of Odysseus, and a man admired by Athena. in the Iliad, Diomedes charges into battle and ends up wounding Aphrodite. additionally, in the battle, as he heads in, he is blessed with the protection of Athena:

"She set the man ablaze, his shield and helmet flaming with tireless fire like the star that flames at harvest, bathed in the Ocean, rising up to outshine all other stars." (Iliad, 5.4-6)

here’s why i think the characterization of Palamedes and Diomedes is important, even though Palamedes was not actually named after him in the final book. there are some clear parallels. Diomedes was smart, brave, and blessed by the goddess of wisdom and tact on the battlefield. Palamedes is the first of the house of the scholarly Sixth librarians and the living legacy of the incredibly tactful and brilliant Cassiopeia. i can’t help but feel that Athena setting him ablaze with bravery as he charged into Troy is akin to Palamedes charging into Dulcinea/Cytherea’s room and, after completing his mission to ring the truth out of her, bursting into flames. user u/onlymodestdreams on reddit also pointed out that the bursting into flames aspect also calls back to the Paul transformation in NTN, something i totally missed but absolutely think is relevant here.

Cytherea:

why mention Aphrodite before? so glad you asked. Cytherea is another name for Aphrodite, as recorded in Homer’s Hymn 5 and 10 to Aphrodite:

"Muse, tell me the deeds of golden Aphrodite the Cyprian, who stirs up sweet passion in the gods and subdues the tribes of mortal men and birds that fly in air and all the many creatures that the dry land rears, and all that the sea: all these love the deeds of rich-crowned Cytherea." (Homer’s Hymn 5 to Aphrodite)

"Of Cytherea, born in Cyprus, I will sing. She gives kindly gifts to men: smiles are ever on her lovely face, and lovely is the brightness that plays over it." (Homer’s Hymn 10 to Aphrodite)

Kythira, or Cythera, is a Greek island where the Phoenicians brought the worship of Aphrodite—hence, her secondary name as Cytherea. Cytherea/Aphrodite is a goddess of love and beauty, but also of war and violence and, across many stories, revenge. it’s quite familiar to how we see Cytherea portrayed in GTN: a goddess, beautiful and charming and enchanting, but full of rage and pain and vengeful angst. and of course, she was injured by Palamedes, just like how she was injured by Diomedes during the Trojan War! some people argue that Palamedes’ sacrifice did nothing to hinder Cytherea, but it’s pretty clearly laid out at the end of GTN that him going dynamite mode really injures Cytherea and affects her ability to heal on her own without siphoning from Ianthe:

"As Gideon watched, somewhere between horror and fascination, the earlier wounds—the ones Palamedes had inflicted when he blew up the sick room—began to reopen… 'What in the hell?' objected Gideon, more to relieve her feelings than in hope of an answer. 'She hadn't healed,' said Camilla weakly… 'She'd just skinned over the damage—a surface fix, hides the cracks.'" (p. 420).

Palamedes:

Palamedes is another Greek hero from the Iliad, one who outsmarted Odysseus and was betrayed by those he saw as allies. when Odysseus pretended to be insane instead of going to serve in the Trojan War, Palamedes understood Odysseus was trying to trick them. to prove this, he threatened Odysseus’ son's, forcing Odysseus to reveal he was not insane. by ensuring Odysseus entered the war, Palamedes played a big part in the Achaeans winning the war. Odysseus, still feeling betrayed by Palamedes getting him to come to the front lines, later framed Palamedes as a traitor by forging a letter from Priam, resulting in Palamedes being stoned to death by his supposed allies (Apollodorus Epitome E.3.7-9).

Palamedes was described by Dares Phygrius in his History of the Fall of Troy as "tall and slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming" (reference). he is also credited with many academic inventions: "Palamedes had a reputation for sagacity, and the ancients attributed a number of inventions to him, including the alphabet, numbers, weights and measures, coinage, board games, and the practice of eating at regular intervals" (Britannica).

Palamedes was clearly a super brilliant man—from his dealing with Odysseus to his prowess on the battlefield to his scholarly inventions. his hand in pushing Odysseus into the Trojan War- his ability to see through Odysseus' lies and disguise of insanity- was what led to his death by his allies, but also to the victory of the Achaeans. for Locked Tomb Palamedes, the parallel is quite clear. his intelligence and his physical appearance sound quite similar to historical Greek Palamedes. without Palamedes' ingenious discovery of Cytherea and his subsequent death because of her, someone he once trusted, Harrow would likely have never triumphed. instead, they all might have been defeated one by one by Cytherea. Palamedes’ sacrifice provided Harrow with the crucial impetus to confront the enemy directly and ultimately secure victory.

Palamedes is also an Arthurian hero. Palemedes in Arthurian tales is a Middle-Eastern knight, known for a couple key things. first, he is in love with a woman named Iseult. He loses the fight for Iseult's hand against another knight, leaving his love unrequited (but still there). he remains in love with her, despite not being able to be with her. he is also one of the knights said to have fought the Questing Beast, a mythical monster that represents all the core issues of the Arthurian time that eventually tear the society apart. to me, this too sounds like our TLT Palamedes: unrequited love, questing to destroy something that he sees as the root of evil. whether that's Jod, the lyctor process, or the resurrection beasts is hard to tell, but to be honest my vote is for the former two.

there's so much buried in a single name, that sets up some of the most complex and incredible characters in the series. this is the kind of shit we live for, and honestly why this series is so addictive. everything unspools into something bigger.

please note that i am not a classics scholar by any means, so there are errors in here i'm sure. please correct as you see fit!

[kiri-cuts]

Wooing a dreamboat's grave in "Lisa Frankenstein"

Warning! Spoilers! If you’re my type of person, then you likely relate to a scene in ‘Lisa Frankenstein” where Lisa (Kathryn Newton) steps awkwardly into a party and immediately recoils in disinterest at its prospects: Normies, popular people, jocks, bad jokes and even worse conversation. Awash in a sea of coddled conformity and vanilla personalities, Lisa wants to disappear. And she does – via a drink spiked with PCP and its vile consequences. 

The scene is in stark contrast to an earlier one, which establishes Lisa as a romantic goth whose happy place is to sit beneath the handsome bust of an expired hottie’s grave and read poetry to it. Dead or not, Lisa is in deep with the dead. Her comfort zone isn’t with people. Hell, it’s not even amongst the living. All she needs is the fantasy of a cute guy – pulse be damned. For many teen girls, dead celebrities make for the perfect untainted crush: Kurt Cobain, Heath Ledger, Brittany Murphy, Tupac, River Phoenix, Elliott Smith Aaliyah, James Dean, Jeff Buckley, Anton Yelchin. For decades (hell, probably centuries), teen girls have been able to project their fantasies onto the pin-ups of the formerly living – the more tragic, the better. Dead celebrities can’t age, make gross missteps, or date someone you hate. As a result, they can never disappoint you or let you down. They simply remain beautiful and idealised – a butterfly pinned within a frame. “Lisa Frankenstein” takes this fantasy to the ideal next level. Lisa’s wooing of a corpse and her unbridled passion for him is so gigantic it’s almost a cosmic event. Sure, it’s the lightning bolt of a storm that wakes The Creature (Cole Sprouse). But to anybody who’s ever swooned so hard that their heart has felt big enough to swallow the whole universe, there’s an obvious truth: Lisa’s love was so electric that it woke the dead. 

Stories rarely allow women to not only fantasise in this way but to take the opportunity to make their fantasy flesh. There are countless stories about lonely, misunderstood, and horny men who see their most potent sexual and romantic dream babes conjured into a living, breathing fuck machine: “Weird Science”, “Ex Machina”... “Splice” (though, good grief, how I wish that last one didn’t go there). While other movies like “Poor Things” and “Frankenhooker” approach this tale from a perspective that pokes holes in such tropes and empowers the object of affection, such a story nonetheless persists. Outside of an episode of “Sabrina the Teenage Witch” where Sabrina uses a dubious ‘Man Dough’ recipe from her chronically single aunts to create a date for the dance, I’m stumped as to recall any others. (Since I know you’re intrigued, Sabrina adds too much enthusiasm into the mix, and a supremely cute but overly perky Brian Austin Green pops out of the oven like a young Nick Cage on “Wogan”. He’s no Harvey Kinkle, that’s for sure). In “Lisa Frankenstein”, our titular heroine very actively indulges her romantic and sexual feelings toward The Creature. Tongueless and speechless throughout the film, Sprouse’s character exists solely for Lisa’s gratification. As she helps rebuild and restore him to the living, she also restores herself. Previously, Lisa, too, had developed reactive mutism following the murder of her mother. But with The Creature, she confidently begins to get her voice back – even if she does use it to enthusiastically encourage the occasional cold-blooded murder (hey, nobody’s perfect). 

By the end, it’s just like my boy Nietsche says: She who fucks a monster might take care lest she become a monster. Except Lisa’s pretty okay with having the abyss gaze back into her. That abyss is her happy place, and that monster is her boo. This is the place where poetry becomes born into flesh and blood, creating the cutest boy she could have ever hoped to have sewn a severed penis onto. A place where love – even the mere fantasy of it – is all a person needs to sustain them. Pulse be damned.

[redlimvs]

Zero Day // Haunted Beauty (17+)

Hi ahah so like i havent written for a good while because of stuff lala so i decided to just post a story i already wrote and posted somewhere ele.....just wanted to see something ^_^

//

For what did beauty define, what did it mean to be the belle of the ball or the English rose amongst the green leaves? Beauty meant everything, those who cared for beauty had caked themselves in layers among layers, while for the rest, they felt beauty came from within in which it would blossom higher into something resplendent.

Aristotle had stated that beauty is “symmetry,” Plato once said that beauty was that quality or qualities in people’s bodies in which they cause love and passion. To define love was the satisfaction which arises in the mind upon contemplating anything beautiful.

Beauty was viewed in all sorts of ways, but the trueness of beauty was to accept those around them, to accept that maybe life is something everybody should learn to love and admire, for real beauty comes from those lovely thoughts forming in everybody’s mind. 

Everything has beauty, not nobody ever sees it, Confucius quotes. Calvin never saw his own beauty, for years, he’s regretted everything up to this point, he knows that people around him don’t seem to recognize their own beautiful selves either, he knows that in a world such as this, he wasn’t alone.

From the day he was born, his parents would remind him of the words that came out of the doctors and nurses mouths the second he cried out.

“My...he’s a beautiful little boy. You are so lucky, Mr and Mrs Gabriel.”

All anyone ever saw was his physical beauty, no one dared to look further than that. But there was so much more, beauty extends further beyond any physical appearance. Those who learn to love themselves quickly find that wonderful feeling deep inside.

They call Calvin the daughter of Aphrodite, but he just doesn’t understand what they see in him to make them utter those words out loud, Aphrodite was known to be the most beautiful being in history. 

Everything around Calvin, he found to be beautiful. Music was beautiful, it centers around the different and unique instruments. Words were often beautiful, they were filled with such authenticity, they forge such deep feelings of graveity to everything. The world, at times, was far more beautiful than anything else, the arts, the sights, those who dream to be something big in the world, all of it was beautiful.

The infuriating fire inside of his body was burning bright with every little sense of passion he felt in that very moment. What was beauty if not the combination of life that makes living beautiful? 

Calvin never sought life to be so exciting, the engraving images of not wanting to live were carved so deep into his skull, he had almost forgotten what it meant to appreciate things as they were.

Beauty was something he felt he was missing out on throughout his life, he didn’t think of himself as something worth beautiful, but his friend, how Andre Kriegman managed to look like a sacred piece of art even while presenting himself as someone who was beaten up as well as beating up whoever he felt deserved it.

Deep inside, he observed the silent movements and gestures that were present in Andre’s presence, the slimness of his waist while still showing some muscular features, how even while his face was covered and painted with small red dots, his eyes showed a simple boy who just needed to be recognized.

Andre was this beautiful creature that Calvin needed more of, he was going to be the person to truly see his real potential.

The ideas of Zero Day, the planning and the results they were both hoping for, all came from Andre’s mind, Calvin’s as well, but he always found Andre’s mind to be most beautiful. Everything and anything he had done, Calvin worshiped more than anything.

Those embarrassing moments they witnessed together, Calvin grew flustered and hid away any sign of him wanting to admire his best friend more. The way he talked to Andre, how sensual it felt at times.

Romance was such a beautiful feeling, it was this feeling of excitement and mystery in which it connected with love, someone being romantic was a person who thought so much about what love was and would then do or say things that express any strong feelings of love towards somebody.

But lust, it was this strong sexual desire for somebody in which they found that other person to be sexually attractive and longed to share those desires with them, finding that one special person in life was so exuberating.

Calvin often dreamt of finding that one person he’s been yearning and longing for, he had envisioned their meetups to be so many different things, he just wasn’t expecting it to happen so suddenly in his life, but he felt that with how much he begged, maybe somebody had heard him and decided to finally do some good in his life.

Finding Andre was like finding the other half of his heart and mind, and while he tended to be more of the explosive one, it still made Calvin feel whole and at peace for once. They told each other absolutely everything, from their family life to their very own lives, discussing their struggles and their frustration with everybody they hated.

Who knew it was so simple and easy to just find the right person. Maybe in the perfect moment, at the right time, in the right place, he had never lost hope in finding him, no matter how long it would’ve taken if he had stopped right then and there.

After four years of them becoming friends, they had devised this plan in which they would soon get rid of all of their problems as well as themselves. They had called it Operation Zero Day, to Andre, it was a way to remove those who cause him great problems, but to Calvin, Zero Day was simply just a suicide mission, he didn’t want to bear the struggling any longer and just wanted to put an end into it all.

The saying that with the right person in the right moment, one is able to make the right decisions because of finding that one special somebody, Calvin found it foolish at first, he couldn’t believe that people actually felt that as long as they had their someone, they would suddenly stop the insane outbursts.

He didn’t realize it was really true until he met Andre.

After five years of friendship, the two thought they were better off together as one, and it made Calvin incredibly giddy from that day onward. 

Yet how come in this moment, how come in this situation where he stands on top of his best friend and his boyfriend, he is unable to comprehend any ideas?

It started off as something simple, something small yet big enough to cause an eruption in Calvin’s body. The two had decided to go to Andre’s house to watch some sort of movie, but Calvin didn’t really care for it.

The true reason they both went was because Andre’s parents were celebrating their anniversary together and wanted to go out to eat, leaving Andre by himself. The moment he mentioned the house being empty for once, Calvin’s mind began to race.

It started off as something slow, when the two made it up into Andre’s bedroom, they immediately fell into each other's arms and embraced themselves as they locked lips, hearing the sounds of their clothes rustling together as their breaths synced up with each other.

It had all happened so fast, Calvin hadn’t even realized just how starved he was to feel Andre, but the second the two interlocked themselves together, he couldn’t resist.

Normally, Andre took the lead, he had more confidence than Calvin and therefore used that ability to take him in, and he would gladly let him. But something had caused Calvin to feel the sudden urge to push his boyfriend down on the bed, watching how his expression shifted from pure lust to shock.

“What...Cal...what are you...”

And yet, he had no idea exactly what he was doing. His mind was doing things on its own, leaving Calvin with no room to control himself. He stared down at Andre, noticing how his hair went many directions while still being shorter than his own, he saw the way his eyes grew slightly, almost like a feline finally getting comfortable in its new environment.

Andre was in this situation where he felt he was unable to bring his guard down, seemingly picking fights and arguments with anyone and everyone, he’s done bad things, and so has Calvin, but by being under the blonde’s hold, he had finally let himself lose himself and feel normal for once.

With Calvin, he really did feel like himself.

Calvin swallowed, sweating profusely at the sight that was now in front of him, was Andre simply playing dumb, or had he really no idea what he was causing in that very moment? This boy, this man that Calvin had decided to fall for was now laying on his bed, allowing his already semi tight shirt to hug his body with such force.

“Dude...get the fuck over here...what are you doing?” Andre asked simply, not noticing the way Calvin’s already pale face was turning a shade of dark crimson red, he had felt that in that moment, Andre was not a real person. 

How could he be, with such a gorgeous face, a hilarious sense of humor, and the body of a literal god, he may as well have been dreaming. Slowly but surely, Calvin found himself back in his own body, now completely focused on the reality that was laying around in front of him.

Andre was already beginning to take off his shirt, revealing the waist Calvin so desperately wanted to touch. He was drooling again, mentally drooling at the sight of this boy who was almost about to be in his grasp in a few short moments, once he finally learned to compose himself.

“...Come on...stop staring...”

Like an animal, a vicious and ruthless beast, he let himself go, he watched as he went down to bring Andre back in with a kiss, only this one grew rough, and yet still carried on that sweetness and tenderness it had previously.

Calvin was so busy trying to hold himself back, he wasn’t even fully there until he heard the sounds of soft moans, and while he didn’t stop peppering his boyfriend with kisses, he knew that those sounds were coming from him, leaving him in a spiral of a mess.

The only moment they broke apart was for Calvin to remove his own t-shirt, but they quickly latched onto each other again, with Andre pulling him in the second the shirt fell onto the bed. Their mouths danced messily and more sloppy, but they were too much into it to even care.

Their minds were wandering, their thoughts were everywhere, the only thing Calvin knew Andre was saying in his head was to touch him, to touch him and to paint around his skin until he felt his body ache and himself yearn and beg for what felt like pure heaven.

He wanted to be pinned between Calvin and the mattress, he was this delicate flower pressed against a book, he wanted to be the only person in the world who was able to call out his name like it was the only thing written inside of the pages.

Calvin wanted this too. He wanted Andre to want him the same way Calvin wanted him, desperately, until both ached in the pain of being away for too long. He wanted to make him shiver from his touch, so he glided his fingers around Andre’s stomach all the way down to his waist, noticing the delighting sound that emitted from his mouth.

He wanted to hear Andre say his name, so he leaned down on his neck, biting it sensually until he was breathless and shaky, panting out his name until he gave him what he wanted. Calvin wanted him to swallow him whole, so when the right time came, he felt himself inserting everything he had into Andre, hearing the loud screams he let out as he gripped hard on his shoulder blades.

As he slid out and in with a steady pace, he could hear the way Andre begged for more, practically letting himself whine out how much he needed this. In those moans, Calvin could capture the words he wanted to say but he was too stuck in the current moment.

“Split me open, dig your fingers into me and lick my heart with such rawness. Devour me whole until we are two of the same, don’t let a single finger lay itself on me unless it is your own.”

Like a demon possessing Calvin, he couldn’t bear the thought of anybody with Andre, and he was certain that the other boy felt the same. He knew how Andre was, he knew the reaction he had when Calvin started to talk about his friend, Rachel, he knew how irritated he was when he saw the two laughing.

It made Calvin see stars. Riling Andre up was originally not his intention, but the thrill he got the second he felt Andre’s sharp glares against his back made him shiver with such delight.

If he knew how much he enjoyed seeing his best friend irritated, then how would Andre have felt if he ever saw the way Calvin stared deeply if he saw him with anybody else. Don’t let a single finger lay itself onto Andre, he would tell himself over again.

Calvin would ravish Andre right then and there if anything were to happen, just to show that the two were meant for each other, not for anybody else.

“Cal...Cal...come on...” Andre let out with a heavy breath, his face darkening with red every minute Calvin was on top. He would’ve loved to see his beautiful face, but he had covered it up, appearing to still be embarrassed about not being the one to take the lead, but Calvin simply wanted to show him just how stunning and breathtaking he was, even if it meant that he had to step up for once.

The more he kissed him and the harder he pushed, Andre was the only one able to take his breath away. With every stroke, his body moved together, he watched as Andre danced into an arch. He licked at every mark he left by, his skin dressing with shivers all the up towards his spine.

“Andre...”

“Cal...come on...I’m...I’m close...”

Today, tomorrow, Andre felt Calvin, the way he moved while he swayed. He watched and felt as Calvin spread his legs, he felt the sensation of his presence as it tickled his bones. He saw how his thighs entangled him closely, almost as if he did not want to let go ever again. 

When he was in charge, he took it a little harder, a tad bit harsher. Andre did not take it as far as ripping him apart, but it certainly felt different when it was Calvin’s turn. It was different, but it was good, far more than good, it was enchanting, it was nothing Andre’s has ever felt, it was something he knew that Calvin would be good at.

While his mind grew too foggy to have his words come out as comprehensible, Calvin knew just what he wanted, he knew what he needed in order to satisfy him fully. Andre enjoyed the feeling of his thumb circling around the bottom part of his body, he adored the sensation of his tongue painting around his neck and his chest until there was no more room to add anything else.

He loved the way Calvin was with him, while he knew they were both bad people, neither of them had judged who they were together, he managed to feel at ease with him and he managed to not hide his trueness with him because he knew he understood better than anybody else.

Love like theirs was something no one has ever seen. Romance was such a beautiful feeling, it was exciting to the point where he had to have more, he needed to have more of his love and his touch. He needed more of this lustful feeling that had him weak like putty and burning red like flames.

He was so close, he just needed one more push, he knew Calvin was close too, the two were ready to let everything out together. The two moaned and they groaned with pleasure, he dug his nails deeper into Calvin’s skin as he moved harder into Andre.

He was so close, he was almost there. He could hear Calvin mumbling something, something that he wanted and needed to let out at that moment, so Andre gave him a sign to let him know that he could tell him anything.

Breathless pants, groans of enjoyment, what Andre felt in that moment was much more than just lust, he loved Calvin, he loved his touch, adored his way of showing love. He was never the type to love anybody, but when Calvin opened his doors, he felt that it was best to let him in, to be the only person to show him what it was like to be loved.

“Andre...I...I love you...”

He gasped, the bubbling feeling in his stomach rose higher, and he let himself release without realizing.

For so long, the two have shared plenty of “I love you’s”, but he felt that saying it in this present time meant so much more than those previous times. Calvin loved him, he truly and really loved him.

“...I love you too...Cal...”

Andre loved him, more than anything, more than everything. The two loved each other, and nobody else would ever get the feeling of them loving them ever.

[anchoredarchangel]

Hellooooooooo 🥰

💖 What made you start writing?

Ooooh, Cee, an origin story!

My dad has been writing a nine part epic fantasy series as a hobby since he was in college. When I was young, he let me design creatures for it (embarrassing) and he used to read me passages or try to work through plot holes or outline chapters as bedtime stories (a high bar) which made me want to write as a kid. I claimed to want to be an author all the way through high school.

I started reading and writing fic in college, as an outlet for all of that passion that didn’t require me to write original fiction— when I was already emotionally attached to various characters from their own works, and because I ultimately did not pursue writing as a career (thank goodness, I cannot finish things to save my life.)

I am realizing now that I’m answering your question though just how hilariously deep this origin story goes, as that nine part series my dad has been writing? It’s in the ballpark of two million words, and he wrote his own languages for it, Tolkien-style, so he’d be an editors nightmare. So it lives on hard drives and in backups and in my dad’s mind and in my childhood bedtime stories. He’s unpublished, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever seek traditional publishing.

So when you really think about it, I didn’t just choose the cave life. I was born in it. 🥲

[usagirln12003]

Kaito Momota: Hogwarts AU

Kaito Momota was a Half-Blood (Lycanthropy) wizard that was born on the 12th of April 1983 and started attending Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1994, being sorted into Gryffindor House.

He had a Blackthorn wand with a Phoenix Feather core.

His Patronus was a German Shepherd.

His favorite subject was Astronomy and his least favorite subject was Care of Magical Creatures.

Kaito is an energetic person with a passionate heart, who lives for dreams and romance, and tends to give somewhat dramatic encouraging speeches for others. He believes you need to take risks for the sake of your dreams and shouldn't limit yourself nor ever give up. Due to his clichéd hot-blooded spirit and his document falsification he could pass the final exams, proving that he is smart. He harbors a dream and a great longing to go to space, and already considers himself a space legend. He often refers to himself as "The Luminary of the Stars" and talks about the Universe being on his side. Furthermore, he talks about being popular with women and children, and he thinks that his goatee gives him a "glamorous celebrity vibe".

Throughout his Hogwarts years, Kaito described himself as a passionate protagonist of his own story who would help the others to survive the killing game. He considers himself a hero type, and occasionally offers to make other people his "sidekicks". Because of that, Kaito always tries his best to unite the group, and he 'is very much a reliable older brother type of person. He is very loyal to his friends and always there in order to aid them, such as when Shuichi Saihara broke down after Kaede Akamatsu's death. He offered his help to regain his spirit by starting training routine during the nighttime and even made him his "sidekick". It is also because of this nature that he became a moral support to the other participants. According to Shuichi, Kaito has the ability to draw people to him, and he has been described as an interesting and amusing person. Kaito have shown interest in friendly and even romantic rivalry, though he is shown to feel conflicted about romantic feelings because he doesn't wish to be held back by anyone as his true longing is the space and the universe. He appears insecure about it, believing that there is no way the other person will feel the same. After Maki revealed her feelings for him, Kaito was relieved and believed in Maki that she can start to love herself if she is able to fall in love with someone like him. While he is excited to look at the dirty books in the library as he thinks it's something guys would normally do, there has also been a moment in which the conversation topic was girls and peeping, and he appeared to become completely distracted and forgot the original topic and instead begun to talk dramatically about man's passion for exploring unknown worlds, claiming it is true man's passion. His obliviousness to romance and sexual matters has also been shown in the way he didn't realize Maki's jealousy at all and appeared oblivious when the other students more or less jokingly talked about Shuichi being a masochist.

Interestingly, Kaito seems to be a good judge of character and can give correct advice at times. He is also shown to be easily angered by mindsets that contrast his own, and he stubbornly refuses to believe in them. He strongly hates Kokichi's lies and unwillingness to cooperate, and his anger often clouds his judgement. He also cannot empathize with Ryoma's suicidal way of thinking, considering him a sissy and a fool, as he believes there is always a reason to live even if just small things like good food or friends. He is also notably hot-headed in general, occasionally taking action without thinking and wanting to punch others if angered enough. He can also be quite forceful when offering his support to others. He also swears a lot, but this is downplayed around his teachers.

With his clichéd passionate nature, Kaito possesses some slightly old-fashioned opinions, believing that men should be real men (often dramatically talking about "man's passion") and women should not use real weapons and are more suited to childcare (even telling this to Maki, who is an assassin.) Along with considering Ryoma a sissy for having suicidal thoughts, he doesn't like it whenever Gonta cries and apologizes because "men shouldn't apologize so much". At one point, during his third year, he calls Korekiyo Shinguji with the Japanese term "okama" for appearing effeminate, which is often used as a derogatory term for very effeminate gay men or crossdressers. However, Kaito himself also has trouble with weakness and appears to have a sort of complex for being the hero, not wanting to show his own weaknesses and troubles to his sidekicks even if it means lying to them as he wishes to come across as a strong figure they can lean on. He had a hard time admitting that even he can make mistakes and felt envious of Shuichi who used his detective skills to save everyone. He is also troubled by the students' situation and feels he cannot show such weakness in front of his sidekick. When Shuichi tried to reassure him that it's okay to be afraid sometimes, Kaito insists that it's not like him to make others worry. He feels embarrassed, believing he has failed his sidekick, and tells Shuichi that he wants to be left alone. Even when Shuichi agrees that it's not like him to show weakness and that he never backs down, Kaito is still bothered by it and Shuichi can tell he is hiding something even when he claims with a grin that he is motivated again. When Shuichi reminded Kaito that he is not just a sidekick but also a friend, and that Kaito can open up to his best friend, Kaito is silent for a moment and then thanks Shuichi with a smile and claims he is okay now. He claims all his doubts are gone now that he knows that Shuichi thinks of him like that.

Undoubtedly, Kaito's biggest flaw is his arbitrary complete trust in others, which is often misguided. He is sincere and believes in friendship no matter what, trusting who he wants to trust even against all evidence and logic. He believes Maki without questions despite evidence against her, with his only reason being "an official hunch from Kaito Momota, the Luminary of the Stars himself", causing other students to call him an idiot because of it. He hates to be called an idiot, claiming that it hurts his feelings. During the fourth investigation, he denied all the clear evidence that showed Gonta Gokuhara is the killer of Miu Iruma, which ended up making things worse and caused a major risk to everyone.

Kaito can also be slightly comical, sometimes having very over exaggerated expressions and reactions, and can easily come across as not that smart due to his beliefs and occasional silly behavior such as eating way too much food at one point due to feeling pumped up or him claiming he was the one who wore women's underwear in a desperate attempt to clear suspicion against him. His notable weakness is his massive fear of magical beasts, strongly disliking anything related to them and grabbing other people in horror during such situations. After Kaito and some of the other students enter an inn during their first Hogsmead trip, Kaito is shown to have horrible luck in gambling, which is something Kokichi makes fun of while Kaito seemed to completely lose his spirit and cried wondering how could The Luminary of the Stars lose so pathetically. He then made excuses such as claiming that his true skills are meant for the universe and not something like gambling, and pointed out that he had quit gambling earlier, even though he had just been playing. However, despite some of his comical traits, Kaito is actually very intelligent and talented in various ways as he has the highest grades in Astronomy than anyone else in his year.

It was revealed that before Tsumugi changed his memories while on their way to Hogwarts for their first year, Kaito was a psychopath who planned to step over others in order to gain money and honor, with the attitude he had after having his personality changed having a twisted meaning of "nothing is impossible after you're rich and famous enough". Though, it should be noted that it is left unclear whether or not this is true and it could have been a lie made by the mastermind, as pointed out by Shuichi.

[hieromonkcharbel]

Ascetic Heart: Reflections on the Way of Self-Sacrifice

Written by Anonymous.

A boy once approached his father, ‘Old man, why do you fast?’ The father stood silent, bringing heart and mind together, and then:

‘Beloved boy, I fast to know what it is I lack.

For day by day I sit in abundance, and

all is well before me;

I want not, I suffer not, and I

lack but that for which I invent a need.

But my heart is empty of true joy,

filled, yet overflowing with dry waters.

There is no room left for love.

I have no needs, and so my needs are never met,

no longings, and so my desires are never fulfilled.

Where all the fruits of the earth could dwell, I have

filled the house with dust and clouds;

It is full, so I am content—

But it is empty, and so I weep.

‘Thus I fast, beloved, to know the

dust in which I dwell.

I take not from that which I might take,

for in its absence I am left empty,

and what is empty stands ready to be

filled.

I turn from what I love, for my love is barren,

and by it I curse the earth.

I turn from what I love, that I may purify my loving,

and move from curse to blessing.

‘From my abundance I turn to want,

as the soldier leaves the comfort of home,

of family and love,

to know the barrenness of war.

For it is only amongst the fight, in the

torture of loss, in the fire of battle,

that lies are lost and the blind man

clearly sees.

In hunger of body and mind, I see

the vanity of food,

for I have loved food as food,

and have never been fed.

In weary, waking vigil I see

the vanity of sleep,

for I have embraced sleep as desire,

and have never found rest.

In sorrow, with eyes of tears I see

the vanity of pleasure,

for I have treasured happiness above all,

and have never known joy.

‘I fast, beloved child, to crush the wall

that is my self;

For I am not who I am, just as these passions

are not treasures of gold but of clay.

I fast to die, for it is not the living who are

raised, but the dead.

I fast to crucify my desires, for He who was

crucified was He who lived,

and He who conquered,

and He who lives forever.’

***

The ascetic mind is not one of stone, cold and darkened to the outside world. Too often, those who stand apart from the heavenly struggle see it thus, and thereby see it askew. To climb is not to descend, and to grow is not to die. Those who reject the world do so not out of hatred, not out of scorn for the creation into which they have been born, but out of most profound love. It takes a true love deeper than most will ever know, to consider the world with such fondness and thanksgiving that one is willing to let it go. Hope and faith must be of the profoundest sort, if ever they are to give birth to a heart willing to break away from creation, that it might one day be united more fully to it.

The ascetic heart knows the world, and knows that it is good. It can see the tranquil pond, the azure sky, the frail leaf, and catch in every glimpse the radiant shimmer of the Divine. In all things there is God.

The ascetic heart knows creation, and rejoices in its bounty. It sees the breath drawn in and out by all creatures, watches as they mingle together in the Creator’s hands. There is fawn, there is bird, there is beast, but all are life, and all life is in Christ.

The ascetic heart knows humanity. In its gentle sight there is no man, no woman—only brother and sister, father and mother, daughter and son. The family of human life is united together with a bond only this heart can truly see, and once it is seen, it is all that can be seen in man. That bond of communion, reflection of the Divine, is the nature of human being.

The ascetic heart knows itself, and knows that it is good. For all that may darken and stain its surface, the handiwork of a Craftsman is still beloved, and what was once made divine can only be sullied and perverted, but never wholly destroyed. The ascetic heart looks within, and knows of a great Beauty to be found inside its own walls.

Yet this same ascetic heart also knows of darkness. As much as it has rejoiced over its light and fullness, so much has it bewailed its void and emptiness. A brilliant light which cannot be seen suffers not always from its source, but rather from its surroundings—the ascetic heart is pure, but its purity is covered in shame. It is the unique gift of the ascetic to know this, and her divine blessing that such knowledge wells up tears of grief like none the world can call forth. To gaze deep within and see the Sun darkened with stains is to be pained in soul, to see nature perfected and destroyed at once and in the same breath. Unbridled joy and soul wrenching agony collide; and if their collision be perfect, the ascetic heart is born.

***

The boy approached his father, gently, ‘Old man, why do you sorrow?’ The old man softened his tears:

‘Beloved, my sorrow is my joy.

Where there is no weeping, there is

no rejoicing,

And he who has not sorrowed

has never known delight.

‘I sorrow for the darkness that

I see within,

for the depth of the divide I have

cast between my mind and my heart.

I sorrow, for I have become

a source of sorrow,

and if I do not weep

I shall never be healed.

‘What God has blessed, I have squandered,

and therefore all the mountains weep.

Shall I yet rejoice?

See me, an aged man of squandered days,

a vessel of life confined to death—

yet merry, at peace, rejoicing!

‘No, beloved, let us weep.

Let us know sorrow, for then

we know ourselves, then we see.

No more in ignorance, but in truth

let us walk,

acknowledging our woe,

weeping with the earth.

When its sorrow is our sorrow,

then the weight shall crush my bones

—and crushed, I shall be reborn.

‘Sorrow is the door, dear boy,

the door of joy pure and true.

With every tear we shed,

we rejoice more fully,

exist more wholly,

love more purely.’

And with this, the old man’s words ceased, his mouth was still. And as the tears brimmed within his eyes, his joy radiated as the sun.

***

How captive are we, we fallen children, to the pleasures and passions that rule our lives. How we treasure the chains which imprison us, bestowing upon them garlands and wreathes, adorning them as friends. We sit bound by our desires, a lamentable state, yet we rejoice, for our eyes are shut fast; and as in a dream we see our confinement as freedom, our chains as wings.

The ascetic heart knows the darkness of this cell that is our fallen state, the chill of the stone walls that barricade us as if in tombs while yet we walk alive. And this heart knows, too, the cunning poison that is our joy, when founded in these walls—a poison sweet as honey, that dries the blood even as it tickles the tongue. The ascetic heart knows the deep reality of bondage, of the lament of all creation when a human person is bound to death, and recognizes the truth of the chains that bind him. Yet for the ascetic, the chains lose their appeal, their draw—for he knows that only the yoke offered by Christ can lead upward, inward, forward to Life.

One might feel pity, when seeing the ascetic, for he whose heart is borne aloft to God is the very man whose tears flow more freely than most, who weeps in time of rejoicing and sorrows at the festivals of the day. Yet how absent from the need for pity is the man who knows the sorrow of the world, for it is only he who knows its joy! Only when the illusion of ‘life’ is seen for all its empty reality, can the space within one’s vision that so long it occupied be filled—at long last—with the vision of Truth.

The sorrow of the ascetic is not a hopeless sadness, but a hope-filled lament for all that is distant from God. It is the heart weeping for its loss, even in the same breath that it receives its gain, just as the father wept for his prodigal son even as the latter rushed with longing into his father’s arms. The tears wept in this divine sorrow are tears of purification, the divine waters of baptismal grace welling up anew from the depths of the heart, purifying flesh and soul as they ascend upward and outward, finally to fall to the waiting earth.

It is in sorrow that the ascetic heart finds the doorway to joy. A heart petrified so long by the dry passions and fleeting winds of worldly desires becomes hardened, parched, incapable of change or growth. It is this parched earth that the ascetic waters with her tears, pained at her heart’s barrenness, but stirred with profoundest joy at the knowledge that each drop of water transforms the very earth itself.

As sorrow gives rise to tears, so is the hardened heart softened. As the heart is softened, holiness is born. As holiness is born, so divine transformation occurs. And where God transforms life, there all joy and hope, love and peace are found. Thus does the ascetic sorrow, for in sorrow is the door to life.

***

The boy approached his father, sat and questioned, ‘Old man, why are you alone? Why your solitude?’ The elder sighed, his breath light as the sky:

‘All the world is one, beloved,

kept entire in the hand of God.

Solitude is an illusion,

a fleeting vision;

for when one is still

he is never alone.

‘And yet the world turns,

turns with haste toward its ends—

fleeting, fallen, manmade all.

And we, too, turn,

glancing here and there, with

vision rushed, blurred;

never one, but divided.

‘I am alone, beloved, for the sake

of our communion.

Only in solitude is stillness born,

only there is it nurtured—

that great gift by which we live.

Divine silence can be found but

when the heart is still:

alone in its quest,

alone with God.

Thus solitude brings quiet,

and quiet the stillness where

whispers cease,

and here, the voice of God.

‘Hear me well, dear boy:

my solitude is my communion;

alone, we are together.

In solitude I see Christ whole,

for I am wholly His.

By this vision I am transformed,

my eyes at last beholding Life,

and Life reviving the blood of my veins.

I am Adam, wailing alone before the gates.

I quiet my tears to hear God beside me

—and am healed.

‘Thus my solitude, thus am I alone:

to know the depth of Christ within

and heal all that is without.

For when in solitude I come to know God,

I am united to Him in love,

united to Him who fills all,

And my solitude becomes my communion,

as alone I embrace the world.’

***

The call to retreat is mystical. There is divine grace even in the pin-prick voice of the inspired conscience, which through its love for the way of the Cross takes note of the desert, there sees a palace, and calls with longing for its transformation into home. It is the voice which called Christ into the sands of Judea, Anthony into the dunes of Egypt, Saba into the valleys of Palestine, and every human person into the desert of his own life. With echoes of the voice of God, this chord within the human soul seeks retreat, departure from the ways of extravagance and ease, and builds within the heart the desire for battle in the solitude of the sand.

Who has lived and not at some time heard—however faintly—this call? In the busiest moments, in the most absorbed, who has not felt the inexplicable desire for solitude, for a place of silence and peace in which to make sense of the world’s stage? Perhaps but for a fleeting instant, yet this desire is truly felt, and that instant can change the soul. There is crisis, for in the infinite smallness of that single moment, the great magnitude of life is felt, and a sense of distance formed.

It is the gift of the ascetic heart to live in this moment, to cultivate the seed of so precious an instant into the fruit of a whole life changed, woven to the garment of Christ. In this heart the moment of the call is extended to the span of life, for the call is sweet, and the heart knows that such an invitation cannot but be heeded. Love answers Love, for it is the One who is the essence of love whose voice has pierced the soul.

Thus is born the desire for retreat. Yes, to retreat is to flee, but the ascetic flees the world not to abandon it, rather to embrace it. It is not that she hates the world that the ascetic runs, but because she loves it too dearly to be captive to it falsely. To love the world in sin is to shame both the lover and the loved, to deny the holiness of both. Retreat becomes the means for purification, for sanctification, that holy may meet holy, and in purity embrace at last.

Solitude becomes communion, true communion, for our unity as brother and sister is naught but for our union with Christ, and this is in us all most fallen. Fragmented, torn from Christ and ourselves, we can never be whole. The family of humanity is a great and marvelous image formed after the nature of a puzzle with pieces intertwined, embracing. But if each piece will not itself be one, then the puzzle may never be fit. Thus the ascetic plunges into solitude, departure, for here the broken self is healed. Here distractions falls before the gates of contemplation, and fallen being finds reality in communion with the Maker of all. Here, alone, the thread is re-spun, strengthened, purified, brightened, that it may be woven as never before into the fabric of humanity.

Christ will be all in all, and all in Him must be one. But community without self is illusory, finite. The ascetic sees this, and in the vision sees response in flight. Alone, alone in the solitude of prayer, does he join the world at last.

***

The boy knelt at his father’s knees, ‘Dear man, how do you pray?’ The old man sighed a gentle sigh, smiling in his eyes. All questions came to this. Here the great meeting place of life, and of its nature the elder spoke:

‘Beloved, prayer is life,

and apart from it is only darkness.

It is the breath of the soul which yearns for God,

joining with His breath,

becoming one.

Prayer is the only light by which men can see,

the only vision they are called to adore,

for it is union with God

and in this union—everything.

‘Prayer is the quiet of a storm-tossed will,

an intellect guarded from the seas,

a mind centered upon God Most High.

It is stillness wrought in the midst of motion,

in which all that moves is God,

and with Him, all the world.

Prayer knows no words, if it is true,

for words belittle the presence of the Divine,

confound the conversation of Him who is all in all.

True prayer is beyond words,

transcending speech and thought,

communing with One who is greater than these,

Who works beyond them,

and in Whose presence they are no longer required.

Prayer is the stillness of the tongue,

of the mind, of the heart,

that God and these may come together

apart from words—one.

‘To pray, beloved, is to gather with Christ

at the shores of eternity;

To realize that these shores are within,

manifested in each human heart—

the infinite contained in the finite.

The One who came as Man and dwelt in a womb,

now dwells in the very heart of man.

Prayer is His energy, His activity,

vibrant in the human soul,

alive through His very Spirit,

stirring life to new heights

in the soul that has become quiet,

still enough to feel His breath.

‘We pray in our weakness, beloved,

for it makes us strong;

We pray in our strength,

for it makes us humble;

We pray in height and depth,