#and i love how much different meditation techniques give me words I never had to describe to myself the things that work for me to do

[goldkirk]

oh my god it's amazing how we can be suffering but still experiencing so much joy and curiosity and happiness often anyway.

[karezzasstuff]

From the project of interviewing Stanley S. Bass about his experiences with Karezza techniques, The Life Science Publishing created the 2008 book Energy-Karezza. Here Dr. Bass tells the story of how, in his 30’s, he was on his way to become a celibate yogi through Brahmacharya, when he learned about reaching the same spiritual goal via Karezza & Tantra. He decided to try Karezza instead.

Even though his personal goal was spiritual, Dr. Bass soon discovered that women loved Karezza, and couldn’t get enough. When he started teaching the improved Energy-Karezza method to couples with marital problems, the results were astounding. Usually, within weeks, the couple had fallen in love again. Problematic marriages healed, becoming more and more harmonious and stronger with time.

Over time, over 50+ years, he not only gained experience concerning every aspect of Karezza/Tantra, but also – thanks to his energy-understanding, being an orthopathic doctor – developed an improved, more powerful & easy-to-learn, version. Traditional “Karezza/Tantra” can be difficult for men, but “Energy-Karezza/Tantra” is easy, and also gives more pleasure & prolongation..

INTRODUCING OTHERS TO KAREZZA

Karezza is about one thing, the man has to control himself. It is so easy. I got so good at this control that I soon was able to go almost a whole year with no accidents. With very heavy sex - three times a week, four hours each session. It didn't take long to get to a high level of proficiency.

In a few months I was very good at it already.

It is very simple, it is natural. It is not difficult. Prove it for yourself, don't take my word for it. Try it out. The first time I heard about it, it was strange to me, so I tried it. It didn't take me long to get good at it. It was easier than I thought. In fact, I taught Karezza to a lot of friends, and everyone had success.

If one of them asked me, "how do I know if it will work?", I gave him a simple method of trying it. I usually said, "why don't you first try:

1. Don't have an orgasm quickly, but wait until the woman is finished, until she has had her enjoyment. Practice holding back for half an hour, for an hour, for several hours, if you can.

2. Then you'll see that your own orgasms are better; they are more enjoyable.

3. Also try having an orgasm only every other time you have sex.

Skipping one time. Every other time, try without orgasm. See how you feel."

With my sex students, those were my instructions, to begin with. These instructions summarize basic traditional Karezza. But these simple instructions could still be difficult for some men. They lost control (ejaculated) early, and were never able to do Karezza for a full hour.

Therefore, to make it easier, I gave my students some Energy-Karezza secrets. I asked them to improve their diet, and to avoid alcohol and all drugs. I told them not to eat before sex, because a man can not control himself after he has eaten. Why? Because then too much blood goes to the stomach.

Also, I gave very detailed instructions on the best movements in sex. I told them to move slowly, and explained how to move, so they wouldn't get too excited, e.g. sideways, in semicircles, avoiding the in-out moves.

For the premature ejaculators, I told them to give up salt, and to not use anything spicy hot, avoid hot peppers, stay away from spices, because this throws them out of control. And then I told them to use certain motions, slow motions, that makes it easy to control oneself. That's all.

Then the women will get the pleasure, because the men are controlling themselves.

For some men the pleasure was so overwhelming that they were still unable to control themselves very long, more than perhaps 45 minutes, even if their diet was good and they had high vitality. In these cases I think the solution is just doing it over and over. Sometimes men, just like women, may need saturation with lots of high-pleasure peak orgasms, before they can start with serious self-control and higher-pleasure valley orgasms. It may take months, but in the end they will get there.

I myself was never overly concerned with the clitoris or the G-spot, because the Karezza was so enjoyable and I was so good at it that a woman couldn't hold out long. If they wanted to have an orgasm, they could have it quick. Women enjoyed it.

The women were very happy. After beginning Karezza, it became unnecessary to calculate all this stuff. I never had to actually figure it out.

All I did was to function naturally, the way I felt like, without thinking about it. And it was right, for every woman. If one gets too mechanical about it, one becomes a dud. Then it is not real. Real sex has nothing to do with the brain, it has to do with feelings, true feelings and movement.

That's all. The brain is not needed.

From page 45 the Technique to Paradise.

🍎🐍🏖️

YAB YUM

What are you experiencing?

~ by yab yum

Be patient. At first you can't experience the orgasmic part of this process. Some get it on their first try and for some it can take years. Keep practicing with the exercise your teacher gives you. Even if you don't experience the orgasm, just the breath and energy circling alone is of great value. It will clear blocks so that eventually the orgasm can pass through you. Blocks can be experienced in many ways – crying, gagging, getting frustrated, resurfacing old memories. Just keep breathing. Visualize letting go of the "old" on the exhale, ringing out the "new" on the inhale. Energy levels will most likely rise and fall, like mercury in a thermometer. Tell your partner where it slipped. Your partner will encourage you to tap into your sexual center when energy is slipping. One of the main keys to learning this technique is KNOWING that it is possible.

(When asked if she had an orgasm, Sara responded 🙂

It was uninterrupted, uninterrupted… This was definitely something else, which I have never experienced so fully.

(Sara was then asked if there were any psychological changes.)

Oh yes, sure. From the point of view of spiritual practice it is always full of insight, a kind of insight that comes after, about how I am in ecstasy in my usual state, because it is obvious that the ecstasy is inherent in the body (level), of my being… and also of course this would affect my meditation. I am much more relaxed and receptive physically, emotionally and psychologically when I sit down to meditate…. I don't know what this has to do with anything, but meditation becomes very sexual, very physical, playing with all these hormones. Very often in my meditation there is a stage like deepening where it goes through something like lovemaking in a hormonal sense. I feel the heat and change of energy and so forth, and then it just cools down. That is when deep meditation begins.

It is absolutely blissful in ecstasy because the bliss is something I feel in the body. The ecstasy is something where the body is no longer. Energy goes up. His community. It is love. The transcendent, the energy feeling, transcends even the light that I'm talking about in meditation, and just went into the light.

One tree merges with another tree, the earth merges with the trees, the trees merge with the sky, the sky merges with the unknown...you merge with me, I merge with you...everything merges...differences lost, melting and merging as waves into other waves…an enormous unity vibrating, alive, without limits, without definitions, without distinction…the sage melting into the sinner, the sinner flowing together in the sage…becoming good becoming bad, becoming bad…the night turning into the day, day turning into night… life melts into death, death plunges into life again – then everything has become one.

This has changed my experience with sexuality forever… It has blown up things like this what you have about sex, the good feeling you get from sexual experience or trying to get. It broke that because it was so obviously about submission. It wasn't about me trying to do something. It was about not doing something, but rather receiving or allowing it, rather than doing and creating and making.

This is the most profound healing practice I have ever encountered. It has awakened me to realize that my body is often shut off from the bliss and ecstasy it might be experiencing. Through this practice I have come to learn that emotional pain occurs when orgasmic energy does not flow freely through my body and that there is an infinite flow of orgasmic energy available to me. It has taken me years to gradually release the tension and pain in my body and I still have areas of tension to unblock. The sensations can be different each time depending on my condition, sometimes there is a pulsating vibration and sometimes it feels like some kind of electrical current circulating through my genitals throughout my body. There may be tears of joy. My mind can be perfectly clear and it can seem like everything I feared has been resolved. When a certain area of ​​tension is unblocked and the orgasmic energy circulates, there is always an amazing sense of oneness with the life being awakened.

Mel 40 Auckland

My teacher knew how to touch – and where to make contact – He knew places to touch that I didn't know about – and soon I was on my way to another place in another universe. I was in a trance of breathing and sweat and pleasure that so long and so dead do had gone – that I traveled through light and sound. I never knew that such an experience could be had without actually making love. When I finally climaxed and climaxed and climaxed, I couldn't believe I was having a sexual climax in the presence of someone other than my husband. I felt both excitement and a little embarrassment. Looking back at this moment, I would never have thought that having an orgasm for another man would actually be the "beginning" of this whole journey in Tantra

Emma S 35

Auckland

And this is the joy of Cosmic Spiritual Orgasm, because you disappear for a moment. That moment is very small, but its impact is immense. For a moment you are no longer the ego, you do not think in terms of 'I', for a moment you dissolve into the oneness of the all, you become one with the whole, you pulsate with the whole. You are no longer an individual… you are no longer limited to your body. You have no limitations, for a moment you are unlimited, infinite.

That is the meaning of Cosmic Spiritual Orgasm – that your frozen energy melts, becoming one with this universe, with the trees and the stars, and the woman and the man, and the rocks – for a single moment, of course. But in THAT moment you have a kind of consciousness that is religious, that is sacred, that is one with all things. – OSHO

Unbelievable! Some are very strong and some are wonderfully subtle. In general, the more time you spend building up the energy, the more powerful the sensations. You experience “electricity” throughout your body, hands, feet and lips tingle, and there is a sense of letting go and receiving at the same time. You will feel high, euphoric and light-headed. It feels very different from a clitoral orgasm (but it can happen at the same time as a clitoral orgasm). You see a seed sprout, flowers appear on a tree somewhere, the birds are singing – the whole phenomenon is sexual. It is life manifesting in many ways. When the bird sings, it is a sexual call, an invitation. When the flower attracts butterflies and bees, it is an invitation, because the bees and butterflies bear the seeds of reproduction. Everything seems to be divided into these two polarities. And life is a rhythm between these two opposites. Repulsion and attraction, coming closer and getting far… these are the rhythms.

Z

[mahizli]

Bonds (Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, 22 BBY)

Art by Mokorney and Part 22 of ‘Sparks of Hope’

***

Dooku held nothing but contempt for the Skywalker boy – no finesse, no subtlety, and no mastering of emotions, without much room for improvement. The Force knew he had tried to curb similar faults in Qui-Gon, very long ago, but his former Padawan had found his balance into meditation, oddly enough, and Dooku had only needed a few seconds to assess that Skywalker was completely unable to achieve it, and never would be.

Dooku was no fool. He could sense how powerful the boy was, what an asset he would play once he would have fallen completely – he was also very much aware of the interest his Master had in him. An interest that Dooku needed to be watchful of – because he knew how easily a Sith Apprentice could be replaced.

Dooku was no fool – and that was why he was keeping Ventress just close enough to control her, and just far enough for her not to attract Sidious’ attention unnecessarily. Ventress was fierce, skilled and loyal to a fault – and since he could not have Kenobi yet, she was a tolerable substitute.

It did not mean Kenobi was entirely lost to him, though – and Dooku watched him wake with carefully hidden interest, sitting up and rubbing his brow silently, helping Skywalker to recover.

“How you could choose to walk out there and get yourselves caught despite my warning is truly beyond me”, Dooku quipped, taking delight in watching Kenobi’s eyes widen slightly.

His former Grandpadawan’s eyes wandered to the electric bound wrought around his waist, attaching him both to Dooku and Skywalker. And the Count was surprised to feel resolve and relief seep through his incredibly strong shields. Kenobi was quick to place himself in front of Skywalker, holding him back and shielding him with his body, as soon as Dooku began to provoke the boy – it was frankly too easy. One just had to mention his arm, and watch Skywalker go feral.

“You will pay”, Skywalker hissed. “For all the Jedi you murdered on Geonosis.”

“That, my dear fool of a Jedi, is entirely your Master’s doing. Remind me again whose rescue it was that needed two-hundred and twelve Jedi?”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Anakin.”

Kenobi’s voice was calm. Measured, and so very soft. His body language still spelt protectiveness, one hand lightly placed on Skywalker’s left forearm. His face looked pale, in the dim light of the cell – but there was nothing but steadiness in the Force around him, and the command on his shields was frankly impressive.

“The Republic is going to send envoys with the spice. We need to get out of here before. And since we appear to be bound together, for the time being, I suggest we refrain from murdering each other.”

“You want us to team up with him?!!”

The indignation in Skywalker’s voice was grating – and Kenobi sighed.

“Currently, having you running in different directions is no option for me.”

He gestured towards his waist, a small smile playing around his lips, and Skywalker huffed.

“Good point, Master.”

They spent the next hours trying to escape from Hondo Ohnaka’s cells, only to found themselves back there. Dooku just shrugged, mentally, not overly worried and secretly impressed when Kenobi pulled that mind-trick on the stupid Weequay sentinel.

“You don’t want to stand guard. You want to deactivate the cell bars and… go out drinking.”

They watched the guard turn to a mindless puppet and set them free, and Kenobi muttered:

“Almost too easy.”

They had been prisoners together long enough for Dooku to recognise the small frown between Kenobi’s eyebrows as a sign of worry. He was not projecting anything into the Force, his signature surprisingly mild and gentle, but Dooku had already learned that his former Grandpadawan’s mind never stopped running.

They left the cell for the second time, running towards the exit, and suddenly Kenobi was pushing him behind a crate, palm splayed on his shoulder, body shielding him in an unconscious, protective move mirroring his earlier one.

“Hurry along, Dooku.”

His sharp, focused grey eyes darted around, and Dooku realised just how strong and dangerous his Grandpadawan could be, even without a lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s sleeve was brushing his, and he had adopted a defensive Soresu stance, but his hand was trailing behind, feeling for Skywalker in the Force, attuned to his reactions – and this was Qui-Gon’s training.

Qui-Gon had perfected the dual Master-and-Padawan technique along with Feemor, and brought it to completion with Obi-Wan, who had mastered the skill himself along with his own Padawan.

Dooku could have invaded their bond through the Force – but such was a crude, dirty thing reserved for the ones like Maul, whom Dooku abhorred and despised. Instead, he focused on the quiet signs: Obi-Wan’s small tilt of the head, the way his shoulders relaxed once Skywalker shifted his own position, and the quiet smile in his eyes when they started to run in sync.

Their bond was not closed, clearly, and this was so very interesting – but it also tugged at something Dooku had though to be long purged from his very system.  

Something reminding him of a vibrant green blade, of Qui-Gon’s quiet, casual shrug whenever Dooku ordered him around – but his Padawan had been dutiful and strong, truly skilled in the Force and so very warm. Until Feemor had died. Until Dooku lost Qui-Gon’s friendship and goodwill for good – because his Padawan had always been too headstrong, and too tender-hearted.

“Jump!”

They were still bound by the waist – Obi-Wan linking them together, and Dooku heard his gasp when Anakin grabbed the fence, leaving them both hanging below him.

“You’re too heavy. I can’t do it.”

They were slipping, and suddenly the link between him and Obi-Wan snapped – and then Dooku felt warm, strong hands grab his.

“Are you crazy, Master?! Just drop him!”

But Obi-Wan’s hands just tightened around his, eyes narrowing in steely resolve even as the bound tugged at his waist, drawing another pained exhale from him.

Never.

The small word echoed in the Force with quiet determination, and Dooku almost winced in pain, because the dedication within sprang from something so old, so long forgotten it burned, around his chest and in his very mind.

Ohnaka’s men somehow managed to knock Skywalker out and drag them both up in one fluid motion, and they soon found themselves back in their cells, finally separated but still unable to flee.

Dooku’s wrists hurt and he was somewhat short of breath, and so was Obi-Wan, who was bent above Skywalker’s unconscious body and had yet to straighten fully, arm wrapped around his waist.

“You should have dropped me”, Dooku stated, but Obi-Wan just huffed, with a small, annoyed shake of the head.

He fumbled through his utility belt, and managed to unfold a small Bacta patch, placing it against the welt on Skywalker’s brow, then he splayed his fingers, pressing them gently against his head.

Skywalker let out a soft moan, then his limbs seemed to relax and Dooku watched Obi-Wan’s face soften, his features still focused but appeased as he guided the boy into a healing trance.

“Rash, and unbalanced.”

This got Obi-Wan’s attention, and Dooku soon faced those calm, grey eyes, watching his Grandpadawan straighten, Anakin’s head still cradled in his lap.

“He might be skilled with machines. Wires. Even lightsabers”, Dooku dropped. “But he has not mastered anything in the Force, and he will disappoint you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Anakin will never disappoint me.”

“Don’t be so sure…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, but then his Grandpadawan shook his head.

“I know what you are trying to do. And it will not work. You want to sow distrust and hatred between us. You want to belittle Anakin in my mind, and in my heart. But you cannot. Because those faults you point out are known to me, and known to him. Because I did not seek to raise a perfect machine, or a droid, when I took Anakin as a Padawan.”

“Did you? Take him as a Padawan? Or was it something more complicated? A promise to the one who had raised, and forsaken you?”

“Qui-Gon did not forsake me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was very quiet. He was not a small man, but he was definitely smaller than them both. Thin. A small reed, Yoda had always called him. And Dooku knew just how very fragile he was, how insignificant the Dark side of the Force made him – their duel was only months old, and he had brought him down within seconds.

Yet, just now, there was a conviction and a power radiating through him that seemed to dwarf them all. Obi-Wan raised bright grey eyes towards him, and Dooku realised, then, that the boy had worked hard towards balance – and that his efforts had not been vain.

“Qui-Gon believed in him. And, when it came to choose between Anakin and myself, he chose him because he saw, and realised, that Anakin needed him more than I did.”

“You do not resent him? For calling you only stubborn, and capable, in front of the whole Jedi Council, when you gave him twelve years of your life?”

It still irked something in Dooku. It had made him want to shake Qui-Gon until his teeth rattled – but Qui-Gon had died before Dooku had even known the full extent of the mess he had made with Obi-Wan, and then… Then Dooku had realised that the Jedi Order was nothing like it should anymore – nothing like it could.  

“And what kind of a Padawan would that make me?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was just a whisper, and his face had turned very pale, but the resolve had not left his eyes. On the contrary, something warm and light had begun to seep through his shields, permeating the Force around him, and it was searing open that small, long forgotten spot deep into Dooku’s chest.

“What of the years Qui-Gon devoted to me? What of Qui-Gon choosing me? Of helping me understand the Force, and myself, and the world around us, every single day of my apprenticeship? What of the love and care he provided, for my mind, body and soul, giving me all he had and even more? What of the devotion he inspired in me – strong enough to help me come back to him when I almost fell? How could I resent him for caring for a boy who deserves the world, and who was unwanted by most, yet who holds such promises?”

His Grandpadawan was facing him, features pinched yet glowing so brightly in the Force – and there was no contempt in Obi-Wan’s words, just genuine truth and belief. And it was painful.

“Qui-Gon taught me to be gentle with the faults we can find in others, because he was not perfect and never sought to be. He simply sought to improve himself. And this is something Anakin does as well – which is why he will never disappoint me.”

“Such meekness…”

“Call it whatever you want. I do not care.”

“Have you no pride at all?”

The question was genuine – almost taking Dooku by surprise. Obi-Wan however just raised his eyebrows, hands finding Anakin’s shoulders.

“And who am I, to place myself above so many others? We are a whole, Dooku. And just because I have no interest to dominate or best others does not mean I do not seek to improve my skills, and my way of understanding the Force.”

“How can that be enough?”

Dooku was laughing now, but it sounded cold and foreign to him.

“Because it is.”

There was sadness, and compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes – and Dooku realised then, that this conversation had to end. That he would not gain the boy to his side that day – that he would have to wait for the war to extinguish the light into Obi-Wan’s eyes, for the battles and losses to harden his heart, for the despair to invade more of his mind, until he would be ready to hear some of the truths Dooku had come to embrace.

“I wish you would see it. I wish it would not be you we had to fight, day after day and night after night. But if I must, I will – because it is worth it.”

“What is…?”

Skywalker’s quiet mumble brought them both back to the small, grey cell they were still stuck in, and Obi-Wan’s eyes instantly searched for his face.

“What’s worth it, Master? Why are we back here with him?”

“Because your Master would not take your advice to drop me”, Dooku quipped.

“’Course not.”

The childish surety in Skywalker’s voice was surprising, and the boy lifted a hand, gently patting Obi-Wan on the arm.

“I’m the evil one here.”

“Hush now, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s hand had not left his brow, and his eyes met Dooku’s again. Steely, with a hint of sadness and unshakable resolve. His Grandpadawan wrapped an arm around Skywalker’s chest, and gave a curt nod.

And despite of himself, Dooku nodded back – because Obi-Wan was definitely worth a conversation. His Grandpadawan also had the means to defend himself, and to get himself – and Skywalker – out of this mess. And so, when Ohnaka’s men went to fetch them, leaving him alone in his cell, Dooku wasted no time preparing his own escape.

When the power died down, he killed the guards and the men facing him without any remorse. And he did not look over his shoulder, not once – determined to leave Florrum as soon as possible, and return with enough forces to burn it to the ground.

Just like he would burn the small part of himself Obi-Wan had brought back to life, because it was not part of Dooku’s plans and schemes.

Some bounds were better severed, and Dooku was honing his blades.

But not just yet.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: threads spun

Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.

AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.

The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.

It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes. 

He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.

Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.

He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.

In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.

He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.

He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.

Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.

But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.

Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.

The Rebellion might as well be lost.

"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.

"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.

"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.

Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.

Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.

"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."

No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.

"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."

Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.

"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."

"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.

"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"

You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.

He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.

"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."

Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.

And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.

"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.

"Of course."

"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.

Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."

"Braid my hair?"

Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."

Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.

He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.

The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.

He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."

He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.

There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.

Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.

"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.

Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.

"How does it look?" Luke asks.

"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."

Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.

"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.

"You are welcome, Padawan."

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

[celestial-violencia]

Shadow WORK for a Reason

An essay on the absolute lack of self-awareness and staunch refusal to better oneself in the spiritual community by a frustrated and tired Kat who has had enough of your excuse bullshit

PART ONE: BASICS

What is shadow work?            Shadow work is taking responsibility for and dealing with your shortcomings (Yes, everyone has shortcomings, welcome to being human). It is addressing the shadow self, things that we have repressed or things that have resulted in internalized negativity, and identifying and making changes to our behaviors and reactions by using cognizant behavioral techniques.

What isn’t shadow work?            Shadow work is not spiritual bypassing, removing responsibility from yourself for your actions, pretending you don’t have anything to work on, making excuses, using toxic positivity to avoid facing your shadow self, etc.

Who is shadow work for?            Literally everyone. There is no limit. Are you cognizant of yourself? Congratulations, you qualify for shadow work! Take a medal and start putting in work.

What does shadow work entail?            Shadow work can be done in many different ways. Journal prompts, guided meditation, therapy, cognitive behavioral techniques and exercises, pretty much anything that enables you to look at and honestly assess traits in yourself, where you need to change, and ways to apply those changes. It entails actively working on yourself. It is an on-going process that does not end. You are never perfect. But you are better than you were and that is what matters.

PART TWO: SOCIAL CONFORMITIES AND SHADOW WORK

Over time, I have seen an absolute lack of work in shadow work. Excuses range from “ableism” to toxic positivity to refusal to admit a fear of change to overcome it. People are so averse to shadow work that the thought of taking a look at your actions and changing is considered “negative” and not allowed in people’s “safe spaces.” The current social trend seems to be coddling people from change because of toxic positivity or the groupthink of “If they change, I should be changing, and I don’t want to,” whether people will admit it or not. People get comfortable in their misery, want other people to be miserable, and/or even manipulate their lack of change to milk sympathy from others and refuse to look in themselves and see it for what it is. However, that’s still toxic, and whether they lack the self-awareness to see it doesn’t change what their behavior is. They want to change, but they just can’t. Well, I can’t with the excuses, period dot amen as my old religious studies teacher would say. The bottom line is, if you want change, you need to put in work. If toxic negativity is affecting you, it is not enough to go to a therapist, cry for an hour, and then go right back to the same behaviors that got you to that therapist in the first place. Does this mean that shadow work is instantaneous? NO. It is a lifelong process. But what matters is that you are constantly making progress. You can have bad days. You can have slip ups. We are human. But the overall trend of the graph should be upwards. I am not perfect. None of us are. Shadow work is not a safe space for you to hide from your responsibilities, negative traits, and negative behaviors and quite frankly? That safe space shouldn’t exist. Shadow work is 100% necessary. Now we’re going to break down excuses people like to cling to as if they’re lifelines while nope, they’re still drowning.

PART THREE: COMMON EXCUSES AND WHY THEY’RE BULLSHIT

“Ableism”/Victim-Blaming I can’t count how many times the word “ableism” has been thrown around as an excuse for not doing shadow work or working on yourself, along with “victim-blaming.” To start, you’re using the word ableism wrong. Shadow work does not require you to be physically able. Shadow work does not require you to be neurotypical. Shadow work does not require anything except the ability to know yourself. Mental illness, while it can add additional challenges, is not an excuse to avoid shadow work. If you are cognizant of yourself, once again, congratulations! Shadow work is for you. Shadow work is for people who have been victimized too, folks. You know what’s disempowering? Perpetual victimhood. You know what’s empowering? Giving people who have been victimized tools to establish healthy boundaries, recognize toxic behaviors, and provide ways to heal and break the cycle of perpetual victimhood. Looking at what part your own actions may have played in allowing people who are toxic to stay in your life is not blaming the victim. It is helping them realize where they should have drawn the line, how to draw that line, and how to maintain healthy boundaries for what they deem to be toxic in their lives. Does that mean it was their fault they were targeted by a toxic person? NO. But it allows them to find ways to keep the toxic people at bay. It is protection. It is giving them their autonomy back in being able to decide who and what they want in their lives and to heal from their trauma. To call that disempowering or blaming the victim is honestly stupid as fuck.

LALKs and Toxic Positivity            What is a LALK? A Love and Light Karen/Ken/Other-K-name-here. What do LALKs love more than anything else? Toxic positivity. What is toxic positivity you ask? It’s like a team of soccer parents who will never tell you you’re wrong, coddle you, and say things like “It’s fine, sweetie, you’re doing great drowning! Keep it up! Love and light! Spiritually bypass like your life depends on it!” while their eyes twitch and they’re one negative thought away from a total mental breakdown but won’t admit it. Leave this shit at the door. Always being positive is not genuine, it does not help you, and just adds pressure on you that you wouldn’t otherwise have. It can cost you relationships and just lets the shadow grow until it consumes you like some whack horror movie and lets it destroy your life like a town in a superhero movie. Don’t do this.

BUT MUH TRAUMA            “But Kat! I have trauma. Doesn’t that mean I can coddle myself and not put in any work?” Sure, you can take some time to recover but guess what? Shadow work is still necessary for you, too. Some people would argue that trauma makes it more necessary. You may have to take it slower than others because trauma shadow work can involve facing triggers head on, but does that make you exempt? Nope. What would you rather, to integrate and heal your trauma when you’re ready for it? Or keep repressing and denying it until you’re absolutely forced to deal with it and haven’t readied yourself?

NO WAIT I AM TOO SCARED TO CHANGE! DON’T MAKE ME DO THINGS!            Fear is normal. Not wanting to face the uglier parts of ourselves is natural. Letting that fear hold you back is never going to benefit you. Ease your way into it. Fight the fear. Take it a step at a time. Once again, this is a process and not an instant fix. You can take this journey at your own pace. The important thing is you keep moving forward and keep putting in work. Never working on yourself out of fear is just going to force you to do so when you hit rock bottom. Choose your adventure: Go quietly and at your own pace or get dragged through the shadow work spike pit kicking and screaming. I think we both know what the better option is.

PART FOUR: CONCLUSION           Avoiding shadow work is just going to harm you. Perpetually allowing yourself to engage in repetitive behaviors that are toxic to yourself and others because you don’t want to put in work should be illegal (I would say punishable offense, but you’re going to get punished by alienating yourself, etc. when you’re forced to face the consequences of your own actions and how your own toxicity affects others). Holding yourself back out of fear is not going to make you happy in the long run.

DO YOUR SHADOW WORK.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (10/16)

In which Obi-Wan’s day gets worse. And worse.

Zombie Savage AU | 3k | warnings for body horror, mention of sexual assault

Obi-Wan’s troopers are staying mostly out of sight, aside from the few of them doing key maintenance or still manning the helm to enable quick escape if necessary. He knows they disapprove of the fact that he’s leading Savage Opress, renegade Sith apprentice and apparent undead creature and slayer of uncounted of their brothers and two Jedi, onto their small reconnaissance spaceship. He can’t see them, but he can still feel the worrying glares.

He also knows it’s necessary.

Identifying Darth Sidious is of utmost priority.

For the war effort. For the Republic. For the Jedi Order. For Obi-Wan himself, who’s lost so much to the machinations of this Sith, from Qui-Gon a decade ago to friends and soldiers daily right now.

He doesn’t quite know what breaching into the zabrak’s head will entail, but Obi-Wan will be likely out of commission for some time, which should be much safer on the ship. Plus, they are going to leave Entralla anyway. Once they know who Sidious is, they’ll make for his location posthaste—with an optional detour to Coruscant, should he decide he needs reinforcement. If everyone’s already on board, it will speed up the process. And the zabrak isn’t currently hostile.

He’s following Obi-Wan onto the ship without another word, head slightly bowed and apparently incurious.

He follows him into a small unused cabin.

He stands there, unmoving except for the metal insectoids in his cheek.

“How do you want to do this?” Obi-Wan has always been a courteous host. Even facing the undead creature that watched Satine die, it’s hard to shake the instinct.

Opress glances around the room. Only the wriggling of his cables betrays his nerves—if that is what it means.

“You suggested this. I know the Jedi ways of entering a mind—” in theory, and it was never Obi-Wan’s focus of study, though as unexpectedly easy as interaction with the grunting and brutal Sith is turning out to be, he mustn’t expose any lack of surety without reason— “but I assume you know your own techniques for mindmelding. Your familiarity might make this easier.”

“The cot.” Opress pulls at it until it’s dead center in the small room, then strips off the bedding and tosses it into a corner. “This ship is not earthen, but at least it is currently touching the soil, even if it’s not the soil of… It should be darker here. Can you locate braziers?”

“No.” Open fire? Inside a spaceship cabin? It would take a skilled engineer an hour to even shut off the smoke alarms because they are so elementary for safety.

“Then the electric light will serve in its place,” Opress rumbles. It’s hard to work out whether he’s disappointed. “I will strip—” he touches his shoulder pad, the one that was a clone’s helmet an hour ago, and shies away as if burned— “I will lie down now. You will stand behind my head.”

Obi-Wan follows his direction. The earth, the fire, the dark, and their arrangement—it seems deeply ritualistic, and although the Sith tend towards the dramatic he’s never thought them this primitive. In a less dire situation, this would be interesting.

“You will raise your hands. I will close my eyes.”

From the vantage point right above the supine zabrak, Opress looks even more wretched than he appeared on the battlefield. Occasionally, Obi-Wan can see straight through one of the holes in his chest before thick wriggling cables block his view. The other’s filled with an emitter guard—with Opress’ saber’s emitter guard. His torso is well-covered with junkyard debris, and where skin peeks through armor or trash it only seems slightly discolored. The arms are a different matter: the left forearm is prosthetic, of course, dull and lifeless compared to the rest of him, and the upper arms are sore-ridden and blistering and shiny with blaster burns. There is a deep gash all the way lengthwise down his right forearm, stuffed with crap, and the skin at the edges is swollen and purpling black. Flecks of trash move across the gash restlessly like misshapen ants. Despite Savage Opress’ size, somehow, he looks small.

“And then?”

Ridiculously, Opress looks offended. He rumbles, “You do magic.”

“Magic?”

A deep sigh heaves Opress’ metal-studded chest. His brows bunch. He bites his lip. Then, he rumbles, almost monotonously, “I gave myself up for my brother. Brothers. I am here now, and I will not resist. Picture it. I gave myself up. I will not resist. I paid the price for his life. I offer myself for my brother. I am here, Mother, Your Weapon, and whatever Your magic—"

Obi-Wan almost chokes on his vomit. The acid settles, uncomfortably, in his esophagus. Hunts have been lean recently, and there’s not much more to bring up. What hunts—The acid resists being swallowed because he’s lying down. He’s flat on his back and it’s dark outside his closed eyelids and he is terrified. He can feel the musty air on his bare chest, and he wishes he had something to cover himself. Anything. Only this isn’t what he’s been brought here for, he knows, he will soon be bred and—he’s lucky he still has his skirt. It won’t be long now. Maybe She will accept his lack of experience, and despite the tales She will be gentle. Only some Sisters enjoy causing pain.

It won’t be long, he thinks, trying to swallow back bitter spittle, trying to even out his breaths, it won’t be long, and the green that flashes behind his eyelids and seeps deep into his bones is no more vivid than the stone under his back. It won’t be long. It won’t last. It won’t be long.

He sinks.

He—there was a purpose here. He had a purpose. He is… He is Jedi. He’s Obi-Wan.

He’s Obi-Wan, and he just entered this mind.

This isn’t real, or rather—

It isn’t now.

He needs to find out a way to navigate these memories. Find Sidious. Find the Sith’s face. The fate of the Republic depends upon it. He can’t dwell on these… revelations about Opress, disturbing though they are, for all their sake.

Sidious, Obi-Wan tries thinking. Darth Sidious.

He’s still on the slab.

Savage might not care enough about the other Sith, he decides. This seems like a traumatic memory. Maybe it’s easier to access these, and what did Savage say…? The monster slaughtered him. Killed his brother. Maul’s death.

Maul’s death, he thinks. Maul is dead. Maul gets dismembered. Maul—

The crib is the only thing upright in this room. All other scarce furnishings have been torn asunder, searched and searched and searched and turned over as if something could possibly hide under a thin strip of linen.

The crib is an altar, and he kneels before it. He’s been kneeling for days.

The crib is empty.

He failed.

The baby is gone.

No, that’s not what Obi-Wan needs. Maul is dead. Maul is—

Maul is everywhere here, suffusing the air, a green tether—

Maul is dead. Maul is dead.

“What have they done to you, brother?” Obi-Wan can feel his mouth form the syllables, mournful and hard. “How could anybody do this? Hurt you, brother?”

They left the cave the day before yesterday, and finally, finally the brother in the cargo hold gave in to exhaustion and fell asleep. Finally, finally he can inspect him, from the safety of the door’s window, in bright shiplight.

Maul is on the floor curled into a quarter circle, though it’s obvious he would have taken a fetal position if his body allowed it. His metal arachnid abdomen sticks straight down, awkwardly.

His horns are far overgrown and rough, making him look friendless and undignified, but that’s the least pressing issue.

He’s emaciated.

He only got a few tossed pouches of reconstituted spiced meat because eating too much after starving makes you sick, and he wolfed them down. He emptied the hydrosacks much more carefully, sticking his tongue into the opening after so as not to waste a single drop. Water must have been scarcer than food on Lotho Minor.

Food and drink, that’s all he could give Maul. It’s not all his brother needs: companionship, perhaps, solace and sanity, and above all healing and care. Whoever fitted his grotesque prosthetic held no love at all for Maul, for they did nothing to protect his flesh. Maul’s stomach skin is inflamed all over, in places even gangrenous or with open sores smearing pus and blood all over the floor. It’s a miracle he still lives. But he does.

Someone cut him in half and he lived and someone screwed a spider’s ass into him and he lived and someone cut him and he lived and someone screwed it in and he lived and some monster cut Savage’s little brother in half and—

Maul’s dead, Obi-Wan thinks. Maul’s dead. Maul’s dead.

He’s tiny and feverish, and Savage got him just a fortnight ago and it’s already going wrong, he’ll fail his baby brother and—

I didn’t know, Obi-Wan thinks. I didn’t. But I still need to find—

The crib is empty.

It swings, slightly, in the storms.

The body he wears is sobbing.

Maul’s dead.

Maul is worrying his lip thinking of his brother right this moment in the bright green air—this doesn’t feel like—he’s kneeling in his room, but even knowing he might be able to feel the force connection will not allow him to settle into meditation. Savage is in the grasp of Sidious. Savage has been in his grasp for weeks while Maul idled—this isn’t the Maul of these memories—and any liberation might come too late. If they succeed, which they won’t. But still, his brother—this is real. It’s not a memory. Maul’s alive—his brother survived and Maul tried so hard to keep him and—what did Maul do?!—

Focus. Sidious. Sidious’ face. Maul’s... injury?

He never thought there was anyone more powerful than his brother in the galaxy, and he was wrong. Simple hero worship, he was dimly aware, and gratitude and adoration, and he hadn’t followed Maul for his strength anyway, but still, sometimes, he’d glanced sideways and thought, You could wipe the floor with Master Dooku. If he wanted to electrocute me now, you’d kill him, because I’m with you now. I’m your apprentice. He hadn’t thought, you could take on the Mother. But he also hadn’t not thought it.

The twin disasters against Kenobi hadn’t changed his mind. Kenobi might have had the upper hand those times, but he still was a gnat. Hey what…

He’d thought that there was no-one more powerful than Maul, and he’d been happy. Maul would live. Maul’s alive. Obi-Wan just felt his presence but—

He’d thought that there was none more powerful than his brother.

And then, the monster came.

The monster who stole the toddler Savage should have raised and tortured him instead, who is just as supercilious and cruel and ugly as Savage suspected. He wears a heinous purple hood robe—he’s hiding his face but Obi-Wan needs to see it—and he just kills Miks and Jema. Maul, immediately and obviously terrified, tries to placate him with lies of servitude. Getting smashed against the wall hurts less than hearing Maul call the creep Master.

Distantly, Obi-Wan catalogues the fighting stances used by the body he’s inside and the two others, though focusing mostly on trying to get a clear view of Sidious’ face. That chin seems oddly familiar. Too familiar. Who is… The body—Savage—has other priorities, glancing back and again at Maul. Maul, who has to live. Maul’s unconscious now, and Savage won’t win, but maybe in his struggle and death he will buy enough time for his baby brother to get away—a blurred view of the face but it’s clear enough and—Maul has to get away—Palpatine—the monster whirls around—the Chancellor?!—and pain, pain—the Chancellor—pain—the Chancellor, Obi-Wan left Anakin so often alone with him and the Chancellor is the Sith Lord—pain—the—

Floor, far away, for a minute. Not long left. Only time for—a hand, grasping his, and Maul. Oh, Maul. Oh, brother.

“I am an unworthy apprentice,” ground out with the last of bis breaths. An apology. A goodbye, because he’s leaving Maul here with his old nightmare and if Savage were better, if he were just a little bit better, he could have protected… “I never—”

Maul doesn’t accept. His hand is hot against Savage’s mouth. Savage bites down on reflex and the green light rises—Obi-Wan’s seen too much of this light, what does it mean—the green light rises and Maul forces it deep into his brother, with his own body and his mind unheeding the brutality or material reality, while the vortex of magic swirls and swirls around them. Debris sticks like static to his skin—Obi-Wan can feel it and he can feel Maul giving in to anything that may grant power, and oh, Savage outside these memories is crafted and reinforced with trash and does that mean—the light pulls shrapnel and detritus left on the battlefield inside and forms—and Darth Maul forms an undead behemoth out of the almost-corpse of his brother.

Darth Maul did this.

A technobeast.

That’s what they are called, amalgamations of organic and machine matter.

Obi-Wan read of mechu-deru, and mechu-deru vitae, after the reappearance of dismembered Darth Maul when a sai tok should have ended him. A prosthetic lower body is within the remits of the eccentric darkside art of mechu-deru, but Savage the undead machinistic creature extends far beyond that and into sheer barbarism. Mechu-deru allows its practitioner to understand and influence inanimate and robotic constructs. On the lowest end…

The technobeast.

Metal and flesh intermixed to create a weaponized cyborg. A willing slave.

Darth Maul was willing to lobotomize his own brother.

He made a weapon of his brother.

That Maul could sink so…

And still, pervasively, poor Opress loves him.

Obi-Wan’s seen enough.

He’s seen the face of Darth Sidious—seen Palpatine—and he now knows the true depths of Maul’s depravity. He only has to wake up and inform the Jedi Council now. He must wake up.

He must wake—

A finger touches his forehead. It feels strange, as if his body had never before been touched. He opens his eyes in the dark musty Temple, and soon his eyes land on the Sister who won him. Who will breed him. He wraps his hand around Her neck, and distantly he is surprised both that he is angry—that he dares resist—and that his hand dwarfs her neck, but still he chokes Her and She begs, “Let me go,” but he won’t because he hates Her and then the Mother says, “Calmly, Sister,” and She repeats, “Let me go,” and he stops.

He stops.

Stops.

He stands up.

“Now, for the final test,” She who is Power says.

And They carry in a brother he thinks he should know and She who is Power orders him to kill the brother and, wrapping his hand around another neck and feeling like he should remember every single meal and every hunt and every night and every tear and every word and every laugh they ever shared, he does.

He kills the brother.

It’s Feral.

He killed Feral—

Obi-Wan sicks up his lunch. And his breakfast, for good measure.

“Did you find Sidious?” Opress rumbles from his cot.

He appears completely impassive, as if Obi-Wan hadn’t just seen him mourn the baby he lost and choke another of his brothers to death and skewered through the hearts by Darth Sidious—by Chancellor Palpatine, and they are doomed, doomed, how could this just slip by, how could Obi-Wan entrust his padawan to a monster for hours upon hours, how could the Republic just fall to his sway and if he commands Dooku then what does this mean for the war that has been destroying all of them for years—seen Opress killed by Sidious and then turned into a machine slave by Darth Maul, who’s meant to be Opress’ brother and Obi-Wan always assumed that he felt at least a modicum of comradeship for his kind, but if he’s ready to plumb these moral depths… Maul, who apparently, is also still alive.

It’s a bit much.

Obi-Wan feels faint. He pulls a chair out with the force and sits.

Opress, meanwhile, sits up on his cot. The cables on his chest wave and wrap tightly around him—a sickening testament to Darth Maul’s malice. They jitter. “You—recognized him?” Opress asks.

“I did,” Obi-Wan replies tonelessly. “It’s Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.”

“Good. Where does this Chancellor live?”

“Where does—” Obi-Wan doesn’t have the energy for this. “He lives on Coruscant.”

“Then let us go and kill him.”

“We can’t just kill the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic—” Something dawns upon Obi-Wan. He laughs hysterically. “You have no idea who that is, do you?”

“I don’t.” Savage Opress doesn’t appear any less buoyed by his gross ignorance. Maybe that is a result of the brain damage caused by Darth Maul’s ritual. “It doesn’t matter. I am the last weapon of the Mother. She resurrected me, and I shall avenge Her, and then I’ll die.”

Obi-Wan should probably tell him that Darth Maul used mechu-deru to enslave him and that’s why he’s an undead machine-contaminated monster now. He will. He will, soon, but his first duty is to the galaxy and the Jedi and the Republic, and Sidious is the most dire threat by far. He can’t afford the time to explain what he just found out to this hapless creature, and technobeasts according to the book were renowned for their power. Perhaps Opress will be instrumental in taking down the Sith Lord.

It’s not even deception. A lot of deception, anyway. Opress wants to kill Darth Sidious. That’s why he accosted Obi-Wan. The man killed him, after all. There’ll be time for truth later and—

The comm system whirrs alive. “General, we’re being boarded!”

It turns off, like there’s not even time for another missive.

Kriff.

Who could it be but Sidious?

Obi-Wan hasn’t even commed the Jedi Order.

And if he already found out then…

Obi-Wan sprints towards the door. Opress pushes himself off the cot. The air grows thicker, and thicker, and both keel over.

[teamsarawatshusband]

Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 3

Episode 1

Episode 2

This one took longer, because there was so much talking. Sorry.

Episode 3:

Ok, in the dusty place, people are finally eating. Except for Zhou Xu lord guy who prefers alcohol.

Smirky Ke Xing guy is such a brat. Why is he such a tease???

Oooh, now he's trying to cop a feel, and Zhou Xu lord guy isn't having it. The official explanation is that he wants to see if lord guy is disguised, but neither me nor purple girl are buying it. I saw that smile.

Oh, the guys are flirting. So obvious. Tsk. Very clearly Smirky Ke Xing is enjoying it. While Zhou Xu Lord is annoyed, but he can't help participate. LOL

Ah, yes, why did the red ghost guys attack the kid's family? Good question to ask. We know they were looking for the glazed armor stuff, but the gang doesn't know that yet. Or does Smirky Ke Xing know more than he lets on?

Oh, the ghosts don't stand for a group of ghosts but for a demon? Rong. I had no idea demons had last names. Huh. Wait, what? the glazed armor is not actually armor? It's martial arts techniques?

Zhou Xu lord says it's stupid to believe it, but I don't trust him. He's not honest to Smirky Ke Xing, so he might know more than he lets on. Hmm, he blames greed. And Smirky Ke Xing does his fake laugh. Why is there so much beating around the bush?

Oh, they're cleaning up the potato smiley mess at the burnt down kid's home.

And some guy walks on water. 5 Lakes leader. Ah. Okay. He looks pissed.

Ah he's the boss of the pleated skirt soldier guys. Why is he late to the party while everybody else is already there?

Oh. the kid's dad and his brothers are really dead. At least if we trust pleated skirt soldier guy. Who doesn't wanna show the bodies, because they look bad. Soldier boss guy is even more pissy now. He's so vengeful. What's wrong with him?

Oh, old people. They have cool pastel clothes. And walking sticks. I like them. Although they look super pissed as well. And the woman clearly has some beef with the soldier boss guy. I like how the subtitles call them grandma something and grandpa something.

Grandma is calling out soldier boss guy's fake outrage. I like her. She doesn't take shit from anybody.

Whoa, did soldier boss guy just threaten the grandparents? WTF? Where is your respect, dude???

Ah, somebody intervenes. Thankfully. He's a... beggar? With a beggar gang? Ok, cool. And everybody seems to respect him. Alright, I'll go with that. Cause he seems nice.

Back in the dusty place, smirky Ke Xing is still staring at meditating Zhou Xu Lord. He's so into him, lol.

Zhou Xu lord guy wants to leave. Smirky Ke Xing says that fate will reunite them. I bet fate is his middle name. He invites Zhou Xu lord to his boat once again. Boat is probably a euphemism for lap or something.

Zhou Xu lord guy isn't into giving lap dances, it seems.

And purple girl doesn't understand why Smirky Ke Xing is so into him. So he gushes about how hot lord guy looks, lol. He's got a thing for shoulder blades. And points out that he is very aware of Zhou Xu lord guy being a MAN. Like we hadn't noticed.

And now he's admiringly smirking about how flexible lord guy's sword is. Riiiiiiight. Ke xing is officially the No1 smirklord shipper.

Back at the kid's place... there's lethal spider web strings that can cut through anything. Hmm. So, now they know it's the red ghost people guys.

What does grandma mean with "These things caused the two of us to become the way we are today"??? What are they now? And what did they use to be like before?

Soldier boss guy declares that he's going to end the ghost guys and sounds super conceited, tbh. Ah, grandma calls him out on it again. I like her.

Grandpa mentions that the ghost guys knock on the door of people who have done evil. So... does that mean that the kid's family has done evil? And soldier boss guy should be afraid, so has he done evil too? I'm so confused.

There seems to be a LOT of talking in this episode. I'm only 20 minutes in and already overwhelmed.

Okay, beggar guy wants to help soldier boss guy to find the kid.

LOL, how did smirky Ke Xing get ahead of Zhou Xu lord guy and the kid?

TWICE. lol. He is so desperate to get the smirklord ship to sail.

Ok, so beggar guy is talking to the grandparents and they are dropping so many names, I have no idea what's going on. What I gather so far is that the grandparents really have beef with 5 lakes, a.k.a. soldier boss guy's people. Because they somehow benefited from other people dying in the past. Not sure how. And then there were different sects and their disciples. No idea what they were called. But beggar guy and the grandparents are going to find some guy who might have another piece of glazed armor (another martial arts technique then?) before the ghost guys can get to it.

K, now Zhou Xu lord guy and the kid have reached some city and wanna stay at some inn, but some rich guy has rented the entire place. Must be Smirky Ke Xing. I mean, who else would?

LOL, of course it is. And ZhouXu lord guy is sooooo annoyed. But he can't hide a smile when smirky Ke Xing lets it slip that he finds him beautiful, lol. Is smirky Ke Xing wearing him down?

And now Ke Xing gets the door shut in his face. That must be annoying, lol. But he deserved that tbh. Dude, how desperate are you to stay in the same room with your crush??? Get a grip and stop being so obvious. This is so embarrassing...

I really like how respectful Zhou Xu is around the kid. Allowing him to use the bed, allowing him to get dressed without being watched. Allowing him to take care of his wound without showing it to anybody. Very much not predatory. He's a good boy. (despite his death count)

Eww, the kid's wound is bleeding a lot. That does not look good.

K, where exactly did Zhou Xu lord guy get changed? In the hallway? On the stairs?

He wonders why smirky Ke Xing keeps following him. Is it not obvious? He's got the hots for you, man.

Okay, now they're having a discussion about showing their true faces. So... Smirky Ke Xing is assumed to be hiding some truth as well. I wonder what it is. He says his true face my not be appealing but terrifying.

Now they're dancing with their tea cups. Wth kinda porn is this???

Wow, smirky Ke Xing is sooooo cheesy in his flirting. Once again using purple girl to give compliments to his crush.

K, the beggar gang is out there to find the kid. i see.

And the kid has finally got some sleep and cleaned up nicely. Zhou Xu guy on the other hand, apparently NEVER sleeps, just meditates while being stared at by smirky Ke Xing.

K, once again Smirky Ke Xing told purple girl to behave and compared her to other girls. Which... I get it, but... last time he told her she wouldn't get married, which is bullshit. I'd marry her in a heartbeat. I should start calling her something other than purple girl, because we're gonna be spouses. :D

The beggars are spotting the kid, ooooh.

And, once again he's not eating. I mean, i get it, his entire family got murdered. I wouldn't be hungry either.  But my love gives him an earful, she's really good at guilt tripping people it seems. And she made the kid cry. Aww...

Okay, now we're at the 5 Lakes palace. Where lots of people are meeting up. And some leader guy is calling for bloodshed. In revenge for the kid's family. They wanna attack the red ghosts guys together. Hmm.

And now there's some older guy standing on a tree. Who is he? I missed the name. But he has nice undies.

He's meeting with another guy who calls him master and they're talking about yet another guy who has a fever. I am so completely lost as to what's going on.

So tree guy is some master of sorts and the other guy is his disciple, and there are more disciples who are dressed the same. And two mini wannabe Lan Wangjis in blue travel robes and headbands.

Aww, they're an endangered species. The last two of their sect. :(

Okay, wait, what? The master guy is saying that Shen... (I think that was that the pleated skirt soldier boss guy's name?) is trying to steal the glazed armor. So, 5 lakes are trying to steal the glazed armor? I thought the red masked ghost guys are? This is so confusing.

Oh, Zhou Xu lord guy is back to doing his smelly veiny meditation thing. It looks like worms crawling under his skin. So disgusting.

Oh no. the red masked guys are back. And after the kid, who's having nightmares.

Wait, who knocked out the masked guys?

Ah, smirky Ke Xing. Presenting them to Zhou Xu lord guy. He's like a cat showing off the dead mice of his hunt to his owner. Cute.

And he brought alcohol. In return for first name basis, lol.

Zhou Xu is declining the offer and pushing Ke Xing's arm away. Maybe Smirky Ke Xing was just after the touch, though, and Zhou Xu fell for it. Ke Xing's voice sure sounds seductive when he talks about what lies underneath the skin, lol. Okay, that's it, if Zhou Xu goes for it, I'll give him a new name.

DUDE! He full on snuck in a sneaky caress there!!! AND HE TOOK THE BOOZE.

First name basis it is. His name shall be Baby Xu from here on out. I don't make the rules.

And what's this talk of "rip it off and take a look"??? Woooooooo. Baby Xu is flirting too after all. Ha!

End of episode. Ok, I'm not gonna lie, this was a tough one. Everything except for the last couple minutes was just A LOT of talking, and super hard to keep up with. If I hadn't written down my thoughts while watching, I might not even have caught any of it.

What did I learn (or maybe misunderstand): Both the red ghosts and the 5 Lakes alliance are after the glazed armor. I think that might mean that 5 lakes were only friendly with the kid's family, because they had one armor piece and were thus powerful and a useful ally. I trust beggar guy and the grandparents more than the 5 Lakes guys. Also the tree master guy cause he was nice to the mini Wangjis. I still don't know how Smirky Xing and Baby Xu fit into any of it. Other than they enjoy flirting a lot. Oh, and I learned that the beggars are aware of the Kid’s whereabouts at the moment.

Goals for future episodes: Find out if my assumption about 5 Lakes is correct. Find out more about the red ghosts. Find out where Smirky Xing comes from and how he's connected to Baby Xu.

[myuntoldstory]

Mystic Messenger | Sapphire

AO3 | FF.net

Fourth prompt of Jihyun Week: Warmth | Canvas

This is not an entry to Jihyun Week 2020. I'm basically just trying to finish the series I created in AO3.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: V | Jihyun Kim/Main Character (Named)

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 3, 274

Summary: "Mr Kim... you're meant to paint a bouquet on my back."

The intimate moment where Jihyun paints flowers on Lux's back.

Sapphire

Lux lies front-down on the king-sized bed. A blanket covers her bottom, leaving her naked legs and back exposed. Supporting her from underneath is a pillow, providing comfort as she peruses the RFA app. A few days ago she started inviting guests for the upcoming party. She wonders if any had replied. Checking her inbox she finds a few new messages. She wastes no time in getting to work, typing out replies that will hook the guests into attending.

"Do you mind picking for me, darling?"

A box, held by Jihyun's long-fingered hand, enters her field of vision. She leans on her arms, taking the box as her beloved kisses the top of her head. After giving each other a smile, he walks off. The moment he leaves her gaze she looks at the box. It's one-fourth the size of a shoebox. Inside are a few small body paint pots. Setting her mobile aside, she does as he requests. She examines each pot, realising they're all the same colour in various shades and tints.

“It’s all blue,” she says, surprised.

“Because blue is your colour."

Lux hears the smile in his voice. There's affection in there that makes her blush and bite her lip in a smile. Looking through the box, she picks the colours that catch her interest. By the third pot, something occurs to her. She looks at Jihyun over her shoulder. He stands at his work table, wearing a loose white shirt and a pair of dark linen pants. The colour of his clothes makes his hair more vivid. He's busy preparing so he doesn't notice her, but she's happy to gaze at his broad back. Watching the graceful way he moves as he gathers his supplies is hypnotising. She steals a few seconds to admire him before speaking up.

“How many do you need?”

Jihyun hums, "Let's go with... three to five?"

Nodding, she returns to her task. It’s difficult. They’re all beautiful, though they're the same colour. It takes her a few minutes, but she manages to pick the ones she likes. As she chooses the final pot, Jihyun returns. He places a wide tray on the bed next to her; on it lie a few brushes, a couple of small plastic palettes, and a jar of water.

"How did you go?"

He kisses the top of her head again. She beams.

“I have my colours.”

“Very good; thank you very much.”

Lux giggles as he kisses her once more. He takes the chosen colours and places them on the tray. Taking the box he walks off again. He returns to her within seconds, sitting beside her on the bed. Then, he leans down and gives her a proper kiss. He caresses her cheek, inciting butterflies with each pass of his thumb across her skin.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs.

“Whenever you are.”

“Okay.”

Lux makes herself comfortable as he straightens. She flattens herself on the pillow, folding her arms and resting her cheek on her hands. There's no knowing what to expect, but she trusts Jihyun completely. She starts as, without warning, she feels his lips brush against her shoulder blade. Jihyun chuckles and kisses the other side. As his kisses spread across her skin she relaxes. He marks a path from the nape of her neck down along the slope of her spine. Laughter overcomes her as he covers her back with affection.

"Mr Kim," she teases. "You're meant to paint a bouquet on my back.

"I will," he says. "But first I must paint my love."

His words bring another bout of laughter. At the same time, her cheeks redden with bashful warmth. The words he tells her sometimes... it makes her want to hide. Yet... it fills her to the brim with love and happiness. Right now she wants to wrap him in her arms… but she stays still. For him, she doesn’t move an inch. This is his way of showing his love, of telling her he loves her. Always she’s happy to accept these little gifts, even when it overflows… until he’s satisfied…

They're soft, his kisses. Tender and gentle, like him. Each imprints a warm feeling within her. The intimacy of this moment arouses her a little... but more than that it comforts her. In the centre of that warm feeling is safety. Being with him makes her feel protected. With him, she'll never be in danger... because he will always be beside her.

The kisses come to a slow stop.

"Right," Jihyun says. "Let's get started."

"Aw, no, already?" she whines teasingly. "I was enjoying myself."

For that, he kisses her shoulder as she rises on her arms. She gazes at him, returning the smile he gives her.

“Do you need anything before I start? This will take a while.”

“No, thank you, I’m all right.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He kisses her cheek. Lux watches as he turns to the tray. Silence falls between them, lasting minutes. It feeds the anticipation growing in the pit of her stomach. For some reason, this is all getting her a little flushed. She hastily flattens herself back on the pillow. This time she presses her face against her hands. Is it her or is the room warm?

“You know…” she muses, voice muffled, “this is kind of pervy…”

Jihyun laughs softly.

“I believe you mean tasteful,” he teases.

“Kinky.”

“Sexy.”

“Very sexy, then,” she concedes with a laugh. “Criminally sexy.”

“Viscerally sexy,” he says, sighing. “This sight of you tempts me so…”

He kisses her again. This time, on her ear. The tip of his tongue brushes against the curve of the delicate shell, setting her face aflame. She bites her lips, more than a little embarrassed, but unwilling to show how much he flusters her.

“I can tell you the same thing, Mr Kim Jihyun.”

Chuckling, he gives another kiss. How generous he is with them today.

“Please let me know when you’re uncomfortable.”

Lux nods and feels him move. The bed dips this way and that as he finds a comfortable position. He legs brush against her ribs, tickling her. There's silence for a few minutes. As she waits she wonders what flowers he'll paint for her, what the arrangement will be like. He says that blue is her colour... how will he use it to create her representation? She can’t wait to see it, the result of his love.

“This will be a bit cold.”

Jihyun’s warm hand rubs her back as she steels herself. The first touch is cold, but not as icy as she imagines. Thanks to his consideration she doesn’t flinch at all. The brush travels in a line from the small of her back to the middle. It repeats, seeming to diverge in different directions.

Overcome with the desire to see him, she lifts her head. The first thing she notices is the tray. Now that it's closer she sees paint pots of green, white, and purple along with the ones she chose. Then, her eyes go to Jihyun. When they lock gazes it startles her. He winks, making her smile. The sight of him satisfies her so she happily resumes her position. She closes her eyes as she relaxes, concentrating on her beloved.

In time she grows accustomed to the temperature of the paints. Now, all she feels is his expert technique, the measured way he applies pressure. Every time she watches him paint on normal canvases she observes how careful he is. But now that she is one... she can't help feeling that he's extra cautious. That makes her heart flutter. No matter the circumstances he always thinks about her.

Silence settles between them and Lux knows better than to disturb it. Jihyun concentrates on her back, from the top to the bottom. After a while he begins to spread out to the sides, the brushstrokes more delicate in its pressure. When he reaches a particularly ticklish spot, she flinches away with a giggle.

“Sorry,” she gasps. “That tickled.”

“I’m so sorry, darling.”

She takes a peek at his progress. “Did I ruin anything?”

“Not at all.” He smiles at her before kissing her neck. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’s okay; no rush.”

“No rush? Then…”

She jerks away as he runs his fingertips along her side.

“Jihyun, don’t!” she yelps with a giggle.

He laughs, but stops at that. Soon enough, they return to the same relaxed atmosphere. Both of them undergo a meditative silence. Lux closes her eyes, listening and feeling for everything Jihyun does. The tray clatters from time to time. Water sloshes in the jar as the brush swirls through it. If she strains her ears enough she can hear the sound of the brush gliding against her skin. Every few seconds Jihyun’s fingers press lightly into her, trying to get more control.

The minutes start to feel like one chain link of eternity attached to another. Lux had entered a lull, hovering between sleep and consciousness. At that moment, Jihyun shifts. The bed jostles as he moves around and gets off. Lux opens her eyes, looking to see him pick up the tray and walk off. She watches him walk around to the other side, placing the tray carefully near her head. Then, he sits down and smiles at her.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says, reaching out to pet her hair.

“No… just closing my eyes.”

“Are you okay?”

The way he’s touching her… if she were a cat she’d be purring by now.

“I feel like I’ll sink right into the mattress.”

He chuckles, “You’re feeling very comfortable, then?”

“Very.”

“That’s good.”

Jihyun picks up a fine-detailed brush and a light blue paint pot.

“I’m halfway done, my darling,” he assures her. “I will be another… thirty, forty minutes?”

“It’s okay, Jihyun… take your time.”

She smiles when he kisses her forehead. Lux lays her head down again and closes her eyes. Soon, all is silent between them again. Once more she feels his brush on her skin; by now she’s associated it with his touch. In that way, she can’t help feeling that this… is intimate in some way. They’re both vulnerable, doing this. For her part, she’s happy to do this with him—for him. She hopes that he feels the same with her.

Soon, Lux begins to feel stiffness on some spots on her back. It's the paint drying. With Jihyun working so long she detects the smell of it, a little acrid and very chemical. Her nose wrinkles, but it’s not so offending that it bothers her. She puts it out of her mind, concentrating on Jihyun’s every movement.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Jihyun heaves a big sigh. That must mean he’s finished. Opening her eyes, she finds him getting off the bed and taking the tray. Their eyes meet and with a grin, she rises on her arms as he combs her hair from her face.

“How are you feeling?” he says.

“Stiff,” she admits with a chuckle. “But I’m okay."

"Good."

"You’re finished.”

“I am, yes… how did you know?”

Her smile widens slightly.

“How does it look?” she says instead.

A radiant and proud look crosses his face.

“Beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s breathtaking—thank you very much for your patience.” He leans down to kiss her cheek. “Stay there a moment, darling. I’ll get my phone.”

Lux nods and he walks off. She stretches her limbs with a strained groan, careful not to disturb his artwork in any way. While Jihyun cleans up she ganders a peek over her shoulder. From her angle, all she sees is a soft concoction of blue, white, green, and purple. She hears footsteps coming and glances at Jihyun as he approaches the bed with his mobile phone. He climbs on the bed and kneels beside her. Reaching out, he caresses her hip, fingers slipping below the blanket.

“I’ll have to straddle you,” he warns softly. “Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.” She smiles.

“But you don’t have to worry; I won’t sit on you.”

“Okay.”

“Then, if you don’t mind…”

Understanding his silent request, she assumes her previous position on the bed. She feels Jihyun moving around her, manoeuvring so that his legs are on either side of her hips. Though he holds himself above her, she still feels a bit of weight on her thighs. The shutter sound effect of the camera pierces the silence as he takes his photos. Her gaze wanders around. Idly, she wishes there’s a mirror in front of her so she can see him—his posture, the way his fringe falls over his eye when he bows his head, the focus on his face as he works…

Blood rushes to her cheeks as soon as the thought leaves her mind.

What, exactly, is she thinking about…?

“Would you like to see?” Jihyun says.

Lux sighs in relief at the distraction. “Of course!”

Jihyun hands her his phone as he sits in front of her. She makes a sound of awe as soon as she sees the photo. That he took a full photo of her is a little embarrassing, but… it’s beautiful. As he promised, he painted a bouquet on her back, in a colour that he said fits her. The main flowers are roses so blue they looked like they grew in winter. Surrounding them are delphiniums, hydrangeas, thistles, forget-me-nots, nigella, orchids, irises, and bluebells. The blooms change in shade, reacting to a light source that only Jihyun sees. Scattered around to break the sea of blue are baby’s breaths, lily-of-the-valley, and ferns. A white ribbon binds them together, almost wrapping around her waist.

“I might have gotten carried away with the flowers…” Jihyun says.

She chuckles at his sheepish tone, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“It’s perfect.” She kisses his palm in reassurance. “Too bad it’s on my back. I wish I can see it with my own eyes…”

“Should I paint another on your front?”

There is seductive playfulness in his voice that makes her blush again.

“That will definitely make it pervy,” she says.

“Undoubtedly.”

He leans down and kisses her as she laughs. She hands the mobile back and he looks at the screen with a happy expression. This moment will always be one of her favourites, when he looks at any of his works with joy. Before… after their ordeal, there was a time when any mention of art brought him pain. Jihyun embracing his passion and facing it head-on is a sight that she will never tire of.

“I really like this…” he says.

After scrolling through he looks at something across the room. She doesn’t have to guess to know that he’s looking at his camera, perched on his work table. There’s a longing look in his eyes that makes her almost giggle. This man with his heart in his sleeve. Can he be any cuter?

“Is it okay if I take pictures of you?” he says.

It’s not even a question. “Perfectly okay.”

With a beam, Jihyun almost jumps off the bed. Leaning on her arms, she watches him over her shoulder with a happy smile. He takes his camera and attaches a lens on it. Then, he walks to the windows and opens the curtains a little to let some natural light in. After, he arranges the sheets on the bed, making certain areas fold a certain way. Finally, he turns to her and, with a smile, reaches out to caress the shape of her bottom lip.

“May I take the pillow?” he says.

Kissing his fingertips, she nods. He puts the camera on the bed before carefully taking the pillow from underneath her. After setting it aside, he arranges the blanket on her. He covers her thighs, leaving her calves and feet exposed.

“Comfortable?” he says.

“Yes,” she says. “Where do you want me?”

“As flat as you can, darling.”

She follows his instruction, flattening herself on the mattress. Meanwhile, he continues to fix the blankets and sheets.

“Good… and your arms…”

He touches her elbows and, again, she folds them. With Jihyun’s gentle direction she props her chin on her stacked hands. Then, he unclips her hair. His hand brushes against her shoulders as he arranges her hair around. After that, he does a few more adjustments. It takes minutes, but definitely not as long as when he’s doing the artwork itself.

“Perfect,” he says. “Hold still for a few minutes.”

Easy. She doesn’t move an inch, listening to the real sound of the camera shutter clicking every few seconds. He moves around, trying to get the perfect angle. Sometimes, he instructs her to move her arms in a new position. In their time together he's taken so many pictures of her... but somehow she feels closer to him at this moment. For some reason, she's feeling especially exposed and yearns for his presence.

“I think... we’re back to being pervy,” she muses aloud.

His answer to that is a simple chuckle. The camera shutter continues to go off

“Okay,” he says after a while. “You can sit up if you like, darling. It should be dry.”

It’s not until she tries sitting up that she realises how stiff her whole body is. Jihyun helps her, keeping her steady and covered as she straightened and stretched. She glances at the camera sitting beside him and reaches out with a questioning smile.

“May I?” she says.

He gives her the camera and when she takes it, her eyes widen at the image that greets her from the small digital screen.

“Jihyun…!” she breathes in awe.

The picture is of her—that is her… but at the same time, it’s not. The bed fills the whole frame, making her look solitary. The lighting and composition would make this a good black-and-white image. She… the woman on the screen looks sophisticated, mature... sexy. Like a goddess who submits to her mortal lover as he worships her body this way. The bouquet is his offering… because nothing beautiful and worthy of her exists in this world. So, instead, he creates something from his heart...

For nothing may be perfect for her.

Not even his love…

But it’s enough.

“Is it still pervy?” he teases.

She giggles, “It’s sexy… and tasteful too…”

With a tender smile, Lux runs her finger on the artwork.

Kiss marks, bites, bruises...

These are the marks people leave on their lovers.

Jihyun, with his gentle heart, does this.

This is his mark. With this, he tells the world that she is utterly and irrevocably his.

And that makes her… so happy.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jihyun says, cheerful.

“Yes!” she gushes as she clicks through the different images. They differ in framing and angle, but it’s all perfect. “You can put this up in a gallery!”

“No!”

Lux jumps when Jihyun takes the camera from her.

“No?” she says, baffled.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at the screen. “This is only for me.”

She gazes at him in surprise as he cradles the camera to him as though she might steal it and actually sell it to a gallery. She giggles when she catches his lips jutting out in a petulant pout. Now overflowing with affection for him, she reaches out to take fistfuls of his shirt. With a grin, she pulls him to her and gives him a big kiss. Jihyun pauses in surprise before he cups her cheek and kisses her back just as ardently.

“I love you,” she says against his lips.

He smiles in their kiss.

“I love you too.”

[flying-nightwing]

Dark Fox (5/7)

Yoooooo I love this chapter, I think it’s my favourite so far. 

Previous - Next 

Pairing: Jason Todd x League!Reader

Word Count: 5836

Warnings: same as previous

Your eyes were closed but you could feel Jason growing restless. 

It was already the middle of the day and you had not gone out once to train. He kept shifting his position, crossing and uncrossing his legs, and opening one eye to see if yours were still shut. He would also occasionally let long sighs of impatience, like a child stuck inside on a sunny summer afternoon. 

It wasn’t that far from the truth, actually.

“Alright” He spoke up, slapping something on his skin. probably a fly. “This is pointless”

You slowly opened your eyes and stared at him. He was sweaty and swatting away bugs around him, and an all too familiar frustration was growing in his eyes. Although you didn’t do this exercise to spite him off especially, you had to admit you did enjoy to rile him up that way. 

“I know that face” He grumbled, and you raised an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this too much. Is there even a purpose to this?”

“Yes” 

“Then what is it?” He yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “We’ve been sitting here in silence for more than two hours!”

“Should I make it two hours more?” 

“You are evil”

“I’m making you do this because” You began after an over exaggerated eye roll. “This kind of meditation, when done well, allows you to take control of everything in you. When you feel conflicted, angry or need to find strength, you can tap into that power. But you need to find it first”

“Yawn” He pretended to sleep. “When I made the joke about making tea, I had no idea you’d take it literally”

“Don’t act so smug, you could use it” You replied. “And the tea technique as well”

He gasped.

“Now get back in position, palms up resting on your knees” You instructed, and he only crossed his arms against his chest in defiance. “Jason”

“I’m not doing it anymore” He shook his head like a toddler. “It’s as hot as the devil’s asshole and your little bowl of water is turning this hut in a sauna. And how the fuck are you not dying?”

He gestured wildly at your short sleeve base layer and tactical pants, which you thought was already a wild improvement from what you usually did. In fact, winter or summer, you had always worn your full League suit no matter how uncomfortable it could get. You had learned to ignore it a long time ago.

“Because I’ve been dead since 2004” You deadpanned.

It took him some time to react. “Sorry did you just make a joke?”

“No. I’m always serious” You didn’t concede, but you did suppress a smile. “Now focus”

“C’mon” He groaned. “For once let’s do something fun! I’ve earned it, don’t you think?”

You held his stare that had become wide and almost… Pleading? In a puppy-that-wants-treats kind of way. And thinking of it, he did work all for almost a year without really choosing what to do. You guessed you could make an exception for this once.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked tentatively.

“Let’s go swimming” He grinned, and it sparked an idea in your head. 

“Swimming you say?”

--------

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“I don’t know” Dick muttered, glancing at Tim with a bewildered expression. “But I’ve never seen Jay sitting so still for so long before”

“Do you think they can hear us?” Tim asked, eyes still on jason and you. “Pssst, Jason”

“Hey Jason!” Dick called, louder this time. Still no reaction.

“Jaybird!”

“Earth to Todd?”

“What are you idiots doing now?” 

Both men turned around at Damian calling them out.

“Jason and Foxy are sitting face to face on the floor like statues” Tim replied, crossing his arms against his chest. “It’s kind of freaking us out. There are herbs burning or whatever”

“If you call her that to her face she’ll kill you” Damian pointed out, pushing off the wall he was leaning on. 

“I know, she already pushed me out of a window” He sighed as Damian walked past him to look into the room. He noticed the positions, the shallow bowl of water and the sage burning next to it. It clicked in his head it was something his mother had taught him years ago, still the never ending sitting session in silence were hardly forgettable. You? He wasn’t surprised to see you do it from what he had gathered about you so far. Jason, however, he was surprised he would even considering let alone last so long. He was impressed.

“They’re meditating, you morons” He rolled his eyes. “League stuff. Lets you in into your own soul so deep you can tune out the exterior world”

“Sounds freaky” Dick hummed.

“I’m going to test that theory” Tim smirked, taking a few steps in the room.

“And if you do that it’s Jason that’s gonna kill you” Damian shouted as he walked away. 

“Can’t be worse that being thrown out of a window” 

“I swear one of them is actually going to kill you sooner than later” Dick sighed as he followed his brother nevertheless. He figured Tim would stand better chance at living with backup.

Tim tiptoed to Jason, taking good care to stay far away from you and your range. He had no idea if you had a blade hidden somewhere--you probably did--and exactly how fast you would hurl it at him. He needed to give himself a margin of manoeuver. He extended his finger and slowly, so slowly got closer to Jason.

“Don’t. You. Dare” 

He froze mid air, eyes widening. Jason’s eyes were still closed, but apparently he was aware enough to know he was close. He shared a glance with Dick, not willing to run away just yet even though Jason had quite literally blindly deducted his intention. He moved a bit closer again, and just before his finger came in contact with Jason’s ear, he snapped his eyes open and glared so hard at Tim it made him and Dick scatter out of the room. He help his glare a little longer on the room’s threshold before sighing. 

“I kinda miss the quiet of the hut”

You slowly opened your eyes to meet his stare. You would have given him a smile if your mind wasn’t so far away of your head. 

“Found anything?” 

You shook your head at his question, looking away from the concern that was growing on his face. You had tuned into your mind to find how in the hell and back you didn’t just let the arrow fly and ended it for Luthor. You had hesitated, something you didn’t even know was possible for you. Moreover, you had deviated from the only personal goal you ever had, for what? For the lives of people that didn’t matter to you. It was a good thing you didn’t work for the League on that one, because you wouldn’t have made it out alive. 

It was also a miracle Tim hadn’t ratted you going outside of the plan to go after Luthor. You had fully expected a fight when you met with the rest of the group, but he had kept his mouth shut after what went down. It worried you, because the only reason you could think for him doing that was for leverage, and well, you certainly didn’t like the idea of any of these people here having leverage on you. And with the warning Jason gave you about his detective skills, none of this settled right within you. 

“You’ll get another chance”

It was like he was reading your mind. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you better than anyone, and it was not like you were well guarded right now. You were too distracted to hold up your defenses. Still, you were angry at yourself.

“I let him go” You mumbled through gritted teeth. “I’ve never…”

“I know” He breathed out. “Are you okay?”

“Yes” You snapped. You didn’t need his pity. “I just need to remind myself of who I am”

He held your stare for a second, betraying no emotion. “And who is that?”

You gulped, hesitating despite your better judgement. “I am Thaelib fi alzalam, child of the darkness and servant of the demon”

His jaw clenched ever so slightly, but he didn’t say anything more.

--------

“Am I the only one who noticed Jay’s been… Different ever since he brought back the ninja here?” 

Dick looked up from his paperwork and grinned at Tim. “Right? He’s around all the time now”

“Do you think they’re together?” He asked in between two glances at the files in front of him. They were still on the Luthor case, and he had his own side quest to figure out. “She would seem like his type. Cold, snarky, slightly to very murderous, you know”

Dick laughed. “I mean something definitely happened between them, especially since they allegedly spent all this time together. But actually together? Meh”

“Don’t you have anything better to do that gossip about me?”

Both men’s eyes snapped up at the voice that joined the conversation. Jason was standing in the doorframe of the cave, arms crossed against his chest and a scowl on his face. A steaming cup of coffee was rested on his bicep, but he didn’t seem bothered by the heat of the ceramic container.

“Absolutely not” Dick sniggered, making Jason scoff. “So, you two together?” 

Jason’s eyes went from his older brother to Tim, whose head was cocked on the side. He was watching intensely for a reaction, and it made Jason shift on his feet. He did not like when Tim went all detective on him, especially since he had no idea of the reason why he would do it. It was creepy and invasive, and even him wasn’t immune to Tim’s hyper perceptiveness. Jason cleared his throat.

“You think I’m going to answer this?” He challenged Dick, doing his best to ignore Tim’s weird as fuck behaviour.

“Oh come on Jaybird, do a girl a favor and spill the beans!” He pleaded. “We barely know anything of what went down with you two”

“And I intend it to stay that way” He replied, walking to Dick’s rolling chair. “Now move. Alfred sent me to replace you. You’ve been here for hours and he wants you to take a break”

“Aw, okay” He complied as he stood up. “Can’t say no to Alfred”

“What about me?” Tim finally spoke with a small pout. Jason rolled his eyes and walked to his desk, putting down the steaming mug of coffee in front of him. Everybody knew it was pointless to try and pry Tim away from his work, so Alfred had instead sent him down with about seven shots of espresso in a mug. That was enough to change his expression from betrayed to content. 

Jason waited for Dick to leave and propped down in the seat, keeping watch on Tim from the corner of his eye. His fingers skimmed over the paperwork left behind, but he wasn't very interested in it. He only agreed to replace Dick because like his older brother, saying no to Pennyworth was not an option, not a moral one anyway. 

“So” Tim began nonchalantly, pretending to be interested in whatever was in his face at the moment. Jason braced himself for more invasive questions he would not answer. “How did you not kill each other in the first week of training?”

Jason blinked in surprise at the question. He did not expect something so… Impersonal? He seemingly referred to his and your character, which he must have witnessed while being paired with you the previous night. However, he still remained on his guard, because Tim was being weird. Well, weirder than usual that is.

“I guess… We tried?” He said carefully, frowning. “Didn’t work”

“Interesting” He nodded, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’ve noticed her fondness for violence, which makes sense why you would get along”

“Okay just say what you want to say” He sighed, making a vague hand gesture. 

“No it’s just--” He paused and took a breath. “Something weird happened the other day, after she pushed me out of the window”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“She landed after me and then she just took off” He said with a shrug. “Naturally I went after her because nobody walks out on me. And imagine my surprise when I saw her facing off with none other than Lex Luthor”

Jason’s muscles tensed, but he gave no other reaction. Fuck. 

“I mean she could have killed him, she seemed pretty obsessed with going there or whatever” He kept talking, obviously noticing his brother’s subtle change of attitude. “But then they just held the stare off until the explosion went off and she instead saved a bunch of people that would have otherwise been crushed to death by concrete. Anyway. Now tell me if I got it wrong, but she doesn’t seem like the type to just hesitate, or care about the others, right? I tried to piece it together, the obsession, the hesitation, her weird knowledge of Luthor’s modus operandi, her whole involvement in this for that matters, but I still come short of the little missing piece to the puzzle. It bothers me”

He watched Tim with his mouth slightly agape. He knew it had been a bad idea for you to go after Luthor with Tim nearby, but he didn’t think he’d put the pieces together that quickly, or rather, that you’d let such a slip go noticed. Nonetheless, he wiped away his astonishment away and replaced it with yet another scowl.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know, I’d believe you know more than anyone about her”

“I think you’re looking way too much into this, Drake” He dismissed, going back to his papers. “She was raised by the League. Going after a target is her basic instinct, and are you really going to judge her for doing the right thing and saving people?”

“Mhhh” Tim simply hummed, also going back to his own work. Jason gave him one last glance, knowing his deflection wouldn’t hold him back for long. The truth was about to come out, and he feared it wouldn’t be pretty when it did.

--------

“Go on”

Jason narrowed his eyes, his glance slowly going from you to the plank you had lowered above the water and to the post farther into the middle of the river. It rose about seven feet above the surface, and Jason didn’t trust it or your intentions for that matter.

He adjusted the quiver strap and the bow on his shoulder and began carefully reaching the post. Nope, he definitely didn’t trust that setting at all. However, as much as he was mad you had twisted his swimming idea, he was also curious as to what hellish stunt you would make him do this time. He knew you by now, so whatever it was, it would be both dangerous and entertaining. 

He grabbed the post and hoisted himself up by the only step that was carved in the middle of it. He stood up on the small surface, barely large enough to stand comfortably on both feet. He looked at you, and you had already pulled back the plank.

“Hey!” 

You smirked and brought the plank to the other post about twenty feet further down the river. You climbed on it and faced Jason.

“So what now?” He called from his position. “We shoot each other?”

You grabbed an arrow and nocked, but left your bow aimed down at the water. Even from the distance you could see his face drop.

“You’re fucking crazy!” He shouted. “How is this not ending in one of us being dead?”

“You found static meditation too boring” You shouted back. “This should do it to find your balance and inner strength”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

“Dodge the arrow” You said, lifting your bow and shooting straight at him.

The arrow flew at him, and in his attempt to dodge it, lost balance and landed in the water. He came up with a gasp, and swam back to the wooden post before the strong current could drag him away. He climbed again, all drenched and glaring at you.

“Or fall and get wet”

“Oh, because you’re so good at dodging arrows from a upright tree trunk without falling” He snarked back as he took off his tank top and threw it on the shore.. “I’d love to see you on the other end of these”

For emphasis he raised his own bow. You shrugged and slipped your bow through your arm and head to rest it on your back, and waited for him to shoot. In a blink he nocked his first arrow, aiming from your left shoulder. You leaned out of the way, stable on your post, then slowly returned to your position. You raised your eyebrow in challenge, and oh did he not like that. The next arrow went to your feet, and you simply jumped, landing back solidly on your feet. He shot at the same place again, you jumped, then aimed for your mid section rapidly after. You landed on your left foot and crouched so your right slipped along the post, resting on the step in the middle. Jason paused a moment, eyes wide, before shooting straight at you. You propelled yourself up, then saw a second and third arrow coming your way before you had the time to stabilize yourself. You saved your eminent fall with a side vault and landed gracefully.

“Oh you must be kidding me!”

“Don’t act so surprised” You teased. “You can do that too, Jason. Close your eyes and take a deep breath, don’t think about it too much. Empty your mind and trust your instinct”

You waited as his shoulders went up and down, and his eyes slowly opened. Without waiting you shot an arrow, an easy one to dodge and he did, seemingly on instinct. You shot another, he jumped over it. His landing was wobbly, but he didn’t fall. His eyes lit up like when he found out a game he liked, and he began shooting back at you. You exchanged hits, not once falling, well, until one of you did. 

Two quick arrow of yours managed to make Jason land a bit too far to the right, and he fell in the water. However, he didn’t resurface immediately, which made you lower your bow and search the water for him. You frowned, and only noticed too late the wave of water coming on your side. Jason then climbed on your post and tackled your waist, throwing you straight into the water with him. You hit the water on the side, and swam back to the surface with a gasp.

Jason stared at you with a devious grin, daring you to do something about it. You hooked your bow on your shoulder and lunged. 

You had to admit, sparing in water wasn’t something you had ever done, and the resistance was getting to you. Jason was already better at hand to hand, but now he had the absolute advantage. His longer limbs allowed him to move better and to pull himself up on the river ground if you were to push him down, and the fact that he was only in shorts didn’t impede his movements as much as your heavier clothing. The current was rolling you down the river, and when you hit a shallower part, you couldn’t see the posts anymore. 

You now had water to your midsection, and Jason took the opportunity from your stumbling on the higher river floor. He caught you in his classic headlock, pressing your back against his chest. You stopped struggling then, knowing it was over for you. But he didn’t release you, and you didn’t move either when he slightly loosened his hold.

Both of you were panting from the effort, his chest was heaving quickly on your back. The water made your and Jason’s skin cold, but his breath was warm on the crook of your neck. Usually you would have tapped out, or flipped him over. But you were like in a trance, and you didn’t understand why you couldn’t move away.

Why you wouldn’t move away.

“Gotcha”

His voice sent shiver down your spine.

“Fuck, Jay”

It took you a moment to realize what you said. His breath stilled on your neck, and you gulped. You had never called him just “Jay” before, you didn’t do nicknames. And especially not with that voice, and in that kind of circumstance. You cleared your throat, and he dropped his arm and took a step away.

"I'll…" You trailed off. "I'll go change"

“Sure” His voice wavered in a weird way. “Uh, go on, I’ll catch up later”

You turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Is... Everything alright?”

“Yeah" He said. “I’m just, uh, going for a swim real quick. Another one”

Without another word, he submerged himself in the water.

---------

You had Damian in a headlock when the trail of bat family rushed down the batcave in a hurry, Jason trailing behind seeming way less bothered than the others. You looked up, and this moment of inattention gave Damian the opening to send you flying over him. Your back hit the ground flat, and your confused stare at your own distraction was met by a grimace of disbelief from Damian. Okay, you were truly out of it. 

“Luthor has devanced his plan, we got intel he would move tonight”

You pulled yourself to your feet, suddenly interested in the rush they seemed to be into. You followed Damian out of the cage and met the group halfway, glancing at Jason. He only briefly met your eyes, returning his attention on Bruce afterwards.

“He is going to move the weapon in an underground facility just outside the city, which means we will lose the signal from the tracker” He briefed. “The classic, three vans, only one carrying the package”

“Do we know what it’s even for?” Jason asked.

“I found something about yersinia pestis being injected in certain areas of Gotham” Damian stepped up. “So basically, a plague weapon”

“A plague weapon?” He frowned. “Why would Luthor would ever be interested in bringing back the plague?”

“Wait” Dick perked up, running to the working tables and looking around for something specific. He grabbed a stack of papers and came back. “Here, I saw he made the recent acquisition of a pharmaceutical company that produces, wait for it, gentamicin. It’s a plague treatment”

“So he’s gonna drop the virus on Gotham with that little device?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know--”

“Last year Luthor made the acquisition of a low income housing company mostly operating in the Bowery, Crime Alley and Otisburg” You spoke up, a wary look on your face. “My bet would be that device is to slip the bacteria into the ventilation systems, or the pipes”

“... He did” Dick confirmed, looking through the papers. “That would make sense. He spread the plague at a little scale, he provides the medicine, he wins at every steps”

“He IS trying to slither in the city council” Bruce hummed. “Trying to steal Wayne Enterprises’ seat”

“We need to go now if we don’t wanna miss our shot, Bruce” Dick warned.

“Yes” He snapped out of it. “Three vans. Nightwing, Red Robin, you’ll be assigned to the car that will go down through City Hall District. Robin and I will follow the car going through Gotham proper” He paused, looking at you and Jason. “You two work better together. You’ll go North. I’ll send Dick and Jason the trajectories. Gear up”

Wordlessly, you all went to your own dressing area. Yours was simply a plastic box in a corner with your suit folded, and your weapons on a nearby table. You took a moment longer than usual at the black uniform, but nevertheless put it on piece by piece. The tactical pants, the gloves, the undercoat and the protective layer on it, the belt and the spiked arm bracers. Then the belt, your sword on your back and the arrow quiver crossing above it. You reloaded the shooter on your arm and strapped the sheath on your thigh with your blades, then put on the comm in your ear. 

You grabbed your bow and returned toward the others, who were finishing gearing up as well. Jason came and stood beside you, an unreadable expression on his face. Well, it could be, but you refused to look at him in the face. You instead put on your helmet, the black visor hiding your face. 

“There’s no time to waste, let’s go” Bruce called. “Whatever team finds the van, you stop it and bring back the weapon here”

And with that, you went out. Bruce took the batmobile, while the rest were all on bikes. You and Jason left the cave last, shooting out on the road like two blurs in the night. Your comm was on, tuned on the channel with him only. It took him about five minutes to start talking.

“Tim knows” He said. “Or at least he is close enough to know”

“Doesn’t matter” You clipped back, swerving easily around cars on your way. “This will end soon enough one way or another”

“And you’ll go back to the league?” His voice was bitter, and you could only imagine his expression.

“... Yes” 

“Whatever”

You rode in silence until you reached your hideout point. There was still five minute before the van was scheduled to turn the corner and engage on the one way avenue, and you would execute the plan from then. You both turned different directions to hide in alleys, turning off the lights of your motorcycle. You put one foot down, leaving one hand on the handle. The engine was purring softly under you, warm and ready to take off.

“We’ll attack from the sides” Jason spoke again through the comm. You could see his red helmet on the other side of the street. “We take off the doors quick and clean, if it’s not there we lose them. If it is, I take the van and you cover me”

“Copy that” 

“They should be there in one minute, get ready” 

You adjusted your helmet and readied your explosive arrows. You then crouched on the bike and waited for the van to pass in front of the hideout. You counted the seconds in your head, five, four, three, tw- 

“What the fuck?” You frowned when not one, but three vans heavily escorted with motorcycles sped past you. You and Jason engaged on the road nevertheless, coming up side to side at a safe distance from the vans.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen” He mumbled. “Alright, change of plans. Keep your distances behind them without being seen, I’ll cut them upfront. When I start drawing the escort, blow the doors of each vans. Fuck being subtle”

With that, he parted ways into a smaller street on his right. You remained hidden into traffic, making sure the bikers did not spot you. Not long after, you heard gunshots and they all were drawn at the front, like Jason had planned. You accelerated closer of the last van at the tail. With one hand, you grabbed your bow on top of the handle, waited for the bike to get back straight and slowed down a bit. In a quick movement, you grabbed an explosive arrow and shot on the van doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors flew open, revealing it empty.

You cursed, but swerved nonetheless around the slowing down van and paused in the driver’s blind spot. You knew they’d look for you to pass them, so you got ready with a blade in your hands. You waited a bit more before rolling up to the window and throwing the blade in the guy’s throat before he could shoot you. You repeated the same operation with the next van, also taking down two rogue bikers that had left Jason’s distraction to get to you. That van ended up empty as well.

“Two down, one to go” 

“Alright, hurry up, those fuckers just keep coming from I don’t fucking know where-- FUCK”

“Hang on, I’m almost done”

Nothing in the last van either. You frowned, thinking how easy it had been for you to bust the vans. The bikers guarding the vans surely couldn’t be that stupid to still hover around Jason while you were clearly open, even if there was nothing. But you chased the doubt aside, and instead tuned in the frequency with everyone else

“Our vans are empty”

“So are our” It was Tim who replied a few seconds later. “Wait, vans in plural? B, did you get more vans too?”

“Only one, empty too” 

“Where did your intel come from again?” Tim asked. A moment of silence followed. 

“You and Jason should get out of there, something’s not right on the monitor--”

You lost contact when you were violently hit from the side by a black car. You were projected off your bike and sent rolling down several meters away. Your suit and helmet took most of the fall, ripping and breaking with the rough friction on the asphalt. You visor cracked and the protective plastic lining broke at the base. Your vision was blurry for a second, and your muscles barely responsive. You pushed through the pain anyway and carefully took off your helmet, throwing it away. You looked up and tried to focus on the figure in black coming toward you, and when you did, you gathered your remaining strength and managed a kneeling position. It was Luthor. 

You were about to shoot one of your dart when he shot first, sending  a shockwave through your already weak muscles. You fell forward on all fours with a barely contained scream tearing through your throat. 

“We meet again” His voice was deeper than you expected, and way too calm. You didn’t like it. “I knew if I organized this little parade, you’d come back out there following the masked clowns”

So, it was a setup.

“Where’s the weapon?” You rasped.

“Safe in my underground storing since this morning” He replied smugly. “Don’t beat yourself up, you had no chance. You came too close last time at the lab”

“Kill me now and get over with it”

“Now why would I want to do that? I just wanted to see you from up close” He smirked. “I knew those eyes the second I looked at you the other day. And now that I have you here without that stupid mask, I can see you took more after your mother than I had planned”

You gritted your teeth, panting from the pain of the electrical shock that had gone through you. Hairs were falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you didn’t care. You could only glare at him.

“But you’re still my daughter. You belong to me” 

You lunged, but another electric shock sent you back on your knees with a strangled cry. It had been a reflex on your part, since you were usually pretty good a pushing your pain aside. But you had been off ever since your last encounter with him. He got in your head so easily, and now he wouldn’t leave. 

“I am Thaelib fi alzalam” You rasped out. “And I don’t”

“Ah yes, I figured you would deny your name when we finally met” He seemed amused. “And you do, legally speaking. Your mother were under contract to deliver you and walk away. Instead she stole you from me. She stole years of work, for what? So you could become no one”

“You killed her!” You belted out, eyes wide with rage. “You forced us into hiding, she sent me to the League to protect me from you”

“Is that what you think? Or what she told you?” He was becoming impatient. “You were special. You were my first successful genetic clone, but her own selfishness got in the way”

“She wasn’t selfish” You tried to reach for a blade on your thigh, but another shock forced you on your hands. “You were”

“I was?” He put a hand on his chest. “I gave you your superior skills, I gave you your speed, I made you like this. I gave you that gift, that power, that strength, all of it so you could make it out in this world. I did it for you, from a father to his daughter”

You lifted your head a frown on your face. You skills? What was he talking about?

“You didn’t think the League’s training gave you those skills, did you?” He scoffed. “As I told you, you’re special, my girl. I only wished for you to thrive”

“No” You mumbled, narrowing your eyes. Your mother never specified you were enhanced. Did she even know? All that time you thought your successes were from your hard work, but they were really from a genetic modification. You always knew there was something peculiar about you that made you feel like you didn’t exactly belong with the others, and it had just been revealed to you. And what else could he have put inside of you, you weren’t aware about? It made your head spin.

“You’re not one of them, you realize it now” He stalked toward you. “Not the League, not the vigilantes either. Your mother stole you away from what you were made for, and the League merely repressed it. But you can’t fight your nature”

You didn’t look up when he stooped in front of you. You only glanced at your black gloved hands, realizing that all you had suffered only delayed the inevitable. If your mother hadn’t ran away, maybe all of your struggle and pain would have never happened.

“Come with me” He offered. “This internal conflict you have will subside quickly enough once you’re back home, you’ll see”

You ears were ringing as his proposition replayed in your head in loops. Maybe if you agreed he’d stop tormenting you then, maybe he’d leave your head and you could finally rest without obsessing over him. You slowly looked up, but something coming on your side made your eyes widen. Only then the sound reached your ears, and in a quick reflex movement, you rolled away.

Jason was walking toward you, shooting his bullet in rapid fire in Luthor’s direction.

Luthor noticed him half a second later and jumped away, running away and climbing in his black car. He drove away as Jason reached your, his eyes trailed on the retreating black cadillac. Then, he turned to you, the glossing red of his helmet staring back at you.

“You okay?”

You shook your head no.

[xaviersystem]

7 Day Prayer Miracle Review Amanda Ross (2020)

7 Day Prayer Miracle by Amanda Ross

Does it Work?

Almost everyone is familiar with the word Prayer, as well as the concept of Prayer. So when we come across someone offering a 7 Day Prayer Miracle, it is possible to have some questions popping up in the minds of people. Does it work? Is it effective? Why it is so popular? So I thought of bringing this blog 7 Day Prayer Miracle Review — Does it work?

So before we proceed, here is a synopsis about the product:· 

Product: 7 Day Prayer Miracle Review· 

Author: Amanda Ross· 

Bonus: Yes· 

Official Website: 7dayprayermiracle

What Will You Get From 7 Day Prayer Miracle?

Here in 7 Day Prayer Miracle coaching, you get a shocking tragedy that manifests itself in a great blessing.

It contains a prayer composed of four sentences. This helps approximately many ordinary people to highlight the miracles of health, finances, and relationships.

This miracle program gets related to the secrets of Archangel Michael. Hence, you get a blazing stream of miracles.

You get heavenly wisdom to show the fairy tale. This helps to choose the best pair of dreams.

It helps to boost your life. And you can spread your wings and move on to the next level.

You experience good, irreversible changes in your life by this guidance. There is no place for negativity in your life.

>>> Learn More About 7 Day Prayer Miracle <<<

Manifesting Miracles by Using Prayer

When The Secret first came out, it renewed hope in millions of people for manifesting the things that would make their lives more livable. A few years on, most of those millions have lost hope, again. The “Law of Attraction” seemed to be missing something.

More than 2,500 years ago, the Prophet Daniel discovered a method of prayer that worked miracles and gave him prophetic visions of the future. Not only was he able to save his own life and that of all the wise men of Babylon, he told the king what he had dreamed and then told him what the dream meant.

We now know why the Law of Attraction works when it does. We also know why the prayers of most people don’t work. This knowledge is power — the power to manifest miracles at will. The 7 Day Prayer Miracle program contains distilled wisdom that details the differences between the two halves of reality so you can know where you stand in relationship to heaven.

Never before have we had such clarity in understanding about how prayer and miracles work. Yes, this is exciting stuff.

Imagine taking the guesswork out of your life. Imagine setting a path and having it appear right in front of your eyes. Prayer done the right way is the most powerful tool we could ever imagine.

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How the Course Can Help You

Well, the course has:

1. Verified Techniques:

The big problem we’ve had with programs like “positive thinking” or “law of attraction” is that they remained vague on how to get to the desired state of mind. There was too much “pie-in-the-sky,” feel-good stuff that didn’t have a sufficient connection to the real world.

The 7 Day Prayer Miracle requires that you develop and exercise the ability to achieve the proper feelings for delivering prayers that match your conscious thoughts. The course shows you exactly how to do this with several, step-by-step exercises. This has been the area of disconnect in so many other programs

The exercises in this course raise your critical awareness of your environment and your own internal feelings so you can know when you’re aiming your prayer correctly.

2. Establishes Within You the Proper Skills:

The reason why the 7 Day Prayer Miracle works and has so many enthusiastic testimonials is because of the deep, spiritual understanding behind it — an understanding grounded in science and critical thinking.

No matter what your starting point, you will find yourself moving further from “lack” all the way to “abundance” — not merely physical abundance, but spiritual abundance of unconditional love, utter humility, perfect responsibility and fearless confidence. The map has been laid out. All you have to do is to walk the path.

The 7 Day Prayer Miracle is not only about wealth, health and relationships. It repairs the basic issues in your thinking and attitudes that would otherwise prevent effective prayer and, all too often, result in self-sabotaging behavior that spoils any gains you may make. All of these pitfalls have been handled.

Needless to say, the spiritual half of reality has its own rules and quite often doesn’t work at all like the physical half. This program is the manual for understanding what’s different and how to use those differences to your own benefit.

Because we each have our own set of bad habits, the course book covers a broad range of exercises to strengthen your awareness of your own thoughts, attitudes, intentions and — most importantly — your subconscious “feeling” attention. The 7 Day Prayer Miracle does these things far better than any book or program we’ve seen before.

Are you a Book Lover?

5+1 Stories That Prove Miracles Actually Happen:

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3. Proper Preparation:

No amount of thinking will ever accomplish anything truly worthwhile. Thought is a useful tool, but it’s only the starting point. And you can’t fix a great dinner in a dirty kitchen.

Bad habits and bad attitudes can cloud your spiritual vision and prevent your message from reaching heaven.

It’s a bit like 50 very loud people shouting while you’re trying to talk to someone on your cell phone. Sometimes, you can’t even hear yourself think.

The 7 Day Prayer Miracle helps you clear out not only bad habits, but also the daily garbage of stuck attention on little crimes we all commit from time to time — like being late for work, not taking out the garbage, forgetting about a commitment we’ve made, and more.

Becoming more aware of our stuck attention points, we can actively clean them up and ensure that our prayers make a direct, clear connection to heaven.

4. Reliability and Dependability:

By having you acquaint yourself more thoroughly with your own mind, ego and spirit, you will find yourself capable of using every part of each prayer with precision skill and powerful, spiritual effect.

Like a ship finally allowed to leave sight of land, you will enter spiritual territory you never knew existed. You will come to think of your body as merely your current vessel. And the control switches of physical reality will seem as real and natural as any physical device you’ve ever mastered.

>>> Tap or Click Here to Discover the Magical 4 Sentence Prayer That Instantly Grants Your Heart’s Fiercest Desires <<<

The Course Contents of 7 Day Miracle

Learn how to Grabbing The Attention of Heaven ( The ebook that gives you a crash course on your relationship to the spiritual world, to God and to His angels, and how to exercise your ability to connect directly to heaven).

· A Prayer Journal (a PDF journal that includes 7 prayers for 7 days, designed to give you miracle results).·

  · Divine Hearing — How to Recognize Crucial Messages from Your Angels (The ebook that helps you recognize messages from your angels).

· Divine Numbers — How to Interpret Angelic Sequences and Unleash Their Blessings (ebook that helps you interpret sequences of numbers and individual numbers like 11:11, 555, etc).

· The Prayer of Daniel (a handy, 1-page reprint of the biblical prayer that Prophet Daniel was using to achieve his miraculous results. This is the template upon which all effective prayer is based).

· A Song of Shifts (MP3 file, angelic music, using the “miracle frequency.” If you like, this can be played while you are performing your own prayers to help enter the theta wave band of meditative thought — the prayerful state of mind)

· Chances are you would be quite amazed to have so much content included for such a reasonable price.

>>> Tap or Click Here to Start the 7 Day Prayer Miracle <<<

Features of the 7 Day Prayer Miracle Course· 

When you have the power of prayer, you never have to be worried again.

· Once you learn how to pray, prosperity flows in to you from an infinite source

· The 7 Day Prayer Miracle shows you how to choose the right option

· You learn to cultivate the right feelings all the time. When you learn to have the right feeling, things seem to go very right.

· Life suddenly becomes perfect, almost all the time.

· With prayer you can invite better health and healing for your body

· Boost Your Love Life With Prayer

>>> Tap or Click Here to Discover the Magical 4 Sentence Prayer That Instantly Grants Your Heart’s Fiercest Desires <<<

7 Day Prayer Miracle Testimonials

From the website of 7 Day Prayer Miracle, here is a reproduction of the testimonials of some of the individuals:

“I was only 5 days away from being declared a bankrupt. Almost all my savings gone. I then stumbled on to Amanda’s teaching. Just 2 prayers later, the bank actually cancelled my debt. Holy smokes, this works!” — Leanne R.

“I had terrible, terrible fights with my husband and I was on the verge of leaving him… Then one day I stumbled on to Amanda’s writings. I consumed it, prayed the prayers and now not only has my marriage been restored — the relationship sizzles in a way not seen since the honeymoon.” — Jane A.

“I’d always wanted to connect to the divine and talk to angels, but I never could. After the 7 Day Prayer Miracle, it was almost a suffocating blanket was removed. I can even now feel the breath of God and delve into the secrets of the universe.” — May R.

“I was left destitute by my cheating husband. He left me with my 2 young kids and moved in with his mistress half his age. After going through the 7 Day Prosperity Miracle, cheques suddenly came in the mail. There was sudden mysterious deposits in my bank account. Now, I have more than enough for me and my children to live a good life.” — Miranda A.

>>>Get Instant Access to 7 Day Prayer Miracle <<<

Conclusion

The 7 Day Prayer Miracle is a complete system that’s more comprehensive than virtually every other book in this genre… Of course, the number of pieces alone is not enough. Each piece needs to be valuable and worth your time.

7 Day Prayer Miracle takes control of your life to improve. It has already helped approximately 100,000 women and men to fulfill the purpose of their lives.

You have a great opportunity to take the first step of a new movement. It comes with a 100 percent money back guarantee.

If for some reason, you are not satisfied with this program, the money will be refunded immediately. This is the claim of the seller organization. You have nothing to lose except for problems.

So go ahead and place your order 7-day Prayer Miracle. Do not miss the opportunity to take advantage of the wonderful wonders of your life.

>>>Get Instant Access to 7 Day Prayer Miracle <<<

7-day Prayer Miracle

SOURCE: https://youtu.be/iHEUgA_4eSA

[babypinkboobear]

Stars Who Listen

Chapter 7: They Listen to Late Night Therapy

Catra didn’t stop crying for a long time, Melog lay on her stomach forcing her to lie down and breathe. Once her tears dried, Catra sat up; Melong settled beside her purring, trying to calm her further. She checked the time. 2:50 am. She had been asleep maybe 5 hours, but she felt like she hadn’t slept a wink. And she couldn't stay in this room. Not without Adora. So she’d leave, wander the castle till Adora comes back, or until she falls asleep on some window sill.

And that's just what she did, wandering form hall to hall, finding nothing to hold her interest until she found herself in the castle gardens. Not Shadow Weavers gardens, no she refused to go near anything that vile woman had touched. No, these were the gardens tended by Perfuma. She always forgot how beautiful it was here. How Perfuma managed to grow plants that seemed to sparkle and glow even in the dead of night. Catra knew it wasn't the flowers that drew her to the gardens tonight though. It was the stars. Deep in the garden, through a maze of flowers and vines there is a pond and a hammock, where she could lay and stare up at the stars. 

That's where Catra was headed.

She brushed back the vines, walking into her hidden area and sighing in relief. Then she heard humming. And she saw a flash of blonde. 

“Adora?”

Whoever it was screeched and moved into view. It was Perfuma. Not her Adora, no fucking Perfuma. 

“What are you doing here so late, Catra?” Perfuma continued to tend to the flowers, glancing over toward Catra. Her gaze analytical, judgmental, or so it seemed to Catra.

“I should be asking you the same thing Flower Girl.” Catra didn't have to tell Perfuma shit. Her spot was officially stolen and she just wanted to be alone. Why did Perfuma have to go ruining that?

“I have always struggled to get to and stay asleep, it is part of why I have so many rituals and meditations. There are, of course, many other reasons but that is a major one. If you are having trouble sleeping I could recommend some techniques to help. What is keeping you awake so late?”

Catra hated how Perfuma talked; every word she said oozed superiority. Just because she was some pacifistic, kind hearted, flower growing, princess didn't mean she was better than Catra. Why did she insist on talking like that? 

“No… thanks though, I guess. And what's it matter to you? I’m fine! It's normal to not be able to sleep sometimes.”

“Sure, but it is not normal to not be able to sleep through the night, every night. Which I suspect is the case with you, Catra. You always seem to be tired and the bags under your eyes have only seemed to grow with each passing day. And it is certainly not normal to burst into tears as soon as one of your closest friends says hello to you. You can talk to us Catra. You are not alone anymore.” “Bullshit I’m not alone anymore! Do you see me? I only have Adora, Glimmer, and Bow! They all have everyone else but I only have them. They have lives, duties. They are needed. Glimmer’s a fucking queen, Bow is preparing to become her prince consort once they officiate their relationship, and he was a leader in the rebellion. And my girlfriend is fucking SHE-RA! And what am I? I’m some broken ex-force captain. I’m the face of the old enemy for most of Etheria. I’m a monster! So forgive me if I’m tired. Forgive me if I can’t sleep through the night because of the damned nightmares that plague my sleep. And forgive me if I don’t trust the forgiveness of the people I hurt most in this world.”

Catra couldn’t breathe, a-fucking-gain. And there were tears dripping down her face. When did she start crying? And fuck she had just had that melt down in front of Perfuma. For the sake of every star in the universe, she hoped desperately that this was some twisted new nightmare. She hoped desperately that this was just some awful made up scenario her brain was torturing her with. But it wasn’t. It was real. 

And Perfuma was looking at her with… no judgment in her eyes. And there was no pity either. What the fuck?

“Do you feel better? I feel as if that has been building up for a while.  You know it is actually a good thing you said all that, I understand why you have been so on edge lately. I think you need to talk about this more. With someone who you do not care about as much. With someone whose feelings you cannot hurt, or feel like you are hurting.” 

Catra was so confused. She didn’t know what the fuck was going on? Was she in a parallel universe? She had just absolutely gone the fuck off on Perfuma and she wasn’t upset and wanted her to talk about her feelings more? What the absolute fuck?

“I...guess I feel a bit better…? You aren’t mad I yelled at you? I… don’t understand what happening” Catra literally could not fathom yelling like that at anyone and them and not getting smacked, or... shocked. 

She was shaking.

“Sometimes people just need to yell.” Perfuma said it as if it were a fact, as if it were something obvious, something everyone knew. But it wasn't. Catra wasn’t supposed to yell. It made people angry, and she always got hurt or hurt people when she yelled. 

“I think you should come and talk to me a few times a week. I will not judge you, and I promise you cannot hurt my feelings or make me so angry I would leave.. How is that? We can even give it a test now. How about you tell me about that nightmare you mentioned?” 

Catra could barely process. She was still stuck on the fact that Perfuma seemed like she could care less that Catra had yelled. Her opinion hasn't changed. She hadn't looked scared. Only mildly surprised. And she was so calm. So Catra started talking.

“I was drowning.”

“Oh and do you usually drown in your dreams?”

“Yes, but usually at the end, I was drowning in the beginning this time. And when I opened my eyes I was in Horde Primes pool.” Catra was shaking.

“What happened next?” Perfuma was closer to Catra now. Her attention had left the flowers.

“I… he pulled me up, he was choking me, and he cut my hair and… and-”

“Take your time Catra. We are not in any rush. Breathe.”

So she did. It was a few minutes before she spoke again.

“He told me Adora could never love me. That i was weak and a coward, and that he would fix me. And then he… he installed the chip and, fuck, it hurt. And when I came too he told me that I had lasted 45 seconds before passing out. That it was a new record. That I’d made him proud; that made me happy. And then I was drowning again. After that I woke up.” 

“Have you talked to anyone about your time with Horde Prime?”

“...No, I haven’t”

“Not even Adora?” that worried Perfuma, she figured Catra would have at least told Adora, but if she was refusing to talk to anyone about this she would never heal.

“No, not even Adora. Especially not Adora,” Catra sighed, she couldn’t tell Adora. What was what she went through compared to fucking She-ra?

“Why not tell Adora? You trust her, correct?” “Of course I trust Adora, but she went through worse than I did and she's fine. And she's happy. I can’t ruin that.”

“I probably should not say this, but i think it will help you. Adora talks to me every friday for an hour, to meditate and sort through what happened with Shadow Weaver and literally every crazy thing that happened with her being She-ra. She has recognized that she is not fine. You need to recognize that you are not fine either. I know some of what happened with Shadow Weaver, but I know it was a very different experience for you than Adora. And considering your experiences with both Hordak and Horde Prime, I would be shocked if you didn't have issues. You need to talk to someone about this. And since you clearly refuse to talk rto Adora, you should talk to me. I know what I am doing. I can help you process what you have been through. So you can actually be happy for Adora, and for yourself.” 

“But-”

“No buts, we will meet in two days. After lunch, meet me here.” Perfuma hugged her. “You need this Catra. Let me help you. Please.”

“Okay”

And it was settled. Perfuma left and Catra laid down in the hammock and asked the stars what the fuck had just happened.

(1520)

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Bound and Gagged

the red marks the prompts that have been filled, and the white marks the prompts that have been requested.

@badthingshappenbingo​

I edited this while a movie was on so I apologize if I missed something

Prompt: bound and gagged

Fandom: Ninjago

Character: Cole

Trigger Warnings: creepy adult acting creepy towards minor. Nothing sexual but the vibes are absolutely disgusting

2638 words

“Mr. Brookstone, come see me after class.”

Crap.

It was Cole’s last class of the day and he had really been looking forward to going back to his dorm and passing out. The day had been tiring enough already.

“Yes sir,” he said, biting his tongue. He had absolutely no idea what it was he’d done, but hopefully, whatever it was about would be quick.

The bell rang.

“Have a good weekend Mr. Hampton!” One of the boys chirped as he headed towards the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Turner.”

Within only a few minutes, Cole was the last one in the room. 

“I don’t want you to think you’re in trouble, Mr. Brookstone, you’re not.”

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“But I do want to discuss your recent performance in this class.”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been sloppy, careless, your form has been, for lack of a better word, atrocious.”

Well that was always nice to hear.

“Now, I don’t like to fail my students without giving them a chance to fix their grades. I am an understanding teacher, after all.”

Honestly, Cole had never been very fond of Mr. Hampton, but yeah, okay, whatever.

“So what, like extra credit?” Cole asked, hoping to speed this up so he could get back to his dorm as soon as possible.

“Something like that,” Mr. Hampton agreed. “Now Cole,” he said, taking a few steps and practically circling the boy, “I’m going to need you to trust me.”

“Um, okay, sure.”

Something ugly settled in Cole’s gut, but he opted to ignore it.

“I’m going to ask you to do something strange, but I promise it’s only going to serve to make you a better dancer. It’s a very reliable technique.”

Cole stood there awkwardly while Mr. Hampton went to his desk. He shifted side to side, wishing he could just go back to his dorm. Still, it was whatever, this couldn’t take that long.

Mr. Hampton pulled out rope. 

That was… weird. 

“Hold still, now,” he said, walking back with it, and then he wrapped the rope around Cole’s chest. That was most definitely weird.

“Um… what are you doing?” Cole asked, uncomfortable.

Cole could feel a knot being tied. “It’s going to help your flexibility,” Mr. Hampton explained, continuing to tie the rope. Cole, against all voices of reason, didn’t even try to stop him. “It’s not going to hurt.”

Within minutes (and Cole really didn’t know how he felt about how quickly and expertly Mr. Hampton was doing this), his chest, shoulders, and arms were covered in a series of knots. His hands were behind his back, and Cole knew without trying that he couldn’t free himself if he wanted to. 

A small part of him hoped his discomfort would be obvious enough that his teacher would stop, but that didn’t seem to be getting him very far. The binding continued.

It was his own anxiety that kept his mouth shut.

More rope, more binding, and soon one of his legs was done up too. And then, then, to make matters worse, Mr. Hampton was beginning to thread one of the ropes through a hook-type-thing on the ceiling. He’d always wondered what those were for.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this,” Cole said, very quiet. He told people that he wasn’t afraid of anything, and this wasn’t fear, it was just… anxiety.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Hampton said, hardly even pausing.

As all of this was happening, Cole decided the worst part was having his teacher’s hands on him so much. Sure, as a dancer he was used to having adults touch him, but that was always a firm, correcting type of thing.

This was different than that, and Cole didn’t like it.

Before he knew it, one of his legs was in the air, along with a rope holding the upper half of his body up by what felt like his bound arms. The only thing he could really move was his free leg, but he had to hold himself up with that.

All in all, Cole was incredibly uncomfortable.

“Is this really necessary?” Cole asked, hissing through the pain of the position.

“Believe me, Cole, it is absolutely necessary. Drastic measures must be taken when students are falling so far behind.” He fiddled with one of the ropes, bringing Cole’s leg higher into the air. At the sudden change, Cole couldn’t help but cry out.

“We can’t have you yelling like that,” Mr. Hampton said. “We wouldn’t want someone to come in here and get the wrong idea.”

Cole wasn’t entirely sure where he thought his teacher meant by that, but of all the things he thought he might have expected, he definitely wasn’t expecting a small rag-looking-thing to be pulled out of the bottom of a drawer, followed by a ring of duct tape.

“Hey, wait,” Cole said, “What are you doing with that?”

“This type of training takes silence. It takes concentration, meditation, even. This will help you achieve a focused state of mind,” Mr. Hampton said, gripping Cole’s chin and stuffing the rag into his mouth before he could protest. The duct tape went after, covering his mouth and effectively gagging him.

Cole couldn’t lie: he was on the verge of panicking. While he had technically said he was okay with this, or, at least, he hadn’t said no, he was beyond uncomfortable, and even a little scared, now. 

His legs were burning already.

He tried to say something, but with the gag, all that came out was muffled cries.

Instead of, oh, he didn’t know, removing the gag, instead, Mr. Hampton proceeded to pull a bandana out of his pocket and began to wrap it around Cole’s head. Over his eyes. So he couldn’t see.

Okay, now he was really freaking out. He was completely bound, unable to free himself or even move, completely at his teacher’s mercy. Needless to say, he didn’t exactly trust Mr. Hampton not to harm him.

He yelled through the gag, but it came out just as muffled as the first attempt.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, the pressure of it pushing his body down, against the ropes. Shit, that hurt.

“No talking. Just relax, focus on your balance and your flexibility. I’ll be here the whole time.”

That wasn’t very comforting. 

The hand left his shoulder, and Cole exhaled, trying to adjust his one free limb so the rest of his body would sit better. It didn’t work. 

He heard footsteps, something that sounded like the rolling of a chair, maybe? It sounded like Mr. Hampton had gone to sit down at his desk. Yeah, that would make sense.

Cole wished he could sit. He was flexible, yes, but his suspended leg was being lifted higher than he could go even after spending forever stretching. It burned.

Had the tick of the clock always been so loud? He usually hardly even noticed it, but right now, it was impossible to ignore.

The ropes dug into his skin, only adding to the mess of it all. Between having to support himself on one leg for this long, the positions his limbs were being forced into, the discomfort of the ropes, and the rag in his mouth, Cole was in a pretty bad position.

He breathed purposefully, trying to keep himself calm. Focus on the position. Maybe it would ease the pain?

It was hard to focus on the position when his mind kept wandering to things like the sound of the air conditioner and the ticking of the clock.

The longer he stood there, the more everything hurt. He was beginning to lose feeling in his arms, now.

He heard papers being shuffled, the clicking of a pen, and the occasional tapping of a keyboard.

He wished he could at least see. At least then he could focus on something other than the pain. He would gladly even count the tiles on the floor if he could.

He settled for counting the constant tick of the clock. He couldn’t decide whether it was soothing or maddening. 

Fuck, this was really starting to hurt.

A knocking startled him out of his thoughts. He would have jolted had he not been so… well, tied up.

He heard the chair rolling slightly, then footsteps again. 

Something akin to another rolling sound, but not quite. The room divider, maybe? He wasn’t entirely sure. He hated not being able to see what was going on around him.

The door opened.

“Hi Mr. Hampton,” someone said. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s a perfectly fine time. What do you need?”

Cole found himself both listening and completely zoning out at the same time. His heart was pounding so hard, so loud, and it was all he could hear. 

He had no idea if whoever it was — definitely another student, he was sure — could even see him. Would he even want someone else to see him? 

No, no definitely not. He already knew people would make fun of him for it if they found out. Cole was a decent performer, in his own opinion, but he hadn’t had much luck with social interaction, and the other students didn’t seem to like him much. 

If anyone were to find out about this, he’d never hear the end of it. How pathetic he was.

He shifted as best he could, praying he wasn’t in sight. 

“Thanks! See you Monday,” the student said, and the door opened and closed again softly, followed by the click of a lock.

Cole exhaled, thankful he hadn’t been caught.

Well… not caught, per se. It wasn’t like anything bad was happening. But still, the thought of anyone seeing him like this, so vulnerable, left him feeling nauseous. 

He felt a hand pat his head. “Smart boy,” Mr. Hampton hummed. 

Cole groaned through the gag, hoping it would be taken as a plea to be released.

Unfortunately, he was just pat on the head again and told to “quiet down, now.”

More silence. More tick tick ticks, more shuffling of papers. Cole wasn’t sure whether to love or hate the sound of shuffling fucking papers. He supposed without them he’d be driven crazy by something else, anyway. 

His ears were ringing, now.

The ropes bit into his skin viciously. He wished they could at least be loosened, but no, they stayed burning into his flesh, holding him in place. His skin was probably red in the places that weren’t covered by his clothes.

Even his jaw was aching, now. How long had he been stuck like this? He felt like one of those dancer figurines you could find online. Forever frozen in the middle of a routine. That’s what this was, he decided. A frozen, horrible moment in time.

After an infinity of typing and papers and pen clicking all over again, he heard the telltale rolling of a chair.

Footsteps made their way over, and Cole’s skin practically crawled in anticipation.

He could feel the ropes being fiddled with, and finally, finally the relief that came with his leg being released. He could have cried.

“There you go,” Mr. Hampton said, messing with the other ropes too.

It didn’t take long to be completely freed, but each second dragged by so slowly that Cole wanted to scream. He was so close to freedom.

Finally, the last of the rope was gone, and then went the blindfold and gag. Cole’s knees buckled, and he could do nothing to stop himself as he collapsed on the floor. He stayed there, breathing heavy.

“Good work today, Mr. Brookstone,” Mr. Hampton said, collecting the ropes. “I expect to see an improvement in your form next class.”

“Yes sir,” Cole nodded, shakily getting to his feet.

And then, finally, he was allowed to leave. He made his way back to his dorm, falling into his bed almost immediately. He felt like he could sleep for multiple days on end.

It didn’t take long to drift off.

The weekend passed slow and uneventful. It was boring, but it was peaceful. For once, Cole didn’t mind it.

Thankfully, no one seemed to know about what had happened. He’d just about die if anyone were to find out. 

Eventually, class rolled back around. Cole made sure to be at his very best, hoping he wouldn’t need to go through another day of “extra credit”. He wasn’t sure he could handle it.

As class ended and everyone was filing out, Cole felt his heart absolutely stop when his teacher called his name.

Please don’t say it.

“Good work today, Mr. Brookstone,” Mr. Hampton said, and Cole couldn’t help the relief that came with those few words. “Your performance today was excellent.”

“Thank you,” Cole said.

“Run along now, Cole.”

Over the next few days of class, Cole slowly allowed himself to relax. Sure, he was still putting in effort, but he was finally loosening up.

Until about two weeks after the initial event. It began the same as the first time; Mr. Hampton pulling him aside after class, telling him his performance was dropping, and offering up a “solution”.

Knowing what to expect didn’t make it any better.

Cole just stood there, let ropes be looped around his body and a blindfold take away his sight. He tried not to make much noise, this time. The gag made it hard to breathe.

But after only a few minutes, out of nowhere, it was being pushed into his mouth.

Cole didn’t fight it.

He couldn’t if he wanted to. He was smaller and weaker than Mr. Hampton, even without the ropes.

Besides, it didn’t matter if he was uncomfortable. He couldn’t very well say no to someone who had almost complete authority over him, especially when it wasn’t even like the situation was that bad.

He was just overreacting.

This time, he was forced into the splits, while his torso was bent over forwards and his arms were tied behind his back, pulling in the opposite direction. 

It hurt, and he couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him. He had no way of knowing if his teacher had even heard.

It only happened three more times that month. Each time it was a different position, and each time, Cole thought it would get easier. It never did.

It always left deep imprints in his skin, the only evidence that anything had happened at all other than his aching limbs. But the imprints faded fast, and the aches followed sooner or later.

Honestly, the worst part about it was the way his teacher got more and more… he didn’t know the word for it. Closer. More touches. It made Cole a little bit nauseous to think about.

Inherently, the situation wasn’t bad. But Cole wasn’t stupid. Or maybe he was. It was his fault for getting into this in the first place, wasn’t it?

He kept his mouth shut for the next few months out of fear. Maybe as a punishment for himself.

He was stupid to get himself into this mess, and he was pathetic for not knowing how to get himself out. He supposed he deserved the pain that came with it all.

He’d wanted to run away long before this had started, and every day it seemed like a more appealing option.

Run away. Run from your problems, because you’re too scared, too pathetic, to face them.

He stayed a month longer.

He only made up his mind after waking from a dream. No, a nightmare.

He could barely remember it, but he had woken up crying, and he had woken up ready to go.

He shoved only the essentials into his bag, and before his roommate could wake up, he got the hell out of there. 

He didn’t look back. 

[lazyyogi]

Hi lazyyogi, I greatly admire your thoughts and your blog. Thank you for always sharing your spiritual practices and perspectives. I was wondering, if you'd like to share, how you got on this path of spirituality? Was this something you were always interested in or did specific life experiences propel you towards it? Thanks!

Hi friend, thanks so much! I’m happy to share this story. Of course, there is more to it than I can write here. 

I was always interested in magic and the supernatural. I started learning magic tricks in first and second grade. The world of mystery and magic felt synonymous with beauty and I sensed that the world of adults was very dull and hollow by contrast. Born the youngest of five children, when I was in the fourth grade I learned that my sisters had gone through a witchcraft (wiccan) phase when they were teenagers. I found their old books and devoured them. 

Thus began my foray into the occult. From then and throughout high school, I explored many paradigms of occult practices and paths. Druidry, Wicca, forms of shamanism and paganism, chaos magick, Discordianism, Tantra, and so on. I found magical perspectives, practices, and insights to be quite marvelous and empowering.

The summer before my senior year in high school, my father died from skin cancer. He had been a world-renowned pediatric neurosurgeon--a man who dedicated his life not only to saving the lives of children but also pioneering techniques that continue to save lives to this day. Until that time, I had grown up in a very privileged environment. A white male attending private school and living in a wealthy community. 

I didn’t realize this at the time, but I was about to have an experience similar to Siddhartha. Siddhartha was born a prince meant to become an emperor. But one day when traveling outside his palace, he witnessed disease, old age, and death. Seeing these things, he questioned the meaning of worldly goals and desires. Soon after he left the kingdom, wandered as a spiritual seeker, and eventually became the Buddha. 

After my father died, I felt tremendous confusion and dissatisfaction with life. Worldly goals never really interested me to start with but magic and the supernatural started to seem meaningless as well. No matter what we do in this life, we die unexpectedly and we take nothing with us. 

I wanted answers to the meaning of life and death and the nature of consciousness. More than answers, I wanted insight. I didn’t just want words that will put me at ease, I wanted to be transformed by such knowledge. 

Religion, the sciences, the arts, all of these offered explanations or answers about consciousness. But meditation practice is what offered direct experiential insight. So after attending the teachings of many different gurus coming through NYC, I began a meditation practice the summer after freshman year of college. 

A lot happened from there. I had unexpected moments of awakening experiences. I had two life-changing encounters with psilocybin. I spent a week in India at my guru’s ashram. I had to find a way through a difficult breakup after college that required me to face old wounds and triggers and traumas. 

The question was never if it were possible but rather how to navigate through it all. At the same time, this path is also what shifted me from working in the film industry to becoming a doctor. I realized film wasn’t the place for me. I also realized that while society couldn’t give me anything of lasting value, I could still contribute something meaningful to society. Healing is one such contribution but also spiritual presence, mindful abidance. I want to show that it is possible to live a fully spiritual life, dedicated to the realization of enlightenment, even while being engaged in human society.

So that’s where I am now and what I am doing! I begin working as a doctor in the hospital this coming July. I am still practicing meditation and finding my way toward awakening. It feels right so far. :)

Thank you for this opportunity to reflect on all this. 

Namaste my friend! Much love. 

[ryanmeft]

Ryan’s Favorite Films of 2019

A stuttering detective,

A top hat-wearing vamp

A forced-perspective war,

A bit of Blaxploitation camp

Prisoners on a space ship

Having sex with bears

A writer goes remembering

Whenever his pain flares

  A prancing, dancing Hitler

A gambler high on strife

Here will go cavorting with

A mom who becomes a wife

A family plot with many threads

Three men against their own

A stuntman and his actor

A mobster now quite alone

Doubles under the earth

Two men in a tall house

Are here to watch a woman who

Is battling with her spouse

A family’s plans for their strong son

Go awry one night

A man rejects his country

Which is spoiling for a fight

 A house built by his grandpa

(Maybe; we’re not sure)

Looks out upon three prisoners

Whose passions are a lure

  All these are on my list this year

It’s longer than before

Because picking only ten this time

Was too great of a chore

  What are limits anyway?

They’re just things we invented

I don’t really find them useful

So, this year, I’ve dissented

  You may have noticed this time out

That numbers, I did grant

Promise they’ll stay in this order, though?

Now that, I just can’t

  I’m always changing my mind

Because, after all, you see

Good film is about the heart

And mine’s rather finicky

  There are a lot more I could name

(And I’ll change my mind at any time)

For now, though, consider these

The ones I found sublime

 20. Motherless Brooklyn

I’ve got a (hard-boiled) soft spot for 90’s neo-noirs like L.A. Confidential, Red Rock West and Seven, and Edward Norton’s ‘50’s take on Jonathan Lethem’s 90’s -set novel can stand firmly in that company.

19. Doctor Sleep

There’s something about Stephen King’s best writing that transcends mere popularity; his work may not be fine literature, but it is immune to the fads of the moment. So, too, are the best movies based on that work. This one, an engaging adventure-horror, deserved better than it got from audiences.

18. Jojo Rabbit

There was a time when the anything-goes satire of Mel Brooks could produce a major box office hit.  Disney’s prudish refusal to market the film coupled with the dominance of franchises means that’s no longer the case. If you bothered to give Jojo a shot, though, you got the strange-but-rewarding experience of guffawing one moment and being horrified the next.

17. By The Grace of God

I’d venture this is the least-seen film on my list; even among us brie-eating, wine-sniffing art house snobs, I rarely hear it mentioned. Focusing on the perspectives of three men dealing with a particularly heinous and unrepentant abusive priest and the hierarchy that protects him, it’s every bit as disquieting and infuriating as 2015’s Oscar-winning Spotlight.

16. Waves

You think Trey Edward Shultz’s Waves will be one thing---a domestic drama about an affluent African-American family (and that in and of itself is a rarity). Then it becomes something else entirely. It addresses something movies often avoid: that as life goes on, the person telling the story will always change.

15. Transit

You’re better off not questioning exactly where and when the film is set (it is based on a book about Nazi Germany but has been changed to be a more generalized Fascist state). The central theme here is identity, as three people change theirs back and forth based on need and desire.

14. American Woman

Movies about regular, working class, small-town American usually focus on men. This one is about a much-too-young mother and grandmother, played brilliantly by Sierra Miller, dealing with unexpected loss and the attendant responsibilities she isn’t ready for. 

13. Marriage Story

There is an argument between a married couple in here that is as true a human moment as ever was on screen---free of trumped-up screenplay drama and accurate to how angry people really argue. The entire movie strives to be about the kind of realistic divorce you don’t see on-screen. It is oddly refreshing.

12. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to 70’s Tinseltown is essentially a question: What if the murder that changed the industry forever had gone down differently? Along the way, it also manages to be a clever and insightful study of fame and fulfillment, or lack thereof.

11. High Life

Claire Denis is damned determined not to be boring. Your reaction to her latest film will probably depend on how receptive you are to that as the driving force of a film. Myself, I’m very receptive. I want to see the personal struggles of convicts unwittingly shipped into space, told without Action-Adventure tropes, in a movie that sometimes misfires but is never dull.

 10. Dolemite Is My Name

And fuckin’ up motherfuckers is my game! Look, if you don’t like naughty words, you probably shouldn’t be reading my columns---and you definitely shouldn’t be watching this movie. Eddie Murphy plays Rudy Ray Moore, the ambitious, irrepressible and endlessly optimistic creator of Blaxpoitation character Dolemite. Have you seen the 1975 film? It’s either terrible and wonderful, or wonderful and terrible, and the jury’s still out. Either way, Moore in the film is a self-made comic who establishes himself by talking in a unique rhyming style that speaks to black Americans at a time when black pop culture (and not just the white rendition of it) was finally beginning to pierce the American consciousness. What The Disaster Artist did for The Room, this movie does for Dolemite---with the difference being I felt like I learned something I didn’t know here.

 9. 1917

Breathless, nerve-wracking and somehow intensely personal even though it almost never takes time to slow down, it is fair to call Sam Mendes’s film a thrill ride---but it’s one that enlightens us on a fading historical time, rather than simply being empty calories. Filmed in such a way as to make it seem like one continuous, two-hour take, for which some critics dismissed it as a gimmick, the technique is used to lock us in with the soldiers whose mission it is to save an entire division from disaster. We are given no information or perspective that the two central soldiers---merely two, in a countless multitude---do not have, and so we are with them at every moment, deprived of the relief of omniscience. I freely admit I tend to give anything about World War I the benefit of the doubt, but there’s no doubt that the movie earns my trust.

8. Ash Is Purest White

Known by the much less cool-sounding name Sons and Daughters of Jianghu in China, here is a story that starts off ostensibly about crime---a young woman and her boyfriend are powerful in the small-potatoes mob scene of a dying industrial town---but after the surprising first act becomes a meditation on life, perseverance and exactly how much power is worth, anyway, when it is so fleeting and so easily lost. What do you do when everything that defined you is gone? You go on living. This is my first exposure to writer-director Jia Zhangke, an oversight I must strive hard to correct in future.

7. Knives Out

The whodunit is a lost art, a standard genre belonging to a time when mass audiences could appreciate a picture even if someone didn’t run, yell or explode while running and yelling every ten minutes. Rian Johnson and an all-star cast rescued it from the brink of cinematic extinction and gave it just enough of a modern injection to keep it relevant. Every second of the film is engaging; Johnson even manages to have a character whose central trait is throwing up when asked to lie, and he makes it seem sympathetic rather than juvenile. The fantastic cast of characters is backed up with all the qualities of “true” cinema: perfect camerawork, an effective score, mesmerizing production design. As someone who didn’t much care for Johnson’s Star Wars outing, I’m honestly put out this didn’t do better at the box office than it did.

6. A Hidden Life

After a few questionable efforts and completely losing the thread with the execrable vanity project Song to Song, Terence Malick returns to his bread and butter: meditative dramas on the nature of faith, family, and being on the outside looking in, which encompass a healthy dose of nature, philosophy and people talking without moving their lips. That last is a little dig, but it’s true: Malick does Malick, and if you don’t like his thing, this true story about a German dissenter in World War II will not change your mind. For me, what Malick has done is that rarest of things: he had made a movie about faith, and about a character who is faithful, without proselytizing. That the closeness and repressiveness of the Nazi regime is characterized against Malick’s typical soaring backdrops is a masterstroke, and the best-ever use of his visual style.

5. The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers is a different kind of horror filmmaker. After redefining what was possible with traditional horror monsters in The Witch, he returned with something that couldn’t be more different: an exploration of madness more in the vein of European film than American. Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are two men stranded in a lighthouse together slowly losing their minds, or what is left of them. The haunting score and stark, black-and-white photography evoke a nightmare caught on tape, something we’re not supposed to be seeing. It’s not satisfying in a traditional way, but for those craving something more cerebral from horror, Eggers has it covered.

4. Us

I have become slightly notorious in my own little circle for not thinking Get Out was the greatest film ever made, and now I’ve become rather known for thinking Us just might be. Ok, so that’s definite hyperbole: “greatest” is a tall claim for almost any horror movie. Yet here Jordan Peele shows that he can command an audience’s attention even when not benefiting from a popular cultural zeitgeist in terms of subject matter. It’s a movie with no easy or clear message, one that specializes in simply unsettling us with the idea that the world is fundamentally Not Right. I firmly believe that if Peele becomes a force in the genre, 50 years from now when he and all of us are gone, his first film will be remembered as a competent start, while this will be remembered as the beginning of his greatness.

3. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Ostensibly about urban gentrification, this story of a young black man trying to save his ancestral home from the grasping reach of white encroachment is a flower with many petals to reveal. Don’t let my political-sounding description turn you off: the movie is not a polemic in the slightest, but rather a wry, sensitive look at people, their personalities and how those personalities are intertwined with the places they call home. Though the movie is the directorial debut of Joe Talbot, it is based loosely on the memories and feelings of his friend Jimmie Falls, who also plays one of the two central characters. If you’ve ever watched a place you love fall to the ravages of time and change, this movie may strike quite a chord with you.

2. Uncut Gems

When asked why this movie is great, I usually say that it was unbelievably stressful and caused me great anxiety. This description is not usually successful in selling it. The Safdie Brothers have essentially filmed chaos: a man self-destructing in slow-motion, if you can call it slow. Howard Ratner has probably been gradually exploding all his life; he strikes you as someone who came out of the womb throwing punches. He’s an addictive gambler who loves the risk much more than the reward, and can’t gain anything good in life without risking it on a proverbial roll of the dice. His behavior is destructive. His attitude is toxic. Why do we root for him? Perhaps because, as played by Adam Sandler, he never has any doubt as to who he is---something few of us can say. He’s an asshole, but he’s a genuine asshole, and somehow that’s appealing even when you’re in his line of fire.

1. Pain and Glory

When I realized I would, for the first time, have the chance to see a Pedro Almodovar film on the screen, I was overjoyed. His movies aren’t always great, but that was of little concern: he’s one of the handful of directors on the planet who can fairly call back to the avant-garde traditions of Bergman or Truffaut, making the movies he wants to make about the things he want to make them about, and I’d never seen one of his films when it was new and fresh, only months or years later on DVD.

It seems I picked right, as his latest has been almost universally hailed as one of the best of his long career. An aging, aching filmmaker spends his days in his apartment, ignoring the fans of his original hit film and most of his own acquaintances, alive or dead---he tries hard to put his memories away. Throughout the course of the movie, he re-engages with most of them in one way or another, coming to terms with who he is and where he’s been, though not in a Hallmark-movie-of-the-week way. Antonio Banderas plays him in the role that was always denied him by his stud status in Hollywood. It isn’t simply him, though: every person we meet is engaging and, we sense, has their own story outside of how they intersect with his. Most engaging is that of his deceased mother, who in her youth was played vivaciously by a sun-toughened Penelope Cruz. Perhaps Almodovar will tell us some of their stories some day. Perhaps not. I would read an entire book of short fiction all about them. This is the year’s best film.

[ruensroad]

sweet surrender

Valentine’s coming up so here’s some spicy JinYi for flavor.

---

He’d known, theoretically, that his marriage would cause dissonance within his Council. Everything was an uphill battle with them, had always been, given the state of his family’s reputation and his own methods of leadership, as well as love, which differed from what they wanted. His jiu-jiu had taught him to be fearless in all things he knew were right, so he was, and for a while it’d been simple to just damn the consequences and take whatever punishment they laid over his shoulders. They could only do so much, in the end, and their constant irritation meant little when it came to his people, his family, his sect, or his husband.

They’d tried making laws, making treaties. They’d tried finding loopholes in his inheritance to kick him out. When these failed, they created problems, tightened their hold on the treasury, forced him to work extra hard to make ends meet while keeping his sect and his people above water. Test after test, victory after victory. They were persistent, but he had his jiu-jiu’s stubbornness, and he would not bend to them. Not easily. And they knew it.

But this? Passive aggressive meetings upon meetings to talk of petty things, hours and hours… this was by far the worst.

Jin Ling knew his patience was lacking already, no matter the meditation techniques Jingyi had taught him to give him better control over his temper. But to have his precious time with his new husband cut short, and for what? So his Elders could make some kind of point? Forcing him from dinner and into the long hours of dusk, when Jingyi surely had gone to bed without him?

He understood, now, why his jiu-jiu had always been so tired with his own council. He just wished he knew the trick to shutting them up for good.

Murder, maybe?

He sighed and slumped against his bedroom door, dismissing that, though only after a brief moment to just imagine the quiet that would follow. It would never be worth it, but some peace would be nice for a change. Perhaps he could find a loophole into their positions and kick them all out. Get a council of senior disciples, how nice would that be?

It wouldn’t happen, but it was a nicer thought than simply enduring, which was the only path left to him.

Gods, just one day, he wished he wasn’t in charge. Life was much simpler for those that followed, not led. And he missed it wholly.

A soft sweep of robes over the floor pulled him out of that fog of exhaustion and frustration, even before he heard the soft utterance of his name. It was always a wonder seeing Jingyi in a golden-rimmed robe, without his ribbon and his hair loose. From the first night they’d ever shared to now, it hadn’t lost it’s awe. He hoped it never would.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly before reaching out to catch Jingyi’s hand, their fingers tangling in a familiar curve. The soft contact was enough to draw the other in, like a whisper of wind, and he was slowly kissed.

“I was meditating,” Jingyi said, which explained how awake he seemed. If Jin Ling had truly woken him, he’d be far less put together, even as unbound as he was. “Waiting.”

Jin Ling immediately sighed away another bite of frustration. “I’m sorry. The Council -”

“-are a bunch of petty old men who need to remember what is really important about running a sect,” Jingyi finished for him, no nonsense, and reached up with his free hand to cup his face. “They’re running you ragged.”

“They want me to trip me up, that’s all,” Jin Ling huffed and turned his face in to bite a soft nip to Jingyi’s wrist. “I am Sect Leader, not them. I will do what I need to for my people and Sect, and for you.”

“Just as I will do what I need to do for you,” Jingyi said, though had not melted into him the way he usually did when his wrist was seized. There was a stubborn light in his dark eyes tonight, something determined and almost angry, but the hands that slid into his hair to release the crown and hairpin were nothing but gentle, with the promise of… something making him shiver.

“What are you scheming,” he said, more an observation than a proper question. He’d known such a look years before Jingyi had ever been fully his and it still brought a part of him to life with the anticipation of mischief.

But it seemed mischief was not what Jingyi was after as he traced the silver ribbon over Jin Ling’s forehead and carefully untied it, thoughtful almost while he regarded the silken strip.

“Do you trust me, husband?” was what he asked, startling him, because surely, he knew?

The look on his face made Jin Ling pause, however; made him sense the true seriousness of that question and the shivering promise behind it. His body came to life for a whole new reason when it became aware of his husband’s full attention.

“Yes,” he breathed, still uncertain what Jingyi was thinking, but trusting him completely. If nothing else, he knew he was safe here. Knew that Jingyi would not think of something that would hurt him, and if it edged too far he would stop the moment Jin Ling asked. That had not changed from their first night and he doubted it ever would.

He took Jingyi’s hand with a smile and kissed it, feeling the silk of the ribbon against his lips. “I’m yours, Jingyi, and you are mine. I trust you.”

Jingyi smiled at that, mouth infused with that same determination in his eyes. His fingers caught Jin Ling’s and squeezed, once, then he leaned in as though for a kiss.

“So busy giving orders and taking orders…” he mused just when their mouths brushed and Jin Ling shivered to feel the hint of teeth against his lower lip. “Always in control. But not tonight.”

He was not ready for the flush that overtook his body, hearing that, nor for the way his mouth went dry as Jingyi slowly wrapped his Lan ribbon around his wrists, and a steady knot at that. Jin Ling realized with a kick of heat that he could not, in fact, break the hold without ruining his marriage ribbon, which they both knew he would never do willingly. He’d have to trust in Jingyi to release him and that loss of control, even just this tiny bit, made him shudder.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, am I?” he asked, steeling himself as he leaned back against the door, and prayed his knees were strong enough to hold out.

He got a lazy, curling grin in answer, full of trouble, and glittering, amused eyes meeting his. Then Jingyi was ducking under the closed circle of his arms, all calm ease and confidence and he promptly forgot how to breathe. “I daresay you’ll be strutting as you always do, Sect Leader Jin.”

“Somehow I’m not reassured, Master Lan,” Jin Ling managed to tease and even managed the last word that round, a miracle, given Jingyi simply silenced him with another kiss. Hands settled on his waist and wrapped around his sash, reaching around to untie the silk and let it drop. It pooled to the ground at their feet in a golden cascade and Jin Ling bit his lip as his robe was neatly untied and allowed to drape open, layer by layer, until Jingyi’s hands traced over his skin.

“Kick off your shoes, Sect Leader,” Jingyi said and his fingers trailed away to his own sash, which joined Jin Ling’s in a blue heap.

Jin Ling did as he was told, fingers flexing in the air as he shuffled off his boots. The moment they were kicked to the side, Jingyi’s hands were on him again, like a reward, and he shivered all over when his silent demand for a kiss was ignored.

“Not yet, Sect Leader,” Jingyi chuckled and shrugged off his robe, until he was standing in nothing but his silken trousers. Ivory skin glowed in the faint moonlight, such a contrast to the sunkissed warmth of his own, and he ached to touch, to take back control and kiss his way down every faint scar and freckle he’d long since memorized. But that was part of the game, wasn’t it? Surrender. Trust. Like hell he was ruining this when it’d only just begun, especially with his husband looking at him like that.

Jin Ling forced himself to lean back against the door again, breathing sharply through his nose, and soaked in the feeling of warm hands running down their well loved paths over his skin. “You realize I can’t get my own robes off in this state?” he said, hoping that wouldn’t put a hitch in things, but Jingyi only smiled lazily again, kicking that heat in his gut up to a whole other kind of burn.

“They can be washed,” was all Jingyi said to that, all he had to say, and Jin Ling was putty in his hands even before they cradled his face and drew him into a breathtaking kiss. A sweep of tongue, a hint of teeth; Jin Ling downright growled when Jingyi kept it torturously short.

“Jingyi.”

“Patience, Sect Leader Jin,” Jingyi laughed, the devil, and pushed him bodily against the door in a show of strength that had his stomach swooping, especially with those clever fingers dancing beats over his hips. “You are not the one giving the orders tonight, remember?”

“Fuck,” Jin Ling felt his face heat just as Jingyi’s hands gripped under his thighs and lifted. He just about yelped at the sudden ease of it, but found himself groaning instead to feel his feet leave the ground.

Damn, that Lan arm strength.

“See? Not so bad,” Jingyi chuckled and kissed a spot on his chest, slow and open mouthed, like holding Jin Ling’s full weight was something he was made for, and he had all the time in the world to do so. When Jin Ling only managed a choked noise in response, he pushed them back from the door and turned them neatly to set Jin Ling down on the vanity. The mirror shook when Jin Ling’s back hit it, the bowl of rosewater sloshing as it was disturbed. Jingyi laughed at the face he made and stole a kiss before he could complain.

“You’re cleaning that later,” he still grumbled, determined to have the final word again, and Jingyi snorted, like that was a funny tease, then settled into gentle kisses on his cheek and the side of his nose, his brow, his jaw and back to his lips. His warm fingers slipped under his robes again, this time splaying over his lower back, then tracing upwards, curling firmly into the skin of his shoulders.

“Some spilled water will be the least of what will be cleaned,” Jingyi mused, considering the fine, expensive silk Jin Ling was still wearing. He felt his face immediately flame over at the implication.

“Shameless.”

“For you? Always,” Jingyi said, easy as that, and lifted him off the vanity with a powerful tug, forcing him to cling as best he could to him with bound wrists. For a small eternity, they simply stood like that: Jingyi looking up at him, Jin Ling shivering in his hold, red faced and wanting.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he accused when the staring became too much, became an ache that only movement could cure and he was too scared of breaking Jingyi’s grip to do so, as much as he needed it. He settled for pouting and kissing Jingyi slow, not even a demand anymore, but a plea.

“I like carrying you,” Jingyi agreed, a tad breathless when they finally pulled apart, and carefully edged them around to the bed. He ducked his head down to encourage Jin Ling to lift his arms off of him, then used that infamous arm strength to lay him down fully with only a bit of bouncing. Standing there, backlit by the moon and his eyes so dark with want, he was a vision of confidence, of desire, and Jin Ling felt like a hare in a trap, but a willing one, and forced himself to lay back, bound hands over his head, utterly exposed.

“Don’t know how you do that,” he licked his lips, hips shifting in uncertainty as Jingyi simply continued to watch him squirm. “Or why you’d like it. Can’t be that easy.”

“It’s very easy,” Jingyi assured him in a tone that told Jin Ling he meant more than just a literal sense, and when he finally leaned down to steal a kiss, it was with softness, and utter love in his eyes, as well as a smile. “You’re not that heavy. Not to me.”

“Shameless,” Jin Ling muttered, heart so full it felt close to bursting, even as his body thrummed with fire as their skin brushed and Jingyi’s weight settled firmly between his legs, his sure hands guiding them over his hips, making him blush.

“I’m not ashamed of how I feel,” Jingyi just shrugged, like his every breath and movement wasn’t making Jin Ling go crazy with want, like he was reading the most engrossing love story ever written and the words were painted in Jin Ling’s skin. “You are mine, Sect Leader Jin, and I will always carry you when you need me to.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, tilting his face up for another kiss given gladly. “I am yours,” he breathed out. “All of me.”

Jingyi smiled and leaned over him, a hand reaching up to tangle in his bound ones, while the other trailed a whimsical path down his navel, making his breath hitch.

“All mine,” he agreed and his fingers dipped lower still. As Jin Ling arched into him, he laughed, low in his ear, nipping a spot on his neck he knew would be there tomorrow, for all to see. “All night.”