#but anything based off or set within the setting of my rewrite? go wild. you have my full permission and i am elated! ♡

[brightside-brigade]

★☆~Welcome to the Brightside Brigade!!! This blog is run by the host of the system, though a few others occasionally post. If you want to read more about the system and it's members, click the post linked after the intro and byf stuff!~☆★

★ psst. Seen us posted on a cringe sub or site? Let us know, so we can add to... the "rent free" Tally! ★

🎉Rent free Tally 🎉 [/]

Hiya!! My name is Jack, but you can call me Bright or Brighteyes! I'm a Dr Bright fictive and this is my blog! I post just about anything here, various interests, stuff about my alterhumanity or our system, shit post, and all around just be me! (《Please note I have autism, anxiety, and depression! So if my posts are ever erratic or sound off, that's why! There may also be slumps in posting! Thank you for understanding 》)

I'm bodily 22, and transmasc, plus neo/xeno hoarder. My pronouns are he/him, they/them, nya/nyas, and... probably more neos to come!

I'm arospec due to autism (not feeling/understanding emotions the same way an NT being might), and omnisexual with a masc lean. I'm currently in an in-sys relationship and I'm uncertain about adding anything external at the moment! However, playful flirting is allowed via anons so long as you're also 18+. I'm a grown ass man.

I love my source, mascot horror and analog Horror, or digital horror, resident Evil, and horror in general! Especially things like Welcome Home! Non horror things I love include pokemon, minecraft, Steven Universe, mlp and more!! I also like toys, such as lps and plushies! I hoard both. I like to draw and make bracelets! But I'm not the best at them, the knots are hard to tie. ^^"

I'm also a furry and age regressor. My agere blog will be linked below as well.

I'm alterhuman!!! Both physiologically and spiritually, and possibly physically as a way of fully rejecting this body I'm stuffed in. That's right, Dr Bright is also... a creatures. A certified #1 Critterboy

My ID's for that are as follows:

🦂 Las Plagas (think the fanart you see of infected Leon, one of those bad boys.)

🐈 a Cheshire cat (as in the species, not the character)

🍂 an unknown (for now) forest entity

💞 I also feel strong connections with wild canids, deer, not-deer and not-animal cryptids, dragons, demons, and angels! 💞

Stances:

Pro lgbtqia+

Pro mspec identites

Aro, ace, and apl spec belong in LGBTQIA+

Pro slur reclamation

Pro mogai, liom, ect. This includes xenogenders and neo pronouns

Pro endo and all system origins

Knows there's no such thing as a "bad person disorder"

Supports Pro recovery and anti-c paras

Believes in and supports survivors of RAMCOA, TBMC, OEA, programmed systems, ect.

Alters don't need to separate from, apologize for, or denounce their source, or their actions in source

Radqueer apathetic (burned out from discourse), VIOLENTLY ANTI XENOSATANIST, BASED/LACED QUEER, ECT.

YKINMKATO

supports all non human identites, including physical, p-shifters, and CLCZs

Thought crimes don't exist

You can enjoy media with problematic themes. You don't need to "acknowledge" or "enjoy it critically,"

Shipcourse is fucking stupid.

I don't give a shit what someone does or enjoys within a fictional setting

DNI:

Basic DNI

Terfs, swerfs, radfems, gender crit, transmed, ect

Any form of ageplay or sexualized age regression

IRL nsfw blogs

Don't believe in or follow our stances if you're going to start shit (IE: sysmeds, ect)

Pro-c or neu-c harmful paras (you deserve to rot)

if your blog is heavily discourse centered

Anti agere/petre

Anti alterhumanity

Believe in narcissistic abuse or demonize personality disorders in general

Harm beings that cannot or do not consent in any capacity

☆ do not refer to Jack by Elias or any other rewrite name. He is not them, they are not him, and he has no intention of source/name separation. If this bothers or upsets you, block this blog.

Warning: This blog will mostly be discourse free, but Jack Bites Back™️ and will go after those who Start shit on positivity posts or make posts defending groups or identites his friends are or are a part of.

Have a question or want clarification about the above? Just ask! ^_^

vvv LINKS vvv

System intro post:

Jacks age regression blog:

~more to come~

[ruiniel]

Hi, it's me again! Sorry I couldn't respond to the earlier post for some reason so sending in an ask.

First off, thank you so so much for linking the series and responding so promptly!!!!! Omg I'm so happy haha 😭❤️❤️ I'm also really sorry if you intended to keep it unavailable for personal reasons, and I'm digging something up! I just really loved the series. Both because it is honestly an incredible piece of work and it came at a time in my life where I had a lot of stuff going on and reading this book was my favourite escape.

You should know that I will forever adore your works and miss any that you take down!! Not just paths afire but also works like 'Within these endless walls' and 'Circles'. I also discovered 'Astray' through you! And it's lowkey making me tear up when I say this but these stories are so close to my heart, and I'm beyond thankful to you for the effort that has gone into writing them. You're one of the authors I'd pay to read (been meaning to ask forever - do you have a patreon?)

One last request (gosh I'm really sorry again to be a bother) - any chance you have a draft or copy of One, Wild Celandine and Healing that you can share? It's illegal how much I've enjoyed them 🙈🙈 I understand you don't want them out for public consumption and completely respect that, so if you don't want to share anything I get it. But if you feel like it, then I'd be elated to get a copy through email or some other medium.

As someone who has read and read and read fanfiction for the better part of my life now, I'm beyond grateful to authors like yourself. Your works have put a smile on my face so many times!

Really sorry for this crazy long ask! Sending you love and the best wishes ❤️❤️

Hi! Aghhh I'm so happy that something I wrote at one time helped in this way, this, this is what really makes it all worthwhile (aside from the enjoyment of writing things, which I'll never stop doing).

Whew, Circles and ...walls are still up on my ao3 account (though the latter needs me to run up my sleeves and do some rewriting). Circles is still one personal favorite out of the Tolkien fanfic I wrote along the years, so thank you!

Astray! Hell yes antiheld is an amazing writer and friend, has inspired me so much, I'm sure @pickingfightswithsprites would be happy to read about this!

Uh oh, you know what, give me some time (traveling now) and I'll dig up & send you copies of the glorfindel-smut-shots in a message here. Least I can do!

And no, don't have a Patreon thanks for asking, but I'm setting up (taking forever...) a Kofi, though it'll be focused on my drawings and original writing most likely.

But, if you hang on here, I sometimes open writing requests (closed for now), where people can send asks with writing prompts for characters/pairings based on this! Once I wrap up a few things, I'll open requests here again.

Much love and thanks!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make-up Assignment

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, coercion, breeding/forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Ransom Drysdale and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Ransom Drysdale + “No, not there, in my lap.” + breeding/forced pregnancy + Maybe dark professor ransom with a naive student? Like naive naive, too trusting as request by Anonymous

Your nerves were running wild. The way your heart dropped at the sight of your grade still resonated within you. You couldn’t fail this course and if you did, you had to wait over a year to retake it and that could mean an extra term entirely.

You couldn’t help but fidget as you watched Professor Drysdale read your paper over again. You wanted to know why he gave you such a low mark, a better explanation than the slanted writing on the last page. You needed another chance.

“It’s a well written paper but your thesis just wasn’t strong enough. It’s not what we discussed,” he set it down on his desk, “it’s about symbolism and yet you spend so much time on the literal descriptions.”

You twiddled your fingers and frowned. You couldn’t say you didn’t struggle with the essay but all that effort, the sleepless nights, and the hours spent bent over a library table had done nothing to help. Were you really that hopeless?

“Can I-- Can I make it up?” you asked, “please, I could rewrite it or do an extra paper--”

“I don’t do that,” he shook his head, “it’s not fair, is it? You had as much time and resources as every other student--”

Your eyes blurred with tears as you folded your hands against your lips. You bit down and sniffed back the wave of dread. It wasn’t impossible to pull yourself back up on your other assignments but it wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, come on,” he leaned forward, “don’t cry.”

“I’m not-- I’m sorry, I’m just overwhelmed,” you dropped your hands, “I really did try and I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Well,” he flipped the front page again and perused your introduction, “we learn from our mistakes, don’t we? Let’s go over it and it might put things in perspective.”

“Alright, I… okay,” you murmured and wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt.

“You can’t see all the way over there, come on,” he waved you around the desk and slid his chair back just a little.

You stood, slightly confused, and rounded the desk. You stopped by his shoulder and bent as his fingers tapped on the paper. He chuckled and pulled his hand back. He rubbed his thigh as he looked up at you.

“No, not there, in my lap,” he patted his leg.”

“What--I--”

“We have a lot to go over. You stand like that all night and you’ll hurt your neck,” he touched your wrist, “it’s fine.”

You scrunched your lips and stared into his eyes. It was… weird, surely it was wrong, but you needed to do better. You sidled in front of him as he pushed further back and sat carefully. He brought his arms around you and lifted your paper. His breath grazed your neck and slipped down the collar of your dress.

“Your structure is good, style too, but you need to make an argument you can support with more than… conjecture,” he began and his deep voice crawled over you, “there are several instances I can think of that would support the theme of regret but you didn’t really present them and when you did, the explanation just wasn’t there…”

You listened, or tried to as you felt heavy against him. You felt as if you were hurting him as you sat on him but he barely seemed bothered by the awkward position. When he shifted, you tried to lift yourself.

“Sorry, am I too--”

He dropped your paper and pulled you back down. Your ass met the bulge in his pants. Your head snapped up and you gripped the desk.

“Professor Drysdale,” you uttered.

“Shhh,” he slid his hands under your skirt, “you want another chance, don’t you?”

“Please,” you tried to stand and he held you down. He wiggled under you and groaned.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he rasped, “you sit in every man’s lap like this?”

His fingers pressed to the crotch of your tights and you took a sharp breath. You shivered as his other hand tanked your skirt out from under you. His fingers poked at your tights until the sheer fabric tore and he rubbed your panties as his breath hitched.

“Do you want the grade?” he asked, “or I can knock a few more percent off for inappropriate conduct.”

“Professor--”

“It’ll be quick, a fair trade,” his other hand snaked under you and he pushed down his zipped as he scratched against the nylon.

He brought his knees between your legs and spread them as he lifted you slightly. Frozen, you let him and it was only as he tore the whole in your tights bigger that you realized what was happening.

You stared at the circled number in red on the paper and gulped. He slid your panties aside and urged you down onto him. His tip met your entrance with resistance but he forced his way in and filled you completely. You whined and grabbed his hands as he gripped your hips.

“Wha--”

“That’s it,” he began to move you, “you don’t have to do anything, baby.”

You quivered and squeezed his hands harder. He leaned back and stretched his legs out as yours splayed out over his knees. He rocked into you from below and trailed his hand up the front of your skirt. He shoved his fingers through the whole and toyed with your clit as he sped up.

His fiery breaths surrounded you as the sensation of his fucking filled your core. Stunned and senseless, you could only let him use you. Even if you thought of stopping him, you didn’t have the strength. You were terrified. It was too late anyway.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, “mmm, you're so tight.”

“Please,” you begged as he wrapped an arm around your middle and bucked his hips wildly, “pull out, please, I’m not--”

He spasmed and muffled his moans as he came. You tried to push off of him but he held you down and kept moving, using you until he was done. He stilled and took deep breaths as he descended from the high but kept his cock buried in you.

“Why--”

“You’re so sweet,” he purred as he nuzzled your head, “you’ll make such a good little mommy.”

---

Please leave some feedback and reblog if you enjoyed!

[piermanwalter]

Army Swap AU: Luke and Leia

In a galaxy where the Confederacy of Independent Systems went super into biotech instead of mass industrialisation, and the Jedi’s secret deal with the Kaminoans fell through so they had to create a different army, the Republic soldiers are droids and the Separatist soldiers are clones.

Following the Droid Wars, instead of a masterful transfer into absolute power, Palpatine was barely able to scrape together enough support from the Galactic Core to become Emperor. Palpatine embarked on an epic information control campaign, purging data archives all across the galaxy, rewriting maps and hyperdrive computers to erase knowledge of specific planets from existence, and more importantly setting up a series of hypershield satellites blocking off every recorded hyperlane into the Outer Rim, essentially isolating that region from the rest of the galaxy.

It’s not that the hypershield actively blocks anything. It just makes everything passing through it via hyperspace travel very slowly. Most beings would die of old age and holotransmissions would be irrelevant before making it to the other side. Terrible things happen when ships try to drop out of hyperspace while caught in the shield. A taboo on mentioning certain planets was enforced to such a degree that species originating from those planet were eradicated from the Galactic Core. These planets never existed. The Confederacy of Independent Systems invented these names to make their territory seem larger. There is nothing beyond the Mid Rim. 

It was under this environment of ironclad facades and overcompensation where Luke Crashburn was raised. His father was an organic Republic soldier who served under Admiral Tarkin. His father died in combat and it was due to Tarkin’s influence that Luke was accepted into the prestigious Sector 1 Imperial Academy. But no matter how hard he studies or how well he fights in the sims, his final grades never improved more than mediocre. As graduation looms nearer, Luke finds himself sidelined into the worst specialisations imaginable.

Research and Development? Supply Line Management? That’s impossible. His flying score was better than anyone else’s in his class, and some of them were sent off to become pilots. Luke knows something is wrong. It seems like everyone is hiding something from him. 

If he can’t impress anyone with his grades, he’ll try to get in via connections. Recklessly throwing himself into officer meetings with the vague justification of “Savcus Crashburn was my father. Admiral Tarkin likes me. Please give me a job aboard your ship. Sir!”, Luke finds himself in a world of political intrigue he wasn’t trained to handle. Does everyone actually appreciate his skills or are they using him for clout? Why would someone like himself have clout? What’s going on?

Due to the absolute chaos of the Outer Rim and their tenuous control over the Mid Rim, the Empire lacked the resources to build an entire Death Star, choosing to forgo most of the superstructure. The first Death Star is much smaller than the initial blueprint and the shape of a compass rose, containing only the superlaser, officer and technician housing, and enough starship docks to provide a support escort. It has much less intimidation compared to the original, but its more efficient design allowed it to go on a killing spree targeting the planets most dangerous to the newly formed Empire.

Kamino? Gone. Geonosis? Gone. As more and more planets were destroyed,  Separatist worlds began sending huge chunks of their population on reckless colonisation missions. By the time Pure Neimoidia was destroyed, it had less than a hundred million occupants and the Neimoidians of that world had transitioned into obligate spacefarers much like their Duros relatives. The Rebellion tried to use these atrocities to turn people against the Empire, but anti-alien sentiments were at an all time high and most humans didn’t mind if planets got destroyed as long as not too many of their own kind were caught in the way. The information control campaign was so effective that few people ever knew the destroyed planets existed. 

Due to a clerical error resulting from insane levels of mutual xenophobia, multi-layered mind games and conflicting information from captured Supertacs, and the Empire’s own pervasive censorship backfiring, Skako Minor, the planet populated by Poletecs used mostly for weapon testing, was accidentally blown up instead of Skako Major, the actual planet where 500 billion Skakoans live. 

Using the spectacular failure of destroying the wrong planet as political leverage, Bail Organa was able to gain some support from people who lost trust in the Empire’s ability to protect them. Not exactly the message of unity and respect he wanted to send, but in the meantime let’s go with it. Alderaan, the new hub for Rebellion activity, became the greatest threat to the Empire and was the only planet uninvolved with the Droid Wars to be destroyed. After many humans died, people of the galaxy finally began to reject the Empire en masse. 

Meanwhile, in the lawless Outer Rim, the Death Star superstructure without the laser was manufactured by Separatist expeditionaries based off Poggle the Lesser’s blueprint. The Hive Orb was never able to achieve any level of military functionality, but large numbers of people could sustainably live in it.

A majority of the Hive Orb’s occupants are surviving Separatist-affiliated species and battle clones. Most of the rest are Droid War refugees, who see their uncontested ownership of Separatist-made Hive Orb as reparation for all they suffered through. There is also a significant population of gangsters and myriad fugitives. A few surviving Jedi also live on the Hive Orb, albeit under false identities.

Constant fighting between factions only stops when a serious structural flaw or outside threat is discovered, after which everyone calls a ceasefire to fix it, and then start attacking each other again. The most hotly contested area is the bridge, which controls where the Hive Orb goes. You can go to sleep in the Hive Orb and wake up in hyperspace because the bridge was taken over by another faction within the last few hours and they wanted to go to the other side of the galaxy. It is universally agreed upon that the Hive Orb must never be flown into Imperial Space. Pirates and crime syndicates make regular attempts to take over but the Hive Orb occupants crush them with more zeal than they crush each other.

Rumors of a moon-sized giant space station that appears and disappears at random are starting to leak through the hypershield, but for the most part are dismissed by the Empire because the concept is objectively ridiculous. 

It was under this environment of wild unpredictability interspersed with unconditional trust where Leia was raised. After failing to arrest Palpatine, only surviving due to Count Dooku suddenly turning on his Master and getting killed in his place, Mace Windu returned to the Jedi Temple to find everyone dead. Leia was the sole survivor. Mace bluntly stated he didn’t read enough of her Temple datafile to remember her last name. They spent a few years running away from the Empire but eventually settled in the Hive Orb because the whole thing runs away from the Empire by itself.

Although Mace decided to be an unaffiliated executor of justice aboard the Hive Orb, Leia threw her lots with The Spires, refugees of the Christophsis Invasion. Mace suddenly stopped teaching her in the ways of the Jedi, claiming it was too dangerous to be recognised. Leia joined The Spires mainly to protect the innocent, but also to have an excuse to travel the Hive Orb in hopes of finding another Jedi willing to teach her.

[donnnoir]

Abduct this dick; assholes

Dallas, Texas                                               July 16, 2019

Well since I am known to be a bit of a killjoy; I reckon I should just go ahead and piss in everybody’s punch bowl right off the bat.  If I was a prudent man I would wait to secure a large contingent of followers before unpacking certain ugly Truths.  Excepting that a given percentile would drop because I essentially assaulted one of their tenants of faith.  I however have never been known to be either a sensible nor prudent man.  As the song says, “if the Truth hurts bear it”.  Thus with that in mind let’s dance.

The phenomena known as Alien Abduction is for the most part (like 99.5 %) false.  Now before everyone decides to block me, allow me to say that the individuals who are suffering and experiencing abduction are indeed being abducted.  They are being experimented on by their abductors.  The real question and therefore crux of the matter is, who is abducting these people?  What is happening to them?  For what purposes?  Why are they experiencing these abductions as being perpetrated by aliens, principally the Greys?  Why would not aliens be abducting humans?  

From discussions long ago on the topic of Alien Abduction.  I was generally informed that, “come on really”!  Think about it, a more progressed race of intelligent beings can cross the entirety of the cosmos to come anal probe hill-billy Jeb to see what he has been eating?  Really?  Look long ago I saw all kinds of “spheres” and craft very similar to what we now call drones used by ETs to collect data or observe us.  If they want information on ANYONE, including Hill-Billy Jeb.  They could let Jeb inhale a micro sphere capable of scanning his entire body.  Transmit the data to a command module or craft were a non-living version of Jeb could be assembled down to each atom in real time in a lab.  This “version” could then be manipulated as necessary to whatever determining factors were being considered.  This sphere could give continuous live real time data so the subject could be observed in real life context.  Without any undo suffering or harm.  Once sufficient data has been collected the sphere can simply exit Jeb’s body via the closest orifice.  Hell the sphere wouldn’t even need to enter Jeb.  I just put that in to illustrate the possibility to any who subscribe to such being necessary to collect data.  Oh and I mean no offense to my Hill-Billy friends or kin.

Please always remember these persons the abductees are genuinely experiencing real and very disturbing memories of actually being kidnapped and tortured.  Let us not add to their pain by trying to minimize their suffering so that what they are experiencing fits some little box in our minds.  If anything the realities of what is happening should enrage everyone to the point of demanding that those responsible are held to the highest level of accountability and justice is done to them.  Plain and simply put - beginning with Our Government the Alien Phenomena inclusive of Abductions has been usurped to serve the agendas of what can best currently be called The Shadow Government.  Which is deeper and darker than what is presently being referred to as the Deep State (Government).  During the ‘60’s NASA developed Holographic Technologies.  These were initially employed along with hallucinatory drugs as part of a variety of cover stories for the victims of the infamous MK Ultra (mind control) experiments of the time.  I suggest you YouTube Cathy O’Brien.  She openly discusses the matter, or read “Trance-formation of America”, or her other books on the topic.  The victims then suffered additional torture and trauma as these scenarios / cover stories were put in place among the victim’s memories.   As the MK Ultra program was expanded to larger and larger portions of the population it became common practice to embed and use the Alien Abduction scenario in all test subjects.  Matter of fact following the initial reports and the common use of hypnotic regression to recover these memories. In later sessions with these same individuals. They generally recalled seeing several of the notorious Men in Black also in the room during their torture (presumed science experimentation by the Greys).  I suspect that the more recent reports no longer recall such.  As programmers of this type are quick to adjust their activities to exclude any tell tale signs of “the man behind the current” as it were.  The explosion of this supposed Phenomena follows closely the expansion of the continuing programs replacing MK Ultra within and throughout our society.  Ultimately the interests of Our Shadow Government align with those of the Ruling Black Hand of other Shadow Governments around the world.  As such we exported this “Phenomena” to the world.  

Sadly not all abductions can be explained by my thesis.  Mostly due to the fact not all ETs are benevolent, some even view us as a food source. Some are misidentified, when their old world label is much more appropriate that being “demons”.  Don’t worry everyone is going to get reacquainted with these entities from dark lower harmonic realms and their hive mind sets.  Much sooner than most of you may like.  Believe me we are not ready for what is coming.

So what the fuck does it mean?  The totality of the situation is beyond me!  What I can tell you constitutes a small portion of what is happening and to a lesser degree what is planned for all of us, but most particularly the unfortunate abductees.  First and foremost this project/operation was to cover up the sadistic practices of these occultic/satanic believers and their vile appetites.  Nonetheless the presumed operational objectives were genetic sampling and experimentation of the victims.  You see in Antediluvian times one of the great sins of the sons and daughters of Eve was altering their own genome or adulterating it with that of the Nephilim.  By the time Noah came around the practice had become so wide spread that quite literally just Noah and his family had sufficient original genes from Adam and Eve to qualify as being appropriate to continue the human race.  Important footnote here; as according to Antediluvian Law and Tradition, Noah would have brought his household with him on the Ark. Which is inclusive of more than just those consanguineously associated to him.  Consequently these Occultist that make up the Shadow Government wanted to track down all the fragments of these abomination variants scattered in the genes of the population.  They are currently active in trying to create Nephilim via cloning as an attempt to produce super soldiers for the Military Industrial Complex.  With some degree of success I might add.  If creating an abomination can be called a success at any level.  While farming test subjects they also wished to test how flexible our genome really is. Years ago there was discussion as to the programable nature of our DNA.  Comparing it to the Operating Systems of computers and how it could be used to transfer information along with how to make an executable file to update the base program.  As part of this, experiments were devised and various “packets of code” were placed in the test subjects.  At some future date the individual with be further victimized by being subjected to a stimuli (more than likely some form of non-ionizing radiation of a particular frequency and modulation) meant to cause the code to express its self in the subject.  With unimaginable speed the person’s genome will rewrite its self and express this physically in and on the test subject.  I suspect that depending on the amounts initially expressed and its penetration in our society many groups may have this delayed so as to see how it passes from one generation to another, allowing observation of any mutations and continuity.  They wish to hopefully create whole new species of humans.  Granted the attrition rate will be immense, but hey “you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet”. At least that is what they would have you believe.  There are other tie-ins, considerations and vectors from other platforms that are worth thinking about as part of this.  Speculation into the topic could fill pages, and no doubt does in various operation manuals elsewhere.  But I need to be as succinct as possible and maintain focus for any reader who happens upon my writings.  Good Luck to Us All; G-dspeed and may He have mercy on Us all; cause it is going to be a wild ride...

[kylo-ren-writes]

Anger

Original

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: just an angry Kylo using you to calm himself down.

Warnings: fluff.

Tag List: @beautifulbows924 @celestiaelisia @bluudhavens @majestic-sith-queen @just-another-starwars-fangirl

A/N: So, this is basically almost like a “rewrite” of one of the first few fics I wrote when I began to write fan fics. It has the same name as the title and I’ll link the first one above for you guys to read it you haven’t! I just wanted to write it to see if my writing has changed at all, and that fic has the highest notes out of all my fics, so I thought it would be fun to do. Let me know if you think I’ve improved or changed at all since then? (Gif not mine!)

Kylo paced around his private quarters, walking tracks into the floor as he tried to will himself to not destroy every piece of furniture within close proximity to him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The source of Kylo’s rage, not that it required a logical, explainable, or real reason, was the irritating, orange-haired, sorry excuse of a general (in his opinion), General Hux.

Why Master Snoke kept Hux around, Kylo did not know (nor did he actually care or question his all knowing and wise master), but he just knew that if he had it his way, Hux would be sliced in two, right now, in the command center, in front of every officer that worked there for them to see.

It wouldn’t be the greatest offence to the brightly gingered man, but Kylo was never one for cutting deep—only all the way through and to the point. And he had anger issues that fueled his childish (to Hux, not to him) tantrums. Killing Hux would certainly be out of an anger induced tantrum rather than a cunning power play that would cut the general deeper than Kylo’s lightsaber, if he had the ability to comprehend it after death anyway.

So, Kylo was here, pacing with tightly clenched fists in his dark, dimly lit bedroom, growling into the other wise empty space like some type of wild animal. He was an animal, a prodded and poked caged animal.

Arguments and confrontations with the too smug General always left Kylo in a ‘mood.’ Especially when he managed to outwit Kylo, which Kylo was very good at, by the way. He seemed to possess a natural ability of dry sass when it came to retorting to anything the general had to say. But this time the man had struck a deep nerve.

Kylo couldn’t take his mind off of it either. The man’s words kept on ringing aloud inside his head, fueling and offering kindling to the fire when he found it getting smaller. But he needed to get his mind off of it.

It was late on the StarKiller base, and Kylo needed to get some sleep, even if it was hardly any and nightmare infused. His training and devotion to the darkside came first after all, and he wasn’t going to allow a scrawny, pasty general to indirectly get in the way of it.

And yet...

Kylo growled out in frustration, swinging around to face his large bed, glaring at it like it was the one that had pissed him off.

He couldn’t sleep, not like this, not while his fists were still tightly clenched and his anger caused adrenaline kept him from lashing out on the unfeeling objects in his room. It annoyed him even more that they couldn’t feel pain.

Kylo stared at the dark comforter that neatly lied over his bed—thanks to a droid—about to resume his pacing until he burned himself out, when the image of you flashed through his muddled mind.

For a second, his breathing wasn’t ragged and his broad body wasn’t stiff. You were almost like a light to guide him through his darkness, to throw water onto the burning fire. But just like water, your image wasn’t enough to snuff out the flames.

He needed more.

Kylo turned his exposed head towards the blastdoor to his room. It was late and you would most definitely be sleeping, but maybe... maybe he could just... see you. Just look at you and feel your overwhelming calm energy while it calmed him.

The thought was tempting, so very tempting. He wouldn’t even have to disturb you, he could easily manipulate the force to his will to allow him entry into your room without waking you up. He could stand at the foot of your bed, gazing down at your sleeping figure tucked away safely underneath your warm covers that shielded you from the coldness of the base.

Yes, he could do that. Only look and not touch.

With his decision easily made, Kylo turned the rest of his body towards the blastdoor, and without bringing his helmet along, he stepped out into the brightly lit, but empty, hallway outside of his room, and quickly head off in the direction he knew your room to be in.

He felt naked without his helmet to protect, not only his identity, but his emotions as well. If anyone came along, they would surely be in for a surprise. And not just for the rare opportunity to view his usually hidden face.

It didn’t take Kylo long at all to reach your quarters. His anger made his already quick, long strides quicker and longer, and he had been to your room before. Many times. He knew exactly where it was.

Just being able to feel your presence from outside of the door was calming Kylo down. He stood there for a minute, just allowing you to faintly consume him. He had no idea how you had this much of an effect on him, but he didn’t mind.

Kylo soon snapped out of it and used the force to quickly, but quietly, open the blastdoor to your room. Inside it was dark, especially so since he was stepping out of a bright hallway. But he allowed his eyes to adjust after he stepped inside, taking the time to find you on top of your bed, covered underneath the blankets like he had imagined.

Stepping on over to you, Kylo couldn’t help himself. Your presence was pulling him in, making him almost forget about his anger and why he was even here in the first place.

You seemed to sleep so soundly, and Kylo didn’t doubt that you did. You looked peaceful and soft from what he could sense and make out barely from your face.

He was only here to look, not to touch. To allow the calm to calm his raging storm and go back to his room to get that needed sleep. So why was Kylo suddenly removing his gloves?

Kylo removed them slowly, taking the time to peel them off of his large, calloused hands as he watched you.

It was nearly creepy, him standing above you as you slept, watching you while he slowly removed fabric from his body. No, it was creepy. But he didn’t care.

When the leather gloves were off, Kylo carefully set them down onto your nightstand without his gaze faltering. He wanted more. He wanted to be closer to you, to be beside you, touching you. Kylo had always been an impulsive creature, his tantrums were proof enough.

After another minute of watching you sleep, Kylo’s gaze finally left you as he began to remove the outer layers of his robes, starting on the parts covering his torso before he removed his boots, and stripped his pants off. He kept his underwear on, leaving the rest of him bare. He had to be the brightest thing in the room with his almost sickly, pale skin. But that didn’t deter him.

Kylo was almost hesitant to press a knee down onto your mattress. What if he disturbed you or you awoke and you didn’t want him here? He wasn’t even angry anymore, the thought of Hux was long gone by now. He could easily redress and leave without you ever knowing. But why would he do that?

Pressing that knee down into your mattress, the softness dipping underneath of his weight, he watched for any sign of you stirring out of your peaceful sleep.

When not even a muscle twitched, Kylo inched more of his large body onto your bed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to completely encompass his body around yours. And being that creature of impulse, he began doing just that.

Kylo lifted the blankets up, slipping himself underneath of them, feeling the welcoming body heat you had created there, and feeling even more soothed by it.

You still didn’t move or twitch or stir, not even when Kylo’s muscled arms were wrapped tightly around you, or when his strong legs were intertwined with yours. Not until his face was near yours and nuzzling against it, that large nose poking into your cheek.

Your subconscious wasn’t panicked as it immediately knew who was beside you, or rather pressed against you. You welcomed him, snuggling into his warm chest as one of your arms wound around his waist.

Gone was Kylo’s anger and in its place, content. He felt calm and content around you. You had that power over him, a power he didn’t mind. A power he loved and welcomed and sought out. And you loved it too. You loved being the one that could bring him out of a fit and calm him down. You loved receiving his affection and attention, his softness he only bore to you and only you. You loved it all.

Kylo rested his chin on your head after nuzzling his nose into your soft hair. The sleep he had been seeking was quickly coming to him and he was more than willing to give into it if it meant sleeping beside you.

You had been half asleep, roused back into it with the warmth and comfort from Kylo’s body. Your arm hung loosely around him as you breathed softly into his chest, lulling him to sleep too.

Before Kylo could completely succumb to sleep, he nuzzled his nose into your hair and pressed a kiss to your head. Then he too fell asleep, comfortable and relaxed with you in his embrace.

[blueares]

Ruination Rewrite (Freljord)

Freljord Part I

You and the other Sentinels arrive in a frigid tundra. Even within the walls of the Sentinel outpost, you can feel the temperature drop immediately.

“S-S-So this is the Freljord…”

“Should have packed warmer clothing.”

Lucian: “There’s a chill in the air, and for once it’s not because of wraiths.”

Senna: “Everyone, focus. We need to gather our bearings. Damn… Looks like this outpost is abandoned, too.”

Vayne: “Are all Sentinel outposts so vacant?”

Senna steps out into open, gazing out at her surroundings. You and the others follow her, only to realize that you’re standing on the side of a mountain.

Gwen: “Oh my, we are quite high up!”

*Shout to hear your echo*

“Uh, so how do we get down from here?”

Lucian response 1: “You got a death wish, Rookie? That’s how avalanches start! Or, so I’ve heard, anyway.”

Lucian response 2: “Hmm… Look. There’s a set of stairs over there. They’re half-buried in snow, but I’d wager that’s our only way down.”

As you and the other Sentinels begin your treacherous descent, pushing your way through the snow, you notice something at the base of the mountain. There looks to be village in the valley below you, though that’s not the only thing you notice.

“Guys, look! The Black Mist!”

“It looks like the Mist is creeping in on that town down there!”

Vayne: “Huh. So I take it that’s where we’ll find this Ruined King of yours?”

Senna: “Most likely, or at least whatever he’s after.”

Lucian: “Double-time it, Sentinels! We have to… Wait, do you hear that?”

You and the other Sentinels fall silent. Sure enough, you can hear something on the mountain path directly below you. It sounds like a wild beast shouting, but to your surprise, the source of the noise looks to be a single man with twin axes in hand. The wraiths that look to be ascending the mountain are quickly driven back down by his wild swings, the sheer force sending them plummeting back to the Mist below.

???: “Come at me, foul draugr! Aren’t there any of you might enough to slay me!?”

Gwen: “Oh my! Who is that dreadfully angry man down there?”

Lucian: “Well I’ll be… Never thought I’d see him again.”

Senna: “Friend of yours?”

Lucian: “Sort of… It’s a long story, I’ll explain on the way down. For now, let’s just focus on getting off this mountain.”

Freljord Part II

You and the other Sentinels continue your descent, all while listening to the strange man below you bellow at the onslaught of wraiths. Despite now being surrounded by the undead, the stranger continues to push past them with his axes.

“Guys, are we sure going TOWARD the crazy axe-man is a good idea?”

“He’s not really hurting them, but the wraiths can’t do much against him, either.”

Lucian: “Still as ornery as I remember. Maybe even more now.”

Vayne: “You still haven’t told us how you know him yet. Who… WHAT is he?”

Lucian: “Alright, long story short: his name’s Olaf, and he’s a berserker. We fought together once during a Harrowing in Bilgewater. He’s… Not a bad guy, though I’ll be the first to admit he’s a little off his rocker.”

“Again, are we sure going toward him is a good idea?”

“Maybe we could convince him to fight with us again?”

Senna response 1: “Not much choice, Rookie. We’ll need to go past him to reach the town.”

Senna response 2: “Well, if Lucian can vouch for him, maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Soon, you all reach the bottom of the mountain, only to find that Olaf is charging ahead through the Mist without you. Though his axes lack the power to slay the wraiths around him, every blow strikes hard enough to sever spectral limbs and bodies.

Gwen: “He’s heading to the town!”

Vayne: “And it looks like he’s carving a path for us. How generous.”

With Olaf leading the charge, the Sentinels follow close behind, making short work of the wraiths he leaves behind before they can regenerate their wounds. Eventually, you lose sight of Olaf as the Mist grows thicker in the town, and you spot no trace of anyone else in the village, either.

“Where’d that berserker go?”

“Any sign of the Ruined King?”

“Where is everyone?”

Lucian response 1: “No idea, but I’m sure he can look after himself. Right now, we need to figure out if that Ruined Creep is here yet, and what he’s after.”

Lucian response 2: “No, but keep your eyes peeled. That creep could be anywhere.”

Lucian response 3: “Whole town probably turned and ran when the Mist came. That’s the hopeful interpretation, anyway…”

Gwen: “Look, the Mist is creeping in on that old house over there!”

Vayne: “Guess we know where we’re going. Let’s move!”

Freljord Part III

You and the other Sentinels storm the house, fighting your way through the undead that bar your path. The place seems abandoned, but more wraiths are soon clawing at the doors and windows, seeking entrance.

Senna: “Everyone fan out! Vayne, Gwen, you two focus on keeping the wraiths out bay! The rest of us will scour the house.”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Senna response 1: “Something that looks like it might’ve belonged to a queen.”

Senna response 2: “We’re looking for something that houses a piece of Isolde’s soul. If that’s what Viego’s after, that’s probably what’s in here.”

You, Senna and Lucian set into the abandoned house while Vayne and Gwen fend off the wraiths behind you. You search for several minutes, though your eyes soon come to rest on an expensive-looking comb resting on a table upstairs.

Lucian: “See anything, Rookie?”

“Nothing of note, just some old comb!”

“Would a fancy comb belong to royalty?”

As you approach the comb, you feel something oddly familiar about it, like it’s calling out to you. As Senna joins you, the comb begins to glow with a faint blue light, as does the light in her chest.

Senna: “This is it! Let’s grab it before-”

Suddenly, the entire house trembles. There’s a loud crash downstairs, followed by shouting.

“What was that!?”

“Is everyone alright!?”

A cry of pure rage shakes the house, sounding more animal than human.

???: “RRRRRAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”

Senna: “Rookie! Grab the comb while we-”

Just then, a man with a massive sword bursts charges up the stairs, tearing apart the house in the process. He casually knocks and Senna aside before grabbing the comb and bursting through the wall. For a moment, you simply lay on the floor, feeling as though you’d been stampeded by a herd of wild oxen.

Lucian: “Senna! Are you OK?”

Senna: “Ngh… I’m fine! What about the comb?”

“I’m still alive too, by the way.”

“That guy just took it and ran off!”

Gwen: “Oh dear… Is everyone in the Freljord so dreadfully angry?”

Senna: “We’ve got to go after him! On your feet, Rookie!”

Freljord Part IV

Once the aching in your body subsides, you race out of the house along with the other Sentinels. You look around for the large, screaming swordsman, only to see him tearing through more houses in an almost mindless rampage.

“There he is! Let’s go after him!”

“So what’s the plan? We have a plan, right?”

Senna response 1: “You heard Rookie! Don’t let him get away!”

Senna response 2: “The plan is to catch him and take back the comb! Let’s go, Sentinels!”

You chase the swordsman through the abandoned town, constantly find yourselves assailed by wraiths all-the-while. Though your allies manage to fend them off, you see the swordsman getting further away as he flees into a nearby valley.

Lucian: “Damn it, we’re losing him! We’ve gotta-”

Suddenly, another cry of fury sounds out from up ahead. You see a familiar figure burst through the Black Mist, lunging at the swordsman with his twin axes. The two berserkers engage one-another in a clash of steel that rings out through the entire valley.

Gwen: “Oh my, the angry men are fighting!”

Vayne: “I’d say they’re more like beasts than men, but this could be the opportunity we’re looking for.”

“Are we sure getting between them is a good idea?”

“Maybe we should sit back and watch this play out. If only we had some snacks…”

Lucian: “Suck it up, Rookie! Olaf’s tough, but his axes aren’t gonna do much good against that guy. Let’s lend him a hand!”

You all charge into fray, fighting your way through the wraiths that would impede your progress. You watch as Olaf and the swordsman engage in a clash so fierce that even the undead are hesitant to draw close, though it quickly becomes apparent that the swordsman has the upper hand. Every blow Olaf lands is quickly healed, though you can’t tell if this is the power of the Mist or something else at work…

Eventually, the swordsman lands a decisive blow, raking his blade across Olaf’s right eye. Olaf stumbles, then finds himself being thrown into the side of the mountain. Blood pours from his mouth as he laughs, staring up at the swordsman with his remaining good eye.

Olaf: “Good… You’re every bit as strong as the stories say! Now finish me, Barbarian King!”

The swordsman screams as he prepares at deliver a fate blow to Olaf, but before he can, you and the other Sentinels soon catch up to him.

Senna: “Open fire!”

The man called the Barbarian King is assaulted by Relic light and Hallowed Mist, stumbling just before he can deal a fatal blow to Olaf. He turns to you, eyes burning with inhuman fury.

???: “RRRRRAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

The Barbarian King’s cries out with such fury that the very air trembles around you. Suddenly, the mountain itself begins to shake as well. A torrent of snow built up from the top of the mountain comes crashing down toward the village.

“Look out!”

“Avalanche!”

Senna: “Damn it! Everyone, take cover!”

Unfortunately, there is no time to follow through on Senna’s orders. The snow soon falls upon you heaps, blanketing the entire world in white.

Freljord Part V

You open your eyes slowly to find that you are, surprisingly, completely unharmed. The snow has fallen all around you, but you and your Sentinel allies are surrounded by a protective veil of Hallowed Mist.

“Gwen?”

“Nice job, Scissors!”

Gwen: “Ah, that was rather close for comfort, wouldn’t you all say?”

Vayne: “Nice trick. Would have been nice if you did something like this earlier.”

Gwen: “My apologies, but this sort of thing takes a good deal of effort me. I also cannot… Hold it… Very long!”

You see the Hallowed Mist is already receding, leaving you surrounded by a mountain of snow.

Lucian: “Well, we’re trapped, but at least we’re all still in one piece. Any sign of that Barbarian King?”

Senna: “No, though I don’t think an avalanche was enough to stop someone like that. He’s probably gone-”

Suddenly, a figure bursts through the snow, crying out in fury at you and the other Sentinels.

Olaf: “You fools! I was so close! Why did you intervene!?”

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

“Hey, we just saved you!”

Olaf response 1: “I am not thanking you! You’ve ruined my chances at a glorious death!”

Olaf response 2: “Saved? SAVED!? You’ve doomed me to an inglorious death!”

Senna: “Lucian, what’s he talking about?”

Lucian: “Easy there, Olaf. Remember me? We fought together in Bilgewater, remember.”

Olaf: “Hmph! Olaf has fought alongside many warriors! If we were allies in the past, we are enemies today! Thanks to you, the one who could finally slay me in battle is gone!”

Gwen: “Oh dear… I’m not certain I understand, but it seems that we’ve offended him somehow. Maybe we should try saying something to cheer him up?”

“Hey, Mr. Olaf, was it? No need to feel so down. I’m sure there are plenty of other Barbarian Kings out there.”

“Hey, no need to feel so down. I’m sure you’ll meet that Barbarian King again someday, and next time you’ll death have a proper fight to the death.

Olaf: “Hmph! Unlikely. That man was the Barbarian King of the Avarosa, Tryndamere! I’ve long wanted to meet him in battle, but he and his queen are trying to bring the Freljord together through peace! This was my one chance to face him, and now it is gone! No doubt he’ll return to his clan now, and who knows when next he will take to the battlefield?”

Senna: “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Right now, he’s under the spell of Viego, the Ruined King. Until we find and stop him, Tryndamere’s going to stay like that, completely under Viego’s control.”

Olaf: “You don’t say? The Barbarian King, bowing to another king… This Viego must be truly powerful to make the mighty Tryndamere submit!”

Lucian: “You don’t know the half of it. We’re trying to stop the nutjob from Ruining the entire world, but so far… It ain’t goin’ well.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! Olaf, you want to face a worthy foe, right?”

“Hey, Olaf. You want a glorious death, right?”

Olaf: “Exactly! I seek a worthy foe capable of ending my life in battle, so that stories of my death will be passed down through the ages!”

“Well, why not come with us then? We’re fighting Viego, and that probably means we’ll run into Tryndamere again. That’s TWO powerful kings, which means double the odds of finding your worthy foe.”

“You know, a worthy death doesn’t mean much if there’s no one around to witness it, right? Why not fight alongside us, so that we can be the ones to pass down your story?”

Vayne: “You can’t be serious, kid. You want a guy like HIM to join?”

Olaf: “Hmm… Olaf likes the way you think, young one! Yes, I will join you in your battle, so that I may find a worthy foe in your mission to fight this Ruined King!”

Gwen: “Oh my, the angry man is going to join us? How exciting!”

Lucian: “Heh… Well, I’ve seen how you fight, Olaf, and I’d definitely rather have you with us than against us.”

Senna: “So we’re recruiting berserkers now? Well, if Lucian trusts you, then I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Vayne: “Tch… Fine, but you all know his axes aren’t going to do much against the undead.”

Gwen: “Oh, don’t you worry, Miss Vayne! I can remedy that!”

You use the Wayfinder to return to headquarters with your allies in tow. After taking the Sentinel oath, Olaf is escorting further into the ruins to be fitted for his Sentinel attire.

Lucian: “First Demacia, now Freljord. That’s twice now we’ve failed to stop that bastard from getting what he wants.”

“Look on the bright side: at least we’ve got another new Sentinel.”

“Hey, cheer up! We’re all alive and our numbers have grown, right?”

Lucian: “Rookie, I can’t tell if you’re optimistic or just naïve.”

Vayne: “The way I see it, there’s not much difference between the two. I just hope your berserker friend makes all of that worthwhile, Lucian.”

As if on cue, Gwen emerges with a skip in her step.

“Everyone, may I announce to you our newest member: Sentinel Olaf!”

Olaf: “Hmm. These axes thirst for battle… They long to slay draugr!”

“Your axes talk to you?”

“Are you sure that’s not just you?”

Olaf: “Any warrior worth their beard knows what their weapon desires! When do we go to battle?”

Senna: “As soon as we figure out where we’re going. Rookie, keep that Wayfinder ready. We’re taking a quick break, and then getting right back out there.”

[biofunmy]

MoMA Reboots With ‘Modernism Plus’

When the Museum of Modern Art reopens on Oct. 21 after a $450-million, 47,000-square-foot expansion, it will finally, if still cautiously, reveal itself to be a living, breathing 21st-century institution, rather than the monument to an obsolete history — white, male, and nationalist — that it has become over the years since its founding in 1929.

After decades of stonewalling multiculturalism, MoMA is now acknowledging it, even investing in it, most notably in a permanent collection rehang that features art — much of it recently acquired — from Africa, Asia, South America, and African America, and a significant amount of work by women. In short, what’s primarily different about the reopened MoMA is the integrated presence of “difference” itself — a presence that takes the museum back to its experimental early days, when American self-taught art and non-Western art were on the bill.

Did we need a supersized (one-third larger), nearly blocklong multiplex MoMA — with a Diller, Scofidio + Renfro /Gensler extension tacked onto the 2004 building designed by Yoshio Taniguchi — to accommodate this presence? No. As we learn from every art fair every year, more art is not more. What’s needed is agile planning and alert seeing, and these are evident in the museum’s modestly scaled opening attractions, which include focused surveys of two African-American artists (Betye Saar and William Pope.L), installations by artists from India (Sheela Gowda and Dayanita Singh), a sampler of Latin American work, and a permanent collection gallery devoted to contemporary art from China.

But in every museum with an active acquisition program, the permanent collection galleries are key. They’re the heart, brain and soul of the place; its history and memory. Special, short-term shows bring people through the door. But they end, move on. If you want to know what a museum is really about, what it’s feeling and thinking, keep your eye on the art it owns and gives its walls and floors to, long-term.

Judged by this metric alone, the expanded MoMA is making obvious efforts to reshape its image without going entirely off-brand — to tell the tale of what might be called Modernism Plus, with globalism and African-American art added.

The museum has long been famous for inventing an ironclad view of Modern art as a succession of marquee “isms” (Cubism, Surrealism, Abstract Expressionism, etc.), and arranging its holdings to illustrate that. The very rough outline is still in place on the three floors of collection galleries: art from the 19th century through 1940 on five, from 1940 to 1970 on four, and from 1970 to the present on two. But the main route is now peppered with unexpected inclusions and interrupted by theme-based detours and byways.

Also, walls between disciplines, once firm, are down. The permanent gallery rehang, coordinated by five chief curators from departments across the museum, has been, and will be, a collaborative project. The prevailing style is mix-and-match, with sculpture, painting, design, architecture, photography and film bunking in together (something that will freak out orthodox modernists). But, rest assured, each discipline gets some space of its own.

The jumble can be confusing, as, at first, are certain features of the general floor plan. Previously, visitor traffic entering the main lobby from West 53rd Street flowed to the right, toward the Sculpture Garden and up to the galleries. Now you have a directional choice. You can still go that way, or opt to go left toward the new Geffen wing, where you will find, among other things, street-level galleries to which admission is free (as it has been, since 2013, to the Sculpture Garden).

One of these holds a selection of design items chosen by Paola Antonelli, senior curator in the department of Architecture and Design. Another, the double-height Projects 110 Gallery, has a set of penumbral oil-on-barkcloth narrative paintings by the young Kenyan-born painter Michael Armitage, in a New York solo debut. Organized by Thelma Golden, director of the Studio Museum in Harlem, this show is the first in a series to be presented here by the Studio Museum while its new David Adjaye-designed home is under construction.

Upstairs navigation is easier, familiar. As before, the permanent collection galleries begin, chronologically, in the Taniguchi building and move from there straight west into the Geffen, with black metal door frames marking the points of transition. And on the fifth floor you’re eased into a plunge into modernism with a grouping of Brancusi sculptures set just outside the galleries themselves.

The Brancusi installation is classic MoMA: white walls, lots of air, few words. The idea is that this art doesn’t need commentary; it speaks for itself, and anything added, beyond light and space, is superfluous. You can argue with this approach — I do; I like lots of take-it-or-leave-it contextual information — but it has always been the MoMA way. Inside the galleries, the old-school hands-off mode continues, though with some tweaks. Each gallery has (at least) a short thematic title, so visitors can get a sense of what connects the works of art in the room — an idea, a medium, a place, a time — and a brief explanation of the theme.

The first gallery, now labeled “19th Century Innovators,” is pretty much a painting hit parade — Cezanne’s “Still Life with Apples” (1895-98), Rousseau’s “The Sleeping Gypsy” (1897) and, straight ahead, van Gogh’s “The Starry Night” (1889) — with a few painterly prints (Mary Cassatt, Pierre Bonnard) thrown in. But to this familiar two-dimensional European world MoMA has introduced an American wild card: half a dozen nugget-like ceramic bowls and jugs by George Ohr (1857-1918), the self-proclaimed “Mad Potter of Biloxi.”

Ohr was turning out hundreds of these gnarly, pinched earthenware vessels in the American South at the same time Van Gogh was painting “Starry Night” in an asylum in the south of France. And in the year Ohr died, in Mississippi, even locally all but unknown, Brancusi finished his first version of“Endless Column,” on view just beyond the gallery door. In the pre-expansion MoMA, these three artists were unlikely to have met. Here they’re caught up in formal and psychological conversation.

Farther on, after you’ve passed through a mesmerizing gallery of early photographic images — including Anna Atkins’s lacy 1850s botanical studies and a 1905 film of the New York City subway, looking every bit as funky then as now — you find another meeting of artistic minds, this one a genuine startler.

The gallery itself is a virtual Picasso shrine, with his 1907 “Les Demoiselles d’ Avignon” at the center, and related pictures ranged around it. But there’s a major out-of-time entry here too: a 1967 painting, acquired in 2016, by the African-American artist Faith Ringgold depicting an explosive interracial shootout. Titled “American People Series #20: Die,” it speaks to “Demoiselles” both in physical size and in visual violence. And just by being there it points up the problematic politics of a work like Picasso’s — with its fractured female bodies and colonialist appropriations — that is at the core of the collection. MoMA traditionalists will call the pairing sacrilegious; I call it a stroke of curatorial genius.

There are other such moments, less emphatic, on all three floors. One comes with the sight of Alma Woodsey Thomas’s incandescent 1973 “Fiery Sunset” plugged into an otherwise all-Matisse room. And there are several in a group installation evoking the matchless élan of the New York City painter Florine Stettheimer.

No curatorial credits are posted anywhere. But I hope that whoever chose to include a 1981 piece by the East Village artist Arch Connelly (1950-1993), will accept my personal thanks. The Connelly contribution, a mirror-shaped canvas encrusted with hundreds of fake pearls and titled “Self-Portrait,” suits the Stettheimian “extravagance-is-me ” ethos to a T.

On the long historical walkabout of some 60 collection galleries spread over three floors, there’s pretty much something for everyone. You get a big hit of Jackson Pollock, a Frida Kahlo fix, megadoses of Pop and Surrealism; Soup Cans, “Water Lilies,” and Cindy Shermans to burn — all the things that many people come to MoMA, selfie sticks in hand, to see.

But you also get specialty shows, the equivalent of mini-seminars, on books made by artists in Revolution-era Russia (most are by women), on architecture as sculpture, and on the epic potential of Latin American Mail Art. And there’s one exhibition, smallish in floor space but large in material, focused on the poet Frank O’Hara, who was a MoMA curator. To some visitors these will seem esoteric and pass-byable, but they’re a testament to the museum’s archival depths and its scholarly chops. And, once you put a toe in, they’re fun.

Finally, we get charismatic images by names that should be on every art-lover’s A-list but aren’t — yet: Geta Bratescu, Graciela Carnevale, Sari Dienes, Rosalyn Drexler, Valie Export, Beatriz González, Maren Hassinger, Atsuko Tanaka, along with Benny Andrews, Ibrahim El-Salahi, and May Stevens, all three part of the exceptionally strong installation of Vietnam War-era art, “War Within, War Without,” that brings the 4th floor rehang to a close.

Work by many of these artists has entered the collection in just the past few years. (When you’re traveling the galleries, pay attention to the acquisition dates on the labels; they can tell you a lot about the politics of purchase.) Much of it could find no place in MoMA’s canonically gated modernist story. The current version of Modernism Plus is by no means an in-depth rewrite, but it has the makings of one, depending on how it’s developed.

And, in one of the most promising features of the reopened museum, the mechanics for development are there. Post-expansion plans call for regular rotation and refreshment of the collection. Every six months, a third of the galleries on floors five, four and two will be reinstalled. By the end of 18 months, everything, the promise is, will, have been rethought. Destination favorites — “Starry Night,” “Desmoiselles” — will no doubt stay on view, but what’s around them will change, which will change them too.

Such flexibility offers tremendous potential for new thinking, particularly at a museum whose curatorial staff has, in the past few years, begun to diversify (though not its board of trustees). Flexibility also, it’s worth saying, allows the option of backpedaling should the opening “new” model prove to be little too new for a healthy box-office.

My guess is that in some hopefully ever-improving version, this 21st century MoMA will work, if only for self-preservative reasons. Multicultural is now marketable. To ignore it is to forfeit profit, not to mention critical credibility. And the new MoMA is obviously tailored to a new and younger audience, one that has no investment, nostalgic or otherwise, in the old pre-Taniguchi model, which now lives on mostly in the memories of a fading population (which itself had no direct experience of the original, progressive 1930s museum).

On the evidence of what I see in the reopened museum, a bunch of very smart curators are putting their heads together to work from inside to begin to turn a big white ship in another direction. We’re not talking Revolution. With this museum we probably never will. But in the reboot there are stimulating ideas and unexpected, history-altering talents around every corner. As long as both keep showing up at MoMA, so will I.

Museum of Modern Art

The museum reopens to the public Oct. 21 (member previews begin Oct. 12); moma.org.

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