#for its weakest link is an unyielding heart

[aninconvenientduck]

Some days, man hasn’t changed, and I weep in sorrow.

Others man has not changed, and I weep harder still.

I have a folder called Time is a Flat Circle in which I collect evidence of humanity. Here is most of them.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Marble to dust

Series: Banana Fish

Relationship: AshEiji / EijiAsh

Rating: T

Warnings: referenced violence and panic attacks

Also on AO3

Ash Lynx was known as many things.

He was an angel carved from marble, ethereal in his beauty. He was a devil formed from crusted blood and rotting viscera. He was a wild cat, a leopard in the snow, a beast in all its glorious ferocity.

He was but a child. A child forced onto a pedestal too high beyond anyone’s reach. Larger than life. Held up solely by his unyielding pride of having survived, again and again and again.

Aslan Callenreese was only a boy.

It took Eiji much too long for that to sink in. Ash was only a few months from turning merely eighteen when they first met. A boy who, in another life, would’ve been at the age to only have to worry about his first crush, passing his finals and graduating high school. Maybe he’d be even fretting over prom, Eiji had the impression that it was a big thing in America.

Yet there Ash was out in the streets, fighting a war far too large for any teenager to be leading. There he was, holding the mafia itself at gunpoint. There he was, wounds carved deep into his flesh, blood marring his skin like acid.

Eiji too, was still a child by his own right. Barely out of school and only a year into college, still coddled and soft. Far too soft. Perhaps if he had strength, had the fortitude to aim a gun and pull the trigger without hesitation, had the brains for strategy or the skills to do anything, anything that could’ve helped Ash and ease his burden—then he could’ve made somewhat of a difference. As miniscule and insignificant as it might be. At the very least, perhaps less people Ash cared for would have died protecting him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to be the weakest link, the Archilles Heel.

Eiji wished for violence, for the first time in his life. Carnally, desperately. Helplessly. He wanted to destroy everyone and everything that had hurt Ash, wanted to burn them in hellfire until they're nothing, nothing, nothing. Wanted to be stronger, be more. Just—more. So that he could do something, anything.

For Ash, he would’ve done anything.

And yet, what had he really been able to do?

Meanwhile, Ash spent every day dying. Each time he stepped foot into the streets, Ash killed another part of himself. Eiji came to understand that it was the only way he knew to keep going.

Contrary to popular belief, Ash Lynx was not made of marble. Often he bent instead of breaking, twisted and deformed through gritted teeth and the force of sheer will. As though he had a heart of titanium, a soul ablaze with defiance.

But whenever he finally broke, he shattered.

Like bullets shot through glass; sudden, violent, jarring.

Away from prying eyes, Ash cried. He cried in a silent and trembling bundle, folding into himself, hand clasped over his mouth. Sweating and trembling from persistent nightmares, unimaginable in their horror.

He cried; save me, save me, save me.

Eiji had been arrogant. He’d thought he could’ve protected Ash, in some meaningful, wishful way. Perhaps it was a twisted saviour’s complex deep down that drew him to him, that drove him to stay despite all the danger, the violence that inevitably followed.

And Ash looked at him like he truly did save him. He looked at him as though he was made of galaxies, wondrous stardust. He touched him with the reverence of a worshipper. His light, his salvation.

But Eiji was well aware that he was no god. He was painfully, frustratingly, and only human. Unable to even chase Ash’s terrors away, to scream at them to stay back, don’t come any closer. Don’t hurt him anymore.

Eiji did not know what to do the first few times. He had barely even heard Ash, jolting awake from nothing but a horrible feeling deep in his gut. He’d sat up, finding Ash awake, his hunched form a shadow against the darkness of their room—and he’d known, immediately, that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Eiji had since learnt to sleep lightly, even before noticing Ash’s nightmares and panic attacks. It merely came as a package of staying by Ash’s side. There was always a possibility for an ambush, an inside job to capture and take out the only weakness. Eiji may be naïve, but even he knew this much was common sense when it came to being part of this world.

He came to understand too, why Ash preferred to exhaust himself to the bone every single time before he decided it was time to rest. Passing out seemed much preferable to falling asleep. Passing out meant there was no chance for his brilliant mind to turn against itself with scarring memories that should be left buried and forgotten.

Ash did not like being seen in his raw, shaking vulnerability, so Eiji did not look. He would only sit close by his side and face slightly away, still keeping him within his peripheral sight and making sure Ash was able to see him in turn. And then he would count in silence, an attempt to keep his own panic under control. He would count, because if he didn’t distract himself then he’d only be too aware of his own crumbling heart.

Eiji always trusted that if Ash wanted to reach out, he would. And he did, sometimes. Once he got his breathing under control, he would tap Eiji’s shoulder or arm with trembling fingers. A signal. Ash did not speak during his breakdowns.

And Eiji would go to him, keeping his every movement slow and predictable. He would coax him into drinking some water, would use a damp cloth he’d prepared beforehand to wipe his face, his hands. Then he would drape a towel over him, one that’s not thick enough to suffocate but simply there to be a buffer between their bodies—and carefully, tenderly, he’d hold him in his arms.

He would hold him, not a single word leaving his lips—and he would pray.   

Japan was the land of eight million gods and it was so, so far away. Yet Eiji prayed, prayed for even one of them to heed his pleas and grant Ash their fickle blessings. To keep him safe, ease his pain. Heal him. Gods, please help him. He would pay any price. He would give up his flesh, his bones, his beating heart. Please, do all that is beyond his power.

All Eiji could do was hold him, his meagre, mortal body all he had to shield Ash from a world far too cruel towards a boy barely eighteen years of age. Promise him he loved him no matter how broken, tainted and blood-soaked he is. No matter how much he thinks he is undeserving of love. Eiji would love him, a billion times over.

All Eiji could do was love him.

[melvintart]

Winning Together - Melvin Tart's Approach to American Football

Introducing Melvin Tart, a figure of immense dedication, knowledge, and influence in the realm of American football coaching. Before stepping into the coaching field, he was a distinguished athlete himself. Armed with an unyielding spirit, he was a three-year letterman in football during his high school years at Hattiesburg. His athletic prowess didn't stop there - he was also a standout performer in track, demonstrating his versatility. Post-high school, Tart took his talents to Pearl River Community College (PRCC) where he continued to shine on the football field. His passion for sports was matched by his academic pursuits, as he graduated with a degree in Exercise Science in December 2005. These experiences laid a robust foundation for his eventual coaching journey, shaping his unique perspectives and strategies.

As he embarked on his coaching journey, he encountered countless athletes, each with a unique story and distinct set of skills. His commitment to them was unwavering, understanding that every player was like a rough diamond waiting to be polished. He believed that everyone had the potential to shine, provided they were given the opportunity, guidance, and belief in themselves.

From PRCC, Tart embarked on his coaching journey, beginning his career as a volunteer assistant coach. For seven years, he poured his expertise into shaping the promising athletes at Pearl River Community College. His coaching prowess was evident as he was part of the team that won the MACJC state championship in 2005 and 2006, and ended as national runner-ups in 2006. His passion and dedication were key factors in these victories, demonstrating the impact Melvin Tart had on his team. His time at PRCC laid the groundwork for his subsequent success at Jones County Junior College, where he would further refine his coaching style and build on his legacy.

Under his tutelage, his players learned the importance of resilience. They discovered that adversity was not a stumbling block but a stepping stone to success. When injuries, defeats, or setbacks occurred, he reminded them that in football, as in life, the true test of character was how one responded to adversity. This coach encouraged them to get back on their feet, dust themselves off, and forge ahead with even greater determination.

But it was not just about discipline, inspiration, and resilience; this coach also emphasized the significance of teamwork. He taught his players that the strength of a chain lay in its weakest link. In other words, for a team to thrive, every player had to play their part, no matter how small it seemed. Each pass, tackle, and block contributed to the collective effort, and he instilled in them the belief that when they played as one, they were an unstoppable force.

However, his teaching went beyond the confines of the field. He encouraged his players to be leaders not only in football but in their communities as well. They were taught to be men of character, integrity, and honor. He would often remind them that being a true winner meant more than just hoisting a trophy; it meant being a good son, a good brother, and a good friend.

This coach's impact extended beyond the football field. His players were not just successful athletes but successful individuals in their respective lives. They went on to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, and community leaders, attributing much of their success to the life lessons they had imbibed under his mentorship.

Currently, Melvin Tart spearheads his fourth season as the wide receivers coach at Jones County Junior College. His deep-rooted passion for the game and firm belief in his unique coaching philosophy have continued to inspire a new generation of athletes. Nurturing talent, fostering team spirit, and emphasizing character development are at the heart of Tart's coaching approach, creating an environment where players can excel both on and off the field. His dedication to the sport and his players serves as an enduring testament to his influence and success in American football. Melvin Tart Kenosha WI

His approach to coaching extended to building a culture of family within the team. He viewed his players not as mere athletes but as his own children. He fostered an environment of trust, camaraderie, and mutual respect. It was this sense of brotherhood that made the players feel like they were part of something greater than themselves, a force that transcended the boundaries of the field and united them as a family.

Melvin Tart’s legacy was not just measured by the trophies and accolades his teams earned. It was defined by the indomitable spirit he instilled in his players, the values he imparted, and the profound impact he had on their lives. His players revered him not just as a coach but as a father figure, a mentor, and a guiding light. Melvin Tart Kenosha WI

In the annals of American football, his name may not be etched in gold, but his influence on the lives he touched is immeasurable. His coaching philosophy, which emphasized the importance of discipline, inspiration, resilience, teamwork, self-belief, and adaptability, was not just about winning games; it was about winning in life.

The story of this coach serves as a testament to the transformative power of sports and the profound impact a dedicated mentor can have on the lives of young athletes. His coaching philosophy, grounded in the values of character and integrity, continues to inspire generations of players to dream big, work hard, and strive for greatness both on and off the field.

Melvin Tart's unwavering dedication to his players' success, both on the field and in their personal lives, has earned him not only the respect of his team but of the entire football community. His philosophy transcends the game, teaching his players the value of perseverance, teamwork, and self-improvement. In doing so, Tart has managed to have a lasting impact on the lives of those he has coached, molding them into not just better athletes, but better people.

[ecotone99]

[FN] Native Born: Part 1

The Forest was on the move. Kuri could hear the groans of the mangrove trees as their roots clawed through the walls. The thirty-five year old rogue scientist had packed his ruddy briefcase and was ready to go. All of the forest creatures he had let squat in his cabin had checked out before him, leaving Kuri to turn off the lights in an uncharacteristic silence. Only an adventurous Chimera remained, wrapped around his ankle like a bracelet, or a bird tag. Its scales scratched against Kuri’s skin as it pressed its head and tongue forward to taste the air. Kuri, on the other hand, was beyond sensation. He was standing in his dim makeshift study for the last time, trapped in a daze that clouded his thoughts like the fog that blocks the hills from the morning light. He couldn’t bring the old fashioned books that lined the walls, or the desk that he had carved out of a fallen tree. The roots were puncturing through the drywall at the pace of Aa lava, undeniably slow but unyielding. Meanwhile, little streams began to manifest themselves on the stone floor and scurry along according to gravity’s will with the motions of Pahoehoe lava. Who would have thought the Dark Continent would be as tumultuous as his home country, the Land of Fire? Kuri mused.

The Forest had decided to migrate all the way to the shore, and the destruction of the newly minted Jamestown that stood in its path would be an added bonus. The Forest was more or less just taking a stroll now, but Kuri had ventured into its thickets, into its heart, and had seen swells of roots move like deep ocean waves in a storm. He watched them clutch hold of a mountain within minutes with staccato movements like a spider wrapping its legs around its captured prey. And most of all, he had felt the ground tremble.

Kuri tuned into the Link he had engineered to communicate with the Forest. It was a rudimentary beta version, so he could only vaguely comprehend the Forest’s, Porvaka’s, thoughts. Porvaka liked Kuri, and did not want to devour him. But he had already stated his desire to protect the town, and so he had chosen sides. Kuri’s books were thrown to the floor as a tree trunk now began to shimmy its way into the study. This was the most gentle nudge out the door Porvaka could give.

Kuri had to be the messenger to deliver the Forest’s eviction notice to the townspeople. He switched his Link off so Porvaka wouldn’t hear as he prayed that they wouldn’t shoot him. He packed a single spare change of clothes, some dried meal bars and a survival kit along with the tablet he kept all of his logs on and three extra hardrives, two with information for the Institute and the truly invaluable one for himself. The third one, of course, was not callously thrown into the briefcase but encapsulated into a Freshan cage and sewn into the palm of his hand.

Shall we steal the boat, Rudin? Kuri mused to his friend. Rudin had already unraveled himself from Kuri and had now taken the form of a small hunting dog. Rudin, of course, did not speak Eyrie, Kuri had only spoken the language aloud to maintain his own sanity. He still found communication through the Link rattling, even though it was his own creation and was functionally similar to the Connection, the way the people of Eyrie communicated with their Guardian. But the difference is unnerving, Kuri helplessly muttered internally. Kuri couldn’t lie through the Link.

And so, when Kuri spoke to Rudin, his unease was articulated precisely as well. Rudin heard Kuri’s thoughts in their abstractions, their associated geometries, colors and movements rather than words or concrete images. Kuri loved the Forest, but could not betray his own kind. Kuri assumed he would fail in his mission to some degree, and that’s why he was thinking of last-ditch covert and even violent actions. The townspeople saw the Forest as a thing to be harnessed, to serve their Guardians rather than be included in the Pantheon of Guardians.

So...Shall we steal the boat, Rudin?

Complex shapes of uncertainty, eagerness, and ….irritation? No, Rudin replied. We should think about how we will convince the weakest to leave on the ship. The rest can hike along the beach. The Forest is merciful to those who adapt, and migration will show your peoples' flexibility. Rudin explained.

There is no reason for unfounded pessimism, Rudin added. It’s such a damper to the journey.

They’re used to a different world order, Kuri replied. The non-human life in Eyrie, Kuri explained, is fully compatible with human society. It may have all been made by humans in the distant past, or perhaps they simply evolved together over a very long time.

Evolve? Rudin cocked his head at the term and the chaos associated with it.

It’s a secondary, random process in species generation. Kuri got excited explaining the science, in spite of his overarching mood. Changes happen in the environment, and so only the members with the right mutations survive…

Kuri paused and looked at Rudin. How would that even apply to you?

Rudin gave Kuri a toothy dog smile and wagged his tail. That is our secret, he said. Even though Rudin’s mind was open to Kuri, he couldn’t understand the thoughts that were flashing through it now. Kuri could only translate based on his own experiences.

The ground gave a lurch as a giant root punched and penetrated its fragile crust somewhere outside his cabin, the ground tremor nearly throwing Kuri’s gangly frame to the floor. Time to go.

Kuri grabbed the newspaper on his doorstep, amazed that that little boy on a bicycle never failed to make it out to his homestead. He then threw his briefcase in the back of the jeep and hopped into the car. Rudin took the form of a small monkey and perched neatly on the passenger’s seat. Kuri hit the gas, and the odd pair made their way down the rugged road into Jamestown.

submitted by /u/nightlyrunner [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2J1iVJD