#his hair and renewed strength and vitality

[krakoan]

AU in which Charles, Erik and Raven are a throuple.

[keozrb]

Santafication - Santa?

what happen when a mall Santa put on the real Santa Coat?

Jack, a dedicated mall Santa, finds joy in being Santa. After his shift, he meets a another Santa who shares stories, bringing laughter and camaraderie, But they just so happen to switch Big red Coats. The next morning, Jack discovers he has transformed—his hair is vibrant gray, his face youthful, and his body fit. Energized, he runs and works out, feeling invigorated and nearly unrecognizable. Later, he finds a note from the mysterious Santa, encouraging him to embrace his new life. With a renewed sense of purpose, Jack steps out into the world, ready to seize opportunities and make the most of his second chance. He whispers, “Here’s to new beginnings,” as he confidently embraces the vibrant life ahead of him.

Jack, a seasoned mall Santa, sat in his chair, smiling warmly at the line of eager children waiting to share their Christmas wishes.

His wide build and round belly suited the role perfectly, and his short white hair and big white beard added authenticity to his jolly persona.

After his shift, Jack settled into a worn-out armchair, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. As he removed his coat, another Santa entered the room, an eerily familiar figure.

This Santa had an ageless aura, with eyes that twinkled like stars and a beard that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. "Mind if I join you?" the newcomer asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

They exchanged stories of their mall encounters, sharing laughter and camaraderie until it was time for Jack to leave mistakenly he grab the wrong Coat and left.

The next day Jack awoke feeling invigorated, a strange energy coursing through his veins.

He stumbled into the bathroom, where the mirror revealed a startling sight: his hair had turned a vibrant gray, and his face appeared years younger.

"What in the world...?" he murmured, touching his now smooth cheeks in disbelief.

Driven by an uncontainable vitality, he decided to go for a morning run. Jack struggle to put on his only pair of jogging pant.

As Jack jogged, his body transformed with each step. His once cumbersome belly shrank, and his muscles grew taut and defined.

Jack had reached A gym, he was nearly unrecognizable, his youthful vigor drawing curious glances from other patrons. He decide he need a good workout went inside.

There in the Gym locker room Jack notice his new body and need to see how strong he was.

"I never knew I had it in me," he chuckled to himself as he embarked on an intense workout, his newfound strength seeming boundless.

Back home, Jack took a shower exploring his new muscle body. The transformation was complete; he was a man reborn.

Not knowing what to do Jack get ready to go to work he put on his old Santa pants but in the Amidst the clutter on his coffee table, he found a note tucked beneath his misplaced coat. The mysterious Santa had left a message: "You put on my coat but you was already Santa so you been gifted a new life, Jack."

Embrace it and live it to the fullest. Remember, the world always needs more Santa."

With a newfound sense of purpose, Jack stepped into the world, ready to embrace the opportunities his transformation had bestowed upon him.

The city around him thrummed with life, and he felt a sense of belonging he hadn't known in years.

"Here's to new beginnings," he whispered, setting forth with a confident stride, ready to carve out his place in this second chance at life.

[zayed-gold87]

**The Transformation of Romeo Gold**

The locker room still hummed with a quiet energy, the golden glow reflecting off polished surfaces as Romeo Gold—formerly Daniel Gray—stood alone in thought. The thrill of victory coursed through him, but deep within, something stirred—a gnawing sense that his journey was not yet complete. The jersey had given him power, but he could feel there was more. He wasn’t truly whole.

The team’s leader approached, his gold kit gleaming as if lit from within. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice calm yet resonant. “The pull. You’ve become Romeo Gold, but you’re still holding on to remnants of who you were. To reach your true potential, you must let go of your past entirely.”

Romeo looked at him, his heart pounding. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I know I need more. What do I need to do?”

The leader smiled. “Come with me. The Golden Team is not just a jersey or a title. It’s a rebirth. To be one of us, you must fully transform. Trust me—you’ll understand once it’s done.”

He led Romeo through a series of gilded corridors, each more ornate than the last. The walls seemed alive, their golden surfaces rippling faintly as they walked. Finally, they entered a grand chamber bathed in a warm, golden light. At its center, a pool of liquid gold shimmered, its surface undulating as if it were breathing.

“This,” the leader said, gesturing toward the pool, “is the Pool of Renewal. It will strip away everything that holds you back—your doubts, your fears, your very identity. You will emerge anew, reborn as the person you were always meant to be.”

Romeo hesitated, staring at the pool. Its golden surface reflected him in distorted, unfamiliar ways, as though it already saw the person he was about to become.

“What will happen to me?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“You’ll lose yourself,” the leader said, stepping closer. “But in doing so, you’ll find something greater. Submit to the transformation. Let the gold remake you.”

With a deep breath, Romeo stepped forward and lowered himself into the pool. The liquid gold enveloped him immediately, warm and thick, its touch almost intimate. It seeped into his skin, his muscles, his very being. As it worked its way through him, a strange, intoxicating sensation began to take hold.

A metallic taste filled his mouth, and he felt a thick, golden saliva start to dribble from his lips. He tried to speak, to cry out, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, more golden liquid flowed from his mouth, dripping down his chin and splashing into the pool. He felt his will slipping away, his thoughts becoming muddled, as though the gold was not just reshaping his body but dissolving his very mind.

His hands clutched at the edges of the pool, trembling as his reflection began to change. His skin darkened to a rich, golden-bronze hue, glowing with vitality. His hair darkened as well, turning jet black and curling slightly as it framed his face. His features sharpened, his jawline growing stronger, his cheekbones more defined, his nose more prominent. His eyes, once dull with doubt, now gleamed with a piercing intensity, their shape and depth reflecting wisdom and pride.

The gold continued to pour from his mouth as he gasped, feeling his old self—the doubts, the failures, the pain—slipping away. The taste of the gold was overwhelming, filling him with both fear and ecstasy. He could no longer hold on to who he had been, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he felt utterly lost.

Then, suddenly, the sensation changed. The fear melted away, replaced by a powerful sense of clarity and belonging. The gold that had overtaken him was no longer foreign—it was a part of him. His mind filled with new memories, new experiences. He saw vast deserts stretching endlessly under a blazing sun, glittering cities filled with life, and the scent of oud and spices weaving through bustling markets. He felt pride, strength, and the weight of an ancient legacy coursing through his veins.

When he emerged from the pool, he was unrecognizable. The golden jersey with **87** still clung to his chest, but now it seemed to radiate a deeper brilliance, as if it too had transformed with him. The leader stood waiting, a knowing smile on his face.

“You are no longer Romeo Gold,” the leader said, his voice filled with reverence. “You are Zayed Al-Saffar, the embodiment of strength, unity, and tradition. You have been reborn into the Golden Team, perfected in body, mind, and spirit.”

Zayed gazed at his reflection in the still pool. The man who stared back was extraordinary—a powerful figure with a commanding presence, his golden-brown skin glowing, his dark eyes alive with purpose. He no longer recognized the man he had been, and for the first time, he didn’t want to.

“I feel… complete,” Zayed said, his voice rich and resonant. “This is who I’m meant to be.”

The leader nodded. “You are Zayed Al-Saffar, number 87, the Golden Sweeper. And now, you will lead the way for others to join us.”

**The Brotherhood Welcomes Zayed**

Returning to the locker room, Zayed was met with awe and respect. His golden brothers surrounded him, each placing a hand on his shoulder in silent recognition of his transformation. In the corner, the black-clad drones worked tirelessly, their presence a reminder of the Golden Team’s ever-expanding reach.

Zayed turned to the leader, his voice firm. “What’s next?”

The leader smiled. “We find those who are lost, just as you were. We bring them into the fold. Together, we will grow the Golden Team into an unstoppable force.”

Zayed nodded, a sense of duty and purpose swelling within him. He was no longer just a soccer player. He was Zayed Al-Saffar, a leader of the Golden Brotherhood, a symbol of strength and unity. The world would soon know his name—and the unstoppable power of the Golden Team.

[razorblade180]

Feast of Pursuit pt2

[Day 5]

It was a massacre. There had been abyss domains throughout the adventures of Aether and his friends that had brought them all to their knees outside the portal. This however, might be the first time an event brought such hopeless.

Countless pyro, hell, numerous support and multiple captains of teams laid along the ground utterly battered and bruised. Even Aether himself got a glimpse of what terror was on day 5.

Aether:That turtle has to fucking die.

Tighnari:HOW!? We can have the power but lack the defense! We can gain the defense but lack the power!

Yanfei:Can anyone explain to me how hydro is completely ineffective against an electric shield, but not the other way around!? It’s limiting so much options!

Klee:I don’t wanna play anymore…

Emilie:It struck me from across the field.

Dehya:It tore through my defenses.

Kokomi:It tore through my health! My health! I don’t want to brag but I’m pretty sturdy.

Zhongli:It broke my shield in seconds. Aether, I don’t this one is possible.

Yoimiya:I can’t feel my fingers. Hehe, training with the Raiden Shogun doesn’t feel this electrifying.

Lyney:I don’t want to be that person, but I can think of one person who probably would’ve made this a little easier.

Hu Tao:*sits up*….Aether, I have permission to go ask anyone for help, right?

Aether:Yep. If it’s possible.

Hu Tao:Time to go back to older days.

xxxxx

Hu Tao:*opens door* Hello my old partner in crime. I require your assistance!

Jean:…*closes book* You must be desperate. Is it an Electro Lector?

Hu Tao:It’s much worse. You have to keep everyone alive this time. It might take multiple attempts and you might even want to give up halfway through but-

Jean:Let’s go. You never ask for a healer, so I know this means a lot to you. *walks off* How out of the box is the plan?

Hu Tao:You’re familiar with the setup.

xxxxx

As a funeral director with sacred rites passed down, the essence of death was more familiar to Hu Tao than most people. Even so, rarely was it ever pushed to the limit for too long.

What attempt was this? Five? Fifteen? She lost track. In fact, she wasn’t really keeping track of anything anymore. Movements had become second nature, a torturous yet necessary muscle memory. Lightning called for her demise, but wind pushed away from the brink. Flames ate het vitality while granting her strength and renewing vigor to be eaten away yet again for the sake of power. Again and again, her body was guided by butterflies through the numbing chaos until…

Jean:HU TAO!

A strong shake jolted her out of the flow state she found. The funeral director looked over her shoulder to see Jean gripping Homa to prevent another swing. She was utterly exhausted to the point her hair was undone. The arms of Bennet and Furina held her body tightly in place; both of them were drenched in sweat and elemental energy just like she was from the attacks. Hu Tao finally looked ahead to see the turtle completely limp.

Hu Tao:Oh…it’s dead.*drops to knees* Thank goodness.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds.

xxxxxx

Hu Tao:*face down* Lyney? My humble magician?

Lyney:Yes?

Hu Tao:I say this with respect; you never need to wish your Father was around when you can rely on me.

Lyney:You did this to prove a point!?

Hu Tao: I tend not to take these things too seriously, but Aether and so many others put their time into making me feel strong and dependable. I’m never going to betray those acts of kindness. Crowns aren’t just for show.

Chongyun:And every day you earn yours. *pats head* Good hustle.

Hu Tao:It was a team effort. When in doubt, Sunfire it out. Not to mention a very dedicated actress who knows how to fill a role.

Furina:I want a vacation!! I could sleep forever!

[Day 6]

Aether:Hey. How’s-

Ei:I can kill it.

Aether:….

Ei:We’ve had our ups and downs in the past, but Aether, I can kill this fungal beast. The Terrashroom barely hangs on but I know my strikes will find its mark. My chosen companions have no flaws that k can’t cover; all we need is a bit more power. I am not one to beg or plead, but I am asking you to put your faith in my blade. Let me strike down our enemies.

Aether:…It’s been a long time coming. I believe you. *pulls out crown* Give them hell.

xxxxx

Perfection is impossible, yet if there’s anyone who could get close, it’s the Raiden Shogun. Before fanfare could die, luck could run out, or music could end, Ei’s blade called for another seamless rotation to prolong the battles’s perfomance until it was the enemy that could no longer go on. Ei, feeling the mental fatigue, sighed as she put away her blade.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds

Ei:Well done everyone. A flawless show of our abilities.

Yelan:I think I might hate this event.

Furina:*on her hands and knees* You and I both. There’s such thing as being too popular!

Xilonen:The three of us make a pretty decent core apparently. *sits down* Can’t say I don’t like it, but yeah, this attention sure is demanding.

Ei:I apologize. This formation was easily the most efficient to deal with this enemy.

Xilonen:Oh don’t apologize. Happy to help. *lays down* Ugh, I need a nap.

xxxxx

Aether:Good job everyone. The Teapot has freshly prepared food and the hot springs are in full effect. You should all feel proud. May we continue to get stronger as a team and individuals! *pumps fist*

Everyone:*pumps fist* To progress!

[Day 4, revisited]

Time- 2 minutes and 29 seconds

Xilonen:How did I let you talk me back into this?

Furina:Navia was really bummed out. I can’t say no to her requests. Even if she herself isn’t quite up for the challenge, she at least wanted to see it was achievable. Isn’t helping friends part of the job?

Yelan:Just admit you have a crush. It’s more admirable. It’s settled, I’m requesting time off. I don’t our ambitious leader has a problem with that.

Hu Tao:Zzzzz

Xilonen:This girl is kinda nuts. Not the strongest person I’ve met, but she comes out swinging faster and harder than most.

Yelan:Yep. Raw power is kinda her thing. It’s consistent and consistently reckless. You get used to it.

Xilonen:…So who’s Arlecchino.

Hu Tao:*sits up* Don’t worry about it. *lays back down* Zzzzz

Yelan:She woke up just for that!?

Furina:I respect it deeply.

[eddysocs]

Break Of Dawn — Daemon Targaryen x OC

Summary: Rhiannon has fallen ill, and Daemon is beside himself until she gets better.

Word Count: 626

Warnings: Mention of bloodletting and leeches

Daemon Targaryen paced the length of the dimly lit chamber, the walls echoing his footsteps in a haunting rhythm. He paused at the bedside, his eyes locked on Rhiannon, who lay feverish and pale against the bedcovers. The maester had been relentless in his attempts to draw out the illness with treatments of bloodletting, and Daemon's heart clenched every time a new leech was applied to her delicate skin.

Rhiannon's once vibrant eyes were now glassy and distant, her breaths shallow and labored. Daemon sank into the chair he kept beside her sickbed, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. Her fingers were cold and clammy, a stark contrast to the fire he knew raged within her. "Rhiannon," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You must fight this. You must."

Her only response to him was a softly anguished moan, a sound that pierced through Daemon's soul. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to her forehead, feeling the heat radiate from her fevered body. "I'm here, my love. I'm right here," he murmured, though his voice threatened to show the cracks in the facade of strength he had put on for her.

The maester hovered nearby, his face grim and serious. Emotion did not cloud his judgement as it did Daemon's. "We must continue the bloodletting, my lord. It is her best chance."

Daemon nodded, though his heart screamed in protest. He watched as the maester made another incision, the crimson flow of blood a stark reminder of his new wife's fragility. She winced, her eyes fluttering open only briefly to meet Daemon's. In that moment, he saw her fear, her pain, and it shattered him.

"I'm here," he repeated, squeezing her hand. "You're not alone."

Hours bled into each other, the night a relentless torment of worry and helplessness. Daemon never left her side, his own strength waning with each passing moment. He whispered words of love and encouragement, his tears falling unchecked. He could not bear the thought of losing her, not after he had finally found his true match in this brutal world.

At last, Rhiannon drifted into a fitful sleep, her breathing still ragged but steadier than before. Daemon watched her, his eyes burning with tears he refused to let himself shed. He brushed a stray lock of her raven hair from her face, his heart aching with every beat. "Please, Rhiannon," he whispered to the silent room. "Please come back to me."

The hours stretched on, and Daemon found himself drifting in and out of restless slumber, his hand never leaving Rhiannon's. Dawn was breaking when he felt her fingers twitch beneath his. He jolted awake, his eyes flying to her face.

Rhiannon's eyes opened with great heaviness as she began to awake from her slumber, and for the first time in days, they held a glimmer of clarity. "Daemon," she whispered. Her voice was weakened by the illness, but unmistakably hers.

He felt a rush of relief so profound it nearly brought him to his knees. "Rhiannon," he choked out, pressing her hand to his lips. "You're awake. You're here."

She managed a faint smile, her fingers curling around his. "Did you really think you’d lost me," she chided him. How often had she promised that they’d exit this world together, that no force in the universe would be able to take her from him?

"Of course not. You are a woman of your promises," Daemon replied, grateful that she was well enough to make a little levity of the situation.

As the sun rose, bathing the room in a soft golden light, Daemon held Rhiannon close, finally finding a semblance of peace. She was through the worst, and given some time, would be returned to him renewed of her vitality.

For @sicktember

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @kenjioharashotspot

[drangeax]

Time and Tide waits for no one

Pairing: Terra/Aqua

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,370

Summary: Aqua was in the Realm of Darkness for twice as long.

Read on AO3

Beneath the eerie glow of the midnight sun, Aqua finds herself staring at the edge of darkness, a desolate expanse of dark waters stretching endlessly before her. She had enough. She’d lingered forever in this forsaken place, clinging to hope that had long withered away.

“Drown…just drown…” she whispers, the vastness of the sea swallowing her words.

Driven by despair, she succumbs to the urge, walking to her soon-to-be watery grave. It reaches her waist immediately, freezing, a thousand needles prickling her skin to make her desist. She wades deeper, the frigid waters rising to her shoulders, making it hard to breathe. 

She stands on the brink finally, head barely above water as she stares at the ominous sky. “Drown…just drown…” she whispers once more, her voice choked with tears as she prepares to let go.

Heart heavy with sorrow, she surrenders, plunging into the depths below. It’s dark and lonesome…a horrible way to die. Aqua hugs herself holding her breath, a counterintuitive action to her goal. The air begins to run out, her lungs desperately craving it as everything fades into obscurity around her.

Drown…

Yet, enveloped in the cold embrace of the seas, in the depths of her despair, a spark ignites within her. Her body struggles, arms flailing until she reaches the surface, a life-saving breath setting her straight. Even more when the silhouette of an island looms on the horizon, beckoning.

Eventually, she’ll make it home.

***

Standing in the forecourt, Aqua gazes up at the castle’s ivory towers, a familiar sight she never imagined seeing again. The castle still recognizes her and invites her in like a joyous old friend. 

As she steps inside, she’s stunned by its pristine condition. There’s no damage. Everything gleams with renewed vitality, no remnants of the fight that torn it apart present. 

How?

Her answer comes when she walks into the throne room, and a man stares at her, eyes wide open in disbelief. She freezes on the spot, her eyes curiously studying the man, trying to piece out why he seems so familiar.

He towers over her, his stature imposing and commanding respect. Broad shoulders speak of strength, while streaks of gray woven into his long brown hair hint at the passage of time. Sparse facial hair adorns his features, giving him a rugged air as if he’d only recently set aside a razor.

Then there’s his deep blue eyes, eyes she’d stared into during unexpected moments…

“Aqua…?” 

***

Terra rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Aqua’s brows knit together, arms folding across her chest. “Anywhere is fine, as long as you do.” Her eyes drift to the distant whispers of conversation in the room, the two children present most likely speculating about her. “I get the feeling I missed so much…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his tone tinged with regret.

“You said that already but no matter how many times I say it’s fine…”

His expression softens, the pain evident in his eyes. “I didn’t expect this to happen. You were gone, vanished—I didn’t know what to do.” 

A heavy silence settles between them, her heart aching with what she could only describe as vicious claws tearing everything in its path. Regret. Misery. Despair. 

“So everyone just gave up on me?” she questions.

“Nobody could reach down there—I tried so many times but— 

Her heart sinks as she meets his gaze. “I’m lucky you even remember me,” she says, giving him a weak smile.

Terra pulls her into a hug, the warmth of his embrace a stark contrast to the emptiness she’s felt for so long. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you. Tears dampen her shoulder as he apologizes again, his voice muffled against her skin. I’ve missed you.

“This...this is too much for me,” she murmurs, gently patting his back as she pulls away slightly. “I need time…rest a bit…” After a deep breath, she adds, “Tomorrow…I want to know everything.”

He nods in understanding, reluctantly releasing her from the embrace. “I’ll help you settle—

“I know where my room is,” she interjects, her eyes lingering on him briefly before she turns and walks away.

She couldn’t deal with this right now.

***

Her old room remains frozen in time, a poignant reminder of the life she left behind. The bed, meticulously made since her departure years ago, offers a glimpse into the past. Stars and other trinkets still cling to the walls decorating her room. An unfinished project sits patiently on her desk, a silent testament to her interrupted existence. It’s surprisingly clean for all the time that went by.

Terra kept it clean.

She sighs and searches through the drawers pulling out her old pajamas: black shorts adorned with tiny stars and a simple white shirt. Changing into them, she sinks onto the bed, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, staring for what seems like hours.

Where does one even begin after such an abrupt return? How does she deal with Terra? Tomorrow promises to be a challenging day. She’ll be forced to digest and process two decades’ worth of things she missed.

A soft knock on the door draws her back to the present. “Miss Aqua, father says dinner is ready,” a small voice calls from the other side. It’s one of Terra’s children, a reminder of the life he’s built in her absence.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” she replies, feigning indifference as she turns away, burying her face on a pillow. Tears well up in her eyes, the weight of the situation crashing upon her. 

None of it made sense. How could she have lost twenty-two years of her life in the blink of an eye? She hopes it’s the Realm of Darkness playing another one of its cruel tricks on her, a nightmare from which she longs to awaken. 

***

“...replica body started giving out…leave a ‘legacy’ of sorts, a proof of existence…” Terra explains away, just as she requested.

But Aqua can’t focus. It’s overwhelming to fully grasp his words as they echo against the chaos brewing in her mind.

“And I needed students to pass on the Keyblade and our Master’s—

“Stop,” she interrupts, uncomfortable with his words.

“Am I going too fast?”

Shaking her head, Aqua responds, “I just don’t understand why you didn’t choose your students instead of…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Is this…jealousy?

Terra’s expression shifts, understanding dawning on his eyes as he gazes at a broken branch on the tree above them. “I needed a reason to live,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I gave up. I couldn’t go on. Not without…”

Aqua follows his gaze, her eyes landing on the broken branch and the frayed remnants of an old rope attached to it. It lines up perfectly with the bench they’re on, and the weight of his words is suddenly too real.

“Oh…”

“They saved me…raising my children is what keeps me here. I don’t regret it,” Terra continues, his voice soft but resolute.

She sighs and buries her face in her hands, a million questions still burning in her mind. What’s a replica? Why don’t they last long? Who was Xion? Who were half of the people he mentioned? Where’s Sora? 

Frustration. Anger. Anxiety.

“Are you ok?” Terra's voice breaks through her thoughts, his hand tentatively resting on her shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but that’s beside the question.”

Terra nods. “Ok, next question then,” he says, changing the subject.

“Where’s Ven?” she asks, unsure if she wants to know. “If the castle has returned to its normal form, where is he? You should’ve found him…”

His face darkens, a shadow passing over his features. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“Terra, where’s Ven?” she presses, her tone firm.

He sighs heavily. “Ven is—he went looking for you. No one’s seen him ever since. Last I’ve heard he’s been up to dubious things.”

Aqua’s frown deepens, unease settling on her chest. “What do you mean, dubious things?”

Terra shifts uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head as he avoids her gaze. “Things that sound more like something Vanitas would do…”

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Here's Epel’s brother, Dravin Felmier

🌼🌼

Dravin Felmier

Dravin: Wealthy, Prosperous, Gold, Strength, Power

Inspiration: Golden Flower from Rapunzel

House: Pomefiore

Personality Traits: Dravin is gentle, patient, and empathetic, possessing a quiet strength that is often underestimated. While Epel fights to prove his toughness, Dravin finds power in kindness and patience, valuing the beauty and vitality of life. Though he has a soft appearance, he holds firm beliefs and possesses a resilience that surprises those who underestimate him.

Unique Magic: “Bloom of Vitality”

Dravin's Unique Magic allows him to channel a calming, golden aura that has the power to rejuvenate minor injuries or revive wilted plants. This energy spreads warmth and eases pain, creating a sense of peaceful renewal to those around him. The aura’s soothing effects can calm aggressive individuals or temporarily boost their strength through a sense of encouragement and hope.

Healing Aura: Dravin can use his golden energy to mend small wounds or ease exhaustion in himself and others.

Bloom Empowerment: His presence brings a sense of inner calm and strength, amplifying his allies' focus and resilience in tense situations.

Revitalization: Dravin's aura can encourage plant growth, causing flowers to bloom or greenery to thrive wherever he directs his focus.

Weaknesses:

Limited Range and Duration: His power is most effective in close range and fades quickly after he stops channeling it.

Energy Drain: Extended use of his magic can cause fatigue, especially when trying to heal more than one person at a time.

Vulnerability to Stronger Magic: His magic is vulnerable to dark or intense spells, which can diminish its calming effect.

Appearance and Outfit

Physical Appearance: Dravin has a fair complexion and a soft yet healthy glow to his skin, with lavender-blue eyes similar to Epel’s. His hair is a soft, lavender shade with gold blonde highlights, wavy and kept slightly longer. He has a delicate but athletic build, reflecting a hidden strength.

Uniform Modifications:

Golden Floral Embroidery: His uniform has subtle golden embroidery resembling vines and small flowers, especially around the cuffs, collar, and shoulders.

Sunflower Pendant: He wears a small sunflower pendant that symbolizes both his magical ability and his gentle personality.

Natural Elements: He carries a ring with a flower charm that occasionally glows when he uses his Unique Magic.

Personality: Dravin is calm, thoughtful, and resilient, with a natural warmth that makes others feel comfortable around him. While he may seem passive at first glance, he is firm in his beliefs and unafraid to defend those he cares about. He has a love for plants and spends time caring for the Pomefiore gardens, taking pride in bringing life to everything he touches. Dravin is a calm, gentle presence in Pomefiore, with a nurturing side that makes him a reliable support for those around him. He values beauty but believes true beauty lies in kindness, health, and vitality, in contrast to Pomefiore’s focus on external appearances.

His World is Based On: Kirby

🌼🌼

A gentle lad compared to his brother.

ALSO KIRBY!

[theguestblogging]

The Power and Significance of Hanuman Chalisa in English

The Hanuman Chalisa, a revered 40-verse hymn dedicated to Lord Hanuman, is a cornerstone of Hindu devotion. Composed by the great poet-saint Tulsidas in the 16th century, this devotional song has transcended time and geography, captivating the hearts of millions. As more people across the globe seek spiritual solace and understanding, the Hanuman Chalisa in English has become a vital bridge, allowing non-Hindi speakers to connect with its profound spiritual essence.

The Origin and Essence of Hanuman Chalisa

The Hanuman Chalisa was written in Awadhi, a dialect of Hindi, by Tulsidas, who is also renowned for his epic poem, Ramcharitmanas. Each verse of the Hanuman Chalisa is a tribute to the mighty Hanuman, highlighting his strength, wisdom, and unwavering devotion to Lord Rama. The hymn is not only a praise of Hanuman's virtues but also a prayer for his blessings and protection.

Translating the Hanuman Chalisa in English

The translation of the Hanuman Chalisa in English has made this sacred text accessible to a wider audience. While the essence and rhythm of the original composition are challenging to replicate, translators strive to maintain the devotional fervor and spiritual depth. Here is an example of the Hanuman Chalisa in English:

Glory to Hanuman, the ocean of wisdom and virtue, Hail the Monkey Lord who is an illuminator of the three worlds. The messenger of Rama, possessing immense strength, Anjaneya, the son of Anjana and the Wind God. With a golden complexion and great brilliance, you wear earrings and have curly hair. You hold the mace and a flag, and a sacred thread adorns your shoulder. You are the incarnation of Shiva and delight in listening to Rama’s praises. Your form is colossal, your splendor brilliant, and you remove all fear. You are the abode of the eighteen siddhis and nine nidhis, and you grant boons to all.

Spiritual Significance

Reciting the Hanuman Chalisa is believed to invoke Hanuman's divine intervention in overcoming life's challenges and obstacles. Devotees chant it to seek courage, strength, and wisdom, particularly in times of distress. The hymn's verses encapsulate the heroic deeds of Hanuman, inspiring faith and resilience.

Benefits of Reciting Hanuman Chalisa in English

For non-Hindi speakers, chanting the Hanuman Chalisa in English allows them to experience the same spiritual benefits and sense of connection. It provides an opportunity to delve into the rich tapestry of Hindu mythology and understand the values embodied by Hanuman. Some of the benefits include:

Mental Peace: The rhythmic recitation of the verses calms the mind and reduces stress.

Spiritual Growth: Understanding the deeper meanings fosters spiritual enlightenment.

Courage and Strength: The hymns empower devotees to face life's challenges with renewed vigor.

Protection: It is believed to ward off negative energies and provide divine protection.

The Origins of the Hanuman Chalisa

Tulsidas composed the Hanuman Chalisa in Awadhi, a dialect of Hindi. Each verse praises Hanuman's extraordinary qualities, recounting his strength, wisdom, and unwavering devotion to Lord Rama. This hymn not only venerates Hanuman but also serves as a source of spiritual strength for devotees.

Translating the Hanuman Chalisa in English

Translating the Hanuman Chalisa into English is a delicate task, aiming to preserve the original's devotional essence while making it accessible to a global audience. Here is a sample of the Hanuman Chalisa in English:

Spiritual and Practical Significance

The Hanuman Chalisa is recited by millions seeking Hanuman's protection and blessings. Devotees believe that chanting the hymn helps overcome obstacles, grants courage, and fosters wisdom. The Hanuman Chalisa in English allows non-Hindi speakers to partake in these spiritual benefits and to understand the profound teachings of Hinduism.

Benefits of Reciting the Hanuman Chalisa in English

Reciting the Hanuman Chalisa in English offers several benefits:

Cultural Connection: Non-Hindi speakers can connect with Hindu culture and spirituality.

Mental Clarity: The rhythmic verses promote mental peace and focus.

Spiritual Insight: Understanding the hymn's meaning deepens spiritual awareness.

Empowerment: The hymn inspires courage and resilience in facing life's challenges.

Protection: Devotees believe the hymn provides divine protection against negative influences.

The Global Impact of Hanuman Chalisa in English

The Hanuman Chalisa in English has played a crucial role in spreading Hindu spirituality across the globe. It has made the teachings and devotion to Hanuman accessible to a broader audience, transcending linguistic and cultural barriers. This has fostered a deeper appreciation of Hinduism's rich traditions and values, encouraging cross-cultural spiritual dialogue.

The Origins and Structure of Hanuman Chalisa

Tulsidas composed the Hanuman Chalisa in Awadhi, a dialect of Hindi. The hymn consists of 40 verses, each glorifying Hanuman's divine attributes, including his strength, wisdom, and devotion to Lord Rama. It begins with two introductory Doha couplets, followed by 40 Chaupais (quatrains), and concludes with a final Doha. This structure is designed to encapsulate the essence of Hanuman's character and his significant role in the Ramayana.

Translating the Hanuman Chalisa in English

Translating the Hanuman Chalisa into English involves not only linguistic conversion but also capturing the hymn's devotional spirit and poetic beauty. Here’s a more detailed rendition of some verses of the Hanuman Chalisa in English:

Hail Hanuman, ocean of wisdom and virtue, Hail, Monkey Lord who illuminates the three worlds. Renowned hero, you possess immense strength, Anjaneya, son of Anjana and the Wind God. Your golden complexion radiates with splendor, You adorn earrings and have a mane of curly hair. Carrying a mace and a flag, you are the epitome of valor, A sacred thread graces your powerful shoulder. Incarnation of Shiva, delighting in Rama’s praise, Your colossal form exudes a brilliant aura. Dispeller of fear and harbinger of hope, You are the repository of the eighteen perfections and nine treasures, And you bestow boons to all who seek your grace.

Spiritual Significance and Benefits

The Hanuman Chalisa holds immense spiritual significance for devotees. Reciting it is believed to invoke Hanuman’s divine protection and blessings. The hymn’s verses recount Hanuman's heroic deeds and his devotion to Lord Rama, providing a source of inspiration and spiritual strength.

Key Benefits of Reciting Hanuman Chalisa in English

Cultural Bridge: Non-Hindi speakers can engage with Hindu spiritual practices and culture.

Mental Peace: The rhythmic recitation promotes calmness and mental clarity.

Spiritual Growth: Understanding the hymn's meaning fosters deeper spiritual insight.

Empowerment: The hymn instills courage and resilience to face life's challenges.

Protection: Devotees believe the hymn wards off negative energies and provides divine protection.

The Role of Hanuman Chalisa in Modern Times

In today’s fast-paced world, the Hanuman Chalisa in English offers solace and spiritual grounding to people from diverse backgrounds. Its teachings on devotion, humility, and courage resonate universally, providing guidance and support in times of need. The hymn’s global reach has also facilitated a broader appreciation of Hinduism’s spiritual richness and philosophical depth.

Personal Stories of Transformation

Many individuals have shared personal stories of how the Hanuman Chalisa in English has transformed their lives. From overcoming personal challenges to finding inner peace, these testimonies highlight the hymn's profound impact. For instance, a young professional struggling with anxiety found solace in daily recitation, leading to improved mental health and spiritual well-being. Similarly, a student abroad discovered a sense of cultural and spiritual connection through the hymn, alleviating feelings of homesickness and isolation.

[xasha777]

In the year 2154, the world had changed dramatically. The fusion of technology and biology had led to the emergence of a new kind of human, one that could interact with the environment in unprecedented ways. Among these evolved humans was Elara, a young woman with striking green hair and vibrant green eyes. She lived in Montlhéry, a small town in France known for its historical significance and its cutting-edge research facilities.

Elara's green hair and eyes were not merely aesthetic; they were the result of genetic enhancements that allowed her to photosynthesize like a plant. This unique ability made her a vital asset to the Montlhéry Institute of Advanced Studies, where she worked as a biotechnologist. Her contributions were focused on developing sustainable energy sources and improving the quality of life through advanced biological technologies.

One day, while conducting an experiment in her lab, Elara received an urgent message from Dr. Marcel, the head of the institute. The message was cryptic but clear: "Project Verdant is in jeopardy. Meet me at the old observatory immediately."

Elara hurried to the Montlhéry Observatory, an ancient structure that had been repurposed for advanced astronomical research. Dr. Marcel was waiting for her, his face etched with concern. "Elara, we've intercepted communications suggesting that a rogue faction plans to sabotage Project Verdant. We need to secure the data and ensure the project's continuation."

Project Verdant was a top-secret initiative aimed at harnessing the power of photosynthetic humans to create a renewable energy source. If successful, it could revolutionize the world's energy supply. Elara's role was crucial, as her unique abilities were central to the project's success.

As they worked to secure the data, Elara's mind raced. She knew the implications of failure were dire, not just for her, but for the future of sustainable energy. The rogue faction, known as the Technos, opposed any biological advancements that threatened their technological dominance. They were ruthless and well-equipped.

Just as they finished transferring the data to a secure location, the observatory's alarms blared. The Technos had breached the perimeter. Elara and Dr. Marcel had to act fast. Utilizing her photosynthetic abilities, Elara absorbed light energy from the observatory's solar panels, amplifying her strength and speed.

They navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of the observatory, evading the Technos' drones and security bots. Elara used her enhanced reflexes to disable several bots, buying them precious time. Dr. Marcel guided her to a hidden passage that led to the old radio tower, where they could send a distress signal.

At the radio tower, they encountered the Technos' leader, a man named Raze, who had been enhanced with cybernetic implants. Raze sneered at Elara. "You think your green tricks can stop us? Technology will always prevail over biology."

Elara stood her ground, her green eyes glowing with determination. "You underestimate the power of nature, Raze. It's not about dominance; it's about harmony."

With a swift motion, Elara unleashed a burst of energy, temporarily blinding Raze and his accomplices. She and Dr. Marcel managed to send the distress signal before escaping through an emergency exit.

The response was immediate. Reinforcements from the institute arrived, securing the observatory and neutralizing the Technos. Project Verdant was safe, thanks to Elara's bravery and quick thinking.

In the aftermath, Elara reflected on the events. She realized that her journey was just beginning. The fusion of technology and biology held immense potential, and she was determined to ensure it was used for the greater good. With Montlhéry as her base, Elara continued her work, knowing that the future of sustainable energy depended on her and others like her.

[mystical-blaise]

Dadriel #11: Fear is Not My Future

Azriel reminisces fondly about the past as he simultaneously dreads what the future holds.

Read it on Ao3 here

I haven't posted anything in a while and needed to get this out of my head. Mostly fluff with a little side of emotional hurt/comfort. Enjoy!

Remember this, the shadows used to hum as Azriel held the entire world in his hand. 

Not that he needed their heeding. After all, how could he forget how impeccably both Llyr's and little Catrin's heads fit wholly cupped in the heart of his palm? 

A heartwarming, idyllic match. So miraculously perfect. 

Almost as if the Mother herself had measured his hand's span. Both of the two wriggling babes a wonderfully complicated compliment into his life—just like their mother. 

He'd never forget his first time like this. Seeing them nestled in his hold, was against a background of fuzzy snow-white whirls. The backdrop of a blanket between them.

For a while, he had been nervous to hold them like that soft to marred skin. Worried how the roughness of him would feel against such tender flesh and featherlight wisps of hair. So when he'd often hold them at night when they were newborns, he would with a blanket between them.

And it wasn't until Gwyn had caught him one night, finally realizing what he was doing, that she calmly, gently told him, Remove the barrier, my love. 

Barrier. The word tolled through him like a clear bell of challenge. 

Barrier. It had been years since he'd allowed any between himself and his beloved mate, his friends—or around his hands. He loved the feeling of Gwyn's palm and fingers, now strong and roughened from years of training, against his own. He found comfort and clarity in her touch. Renewed vitality and strength.

And wouldn't his children gain the same?

Fear, uncertainty, were the ultimate hurdle. But eventually, with deep breaths and the shadows and Gwyn's loving support and gentle coaxing, he had held them. One at a time, their tiny, precious heads in his palm, the weight of them in his arms a joy he still couldn't comprehend.

Gods, they had been soft. They'd been so wondrously soft. Like his shadows whispering over him. Like fate and love and magic given form.

Perfect. 

The sweet image of their small heads nestled in the center of his palm as he cradled them was imprinted on his soul, imparted with a promise. 

A promise he thought about every time he glanced at his hand. 

While Gwyn fretted and assessed the twins' lives in reaching milestones, Azriel measured the passing of time by his hand.

The once perfect fit was long gone, Llyr and Catrin not even needing the extra support of it anymore, each of them able to hold themselves, sit on their own. Their inquisitive son was even starting to pull himself up on furniture. 

Catrin was getting there, but she seemed content to allow her brother and others to bring things to her. Which still worried Gwyn, though their family did their best to allay her ruminating.

Don't worry, Berdara. My father often said how late I was at walking—until I saw something I wanted. Catrin is just willfully stubborn, just like her mother. Gwyn had stuck her tongue out at Nesta for that. But, her Valkyrie-sister continued, when she finally sees something she really wants, that little Valkyrie is going to run, not walk. And then you will beg the Mother for her to sit still again. 

And Azriel had little doubt about Nesta's claim. 

Even now in sleep, her ever-growing wings splayed beneath her, spread out as wide as her arms, her forehead was puckered as if she was scheming. Her small rosebud lips with the perfect bow were parted on soft puffed breaths, little snores that reminded him so much of watching Gwyn sleep. Though with her onyx hair, he could only imagine she was the spitting image of her namesake. Apart from her wings and the wavy ringlets in her hair, the little girl was most definitely a Berdara. 

He peered over at the other crib. His son, even with his porcelain skin and copper coloring, was Azriel through and through. A quiet boy, always content to assess a situation before trying. And Azriel swore Llyr was paying close attention to the shadows more now than ever, enough to make the Shadowsinger wonder.

Catrin's pitiful whimper called his attention.

It was a nightly ritual now whenever he was home—when nightmares dragged him from the little sleep his body called for—to check on his family as they slept. 

Safe, Singer. 

Safe. All of them were safe. No demons from his past or enemies of his present were here.

And that had been that promise the first time he'd held them with no barrier between them.

His children would never know the true reality of cold. Never know the bite of shackles on their wrists or ankles. They'd never long for comfort. 

They'd never question if they were loved.

Their safety would always be assured.

Safe to sleep. Safe to dream. Safe to love.

They'd have everything he didn't have. And he'd make sure of it with his last breath.

That was his promise.

And yet…

His knuckle gently smoothed over Catrin's forehead, over her chubby cheek. 

Every day, he compared their heads to his hand. Every day it sunk in that they were bigger, no longer fitting to the dimension. They were growing up. Every day was another day closer to—

Arms circled him from behind, and he stretched his wings aside as a pointy chin rested on his bare left shoulder. He sighed into her, loving to be surrounded by her softness and her scent.

"You all right?" Gwyn asked.

"Yes." He swallowed thickly. "Couldn't sleep. And you?"

"Nightmare," she sighed. His arm encircled her as he kissed her temple. Her soft chuckle caught him off guard. "Just look at them. They're getting so big." 

His throat bobbed, his fingertips and shadows grazing over the peach fuzz of the babe's cheek again. "They are. It seems they are doing new things each day. It's truly remarkable."

"It is. And yet…it worries me."

"Gwyneth Berdara, worried? No. I can't believe such a thing," he teased, earning a little playful nip to his shoulder.

"The more they move, the farther they go, the more dangers await. Cauldron, the House of Wind is built on top of a godsdamn mountain. It suddenly feels like a death trap. I shouldn't even dare blink when they're awake."

"The House won't let anything happen to them, love. Neither will we."

"Still, I'd feel better if we need to take precautions. Be proactive. Cover corners, secure doors and knobs. Gates around the stairs and fencing off the training ring." She eyed him. "How would you feel about covering the tips of your wings?"

Azriel snorted. "Gwyn, I love you and your creative mind, but there's no way in hell. Illyrians have had babies forever and I haven't read one single instance of eyes getting poked out by wing tips."

"If you insist." She exhaled, her eyes taking in the dozing girl in the crib. The shadowsinger tightened his hold on his mate. "Does it…does it make you a little sad, too?"

His lips twitched. His clever copper-headed wife always saw straight through to the heart of the matter. "It does."

"I don't know what I'm going to do when they leave to be on their own one day," she confided, her mouth trembling slightly against his collar. "Though I guess it's silly to think about right now, one day they'll be starting their own lives. It'll be up to them. They won't need us."

He kissed her again, tugging her ever closer to him, glancing between their sleeping children. "We'll always be there for them. And it's not silly in the slightest. I am, too. I think perhaps it's the nature of parenthood. The blessing of children comes with the curse of constant worry about what they will face, what the future holds. The perils. The heartache. I just…I don't want them to feel a moment of pain."

And he wouldn't be able to bear it. Because that was the risk of letting down barriers of the heart and soul—it left one vulnerable to the worst heartbreak, the greatest pain imaginable. 

The tactile fear of losing it all after he'd finally allowed himself to feel, to accept.

A panic he used to solely place on Gwyn and now…

"I wish I could relieve your fears and mine, Shadowsinger. But…it's not practical." He peered down at his lovely beauty, falling immediately into the teal orbs staring up through heavy lashes. "Some pain is simply a part of life. The elation and happiness of first loves, families and friendships can't be had without risk. Without having faith. Because you go in knowing that things could end with heartache and loss. I don't imagine the fear will ever abate. But it's worth it to experience love, is it not?"

He didn't take his eyes off of Gwyn, remembering all the times he almost lost her, had seen and felt her pain and dread. How he'd witnessed her drift away from him after the birth of their children. Hell, forget about battle; he'd been more terrified of losing her on the birthing bed—and their twins. 

Yet she was here. Now. They all were.

And he would relive his haunted past over again if it meant he'd end up right here.

Arm still wound around Gwyn, his fingertips left his daughter's brow to tip up his mate's freckled face. He'd memorized it long ago, each freckle as familiar as his own scars. And as he stared down, felt the touch of her skin against his own, without linen or fear between them, he dipped his face down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

Every kiss was a blessing. 

Every touch was a miracle. 

Every fear was worth living. 

The love for his family was worth everything. A love he would hold forever in his heart and carried in the palm of his hand.

[ignitification]

Midoriya Izuku - Green for Hope, Red for Burning Passion

I always asked myself why exactly Horikoshi has changed Midoriya's character design so drastically.

Indeed, we go from a character called Yamikumo who looks like a feral child with the bad habit of eating his nails off, and drinks more coffee than humanly possible to an anxious bunny who smiles awkwardly and does not know how to accept compliments.

To me, the difference is absolutely insane. Izuku's hair and eyes are uniform and reflect his character and surname. However, a thing that I find peculiar is how the dark (Black/Green) and the Red theme are a constant throughout particular tellings of his character.

The legendary red shoes are one of Deku's main features. It's part of his character. However, I just got to think why exactly (especially having an idea on why was green used for him) and I think that the answer might be very very banal. However, I do think that this is not the only reason.

First of all, there is the most simple reason which I could think of: Midoriya Izuku is described as plain. In my opinion, plain does not really define Midoriya but the concept of him being bland and capable of melting into background is fundamental to express him in the most little details (however, there are few things which inwardly contradict this description: first and foremost his freckles). But as it might be, and Midoriya is indeed considered not worthy look at for more than once (at least as described in the manga - which is also one of the reason why his design has been changed so much, as Yamikumo had literally zero chance to go unnoticed), it appears clear how this suppression of character, of wanting to relegate Mido to a background role is what instead pushes Izuku forward to make a bold choice of something like wearing red shoes. They are strikingly particular, and noticeable: which means that Midoriya is not happy about being an npc, but instead wants to be noticed and in some way stand out.

The second reason, which I mulled over if was relevant enough is All Might. A recurrent color in all All Might's costumes is Red (and Blue, which kind of reminds of Superman and the American Flag. A fact that I found interesting as well if how AM wears Blue, Yellow and Red while Midoriya wears Green and Red, and of course Blue and Yellow together form Green).

And finally the third and final reason (at least, for now) is that Red, as a colour reminds Deku of Kacchan (even if arguably, we see in the first panel of the manga how Izuku wore already his shoes so this might be false and instead it might refer to the fact that Red is Izuku’s favourite colour only), who we know he associates with victory. As the mental image of Kacchan, who was red eyes, is his substitute for him being able to stand proud, strong and capable to win, Izuku might want to express this strive to be strong.

But what do these two colours mean, stand alone ?

As for Green: this colour, in different cultures, is associated with "Hope" . I think here the main gist and general going is that Midoriya represents Hope for the Heroes, Hope for the Unwanted, the Broken and the Damned (the Villains). I talked about Izuku being a Symbol of the New Society here, but in short, with Izuku Midoriya being fundamentally associated to the colour green, I think Horikoshi wants to express two things: how Izuku never loses hope (to be a hero, to have a quirk, to be a friend to Katsuki who bullied him for years or Shouto who straight up challenged him even before getting to know him, to reach and to save everyone) and how he represents and spreads hope for others (Eri, Kouta, the same Todoroki and Katsuki).

Green indicates life, renewal, harmony and safety. Which, in this sense, points out Izuku's nature as a person and how he is bound to feel restless unless he provides comfort to everyone, and that desire to save desperately anyone who he can reach. Green is a calming and soothing colour. It also stands for prosperity, freshness and progress - which point out not only the conclusion of Deku being N1 Hero, but as well at him 'changing up' the society and becoming the Symbol of Hope and Change (on which I briefly touched upon here).

However, on a negative side it also stands for Greed (wanting to be a hero and follow AM steps even when he had a hard time adapting his body to his new quirk) and Envy (Bakugō first and foremost and the generally heroes and those who has time to wield their power properly). In this negative meaning of the colour, I think Izuku’s selfless nature comes to the surface even more: how he feels bound to feel negative emotions which spur his renewal and development (after all, he did unlock Black Whip after Monoma had insulted Bakugou), but at the same time use this emotion toward a bigger goal (him being mad at Shigaraki, but at the same time wanting to save him - I wrote about this too here).

Green, is, finally, the colour of the Heart chakra: an expression of how Midoriya puts everything before him, because his heart cannot take the selfishness of thinking of himself first, which also come hand in hand with his sacrificing nature and reminds of his name meaning and the association made with the number 9. Indeed, “Opening the Heart chakra allows a person to love more, empathise, and feel compassion” - which in short, stands for an externalisation of Mido’s personality.

On a shorter note, in Japan, the colour green represents youth, eternity, vitality and energy - which, in its own way is both a confirmation and a denial to other references made in Izuku’s character, such as his dangerous nature, him not being concentrated to live on for more than he is allowed to fulfil his duty (him being tied to number 9 and so on), and at the same time it reminds us of OfA, as it gains more power and energy and at his cheery, youthful persona.

As for Red, as the colour of Blood, it also stands to indicate '' Danger, Sacrifice, Courage" (which reconnects to his name's theory and numerology, of which I talked about here, in short).

In addition, red is usually used to professionally gain attention (it's hard to miss something so bright) and convey confidence. We know for a fact that Deku has been wearing red shoes since he was a kid (or at least, since he met Bakugō, which coincides with Izuku being four) and that despite being Quirkless, he always showed courage in standing out to people even when they thought of him as 'inferior' because on his unusual condition.

Among other negative meaning, there is an overflow of temper, anger, agitation, and overbearing, demanding and oppressive behaviours. As clear as day, these characteristics relate more to fiery Katsuki than Deku, but as stated before, Deku puts Katsuki as model and adapts his combat style to resemble Katsuki’s. So, this overflow of energy and action is a double-edged sword which affects both Katsuki and Izuku in different ways (and is mellowed out in Izuku’s character by his other soothing characteristics , but more on that later).

Also, Red, in Asia is a lucky colour which might (or not) hint at how, despite everything Izuku got his 'lucky' chance to inherit AM's power and follow his dream of becoming a hero. Particularly, in Japan this colour is associated and denotes strength, passion, self-sacrifice. A transmission of feeling as complex and empowering as the ones Deku fills while he is living his everyday life as a future hero, summed to his nature and inherited quirk.

Red is also a magical and religious color. It symbolized super-human heroism to the Greeks and is the color of the Christian crucifixion, which might be as meaningless as other things, but in this case it might greatly relate to the type of enormous power Izuku tries to reign in, and to the self sacrificing spirit which he proves again and again.

So far, the meanings of the colours which have been associated with Deku are in line with his name, his personality and even the storyline which has been drawed out.

Among other meanings red represents power, courage, energy, passion, and creates physical effects such as enhanced metabolism, enthusiasm, higher level of energy (which comes back to the initial reasons on why Deku chooses Red as a distinct colour for himself and his shoes).

The color red is linked to the most primitive physical, emotional, and financial needs of survival and self-preservation.

Finally is also the colour of leadership, determination and courage. So in short, the colours red, where it indicates energy, action and strong emotion-filled desires and aspirations, is also weak to overbearing aspects which transform empowerment into negative traits (which is what, in the end, is represented by Bakugou). It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power (the shoes in Deku’s case). 

Red is the colour of the First (or Spine) Chakra and usually allows a person to be grounded and connect to universal energies, while Green is the link between spiritual and material.

What do these two colours mean in association with each other?

Onto how these two colours are related to each other, especially considering the premises made, we see that Red (life-giving properties, trust, belonging and violence) and Green (health, eternity, youth and greed) are not only opposites, but they complete and balance each other out. Indeed, to reign over emotions and actions, to red is usually added green which indeed is a pain-relieving patch for red’s intensity (the theory of Bakugou and Deku being two sides of the same coin are thriving).

Midoriya Izuku is an intense person. His personality allows him to balance out his power with a selfless nature, and while he himself is sweet and caring, his fiery eyes (and shoes) express for him his utmost sincere feelings, which deep down are very telling. As mentioned before, Izuku responds to Monoma when he insults Bakugou and makes a jab at how actually Bakugou is the one who ultimately terminated AM, by unlocking a new dangerous and powerful quirk, which is so powerful and fiery, and red in his intensity, that they need Shinsou’s intervention to actually calm him down.

Izuku is a overly protective person: he has forgiveness as a foremost characteristic and even if he does mention how he will not forgive Shigaraki for what he has done, on second though he realises that even a ‘monster’ like Shigaraki deserves to be saved, and therefore his other nature takes over.

Therefore, the coexistence of these factors, and his personality are probably at the origin of why Midoriya has had such a drastic make-over before becoming Midoriya Izuku, and why the colours of Red and Green are fundamental in the description which lets us have a full picture of Midoriya as an individual: something who is full of hope and energy, striving to express whisk power and passion while trying to concern only himself with the danger that comes with his mission to save everyone.

[childofchrist1983]

“Youth is wasted on the young!” How true is that statement!

The older we get the more we long for the days of our youth, when we were more energetic, and our joints didn't creak everytime we took a step. When we look into the mirror and see a new wrinkle or gray hair, we wax nostalgic for the days of smooth skin and shiny locks.

In this passage, we are told that youthful vitality is not lost to us, not through God. He will renew us as the "eagle." Eagle. Not sparrow, or swallow, or hummingbird. But the strong and mighty eagle, who can fly up to 10,000 feet, who has over 7,000 feathers to keep it warm and dry, who has exceptional eyesight and seems to soar effortlessly. The eagle is a symbol of strength and grace.

Through God, we have the ability to maintain our own strength, stamina and vitality. Through God, we are renewed. Through God, we are made young again. And it is through Jesus Christ that we are able to live out our lives in the Holy Spirit. May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in the Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

Father God Almighty, Lord Jesus, I thank You for giving me the strength and stamina of the eagle! I thank you for restoring to me the vitality and energy of my youth. Let me use it to better serve You in willful and humble faith and boldness.

Help us to all be one in You daily. May we seek You and Your Holy Word as well as the peace and all the fruits of the Holy Spirit today and everyday. Help us to walk in a way that is worthy of this calling You have guided us to. Help us to live this new life walking in Your ways and will and giving You praise for making it possible. Help us to value the true and eternal riches more highly than the passing and deceitful riches of Earth. Help me to walk in Your Holy Spirit, to seek You and Your will. Help my thoughts to turn to You in the little pauses and intermediate moments of this day and everyday.

Help us so we may us remember all You've done and still do for us and take joy in the blessings and life You have given us. May we all be humbly and faithfully honored and excited to worship, glorify and serve You daily and to do Your will. You have been so good to us, far more than we as wretched sinners deserve. You are so good! So wonderful! Forever and always!

Thank you for being the best friend we could ever have! Thank you for Your endless mercy and love that has saved us. Thank you for always protecting us and providing for us and for Your Spirit to help us when we are in need. Thank you for adopting us as part of Your family in Heaven and making us one of Your own. Thank you for being our present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). Thank you for always being near and for loving us. Thank you for giving us a reason to love others and so many more reasons to love, praise, serve and follow You. Thank you for Your selfless and sinless sacrifice. Thank you for Your guidance and protection. Thank you for Your Truth and light. Thank you for Your wisdom and strength and grace. Thank you for everything! Your will be done! Blessed be Your mighty name! To You and Your Kingdom be the glory forevermore! In Your name I humbly pray, Amen and amen

[ofdemonessence]

Delia's weak voice quivered as she mustered a small smile for Killian. Her gratitude and love for him shone through her tear-filled eyes. "Thank you, Killian," she whispered, her voice filled with vulnerability. "I... I don't know what I would do without you."

As Killian carefully helped her into the tub, Delia leaned back against his chest, feeling his warmth and strength enveloping her. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax and find solace in his presence.

"I'm scared," she admitted softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of the running water. "But with you by my side, I know I can face whatever comes next. You give me strength, Killian, and I trust you with all of my heart."

Delia closed her eyes, focusing on the connection between her and Killian with every passionate kiss. She reached out with her senses, seeking the familiar energy that radiated from him. As she concentrated, she felt a gentle flow of warmth and strength, his aura intertwining with hers.

Gently, Delia placed her hands on Killian's chest, feeling the subtle vibrations of his energy beneath her fingertips. She allowed herself to absorb the soothing and revitalizing essence that emanated from him, drawing it into her own being.

In this intimate exchange, Delia took in the essence of his aura, allowing it to infuse her with renewed vigor and vitality. As she absorbed the energy, she could feel her weariness gradually fade away, replaced by a sense of rejuvenation.

They remained in that moment, connected and intertwined, as Delia replenished her energy from Killian's aura. It was a silent exchange of unspoken love, trust, and support, strengthening their bond and providing Delia with the power she needed to face the challenges ahead.

Once Delia felt a surge of revitalization coursing through her, she gently withdrew her hands and opened her eyes, a spark of gratitude and determination in her gaze. Her wounds were sealed and in the process of healing. With a soft smile, she whispered, "Thank you, my wolf. Your energy, your presence, it gives me the strength to keep going. I'm so grateful to have you by my side. Are you alright though?" She ran her hand through his hair, massaging his scalp, "I hope I haven't drained you too much..."

@monsterxlayer

Killian's initial frustration was turning into a deep concern for the woman he loved. Delia's tear-filled eyes, once vibrant and full of mischief, were now filled with weariness and pain, and he couldn't help but blame himself for putting her in this state.

As Delia struggled to speak, her voice feeble and strained, Killian listened attentively, his anger dissipating as he realized the gravity of her situation. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the urgency of the moment. "Princess," he whispered, "Let's get you back to full strength."

With great care, Killian lifted her up again and carried her to the bathroom. He knew the delicate balance they both walked, and he was determined to help her regain her strength. As they entered the bathroom, he leaned her against the sink, filling the tub with warm water, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he murmured, his voice gentle as he knelt beside her. "I'll be right here with you. You can rely on me. I'll get with you on that bathtub, I'll help you feed, you will be alright princess, I won't let anything happen to you." He kissed her lips as he took her clothes off and carefully laid her in, until her body was almost entirely covered by the water.

Then he took his clothes off and got in the tub with her, placing his body behind Delia, holding her closely so that she could lean her head on his chest. "It's okay," he whispered gently, stroking her long hair. "I'm here princess, let's do this, alright? You know already what to do, feed on me, it will make your body stronger." He started caressing her wet body, placing gentle kisses on her neck, and collarbones, "Just take all you need."

@ofdemonessence

[1vintage]

Ocean Vuong on Metaphor

below is a transcript of an Instagram story from Ocean Vuong, available here in his story highlights under Metaphor.

Q: How do you make sure your metaphors have real depth?

metaphors should have two things: (1) sensory (visual, texture, sound, etc) connector between origin image and the transforming image as well as (2) a clear logical connector between both images. 

if you have only one of either, best to forgo the metaphor, otherwise it will seem forced or read like “writing” if that makes sense.

~

a lot of ya’ll asked for examples re:metaphor. I can explain better if I had 15 minutes of class time (apply to UMASS!). But essentially, metaphors that go awry can signal a hurried desire to be “literary” or “poetic” (ie “writing”), which can lose traction/trust with a reader. in other words, a metaphor is a detour—but that detour better lead to discoveries that alter/amplify the meaning of what is already there, so that a reader sees you as a servant of possibility rather than someone trying to prove that they are a “writer.” One is performative, the other exploratory. In this way, the metaphor acts as a virtual medium, ejecting the text’s optical realism into an “elsewhere”. But this elsewhere should inform the original upon our return. otherwise the journey would feel like an ejection from a crash rather than a curated journey toward more complex meaning.

example:

“The road curves like a cat’s tail.”

This is a weak metaphor because the transforming image (tail) does not amplify/alter the original. The transfer of meaning flattens and dies. Logic is weak or moot: A cat’s tail does not really change the nature of the road. You can certainly add to this with a few more expository sentences which might rescue the logic—but by then you’re just doing cpr on your metaphor.

Sensory, too, is weak: a cat’s tail has little optical resemblance to a road other than being curved (roads are not furry, for one.)

So this is 0 for 2 and should be scrapped. (Just my opinion though! Not a rule!)

okay so what about:

“The road runs between two groves of pine, like the first stroke of a buzzcut.”

this is better. the optical sensory of the transforming image (a clipper thru a head of hair) matches well with the original.

but the logic feels arbitrary. again it doesn’t substantially alter the original.

in the end this is just an “interesting image” but not strong enough to keep I’d say.

Now here’s one from Sharon Olds:

“The hair on my father’s arms like blades of molasses.”

Sensory connector: check. A man’s dark hair indeed can look like blades (also suggestive of grass) of molasses.

Logical connector: check. the father is both sharp and sweet. Something once soft and sticky about him (connotations of youth) sweets, has now hardened the confection no longer fresh etc.

It’s an ambitious metaphor that is packed with resonance. In other words, it does worlds of work and actually deepens the more you dit with it. A metaphor that actually invites you to put the book down, think on it, absorb it, before returning. a good metaphor uses detours to add power to the text. poor metaphors distract you from the text and leave you bereft, laid to the side.

lastly, the prior examples are technically “similes” but I believe similes reside under the umbrella of metaphor. although a simile is a demarcation, ie: this is “like” that. but this is “not”, ontologically, that.

however, I think something happens in the act of reading wherein we collapse the “bridge” and the mind automatically forges synergy between the two images, so that all similes, once read, “act” like metaphors in the mind.

but again this is all subjective. you might have a better way of going about it.

Another very ambitious metaphor is this one from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Moss intensifies up the tree, like applause.”

This is a masterful metaphor, risky and requires a lot of faith, restraint, and experience to pull it off.

Difficult mainly because we now see a surrealist “distortion” of the sensory realm: origin IMAGE (moss) is paired with transforming SOUND (applause).

There is now a leap in comparable elements. But the adherence to our two vital factors are still present.

Sensory: moss, though silent, grows slowly (the word “intensifies” does major work here becuz it foreshadows the transforming element). Applause, too, grows gradually, before dying down.

Logic: the growth of the moss suggests spring, lushness, life, resilience, and connotes anticipatory hope, much like applause. In turn, applause modifies the nature of moss and imbues, at least this moss, with a sense of accomplishment, closure, it’s refreshment a cause for celebration.

God I love words.

~

I’ve gotten so many responses from folks the past few days asking for a deeper dive into my personal theory on metaphor.

So I'm taking a moment here to do a more in-depth mini essay since my answer to the Q/A the other day was off the cuff (I was typing while walking to my haircut appointment).

What I’m proposing, of course, is merely a THEORY, not a gospel, so please take whatever is useful to you and ignore what isn’t.

This essay will be in 25 slides. I will save this in my IG highlights after 24 hrs.

Before I begin I want to encourage everyone to forge your own theories and praxi for your work, especially if you’re a BIPOC artist.

Often, we are perceived by established powers as merely “performers,” suitable for a (brief) stint on stage—but not thinkers and creators with our own autonomy, intelligence, and capacity to question the framework in our fields.

It is not lost on me, as a yellow body in America, with the false connotations therein, where I’m often seen as diminutive, quiet, accommodating, agreeable, submissive, that I am not expected to think against the grain, to have my own theories on how I practice my art and my life.

I became a writer knowing I am entering a field (fine arts) where there are few faces like my own (and with many missing), a field where we are expected to succeed only when we pick up a violin or a cello in order to serve Euro-Centric “masterpieces.”

For so long, to be an Asian American “prodigy” in art was to be a fine-tuned instrument for Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven.

It is no surprise, then, that if you, as a BIPOC artist, dare to come up with your own ideas, to say “no” to what they shove/have been shoving down your throat for so long, you will be infantilized, seen as foolish, moronic, stupid, disobedient, uneducated, and untamed.

Because it means the instrument that was once in the service of their “work” has now begun to speak, has decided, despite being inconceivable to them, to sing its own songs.

I want you, I need you, to sing with me. I want to hear what you sound like when it’s just us, and you sound so much like yourself that I recognize you even in the darkest rooms, even when I recognize nothing else. And I know your name is “little brother” or “big sister,” or “light bean,” or “my-echo-returned-to-me-intact.” And I smile.

In the dark I smile.

Art has no rules—yes—but it does have methods, which vary for each individual. The following are some of my own methods and how I came to them.

I’m very happy ya’ll are so into figurative language! It’s my favorite literary device because it reveals a second IDEA behind an object or abstraction via comparison.

When done well, it creates what I call the “DNA of seeing.” That is, a strong metaphor “Greek for “to carry over”) can enact the autobiography of sight. For example, what does it say about a person who sees the stars in the night sky—as exit wounds?

What does it say about their history, their worldview, their relationship to beauty and violence? All this can be garnered in the metaphor itself—without context—when the comparative elements have strong multifaceted bonds.

How we see the world reveals who we are. And metaphors explicate that sight.

My personal feeling is that the strongest metaphors do not require context for clarity. However, this does not mean that weaker metaphors that DO require context are useless or wrong.

Weak metaphors use context to achieve CLARITY.

Strong metaphors use context to SUPPORT what’s already clear.

BOTH are viable in ANY literary text.

But for the sake of this deeper exploration into metaphors and their gradients, I will attempt to identify the latter.

I feel it is important for a writer to understand the STRENGTHS of the devices they use, even when WEAKER versions of said devices can achieve the same goal via different means.

Sometimes we want a life raft, sometimes we want a steam boat—but we should know which is which (for us).

My focus then, will be specifically the ornamental or overt metaphor. That is, metaphors that occur inside the line—as opposed to conceptual, thematic, extended metaphors, or Homeric simile (which is a whole different animal).

My thinking here begins with the (debated) theory that similes reside under metaphors. That is, (non-Homeric) similes, behave cognitively, like metaphors.

This DOES NOT mean that similes do not matter (far from it), as we’ll see later on, but that the compared elements, once read, begin to merge in the mind, resulting in a metaphoric OCCURRENCE via a simileac vehicle.

This thinking is not entirely my own, but one informed by my interest in Phenomenology. Founded by Edmund Husserl in the early 20th century and later expanded by Heidegger, Phenomenology is, in short, interested in how objects or phenomena are perceived in the mind, which renewed interest in subjectivity across Europe, as opposed to the Enlightenment’s quest for ultimate, finite truths.

By the time Husserl “discovered” this, however, Tibetan Buddhists scholars have already been practicing Phenomenology as something called Lojong, or “mind training,” for over half a millennia.

Whereas Husserl believes, in part, that a finite truth does exist but that the myopic nature of human perception hinders us from seeing all of it, Tibetan Lojong purports that no finite “truth” exists at all.

In Lojong, the world and its objects are pure perception. That is, a fly looks at a tree and sees, due to its compound eyes, hundreds of trees, while we see only one. For Buddhists, neither fly nor human is “correct” because a fixed truth is not present. Reality is only real according to one’s bodily medium.

I’m keenly interested in Lojong’s approach because it inheritably advocates for an anti-colonial gaze of the world. If objects in the real are not tenable, there is no reason they should be captured, conquered or pillaged.

In other words, we are in a “simulation” and because there is no true gain in acquiring something that is only an illusion, it is better to observe and learn from phenomena as guests passing through this world with respect to things—rather than to possess them.

The reason I bring this up is because Buddhist philosophy is the main influence of 8th century Chinese and 15th-17th century Japanese poetics, which fundamentally inform my understanding of metaphor.

While I appreciate Aristotle’s take on metaphor and rhetoric in his Poetics, particularly his thesis that strong metaphors move from species to genus, it is not a robust influence on my thinking.

After all, like sex and water, metaphors have been enjoyed by humans across the world long before Aristotle-- and evidently long after. In fact, Buddhist teachings, which widely employ metaphor and analogy, predates Aristotle by roughly 150 years.

Now, to better see how Buddhist Phenomenology informs the transformation of images into metaphor, let’s look at this poem by Moritake.

“The fallen blossom flies back to its branch. No, a butterfly.”

When considering (western-dominated) discourse surrounding analogues using “like” or “is”, is this image a metaphor or a simile?

It is technically neither. The construction of this poem does not employ metaphor or simile.

And yet, to my eye, a metaphor, although not present, does indeed HAPPEN.

What’s more, the poem, which is essentially a single metaphor, is complete.

No further context is needed for its clarity. If context is needed for a metaphor, then the metaphor is (IMO) weak—but that doesn’t mean the writing, as a whole, is bad. Weak metaphors and good context bring us home safe and sound.

Okay, so what is happening here?

By the time I read “butterfly,” my mind corrects the blossom so that the latter image retroactively changes/informs the former. We see the blossom float up, then re-see it as a butterfly. The metaphoric figuration is complete with or without “like” or “is.”

Buddhism explains this by saying that, although a text IS thought, it does not THINK. We, the readers, must think upon it. The text, then, only curates thinking.

Words, in this way, begin on the page but LIVE in the mind which, due to limited and subjective scope of human perception, shift seemingly fixed elements into something entirely new.

The key here is proximity. Similes provide buffers to mediate impact between two elements, but they do not rule over how images coincide upon reading. One the page, text is fossil; in the mind, text is life.

Nearly 5000 years after Maritake, Ezra Pound, via Fenolosa, reads Maritake’s poem and writes what becomes the seminal poem on Imagism in 1912, which was subsequently highly influential to early Modernists:

“The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.”

Like Maritake, Pound’s poem technically has no metaphor or simile. However, he adds the vital colon after “crowd,” which arguably works as an “equal sign”, thereby implying metaphor. But the reason why he did not use “are” or “is” is telling.

Pound understood, like Maritake, that the metaphor would occur in the mind, regardless of connecting verbiage due to the images’ close proximity. We would come to know this as “association.”

Even if the colon was replaced by the word “like,” the transformation, though a bit slower, would still occur.

In fact, when I first studied Pound years ago, I had trouble recalling whether this poem was fashioned as a simile or not—mainly because the faces change to fully into blossoms each time I try to recall the poem.

Now, let’s look at a simile that, to me, metaphorizes in the same way as the examples above, in the line we saw before from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Jade moss on the tree intensifies, like applause.”

The origin/tenor image (moss) is connected to the transforming element (applause). This metaphor suggests, not an optical relationship, but a BEHAVIORAL one.

Both moss and applause are MASSES that accumulate via singularities: grains of moss and pairs of hands clapping to form a larger whole.

By comparing these two, Corral successfully suggests that moss grows at the RATE of applause, creating a masterful time lapse effect. Applause speeds up the moss growth, connoting rejuvenation, joy and refreshment. That something as mundane as moss deserves, even earns, jubilance, also offers a potent statement of alterity, that the smallest flourishing deserves celebration, which in turn suggests a subtle yet powerful political critique of hegemony.

The poet, through the metaphor, has recalibrated the traditional modes of value placed on the object (moss).

And no other context is needed for that.

You might disagree, but when I read Corral’s line, I don’t SEE an audience clapping BESIDE the moss. I see moss growing quickly to the sound of clapping. Although the simile is employed, the fusion of both elements completes the action in my mind’s eye.

Like Maritake and Pound, metaphor has OCCURRED here—but without “metaphor”.

HOWEVER, the simile is still VITAL. Why?

Because the transforming element is abstract (applause) and looks nothing like moss. We don’t want moss to BE applause, we want the nature of applause to inform, imbue, moss.

The line, I feel, would be quite poor if it was formed sans simile:

“Jade moss is applause on the tree.”

The “is” forces transposition, which is here akin to slamming two things together without mediation. We also lose the comparison of behavior, and are asked to see that moss BECOME applause, which doesn’t have the same meaning as the original.

So, although the simile fuses into metaphor (via association) in the mind, such a metaphor would NOT have been possible without the simile.

Similes matter greatly—as tools towards metaphor. Why?

Because (thank god) our minds are free to roam.

To summarize, one of the central strategies (and, to an extent, purposes) of the Japanese Haiku is to juxtapose two elements to test their synergy. This impulse is grounded in Shinto and Buddhist concepts of impermanence and structural malleability. That is, all things, even ideas and images, are subject to constant change—and such change is the most pervasive nature of perception.

The Haiku then becomes the perfect medium to test such changes. This principle is of central importance to me because it is rooted in non-dualistic (or non-binary) thinking.

The poem becomes the theatre in which fixed elements can be transformed, their borders subject to being dissolved, shifting towards something entirely new—to “create”, which is the Greek root to the word “poet.” The metaphor, then, is more like a chemical, whose elements (like hydrogen and oxygen), placed side by side, becomes water.

In this way, Buddhism’s influence on my work and, specifically, my use and understanding of metaphor, is a foundational QUEER praxis for alterity.

The reason why I emphasize the malleability of simile’s impact is that, although syntax and diction can aide a metaphor towards its more luminous embodiment, the ultimate key to its success is you, the observer.

YOU have look deeply and find lasting relationships between things in a disparate world.

In this sense, the practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I might add to its life by introducing it to something else?

At its best, the metaphor is what we, as a species, have always done, at OUR best: which is to point at something or someone so different from us, so far from our own origins and say, “Yes, there IS a bond between us. And if I work long enough, hard enough, I can prove it to you—with this thing called language, this thing that weighs nothing but means everything to me.”

In the end, it is less about how you set up your metaphors (you will eventually find a way that suits it and you) but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach—it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should.

Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility.

This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery, and that you tend to them with care.

That’s it. That’s the true secret to a strong metaphor: care.

Lastly, I want to recommend the work of BIPOC poet and theorist, Thylias Moss, who discovered the Limited Fork Theory, a theory which suggests that the mind engages with the world, and especially with ideas, including text and art, the way the tines of a fork engage with a plate of food.

That is, only so much can be held on the work/mind with each attempt to consume, and that no “work” can be possessed in its entirety, which I find happily congruent with Lojong.

What a wonderful anti-imperialist and forgiving way to engage with our planet and its phenomena. Thank you, Mrs. Moss!

And thank YOU for sticking around through my little seminar.

I hope this has been helpful. Again, this is just my 2(5) cents! Now I’m going to sleep for four days.

In the meantime, me-ta-phors be with you.

—O

[luccislegs]

Hiiiiii Lunaaaaaa it’s me agaiiiiin ✨😘 soooo~ I have a request for an S/o that gets caught in a fight by a devil fruit users who can create unpoppable bubbles. While the crew looks on in horror from where they can’t reach them, they’re caught inside of one of the bubbles, and the devil fruit user fills the bubble with water till it’s completely full and they can’t get any air, then throws the bubble back to the crew. (1/2)

⇥ rules!

⇥  non-one piece requests open!

— — —

luffy:

He’s panicking. It’s unusual for him, to be sure, but usually it’s him in those situations, not his crew. And certainly not his partner. There’s only a single thought in his mind-- to beat the shit out of this bastard so he can rescue you. 

But it’s dragging on, and he can hear the others screaming, their fists pounding uselessly against the impenetrable bubble as it fills slowly with water. He sneaks a quick peek, just long enough to gauge the terror in your eyes as you scrabble uselessly at the top of the bubble, your nails scraping along it even as Zoro takes a half hearted slice at it. There’s nothing for it though, and Luffy throws renewed strength into the fight. It’s another five minutes before he manages to defeat them though, knocking them out cold with one final, full strength Pistol.

The bubble pops with the most melodramatic sound, and there’s more screaming as Luffy runs back to your side. The ankle deep seawater is making him sluggish, but he’s fighting it with all his remaining strength so he can get to you.

You’re pale and blue and not breathing and he begins to panic.

Chopper pushes him out of the way, and he falls gracelessly into the water, watching the doctor work over you.

“One, two, three, breathe, dammit.” Chopper is sweating as he pumps your chest, and it’s several long seconds of deathly silence, all eyes on your unbreathing form before--

You jerk onto your side and several sets of hands hold you up out of the water as you cough up water and what could be bile, choking and spitting and crying and Luffy doesn’t care as he pulls you up into his arms, burying his face in your soaked hair. You still haven’t regained your breath but the familiar smell of the sea and what could possibly be barbeque invades your senses and you instinctively curl up into his arms. Your breaths are still shuddery and your lungs still hurt, and Chopper desperately wants to continue to check you out, but no one has the heart to pull you away from your beloved, heart broken captain.

sanji:

He starts out damn near panicking when he realizes he can’t just kick the bubble out of existence. Very few things can withstand his powerful legs, and he can’t think straight when you’re trapped in one of those things, the bubble slowly filling with water and your panicked cries filling his ears.

It takes him a moment to remember that you’re relying on him to save you, and that him panicking is doing absolutely nothing to help you. So he takes a deep breath and puts his hand to the bubble, promising you in as steady a voice as he can manage that he’s going to get you out of there. 

He’s relieved to see that it does the trick, and your breathing evens out even if the tears don’t stop. You’re going to trust him, your prince who’s never failed you before, to get you out of this. Nodding at you, he turns to face the pirate who’s controlling the bubble, looking self-satisfied and smug. It pisses Sanji off to no end, but he still remains calm, considering the best course of action.

Zoro takes a stab at the bubble along with Luffy, but none of them are really willing to risk hurting you unless absolutely necessary. The rest of the crew surround the bubble, their hearts racing with fear as it slowly begins to fill with water, the Devil Fruit users doing their best to ignore the tiredness brought on by standing ankle deep in water, though they’re being held up by the others at that point. They all talk to you, telling you to hang on and that they’re gonna get you out of there.

The fight is over quickly, the pirate unable to keep up with Sanji’s speed, but the bubble fills quicker than expected, the others screaming at Sanji to hurry up as water fills the bubble completely. All they can do is watch, while Zoro prepares to cut the bubble in two, praying it doesn’t hurt you too badly, as you float helplessly inside the bubble..

Just as you open your mouth and inhale, the shell shatters, flooding everyone with sea water. Luffy and Robin collapse, caught by Nami and Usopp and dragged to shore. Zoro was already holding Chopper and drags him as well, leaving you in Sanji’s arms. You’re coughing fiercely, expelling lungfuls of water as he carries you to shore. 

Other than being pale, you’re unharmed and the only danger to you now is Sanji’s deathgrip on your body, and you have the fleeting thought that he isn’t going to ever let go and you’re just going to be attached to him forever. And then you’re laughing, loud, hysterical gasps of air that quickly turn into sobs as you realize how close to death you really were. 

Sanji point blank refuses to let anyone else touch you, insisting on carrying you to the med bay and hovering over Chopper as he works. If he wasn’t such a professional, Sanji’s overbearing presence would have unnerved him. As soon as you’re given a clean bill of health, Sanji is once again all over you, insisting that you remain in bed while he cooks you a fortifying meal to help you regain your strength, and stays cuddled up with you as you eat, just staring as if he’ll never see you again.

zoro:

He’s a bit of a mix of Sanji and Luffy. He’s panicked, unable to stand seeing you so close to death, but he also knows that the only way to save you is to beat the enemy. So even though it pains him, he puts all his focus and energy into defeating the person. It’s irrational, but he’s a little afraid you’re going to be mad at him for ignoring you in your fear.

You’re in good hands though. The others can’t help you escape, but Robin’s soothing voice telling you that Zoro is going to rescue you and Nami’s loud, slightly hysterical screaming telling him to kick dude’s ass is enough to keep you calm and even laughing even as the water reaches your neck. You can’t tear your eyes from Zoro’s fluid, quick movements, but as it covers your mouth and you tilt your head up towards the hard surface of the bubble, you know he’s not going to make it in time.

The cold water finally covers your face and you hold your breath as long as you can, the salt water stinging your eyes until you have to take a gasp of air. Only there is none and your lungs fill with water. In the distance, you can hear Nami screaming and someone pounding with all their force on your prison. Your vision goes black and the weightlessness grows.

And just as you’re sure this is it, there’s a change and you hit the ground with a hard thud, your head saved by someone and there’s more screaming. You cough weakly, not enough to expel the water and then you feel a heavy pressure on your chest and an uncomfortable feeling welling up in your stomach.

You catch a glimpse of green at your side but you’re too busy doing what you can only imagine is throwing up water, the searing burn and pain almost enough to make you black out again. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath, taking great, heaving gasps, but Zoro can’t wait anymore and gathers you up into his chest, ignoring the way you drench everywhere you touch and the smell of seawater all over you. The feel of your stringy, wet hair against his cheek is uncomfortable but he nuzzles it anyway, relieved to feel your breath puff against his chest and your fingers weakly curl into his lapel.

Chopper is busy fidgeting beside you, checking what vitals he can before commanding Zoro to carry you back to the ship. You complain weakly, stating you can get there yourself, but the not-subtle tightening of Zoro’s arms around you changes your tune in an instant, and you settle down further into his embrace, secretly relieved he didn’t listen. 

After Chopper’s exam, Sanji brings you some dinner, eaten under the watchful eye of Zoro as if you’re going to choke on your food. Afterwards, when Sanji has cleared the tray away and the others have come to check on you and left again, you’re pulled tight into Zoro’s embrace again, almost smothered against his chest as he pets your hair and rubs your back until you fall asleep.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Kageyama with Plants: The Plants

Okay. So. I do not have all the characters that I want to have plants, assigned to plants, yet. Now, I decided I wanted symbolism for what character's got which plant, but that's not necessarily how Kageyama picks them. So really this has zero plot basis and is wildly unnecessary. I just wanted it. Note: the symbolism listed is not always the entirety of the symbolism, but just the parts that apply. Some parts are well thought out, some are vibes, some are funny.

Spoilers for the manga through the time skip! (Not on match outcomes.)

But here's what I have so far:

Iwaizumi-senpai: rainbow pincushion cactus. Symbolizes protection, warmth, endurance, support. Iwa was a good senpai. Provided support and protection. And created him warmly. Vibes with the endurance and strength of a cactus. Also spiky and pretty.

Oikawa-senpai: venus flytrap. Symbolizes strength, persistence, eccentricities, and new opportunity. Oikawa is an incredibly strong player, a real threat. His persistence is a large part of who he is as a player, but has a tendency to lead into overworking. He's a bit eccentric. He is. Oikawa absolutely looks for new opportunity, he moves across the world to play for another country's team because it is an amazing opportunity for him. Also, when a Venus flytrap fails it tends to sulk for a bit before resetting. Dramatic. But always resets. Ready to try again.

Kindaichi-kun: lucky bamboo. Symbolizes renewal, strength, growth, facing conflicting forces, seeing past fear, peace and chaos bringing about change. Kindaichi and Kageyama have a complex interesting relationship throughout Haikyuu. There's a renewal to their friendship. Change from their fight. Facing conflict. Coming together stronger for it. They both have so much growth that brings them to renewal and peace.

Kunimi-kun: spider plant. Symbolizes mindfulness and renewal of connections. Kunimi is a very mindful player, keeps his stamina in mind and plays the long game. Then of course the renewal.

Daichi-san: weeping fig tree. Symbolizes leadership, unity, prosperity, knowledge, and the link between human and spirit. He's our captain, gotta rep those leadership skills! Unites the team. Helps them prosper! Daichi has been putting in effort from his first year to get the practice and time that his team needed even before he became captain. He led the crows to prosper with their unclipped wings. And having died, he really does connect the human and spirit. Tobe fly.

Suga-senpai: african violet. These symbolize loyalty, protection, admiration, connections. Kageyama absolutely 100% admires Suga. Suga is so loyal to this team that he told the coach to bench him if that's what he thought was best for the team. I love him. Anyway. Connections? Suga connects with his team and his spiker really well and helps teach that to Kageyama. Also, Suga would protect. Chaotically. But still.

Nishinoya-san: scarlet star. This symbolizes protection, success and passion. He's Karasuno's guardian. That just screams protection. Also. He gets the scarlet star cause he's the star. It's mostly green with one little upward spike of red that reminds me of his hair.

Ennoshita-san: baby rubber plant. This is a ficus, same as Daichi's plant. So has a lot of the same symbolism of leadership, unity, understanding. It's just the junior! Ennoshita definitely gets extra points on the understanding front with his understanding of Yamagucchi's feelings and standing in to relay that to Coach.

Hinata Boke: golden pothos. Fun fact, this is my favorite. I have a fake one. ...I think. Symbolizes determination, perseverance, a relentless attitude to chase one's dream. Try to tell me Shoyo doesn't complete embody those qualities. This plant is used to shield negative energies and this sunshine boy does the same. It climbs, which is perfect for how high this shorty can jump. Additionally, when this plant is in a hanging planter, it symbolizes reaching new heights. Pretty solid choice, I think.

Saltyshima: queen's tears. The name alone just makes it hilarious, okay? Also, please know it can be called the Friendship Plant. These two are absolutely friends, but still assholes to each other. This symbolizes respect, success, passion. It can grow alongside others. Also it's rather demanding with it's conditions. I think it nicely represents Tsukki's growth and how he found passion alongside the others. With a little bit of attitude.

Coach Ukai: fiddle leaf fig. Symbolizes understanding, unity, knowledge, leadership. All qualities of coach. A given really. A a bonus this plant has been used to roll cigars. So it fits.

Yacchan: maidenhair fern. This symbolizes hope for future generations, confidence, and fascination. The plant itself is rather delicate and small. Yachi is small and a bit delicate in that she's nervous and easily frightened at first. But she's fascinated by the game and how much everyone on the team works and gains confidence in herself in her place in the team. And as a first year manager? She is the hope for the volleyball team in future years.

Akaashi-san: monstera. Symbolizes respect, honoring elders, and suffocation. (Don't ask me how that ties in with the other two, I don't know.) Kageyama respects Akaashi. For sure. And he's one of his senpai. Also the suffocation bit is funny considering Akaashi helped Kageyama not choke and suffocate at the training camp.

Kuroo-san: kentai palm plant. Symbolizes honor, protection, truth, warmth, aspiration. He's pretty honorable in always helping his volleyball brethren. With defense being Nekoma's biggest strength, protection was a necessity. He is honest, perhaps to a fault. He told Tsukki point blank that he was going to fall behind if he kept dragging his feet. (He's also a sweetheart who wanted to apologize.) He's got aspirations for his own team and his friends' teams. Also this plant has a LOT of deficiencies of different elements that it then needs special soil for so it can get those necessary elements, but just seeing so many elements listed just made me think science. Lemme just break out the periodic table song.

Kenma-san: parlor plant. Symbolizes androgyny, vitality, protection, and means "on the ground." Kenma has vitality, not in the physical sense, but certainly in mental vigor. He's Nekoma's brain! Keeping the protection for Nekoma's defense, of course. With defense being their strength, Nekoma (and Kenma) tend to fight on the ground more than in the air. Also it reminds me of his gravity rant.

Hoshiumi-san: creeping fig. Literally means "good things come in small packages" and "little power house." That's our favorite seagull. Also symbolizes understanding and knowledge. Though he's a bit impulsive and with a quick temper, it's his perceptiveness that always sticks out to me. Being able to recognize that Hinata can likely truly see the whole court in that split second of spiking. Being conscious of how others view him and using it to his advantage. When to go for a hard spike versus a block-out. Also these plants can climb and BOY does he have hops.

Romero-senpai: corsage orchid. This symbolizes admiration and inspiration. Romero is a volleyball player they all watched and admired growing up. It fits. Also originates from South America, which works nicely as Romero's home country is Brazil.

Those still undecided: Kyotani, Asahi, Tanaka, Kinoshita, Narita, Yamaguchi, Takeda, Kiyoko, Ushijima, Tendou, Bokuto, Aone, Chiyaga (plant will be named Broccoli Jr), Atsumu, Sakusa, Komori, and the fan who gives him a plant.

I know he has not interacted with all of these characters, but the point is I want him to and so I will make it happen. I think they'd have fun dynamics.