#if you want to know more i will cry with gratitude and barf up anything you ask for

[kaasknot]

spill the tea on seven pillared house 👀👀👀

this is why i love you.

god, okay. this one's my baby, my athena, my f*cking albatross. it's an OC jedi/clone fic, and i started planning for it literally five wholeass years ago, and it's taken that long just to write... *checks* 115k because this story is MASSIVE, it's just real damn huge. huge in the worldbuilding, huge in the plot, huge in the characterization.

so like, we're all in agreement that the clones are slaves, and that tcw did a really shit-awful job at acknowledging it. way back when i was a relative n00b to the clone wars fandom (sometime ca. june 2016, but likely upwards of a month earlier) i was like "i want a jedi to actually acknowledge this. i want there to be big emotional Scenes about this. i want someone to feel responsible for this sapient rights abuse!" so i invented a jedi OC, and then for added subtlety, i made him zygerrian. (god, don't get me started on the zygerria arc, there is a Rant in me. there is so much rant it started this fic.)

anyway, his name is jaicente alhurayrah, and he's really bad in a fight but really good over the negotiating table. he's 24 standard, so basically still a kid, and he's against the war because, and i quote, "war is what happens when negotiations fail, commander." he's a math nerd and he's got moon-sized identity issues re: his being zygerrian and a jedi (read: "the only way i can make up for the stain of original sin being born zygerrian is to be the best jedi i can be"). he's Very Extremely distraught at the prospect of becoming a general.

then there's maia, CC-9863, the clone commander assigned to jai. maia's fun secret hobby, when he's not off commanding an engineering... technically a brigade, but that's an explanation for another day—is organizing the clone resistance. this is one of the more recent developments for his character (for a long time i couldn't decide how much i wanted him to have broken his programming, i went back and forth on it a lot and made my drafts a godawful mess), so i don't fully know the extent of it at this time. my current tentative idea is that there's multiple cells throughout the GAR, they're connected by a network of droid allies (because fuck yeah they recognize the importance of solidarity over enmity), they don't all know who/where the others are, and their general goal is clone emancipation. the primary disagreement between these various cells (discussed back and forth on anonymous message boards on the holonet) is the methods that should be used to obtain it. i reckon maia is much more on the "hold the GAR hostage until they give us our freedom" end of things.

as you can see, this is a SPECTACULAR mix of personalities. especially since jai's fragile self-esteem is almost entirely tied to the idea that he's safe from being a filthy slaver because the jedi absolutely aren't slavers.

maia: "so THAT'S a lie."

they are also, of course, extremely, unwisely, and desperately horny for each other. there's lots of averting of eyes and clearing of throats and careful discussions of how "it wouldn't be appropriate." inevitably, they start banging. inevitably, they have relationship problems. hey, if padme can make terrible life choices based on her libido, then maia can too—and at least for maia, the story has a happier ending :p

the rest of the story is 80% milwank by volume, because holy FUCK tcw's military worldbuilding gives me hives.

and that is my monster OC fic, coming to an ao3 near you in... 2025, probably. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.

[blackdreamsoffashion]

It’s August 7th and unfortunately, things have gotten exponentially worse…. in the U.S. because the rest of the world has generally gotten their shit together.

As things continue to worsen and we wait for the ticking time bomb that is K-12 schools and universities opening for F2F instruction… prior to having a vaccine, there honestly doesn’t seem to be a real end in sight (unless I move to Canada, and I may or may not have been researching how to become a Canadian citizen).

Most of the time, I’m ok with this. I’m a big girl, I understand that life is hard, things happen, “it is what it is” (barf), but there are some days where the realization that I’ll be living through these Covid times indefinitely, truly knocks the wind out of me.

While I’m generally a home body, I do like the option of being able to leave my house. I miss being able to visit family and friends without worrying about infecting each other. I miss the gym, and coffee shops, and Marshall’s, and thrift stores. I could go on and on about what I miss, but I’ll spare you since I’m sure everyone has things they’re missing right now.

On these hard days, and throughout the pandemic in general, I’ve tried to find ways to feel somewhat “normal”, and luckily with the help of my therapist and suggestions from friends, I’ve felt ok most days and I don’t curl up and cry on the floor for hours on the hard days either (even though a good cry is always good for the soul).

So, I thought I’d share my tips.

Being a teacher and all, it’s in my nature.

1. Tip 1: Keep a loose schedule

In the beginning of the pandemic, I found that I was trying to just go with the flow. I didn’t have any sort of schedule and I quickly learning that everything just started to blend together, in a negative way. When you come from a structured life style, i.e. teaching classes, waking up, eating , working out, dissertating, etc. all at a set time, having no structure feels hard after a while! So, I created a very loose, very flexible schedule, as I found it gave me something to look forward to, while helping my life to feel more normal. For example, my days are generally: wake up around 7:30/8, listen to a podcast or two while eating, from 9 until 12 it’s open to what I want (maybe running, going for a walk, reading, cleaning, etc.). 12:30 is lunch followed by coffee and a dessert. 1-5 I try to complete some school/work related tasks. 5:30-6:30 I cook and have dinner. After dinner, we might go for another walk… or another dessert. I might dance to ratchet music for 20-30 minutes (also good for the soul, trust me), or I might do some things around the house. 9:30-11:30 I watch Netflix. So as you can see, it’s super loose, and the only things that are truly set are my meal times… otherwise I’d be eating constantly all day. The first month of covid, we spent about $600 on food….for two people…. and our budget is 250-300 a month #yikes. By having some things to look forward to though, it helps my days to run a bit smoother. But let’s be honest, we all know it’s the dessert after lunch that keeps me going LOL.

2. Tip 2: Find you hobby

Considering the way American culture and society is set up (insert side-eye here), our lives are often centered around work/school and other obligations, and we rarely have time to pursue other things. Therefore, I’ve tried to really take advantage of having to be home by incorporating some old hobbies back into my life, and even trying new ones. I’ve been flying through angsty Mangas and Animes and repurposing/revamping thrifted furniture/ people trash.

I even made a children’s book for my nephew centered around him and my sister!

I’m also trying to expand the inventories of bread I can make. I’m happily at a solid 1.5 different loaves. I say 1.5 because the second type only comes out well 50% of the time LOL.

  There are so many things you can do such as an online cooking class, a Zoom paint-with-a twist, drawing, photography, running, gardening, learning a new language or skill, becoming an indoor plant mom, etc.

I am especially biased towards activities that involve moving the body. NUMEROUS studies (no I’m not looking them up/linking them b/c I do enough of that as an academic, so you can look up studies yourself!) have found that exercise helps with anxiety and depression (I can attest to this), with mental clarity and focus (I can also attest to this), it helps you sleep better, and it also helps with your immune system, blood pressure, and hormone regulation. My moods are always consistently better when I exercise vs. when I don’t. When I don’t I can become a crazy bish….

3. Tip 3: Take social media breaks

I do this and I have several friends who do this as well. Yes it is important to be connected and social media can facilitate that. However, it is extremely important to monitor/control what we consume. The world, especially the U.S. is NOT a pretty place right now. Our feeds are filled with Black men and women losing their lives to police, families being ripped apart due to Covid-related deaths, thousands of deaths in Lebanon, a humanitarian crisis in Yemen, and the list goes on and on. Taking breaks from constant exposure to that is crucial to maintaining our mental health. I know it’s easier said than done, and studies have shown that social media is a literal addition, but I find that it helps to set small goals, which can be done easily with i-phones. Simply set a limit to the amount of time you’re able to use social media apps (through the i-phone settings), and it will lock you out of the app once you reach that time limit.

4. Tip 4: The Calm app

I cannot express how in love I am with the Calm app. I believe it’s $70 a year but given that I use it everyday, that’s essentially .20 cents a day.  Trust me, it’s wellll worth it. The app includes things like guided meditations, bedtime stories, daily mood check-ins, sound scapes, 7-days of gratitude, and help for anxiety, confidence, relationships, stress, emotions, etc. etc. TBH, you should have bought it when I said .20 cents a day! This app helped me through graduate school as I struggled with stress, anxiety, and sleep deprivation, and it continues to help me with those same things as I transition into a new work environment and of course, Covid.

Lastly, I’m not sure whether this is a tip or not due to its broadness but, if I’ve learned anything from all of this craziness, it’s to do things meaningfully and with intention. It’s soooo easy to agree to 1000 Zoom get-togethers when you’re not interacting with other humans, but it gets to a point where we’re just doing things to do them. Like social media. We scroll just because. We binge shop online (maybe just me…), we watch a million shows on Netflix, we eat ALL the cookies/make constant trips just because. Although it’s not easy, I try to be in tune with myself and my needs by being present, and asking myself WHY. Why are you going in the fridge again, Sherez? Are you hungry, or eating to eat? Why did you say yes to that Zoom hang out when you just spoke with that person two days ago (what could have possibly happened in two days during Covid LOL).

I do slip up, often, but I try my damn best. Trying helps me to make it through the hard days, and it makes the other days as close to normal as it’s gonna get, for now.

Any who, I hope this is able to help someone out there in the black void that is the internet.

Goodluck my friends! Sending back the love + light that I’ve received from so many of you. We’ll get through this, poco a poco, and we are in this together…… despite American society’s push for individualism (*cough, cough*).

Until the next one!

S.M.

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Surviving the pandemic hard days: Tips from me + the community It's August 7th and unfortunately, things have gotten exponentially worse.... in the U.S. because the rest of the world has generally gotten their shit together.