#the only thing stopping you is your own imposed limitations

[the-whimsigoth-witch]

One of my favorite things about being a culinary witch is that every time i go out nowadays, i just cant stop myself from noticing how many popular restaurants’ recipes are just miniature spells if you decide to enjoy them with intent.

[zipper-neck]

Trans Rules of Engagement

By Florence Ashley

Strong communities make us all safer. As anti-trans movements gain in power and influence, holding space for each other through our flaws remains critical. Yet the very conditions that create our need for community care make it hard for us to care for each other. We are raw, wounded, traumatized, and hypervigilant. We make mistakes brought on by fear and hurt. We lash out at each other when we do wrong, often partaking in pile-ons facilitated by the synchronous nature of online interactions. Whether we realize it or not, we often exclude trans people from community when they need it most.

I have lost count of the number of trans people I have seen cast out of online trans spaces for misdeeds both major and minor—far too often with my help. I sometimes find myself wondering where they are now and whether they are still alive. Because, as Kai Cheng Thom has taught us, social death often means real death for trans people. Trans communities are life-sustaining in a world that hates us so, so much. In a world that wants us dead. We have lost too many people not to stop and think about how we can foster life among each other.

This goal I have for myself—that of fostering life—motivates the following principles and rules for engaging in online intra-community conflicts while preserving the life-sustaining spirit of our communities. Countless times have I failed to heed these principles and ignored these rules. This failure, which many of us share, is precisely why I now want to lay these principles and rules down on paper. If only as a reminder of my aspirations. The principles and rules are meant to be adopted for oneself, not imposed onto others. Their purpose is to foster productive engagement, not create even more conflict and rigidity. I hope that this will be a living document, and invite you to make your own version if you would like. Borrow what is useful, supplement with what is needed, alter what can be improved.

Some, and perhaps all, of the principles I acknowledge are false, hence the need for a living document. Each of my suggested rules have exceptions. In setting them out, I am staking a claim as to the sort of myths and half-truths that are necessary to sustain life in a world that wants us dead. We must treat them as true if we wish to foster life-sustaining communities and survive the hellscape we belabor.

Principles

1. We are all flawed, traumatized humans at the end of their rope. Many of our actions say more about the conditions we live under than who we are as people.

2. No one is disposable. No one is unsalvageable.

3. Life holds greater value than being right or comfortable. Hurt is preferable to death.

4. No one should be deprived of community.

5. Harm does not require further harm. Punishment does not equate protection or healing.

Rules

1. Do not depart from these rules, unless you have to.

2. Morgan M. Page’s Rule: Try to avoid criticizing other trans people in public. The world does it enough already.

3. Favor in person or private conversations: Addressing someone’s comments or actions in person or privately is typically more constructive and effective. It allows you to communicate more cogently and with more nuance problems in someone’s actions or words and because it is less likely to make them react defensively from a place of trauma or fear.

4. Take your time: Few things require an immediate response. Responding while caught in a surge of thoughts and feelings is often unproductive. Ask yourself how much harm was done, versus how much we are reminded of an earlier harm. Ask whether your response is rooted in misperception or potential biases towards the person due to race, disability, gender, or other marginalized identities. Consider whether their words or actions reflect a different kind of thinking or communication style, a lack of access to education, or limited access to progressive communities and norms. You can respond tomorrow, once you have collected your thoughts, talked to others, and gained perspective.

5. Don’t mob: Be aware of group dynamics. Ask yourself if you are connected to this person and in community with them. Avoid jumping into the fray when others are already criticizing the person. Do not invite others to join in and mob them. Withdraw if others join in, and kindly ask people to stay conscious of mobbing dynamics. Mobbing rapidly grows out of proportion.

6. De-escalate: Focus on de-escalating conflicts. Ask what people mean or want, and why. Ask them for clarification or elaboration if needed. Ask yourself if you know enough about the context of the situation. Distinguish the action from the person, and acknowledge that it is normal to respond defensively or aggressively to public criticism and mobbing. People are traumatized, mentally ill, and are scared of losing the little social support they have. As a result, conflict can trigger a fight-or-flight response in both those who are criticized and who criticize, which leads to escalating conflict and ends in a loss of community. Dropping the conversation to return at a later date is preferable to escalation. Often, I find it best to limit myself to three replies in conversations that aren’t constructive.

7. Respond proportionately: Responses to words and behaviours should be proportionate to their harm, and reflect a need for healing and protection rather than punishment. When we speak from a place of hurt, we can understandably but unfortunately forget the measure and impact of our response. Use language that reflects the nuances and gradations of harm rather than a coarse good and evil binary. Cutting all social support and community banishment are rarely a proportionate response, even for someone who doubles down and does not apologize. Responding proportionately is asking first and foremost what response sustains rather than dissolves life. Especially when it comes to words, it is better to under-react than to over-react.

8. Ensure support for everyone: Check in on those who are criticized and those who criticize them. Remind people that we are all in this together, and that banishment is not how we work as a community. Everyone deserves to have their needs met. Do not shun or reproach people who offer support to those who were criticized or called out. Distinguish supporting a person from enabling their behavior.

9. Hold space for people to grow: Allow space for people to be accountable, change, and move on from previous conflicts. Do not hold past behavior over people’s head, nor dig up past misdeeds to fuel present conflicts.

10. Resolve conflict and harm as a community: We must ask how our communities enable and cause hurt and harm, and find ways to transform the conditions that create them. Holding accountable, problem-solving, and conflict resolution are functions that should be taken up by the collective, not isolated and unsupported individuals.

11. Center those most hurt or harmed: Focus on supporting and empowering people who are hurt and harmed rather than on punishment. Ask what they need to be safe and integrated in our communities, while committing to support for everyone; what they need to repair their relationship to the person who hurt or harmed them. Focus your involvement on bringing people together, fostering dialogue and mutual understanding, and restoring a sense of community togetherness, rather than deciding who is right or wrong.♦

[etherfabric]

Directions from Your Higher Self

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

The Star, The Moon

You started to believe in miracles, and are now scared shitless. No small expectations keeping you safe from disappointment anymore. You got a taste of what magic feels like, and now fear dullness like the plague. Two things: You are allowed to have boring days, that doesn't mean the magic is gone. It can't be Christmas everyday. You would get sick of the lights eventually, believe me. And the other thing: That's why they say that victimhood can be a kind of safety blanket. If you already expect only crap from life, there is no horrible suspense anymore. But now... you can't go back. Even if you try it.

This is an icky phase of metamorphosis. It's normal that it feels disorienting and like you can't make sense of anything anymore. Do soothing stuff, calming habits, be around safe people. And spoiler: This is about embracing your humanity in a whole new depth. Don't worry, it will feel supernatural again soon enough. But for now, practice being plain, while also weaving your belief in miracles into it. Challenging, yes, but nothing you can't handle. You got this.

Pile 2

The Moon, 3 of Pentacles

Nothing you put energy or effort into seems to yield anything. It feels like punching in slowmotion, nightmarish. Hitting no one who needs to feel your hits. Newsflash: This is not a time for work! Get soft, dammit. You can't experience rest while still trying to prove something. No one is watching. You are being your own cruel audience, and boo yourself into despair. What are you aiming at? Who convinced you that particular thing is the sole hope for you to be happy ever again?

I love you, you are me, I am you, but I can't let you go on like this. Not with what lies ahead of us. If you only knew how easy things will get. How many fears will never come true. How much lighter you could afford to be. How much love you already deserve. But you have to dare opening your arms, and put the tools down. The monuments you try to erect are aimed at Gods you won't believe in anymore once you experience your feminine side as a gift, and not a curse. Grindset? Grind your teeth while napping, if you have to. But this is bigger than your egotistical, temporal ambitions. You need to do it slow, and I won't stop insisting. Because I can see more than you. You will have no choice but trusting me on this one.

Pile 3

The Emperor, The Devil

Have you heard of this awesome thing called "free will"? Let's take that baby for a ride. Use 3 spoons for the same meal. Lie on the floor of your hallway and recite a song. Buy a stranger a magazine about trains. Take a pair of scissors to your least favorite shirt. Name your nail polishes after famous people. The possibilities are literally endless, but yet you rotate the same 7 things. They will stay ready for when you need them next, but let's shake it up a little, huh? No wonder you feel trapped and stuck. But YOU make the rules, at the end of the day. Yes, there are outer limitations you have no influence over, but even in a literal cage, you can decide what you think, or how you sit, or what notes you hum, or what shadow figures you make with your hands.

The thing itself is meaningless - it's about you experiencing being a CREATOR. Not just a servant to others. I don't care if it's throwing a paper plane into your bathtub, or quitting your job and disappearing to Nepal - but we crave novelty and agency. Deeply. Break the self-imposed limits, any of them. Just to feel what it feels like. It's more rewarding than you imagine.

Pile 4

The Hanged Man, 2 of Cups

Oh shucks. You like someone. It happened. And you can't cancel it willynilly. Suppression has run its course, and now you have to face the embarrassment of having a heart with a need to connect and love. This has completely ruined your illusion of sovereignty you so deeply depended on to feel safe in the world. What now? Where will it lead? What does it mean? What will happen next? Do they like me? Do they think of me? Do they think of me badly? Why do I think about them? Is this me being brave, or pathetic? Is there a true difference?...

The questions don't stop, and you know what - they shouldn't. This is less about the "result" of this connection (I know, boo me, because this is your hyperfixation above all, despite not ever admitting it) and more about getting you out of your shell to be curious about yourself again. The heart needs to be open, and these fears and doubts have been there for a long time already. You are ready to face them, examine them, and learn more about yourself than any flavour of aloofness could ever teach you. I know you hate it, but I can also see the faint giggly twinkle in your soul from up here, buried under all this denial and acting tough. And that's the most scary part for you. That you actually like someone, like, in THAT way. How scary that life has no guarantees, but coming to peace with that truth will serve you much more than any relationship ever could.

[stellarbit]

Pushing Limits

Work Count: 4.2 Pairing: fem!reader x Wrecker NSFW Warnings: Big ole size kink w/ associated pain, piv, poorly proofread Summary: The Bad Batch are sent to train some Jedi, you being amongst them. You and Wrecker can't stop thinkin about each other after you spar.

Having spent your youth in the temple, you developed a disinterest in the temptations of attraction as an adult. It wasn’t that others weren’t attractive to you; on the contrary, you found many beings attractive. Instead, your disinterest stemmed from the warnings of attachment and a lack of clarity on how to enjoy attraction without it.

So, for a short time, you’d experimented with physicalities. They required no emotional attachment, therefore, you saw no reason to not explore. The pleasure of others was a high that quickly became an unnecessary hassle. Partners could make things interesting but they rarely lived up to your expectations. Especially when you could find a more satisfying release on your own.

Training with five exceptionally trained, and exceptionally handsome, men tested that mindset.

The Bad Batch had been assigned a training mission on Coruscant. The Jedi Council requested an elite squad to train fresh Jedi Knights for a month. You were amongst the class and while the opportunity was an exciting one, your attention was hardly in the present.

At first, outside of their talent and appearances, there was nothing that you hadn’t experienced before. Not to mention the fact that clone troopers typically maintained a healthy boundary with their Jedi companions. About a week in, when individual training sessions came into play, you definitely noticed something different.

The first break in your indifference came when one of them, their technician - aptly named Tech, bluntly pointed out a weakness of yours. The comment was not only blunt to the point of tactlessness but also made in front of your fellow Jedi Knights.

"Your defense is sloppy," he observed, literally pointing at you. "You rely too much on your Force abilities. What happens when you're facing an opponent who can resist them?"

You stood still, captured in your final stance in defending against Hunter. You stared Tech down, a twitch ticking your eye as you considered his comment. A clone trooper negating your abilities certainly caught your attention - not in the most positive way. You’d shoved off the comment with more ire than your cohorts were accustomed to and were quick to dismiss yourself when the opportunity came.

Later that same evening you found appreciation for Tech’s observation. Despite receiving consistent praise for your abilities, no one had truly challenged you in recent memory. You prided yourself on maintaining humility, yet it seemed humility alone couldn't shield you from becoming complacent.

Impressed and eager for further challenge, you welcomed the next training session.

The troopers adjusted to instructing without an audience, most likely due to your reaction. Leaving you one on one with two troopers Wrecker and Hunter, one to spare with and the other to observe. 

“Wrecker here even bested General Skywalker once,” Hunter boasted, playfully clapping his brother on the shoulder. “He’s sure to teach you a thing or two.” With that, Hunter stepped back from the ring, gesturing grandly towards his imposing brother.

Facing Wrecker was a new challenge; his sheer size was unlike any opponent you had faced before. Initially, you managed to agilely dance around him, but it wasn't long before he caught you. With a swift pull, he twisted your arm behind you and pressed your back against his chest. Despite your struggles against his overwhelming strength, it all seemed futile until you managed a desperate kick against his ankle.

Even without the help of the Force, your strike was enough to unbalance him, and you both tumbled forward.  Wrecker freed arm and pulled up a knee to soften the blow. Regardless of his efforts he landed on top of you, caging you in and his weight pressing down. He groaned as he collected himself, his body shifting against you. Most noticeably you felt the hard mound of his codpiece grinding against you.

The position you were in registered with you - and the parallels it had to a more intimate variety. For the first time in a long time, heat rushed to your core. As he shifted to regain his bearings, the unintentional contact sent an unexpected rush of warmth through you, drawing a quiet bite to your lip to suppress any involuntary sounds.

“Ugh,” Wrecker shook his head and sat back on his knees. “Sorry about that, but good hit.” You quickly squirmed out from underneath Wrecker, acutely aware of his view of your ass. 

“If you’re going to crush someone,” You hissed as you freed yourself. “Maybe ditch the armor.”

Wrecker glanced down at himself, but smiled sheepishly. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that.”

From across the room, Hunter shook his head. “You need to learn how to get away from someone bigger than you.” He waved a hand between you and his brother. “If all it takes to bring you down is getting caught, you’ll end up dead in no time.”

Your cheeks flushed at the perceived scolding. 

“Hey,” Wrecker leaned over, giving an encouraging shake. “Don’t you worry. That’s what I’m here for.”

The idea of regularly sparring with Wrecker sent another wave of heat through you. You believed in his reassurance, you knew you’d learn quickly enough. It was having to simultaneously learn a lesson in focus that was now daunting you. Although, you though, what’s work without a little fun?

Offering him a rare smile you sighed, “I’m sure you’ll be teaching me a lot.”

Your lessons were daily and scheduled like a training camp. Each member of Clone Force 99 instructed a variety of trainings and your class rotated through them in teams as welll as solo. You took something from each exercise, absorbing as much out of the trainings as possible. Your lessons with Wrecker, however, were always the highlights of your days. 

Not only were his exercises in close combat and strength training personally fun for you, feeling his body against you in any way left you panting in a different way. There was a rush in being turned on by Wrecker without his knowledge. His instruction required his frequent touch as he moved you through maneuvers, while his sparring was aimed at capturing you.

You let him more times than you liked to admit. But Tech had been right, without using the Force to push opponents or jump away you found evading Wrecker challenging. Every time he did get a hold of you it was a struggle to both get free as well as not go limp in his arms. 

Your favorite was his snatching you by the waist and yanking you back against him. It delivered enough force to hide how you pressed back into him. He’d come to training sans armor since your first lesson, but you still felt the cup he wore when he was against you. 

You'd done an excellent job of hiding your perverted intentions until you landed in the same position that got you into this mess.

Wrecker had set you up to be captured again. You nearly ducked out of his reach but he swung his arm with surprising agility and slammed you back against him. As you did the very first time, you kicked a foot into his ankle and knocked him off balance. The two of you tumbled to the ground and, while he did his best to soften the blow, Wrecker weighed down on top of you. With his crotch nestled perfectly into your ass, you mindlessly ground back into him. 

You weren’t able to stop your body, but you caught the whine that threatened to escape you. All you could do was hope he hadn’t felt you as Wrecker gathered himself. The familiar press of his cup to your backside almost made you repeat the same mistake.

"Wrecker," Crosshair interjected from the sidelines, his tone dry. "Get off her; you're crushing her." His words snapped you back to reality, reminding you of the observers. Flustered and embarrassed, you began shoving Wrecker off energetically.

“Although…” An amused air came to Crosshair’s voice. “She might like it.” It was an obvious tease, but your guilty pleasure added unintended weight to it.

If anyone’s enjoying this, Wrecker thought to himself, it was him. A fact he struggled to hide every time he saw you. Wrecker enjoyed seeing you improve, enjoying even more how comfortable you’d become with him in the process.

Weirdly enough, you reminded him of Crosshair in the way you hid a soft side beneath your steely demeanor. The first time smiled at him after, Wrecker thought the planet had stopped spinning. 

Mesh’la, he’d thought for the first time in his life. Something he’d said to others in the throes of pleasure, but seeing you invigorated, panting, and smiling before him - Wrecker realized what the word was truly meant for. 

From that point on, he sought you out in every room, straining for any opportunity to hear your voice. He wasted no chance to approach you, even having wrangled you into sharing a meal or two with his squad. Each night he revisited the feel of you against him, envisioning how you else might feel against him. 

Ditching his armor meant he got a taste of that most times you sparred. Any time he caught you, he did it with enough force you wouldn’t catch him intentionally pressing into you. It was a risky game, but Wrecker couldn’t help himself with you. He wanted you.

So, Wrecker thought, if anyone was enjoying it all - it was him.

“Stow it, Crosshair.” Wrecker bit at his brother, trying to help you to your feet.

“Why so shy, Jedi?” Crosshair snorted, rolling a toothpick to one side of his mouth.

You shook with embarrassment, perceived by them as rage, and snapped, “You’re both insufferable.” 

Wrecker watched you march off, catching the red tint on your ears. He was upset with Crosshair for cutting his time with you short. Moreso he was worried you were upset with him. “I’m going to check on her.”

“Good luck with that,” Crosshair scoffed. “Two credits you come back missing a limb.”

Wrecker only grumbled in response, jogging off to catch up with you. You were at the helm of your quarters when he finally got to you. You stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to him.

“Wrecker, I’m sorry but -”

“Can I come in?” Wrecker took a step closer, his brows pulled together.

You blinked at him, a bit more embarrassment sinking in. Nodding along you silently motioned for him to follow. Once inside Wrecker wasted no time, he immediately started talking.

“You’re upset, I—I know," he started, clasping his hands together nervously.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Wrecker.” You blurted out, his eyes widening. 

Running your fingers through your hair you began a nervous circle around the room. "Every time you touch me, I feel like I can't breathe. When we spar, I’m imagining you—" You stopped abruptly, turning to Wrecker with a pleading look. "Wrecker, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t—"

Wrecker reached out and gently grasped your shoulder, silencing your rambling. “What’re you imaginin’?” he asked softly.

Squeezing your eyes shut you quickly came to terms with telling the truth. On a fast exhale you, you met Wrecker’s eyes and admitted, “When you touch me all I can think about is you being on me and feeling your-”

“You felt that?”

A touch of panic in his voice made you hesitate, but you continued, “-codpiece against me.” His response was a few wide eyed blinks, still processing the nuance. Already prepared for embarrassment you added, “And I imagine it’s not just your armor and it’s all-” you cut yourself short when Wrecker pulled one of your hands towards him.

He pressed your palm against his crotch where a thick, hard member strained against the fabric. You instinctively slid your touch along the length of his bulge. Even through his pants you knew your hand couldn’t even close around him. Pressure twisted between your legs at the thought.

Wrecker winced at the pleasant pressure of your touch. With his eyes squeezed shut he groaned, “It’s not armor. I-I’m sorry, I thought I was hiding it.” The large man made to step back out of your touch but you stepped with him to maintain that connection.

The two of you stood like that for a few heartbeats. You had Wrecker’s full attention and with it you pressed into him, feeling the length of him twitch into your touch. 

“This,” you pressed into him for emphasis. “Is your reaction when we spar?”

Unable to resist the temptation of your touch, he rolled his hips into you. “This happens anytime you’re near me.”

Your mouth went dry at the same time warmth pooled in your core. “So you want me like I want you.”

His eyes finally opened as he searched your face. “You want me?”

Your response was pulling his hand from your shoulder and guiding him into your pants. He followed the suggestion, his two middle fingers slipping over your slit. You could feel how excessively wet you were already. So could he. “Oh you want me, alright.” Wrecker chuckled, his middle finger teasing your entrance. 

This time it was you who couldn’t resist moving. You gyrated your hips enough to get the tip of his finger inside you. Wrecker answered your touch by moving his finger and you cried out as he worked a second digit inside. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you pinned me.” You admitted.

He used his touch to lift you to your tiptoes. “You think you can take me?” It wasn’t a tease, he wasn’t challenging you. This was his asking permission.

“If I can’t,” You pressed your hand harder against his cock. “Then make me.”

“Where?” He asked and you answered with a quick nod in the direction of your bed.

Wrecker slipped his free hand beneath your ass and hauled up you up - two fingers still inside you. Walking to the bed, each of his steps pulled a noise from you as you bounced on his fingers. He plopped you both down on the bed, his back resting against your headboard.

Against your wishes, he removed his fingers from you and let you sit back in his lap.

“If we’re going to do this.” Wrecker gripped your hips and put little space between you “We take it at your pace.”

You didn’t wait for his permission as you started shedding your clothes, setting the tone early. The first to go was your top, your undergarments and all flicking over your head to the floor. Your nipples were already perked and aching for him - much like every other part of you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” You smirked as you started on your bottoms.

Wrecker grinned, a sight that almost made you moan, and sat up in bed. He pulled his top over his head, discarding it with yours. His burly chest was freckled in scars under curled hair. You momentarily dismounted him, wriggling from your bottoms as he did the same. There were only a few hot seconds until you sat naked on your knees next to him and he relaxed back in a similar state.

The trooper looked at you and his hand drifted to his cock. His cock that was even larger than you expected. Two fingers were definitely not enough of a preview for his girth. Wrecker’s fingers wrapped around himself, stroking as he watched you. “So beautiful.” He mumbled.

His words had you crawling over him, pinning his hand in place as you settled on top. Reading your movements, Wrecker met you as you leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss. He twisted his grip on himself, his knuckles grazing your folds, as he moaned into you.

You picked up the pace, frantic to taste as much of him as he could. While you sucked on his lip, Wrecker began positioning you on his cock. He was as desperate to be inside of you as you were for him.

With Wrecker’s help, you hovered over his cock. You were at the full height of your knees in order to line him up with you. Wrecker gave himself one more pump as his precum mixed with your wetness. 

His head was the first real warning of your task at hand. He was larger than you’d ever had and you were in no way ready to take him. An aspect that was making you even wetter. He didn’t slide in easily when you lowered yourself. You both moaned against the strain. “Wrecker.” You moaned into his mouth, a plea in his name.

“I gotcha.” He grasped your hip and kept a hold on his cock. Applying a steady strength, Wrecker pushed you onto his cock. When the flare of his head finally breached you, your back arched. “There we go,” he pressed you with a kiss, “that’s my girl.” 

The head of his cock already had you pushed to the limit, not helped by the fact you were already quivering for him. His size came with a pain you thought might end you and one that eagerly gave way to pleasure

“Wrecker.” You whined, a smile fluttering to your lips. Your hips undulated over him, working more of him inside of you.

A calloused hand slid up your stomach to cup your breast. Wrecker happily groaned as you moved farther down. “You feel so…” the grip you had on him pulled another groan from him. “So good.”

Wrecker supported you as you moved, consumed in watching you work him and the juices dripping down him. Each time you lifted off him, you lowered with a little more force to get more of him inside. Wrecker’s large form writhed beneath you, resisting as hard he could to not thrust up into you - he wanted you to adjust at your own pace. 

As you made a rhythm of burying him deeper inside you, Wrecker watched the shape of his cock bulge through your abdomen. Gently, he pressed a hand beneath your belly button and over the shape. The pressure sent a thrill straight to your clit, nearly undoing Wrecker with what it did to your pussy.

You were so taught around him, Wrecker feared he might literally tear you open. Though, any care he had for that was lost when your smile turned lazy and you leaned forward, arms hanging around his neck.

“Wrecker.” Each syllable came with another desperate thrust as you worked for his last two inches. You were at the limit of what you could do. “I need all of you. Please,” You tightened around him. “Just fucking ruin me.”

The plea had Wrecker rolling his eyes in time with his hips. He firmed up his hold on your hips, tilting your hips to rock his head against your abdominal wall. Wrecker brushed his lips against yours, “I jus’ don’t wanna hurt you.”

You took his bottom lip into your mouth with a gentle suck, then gently bit down until he gasped. “I don’t care.” You mumbled.

Still seated within you, Wrecker swung you onto your back. His hold on your hip suspended you in the air for him. He glanced down at where you two were joined, checking on the last bit of his length you were so hungry for. The contour of his cock already protruded through your stomach, more than anyone had ever taken him before. He really didn’t know if he’d manage the rest, but he wasn’t going to make you ask again. For you, he was determined, he was going to make it fit.

Wrecker drew back before pushing in with his own exploratory thrust. He lowered himself onto you so that he was all you could see, feel, and smell. You were eclipsed by him, hardly even able to angle your legs around him. Saddling a forearm next to your head, Wrecker kept a hand on your hip. “Now breathe, Mesh’la.”

The strange word barely reached you through your aroused fog. “Mesh’la?” You asked on an inhale, anchoring your hands on his shoulders.

He pulled back once more, as you inhaled and thrust himself firmly inside. “Beautiful.” He hummed into your ear. He didn’t stop moving when he bottomed out, he pushed through the strain, making you take him until he felt you give way entirely. You both gasped at the shared sensation. 

Wrecker pressed a kiss to your throat, smiling as he announced, “I’m all in.” Wrecked pressed another kiss to your throat and couldn’t stop grinding as you stretched around him.

You were speechless, only mewling and whining as you squirmed around him. “So full.” Each movement was tinged with pain as Wrecker stretched you completely. A sensation that flared into fervent pleasure the longer he spent inside her.

Wrecker angled your head for you to see what he’d done so far. You softly cried at the sight of a bulge below your belly button. As you watched, Wrecker rolled his hips back and thrust inside allowing you to witness him completely filling you. He hadn’t expected the way you moved in response nor how you began to relax around him.

Mindlessly, you moved yourself over him, pleasuring yourself as you rocked on his cock. Your G-spot was at constant attention as Wrecker pressed inside you.

“Ohh, you like that, don’t you?” He cooed warmly to you, moving his hips side to side against yours. 

Something in you snapped as gripped the back of his neck, forcing his eyes on you, and demanded. “Wrecker, I said, ruin me.” 

Wrecker chuckled eagerly as he obliged, moving against you with increasing speed. He lowered you both to pin you down by the hips. You braced yourself on your elbows as he mercilessly drove into you. He angled your hips just enough that he steadily brushed your clit. 

Pleasure built in you, winding tight every time Wrecker’s hips hit yours. You’d barely begun and already you were at the cusp of release. “Right there, right there, right there.” You chanted, begging with every breath for more. 

With every thrust, more heat hit your core and Wrecker felt the quaking of your core. He smiled and brushed a thumb over your lip before dipping it in past your teeth. Wrecker let you taste him for a moment before saying, “I wanna really fill you up.” Your eyes snapped to his as you smiled around his thumb. “Can I?” He asked desperately.

You eagerly nodded at him, pulling your mouth free to say, “Inside me, please.” 

His hips slammed into yours with all his might and as the first throb of his orgasm hit, you melted around him into your own. The way his cock throbbed pushed you further into delirium. As you adjusted, relaxed, and melted into your pleasure, Wrecker remained engorged and twitching inside you.

You lifted to give him a soft kiss. “That was amazing.” Wrecker hummed in response, something amusing in what you said.

“Oh, I’m not done yet.”

He pulled out of you just long enough to get his hands around you and position you onto your stomach. Wrecker lifted you by your hips, trapped you between his legs, and lined himself up with your pussy. Leaning over you, he guided your hand to sit under your navel. You could feel his cock he rammed into you, his massive size bulging against your hand. 

Wrecker leaned down to croon into your ear, “No one’s ever gonna be able to fill you again.” He started a pace of long, hard thrusts. He emptied and filled you with each thrust, making a mess of his seed already inside you. 

Pressing against the outline of his cock sent more heat to your clit, until a full body shiver wracked you. Your legs began to quiver and you clamped around him. “Wrecker,” You panted, nearly crying from the stimulation. “You’re going to make me-”

“That’s all I want.” He said and thrust into you with short, firm moves, coaxing you to release. “Cum with me, Mesh’la.”

You broke beneath him, contracting and shaking around him and he railed his cum into you. You felt his cum pumping out in thick ropes, felt your belly swell slightly from the sheer amount of his seed, before it leaked out around Wrecker.

You were panting messes by the end of it. Wrecker’s cock finally softened when he lowered you both to lay down on your sides, him still burried inside you. He gave your stomach lazy strokes as he nestled his face to your the crook of your neck.

“You okay?” He whispered.

Taking a moment to respond, you nodded. Thinking a moment longer, you twisted enough to offer him the soft spot below your ear. Wrecker took the silent offering, pressing kisses to your skin as you said softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after that.” 

A low laugh reverberated from Wrecker’s chest. “That makes two of us.” He lazily rolled his hip into yours. He rubbed his nose into your neck, smiling as he added. “Let me know when your ready for another round.”

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

A Jedi's Weapon

I've been thinking about Lightsabers recently. Everyone knows them, everyone likes them, and I'm pretty sure everyone reading this wanted one when they were a kid. But lately, I've been thinking about what they represent.

Lightsabers are weapons, yes, but it's not their only function. They are useful tools, and not only in combat, but in everyday life to light fires, to cut down the branches of trees when your travelling through a forest, etc. But most of all, I like the symbolism and the meaning they have for the people of the galaxy.

Everyone can pick up a blaster and shoot. And although aiming is harder, it's nowhere near the level of difficulty that achieving mastery in lightsaber combat is. Lightsaber dueling has several forms, all of them unique and useful depending on the situation and the individual, which is amazing if you think about it hard enough.

Blasters are almost always used to kill. Sure, there are stun blasters, and Jedi do seem to be able to use them when the situation calls for it (Obi-Wan killing Grievous with a blaster in ROTS immediately comes to mind). But, if you want to defend yourself with a blaster, the only thing you can do is shoot back, aka aiming for the kill, kill them before they kill you. That's why Luke using a blaster is portrayed as a sign that he's not a Jedi yet, that's why Ezra using a blaster instead of reconstructing his lightsaber/blaster hybrid is used to signify a dangerous shift in his thinking.

Lightsabers are dangerous, yes, but the greatest danger doesn't come from your opponent attacking you before you can lift your weapon. Even Force-adepts have quicker ways to kill you if that's what they wanted to do (look at how often Vader actually uses his lightsaber in the OT, for example, the only person he kills with it is Obi-Wan and that's because Obi-Wan let himself be killed; very clearly, Vader prefers Force Choking, which is entirely fair).

The greatest danger of a lightsaber comes from your own blaster bolts being reflected right back at you. That is a good incentive to surrender and solve things in relative peace, instead of a firefight. Even if that's not enough to stop you, even if you shoot anyways, it gives you some pause, which a blaster can't do.

When it maims, it cauterizes the wound, which prevents you from dying of bloodloss and makes it easier to find medical treatment (think of Luke in ESB).

When it kills, it kills fast and immediately, if your opponent knows where to hit. (Think of Qui-Gon in TPM, where he gets to say his last words to Obi-Wan and doesn't seem to be in much pain).

Dexter says this, in Jedi Apprentice. What the lightsaber represents to the people. Hope, safety, there's someone to protect us now… unless you are the one opposing the Jedi, of course. No other weapon inspires so much hope and fear.

It's a weapon it takes a lot of time and effort to master. It's almost a self-imposed limitation.

It's a weapon with sacred value, unlike many others. It's a unique weapon connected to its user's soul. It's a weapon which is used to protect, to defend. It's a sword used as a shield.

It's the weapon of a Jedi.

A more elegant weapon, from a more civilized age.

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: gojo x f!reader, bridgerton au. (unedited) word count: 1.29k

it seems as though lady whistledown had taken a liking to you. born out of a prestigious lineage, your name was untainted, holding no negative connotation other than the envy your perfectness shone over anything.

like a porcelain doll, as the queen has once referred to you as on your first visit.

your mother and grandmother before you married as 'pure' with little to no scandals involved, yet it was your mother in her time who caused the biggest uproar in suitors to pursue her. even today, you had grown up with maids, nannies, and people well acquainted with your mother, and your mother at times who would share details over her diamond years. 3, to be exact.

now you felt an obligation to live up to the family name, to honor the work your mother has preserved before you so that you could comfortably live a life with no shame, and you swore that you would do the same for your own children.

if, you decided to bear them.

tonight, you stand in a glorious dress, embedded with the stones your mother and trusted modist claimed to make you look radiant. yet that seemed to be the opposite for you. 4 dances have occurred in your presence and only one man approached to talk to you. the worst thing was that he was unsuitable, and your mother had to intervene, breaking apart the association and taking you to another.

"he was boring," you whisper shouted at your mother who eyed you, aware to not make a scene as you stopped by a secluded balcony. "it seemed everything I told him, he would restate it or make it obvious. it was like talking to myself! if I wanted to, I would have sought company from my mirror."

"how frustrating." you nod in agreement with your mother.

"have all good men gone to waste mama?" you ask, stress and tears welling in your eyes. "If this is the first man I encounter, I cannot bear to think what the rest of them might be like. Or is it I am just ugly?"

"hush, child." your mother holds your shoulders, then cups your cheeks. "you're not acting like yourself tonight. don't let one bad apple ruin your basket. you are young, gifted, and come from a name. you are something because you came from me. have I not taught you well?" she caresses your arm in comfort. "come, wipe those tears that are threatening to fall. you will cause a scandal on your own if you are seen crying tonight. let's find you an honorary man."

that night you only danced with two men. they remained respectful, yet not enough to provoke intrigue in you. though you would never outwardly admit that to your mother, at the end of your second dance, you went for a beverage. opting for some time for yourself.

"I couldn't help but wonder if you were running from that man after that dance, or if the conversation was that good you needed to excuse yourself for a beverage." the voice snickers, standing beside you, "he was terrible, right?"

"I wasn't, I was just dehydrated." you remark, careful with your tone as you defend your doings. as you stand beside him, you cannot see his face as he is taller than you. lifting your head up would raise even more spectacle as you saw one woman and what appeared to be her sister point at you with the mysterious man at your side.

"so do they just dehydrate fair maidens now? seems like a trick to get you to marry the first man you see,"

you don't answer him quick enough.

"lord higurama is a good choice. he has a fair name and a inheritance to obtain, however, be wary of his drinking problem. heard he leaves bars at ungodly hours of the morning with holes in his pockets."

you can't help but gasp softly, almost in disbelief as the man beside you spoke so poorly of the men you danced with. it might have been a given that you needed to get out of here after those girls pointed at you with shock on their faces. have you just ruined your reputation?

"I respectfully fail to see how that is any of your concern, sir." you state, imposing a formal limit, "I have no desire to engage in talk if it pertains to stain the reputation of others."

"please," you hear him snort beside you and you freeze, feeling yourself slightly become smaller. "his reputation is done for. I'd be doing you a favor

"and your reputation, good sir?" you counter, but when you hear silence from him, you fear you have crossed the line. it isn't until you are pulled by mother you see this man. white hair adorns his features while stunning blue eyes decorate his face. the hold your mother has on you let's you know to stand well, and be presentable.

"Lord Gojo," your mother bows, slightly forcing you to bow with her, "what a pleasnt encounter to find you here. my condolences to you and your family after your father's passing."

"lady levington, you are too kind." he man before you bows, offering your mother a charming smile you can't help but hold back a jaw drop at his sudden charming behavior. "I assume you are enjoying your time at the final winter's ball?"

"indeed," your mother smiles charmed, "we were just enjoying our time at the ball. this is my daughter, lady levington. she is of the age to begin looking for a suitor," your mother states, "wouldn't you agree?"

"well I find it difficult to believe that your daughter will struggle to find a suitable partner given her agreeable nature," your jaw slightly clenches, "I suppose you have a large list of eligible bachelor's for your daughter?"

"oh yes," your mother smiles, "but I tell my daughter we must select carefully. it is growing rather difficult to choose an honorable man for marriage, yet modern problems always continue to arise with the passing of time. wouldn't you agree?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself," he smiles, "finding a husband has been growing to be tedious by the years, yet that is why we must be careful in selecting. london is unfortunately filled with lots of ineligible bachelors starting off with lawyers with questionable drinking and spending habits. a poor reflection on our society, wouldn't you agree?"

"it is unfortunate indeed," you mother sighs softly, "but we shall look carefully to ensure a positive outlook for the future."

"that is always a pleasure to hear," smiles gojo, offering a bow. "if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way. it has been a pleasure to find you in good health, madam. and the best of my wishes to your lovely daughter as well."

after some concluding exchanges, your mother stands proudly with a smile on her face. "you will not believe who we just spoke to." she says, moving you away from the drinking station. "we must bid our farewells and leave as soon as possible."

"why?" you frown, "the dance doesn't end until-"

"-we've already met an eligible bachelor," your mother smiles, "you should've seen the look on everyone's faces. you will surely draw attention now, my dear."

the following day, you wake up to the following news from lady whistledown, having written an article about you.

"at the winter's ball, lady levington's beauty could be seen from a mile away, drawing the attention of lords. standing with such poise and grace, lady levington has proved herself to start off as an indestructible force with honor as her first name. will she perhaps be named diamond of the season? or indestructible diamond?"

[loveemagicpeace]

💕Understanding Signs🧚🏼‍♀️

🥊Fire element-fire suggests to many the intuition function. This is because fire tends to perceive in pictures, and to get an instantaneous grasp of a situation. Fire does not reason or think in any classical sense of the word: it either understands or it doesn't. This is why fire people can be extremely creative yet not good at logical reasoning. People with a lot of fire energy have a great impulse, which is sometimes difficult to control. They often make a decision all at once and quickly. They don't like waiting.

They perceives things through pictures and sudden flashes of insight. A fire person will study something for a long time without comprehending it, and then the significance will become clear in an instant. Fire is often psychic, in the ordinary meaning of the word. Fire is the most positive or yang of all the elements. It is the energy of spirit, and operates within the universe by energizing and transforming. It is not characteristic of fire to work along lines already set, or to respond to energy patterns that are imposed from without. Fire rises: it cannot stay at one level for long. This gives fire people a dramatic, intense quality. They do not enjoy standing still.

Fire element-fire is an emotional element, but it tends toward the more active and dynamic emotions— anger, joy, ebullience, and enthusiasm. Also fire signs are very positive in everything they do. For ex.: Leo Mars - Regardless of the situation, they will always want to cheer someone up with a funny show or put on a show to make the person happy again. Leos in general always have an inner child (they will always be ready to watch cartoons with you). Sagittarius Venus-They will be the best at helping you through a difficult breakup. They always find faith in life and know how to find meaning even when it is difficult to see it. They have a special charm with which they always bring people good mood and instill hope. They will never stop believing. Aries Sun- will always be ready for action. They are not afraid of dangerous things and like something that is more risky. They are the only sign that is rarely afraid, usually they will be the ones who will be the bravest. They have harder time dealing with sadness, depression, or the kind of feeling that comes from quiet contemplation of one's surroundings.

Fire people do not like to show sadness or grief: their typical response is to make fun of their own unhappiness. Even when they are down, they are often capable of making others feel better. Being an outgoing, positive energy, fire does not easily play passive roles.

Earth element- earth signs are most concerned with perceiving an external, physical reality. But earth is not simply concerned with perceiving it, it is also concerned with ordering it in the way that is most effective in a given situation. Earth signifies concern with the physical, with practical, common-sense matters. Earth is a symbol for direct sense experience of the physical universe, without ideas, concepts, beliefs, or wishful thinking to cloud perception. Thus matter, and through it the symbol earth, signifies limits to our freedom in which regard the element earth is related to the planet Saturn).

Unlike fire, earth is stable, the most stable of all the elements. Also unlike fire, earth is passive: it needs to be acted on and formed by an external energy. For earth people to be really productive, there must be a positive, assertive energy provided by the planetary combinations in their charts.Otherwise, the earth type of personality remains passive.

Taurus is a sign who will give you a lot, spoil you, buy you gifts, take you to a luxury hotel, take care of you. They do a lot related to money. They are a sign that will spoil you with material things and may not be so creative themselves. But they also know how to be selfish and stubborn and do not care about your feelings.

Earth tends to resist change, and it can signify structures that break down under pressure because they lack the flexibility that allows adaptation.Earth signifies making do with what is available. Earth people are adept at dealing with the details that must be attended to in everyday reality in order to make it work effectively. Being a relatively passive element, earth perceives better than fire. Earth people are usually close to their gut reactions to life. Inner experience is valued less highly by the earth temperament, because earth tends to focus its perceptions externally.

Virgo and Capricorn especially are inclined to sacrifice emotional needs when these come into conflict with their view of reality. Although Capricorn looks like a cold sign and people wouldn't expect it to have so many emotions and make sacrifices for others - in fact it does. Capricorns often sacrifice their time for the people they love and can build a relationship for years and years, even if it ends up not being what they might have wanted. A Capricorn can have a lot of work and responsibilities, but still finds time to see you or cook you lunch, do something practical for you. Virgo it is often seen as a judgmental and sometimes not so accessible sign (a sign that gives you the feeling that they don't like something or that they are angry). But in reality, they are a sign that cares a lot about others-they will always be ready to take care of you.

Air element-Like fire, air may be more concerned with things that are not yet real, that are abstract and unrelated to a given reality. Air is as concerned with the relationship of things in the outer world as earth is, but air is more interested in abstractions. The difference between the symbols fire and air can be seen in the difference in the behavior of actual fire and wind. Fire rises, whereas wind moves horizontally.

Like fire, air can become so involved in abstractions that it loses touch with physical reality and practical considerations. But unlike fire, air hovers just above the Earth's surface, so that though it is fond of abstractions, the abstractions are closer to physical reality than those of fire. Air is associated with thinking and logic, and as such it is less personal than fire. Fire is usually connected with the vital, personal drive, or the will, and the abstractions are one's personal abstractions. But air, which has a social, external conception of truth, is more inclined to abstractions that have little to do with the individual.

In this way air is similar to earth: both are primarily concerned with a reality external to the self. Fire and water are more concerned with personal, inward kinds of truth.

Air always has a strongly social quality. All three air signs have to do with relating to others— Gemini to the immediate world through mind and speech, Libra through achieving perfect balance within a one-to-one relationship, and Aquarius through group consciousness and interaction.Air lacks fire's ability to go off on its own to be itself.

Aquarius as a sign of revolution, it is related to revolutionary movements, not non-conforming individuals, thinking in a different way, breaking the rules. Aquarius desire freedom to impose their ideals on society as a whole. Gemini they like to open different topics, talk long into the night. Their thoughts are quick and unpredictable. But they often have problems with getting attached to someone. Although air is very social, it is sometimes unable to handle real intimacy well. This is because air operates extensively, rather than intensively.

Libra is the only air sign in which the drive for close, personal relationships is strong, but even here there is a detached, non-intimate quality often obscured by the cleverness of the sign.

Water element presents the greatest difficulty. But even though water may feel good or bad much more quickly and sensitively than the other elements, it is no more judgmental as to whether something may be good, bad, pleasant, or unpleasant. Of the four elements, water is in some ways the most difficult to understand. Water is the most yin of the four elements, and the most bound up in the maternal, feminine archetype which is so poorly expressed in our culture.

Strongly watery people who comprehend this element from first-hand experience cannot readily communicate what they comprehend. Water people are poor at communication or unwilling to communicate. It is just that what they have to communicate is extremely difficult to put into words.

Scorpio communication is difficult because water represents non-linear, non-rational, non-discriminative modes of thought-the very antithesis of air. Fire and water both represent non-rational functions, but fire has more to do with sudden, lightning-like comprehension, whereas water has a subtle, feeling- toned understanding that comes into being at no particular point, seeming rather to have existed always.

Water is the best at feeling relationships and the ways every thing interacts with every other thing. Water may see and understand in a way that is hard for the other elements, especially air, to comprehend, but it sees very well.Often the best way for water to communicate is by means of art, especially poetry and music. Water people usually are artistic. Another factor that sometimes places a barrier between water and other elements is that water experience is very personal. In this respect water is nearer to fire, and more distant from air and earth. Water people's personal experience can be so vivid that external reality fades into insignificance beside it.

Pisces are very artistic and also the most dreamy sign of all water signs.They have their heads in the clouds most of the time and are also the sign that is the most naive. Cancer is the most family-oriented and caring sign. A sign that also prefers to spend time with people close to it. They like to be in their comfort zone. Scorpio is the most mysterious, the sign that fights the most. Is also the most private sign and doesn't like to share his stuff with others. It is a sign that has a problem with trust. Scorpio is also very deep sign.

Water is a symbol of empathy. Empathy is the ability to feel what another feels as if one were that other person. A water person understands feelings and emotions better than any other elemental type, and is capable of great emotional depth and compassion for others. Men in particular have a problem with the water parts of their nature because watery qualities are so out of accord with masculinity. Water people often have stronger ties with the past, a stronger involvement with familiar people, places, and situations. In a strong water person there is the protective, maternal streak; in a weak water person, there can be emotional grasping and possessiveness. Water has a need to self-dramatize like fire; but unlike fire, water is willing to take other people's emotions seriously as well.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah💍🦋🌙

[quitealotofsodapop]

Ooh, the Stone Egg coming out when Xiaotian is courtnapped by Ruyi? Xiaotian is already stressed out from being abducted by a creepy older guy and now having to deal with Demon Bull family drama and Ruyi's incel/conservative uncle behavior-

But-

*slides idea that DBK's parents still alive and FURIOUS when they learn that their great-grandbaby is being born early because their son's an idiot and adding to the drama when the grandchild they never met SLAMS down the door to get to his mate*

Best way to describe my idea of the Immortal Ruyi is somewhere between "Scar" from Lion King + a stereotypical dark wizard.

Ruyi feels inferior to his older brother, banished or not. He feels that he must scrounge and hoard whatever power he must in order to secure his position - everything except changing a thing about himself.

When the Pilgrims encountered Ruyi; he was busy extorting the Kingdom of Women for access to the Abortion Spring - water that acted as a 100% guaranteed birth control for women (and unlucky monks) who did not want to have children. It wasn't just a matter of money - Ruyi has some pretty backwards ideas of what women should be "thankful for".

Makes sense why the Pilgrims beat the crap out of him and steal back all the money and treasures he's extorted from the women.

The Underworld is pretty inuslar - not much commincation between Realms happens down there. Even in the capital city of Youdu, communities are pretty self-isolating.

Except ever since what happened with the Ten Kings...

Yama/Yanluo needs to hire new staff.

Ruyi thinks he'd be a shoe-in for one of the Ten Kings! If only he had a good piece of arm candy to show off to the court...

Ruyi has a Compliant Hook that acts very simialrly to Wukong's Staff - and he might just use it to "hook" himself a stolen bride.

MK: (*finally managed to sneak out of the apartment to get a limited flavour of cheese tea*) Ruyi: (*whisks him away like an old-timey dastardly villain*) The Stone Egg, waking up: "Oh? It's game time now?"

MK of course; is NOT HAPPY with being kidnapped by some old incel demon to a corner of the Underworld!

Even more so when he realises from context clues that this is Red's Uncle!

Ruyi thinks it's foolproof. MK is a creation of Nüwa herself, and helped stabilise all of creation with actions - having him as a spouse would be major Rep points!

MK: "Dude! I'm taken! By your nephew!" Ruyi, preparing a concoction of spring water: "Do not worry. I will remove that roadblock when we come to it. Now you be a good wife and stop scolding me." MK, growing more and more furious: "I AINT YOUR WIFE!"

MK's own kaiju-form tries to activate, but can't due to the immense discomfort he's in. Only he knows the real reason for the cramping. He whispers to his baby to hold on just a little longer, as he staunchly refuses every piece of food or drink his captor tries shoving at him.

The chaos of the courtnapping, plus MK's own loud objections - alert the true masters of the Underworld Ox Palace...

I imagine DBK assumed that his parents had passed in the centuries he'd been gone - only to realise that they weren't dead, just retired from the political scene.

Ránshāo/燃烧 ("to ignite") and Fādǒu/发抖 ("shivering") were an arranged pair from birth - the union of two royal oxen clans spanning both the Hot and Cold Narakas of the Underworld.

One a dense, long-haired plume of fire. One a stern pillar of ice. Unseparable. If DBK respected anything of his parents; it was their bond.

From their union came the one who would be named "THE Demon Bull King"... and their second-born Ruyi.

They try not to play favourites but... the incident in the Kingdom of Women has soured their opinion over Ruyi's political standings. They have tried hard to throw off the imperial politics their own predecessors had imposed, and return to the "old ways". But clearly their current heir isn't wise to change.

The only thing stopping them from welcoming DBK back into their home is ultimately; Pride. If he didn't seek them out, neither would they.

Cycle of bull-headedness.

Until they smell and hear that their second-born has courtnapped himself an unwilling bride. One already with child.

MK: (*terrified and heavily pregnant*) Ruyi, showing off his prize: "Well..?" (*both ox demons look at one another... before slapping Ruyi across the head.*) Ránshāo: "YOU FOOL. Courtnapping is only legitimate if the other party accepts your affection!" Fādǒu, leaning down to MK: "The poor thing is shaking! Did you steal them from their maternity nest!? Their birth clan will have our heads if talk gets out!" Riyu, scrambling: "Well uh- I feel that they would be the perfect spouse for the heir of the Underworld Ox clan! Sun Wukong's successor is-" Both Oxen, so loud it shakes the palace: "THE WHAT?!" Ránshāo: "Are you telling me, this child is the successor of the ONE DEMON able to match our family in battle!? And you dared to kidnap him for your own selfish desires!?!" Fādǒu, hugging MK to her cool fur: "And what of their mate? Surely the existence of the calf in their stomach signals an existing sire!" Ruyi, kowtowing: "The child they carry was immaculately formed! Like the waters of the Mother-Child River! If it is an issue, I will remove it using the Spring-" (*Ruyi receives angry huffs from both parents, their breaths combining to create a boiling mist that forces him back*) Ránshāo: "Get out of my sight. We'll deal with you later." Ruyi: (*scuttles away by a cockroach*) Fādǒu, voice soft: "Child, does your clan know where you are?" MK, calming down: "No... but I imagine that they won't rest until they find me. Macaque can hear for miles, and Mei put trackers on my phone." Ránshāo: "We should prepare for guests then. We must apologize to them for the distress our second-born has caused." Fādǒu: "Is what Ruyi said true? That your child has no sire?" MK, little embarassed: "Uh! Well! It's a stone monkey thing I accidentally did. Baby is technically being made by me alone, but with Dao my body absorbs from my closest peeps and mate." Fādǒu: "Then who is your-?" (*The gates of the Underworld Ox Palace burst open as a stampede of kaijus arrive on-scene; dragon, demon, and celestial among them. The lead of the charge is a fiery cloud in the shape of a bull - the eyes burning with True Fire. The bull crashes through the front gates and throne room, trampling any obstable in it's path. It's charge only stopping when they see the monkey demon.*) Kaiju!Red Son, bellowing deep: "RETURN HIM." MK, surprised but delighted: "Red!!" :D! Both Oxen: (*share same looks of confusion and wonder*)

The sight in the palace is adorable; the tiny monkey demon waddling as fast as he can to embrace their mate, their furry arms not even able to encompass the snout. The massive bull gently nudging their smaller mate's face and belly, as if to ask "Are you okay?" The fire receding back to it's natural shape and size as more desperate kisses are shared.

No arrows or swords drawn - the appearance of Sun Wukong in his War Form put the fear of Buddha in every single one of the Oxen Palace guards.

And the appearance of the prodigal son put joy in their hearts.

DBK: (*arrives seconds later in his regular form, PIF on his shoulder. He looks confused as he realises where Red Son's trail has lead them.*) DBK, seeing the royal couple: "Mother? Father?" The Oxen couple: "Jǐn Cài Niu!?"

Ránshāo and Fādǒu don't even question why their first-born is there. The fiery tornado that ripped through their palace was nearly identical to the kaiju-form of their elder son - only now sporting the True Winds of the boy's celestial mother.

PIF herself is caught in the embrace. She's shocked by the closeness. She had not seen her in-laws in millennia - but now they greet her as if she were beloved kin? She barely manages to squeeze out of the giants' hold to watch her husband reunite with his parents.

Fādǒu: "A grandson! Xiaoniu - a grandson! And you never told us!" DBK, crying with frustration and joy: "I assumed that you did not care for him! I sent many letters to Father's office over the centuries!" Ránshāo, angry growl: "My office... the same office your younger brother as occupied for the last eon?" DBK, realising: "That bast-" Fādǒu, pulls his ear: "Do not finish that exclamation, calf." Ránshāo: "Do not blame him, my snowdrop. If Ruyi is only responsible for what happened today, he should be so lucky to live to see the next one." PIF, floating above the oxen: "I take it you've met our son's intended?" Fādǒu, gasping: "The expectant one!? Oh dear... barely a moment to adjust to knowing we're grandparents..." Ránshāo: "Now we are to expect our first great-grandchild!" Wukong, leans in to whisper: "So. We aren't in a fighting mood now, right?" DBK: "No. Now is not time for quarrel... unless you wish to catch up with my little brother. Odds are; he's already fled the palace." Mei, racing past in dragon-mode: "I CALL FIRST DIBS!"

Reunions and curb-stomps are cut short however - as MK is forced to reveal something that has been causing him grief ever since Ruyi kidnapped him.

Macaque, ears flickering: "He's in labour." Everyone present: "WHAT!?" MK, smiling through winces of pain: "Surprise?" Red Son: (*turns Kaiju-form off and in a feral rush, carries MK to a soft surface*)

Everyone is panicking, even the ones trained in midwifery. Wukong is stammering as he tries to manifest supplies from his transformed hair. Pigsy and Tang are screaming - realising that they need to grab the Bodhisattva Kṣitigarbha just in case babies aren't supposed to be born down here.

PIF is holding MK's hand, coaching him through the contractions and kissing his sweat-soaked brow. She knows the pain he's enduring.

Red is holding MK's other hand, not minding that the bones are most certainly broken by the stone monkey's grip. He's silent with excitement and fear.

Nezha briefly disappears, returning with Guanyin and Xiwangmu themselves at his side.

Guanyin: "When Nezha told me you were due - I certainly did not expect to come here! It's been some time." MK, Wukong & Macaque: "Same!"

It seems that the second MK is assured everything is prepared; the Egg pretty much shoots out - cracked and ready to go. The other monkeys barely have time to collect the broken rainbow-quartz shell when the baby starts howling to the universe.

The Room: (*stunned silent*) Newborn Haoye: (*immediately chirping and clinging to MK*) Macaque: "Wow. That kid did not wait at all to be born." Wukong: "Stress from the courtnapping probably scared him out." (*angry growls radiate around the room. Ruyi will be lucky to be found alive after tonight.*) Red Son & MK: (*both unintelligible blubbering*) "He is so small!!" "And orange!"

Xiwangmu nearly roars at seeing her great-grandcub alive and so loud. Her fellow great-grandparents do not hesistate to embrace the Empress when she hugs them out of joy. ("He's beautiful!" "He is!" "His taigong would have adored him!" "Did he get his fur from you Empress?")

The Underworld and the Celestial Realm are united fully in this moment... all for a tiny orange puffball who's barely a minute old.

Tang faints obviously. Pigsy holds it together long enough to say hi to his grandpiglet before passing out on the nearest sofa. Wukong and Macaque get a few sniffs in before joining Pigsy on the sofa.

All is calm.

Then Haoye sneezes and rainbow-coloured flames shoot out.

The Room: ( 0_0)? MK, laughing nervously: "Oh yeah. The Five Stones! Ha ha ha-!" Nezha, defusing: "To be fair... I spit rainbows." Mei, taking photos: "Aww, our little rainbow monkey man!!" <3

Now the baby has another set of great-grandparents to visit!

If one of the Man Yue gifts is a familar ox skull - MK doesn't comment on it.

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 19: A Long, Hot Summer

Move like a typhoon, I'm just a flame, Smokey by nature, charmingly sane, See Golden Empires, Queens burning sage, Boys with their desires, Hearts in a cage, Please don't be in love with someone else, Please don't be in love with someone, Love with someone else

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 7,640

Chapter Warnings: Forced proximity, a little bit of physical touching but nothing sexual, conversations about the death of a minor/trauma, aquaphobia, Billy Hargrove makes a return, explicit language. I think that's it.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Next Chapter: COMING SOON

Taglist: @kezibear

Chapter Nineteen: A Long, Hot Summer

The intense heat only worsened as the summer of June ‘85 pushed forward. The scorching temperatures soared, the air thick with humidity, and you were sure you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Whilst you did have an old, slightly decrepit window air conditioning unit, it was barely hanging on, and you weren’t sure it would survive the rest of the summer, so instead, you willingly spent more time at the arcade, where the building was kept much cooler, if only so the machines didn’t overheat and set fire.

“Hey, hit the machine again, and I’ll bounce your head off it so hard that it cracks… And I don’t mean the screen.”

“I don’t think we’re allowed to threaten children, Andy.” You sighed, leaning against the counter as the boy stood next to you, baseball cap in his hand as he fanned it in front of his face.

Turning to you, the boy cocked a brow, his face otherwise remaining stoic, “And I don’t think I care. The little shits break those machines, it comes out of our paychecks.”

Ignoring him, you lifted one of many fliers that Keith had been sent around town to collect, advertising the new arcade in Star Court, waving it in front of you, copying the boy’s motions in an attempt to cool yourself down a little, “Is it just me, or is it ungodly hot in here?”

“It’s ungodly hot everywhere,” Andy began, and without seeing him you could sense the roll of his eyes,

“Yeah, I know that. But… It’s weirdly hot in here today. It was warmer yesterday but it didn’t seem this hot inside.”

The hot summer months always came with a few trivial issues, but today the machines had cut out once or twice, causing the already overheated kids to complain, moaning until you opened the machine and fetched their quarter, allowing them to restart their game.

The Slushee machine had been used non-stop, but the clunking noises it had been making for the last 10 minutes had made both Andy and yourself reluctant to use it.

“Jesus, who gives a shit-”

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

The boy, Patrick, was on the basketball team with Andy, and although he seemingly lowered his standards enough to hang around with the goon and his gaggle of idiots, he didn’t seem as bad as Jason and the rest of the jocks. Whilst he had never caused or started any issues with other students, he had always been around when it happened and he’d never stepped in and stopped it. Always remained quiet in the background. Whilst it didn’t make him a bully, it did make him a coward.

“It’s hot as shit, and I’m stuck in this fuckin’ place, and she won’t shut the fuck up.”

You sent a glare toward Andy, a scoff falling from your lips as you continued to fan yourself, “Yeah, and you’re so delightful to be around,”

“What time do you finish?”

“Closing,” the boy huffed, arms folded over his chest as he glanced around the darkened room, “You know what, I’m taking an early lunch.”

Although it was typical for Andy to leave you in the lurch during the busiest time of day, you didn’t care enough to fight him on it, and when he came back, you’d take your own lunch and he could enjoy a taste of his own medicine. Andy made his way to the back room, most likely going to grab his wallet and clock out for lunch, but the sudden beeping from the Slushee machine caught your attention, a loud whirling noise before it stopped altogether, followed by a bang, which caused you to rush toward it a little too late, as red and blue slush began to leak all over the floor.

“Shit, shit shit!”

“Has it done this before?” The somewhat familiar voice spoke behind you as Patrick bent down next to you, a roll of paper towels in his hand as he passed some your way and tried to mop up the rest, despite it still dripping from the machine.

“I don’t think so, but the machines old as shit and-”

You were interrupted by another loud bang, and the large room was suddenly surrounded in darkness as only minimal light peeked through the large, blacked-out windows. The noise around you, although now lacking the usual hum of electronics and background noise of the games, was replaced with a shrill scream, and an eruption of shouting as what had happened caught up with everyone.

“It might be the breaker, probably overloaded in the heat. You know where it is?” You nodded, and Patrick continued, “You go look, I’ll stay and clean this up.”

Noting your apprehension, Patrick sent you a small, genuine smile, “Go, it’s fine. I got this.”

Pushing yourself up, you stepped forward before finding yourself on your back, sneaker slipping on the melting iced drink and sending you crashing back to the floor.

“Holy shit, that was hilarious.”

Another familiar voice, this time, the large grin was met with a vicious glare, but it was Patrick who spoke to his friend, “Andy, shut up. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged him off, allowing him to help you sit back up, navy work shirt now sticking to you, you turned your attention back to your co-worker, “You can’t leave right now. We gotta get this shit cleared up, and get everyone out. I need to ring-”

“Hey, everyone, get the fuck out, now!” Andy’s voice barreled through the stagnant air, causing many children to flinch before finally bolting to the door, angry and confused grunts of annoyance surrounding them as Andy all but herded the groups out, turning the sign to closed before returning his attention to you,

“There, did my part. Now since it doesn’t look like we’re gonna be able to reopen today, I’m heading out. C’mon, Patrick.”

“Dude, you can’t just leave her alone with all this shit to deal with-”

“Holy crap, what’s happened?”

Despite the closed sign, and Andy all but guarding the door, Steve had managed to push his way through, eyes squinting as they slowly adjusted to the much darker room.

“Great timing, Harrington, really. See, she’s not alone. Now let's go, McKinney.”

Your features grew softer as you took in his apologetic glance, eyebrows lifting slightly as if apologizing. Sending him a tight-lipped smile, you merely nodded, “Thanks for the help.”

Patrick finally removed his hand from your shoulder, as if only just noticing it was still placed there after helping you sit up, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, “Don’t mention it. Good luck with all of... this.”

Andy’s arm swung around the boy’s shoulders, all but dragging him out, causing Steve to side-step them just to avoid the larger boy’s shoulder. His brows remained pinched as he watched the two boys go, Patrick’s head turning only once to look back in your direction.

“What the hell happened here?”

Your attention turned to Steve — who despite only being in the small arcade for less than two minutes already had a thin layer of sweat glistening over his forehead — sending a glare his way as if he was the cause of all of this, “I have no idea. I think something overheated, and broke the generator.”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you pulled at the bottom of your navy work shirt, pulling a face as the sticky Slushee mix stuck it to your skin. Steve tried his hardest to keep his eyes on your face as you rang the excess liquid out of it, but as soon as you saw his eyes drop, you tugged your shirt back down, a painful weight that traveled from your chest to the scar across your abdomen, the shame causing you to turn away quickly.

“Have you, uh… Have you called anyone?”

“Like who, Harrington? Keith has the week off, and if you think my manager won’t blame me for this-”

“C’mon, then. It can’t be that hard.” Steve shrugged before making his way to the back rooms where the circuit breaker panel was, leaving you to scramble behind after him.

“I’m sorry, where did you get your degree in electrical engineering from again? Dumbass University? You can’t just flick a few switches and magically fix this.”

Catching up to the boy, you blocked the door where the breaker was hidden away in a closet smaller than the janitor’s closet in school. If any of you had to go in there, it wouldn’t be the trigger-finger-happy Steve.

“Just wait out here, alright? Make sure nobody comes in, and do not let this door shut behind me. The handles busted and it only opens from the outside. I don’t need you wandering off and leaving me to overheat and die in here.”

“I got it, just hurry up. It’s hot as hell.”

You sent a deathly glare to the boy who was acting as though you hadn’t been sweltering in this hellhole all day, before stepping into the muggy, dark room. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust despite the room being barely enough to fit yourself, the breaker box, and a mop and bucket.

“I can’t see anything,” you grumbled, wiping at your forehead with the back of your hand before you reached forward, finally touching the machine that felt a little too hot to be safe and you prayed you wouldn’t get burned. Or electrocuted.

Unsure of what to do now you were face-to-face with the panel, you gave the side a good, hard, whack. In your defense, you had never claimed to know anything about electrical boards, either.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s voice was a little too squeaky to sound natural, “I don’t think that’s gonna help.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t realize you were an expert. Please, why don’t you try.”

The boy scoffed, and although your back was still facing him, he knew that your brows were pulled together, an annoyed glare that frequented your face enough that he could tell so even with his eyes closed, or in this case, in the dark.

“Well, at least I wouldn’t just hit it-”

“-Only because it would hit you back, and win,” you huffed, still a little too afraid to touch any of the wires and instead turning to focus the glare that Steve knew was there, on him.

Steve’s own brows furrowed, arms crossing over his chest, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Taking a step forward, you continued your misplaced annoyance, but the boy turned his head slightly, a noise out front distracting him from your tirade.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asked, his ability to be so easily side-tracked only irritating you more.

“No, Steve, I didn’t. But if you think that you can-”

“Shh,” he all but hissed, head tilting slightly as he strained his hearing.

“Do not shush me, Harrington-”

The loud, sudden thud caused you to both jump, Steve panicking at your widened eyes as he stepped forward, hand covering your slightly agape mouth as he all but backed you into the small closet, the only sound around you was the soft clicking of the door as it pushed gently against Steve’s back.

“What the hell was that?” You whispered, pulling his hand away from your face.

“I’m not sure, I think-”

“I don’t mean whatever that sound was, Jack ass. I mean this,” you waved your arms around as much as the small space permitted, “I told you not to let the door close, and now we’re both stuck in here.”

Looking around, as if he could see much in the dark, Steve cursed under his breath, “I wasn’t thinking-”

“Yeah, no shit, Harrington. Could you for one-second use more than 10 percent of your-”

This time, when his hand covered your mouth, you were more than a little tempted to bite him, but the hushed voices from out front stopped you in your tracks. Part of you wanted to call out for help, but the fear that it could be a bunch of hooligan kids, who would not only leave you trapped but raid the entire place stopped you. Even worse, it could be your manager.

“Who do you think it is?” Steve’s breath was warm, but minty on your face as he tipped his head slightly to speak into your ear. You hadn’t really taken in the forced proximity between you both until now as Steve’s chest rose and fell quickly, pushing against yours with every breath, his body too warm to stand with for too long.

Whoever it was, you could hear them stumbling around in the darkened room, and if you strained your ears enough, you could hear their hushed whispers once more. So, instead of responding, you remained silent, trying to figure out if it was safe to alert them to your presence. Steve, however, assumed you were ignoring him. And Steve didn’t do well in forced, awkward silences.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” You questioned, eyes darting upward to watch the boy as best you could.

“I just… I dunno, I panicked, you know? I didn’t even think about the door until it, well... shut.”

“It’s… It’s fine. It’s not your fault. It’s just been a shitty day, but I shouldn’t take that out on you. You’re just trying to help.”

“You looked pretty happy earlier, when, uh…Whatever his name was here.”

Scoffing, you attempted to cross your arms, only to be blocked by Steve’s body, “I can assure you, I am never happy around Andy.”

“I didn’t mean him,” Steve interrupted, “I know that guy is an asshole. Was on the basketball team with him for long enough. I meant the other guy, Patrick, right?”

You were glad that the closet was dark as your eyes darted toward your sneakers, instead meeting Steve’s chest that was awkwardly pressed against your own, “Uh, I don’t really know him.”

“It seemed like you knew him well enough,” Steve shrugged.

Rolling your eyes, you fruitlessly pushed the boy’s shoulder, “Well, I don’t. He only comes in when Andy’s working. I’ve barely spoken to the guy.”

A low laugh fell from Steve’s lips, his breath hitting your face as he gently pushed you back, “Yeah, well. I know that look well.”

“What look?” Pushing him back once more, despite there not being any room for either of you to fall into, “There is no look. I don’t do looks. Plus, you can’t even see me, it's dark.”

“Not you, doofus,” Steve tried to dodge your hands as they returned the gesture, “him. He was giving you the look.”

“Jesus, Harrington. There was no look, okay? So drop it.”

“Please, I know the look like the back of my hand,” Steve’s finger jabbed into the space between your ribs, causing you to jerk slightly and slap his hands away, “I get it enough.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” Another shove.

Slapping your hand away once more, “We’re not talking about my love life right now-”

“Only because it’s non-existent,” both hands were raised in an attempt to shove the boy once more, but both your actions and words came to an abrupt halt when he caught your hands in his own, fingers slowly linking in an attempt to keep them pinned to your side.

Steve’s voice was low as he leaned in, and despite the darkness, you felt him practically peer into your soul.

“Believe me,” he sighed, eyes softening as they traced your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail — good, bad, and ugly — to his memory, “I know the look.”

Your tongue slid over your bottom lip, catching the boy’s attention and causing his gaze to turn glassy and his knees to turn weak.

“Steve,” you mumbled, watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes finally returning to your own as he spoke your name softly, his body pressed so tightly against your own despite the extreme heat, that you were unsure whether it was your own heart that was pounding, or his.

Leaning forward slightly, Steve’s lips parted, but the words evaporated from his tongue when the hushed voices sounded a little too loud, the busted door knob jiggling as someone tried to open the door.

A sudden gust of warm air hit Steve’s back as the door was yanked open, allowing a little light to filter in,

“Uh, are we interrupting?”

The familiar, but unexpected voice jolted the boy away from you as he took a step back, clumsily trying to avoid the feet behind him as he looked anything but inconspicuous.

“No, uh. We were, you know? And then the door, it wouldn’t… Yeah.”

Clearing your throat, you stepped out of the small closet, ignoring the raised eyebrow and slight concern coming from Max, “We got locked in trying to fix the breaker. Everything is fried with the heat. What are you guys doing here?”

“Someone,” Mike glanced toward a rather apologetic-looking Steve, “said he’d drop us at the pool. He didn’t show when he said he would, so we thought we’d find him here. And what do you know? Here he is.”

“Yeah, alright, less of the attitude, Wheeler. I get it. I’m late, sorry.”

“You can still take us, right?” Will asked, his grip tight on his swim bag.

Steve turned his attention to you, watching carefully as if waiting for something. Realizing that the moment had passed, Steve shrugged and exhaled deeply, “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Go wait by the car.”

The group took off as you slowly followed Steve through the desolate arcade, careful not to slip on the puddle of melted slush that was most likely going to remain sticky for the rest of the arcade’s existence, no matter how many times you’d mop it.

“You could come with us. Not much you can do here, anyway.”

You stood in the doorway, eyes squinting as the too-bright sun beat down in a way that felt slightly more tolerable outside, and you found yourself almost saying yes.

Instead, you folded your arms over your chest and sent the boy a strained smile, “I would but… Well, I should ring my manager.”

“I could come back? Drop off the little demons and-”

“Steve, it’s fine. Really. Go enjoy the pool. Who knows, might be your lucky day.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he began his descent toward his car, ignoring the kid's argument over who got shotgun, knowing full well that Lucas would cave and give Max his vote, “Yeah, who knows? Ring me later, alright? Let me know how you get on.”

“Sure thing, Harrington.”

His eyes remained on you as he walked backward, right up until his back collided with the side of his Beamer.

You returned El’s enthusiastic wave as the car pulled out of the parking lot before turning to reenter the arcade, hoping you could find your manager’s number in the office so you could ring from the video store next door, but the slam of a car door, followed by a shout of your name caused you to swivel back around, blocking out the sun with one hand as the person approached you.

“Patrick? What are you doing here?”

The boy wiped his hand over his forehead, a slightly flustered expression covering his face, “I, uh… I felt bad about leaving with Andy earlier. I didn’t know this was gonna happen, and if I hadn’t turned up, Andy wouldn’t have ditched you.”

You bit your tongue, both of you knowing damn well that this wasn’t the first, nor the last time Andy would leave his shift early.

“-So I thought I’d come back to help clear up.”

“Andy’ an ass, no offense. You really don’t need to cover for him,”

“I’m not,” he scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward you almost bashfully, “I came back to help you. That’s it. Promise.”

Taking a moment, you stared down the boy making him ever so slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t know Patrick all that well, but this didn’t feel like some elaborate prank that would end up with you covered in pig's blood at prom.

Pulling the door open, you stepped out of the way, ushering him in with a raised brow, “Tell, me, McKinney, how good are you with a mop?”

The sun beat down, caressing your skin as you lay out on the lounger falling in and out of sleep. The only thing stopping you from falling into a deep slumber was the occasional splashes and shrieking from the children who inhabited the pool, but you didn’t have it in you to tell them to quieten down. It was your first day off this week, and you wanted to do absolutely nothing except bask in the rays of the sun and relax.

“Hey, water stays in the pool, Mayfield.”

Steve, however, clearly had other ideas.

He’d been stressing over finding a job — one of his father's demands — and had so far been unsuccessful, but he had an interview soon, which had left him almost unbearable since, worrying himself over yet another rejection that hadn’t even happened yet.

“God, these kids are gonna age me,” Steve huffed, all but throwing himself into the lounger next to you.

Cocking a brow, you finally peeked toward the shirtless boy as he settled onto the lounger next to you, his shoulders already beginning to redden from the intense heat, “So is the sun, if you don’t put some lotion on.”

“I’m working on my tan,” Steve waved his hand dismissively, eyes hidden under his sunglasses as if he were the heartthrob of some John Hughes movie.

Throwing the bottle of lotion at him, you rolled your eyes before closing them and entirely blocking the boy from your view, “You’ll thank me when you’re 40.”

After a long, heaving, and frankly dramatic sigh, Steve eventually opened the lotion — the click of the lid causing your eyes to peek once more toward him — and began to pour the smallest amount he possibly could over his arms, “You know, most people use baby oil to get a tan, not this shit.”

“Jesus, Harrington, you sound like a middle-aged housewife. Age like a leather bag for all I care. Just do it quietly.”

Even behind the tinted glasses, you knew Steve was glaring at you, despite continuing to rub in the sunscreen.

“Can you, uh…Can you get my back?”

“Huh?” You questioned, sitting up a little on the lounger.

“Well there’s no point putting it on my front and not my back, is there?”

“I mean-”

“And I can’t reach my back, so…” Steve held out the lotion toward you, a brow slightly arched, “Can you help me, or not?”

Not.

The word felt glued to your tongue, as if no matter how much you wanted to say it, to turn him down, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter that one, simple word. Instead, you swallowed down the lump that had formed in your throat and all but snatched the bottle from him, waiting as he moved to the edge of your own chair and turned away from you, the freckles that you had only been acquainted with once before enhanced by the sun.

His sudden jolt from the cold lotion made you jump slightly, a quiet apology slipping from your lips as you willed your hands to stop trembling.

You’re pathetic, you silently berated yourself, the frown only deepening on your forehead as your hands grazed across the expanse of Steve’s back.

It took a while to fully rub the lotion in, and by the end, you felt like you had heatstroke, “All done,” your words were barely above a whisper.

“Thanks,” Steve’s smile was soft as he turned, glancing over his shoulder at you.

Steve’s throat bobbed as he turned a little more on the lounger to face you, suddenly seeming less sure of himself, “I, uh… Do you-”

“I need to wash my hands,” you stuttered, pushing yourself up too quickly and almost causing the lounger to topple under Steve’s weight as you dashed toward the sliding door.

Gripping onto the sink, you took a few deep breaths and willed yourself to calm down. The heat had clearly gotten to you, your heart all but beating out of your chest. Definitely a sign of heatstroke.

“You alright?” Steve’s voice made you jump before you fumbled for the tap, finally finding some relief from the cold water as you rinsed the oily lotion from your hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… The heat, you know?”

“Right, yeah of course. Do you, uh… Do you want water?” Steve asked, head already in the fridge looking for the cans of coke he’d promised the kids, fishing out a bottle of cold water at your agreement as you dried your hands.

Steve held the bottle out toward you, the droplets of water rolling over his knuckles all too distracting and it only got worse when he softly called your name, your eyes slowly making their way up his chest before finally meeting his eyes, “You sure you’re okay? You wanna lay down or something?”

You were sure you could hear the blood flowing in your ears, and you silently cursed yourself. You had seen topless guys before, hell, for however much of an asshole Billy Hargrove was, you’d seen him playing basketball, shirtless and sweaty, and still managed to keep your composure.

Snatching the bottle from his grip, you willed your voice to remain strong as you eyed the sliding door, quickly making your exit, “Jesus, I’m fine, Harrington. Stop babying me.”

You could barely hear the yelp of pain from him as a can of coke fell from his other hand, dropping onto his bare foot and rolling away, your heart pounding furiously in your chest as you felt your embarrassment overwhelm you.

This is also why you didn’t pay much attention to the wet pool deck until you found yourself sliding on it and crashing into the pool.

For a moment, time stood still. The playful shouts from the kids dulled into muted, indistinguishable noise, and it took a second for your body and brain to catch up with itself, but when it finally did, the panic began to ensue fast and hard.

Your limbs began to flail, unable to decipher which way would lead you to the safety of the water's surface as your chest began to burn, accidentally letting in a lungful of water, eyes sore and unable to make much out except the blue of the water which blended all too well with the blue of the sky.

A muffled noise from behind you barely caught your attention, but the moment Steve’s arms wrapped around you, all but dragging you to the surface, you stopped trying to fight, instead turning limp in his arms.

“Is she okay?” Max rushed forward, concern etched across her face.

“She’ll be fine. Just help me get her out.”

Steve practically dragged you up the few pool steps — your legs turning to jelly — as Max threw one of your arms over her shoulder, taking some of your weight before they placed you onto the lounger as you coughed and spluttered.

“What happened?” Lucas questioned, his soft eyes peering down at you as he handed Steve a towel, the older boy snatching it from his grip to place it over your shoulders.

“She slipped. Jesus, I told you guys to stop splashing the water everywhere, it gets slippery as shit,” Steve returned his attention to you, hands placed against your cheeks as he pushed away the remaining droplets of chlorine water with his thumbs, “You’re okay. Deep breaths, alright? Slow it down.”

It took a moment, but eventually, you were able to match Steve’s breathing, “I’m fine. I’m sorry, guys…”

“You’re shaking,” Steve mumbled, his hands rubbing the towel over the tops of your arms, trying to warm you up, despite the blazing summer sun, “Wheeler, go get her some water-”

“No, Steve. Really, I’m fine,” turning toward the kids, you kept your eyes on the ground, too embarrassed to meet their eyes, “Go back in. Have fun. We’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

Once the gang had reluctantly returned to the pool — this time keeping their antics, and the water, confined to the pool — Steve stood, holding his hand out toward you, “C’mon, let’s get you some dry clothes.”

Despite the fact the sun would’ve dried you off in no time, you followed the boy inside, uncomfortable from the weight of your soaked denim shorts.

Steve had managed to dig out a pair of shorts and an old top for you, and once you were dried and dressed, Steve returned, finding you perched on the end of his bed with the damp towel in your hands and shame written across your face.

“So, this is the second time you’ve almost drowned in my pool. I’m starting to think it’s personal.”

Steve’s joke fell flat, and your lack of response caused him to shuffle his weight between his legs before joining you on the edge of the bed, Barb’s words from the night of his party ringing in his ears, “Why didn’t you ever learn to swim?”

“Not everyone is rich enough to have a pool in the yard,” you mumbled, allowing Steve to take the towel from you and wipe the side of your neck where a droplet of water had begun to fall.

“You know, I haven’t been in that pool since the night Barb…” Steve sighed, folding the towel just to have something to busy his hands with, before placing it on the floor by his bed, “I used to love swimming. It kinda felt like an escape, you know? I’d hold my breath and just sit on the pool floor, drown out everything that was going on around me. Probably why I ended up good enough to be captain of the swim team. And then after Barb’s death I just… Couldn’t face it.”

You knew what he was doing, even if he was unaware of it himself.

“When I was younger, I mean like… really young, my sister and I went out boating with my dad all the time. Back then, Mom was… Well, she was better. But she’s had demons in her life for as long as I can remember, and they only got worse once my Dad left. But whenever she was having a bad morning, he’d take us out on Lover’s Lake.”

Steve watched on silently as your throat bobbed, and you swallowed down the lump that was clawing its way up your throat,

“One night, they were just non-stop fighting. I don’t know what about, I was only like, 6. But my sister… She got me dressed, grabbed a blanket, and we left. She was trying to take care of me like Dad did. So we walked to the lake, untied one of the boats on the dock, and just… rowed out. Nobody else was out there, just me, her, and the quiet of the night. We weren’t given that often, you know? Peace. But that night, just for a while… That was all we had.”

“What happened?” Steve questioned, his hand capturing yours in an attempt to stop you from picking at the skin around your nails.

He knew, of course, what had happened. Or at least, the rumors that had spread around town over the years. It was common knowledge. But he didn’t care about what the town had to say about it… He cared about what you had to say.

“We were being stupid, playing around, unable to see the danger we’d got ourselves into. The boat rocked, and I fell overboard. I don’t remember much after that, but I know she didn’t hesitate to jump in after me, and that’s the only reason I’m alive, and she’s not. She managed to get me back into the boat. But the water was so cold, and I just… I never saw her again. They uh… They think she was caught in a current, and added to the shock of the cold water she just… couldn’t get herself out. If she’d just stayed in the boat, then-”

“Then you’d be dead, and she’d be here instead,” your head snapped toward Steve, his words ringing a little too familiar to your own thoughts. To your mother’s voiced opinions, “You were just kids. She jumped in to save her little sister.”

Praying the tears that were blurring your vision wouldn’t fall, you turned away from Steve, peering up at his bedroom ceiling, “My Dad left not long after. My parents were barely hanging on anyway, but… he couldn’t take it. My Mom’s drinking just got worse, and before I knew it, she was unable to hold down a job, and I was stealing from the Big Buy just to put food on the table.”

“And you never heard from your Dad again? Don’t know where he went?”

Shaking your head, you wiped away a lone tear that had managed to escape, “No. Mom wouldn’t talk about him… about either of them.”

After giving you a moment to collect yourself, Steve’s voice was soft, “I’m so sorry-”

“I don’t want your pity,” you scoffed, shoving his hand off your own, and pushing yourself to stand, despite your legs still feeling a little weak, “Shit happens to everyone.”

“It’s not pity,” Steve sighed, remaining calm as he followed you across the room, a gentle hand laying on your shoulder to turn you to face him, “I promise. When you care about someone, it’s not pity.”

The light streaming in through his window reflected in his eyes, the soft brown almost melting into specks of green, causing your icy demeanor to melt away with the summer sun. Unable to stop the tears from overflowing, you simply nodded before Steve pulled you into an embrace, his warm, sun-kissed skin still smelling of the lotion he’d applied earlier.

“I could teach you, you know? To swim.” Steve spoke quietly, almost too low that you could barely hear him over the kid’s antics from outside his bedroom window.

Shaking your head, your forehead creased, “I don’t think I could-”

“Not here,” he interrupted, peering down at you as he released you from his arms, “At the community pool. There are other people around and lifeguards, you’d be totally safe.”

“I’ll think about it,” you sighed, “But right now, I need to get those kids home.”

A few days after your second unwanted dip in the Harrington’s pool, you found yourself standing by what might’ve been the only available lounger at Hawkins Community Pool.

Steve wasn’t lying when he said there would be plenty of other people there, unfortunately, most of them were screeching children, kicking water at each other and running around, despite how many times Freddie blew his whistle to tell them to slow down, their mother’s not bothered by the dangers of the pool as the women gossiped and preened themselves, fluffing freshly dyed hair and reapplying their fuchsia lipsticks.

“C’mon, it’s really not that bad,” Steve sighed, tapping his foot impatiently on the too-hot floor, all too aware of the eyes that were staring at him, despite the sunglasses that covered them. Sometimes, you thought the sex-deprived housewives were worse than their curious teenagers.

“I don’t know, Steve. Somehow, this seems much worse.”

Steve, only slightly distracted with sending the gaggle of women a small wave, “It’s all good…”

Shoving him slightly, your knuckles began to hurt from their tight grip on your towel, “If I die because of your inability to keep it in your pants, Harrington, I swear, I’ll come back as a ghost and make your life a living hell.”

“You already do that,” Steve sent you a sarcastic smile after rolling his eyes but clambered into the pool regardless, “C’mon, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Brow wrinkled, you eyed the noisy pool, uncertainty pulsing through your body with an underlying panic. Technically, you didn’t need to learn how to swim. You lived in Indiana, a double landlocked state. It wasn’t like you were planning on taking a dip in the Atlantic Ocean any time soon.

But this wasn’t about swimming, both you and Steve knew that. This was about conquering a fear that held so much trauma and guilt.

Steve, noting your apprehension, swam a little closer to the edge, leaning over to look up toward you, “Sometimes, the only way out is through.”

You nodded, despite the slight glare etched onto your features, before slowly unraveling your towel, feeling a little too exposed despite your rather conservative bathing suit. It wasn’t very flattering, but it covered the scars over your abdomen much better than any alternatives.

Before you could step forward, a low wolf whistle stopped you in your tracks, “Well, well, well. I didn’t know the Convent was in town.”

Slamming your eyes shut in annoyance, you silently cursed your luck, “Go away, Hargrove.”

“No can do,” you wanted to slap the wolfish grin right off his face when he pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and raised his metal whistle toward you, “Kind of my job to be here.”

“Great,” you huffed, returning your attention to the boy in the pool, “Can we go? Please?”

“Oh, I get it…” Billy smirked, eyes darting between you and Steve, who was glaring at him from the water, “Anyway, the geriatric swim session is from 4pm, til 5. You’re a little early with that outfit.”

Billy pulled the strap of your costume, as if to make a point, allowing it to snap back onto your skin, making you flinch before shoving him away slightly, “I swear, Hargrove. If you-”

The shrill sound of his whistle cut you off, his eyes set on a running child who almost tripped over himself in an attempt to slow down, before he finally returned his attention to you, pulling his sunglasses back over his leering eyes, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. And don’t forget, I know mouth-to-mouth.”

You weren’t able to formulate a response before Billy had sauntered off, late for his round of peacock-ing in front of the Horny Housewives of Hawkins. Instead, you found your feet taking you to the edge of the pool.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you dangled your legs in cautiously as you began your tirade to Steve, instead.

“That guy is so pig-headed. I swear, if he ever touches me again, I’ll rip that stupid little mustache off his face.”

Steve, who had moved slightly to allow you the space to sit in front of him sent you an amused smile, “Ignore him, alright? Are we doing this?”

Inhaling deeply and trying to push your fear to the back of your mind, you accepted his hands that were outstretched and awaiting your own,

“If I need the kiss of life, and Billy is my only option, please, and I mean this wholeheartedly, let me die.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve waded back into the water slowly, allowing you to shuffle forward until you were finally in the water, “Yeah, I’m a certified lifeguard. I could just give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Steve’s words caused the both of you to halt, and for just a moment, you were grateful for the cool pool water as it lapped at your too-warm body. Catching himself, Steve began to stutter as he dragged you a little further into the pool, “You know, if you, uh… If you ever needed it…”

Fighting hard to not allow your obvious embarrassment to invade your face, you settled your focus on the boy’s hands as he led you away from the pool’s edge, which was a mistake all of its own, “I’d prefer to just, you know… Not drown.”

“That’ll be a good start, yeah,” Steve swallowed thickly, his cheeks rosy from what he would argue was the sun, “You’re doing well.”

“I’ve just got in, Steve. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Half the fight was getting into the pool in the first place,” Steve smirked, a small wave of water hitting his chin as you pushed water toward him with a halfhearted glare.

It almost annoyed you how good Steve was at teaching. Sure, with the kids, he sometimes lost his temper and would more often than not result in name-calling, but when he knew how to do something, Steve really knew.

By no means were you confident in the water, nor could you do much more than dog paddle and a flailing backstroke, but by the time you’d pulled your aching limbs from the water and began to dry off, you were slowly growing comfortable with Steve’s assistance. Not that you intended on joining the Swimming Team any time soon.

“Why didn’t you apply for a job here? I mean, it kinda seems like you’d ace an interview here.”

“Already filled up their positions,” Steve sighed, rubbing his towel through his hair, unaware or unbothered with it sticking out in several directions, “Plus, I don’t think my Dad would see it as much of a punishment, hanging around a pool with babes in bikini’s all day, you know?”

“I work a minimum wage job in an overheated arcade, full of smelly preteen boys. Anything would be an upgrade from that.”

“And you’re sure there are no positions available? Like, nothing at all?”

Shrugging, you wrapped your towel around yourself and shoved your feet into your flip flops, ready to head into the changing cubicle, “However much I wish Andy would quit, there’s nothing. Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. I, uh... I totally passed that interview at the Mall, anyway. I start this week.”

“Oh shit, that’s great.”

“Yeah, well… It’s some Ice cream place, so… That'll be... Fun.”

You and Steve separated into changing rooms, and once you were relatively dry and dressed back into your normal clothes, you made your way out, spotting the boy leaning against one of the wooden picnic benches, talking to one of the lifeguards, Heather.

Before you could make your way over, a tanned arm shot out, reaching toward the wall, essentially blocking you in, “You know, I surfed a lot back in California.”

“Riveting,” you deadpanned, barely sparing a look in Billy’s direction, “Does this story have a point, or are you just trying to waste my time?”

“My point,” Billy stressed, leaning uncomfortably closer to you, “is that I’m a pretty great swimmer. The ocean isn’t exactly a backyard pool, you know? I teach lessons here, but… if you ever want a private session, then you know where I am. My specialty is the breaststroke, but I know all the styles-”

“You are disgusting, Hargrove. You know that?”

Billy’s smirk stretched across his face, but his eyes darkened slightly, “You weren’t saying that last Halloween. In fact, if I remember, you weren’t really saying much at all.”

Your name being called from across the small entrance caught both of your attention, but Billy’s arm remained high by your head,

“Hey, you already swam?” The boy asked, his eyes darting between you, Billy, and his arm against the wall.

“Uh, yeah. I was getting a lesson…”

Nodding, Patrick turned his attention to the blonde, “Sup, Hargrove. Didn’t know you got a summer gig here.”

“Why would you know?” Chewing on his gum, Billy watched the boy carefully, his smirk nowhere to be seen, before turning back to you but thankfully removing his hand from the wall beside you, “Offers there.”

Billy brushed past Patrick, who barely seemed phased by the boy’s cold shoulder, even when he greeted his friends with much more warmth, “God, he is such a dick. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. No, I’m good. Thank you, though.” You stumbled through your words, thankful that Patrick and his group of friends hadn’t turned up earlier. That was an embarrassment you didn’t need to suffer.

Jason called after Patrick, telling him to hurry, but the boy merely sent them away to swim with a wave of his wrist, ensuring he’ll join them soon, yet he remained standing with you at the entrance.

“So, uh… Thanks again, you know. For helping me clear up the other day. You didn’t need to.”

“Well, it was kinda my fault that Andy ditched, so… It was the least I could do.”

“Yeah, well… I hope he at least gave you some of his paychecks.”

Patrick smirked, his dark eyes peering down into yours, making you feel a little too exposed.

“You know, I was uh… I know you don’t like Andy, or whatever, but, we’re having this small get-together Monday night. Not a lot of people but… yeah, it’s normally pretty cool. Did you, maybe wanna, go? With me, I mean… Obviously.”

With wide eyes and an open mouth, you prayed for your brain to stop short-circuiting and respond — at this point with anything — but instead, you stood, staring at him like a guppy, causing him to stutter,

“I mean, you totally don’t have to. Because of Andy or, you know, even if you don’t like me, that’s totally fine too. I just thought maybe-”

“Monday night sounds good,” your voice squeaked, and for a moment you could only beg that the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. Take you back to the Upside Down, for all you gave a shit.

Instead of calling you out on it, or mocking you, Patrick instead sent you a wide, sincere smile and nodded, “Yeah, cool. I’ll uh… I’ll pick you up? Around 9?”

And with a nod of your head, it was a date.

[furiousgoldfish]

When you're a small child, your abusive parents seem omnipotent to you. They are the highest authority you've known, they know everything and can do anything, mostly including hurting you if you don't do as you are told. They make you believe that they can read your mind and know your thoughts, and that they're impossible to escape from, they'll follow you to the ends of earth and drag you back into their house.

It's normal for small children, with no point of reference, to believe their parents omnipotent, but as they grow up, learn how things work in life, find references to how children are made and raised and what parents are responsible for - they grow out of it. They start to understand the limitations of parents, and often make use of them. They know that parents can't do or know everything, they can keep secrets, tell their little white lies, and they're not intimidated by parents because parents are not a threat to them, but figures of care and safety, people who they can go to when they're in trouble or in need of safety.

Abusive parents, however, work very hard to carry that imposing, omnipotent, oppressive illusion of them deep into adulthood. They will insist that neither you nor any authority or law can control or stop them, if they've decided on something. They'll show you by example, by manipulating people around them, sometimes even people of authority, that no matter what, they'll get their way. They'll want you to feel helpless, powerless and isolated whenever you want to oppose them. They'll manipulate your own point of view, and insist you have to see them in positive light, or else. They'll convince you that even thoughts that they don't approve of, are a sin, and that you could be punished for it. That there's nowhere to run, nobody who would believe you or help you, that you have no other choice but to submit to their will.

They wouldn't be able to impose such illusion on anyone except a child, and then the adult they've been grooming from very early age to believe these things to be eternal truths that cannot be questioned. And this is a part of what makes abusive parents so terrifying; they can go above some authority with the power of manipulation, they can lie their way out of crimes, they can gaslight and convince their victims it's their fault or it didn't happen, they regularly do and get away with this. Anyone watching that unfolding would be in trepidation of them, and hyper-aware of how dangerous these individuals are.

But, they are not omnipotent. They do not know what anyone is thinking. They do not know things outside their little bubble. If you go to a location they don't know of, and nobody can tell them, they cannot find out. They cannot predict your thoughts or actions as well as they try to convince you they can. They cannot change reality, they cannot erase what happened, and they cannot keep you imprisoned against your will your whole life. It is pretty hard on them, actually, to try and keep controlling an adult who has a mind of their own - that's why they're putting so much energy into trying to make their children into people without any thoughts of their own. But that's impossible.

Think about all the times they're really flying into rage, yelling and screaming and convincing you that something is right or wrong for you. How hard they go at changing your mind when you're thinking something that doesn't go to their benefit. Lot of effort on their part just to change your train of thoughts, isn't it? But if they were omnipotent, your thoughts would be no threat to them. If you were simply 'wrong', why would it even matter? An omnipotent being would simply shrug and not care.

They work extremely hard to change what's in your mind, because that's the only way they can keep that illusion of goodness and omnipotence. If you're allowed to think for yourself, to make your own conclusions, to believe your senses and point out what is logical, then their entire charade falls into nothing, it becomes obvious they're nothing but skilled liars and their power of manipulation is how they maintain everything else in life. It also becomes obvious how cruel and immoral their lies are, and how much damage they do to everyone around them.

They don't want you to see the limits because the limits show they're only good at terrifying and brainwashing children, not anything beyond that. You can get away from them to a place they can't follow. You can escape their cruelty and mind control. You can gain freedom. Your thoughts can be your own. You are allowed and able of keeping secrets from them. You can withhold information and opinions from them. You can lie to them. You can deceive them and trick them in order to get away. They have no legal right to you. You do not owe them anything. Their power ends the second they can't find or contact you.

[stilljuststardust]

Ughh i'm manifesting that it only takes me 20 minutes to shift and it feels like nothing is happening😫 I do my best to not see the 3d as validation but urgh any tips?

Take a deep breath

Your subconscious will always take you at your word, if you tell it that shifting has to take forever it will believe you and it will create that experience for you.

It's job is to give you proof of what you're telling it. You've been telling it shifting takes a while so it's been giving you proof of that assumption.

The 3D isn't resisting you it's just showing you proof of what you used to believe. If you stop repeating that story to your subconscious it'll stop giving you proof.

Your subconscious LOVES to prove you right, so only tell it what you want to happen. Don't tell yourself you're waiting waiting waiting for it if that's not what you want.

I don't need you to feel like sunshine and rainbows when you wakeup and you're not where you want, I just need you to think as if the opposite has happened. "Aw man I didn't oh shit it worked, and so quickly too"

The thing about manifesting, shifting, what have you, is you get to make up your own rules. Just as people can impose self created limits you can impose self created advantages.

You already manifested a rule for shifting, you came up with the idea that it'll take and hour two hours however long and then your subconscious supplied you proof.

So do it again, in your favor.

What I recommend for you is to treat this new rule as if it is just a fact. This is just how shifting works. It's just how things are. Shifting is very quick, that's just how it works and it's silly to think otherwise.

Whenever you think against your desires say "shifting doesn't work like that"

If you've shifted before, mentally rewrite it so that it only took you twenty minutes, and whenever you think about your manifestation remind yourself that it's so clearly already done because last time you shifted in only twenty minutes.

I need you to put more belief in yourself than you're putting in the 3D, the 3D gets its validation from you.

Every morning when you wake up say, "oh my god it worked, I shifted" even though you feel like shit. It's not about the feeling it's about what you've told your subconscious.

[radical-revolution]

THE WAR IS ON!

~ Nisargadatta Maharaj

Questioner:

The war is on!

What is your attitude to it?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

In some place or other, in some form or other, the war is always 'on'. Was there a time when there was no war?

Some say it is the will of God.

Some say it is God's play.

It is another way of saying that wars are inevitable, and nobody is responsible.

Questioner:

But what is your attitude?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

Why impose attitudes on me?

I have no attitude to call my own!

Questioner:

Surely somebody is responsible for this horrible and senseless carnage.

Why do people kill each other so readily?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

Search for the culprit within.

The ideas of 'me' and 'mine', are at the root of all conflict.

Be free of them, and you will be out of conflict.

Questioner:

What of it, that I am out of conflict?

... It will not affect the war.

If I am the cause of war, I am ready to be destroyed. Yet, it stands to reason that the disappearance of a thousand like me, will not stop wars.

They did not start with my birth, nor will end with my death. I am not responsible. Who is?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

Strife and struggle are a part of existence.

Why don't you inquire who is responsible for existence?

Questioner:

Why do you say that existence and conflict are inseparable? Can there be no existence without strife? I need not fight other, to be myself!

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

You fight others all the time for your survival, as a separate body-mind – a particular name and form.

To live, you must destroy!

From the moment you were conceived, you started a war with your environment – a merciless war of mutual extermination, until death sets you free!

Questioner:

My question remains unanswered.

You are merely describing what I know – life and its sorrows.

But who is responsible, you do not say!?

When I press you, you throw the blame on God, or karma, or on my own greed and fear – which merely invites further questions.

... Give me the final answer!

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

The final answer is this: nothing IS!

All is a momentary appearance in the field of the Universal Consciousness; continuity as 'Name and Form', is a mental formation only, easy to dispel.

Questioner:

I am asking about the immediate,

The transitory, the appearance.

Here is a picture of a child killed by soldiers. It is a fact staring at you. You cannot deny it.

... Now, who is responsible for the death of the child?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

Nobody, and everybody!

The world is what it contains, and each thing affects all others.

.We all kill the child and we all die with it!

Every event has innumerable causes, and produces numberless effects. It is useless to keep accounts – nothing is traceable!

Questioner:

Your people speak of karma and retribution!

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

It is merely a gross approximation;

... In reality we are all creators and creatures of each other, causing and bearing each other's burden.

Questioner:

So, the innocent suffers for the guilty?

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

In our ignorance – we are innocent;

In our actions – we are guilty!

We sin without knowing, and suffer without understanding.

Our only hope: to stop, to look, to understand, and to get out of the traps of memory.

For memory feeds imagination, and imagination generates desire, and fear.

Questioner: Why do I imagine at all?!

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

The light of Consciousness passes through the film of memory, and throws pictures on your brain.

Because of the deficient, and disordered state of your brain, what you perceive is distorted and colored by feelings, of like and dislike.

Make your thinking orderly, and free from emotional overtones, and you will see people and things as they are, with clarity and charity.

'The witness' of birth, life and death, is one and the same. It is the witness of pain, and of love.

For while the existence in limitation and separation is sorrowful – we love it!

We love it – and hate it, at the same time!

We fight, we kill, we destroy life and property, and yet we are affectionate, and self-sacrificing.

We nurse the child tenderly, and orphan it too.

Our life is full of contradictions!

Yet we cling to it!

This clinging, is at the root of everything.

... Still, it is entirely superficial.

We hold on to something or somebody, with all our might, and next moment we forget it; like a child that shapes its mud-pies, and abandons them, light-heatedly.

Touch them – and it will scream with anger, divert the child, and he forgets them.

For our life is now, and the love of it, is now!

We love variety, the play of pain and pleasure, we are fascinated by contrasts. For this we need the opposites, and their apparent separation.

We enjoy them for a time, and then get tired and crave for the peace and silence of pure being.

... The cosmic heart beats ceaselessly.

... I am the witness, and the heart too!

Questioner:

I can see 'the picture', but who is 'the painter'?

... Who is responsible for the terrible, and yet adorable experience?!

•• Nisargadatta Maharaj:

The painter is in the picture!

You separate 'the painter' from 'the picture', and look for him.

... Don't separate and don't put false questions!

Things are as they are, and nobody – in particular, is responsible. The idea of personal responsibility comes from the illusion of agency: 'Somebody must have done it, somebody is responsible'.

Society, as it is now – with its framework of laws and customs, is based on the idea of separate, and responsible personality,

but this is not the only form that a society can take.

There may be other forms, where the sense of separation is weak, and responsibility diffused.

…☕️🍎

[sttoru]

CHOOSE YOUR OWN FATE EVENT

ෆ TWO TICKETS, ONE CHOICE !

THE REAL WORLD !

𝐈. the real world contains all kinds of secrets and new experiences which you have yet to discover! join the others on this journey and get to choose what you want to find out.

𝐈𝐈. a little warning from sttoru: some experiences may get rather.. explicit. or mature as many would call it. however, don’t be afraid, the writer barbie will do all the work and guide you through it !

BARBIELAND !

𝐈. stay behind in barbieland and continue to live your own little life in your own little dreamhouse. oh, don’t forget that there’s a girls night at sttoru’s home starting at 8.

𝐈𝐈. we’ll stay up and talk all about what we love and what brings us happiness! and.. about our crushes of course. though, don’t forget to bring your tissues because things might get sentimental as well.

ෆ HOW DOES IT WORK ?

i. you send in an (anonymous) message via my mailbox with the desired character and prompt (ex. ‘hi can i get toji + prompt 1 from the barbieland / real word) or ‘can i get gojo with ‘spelled out quote of the prompt’)

ii. if a spot is taken, i will update it in this post down below. keep an eye out to see which slots are already taken / free before sending a request.

iii. if there are multiple requests for one prompt, i will choose the one i want to write. absolutely no hard feelings !

iiii. please look at my request rules over here to see which characters i do and do not write for. for the smut section: only male characters are allowed to be requested.

v. please do not rush me. this event is open until all fics have a character assigned. i will only start writing the fics once all slots are taken. and even then, there’s no deadline for me to finish writing them. patience please ^_^

ෆ PROMPTS.

YOU’VE CHOSEN TO STAY IN BARBIELAND.

i: UTTERLY LOVESICK, featuring: nanami kento !

— your lover has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. they decide to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in their affection at 3 in the morning.

ii: CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, featuring. geto suguru !

— your lover chases you around the streets late at night. you were teasing them all the way through your little stroll with lovey dovey remarks and compliments, making the both of you giggle uncontrollably and continue the playful banter. you weren’t going to stop any time soon, so your lover takes matters in own hands to shut you up before they die of laughter.

iii. EYES DON’T LIE, featuring: kaeya alberich !

— your lover was feeling under the weather, however was pushing themselves over their limit, telling others they’re fine when in your eyes they aren’t. you decide to confront them in private and your lover instantly breaks down in your arms.

iiii. DON’T LEAVE ME, featuring: childe !

— you get a call from your lover’s colleague, telling you that your lover’s been in a gruesome fight. you rush towards the designated place and find your lover sweating, breathing heavily and patched up in multiple bloody blandages.

v. EVERYTHING I LOVE ABOUT YOU, featuring: jing yuan !

— one night when you’re cuddling with your lover, your once peaceful conversation turns into a full out compliment battle. neither of you are backing down and it quickly turns into your lover showing their adoration for you through their actions.

YOU’VE CHOSEN TO GO TO THE REAL WORLD.

i. MISSION IMPOSIBLE, featuring. toji fushiguro !

— your lover wants to spice things up in the bedroom and decides to purchase an aphrodisiac of some kind. you add a rule to it after taking the aphrodisiac: no touching each other for as long as possible (content warning: this includes breeding themes).

ii. UNDENIABLE ATTRACTION, featuring: blade !

— your lover and you have been in an argument for two whole days, both of you too stubborn to talk it out. the tension was rising between the two whenever you come across each other in your apartment and your partner can’t take it anymore. he has to show you how much he’s missed your touch.

iii. UNEXPECTED VISIT, featuring: toji fushiguro !

— your ex-baby daddy visits you to pick up your child for the weekend. this wasn’t part of your usual schedule and so you end up in an argument. there was an undeniable sexual tension in the air as you could notice how your lover was checking you out throughout your little squabble. (content warning: this includes hate fucking).

iiii. JUST LET ME LOVE YOU, featuring: geto suguru !

— you were a virgin and in your first relationship with your partner for a couple months now. neither of you have taken your relationship to the next step; your partner was extremely patient and never brought the topic up until you one day decide you were ready. your partner is a few years older than you and was much more experienced so you decided to trust him. (content warning: this includes age-gap, loss of virginity.)

v. SHE KNOWS, featuring: gojo satoru !

— your panties were disappearing and you were getting a bit frustrated. just when you thought it was simply your imagination, you catch your boyfriend masturbating to them in the bedroom. as much as you wanted to scold him, the way he was desperately jerking himself off and moaning your name was getting you in the mood to join him. (content warning: pervy character. dubcon (‘cause of the stolen panties)).

NO MATTER THE CHOSEN DESTINATION, THE HOST HOPES YOU ENJOY YOUR JOURNEY.

[crystaldust]

HIGHLIGHTS FROM “What Am I?”

[session 13 of “Keys to the ultimate freedom” by Lester Levenson]

♡ The ultimate goal of every being is total and complete happiness with no taint of sorrow whatsoever. 

♡ “Attention! You have spent many lifetimes looking in the wrong direction! Stop looking without and look ye within! Only there will ye find that which ye have spent lifetime after lifetime seeking!” And then you meet someone like Lester: who tells you, “Seek ye your very own Self. Therein lies your complete happiness. Stop looking for happiness in people and things. Here you merely eliminate the pain of the desire for something, and the relief you get you call pleasure. And the pleasure is short-lived because the desire is not eliminated and is still there, and therefore the pain of it continues to gnaw at you.“

♡ Accept nothing unless you can prove it yourself. Prove it and it is yours. Prove it and then you can use it.

♡ The intellect does not avail it to us. The intellect can get us in the right direction to find it. The right direction is turning within, stilling the mind and experiencing this truth, this knowledge. And only by experience can we get to know it.

♡ Methods are many, but the very highest is the method that everyone uses in the final end, and that method is finding the answer to “What am I?” This quest should be kept up all the time, not only in meditation, but during the day. While we're working, no matter what we're doing, in the back of our mind we can always keep that question posed: “What am I?” until the answer makes itself obvious to us.

♡ Now, any answer the mind can give us must necessarily not be it because the mind is an instrument of limitation. All thoughts are qualified; all thoughts are limited. So any answer the mind gives cannot be right. The way the answer comes is simply by getting out of our own way - removing the blindness that we have imposed upon ourselves by assuming thoughts that we are a thinking mind body.

♡ So, the way is to pose the question “What am I?” and quietly await the answer. Other thoughts will come in, and the biggest difficulty is quieting these thoughts. When other thoughts come in, if we pose the question, “To whom are these thoughts?” the answer naturally is, “To me.” Then, “What am I?” puts us right back.

♡ In addition to posing this question until we get the answer, it is good practice in our daily life to be not the doer, be not the agent. Just be the witness! Acquire the “It is not I but the Father who worketh through me” attitude. 

♡ So, there are two things I'm suggesting, one is the quest “What am I?” and the second is, in life itself, be not the doer; be the witness. Let things happen; allow life to be. That's the way we are in the top state, and the best behavior in life is that which is characteristic of the top state.

♡ the greatest aid is to be not the doer, but be the witness.

♡ When we attain this top state, we are not zombies, but we are all-knowing and everywhere present. Everything falls perfectly into line. We move in the world just like anyone else moves, but the difference is that we see the world entirely different from the way everyone else sees it. We see our body and every other body equally as our Self. Likewise, every animal and every thing as our Self. Seeing everything as “I,” gives us that singular Oneness throughout the universe which is called God, or the Self. We watch our body moving through life like an automaton. We let it go its way. And since we are not really that body, nothing that happens to that body can effect us. Even if it were crushed, it wouldn't mean much to us because we fully know that we are not that body. We know our eternal Beingness and we remain That! So, one who has attained the top state is difficult to distinguish from anyone else. He wiII go through the same motions of life and whatever he was doing before, he might continue to do. But his outlook on life is entirely different. He is completely egoless; he has no concern for his own body. He is interested in others and not in himself, he is interested in all humanity. Whatever he does has absolutely no ego motivation. His body will continue to live its normal span and usually goes out, in the eyes of the unknowing, the same way most bodies go out, via so-called death and coffin. But the one who was originally connected with that body never sees any of this death. He sees this entire world and body as an illusion that was created mentally just as we create scenes, cities and worlds in our night dreams. When we awaken, we realize there never was such a thing. And in the same way, when we awaken from this waking state, we see that the whole thing was a dream and never really was. That the only thing that ever was, was my Being, the absolute Reality, being all beingness, infinite, all perfect, all knowing, all powerful, omnipresent.

♡ Q: To not be the doer, don't you plan? Don't you do everything normally? Lester: No, the right way is not to plan. Let it happen. Let go and you'll be guided intuitively. Instead of planning with thought, you'll do the exactly right thing, perfectly at the right moment, from moment to moment.

♡ Q: There is a situation where someone might take a position of that kind when he hasn't really felt it; for example, he will say, “I'll just stay in bed until I'm moved.” Meantime his rent isn't paid. Lester: So, he'll have to move! If we assume that we are there and are not, we are soon awakened to the fact that we are not there, see. Bob, I'm talking from a higher level now, the perfect state, where everything is in absolute harmony every moment. There you never think, and at every moment you know from within just the right thing to do. You're guided intuitively each and every moment and everything falls perfectly into line. Now, if you're not there, of course you have to think; you have to plan.

♡ Q: Well, in practice then, in the beginning, it's probably a combination of the two where things go very easily, and then there's a hump in which you have to plan. Lester: Definitely yes! In the top state you do by knowing; you just know from moment to moment. One feels “I know it!” That's just the way it feels and there's no thinking to it, only “I know it!” Q: I know from my own experience, I slip back and lay out a plan, but sometimes that plan comes very easily and quickly to me and sometimes I have to struggle like the devil to work it out, step by step and I don't know what's going to happen. Other times I just layout a plan and I know what's going to happen and I have no difficulty with it.

♡ Lester: The word “know” as you use it is the key. You know how that word feels when you say “I know it!” There's no doubt, not one iota of doubt there. And it happens. That's the key. That's the realm of knowingness. Make that all the time. Keep working for it until it comes and stays. The quickness with which we attain this is determined by the intensity of the desire for it. The more we desire this top state the sooner it comes. Everyone makes it eventually.

♡ Because of the state of affairs today, man is relatively low. We are very strongly convinced that we are a limited body and by long habit we are trying to hold onto it. So it's not easy to let go of this body, and because of that we need the grace of the Great Ones who in our eyes have passed on, but in their eyes, they're still here. When we recognize that they are still here, we can see them and talk to them the way we talk to each other. If we accept them partially, we can talk to them in a dream or a vision. The way we meet with them is determined by our acceptance of them. If anyone of us believed that he could go down to a restaurant and have a snack with Jesus, the way you believe you could do it with me, - if you had that much acceptance then you could do it..

♡ But the way He comes to us is determined by our acceptance of Him.

♡ The greatest humility is through surrender: not I but thou; it is not I, but the Father who worketh through me; everything I do is God's work, I am not the doer. It is surrender of the ego, the ego being a sense of separate individuality.

♡ The only thing that should concern us is what we do. For me, it matters not what your attitude is toward me. You could hate me with every cell in your body. But it's of extreme importance what my attitude is toward you. While you're hating me I should love you fully and completely.

♡ When we love, and only love, we are using the most formidable power in the universe. No one and no thing can harm us. We can never ever be hurt or unhappy if we would only just love without any hate.

♡ When you love fully you understand the other one fully. Love is understanding. It's identifying with the other one, being the other one. Coming down a step, it's wanting the other one to have what the other one wants, loving the other one, the way the other one is.

♡ Q: Then who is our enemy? Lester: In reality we have only one enemy and that's ourself. No one can do anything to us; no one can do anything for us. Someday you'll see this, that we in our consciousness determine everything that happens to us.

♡ Q: Then it is our idea of ourselves which is incorrect? Lester: Right. And that could be made better!

♡ Q: When you say understanding, do you mean understanding in a logical sense, or do you mean acceptance of them without question of the reason why they're doing things, good or bad; just acceptance of whatever they are in an entirety.

Lester: It's acceptance in an entirety. But the real understanding requires knowledge of what the universe and the world are. When we see someone doing wrong, we have to know that this is a god-being, misguided. He's looking for God in the wrong place. He's looking for happiness the way he sees it.

♡ Now this doesn't mean approving of his program, it doesn't. But whether we approve or not of his program, loving and hating are two different things than not approving of his program. So we love everyone, see them as misguided beings, forgive them for they know not what they do. They're like children, misguided. Attain the highest state of loving everyone equally as Christ did!

[mokaisathome]

Can you be parasocial with your own boyfriend? (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

   Jamil's luck wasn't the best. He had known that for a while now, as he got dragged in almost every single one of Kalim's whims when they were kids and then worse, had to go along with Azul's schemes during high school (and even now in college, his “friend” still got him involved in too many thongs he didn't care about). Point was, he wasn't lucky. Or, more accurately, someone next to him – Kalim – was so lucky that in comparison, his luck amounted to nothing.

   Board games? When it didn't involve strategy, Kalim somehow managed to beat him at everything because he seemed to only land on things that helped him.

   Lottery? The guy who didn't need anything more in his life was the one who won prizes left and right.

   Gachapon? His hard-earned allowance never got him anything worthwhile every time he went to the arcade near his elementary school, but the one time he let Kalim accompany him, he, of course, got the rarest character.

   Perhaps saying Jamil wasn't lucky was a mistake – Kalim was simply too lucky which didn't amount to anything in real life actually. But today, that was exactly the skill Jamil needed.

*

   The only reason Jamil began that game was because his friends asked him to. At first, he had no interest in it, simply following the story without paying much attention to the characters, but along the way, he found himself interested in the mechanics. Making a character stronger through thorough strategy and planning was more fun than he had expected and even if it was only from time to time, he sometimes streamed it when a boss seemed challenging enough.

   The characters weren't really part of the appeal to him outside their skills and the only times he found himself interested in rolling one was to use them to their full potential. Today was the release day of one such character. A cute girl sure but he had his eyes on her particular skill set – seemingly difficult to use and a bit clunky, but he could make it work. (The real reason was that Kalim who stopped playing the game ages ago because he was bored with it liked her and was a bit sad to see her get trashed because of her kit.)

   The problem was… She wasn't coming home. At all. At this point, he was close to the spending limit he had imposed himself, and every time he clicked on the banner to roll, he got at most a four star but often absolutely nothing. A glance at his chat made Jamil click his tongue discreetly enough that his mic didn't pick up on it. “rip”, “💸💸” and other less kind comments.

   The character's bright smile seemed to mock him now as he clicked through the gacha results to come back to the banner page. Why did he start playing a game without pity again?

   Stopping now would be a wise choice but more than unlucky, Jamil was a sore loser. If it had been something like a boss battle, he would have made changes accordingly and won, but nothing could be done when the battle was with the gacha RNG… Except, something could be done.

   He leaned back on his chair and sighed. “Don't worry, I'll get what I want. I'll just use my secret weapon.”

   Despite what an astounding number of comments on his chat said, his “ultimate weapon” wasn't his credit card but the man sitting on the sofa in the corner of the room. Kalim who never moved from there while he was streaming perked up when Jamil discreetly waved at him and not so discreetly, approached from the computer. Jamil had to hold him at arm's length so he wouldn't appear on camera and mouthed a serious “Don't talk” before motioning him to click on the “Roll” button.

  Kalim happily obeyed and did exactly as Jamil wanted though his “Don't talk” order was mostly ignored (Kalim's words were for him alone though as he muted himself for a few seconds). The screen turned black for a split second before it turned rainbow. As expected. Kalim's luck was unmatched after all.

   No need to look at his chat to know they were excited about the results – the comments rolled too fast for him to read, and they went even faster when after the first five stars, a second one popped up. (Maybe that was overkill, but it was his reward after such a frustrating stream.) Kalim was still next to him, cheering as silently as he could, obviously happier than even Jamil. A few minutes later, Jamil received Kalim's usual red SuperChat, its message full of congratulations and emojis.

   Jamil's luck wasn't the best, but there weren't many people who could brag about ending a gacha rolling richer than they had been before it.

[onlycosmere]

Kaladin Chapter One from Stormlight 5, Parts 1 and 2

Brandon Sanderson: This is first draft. So there's gonna be some stuff in this, things might change. Just be warning you.

This is Kaladin from [Stormlight] Book Five.

Chapter Kaladin One

Kaladin felt good.

Not great. Not after spending weeks hiding in an occupied city, forced to stretch himself both physically and emotionally far beyond the reasonable limit. Not after what had happened to Teft. No, Kaladin didn't feel great. But he stood in the sunlight, looking out the window of his room.

He thought that maybe he would someday feel great again. Knowing that, being able to recognize it, was enough. Indeed, there was an incongruent spring to his step as he walked to his barrack. Why did he feel good? Yes, they had protected Urithiru, but at great cost. Dalinar had set a deadline that was horrifically soon; war was coming upon them, and now Kaladin wasn't going to even be part of it. He was on leave; self-imposed this time.

He'd said the right words, but had realized that those words weren't enough. Stormlight healed his body, but his soul needed time. Bridge Four and the Windrunners would go to battle without him. He should feel awful. A part of him simply refused to do so.

He dug through his clothing, stacks of civilian clothing neatly laundered for him and delivered this morning. The world might be ending in ten days, but Urithiru's washwomen soldiered on. None of the choices felt right, and shortly he glanced to the wall where a new uniform hung, sent by the quartermaster to replace the one Kaladin had ruined during the fighting two days before. Leyten kept a rack of them in Kaladin's size.

Kaladin had stuck it there with a Lashing last night after Teft's funeral, testing something he'd been told by the others: Urithiru was awake now, with its own Bondsmith, and things were... different. That Lashing he had used should have run out after minutes; yet here this one was, ten hours later, still going strong. The extended powers only worked in the city, but he could already see that going forward, this would be a very different place to live. Assuming anyone survived the next two weeks.

A short time later, Syl poked her head into his room without any thought for privacy, as usual. Granted, his room didn't have a door, but a hanging cloth. Doors were in short supply, and they'd installed their first ones on the examination rooms up the hallway to offer privacy to the patients.

Not that a door would have stopped Syl; she could squeeze through the smallest cracks. Except, today, she was walking around full human-sized, for some reason, and wearing a havah instead of her usual girlish dress. She was doing that more commonly, as of late.

As Kaladin did the last buttons on the high collar of his uniform jacket, she bounced over to stand behind him, then floated up in the air a foot or so to look over his shoulder at him in the mirror.

"Can't you make yourself any size?" he asked, checking his jacket cuffs.

"Yeah. Within reason."

"Whose reason?"

"No idea," she said. "I tried to get as big as a mountain, once. It involved lots of grunting and thinking like rocks. Really big rocks. I managed a very small mountain; like, enough to fit in this room with the tip brushing the ceiling, but super narrow. That's as big as I could go."

"So, you could be tall enough to tower over me?" he said. "Why do you usually make yourself shorter than me, instead?"

"It just feels right," she said.

"That's your explanation for basically everything."

"Yep." She poked him. He could barely feel it; even at this size, she was insubstantial in the physical realm. "Uniform? I thought you weren't gonna wear one of those anymore. What happened?"

He hesitated, then pulled the jacket down at the bottom to pull the wrinkles across the sides. "It just feels right," he admitted, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She grinned, and storm him, he couldn't help but grinning back. "Someone is having a good day," she said, poking him again.

"Bizarrely," Kaladin said. "If I understand right, the world is slated to end in ten days."

"To maybe end in ten days."

"And the enemy appears to be mobilizing for some reason, rather than just waiting for the deadline. What do they hope to accomplish?"

"Something nefarious, no doubt," she said.

"More people are going to die," he replied. "Perhaps people I care about. I won't be there to help them, and..."

"Kaladin Stormblessed!" she said, rising up into the air higher, arms folded. Though she wore a fashionable havah, she left her white-blue glowing hair floating free, waving and shifting in the wind. The non-existent wind, currently. She raised up until she loomed two feet above him. "Don't you dare talk yourself into being miserable!"

"Or what?"

"Or I," she thundered, "shall make silly faces at you all day, as only I can."

"Those aren't silly," he said, shivering.

"They're hilarious!"

"Last time, you made a tentacle come out of your forehead."

"High brow comedy."

"A spinning eyeball growing from the end of it?"

"Every joke needs a good twist."

"Then it slapped me!"

"Punchline. Obviously." She shook her head. "Storms. All the humans in the world, and I end up picking the one without a taste for refined humor."

He met her eyes, and her smile was storming contagious. "It just feels warm," he said, "to have finally figured a few things out. To have made progress, despite it all. To have let go of that weight I was carrying and to step out from the shadow. I know the darkness will return, but I think... I think I'll be able to remember, this time. Better than before."

"Remember what?"

He met her eyes, Lashing himself upward, floating until he was eye level with her. "That days like this exist, too." She nodded firmly. "I wish I could show Teft," Kaladin said. "I miss him like a hole in my own flesh, still."

"I know," she said softly. If she'd been a human friend, she might have offered a hug. Syl didn't seem to understand physicality like a human did, even if she had a more substantial body in the cognitive realm. He got the feeling she didn't actually spend much time there, though; she seemed more natural to this realm than the other honorspren, flitting about like the windspren she sometimes imitated. And indeed today, to cheer him up, she waved eagerly and led him out to the main living room of the family quarters. *inaudible* full human size wearing a havah, but flying about, moving with a swooping motion that was, honestly, a tad ridiculous to watch.

Kal didn't fall, though, continuing to hover. Because, why not? It felt like he wasn't even using up his Stormlight; or if he was, it was constantly replenished, like what happened when Dalinar opened a perpendicularity.

In the main living room, they found Oroden playing with his blocks. At Syl's suggestion, they spent a good half hour hovering the blocks in the air for the *inaudible*. It felt a strange use of his powers, literally harvested from the essence of a god. But, when he stopped, Oroden pointed. "Kaddin," the little boy said, pointing. "You need box!" "You," in this case, meant Oroden himself, who had noticed that everyone called him "you," and had decided that was just another name for him.

Kaladin smiled, hovering up another set of blocks. Syl, shrunken down, hopped from block to block in the air as Oroden swatted and moved them. What am I doing? Kaladin thought after a little of that. The world is ending, my best friend is dead, and I'm playing blocks with my little brother?

Then, in response, a voice deep from within him. Familiar, almost certainly imagined. Hold onto this, Kal. Embrace it. I didn't die so you could mope about like a wet Horneater with no razor. It didn't seem anything mystical, but instead... well, Kaladin had known Teft long enough to anticipate what the man would have said. Even in death, a good sergeant knew his job: keep the officers pointed the right direction."

"Pyl!" Oroden said, gesturing to Syl. "Pyl, come pin!" He was off a second later, with Syl following afterwards as he hopped and pointed, then starting spinning around in circles with her twirling around him.

Kaladin watched, seating on the floor amidst hovering blocks. His mother settled down beside him and nudged him in the side, then handed him a bowl with some lavis grain and spiced crab meat on the top. She wore her hair tied with a kerchief, like she'd always done when working back in Hearthstone. He took the bowl of food without complaint, though he didn't feel particularly like eating. As his mother eyed him, he dutifully started eating away. If there was a group more demanding than sergeants when it came to an officer's well-being, it would be mothers. When he'd been younger, this sort of attention had mortified him. Now, after years without, he found he didn't mind a little mothering. Truth be told, whether he wanted to eat or not, he needed the food.

"How are ya?" she asked.

"Good," he said around spoonfulls of lavis. She studied him. "Really," he said. "Good. Not great. Good enough."

A block flew past, steaming with Stormlight, Lashed upward precisely enough to counteract its weight. Hesina tapped it with a hesitant finger, sending it spinning through the room. "Shouldn't those fall?" she asked.

"Eventually, maybe?" He shrugged. "Navani has done something weird to the place. It's more than the fact that the tower is somehow warm now, and the pressure equalized. The entire city is infused, like a sphere." Water flowed, now, from holes in walls. You simply had to press your hand to the top of the hole and ask, and it came streaming out. You asked for a temperature, and it came out that heat. Suddenly, a lot of the strange basins and empty pools in the tower made sense. They'd expected spigots, but most locations didn't have those. Just mysterious outlets.

He smiled as he watched Syl spin around Oroden, twirling himself, then left him with a few blocks as a distraction. She popped to human size again and flopped down on her back next to Kaladin and his mother, her face covered in an illusionary approximation of sweat. "How," Syl said, "do small humans just keep going? Where does their energy come from?"

"One of the great mysteries of the cosmere," his mother said. "If you think this is bad, you should have seen Kal."

"Oooh," Syl said, rolling over and looking to her with wide eyes, her long, blue-white hair tumbling around her face. No human woman Kaladin had ever known had acted such a casual way wearing a havah. The tight dresses, while not strictly formal, weren't designed for rolling about on the ground bare-footed. Syl, however, would be Syl. "Embarassing childhood stories?" she said. "Go. Talk. While his mouth is full of food so he can't stop you."

"He never stopped moving," Hesina said, leaning forward, "except when he finally <clumped to the ground> to sleep, giving us brief hours of respite. I was required to sing his favorite song, and Lirin would have to chase him. And he could tell if Lirin was giving a half-hearted chase and would chastise him. It was honestly the cutest thing to see Lirin being chewed out by a three-year-old."

"I could have guessed," Syl said, "he would be tyrannical as a child."

"Not tyrannical," Hesina said. "He merely like things to be the way that they should be. As he saw them. Children often are like that, Syl, accepting only one answer to any question because nuance is difficult and confusing."

"Yeah," Kaladin said, scraping the last of the lavis from his bowl. "Children. That's a worldview that obviously only strikes children, never the rest of us."

His mother gave him a side hug, one arm around his shoulders. The kind that seemed to grudgingly admit that he wasn't a little boy anymore. "Do you sometimes wish," she asked him, "the world were a simpler place? That easy answers of a child were, in truth, the actual answers?"

"Not anymore," he said. "'Cause I think the easier answers would condemn me. Most everyone, actually." That made his mother beam, for some reason, even though it was a simple thing to say. Then her eyes got a certain mischievous sparkle to them. He knew his mother, and knew to be wary of what was coming next

"So. You have a spren friend," she said. "Did you ever ask her that important question you always asked me?"

He sighed, bracing himself. "And which question would that be, mother?"

"Poopspren," she said, poking him. "You were always so fascinated by the idea."

"That was Tien!" Kaladin said. "That was not me!"

She returned a knowing stare. Mothers; they remember too well.

"Fine," he said. "Maybe I was intrigued." He glanced at Syl, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. "Did you ever know any...?"

"Poopspren?" she said flatly. He nodded. "Like, the stinky stuff that comes out of you when you think I'm not looking?" she said. "That stuff? The world is ending, and this is what you want to know? You're asking the only living daughter of the storms, princess of the honorspren, this question: how much poop do I personally know?"

"It's just something that came up," he said, "now and then, when we were boys, if poop actually had a spren, or..."

"Oh, I know tons," Syl said, barely keeping a straight face. "We had them over for dinner all the time. Stormfather and I. Knew an entire poop family."

"I do not want to discuss the topic anymore," Kaladin said. "Please, can we move on. I don't need to know more about poop."

Unfortunately, Oroden wandered over and was watching the conversation with interest. He stepped up and patted Kaladin on the knee. "It's okay, Kaddin," he said in a comforting voice, with a tone of repeating something he'd been told. "Poop goes in the potty. Do better next time and get a treat."

This, of course, sent Syl into a fit of uproarious laughter, flopping on her back again. Kaladin gave his mother his captain's glare, one he knew from experience was good enough to make any soldier go white. Mothers, however, ignored the chain of command. And the glare only made her seem more amused.

So it was that Kaladin was exceedingly relieved when his father appeared in the doorway, a spring in his step and a large stack of papers under his arm. His wife walked over to take these, curious. "Dalinar's medical corps layouts and current operating procedures," Lirin explained to her.

"Dalinar, eh?" she said. "A few meetings and you're on a first-name basis with the most powerful man in the world?"

"The boy's attitude is contagious," Lirin said.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with his upbringing," Hesina said. "We'll instead assume that four years in the military somehow conditioned him to be flippant around lighteyes."

"Well, I mean..." Lirin glanced at Kaladin. Both looked into his eyes, which were a deep blue these days, never fading back to their proper brown. Didn't help that he was, even still, hovering a few inches off the ground. Air was more comfortable than stone, after all. He knew they found what he'd become to be somewhat unbelievable. He didn't blame them. He found himself stomping in on occasion and trying to believe it himself.

The two of them moved over to the counter at the side of the room, spreading out the pages. "It's a mess," Lirin said. "His entire medical system needs a rebuild from the ground up, with training on how to properly sanitize. Apparently, many of his best field medics have fallen in recent events."

"I hear the army has had a difficult time of things these last few years," Hesina said, scanning the pages.

You have no idea, Kaladin thought. They glanced at Syl, who had sidled over to sit next to him. Oroden went chasing blocks again, and Kaladin... well, he just basked in it for a time. Family. Peace. He'd been running from disaster to disaster for so long, he'd completely forgotten what this felt like. Even moments like dinners with Bridge Four, precious times of respite, had felt like the gasps of air you might get while drowning, rather than truly peaceful breaks. Yet, here he was. Retired, watching his brother play, sitting next to Syl, listening to his parents chat. Storms, it had been a wild ride. He'd survived it all, somehow. And it wasn't his fault that he had.

Syl sat upright next to him, then rested her head, insubstantial though it was, on the side of his shoulder as she watched the blocks float. Which was odd behavior for her, but he wasn't accustomed to her spending so much time in a human size, so maybe her head grew more tired when she was larger. "Why the full size?" he asked her.

"When we were in Shadesmar," she said, "something felt different, about the way everyone looked at me, treated me. I felt more like a person. Less like a force of nature. I'm finding I missed that."

"Do I treat you differently when you're small?"

"A little."

"And you want me to change?"

"I want," she said, "things to change and be the same all at once." She looked at him, and probably saw on his face that he found that completely baffling. She continued, leaning back and giving him a grin. "Suffice it to say that I want to make it harder for certain people to ignore me." With that, she poked him in the arm.

"Is it harder to be this size?"

"Yep," she said. "But I've decided I want to make the effort. Not all the time. More often, though, than I used to." She shook her head, making her hair swirl around. "Do not question the will of the mighty spren princess, Kaladin Stormblessed. My whims are as inscrutable as they are magnanimous."

"You were just saying you wanted to be treated like a person," he said, "not a force of nature."

"No," she said. "I want to decide when I'm treated like a person. That doesn't preclude me wanting to be properly worshiped, as well." She smiled, devious. "I've been thinking of all kinds of things to make Lunamor do, if we ever see him again."

He wanted to offer her some consolation on that, but he honestly had no idea if they'd ever see Rock again. Another hurt, different from the loss of Teft, different again from the loss of Moash; perhaps, the loss of the man he'd thought Moash had been.

"Son," Lirin said from the side of the room, "don't you have a meeting with Dalinar? He mentioned he had something for you to do."

"I already know what it is," Kaladin said, standing up. "He told me yesterday. Szeth is going to Shinovar to confront Ishar. Dalinar wants me to go with him and see if I can do something to help."

"Ishar?" Hesina said. "You mean Ishi'elin, priest of the Heralds, second only to the Almighty in glory and truth?"

"Yeah," Kaladin said. "Apparently he's gone mad? Not surprising, considering how Taln and Ash are faring."

Mother gave him an odd look, and it took a moment to realize it was because he was speaking so familiarly of Heralds, figures of lore that were the focus of religious devotion the world over. He wasn't certain of why he used the familiar tone and names so easily; he didn't know either of them, and was simply using the names they'd used in meetings. It felt natural to talk that way. He'd stopped reverencing people he didn't know the way Amaram branded him. God or king, if they wanted his respect... well, they could earn it.

"Son," Lirin said, turning away from the many sheets of papers they'd been studying, detailing out Dalinar's medical tent layouts. From the way Lirin said the word, Kaladin braced himself for some kind of lecture.

He was unprepared, then, for Lirin to embrace him. Awkwardly; it wasn't Lirin's natural state, this sort of attention. Yet, Kaladin appreciated it. The gesture conveyed things that Lirin found it hard to say. That he'd been wrong. That perhaps Kaladin needed to find his own way. So, Kaladin embraced him back.

"I wish," Lirin said, "I had fatherly advice for you. But I far outpaced my understanding of the way things work in life, so I guess... go be you. Go save the world."

"Dad," Kaladin said. "I'm not going to war. I'm not going to save the world. I'm just going to see if I can talk a crazy man out of a few of his issues."

"Then you are the best one to do it." Lirin pulled back. "I love you."

Kaladin forcibly suppressed an eye roll. This was what he'd wanted; he could deal with a little sappiness.

"Stay safe," his mother said, giving him another side hug. "And come back to us.

He gave her a nod, then glanced at Syl. She'd changed while he wasn't looking, from a havah to a Bridge Four uniform, with her hair in a ponytail like Lyn usually wore. It looked right, somehow, on Syl.

It was time to go. With one final hug for his brother, Kaladin strode out to meet his destiny, for the first time in years feeling like he was somewhat in control. Deciding for himself to take the next step in his life, rather than being thrust into it by momentum or act of society. And while he'd woken up feeling good, that knowledge, that sense of volition and control, felt legitimately great.

Chapter Kaladin Two

Kaladin soared up through the center column of Urithiru, accompanied by Syl. Dalinar still kept his meetings on the top floor, though Kaladin had trouble imagining the location was convenient for people who couldn't fly. He found it difficult not to think about the last time he'd flown up this corridor, following Teft's murder. Enraged, feeling like something unfamiliar had poisoned his blood. A rage, fraternal twin to the normal feelings of Stormlight. Eagerness to act, but this time also to destroy, a storm inside of him, this time red and broken with bloody lightning. That man he'd become after killing the Pursuer; that man frightened him. Even now, days later, lit by calm sunlight, remembering that man was like remembering a nightmare. Made more terrifying by the fact that he knew it had been Kaladin himself and his choices that had led him to that point.

He lighted at the top of the elevator shaft and noted a glow coming from a nearby room. "Navani," Syl whispered, eyes wide. She shrank down to the size of a spren and zipped off. There was something almost intoxicating about Navani to the spren of the city, something about her bond to the Tower and what it had done. Syl would be back shortly, but like vines seeking water, when they came near Navani these last little while, Syl had always flown off for a little bit.

Kaladin forced himself to walk, not glide, over to the room where Dalinar was taking his meetings today. As soon as he left Urithiru, Kaladin would need to go back to using Stormlight only when necessary. Best to be in the habit now.

Dalinar's meeting room had a smaller chamber outside for people to wait while meetings finished. Urithiru was getting more and more furniture these days, so there was a nice couch here in this small stone room where one could sit and wait. It was, unfortunately, taken up entirely by Wit, who was laying on his back, using space that could have accommodated three people, his foot up on one armrest, reading some kind of book and chuckling to himself. "Ahh, Wema," he mumbled, turning the page. "So you've finally seen what a catch Vadam is. Let's see how you screw it up."

"Wit?" Kaladin said. "I didn't realize you were even back in the Tower." It was probably a stupid thing to say, though. Jasnah was back, having been fetched by Windrunners and transported to the Oathgate in Azimir, so it made sense Wit had come along.

Wit, being Wit, finished his page of reading before acknowledging Kaladin. Finally, the lanky man snapped the book closed, then turned and lounged on the sofa in a different way, arms to the sides along the back, one leg crossed over the other, looking nothing so much as a king on his throne. A very relaxed king on a very cushy throne.

"Well," he said, eyes alight with amusement, "if it isn't my favorite flute thief!"

"You gave me that flute, Wit," Kaladin said, sighing as he leaned against the frame of the doorway.

"And then lost it."

"That's not the same as stealing."

"I'm a storyteller," Wit said with a flip of the fingers. "My kind have the right to redefine words as we see fit."

"That's stupid."

"That's literature."

"It's confusing."

"The more confusing, the better the literature!"

"That might be the most pretentious thing I've ever heard."

"Ah," Wit said, pointing. "Now you're getting it. I knew you'd understand."

Kaladin hesitated, trying to sort through what had just been said. Sometimes, during conversations with Wit, he wished he had someone to take notes for him. Wit just sat there, looking back at him, seeming self-satisfied. "So..." Kaladin said, "do you want your flute back?"

"Hell no! I gave you that flute, bridgeboy! Returning it back would be almost as insulting as stealing it!"

"What am I supposed to do with it, though?"

"Hmm," Wit said, reaching into a bag at his feet and slipping out a different flute, this one painted with some kind of shiny red lacquer. He twirled it in his hand. "If only there was something one could do with this curious piece of wood. These holes seem intended for some arcane purpose beyond the understanding of mortals." Kaladin rolled his eyes. "If only," Wit continued, "there was a way to learn to do something productive with this item! It has the look of some natural sort... maybe an instrument? Of curious, mythological design, perhaps intended for some useful purpose? Alas, my poor, finite mind is incapable of comprehending the-"

"If I don't interrupt," Kaladin said, "how long will you keep going?"

"Long, long past the time when it was funny."

"It was ever funny?"

"The words?" Wit said. "Of course not. Your face while I say them, though. Well, it's been said that I am an artist. This is true. Unfortunately, the primary subjects of my art can never experience the truth of my creations as displayed upon their features, them becoming the only one immune to the experience." He flipped the flute in his hand again, then handed it toward Kaladin. "For loan, this time. It has the same fingerings of the one I gave you, though not the same... capacity."

"Wit. I can't play this flute any more than I could play the other one you gave me. I have no idea how."

"So?" Wit flipped the flute again, then extended it further toward Kaladin.

"I guess... I have to wait until Dalinar is done," Kaladin said, looking longingly at the door, which remained closed. Dalinar often took his time in meetings, ignoring appointment times, despite of Navani's attempts to get him to pay attention to one of the many clocks she delivered him. So there was no telling how long Kaladin would be up here.

Wit grinned. And, well... Kaladin felt indebted to him. As infuriating as the man (or whatever he actually was) could be... Well, when Kaladin had been in the worst darkness of the storm, Wit had been there to pull him out. Somehow, despite it being a vision or a nightmare of some sort, Wit had come for him. This man was a friend, and Kaladin appreciated him, quirks included, so he played the role the man obviously wanted.

"Will you teach me?" Kaladin said, taking the flute. "I don't have a lot of time but-"

Wit was already moving, whipping some sheets of paper from the bag at his feet. They had a strange kind of symbol on them, which made Kaladin nervous, but Wit insisted that it wasn't actually writing. Just the marks on paper representing sounds. He said that part with a smile, and it took Kaladin a few minutes to realize the inherent joke to them. Still, over the next hour (Dalinar really was taking his time), Kaladin listened and followed Wit's instructions. He learned the basics of fingering, of reading music and making notes. It was a different experience entirely from trying to figure it out on his own, though he'd largely forgotten about the flute. When Wit would let him in recent months.

When he'd first got it, he had legitimately tried. He knew that he had to blow air across the thing in just the right way, but it wasn't until Wit showed him exactly how to hold his hands that Kaladin managed to coax a few timid notes from the thing. An hour later, he forced out a stumbling rendition of the first line of music with notes that sounded far more shrill than Wit's version. It was an incredibly simple accomplishment, just a handful a notes; yet Kaladin felt he'd climbed a mountain in accomplishing it. He was smiling in a stupid way as Syl peeked back in to investigate the source of the noise. Probably wondering who's been stepping on a rat, Kaladin thought to himself.

"Nice work," Wit said. "Next time you're in a fight, start with a bit of that. The enemy is sure to drop their weapon and cover their ears."

"If anyone asks me about my skill, I'll just be sure to tell them who my teacher is." Wit grinned at that. "Am I at least going to get a story this time?" Kaladin asked, handing the flute back as he sat beside the man on the couch. When was Dalinar going to be done?

"That depends on how well you listen. And if you do what I say. And if you're willing to make up a few of your own." He rapped the flute with his knuckles.

"It was a fun enough way to pass the time while waiting, Wit," Kaladin said, "but I have to ask. Music? Me, playing a flute? What relevance is any of that?"

"Ah. Now there's a question for the ages," Wit said, leaning back. "What use is art? Why does it hold such meaning and potence to us? I can't tell you, because the short answer is unappealing and the long answer takes months. I will instead say this: every society in every region of every planet I've visited (and I've been to quite a large number) has made art."

Kaladin nodded thoughtfully at that. It made sense; Wit wasn't answering it as an actual question, but Kaladin was accustomed to that by now. Protesting would only lead to mockery.

"Perhaps the question isn't 'what use is art?'" Wit mused. "Perhaps even that simple question misses the point? It's like asking the use of having hands or walking upright or growing hair. Art is part of us, Kaladin. That's the use; that's the reason. It exists because we need it on some fundamental level. And the use is simply that: to be made.

When Kaladin didn't respond, Wit eyed him. "I can accept that," Kaladin said. "It's a tautology. Which is the point: the more confusing, the better, right?"

Wit grinned, and then that grin faded. He glanced through the door into Dalinar's meeting room.

"Wit," Kaladin asked, "I get the feeling this next part is going to be difficult."

"Yeah," Wit said softly. "I feel it too." A straight answer. Those were always strangely disturbing.

"Do you have any words of wisdom? Encouragement?"

"Everything you've done, Kal, everything you've been, has prepared you for this. It's going to be hard. Fortunately, life has been hard, so you're working under familiar constraints. We just carry these weights, son; eventually, we'll get to put them down."

Kaladin glanced to the side to where Wit was staring off into space, idly spinning the red flute in his fingers. Something in his voice, his face. "You're talking," Kaladin said softly, "like you think one of us won't survive this."

"I wish I were optimistic enough to think one of us would survive."

"Wit, I'm pretty sure I've heard you say that you're immortal."

"Yeah. Immortality doesn't seem to go as far as it once did, kid." He glanced at Kaladin, then plastered on a smiling face. "Listen. I think you can rise to this. Probably. Difficult though it will be. You're up for a different kind of challenge now. As am I." Wit tapped the flute. "You're going to have to learn to play music, Kaladin. Without using your breath or your lips."

"Wit. I know we've been joking about being confusing. Can you try for once to be clear?"

"I am trying. You'll win when you don't play music with your own breath, and when you fight without your own muscles. Play the flute, but don't. And fight, but don't."

"I think you've been reading too many stories, Wit. Riddles aren't actually helpful in real life."

Wit launched himself off the couch, crossing the room on legs that suddenly seemed spindly. He passed Syl, human-sized again, lingering in the doorway and watching him with a frown. "Listen," Wit said, sounding almost frustrated. "It will make sense when you get to it, maybe, if you can take this next journey down the right path. Keep your hope strong."

"Jasnah doesn't believe in hope," Syl whispered at the doorway. "I heard her complaining about it once."

"Jasnah would make an excellent Wit," Wit said, pointing at Syl. "She's the right amount of smart and the right amount of stupid all at once." He smiled in a fond way, and Kaladin wondered if there was anything to the rumors about those two. Wit spun toward Kaladin. "Do you know about the Passions?"

"That's some old Thaylen religion," Kaladin said, shrugging. "Something about emotion."

"Derived anciently from the teachings of Odium," Wit said, crossing the room and spreading his hands. "Though, honestly, it's not polite to point out that fact to practitioners of the Passions. People don't like hearing the way their religion was, mythologized like all others, as if myths can't be true. Regardless, the Passions teach that if you are fervent enough, if you care enough, your emotion itself will influence yourself. Not simply because of positive thinking. The Passions, as a religion, teach that if you want something badly enough, the cosmere will provide it for you."

Kaladin nodded slowly. "There might be something to that."

"Kid," Wit said, leaning down before where Kaladin still sat on the couch. "The Passions are utter horseshit."

"Why? It's good to be hopeful. The Passions sound nice."

"The wrong people get far too much mileage out of things that sound nice," Wit said. "The amount of money, effort, and lives wasted on things that sound nice would astonish you. Take it from a guy who is all too capable of the lie: nothing is easier to sell somebody than the story that they want to hear.

"Nice doesn't mean true, or even helpful. The Passions are deeply insulting if you spare even a moment to consider. I once spoon-fed broth to a trembling child in a kingdom that no longer exists. I found her on a road leading away from a battlefield after her parents, simple peasants who were caught between clashing armies, were slaughtered. Her elder brother lay half a mile behind, having starved hours before I found her. You think that kid who starved didn't want to eat? You think her parents didn't want badly enough to escape the ravages of war? You think if they had Passion enough, the cosmere would have saved them? How convenient to be able to believe that people are poor because they simply didn't care enough to be rich? That they didn't pray hard enough? So convenient to make suffering their own fault, rather than the result of life being unfair and birth mattering more than aptitude or storming Passion."

Kaladin met Wit's eyes, frowning. He didn't know if he'd ever seen the man so riled up by a simple concept, one that barely seemed to have anything to do with their conversation. But one could never tell with Wit. Non sequiturs that ended up being relevant were the daggers he kept strapped to his boots to be employed when his foes were distracted.

"You're a lighteyes now, Kaladin," Wit said, leaning forward even further. "You've hauled yourself up out of the crem, and done something incredible in that. You deserve praise. But be careful of assuming that people only get what they deserve in life. That's been sold a hundred different ways: positive thinking leading to opportunity, absolutist prosperity doctrines, the Passions. I've seen the same ideas recycled in a dozen different worlds, sure to emerge among useful ideas like storming weeds on a battlefield. They're all the same: deliberate, pernicious lies devised by powers who know their success was due to to luck at best, crass exploitation and larceny at worst. So they have to invent some kind of moral rationalization, a lie that lets them think they deserve what they have. Then, after inhaling their own stench long enough, they decide to package and sell it. And when it doesn't work for anyone else; well, they have the ultimate excuse. It isn't the idea that is flawed. You just don't care enough."

"Storms," Syl said, crossing the room. "This is important to you."

"And yet," Wit said, glancing at her, "wanting and praying desperately for all of them to choke on their own fingers as they reach down their throats to pull forth further nuggets of regurgitated idiodicy, it hasn't happened. Funny, that."

"Hope matters, though," Kaladin said. "You just told me earlier to hope."

"Sure, it matters. Of course it matters. You think I'd be here if it didn't? Hope is a virtue. But the definition of that word is relevant. You know what a virtue actually is? It's not that difficult."

"If this entire conversation is the way I learn," Kaladin said, "then I dispute the point of it not being that difficult."

Wit chuckled, then stepped back and threw his hands in the air. "Virtue is something that is valuable, even if it gives you nothing. A virtue persists without payment or compensation. Positive thinking is great, vital, useful; but it has to remain so, even if it gets you nothing. Belief, truth, honor: the moment these exist only to get you something is the moment you've missed the storming point."

He glanced at Syl. "This is where Jasnah is wrong about hope, smart though she is in so many other ways. If hope didn't mean anything to you despite losing, then it wasn't ever a virtue to you in the first place. Took me a long time to learn this, even though I've had it explained to me a long time ago by a smart man. A man who lost every belief he thought he had, but started over now."

"Sounds like someone wise," Syl said.

"Oh, Saze is among the best. He might be the wisest man I've ever known."

"Too bad none of it rubbed off," Kaladin said.

Wit tossed his flute, spinning it, then pointed it directly at Kaladin. "Congratulations. You've practiced music, you've listened to a self-important rant, and you've delivered quips at awkward points. I dub you a graduate from Wit's school of practical impracticality."

Syl sat down on the couch, though she left no impression in its cushions, hovering as always rather than truly sitting. She seemed completely baffled by all of this.

"Wit," Kaladin said, "does that make me your apprentice?"

Wit belted out a full-stomach last, one that lasted an extended time, long enough to be uncomfortable. "Kal," he said, gasping for breath, "you've learned a few things, but you're still far, far too useful a human being to be an apprentice of mine. You'd end up actually helping people! No, I have to refuse. I've already got one bridgeboy as an apprentice, and he's plenty incompetent to keep a hold of the position for many years to come."

"I'm sure Sig will love that description of him," Kaladin said. "I'll have you know he's doing a fine job leading the Windrunners."

"You've been corrupting him," Wit said. "I'm trying to return that favor to you. No, you're not my apprentice, but that doesn't mean you can't pick up a thing or two. A kind of cross-training into uselessness."

"You're so storming melodramatic," Kaladin said.

"Just trying to give you a proper send-off," Wit replied. "We're at the end, Kaladin, and you are needed. I want to send you to your divine destiny with a spring in your step."

"I don't know why everyone talks like that," Kaladin said. "War might be coming, but I'm heading away from it. Dalinar wants me to help a maniac come back to himself, and perhaps keep another one in line during the trip."

"That's it, eh?" Wit said. "Yeah, that's it. A little thing. Just you becoming the world's first therapist."

Kaladin glanced at Syl, who shook her head. "We have no idea what that is, Wit."

"Because," Wit said, "you haven't finished inventing it yet!" He leaned in. "About time someone figured out a method to counteract what I've been doing. Makes my job more fun, because a challenge is always appreciated. Now go, the two of you. The world needs you: more than you, or it, or anyone other than your humble Wit yet realizes. The fight ahead of you is going to be legendary. Just remember what I said. You can't fight this one with the strength of muscle. You'll have to wield the spear another way."

"And learn to play the flute," Kaladin said flatly, "without playing it."

"Yep, you've got it."

With a sight, Kaladin stood up. Then, the most remarkable thing happened. Wit extended his hand. Then didn't pull it back as Kaladin hesitantly took it, but gave it a firm shake.

"Thank you," Wit said.

"For what?"

"For the inspiration."

Kaladin frowned again. "I'm never going to see you again, am I, Wit?"

"Nobody knows the future, Kal," he replied, "not even me. So instead of saying goodbye, let's call this an extended period of necessary separation, requisite to give me time to think of the most perfect, exquisite insult. And if I never get to deliver it to you in person; well, kindly do me the favor of imagining how wonderful it was, all right?"

"All right."

Wit winked at him, then let go of his hand and walked over to rap at the door. Dalinar himself opened it a moment later. "You finally done with him, Wit?" the man asked. "I've been waiting for a storming hour, and there isn't time to waste!"

"He's yours," Wit said. "Remember what I told you."

"I will," both Kaladin and Dalinar said at the same time. They glanced at each other.

"Wit," Kaladin called just before the man vanished. "What about my story? What about my story?"

"You will tell your own story this time, Kaladin," Wit said, with a last glance and a wink. Then he was gone, his whistle from outside slowly retreating.

"You ever think," Kaladin said to Dalinar, "that you'd end up dancing on that man's whims?"

"I suspect," Dalinar said, stepping back and waving for Kaladin to enter, "we've been dancing to them for years without knowing it. I think he's some kind of god."

"No," Syl said, joining Kaladin as they walked in, but looking over her shoulder. "He could have been a god, but he turned it down. Which makes him something else entirely."

Dalinar grunted, then gestured into the chamber. "Come. I have a few things to tell the two of you, then you need to be on your way."