#the way they talk about the force being a thread woven through existence

[twicetolivetwicetodie]

This episode is so Wheel of Time coded

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[utilitycaster]

I'm in the mood to rant and between the fix-it-fic post I made and the "you should, perhaps, be familiar with the source material post" I reblogged (and the horrendous comments on said post) and the scathing goodreads reviews I'm going to talk about why so many of these fics are terrible.

Here is the thing. Some writing is bad. Some writing is good. There's room for opinion; there's styles that are grating to some, and there's a reason why someone who loves Nabokov may loathe Hemingway or vice versa; but those two still have coherent styles and the ability to craft a good sentence. It's just a matter of whether the sentence is five words or fifty.

However, writing is more than just pretty words put together in some kind of coherent order. You write to communicate. Even when you are trying to be deliberately oblique it is deliberate. There's intent. There's something you are trying to convey or elicit through being oblique. Even when you write things down for yourself to straighten out your thoughts you're writing them down for an audience, for a purpose.

Conventions exist because of this. There are ways to ensure you convey something to the intended audience, because they've seen the pattern before and understand what it means. There is a reason why we can read Shakespeare's 400-odd year old plays and enjoy them, and it's because the way things unfold, with hints and beats and foreshadowing and dramatic irony, are fairly universal in how people process information and the world around them. Because this is a blog that's largely about D&D and actual play: this is why we "see" death flags and foreshadowing in an improvised medium: we know the conventions so well that we interpret chance and happenstance as fitting within them. We put the intent in even if it wasn't there.

So for fix-it-fics: If the work met the bare minimum of "adequately executed" and was successfully finished without interruption, that intent is woven throughout the story. There's foreshadowing there; there are character choices and themes and consequences. There's a lot of work that was done to lead to that ending, whether or not you liked the ending. The ending is part of the story and the rest leads there. Fix-it-fics are therefore nearly always poorly grafted on to a story that doesn't support the new "fixed" ending. The threads don't match up, the patterns clash, and it looks terrible.

This is most notable in my opinion with tragedies. A lot of people don't like tragedies. I think those people are weak and boring but they're allowed to hold that opinion; the problem is that tragedy is a genre and a good tragedy - one that's good enough to get the people who say they don't like tragedies to watch it - knows it. People die in tragedies and the story says it will happen, it promises it will happen, and subversion of that isn't interesting; it's a disappointment. Subversion and playing with genre are a bit like tightrope walking: if someone has put immense practice into it and knows what they're doing, it looks incredible. Most people don't and they'll be lucky if all they do is fall on their ass.

Now there are works that are poorly executed but had an interesting premise (these often fall into the category of "something external happened and cut the story off or forced an unintended change" - abruptly canceled TV shows, for example) but it takes a decent amount of skill to recognize that and distinguish it from a work that is simply bad through and through, and it takes even more skill to match the good parts of that premise.

Another thing worth noting is that fanfiction specifically is usually character-centric. That's what the tags are about and what people are searching on; that's usually why people want something fixed. The thing is, those characters are part of that weave of the story. If you try to make them go in a different direction, you often lose the character in the process. It is painfully obvious when someone doesn't like a character or doesn't understand how to write them.

I will defend fanfiction to people who get snobby about it in general because I think it's one of the best ways to learn voice and tone in writing, through trying to match an existing character - but you have to actually put in the work to do so. Otherwise it begs the question "why didn't you just write a new story that isn't beholden to all these restrictions?" and usually the answer is "because I want the audience, so I made these vaguely character-shaped OCs", or else "because I wanted my favorite character to do something that they didn't and which tbh probably wouldn't have made sense for them to do." And to be clear: you can do this, because you can write for an audience of you and people who already agree with you. But when other people say the story is sloppy and the writing is bad - not on your specific badly and sloppily written story but just in general - they're probably right.

Again: you can write and read fluffy self-indulgent nonsense. That's fine. No one is stopping you. I have my own comfort reading and it's not Nabokov nor Hemingway, let me tell you. But - and this is important - if you can't tell the difference between "I have an emotional attachment to this" and "this is objectively well-written" you are going to be a terrible writer. To do that, you need to understand the difference between "did the story achieve what it was intending to do" and "did the story do what I wanted it to do." And that in turn requires understanding what the story was intending to do, and plenty of people don't make it that far.

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 18

Without a moment’s hesitation, Futakuchi bombarded his shoulder into the door frenziedly – his face the epitome of panic. Relentlessly. Not ever stopping to take a breath, nor recognising the fact that he was probably injuring his shoulder beyond relief. Furrowing his brow, he wiped at the sweat accumulating on his forehead from the sudden rush of adrenaline, and the fact that he would simply not give up. “Hey! Takanobu! Please, just listen to me. Stop whatever you’re doing… Right now.” Kenji commanded, heaving unsteadily, wincing at the discomfort from his shoulder. “Please… You’re my best friend.”

Right then, I witnessed something I never believed I could set my eyes upon, the stoic yet master cajoler, Futakuchi Kenji shedding a tear. His desperation to see his truest friend unharmed taking precedent over everything else.

Gathering his remaining strength, he gulped down his nervousness, his Adam’s apple bobbing in inhibition. With the force of a wrecking ball, he collided into the door, shouting out in agony he clutched his marred shoulder, his face writhing in anguish – but alas, the door had finally been opened.

Behind it was a greatly dishevelled Takanobu, in a crumpled heap on the floor, various objects from the medicine cabinet strewn about it. However, what concerned me immediately was the unscrewed bottle of bleach, clumsily set next to the trembling wreck. Darting right to Takanobu’s side – I cupped his lolling head with my unsteady hand, firmly grasping his shuddering palm with the other. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Trying to muster the calmest, unwavering voice I could, I tried to reach out to him, but all to no avail – no matter how hard I tried, there was no response. Almost as if he was drifting away to another plane of being. He didn’t even shed a single tear.

Right at that moment, the mood snapped, as did Futakuchi. Not caring that the bleach bottle was entirely unscrewed, he yanked it from the floor, his eyes seething with an emotion that I couldn’t quite place into one category. But there was one thing I could see: desperation. “Takanobu,” he spat between gritted teeth, “How much did you drink?” No response. “HOW MUCH DID YOU FUCKING DRINK, TAKANOBU? YOU NEED TO TELL ME!” Takanobu flinched, burying his head into the crook of my neck.

“Futakuchi.” I said, my tone laced with warning. “Calm down.”

“NO, (Y/N). I CAN’T CALM DOWN. IF YOU HAVENT NOTICED, MY BEST FRIEND IS DYING AND YOU’RE DOING NOTHING LIKE THE SELFISH BITCH YOU ARE! SO JUST SHUT UP AND HELP ME.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to ascend to his level of anger, “Kenji, I-“

“Do you even care about him?” he spat, venom adorning every inch of his words.

“Of course, I do.” I glared back at him, “But, Kenji – now really isn’t the time for this.” I sighed heavily at the floor, “You should know what your priorities should be in this moment in time.”

Faintly, Takanobu whimpered into my collarbone, Futakuchi taking an instant notice to it. “You’re right.” He deadpanned, his voice still swarming with fury.

Taking my free hand, I gently cupped Takanobu’s face, lifting it so we were eye to eye. “Hey…” I nearly whispered, “How much did you drink?”

Burying his head in his shoulders, Takanobu stifled a cascade of tears. “Only a little.” He answered, his voice gruff and hoarse from the pure agony he was experiencing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I smiled, trying to distract the snivelling wreck from his sombre thoughts. “Just don’t try to vomit, okay? Or if you feel like you need to, tell me. It’ll only hurt you more and we don’t want that at all.”

“What’re you talking about? Leant against the bathroom wall, arms folded, Kenji scowled once again, “You’re hurting him more by not making him throw up.” He glowered, returning to his cynical mood.

I turned towards him, careful to not let my anger get the better of me, “Futakuchi Kenji,” I scorned. “Trust what I say, I do know what I’m talking about, after all.” Pausing to take a breath, I attempted to cool myself down against the riling heat of the cantankerous Kenji. “Please could you go and call the ambulance? We are going to need it either way.”

With a little more volume lacing his steps than usual, Futakuchi sauntered out of the room, leaving just Takanobu and myself. Once his footsteps were no longer audible, a tonne of tension rose out from Takanobu’s body, letting him finally have a moment of ‘peace’ for the first time in a while. Despondency woven into his demeanour, he clung onto my arm, sinking his face into it – desperately trying to hide his wounded expression. “Don’t listen to anything he said, okay?” I averred, partially cradling the dejected person in my arms, “I don’t know why he acted that way, but just know that that isn’t Kenji, that isn’t your best friend.”

Feebly, Takanobu nodded into my arm, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry.” He croaked, “So, so sorry.”

Reassuring him, I softened my voice, “Don’t apologise, Takanobu. You did nothing worth an apology, so don’t worry about me leaving. I’ll always be there, do you understand?”

“I do, (Y/N). Thank you so much…” He paused, “For everything…” His last words barely perceptible, he began to drift off, and to which plane I didn’t know, and that petrified me.

A few seconds I waited with bated breath, anticipating his. Soon they came, albeit pained and wheezing – but at least they were still there, even if only by a fraying thread. Repeatedly, I caressed my hand up and down Takanobu’s back, as if to reassure myself that he was still existent – he hadn’t disappeared yet.

The faded sound of the phone ringing partially distracted me from my preoccupations, if only by a miniscule amount. As it continued to ring, Kenji began to curse in both anticipation and fear, his guise wearing thin, from vague translucency to complete transparency.

Quite the substantial amount of time passed before the phone was connected to an emergency service worker, which Futakuchi seemed to take notice of – he certainly wasn’t any world close to cloud nine. “I need an ambulance to my current location,” He paused for a second, presumably listening to the person on the other side of the line, “Of course it’s urgent, that’s why I fucking called you.” A second-long plateau, “No, I can’t calm down, just send the damn ambulance. My best friend just drank bleach, okay?!” With a bucketload of vigour, he slammed the phone down onto its holder, virulently cursing under his breath. Damning the poor operator who was only doing their job.

Letting out a fevered scream, he writhed in the turmoil of both his internal and external quandaries, not bothered if anyone within a galaxy’s radius could hear him. He had not a single clue how to present himself or even what to think – his worst nightmares made starkly apparent to myself and everyone around.

Seemingly after having calmed himself down, he trudged up the staircase, but not into the bathroom – his action acting as some sort of repentance, and for the first time in his life – reticence. The mercuriality of Kenji knew no bounds. His head in his knees, his body flush against the wall, he sank to the floor, mirroring Takanobu. A metre away, but somehow a lightyear.

The air stagnant, not a single muscle twitched until the ambulance’s siren came into earshot, they blared, startling Takanobu from his dreary state of something close to slumber.

Was, he thinking straight? I don’t know. Was he having a newfound revelation? I don’t know that, either,  but what he said after he awakened made every one of my heartstrings snap like those of a tragic harp.

“(Y/N)… I don’t want to go.” His voice as shaken as a petrified child. “I’m scared.”

“I know…” I averred, careful to choose my words wisely, “But, Takanobu – you’re not going anywhere where I’m not right there by your side. Just hang on a little longer…”

With great care, I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pulling him in closer than humanly possible until his head was close to merging with my shoulder. Running my fingers through the snowy peaks of his hair, I had to refrain from my next action. So badly, I longed to kiss him upon the forehead, to let him know that everything would turn out just fine. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the time nor place, it seemed that never would have been the perfect time, having to curtail my feelings for his sake, for Takanobu’s sake. After all, I couldn’t risk hurting him even more.

While I sat, marinating my thoughts, the ambulance’s blaring sirens halted, finally parked outside the house, paramedics cascading through the door, unto the stairs – their stretcher hurtling up behind them.

It was all a blur. Takanobu being hurled onto the stretcher, away from my grasp – his eyes never leaving mine, a heart wrenching look of longing upon them – and that was when I finally saw how broken he truly was. Sclerae crimson from tears and turmoil, yet somehow dull and dejected, as if nearly all life had been sucked out of them, only the tiniest wisps remaining. Sockets sunken into the skull, skin being the only thing that separated him and a skeleton. And even though he stood above 190 centimetres tall, he cowered like a mouse, burying away from its predator, absolutely petrified of being eaten. No longer the stoic mountain I met on a bus a mere 20 days ago – such a short amount of time for him to become completely intertwined into my life – and I into his. Almost “a pair of star-cross’d lovers”, but I the Petrarchan, the love unrequited, never to see the light and freedom of the daytime.

Before I knew it, the stretcher aboard the ambulance, Takanobu finally on the way to achieve some sort of salvation, but not that of his sombre standard. But with it all being outside of my hands, the world felt to be crumbling to pieces, dust to crumbs, to stones, to boulders, to asteroids.

A paramedic turned to address both Kenji and I, “I’m sorry, you two but there’s only room for one of you to accompany the patient to the hospital. So, make a decision between yourselves about who’s going to go.”

Without a second thought, Futakuchi piped up, “You should go, (Y/N).” he muttered, his tone utterly monotonous.

After taking a step towards the ambulance, I halted, “You’re sure about that, Kenji?” I questioned.

Silently, he nodded, taking the spirit of his best friend upon himself, gesturing for me to get on the vehicle. Once sat, I writhed my hands together, inhibitions taking the best of me – which was when one kind paramedic, her face calm and understanding, rubbed my back, reassuring me that things could only get better from that point forward. She then poked her head out of the back side of the ambulance, somehow noticing Futakuchi’s sullen mood without even seeing his face. “Hey, kid! Come in here, you can take my seat: I don’t mind standing up for a bit!” She smiled, bringing a miniscule amount of light unto the situation.

Silently obliging, Kenji hopped upon the vehicle, taking the seat opposite me, but his face in his hands, distancing himself from everyone in the vicinity. For what reason I didn’t know, but I presumed penitence for his actions barely ten minutes before.

The benevolent paramedic held out her palm out towards me, “Hinode Megumi.” She introduced, a small beam upon her face.

Giving my palm to her, I responded, “(L/N) (Y/N).” That handshake we shared was strangely yet vaguely comforting.

She did the same for Kenji, yet he didn’t bother to lift a finger, or even his line of sight. “Futakuchi Kenji.” He sighed, making only eye contact with the floor. Seemingly having entered some kind of trance-like stupor.

“Is there anyone you need to call?” Hinode asked, eyes fastened with concern.

I nodded, immediately fumbling inside my pocket for my phone – dialling Ejiri’s number with shaky hesitation, only apprehending as something inside me told me she’d become enraged with me, having been unable to keep her nephew safe. However, not in a single circumstance would that be the reality, Ejiri seemed to be the forgiving type, hardly the choleric person.

When her voice met my ears, the instant worry in her words became apparent, “(Y/N), is everything alright, has anything happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry Ejiri, but it’s not me.”

“Okay…” She sighed; inhibition twined into her dialogue, “Can you tell me what happened, dear?”

Gulping, I sat with bated breath, unable to let those next words escape my lips, “Well… Takanobu tried to kill himself. He drank bleach…”

“I see,” Her voice cracked, petrified. “I trust that you’ve called an ambulance?”

“Mhm.” I hummed, voice beginning to waver, “We’re in one now, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, dear. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”

“Thank you, Ejiri” I barely whispered. Unable to say goodbye, I hung up the phone.

At the mention of her name, Takanobu seemed to stir, only slightly, just enough for me to see. He never opened his eyes, though – as if he was unable to face the world that he felt a burden to. And so, after what felt like a millennia, we finally arrived after the hospital, rather shaken up by the rickety ride. And just as she had promised, Ejiri stood at the ambulance bay, arms outstretched and running as soon as the door to the ambulance opened, but not for her nephew, no, but for me – scooping me up in a long-awaited embrace that I could have taken residence in.

Before I could take a second breath, the stretcher Takanobu lay upon was rushed into the hospital’s interior, far away from me in more than the literal sense. Sensing that unease, Ejiri hugged me tighter, citing the words, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Without a word, Kenji loitered behind us, eyes sunken with dismay, following closely behind me as Ejiri and I waited outside the room where Takanobu was having his   stomach pumped.

The noises exuding from that room were close to unbearable, squirming, sobbing, retching. I had half the mind to become the next Vincent Van Gogh. But I couldn’t show that, it wasn’t my time to be vulnerable, all I could do was wait, wait unable to blockade the tirade or abhorrent sounds oozing from the walls behind me; and to not let a crack appear in my exterior, Takanobu’s infamous stoicism having transferred unto me. I didn’t even notice Ejiri sat at my side, averring many statements, trying to release me from my tenterhooks, but they were just background radiation compared to the nuclear meltdown in the room in my posterior direction.

As that debacle carried on, Kenji was nowhere to be found, perhaps having walked away when I wasn’t paying attention, whether her was simply around the corner or loitering in another end of the hospital, I didn’t know – but what I did know was that I could probably never see him under the same rose-tinted light I was used to. The way he turned almost feral at the snap of a finger was utterly astounding; obscenities blurting out from his mouth, words so contrary to his usual snarky persona I could have sworn he had been possessed by a malevolent spirit. I wondered if I’d ever be able to see the real him again.

I do not know how much time passed before the doctors finally exited Takanobu’s hospital room, but after waiting what felt like several eternities and after being given the all-clear to be able to see him; I rushed straight towards his bedside, almost crumbling at the sight of his body trembling in fear.

My legs buckling under me, I collapsed into the chair next to where Takanobu’s head lay, facing away from me, completely passed out from exhaustion – not even stirring the tiniest bit as I smoothly brought his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers, unconsciously gripping so hard, unable to let him out of my grasp once more. Pressing the back of his hand onto my lips, tears began to prick at my eyes, but couldn’t fall. No matter how much they welled up in my eyes, as though I had lost the ability to cry, or I simply wouldn’t let myself.

Out of reflex, my voice close to breaking, I acquiesced my feelings to Takanobu’s sleeping body. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel like I need to apologise to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me, Takanobu. I should have made you stay by my side… And then, none of this would have ever happened, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now – you exhausted from coming from the brink of death, and me a mess over a person I met not even a month ago. None of this feels real. To think that you could have changed my life completely in such a short amount of time. Normally, I would have thought that… Falling in love with someone so quickly was strange and shallow, but it’s the deepest feeling I’ve ever felt for anyone: my parents, my friends or even celebrities on the television.

Originally, I was bitter about the move from Hokkaido, but now, I don’t think I could ever move back. My life is here, with my family, and most importantly… You.

And I’m sorry that I’m not saying this to your face, or your conscious face at least, but I don’t want to heave all of my feelings onto you. You deserve some time to yourself, to better yourself, not worrying about me… Of course not.

There is one thing I want to say to you however, because I know I probably won’t ever have the courage to say this to you directly. Aone Takanobu, I-“

Abruptly, I was cut short at the most agonising time by the brooding figure of Futakuchi bounding through the doorway, his jacket slung over his forearm, hair unkempt and his eyes uncharacteristically red and puffy. Seemingly out of his previous disposition, he shot me an apologetic look from his strained eyes, his expression truly repentant.

Sitting down on a stool at the foot of the bed, he slouched over the sides of it, once again avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry about earlier, (Y/N), I really am. I don’t know what came over me.”

Giving him only a mirthless laugh in return, I looked down at mine and Takanobu’s entwined hands, feeling only a tiny flash of warmth radiating from his.

Kenji paused, quietly scoffing to himself at my reaction. “I’ll rephrase that, I lost control of myself, I let my fear turn into anger and I let it out on you and Takanobu, my biggest mistake yet. He definitely hates me now. My best friend, who I’ve known since I was a child – I might have lost in an instant.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I interrupted him, “You know he won’t hate you. If you’ve been friends for as long as you say you both have, he’ll knows that wasn’t the real you.”

“I guess so.” He sighed, “I want to apologise to you too, (Y/N). What I said to you was unacceptable, and once again, I’d lost control of myself and let the heat of the moment take the driving wheel – which isn’t an excuse at all. What I said was so fucking disgusting, and I promise it’s not a representation of the real me.”

“I know that you idiot.” I cajoled, trying to lift the mood away from the stagnant food looming in the room. “You don’t think I already know the real you? You’re not that hard to miss, Kenji. You don’t think I’ve seen your scheming smirk enough times for it to be burned into my retinas? You don’t think I’ve seen how happy you make Takanobu? You are his best friend Futakuchi Kenji, and I don’t think that will ever change.” And with that, I finally managed to crack a smile out of the previously vacillating man.

“Thanks, (Y/N). I needed that.” He chuckled, straightening his posture.

Neither of us spoke for a while, the silence harsh but oddly comforting. While I leant back in the hospital chair, having let go of Takanobu’s hand, resting my eyes while ruminating my thoughts. Sure – I’d forgiven Kenji, but I still hadn’t forgiven myself.

Futakuchi sat on his phone, presumably texting his parents about his location, typing away in silence, while I drifted off into the realm of slumber. And just as I was about to pass the brink of falling asleep, Kenji spoke up. “Why didn’t he come downstairs rather than going to the bathroom?” He asked. He blamed himself too.

“He probably didn’t want to bother us.” I answered groggily, rather annoyed about being disturbed.

“He wouldn’t have bothered us though! God, why didn’t he just think it through?” He questioned, his voice rising in volume.

“Quiet, Kenji – let Takanobu rest. And besides, he was going through a lot, with losing Shiro. The straw that broke the camel’s back, in my opinion. Unable to get that thought out of his mind, he couldn’t think of another way to escape it. We probably weren’t a part of that thought process.” I said, my tone closer to a whisper.

“I guess you’re right. I just want him to know that I’ll always be there for him.” He exhaled, hopelessness emanating from him.

“I know… And so do I. But I think its best to leave him for the moment.”

However, right as those words escaped my mouth, Takanobu stirred, groaning meekly and shifting around in the bed. My whole body froze in a second, my longing to be there for him took over, springing to action immediately, I hopped to his bedside, hoping to see his face with the smallest semblance of life’s vigour.

In a second, all hope was diminished as Takanobu ceased to move once again, his stirring only being an unconscious movement in the realm of torpor.

Kenji didn’t seem to take much notice of Takanobu’s small movements, but he did take a great interest, seemingly, in my reaction. He leant towards me, even though he still sat near the foot of the bed and I near the head, a quizzical expression upon his face. The expression of a great detective. “You like him, don’t you?”

I shot my head in his direction, my eyes widening slightly, then immediately turning back to Takanobu, giving him no verbal response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” And with that, he stood up, hands upon his thighs, exiting the room, leaving a great imprint in the air.

(A/N) And here’s Chapter 18… published on the one-year anniversary of this story’s birth. I want to thank everyone reading this for your immense support, no matter how long you’ve been following this story. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : west side polaroids

— word count : 2.4k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : the first day unbound by the table is marked by you both.

— warnings : none except minimal mentions of death and descriptions of blood

note: please please please go easy on me i have not written any john content in months but omg i adore the song west side by ariana .. issa dreamy vibe , but yeah i couldn’t decide the title so i merged them ..... anyways :)

                     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Life that does not revolve around the endless cycle of death and immorality is still new to John, the colour of crimson may have well been his favourite colour with how much he’d found it coating nearly every inch of his skin on a frequent basis. Some nights he’d awake and was sure he could see the stains of blood dried into his nails, though the flood of a bedside lamp would soon flush that worry away. Never had he been the one to imagine a life outside of what he knows, though as he stares at his image in the lengthy mirror before him, that’s what he observes in this moment. A free man.

A whole thirty days had passed since that fateful night when he secured his freedom from his .. job, wanting to allow a sufficient recovery time. Any longer and he knew you well enough to know you’d be breaking his front door down. Luckily, many of the cuts and furious bruises had almost completely healed, while some more stubborn than others were covered with a little more difficulty than he’d prefer. Still, he hopes that your reaction isn’t too explosive. With great reluctance he’d shared enough details with you to understand him and why he is the way he is, and should he not make it back you wouldn’t be left in limbo waiting for him to return. Knowing how often you found yourself worrying over him. Since when did I deserve something so good? he asks himself now and every day that greets him.

He never wants you to be left with a ghost. Especially when you had dug so deeply to prevent him from being consumed by the repetition to death and destruction by his ability to maximise results from his body when required.

Contact had been scarce between you both, and you accepted it. Knowing just what was transpiring as you went through your daily activities, wondering what John could be up to. Staying honest to yourself, your mind had conjured up the most ghastly images, a mental sketchbook where the next page would only be worse than the previous. Though, the moment you heard his voice through your mobile, you felt all the tight tension that wracked your limbs alleviate to nothing more than a dull ache that you have since forgotten.

John is a good liar however when he shared the intricate details of the life he had led, his eyes shone a truth and a pain of growing tired of all the slaughter he’d had a hand dipped into many a time. You believed him and you still do. In spite of this it’s still a difficult task for your mind to wrap itself around but for John? You would.

“ there you are, stranger! “ you greet warmly as you open your arms to finally embrace him after so long.

Your eyes shut while you relish the physical contact that you have sorely missed, you release a heavy breath of air as the moment you have been counting down to is here and you can grasp it with your fingertips. Sensations unreliant on your eyes hone in on the comfort you now feel, the smooth material you can feel to the smell of the cologne worn by John ⏤ a gentle smile drifts softly onto your features in response to the warm shield of solace envelopes you whole.

“ it took longer than I thought. “ he says as he shakes his head, you feel the action from your position

“ I'd say.. I thought I’d never see you again. “

“ I wouldn’t let that happen. “ a low whisper travels from his lips, you can feel his warm breath on you as he leans down, the action causing you to shiver at the faintly sinister tone that had been so close to overwhelming them.

In your heart you feel the strength in his words, it’s not a statement but a promise with all the faith and trust poured into them. Never had you met someone as dedicated and resolute as the man, you’d have called him a psychic because whenever he says something it often comes true, born into existence from his drive.

“ that is something I believe. “ you reply, your voice dulling ever so slightly in octaves.

A mighty stone wall had once been John, any attempt to get to know him proved a punishing task. Though, when a crack had become apparent it became obvious that a gentle touch had been a foreign concept for him but when he’d accepted it as real? The taste of what life could transform into made him want more, to open the door he’d never once entertained of unlocking. John is incredibly grateful you’d never become frustrated and left as soon as you’d arrived in his life, refusing to want another life without your touch.

“ so, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get in that car you adore so, so much? “

With the barest of groans escaping his throat, he reluctantly disentangles himself from your form, already missing the contact with you. Turning, you move with an energetic vigour buzzing in your toes ⏤ from your position you fail to realise John has himself glued to your form with an affectionate warmth pooling in his eyes. The corner of his eyes fondly crinkle ever so slightly at the view.

A forceful wind erupts in the car as it picks up, you can feel the pleasant freshness dance carelessly on your skin, tickling the strands of hair left loose. It feels like a dream you muse as you shift your gaze to John, really beginning to understand the butterflies that all these television shows and movies talk about as you take in the concentration forging itself into his features as his eyes never leave the road. You don’t believe in the idea of destiny, but you can’t help but note how it feels how the stars modified and aligned themselves for you.

Recently, the purchase of a polaroid camera had arrived on your doorstep and today would be the best opportunity to try it out!

“ they’ll leave me alone ⏤ “ he stops suddenly as he assures the unspoken question between you both. Can we live in peace? “ ⏤ us alone now. “

“ you’re sure? It sounds like a shady business, what if someone doesn’t take note? “ worry bleeds into your expression as your foot begins to tap nervously, with only a peek into another society it has left you concerned when John is involved.

“ one thing my world thrives on is rules. Codes. “ he assures you gently, aware of how the other side of the world lives out its gruesome fantasies in real life shocks you.

A heavy hand lays dormant on your leg, coarse fingertips only moving every so often to draw trails on your clothed skin, as if to discover a depth that lays hidden from view. Of course, you both know that John knows every inch of you as you know yourself, many nights spent burning the entirety of the other into your minds with only the moonlight acting as your guiding light.

“ well, I can say that’s good to hear. “ is said by you with a short bout of nervous laughter. “ you can be sure? “

“ you have nothing to worry about. “ he remarks with confidence, attempting to soothe any and all of your fears you have in regards to your situation you both now share.

“ okay, “ you say with a nod, trying to affirm yourself of there being no phantoms pursuing the man behind you from the shadows. “ I trust you, John. I’m just being silly. “

“ you’re not being silly, I understand. “

Silence overwhelms the confined space you share, you take in just the lack of pretence in this moment. Nothing felt between you is forced, an affection woven with a glistening thread so naturally that the bond had been shaped into your reality before either of you had even realised. All John knew was that the curious feeling would be strengthened would he follow his emotions, and that is exactly what he did. Gratitude leaves his heart feeling full at the choice, finally realising that he can settle into a life of normality. An adventure he has never once had but a glow radiates within him at being able to share it with you.

A salty fragrance slowly seeps into your sense of smell, the sounds of seagulls erupting in the distance as you realise just where John is driving you. The chance, living in a city, to go to the beach is scarce thanks to the distance, so you can feel a childish elation swell deep inside of you. Running on this emotion, you pull out the camera held safely in the confines of your bag. Turning it around and shifting your body so suddenly you poke your tongue out and a brief, blinding flash of light erupts before disappearing from existence as soon as it came.

“ oh, now this is a good one! “ you cheer as your lips curve so smoothly into a satisfied grin as you gaze upon the small print held between your fingers.

John says nothing, only knowing of his amusement through the abrupt laughter and warmth blazing so intensely in his eyes.

“ you’ll have to put those into an album or something. “

“ that’s actually a good idea, or a scrapbook? “ you ask with the idea brightening your entire expression. “ documenting this notable day! “

“ yeah, exactly. “ he agrees, a short laugh is shared with you in response. In awe at your naivety, once he’d been envious of the trait ⏤ because you’d never have seen the things he has, but he understands it now. Neither of you can help what you were born into, but he can have control over the person he becomes and that does not include harbouring resentment over something so trivial. The idea seems so foolish now, as it has become something he has grown to adore.

The two of you exit the vehicle, effortlessly your hands find each other through the lengthy space to the other's warmth in yours. John is unable to stop himself from admiring facile peace that clouds your features as you stare upon the limitless majesty of which the deep richness of the blue of the ocean expands way beyond what the eye can distinguish. There’s no worry nor emotional strain colouring itself into burdening your relaxed features.

Your fingers get to work photographing the scene before you, wanting not to document the beauty before you itself but rather the sentiment that dominates the moment with a heavy hand that you’d dare not maneuver away.

From behind you can feel arms encapsulate you against his chest as he parts his lips, as if to say something, mutter some romantic words but he stops immediately. His being wanting to fully submerge himself in a feeling of being enveloped by the serenity. Right now, it’s just you in each other’s company with nothing of the outside world being able to scratch and claw at your attention. He can finally allow himself to be lost in something good, someone who does not see him as a monster, no matter how many atrocities have occurred by his hands. God forbid any ghastly spirits should try to end the dream of this life, he would go to the ends of the Earth to shroud you from any harm from the shadiness he once delved into.

He leaves a flutter of sweet kisses on the crown of your head, you allow a nonchalant smile to illuminate your lips, a soft giggle at the action hovers between you both. John moves his grip to release your waist from his hold, a slow movement towards the bulky camera that lays safe in your grasp. He steps back with a gentleness that he’d never imagined could be contained within his form, and lifts the lens up to his awaiting gaze. You turn just as he lays pressure onto the button, a flash greeting you as you do ⏤ you’re caught off guard, his favourite version of you.

“ come on, John! “ you complain, fingers move to fuss with the loose ends of your hair played with by the tempestuous winds.

“ I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry. “ he apologises with an accompanying smirk, fondly eyeing the photograph of you being caught unaware.

“ it better look good. “ a warning falls from your lips, of course, it’s an empty one ⏤ you wouldn’t spit any venom his way over something so inconsequential.

“ you always look perfect to me. “

With a flood of tenderness and devotion filling your vision, hands inch higher and higher as they snake up the chest of John ⏤ he knows the movement well, a permanent muscle memory that brings him closer to your lips. The touch is so faint, almost feather like, this kiss lacking the pleading need and instinctive desire from his direction ⏤ instead, this one he takes comfort in your presence. He knows you both now have all the time to get lost in one another.

“ you think you can get around me easily? “ you question him swiftly, a good natured air of audacity sparkles in your gaze as you stare up to the tall man.

“ I know I can. “ John promises, already missing the lingering touch you leave behind like a tattoo on his mouth.

“ you sound so sure.. “ you remark, an amused tone coats your words heavily in its substance as your fingertips trace nonexistent patterns in the back of his neck.

John fights himself to prevent a groan of pleasure at the action from clawing its way free from him, already feeling himself melting into your form. He’s surprised you’re not one person.

“ Because I am. “ he states, a lone nod accompanies the action before he descends once more, itching to feel the silk of your lips on his once more on his.

Lifting the camera up at a slant, the crashing of the waves drowns out the click of the camera, he takes out the physical memory of this period of tranquility and adoration. You take it from him, your sight examining the image before you. If you’d had doubts before, you would no longer ⏤ a permanent reminder in picture form of the intimacy and care you share equally.

This is a day to remember.

“ I guess you’re correct. “

[sunnysviolin]

dragon Basil dragon Basil dragon Basil dragon Basil dragon Basil dragon Bas-

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

Dragon Basil Dragon Basil Dragon Basil Dragon Basil!!!!! 

Okay Neska inspired me with her sketching, so I’m gonna continue this now. I had a whole long thing written, but I hated it so I’m deleting it all and starting fresh. Remember when I said Sunny is a mild mannered librarian? haahha well...

Okay this also got mad long and I don’t know how good it is but I like it and self indulgence is the name of this blog SO. This is the first part of a two parter haha don’t worry part two is already written! 

So this is post all the bad stuff in Royalty AU. Mari is officially princess, she and Hero are betrothed, everything is good. Sunny and Kel are thick as thieves brothers, and Kel as the second son is left to his own devices

His devices is pretty much rope Sunny into doing insane dangerous stuff with him. Sunny is tired, but he goes along to make sure Kel is fine

So they are sitting in the library as Sunny translates an old scroll and reads it aloud to Kel. It’s a story from the end of the age of dragons. In it is a prophecy of the rebirth of dragon riders. It’s been generations and generations since there was even a sighting of a dragon, and most people don’t believe they were ever real. There’s no actual evidence, just stories and songs of their glory. This scroll just a legend, but it’s the kind of story Kel actually likes so he will listen along. 

The story is about the last dragon. The tale goes that the final dragon rests eternally at the heart of the mountain that spits fire. Only if the other half of its heart sings, then the night will turn to day and fire will fly in the sky once more. 

Kel is a little bored by the talk of love and songs, but the first part catches him. He asks Sunny to repeat himself, and so Sunny does. 

Kel remembers that thing that a visiting princess had told them about her kingdom. Kim had been irritating, and Kel had gotten into numerous spats with her, but on one of the rare occasions they had just been talking, she had told him about how the mountains in her kingdom were “on fire” That she was friends with a witch who came from a coven that kept their kingdom from being destroyed by the fire a long time ago. The mountains were quiet now, but one day they would roar again. 

He tells Sunny this, and Sunny stops to think. 

Two parallel stories about mountains spitting fire was odd, but witches were odd, and so were stories. Kel is excited because where dragons are, gold and treasure is. Even if dragons don’t actually exist (and Kel is firm that they don’t) he is intrigued at the prospect of a mountain filled with gold. Sunny is one of the rare that still have faith (although he would never tell his brother for fear of being teased) and so he has his own reasons for wanting to explore

They agree to go to visit Kim and her kingdom of fire spitting mountains, at least to see if she’s making it all up. It isn’t hard to arrange, just a little coercing of Kel’s parents, convincing them this is him doing his duty as a prince to cement a good relationship with nearby kingdoms, and they’re off on horseback riding towards their next adventure. On a whim, Sunny brings his vielle and the scroll.

The boys get to Kim’s castle and make their customary hellos. It’s still minutely awkward between Sunny and the royal families who are unsure of why he is being treated as their equal, but he ignores it. He isn’t there to play at being a prince, he’s following a force that’s been pushing him since he read the scroll. 

That night they sneak into the gardens with Kim and tell her the story and ask her to explain further about her family’s history. She reads Sunny’s translation of the scroll, and Kim tells them she knows the story. She brings them to a room filled with tapestries, intricately woven with the legends of her people. 

The biggest is of a mountain, cracked open like an egg, spitting red and yellow high into the dark air. There’s tiny dots on the ground resembling people, and above in the air are dragons half lit in the yellow threads. Kim tells them the story behind the tapestry. 

Her kingdom is of ancient powers, their family were the final dragon riders. Dragons and humans bond once for life, and that bond was more sacred than anything else. At this point in history, dragons were already beginning to die off as more and more humans came into their territories to claim land. The last great dragon stronghold was her family’s kingdom. Others grew jealous of her family’s power, of their special bond with the last great creatures. 

On a moonless night people came and killed all of the riders, which killed all of the dragons in tandem. Only one was left, her great great (greatgreatgreatgreat...how many greats again?) grandmother. As a girl of only ten and two, she ran away with her dragon who was barely old enough to fly. She managed to get to a friend of hers who was a witch, and begged the coven to give them sanctuary. 

The coven could not stop the evil, but they could give the girl and her dragon a chance. the coven brought the girl in secret to the base of a mountain. They guided her through channels, vents and shafts deep into the heart of the mountain. There they put a spell on the baby dragon, deep magic which would keep it safe, but also keep it asleep. The girl would be able to fight and not have to worry about her dragon being hurt. Even if she died, her dragon would be safe until its rider came and sang a song that she was taught by the witches. 

There was a war, awful and bloody. Almost all of the coven died fighting alongside her. In the final battle, the mountain that her dragon was in broke open, and the coven of witches were forced to sacrifice their magik to make sure that the kingdom lived on. The only one left at the end was the young princess, and she had no way of knowing the way back to her dragon. She spent endless hours trying to find the path in the mountain, but each time she nearly died. Only the coven could find the way, and they were gone. 

Her dragon was safe, but at a terrible price. The child became a queen, and she guarded her mountain with her dragon for the day that he would awaken once more. And Kim’s family has guarded the mountain ever since. 

Kel doesn’t really believe, but he and Sunny are both caught in Kim’s storytelling. She ends with her theory. Sunny’s scroll doesn’t belong to their kingdom, it belongs to Kim’s. The song and prophecy at the end is her birthright. Dragons are real, and they are going to help her wake the last one. 

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from "Chapter One: A World of Darkness" in Changeling: The Dreaming (20th anniversary edition)

Dreamers are taught that they won’t amount to much, that their creativity is a pale imitation of what came before.

Well-meaning, or envious, parents and friends consistently suppress talent in their loved ones, secure in the knowledge that they’re saving them from a huge mistake.

Repeated altercations eviscerate creativity until all that remains is overwhelming self-doubt and insecurity.

Every day is a struggle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

Old legends define a changeling as the offspring of mortals and faeries, or a faerie child switched out for a human one.

Ancient curses affect entire landscapes, monsters hide in withered forests, roads made of stardust allows travelers to visit vistas hidden among clouds, and ancient dragons and bygone beasts still roam the skies.

In order to survive this onslaught on their very essence, the fae turned to an ancient ritual which locked their immortal souls in human bodies.

The child talking to her teddy is, in fact, discussing courtly politics with her chimerical bear companion.

The most common means of learning about the past, then, is through the traditional art of storytelling.

Despite the thrill and excitement of hearing legends brought to life by storytellers, academic history is an extremely important factor in the pursuit of lost faerie knowledge, turning myth into truth.

Ancient texts are written in several, often pictographic, faerie languages, and quite often the words seemingly come alive, constantly realigning, rotating, and shifting locations to avoid being decoded.

Even when enough common denominators exist for a decent decoding, the end results often cause further questions, rather than providing answers.

Events become history. History becomes legends. Legends become myths, and myths are forgotten.

Religions told mortals to worship new gods and to turn away from old traditions and rules.

As scientific methods began to explain what mortals previously considered magic, the common folk took to the church’s teachings, foreswearing their old ways in exchange for salvation and a steadfast faith on which to cling in the darkest days.

On July 20, 1969, humanity witnessed the moon landing live on television, and all of the hope, fear, and wonder of the previous decade burst forth.

Mortal witnesses describe friends or family collapsing for a brief moment, then rising, confused for a short time, but brimming with confidence and an aura of regal quality.

However, no matter the chosen human body, they all belonged to someone wealthy and influential, or were members of highly-valued and powerful families in society.

Despite conflicts, both parties openly declared their intent to find peaceful solutions, regardless of acts of violence intended to derail such hopes.

However, this decree didn’t prevent individual members of the houses to cast their allegiance with the side for which they felt an affinity.

The time for discussions ended with blood on the walls, and only war remained.

Theirs was a passionate, whirlwind romance, but one that ended in tragedy.

Without warning, the sky seemingly ripped open and, to those with faerie sight, a red sun appeared, bathing the world in a sinister scarlet light reminiscent of blood.

Behold! Your true king returns!

Better a nightmare than dreamless sleep

Nonetheless, the nobility is not immune to the changes in the world.

No matter how well hidden, however, the child’s true nature marks her as different.

It may start small, with a mortal witnessing strange occurrences no one else sees.

Those that are found are the lucky ones.

The term fosterage comes from the medieval practice, where nobles would take on the children of another family to cement alliances or to build connections between noble children for the next generation.

She will take the lessons from her mentor forward, spending the rest of her days honing what she has learned.

Banality seeks to explain away the fantastic and categorize, empiricize, contain, and render mundane anything outside of the scope of accepted mortal understanding.

This process doesn’t happen all at once.

Many legends and epic stories came from the search for extended life, with outcomes ranging from sad hilarity to outright horror.

Legends speak about treasures that can extend youth or grant immortality once more, like the fabled Fountain of Youth, but so far none have been recovered.

The adventure might be worth it, though.

It is a place woven into the fabric of the mortal world, hidden behind and without, though its magic and influence can affect the physical world and those that live in it.

The land responds to the thoughts and deeds of the creatures that live there and adapts to their every whim.

The shifting landscape is so unpredictable as to throw off any seasoned traveler.

Only a few trods lead to this wholly unpredictable and constantly-shifting landscape.

The space is influenced by the strong dreams of mortals and the expression of powerful mortal feelings and creativity.

They held nothing but hatred and contempt for one another.

History has taught them through many a hard-earned lesson that they are able to accomplish these tasks much more effectively when they work together than when they’re at each other’s throats.

The pageantry and rituals serve as thread that runs through the ages, tying the generations together.

Their customs and lore serve as the glue that binds each individual to one another.

Everyone, from the lofty noble on his throne to the lowly chambermaid, has their duties in a well-organized society.

Without everyone working together, doing what’s expected of them, society would not be able to support itself.

Even a lifetime of tragedy and loss has its own poignancy.

The act of creation holds an inherent beauty.

Each new work of art, new performance, and new thought is a unique manifestation of creativity undreamed of in the world before.

Beauty must be preserved because it is the basis for all life.

Society cannot operate effectively without an inherent fairness.

A favor is always paid back with a reciprocating favor.

An object or service given is returned with something of equal value.

Loyalty deserves fidelity, and acrimony deserves hatred.

The self comes from within. It is the basis of being, granting the ability to reason, to question, to strive for improvement.

To know oneself is to make life worth living.

Identity requires freedom — the freedom to buck trends, to say no, and to try new things.

The only things that remain eternally unchanged are those that are dead.

The alternative is nothing but stasis.

Even at its most benign, stagnation leaves people woefully unprepared when everything they know eventually gets upended.

Once outside rewards are involved, whether tangible or simply accolades, the concept of honor twists people, making them do monstrous things.

Honor is nothing more than an ugly little lie told by tyrants designed to keep their slaves docile and obedient.

No one can follow his dream when an overlord is standing above him, micromanaging his life.

Everyone has responsibilities, but if given the freedom to be themselves, people will find ways to do the necessary things in their own way that doesn’t prevent them from doing the things that make life worth living.

Pranks were played, sometimes in jest and at other times scathing, at the expense of those in power.

A merry time was had by all while allowing the disenfranchised a chance to air grievances and have an outlet for their frustrations.

Their only goal is to force a response from those capable of alleviating some of the suffering.

To fit in as part of the mundane world they became traveling circuses, freak shows, or other transient groups.

Those of higher rank are respected by those of lower rank and are also expected to meet their obligations to the less fortunate.

Many nobles see their main business to be that of gaining — or retaining — power.

Alliances may shift between the nobles and circumstances may change, but all try to expand their holdings and rise higher up the social ladder.

Something has to give.

A noble expects obedience from his vassals and respect from all others. In return, the noble respects those superior to him.

Whether they like it or not, the nobility has had to concede that modern ideas of democracy and popular rule are realities now.

Still, most nobles rule through force, cunning, personal magnetism, and custom.

They must never reveal their true natures to humanity.

Some battles are fought to first blood.

[coruscantguard]

In The Absence of Induration

Whumptober Day Three - Alt Prompt - Comfort

Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Cuddles

Commander Thorn & Commander Fox

Warning for PTSD, implied past child abuse, and clone trooper-typical identity issues

(Ao3 Link)

Thorn is halfway through getting up off of Fox’s bunk to go dump the datapads on the Commander’s desk when a hand catches his wrist.

He flinches, and it’s instinctive, reactionary, violent. It’s a damn good thing that the hand loosens its grip immediately, as if it hadn’t, it’s owner would’ve met a face full of datapads. 

“Manda kriffing hells, Fox, really?”

“Sit the kark back down, shabuir,” Fox snaps, with all of his usual tact. 

“I’m just putting the datapads on your desk so you don’t decide to do them in the middle of the night,” Thorn replies placatingly, and he tries to tug his wrist out of Fox’s grip again. Fails. In his defense, he’s tired. “Fox.”

“You have a broken leg, sit the kark down,” Fox snaps, breaking out the Commander voice this time, and that’s surprising enough that he doesn’t even fight back when Fox kicks his knee on his unbroken leg out from under him, even though the impulse is there.

He falls on the bed with a thump, and unceremoniously drops the datapads on the ground. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, do you want me to call Naat and tell her that you’re ignoring her instructions? Because I have no problem with ratting you out. I’ll take great joy in it, actually.”

Thorn glares at him. Fox looks back mildly, face pleasant. 

Force. In his months away, he’d forgotten how infuriating that expression was.

“Listen, I’m just gonna--”

“No, you’re not,” Fox interrupts, and tackles him fully onto the bunk.

“Oh, kriff you,” Thorn says, but he sinks into the violent embrace anyway, getting in a hit to Fox’s ribs that makes him curse. Thorn grins at that, barely managing to avoid the elbow Fox throws his way, and catches his arm, pinning it.

(And they’re clones, they’re born and bred soldiers. Weapons down to the bone. Natborns just don’t… understand. Violence is always going to be the language they understand best.)

Fox doesn’t try to get out of the pin, though, and his hands are insistent in their cling even though a punch had probably been their goal just moments before, and Thorn makes a mental note to prioritize looking into what happened when he was away. Despite how obviously touch-starved as he is, Fox very rarely allows himself the luxury of being anything even approaching the realm of needy. To have him clinging to Thorn's side like a cephalopod is worrying, even if Thorn admittedly doesn't mind the contact. 

But...

“I really should go back to my bunk,” Thorn says, and pokes the back of Fox’s neck, squirming halfway out of his grip. In response, Fox kicks him in the shin. “Hey!”

“Lie the kark back down, kriffer. Naat will kill me if I let you go back to your bunk.”

“No, she won’t,” Thorn says, rolling his eyes. “For some goddamn reason she actually likes you.” 

Fox physically rolls over to face the wall in response, because he’s a dramatic bastard. “Yeah, that’s why she’ll grant me the mercy of death instead of prolonging the torture,” he says dryly, “now, stay. Sleep. That’s an order, Commander.”

Kriff. Kriff. He wants to, but...

If there's anything the last few months of back-to-back escort missions has made Thorn acutely aware of, it's his own destructive potential. Even without Hammer, he can cause damage. He’s a CC. Causing damage is his entire purpose. It’s literally in his blood. 

(And he’s not-- he’s not talking about the affectionate controlled fights, here. This is a wild kind of destruction, uncontrollable, like a Kamino typhoon, brought upon by specific memories, sensations, dates, feelings.)

In hindsight he knows that he was extremely lucky that it was Senator Amidala who woke him up during his last mission. Senator Amidala is kind, and merciful, and apparently knows exactly how to dodge when waking someone up who's still trapped in the throes of a nightmare, and Thorn is never ever telling Fox about that incident, because Fox's fear tends to manifest as lectures on tactics where he's citing regulations, and Fox only cites regulations when he's either justifying a dubious course of action to a superior officer, or scared out of his goddamn mind and grasping at straws.

"That… might not be the best idea," Thorn says. He hates to turn Fox away on the rare occasion that he actually asks for something, but he'd hate to hurt him more. "The anniversary of, well, you know, is coming up, and recently I've been—" twitchy, jumpy, unpleasant, vaguely murderous to the point that Thire has started making snide comments comparing me to you which is hypocritical as hell considering that it’s Thire saying that, "—off. I've been off."

Fox doesn't say anything in reply, but his silence feels unimpressed anyway. Thorn sighs. "Briar woke me up the other day by poking me with butt of Jek’s sniper rifle, and I managed to get in a damn good punch before I realized where I was. She was literally holding a gun-- turned on stun, don’t give me that look-- and standing a full fifty inches away, and I still managed to break her nose. Sleeping in the same bed as someone else is not a good idea right now."

Fox is quiet for a moment, but then he rolls over, punches Thorn’s arm, then collapses on him, going limp and pinning him to the bed. Thorn wheezes as his still-bruised ribs protest, and Fox headbutts his chin as an apology, says, “I know when people are going to hurt me, Thorn.” A pause, then: “You won’t.”

Kriff. There’s a bone-deep certainty there, and it’s one Thorn can’t argue with. It’s like by saying the words Fox has spoken it into existence, created a guarantee that Thorn can trust, made it so that he physically can’t hurt him. He says it the same way he’d say Kamino is an ocean planet, or the clones were made for the Jedi-- like it’s an undeniable fact, like there’s no argument to be had because it’s simply the truth. 

And trusting Fox comes as natural as breathing does at this point, but seeing how that trust is completely and unconditionally returned feels uncomfortable in a way that Thorn doesn’t want to examine, so. Time to change the subject. “Are you trying to break my ribs, osikovid?”

Fox snorts. “Not my fault that you have weak bones.” 

“We have the same bones, di’kut.”

“That’s what the Chancellor wants you to think.”

Thorn blinks. Blinks again. “How much sleep have you gotten in the last week?”

“How much have you gotten?” Fox asks, and his voice is soft, but there’s a thread of steel woven into it, a hint of beskar-clad spine in the pointed nature of his question, even as he somehow manages to simultaneously entwine himself further into Thorn’s side. It reminds Thorn vividly, almost violently, of when he was a cadet and Blackout would do the same, and he has to force himself to breathe through the instinctive panic that thinking about his batchmate always brings. 

Blackout is smart, and strong, and he’s got the best luck out of any vod. He's in special ops because he's one of the best. He’ll be fine.

He has to be fine.

Anyway, Blackout’s grip as a cadet tended to be looser, probably because he wasn’t dealing with fifteen layers of repression and touch starvation, but the weight of Fox’s body feels the same and that realization sits heavy on his chest. “Touché,” he says, and Fox mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like knew it into his blacks.

Thorn sighs, and he tries to muffle the yawn that follows it. Fails.

"Go to sleep, di'kut," Fox says, because he's kriffing omniscient or some other osik, and Thorn really shouldn't, but--

Maybe he can just close his eyes for a moment or two.

-

osikovid: shit + head in mando’a. this is probably done wrong, but i am very tired, rip.

and if you think you recognize bits of this, you don’t, but actually if you are one of three people, yes, you do, as I accidentally posted a snippet of it last July, oops lol <3 <3 <3

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

The Knight Class Analysis

Ah, yes, Knights. A Class beloved by many for countless different reasons, yet one that often brings about the most discussion. It is oddly suiting for the Knight Class to cause such a thing, as Knights have shown to somehow always be the center of whatever show they may find themself in - whether they pushed themself to that center or not. Even when the brightest spotlights shine down upon them, though, there still never seems to be a way to reveal all of the intricacies of this Class. It’s one filled with the most speculation rather than answers, the most debates, discussions, and analyses than many of the other Classes. Perhaps this is why it is a Class so dearly beloved by the people in this Fandom. Of course, there are many other reasons why people do love the Knight Class. Whether it be the protective, devoted, and underlying caring natures of the Knights, the facades they are capable of putting up for countless years in order to hide their insecurities, or they simply love the long and glorious cape of the outfit. There are just as many reasons people adore the Knight Class as there are people who, well, love this Class. For this month, every last possible Knight will find their way upon this stage and within the spotlight to have their stories told and titles analyzed. For today, though, let’s focus on the Class itself.

Knights are those whose powers seem the most obvious, yet also the most complex and mysterious. Some argue that Knights serve their Aspect, while others claim that they exploit it, and so many others. As November came quickly approaching, it became obvious to your Host here that there was a little bit more of a hidden option that, personally speaking, never seemed to hit anyone else’s radar. Knights are those who actively protect exploitation of their Aspect, or they actively protect through exploiting their Aspect. However, that is quite the mouthful and far too long. For the sake of everyone’s time, it will be shortened as such: Knights are those who actively protect their Aspect, or actively protect through their Aspect. While there is no doubt some people who have already thought and written about this, it has not come towards my own attention that this take on the Knight Class exists. Now that the basis of the Knight’s power has been established, it is time to go over the journey for the Knight, as well as how they would go about participating in the protection of or through their Aspect.

The way the Knight’s journey begins is often one wherein destiny will equip them with their Aspect, but not in a way that directly benefits the Knight. If anything, the way in which they are equipped with their Aspect is oftentimes something that brings the Knight many battles, internally or otherwise, most of which they will lose in the beginning. While this may seem as though the Knight’s Aspect is out to bring only pain and suffering to the Knight, that is actually far from the truth. Every battle the Knight faces is meant to bring them closer and become more attuned with their Aspect. Learning the ins and outs of how it works, what it looks like in other people, being able to identify its weak and strong points. Deep down, this is exactly what is happening within the Knight, as their Aspect grows and blooms inside of their hearts through every fight they participate in. The Knight should be one of the quickest players to connect and master their Aspect, and to those on the outside that might just appear to be the case. To those who are not the Knight, they seem like someone who has everything in their life held together perfectly - a flawless, unstoppable force of confidence, ego, and badassery. Little do any of them know is that the Knight doesn’t truly know what they are doing at all, especially in regards to their Aspect.

One of the biggest flaws of the Knight is that they are often so quick to hide themself beneath a facade or even a few, as it truly depends on who they are talking to. Due to their upbringing of having to go through so many different battles, and having lost just as many, one of the biggest fears of the Knight is that they are not strong enough to survive. The pride of a Knight is one of the most paradoxical things about them, as they show themselves to simultaneously have a pride so strong and durable that nothing can scratch it, yet it also can present itself as something so frail and brittle that even a harsh phrase could tear them down. What they are prideful of is being a warrior, being capable of surviving for this long - even when the odds seemed stacked against them. However, it is with this pride that also comes with the fear of losing a battle - of not being worthy of calling themself a warrior. It is with this fear that leads to many of the insecurities that are so often deeply woven into the minds of Knights. Depending on their walk of life, as well as their Aspect, these fears and insecurities can vary greatly from Knight to Knight. Amongst all of them, though, there will always be one thread that runs through all of them. That thread is questioning if they are truly capable, or even worthy, of being able to handle the powers of their Aspect and use them as they properly should be. What all Knights fear the most is that of failure.

What the Knight must do in order to truly make progress in their journey is to learn that what is truly preventing them from fully embracing their Aspect is themself. They most certainly are equipped with their Aspect, but they can only use the bare minimum of its true potential and powers. A Knight’s Aspect will only ever allow itself to fully be used by the Knight once they have proven themself worthy and capable of wielding such a powerful thing. Much like the sword in the stone, if the Knight continues to fail in proving themself pure and capable enough to retrieve the fullest potential of their Aspect, then their journey will come to a stall and the Knight will never reach their fullest potential. The biggest thing the Knight must let go for this state of being and mind to be achieved is that the Knight must fully allow themself to be vulnerable to those in their life. The mask they have worn for years must come off, and the act they have been a part of must finally have the curtains called upon it. It is not the Knight themself trying to fully take hold of their Aspect, after all, but rather the lie that they created so as to shield and hide their true self away from the world. However, this is not an easy task for the Knight to do on their own, as Knights have often shown themselves to be prone towards streaks of stubbornness. If the Knight does not feel as though they are safe and supported enough to open up, then they just might never will. Those who call themselves friends, or perhaps even lovers, to the Knight must also prove themselves worthy to see the Knight at their purest, most true form of self. Because of this, once a Knight truly opens up about who they really are, and reveals to you all of their fears, insecurities, and scars from all their lost battles, it would be unwise to take such a trusting gesture for granted.

As mentioned before, the Knight is someone who will often find themself having somehow been brought to be the center of attention, no matter where they go. Because of this, they are often someone who manages to pick up and carry off quite a few allies and friends along their travels, with those people staying with the Knight for a multitude of reasons. While they may pick up a few bad and rotten apples along the way, it most likely will only appear to be another challenge brought on by their Aspect for the Knight. Even when a relationship does go sour, the Knight will often do what they do best and hide the pain that they may have endured from such an experience. For situations such as this, the Knight will sometimes go as far as to not tell anyone about this as they may fear it would prove to everyone else that the Knight is as held-together as they show themself to be. While some people may be frustrated by the secrets that the Knight seems to love keeping, others may find this mysterious air about them intoxicating, alluring, and/or simply fascinating. No matter what, though, there seems to be no doubt that Knights, no matter how emotionally distant or volatile they may seem to be, attract people who find them charming in one way or another. Out of most of the Classes, Knights prove themselves to be rather charismatic and/or charming in their own special and unique way - another reason why so many people seem to be drawn towards them. Even if the Knight’s facade may say otherwise, Knights are those who prove themselves to be more than willing to devote their mind, body, and heart to those they truly love out of many of the other Classes. Whether they scream/shout at, and belittle their loved ones, or play it off like they’re too cool to show affection in return, there is a part of the Knight that does truly, deeply care for and love those within their life. It all simply depends on the Knight in regards to how they show this love and affection.

It is through this love and devotion to their friends and allies that will help to push the Knight closer to being able to wield their Aspect. However, what the Knight needs is one final push, one final leap for them to finally cross that line in which they may finally take hold of their Aspect like that of a shield or sword. This final push is the Knight coming to terms that, for the longest time, all they needed was to believe in their own worth. Call it a fairy tale ending if you wish, but this is something that has been seen with many Knights. Their fear and insecurities have, for the longest time, plagued and clouded their vision for so long - long enough that they even became blind to the fact that they had been worthy of using and connecting with their Aspect for far too long. Once they manage to bust through such negative things, though, will they finally be able to take hold of their Aspect and do as they see fit with it. Finally, will the Knight rise and step forth to fulfill their duty as a protector.

Knights are those who actively protect their Aspect, or actively protect through it. By protecting their Aspect, it means that they are willing to use themself in order to try and preserve every last instance wherein their Aspect can occur. They protect it from being exploited, destroyed, manipulated, and more. Depending on who is within the Knight’s group, or what is occurring within the world of the Knight, this can prove to be a daunting and even exhausting task for the Knight. The shield is the best way for the Knight to equip their Aspect, if they so wish to protect it. However, depending on the Knight, they may only try to protect a select few instances of their Aspect, rather than trying to protect the entire thing. If these Knights are ones to fall in the ways of being selfish, then they will have no problem with only protecting their own personal instance of Aspect, as the rest of it falls away or becomes twisted and mangled beyond recognition. For the selfless Knights, though, they would do the opposite - allowing all other instances of their Aspect to be protected, while allowing for their own to be exploited and taken advantage of. Then there are the Knights who protect through their Aspect, wielding it far more like that of a sword so as to slice down any foes who threaten the Knight and perhaps their friends and allies, as well. Along with the sword, they’d be able to use their Aspect’s powers to their fullest ability if it meant protecting those they cared for and loved. Whether it be warping the fabric of reality to create that of a blackhole, cloaking themself or their team in shadows, or creating a wall of plants so thorny and thick that nothing could even bring a scratch upon it. Once again, this can lead to some Knights who are picky in terms of who deserves protection and who deserves to fight for themself. For some Knights, this can boil down to only protecting themself, or being willing to become a sacrifice for the betterment of the team. Then there are the Knights who may prove themselves capable of not wielding one over the other, but rather both the shield and sword at once or interchangeably. However, that is a discussion for another day.

Ultimately, the Knight is one where their job is to help protect their teammates, friends, lovers, and more, especially once they have proven themself worthy of wielding their Aspect. By taking on this position of responsibility, it will have meant that they are someone who welcomes the idea of failure instead of hiding away from it. They may have started their journey as someone they were not, afraid of being seen as weak and incapable of survival by their peers, but as long as they stuck to the path forged by themself and their Aspect, then they should have long since burst forth from their cocoons as the truly beautiful butterflies they are meant to be. While there are certainly moments down the line where the Knight may fall back into their old habits of facades and hiding, if they learned to keep the better company around them, then such people should be more than capable of giving reassurance and kindness to the Knight. Sometimes, all they need is a gentle reminder that they are worthy to have gotten as far as they have, and they are capable of surviving many more days ahead of them. The Knight is someone who puts great faith in the relationships they have, as well as putting a large part of themself within them. As such, it would be unwise as to harm and mess around with those who the Knight holds dear. While Knights may show themselves to be able to keep their cool most of the time, even the most level-headed of them have been shown to occasionally go off the rails. As much as Knights are protectors, they are just as willing to be true, unyielding, brutal warriors.

[revlyncox]

Always Becoming

The changing of the seasons reminds us of the seasons and cycles of life. We are always becoming who we are. This was written by Rev. Lyn Cox for the Spring Festival at the Washington Ethical Society (4/18/2021) and references the story of Demeter and Persephone.

We are always becoming who we are. Two weeks ago, I spoke a little about what that means for us on a community level. And community is an important part of identity. As Kenyan-born philosopher John Mbiti wrote in African Religions and Philosophy (1975) with respect to the concept of Ubuntu: “I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am.” We are always becoming, partly because the communities of which we are a part are always becoming.

Today, I’m going to talk a little about some of the experiences that move our process of becoming in new directions. These might be things that we think of as individual experiences, yet I think they are also communal, and I think the line between individual and communal might be fuzzier than some of us were led to believe. The experiences we’ll talk a little about today are things like grief, longing, rage, curiosity, hope, and love. We will keep exploring those things our whole lives, and I’ll need to be relatively brief today, because we want to make sure to have time to celebrate life with a Baby Naming ceremony after the regular Platform.

Grieving feels especially relevant today. In the WES community, we’re grieving for some of our members, and we are particularly heartbroken for our beloveds who have lost a loved one recently due to trauma. Nationally, we’re still reeling from the anti-Asian violence that claimed eight lives in Atlanta, and then that grief was compounded by the tone of the trial of Derek Chauvin and our renewed grief for George Floyd, and then that grief was compounded by the deaths of 20-year-old Daunte Wright and 13-year-old Adam Toledo at the hands of police, and then our grief was compounded again by the deaths of eight people at a FedEx facility in Indianapolis, four of them members of the Sikh faith. The grief can be overwhelming, especially for those among us who see a reflection of close friends or family or selves in those who have died.

Grief is part of what makes us who we are. By sharing that experience of grief in community, we can bear witness to the people and the hopes that have been lost. There are some who think grief needs to be hidden, that it’s unseemly to be so human in public. Yet when the losses are so profound, how else can we honor life except to cry out.

At the Revolutionary Love online conference this weekend, grief has been a big theme. Micky ScottBey Jones and Rabbi Sharon Brous had a conversation on Thursday on just this topic, and it’s been a continuing thread on some of the other panels I’ve been able to catch. Micky ScottBey Jones spoke about grief for her mother who died of COVID and grief over mass violence and grief over what’s been lost due to health disparities and racist systems, she said, “Grief opens up our imagination and bolsters our courage.”

I think what she was saying is that when we feel and express our mourning together, the seeming impossibility of continuing with life becomes possibility. Maybe not right away. Shock and numbness might come first. But, together, we have a collective capacity that transforms us, that makes it possible to gather the energy to return to life.

Rabbi Sharon Brous responded that “public grief is an act of rebellion against the world as it is, because we are not willing to forget.” Brous noted that there are deep roots in her Jewish faith drawn from collective experiences of trauma, grief, truth-telling, and adaptation. From the transformation of Judaism from a Temple-focused culture to a diaspora culture, to survival through various pogroms, Brous remembered that there is grief woven into everything, but that doesn’t stop the existence of life and joy.

Jones went on to observe that we cycle through mourning, lamentation, truth-telling, and rebuilding. All of those things are part of the continuance of life, the re-imagining of life. We learn and we teach truth in the process of public grief. We figure out together what happens next in adapting and rebuilding because of how we form and strengthen relationships in the process of public grief.

Grief is part of who we are, it is part of our process of becoming. Grief is not all of who we are in the long run, though it might feel like our whole world in some moments. This is something that we might overlook about the story of Demeter and Persephone. Demeter’s public grief and rage, and the way her mourning brings the entire economy of her mythological world to a halt, feels true. A story where life eventually goes on -- radically different from what had come before, but it goes on -- that feels true. Persephone being called to comfort and lead the souls of the underworld, but not knowing what to say to them until she got in touch with her own grief, that feels true.

Our story this morning is about grief, but it’s not only about grief. It’s also about re-orienting ourselves and our communities. It’s about the power of love to find a solution that subverted rules of division. It’s about entering into a new way of being, even when we don’t know what that new way is going to look like in its fullness.

Grief is one thing that urges the characters in the story to continue with the process of becoming, but it’s not the only thing. Beauty and longing are also forces in the story. In some versions, Hades takes Persephone to the underworld without her consent, yet even in those versions, she finds beauty in roots and jewels and pomegranate seeds; even in those versions, she is transformed into a queen. In the version I shared this morning, Persephone chooses to follow beauty and curiosity. She continues on her journey through uncertainty. If we can stay with this version of the story for a moment, it leads me to wonder what calls us forward to become the people we can become with authenticity and ethical values.

Curiosity seems to be a powerful force for becoming. Sometimes we try things, not knowing what will happen next. That’s been what a lot of the last year has been like. Moving together through the next year will be more experimentation. We will try some things, and then try some more things. Let’s travel on that journey together in the spirit of adventure and curiosity rather than perfectionism. My hope is that our curiosity will involve open hearts as well as open minds, Let’s be curious about how the people around us are feeling, what’s lifting us up, and how we can show up for one another.

Beauty is another thing that calls us forward, and I’m grateful for the beauty of spring that is providing some comfort and counterpoint in these difficult days. For me, the progression of snowdrops to daffodils to cherry blossoms to strawberry blossoms has helped me to keep track of the days, to remember that there is a past and a future, and that more growth is ahead. The music offered today is yet more beauty, more reason to remember that we are better together, more inspiration to find centering and peace. Perhaps some of us are hanging on, awaiting the possibility of encountering the beauty of a loved one’s face in person, or the beauty of art, or the beauty of a home-grown tomato. Beauty is something that can call us forward, can motivate us to continue becoming the people we could be.

One more thing that feels relevant right now about the journey of becoming is the role of building relationships, both strengthening current relationships and being open to new ones. Last night, one of the panels of the online Revolutionary Love Conference was about Lessons Learned in Ferguson, convened by my colleague James Croft from the Ethical Society of St. Louis and three of his local St. Louis interfaith colleagues about how their community came together after the murder of Michael Brown. Koach Baruch (KB) Frazier, a Jewish activist and drummer, and the Rev. Dietra Wise Baker both spoke about moments when music brought together activists with different viewpoints and who had been through harrowing circumstances, and how their ability to come together was built on the hospitality of leaders in the interfaith community. Making a place of sanctuary in their buildings, being invited into each other’s homes, being concerned with each other’s wellbeing, all of those things made it possible to organize for change and make meaning. Rev. Erin Counihan on the same panel talked about being brand new at her congregation, and deciding to show up for an interfaith meeting, even though she didn’t know what her role would be or what the plan was or what might happen. She talked about confronting her whiteness, including the attachment to certainty that goes with whiteness, and emphasizing relationships over plans. KB Frazier added that people had to unlearn their perceptions of others with different identities and from different communities, because all people have dignity and it is important to leave stereotypes at the door when everyone is together in striving for liberation. James said that whenever nonsense is going on in St. Louis, there is already a community of people who are trained, supercharged, and ready to respond together. Something in Ferguson, something in the larger St. Louis community, something all over the world, was and is ready for change. And the way it was and is going to change, is (at least in part) about relationships.

All of this reminded me of the Washington Ethical Society and our relationship with the Washington Interfaith Network (WIN). Something that is different about building power in a coalition like WIN than working with other organizations on a particular issue is the place of relationships. There are encounters where it doesn’t seem like there is a plan, or it’s not clear what our individual roles might be, or where our preferred way to do things might not prevail. Staying in relationship anyway matters. Power is built not only in the victories, not only in the visible parts of the protests, not only in the legislative visits, but also in the trust that grows from people who show up for each other in the absence of certainty. Power is built around drum circles and kitchen tables and solving mundane problems. We as individuals and as a community are always becoming, our community of communities is always becoming, DC and its environs and all of our neighborhoods are always becoming because we are drawn forward by relationships.

The power to care for one another effectively works the same way. We have some current and recent examples of people taking care of each other within the WES community, but it’s not new. There has not been a moment since I arrived when we didn’t have a meal train or a check-in plan or greeting cards going out to someone. Grief and struggle are facts. But we don’t have to face them alone. Put aside conflict and tension and gossip and arguments about the right way to do things or the right words to use. Take care of each other and let other people take care of you. Being in a values-centered community can bring out the best because we want to be our best for each other, not because of patronizing efforts to teach or reform others. Love is what makes the whole thing work.

People are always changing. Communities are always changing. There are things we can pay attention to, things we can nurture, that move us toward becoming who we could be, who we hope to be. We pay attention to the communal experience of grief, because feeling the reality of that grief leads us to human connection, truth-telling, and the drive for a re-imagined future. We pay attention to curiosity, which leads us to be courageous when we don’t know what might happen next. We pay attention to beauty. Beauty helps us to find peace and meaning, and energizes us for the journey onward. We pay attention to relationships, because who we are always has a context. We may not be able to control the changes that accompany loss, risk, and the onward progression of seasons, but we don’t have to go through those changes alone.

We are always becoming who we are. May we join together with others in such a way that we grow into the best version of who we could be, authentically and fully ourselves while still true to our values and ready to be part of a re-imagined future.

May it be so.

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 21

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because after that big shocking reveal last time I don’t really need another because!

Last times on book: Kylan, Naia, Amri, and Tavra are finally on their way to Ha’rar after the disappointment of finding that the firca of Gyr the Song Teller was broken. When Kylan went ahead to ask Tavra if they could take a break, he discovered she wasn’t Tavra and was colluding with the Skeksis against them! He knows but she doesn’t knows he knows! How tense!

Chapter 21

Kylan is a sweet little blue berry

When Fake-Tavra and Kylan get back to the clearing, Naia immediately insists that no matter what Tavra thinks, they need to rest.

Fake-Tavra actually draws her sword although she stops short of being actually threatening with it. Still, GEEZ FAKE TAVRA!

Its only thanks to the improbability of an imposter situation that you’ve been getting away with impostering because you are terrible at pretending to be a reasonable individual!

Kylan, who has reason to worry about whether Fake-Tavra would actually use the sword knowing that her Skeksis master is getting impatient with her, steps in.

He’s stepped between Fake Tavra and Naia so many times that he’s basically an expert at this point.

“Tavra. Listen. Amri needs shoes, or soon we’ll have to carry him, which will surely slow us down further than if we stop for just a little while.”

“It’s not my fault he decided to come. If he needs shoes so badly, he can have mine.”

Tavra reached down and tore the sandals from her feet, tossing them at the Grottan boy, who flinched at the gesture.

“That’s really not necessary,” Amri began. “Naia cut some hide from her jerkin, so...”

Geez, poor Amri. He didn’t ask to be in the middle of this drama.

Kylan deflects again because he can sense that this is argument is gonna escalate and then Fake Tavra’s gonna kick their asses.

“I got a note from Rian. It came by swoothu, early this evening. His boat was damaged by a rock in the river, and he was waylaid. He’s close by and he said he’ll wait for us if we’re near. I already told him we would meet him tomorrow evening.”

Tavra snatches the note from Kylan, looks at it, and then dunks it into the fire.

Naia looks at Kylan skeptically but he hits her with the full force of puppy dog ‘please play along’ eyes.

“Oh,” she said in a normal tone, as if she had just remembered. “So that’s what you were doing out in the wood earlier. Why didn’t you tell us right away?”

Ain’t friends who’ll back up your random lies the best?

Kylan builds up on his lie by claiming that he didn’t mention it earlier because he was worried it was secretly a secret Skeksis scheme trap.

Fake Tavra confidently says its not a trap (because she is the trap and the Skeksis wouldn’t double book).

Kylan suggests that they wait until morning and then go meet him.

Tavra stared into the fire, free hand cupping her chin in thought. He hoped she was thinking what he wanted her to think - that this opportunity was too sweet to miss. Her master wanted Rian, and this was a way she could regain favor.

He was rewarded when she sheathed her sword.

“Yes. Fit those sandals to the Shadowling. We leave first thing in the dawn.”

And then Fake Tavra sits against a tree and falls asleep. Or pretends to fall asleep?

... Huh. Y’know. With all the emphasis on the Skeksis wanting to drink Naia and Gurjin, I forgot that the inciting incident of all this was them trying to catch Rian.

With that settled, Amri turns his attention to the sandals that Tavra threw at him because he doesn’t have context for all of this and his number one priority is his aching feet.

The sandals are pretty close to his own foot size but Fake Tavra broke the cords when she ripped them off.

Kylan tells Amri he’ll fix them but first fishes the fire-resistant parchment out of the fire and hands it to Amri.

Naia comes over to talk to Kylan while he fixes the sandals, which he’s really good at because it was one of the tasks Maudra Mera taught him when he was a child.

When Kylan whispers back, he whispers loud enough for Fake Tavra to overhear. Oh, Kylan, what scheme are you up to?

“I don’t trust Tavra.” He watched the Silverling when he spoke. She did not stir. “Something about her has been all wrong since we ran into her. You remember... with the blue mouth?”

Naia frowned. “Of course I remember the blue mouth.”

Kylan chose his words as carefully as if he were telling a song. This was the most important part of all.

“Good,” he said. “Because if you remember, then you’ll understand why I want to meet with Rian in private. Tonight. I don’t want Tavra to get her hands on him... I think she’s working for the Skeksis. So, tonight, when it’s quiet, I’m going to sneak out and meet him and tell him. I’m going to tell him to go on to Ha’rar without us, and tell the All-Maudra that her daughter is a traitor.”

Kylan watches from a reaction from Fake Tavra but all he notices is that earring of hers twinkling in the fire light and he thinks it moves on its own.

HMMMMMMMM.

Naia protests Kylan having to go alone but Kylan can’t explain it without giving the game away and dreamfasting would draw Fake Tavra’s attention. Especially since she’d mentioned to her Skeksis master that she could sense it. So he has to trust Naia to trust him and figure out what his plan is. THROUGH FRIENDSHIP and shared experiences.

“Remember the blue mouth?” Kylan asked. “It was good we weren’t alone then.”

Amri had been quiet, since he likely had no idea what the blue mouth was or what it had done. In the meantime, he had uncrumpled the scrap of paper Kylan had handed him, smoothing it on his lap. Kylan focused on mending the last of the broken cord, waiting for Amri’s reaction. It came shortly: a glance of confusion, then the flicker of understanding.

Hmmm.

I have to say, I love Amri just being completely baffled at these references and deciding ‘I guess I’ll read garbage.’

I’m not sure what would be on the note that would give the game away but that also wouldn’t clue Fake Tavra in... unless Fake Tavra can’t read?

It’s been mentioned a couple times that she’s shown no interest in all the writing everywhere.

Also, I forgot what the blue mouth was supposed to be and only just vaguely remembered that its the plant that tried to eat them. I don’t think they ever call it a blue mouth? I’ve flipped back and while it had a mouth it wasn’t described as blue. But the fruit are blue. And that makes me think I know what the reference means and what Naia is supposed to take from it.

Kylan takes first watch and waits and waits and waits until he can’t waits any more.

Kylan watched the fire die in quiet, holding his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting. Though the night was the same as any other, knowing what would soon come made it seem as if he existed inside a dome of his own thoughts. His mind felt like Aughra’s observatory: constantly moving, full of things.

Stay focused, he told himself. Tell the song. It will work... it has to.

He takes off into the dark wood (not the Dark Wood although it reminds him of the night he spent then and how scared he was compared to how brave he is now and hopes if someone tells his story they remember his character development. You’re such a Song Teller, Kylan).

Since he’s listening carefully, he hears footsteps following behind him at a distance.

The follower (I mean, its Fake Tavra, there’s no ambiguity there) isn’t bothering too hard to hide.

It proved to him that she had meant it when she had called him weak, and for the first time, he smiled about it to himself.

Kylan leads Fake Tavra stalking him towards a perfect ambush zone. Just a great place with ledges and boulders and all kinds of lunging places.

And then Tavra ambushes him.

Kylan turned toward Tavra’s voice just as she shoved him against the cliffside with her forearm, pinning him with her body. In her other hand she held a short knife, but more wicked was the grin on her ghostly face. She did not look like Tavra. She did not look like a Gelfling at all.

She’s being a spooky.

She demands Kylan tell her where Rian is and when he stammers that Rian isn’t here yet, Fake Tavra declares that when Rian does arrive, he’ll find a dead Kylan.

That’s the worst welcoming gift!

ALSO yeah that little earring thing thats repeatedly had attention drawn to it in the text? Its moving? And it has eight legs?

SPIDER-TAVRA. I KNEW IT.

Oh but the real ambush is the ambush that ambushes the ambush.

Kylan ducks out of the way as a bunch of finger-vines are dumped all over Tavra. They leave Kylan alone but snare Tavra in an unbreakable grip.

Amri and Naia climb down from the ledge on the finger-vines. Ah ha! Naia’s ability to talk to plants!

“How dare you!” [Tavra] cried, but the vines near her face slithered across her mouth and silenced her. It seemed the plant did not like her, either.

Hah.

“You make quite a good little blue mouth berry,” Naia said.

Kylan chuckled.

“Sweet and small. We make the best bait.”

HAH.

Okay so the blue mouth plant with its tempting little blue fruits. And Kylan was the tempting little blue fruit in this context because he’s small and sweet. And also the one that Spider-Tavra perceived as weak and no threat.

It all comes together! Good way to draw the plot threads together, Kylan!

And good way to make that weird tree that tried to eat them woven into the narrative and not just a weird random encounter.

Much respect, J.M. Lee. You wordsmith.

The three Gelfling look on the trapped traitor.

“Now, tell us who you are and what you’ve done with Tavra,” said Naia.

YEAH.

I mean, I have a decent idea but I wouldn’t mind some exposition to fill in the gaps. We’re seventy some pages to the end and I don’t know where the rest of the plot is going! Somehow I feel that we’re not going to go to Ha’rar after all.

[kbstories]

Signification

sig·ni·fi·ca·tion (n.)

The process of assigning meaning to something.

Captain and First Mate, two years later.

(Or: Zoro adores his captain. A lot.)

Tags: Reunions, Nakamaship, Introspection, Fluff, Domesticity (!)

Post-Timeskip setting, between Sabaody and Fishman Island. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

Surrounded by tumultuous battle and the distant booming of cannons, the Thousand Sunny begins to sink. The waves churn and slosh against her hull with increasing might; glinting foam breaks across the sky in half-formed arcs and yet not a single drop touches the grass below.

The crew watches, wonder shining in their eyes. Roronoa Zoro counts, sharp gaze touching upon every familiar face, every smile that glows with shared relief, then starts over.

Nine. Nine, again.

Finally complete, the Strawhats are swallowed by the sea.

In a heartbeat, the breathless moment dissolves into the usual chaos as Nami commands their gradual descent: Usopp and Chopper screech in unison about this sea king and that monster over Franky’s good-natured reassurances at the helm and the melodic humming coming from Brook; blooming and wilting like flowers, Robin’s elegant hands crop up all over the deck where Sanji and Zoro are wrangling the sails against the ocean’s massive current–

The Sunny moves like a living thing underneath them and through it all, Luffy laughs and laughs like he couldn’t get himself to stop even if he tried.

Having his friends back is a delight in and of itself but it’s that sound that does it. Zoro can feel the rough edges of the past months knit themselves together into something nostalgic, something fond, a type of gooey-warm devotion that became second nature somewhere along the line.

Like muscle memory, dormant for a while and never forgotten. It’s good to be home.

And yeah, he’s the first to admit soft things don’t come easy to him. There is a private smile on his lips, though, one he doesn’t care to hide. There’s no reason to, not here. Above them, a school of fish swims by, silhouetted by the sun like silver-coated birds and–

“Woah, it’s huge! Is that a shark?”

–the smile turns into a grin. Zoro’s eye meets those of his captain and, before Monkey D. Luffy can utter the idea brewing in that rubber brain of his, Shusui glides out of its sheath smoothly. Luffy cackles and together they stand, with their crew behind and the vast ocean ahead.

“You ready, Zoro?”

Those three little words settle in the spaces between skin and muscle and bone and – after two long years of worrying, wishing, waiting – Zoro nods and gladly takes his place beside the man who will be Pirate King.

*

The reunion party takes days to run its course until, on the third night, even the most energetic among the Strawhats are turning to their spot on Sunny’s deck for a cozy evening. A bonfire burns brightly in their midst and, under Sanji’s watchful eye, all kinds of sausages and vegetables sizzle away on a makeshift grill. Curiously, the smoke it produces leaves the resin coating of the ship in small, harmless bubbles – arms crossed and leaning back against the railing, Zoro follows their path until they disappear into depths unknown like sticky shooting stars.

A bit of imagination and even this cobalt sky can yield a few constellations, though it would take a creative mind like Usopp’s to name them all. Their presence is soothing, regardless.

No need to look so glum, Mihawk had said, that first night an eternity ago, after awkwardly hovering in Zoro’s periphery for far too long.

It had been a clumsy attempt at comfort at best. There was blood on the cuffs of his shirt and the soot of cannon fire still clung to his coat; made vague by the darkness, it was nonetheless the kind of tangible proof that all those headlines in the paper lacked. Somewhere out there, the ruins of Marineford smoldered. Somewhere out there, his captain was hurting.

Zoro had just huffed and stared out into the void. There was nothing to say, nothing at all.

There had been a quiet sigh, and steps echoing in the silence. Arms crossed, Mihawk had stared until Zoro couldn’t but stare back, quietly surprised by the intensity of emotion burning where nobody dared to look for it.

Don’t grieve what you haven’t lost, kid. You’re all under the same sky, after all.

Still, Zoro muses, eye slipping shut and shoulders relaxing against the Sunny’s comfortable embrace. Around him, the ever-present chatter of the crew dulls to a low rush. This is better.

The transition between sleep and consciousness is so gradual that Zoro doesn’t bother to track down the moment he dozes off. Eventually, there is a subtle shift around him, like gravity itself bends and realigns towards a greater force – a silent force, and that is what makes Zoro glance up between sleepy blinks.

There Luffy stands, hand on his hat and his hat on his chest and a woven-straw brim barely covering the crater of a scar below it. The fire casts shadows on Luffy’s face (Is it doubt flickering there? Indecisiveness?) and yet they’re fleeting enough to make Zoro question what he sees, fractured as his vision has become.

Then Luffy notices he’s awake and it’s all gone with a smile. “Napping already?”, he chuckles as he hops on the railing next to him. Zoro shrugs and stretches with a satisfied grunt.

“We getting close?”

“Nope, not yet.” Luffy snickers as Zoro slumps right back to where he was, his back snug against warmed wood. Sandals flip-flop along with the carefree swinging of Luffy's feet. “It’s okay, though. More chances to listen to Usopp’s stories! He met the Hercules, can you imagine?”

“Hardly”, Zoro grumbles indistinctly enough to not disturb the starry-eyed marvel on Luffy’s face. “Did he tell the one about the man-eating plant turned island yet?”

“The what?!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at how wide Luffy’s eyes can get: Zoro snorts and gestures towards the shape of Usopp on the other side of deck, a silent have at him that Luffy almost follows.

Almost. Cheers and laughter carry over from Usopp’s loosely assembled audience, and Chopper’s astounded What, really?! proves the story being told is a good one. Even so, the motion to launch himself into an unsuspecting Usopp is stopped mid-way and Luffy bounces back to the railing.

Huh.

At Zoro’s questioning grunt, the man just shakes his head and lowers his hat to his lap. “Ah, y’know. We have time now, right?”, he says with a thread of serenity woven into his voice – one that wasn’t there, last time they spoke, and the realization that Luffy is pacing himself shouldn’t feel this monumental.

Zoro lets his gaze linger, this time: over the subtle lines around Luffy’s eyes and the hint of exhaustion underneath; over all the little scars dusting his knuckles, old and new, and the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb over the ribbon of his hat, a mindless gesture of comfort that aches, somehow.

Threadbare it has become, this most faithful of companions. The red is long washed out by the sun and the sea and hell knows what else. Gratitude registers as a warm glow at Zoro’s core, for it being there when none of them could. For weathering the storms and the tears and the laughter, from the instant it left Shanks’ head to this very moment.

“It’s looking good”, Zoro comments lightly as he sits up and rubs the last traces of sleep from his eye. “Feels like ages ago that Nami had to stitch the hat back together. After… Buggy, was it? The clown guy.”

The expression on Luffy’s face goes a bit funny at that, half-way to a grimace yet too fond to be one. “Hah, yeah, him. I’ll have to thank him next time we see him, him and Jinbei and the others.”

Zoro blinks. That… makes no sense at all. Then again, Mihawk did grumble about the clown becoming a warlord, so weirder things have happened. “Who’s Jinbei?”

Luffy smiles, then, bright and toothy. “A friend! Don’t worry, you’ll meet him soon. He’s all serious and talks about honor a lot, so.”

So you’ll like him, Zoro fills in for him and huffs to himself. That part of himself that is fiercely independent wants to argue the point – then again, Luffy’s instincts are rarely off the mark.

Another thing to look forward to, then. Hopefully this Jinbei guy likes to drink.

“Say, Zoro?”

In a bundle of rubbery limbs and rustling fabric, Luffy joins him on the grassy deck, legs crossed and hat back where it belongs. His head tilts curiously, the steady weight of his full attention one Zoro shoulders with ease. “Where did you go?”

Ah, that. It’s a question he’s heard a few times this week, along with How in the world were you first? and What the hell happened to your eye? and Zoro has no room to complain. He, too, keeps a list of names in his heart, and the question marks around their fates are a subtle discomfort but very much there.

It’s weird to think of adventure as something they can experience even when forced apart.

And so Zoro tells him, about the castle standing proud among ruins and the ship that wrecked before it even touched the sea and the day he bowed to become stronger. He doesn’t mention the tense days spent in-between, reading the newspaper near-obsessively for even a scrap of new information. That black-and-white image of his captain standing alone on a battlefield is fresh in his memory, and will remain there for eternity. “Took me a while to get what you were trying to say”, he admonishes without heat, and Luffy nods sagely.

“I know, right? So complicated… Without Rayleigh I would’ve mixed everything up.”

That confirms that theory, then. A whole library of those exists in Zoro’s mind, years’ worth of theories and questions gone unanswered and wild speculation and it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Not with Luffy sitting next to him, looking more at peace than Zoro expected, deep down.

“You did well, Luffy.”

The words are out before he really thinks them through. It feels right, though, to see surprise dawn on Luffy’s face; the pride Zoro places in his voice soon takes root in the square set of Luffy’s shoulders, too, and the strong line of his back.

Then, he grins, eyes alight and squinting with it. Like this, the signs of weariness melt off entirely and there Luffy is, a little older, a little more mature and scarred to hell but still the happy-go-lucky idiot Zoro chose to follow two years ago.

“We really made it, huh, Zoro? It felt like forever and I was wondering if I’m just dreaming or something but… We’re finally here.”

Zoro sighs and reaches over and pulls the hat down, the brim briefly covering the amused chuckle on Luffy’s lips before it’s righted again. “’course it’s real, captain. You think we’d all bust our asses to be on time for some dream? Seriously.”

Luffy is still laughing, “I mean, you were early! Everyone was so surprised!”, poking him in the cheek and wiggling his feet in delight. Zoro lets him have it for a second longer than he normally would have before he rolls his eye and gets up.

“C’mon, rubber-for-brains, there’s some sake I brought that’s calling my name. Oi, Usopp! What was that thing with the plant island again?”

And with the sound of stretching rubber and a not-so-distant crash, Luffy is gone and Usopp yells.

>>Read Chapter 2

[terriblygrimm]

ohmygod finally someone who shares my views. my sister and I loved fatws for what they did w sam’s character but aside from that the writing was very bad. we really could not understand wtf was bucky’s purpose to the main plot and what new side of bucky did we see. when the action wasnt happening he kept whining about steve and being rude to sam and then marvel thrust sambucky onto us and basically told us to move onto this Brand New Duo. sam and bucky were not on equal footing here and their personal struggles did not hold equal weight at all (i will give credits to anthony and seb here for making their friendship look believable) mcu keeps sidelining bucky and i thought they would do him some justice in this show but they didnt. after reading the articles and interviews post the show it was evident the writers did not understand bucky’s character at all. his whole character development was moving on from steve and now becoming sam’s sidekick? (also im really hoping and praying these writers dont go through with sarahbucky in the future because…no..absolutely not). and i do hope that what you said about a future steve bucky reunion comes true because so far mcu has been very hellbent on erasing their friendship and its just pathetic that they try to undermine their friendship so much, while weirdly enough also emphasizing that yes it has deep emotional value.

yeah like, i’m gonna try to make this as succinct and short (lol) as i possibly can without going off on tangents but tf.atws should’ve been SAM’S show. sam alone. he should’ve been the only title character, and they could’ve properly focused on his arc and the sociopolitical weight of it. that is MORE than enough content to fill up 6 hours. i absolutely love cap!sam and i think he’s gonna be a great captain america. i’m very much looking forward to his future.

but virtually everything else about this show from conception to film was a miss.

the flag smashers? (really marvel? your military propaganda perked its ugly ass head with this one. within the first five minutes of the show they were condemning ppl who believed in a world without borders lmfao. i legit almost stopped watching right then i’m not kidding) and the storyline itself wasn’t even coherent. they had WAY too many characters and arcs to focus on and it just.. didn’t work. didn’t do any one of them justice. not even their title characters - especially their title characers. the whole thing felt very hollow and emotionally remiss. the barely existent dialogue was clunky and awkward, and i’m sorry but.. to me, sam and bucky do not organically get along lol. the chemistry between the actors is undeniable which is why so many ppl ate it up, (and do i think they could eventually get along? yes) but the buddybuddy thing was pretty forced imo. very sudden and based on very little. 

their stories were at odds, with not one common goal between them all the way to the end. they fought for screen time and it caused both of their stories to suffer and not carry the weight they should have. they both had VERY heavy content to work with (a black captain america / a trauma/abuse/pow survivor) but somehow marvel - in true marvel fashion - did not commit to either and tried to tread lightly on both. 

bucky and sam only had the thin thread of steve woven between them & even that was done poorly because the writers themselves admittedly weren’t told what happened to steve, therefore they couldn’t write a definitive arc about it. and instead of actually committing to the deep bond between he and bucky, they took the no homo route and had bucky express anger over who holds property of the shield, rather than admitting it was steve himself that he emotionally and physically missed. but again, they couldn’t really do that, could they? they didn’t know if steve was alive or if bucky knew of his whereabouts. 

i’ll admit i did enjoy the peripheral concept of bucky helping steve pass along the shield, like he was its watcher, making sure steve’s legacy fell in good hands, and was there to basically coach sam along the way. in THAT regard alone, it did feel like he and steve were still a team post-endgame. that, on top of saying that he and steve discussed the future of the shield together was a sweet touch. loved that, but it was executed poorly like everything else.

& his winter soldier arc... lordy, was that handled horribly. bucky is a charming, gentle, burdened, lover-not-a-fighter (since the 40s) victim and they turned him macho, carrying the burden of his abusers and guilted into making amends? and that his problems were his fault because he couldn’t trust people? say what now? bucky is a pissed off, good-hearted war vet with a LOT of baggage- he’s not just some dude. the effort to butch up and patch up bucky in a quick fix was apparent, from the short hair, to the list of names, to the “man up” approach everybody came at him with, to the really out of place heterosexual flirting. i mean honest to god who the has time to flirt? apparently bucky! none of the other characters even passed a sideways glance to another during the entire series aside from the one character who audiences have been vocal about being queer for 10 years. hmmm.... (and then the writers actually CAME OUT & MADE A POINT TO SAY that they did not intend for his bisexuality lmfao i mean please dear god put us out of this misery. that writer/director need to stop talking because nobody cares about their personal opinions or headcanons. media is for the viewer to interpret so please shut up.)

overall the actors did what they could w that script, that much was obvious- and they certainly tried to stay as true to their visions/versions of the characters as they could but it just didn’t end up matching up.

but yeah, on a lighter note, i sincerely don’t think they’ll continue bucky in sam’s sphere. i think that was a one off. i don’t think they actually wanted to sell them as a “new partnership” but they just didn’t know how to write the dynamic properly. i think tf.atws was just a sad, sad attempt to place them somewhere post-endgame so they can continue on in bigger marvel films. sam’s got his cap4 and his new team (torres, sharon, walker), and i think i read he’s gonna make an appearance in black panther? which will be sooooo awesome!! 

and bucky? his ending was very open, what with him miraculously “feeling better” yet not quite the white wolf, and not permanent in any place. and on top of that, he was instructed to stay away from wakanda so he can’t make future appearances there, so methinks he and steve will cross paths again as nomad and white wolf for sure (once it’s revealed what steve’s been doing, etc). maybe in space?

the power that holds anon.... i get so excited even thinking about it.

[writersrealmbts]

Diamond Tears and Little Wings

Part 1?

Description: You’re a fairy, taken in by BTS. You need lots of love and care, otherwise your light will fade and you turn to stone. Between the seven of them, you should never feel unloved. Right?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 08/22/2019

Tags: bts x reader, ot7

Lots of angst: 2,600 words

A/N: This was a request by an anonymous user! It was so cute that I started it right away! Also, it has potential for future installments or whatever so! 

You stood ready. Ready to receive the love and attention you so desperately wanted and needed from the seven men you loved so very deeply. But it was your fourth hour of waiting and already you could feel how heavy your wings were getting. But they promised they would be home soon. You wobbled slightly, looking up as the clock chimed and marked another hour passing. You teared up and sniffled, trudging toward your room as you resigned yourself to another evening alone. They had been forced to take you in as a publicity sort of thing, making them look more charitable as other groups were thrown into an unfavorable light for abuse of fairy folk. And the timing of it had been quite ingenious. Before they took you in you had been living in a home for the fay, usually staying in your pixie form because it was so crowded and it was much easier to hide. Taehyung had seen you watching them and broke away to investigate, following you and subsequently playing hide and seek with you (you won) until he realized he was lost. Then he asked you if you would come out and help him find the others again, seemed kind of scared. You flew as far ahead of him as you could without him losing sight of you, leading him back to the others where you collided with Namjoon’s hand and ended up on the ground. A broken leg and a ton of paperwork later and you were in a cushioned shoe-box on your way home with them. Things were awkward for a while, because you were nervous and they weren’t sure how to take care of you. You had a broken leg, so you had to stay in the form you broke it in, and you couldn’t fly as great of distances. You spent quite a few days in the shoe box in their practice rooms or studios, only able to watch and admire. You started watching their videos and listening to their music, catching up on everything the fans already knew since you had to live with them. Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin got you a doll-house that you could inhabit as your smaller self, putting it in the bedroom that they had set aside for you. The change in the way you all interacted came when you finally were able to switch to your human-sized form and they saw you like that for the first time. They knew you were able to change back and forth, but they hadn’t seen you big until the morning after you first changed. You hadn’t really thought about scaring them with your changed form since you’d had a great night’s sleep and were still half-asleep when you walked into the kitchen to get some juice. Ever since then, they had been very attentive, and curious. They would ask you more about what you wanted and needed to be happy. They found ways of spending more time with you, especially after you explained that you needed more of their love and attention because it was how you lived. But now it seemed as though they had forgotten. Forgotten that you needed them. Forgotten that they once loved you. Forgotten that you existed. You stumbled and switched to pixie form, going into your doll house and hiding in one of the closets with some blankets and pillows. You cried into a bowl, not wanting to end up sitting on one of your tears. You were one of the unfortunate kinds of pixies whose tears turned to diamonds after they had been shed. Little droplets solidifying as they dripped off your nose and chin. Your glow faded even more as you became too weak to even cry. The clock struck again. Another hour gone. You heard the front door open, seven bodies enter, the door close. Shuffling steps to respective bedrooms, the bathroom, and the kitchen. None of them came to check on you. You felt like you might turn to stone. You would have to go find another family to love you for a year. That’s all that ever happened. One year with people who loved you, and then the novelty wore off. There was muted conversation in the kitchen, but you were too tired to hear what was said. It didn’t have anything to do with you anyway. You room door opened after a soft knock, and someone stepped in. They were still for a moment, then quickly stepped over to the dollhouse. “Y/n? Are you in here?” Jimin asked softly, lifting the roof to peek inside, but you were on the first floor in a closet that could only be seen in when the closet door was opened. You heard him put the roof back and tensed as he turned the house around to open the back and look inside. “Y/n?” “Jimin?” Hoseok’s voice sounded near the door. “I can’t find Y/n,” Jimin said, sounding a little worried. “Y/n, are you in here? Please come out.” You couldn’t open the door even if you wanted to. Your eyes were barely open. Hoseok started down the hall, calling your name and probably telling the others why. Jimin opened the closet door and your body sort of slumped out, dumping the bowl of tear drops. “Y/n!” His fingers carefully picked you up and then he cradled you in one of his hands, holding you securely as he rushed out into the bright kitchen. “Hyung, there’s something wrong with her!” You could hear them all talking at once, but you fell asleep, too tired to do anything else. You woke up somewhere very warm, and very alive. “She’s awake,” Someone whispered. You forced your eyes open even though they protested, seeing the finely woven threads of a shirt. “Y/n?” Yoongi whispered, his voice vibrating through you as he held you against his shirt. You tilted your head back to look up at his face. “Are you okay? You had us worried,” Hoseok whispered, a finger petting your hair once. You nodded. They exchanged disbelieving looks. “Your glow is so dim, y/n,” Jungkook said, offering his hand for you to crawl onto. You did, more because you felt some serious vertigo and Yoongi’s pajama shirt was slippery, but your arms barely held your weight and you quickly collapsed into his hand. Worried sounds and mutters issued from the boys. “Take her to a doctor?” “Maybe she ate something she shouldn’t have?” “Should have come home sooner.” “Don’t tell me that, I tried to!” “You’re all being too loud,” Jin intervened as their voices were raised. “She’s a pixie right now, so everything is going to be twice as loud, if not louder. Calm down and let’s do what we can to take care of her.” “You still feel cold,” Jungkook whispered, taking you over to the counter where Hoseok was finishing setting up a bed on the warmed up bean-bag heating pad you used in winter. He carefully laid you on the blanket and Hoseok tenderly wrapped the blanket around you. “I found the care book they gave us,” Namjoon said, rushing back in. You could hear him flipping through pages, muttering under his breath the topic he was looking under. “Here is it, “When and Why Their Glow Fades”. Um…three main reasons, the first is that she’s sick, but she would feel warm to our touch instead of so cold. Second is excessive cold…but it says here that her glow would be very white and her glow is more…I don’t know…blue?” “Gray,” Jungkook said, carefully petting your hair. You curled up making sure he could still pet your hair, but relishing in the warmth of your current bed. “Third reason is…” “Hyung?” He cleared his throat. “Being unloved or feeling unloved for a period of time that causes them to go into rapid decline.” You sniffled, the only sound in the room as they all held their breath. “What do we do?” Yoongi asked. “Probably talk to her first,” Namjoon speculated. “Y/n?” You looked to him instead of the blanket. “Hey, we’re really sorry we came home so late. We didn’t mean to make you wait for us. We’ve missed you,” He whispered. “We’ve been working extra so that we could be home with you all weekend,” Taehyung added, voice wobbling. “We love you so much, y/n,” Jungkook whispered, still petting your hair. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like we did. We’ll try to make it up to you.” Hoseok leaned in and kissed your head, getting a snort out of you since it always felt funny and he knew it. You pinched his upper lip when he went to do it again. He laughed in surprise, gently poking your belly. “Little imp.” Your giggles died and sadness filled you again when you realized how little he had been teasing you the past couple of weeks. You had missed it so much, and now he was only doing it because you were fading. “I got you a present, y/n,” Taehyung said, capturing your attention. “I had someone make you a coat that wouldn’t hurt your wings when you’re in your big form. I measured your wings while you were sleeping and sent in pictures and everything. I hope it fits, but if it doesn’t we can have it fixed.” “And we brought home your favorite cake,” Seokjin said, pointing to the box further down the counter. “I rented that movie you wanted to see when it was in theaters but couldn’t because we were too busy.” Jimin smiled proudly for remembering. “Do you want to watch it now, y/n? Or tomorrow?” “We really do love you, y/n. So very much. One of the reasons we took so long was because we kept thinking about you and what we would do with you once we finally got to the weekend.” Hoseok gently scooped up the beanbag cradling it—and thus, you—in his hands. “I accidentally wrote your name in the lyrics about a hundred times today.” “And I messed up the choreography so many times because I kept wondering what you would think of it,” Jungkook added, looking a little upset at Hoseok taking you away from where he could caress your hair. You wanted to believe them, but you knew how easily they lied. All humans lied easily. Fairies didn’t have that privilege, another reason they became oppressed so easily. They couldn’t lie. You couldn’t lie. But you also couldn’t tell when someone was lying. “Please don’t die,” Taehyung whispered, his voice betraying that he was already crying. You hated it when he cried. It hurt your soul. You tried to push yourself up and managed to do so for about two seconds before you collapsed again, sparking worried exclamations and sounds from the boys. “Don’t hurt yourself, you’re really weak,” Yoongi said gruffly. “I’ll heat up some broth for her. Someone get out the pixie sized dishes.” Seokjin went to get them. Taehyung took you from Hoseok, sniffling and holding it close to him as he carried you over to the couch so he could sit. He looked desperately sad, and you wished you were strong enough to wipe away his tears. But his face was honest and open. “You love me?” You asked, voice coming out creaky. He sniffled and nodded. “Since you first hid from me.” You felt warmth again, and you wiggled to get your arms free and hold them out to him. He carefully picked you up, bringing you to his cheek. You pressed against his cheek, giving it a little kiss, and then squeaking as a tear dropped onto your head. He looked down and laughed a little, handing you the blanket again. “Sorry, little wing.” You wrinkled your nose and poked his wet cheek again. He brought you to his forehead as he leaned back and you climbed on to his forehead and rested there like you used to. You were already feeling a little better, and you giggled as you smelled his shampoo, climbing into his hair and playing with it. He laughed when you tugged on one of the strands to tease him. “You must be feeling better, y/n. Do you think you could get big for me?” “No.” “Please?” “No,” You said again, almost petulantly. If you got big then the others would keep lying to you about loving you. You didn’t need them. You had Taehyung. He loved you. He plucked you out of his hair, a little roughly and immediately apologizing as he held you more carefully. “We need to talk, as a family, y/n.” You pulled the blanket over your head and curled up in his hand. “No.” “Okay, well, we’re going to talk. Can you at least listen?” You didn’t move, which they seemed to take as an acquiescence. “We know we let you down, and you have every right to be mad at us, and sad. You have a right to feel whatever you are feeling. But we need you to know that we love you, so much. We’ve been neglecting you, and I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. We weren’t sensitive to your needs.” Namjoon’s words sounded like they were carefully chosen. “We were really scared when we found you, y/n. I don’t know what I would do if we lost you.” “I’m not a pet,” You squeaked, tears filling your eyes. “I know. You’re a person. Our person,” He replied quickly, but he sounded lost now. Like he didn’t know how to say what he wanted. There was a hint of desperation in his tone that had you inclined to believe that he loved you too, but you weren’t sure. You looked out at his face, seeing the way his eyes were fixed on the couch. He looked lost and upset. Like he wanted to fix things but he didn’t know how. Like he had just broken something he really cared about. Your gaze drifted to all of their faces. Now that you weren’t as weak, looking at their faces you could see their worry and care. Their love. “This can’t keep happening,” You told them, sniffling once more and sitting up, holding the blanket around you. “I depend on you guys to live. Without you, I fade. I die. I’m not a puppy. I need your love unconditionally because I…” You teared up again. “Because I can’t help loving all of you. It’s part of who I am!” Hoseok was in tears now, and so were Jungkook and Jimin. Jin looked pretty close to tears as well, looking at the ceiling. “We do love you,” Yoongi finally said. “We’ll take care of you.” “I’m never leaving you here alone again,” Jimin said dramatically, taking you from Tae and cupping you to his chest. You sighed and rested against him. “Okay. Set me down. I think I’m strong enough to switch.” He placed a gentle kiss on your head and then set you on the couch between him and Jungkook. You shimmered into your bigger form and made a queasy sound. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that,” You whispered, a tear slipping out and you bent forward to try and combat the nausea. It clicked onto the floor and Jungkook picked it up. “Um, is that supposed to happen?” You nodded emphatically. “So stop making me cry.” Jin leaned in and kissed your lips, effectively stunning you. “We promise.”

--

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Masterlist  -  ot7 Masterpost

[thedailytao]

Passage 16: Perceptions of Time

If you can empty your mind of all thoughts your heart will embrace the tranquility of peace. Watch the workings of all of creation, but contemplate their return to the source.

All creatures in the universe return to the point where they began. Returning to the source is tranquility because we submit to Heaven’s mandate.

Returning to Heaven’s mandate is called being constant. Knowing the constant is called ‘enlightenment’. Not knowing the constant is the source of evil deeds because we have no roots. By knowing the constant we can accept things as they are. By accepting things as they are, we become impartial. By being impartial, we become one with Heaven. By being one with Heaven, we become one with Tao. Being one with Tao, we are no longer concerned about losing our life because we know the Tao is constant and we are one with Tao.

If you’re a coffee-dependent person, you might want to make sure you’ve had yours before we get into today’s passage. Get ready, because we’re about to get fourth dimensional.

In “Passage 6: Emptiness and Oneness,” I talked about how Taoism believes that everything in existence is simply a piece of a greater whole. The universe operates in fractals with smaller things inside of larger things: cells make up a bacteria, the bacteria makes up a colony, the colony exists in the human body, the human is part of humanity, the humanity is part of earth, earth is part of the solar system and on and on until it encompasses all of reality.

This passage touches on those aspects again. It refers to this entirety of reality – the Tao, essentially – as “the source,” because it is what all things come from. Matter can never be created nor destroyed, so we are just the same universal building blocks rearranged into a new shape, which will then be taken apart to become something else. This is the first way in which the passage urges us to feel peaceful about the concept of death.

In Taoism, it may be better to think of “death” as “non-being.” You are, and then you are not. It says that this is “tranquility.” I think that when you frame it in this way, that you are simply returning to the primordial force that created you to be remade into something new, it is a tranquil thing. Some people find comfort in the idea of reincarnation, that you will live again once this life is done, but I think this concept in Taoism is taken a step farther: in a larger sense, you never stop living. Or, perhaps, it is that you are doing something that is larger, more powerful than our sense of what it is to “live.” You exist, and that existence continues uninterrupted, regardless of what form you take.

The last three lines are the ones that bring us to our fourth-dimensional thinking:

“Being one with Tao, we are no longer concerned about losing our life because we know the Tao is constant and we are one with Tao.”

Remember, the Tao does not only refer to all of reality as it exists right now. It refers to all of reality in all of time. The linear manner in which we view time is a limitation of our existing within it in a linear manner. If you have ever read Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott, you may be familiar with this idea. Basically, Flatland tells the story of some sentient geometric figures who live in a two-dimensional plane, completely unaware of the third dimension of depth. When one meets a sphere that exists in three dimensions, he is unable to perceive its depth, only seeing it as a circle.

In much the same way, we are limited in our ability to only see in three dimensions, to only see things around us as they exist within a specific moment. We can remember what a thing looked like in the past, but are limited by our memories. By acknowledging this limitation, we can concede that there are higher planes of understanding beyond the limits of our perception. If we think of all of reality as a giant tapestry, each of our lives is a single thread, woven through the larger creation. Each moment we experience is just a fragment of that thread that we experience in sequence. We may think that there’s a day when the thread ends, but the thread never leaves the fabric of reality. It stays there, woven in, forever.

The fabric is all of space, but also all of time, and it all exists simultaneously. All of time is happening at once, is always happening. The difference between what you are experiencing right now and the events of yesterday – a year ago – ten thousand years ago – is nothing but a matter of perceptions. If we can think of time in this way, then we can understand that our deaths are not an end. Our deaths and births are occurring simultaneously, constantly.

It’s a big idea, all the more impressive because it occurs in a text written over two thousand years ago. It’s also a particularly difficult idea to integrate into your daily thought process. We can try to reduce it to easier-to-swallow tidbits like ‘Que sera sera’ or ‘Some things are meant to be.’ These are not a complete understanding. However, the Tao Te Ching will give us plenty more opportunities to put these concepts into practice.

[mira-eyeteeth]

An extra scene from Chapter 33 of Patchwork, from Martin’s point of view. Content warning- Martin is basically having an anxiety attack for this whole scene.

-

Martin’s hands were shaking badly enough that he nearly dropped his keychain as he was fumbling through it for the key that would open the apartment. He somehow managed to unlatch the door and stumble inside. He shut the door and rested his back against it, staring blankly ahead.

And now you’ve got some creepy spider powers- which, by the way, are another thing that Jon hates- and all of a sudden he’s kissing you. Tim’s words kept echoing in Martin’s head, and Martin was having a hard time breathing, like there was a lead weight pressing down on his chest.

Because Tim wasn’t wrong. Martin had his unrequited crush for a long time. And Jon had only even started being civil to him after Martin had become a part of the Web. He’d only claimed to love Martin after Martin had really begun to develop his abilities.

Had Martin forced Jon into doing those things? Woven puppet strings through Jon’s mind and tugged him into behaving the way that Martin wanted?

It wasn’t impossible. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but maybe he hadn’t needed to. Sometimes it seemed like just being around Jon was enough to make people want to give him information. What kind of unintentional influence could Martin be exerting on the people around him? On Jon?

It made sense, really. Everything about this was too good to be true. What other reason would there be for Jon to claim to love him?

Martin thought about the soft way that Jon looked at him, the quirk of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when he saw Martin.

He thought about pulling that facade aside to reveal Jon’s actual emotions, about the disgust and horror and hatred that would wash over Jon’s face when he was finally free enough to realize what Martin had done to him.

Martin clutched his arms and slowly slid to the floor, his knees giving way under him.

He thought about the times he had hugged Jon. About his arms caging Jon in place while some inner part of Jon struggled and screamed, desperate to escape but smothered under countless layers of cobwebs until his body could only be relaxed and pliant in Martin’s grip.

Martin felt sick.

Every memory of Jon felt wrong, felt possessive and controlling and monstrous. Every touch was him threading hooks through Jon’s flesh, binding him and dragging him down. Every kiss was a red-hot brand he’d pressed into Jon’s skin. Every one of Jon’s smiles or chuckles or soft words was something that Martin had torn out of him.

Jon would hate him. Jon, the real Jon, did hate him, surely. He had hated him before Martin had been able to spin his webs, and afterward Martin had only proven how justified that hatred had been. The sharp, sweet man who loved Martin wasn’t real; he was only a fantasy that Martin had forced into existence at Jon’s expense.

Monsters are monsters, aren’t they?

Martin closed his eyes and tried to breathe, tried not to fall apart. He wasn’t the victim here. He didn’t deserve to have a breakdown. What was important was figuring out how to not hurt Jon any more than he already had.

Martin couldn’t erase what he had done. He couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was tempting to just… leave. Martin could pack up his things and disappear, get himself out of Jon’s life before he could do more damage. That way, he wouldn’t need to see the look on Jon’s face when he finally realized what Martin had done to him.

But Martin wasn’t even sure that he would be able to stay away from the Archives permanently. Tim couldn’t.

And even without that consideration, there was no guarantee that the webs he had caught Jon in would go away when he did. Leaving without a word might trap Jon in the state Martin had forced him into. It might cause him more distress and make him look for Martin. Martin had to let Jon see the lie he had been manipulated into. He had to at least try to set Jon free.

And that meant that Martin would need to talk to him. Would need to face up to what he had done.

He would have to do that when Jon got home. And after…

Martin should pack his things now, so that there wouldn’t be any reminders of him once Jon realized the truth and threw him out.

There was still the problem of him being tied to the Archives, but if he really couldn’t find a way to break that bond, maybe he could just go there when Jon was elsewhere. It shouldn’t be difficult to avoid Jon once Jon wanted to avoid him.

It took Martin a long time to pick himself off the floor and begin to gather his things together. He tried not to notice the way that his belongings had begun to migrate through the apartment, mingling with Jon’s. He rearranged shelves to fill in any gaps that he had left, and did his best to erase any signs of his presence. He evicted more spiders that had attempted to colonize the cupboard beneath the sink.

He wondered if Jon would hate spiders even more, now. Probably.

Martin hoped that they would stop trying to get into Jon’s apartment, once Martin was gone. He hoped that Jon wouldn’t have too many reminders of the way that Martin had violated his mind.

He hoped that Jon would be able to be okay, eventually.

Martin took everything that he had gathered and put it in the entryway, then did another sweep of the apartment to ensure that he hadn’t missed anything.

After that, the only thing left to do was wait for Jon to come back. Martin mechanically made a cup of tea for himself in an attempt to calm his nerves.

He didn’t drink the tea, only sat on the sofa and stared into it, trying not to think about all of the ways that he had hurt Jon.