#they also describe their presence as 'not to invade but to bring peace' after they invaded a country

[blackberryjambaby]

watching american shows makes me more & more anti american tbh. just heard a former cia agent say "he would issues these blanket statements saying that using force against an occupying power was ok" about a supposed terrorist & now i'm just like. ok? he's right what do you want me to say

[butwhatifidothis]

Do people really not see the inherent disconnect of the claim that Houses Claude is genuinely an amoral opportunist when his dream is to break down barriers to foster unity and peace? Like, is there not a fundamental incompatibility in having a desire for everyone to get along yet being a backstabber that throws people under the bus for their own benefit? From a personality/character standpoint, all that does is make Claude look like a ginormous ignorant hypocrite, and an idiot even though he's supposed to be smart. Because if his end goal is to create a diverse and harmonious community, how is he going to bring people together if he constantly betrays every side? And from a writing perspective, it makes no sense to have a character's actions and goals be completely contradictory and never address it.

Also for someone who is amoral, it sure is interesting in Balthus' Classroom QA Part 2 that Claude likes "ensure the fewest casualties" and dislikes "do anything to eradicate the enemy" when the question was "the war has been dragging for long so let's end it quickly". It's kinda like he has some principles or something.

Like, the idea of Claude being an untrustworthy backstabber who opportunistically takes advantage of everyone without ever growing close to them is just Hubert minus Lady Edelgard could be an interpretation of his character that aligns with at least his initial showing, or a surface level understanding of him. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he never fully opens up to anyone, he can in fact be fairly manipulative and callous; the crumbs are there, for sure.

But it also has to ignore how far he's willing to go to protect his people (putting himself in high danger when he is not sacrificial like, say, Dimitri is), or how he supports others having dreams for themselves (Goddess Tower), or how open he is to criticisms against what he thought (Cyril's support), or how he tries to be there for his friends (Marianne's support), or how he's open-minded enough to listen to people he initially thought needed to be his enemy (Rhea), or how violence is not just not something he considers but is something he actively rejects as a means of getting what he wants (The Alliance Leader's Ambitions, near the end), or how putting the people's lives in danger is something he is adamantly against (as you point out, Balthus' classroom question). A staggering amount of Claude's character has to be deliberately ignored in order to come to the conclusion that he's just a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants (who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence), because a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence does not describe Claude.

Even if one were to take the game's writing failure of properly presenting Claude tackling racial issues (like never addressing Petra's situation despite having supports with her) you can't really deny that Claude is, in fact, a caring person after taking everything in his character into account. For all his flaws, he never abuses the trust people have in him to the extent that they are actively put in danger, nor is it ever the case that the "doesn't truly tackle racial issues" ever translate to anything so drastic as "which means he'll actively worsen relations between two countries." And, well, yes; you still do have to take into account that his dreams are of bringing people together and disregarding past bad blood. He never stops trying to achieve this dream, and he wants it to come true so badly that he is willing to let other people that he trusts rule Fodlan to work together with him to achieve it, shown in VW and even AM. That means a lot for someone like Claude, who is otherwise pretty slow to trust other people so deeply.

That's not someone who would use Leicester's bad history with Faerghus as fuel to violently invade it. That's not someone who would use Almyra's navy to make it look to Sreng like Faerghus tried to invade it. That's not someone who wants to conquer other nations and make his own come out on top. Those things describe Hopes!Claude, which 3H!Claude is not.

It's like. You know how some 3H's fans see 3H as "Edelgard, Dimitri, and the third guy that justifies my fave"? How a lot of people in 3H's fandom don't really see Claude as his own character with his own perspective and ideals and beliefs and morals that are unique to him, and only see him as a battering ram to try and knock down one of the other two lords? And so don't really care how he's characterized in other things (like fanfiction, fanart, meta, or in this case spinoff media) because they never really cared about him as his own character? But then get really, really, really defensive when you point out the flaws in their perception of him, saying that you're the one who never understood or liked Claude, because if you did you'd "realize" that he was always [insert vague, bland description that happens to prop up the lord they actually like]?

Yeah that's basically what's going on here. Most people who prefer Claude as their fave lord do not like Hopes!Claude, some of the loudest voices in the JPN Amazon reviews were of people who hated Hopes!Claude and were literally trying to warn Claude/GD fans away from Hopes as a game because of how awful their writing is, while nearly every Hopes!Claude fan that I've seen vastly prefers Edelgard as their fave lord and are - you guessed it! - very defensive when it comes to Claude fans venting their frustrations over Claude's shit-end-of-the-stick treatment he got in Hopes.

So like, yeah. It's less that people aren't directly computing that Claude's ambitions and character don't match how he's depicted in Hopes, but that they just don't care that it doesn't since 1) it justifies their fave and 2) they never really gave a shit about Claude anyway

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

Okay so I saw a post you reblogged a while back with a picture of your ocs. They are absolutely gorgeous and I'd love to know more about them! Is that archangel a boy and do they have history with that demon?? How'd you come up with their names? Aeshma and Talon are so unique!

Oh, dear sweet anon, now you've done it.

*deep inhale*

I don't normally post about my original work, but if I'm asked, I shall speak.

I have been working on Helpless since the beginning of my 9th grad school year. It's a series. A few years ago, my work was published through Palmetto Publishing.

Though, due to them being too apprehensive about having a gay protagonist, I cut ties with them.

I am now working with a publisher out of the UK. Olympia Publishing. I had a lot of other offers, but most of them were vanity publishers. With Olympia, I have all control of what is published.

I did a lot of revisions and book one will be coming out either late this year or early next. It will have a new cover with a different allure. Peep it:

Talon is a boy for sure. He's just graced with beauty. His mother is Aphrodite and his father is Saint Michael. He is the first son of an archangel and goddess. He's gentle and understanding, unlike his father. He spends his time with the garden angels and finds comfort in being outdoors. His father wants him to follow in his footsteps and lead the angelic army alongside him, but Talon doesn't like the idea of war. Pointless bloodshed saddens him and he doesn't understand why either side feels the need to battle over petty disagreements. I often describe him with feminine grace and appearance. He's soft spoken and dignified, but not to the point of arrogance. He is also the only angel in heaven with pink eyes. He's slender and he's 5'9" When I describe him, I mention that he sparkles in the sun like fresh snow. His father keeps him away from his mother so she doesn't influence him to step away from the path of an archangel. Talon is torn between making his father proud and doing what makes him happy. He doesn't want to be a warrior. He wants to work in the gardens.

This is some really old art I have of him. I have to work on some more now that I picked up a new program. The ginger is Fawn. She is Talon's best friend.

Aeshma is a Persian war demon from a place in hell called Khadah. A place in the circle of wrath. His parents are Amara and Angra Mainyu. Both of them are war demons as well. He was bred for battle, starting his training as soon as he could run. His kind have been at war with Michael for years and Angra makes Aeshma a commander in the demonic army. He's cocky but humble. It's very hard to get him to switch from soldier to young demon who wants to have fun. Aeshma is almost seven feet tall and built like a tank. Chocolate brown skin and jade green eyes. He's covered in battle scars. He makes his parents extremely proud. He's a ruthless killer who has taken down kingdoms without the aid of an army. So, when it comes to invading heaven, Aeshma is the one Angra can count on.

A meeting is called by Michael after he invades Khadah and kills Aeshma's sister. Angra accepts and brings a small group of demons with him.

Talon is forced to attend this meeting. None of the angels know that Angra's presence is only a distraction from Aeshma's attack. They don't want peace, they want revenge.

This attack leads to Aeshma breaking into Michael's house and stumbling across Talon. While other demons want to kidnap and sell Talon, Aeshma makes the decision to let him go. Talon is intrigued by Aeshma and even decides to accompany his father to hell where they sign a treaty.

I don't want to give away too much, I could talk for years about this, but I'll just give the basics for now.

Talon and Aeshma start to meet in private. In one of Heaven's abandoned gardens. Eden. Aeshma is there for information and Talon is there to get to know him.

*insert a shit ton more lore and plot here lmfao*

Michael ends up finding out about what Talon has been doing and he imprisons Talon. Talon escapes and Michael's only option is to cast him down. He subdues Talon's angelic powers and strips him of his memory. He kills Talon and has him reborn to a human family. An abusive family that see him as evil because of his paper white skin and pink eyes. He was born to a twin brother, Tyler. Talon ends up with a red streak in his hair. Michael describes it as his physical scarlet letter. And his life will be nothing but pain and suffering.

That's what book one is about. Talon's life as a human. His battle with neglect, abuse and sexual assault. Living in a place where no one wants to help and no one cares. He finds peace in one human, who in fact isn't human. David.

Talon learns all about possessive behavior and psychological abuse without even realizing it until it's too late. He also doesn't realize he's being hunted. While it's subdued, demons and angels can smell Talon's power. Asmodeus and Samael included. He falls into the lust demon's grasp, lured in with the idea of revenge on the people who have hurt him.

All this leads into a hefty series of Talon finding out exactly who and what he is. Royal demon blood is blended with his angelic golden ichor, turning him into a hybrid. One of the most powerful weapons in all creation. And he is faced with a decision. Michael isn't the only angelic threat to Talon and his newfound family. It goes all the way up the political angelic ladder. Being a hybrid and possessing the blood of Michael, Talon is the only one who can bring him down.

There is literally so much that I left out, but hopefully that was enough of a lore drop lmfao

I deeply apologize for the massive info dump, but I am literally so excited about this series, I could cry. I worked so hard on it.

There will be

Helpless

Helpless: Retaliation

Helpless: Revelation

Helpless: Redemption

Helpless: Revolution

And it will all lead up to the release of Divine Chaos which will be all about Talon before his fall.

The names took me forever. I have a shit ton of characters throughout the series. The Dictionary of Demons is a MAJOR life saver when it comes to name and even lore. It's a fantastic book and if you're writing about angels and demons, I seriously recommend it.

[luniellar]

The Union: Chapter Two - Sebastian Stan X Chris Evans X Reader

Summary: This fictional story takes place between the three kingdoms that hold great power in the untouchable lands located in Europe. Despite the modern developments in the other countries, these three kingdoms, Callisto, Europa and Io, exist hidden from the rest of the world and embrace the cultural customs shared for centuries from the early human civilizations.

You are the daughter of the Europa Kingdom led by your father, King Jovian. This year you reached the fruitful age of 21, meaning that it’s finally time to fulfill your duty as the princess of Kingdom Europa. The arranged marriage between Kingdom Europa and Kingdom Callisto has been something that your father planned for a long time to finally bring peace between the three kingdoms. Whether you like it or not, you are the key piece to it all. King Stan of Callisto is who you will be sharing the honor of the arranged marriage. He is known by all as a man of savage fighting nature and very few words. You know there is no hope wishing for the passionate love your father and mother shared, but will you be able to bring peace to this land to fulfill your father’s last wishes?  

Link: Prologue | 1 | 2

Warnings: SMUT (18+ WARNING) & Language

Word Count: 1.8K

“Damn it,” he muttered. “You have no idea how long I waited for you.”

You pulled apart from his forehead in confusion. He continued to hold your hands against his lips. But as you looked up, he looked down at you meeting in the middle.

“You waited for me?” You confronted him and he made a shy smile back.

“I did.”

You waited for more.

“I waited three years for this moment. We were supposed to get married when you turned 18, but your father begged me to have you stay with him longer,” he admitted. “I don’t blame him, you are a beautiful sight to treasure.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you felt the heat from your cheeks radiate around your body from the unexpected compliment. The sight of his body didn’t help with any of the feelings you were feeling right now. You wanted to kiss him again.

“I didn’t know…” You trailed off and he gently let your hand go.

“You really don’t leave that Castle of yours. I couldn’t even catch glimpses of my bride before the wedding.”

“I heard you were busy… I had no reason to be out if it wasn’t Europa business.”

“Is it bad if I admitted that I’m strangely turned on by that comment?”

You chuckled and he genuinely smiled at you. It was strange to see a hard exterior like his smile with so much heart. If they didn’t meet under these circumstances, what would it have been like? Would a guy like him even given you a chance?

“Yes, my king. That is quite strange,” you replied and he nodded.

“You can call me Sebastian,” he replied. “In return, I will also call you by your first name.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“I think you forgot that I was the King here.”

As you exchanged banter with him the space between you and him became non-existent. He looked down and moved the loose curls from your face. He gently kissed your forehead, cheeks, lips, chin, jaw and made his way to your neck. His stubble grazed on your exposed skin as he sucked in your skin with his teeth. A soft moan escaped your lips. He pulled away to admire the tender marking he left on your skin.

“Are you ready to do this?” He asked cautiously.

You came into this thinking that it was duty, but now your heart was desiring more. You wanted this more than you thought you did.

You nodded in response.

“You have to tell me,” he hesitated. “Once we start, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Yes. I want this.” You replied back, slightly scared of the words that left your mouth.

His bluish-green eyes got dark with lust as he started to tear the reception gown with his bare hands. The dress fell into pieces without any resistance against his strength. You watched as his biceps flexed effortlessly as the diamonds from your dress scattered across the carpet.

The cold air felt nice against your hot skin as you stood in front of him in a lacey white bra and matching panties. You watched him as he placed his against your skin for the first time. His warm, calloused hands grazed against your arms and traced the sides of your body with fire in his eyes. You were starting to realize what he meant by how he couldn’t stop himself.

In one motion, he picked you up and moved you to the bed. He pushed against you with his body until you were completely laying down on the satin sheets. His body was stretched over yours with one knee on the bed. He skillfully unclipped your bra and bowed his head and started to kiss your breasts. Another surprise moan escaped your lips as he moved on your nipple. You didn’t realize how sensitive your nipple was until he started to nibble on them with his teeth. Your reflexes went wild underneath his body and he quickly held your body in place with a firm grip.

“Relax,” he said in between the kisses on your nipples. “You need to relax.”

“Ah-” One moan after another escaped your lips as you gripped onto the sheets. Then, you felt a strange sensation between your thighs. His finger traced the wet outline of your panties before pushing a finger inside. Unfamiliar wet sounds came as he slowly moved his finger in and out.

“Mm, you are so wet.”

You couldn’t describe this feeling. There was a strange sensation of pain and bliss mixed together as he used his finger to explore your insides. Several times, you tried to push his hand away when it hurt more than it felt good, but he continued on until you felt all your muscles tense up and with a loud scream everything released.

“Your first orgasm officially belongs to me.”

He got up and quickly lowered his pants and briefs revealing a body part you never saw in person. Today was a day of many first. He was large and hard. You could see the thick veins bulging and eager. He made his way back over you and looked into your eyes. You felt the heat of his part radiating on your lower body.

“This is going to hurt, Y/N. Try to breathe.”

You closed your eyes and you heard him chuckle. His lips and tongue landed on yours as he slowly entered you. You screamed into this mouth and his mouth muffled the sound. Nothing but pain was on your mind as he invaded you with his part. You felt your insides crush as it didn’t know what to do with the foreign invader. You fiercely gripped his wrists as he settled in.

He pulled from the kiss and let out a string of profanities. “Fuck, you are so tight.”

You screamed at him like a deer that’s been shot through the throat. He looked down at you like a hunter admiring his dinner.

“My king,” you begged through the tears forming around your eyes. You felt warm liquid leak from your body. He quickly pulled out to check the crimson liquid that stained the white covers.

“I can’t wait any more…”

He drove his part back inside you as your body reacted like a fish out of water. You were both covered in sweat as he pushed deeper inside you with each thrust. You cried out with each thrust and started to feel lightheaded and exhausted. Tears and sweat dripped down your face. His body was too much to handle. You noticed as his breathing got heavier and harder. Sweat dripped from his body onto yours and his hot breath hit your skin.

“Fuck...”

He grunted as you felt a warm liquid enter your body. You blinked in and out of consciousness as you felt him move out of you and the warm liquid gushed out with him. Your eyelids became heavier and you barely caught his velvet voice somewhere between the real and the dream world.

“Sweet dreams, my queen.”

✧✧✧

Water.

You needed water. Blinking your eyes open, you dragged your body to the edge of the bed and reached your hands out towards the end table. Your hands felt a thin glass cup and you gulped the clear liquid down. Your dry throat rejoiced as the liquid traveled through your body. You felt like you were hit by a truck overnight as your body started to wake up.

Your eyes widened as the memories of last night replayed in your head like a broken film. You quickly searched across the white bed covers to look for the blood stains. You let out a sigh as you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The crisp white sheets looked as if it was new, it even smelled like a field of jasmine flowers.

There was no sight of the King around the suite. You were also wearing a white silk sleep gown that barely covered your body. It was very short and showed off your cleavage. You had no memories of putting this on. Did he put this on you last night?

There was a loud knock on the door and you hastily covered your body with the bed sheets.

“Queen Callisto, are you awake?”

The voice was not familiar to you, but you felt like you had to answer back. The sun was already coming into the room and you could only guess that you overslept.

“Yes! I’m awake!” You blurted back.

“Great, I’m coming in-”

“Wait- What- Hold on!”

The doors swung open before he could hear you finish protesting back otherwise. Duke Evans walked into the room and the moment your eyes met you saw his eyes shift towards the rest of your body. His face turned beet red and immediately turned his back.

“Oh gosh! Um- I’m so sorry!” He said as he stared at the doors with his back faced towards you. “I thought you were awake.”

Could this day start off any more embarrassing? You got up from the bed with the sheets draped over your body.

“No, no. It’s fine! I mean not fine, but I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“The king is requesting your presence for an early dinner in an hour. He wanted me to drop and see if you were awake so he could send your servants in to get you ready.”

“Yes! I didn’t realize how late it was. Please send them in.”

“Right, I’ll send them in right away.” The Duke fidgeted with the door handles before eventually getting them open. He looked adorable from the back as he grunted like a little kid with his large muscular arms. Was it a requirement that all men of Callisto had to be so muscular and well built? With a loud thud the door busted open and he quickly darted outside.

- - - Evans POV

He stood outside the door of the king’s suite. His mind tortured him as it replayed the image of her innocent, flushed face staring back at him like a deer in headlights. He even remembered her milky skin and dainty fingers as she hugged the bed sheet close.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly.

He didn’t know how he got here. All he knew for certain was that he remembered her, but she didn’t remember him. Pushing his hand through his hair in frustration, he took a deep breath.

His watch vibrated on his wrist with a notification. He tapped on the ear piece in his ear to play the message.

“Was she awake?” Seb asked.

Tapping on his ear comms again, he replied. “Reply to Seb. She’s awake, I’m calling her servants now.” A flat note played confirming the message has been delivered.

He waited for another second at the door before walking off to the servant’s quarters.

[izartn]

On the The Host romance:

A lil note: @into-september as you’re reading Twilight, and your last post made me realise this, I thought it better to write my own post and tag you! Hope you don’t mind.

The Host is the first novel of an “adult” science fiction trilogy by Stephanie Meyer which never was finished. Published in 2008, the same year as Breaking Dawn, I guess she preferred gaining the benefits of her vampire saga to keep on writing. 

For shame, because for me, The Host is much better at establishing worldbuilding, a concept and its protagonists + a romance (not that there isn’t anything cuestionable in it, but to my taste it’s better done than in Twilight). Here is the first paragraph of The Host wikipedia’s section on plot: 

A species of parasitic aliens called "Souls" have invaded Earth, deeming the humans too violent to deserve the planet. When a Soul is implanted into a host body, the consciousness of the original owner is erased, leaving their memories and knowledge. 

Wanderer, a Soul, is placed into the body of Melanie Stryder. However, Melanie's consciousness is still alive and begins to communicate with Wanderer mentally. Wanderer's assigned "Seeker" suggests that she could be placed into Melanie to retrieve the memories before disposing of the defective body, but Wanderer makes several attempts to deny her Seeker's wishes. As Wanderer starts to uncover some of Melanie's memories of her younger brother Jamie Stryder and her boyfriend Jared Howe, Melanie gets her to follow a series of landmarks throughout the Arizona desert to find her Uncle Jeb, hoping that Jared and Jamie are with him. By doing so, she would be denying the Seeker Melanie's memories and the humans they would lead her to.

Just. Read that and have the face to tell me it doesn’t sound more interesting than Twilight I dare you. Of course the books are different genres, although the focus is in the... more sentimental part in both. It’s just that The Host story is more unusual and the worldbuilding dreamy and subtly horrific. 

Well I said I was gonna talk about the romance right? Spoilers incoming!

 A bit of more context is necessary; in The Host, Melanie, the human Wanda (nickname of Wanderer) is possessing, is in love with the boyfriend mentioned in the sinopsis, Jared. Wanda being in the body of Melanie, feels things for him. We can divine for context this is sexual attraction plus having access to some of Melanie’s memories and noticing Jared is pretty ok as humans not possessed are left on Earth. 

Melanie reaction to this oscillates between “don’t you dare touch my boyfriend alien” and “well of course you fell for him, he’s pretty awesome” to “if I can’t it’s ok if you want to” when she’s feeling herself disappear at one point. Which is bullshit bc her conscience comes back when Wanda goes to tell Jared to kiss her bc she’s feeling Melanie disappear and when he gets near Wanda, Melanie usually mounts a whole circus in her head. It works. 

Well that’s one part of the romance. The other is Ian, a human in the settlement who is pretty level-headed and who starts talking to Wanda, as her guard first and then as her friend. No previous contact with Melanie, so he mets Wanda in Melanie’s body and isn’t excessively hostile or sad. Bc you know, an alien is in the body of you “niece, girlfriend, sister, etc” isn’t really conductive to good first impressions although that alien has come bearing the news that said person is still alive somewhere in their brain. 

(Also the whole human group is so hilariously based on those paranoid about the government/end-of-days usa people... And it works! LMAO) (The social dynamics are interesting in this book ok? basic but ingenious)

So Wanda falls slowly without noticing for Ian; Ian falls first and confesses and everything. I think their first kiss was a bit sketchy? But generally they good. 

The interesting thing is this: Melanie and so her body, is in love and attracted to Jared. Wanda, inhabiting Melanie’s body, starts realising that although Jared is pretty ok and all that, he’s really Melanie’s love; she doesn’t exactly like his more violent tendencies. 

(Really he’s more apocalypse survivor hardcore, but he really was a dick to her at the start, bc alien possessing girlfriend and all. Also gave her mixed signals, etc. Very american male which, eh. Melanie is also very apocalypse survivor hardcore; the two mesh well bc of that lmao) 

Well, as Stephanie Meyer is SM, and she has some weird ideas about romance the thing is, Wanda doesn’t feel sexually attracted to Ian. Bc all the hormones in her body are signaling only Jared. But she really is romantically attracted to Ian, and loves him. When they kiss, she likes it, but it’s not super passionate nor does it brings the same high that the few occasions Jared kissed her. To Ian’s credit he doesn’t really get it at the start, but then is immediately acepting of Wanda’s boundaries. I think he pushes a bit? But this SM so. Sigh. (I like to think in the hands of another author he wouldn’t do the sterotypical male thing but yah)

What I mean is that Stephanie Meyer, without intention, created an ace romance. Sure, it bc really weird biological alien science, but if you take it to mean Melanie is demi and only feels attracted to Jared, that makes her body reactions logical when Wanda also falls in love. She isn’t occupying the body wholly; there’s the host original presence; so she falls romantically but not physically. If I’m saying great idiotices please correct me under; I don’t have any background on sexology or biology. 

Sadly, Wanda is also super worried of not being able of correctly loving Ian, so. Negation of ace identity in one, two..., warning to folks sensible to it. 

And well, she ruins it when at the end when Wanda is put outside Melanie´s body into one who doesn’t have a human conscience. She explained the others how to take “souls” out of humans without killing any part, and how to take the “souls” to the space ships where they’ll be transported to other worlds. But sometimes the humans have passed so much time suppressed, or have been taken so young, that there isn’t a conscience-anyone to recover. 

The Host is very weird, bc this is a race of genocidal colonist aliens who are weird beautiful little ribbons of silver in their original form, who after abandoning their original world by possessing another race who invaded them realised they could live whatever lives they wanted possessing people without dying and just. Went for it. They are a supposedly all peace loving gents, who cured all poverty and illness by their superior technology and like, very comunist-anarchist society. Who abhor violence, but don’t see eliminating other people identity as violence. 

They are weird and amazing; when they realise having and raising children as humans costs so much, they start acting as parents to those humans without going to have a soul implanted on their kid, bc they love them as they are. A mess of contradictions, and Wanda is so interesting bc of this. 

Sadly, SM acted again, and made Wanda one of the rare females able of auto-destroying to create more fragments of herself (aka other souls). The rest of souls don’t have any gender and chose bodies as whatever sex they like most. Guess Wanda being an alien was fine, but not having an explicit gender was too much, lol. To be fair, she says she prefers female bodies, but doesn’t really mind. Good on Wanda. 

There’s a secondary romance too; the search of Ian’s brother, Kyle (who almost kills Wanda once) for his abducted girlfriend, Jodie. Results the soul inside her body, Sunny has all of Jodie’s memories of Kyle and is like, already in love with him. She lets herself be abducted, and when they explain they’re gonna get her out and why, is like, cries and begs, but accepts it bc is Jodie who Kyle loves. She hasn’t ever heard her like Wanda did Melanie, though, so when like a week or two pass and Jodie’s conscience remains dead Kyle consents (bc the other relatives of Jodie are soulified) to bring back Sunny. Wow. What a clusterfuck. They don’t date but there’s this weird vibe where Kyle has stopped hating all souls after Wanda’s mess and his encounter with Sunny, and Sunny herself is like; yay! I can live with humans and Kyle and I’ll keep trying to awake Jodie. And the two of them are described as inseparable? 

It’s more intriguing than Twilight; I wished there were more fics interested in exploring cool canon divergences and all. I didn’t dive in the problematiqueTM aspects of the book but come on, this is SM and you have reading comprehension. I just wanted to talk about how interesting is the intersection of sexuality in romance in Wanda’s case >-< Still better than Twilight but I guess the aesthetic of vamps surpases The Host. Which. Valid ok? Each to their own. 

[fallenrepublick]

I've had this idea brewing for a while. So, can I request an x reader with Savage Opress? It would be around d the time when Darth Sidious came to Manadalore and before he had a chance to kill Savage, is when the reader, a former jedi who left the order, actually saves him and drive Sidious away. Reader then disappears. Both brothers want to find her now until she is found in the city late at night. Personally, Maul wishes to thank her (wow) and Savage thinks he has found his perfect mate😇

This was really fun to write, because I like writing pieces that put the reader in the middle of events we’ve seen in the shows. It makes me wonder what sort of stuff could have been changed if someone else was there.

Anyhow, I like to think I did this alright. Ah, and I also did my best to incorporate your other request of the reader having Vitiligo. I’m not sure how well I conveyed that, though, so let me know how I did.

You never really understood Maul’s obsession and fear over his late master, Sidious, and as far as you could tell, neither did Savage. Maul was the only one who had really experienced the full brunt of the Sith’s force, which was what was most likely causing intense brooding and long bouts of staring into the darkness encompassing the throne room. You had only heard so much of the power of Sith Lords from various masters back at the temple, though your unexpected “fall from grace” after your love for a certain honey-skinned Nightbrother determined that the path you took was not the one allotted to you by the Jedi, thus depriving you of knowledge that would have been useful in these trying times.

Such was the way of things now, as you and Savage had a remarkably rare moment of peace before returning to duties that would keep you separated until the late hours of the night. He was sitting on a bench in your room with you seated on his left leg, the height difference between you made abundantly clear. One of your hands rested on his chest while he traced the edges of the pale patches marking your arms and face. You always enjoyed when he did it, as if he were intentionally pulling you back to your favorite early memories of your time together, when he took your huge bottle of concealer that you used to cover what you were told to be “abnormalities due to midichlorian complications” from you, and explained that you didn’t need it.

“Our markings are unique to us,” he had said to you, wiping the make-up from your cheeks and neck. “Each line we have is a testament to who we are. You are no exception. These are what gave me pause, made me find beauty in all you were, because each time I see them, I am reminded of every part of you that makes you the woman I love.”

That was then. Now, as you sat with him, fingers drawing lines on your now uncovered skin, you felt yourself growing increasingly concerned at the prospect of an encounter with a deadly dark side user, making your attempts at reminiscing fall flat.

“Is he going to be okay, you think?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy you had built up over the past ten minutes. “He must sense something amiss. He isn’t normally this… depressed.”

Savage sighed, continuing his hand’s movements, yet lifting his eyes to match your gaze. “I want to believe he will be fine. But I feel a growing unease within him. Something is coming, and it will be here soon.”

You stood, taking his hands within your own and pressing your foreheads together. “The darkness that follows him will not hesitate to hurt you, too. If it’s enough to affect your brother this much, I don’t believe for a second that I shouldn’t be worrying about it.”

Something burst through your senses, dragging you out and back to reality. You didn’t know what exactly it was, but the presence was deafening to your mind. The only way to describe the sensation was as if you had given yourself brain freeze directly after eating something incredibly hot. You looked back down at Savage, a grim look replacing the relaxation you had given him only moments before. You began to leave the room, deciding that whatever you had been dreading for a while now had finally made its debut, when your lover pulled your wrist back.

“No,” he said, walking in front of you to the doorway. “I will help my brother. You will remain here until I get back.”

You scoffed. “I’m perfectly capable of holding my own, if you hadn’t noticed. This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“If this were any other situation, I swear, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring you. But if what my brother says is true, this Sidious will take advantage of what we have and use it to hurt you. I cannot take that risk.”

“So you really do think it’s Sidious?” You crossed your arms, fearing what would happen if he were right.

“I must act as if it is. I trust my brother’s instincts.” With that, he turned and ran from the room, already pulling his saber from his belt. Thanks, that was comforting.

The situation definitely wasn’t ideal. As it stood, controlling Mandalore was shaky to say the least, and any sort of infiltration, personal or otherwise, would prove problematic if it came down to who was in charge. It was one thing to be the invader, but it was another to be invaded. You paced the room, weighing your options, trying to find any workaround for leaving the room and helping. But it all circled back to that one thing. How much worse would it be if you did try to help them? Would it be worse to be discovered?

Logic might have sufficed normally, but you didn't have to use logic to know that the sound of smashing glass from the throne room was something you didn't want to hear. If he finds me out, he finds me out. You dashed out of the room, saber hilt in hand, the rubber soles of your boots nearly giving way as they struggled to keep up with your speed. Every step felt like the beat of your heart, practically screaming at you not to go towards whatever horrific situation you would find. You might have listened to your heart before, but now your life wasn’t the only one you had to worry about. Debris from the walls scattered the floor when you came in, but where they had gone was no mystery. Using the force to propel you up, you leapt through the gaps and came upon the battleground.

It most definitely was Sidious down there, red sabers clashing with those of the two Zabraks, laughing like a maniac as the fighting dragged on below. Each contact sent out bursts of white light amongst the darkness. Each party was certainly skilled, but there was an amusement in Sidious’s demeanor that concerned you the most. Maul and Savage fought through desperation and the urgent need to kill their opponent. Sidious… was playing with his food.

You jumped down silently, staying out of sight as Sidious managed to separate Savage from Maul, who remained on the higher platform. He sensed you and turned around, surprised at your presence. He wanted to berate you, tell you to go back before something happened. But you were already gone. It just took one last leap of faith. One last attempt to make sure your worst fears were never realized.

And then you were between them, a purple lightsaber blade blocking the two that aimed straight for Savage’s chest. You could sense Savage’s panic behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.

“Ah yes,” Sidious hissed from beneath his hood. “The defective Jedi. I might’ve known.”

You thrust your lightsaber forward, pushing his blades away from you. “At least I’m not a coward who hides his face behind a cloak,” you growled back.

He came at you, blades rushing, aiming to kill, but you dodged, jumping back, deflecting them with your own saber. Savage tried to intervene, bringing his weapons forward and attempting to fight, but you shoved him back with the force.

You made your choice. The next attack he made, you evaded as well, but took a flip, soaring backwards off of the ledge and using the force to pull Sidious down after you, into the darkness below. Come and get me.

-

Maul’s hearts thudded as he ran down to his brother. Savage stood at the edge of the landing, searching out for any sign of you. Regardless if his brother’s shouts of concern, his thoughts dwelled on your well being.

“Savage, answer me, are you all right?” Maul shook his shoulders with increasing concern.

“Do you see her?” Savage asked, panic lacing his voice as he ignored Maul’s questions. “Where is she?”

Maul sighed, taking his hand off of Savage’s shoulder and peering down into the cavern as well. “It’s difficult to tell. And more likely than not, she wouldn’t have stayed in this area. Sidious is not the stationary type.”

Savage’s breathing quickened, his worry and fear taking over the thoughts in his head. “She saved me… I would have been dead, but she came anyway… But now-”

“But now nothing,” Maul interrupted, turning around and beginning his ascent back to the palace. “We will find her. Your lady is a crafty one, so I’ve no doubt she would have found her way to safety. Besides, I must thank her for what she did. After all, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

Following his footsteps eagerly, Savage hurried to catch up, possibilities already racing through his head. He tried to imagine you again, all the times you told him not to worry so much, your smile warming him to his core. But all he could think of was your absence now. If you had, in fact, escaped, how would you be? What if Sidious had severed a limb? What if you were badly wounded and needed help right away? What if you were unconscious? Savage would never dare forgive himself if anything happened to you. And what if Maul was wrong? What if Sidious had captured you for insurance? Or worse… if he had killed you? Savage nearly collapsed thinking about it. Of course, you could be fine, but his frequent run-ins with misfortune had Savage believing that suffering was inevitable.

The lights of the city blinked in and out as citizens moved beneath them towards their destinations, blocking out the light of the sky above with its pollution. Everyone looked the same to Savage, blank faces and hollow spirits, all blending together with the same patterns of meaningless existence. Not like you. Your radiance had blinded him from the start, but he gladly held onto it with everything he had, knowing that you would be there to guide him as he stumbled.

He normally hated the city, the crowds and noise of the pandemonium seemed pointless and never ending, the artificial lamps and street lights wiping away any stars that you would have seen in the night sky before. But on that night, as he came upon a clearing in the crowds at the opening of a nearby ally, a single star stood alone amongst the chaos, the surface spread across with the markings of galaxies far from reach and the darkness of a thousand cold suns, a cloak encasing, but failing to completely cover the eminence.

He didn’t know what to do. Just the sight of you froze him in place, washing away any words he could have formed before. He came up behind you and took your wrist, holding you carefully as if you were a hallucination. When you turned, your face quickly went from surprise to relief, a small gasp escaping your lips as you smiled.

“Savage,” you whispered, walking back towards him and placing a hand on his chest. “You’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said to you, holding your face in his hands. “I was being careless, but if you hadn’t come-”

“I wanted to be there for you, Savage. I knew something would happen, and you know I would never make you face something like that without me. I came for you, because I love you.”

And that thought, that sentence brought him to his reality. That star of his, that light he held that was so much like him, yet so much better, was all he desired. For his hands, the ones that had brought about so much pain and destruction, the ones that belonged to a monster, held perfection.

[theonceoverthinker]

Friday the Flirteenth (1/?)

Summary: Qrow likes to avoid others on Friday the Thirteenth. He claims he’s doing it for everyone else’s sake, and that they’re better off if he spends the day alone in his room. Clover’s not having any of his self-loathing bullshit -- not today, and not ever, if he has anything to say about it.

AO3

A/N: You ever come up with an AMAZING pun and then find a way to write a fic around that? Well, that’s happened here! I’ve wanted to release this for SO long, and finally, I can...at least release part 1! Yeah, illnesses have made this a hard fic to finish, but fortunately, I have enough here to release a respectable first chapter to what will hopefully be a respectable MC! I hope you enjoy it! Tagging @fair-game-week!

BIG thanks to my beta, @skybird13. Sky, you’re the best, and I hope you understand that. Coordinating with you with my works makes me feel so confident in them. I want you to know more than anything how much I value your help and support, not just in this fic, but in everything, and I hope we’re friends for a long time to come!!!!

()()()()()()()()

Chapter One: Fourteen Hours, and A Whole Lot of Peanuts

Qrow Branwen liked peanuts. 

They were cheap, could be found just about anywhere in Remnant, had a pleasantly salty taste, and served as the perfect snack on days where he had no intention of stepping so much as a toe outside of his room.

So, in anticipation for Friday the Thirteenth, Qrow bought a LOT of peanuts.

When one had a semblance like his, a day dedicated to the very concept of bad luck was one that couldn’t be dismissed without some burden on their conscience. In fact, Friday the Thirteenth more than most any other day put extra responsibilities upon Qrow’s shoulders -- a responsibility to not cause any more trouble than necessary, a responsibility to stay away from anyone who he might accidentally harm, and a responsibility to keep the other two responsibilities secret from all who might try to intervene on his behalf.

And, just as he usually did, Qrow accepted those responsibilities and kept himself at a distance from all.

Fourteen hours. He just had to stay in his room alone for fourteen hours. 

He’d lasted a lot longer on his own many times before.

It wasn’t that big of a problem, at least not in previous years. Thanks to a lifetime’s worth of practice, Qrow knew the most secluded spots in all of Remnant to hide in on occasions like this, and the fastest routes to get to them from pretty much anywhere. And with no one but enemies on his trail, there was little risk that the day provided to anyone, or at least, anyone who didn’t deserve it.

But things weren’t so simple this year.

This year, he had his nieces and a gaggle of kids as traveling companions.

This year, he resided in an Atlesian military base, one that restricted access to any type of real seclusion further than the privacy of his own room.

This year, he despised the man he had formerly dedicated his life to.

This year, things were complicated, and his semblance always loved running amok when things were complicated.

But, as he reminded himself, some of those complications ended up turning into triumphs.

Sure, it was the first year without the hope Ozpin provided. But it was also the first year where  Qrow had a different kind of hope to keep him going. It was a kind of hope that made itself tangible through his nieces’ determination, his own efforts to fight off the allure of alcohol, and as of late, an encouraging smile and a flirty wink from a kind man with a semblance that seemingly counteracted his own…

Clover…

Clover...

Well, in a life of complications, Clover stood out as one of the biggest he’d ever faced. His very presence complicated everything in Qrow’s headspace all over again.

Still, that wasn’t a bad thing.

At least, Qrow was pretty sure it wasn’t.

Clover...Clover was really something else…

If someone were to ask Qrow to describe Clover after their disastrous first meeting, he’d have more than a couple of choice words for them -- cocky, pedantic, narcissistic. But things changed once they started working together, and as he learned more about Clover, while all of those descriptors were still true, the words themselves took on an entirely new shape for Qrow. What was cockiness just days before was now self assuredness, what was pedantic was revealed to really be caution on behalf of those he worked with and for, and what was narcissistic was actually a confidence that he created for himself, a confidence based in real pride in who he was and how that pride amounted to far more than just his semblance.

Additionally, a new word came to mind, too -- warm. It was a genuine warmth that flowed through each and every one of Clover’s words, and accompanying that warmth was a trust in those fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of them. It was hard not to return that trust in kind with some of his own, and for the first time in a while, Qrow felt no need to resist doing just that. 

It surprised Qrow sometimes just how much he had already divulged to Clover. Part of the reason for that came out of a desire to put his best foot forward for their assigned partnership. Part of it was a warning in the interest of Clover’s safety. But some things couldn’t be explained away so easily, and could only be attributed to a real sense of trust.

Frankly, it was nice having something like that again with someone. 

And it wasn’t even just Clover’s personality that painted the portrait that was Clover Ebi. Looking at Clover was like looking at a cloudless sky on a spring day. He was bright, bold -- brilliant, even. His smile was caked in charm -- true charm -- and his brow was shaped with a resolve to keep promises Qrow knew he probably could, promises he likely made to himself, Ironwood, and his country. 

Maybe there was even a promise to Qrow somewhere in that mix. 

No -- there was no maybe. He was sure there was.

But there was a coolness in Clover’s being too, both in his demeanor and his personality. There was an untold story in his eyes, one uncared for by his teammates, and only allowed to exist through fleeting expressions here and there during moments where he let his guard fall down. And that same jaw that held his charm like a jug held water held tension there too, as if there was an entire book’s worth of things he wanted to say, but for whatever reason didn’t. It was enough to make anyone who saw those things pretty curious about what hidden depths might be underneath that veil of job-dictated professionalism.

Qrow spent far more time thinking about all that he had left to uncover about Clover than he would ever admit.

After all, there was a lot to ask about what went on in that man’s mind, especially when it led him to befriend him, of all people.

But that wink Clover gave him on their first mission together made Qrow wonder if befriending him was all Clover wanted to do.

And regardless of how he felt in return, Qrow had to wonder whether or not he should try to stop him before Clover jumped further down the rabbit hole that was his life.

Qrow was bad news.

Then again, just about everything having to do with Clover was good news, and perhaps the exact thing that rabbit hole of his could use in its life was a lucky rabbit’s foot to help fill it up.

Wow...that was sappy.

Even on his worst days, Clover seemed able to bring out a little bit of sappiness in him. Go figure.

But, whatever fate had in store for him and Clover could wait to be further unearthed until tomorrow. Hell, he might even have time to muse on what that might be today, because for the next fourteen hours, it would be just himself, his room, and an overabundance of peanuts fighting against the slowly whiling hours of time.

Jeez...greater good or not, even Qrow could admit just how sad that was...

Maybe his abandonment of his morning coffee would at least grant him a nap and make the day go by faster…

He’d certainly prefer it that way.

Before he could even attempt to take advantage of his coffee’s absence, two knocks hit his door.

Perhaps it was foolish to think no one would bother him today -- after all, in Atlas, there was always something going on -- but he had a day off of Huntsmen duties while most everyone else he knew didn’t. He’d hoped against hope that meant that he’d be left in peace for the day.

Apparently, it didn’t.

Just his luck…

“Hello?” Qrow called out, reluctantly standing up.

“Qrow?”

Immediately, he recognized the voice, the voice that had burned itself into his memory within a matter of weeks and now had a summer cottage nestled somewhere between his brain and heart.

And there he was, letting that sappiness invade his thoughts again…

Of course the one person responsible for inspiring it was the one visiting him on the absolute worst day to do so.

Qrow approached and opened the door.

Just as he suspected, it was Clover who stood on the other side, as chipper as ever. After willing himself to hold back a grimace at the unexpectedness of his or anyone’s visit, Qrow noticed two cups of coffee in his hands. 

“You missed your morning cup,” Clover stated, offering one of the ones in his hand to Qrow. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Despite himself and everything the day represented for him, Qrow let down his guard ever so slightly at the awkward way Clover explained himself. He wasn’t thrilled about someone showing up on his doorstep, but that’s not to say it wasn’t nice to see a friendly face at all, especially in the face of the rest of his sure-to-be lonely day.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup with a light smile he allowed to surface.

“So,” Clover said, elongating the vowel for a few seconds as he expectantly stared at Qrow.

“So?” Qrow repeated, matching Clover’s delivery and adding in a bit of confusion. 

“IS everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Qrow said, shrugging.

Clover quirked his brow. He didn’t look convinced, and unwilling to give Qrow so much as the chance to rectify that. 

“It’s not, though, is it?”

Qrow fought the urge to bit his cheek, but paid the cost of that with a tremor in his voice.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You not coming down for coffee is strange on its own,” Clover elaborated, “but you haven’t even left your room and it’s nearly ten. Usually, even on your lazy days, you’re out and about by half past eight, at the latest.”

“So I slept in a bit,” Qrow defended, shrugging in what he hoped would be a casual enough manner. “What’s the big deal?”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal at all if it wasn’t Friday the Thirteenth.”

Qrow blinked, flustered even more so than when Clover had started pressing him. Clover merely looked at him expectantly. 

How did he-?

Sure, Clover had a calendar, but why would he-?

Damnit, Clover...

“It’s a day for bad luck,” Qrow explained, his mood dark out of instinct more than malice. “Given my semblance --”

“It’s a day for superstitions,” Clover insisted.

“You seem to like yours just fine.” Qrow made a circle with his finger that encompassed the various lucky charms on Clover’s outfit.

Clover smiled as if he saw the rebuttal coming from a mile away.

“These are just here to make the uniform pop,” he said, laughter bubbling underneath him, as if Qrow had just walked into a trap. “And judging by how you clearly seemed to take notice of them, it looks like they’ve done their jobs quite nicely.” 

Just as he finished speaking, Clover winked right at Qrow, something that was very quickly becoming a habit of his when they were around each other. Fria must’ve imbued that wink with some of her magic or something because it always felt just a bit overpowering.

Qrow made a noise that would’ve sounded more at home in his bird form than the form that actually delivered it.

“Okay, but even still,” Qrow said, quickly pushing to make Clover forget about that sound, “you know what kind of things are out there in this world. Magic exists, fairy tale maidens and Grimm are running amok -- who's to say something like Friday the Thirteenth isn’t real, too? What reason do I have to trust that my semblance won’t go haywire on a day devoted to it?”

“If you stay in your room,” Clover countered, just as quickly as Qrow had with him, “you’re making things worse for yourself. Come on,” he said, his tone brightening alongside a fresh, new smile. “We can go get an early lunch. There’s a fantastic sushi restaurant just on the outskirts of the academy that you’ll love. Their rolls put the ‘ah’ in ‘tuna.’”

Now it was Qrow’s turn to quirk his brow. “And if I leave my room, I’ll risk making things worse for everyone else. I’m not leaving. Maybe we can go to that restaurant tomorrow.”

Qrow expected Clover to keep pushing back with yet another comment, but instead, he just took a patient, deep breath.

He then shrugged.

“And I was so excited to take you there, too,” Clover lamented. “But, oh well. Have it your way, then.”

Without giving Qrow so much as a second to respond, Clover gently pushed him to the side, walked inside his room, and sat down on one of the chairs across from his bed. Qrow was stuck somewhere between being utterly stunned by the action, and not at all. After all, this was pretty standard Clover Ebi behavior in that it was utterly unpredictable.

That’s not to say it was necessarily welcome -- or that Qrow would admit it even if it was.

And this morning, he was feeling particularly stubborn in his quest for solitude.

“That wasn’t an invitation to join me,” Qrow snipped.

Clover simply lounged back into the plush chair, easing his knees as his legs spread forward. “Well, if you won’t come out with me, then I’ll simply have to come in with you.” He then pulled something out of his pocket, something that instantly brought another grimace to Qrow’s face, all the while smiling. 

“Up for some cards?”

Qrow groaned.

He knew it when he woke up, and he was even more sure of it now: This was gonna be a long, long fourteen hours.

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: Sakr and Sahw (Intoxication and Sobriety)

In the language of Sufism, sakr (intoxication) means that an initiate is enraptured by the rays of the manifestations of God’s “Face.” His/her returning to his/her former, normal state is sahw (sobriety). These two terms are usually used together as sahw u sakr.

There is a relation between intoxication and absence. If the inner world of seekers after the Truth who feel intoxication is not satisfied with the Divine gifts, then they lack something in intoxication, and suffer irregular tides with respect to the state of absence. It is coloring, rather than self-possession, which is witnessed in their actions. For this reason, such seekers should be regarded as those who have perhaps feigned intoxication rather than being actually intoxicated. However, it sometimes occurs that the gifts come in showers and invade the whole being, with the result that then they do become fully intoxicated.

Intoxication sometimes arises from a strong belief, a considerable knowledge of God, and is balanced by fear and awe, making itself felt in a broader sense. As for the degree of intoxication which is felt by those who have advanced further on the way and who have approached nearer to God, whenever such travelers are honored with the light of the manifestation of the “Face” or with the vision of the “Face” beyond all concepts of modality, they immediately become intoxicated. The spirit overflows with zeal and joy and the heart feels excessive excitement.

Sobriety means that the intoxicated ones return to their former, normal state. Like intoxication, sobriety is also an undeniable part of the journeying toward the Almighty. Whenever the Truth invades the very being of the intoxicated lovers of God the Almighty, who spend their lives immersed in spiritual pleasures in the valleys of absence, they feel as if they have immediately fallen into an ocean and have vanished like a drop into the world of feelings, or that they have been burnt away like a dried, flammable object and that their nature has changed. Furthermore, the ways and bridges of sensing are demolished one after another and He alone can be felt everywhere and in everything. There are many who see a relation between such a state and what is meant in the verse (7:143): As soon as his Lord displayed an exclusive manifestation for the mountain, He made it crumble to dust, and Moses fell down in a swoon (as if struck by lightning). Just as Mount Sinai, or a part of it, was rendered dust, despite its immensity, and just as Prophet Moses, upon him be peace, fell down in a swoon as if struck by lightning, despite his being one of the five greatest Messengers of God, people of ecstasy feel as if they have changed their nature, they take up different attitudes, act as if intoxicated and utter words that suggest intoxication:

O cup-bearer, pour wine into the cup, it is time to break the fast;

Restore this ruin; it is time to display the favor we receive. (M. Lutfi)

This day Nasimi displays intoxication with the grace of the cup-bearer;

I have always seen Mustafa in the wine which intoxicates me. (Nasimi)

There are many other words uttered that concern intoxication, but it is beyond the scope of this book to cite them all. Only consider that the famous Hafiz al-Shirazi begins his Diwan with the verse, Beware, O cup-bearer, bring a cup and pass it around!

Intoxication is a state in which one is enraptured with pleasures; of sobriety the main characteristics are knowledge and self-possession. A traveler is in waves of unintended, unpremeditated joy and pleasures in the state of intoxication, while in sobriety, he or she is conscious, self-possessed, and makes deliberate efforts to feel the All-Holy Truth.

Some consider intoxication to be when a heart boils with extraordinary joy and excitement in the moment when the person feels deeply the All-Beloved One. We may interpret this state as the human self being immersed in joy and pleasures in the face of the gifts coming from the Unseen World or when an initiate loses him or herself, being overpowered by love. If the human self gets intoxicated because of immersion in joy and pleasures, this is regarded as a natural state of intoxication which an initiate gets into. If love drives the person into intoxication, this is the state of intoxication into which God Himself draws him or her. However, whatever the reason for intoxication, the traveler to the Truth lives wonder-struck and acts in tides of zeal and joy. As seekers deepen in intoxication, they begin to wander in the valleys of amazement and astonishment. Sometimes their will-power may even break down, with the result that they begin to feel as if they were a shadow of the Light of His Existence. Those who have reached this point are called the “willed ones.” Their finite attributes are replaced by the manifestations of the Attributes of the All-Permanent One, and they become a polished mirror of the fact that he sees by Me.

Indicating this highest point, it is said in Thamarat al-Fuad (“The Fruits of the Heart”):

My voice, which sings like a nightingale, has been made to speak by Him;

My eyes, which see, see by Him, and I have heard speech from Him.

He has favored me with speech, with which He has brought mysteries to light.

By the all-brilliant Light of God, my heart has been made extremely bright,

And by the light of Muhammad, I have become one with a pleasant heart.

Some have disapproved the use of the word intoxication for a spiritual state as it celebrates a concept that is scorned by both reason and the Shari'a. But intoxication, which we can describe as the state of losing oneself due to the depth of love and ecstasy, is a metaphor used to express being exposed to or being favored with the rays or gifts of the Almighty which enrapture. Initiates enraptured by these gifts or rays cannot distinguish anything because of the depth of the waves of joy and pleasure in which they are drowning. In a hadith concerning repentance, God’s Messenger, who is the most advanced in reasoning and sensibility, tells us that a man of the desert expresses the excessive joy he feels with the words coming from his mouth unintentionally: “My God! You are my servant and I am Your Lord." This may be a good example of what may happen within the ecstasies that one experiences due to being favored by the Almighty’s stream of gifts.

There have been numerous people overpowered by this state, who burn with love and yearning. With his words, "O singer, play the instrument, for tonight I am intoxicated!”, Muhammed Lutfi Efendi, taking advantage of the permissibility of metaphors, declares nothing more than the joy and zeal of a lover.

As it has been to date, many travelers to the Truth will from now on murmur the same things each in their own style in the face of the Divine lights, colors and forms that they observe everywhere. In fact, when a heart falls in love with the Eternally Beloved One and is invaded by ecstasies, and in its conscience feels His company, only those who have Prophetic insight and resolution can save themselves from confusion. Other faithful lovers, who dive deep into the cataracts of love (or who flow abundantly like a river swelling with rains,) will sometimes overflow their limits; they will let themselves into the huge waves of love due to the rejoicing originating in feeling in His company, and always live in wonder, uttering “He!”

The feeling of absence that a traveler to the Truth has during intoxication is expressed by “He!” Although some suggest confusion, the following verses are beautiful in expressing this:

The lights of my eyes are He, and the direction for my reason is He;

My tongue always utters He is He, and I sigh and groan with He.

My heart goes on an excursion in He, the love of my soul is He.

Those who are lovers and intoxicated are always with He.

My soul has sacrificed itself in the way of its Beloved,

Its union is with He, its parting is with He;

And the cure for its afflictions is He.

Sobriety is the condition when one favored with knowledge of God comes to after having gone into an absence of feelings and consciousness, or, as with the Prophets, when one spends a lifetime in wakefulness and consciousness. It is the opposite of intoxication. The following couplet of Tokadizade Sekip is worth quoting in this respect:

The people of peace intoxicated with intimacy in Your Presence,

Do not want to exchange their rapture with sobriety.

Intoxication is a state, while sobriety is a station and is more objective, secure, and straightforward when compared to intoxication. While intoxication comes from a subjective consideration of the Truth, sobriety is based on the consideration of the All-Exalted, Majestic Being known by His Names and outlined by His Attributes and Whose Essence cannot be perceived. From another perspective, an initiate is out of his or her senses when in a state of intoxication, but is sensible in sobriety. Intoxication suggests “self-annihilation in God,” but sobriety implies “subsistence with God,” which is subsistence by His Subsistence and is defined as “subsistence with God and being in His company.”

Some prefer intoxication to sobriety, yet this is the view of the intoxicated when overpowered by the state or induced by traveling through the valleys of coloring. There is absence in intoxication and in sobriety there is peace and rest. Sobriety is a few steps higher than intoxication. Intoxication means being overpowered by state; it is accompanied by coloring, and is the way of some saints, while sobriety depends on consciousness, is accompanied by self-possession, and is the way of the Prophets and the purified scholars. The Qur'an declares (15:99): Worship your Lord until certainty, which is bound to come, comes. An approach to this Qur'anic declaration is: “Continue on the way to God until you are fully awakened by death to the truth of the belief’s pillars, for traveling toward the Infinite One is endless.”

In addition, sobriety is closely connected with the consideration of life and requires strong will-power. While in intoxication, the considerations of one’s feeling annihilated in (God’s) Existence and one’s feeling annihilated in the Witnessed or in His manifestations, sometimes keep the will-power under pressure, there is in sobriety special assistance and protection that come from the company of God, such as that which is expressed in: He hears by Me, and sees by Me, and holds by Me, and walks by Me.

Our Lord! Grant us from Your Presence a special mercy and arrange for us in our affairs what is right and for our good!

May Your peace and blessings be upon our master Muhammad and his family for ever.

[hollandroos]

How Could I Not? | Seven

Playlist | Wattpad | Series masterlist

Summary: You and Tom are only supposed to be friends... friends who sometimes take things a step further and friends who can’t seem to spend longer then a few days apart. But that can all change with a positive pregnancy test and Suddenly you have to work together more then ever to prepare for the new life you created. But is it really that easy?

Words: 3361

Warnings: Lots of talk of adoption. Please don't read if that is a sensitive topic for you and hold back any nasty comments until you read future chapters, thank you!!

Please remember to reblog/comment/send an ask if you enjoyed this!!

Read the previous chapter here!

It wasn’t really anyone's fault that you forgot there was food in the oven – what, with the gentle tune of the Beatles playing overtop of a chorus of everlasting laughter between the two of you, not to mention the snoring dog in the corner of the room. Something was bound to happen – it was you and Tom, for crying out loud.

“Dance with me,”

Tom says it as a statement, not a question. He wants – no, he needs you to dance with him. He needs to feel his arms wrapped securely around your waist, to feel your feet move in time with his. It was so cliche, really, but Tom lived for cliche.

He was the type of go out of his way to surprise his love with roses on his way home from work, one for every time he’d wanted to send a quick ‘I love you’ text that day but hadn’t been able to. The type to spend hours perfecting the best meal he could muster up and additionally, plate it with a glass of the best wine he could afford. The type to kiss in the rain, if he had the chance.

You open your mouth in protest, the smell of the cheesy pasta dish wafting around the kitchen. “The dinner–”

“Dance with me.” Tom all but smiles, words slipping from his mouth with such ease and suddenly you’re putty in the palm of his hand. And you don’t hesitate to mould into his body, allowing yourself to fall into him.

“Why did you want to dance with me?” You chuckle, leaning your head against him. You give in, allowing Tom to take you wherever he wants to go. That seemed to be nowhere and you find yourself swaying gently in the comfort of the area between the kitchen and the living room.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Jus’ felt like it.”

You hum, breathing in the scent of his cologne. You’d learnt that it was some kind of axe spray that he had cans of hidden around the apartment – such as in the kitchen cupboards and tucked away in his car. The song finishes and a new one begins, one Tom wasn’t aware of but the last thing he wants to do is complain about the pre-nineties tune when he has you right there, humming gently along with the lyrics.

Your eyes are closed and you look at peace as he rocks you two back and forth, feet both stuck to the floor as you sway. 

His heart beats prominently in his chest and it’s nearly impossible not to count every beat. Every beat tells you that he’s there with you, reminding you of the fact that you’re beyond lucky to have him. And funny enough, Tom was thinking the same about you. 

Your peace is short-lived, however, as mere minutes later there’s a horrid – god awful smell and you can’t even hide your disgust with your face in his chest.

“What’s that smell?” Tom mumbles, screwing his nose up.

And you want to ask the same question – before you gasp, eyes widening and you push yourself away from Tom making him stumble back slightly. For a few moments, the brunette stands in confusion before he himself is hit with the realisation.

“The food, Tom, we burnt it!” You exclaim, rushing to the oven. You hardly have time to slip the oven mitt over your hands but that doesn’t matter – because the second you open the oven door black smoke drifts out, flooding the kitchen. “Fuck, I told you we were going to burn it.” You curse under your breath, resisting the urge to cough as you turn the oven off.

“Sorry, love,” Tom says half-heartedly, resisting the urge to laugh at the sight of you looking so frantic. If it weren’t for the clouds of smoke painting your kitchen darker hues of grey then he would’ve laughed. Surely. “Got too distracted, maybe next time I’ll listen.”

He was distracted by your humming, and thoughts he couldn't simply shove away such as the thought that you fit against him so easily. Like two pieces of a wazzgij puzzle. 

“Maybe,” You taunt, bringing the meal out of the oven. It didn't take a second opinion to tell that it belonged in the bin, right ontop of the expired cat food. “Should we just order pizza?” You speak between coughs.

You continue to wave the towel around the living room, praying the smoke detectors won’t go off again. Toms antics had already set the alarms off once, nearly three months ago now and he seemed to be the only one in the entire evacuated building that found it amusing. He had stifled his chuckles in the rain, cheeks tinted red and hair flat against his forehead.

But now, the room stunk. The smell makes you screw your face up in disgust. That was definitely going to be the last time you were going to attempt to make a fancy meal.

“Pizza sounds good.” Tom agrees, feeling his stomach begin to rumble. And to think, the smell of the charcoal lasagna stole his appetite for a solid minute. “I’ll see to it, can I use your laptop?”

“Yeah, it’s sitting on the couch, I think.” You speak, raising your voice so he can hear from the living room. “Get me the cheesy one with the stuffed crust! That’s my favourite.”

“I already knew that,” Tom calls back, typing in the six letter password. “Dominos or pizza hut?” He asks, looking up briefly.

You’re humming a song in the kitchen, competing with the buzzing fridge but Tom can make out the lyrics to Hey Jude by the Beatles. The smell of the burnt lasagne barely bothers you anymore as you sway your hips to the song playing through the speakers and your lips. He smiles to himself, watching you prance carelessly around the kitchen with a flannel shirt pulled over you, tucked into a pair of denim shorts. Laptop and rumbling stomach forgotten, his eyes sparkle with joy at the sight.

He makes a small note to let you play your music more often, even if it wasn’t his favourite – because the light that adorns your eyes is simply captivating. He’s stuck in the best kind of trance.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her

“Dominos. Pizza hut is nowhere near as good.” You tell him, testing the water with your fingertips. You wince when it’s too hot, pulling your hand to your chest and decide that the awaiting dishes can simmer a little longer. Tom grimaces and looks back at the screen. There’s a picture of you and Laura taken last summer, wearing matching dresses and oversized sunglasses hugging your noses. He can’t remember if he took that photo – it may have been Harrison.

That was the same holiday that the set of you took a road trip and found yourselves renting a caravan and setting it up next to the beach. Mornings were spent sleeping in – or for you and Tom, hiding beneath the sheets with childish grins on your faces while your friends slept and nights were spent sitting by the ocean, threatening to push one another in and sharing chicken and vegetable kebabs.

The minute you let her under your skin Then you begin to make it better

You were getting under his skin, making your way into his heart and you were yet to realise it. That had happened long before your holiday trip. But he liked it. He liked the way your mere presence could make him feel like he was on top of the world and somehow – somehow, the glint in your eyes reminded him of the stars that he could and would stare at endlessly every night before bed.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

“So cheese with a stuffed crust and Hawaiian for me?” He finds himself asking, cursor hovering over the ‘add to cart’ button. He was thankful for twenty-four seven delivery – a new addition that he often found himself succumbing too at one am. Maybe it was becoming a bad habit but he couldn’t say no. His self-control was discarded in the am.

“Garlic bread too.” You remind him, dipping your hand into the soapy water. Suds end where your wrist begins.

Tom directs the mouse over to the tabs, squinting his eyes at the bright light and nothing can stop him from pressing the extra tab, his pure curiosity overriding the fact that the two of you had an unspoken rule about invading the other's privacy. But he couldn’t stop himself when the eight letter word caught his eyes.

It started with an A and ended in N. The second letter was D, third O.

Tom bites his lip, switching tabs and silently deciding that the pizza can wait another moment.

‘Looking at adoption. Things you must know.’ ‘Adoption agencies UK.’

You know when people say that they felt their breathing stop? well, Tom did then – for sure. There’s also the feeling of his heart dropping out of his chest, plummeting into his chest.

One second it’s there, beating, pumping blood throughout his body and the next he’s stuck staring. Unmoving. There are not enough words in the human language to describe the confusion Tom experiences as he tries to read the page with hazy eyes.

There’s a feeling of disbelief because Tom swore you wanted this as badly as he did – maybe not at first, but maybe the excitement hit after the first ultrasound. Or maybe it was when he dreamt about taking his little girl to the beach for the first time or coming home to a chorus of soft, baby giggles.

Toms had photos of outfit ideas for his little one already. He had a Pinterest board of parenting tips and had even started listing a couple of names. He liked Emilia for a girl and Sutton for a boy. Marlowe was on the list too, and Starlette. Harrison had suggested Luna and his mother had suggested Max. Maybe he’d fallen too deep into his own world and forgotten that you had your own.

The song finishes, the soothing voice of the Beatles fading out slowly. Just slow enough for your humming to fade out with it, and you look over to see your best friend unmoving in his spot and while you can only see him from the side on, you notice his hand, stiff over the cursor. Suddenly the burnt lasagna and boiling sink seems unimportant.

“Tom?” You prompt, stepping around the kitchen table. Bubbles drip off of your hand and land on the floorboards, a safety risk you’d remember to look at later.

He blinks once before scrolling, seeing a series of previously opened articles and his heart succumbs to nothing but broken, confused pieces.

“What’s this?”

He picks up the laptop and shows you what’s on the screen and you tense. Be it from frustration because he invaded your privacy or the fact that you’d been caught – the bench suddenly seems so cold beneath tense fingers.

“Why are you looking through my stuff–” You snap, biting into your gum to keep you from going off at him.

He grits his teeth, placing the computer down on the table and stands up. He’s tense, clearly, and knuckles are clenched at his side with so much might. Tom rarely got angry, in fact, he hardly ever found himself fuming but here he was. And here you were a mere few meters away.

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Tom,” You sigh, letting out a breathe as tears glisten in his eyes. Tom looked a good concoction of angry and deflated. Shocked too. “Of course I was going to tell you but I just needed… I needed more time to wrap my mind about this entire thing.”

“Were you going to tell me?” He asks again, only this time the words are more muffled and less coherent then before.

A sigh leaves your lips. One that said more then words could. On one hand, you want to run into his arms and mutter apologies – admittedly Tom looked really cosy right now. You’d much rather be bundled up in his arms, a warm blanket thrown over your shoulders then argue with him. But you also know that you need to stand up for yourself and what you were doing.

“You were so excited. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just consider other options and not tell me, not when you were so ready to go through with this.” He struggles to form words, finding that everything he wanted to say he probably shouldn’t.

The pets seemed to be completely unaware of what was happening. Both lay still, the cat purring softly against Tessa as if using her as a pillow. Much like Tom did when he was sleeping, Tess snores lightly. You and Tom both secretly wish that you could be as chilled as your pets, but don’t voice your thoughts.

It’s crazy that – how everything can fall apart so suddenly. One second you’re laughing over burnt lasagna, praying that the smoke detector won’t blare at any moment and arguing over what takeouts you’ll get instead because neither are you are decent cooks and the next you’re admitting that you probably tested your trust. And that now there may not be much to rebuild.

Swallowing back your nerves, you clench your fists at your side. “Don’t tell me not to consider other options. You don’t get to tell me not to do that.”

“But that baby is mine too,” Tom was seething with anger and you were about to collapse from feeling all too many things at once. You’d gone from a giggling mess to outright fearful of losing everything you’d built. “We’re in this together, remember that? We both agreed on that.” Tom lets out a shaky breath.

“We are in this together but we need to look at the fact that we do have other options too–”

Tom interrupts you abruptly. “You moved in here so that we could look after our baby together! I asked you to move in here to make things easier, that’s what we agreed on, was it not?”

“You asked me to move in because you wanted me closer in case anything happened to me or the baby while he or she is still inside me.” You correct, practically seething with frustration as he speaks. Every word made you feel smaller then the last. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t love the baby, Tom, of course not. How could I not love him? I’ve been tracking the growth, watching for signs that something could be wrong. Shit, I’ve been doing what I can, when I can.”

For a few moments, your words simmer in silence – at least what silence was possible overtop of the radio which played another one of your songs, only quieter this time and you weren’t in the mood to hum.

Tom was too busy trying to come up with the best thing to say but all he could come up with was eight words.

“I won’t let you give up our baby up,” Tom says, quietly but harshly. Bitterness laces every word, dripping from his lips like venom and you’re more then aware of it – as well as the fact that Tom had never spoken to you in that tone before and you were more then sure that you didn’t like it.

Our baby.

“We need to talk about this properly.” You try, far from fed up over arguing like children.

Tom agrees, but he can’t see much beyond the feeling of betrayal. If he could even call it that.

“I thought you wanted this, you know? You led me to believe that you wanted this and you were going behind my back–”

“You think I want to give the baby up? You think it doesn’t break my heart to consider other options?” You speak up, the urge to breakdown growing stronger. But you wouldn’t in front of him. “Jesus, Tom, we told your parents about the baby and they embraced us with open arms and promised to do what they could. We told mine and they walked out. I’ve texted my mum every day but I’ve heard nothing. I want my family back.”

“I think that you’re being selfish.”

You scoff. 

“Did you really just go there?” He doesn’t respond, swimming in his own guilt. “I’m not selfish for considering other options when I’ve given up so much already and if you can’t support me then so be it… but don’t tell me that I don’t have other choices here.”

Tom doesn’t know what else to say. He feels frozen in his spot, trying to take in and accept every word that falls from your lips but he can’t find it in him to respond. The sickly smell of burnt lasagna was long forgotten by either of you, as was his hunger that had since subside and was replaced by an overwhelming amount of frustration.

You, on the other hand, want to yell at him for not answering you. You want to demand an answer because the silence was deafening and you just needed an apology or at least the knowledge that you can talk about this with him instead of yelling and having to defend your side.

Gritting your teeth, you pick up the nearest coat which happened to be strewn over the chair and wrap it around you, then going back to the kitchen counter where you hastily grab your phone and car keys. The gentle jingling of the keys snaps Tom out of whatever haze he was in.

“I’m leaving, Tom, call me when you actually want to talk like adults – like two adults who are supposed to be bringing a baby into the world.” You spit, missing the remorse that crosses his face at lightning speed.

“Don’t go, we need to talk about this.” He extends an arm and tries to grab yours and for a second, he succeeds, right before you tug yourself from his grasp and glare.

“Why? So we can continue to argue?” You stop, waiting for Tom to answer but he doesn’t. He knows you’re right. “I don’t want to have this conversation like this and I won’t be made to feel like the bad guy when you refuse to even hear me out without losing your temper.”

A large part of you wants him to tell you not to leave, to say that you can sort this out in the morning when you’re both not angry about the invasion of privacy and about him getting mad at you for considering other options and additionally, for calling you selfish. And then maybe you’d apologise for not telling him.

Admittedly, you could admit your mistakes.

And if Tom told you again not to leave, then maybe you wouldn’t have stormed out of the apartment but instead to your bedroom where you’d stay until dusk. Then, you’d creep into his room and you’d discuss this when you were both calm and steam – highlighting your anger, wasn’t making its way out of your ears.

Tom is left in the apartment. He couldn’t necessarily say that he was by himself because he had Oscar and he had Tessa. And it’s Oscar that crawls onto his lap when he throws himself down onto the couch, head in his hands as he runs over every word thrown across the living room to the kitchen.

The cat brushes himself up against Tom, begging the man for a head rub and Tom does so without complaint – hand falling to the cats head. Usually, he would’ve grumbled about the cat... shoved him off and groaned but this time Tom gives in. 

Maybe it’s the guilt that suddenly turns him into a temporary cat person.

“She’ll come back, Osc,” Tom says, more or less trying to reassure himself then the cat. “She’s just going to Laura's for a bit.”

He chews on his bottom lip, fingers running through ginger fur.

You were going to come back. And until then, Tom would grovel.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad Take a sad song and make it better

Let’s talk about this chapter!

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[mathiaskillmaster]

Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 2

The first thing Daenerys saw when she opened her eyes, her eyelids stuck a little, after her troubled sight was back to normal, was the ceiling of the little room she was in. A pleasant and light smell of incense permeated the air. She was lying in a comfortable single bed under a dark silk blanket. Her head was horribly painful, and she felt as if her whole body were suffering from aches and pains. Despite the pain, she managed to sit up, sitting in the bed and watching around the darkness of the room, lit simply by the rays of daylight filtering through the tile of the only window in the room. But a peculiar pain made her look down at her chest wound. Once again, she remembered .... Jon .... it was him who had done that .... she saw him again, in her mind, his face looking at her, and the stinging pain of the blade penetrating into her flesh ... the young woman's beating heart rose again, while without being able to prevent it, she shed tears, her lips trembling and plunging her face into her hands .... how was all of this possible? How could he do that to her? And above all, how could she come back? Why was she here? She also remembered Jon and his scars on the body, as well as the story of his return to the world of the living, brought back also by a priestess of R'hllor .... Had it happened for her too? Daenerys was more than lost, all mixing in her head, and the feeling of sadness invading her. The door of the room opened slowly in a squeak and the servant Athias entered, to find the young woman sitting under the blanket. _ "Ah, finally you're awake. You've slept for almost two days ... I'm bringing you something to eat, you need to regain your strength." The servant came to put down a small wooden tray containing a piece of bread, some cheese and a few pieces of dried meat, as well as a bronze water jug. Daenerys said nothing, staring at him suspiciously and retreated a little into the bed. Athias noticed it and smiled at her. _"Don't worry, you will not risk anything here." _ "B .... but ..... where am I?" she asked. _"In the temple of R'hllor, at Volantis. You are the high-priestess Kinvara's distinguished guest. We must take care of you, that is her will, as well as that of the master of light, who by a miracle as he alone can provoke them, has brought you back among the living." R'hllor? The master of light? Like many, Daenerys knew the worship devoted to this god and the many disciples who compose it. So, was it really him who had brought her back from the lands of death? But why? Feeling her stomach scolded fiercely, the young woman first chose to take the tray and eat timidly, which seemed reassured the young servant to see that she had kept the appetite. He also noticed the traces of dry tears on her cheeks. He would ask her why, but choose to leave her alone, knowing what she had already suffered. Feeling the food and the water running down her throat made Daenerys feel like she was really alive, literally. She watched as Athias came to lay clean and folded clothes on the bed, especially for her. _ "When you feel ready, you can get dressed and come to see the High Priestess." _"But ... how did I get to Volantis? I remember that ... I was in King's Landing when ...." She could not continue her sentence, her throat getting tied again because of the sorrow. _ "Your dragon has carried you so far ... He has even stood by you to protect your body, even starving himself of food and sleep. I must admit that I had never seen such devotion from an animal." replied Athias. At the mention of this dragon, Daenerys reacts immediately and seizes the servant by the collar. _ "Drogon! Where is he?! I have to see him!" _"Uh, he's in the backyard of the temple. He had to get some strength again ..." Athias replied. Daenerys did not wait any longer, spreading the blanket and getting up, her feet touching the cold pavement of the room. Athias, out of respect, looked away as the young woman, completely naked, seized the clothes on the bed and began to dress. A simple and modest dress of a dark green-gray color, short pants, as well as shoes. She did not even pay attention to Athias's presence as she put on the dress. She could see herself for a moment, in the small mirror resting on the wooden table in front of the bed. She could see her face dug by fatigue, doubt, her long silver hair undone and cascading over her shoulders ... Once ready, and without even the permission of the servant, Daenerys left the room hastily, pushing the door out of her way and closely followed by Athias who wanted to hold her. He held her by the wrist, which earned him a glare from her. _"Wait, wait, I know you're in a hurry, but you have to stay calm. You've just had a very violent shock and ..." _ "I have to see my dragon, do you understand?!" she insisted, releasing her wrist from his hand "... I want to make sure he's fine." At the woman's tone and stubborn gaze, Athias sighed heavily and then decided to accompany her, guiding her to the back yard. They crossed a large number of corridors and rooms, where Daenerys could see other servants at work, maintaining the temple, as well as red priests and priestesses working for their god. After a door, Daenerys finally found herself outside, feeling the fresh air come to caress her face and the light of the day come to greet her. And it is in the middle of this big space, that she saw him finally. Her dear child, her last still alive, his huge scaly body getting warm in the sunlight. Tears, of joy this time, flowed down Daenerys' cheeks as she walked unhesitatingly towards Drogon, who, noticing her, immediately rose with all his stature and came to her with affectionate grunts. Daenerys huddled against his muzzle, caressing him with all the love a mother could give to her son. Drogon seemed almost purring like a big cat. With the tip of his big tongue, the dragon came to lick her cheek gently in an emotional sign, which made a snort laughed from the young woman with the tickle. _ "Drogon ... I ... I'm so happy you're here .... you .... you saved me ..." she said in her tears of happiness. It is true. If she had been able to return, it was thanks to him, who, by taking her away from Westeros, had thus prevented anyone from getting rid of her body. Drogon listened to her, continuing to look at her and gently rub his muzzle against her as her hands caressed his black scales. Standing at the door, Athias stayed behind to let the young woman find her dragon in peace and returned to his temple duties. Daenerys, as an attentive mother, was looking all over Drogon's body to see the trace of some wound, but luckily he had nothing. He had regained strength and regained his appetite, judging by the many bones of animals that littered the backyard floor. R'hllor's servants had taken care of him, and inwardly she thanked them. At least he was still the dragon she knew, still letting his food scraps as a big child. Daenerys smiled, tenderly, seeing Drogon come to seize a half-eaten carcass of what was a goat and lay it in front of his mother, and looking at her with a childish air as if to offer her food. _ "I .... no thanks, Drogon, I've already eaten." she said with a little grimace at the smell of carrion and flies fluttering around. Drogon seemed to understand and did not deprive himself, enclosing his jaws on the carcass and swallowing it at once in a crack of bones and flesh. _ "Dragons are quite remarkable creatures." Suddenly, the voice of Kinvara, the high priestess, who came forward to meet the young Queen Targaryen. Drogon showed no sign of mistrust or aggression towards the red woman, knowing what she had done for his mother. Although still a little suspicious, Daenerys also knew that she owed her miraculous return to this priestess. _"Drogon is not only remarkable," said Daenerys, turning to her and looking at him with love and pride, "he is unique, and he is my child ... the only one I have in this world." Her thoughts returned for a moment to her two other sons, Viserion and Rhaegal, both dead during this infernal crusade to reconquer this accursed throne and the bloody war against the white walkers that had cost her a lot, whose life of her dearest and faithful friend, Ser Jorah. With a tight heart and a tight throat, Daenerys had a thought for him too, as well as her dear Missandei and Grey Worm. She hoped he was still alive, somewhere. She had lost everything .... everything. Sadness invaded her, but also anger, a bitter and disgusting mixture in her mouth. She saw the faces of Tyrion, her former hand that had let her down, and Jon, the man she loved, who had stuck a dagger into her heart ... Daenerys's fist was twitching, shaking softly. Seeing the young queen plunge back into her painful memories, Kinvara came to her. _ "If I understand correctly ...." said Daenerys turning to her "... I also have my return to your powers, red priestess." _"Oh, it's not my will in particular ..." Kinvara replied modestly as she joined her as the two women walked side by side on the pavement of the courtyard. "... I am only a humble servant." _ "So I have my return to the master of light, is that it?" questioned the young fallen queen again. Kinvara confirmed the question with a simple nod. Daenerys really had trouble conceiving it. _"Do you find that really so surprising? Did not you hear, like me, as we bring you back, that voice in the flames .... you heard it too, did not you?" Daenerys's face turned pale and Kinvara saw on her face the answer to the question. How could this priestess know? It was true. While she was almost dead, she did not really know how to describe the state in which she was, she had heard it ... that whisper, that disembodied voice in her ear while a powerful heat enveloped her ... Was it ..... him? _ "But ... but why me? Why have brought me back?" Kinvara understood this curiosity that devoured her, and invited the young Targaryen woman to follow her inside the temple. ********* Kinvara led Daenerys into the great room of the altar, where the queen of the dragons could finally contemplate with her eyes this imposing room, whose mystical appearance was matched only by the heavy aura that reigned there, almost wrenching a shudder from Dany's body. Her attention was focused on the altar ... she was convinced that she had already seen it .... in a dream, or maybe it was not .... a big fiery heart all carved stone, standing in the middle of a dark and giant room, surrounded by flames ..... Kinvara, as usual when she went to this sacred place, lit one by one a few candles on the candlesticks arranged on one side, causing small dancing flames on each wick. _ "Answer me now, what your master can expect from me?" asked Daenerys, losing some patience. Kinvara understood it quite well, contenting herself with blowing the rod used to light the candles and resumed her conversation with her. _ "You are the one who was promised, Daenerys stormborn. A great destiny awaits you, as the master of the light has wanted ...." _ "A great destiny?" Daenerys interrupted, raising an eyebrow "... I was betrayed by those I thought were my allies, I was murdered by the man I loved, I lost two of my children and all my army .... where do you see a great destiny in this disaster?!" The young fallen queen was getting carried away, but calmed down very quickly to avoid sinking, and feeling that she was not yet fully recovered, blew a big blow. Kinvara was very calm, not insulted by the tone Daenerys had used towards her. Dany pulled herself together, and sat down on the stone bench in the back of the room, running her face between her hands and trying to tidy up her confused mind. _ "What .... what happened when I was ......?" she could not even finish her sentence as it sounded impossible. _ "The northern kingdom has become independent, and the six crowns are now ruled by a new king named Bran the broken .... the iron throne, as for it, is no more." At this last mention, the heart of Daenerys jumped and she raised her head to the priestess, and guessed in her eyes, that she was telling the truth. _ "The ... the iron throne has disappeared?" _ "Yes ..." confirmed Kinvara "... your dragon destroyed it after he found you dead in the throne room ..... I saw it in the flames ... . " _ "Drogon? But why did he do that?" Daenerys asks, even more lost. _ "As you said yourself, majesty, your dragon is unique, with an extraordinary intelligence .... the iron throne was what caused your downfall, and Drogon, in his clairvoyance, therefore decided to eliminate once and for all what had brought about the death of his mother, to avenge you, but also to deliver you .... " _ "To deliver me?" replied Daenerys, raising an eyebrow, wary of the explanations of the high priestess who pursued. _"To deliver you from the legacy of your ancestors, this same legacy that not only cost you your life, but also your most faithful allies .... you were not made for sitting on that iron throne, as you were not made to reign in Westeros .... " Daenerys had a hard time accepting that. She who, all her life, had fought with all her strength to take back the inheritance of her dynasty ... With the disappearance of the iron throne, what remained of the symbolic legacy left by Aegon the conqueror had just fainted forever, putting a definitive end to the reign of the Targaryen dynasty on Westeros. Daenerys was once again divided between sadness and anger. She had just lost everything this time. Another usurper had seized power in Westeros, a waking nightmare for the fallen young queen.... _ "If what you say is true .... then, where is my true place?" Daenerys asked again, emptying her mind. Kinvara smiled at her, and with a gesture of the hand, invited her to get up and come near the stone pediestal in which was burning the flames of a brazier in a container of iron and bronze. _ "Come closer, Daenerys stormborn .... look in the flames and tell me what you see ...." Daenerys was beginning to be tired of all this mystery, but carried away by her curiosity and the belief that Kinvara was right, stepped shyly up to the brazier and stared her focused gaze on it. Standing behind her, Kinvara waited, watching intently. _ "What do you see?" said the high priestess. _ "I ..... nothing, only the flames ...." answered the young Targaryen, honestly, moderately convinced. Kinvara insisted that she continue to watch, more carefully. What Daenerys did. She could only see the dance of flames in front of her, nothing else, as if the world around her had faded away. There was only her and this brazier in front of her, nothing else. The pleasant heat came to caress her face, bringing her some moral comfort. This unique bond with fire, which she did not know how she could have gotten, had always been a way for her to feel alive. Long seconds passed during which Dany stared at the fire. The mystical aura became more and more felt as and when. Kinvara felt it too but did nothing, just showing a satisfied expression. Daenerys's expression also changed, looking astonished, voiceless, as if watching something in the midst of undulating flames. _ "I ... I see something ..." suddenly sighs the silver-haired young woman, without being able to look away from the brazier. "... dark lands, where the night never seems to end .... I see a city made of black stone ..... I hear .... yes, I hear cries .... cries of baby dragons! They come from this black mountain, shaped like ... a screaming skull ...... I ... there is a form in this mountain .... it ... it turns to me ... those eyes ... " fear grew in Daenerys's tone. Sudden, a crackling of the fire made Daenerys jump, who now could not see anything in the fire. Kinvara had not lost anything of the description made by the young woman, and did not seem really surprised either. Dazed by what she had just seen and heard, Daenerys came to sit on the stone bench. The cries of these baby dragons continued to resonate in her head, almost like calls. _ "I know what you've seen ...." Kinvara told her "... because I've seen it too." _ "But .... what does that mean?" _ "That your place is here, in Essos, Daenerys stormborn .... remember what you did for these lands, countless slaves that you have saved, lives that you have made better by your actions ... .. you are more than a queen ... you are a liberator, the one who was returned to us in fire and ashes, by the grace of the master of light." Was all this real? After all she could see, Daenerys could hardly question the intervention of a certain divine presence. But why her? The vision of these black mountains punctuated in this disturbing night, this city of black stone, came back to her mind. Kinvara guessed it as well, gently putting her hand on Dany's and kneeling in front of her. _"The master has shown you the way, it's up to you now to take it, and know that I, Kinvara, high priestess of Volantis, swears to follow you and serve you." Daenerys did not know how to react, but was still grateful to these priests for taking care of her and her dear Drogon. Although she could decide to ignore this vision, the latter could not detach from her mind. The cries of these baby dragons resonating in a distant echo obsessed her ... she had to discover what it was. _ "But ..... where should we go?" was the last question of the young queen. Kinvara gave her a clever look and a smirk, and gave a very special name that almost made Daenerys shudder. _ "Asshai."

[breakingarrows]

Replaying Ace Combat 04: Shattered Skies

[This was originally published on VerticalSliceMedia.com in 2018 and is republished from the latest draft I have]

Ace Combat 4: Shattered Skies is a surprising game in that it not only carefully balances arcade style gameplay with a somber narrative but that the narrative itself reaches so deep into certain themes of war and aspects of the gameplay reinforce that. Playing a silent protagonist who only goes by the callsign Mobius 1, the weight of the story is not yours to bear but instead falls on a man relaying the story of his childhood and his interactions with the enemy during that time.

Since Ace Combat 4 is not focused on the reasons behind why wars are started (that is reserved for its sequel: The Unsung War) we are presented with the very simplest of details at the outset. The Erusians invaded ISAF territories and expulsed them from the continent. Erusia was aided by perverting the Stonehenge installation, a series of giant cannons designed to shoot down incoming meteors that threatened the continent in the past, and repurposed them as long range anti-air weapons. ISAF was eventually forced to retreat to an area labeled North Point but not before many battles were fought on the continent, one of them witnessed by our narrator [First video at the bottom of the post].

In all wars civilian casualties are an inevitability, but to many never evolve beyond numbers on a data sheet or total given during a news report. However, just as what was once abstract is made real for our narrator, so too is the data made real for us as we begin to follow this young boy’s life during the war.

 Who is responsible for the death of his family? The first answer would be the aircraft with the yellow 13, as it shot down the aircraft that destroyed his home. Or was it the fleeing aircraft that flew low over civilian territory? We see in the image the pilot ejecting safely with a parachute deployed. Whether he is ignorant of his effect on the boy’s life or knows the destruction he just caused doesn’t matter. Just as civilian deaths are reduced to data so too are soldiers and their armaments. Are the commanding officers above these pilots responsible for the collateral damage? Do the nations engaging in war have a duty to those displaced and killed by their activities? These are the questions that came to mind while replaying Shattered Skies, and I fear it does not serve a fulfilling answer to them.

 Mobius 1, the player character, reigns destruction that outmatches any other singular pilot in the war. However your own capability to kill and destroy is never shown to affect non-combatants in a negative effect. The only time civilians appear during a gameplay mission is when you protect two commercial airliners carrying defectors to ISAF territory, and when you liberate the boy’s city of San Salvacion and hear broadcasts of reporters on the ground describing their view of the battle. You as the player character are untouchable, both in the air and morally, even if ISAF is clearly responsible for some civilian deaths as shown by the introduction.

 Mobius 1 occupies a blank slate upon which not only can the player project their own morality and beliefs but so too can those who exist within the world. Your allies pin the hope of victory on your presence while the enemy curses it. Yellow 13 praises your performance in battle and regards you with respect as an honorable pilot.

 Both Stonehenge and Yellow Squadron make appearances in missions prior to your ultimate confrontation against them. Stonehenge appears as a sound of destruction that rips the skies above you, forcing you to fly at low altitudes in order to escape death. This happens a few times when your mission places you within range of the installation, before you finally get to fight and destroy the cannons that loomed over all operations due to its circle of range present at all briefings prior to its destruction. Yellow Squadron appears early on to chase you off the map, being impossible to hit and constantly locking onto you while you try to escape. After they appear as more of a passive force during certain dogfights, though still invincible. Tasked with protecting Stonehenge, Yellow Squadron fails to do so and show up after its destruction in order to fight off your group. Having gained enough experience through the previous eleven missions and with Yellow 4 wounded and needing a replacement engine, you are able to shoot her down easily. Yellow 13 makes his only audio appearance here, asking if anyone saw Yellow 4 eject. She did not.

 Having Stonehenge make its presence known through attacks despite being hundreds of miles away really builds up both its capability as a super weapon and also as a shadow over any mission taking place within its range. When you see the map grid during a briefing and notice that the mission area is within the dotted line you know your mission will most likely require you to fly low to the ground in order to avoid being blown apart by Stonehenge. This fear makes it so satisfying to finally confront your phantom threat head on and immobilize it and eliminate its threat for future missions. Likewise with Yellow Squadron, they appear as targets that severely outmatch you. Unable to land a hit, you are depowered in their presence and have to make adjustments in future missions to not waste time attempting to land a shot and instead focus on other, lesser pilots. Shooting down Yellow 4 is both an accomplishment because it shows how far the player and Mobius 1 have come since the initial confrontation, it also undercuts that victory with sorrow at the loss of someone who has never been shown to harbor ill will or malice. Yellow 4 simply desired to protect Yellow 13, who likewise prided himself on never losing a wingman, until now. Our respect, and the young boy’s burgeoning love for Yellow Squadron undercuts any victory over them and turns it into a complicated weave of emotions.

 Yellow 13’s portrayal throughout the game goes against traditional villain and instead is more of a rival pilot. Even then that stereotype falls short since he is not obsessed with Mobius 1 but instead awaits the ultimate confrontation that will lead to his death with open arms. With the loss of Yellow 4 and the constant turnaround of pilots in Yellow Squadron, his attachment to this world are gone. Even the two children he watched over turn against him. One night, the barkeeps daughter is caught planting detonators for the resistance and flees. Yellow 13 catches her, confirming she was responsible for the sabotage he so detested that caused Yellow 4’s death. The young boy is nearby, and appears yelling, “Get out of our town fascist pig!” at Yellow 13. Clearly hurt by this betrayal from the only two he had left, Yellow 13 allows them to leave. Whether this is due to their tender ages or because of his own disgust at Erusia, which is only increased by the Erusian tactics during the defense of San Salvacion: placing AA guns atop hospitals.

 Despite his hatred for the Erusian forces for occupying his town and disrupting peace, and his hatred for Yellow 13 for the cape crash, the boy continues to follow Yellow Squadron after the liberation of his hometown. By this point the boy has long abandoned his plan to confront Yellow 13 about his part in the family’s death. Yellow 4 scared him off previously, and now without her he sees Yellow 13 suffering from the same loss he himself did. The boy can’t bring himself to confront 13 now, after learning so much about him, after being cared for by him, and after seeing him suffer familial loss in war too. In an early scene the boy is shielded from the cold night by a Yellow squadron jacket, most likely placed there by their ace pilot.

 Yellow 13 ultimately gets the fate he wanted, death at the hands of a pilot better than he. The dogfight takes place over Farbanti, the Erusian capital and penultimate mission of the game. Victory is all but assured with the capture of the enemy capital, but in rides Yellow Squadron, ever loyal to their duty to serve Erusia even if it means embracing death. Mobius 1 shoots each one down.

 A theme I didn’t realize until this playthrough was that of memories, and how speaking them is enough to keep them alive. This is first mentioned by the boy when he recalls how Yellow 13 spoke after Yellow 4’s death. After Yellow 13’s death, the handkerchief that is buried represents both Yellow 4 and Yellow 13’s lives and the memoires the barkeep’s daughter and the boy have of them. These memories are kept alive even still by the framing device of the game, the letter being written by the now grown boy to you, Mobius 1. By writing this letter he kept the memories of Yellow 13 alive, and by playing the game, you keep it alive as well by watching and participating in it. While it may not be a true story, it still effective at portraying personal tales during a meaningless war.

 A lack of identity in Mobius 1 is used to speak directly the player. AWACS makes a request that you provide a victory on his birthday, the airbase you’re protecting want to relay their thanks to you personally, and allies get emotional when you’re put in danger. These voices aren’t directed at the character of Mobius 1 since it doesn’t exist. Instead they are directed at you, the player, in order to gain your sympathy and make victory not something to be viewed distantly but something you actively achieved. Video games consistently do this more often than any other form of media due to their interactive nature, but not all are as successful as Shattered Skies at making the player engage with the gameplay in order to win not just because it is how you progress but because it means victory for your allies.

 Despite being restricted to dots on your radar and voices through a radio filter, friend and foe alike have a human weight to them. This is continually built upon over the course of the four hour campaign, and culminates in the final mission as you shoot down each plane in order to hopefully keep your own friends alive. You quicken your pace as the ground forces take losses and audio plays of their battle in a place you cannot reach. Instead, you make your way through small spaces and destroy generators in order to open up the final missile silo and eliminate the final threat to total victory. Throughout the mission the strongest tracks of the game play: “Rex Tremendae,” “Megalith -Agnus Dei-”, and “Heaven’s Gate.” [Second video at the bottom of the post]

This final mission is a great end to a surprisingly emotional arcade flight simulation game.

 I have always had an emotional connection to this game since I first played it in the early 2000’s. I am very happy that it continues to hold up nearly 17 years later. Yellow 13 has a wonderfully somber story and I hope it continues to live through the retelling and replaying of Shattered Skies for years to come.

[yangholic]

No Matter Where You Are, I’ll Always Find You | Drabble

soulmate au— mentions of death, light angst, reference of sexual intercourse, reincarnation

pairing— jung hoseok x reader

a/n: this is my own personal take on a soulmate theory! i hope you enjoy

The first time you met, you were 15 years old. He was but a house servant, and you, the Emperor’s only daughter. At first, you were both shy around one another, but soon the two of you began to indulge in nighttime rendezvous in the courtyard and lovers trysts beside the Han River. Your young love was passionate, fierce, unyielding. The day of your 16th birthday, the Emperor announced you were to be wed off to a distant cousin. But instead of continuing to live a life of comfort, you packed a scant few items and ran off with Hoseok when the moon was at its highest. You lived happily ever after, enjoying a life of modesty with the love of your life.

•·················•·················•

The next time you met, he was a sea merchant, and you owned a oceanside inn. You immediately recognized his dazzling smile and tinkling laughter, and he smiled fondly at the memory of yours. The two of you enjoyed many nights together, tangled between sheets and soft down pillows. Two months full of love, which conceived a small bundle of life within you. Your reunion with Hoseok ended abruptly when he returned to sea, promising to come home safely. Although he perished at sea the same day, you always made sure to leave his side of the bed empty.

•·················•·················•

It’s been 68 years since you had last seen him. You’re now old and frail, a lifetime of struggle and sadness creasing itself into your wrinkles. Guards open the doors and unfamiliar faces flood the room, many of whom are assisted by canes or wheelchairs. You catch a glimpse of that sunshine smile, albeit minus a few teeth, and you struggle to hold back your tears. He exhales as he sits down at your table, and even though he is up close you swear he doesn’t look a day over 45. “My sweetheart,” his raspy voices coos as his fingers trace the outline of your face. You noticed that he was still wearing his wedding ring, proving his steadfast love for nearly 7 decades. “I wish I hadn’t stayed,” you lament, remembering the day southern troops invaded the north. Your husband shakes his head, crooked fingers coming to wipe the tears from under your eyes. “I don’t regret anything, because fate has brought us together once again, even if it's for a single day.”

•·················•·················•

His body glides effortlessly around 9 others, his hanbok’s sleeves billowing behind him as he lifts his arms. The music pauses dramatically. Then, he comes to the forefront, his body contorting dramatically as his limbs convey the unspoken story of his Nation’s history. His movements are precise, powerful, yet also fluid. Striking a final pose, his chest heaves slightly as he is overwhelmed with emotions. The talchum dance is over, and he finally removes his mask, but you do not need to see his face to know it’s him. You know the movements of his body like the back of your hand, and yet a warm giddiness floods you body as you sees his soft almond-shaped eyes. He scans the small crowd that has amassed, until he sees you in the distance, a basket of herbs hung on your arm. He waves, and you wave back.

•·················•·················•

Your fingers wrap around his, although both of your grips are weak. He coughs. Your lungs wheeze in return. “It’s been a good life together with you,” you whisper, your throat raw and sore. He replies with shaky smile, crimson blood marring his pearly teeth. “I’d do it all over again if it means we can be together,” he says as the light begins to fade from his eyes. You feel yourself growing sleepy, your eyelids beginning to feel like lead. “Goodnight, Hoseok.” The last thing you see before you drift into eternal slumber is the peaceful smile curling at the edge of his lips.

•·················•·················•

“Y/N, say hello to your step brother,” your mother says as she ushers you forward. And at 6 and a half years old, you instantly fall in love.

•·················•·················•

You were not lovers in this timeline. Nor were you friends, acquaintances, or even neighbors. You were enemies, forged by hatred as hot as Hell’s flames. He rolled his eyes every time he was assigned a project with you, and you groaned every time he said your name. There was no way to describe the loathing you two had for one another. But in the evening, when all your coworkers had retired for the evening and the only person left in the office was Jung Hoseok, you dropped all your pretenses and bared yourself to him, enjoying the way his mouth felt on your body. There was truly nothing better than angry sex.

•·················•·················•

You embrace him, his ice cold skin cooling your flushed cheek. As he tilts your chin to give himself better access to your lips, you lift your right hand and drive the wooden stake right through his heart, watching as his undead body crumbles into ash. “Please forgive me,” you whisper as a single tear slips down your cheek.

•·················•·················•

The next time you met him, you couldn’t hear him. And he could not see you. Although you couldn’t hear his melodic laughter or call out his name, you felt an overwhelming sense of security seeing his cheerful face. And despite him being robbed of sight, he knew it was you by the familiar feel of your gentle hands. The love forged between the two of you was so strong that it transcended all boundaries.

•·················•·················•

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt, your best friend loyally laying by your side. “Hobi!” He whined at the sound of his name, brown eyes transfixed on your trembling body. He loved seeing you like this— carefree and happy— and wished everyday with you was like this. Licking another wet stripe up your cheek, his tail began to wag as another peal of giggles erupted from your lips.

•·················•·················•

He wakes up in a hospital bed, his chest feeling a heaviness he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Nurses and doctors conduct their examinations, remarking on his quick post-surgery recovery. He stares at the sutures that pucker the skin of his sternum, wondering who gifted him the opportunity of a second chance at life. It isn’t until the family of his donor visits him, a weeping mother cradling a picture of you in her arms. “I’m glad her heart went to someone who needed it,” the woman said in between choked sobs. He smiles melancholically, grateful of your selflessness even in death. He would have loved to meet you in this lifetime, but at least now he’ll always be able to carry you in his heart— your heart.

•·················•·················•

You fiddle with the book in your hands, eyes flitting between the line of 7 men who are seated before you. The first man you speak to is the leader, and he’s just as well-spoken as you had imagined. Next is the maknae, his childish personality bringing a smile to your face. One by one, you slowly filter through all the members until there is only one left. You shyly pass him the autograph book, and the instant your fingers brush, his eyes dart up to meet yours. “Y/N?” He asks, wondering if it’s really you before him in this timeline. You nod, to which he rewards you with his signature grin, “I’ve missed you.” You feel the warmth radiating off him, his presence reminding you of the sun itself.

“I told you, Hoseok. No matter where you are, I’ll always find you.”

[jj-lives]

field- bmblb unperfect roommate snippet

A blade of grass caresses your arm and is the first sign of the gentle breeze that finds your hiding spot.  The cool rolling air brings the hair of your arms to attention and the next time the blade dips it tickles your more sensitive skin.  You take a few deep breaths, the earthy scent of the meadow mixed with the slight perfume of wildflowers is pleasing.  Relaxing further into the ground beneath you, your eyes see flashes behind closed lids of the things sensitive ears pick up on. Multicoloured birds flit in and out of your unseeing sight, Tree branches bend to the whim of the breeze and their leaves flutter, a percussive accompaniment to the singing aerial acrobats. Wind whips around you in a small whirlwind and you can feel a shiver threatening to break out through your body.  It’s held at bay when a shift in the clouds high above allow the sun’s rays to once more warm you.  

It was one of your more clever ideas, to escape the noise of the other girls to come out here and relax.  It took a lot to distract you from any book, but the amount of screeching and laughter inside the Rose-Xiao Long household was more than enough to cause you to grit your teeth realizing you’d read the same paragraph three times still not capturing what it contributed to the story.  You’d only had to say you were going for a walk to disappear, the two years of being your teammates had Ruby and Weiss waving you out the door with no other questions.  There were just times you needed the peace and quiet, the relaxing stillness the presence of others never afforded you.  There were times you just needed to be alone.

And your team knew that.  They would give you your space and allow you to recharge.  The thought of comparing yourself to a piece of tech amuses you and the muscles pull at the corners of your lips.  Lulled by the calming sounds of nature and the protective warmth of the sun on your skin you find yourself drifting in a half dream.  

You hear familiar footsteps approaching and you pray that she turns to leave thinking you're asleep.

You should know better by now.

“What are we looking at?”

She’s teasing you, you can tell because she can clearly see your eyes are closed and there's also that soft lilt to her usual brash tone.  You don’t respond, hoping she will just go away if you remain silent.  Of course, you’ve never been all that lucky and even less so with your interactions with the elder girl. It doesn’t surprise you that she chooses to stick around.  She sits beside you and you resign yourself to having a -hopefully silent- companion for at least a little while.  

“Ugh,“ you grunt as something lands heavily on your stomach. When your eyes fly open to find the cause they are met with golden hair and Yang’s side profile as she looks up to the sky above you.  It takes you a moment to organize your thoughts. You're not used to people invading your personal space so readily and without your permission.

“What are you doing?”  You ask surprised.

“Um,” Yang’s lilac eyes turn to you bewildered. “Looking at the clouds. What does it look like I’m doing?” She rolls her eyes before returning them to stare at the puffy clouds above.

That's not what you meant and she knows it. Frustrated, you're fists clench at your sides. How can she not know this would be uncomfortable for you. You've known her two years and although you only ever see each other during the summer when you stay with Ruby it should still be plenty of time for her to realize you aren't comfortable with physical contact. Although you let Weiss and Ruby some small allowances you've only ever shunned and slapped Yang’s hands away when she's tried.

You think maybe this has become another game for her, like her seeing how many times she can call you Kitten before you snap, or how she makes it her mission to tease you so far passed your comfort zone that Ruby ends up having to step in to stop her. For being an elder sister, in some ways, she’s the more immature of the two siblings.

“No, I mean what are you doing laying on top of me?”

She doesn’t look at you but you see the grin pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Well I didn’t think you’d mind.  I took you for a bottom, but if you want to be a top I’m all game.”

How she can make you flabbergasted and tongue tied every time she opens her mouth astounds you.  You gape like a fish trying to find the words, any words, but your mind is blank.  Well there’s a flash of you topping her on a soft mattress before you shake the image to the dark recesses of your mind, but other than that, blank.

“Calm down, Kitten.” She chuckles, noticing your discomfort, her movements vibrate through you. “This hair,” she indicates her golden tresses she’s pulled over her shoulder. “Is not meant to be just laid in the dirt all willy nilly. So I figured you'd make a good barrier between it and whatever lurks below you.” She explains as she pets it lovingly.

“It’s called dirt and grass.” You huff, reaching out to push her off you. She swats at your hands so you try harder.  She blocks every one of your attempts to reach her head that rests calmly untouched on your belly.  It irks you more that she still hasn’t taken her eyes off the large cloud moving slowly across the blocked sun, as if you’re just a mild annoyance like a persistent mosquito. You give up and lay back to your previous relaxed position.  Her head doesn’t weigh that much, perhaps if you are still enough you’ll forget she’s there.

“Good pillow.”

She mocks you but instead of retaliating you take a deep breath and try to forget she’s here.  You were having such a relaxed time before and you don’t want to let her ruin your time out here with her presence. After a few minutes you’re able to relax again and focus on the birds songs and the rustle of leaves and branches.  Even Yang’s steadying breaths aren’t completely unwelcome.  Because you’re ears are in tune with the rhythm of her breathing you are instantly aware when there’s a pause before one of her exhales.

“That one looks like a frog.”

“Uh huh.”

You feel her head shift against you.

“You aren’t even looking.” She accuses.

“I’m seeing it.” You reach up and tap your temple.

“What does it look like then?”

“A frog.” She scoffs and you can picture her eyes rolling again. “It’s green, with purple spots,”

“What?”

“Mhmm, green and purple.  And it’s toes are a bright pink.”

“Right,” she drawls. “What’s that one look like then?” You feel her shoulder brush against your ribs and know she’s pointing to the cloud she wants you to describe.  Her movements are completely irrelevant, you aren’t going to open your eyes to look.

“A tiger bunny.” Her answering chuckle you feel more than hear and you're not sure why you're humoring her in the first place. It's not like you have to. No one is forcing you to answer. She would probably get bored not too long into your silent treatment and leave.

“What the hell is a tiger bunny?”

“A bunny with tiger stripes, obviously.” You respond flippantly.

“Obviously.” Her shoulder presses into the ribs just below your breast as she points to a cloud above her head. “And that one?”

“Uh,” you’re distracted with the placement of her arm and can’t remember what she’s asking you to do again.

“Come on,” she whines. “What’s that one look like?”

“Right,.. Ursa with a tutu.”  She snorts and it’s so unlike her you smile at the absurdity.  For some reason you feel like this is a challenge. She's challenging you to not answer so by staying silent, which is your first instinct, would be proving her correct. And you hate when she's proven right. Just this once you want her to lose at the game she's started with you. A game you're still trying to figure the rules out to.

“And that one?”

“A bird.”

“A bird?”

“Uh huh.”

“Just a bird?” She’s asking in a hopeful voice and you can’t help rolling your eyes at her behind your closed lids.

“It’s a bird, carrying a basket full of cookies?” You’re not sure if that makes sense. Why would a bird be carrying a basket full of anything? But then again why would a bunny have stripes? That wasn't something that had bothered you so why should this.

“Maybe it’s taking them to Ruby.”

“She does love her cookies.”

“You have no idea.” Yang responds and you can hear the pained exasperation in her voice.

“I live with her all year.” You quietly defend.

“Try seventeen years of ‘can we have cookies for breakfast’ and then get back to me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at Yang explaining to a smaller Ruby that cookies are not nutritious enough for breakfast.  “Okay, you win.”

“That one next.”

You sigh, so much for a silent companion. You remind yourself it’s your own fault for taking the challenge. It wasn't something you had to do; you could have forfeited and lost after all. Its ten minutes of Yang pointing and you thinking up every absurd combination of things you can think of before your mind literally can't process any more.

“Come on Kitten.” Yang begs.

“You know calling me that isn't helping your cause, right?”

“Fine, just one more.”

Your eyes finally open and you lean up on your elbows to look at her. She's actually pouting, bottom lip jutting out and everything. She looks so much like her younger sibling in this moment that you can't refuse her request. You don't know why you never stopped to think who Ruby learned that look from but apparently it was a family secret, passed down from generation to generation.

“Fine,” you huff and her head dips as her pillow lifts at your movement. “Which one are we looking at?” You know full well she's stopped pointing to clouds a long time ago, having run out of new visible ones about twenty imaginary clouds ago.

Yang quickly looks skyward and points out a fluffy white cloud right above you.  You examine it for a minute, trying to see something within it’s soft contours because you really don’t think your mind can come up with any more random stuff even if you tried.  The only thing it semi-looks like is a horse.  So you go with it.  

“It’s a horse, with like a single horn thing growing out the top of it’s head?” You question your own sanity; you miss the good old times when your brain came up with gold like tiger bunnies.  

“A horse with a horn?” Even Yang’s tone of voice proves you’re grasping at straws.  You don’t want her to call a do over and make you describe another one so you’re going to have to stick to your answer and hope it’s enough.

“Yeah, um,” staring up at the cloud doesn’t help much, but you think if you name the creature it might placate Yang enough for her to end the game.  “It’s called a Uni-“ a unihorse? A unispike?  You are completely useless right now and you blame Yang for not letting you charge your batteries properly.  “Horn?”

“Uni-horn?” Yang seems anything but impressed.

“Yeah, you know because it has one horn, Unihorn.” You try again to convince her. “And it’s magical and can fly and grant wishes and stuff.”

“It can fly?”

“How do you think it got up there?” You ask pointing up to it towering high above you both.  

“And it’s magic?”

“How do you think it can fly? It obviously doesn’t have any wings, see?” You reason with her, hoping she accepts the bait.

“And it can grant wishes?”

“Why not, it’s magic.  If I was magic I’d grant wishes.”

“Unihorn doesn’t sound quite right,” Yang brings one hand up to rub her chin, pondering. “More like Uni-Corny,” Yang sits up, removing the weight of her head off your stomach. She spins her body until she’s seated facing you, a huge grin plastered to her face. “Get it Kitten, because you are being completely corny right now?”

You take offence to that, she was the one that wanted to play this stupid game in the first place, and you were just nice enough to indulge her.  You’re not sure if she’s trying to be funny or actually making fun of you but from your past experience, more than not, she is almost always teasing and making fun of you.  Not wanting to fall into a trap and get burned more you decide it’s time to head inside.  

“Unicorn,” you shrug indifferent now, “That’s a better name for it anyway.”

Before Yang has time to respond you push up onto your feet and follow them in the direction of Yang and Ruby’s home.  Surprised at your sudden movement Yang rushes to catch up once she’s realized you’re in motion.

“We could also call it Uni-Horny,” She steps in front of you to walk backwards through the field.  A devilish smirk is plastered to her lips as she arches her brow amusedly waiting for your reaction.

“Or we could not.” You state resolutely, determined not to give her the satisfaction of the reaction she’s looking for. “That’s a stupid name.”

“Well maybe it’s powers are to make everyone horny that lays eyes on it.”

Your step falters for a split second before you continue across the field and step onto the path that will lead through the forest to their home.

“Your mind is always in the gutter.”

“You can’t tell me when I mentioned you topping me you didn’t picture it?” You did but there is no way you’re going to admit that.

“Of course not!”

“Defensive much?”

“Annoying much?” You respond lamely. “Just because you pictured it doesn’t mean I did.”

“You totally did, didn’t you?” her grin widens.

“Ugh, don't flatter yourself.” Waving her comment off with a flick of your wrist. “You’d be the last person I'd think of in that way.”

Yang slows on the path and you step passed her as tall trees rise up on either side of the you.  Their branches stretch, reaching, entangling overhead, trapping you in their encompassing arms.  The shadows cast by the foliage brushes the residual heat from your limbs, as if you’ve suddenly been doused with cold rainwater.  Sensitive to the echoes within your organic tunnel your ears pick up Yang’s approach.  Expecting her to take up a position beside you it jolts every one of your nerves when her arms suddenly snake around your middle.  Tanned fingers lock in front of you and suddenly you’re forced to stop walking as you’re pulled to a halt enveloped in Yang’s arms.  There she goes invading your personal space once more.

“What ar-“

“Shhh.” A soft voice too close to your ear hushes you but doesn’t offer any answers to the questions swimming in your mind.

Yang’s fingers unlock and but when you try to escape she places her hands, fingers spread out across the expanse of your stomach, trapping you again.  You stand still, tense waiting for her to speak, or act, or do whatever it is she has planned.  She does nothing.  You’re ears focus on her and you hear her steady, calm breaths. Breaths that you also feel tickle the hairs on the exposed skin at the side of your neck.  You inhale deeply and the scent of citrus and smoke invade your senses.  It’s not an unpleasant smoke, more natural, like a campfire.  It’s a scent you’ve become very accustomed to spending summers in Ruby’s home.  Yang was the perfect mixture of refreshing and invigorating mixed with a destructive heat you have never encountered before. Her hands leak warmth through the fabric of your shirt, but the fingers that find purchase on the the exposed skin above your belted hips burn you.  You’re so keenly aware of them, of her that the rest of the forest drops away.  There are no more singing birds or swaying branches.  There is no more breeze nor even earth beneath your feet. There is only Yang, with her dangerous scent and burning hands.  

Her fingers move ever so lightly over your core muscles but you’re unsure if it’s due to your breaths or if she’s controlling them.  It’s all too much and you feel your muscles relax without your permission.  Betraying you, your body leans back into hers.  Yang’s arms tighten ever so slightly before you’re suddenly released and her body is swiftly stepping around you.  You kick your foot back in a practiced reflex as you feel yourself toppling backwards and catch yourself just in time.  The cold rushes in, sapping the heat from your body once more but you can still feel the phantom fingers burning your skin even if their heat is gone.

You stare at her, bewildered, as she comes to stand facing you. The devilish smirk plastered over her once playful expression stops your heart for a full beat.  

“You totally want me.” It’s a fact not a question.  You can see it in her eyes, just as she sees it in yours.  She knows.  

A new kind of heat travels up your neck to flush your face.  She was teasing you, had your body reacting to her and the most mortifying part was she hadn’t even done anything.  She’d barely touched you, hadn’t allowed her hands to move much less wander and her body hadn’t even been touching you besides the light touch of her hands.  You were the one to react.  You were the one to lean in, asking for more.

Then you hear it, her laughter.  

Gritting your teeth you rush passed her and you don’t allow your legs to stop until you’re pushing open the door to the cottage.  Ruby and Weiss look up from the movie they’re watching as you enter and you silently join them, curling up to lean against the arm of the couch opposite them.

“Oh, where were you?” Ruby’s voice reaches you but before you can answer her another voice speaks up instead.

“Just went for a walk.” You notice Ruby’s question wasn’t directed to you, but her sister who’d apparently snuck away earlier. “It’s nice out today.”

Yang stands just inside the doorway, her eyes flit to the stairs and you’re sure she’s going to retire to her room.  Instead, she walks the short distance and, to your horror, sits at the other end of the couch you’re sitting on.  There are three other chairs in the room and she could have chosen any one of them.  She’s torturing you, and she’s doing it on purpose.  The next half hour you and Yang sit in silence.  Whispers reach your ears from across the room where Ruby leans in to the heiress asking a question about the movie.  Weiss rolls her eyes but calmly answers every one of Ruby’s queries.  

Yang’s foot touches yours as she brings her own legs up onto the cushion separating you and you’re quick to pull it out of her body’s reach, crossing and tucking them into the smaller space of your one cushion. A few minutes later Yang’s shins are pressed up against your leg, her feet resting comfortably below your thigh.  She’s scooted down the couch, head resting on the other arm as she knowingly makes unwanted physical contact with you.  She smiles at you and you’re so angered at her willingly, happily invading your personal space again after what she’d done to you earlier that you push her feet out from under you and slide onto the floor instead.  If you hadn’t wanted to avoid catching your teammates attention you would have moved to one of the chairs across the room, but that would definitely attract their eyes, whereas now, you can see they hadn’t noticed your change in position.

You are acutely aware of Yang’s departure before the end of the movie.  Ruby and Weiss are so wrapped up in the movie and each other they don’t even glance her way as she climbs the stairs behind you to the second floor.  Watching the other two remaining in the room you wonder how much longer Weiss and Ruby will fight their obvious feelings for eachother.  With Weiss being as stubborn as Ruby is awkward you think it might be a very long time before they both find the right moment to give in and accept it.

“Well,” Ruby stands once the movie is over. “If it’s so nice out we should at least go for a walk, maybe have a sparring match?”

“We should stay in top form,” Weiss agrees.  “And exercise would be good after that movie. It was long.”

“You didn’t like it?” Ruby seems concerned.

“No it was good.  I’m just not used to watching movies in the middle of the day.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Ruby bends to grab Weiss’ hand, pulling her up off the couch.  “You coming?” She asks turning to you.

Not wanting to maybe get in the way of a potential moment between the two you end up shaking your head in the negative.

“What’s up with you?” Weiss speaks.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.” Forcing your eyes to remain on hers that are strongly scrutinizing you in hopes she’ll believe you.

“You’re usually in a much better mood after you come back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re still cranky.”

“Hey!” Ruby steps between you and smiles reassuringly at each in turn before she focuses on you. “What Weiss means to say is you still seem a little on edge.  It’s just you usually come back fully charged and more relaxed after you’ve been on your own for awhile.”

“Well I wasn’t really alone for much of it.” You mumble averting your eyes.

“Yang,” Ruby whispers after a few silent moments and all you can do is nod your head.

“What is with the two of you?” Weiss asks, her voice more gentle. You can tell she’s not trying to make you mad and is genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know.  She just enjoys tormenting me.  I was fine, just relaxing and you know recharging and then there she was.” You huff, shoulders slumping in defeat. “She was just there and wouldn’t leave and just kept pestering me like she always does. I just didn’t get the alone time I was hoping for.”  You see the concern in Ruby’s eyes, it’s apparent she doesn’t enjoy the tension between you and her sister.  You know Ruby is very close to Yang and she would prefer you all get along and be the best of friends but that is decidedly never going to happen, not with the way Yang torments you about your faunus heritage or any numerous other aspects of your wardrobe or personality. Both of you are just too different and your personalities clash at every turn. “I think I’ll just stay and read, maybe I’ll be more relaxed when you guys get back.”

“Okay,” Ruby leads Weiss to the door but she pauses before walking through herself. “Yang do you want to come?” She yells louder towards the second floor landing.

“Where?” Yang’s head peers over the railing.

“Walk, maybe some sparring.”

You’re doubly glad you refused, there hasn’t been a single time Yang has ever refused to join in a sparring match. You try to avoid the matches knowing you’re more than likely always going to be paired with her, being the only one of you three experienced in any hand to hand combat.

You feel Yang’s eyes on you and you rise from your spot on the floor to grab a book you’d been perusing earlier in the day.  

“Nah, I’ll just chill here I think.”

Ruby shrugs and steps out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

You find a comfortable position curled up in one of your favourite chairs in the house and open the book to it’s first page.  You expect Yang to return to her room but you’re surprised when she bounds down the stairs.

“So what you wanna to do?”  She asks as she takes the last two steps in a single jump.

“Read.”

“That’s no fun.”

You roll your eyes. “It is for me.”

“We could play a game.” She suggests.

Throwing the book onto the coffee table you stand from your once comfortable spot.  You know she’s not going to leave you alone and will only continue to pester you until you give in or until you’re so frustrated with her you storm out. So you decide to just skip all the unpleasant middle and go straight to the end result. She stands still as you brush passed her in your hurry to catch up with your teammates.  They’ll just have to find their own alone time to maybe express their barely hidden feelings because there is no way you’ll survive another ten minutes in Yang’s presence, let alone an entire afternoon.

“Goodbye Kitten.” You hear before you slam the door behind you.

[stolen-writer]

Guts in the Shell

Notes: Delirious me trying to make up something coherent out of the thoughts roaming my head, with an unconventional ship. Sort of a continuation from the 25th Ward's multiple endings, because I can't seem to let them go. Hope you enjoy it! 

~

The two were bound by fate. But, who could even believe in something so bland? Fate was just an excuse for all things predictable, for a future destroyed. The thoughts of each and every person related to you, they turn the future into a dream already foretold.

A hundred decisions. Just a hundred. No space for more. That was proof for him. He didn't really have much of a choice at all. The first hundred thoughts he got, were the only choices he could take always and forever. No matter how many times he tried again and again, no matter if someone were to cheat for him to try again. It wouldn't change, in the end. It would always remain… a hundred choices, those hundred choices that appeared in a flash and gradually turned blue.

Maybe inside those, he could find a way to actually escape whatever it was that he called destiny. Maybe he could break the system, bend it to his own will, even while having chains. Isn't that what him, as a Kamui, could do? No, that was wrong. Him as a person. That's what he could do, yes, of course he could.

So, he searched. He would always search, he would escape. Choose, die and be reborn. Choose, be killed and be reborn. Choose, run away and be processed. Choose, be captured and open your eyes again. Escape, kill, escape, be killed, escape, try again. Escape and cleanse the world… No… Just being a person was fine… Being a person, settling down and waiting for death, indirectly. Why couldn't he…? Why couldn't he be that way? 

Yes, the only choice was… Death. Death was the quickest way to escape. But not any death. A permanent one. Did something like that even exist for him? Since the day he was born, since before being idealized by the world itself, he had already been sealed by a fate far crueler than any other. The fate of being who he was. The fate of Kamui, the undying, that immortal presence. Even now, people used the name lightly, him included. Who was to understand how much harm that caused? Sealed by such fate caused him to want a change, to believe there existed something he could do.

And he remembered… His attention went to him. Shiroyabu Mokutaro.

Out of everyone he met, Shiroyabu was the only one that stood out. Someone from that ward, yet one that didn’t fit it. Scorned, hated by everyone, even his own self. Pushed away by all, pushed away by death. Weren’t they the same? Two sides of the same cable. Two of a million. But, no. Shiroyabu wasn’t like any other. He was his own person, while Uehara was part of many. ...And Kamui desired so much to be a part of something that would not bring him back to square one. A part of someone who could actually give him something for a change.

That person could only be Shiroyabu. He had already lost himself to a hundred choices… This part of him that could not find peace in between those choices needed him. He yearned for the traitorous touch of the wonder that was a man in between spaces. He needed him. Even if he was to be stabbed again and again. Even if he promised to find him and start all over again. None of that really mattered. What he wanted was one more chance to intertwine between the prohibited spaces that made up the existence of white. He wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to unite to him… and be separate… and be destroyed… and rebuilt. But, only by that very same person. Mokutaro Shiroyabu.

Existing was a fickle thing, committing to someone was just as fickle. He noticed that, he was aware ever since his being divided. No, was that not him being freed from the shackles of the multiple personalities that were forced within him? And he was so scared of being just a shell… Maybe he was… But a shell looking to be filled. It was pretty. It was fleeting and beautiful. At least, he preserved some kind of opinion, points of view that made him be someone else and not just a space to be filled. It all made sense. But, it didn’t. What was the meaning of him being possessed if not to be freed by his prince in shining white armor?

Those hundred choices… weren’t really his. They were just letters of goodbye from the outsiders invading him. Shiroyabu didn’t even bother letting him know. Maybe it was for the best, it was mandatory for him to reach the right conclusion, by himself. He proved he could do it, if just given the time. And now… he had it. After a hundred choices went by with him petrified, he was finally free… So, why? Why was he still expecting to be saved by a prince that had finished its purpose? But, which one was it, again? Right… leading him to the end of a story, of his own story.

One, two, three steps… and he was facing him again. Absent, obsessive, relentlessly violent and cruel. Bullshit. Words that couldn’t begin to describe the man he had been a comrade of. Scratching the fucking surface. Just like him, he was shell with delirium, a shell that had been looking so hard to be filled… That was a blatant lie. He was just the gruesome filling. The contents, guts waiting to be covered up by a conveniently empty shell. That was why he couldn’t fit. A shell can act the part, the guts are exposed and cannot fake the ugly truth. Truly… the most beautiful being out there.

Forced to repeat until his loop would loop, it was normal for him to give in to his own guilty pleasures. Anyone would get tired of waiting for a shell that wasn’t even promised. Being spilled guts, trying to gather up the pieces, he was a mess. Shiroyabu was a stupid, pathetic mess. A mess everyone kicked away. A mess that no one wanted to clean.

But Kamui Uehara was the shell. He had always been. He wanted to be his shell. As strange as it felt for him, he felt a desire to be. To finally and simply be. And this required for him to be his… His one and only messed up shell.

This world won’t give anything to us. It cannot. It has tried, believe me… I’ve seen it. There is nothing for us here… But there is also nothing for us beyond. We are stuck… We are all we got. Can’t we just… rest on each other’s arms already? Aren’t we both so tired?

“Maybe what we yearn for is not the same.” but that is a lie. Don’t you see how good you are at lying even to yourself? You keep pursuing ghosts that have no place within you, because that is all you have ever been able to do. They are gone. You are gone. I am gone, too. But, we are standing right in front of each other. It must mean something. No, it does mean something.

“And, if it doesn’t?” If it does not… I will forge a path that will make it so. Cleansing the world, eradicating it, leaving it be… There is always a way. For me, that is. And for you… is it not the same? Is it not finally the same for you… as it is for me?

Words that had no sort of meaning, mixed up with words that meant the world for each other. It was… a fitting way of connecting, of finally taking the reins of what was left.

One final choice: Breakout with Shiroyabu.

~

Notes: If you finished reading all the way, I thank you very much! If you didn't, I thank you anyway for the effort! This was a ride to write and even more of a ride to send out into the world. I appreciate your appreciation, as always! Have a great day!

[makerof150papermasks]

The Three Governments of Spyro the Dragon

 Today, I have something really interesting that I feel would be worth talking about. Now I remember recently reading a post titled “’Kirby Super Star’ is a Marxist critique of the Soviet Union,” which delves into the titular 1996 SNES video game so deeply and somehow matches it up with certain pieces of USSR history (Reddit). After viewing this, I began to think, “I know a few other games that I could analyze like this guy did with Kirby.” Yes, I was motivated so much by this blog that I had a hunch to work on my own research chat.

Now the games I am about to talk about are the first three games in the Spyro the Dragon series first released for the PlayStation from 1998 to 2000, titled Spyro the Dragon, Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage, and Spyro: Year of The Dragon (Additionally, all three titles recently received a remake collectively titled “Spyro Reignited Trilogy,” which makes this document relevant as of 2019). With a little research, I was able to pair those games with a government that best defined them in a nutshell. Of course, not all real-life elements of these governments may actually match up with how any of the fictional societies depicted operate, but I’ve tried my hardest to make sure the details match up strongly enough that they can be talked about.

 *If you haven’t played the games yet and don’t want to be spoiled, then don’t bother reading!

  Spyro the Dragon: Confederation (Left)

 I want to start this discussion by saying something unique about this first third of the review: unlike the latter two titles, Spyro the Dragon seems to promote the idea of its featured form of government rather than point out the significant flaws and ensure the audience doesn’t sympathize with the concept at hand. First off, I want to give you folks a good look at how the populace of the Dragon Worlds goes about their lives and organizes themselves socially speaking. For those of you don’t already know enough about the game’s context, there are five socially-unique sectors that each owe something important to the well-being of the larger society. The Artisans represent the working class, the Peace Keepers are equivalent to a military system, the Magic Crafters are most likely representative of the business owners and upper class (As noted by the sheer presence of overly-elegant architecture in their specific area), the Beast Makers represent those who work in health, medical, biological, and other science-related fields, while the Dream Weavers can be considered a spiritually-grounded group of dragons who are experts in the field of meditation. Then there’s the extra sixth sector known as Gnasty’s World (Residence of main antagonist Gnasty Gnorc, who holds no true political power under any circumstance; therefore, I will leave him out of the equation), which I’ll just shoehorn into the sanitation sector, even though it would still easily be associated with the working class (Artisans). 

With the exception of Gnasty’s World, these groups all serve an equally vital role in establishing the economic stability and societal foundation of the Dragon Worlds, in the form of a confederation. Now if you folks are wondering what that’s supposed to mean, here’s the definition; “an organization which consists of a number of parties or groups united in an alliance or league.” For a historical example, the United States operated in this manner under the Articles of Confederation of 1777, which was ratified in 1781 and formed a society whose power lay mostly in the hands of the member states. Up until 1789, these states could establish laws without having to worry about a federal government trampling over those laws since the existing equivalent had far less political power than the one present (Reference.com).

Revisiting my view from the previous paragraph, it can be noted that each of the first five sectors can be viewed as separate, autonomous states that, in spite of their different approaches to solving daily situations, hold a common view of some sort that unites them into a larger entity. While it’s not known in canon if the sectors that dragons live in have ever come into conflict with each other at any point, I will bring up some backstory later on that may be worth identifying.

  Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage: Empire (Middle)

 Now looking at the titular villain and his path to wretchedness, picture him as this small, colonial society. From what we’re aware of based on the context provided in-game, Ripto and his cronies have no idea that Avalar (The main setting of this sophomore title) even exists at first. Now keep in mind that since Ripto despises dragons, he’s picky about where he wants to expand his influence. But anyway, once he finds himself in this dragon-free dimension, it becomes the perfect opportunity for Ripto to slowly nibble away at the land until there is no more for him to take over, aka, colonize. Of course, once Spyro shows up, the horned, red midget becomes rather peeved, prompting him and his goons to actually begin setting up the framework for his proposed kingdom. 

Throughout the events of the game, Ripto not only uses his magic to spread his negative influence across the dimension (AKA: Cause various beasts and baddies to run amok and result in calamity), but we are also shown the blue banners of Avalar being rolled back in favor of emblems donning the antagonist’s mug, THRICE. According to my searches, an empire is defined as, “an extensive group of states or countries under a single supreme authority, formerly especially an emperor or empress.” In this case, Ripto can easily be seen as emperor because at his highest position, he holds control over not just his two reptilian brutes (Who serve as a metaphor for his “kingdom” at its most basic), but also numerous realms scattered throughout Avalar, each serving as their own formerly independent municipalities until he enters the picture. 

Now here’s another point: even with Spyro around, Ripto still feels the need to settle in Avalar because there are no dragons around other than Spyro himself currently present to scare him away, which thereby gives him access to a shipload of land and resources. When it came to real-life empires, they were strategic regarding which areas to conquer. For example, the Roman Empire wouldn’t go east into modern-day Germany because the cost of conquest in that area was far above the monetary worth earned from the extractable resources available in that region (The Daily Reckoning). 

Moving on, the western half eventually collapsed primarily due to internal conflicts over power that left them exposed to outsiders (The eastern half, dubbed “The Byzantine Empire,” managed to survive until 1453, when it fell to Turkish invaders as a result of their victory in the Byzantine-Ottoman wars). In-game, the biggest reason Ripto is defeated is because he overlooks the possibility of Spyro collecting Avalar’s sacred talismans and orbs, which collectively allow the young dragon to pass through the barriers that separate both parties.

  Spyro: Year of The Dragon: Totalitarian State (Right)

 Jumping ship to the final third of the original Spyro trilogy, we now examine the Forgotten Realms and its central government in the form of the despotic, blue crocodilian-esque Sorceress. Now the previous two games sugarcoated their subject matter immensely (Though the second game still views the concept of an empire as a detrimental idea), but this time the game doesn’t make things look as rosy. First and foremost, The Sorceress displays a position of superiority around anyone in her vicinity, and in an overly aggressive manner most of the time. Already, we’re seeing her being established as a straw tyrant; alas, there is still so much more to discuss regarding the Forgotten Realms operating as a political body that blatantly abides by the guidelines of totalitarianism. Now where do we begin on this topic?

My first point of conversation in this segment is that unlike Gnasty Gnorc or Ripto in the previous two games (Now although the latter does become “ruler” near the end of his respective game, he doesn’t spend nearly enough time to be officially considered a grand-high patriarch by any of the residents of Avalar), The Sorceress is a formally-recognized monarch, is referred to as such by the inhabitants of the Forgotten Realms, and to make matters much worse, has been ruling this same exact dimension, in the same throne for AT LEAST 1000 YEARS. Not only that, but at one point, the dragons currently living dwelling in the Dragon Realms once lived in the Forgotten Realms. But when they left, they took their magic with them and as the centuries passed, magic began to drain and caused their fancy-schmancy portals to stop working. We’re convinced to think that the reason The Sorceress has become so wary of Spyro’s presence is because he will disrupt her plans to gather the eggs they had stolen from the dragons; she is supposedly gathering them in order allow this upcoming generation of winged reptiles to bring magic back to the dimension she rules over.

I will bring up that part about the dragons and the eggs again, but there is an important detail that points further to establishing The Sorceress as an antagonist known for taking full advantage of her position over everyone around her and therefore preventing anyone from reasoning with her other than Spyro and a slew of animal friends she had recently imprisoned. A little more than a quarter way into the game, Spyro finds himself in a realm known as Enchanted Towers; it is here that he discovers that a slew of lavender-skinned counterculture humanoids had been tasked with erecting a statue built in their highness’ likeness.

There’s just so much to talk about regarding what the statue situation represents, but first let me define what this government is. Totalitarianism is described as being, “a system of government that is centralized and dictatorial and requires complete subservience to the state.” The aforementioned statue in Enchanted Towers is probably one of the biggest pieces of evidence pointing to the Forgotten Realms operating under that kind of system. To start, the Sorceress displays unrivaled power in the world she inhabits and no one dare beg to differ with her on that matter. This is clearly evidenced by the fact that the citizens of Enchanted Towers mention that they certainly did not enjoy creating this tremendous work of art (Though they agree that it looks prettier than the actual character herself, further driving the sense of rebellion in), but they completely understand that going against what The Sorceress is telling them to do is like flirting with death.

You, the reader, have to realize that this is a form of government where there isn’t a legislative or judicial system to limit executive power. Heck, that’s not even getting into the fact that the denizens of the Forgotten Realms have neither a right to free speech nor the freedom to vote in elections, as far I’m aware. It’s certainly no fun living in a society where one person holds all the social and political power and you’re not that one person, nothing delightful about that (And there’s nothing anyone can do to change the fact unless someone successfully uses force to overthrow the one in power so they wouldn’t be able to enforce their laws any longer).

Before getting to the climax of this essay, it’s that time I bring up a real example. Although I’d be talking about a dictatorship along the lines of Nazi Germany, I’ve decided to take a more interesting example from further back in history. The Qin Dynasty, an empire to which China borrows its name from, relied on an authoritarian set of regulations that would become hugely influential to every Chinese-based dynasty that followed. Although it only lasted from 221 to 207 BC, there’s still some valuable information to extract from this chapter of human history. It also makes sense for me to select this example because the game’s title, Year of The Dragon, references a specific birth year on the Chinese Zodiac (Speaking of which, the year the game itself originally released just happened to land on a dragon year, which only happens once every twelve years).

Now allow me to continue with the example. Under the commissioning of Emperor Qin Shi Huang, the very first leader of a unified China, came a standardized system of writing and a strictly-guided formula for measuring the width, weight, and length of highways. Huang also oversaw construction of what would become the first section of The Great Wall of China and eventually went on to abolish the feudal system that flourished during the Zhou Dynasty decades earlier (In which landowners owed allegiance to the emperor as a result of kinship rather than fulfilling legal obligations). In addition, he commissioned the burning of almost all of the books currently available in that region at the time, only sparing those that provided information on topics like medicine and issued gigantic tax levies in an effort to pay for his military and construction expenses. This matrix of catastrophes led to a rebellion following Qin Shi Huang’s death in 210 BC, which went on to ultimately knock the Qin Dynasty out of power and make room for the Han Dynasty roughly 3-4 years later (Britannica).

Now what I’ll be explaining next is going to be extremely horrifying in hindsight, so grab your popcorn and hold your breath. While exploring Evening Lake, the third home world of the game, Spyro’s close friend Hunter winds up in a subterranean trap set up by The Sorceress that was meant for Spyro himself to prevent him from collecting any more of the dragon eggs that she desperately wanted to remain untouched. He is then approached by her servant, a magician-in-training named Bianca (To whom he has a developed a liking for over the course of the synopsis), who comes to tell the caged cheetah that the reason the dragons left so many years ago was because it had to do with their wonderful wings. As they began to realize that the obese blue saurian autocrat wanted to clip them off to give her immortality, they had no choice but to find solace in another reality. Linking this information to Spyro 1, we can now go back to viewing the example of confederation as the United States during the era of the Articles of Confederation, trying to recuperate from their religious tension with the monarchy of England and emigrating from there before ultimately deciding to settle in North America and establish a self-governed nation over the course of several decades. In the Spyro continuity, the dragons succeeded in building an autonomous series of societies in the then-vacant Dragon Realms following their disastrous affair with The Sorceress, where they then proceeded to push aside Gnasty Gnorc to the wastelands at some point later in time so they would have enough room to properly establish their footing in this uncharted land.

But sadly, that is not the end of the suspense; when Bianca returns to her master’s throne room, she discovers a dreadful truth she hadn’t been aware of until now. Ever since her henchmen brought the yet-to-hatch eggs back from the Dragon Worlds, The Sorceress hoarded them not because she wanted them to return their magic to the Forgotten Realms once they did hatch, but because she wanted to KILL THEM FOR THEIR WINGS LIKE SHE ATTEMPTED TO DO WITH THE ADULT DRAGONS BEFORE THEY LEFT. What she’s basically telling us is that she plans on committing an act of GENOCIDE ON AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF NEWBORNS in a similar manner to how Hitler promoted the large-scale massacre on an enormous number of Jews during the Holocaust.

With not a pinch of sympathy for anyone but herself by this point, the malevolent indigo monarch has become nothing short of a filthy caricature for the horrors of tyranny and dictatorship. By the way, she didn’t have to kill the newborns at all for that to happen, she just felt the need to do so JUST BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T WANT TO SEE THEM SQUIRMING AROUND IN HER QUARTERS. Prompting a drastic change of heart, Bianca decides to cease working for her master, opting to rescue Hunter from the trap her former supervisor had set up in Evening Lake. Fed up with the treason her lackey recently committed, The Sorceress decides to create an absurdly powerful, bat-winged monster intended to annihilate practically everyone in her opposition (Simply put, that means almost the entire population of the world she governs, plus Spyro and some of the friends he bought along).

Even though Spyro manages to eradicate The Sorceress for good, (Much to the satisfaction of the Forgotten Realms inhabitants) the atrocious myriad of actions she takes during that one game position her as an antagonist who is regarded as a dark villain for a normally light-hearted sugar bowl series like Spyro, thereby leaving an indelible mark on the narrative of that franchise’s continuity. Serving as a harsh critique for the concept of autocracy and its consequences on the people, Spyro: Year of The Dragon uses a surprisingly pathos-inducing series of events that favors a call to action for executive reform, appealing to the wants and needs of the governed rather than the desires and aspirations of the government itself.

  Sources:

 Kirby Super Star: https://www.reddit.com/r/FanTheories/comments/39dbqi/kirby_super_star_is_a_marxist_critique_of_the/

 Confederacy: https://www.reference.com/government-politics/examples-confederate-government-230a5f967d7f24fa

 Empire: https://dailyreckoning.com/how-empires-really-work/

 Totalitarian State: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Qin-dynasty

https://www.reference.com/history/feudalism-ancient-china-8ddd0bf737a29fc5

[oneshul]

Kee Teesa: Egyptian Army Interrogation of an Israelite Refugee

Lt. Djer, Duty Officer of the 18th Regiment, Royal Egyptian Cavalry (“Jaws of Anubis,” Chariot borne), leaned back on his cloth-and-wood army field chair and yawned. He got up, scratching his shaven, bald head, and peered out the tent-flap: almost midnight, by the Moon. He frowned—why must he, an Honors Graduate of the Royal Egyptian Military Academy (Heliopolis), always be assigned to night duty, the midnight shift, here at the Army Forward Operations Base? He, who could bear down from a galloping, fast-moving war chariot, and lance a jackrabbit—had he not received honors for Horsemanship at the Academy? He should have been asleep in his tent, alongside Lt. Nefer (who snored), ready to rise at the crack of dawn, to conduct maneuvers with his squadron. All his troopers needed practice. Private Twosret handled a chariot-lance as if it were a harrow from his father’s farm, and Corp. Hotep had fallen out of the chariot—fallen out, could you believe it?—when his starboard horse stumbled during a rough turn.

And now, Djer had to watch the hours move by, slowly, with nothing to do save fill out report-forms on clay tablets, to send back to Royal Military Headquarters, where no one, it was assured, would read them. He yawned, and stretched—when would this end? He—

The tent-flap burst open, to admit Captain Sobek, Commander of Djer’s overall unit, the 22nd Division of Horse (“Rays of Ra in His Glory”), along with Sgt.-Major Yunet, his aide.

Djer snapped to attention: “Officer on deck!” all thoughts of sleep and early rising to field exercises, forgotten. The two privates who were dozing jumped up, as well. Djer knew that the Regiment’s duty, besides field maneuvers, was to prevent the entry of illegal aliens—for that reason, he and his men had been sent to this obscure outpost—it was a wasteland, but crucial for guarding the boundaries of Blessed Mother Egypt.

The Captain returned the salute: “At ease, Lieutenant.” Djer breathed more easily—Sobek was not out to surprise his men and find them derelict of duty; some other military matter concerned him. Removing his helmet, the captain turned and ordered: “Guards—bring in the prisoner!”

Two burly Military Police dragged in an emaciated man clothed in rags—his body was covered with welts; he had crawled though he had crawled through the Field-of-Thorns which the soldiers had used to block the entrance, both to their Army Camp, and to the border itself. There was also a wall, built of sturdy sandstone, ordered specially by Pharaoh Merneptah to keep out “illegals.”

“Kill these vermin on sight,” the Royal Edict had been given to the Army.

Lt. Djer recognized the man as a Hebrew: he was sunburnt—clearly, he had been a pyramid-construction slave, prior to wandering in the desert with Moses the Rebel Hebrew.

These filthy Hebrews, Djer thought, It’s not enough that they nearly destroyed our nation with their plagues, led by their abominable Invisible God; now, must they attempt to re-enter our land?

The Hebrew stood weakly between the MPs, leaning on them; the two muscled soldiers recoiled from him as from something unclean.

Capt. Sobek turned to the Lieutenant: “Go fetch Scribe Nemhet to record the proceedings of this field-command hearing.”

“May the Lieutenant ask respectfully, to what purpose, Sir?” asked Lt. Djer. He knew the captain to be a by-the-scroll officer, but did not wish to do anything that might endanger his future army career.

“I intend to question the prisoner,” returned Capt. Sobek, “We must best understand the mind-set of these savages, to prevent them from invading our kingdom as in Joseph’s day,,” said the captain, “Send for Nemhet, posthaste!” Lt. Djer nodded to one of the privates who stood at attention behind him. The boy raced into the night.

When the scribe entered the tent, soft clay tablet in hand, the captain began: “Here, in the presence of Royal Egyptian Army officers and personnel, in accordance with Emergency Field Directive A-444, I will question this Prisoner, who is suspected of invading an Army base unauthorized. I charge him with spying....

Gripped between the MP’s, the Prisoner began to wail: “I am innocent—have you no water, Kind Sirs? Water, please!”

The captain raised his hand as if to strike; the prisoner fell silent. “Give him water,” Sobek commanded, and the sergeant gave him a clay jug-full. The prisoner gulped it down.

“Not so fast, Hebrew,” said the captain, in a gentler voice, “You will get a cramp.”

The prisoner nodded. “Are you better, now?” asked the captain.

“Yes,” whispered the scrawny Hebrew. Djer could not help but notice how puny the Prisoner seemed, held between the two burly MPs.

How could this ragtag mob of slaves defeat us, the strongest Empire in the world? he thought.

“So. We begin,” said the captain, “Sit the Prisoner down. What is your name, for the record?”

“An it please you, Your Worship,” replied the Hebrew, “I am called Mephiboshet ben Khareoo’Shoshana.”

“You are to address me as Captain,” returned the officer. “So, your father was Egyptian, your mother Hebrew. By Egyptian law, you are a bastard, guilty of mixing the blood of pure Egypt with your pagan race.”

The Hebrew nodded mournfully, “I have lived with this all of my life, shunned by both Hebrew and Egyptian. After the plague of—begging your pardon, Captain—the Firstborns’ Death, I escaped with the Israelites, but they have not accepted me as pure Hebrew. And so, I left the Camp of Moses, and now wish to return to Egypt.”

“You cannot do that, by our laws,” said the captain, sharply, “for you did not apply for refugee citizenship; you are an illegal entrant, and I accuse you of spying.”

The Hebrew whispered, “By the beard of the Lord, I am no spy, but a refugee with no place to dwell. I cry you mercy, Captain. Mercy, please....”

“Describe the condition of Enemy Moses’s camp,” the captain interrupted, and, turning to Lt. Djer, he added, “Headquarters wishes for us to keep track of the escaped enemy-Hebrews. I hear from Headquarters that orders may come down to attack them, in revenge for all the destruction they caused. Why, the shock may have led to Pharaoh Ramesses II’s death.”

Lt. Djer nodded. “May I question the prisoner?” he asked Capt. Sobek. Sobek nodded.

“Prisoner!” said Lt. Djer, “Our scouts have seen a pillar of smoke, pillar of fire, in the midst of your camp. We have also seen lightning and heard thunder, even during a clear, sunlit day. Are you conjurors, to make these strange phenomena appear?”

The Hebrew slumped, wearily. “All that is caused by our God, who commanded our Moses to ascend the mountain called Sinai—”

“What is the strategic value of this mountain?” demanded Capt. Sobek, “Perhaps Rebel Moses is organizing a ragtag force of armed shepherds, to rush down from Sinai and catch us unawares.”

“Sinai is not a Place for war,” said the Hebrew, “It is where our Lord God will deliver to us His sacred Law, a Law of Peace.”

“What law is this?” asked Capt. Sobek, “I know no law save that of Pharaoh Merneptah, All hail our Pharaoh, Light of the East!” The soldiers saluted; the civilian scribe fell to his knees, and did obeisance to his sovereign lord.

“Did all your people receive this—this—Law?” asked the captain, “Answer quickly, and completely, you were best.”

“Some did,” agreed the Prisoner, “but others implored the brother of Moses, High Priest Aaron, to build them a simulacrum of a calf. He resisted, but did so, in the end. And these rebels did bow down and worship.”

“Hm,” said Lt. Djer, “I am surprised that so many have clearly lost faith in your invisible God. What happened when your Chief Magician, Moses, returned and beheld the Calf?”

The Hebrew began to tremble: “Moses ground it to powder. He then ordered his Levite tribe to go through the camp, and slay all those who committed abominations before the Calf. So much blood and slaughter—it horrified me—I prepared to escape the camp—"

“Prisoner!” called out the captain, no stranger to massacres—he himself had led the slaughter of hundreds of Girgashite prisoners and their families, just three moons prior—“But then, if your Moses returned and made peace, why are you here, spying on our troops and weaponry?”

“I—I—” stammered the Prisoner, “I, knowing my half-breed status, felt it better to run away from the camp. I did not wish to die at the hands of Levites; my mother was a Benjaminite.”

Capt. Sobek turned to Lt. Djer: “What say you, Lieutenant? Does this Hebrew’s tale ring true?”

Djer furrowed his brow, in thought: “I am not certain, Captain. He might be speaking the truth, or he might have been sent to spy out our camp, and then return to Magician Moses.”

The captain slammed his hand on the army-desk, causing the scribe to jump.

“We cannot take chances. As Commander and Magistrate of this Forward Operations Base, I rule that this Hebrew is guilty of penetrating our Wall, and invading our land—his illegal status is clear,” he decided, “Take this offal out of my command tent, and execute him by lancing.”

The Prisoner began to wail in fright, but not for long: the MPs dragged him out quickly. The captain and lieutenant began to follow: Egyptian law required them to witness the procedure.

The privates stood on the prostrate prisoners’ hands, and the larger MP readied his spear. There was one short cry, and then silence.

“Good riddance to a spy,” said Capt. Sobek. The lieutenant nodded, though his hands were shaking. He had never before witnessed a drumhead execution. The hot desert sun was rising: the captain returned to the tent to check the scribe’s report, while the lieutenant went to his barracks-tent to sleep for an hour before field maneuvers—if he was able to sleep.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.