#this is one of those things i just believe with such a deep personal conviction in my core

[um-vvhat]

i have re-watched so many times and my views on characters change/grow/evolve each time but one thing stays the same every time:

Team Rafael, always and forever

[neptunes-sol-angel]

What is your healing era giving? Pick the pile(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for their corresponding message.

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Pile One

You’re shocking people with the ways that you are healing yourself. What they see as they witness your transformation, is the walking embodiment of a high priestess, the keeper of knowledge and a vessel of magnificent secrets. Who you are, in this healing era that you are in, is an enigma that won’t be locked away or censored. The way that you’re healing is spiritually ancestral. You possess the kind of wisdom that isn’t gained from age, it’s inherited. You’re a generational curse breaker, someone in your bloodline who finally recognizes a poisonous pattern in your family with the strength to be the one to not consume it. You’re observant, you’re emotionally intelligent, and you have a mind of your own even when growing up in an environment that was meant to control you, this era is making you embrace the thorns in your roses. You’re becoming the modern-day Joan of Arc by having more self-conviction even when being outnumbered by people trying to convince you out of what you know to be true. You’re healing the perception of purity and time in not just yourself but others too. If you grew up sheltered with a family relative that infantilized you with malicious intent to keep you dependent on them, your healing era is helping you break out of those barriers that kept you from making choices to improve your happiness, success, and progression. You’re no longer afraid of getting hurt or “tainted” in this world, you’re living for yourself and what makes you complete. Learning feels like freedom now because fear is no longer your teacher. Don’t feel down about being a late bloomer because it is better to be late than never, there may be people in this pile who approaching their 30s/40s and feel like they haven’t accomplished anything, but your healing era is reminding you that it is never too late. People forget that youth is ever flowing, you can’t flourish by remaining stagnant because of how you think you should be to achieve something. Don’t underestimate how massive things can change for you when you believe in how capable success is, as you already are. Your healing era is a correcting history, you won’t be burned at the stake this time, you’re going to be walking through fire by knowing that the secret power is to just keep moving.

Pile two

Immediately, I’m hearing “tuh...”. Yeah! This era in your healing journey has been long overdue, but at last bitch, it’s here. Speaking of bitch, you’re finally understanding that you’re THAT one, and you shouldn’t be humble about it anymore. Your enemies knew this before you did though, and of course, they had to attempt to knock you down a peg to make themselves feel better. This goes beyond people simply trying to make it seem like you’re not attractive when you are or people noticing your light but pretending not to see you until they get the validation from other people to do so. Your healing era is very much like this video I saw where people are like “it ain’t that deep” and this girl said, “okay puddle, I’m the ocean”, you’re realizing that yes, you cannot control the people that act crazy towards you because of their insecurities, but you can control and make it known about what you will not allow, and this is about your personal day-to-day interactions with people, like not keeping it in about the things that offend you and constantly giving grace to people who know that they’re exhibiting petty behavior to disrespect you. To stop trying to make “IDGAF” wars happen when you know that you actually do care about things, and it’s okay to do that regardless of what society thinks is cool nowadays. Your healing era consists of a makeover in love by no longer settling for shallow relationships or the utter thought of a situationship when you know that you want to be romanced and catered to like a deity. You’re bulldozing so much of who or what isn’t supportive for what you need as a person, and you aren’t afraid to do it because you now know your worth and that you have the tools to build everything over and this time in your image. Your social circle is improving, your experiences in loving others and being loved is improving, finances improving, and your skin might even be improving because this entire era of your healing is like one huge detox, you’re clearing out the toxicity out of your inner world. The words that debilitate your self-esteem, the people that say you can’t do something like starting your own business or going for that one opportunity that may get you to that amazing breakthrough, negative people and habits that make you believe the worst about yourself or that your life won’t get any better. Your healing era is about your life becoming the royal throne made to match the royal person such as yourself.

Pile Three

“You have a natural allegiance to losers and it’s unlike you”. Your healing era has a lot to do with removing yourself from situations that put you out of character. You’re moving towards more peaceful times and understanding how valuable your own energy is with an elevated fondness for spending time with yourself. You’re going to experience the kind of solitude that isn’t a punishment, but a strange feeling that may take some time to adjust to but at the same time, it’s familiar. Your healing era is about returning to normal and unlearning from the experiences that have left swords in your back. Maybe you grew up around “love”, your family and upbringing didn’t have to be perfect, but there was this innocence that you had before being out in the real world, this can look like experiencing emotionally unavailable people with communication issues and situations that have desensitized you. You could be questioning yourself about the people that are currently making you feel out of place right now, wondering what’s keeping you in these spaces that make you feel deprived of something or this paradox of still feeling empty and alone in a room filled with people. You’re healing from these effects of experiencing deficits, you don’t have to put up with certain things just to prove yourself to others or to make space for someone who doesn’t deserve to be in your life. How people perceive you in your healing era is someone who is genuinely unbothered and no longer giving your all to a situation that is unrequited. They see you full of life again instead of depleted from always putting yourself below others. They also see you essentially as someone that they can no longer exploit. You could be more private now, so it leaves others curious as to what you’re up to. You’re truly moving in silence because you’re noticing how beneficial it is to protect your intimate and professional life, people can act like they’re concerned about you or like they’re supportive until they see that you are doing better than them or up to something big. You’re focused on yourself, and it shows how much you’re manifesting your goals and even though looks aren’t everything, people are finding you to be majestically beautiful, your peace looks good on you. Keep protecting it.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

[alexanderwales]

I finished rewatching Death Note. I always forget how short anime is, with episodes that aren't much more than 20 minutes when you skip the intro/outro.

I hadn't remembered how much of a sniveling wreck LIght was at the end of the show. There's something about the ending that makes it feel like it was written and directed by a different person, not that Light wasn't always a little weird and pathetic, and not that the show didn't consistently go out of its way to let us know what a piece of shit he was (particularly his absolute lack of loyalty or empathy to anyone, even aside from the megalomania). But he takes the loss like a loser, snot dripping from his nose, voice cracking, begging, and it's so pathetic that I almost felt a little sorry for him.

I've always found the Death Note to be a very interesting prompt, one of those hooks that's so good I'd want to watch it even if it was bad. But in writing something like Death Note, the author has to make decisions about what to show and what not to show, and also make decisions about how they're going to portray the public at large.

There are two big things that stand out for me.

One is that we never get someone arguing against Kira. We get people who are actively trying to hunt him down, but they're mostly not stopping to say "this is why what he's doing is wrong" except a few lines about how he has a childish sense of justice, which is never expounded upon. Kira, on the other hand, we hear a lot from, not just the megalomaniac stuff, but the notion that criminals must be punished, that this is what people desire in their hearts. I get the strong sense that L does not actually care and just views this as an interesting puzzle for him to solve, but for everyone else it's largely left as an exercise to the viewer, and even then, there are moments when some of our task force members come dangerously close to endorsement.

To the extent the show has an answer, it's that (to quote Kanye West) no one man should have all that power, or that Kira has crossed a lot of lines, but no one argues in favor of rehabilitation or clemency or just fundamental humanity. Kira seems to largely be killing prisoners, who have already been sentenced, and are wards of the state, and he says "this is what people want deep down, they will give you the politically correct answer but they actually want the criminal class to be obliterate", which ... there's no character who actually voices any opposition to through the whole series. And I find that weird, because yes, the show has its own answers in terms of how it plays out, but in a show filled with people possessed of immense conviction, most of the people in opposition to Kira are just intellectuals who don't actually give a shit about the ideological question.

(The one big moment when it comes to a head, IMO, is when Soichiro Yagami refuses to write Mello's name entirely because of his principled objection to killing someone. I thought this was great, and I wish the show had more of it.)

The other big thing is that we don't really get a viewpoint of the criminals, with a few exceptions. One is the is Yotsuba group, who are killing people with the Death Note, and the second is the (somehow still functional) mafia that Mello hangs out with. There's also one other scene somewhere after L's death where we see a criminal begging with the police not to have his name written down, and that's about it.

The naive view here is that the show really does believe in Criminals as being a part The Other, a different sort of human being who walk among us. The criminal class are described as rotten and evil, they're shown as grotesque and with exaggerated features or bestial characteristics, and they're generally leering and impulsive. There is no consideration of their humanity.

There's a more nuanced take here, which is that we have a criminal as one of our main cast, Light Yagami, along with everyone else who takes on the Kira mantle. So what is the show saying about criminality through how it portrays them? And here ... I don't know. I kind of don't think that it views them as criminals in the same way? When we look at the ways that Light kills, I genuinely do think that the show thinks that this is different from the way that a capital-C Criminals kill. It's reactionary rather than criminal in and of itself, a response to the injustices of the world rather than being in the same class as those injustices. Light is narratively exempted, and Misa is to. Which isn't to say that I think the show thinks highly of Light, it clearly doesn't, especially in its ending, but I almost think that in the end it Others him too (and also has Teru Mikami drawn in particularly 'evil' style, like a creepy deviant gremlin).

So I enjoyed the rewatch, but there are things that sit a little oddly with me as far as the central themes go. There's probably some discourse I should read that's come out since I first watched it in ... 2010 or whenever, but I think I'll give that a skip.

[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

I'm not sorry, but anyone who proclaims themselves to be a so-called Leftist or "ActiviSTS" and claims to care about minorities but have no issues with racist-ass convicted rapist Trump taking presidential power again is nothing more than a piece of horrid shit to me.

No, seriously, I'm sick of rat-fuckers' self-righteous fake performative Losers that wanna act like they are on the same levels of actual hard-working Civil rights leaders that actually put in the real work of getting things done when these assholes can't even be bothered to get off there asses and Vote to stop America from becoming a possible nightmare theocratic dictatorship nation.

Yet they're still hoping for their imaginary Revolution to come through and fix everything,

If real deep shit were to go down, ya'll definitely wouldn't last and likely be the first ones to die and wouldn't know what the hell to do. But still want to cosplay as Revolutionaries and act like they give a Fuck about marginalized people,

I'm sick of performative ally nonsense.

Anybody who is willingly voting third-party or refusing to vote against Trump but still wanna act like they are being " GOOD allies " for minorities are fake-ass people who are performative activists. They are just Fascist supporting scumbags who are pretending to be Progressive.

I refuse to tolerate useful morons who seem to be alright with letting a unhinged mentality declining by the minute bigot who have said multiple times that he wants to be a dictator when he takes Office and will use his power to do the most heinous horrific shit imagble to those he sees as "The Enemies within ".

Anybody who is willingly OK to let this White-supremacists loving bastard take power again and refuses to do anything to stop him from doing so but still wanna believe they are a " inherently GoOd Morally Pure person " isn't as good of a person as they think they are.

[sturniozo]

Savage Love part Nine

Matt Sturniolo x reader Mafia AU

Masterlist

Kyler looks up at me in disbelief. He leans back in his chair. “You what?” He asks with a laugh.

“I want to quit the piece.” I repeat.

“The Matt Sturniolo piece? The piece that would be our biggest set as a paper, you’re quitting it?”

“Yes.” My heart begins to race as Kyler realizes I’m not joking and his face begins to become angrier.

“You’ve put out the least amount of articles out of everyone in this paper, you’re pieces are shit that no one wants to read, and the one good thing you could bring to this paper you’re quitting?”

I begin to feel smaller and I nod slowly, a lump forming in my throat preventing me from speaking.

“Get out. I’ll give the piece to someone else, you’re done. You contribute nothing to this paper. You’re fired.”

I flinch at his words. I didn’t think I’d get fired for this. “Fired?” I ask again.

“Without that Sturniolo piece you contribute nothing of interest to the paper! Either do the piece or pack your things.” Kyler stares at me waiting for my answer.

“I’m not finding anything on Matt because there’s nothing that needs to be found.” I say calmly. “My desk will be cleared within an hour.”

I turnaround and take a deep breath, holding back tears. I loved this job. I loved working as a journalist alongside my best friend. I loved working so close to home.

I get to my desk and start gathering all my things. Emma looks at me confused.

“What are you doing?” She asks as she gets up from her seat.

“I didn’t want to do the Sturniolo piece. Kyler fired me.” I say trying to stay calm as I pack up my things.

“Why don’t you want the piece, it’s amazing, it’s a game changer, a life changer. You have the chance to see the life of a Mafia boss and tell the story to hundreds of people. Why don’t you want that?” She asks.

I just stare at her for a moment and the realization dawns on her.

“Oh. Oh. Oh my god. No, tell me you’re not-“

“He’s not as bad as everyone made him out to be. I’ve never seen him do or imply anything about actually being in the Mafia, as far as I know he’s the head of some company that transports goods and-“

“Listen to yourself! He’s definitely the head of the mafia, y/n! Head of a company? Transports goods? He’s a drug trafficker and a suspect in at least a dozen murders-“

“He isn’t a suspect-“

“Because he has dirt on everyone! No one will prosecute against him because they’re scared of him.”

“Or because he didn’t do it!”

“Y/n listen to yourself!”

“You don’t know him, Emma!” I snap at her. “He’s not the kind of guy who could do those things. He’s kind and gentle and he’s never hurt me or anyone that-“

“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say!”

“Emma he’s not a bad person.”

“What about all the things you had told me about? How he took you to his house because he thinks someone could be watching you? That someone might hurt you to get to him?”

“I’m sure it’s more business than physically hurting me-“

“Y/n! What is going on with you? You told me everything-“

“But you don’t know the context to it, I don’t even know the context to most of the conversations I heard.”

“Y/n, listen to me! That man has been a suspect in over a dozen murders, he’s a suspect in a drug trafficking ring, as well as illegal cargo from other countries.”

“How do you know he’s an actual suspect?” I ask her.

“I sleep with the chief of police regularly, and he’s got lots of shit against Matt Sturniolo, but that man has the police I er his thumb, I’m telling you. That’s why they can’t convict.”

“Emma-“

“Y/n, you can’t believe the shit you’re saying.”

I look down and sigh. “I know.” I say softly.

“Y/n, dont tell me you actually…”

“It’s not like that, I swear, I just… I don’t want to write something against him. He keeps his occupation secret for a reason.”

“You really care about him?” Emma asks and I just nod. “You know, we should have guessed you’d not be able to do this without catching feeling for him. Hooking up just isn’t who you are.”

I laugh softly. “I know. Can you help me get my shit out of here before Kyler freaks out about me still being here?”

“Yeah, I’ll help you.”

Emma helps me pack my things into a few boxes.

“Want help bringing them to your car?” She asks.

“Shit, no, I didn’t drive here.”

“What?”

“Matt drove me, fuck I forgot…”

“I’d drive you home but if Kyler saw me gone-“

“No, I know, I’ll just… I’ll figure something out.”

I sit in my chair and rub my head. As close as I live to work, I don’t feel like I could carry three boxes all the way home or make multiple trips before the paper closes for the night.

“I’ll just call Matt.” I mumble.

“Matt?!” Emma’s head shoots up in surprise.

“Yeah he’ll come get me.” I press call on Matt’s contact and put the phone to my ear.

Matt almost immediately picks up. “Hey, baby, is something wrong?” He asks. “I just dropped you off a few hours ago, I thought you worked until 5?”

“Matt… can you come get me?” I ask.

“I’m kinda busy right now babydoll, but I’ll send a driver to you. What’s this about, what happened?”

“I’ll explain it all when I see you.”

“Was it bad? What happened baby?”

“I’ll explain it later, Matt.”

“Okay, well I’m sending a driver to take you back to my place.”

“But I need to stop at my apartment.”

“I can’t have you there, my guy hasn’t done a full sweep to see if someone’s watching you or not.”

“How come I can go to work but I can’t go home? If they watched me at all they’d know where I work.”

“I keep a guy staked out at your paper too, dollface, just in case.”

I pause for a moment. “What.”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“Matt-“

“The driver will be there in a few minutes, hold tight, dollface.”

“Matt-“

Matt hangs up and I’m left staring at my phone.

“What was all that about?” Emma asks and I sigh.

“He’s just… worried about me and he’s protective.” I say and stand up, grabbing my boxes of belongings. “I’ll talk to you later, Emma.” I say as I carry the boxes to the elevator.

I go to the lobby and wait by the door. Soon enough a black car much like Matt’s pulls up. The driver steps out and I immediately know it’s someone that works for Matt, as the guy is in a full black suit with sunglasses and an earpiece like a spy of some sort. He walks over to me and takes the boxes from me. He open the truck of the car and sets the boxes inside and I get into the car.

The ride to Matt’s place is silent. The only sound is the sound of the car driving and the low music playing from the speakers in the car. I stare out the window not saying a word the whole time. Partly because I’m unsure what to say, and partly because there’s nothing to say.

Tags: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer @iloveneilperry

[lauraryuguji]

"Just dance with me." You murmured as the sun tried to warm cold skins, as hopes were lost after fifty days in freezing hell.

Numa looked up, only to find her hand reaching for him. There was a sad smile on her face, one of those that are usually followed by a line that resonated sadly through the cold.

"You know I can't dance." He held up his hand, but didn't get up. Just enjoying how warm his hand was.

"Please, just dance with me." She repeated, more insistent than ever.

Numa didn't understand how, just after learning that the quests had stopped dancing, it would help. He knew, however, that this action wasn't just a dance, it could be the distraction he craved.

The boy shook his head before standing up and grabbing her back, they were both close, for the first time he was actually dancing with the girl. But this time, there was something less romantic than he had imagined. His eyes met hers, and vice versa. A deep look that now meant so much more.

"Take me back to the night we met." She says as a tear insists on sliding down her cheek."That's what I want most." Numa wipes her tear away, he secures her face and kisses her forehead.

She closes her eyes, swaying slightly, her body exhausted, and as much as she knew her end was near, she still had that hopeful look in her eyes. The snow falls on them, but the music resonates through her mind without question.

"Numa..." she smiles slightly. "I've been in love with you ever since I saw you."Numa knew, he was too. You were the main reason his friends convinced him to go on this trip, your name was mentioned at that bar table.

"Thanks for speaking first." He laughs. He laughs. "I love you."

When people are close to death, they often have the thought they should have every day. You knew that your body was shutting down for good, you knew that malnutrition, dehydration and the bruises from the fall were already at their limit. And it was only now that you had the stupid courage you'd been lacking all along.

Numa hugged you when the wind blew strongly, and you clung to him as if your life depended on it. A thought ran through your mind, a plea, you knew you wouldn't survive, but please, let him survive.

"Can I ask you something?" She murmured against his body. "Do you promise to stay alive until the end?"

He lifted her face and planted a longed-for kiss on her lips, it was the best thing that had happened here, it was like being in heaven.

"We will." His eyes showed the conviction he had.

It was with such certainty that if you didn't feel death ahead, you would have believed it. You wanted to believe, you swear you wanted to... you were young, you hadn't graduated yet, you hadn't said goodbye to life, you hadn't done so many things.

A smile crossed your face when you shook your head affirmatively at him, it was what he needed to see, not what was true.

That same night, before retiring for the night, you sought out the person responsible for cutting, and in a weak voice gave your release. You knew deep down that he wouldn't want your body, it would be too crazy for everyone. Death was too crazy, we've already lost so many.When you went to sleep, you wrote letters, you made sure to write one for everyone and you also wrote the names of everyone who had left, just to make sure they hadn't been forgotten. And then you lay down next to Numa's sleeping body, held his hand and cried weakly.After fifty days of surviving, his body shut down. 

He died during the night, sleeping with a smile on his face and clutching Numa's master, it seemed like a dream.

[spotsandsocks]

So many choices!! They all sound amazing!! I think I'll have to go with...

🛌🛌🛌🛌🛌

🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠

😧😧😧😧😧

😈😈😈😈😈

Happy writing!! 🥰

Hi thanks for getting me typing! I’m having so many ideas!!!

🛏️

Buck had made it through that by being remarkably interested in the words on a page that he’d reread six times and still not taken in by the time Eddie’s head was on the pillow.

Pretending to be absorbed in his book didn’t stop him noticing that Eddie was facing him, had his eyes open and was looking at him. He didn’t mind, he just noticed. He’d glanced over once and smiled down, Eddie has smiled back, looking sleepy and beautiful and said “Good book?”

He’d lied and said ‘riveting’.

That had made Eddie laugh because he could see the title and knew it was a book about the roles women took up during World War 2, including working on the planes and machinery needed, ‘riveting’ being a key part of that.

Eddie laughed at his joke, he’s pretty sure no one else would have.

They talked a little longer until Eddie’s eyelids had started to flutter and then he was asleep breathing slow and deep. Buck took his turn at watching then, but only for 30 seconds, because it’s creepy watching someone sleeping, then he’d turned the light off and prayed he’d keep to his side of the bed.

Morning light creeping through the curtains had revealed his success in that area. He’d stayed mostly where he was, albeit a little closer to the center now. Eddie too was much where he’d been when the lights were turned out, except his arm is outstretched almost like it was reaching for something.

Still sleepy Buck considers the possibility that maybe it was?

Deciding he can blame sleep he wiggles a little closer still until Eddie’s hand is close enough for his fingertips to touch Buck’s arm. Those fingertips are a little too cold actually so the kind, responsible thing to do is make sure Eddie stays warm.

The rest under hear cos I write long sentences and apparently 60 sentences gives you a very long post!! 😆

🧠 this was a prompt for buddie with telepathic bond from @steadfastsaturnsrings I hadn’t done anything with it but now I have … this is all there is for now… I’ll keep thinking about it

You get three people. That’s it. Three and you cant choose them until you're 16.

After that it’s down to personal preference, compatibility and your own heart.

Not everybody chooses and hardly anyone chooses three. It’s a big decision even stupid teenagers know that.

Buck’s first choice was Maddie. She’d asked if he was sure. She hadn’t chosen anyone yet even if she was so much older than him. Doug wasn’t a believer in taking the bond so he’d said no when she’d asked. She’d said yes to her brother and then she’d left him.

He’d never understood why.

So he’d never asked anyone again. He bonded with Maddie and then she was gone. Seemed like an omen to him.

The second bond happened without him realising it, and neither of them kniw exactly when it happened but he must have wanted it and so must Eddie because you can’t bond without consent.

However the first time he heard Eddie’s voice in his mind was when he’d been buried by 40 feet of mud and Buck was insisting he was alive when he could see the fear in everyone else’s eyes that his best friend was already lost.

😧 amnesia fic

“Hey, no need to scowl at the juice, it’s not done anything wrong.”

That’s a matter of opinion but Josephine’s smile is gentle, she understands how frustrating it is to be stuck like this, not a damn clue who he is or where he belongs. And he does belong somewhere, he knows he does. The ache in his chest proves it, it burns constantly, a deep furious conviction that he has to be somewhere else, has to get back to something important.

The something remains a mystery but he thinks it has to be a family. He just feels like he has a family somewhere and he has to find them again. They probably think he’s dead and he’s not, he’s just lost. Lost everything it feels like.

He tries to remember but there’s just a dark void at the center of him; cold and empty. That’s wrong, he knows that, so wrong, there should be light and laughter and warmth there. He remembers the feeling even if he can’t remember what put it there. He rubs at the ache in his chest constantly, trying to soothe it away, and from there each time his fingers reach for something around his neck that's absent.

Each time his fingers seek and find nothing, he doesn’t know what’s missing, only that he misses it. It makes his eyes sting. He wants to remember what’s missing so badly.

😈 demon!Eddie

Eddie stands there, waiting patiently, allowing the witch who owns and runs this place to sense him and prepare herself. It’s only polite after all, no one likes an unexpected demon even if they’re technically an old friend.

As he waits Eddie lets the peace of this place soak into him. The light that manages to make it through the dusty windows is warm and casts soft shadows across the floor. The air is filled with the scent of old paper and leather, hints of herbs and spices lingering too. Against the walls various cabinets, bookcases and shelves are crammed full of a range of trinkets and treasures, some fake, some genuine, some just ordinary things because even the customers who come here need candles and matches as well as the more interesting things you can purchase here. Eddie’s not here for matches, nor the more esoteric items on sale. He just wants to talk. He has questions and he thinks that this is where he’ll find the answers.

Still and quiet he waits until she’s ready and before too long the curtain to the back room of the store moves and he’s not alone anymore.

She’s cautious because she’s old and she’s wise and she knows that even old friends like him require watching carefully if you want to stay being old.

“Your Highness” her eyes twinkle because she knows how much he hates that, “you honor my humble business with your presence.”

The lady steps forward glorious and beautiful, dark skin glowing, warm eyes teasing him and the curve of her mouth telling him she thinks she’s funny. Eddie narrows his eyes, she’d better not even think about bowing.

“Linda, you know I hate it when you do that.

[earthtoharlow]

Flashing Lights

18) Easy

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

series masterlist

“I’m kinda nervous.” Jack said as he and Maryse walked up the sidewalk towards Maryse’s childhood home. He was meeting her parents for the first time and he was nervous as hell.

Maryse squeezed his hand and looked up towards him. “You shouldn’t be, seriously!” Maryse knew that her parents were going to love him, everyone loved him. There’s not a person on this earth that Jack couldn’t charm.

When they walked in her mom gave both of them a huge hug. Her laughter filled the entry way as she pulled Jack into a tight embrace. “I’ve heard so much about you!” She said, her eyes twinkling with mischief just like Maryse’s would. “You must be the one who stole my daughter’s heart!”

Jack grinned in response, his charm winning over her mom in an instant. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Monet!”

“Oh honey, that makes me feel old! Call me Margot.”

As they settled in the living room, Jack immediately stood when her father walked in the room. This was the moment he had been dreading the most. As they shook hands Jack couldn’t help but feel a pang of nerves. His nerves became worse when Maryse's father asked him to step outside with him.

“Dad!”

“I’ll be nice, I promise.” Maryse’s father said with a wink

Once outside, the two men were silent for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in the air. Maryse’s dad's gaze towards Jack softened with a knowing look. “I can tell just by how you look at my daughter that you love her,” he said, his voice filled with understanding.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that his feelings for Maryse ran deep, but hearing her father acknowledge them so openly filled him with a sense of validation and reassurance.

Jack met the older gentleman’s eyes with sincerity, “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice steady with conviction. “I love her more than words can express. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever known, and I’m grateful every day to have her in my life.”

A small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Good,” he said gently but firmly. “Loving each other is easy. It’s the simplest thing in the world, really. But sometimes, we have a way of making it harder than it needs to be.”

Jack nodded listening intently, feeling the weight of his words.

“And my daughter,” her dad continued, his voice softening with affection, “She’s a special one. She’s got a heart of gold, but it’s also fragile, you know? So I’m asking you to be gentle with it. Love can feel like a stranger to her because of how she’s been hurt in the past,” he said, his words carrying the weight of understanding.

Jack’s heart began to ache when he thought back to everything Maryse dealt with, with Nate. He knew she carried some of those scars.

“I understand, sir. I’ll do everything I can to show M that love doesn’t have to hurt or be toxic. It can be gentle and kind.”

A smile of approval spread across her dads face. “I believe you, just remember to be patient with her. Treat her with care and she’ll love you back fiercely in return.”

Maryse was slightly shocked when they walked back in the room with a smile on their face. Her dad’s stern demeanor softened as he announced to the room. “I like this one.” Clapping Jack on his back with a smile. “You’re alright, kid.”

“Thanks sir.”

“You can call me Murphy.”

“You didn’t threaten him did you?” Maryse quipped, half joking.

He chucked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, you know me, sweetheart,” he replied with a grin. “I just gave him a friendly reminder of what’s at stake if he ever breaks your heart.”

Maryse rolled her eyes at her overbearing father, happy that he cared about her well being and happiness. Jack chuckled and made his way back over to the couch and enveloped Maryse in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” He whispered softly.

A sense of contentment washed over Maryse. She knew that she had found someone special. Jack has successfully won over the most important people in her life. She couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him.

Maryse slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to the side, and quickly became disappointed that Jack wasn’t next to her. That dream had left her heart heavy. She couldn’t shake the sadness that lingered after.

With a heavy sigh, she wiped away her tears and tried to push the memories of her dream aside, knowing that dwelling on the past would only bring more pain. Maryse longed for the days when they were happy together, when their love felt effortless. Emptiness consumed her as she continued to face the reality of the breakup.

As she laid in the dark staring up at the ceiling couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever find a way to move on from the pain of their breakup, it had only been a month and she felt like she would forever be haunted by the memories of what could have been.

***

BREAKING: Jack Harlow And Maryse Monet Break up!!

In a shocking turn of events, the much-adored celebrity couple, Maryse Monet and Jack Harlow have reportedly called it quits! Sources say they broke up about a month ago and have been trying to hide it from everyone. Including friends and family. The two have unfollowed each other on social media.

Reports suggest that Maryse has been struggling to deal with the breakup, with eyewitnesses claiming to have seen her in tears during her recent concert performances when singing songs she wrote about the rapper.

While neither Maryse nor Jack have officially addressed the breakup, the news has sent shockwaves through their fan base. Many have taken to social media to express their disbelief and sadness over the apparent end of their fairytale romance.

Stay tuned for further updates as this story develops.

Jack’s heart sank as he read the article announcing their breakup. He was shocked that it took this long for the press to find out. Jack had to stop Neelam from putting it out there immediately.

Navigating his crazy tour schedule, he found himself engulfed in a relentless cycle of performances, interviews, and appearances. The demands of his career left him with little time to process the breakup.

The shows each night were a temporary escape. But the quiet moments between performances, the weight of his grief constantly threatened to suffocate him. Alone in his hotel room at night, surrounded by the silence of his thoughts.

His chest tightened as he scrolled further and watched the video of Maryse crying on stage, pain evident on her face. A surge of guilt washed over him. He longed to reach out to her to offer her comfort and reassurance, but a nagging fear held him back.

Jack knew that Maryse needed space to heal, to confront her own demons and work through her issues. And as much as he wanted to be there for her, he also knew that she needed to reach out first – that she needed to take the first step towards reconciliation.

The thought of her suffering alone tore at his heart, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over him. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay, but he knew that it wasn’t his place – not yet, anyway.

He had heard from Urban the day prior that they finally announced she was playing Princess Belle. Jack had clenched his fists in frustration, cursing the timing of their breakup and the distance that now separated them. He hated the fact that he couldn’t be there to celebrate Maryse’s achievement in person, to share in her joy and shower her with the love and support she deserved.

The more Jack thought about her the more upset he got. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, he felt tears welling up in his eyes, the ache of missing Maryse was becoming unbearable. He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they continued to flow unchecked down his cheeks.

Jack had his head in his hands when Urban unexpectedly walked into the hotel room with a grin on his face but it quickly faded when caught sight of Jack sitting on the edge of the bed with trembling shoulders.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Urban asked, concern lacing his voice as he moved closer.

Jack quickly wiped his eyes and put on a fake smile. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, not even to Urban. “Yeah, man, I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice wavering slightly. “Just… you know, tour stuff.”

Urban raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by the deflection. But before he could press further Jack quickly hopped up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom, “I’ll be right down, I’m just going to use the restroom.” And closed the door behind him before Urban could even respond.

Jack leaned against the sink, his hands trembling slightly as he splashed cold water on his face. As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, the raw pain etched in his features, was a stark reminder of the heartbreak he had been trying so hard to bury.

He knew he couldn’t run away from the pain for much longer but he was going to stretch it for as long as he could.

***

CoCo stood in front of the doorway of the hotel room, her arms crossed and a look of determination on her face. “Alright, enough is enough,” she declared, her voice firm. “You’ve been moping around in bed for a month now when not performing, and it’s time to snap out of it.”

Maryse stayed curled up under the covers with tear stained cheeks, she groaned in protest. “I don’t feel like celebrating,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.

CoCo rolled her eyes, refusing to be swayed by her gloomy attitude. “Well, tough luck,” she retorted, marching over to the bed and yanking the covers off with a swift motion. “You’ve just been announced as the lead in a live action Beauty and the Beast and you’re going to act like it.”

Maryse let out a frustrated sigh as she reluctantly sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay,” she protested, her voice tinged with sadness.

CoCo softened her voice, kneeling down in front of her with a sympathetic expression. “I know it’s hard, Maryse”, she said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you can’t let this breakup consume you. You’re stronger than that, and you have a career to focus on.”

She nodded reluctantly, as she stared down at her trembling hands. “I just miss him so much,” Maryse admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know you miss him,” CoCo said softly, “but you’re never going to get him back if you don’t take care of yourself and heal from past trauma.”

Maryse knew deep down that she couldn’t continue to wallow in her pain and expect things to magically fall back into place with Jack. She needed to prioritize her own well-being and address the unresolved issues that had been weighing her down for far too long. “It’s like I’m scared of letting myself be happy.”

CoCo nodded in understanding, her expression filled with empathy. “You want a healthy relationship until one is sitting in front of you, then you don’t know what to do with it so you sabotage it,” she explained, her voice gentle yet firm.

It was true – she had spent so long yearning for real love after her breakup with Nate and when it finally presented itself to her, she had struggled to fully embrace it. Instead, she had allowed her insecurities and fears to drive a wedge between her and Jack sabotaging their relationship in the process.

Tears welled up in Maryse’s eyes, she had pushed away the one person who had truly cared for her, all because she didn’t know how to handle the intensity of her own emotions. “I don’t know why I do it,” she admitted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Her manager reached out and gently squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Maryse,” she said softly. “We all have our demons to face. But you have to remember that you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to have love in your life.”

Maryse sighed heavily knowing she was right. “What should I do now?” she asked. “I feel helpless.”

“You’ve gotta pick yourself back up, Maryse,” she said gently. “Become a better version of yourself, and put all your emotions into your music. Let it be your therapy, and your outlet for healing.”

She nodded, she knew that she needed to channel her pain into something constructive.

“And as for your broken relationship,” CoCo continued, her tone filled with wisdom, “it’ll fix itself when it’s ready. Love has a funny way of finding its way back to us when we least expect it. But in the meantime, focus on yourself and your music. That’s where your strength lies.”

Maryse nodded knowing CoCo was right but that didn’t make the breakup hurt any less. The sting of heartbreak was still fresh and overwhelming, but she was going to do what CoCo said because she wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to handle the ache in her chest.

***

AN: I can’t handle this 🤧 tell your thoughts thank you for reading!!

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[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Six: Window to the Outside World

Chapter WC: 4,592

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Depictions of the effect of war on civilizations including starvation, mob violence

A/N: I apologize in advance for the lack of Rex or Obi-Wan in this chapter. And for the angst. I promise I'll make it up to you very, very soon.

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Hisseen, 21 BBY

It was a simple mission. Or, at least, it was supposed to be. Escort the Senator, deliver the aid, and return to Coruscant. But as usual, nothing ever goes as planned.

It started off well enough.

You'd met the Senator, a young woman by the name of Helora, on board her personal ship. Senator Helora Flessom of the planet Hisseen was known for her bold and daring speeches, and her outspoken views on the Republic's handling of the war. You'd read her biography, and she seemed like a sensible woman, one who cared deeply about her home planet that had recently been ravaged by a Separatist siege and subsequent battle. Obi-Wan still felt guilty about that.

Senator Flessom was much more relaxed in person, and even more beautiful, with long, intricately braided hair, deep brown skin, and a warm, friendly smile. She'd been charming, if not a bit flirty, when you introduced yourself. It didn't bother you. You were used to it, and honestly, it was a bit refreshing, if not amusing. She was certainly better company than most of the Senators you'd met, and you quickly found yourself relaxing, enjoying the attention and the banter.

The journey was smooth, and the conversation was pleasant, and by the time you entered Hisseen’s orbit, you'd already grown fond of the woman. You could see why Padmé liked her so much.

Once you'd arrived, though, things took a turn.

The local authorities had been expecting you, but the situation on the ground was a lot more chaotic than you'd been led to believe. In the aftermath of the siege, the people were struggling to recover. Food and medicine were scarce, and the local government was barely holding on. You'd been expecting the usual: a few speeches, some photo ops, a handshake or two, and then back to Coruscant. Instead, you were immediately dragged into the middle of a brewing conflict.

The people were angry, and the authorities were doing little to help. The Republic had come in and saved the day, but there was no infrastructure to help rebuild, and the citizens were being left to fend for themselves.

Helora had been frustrated and concerned, rightfully so, but her presence seemed to make things worse. As the Senate representative, she was meant to be an impartial mediator, but the locals saw her as a tool of the Republic. She was the one they turned to, the one they wanted answers from, and the one they were demanding action from. And she was just one woman, trying her best to do what was right.

When she'd decided to take matters into her own hands and visit the local refugee camp to personally speak to those in need, you immediately tried to dissuade her. You'd told her it was too dangerous, that she was a target, and that if something happened to her, it would be a disaster.

She'd laughed in your face and said she didn't care, that she couldn't stand idly by while innocent people suffered. You admired her conviction, but you knew, deep down, that the Council wouldn't approve.

Still, when she'd asked you to escort her, you'd agreed. You couldn't exactly say no.

So, you'd gone with her, along with a contingent of soldiers and a couple of local officers, and made the trip to the refugee camp. A contingent that Helora managed to dodge at every turn and leave behind in the dust, much to your chagrin.

"Senator Flessom," you call after her, trying, and failing, to keep up. She's determined, her stride quick and purposeful, and you struggle to match her pace. The crowds are thick, and the city is a maze of streets and alleys, and you're not sure how you'll find her again if you lose sight of her. "Please, slow down."

She ignores you, and you're left running after her, your robes billowing behind you, your boots thudding on the cracked pavement.

You catch up to her, finally, outside the entrance to one of the refugee camps. The sight that greets you is overwhelming. A sea of people, all with the same haunted, exhausted look in their eyes, their clothing tattered and worn, their faces gaunt. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and smoke and blood, and your heart aches at the sight.

"Senator," you say, placing a hand on her arm, "you can't go in there."

"I can, and I will," she says, her eyes blazing with determination.

"You don't understand," you say, frustration rising in your tone. "It's not safe. We don't know what's going on here, or what we'll find."

"All the more reason to go in," she says, and her tone is sharp, her gaze unwavering. "They need help, and I intend to give it."

You know, deep down, that this is a battle you're not going to win, and the resignation must be evident on your face, because the Senator gives you a sympathetic look and places a hand on your arm.

"I appreciate your concern, Master Anathorn," she says, and her voice is gentler now, "but I have to do this. Besides, I have you, don't I? If anything happens, you'll be there to protect me."

It's a statement, not a question, and you can't help but be a little taken aback by her confidence in your abilities. Usually, the only ones who have that level of faith in you are the clones of the 212th, and you're still grappling with that fact, but now it's coming from a complete stranger. The fact that she trusts you so implicitly is more than a little unsettling.

"I'll do my best," you promise after a beat, and her smile is warm and genuine, and a little mischievous.

"Then let's get started," she says, and the two of you enter the camp, the crowd parting to let her through.

The atmosphere is tense, and the people watch you with suspicion and distrust. You're a stranger in their midst, and they have no reason to trust you, or your intentions. You can't blame them, really. Their home has been ravaged by war, and the last thing they want is outsiders coming in and telling them how to handle the aftermath.

You do your best to blend in, to not draw attention to yourself, but it's hard. You stick out like a sore thumb in your Jedi robes and with your lightsabers poorly concealed at your waist, and you can feel the stares and whispers following you.

"You're making people nervous," the Senator says quietly, and you can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," you mutter. You do your best to shrink into the shadows, but with the white of your robes, it's a lost cause.

"There's nothing to apologize for," she says, her smile warm and reassuring. She nudges you with her elbow. "It's just, you're a little... intimidating."

"Oh," you say, taken aback. It's not the first time someone has said as much, but the way she says it is different, the tone of her voice more teasing than anything else. "Well, that's... I'm sorry. I'll do my best to look less threatening."

She laughs, and it's a pleasant sound, and a welcome relief in the otherwise grim setting.

"You're doing just fine," she says, her smile growing wider. "Besides, you're the only one here I feel safe with."

"You don't know me," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Perhaps," she concedes, "but I trust you."

The words are like a knife to your chest, and it takes everything you have not to let the emotion show on your face. You don't deserve her trust. Not after everything you've done, everything you've failed to do, and the weight of that realization quickly sobers you.

The two of you move deeper into the camp, the atmosphere growing heavier, the mood darker, and it's obvious that these people have been through hell. The Senator is muttering to herself, a list of names and the numbers of the supplies she's promised, and you can't help but admire her dedication. She's truly passionate about her work, and her desire to help these people is evident in every gesture, every word, and it makes you feel a little ashamed, a little humbled, that someone so good, so kind, can exist in a galaxy full of suffering.

"Master Jedi," she says, her voice breaking through your thoughts, and you turn to see her standing beside a group of children, their clothes ragged, their eyes hollow and empty. She's holding a bag of ration bars, and she's handing them out, one by one, her smile warm and encouraging.

You approach the group, and the children recoil, their fear palpable. You can't help but frown. Children are supposed to be fearless, curious, open, but these kids have seen too much, suffered too much, and the trauma is evident on their faces. You kneel down, and the children move closer, their curiosity outweighing their fear.

"Hi," you say, gently, and you hold out a hand, palm up, an offering of sorts.

The children look at you, then at each other, and then back at you, before one of the girls reaches out and takes your hand. Her fingers are small and delicate, and they curl around yours, her touch a whisper of warmth.

You can feel her emotions, so raw and powerful, and you do your best to send a wave of reassurance, of comfort, through the contact. The girl looks up at you, her eyes wide, and a small smile touches her lips.

You introduce yourself, and then you ask, "What's your name?"

"Ileda," she says, her voice a faint, tremulous thing, like a candle in the wind.

"That's a beautiful name," you say, and the compliment brings a faint blush to her cheeks. "How old are you, Ileda?"

"Seven," she says. Her tone is stronger now, a little braver. "Almost eight."

"Eight, huh?" you say, and the corner of your mouth twitches. "I turned thirty last week."

The admission is a surprise, even to you, and Helora glances at you, her expression curious and a little amused. You'd never told her your age, or any personal details really, but the words had slipped out before you could stop them.

Ileda's eyes grow wide, and her lips part in a soft gasp. "You're so old!"

You snort a laugh, and the sound is so unexpected, and a little strange, that the girl's face splits into a toothy grin. The others join in, their laughter infectious, and soon, the two of you are laughing too, and the heaviness in the air begins to lift.

The rest of the group moves closer, and they surround you, their small hands touching you, pulling at your robes and poking at your armor. Their questions come rapid-fire, and their voices rise, the excitement growing. Helora laughs and joins in, and soon, the two of you are surrounded by children, their laughter bright and pure, and it's like a balm on your soul.

You can't remember the last time you laughed like this, the last time you felt this light, this happy, and it's like a glimpse of what life could be, a taste of the kind of joy you've always dreamed of. It's almost painful to think that this might be a fleeting moment, a dream that will vanish in the harsh light of reality. Despite yourself, it makes you wonder what life would be like if you had the choice, if the Force hadn't chosen you. Would you have chosen a different path, a simpler one?

You play with the children for a while, letting them touch the hilts of your lightsabers and even showing off a few tricks, and they're captivated, their eyes bright with wonder. Helora watches the scene with a smile on her face, and you can't help but return the expression. 

It's nice, being with the children, seeing their faces light up with joy, and you realize with a pang in your chest that you've missed this. The simple pleasure of being around people, of being able to share a smile or a laugh without worrying about politics, or protocol, or decorum.

You can't remember the last time you felt this carefree, this unburdened, and it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the pressure of responsibility easing just a little. Helora catches your eye, and there's a look on her face, something you can't quite decipher, but it brings a flush to your cheeks. She moves closer, and the children scatter, their laughter fading into the distance.

"You're good with them," she says.

"I try," you reply, a note of sadness creeping into your tone as you watch them leave.

"Do you like children?" she asks with a tilt of her head. You're not sure if she's teasing, or if she's serious, and the uncertainty is a little disconcerting.

"I... guess so," you say, unsure of how to respond. 

You've never really thought about it, but now, as you watch the kids run off, their smiles wide, their laughter echoing in the air, you realize that, yes, you do like children. They're innocent, and curious, and full of life, and it's a beautiful, refreshing thing. They never let you teach the younglings, and the fact that these kids are accepting you, enjoying your company, makes your heart swell with warmth.

"Good," she says, and her tone is suggestive. "That's important."

Your cheeks flush as you turn to look down at her, a response forming on your lips, but the words die in your throat as you take in her appearance. She's close, closer than she's ever been, and the proximity is unnerving. She's beautiful, there's no doubt about that, and the thought makes you avert your gaze, your blush growing more intense.

Helora lets out an amused huff, but you don't look her way again. Instead, a hint of movement catches your eye, and your gaze falls on a figure walking briskly away from you down an alley. He's tall and lean, with clothes that appear too fine, too clean, for a place like this. His hair is a shock of white, a sliver of blue skin showing through the strands, and your mouth falls open.

"Stay here," you order, and before Helora can protest, you're taking off, pushing your way through the crowd.

"Master Anathorn, wait," she calls after you, but you ignore her, your focus on the target ahead.

Vayel.

The name echoes in your mind as you chase him, the streets and buildings a blur. The sounds of the city fade into the background, the world narrowing down to a single, solitary point. He's here, right in front of you, and you're not going to let him escape this time.

He turns and looks over his shoulder, and you can see the panic clear on his blue face. He's caught, and he knows it. The realization seems to embolden him, and his steps quicken, his long legs carrying him swiftly down the alley.

"Vayel!" you call, and the name is a curse on your tongue. "Stop!"

He doesn't stop, and your pace quickens, your anger growing. The Force is flowing through you, propelling you forward, and the distance between you and him grows smaller with every second. 

You reach out and pull, using the Force to yank him backwards, and his momentum sends him falling back into the dirt. The sight of him on his back brings a grim satisfaction, the knowledge that you're not too late, not yet, is a balm to your soul.

"Ah, hello," Vayel mumbles awkwardly. He's splayed out on the ground looking up at you, his clothes dirty, his eyes wide. 

You come to a stop with your feet at his head, and the two of you stare at each other, the tension thick in the air. You can't help but be surprised, and a little put out, by the fact that he managed to stay calm even though he's clearly outmatched.

"Vayel," you spit out, your fury bubbling beneath the surface. "Where is she?"

"Who?" he asks, his confusion genuine, and your frustration grows.

"Don't play dumb with me," you hiss, and your fingers grip the hilt of your lightsaber, the metal cool and familiar against your palm. "I know you're involved."

His brows furrow, and the confusion on his face is apparent. "Involved? In what?"

"Master Yaddle’s murder," you snap. Your lightsaber ignites, the blade humming in the still air. The yellow light washes over his face, and his eyes widen, a spark of recognition flaring in their depths.

"Oh," he says, and there's a note of sadness in his tone. "That's what was in the box. I hadn't asked at the time, but I suppose that clears that up."

"What do you know, Vayel?" you demand, the tip of your blade coming dangerously close to his nose.

"Not enough to be worth killing, I assure you." He holds up his hands, his palms facing you. "I was simply paid to deliver a package, and then...ah, deliver you."

"Deliver me?" you echo, the words sending a chill down your spine.

"Yes, well," he says, awkwardly, "it seems you're in high demand. At least, by someone."

"Who?" you ask, and your grip tightens on the hilt of your weapon.

"May I stand?"

"No."

"Oh, come now, I'm hardly a threat," he says, and the confidence in his tone is infuriating. "I'm more of a messenger, really. And I believe you already got the message."

Your blood boils, and your anger flares, and the urge to plunge your blade into his heart is overwhelming. You raise your lightsaber, the tip poised above his chest, and his breath catches, the fear evident on his face. But you hold, the temptation, the desire, the rage, holding you in place.

"Tell me," you growl, and the words are barely audible.

"I honestly don't know," he admits, and there's a trace of fear in his voice. "They contacted me anonymously. Credits were wired into my account, instructions were left, and the whole affair was rather discreet."

"And what were your instructions? Speak quickly.”

"To talk to you a little, lure you into the apartment, and keep you there," he says, his eyes darting nervously from your face to the lightsaber hovering above him. "It seemed straightforward enough, but, well, you've made things a bit difficult, haven't you?"

The anger surges, and your grip tightens on the hilt of the weapon, the metal creaking under the pressure.

"Tell me who's responsible," you hiss, the words laced with venom, "or I will kill you where you lay."

"Please," he begs, his voice trembling. "I don't know. I swear. It's like I said, an anonymous request, credits wired, no names, no details, nothing. Please, have mercy."

The word sends a chill down your spine, and the anger fades, the reality of the situation hitting you. Mercy. It's something your Master would want, would demand, and the realization is like a knife to the gut. 

The temptation to strike, to kill, is still there, but the desire to protect is stronger, and you force the rage down, bury it beneath layers of guilt and shame. You've never killed anyone in cold blood, and the fact that you'd considered it, even for a second, is disturbing.

Jedi don't kill the unarmed, and you're better than that.

You have to be.

Your lightsaber deactivates, and the alley falls silent, the darkness creeping in.

You extend a hand, and Vayel's eyes flicker from your face to the appendage before taking it. You help him to his feet, and the two of you stare at each other, the moment feeling strangely surreal.

"Thank you," he mutters reluctantly.

"Don't," you mutter, the word a warning. "I'm not doing this for you."

"Nonetheless, I'm grateful," he replies. He brushes the dirt off his jacket and straightens it. "I truly didn't know what was in the box, and when I went back to retrieve it, it was gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes. I picked my way through the rubble like a good boy," he says, walking his fingers through the air, "and there was nothing. It was as if the whole thing had been a figment of my imagination. A bit disconcerting, really, but such is the way of things, I suppose."

Vayel shrugs, the motion almost casual, and the frustration rises within you.

You take a deep breath, trying, and failing, to push down the rage and the resentment. You have to keep your emotions in check, or you'll do something you'll regret.

"How did they contact you, exactly?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," he says nonchalantly. "They sent a message to my business account. I wasn't lying about being an actor, by the way. Just a bit of a downswing at the moment, is all."

The information is surprising, and a bit confusing. Whoever this was, they knew him, knew his past, his job, and yet, they chose to remain anonymous. There has to be a reason. You don't know Vayel, but he doesn't seem the type to keep secrets. He's too flippant, too careless, and the fact that they were able to contact him without arousing suspicion is troubling.

You turn, your thoughts racing, and his voice cuts through the silence.

"You should probably get out of here," he warns, and there's a note of urgency in his tone. "Things are about to get very unpleasant."

"What?" You turn back to him, the confusion obvious on your face.

"These locals are a bit, well, hostile, to put it mildly," he says, his brows furrowing. "And very prone to violence. It's not a good idea to be here, especially with the Senator."

You're about to respond, to question him further, when you hear it. Footsteps rushing past the alley, and the murmur of voices, angry voices, growing louder. There's a crowd forming and the Senator is at its center. You can feel her fear, her distress, and the realization hits you like a blow.

"Go," Vayel says, his voice firm. "Find her, and get her out of here."

"But--"

"Just go," he urges, and you can hear the panic in his voice. "Before it's too late."

You take a step, then hesitate. "You're coming with me."

"Of course, of course," he says, but his words are distant, as if spoken underwater. "Now, go."

You can't argue, can't risk wasting any more time, and you turn, Helora at the forefront of your mind. You run, your boots pounding on the pavement, the voices growing louder, closer.

There's a shout, and the crowd explodes, the anger and fear erupting into chaos. They're clambering for the Senator, their fingers grasping, their faces twisted into masks of fury. You're caught in the midst of the madness, and your instincts take over, the Force guiding your steps as you weave through the crowd, desperate to reach her.

You're so close, but the sea of people is relentless, the throng pressing in around you, and your frustration is growing, the frustration boiling within you. You can see her, just ahead, her dress fluttering in the wind, her body pressed against the side of the building. She's trapped, cornered, and the terror is plain on her face.

She's looking at you, her eyes pleading, and the weight of her desperation crashes down upon you, and something within you snaps. You reach out, and the Force obeys, pushing the crowd away, clearing a path between the two of you. She runs, her movements clumsy, and you meet her, pulling her close, the warmth of her body seeping into yours.

"We have to go," you say, and the words are strained, the adrenaline coursing through you.

She nods, and the two of you move as one, your strides swift and sure, the Force guiding you. You step over the bodies, the injured, the bleeding, the broken, and the guilt eats away at you, but you can't stop, not now.

The streets are a blur, the buildings and faces indistinct, the city a haze of color and sound. You force your mind to stay focused on the Senator, on getting her to safety, but the images, the sounds, the smells, are a constant barrage, and the memories threaten to overwhelm you.

It was a mistake to come here, to think that you could make a difference, that you could help. This war, this violence, it's beyond you, beyond anything you could have imagined. And the most painful part is that you can't do a damn thing about it.

You're no savior. You're not some great hero. You're just a woman, a single human with a lightsaber and a chip on your shoulder. One who can't seem to stop making mistakes that get people hurt, or worse.

The Senator is trembling, her breaths short and ragged, and the panic is clear on her face. Her eyes are wide and unseeing, and her skin is pallid, her cheeks streaked with tears. She's lost in her fear, and it's all you can do to keep her focused on the path ahead.

As the shipyard draws near, the guards rush to meet you. They push the crowd back, their rifles at the ready, their eyes scanning the chaos for signs of trouble. You stumble, and one of them takes your arm, his grip firm. He helps you onto the ship's platform, the Senator held tight in your arms, and the ramp closes behind you.

You're safe, finally, but the relief is short-lived, the pain and the anguish threatening to overwhelm you. Helora is crying, her sobs racking her body, and the sound echoes through the shuttle, piercing your soul.

"What happened?" the guard captain asks, his voice gruff.

You take a deep breath, the words a struggle. "They... turned on her. They attacked her. She's in shock."

The captain nods, and his expression is grim, but there's a glint of understanding in his eyes.

The Senator's cries grow louder, her distress evident, and you kneel beside her. You reach out, but her hand slaps yours away, her palm stinging your flesh.

"Don't touch me!" she shouts, and her voice is hoarse, the fear evident in her eyes.

The guard captain approaches, and his presence seems to soothe her. He kneels beside her, his face inches from hers, and he speaks, his words soft, comforting. You can only watch as he helps her, his hands gentle, his voice soothing, and the sight fills you with shame.

She calms, slowly, and the Captain’s gaze meets yours, his eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a thin line.

You look away, the guilt burning in your gut. You can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, to see the disappointment there. You'd promised to protect her, to keep her safe, and yet, you'd allowed her to be harmed.

You can't escape the truth of it. The only reason she'd been attacked was because of you, because you'd chosen to chase after Vayel, leaving her alone and vulnerable. If you hadn't been so impulsive, so reckless, so desperate, maybe things would've been different. Maybe you would've been able to protect her. Maybe she wouldn't be suffering now.

The guilt is a heavy weight, and you slide into a seat as your breath leaves you in a rush. You sit alone in your failure, the Senator's sobs echoing in the air, and your own tears falling, unbidden, down your cheeks.

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[elderwisp]

lore drop: the au

♡ so i tried to keep some core characteristics of each oc. for atlas, i decided to keep his curiosity and his struggles with feeling inadequate. for taryn, it's her patience but that manifests more into endurance, as well as her struggles with vulnerability. as for rowan, his need for support as well as his generally care-free attitude. really the biggest change was their environments!

♡ a lot of the issues in tessellate that atlas in regards to his state of being (lol) begins in his youth and the people surrounding it. atlas struggled in school in regards to focusing and a lot of the times would be met with unsupportive people so in a way escapism has always been a method of coping with that feeling of inadequacy. we'll dive into how that entire process shapes up HOWEVER ! in this au, atlas swaps with taryn in the sense that atlas has much more supportive parents who get him the help he needs rather than growing frustrated. he tries his best with schooling, even getting a degree in animation, but ! he still hasn't quite found a career in the thing he went to school for. here's a little blurb on that:

"I always hated this place. A constant reminder of everything I lacked. I shouldn’t be so crude towards the bookstore, my colleagues were wonderful and the managers never gave me any issues. The problem was me. The pings of jealousy deep in my gut whenever someone was promoted or a farewell party for coworkers moving onto bigger and better things. Yet here I was, five years later. A washed up artist and a part time bookstore clerk. My parents were kind enough to allow me to live at home but it’s all a bit embarrassing. Being twenty three and without a home or a career was definitely not how I envisioned the pinnacle of my adulthood."

♡ meanwhile, taryn's youth is much more turbulent. (i would say a tad bit worse than atlas's.) taryn's struggle with vulnerability stems from her surroundings. while in canon and the au, she went to catholic school, however one change was she fell for a girl who sets her up for humiliation. her parents, already having prior issues with taryn take this as the final straw and basically stonewall taryn into oblivion. kai, still being gay, also shuts taryn out out of the fear of what could happen to him and it's just really heartbreaking. ok so, backtracking a bit, rowan happens to be there at this very humiliating moment and is the only one to actually intervene. the two eventually become best friends, working really well with each other's personalities. rowan's thing that he needs from another person is full support, meanwhile taryn is incredibly accepting to those in her very small circle of... one person. LMAO! so the two really open up like a flower to one another

♡ their dynamic starts to shift when taryn is kicked out of her home on her eighteenth birthday, here's a wip of that:

He wiped the dirt and the blood off my face reminding me that I was more than the monsters that had made me. I couldn’t meet his eyes because I didn’t believe him. Was there something truly wrong with me?  “Look at me.” One firm tug at my chin to grab my attention but I was unmovable, “You are going to be better than them.” He said it with such conviction that I finally began to cry. After years of abuse by my peers, the blatant avoidance of my parents and brother, it had all come to the surface. I’ll admit, I was incredibly embarrassed crying in front of Rowan, that was something I never wanted anyone to see because vulnerability had been a weapon. There was a moment of fear once I had realized he’d seen me. What if he used it against me? Everyone else had. Instead he held me close and set me free of the pain I endured. That night, I couldn’t sleep. 

♡ the two eventually get an apartment in the city together. rowan being a nepo baby (lmao sorry bro) who sells his artwork while taryn is able to write freely and publish a lot of poetry and uh, erotica! pop off! rowan encouraged her to not work and put her focus into her books, he genuinely wants the best for her after the shitshow of a life she's had. ((in his mind though, he can't differentiate that he might actually adore this woman.)) that support did pay off though because taryn's work does really well. the whole place is mostly decorated by taryn but the kitchen is the one place that rowan really added his own little flair. you see, the boy loves to cook meals as a hobby and is quite good at it. it's one of those things where he also gets a bit of an ego boost but he's not gonna tell you that. when the two don't have company over... usually one will sneak into the other's room to sleep in it. the last time the two actually slept alone would probably be well over a year,, hmm

♡ so the final lore drop is how the freak does atlas fit into this? it's complicated in the beginning. taryn is quite fascinated with atlas and he is incredibly curious about her. her supportive demeanor makes him feel like he can do anything while atlas's ability to be in tune with his emotions, say how he feels, is refreshing to taryn. when rowan meets atlas, he believes that this dude might actually be capable of captivating taryn that she'd consider being with him and potentially leaving. that things always come to an end and this guy right here is his reckoning. on the other hand, atlas thinks rowan is just a scoundrel and uses his close friendship with taryn as a little flag to wave in atlas's face like surprise! u can't have her! how things get resolved? we'll find out in the far future. for now, have this little convo between taryn and rowan:

R: “He’s the one that called you a pawn. Embarrassed you like that and you just take it. Do you like him?” T: “That’s a stupid question.” R: “You’re the one that said we should ask them. The Taryn I know would never let any man walk all over her like that.” T: “I think you’re jealous.” R: “Because you look at him with such passion.” T: “He’s curious, questions everything and isn’t afraid of his emotions. He doesn’t run. Maybe… Maybe I need that.”

♡ silly taryn monologue because she's got a really entertaining perspective in this au:

I wasn’t going to cry. Not here in this taxi, not in my room, and certainly not in front of Atlas. In fact, Atlas can go rightfully fuck himself. Because, like, who the fuck does he think he is? I didn’t ask to be observed. I didn’t ask to have my life splayed out in 4K for the drunken bastards outside to see. Sure the couple to the left of us wouldn’t have remembered us arguing seeing as how they were preoccupied with one another but DAMN! Why did he have to complicate things?

[bestworstcase]

Could you elaborate more on if Summer and gylinda (sorry if that's spelled wrong) were narrative foils? That sounds really interesting!

right so from what little we know about what glynda’s been up to since the fall of beacon is that she is, to all appearances, the ONE member of the inner circle who took a deep breath after ozpin died and kept her shit together. the others:

lionheart, already a traitor, continued to ask how high when salem said jump

ironwood exacerbated the global crisis by withdrawing his troops and closing the borders, thus inflicting deep economic pain on mantle and eroding international trust

qrow imploded and had to crawl back up from rock bottom after his faith in ozpin was destroyed

theodore refused to act until it was almost too late to prevent the crown’s coup because he was preoccupied with the more distant threat of salem

but glynda? she took point on the effort to reclaim beacon academy from the grimm and whenever she wasn’t doing that she was personally rebuilding vale. the last we see of her in v3, she’s on the brink of collapse working herself to the bone in vale. but in ‘after the fall’ she’s holding things together, even if just by her fingernails; she’s on top of it enough to have team CFVY’s academic transcripts and a letter of recommendation ready for them when they decide to apply for transfer to shade. in v4, half a year after beacon fell, port and oobleck seem optimistic about the situation at the beacon (“there is still much work to be done at the school” says busy and difficult, but the mood isn’t dire). and when we glimpse her again in v8, it’s apparent that normalcy has been restored in downtown vale; the dust shop is open for business and the streets outside are not overrun by grimm.

glynda had a hellish nightmare situation thrust into her hands as the de facto new headmistress of a fallen school and the person all of vale turned to for protection and guidance in the wake of this horrifying tragedy, and within a year she managed to pick up the pieces and restore peace and safety within the city, even if she couldn’t take back her school. that is astounding, and especially striking in context with the rest of the inner circle crumbling.

what made her different?

this is speculative. but i think that glynda, like summer rose, is a true believer in the ideals that huntsmen are supposed to uphold: compassion, mercy, cooperation, striving for peace, defending those who cannot defend themself. she trusted ozpin, but unlike the others, her loyalty was not for him but for the things he claimed to believe… so when everything fell apart and the burden of leadership landed on her shoulders, she acted in accordance with those ideals. reached out, brought people together, trusted in those who offered their help, and kept widening the circle until the great burden had been shared between many hands. and after salem razes vale? she does the same. goes to find help.

(i don’t think she told anyone about salem, but rather she put her faith in humanity’s capacity to pull together rather than try to shoulder everything herself. this is in contrast to qrow during the haven arc and ironwood, who bring new people into the loop but see the world as hopelessly divided and riven by distrust.)

if i am right about this and also on the mark with regard to summer rose, this would position them as reflections of each other: both huntresses who believe in and embody the true ideal of what they are supposed to be, both guided in their choices by this staunch moral conviction. summer discovers that she is complicit in enacting a horrific injustice and without hesitation turns around to stand with the victim against even her own family; glynda weathers a catastrophic tragedy and stands tall while every other pillar of ozpin’s circle collapses because she puts herself among the people and inspires them to keep pushing with her. both of them Do What’s Right.

which makes it very narratively compelling to juxtapose them with each other, because they are opposites—fighting on opposite sides—but they are also the same.

furthermore, summer has been holding beacon academy against glynda’s siege for the last year-and-a-half or so; either summer has been able to avoid notice during this time, in which case glynda is due to be hit by a freight train of a moment of realization, or glynda has seen her and knows that her opponent is summer rose—a woman who may once have been her student or her classmate, depending how old glynda is supposed to be, and certainly someone she knew and worked with fourteen years ago when they both believed in ozpin.

if that isn’t grounds for a very personal enmity in the vein of cinder and winter or qrow and clover, i will eat. my. hat. summer was there the night beacon fell—she’s the one who left ruby alive when she scraped cinder off the tower—fighting on the side of the grimm. she’s the one who’s been steadily drawing grimm to the school on salem’s behalf! that is glynda’s home! those were her students who died that night! and in reverse, it is almost certainly glynda who knows the secret of the vault’s location, glynda who remains steadfastly loyal to the divine cause of subjugation-or-annihilation, glynda who upholds the system summer fights to tear down. DO YOU SEE MY VISION… the disciplinarian and the revolutionary…

[donnerpartyofone]

I saw this post a few weeks ago that was like a chart from a psychology text that described how different sorts of childhood trauma can produce different dysfunctions, one of which was (I *think*) Emotional Neglect -> Magical Thinking. I was so intrigued by that. Magical thinking is sort of an umbrella term for the belief in a causal relationship between two unrelated factors; it can include wishing on a birthday cake candle; the feeling that The Universe is telling you to call your ex because something reminded you of them; OCD-type rituals that you believe will ward off misfortune; the deeper meanings mis-assigned to mundane events that can be produced by schizo-affective disorders; and also religious convictions to some degree, although those are rarely considered a clinical problem as with anything that helps or doesn't seem to hurt the participants. There seem to be as many potential causes of magical thinking as there are forms of the thought pattern itself, and trauma is an interesting one.

It might be better to think of "trauma" as "helplessness" here. Magical thinking can help impose a feeling of organization where there is chaos and loss of any sense of significance. There was a lot of magical thinking going around in the gritty, depressed town where I'm from, and I often thought it was because of the persistent economic pressure. It's relatively normal for kids to be susceptible to spooky ideas, but many of the adults were also full of ghost stories and superstitions. I have one very sensible friend who is smarter than I am, who grew up there too, and we often reflect on this, which helps me know that this isn't strictly an idea I have due to my own social choices. My friend doesn't live in that town anymore either, but she's always digging up interesting stuff related to it, and one day she showed me the website of someone there offering his services as a paranormal investigator. He was in his 20s, and the site included a lot of unconvincing photos and a long, vigorous testimonial by the guy's mom. Part of me was dying to put it on tumblr, but it would only have resulted in unnecessary cruelty. I was as much a victim of magical thinking as anybody, and I think even when I was pretty young I was aware of what motivated me to be so naive and gullible: that a world full of ghosts and vampires and UFOs and such was preferable to what I normally experienced, which was a consistent sense of boredom and meaninglessness and drudgery and embarrassment and pain and suffocation in an ugly, flavorless universe whose nicer side was not going to be available to me. I had a lot of really damaging friendships with manipulative assholes and pathological liars because I was so very willing to believe the crazy things they told me, just in case any of them were true, because such a truth could change my whole life.

Sometimes I think it's amazing that I never wound up in a cult, although I guess those relationships were sort of like little one- or two-person cults. Once in a while I read about some crime involving young people who think they're vampires or something, and I have a deep feeling of pity, because I think I know what they were going through (except for the part where they think they can do whatever they want to other people). The sad story of Shanda Sharer involves a whole group of badly abused and underprivileged teens, some of whom thought they were witches or vampires, and it just makes so much sense to me that they would be overtaken by these fantasies of secret meaning and power. Recently I watched Bad Vegan on Netflix, something that I avoided at first because I thought it was just about rich douchebags humiliating each other--which is like, what else is new--and to some degree it is, but actually it's way more disturbing than that. Ambitious young raw food entrepreneur Sarma Melngailis was manipulated, isolated, and ultimately kidnapped by this sadistic freak who preyed first on her loneliness and financial fears by pretending to be a rich suitor who could solve all of her problems; then he preyed upon her feelings of personal insignificance and failure by convincing her that he and she had been selected by a cabal of extraterrestrial illuminati who would make them immortal. Sarma seemed completely broken down to me, and I was amazed by her courage in describing the scam she fell for, that she must have known would invite derision. Part of the documentary explores her youth as a kid who always believed she could become something special, and then mundane tragedies like her parents' divorce brought her back down to earth in a painful way, and it seemed like she spent the rest of her life haunted by the idea that she might just be an ordinary failure of a person. I think that's part of what made her so vulnerable to this psychopath, that he was able to access her secret dream of having a special destiny. I got one of my friends to watch the show and she was very frustrated by it because she just couldn't figure out what Sarma's problem was that would cause her to ever believe the things she was told. I tried to reiterate what I've said here, but it didn't seem to mean anything. Ironically this friend is a practicing witch with formal beliefs in the supernatural, including that people can awaken special powers within themselves, but I guess one man's magical thinking is just um not another man's magical thinking.

I still have a lot of magical thinking going, but it doesn't have the same character it once did. I tend to think of it more as "symbolic thinking"; I have a hard time accessing senses of meaning and hope, let alone any kind of self-belief, and sometimes symbolic gestures and concepts can provide that access better than my own direct, practical attempts ever could. It helps that I have a basic agnosticism about the invisible structures of the world, like it's easy for me to believe that there is more to life than what comes in through the five senses, even if I don't pretend to know entirely what that "more" is. That may help me believe that "anything is possible" and I shouldn't give up, even if I direly want to and I know I'm being kind of irrational. Magical thinking can be a double-edged sword, but maybe it's better than nothing.

[marvelousmop]

The King in Yellow and the War Over the Mind

I think one of the most powerful aspects of Robert W. Chambers's The King in Yellow, and one which sets it apart from a lot of later Weird Fiction about academics who become too invested in the world of the arcane, is the idea that there just isn't anything explainably wrong with the play. People know there's something wrong with it, especially once you get to the second act... but if you just looked at the text itself, you wouldn't find anything.

'No definite principles had been violated in those wicked pages, no doctrine promulgated, no convictions outraged. It could not be judged by any known standard, yet, although it was acknowledged that the supreme note of art had been struck in The King in Yellow, all felt that human nature could not bear the strain, nor thrive on words in which the essence of purest poison lurked.' ~ The Repairer of Reputations

Despite how central it is, I completely missed it on my first reading (mainly because I was young and grappling with a particularly bad printing of it which made the text really small). I only started to grasp it when I listened to the concept album The King in Yellow by experimental post-rock band "Ah Pook, the Destroyer".

This album is largely inspired by Chamber's work, using that premise - an idea that you can't see but can still cause genuine harm - to talk about the current political climate. Songs touch on a wide array of cults and conspiracies - from the modern-day antisemitic ramblings of Qanon and Lizard People conspiracies to the strong figureheads and interpersonal conflicts of cults like Heaven's Gate. They even find time to touch on the Time Cube somehow, all under the framework of the King in Yellow propagating harmful ideas and bringing about the New Age of Madness.

But it's not as simple as just looking at these people and calling them mad. Okay, sometimes it is that (best exemplified in the gospel stylings of "The Tribulation of Alex Jones"), but there are cases where the characters are presented with genuine empathy, such as in "The Road to Carcosa" where we hear about the life of a man who, through exposure to the Yellow Sign (which here is attached to Right-Wing conspiracy theories) ends up destroying his relationship with his family. The singer gets a moment of lucidity in the refrain "The fall of my life came after; And all of my mind was scattered", though this fades away as we hear the end of this story: Him living alone in a gun-filled squalor.

Another thing that elevates this album is how it turns it all back on the listener. There's obviously a specific audience of Left-leaning listeners a project like this would attract, and those people are very unlikely to also share the beliefs of the average Qanon-minded person, but (much like in the book) it constantly emphasises that the actual specific beliefs don't matter as much as the spread of ideas. This is most visible in the refrain heard throughout the album:

The fall you believe Is not far as it seems And the deep can not be so alive The blithe poison meme That you did not believe But you saw and it entered your mind

Belief doesn't matter. Sheer exposure to these toxic ideas means that, in a way, you've already been harmed no matter what you take away from it. This idea is also present in the book, most directly in the story "The Yellow Sign".

In it, Mr. Scott is fully aware of the King in Yellow, but has actively tried to avoid its influence, partially due to the unfortunate fate of Hildred Castaigne (who featured in the story "The Repairer of Reputations" and at the very least wanted to do a monarchist coup of America that would place him as King - all after reading The King in Yellow). By all means, he should be doing the right thing - he has no interest in The King in Yellow and is actively avoiding the play... and it's not like anyone's staging it anymore, so he should be fine... and yet, after strange dreams, an erie watchman, and other bizarre events, he and his model, Tessie, are driven to read it. This is also a story the album quotes right at the start:

'Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie’s soft cry and her spirit fled: and even while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered mantle and there was only God to cry to now.' ~ The Yellow Sign & Beautitudes

It's an idea I think is also evoked in the structure of the anthology. While the first 4 stories directly feature the King in Yellow in one way or another, the rest are tragic, sometimes supernatural romances with seemingly no connection to the title character, to the point where some reprints just do the first 4 and ignore the rest... though I feel it's deliberate when keeping this idea in mind. While the King is absent, Yellow is a recurring motif throughout the book, often emphasising death or danger, and reminding the reader of that titular presence. You have been exposed to the King in Yellow, and now your mind is his domain.

[pokegyns]

my hot take is that on radblur a lot of conversations about how hard separatism is are immedietly labeled as lesbophobic one way or another. usually bc they mention how selfidentified separatist lesbians will tell straight women how easy not dating men or being celibate is. I'm not saying lesbians oppress straight women, nobody ever says that in those conversations, but it's obviously full of shit, celibate lesbians, who aren't doing it for safety reasons, are either uninterested in romance or didn't find their dream girl YET. this is nothing like refusing to date when you have the desire purely out of principle. while there are other aspects of separatism not dating men is obviously the bulk and I'm not surprised when straight women are salty bc this is literally "Luigi wins by doing nothing" of feminism. you wouldn't have dated these men anyway...

and this is on anon bc saying "lesbians do this thing" is considered lesbophobic even if lesbians actually consistently do this thing 😁

not all lesbians etc etc but you get what I mean

i honestly agree. i'm personally a very romance-driven creature, and i know 1000% that if i wasn't a lesbian, if i had either been bisexual and fallen in love with a dude or been straight, i would never have stopped myself from feeling that love and still done feminist activism within that relationship by holding him to a very high standard and maintaining strong feminist friendships, monitoring things in a smart, emotionally intelligent way, and taking all the happiness i can out of life while also being a badass activist.

some of the hardest working female activists had happy marriages to men! and still made a huge impact, at times bigger than some separatists who scoffed at them and wasted their time just talking shit about women all day. separatists do awesome work, work that often is really valuable especially for young girls who feel like they have to dedicate their lives to dating. but if a woman gets a huge amount of happiness from dating, and is willing to be firm in her feminist convictions and handle it in the way that some non-unhinged so-called "femcels" do it, then i'm all for it and i'll be happy to hear her gossip about her bf anytime the same way i get happy hearing about my lesbian friends' gfs. seeing women happy makes me happy, i just want them to have a really good safety net and to know what they're getting into, and i love seeing male-dating women and transmascs exchange tips on how to date bio men as safely as possible and juggle dating a man and being a feminist. saying that separatism is inherently The Most Feminist thing you can do erases work that ONLY women who date men can do; they still hold something that men desire, and they get to make the rules. they also at times end up being the mothers of the next male generation, and that too can be a very powerful position to hold, as controversially as that is to say on doomerist radblr, if only because it can lead to some level of harm reduction on female kids & their female teachers etc. instead of letting only conservative women bear future kids and populate the earth - because we know they will regardless - raising kids in a feminist household can prove to be very valuable. you ofc can't prevent them from being radicalized down the line, but you can still have a meaningful impact.

it's really weird to try to explain to normie leftist-ish women irl who aren't deep on radblr that saying "you can date men and have kids and be an awesome feminist regardless" or "i personally want to see humanity continue, i don't believe in ending it, i want feminist mothers raising the next gen" or even "i believe transfems face unique struggles" can lead to you being mocked, shunned, and get hate anons outta nowhere (though nowhere near the shit i've gotten in tra circles lmao). it's a really wacky culture we have going on in here, and ngl it makes me cringe. it's just so... unproductive.

i 1000% want separatism to be an option. i think it's a great side of radfeminism. but i personally want to tackle issues between male and female people by actually interacting with the male population meaningfully and figure out the issue of gncphobia ppl - including male ppl - face so that the gender boxes can be destroyed... and even that recently got me in trouble, despite me being a lesbian and obvs not dating men. chronically online spaces in general foster really extremist views that aren't helpful at all to any social movement. we can gather more separatists for the movement and let male-partnered feminists do activism their own way. obviously i've received lesbophobia from the other side as well, but i'm honestly sorry for the way that lesbians and het-attracted women generally uninterested in dating treat women who enjoy and benefit from dating emotionally. having a romantic partner is a huge part of my life, and i can never see myself give up on it. it would then be insanely hypocritical of me to expect it of someone else just bc we happen to have a different sexuality. even if a febfem ended up falling for a man and going through with it, that wouldn't be a betrayal either! female happiness is my #1 priority. and no, that isn't me being a hetero bootlicker or male apologist or whatever the fuck separatists have called me before in radfem spaces. i'm just being realistic. is our main goal as feminists to abolish the hetero dating scene? bc if so, we're gonna have next generations full of conservatively raised kids, including male kids, who will then be more likely to be sexist.

thankfully normie feminists irl, who aren't deep in either extremist tra or extremist radfem spaces, would be in total disbelief if you told them about this stuff. and they would just go back to their activism. and i think we should do the same. don't listen to those voices, do what's right for YOU in your heart. just maintain your convictions, don't let male ppl trample all over you, ditch them the very second they say anything antifeminist or shitty, and chase your happiness. your personal life does not need to define your feminist activism. you are still 100% welcome here, in this nuancefem corner of radblr!

-mod pikachu

[nofomogirl]

Metatron's manipulation step by step

Part 5: The offer ("canonical" version)

Part 1 - where I discuss the significance of the coffee.

Part 2 - where I take a look back at season 1

Part 3 - from Metatron's arrival on Earth to sending the Archangels away

Part 4 - inside the bookshop after sending the Archangels away

The time has finally come for the "main event". For the conversation between Metatron and Aziraphale where the former makes his offer and convinces the latter to take it*.

Obviously, the first thing I feel I need to do is to acknowledge that this scene/sequence is far less credible than the ones I've discussed previously. We aren't shown the entire conversation from the beginning to the end so there's no knowing what else was said that we aren't privy to. In addition, we only know it as told by Aziraphale and Aziraphale has been known to tell lies. So it's not impossible that even the fragments we see aren't relayed accurately.

And the second thing I feel I need to do is to ignore all of the above.

I do believe there was more to Metatron's offer than what we were allowed to see. But in this post, I'd like to only focus on what we were shown. Let's temporarily assume we have all the key pieces. That what we were shown was indeed how Aziraphale was won*.

The scene starts with Aziraphale's narration "He said that Gabriel obviously hadn't worked out as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host" and in my humble opinion this opening statement is more than enough proof that Metatron goes hard and plays dirty.

Because, you know, Gabriel. What a hornets' nest that is...

Aziraphale's relationship with Gabriel is messy and complicated and I'll heroically resist temptation to get sidetracked by the topic here.

The gist of it is that the former Supreme Archangel simultaneously does and doesn't represent Heaven for Aziraphale. He does because that was literally his part - he used to be Aziraphale's superior, Aziraphale has been permanently stationed on Earth, so pretty much all of Aziraphale's interactions with Heaven were actually interactions with Gabriel. He doesn't because Aziraphale has a very idealistic idea of what Heaven is and Gabriel fails to live up to that ideal.

When Metatron says putting Gabriel in charge of Heaven turned out to be a bad idea, it's a very subtle misdirection. He is tapping into Gabriel is not Heaven sentiment, and pulls Aziraphale's focus to Gabriel's failure and away from what exactly made him one.

Metatron takes advantage of two things here. The first one is that deep down Aziraphale has always felt Gabriel was the wrong person for the job. We're talking 6000 years worth of decisions and actions contradicting Aziraphale's convictions and ideals here. Those feelings are STRONG.

The second thing is that Aziraphale doesn't really know what happened. He was aware Gabriel was in trouble and had just found out he was in love with Beelzebub. And that's literally it. He has no idea Gabriel had vetoed Armageddon the Sequel and that's the real reason Heaven was out for his blood.

When Aziraphale hears that "Gabriel obviously hadn't worked out" I imagine his visceral reaction is "finally, they've realized he's no good!". And Metatron primed him for leaning into that reaction by the way he handled Michael earlier (see: Part 3). He has sent a clear message that when Archangels act inappropriately it is eventually recognised as such.

And even if Aziraphale consciously knows that Gabriel's incompetence might not be Heaven's reason, there is a romance with the Fallen as a plausible explanation. He has no incentive to examine it any closer.

Let me just say it out loud: Metatron tries to demonstrate that Aziraphale's sense of right and good aligns with Heaven because has finally dismissed an Archangel whose decisions Aziraphale could never agree with. But he conveniently hides the fact that Heaven dismissed Gabriel because, for the first time in his existence, he made a decision Aziraphale would fully agree with.

I hate Metatron.

Let's move on with the scene.

"and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone."

Aziraphale canonically has standards but in this particular instance, his standards are so low it's heartbreaking. He's clearly floored by the fact that he was asked for an opinion. I don't think I need to comment on that any further.

Interestingly, it's just being asked, not the topic itself, as Aziraphale's answer sounds rather disinterested to me.

He suggests Michael, who seems to be next in the chain of command after Gabriel, and I think to some extent he's playing safe, but mostly he genuinely has no idea. We'll get back to it in a moment.

Metatron dismisses this option vehemently - "Oh, don't be silly! No, no, no, no, no!" - because of course he does. He had just scolded her like a misbehaving child. He needs to act as if putting Michael in charge is a ridiculous idea to further confirm his criteria are similar to Aziraphale's. That they are on the same page about what Heaven is and what would be good for Heaven to be what it was always meant to be.

And then Metatron finally goes for it: "There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense. And that's you".

Telling someone they're the only one to perform a certain task that is objectively perceived as necessary and desirable is probably manipulation 101. Actually, you don't even need a task like this, just telling someone they're the only one can make them special and appreciated enough to be willing to accept.

Additionally, Aziraphale knows he's different from other angels, an anomaly of sorts. This awareness on the one hand lends credibility to Metatron's argument - if they need someone like Aziraphale, he really is the only option, because no other angel is remotely similar to Aziraphale - and on the other hand validates his otherness.

In case you haven't noticed, Aziraphale is starved for validation.

Metatron knows what he's doing, showering him with compliments: "You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine. There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them. You are just the angel for the job."

They're not even particularly accurate at this point. I mean, I adore Aziraphale but I think you'd agree with me that if you lined up everyone in the whole world and asked them to describe Aziraphale, nobody at all would say "leader".

The part about Gabriel is a particular BS I've already written about.

But while all those things had an effect on Aziraphale, it's very important to stress that they did not make him take the offer. It wasn't the promise that Heaven actually cared for him and valued him. That Heaven needed him. It wasn't the opportunity to lead Heaven and to fix it.

Aziraphale's answer to all of the above was:

"I don't want to go back to Heaven. Where would I get my coffee?"

So Metatron immediately changes strategy. Dangles another prize in front of Aziraphale.

"You know, as Supreme Archangel, you would be able to decide who to work with. (...) it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend, Crowley, to full angelic status."

This is what tempted Aziraphale to agree*

*Except we don't actually know if that is what happened and I will discuss it further in the next part.

Continued in: Part 6: Divide and conquer