#IM SO GLAD HE IS NO LONGER CONSIDERED EXTINCT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miwtual · 2 years

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(Right it can be stressful sometimes but im glad you get it. Now onto the Chess symbolism.)

(NGL this got hella long so imma send it in pieces so you can put it under a read more or something so it doesn't spam your dash)

PART 1 (Also im back to typing on my phone so soz for any typos or mistakes)

While Chess has them playing each other it also reveals lots about a player. The diffent play methods show whether someone is a defensive or attack player. This also reveals information about who is playing. While I don't know much about Chess, it's easy to see if someone is willing to sacrifice their "pawns" or if they're less willing.

There are players who are often willing to sacrifice all their pawns before loosing their knight or bishops. On the other hand there's pawn strategies which show that while pawns may be underrated by some players, they can change the whole outcome. In fact, pawns, when used the right way, can completely destroy an opponents strategy since some tend to undervalue them.

This, in a way, shows Charles and Erik's opposing strategies. Charles is reluctant to give up any piece and he tends to value them all equally something we see when he created his school. Erik, meanwhile, tends to have pieces he considers more valuable and will give up "weaker" pieces when it's convenient. (In the originals he even said once "in Chess the pawns go first")

We see this when he decides to take out Raven in the second movie. While he considers her a strong piece, it's one he's willing to sacrifice in order to keep the game going. To stop the development of the Sentinals and to stop the future mass extinction of mutants. Charles tries, however, to find a way to end the game without sacrificing anything. He tries to find moves that he can make which will postpone the future without having to lose Raven or Erik.

The writers also used Chess as a way to continue to tie their relationship together. In the second movie, Erik knows that Charles is struggling with something. He had seen that Charles' powers no longer work and he's curious. So he extends the olive branch of asking Charles if he "fancies a game". One of the clearest ways to see this is the fact that Erik has to physically carry the chessboard with the pieces towards Charles. He's using it both and an olive brach but also as a barrier to maintain a distance from Charles. Since Erik is playing as white, it's his move first which is a beautiful connection to how Erik had to make the first move to reach out to Charles this time. The way that for a moment they fall back into their old routine with the "I'll go easy on you". This is something else we get paralleled in the final movie, except this time they're in a different place so Charles responds "no you won't" and they both smile.

The way he starts the conversation with "fancy a game" and they use this then to parallel at the end of Dark Phoenix where Erik is once again attempting to reach out to Charles and he replies with "not in the mood/no not today".

im gonna put the other half of this under a cut but i have to say when u said u had a lot about charles and erik playing chess i was SO excited and now i can see i was right to be excited

PART 2 (last chunk)

Another important shot in the second movie is the scene where Charles is lying on the couch with the board in front of him. It's also possible to see that there is a couch on each side of him, which are most likely the same ones from the first movie; however. The Chessboard is placed in a ways so that you can only see the black pieces which shows that theres something missing. Also when looking at the board it's possible to tell that there's pieces missing and it looks as if someone was midgame and abandoned the match. Both of these allude to the fact that Erik is no longer around.

In the first movie we see different times when they play Chess and the different locations. They not only show a shot of them playing outdoors but we get to see them in what is Charles' study. From their demeanor we can infer that this isn't the first time they've played Chess together in this location. Something that is a reflection of Charles, especially when we consider that he is a scholar and this is most likely a room he finds himself most comfortable in.

It's in this moment where Erik tells Charles what they both knew all along yet neither was willing to speak. This is because they both know that once it has been said there is no going back. "I'm going to kill him" Erik says while using his bishop to capture one of Charles' rooks (it's hard to see but im fairly certain it was a rook). Charles tries to reason with Erik "killing Shaw will not bring you peace" but Erik responds that "peace was never an option" that there was no other end to this. Just as there is no other end to their game. Here Erik is playing as the black pieces, with Charles as white which parallels to what I mentioned before as Charles is trying to make the first move by attempting to convince Erik not to kill Shaw.

Lastly, onto what is arguably THE best Chess scene which the one one at the end of Dark Phoenix. (I'm fairly certain there were no Chess scenes in the 3rd movie but I might be forgetting 😬). In general this scene is one of my favorites because its such a callback to numerous important previous scenes such as the "you offered me a home", "old friend", "fancy a game" (Also Charles sensing that Erik was there before he even saw him). Again we have Erik being the one who approaches Charles after everything that had happened in the movie (again I haven't watched it but like everyone turns on him or something?? Cause of the whole Jean thing?? Idk man, one of these days I'm sure I will).

Here we have him once again extending an olive branch to Charles in a way he knows, "for oldtimes sake". Charles reaches out to Erik through words and his continuing belief that there's more to him. Erik, however, struggles with this so he goes back to their roots. He brings a chessboard because this has always been their thing. The way that they've been able to communicate even when on opposite ends. He let's Charles pick the pieces, and Charles picks white (which I'm pretty sure tends to be the color Charles plays with most often. The only scene where he plays black is in the second movie.)

(ALSO BESTIE LETS NOT GET STARTED ON HOW EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY PLAY CHESS ERIK ISN'T WEARING HIS HELMET AND THE FURTHER SIGNIFICANCE OF THIS)

(WOW can't believe I'm going to not talk about the prequels for a minute here and talk about the originals. Jsjsjs the prequels are my jam tho) One thing I love about the originals is that we can also see the impact Chess has on their relationship, and I'm glad they transfered this to the prequels. We see Charles visiting Erik in prison and the way that the once again use Chess as an anchor of who they used to be, what they used to be. The shot of Erik in the park alone with the Chessboard after Charles has died is ultimately one of my favorite scenes. There's a tragedy to the simplicity of the scene, especially since it pans from multiple different people playing against someone to Erik sitting by himself. There's not much happening but we can see how upset Erik is. Once again we're shown the board and we can see that there's pieces missing and it looks like the players were in the middle of a match that has now been abandoned. Presumably the last game Erik and Charles played, which now will never be finished, completed. Just like their story was left, unfinished.

(Also if I'm remembering correctly we never see either of them play Chess against anyone else, which furthers the significance of the scenes)

#kai.answer #anonymous

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funkyfrogoftheday · 3 years

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today's funky frog of the day: the scrawny stubfoot toad (Atelopus longirostris)! not only is this friend super adorable, they also have an amazing story! between 1989 and 2016, this frog was considered to be extinct. however, in 2016, they found more specimens and a breeding program was established in the hopes of replenishing the population!

photo by Luis Aurelio Coloma

#scrawny stubfoot toad #IM SO GLAD HE IS NO LONGER CONSIDERED EXTINCT #HEHEHHE #Atelopus longirostris #funky frog of the day

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jincherie · 6 years

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Wanted | 03

pairing: Jungkook x reader genre: space!au, alien!au, alien!jungkook, sci fi, smut (future) words: 5.6k+ rating: sfw warnings: sparring, notes: this is a bit shorter but ending it after the scene i planned to have after this wouldnt have felt right, so im going to cram it all into a longer part for the next one lol. im thinking two more parts before smut!!

You were a deserter, a renegade, a wanted “criminal”. It was never in your plans to crash land on that planet, and it most certainly wasn’t in your plans to fall in love with it’s handsome ruler.

masterlist | moodboard | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | complete

In the week following your meeting with the Kelkie King in the infirmary, you honestly had interacted a lot less than you’d expected. You glimpsed him every now and then, greeted him, but otherwise saw more of Seokjin and Jimin than you did Jungkook, and you almost wondered if he was avoiding you before you remembered he was a King, and as such had duties and responsibilities to fulfil. Taehyung had been eager to put his restless energy to use and begin fixing the radio, and now every morning he’d leave the palace for the carcass of the ship that had once been your pride and joy, and use those scrap parts in his endeavour to make a working communication device. You missed him a little during the day— admittedly, you never did have the best attention span, and you’d been growing bored easily— but he always came back before nightfall, and your rooms weren’t too far from each other.

It was the room you have been so graciously provided by the King that you were currently in. To be honest, the longer you spent on this planet, in this castle, surrounded by the flora and beautiful carved and polished stone walls, the more you grew to like it. Your rooms were decorated more with the white stone the Kelkie favoured, the one that resembled something between quartz and marble. Your floors were a darker tone, the walls brighter and glimmering in the light that filtered through the gossamer-like curtains over the open window. Your bed was raised on a slab, similar to how it had been in the infirmary, and on top was the same plush bedding, covered in silvery-white silken sheets. You’d learned in your time here that it wasn’t always cool at night, the planet’s warmer climate meaning you were left sweating lightly more often than not, and the cool, satin sheets helped more than you thought they would in keeping you cool. You adored how the material felt against your skin, and you noticed it was the same one that the Kelkie fashioned their garments from— honestly, you couldn’t blame them at all, it was a wise choice.

You’d taken to wondering around the palace during the day, and by now would usually be out of the room. But before you’d managed to take a grand total of three steps from your doorway today a beaming Jimin had appeared from thin air and cut you off, ushering you wordlessly back inside and closing the door after you both. Ever since you were deemed a non-threat, Jimin had warmed up very quickly, and was nowhere near as hostile as he’d been to begin with. If you hadn’t seen his brutal strength and speed, and the glare you’d received when you’d first landed, with your own two eyes, then you probably would have thought this soft, friendly Jimin incapable of such hostility and dangerous potential. His freckles had glowed a contented pastel orange as he smiled at you from the door— you were very suddenly reminded of just how beautiful he was, and the fact that you were still in the ratty clothes you’d salvaged off the ship.

“His Majesty thought you might have been bored this week, and so has invited you to the training room to watch as we spar,” he spoke quickly, accent curling cutely around the words and an excited edge filtering through his tone. You raised your brows at him as he pushed your lower back with his hands, nudging you towards the built-in closet to the corner of the room.

“Spar?” you echoed, curious. “What about sparring has got you so excited?”

Jimin was grinning as he opened the doors, peering into the depths of the closet and silently appraising the large array of silken clothing. “We’re a race of warriors, but we’re also a race that prioritise peace— this leaves a lot of restless energy. Sparring is customary to release that restless energy, and usually you have a set sparring partner. His Majesty is my sparring partner, since our skill levels are similar.”

His dark eyes met yours as he turned over his shoulder and shot you an excited look, “His Majesty has been too busy as of late to spar with me, but he has finally freed enough time up to participate.”

You couldn’t help the surprise that filtered over your face at his earlier words. “You prioritise peace?”

Jimin sent you a knowing look. “I know of our reputation throughout the galaxy, so you must be surprised,” he chuckled, marks swimming between sunset orange and desert pink. “Peace has always been our priority— we’re a race that evolved perfectly for combat, to kill. It would be disastrous were that aspect directed internally; we’d run ourselves into the ground and into extinction. So we seek peace, and we’d do anything to protect that.”

You hummed, thoughts whirring. That made sense, you supposed. It also fit all you’d experienced so far— especially how the second you weren’t considered a threat anymore, every Kelkie you encountered was friendly, almost.

“I can understand that,” you said, eyes following the male’s movements as he rifled through the clothing in the closet, inspecting colours and styles. “What are you doing, by the way?”

“Finding you something besides those,” his eyes flicked over his shoulder once more, falling upon your clothes, and his nose wrinkled, marks colouring peridot, “…scraps, to wear. You’re a guest in the palace after all, and those garments… are not in the most optimal condition.”

You opened your mouth to fight him but simply shut it, knowing he was right. To be honest, you were a little glad he was making you change— the clothes currently covering your form were getting rattier each day you wore them, and you’d seen the garments in the cupboard but hadn’t known if you were allowed to touch it, let alone wear it. The silken robes and garb seemed too expensive, too luxurious to be something you were allowed to wear.

Jimin hummed, pleased when you didn’t bother to argue. He paused, turning to you for a moment, “Would you prefer skirts or pants?”

Peering into the closet where his hands currently parted the clothing, you had to admit that the skirts and dresses did look lovely. There was a definite urge within you to try them on, wear them about, but you were above all else a woman of practicality— you would be more comfortable in pants, and with this heat you weren’t very fond of the idea of your thighs sweating and rubbing should you wear a dress.

“Pants, please,” you answered, and Jimin beamed at you before diving into the closet once more and emerging with a deep sapphire blue and black set, similar from what you could see to what he himself wore.

“The blue will compliment you,” he informed you, passing the cloth into your awaiting hands. He clapped his hands impatiently when you didn’t move straight away, directing you to the bathroom that resided to the right of the closet. “Well? Go get changed, silly human. Every second longer you take is a second I could be sparring with my King.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to help your smile as you listened and moved into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’d expected some difficulty as you slipped from your clothes and into those supplied, thinking that the silken material would have more resistance. To your surprise, however, the material had a fair amount of give that made it easier to slip the garment over your head, the cloth stretching slightly before resuming its natural state with ease and fitting snugly around your neck and upper half. Just like all the other clothes you’d seen Kelkie wear, this too had a high collar that sat similarly to a turtleneck, hugging your throat comfortably. You would have thought having something sitting so tightly around your form would increase heat, but the only thing you could feel was the pleasant cool of the silk against your skin.

A pleased sigh escaped you as you turned to face the polished mirror, now fully decked out in the clothes provided and a lot cooler than before. You were taken aback at how well both the colour and the fit suited you— it complimented all of your best assets, and was in all honesty probably the most comfortable thing you would ever wear in your life. You folded your dirty clothes, holding them in your grasp as you exited the bathroom, adoring how the silk of the harem pants caressed the skin of your legs.

Jimin’s face lit as his eyes fell upon you, an expression you could only call gleeful crossing the pleasant planes of his face. “Excellent! They suit you. He will most definitely be pleased.”

You didn’t even have time to question him as to what he could have possibly meant by that before he was dumping your dirty clothes to the side somewhere and dragging you after him. He chatted your ear off, cute accent reminding you of something that had been burning at your thoughts for a while. The training room was apparently on the other side of the castle, and you decided to take the time to query the male about the subject of your curiosity.

“Jimin,” you began when there was enough of a lull in the conversation that you could speak without being rude. “When we first got here, Taehyung and I couldn’t understand a thing that was said around us because you were speaking a completely different language. How is it that now, you can…?”

Jimin turned to face you, lips parting in a soft ‘o’ at your question. “Oh right, you humans don’t have…” he cut himself off with a soft smile. “Like I said earlier, our priority as a species is peace— fostering it, maintaining it. Every ability we developed in some way helps us do that, we evolved skills and features that aid us for that purpose. In example, you’ve probably the noticed the markings on our skin change with what we are feeling?”

When you nodded, listening avidly, the male continued, brushing a hand through his raven hair. He had a thick pair of silver hoops in his ears today that glimmered prettily as his head shifted.

“It’s a lot easier to keep peace and avoid misunderstandings when you have an indicator of how someone else is feeling, isn’t it?” you nodded once more, and he elaborated further, guiding you around a corner as he spoke, “Well, similarly to that, somewhere along the line Kelkie developed the ability to… download, I suppose you could say, through touch the language of another similarly evolved creature. Like connecting the language portions of each person’s brain to the other. Only the most powerful Kelkie can do that, however, which would be our King. Any knowledge like that that he obtains he can then spread to other Kelkie, in a hive mind sort of fashion. He can choose whom to give it to.”

Your mouth had fallen open as you listened, enraptured. It was so incredibly interesting to learn all of this— they visually appeared so similar to humans that it was so peculiar to hear all of the stark differences listed out like that. You couldn’t help but feel that perhaps, the Kelkie had evolved to be a more superior species than your own; humans couldn’t do anything nearly as cool as that, after all.

Satisfied with that answer for now, your mind moved to another topic. “Why did Jungkook invite me to come watch you spar?” you asked, blinking up at the male.

Jimin nearly tripped, eyes wide as he sent you a look of surprise. “He told you to call him by his birth name?” he choked out, and you realised why he was so shocked. Jungkook was a King, it was unlikely anyone new ever really referred to him by his name, let alone knew it.

“Yeah,” you said, wondering if you’d done something wrong by saying it out loud. Your worries were mollified by the expression that shifted over Jimin’s face after he recovered from the shock, a strange mixture of sly knowing and amusement.

“Ah, I see,” the grin that stretched his plump lips worried you slightly. “Well, His Majesty told me it was because he thought you might have been bored. But I believe he remembered seeing you fight, and thought to impress you with his own ability.”

Your mouth dropped open, but before you could think of something to respond to the male, you were arriving at a heavy set of double doors, which Jimin proceeded to push open with ease. It was easy for you to forget sometimes just how much stronger and faster he was than you. Heat stained your cheeks at his insinuation, and your thoughts were whirling so fast in your mind you almost didn’t notice the other figure in the room.

“Little human,” the voice sounded alarmingly close to your side and you jumped with a slight yelp, spinning around to face the King that was smiling at you in amusement. You heard Jimin chuckle behind you before he moved off to set things up. “You’ve healed well.”

You couldn’t stop your body’s instant reaction to the attractive male, heat gracing your cheeks and your heart fluttering against your ribcage. Your hand came to rub the skin of your arm where the wound had been a week or so ago. You didn’t know what it was, but there was something miraculous in the plants on this planet— Seokjin had taken to regularly applying a salve made from the local flora over your wounds and you were honestly still rattled at how quickly they had healed. Your arm had been completely healed within days, and in that time your thigh had recovered enough that you could walk, although even now it was still a bit tender.

You watched as Jungkook’s eyes followed your hand movement, before flicking to the clothes you now wore on your body. He was visibly shocked, marks flushing deep, rosy pink at the sight of you in the garb of his people, and his gaze continued to sweep down the length of your body with such heat you could feel your form tremble slightly in an anticipation of some sort.

“You’re not wearing your human clothes…” he murmured, something foreign present in his eyes as they met yours that made your stomach do a flip.

A hand came up to sheepishly rub the back of your neck, fingers brushing over the mark that was tingling slightly as it always seemed to do in Jungkook’s presence. He really did get your nerves going, apparently. You offered a smile as you responded, “Yeah, they were getting pretty, um, unwearable. Jimin chose these for me.”

Something unreadable passed over Jungkook’s gaze as you mentioned Jimin picked out the clothes you were wearing, a slight tick in his jaw, a narrowing of his eyes— and then it was gone and you were left wondering if it had even happened at all. The young King smiled, a light tug of his lips, and placed a hand behind you, hovering over the small of your back but not touching, to guide you further into the room. He didn’t make contact with your body but you could still feel the heat from his palm glazing the skin of your lower back, a rush of excitement tingling up your spine.

“He chose well; they suit you,” Jungkook said, eyes appraising your form once more before they swept back up to meet your gaze. “Are they comfortable?”

It was like the heat flushing your cheeks wasn’t going to ever leave, your heart skipping another two beats for good measure at his words. “Very. I’m a lot cooler now, and I love how the material feels,” you answered honestly, forcing yourself to keep his gaze even as it felt like it grew too intense for you.

Jungkook hummed, about to say something more before there was a noise that bordered on a whine from Jimin where he stood waiting impatiently across the room.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, could you hurry up?” his foot was tapping restlessly, hip cocked as he rested all his weight on one leg and eyed his King. Your eyes were drawn to the tensed muscle of his thigh and you had to respect the power waiting in his coiled limbs— Jimin’s thighs were nice, yet at the same time a small, traitorous voice in the back of your mind spoke up, whispering that Jungkook’s looked that bit stronger, that bit more powerful. It was hard to ignore that voice. “It has been weeks since we have sparred.”

The King acquiesced to the impatient prompting of his advisor and with an eager grin that had your stomach performing an impressive somersault, moved over to where he stood.

“Very well, let us begin,” he said, fingertips brushing your back just barely as he retracted it from behind you. He turned to face you, eyes beginning to light with something akin to excitement. “Little human, there is seating over there for you. Make yourself comfortable.”

You followed his gaze to the wall to your right, where a large pile of floor cushions and plush pillows was arranged. It was clearly out of place in the room that, as you now noticed, had walls lined with sharp weapons and well-worn training material— this realisation, coupled with the sly, knowing grin Jimin had adopted, led you to believe that Jungkook had arranged it for you himself.

Understandably, the thought made you even more flustered than you already were, heart fluttering against your ribcage and stomach teeming with butterflies. You couldn’t stop the bright beam from tugging your lips. “Thank you, I will.”

Jungkook’s eyes were wide at the bright smile you flashed his way, cheeks rosy and markings blossom pink as you moved over to the cushions and settled, making yourself comfortable and unable to hide the contented look on your face that came as a result of being embraced by the soft silken material and plush cushioning of your pillow throne. Jimin brought the King’s attention back to the matter at hand, grinning knowingly, and asked, “Your Majesty, how are we sparring today? Are we sparring with weapons?”

Jungkook hummed, turning his gaze to the dangerous instruments lining the walls as he contemplated an answer. Your eyes were drawn to them, admiring the shapes that seemed familiar yet different in the most peculiar ways— you noticed they were all made of the silvery metal that everything else you’d seen was, and couldn’t help but admire the aesthetic quality to them. Your attention was brought back to the King as he spoke, “No, no weapons today.”

You didn’t think Jimin could seem any more excited, but he looked positively gleeful. His teeth flashed as he grinned widely, placing down the staff-like weapon he’d picked up and walking to the centre of the room.

Jungkook followed him, stretching his limbs, and once Jimin reached his desired spot in the room he did the same. Your eyes were drawn to the toned planes of Jungkook’s back as he warmed his limbs, the silken material clinging to the muscles in a way that had you feeling like a first-class pervert. His shirt, you noticed, had slits on the sides at the bottom, over his hips, and the part of the material from the waist down was looser and less skin-tight. You wondered if there was a particular reason for that, or if it was simply the design of the shirts.

“Ready when you are, Your Majesty,” Jimin was bouncing on the spot almost, all the restless energy he’d accrued over the weeks welling up at once and overflowing.

You caught a smile passing over Jungkook’s face before he fell back into a pose, a focused look falling upon his features. “Alright. As usual, on the count of three. One… two…”

You never heard ‘three’. Right when Jungkook would have uttered it, the two males coiled, before launching towards the other almost quicker than your eyes could keep up. Your breath was instantly stolen from your lungs as you witnessed a fight between two members of the galaxies deadliest race, wonderment and awe filling you to the brim with each second that passed.

Their movements were fluid, the epitome of grace, and if you didn’t already know exactly what you were watching you could have sworn they were dancing across the room. The first to go on the offensive was Jimin, movements flowing from one to the other with ease as he lunged and angled his body, fist going for Jungkook’s throat. The King’s feet dug into the floor to ground him, body twisting out of the way with ease and his own fist aiming for Jimin’s open abdomen.

The smaller male lurched and pivoted on his front foot, twisting and knocking Jungkook’s fist aside with his right palm before tilting and using the momentum gathered to bring his elbow towards the taller male’s face. Each of Jimin’s movements were streamlined, cutting through the air with ease and delivering the stored power in each blow upon contact. Jungkook hissed as the elbow grazed his cheekbone, but was not one easily caught unawares.

Jimin’s twist in an effort to land a blow on the King’s face had left his balance compromised, and Jungkook utilised this, his leg extending as he leant back to dodge the elbow and connecting harshly with the back of Jimin’s knee. The shorter male cursed, leg swept out from under him at the sheer force behind Jungkook’s blow, and he dropped to roll and spring back up a few feet away.

All of this happened in the span of a few seconds, and you sat enraptured as you watched it play out before your very eyes. They were fast, incredibly fast, and seeing the sheer strength behind their each and every move was beyond eye-opening— sure, you’d been terrified and wary when you’d first gotten here since you’d heard the rumours, but you’d never seen them in action before. They lived up to every word, and the sight had your heart thrumming in your chest.

From what you could tell, the two males’ skills were fairly evenly matched, but if you had to say one was better, you would probably say Jungkook. While Jimin’s movements were liquid and quick, delivering force only when he needed it, Jungkook’s each and every action was wrought with power, shifting through the air with strength in his limbs. He was quick, movements sharp and loaded with force. As an opponent, he was more brutal in his motions. If Jimin wasn’t as fast, wasn’t as flexible as he was, you could see the King winning with ease.

Their different strengths seemed to match them well in combat. Each took as many blows as they landed, and your heart was in your throat the entire time, wondering who, if either of them, would come out on top.

Jungkook landed a powerful high kick to Jimin’s chest and he flew back, arching his body in the air to press his hands into the floor and flip upright in one fluid motion. He kicked off the second his feet touched the ground, dodging the two swipes aimed at his head and neck and grasping Jungkook’s fist as the last one flew by his head. He curved, his back to the taller male, and using his core and upper body hauled the King over his shoulder.

A rough curse left Jungkook’s mouth as he was thrown, but as he passed over the shorter male’s shoulder he twisted his wrist and gripped Jimin’s arm with both hands. All it took was another twist of his body as he grew closer to the floor and his feet were planted firmly, Jimin now in the exact same position he had been in but thrown into it too quickly to react as he had.

Jimin’s back slammed onto the floor, winding him for the smallest of moments before he was coiling, springing his legs up and around to swipe Jungkook’s own out from under him. He fell, flipping to his front and springing himself up with his arms. Jimin lurched onto his feet, and they began once more.

You didn’t know how long you watched them spar, but you had been unable to tear your eyes away the entire time. It soon became apparent when they began to grow tired, however. A thin sheen of sweat had formed over their skin and they panted lightly, movements growing sloppier and slower. Contrary to what you might have thought, it ended in a draw— they halted in the middle of their movements, fists hovering over each other’s throats, and held the position for a good three seconds.

Jimin was the first to break, arm dropping and a loud, boisterous laugh tearing from his throat. He lifted a hand to ruffle Jungkook’s raven locks before he pulled back, rolling his neck and shaking out his limbs with a wince despite the massive grin on his face.

“As practiced as ever, Your Majesty,” he complimented, seeming pleased with the way the sparring session had gone, his markings a content aquamarine. They were both panting, chests heaving slightly, but both seemed energised and relaxed compared to before they had started. Jimin turned, adjusting the clothes that had gotten torn and stretched during their fight, and started towards the door. “I’ll be on my way— I have to help Seokjin with something. Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook nodded, a hand on his hip as he caught his breath and watched Jimin leave through the double doors. It was silent a moment in his absence, before the King seemed to remember you were in the room. He turned, a bright smile on his lips as he made his way over to where you sat on the cushions, still in awe.

“Well, little human,” he hummed, dark eyes alight with the spirit of play, “What did you think? Were you entertained?”

You couldn’t have stopped the verbal flood of words as they left your mouth even if you wanted to. “That was so— so incredible! You both moved so fast, so gracefully and fluidly, and you’re both so strong?! I almost couldn’t keep up with my eyes, and—”

The king extended a hand to help you up off of the cushions, and you took it gratefully as you spoke. His fingers closed around your hand and with his strong grip he tugged you up— and in his post-spar high he forgot to monitor his strength. You were hauled up with ease, but tumbled into his chest since you didn’t have the strength to resist the momentum. A gasp escaped the both of you, your hands on his chest as you reeled and attempted to right yourself.

When your eyes flickered upwards they caught his own, the dark, doe-like orbs burning with a heat that sparked up your spine, the mark at the back of your neck tingling oddly. Your breath caught in your throat, lungs suddenly faltering and heart skipping one too many beats at your close proximity and you were all too conscious of the searing cool of his chest against your palm. You blinked, caught in the moment you were currently sharing and carried away in the thick, heady air brewing between you that awoke urges within you— urges to move closer, to press your form against his, to tangle your fingers in those raven locks. Urges, to lean and press your lips against his, scatter kisses over his nose and cheekbones, brush your lips over those endearing freckles that were glowing deep, wine red and—

He blinked and your breath returned to your lungs, fog over your mind dispersing and the tension of the past few seconds with it. You stepped back, not missing the way Jungkook’s gaze had lingered on your lips as his tongue darted to wet his own. You were eager to get the conversation back on track, opening your mouth to resume your sentence when you eyes caught sight of something on his neck peeping from underneath the torn material of his high collar.

“What’s that on your neck?”

Jungkook started, eyes shooting wide and hand flying to cover whatever was hiding behind the material of his shirt before you could get a better look. The markings across his skin that had once tempted you with their deep, swimming crimson now flushed searing pink, the skin over his cheeks colouring similarly. The King took a firm step back, eyes wide.

“Nothing of your concern, little human,” he said, tone wavering slightly and betraying how much you’d caught him off guard. You were incredibly curious as to what was on his neck now, but he was stepping back once more in a clear indication that you’d had your chance already. He turned towards the door, opening his mouth to speak over his shoulder at you. Your eyes shifted over his form, surprised at the amount of tears in the material of his shirt from sparring with Jimin. Smooth, warm skin and toned muscles peeked out from beneath the garment, bringing a further flush to your face. What was this man doing to you?!

“I have something to attend to, right now, immediately,” Jungkook rushed, marks and face still pink. “I will see you at a later time.”

And then he was gone before you could even protest, the words dying on the tip of your tongue as you blinked and he disappeared through the door.

How were you supposed to find your way back to your room?

It was something you’d wondered the entire time you spent walking about and hoping you were going the right way. Thankfully, you weren’t left suffering for long, and you ran into Seokjin after what you guessed to be half an hour of wandering about. He’d asked why you were walking through the halls alone while he walked you back to your room, and you filled him in on all that had happened, including how Jungkook got flustered over something and, essentially, legged it. Seokjin seemed greatly amused at the concept.

“That kid,” he muttered softly to himself, uncaring that you heard it, before he turned his dark eyes to yours, resuming the use of Jungkook’s title. “His Majesty is a little self-conscious of his Fate Mark.”

You couldn’t help the tilt of your head, the question slipping from your mouth. “Fate Mark? What’s that?”

Seokjin seemed surprised, dark eyes widening and freckles colouring bright blue. “You humans do not have a Fate Mark?” he queried, and at your blank look he continued, “You do not have a Fated One?”

His words tickled recognition in your brain. “No, I don’t think we do. You mean… like soul mates?” you asked, curious as to what you were about to learn.

Seokjin hummed. “Yes, I suppose you could refer to it as that,” he said, turning his gaze forwards as he organised his thoughts. “When Kelkie reach the age of twenty-five, a mark appears on their body. It is a mark that they share with only one other, their Fated One. It is the person the universe chose for them.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly in awe, mind whirring. Seokjin spoke again, elaborating further. “Every Kelkie gets the mark at twenty-five, but sometimes… there are exceptions. His Majesty is one of them; he received his mark when he turned twenty.”

Your eyebrows shot up at the mention of Jungkook’s age. “He’s a King so young?” you burst, eyes wide.

Instead of reacting as he had last time you’d mentioned Jungkook’s age, Seokjin laughed. “Yes. It is customary for the next in line to begin their rule when they receive their mark, but Jungkook-ah— His Majesty, I should say, began ruling at a much younger age, due to… unfortunate circumstances.”

The humour fled from Seokjin’s dark eyes as his thoughts were taken elsewhere, no doubt to the circumstances he’d just mentioned. You bit your lip, knowing it would be both rude and inappropriate to ask questions like you wanted to right now. It was only a few moments more before Seokjin was lifting his gaze, a smile on his lips that was only slightly strained.

“He was thrown into it at a very young age, but he has become a good King, a good man. We are all proud of him,” Seokjin’s voice was soft, the both of you coming to a stop, and you only just realised you were in front of the doors to your room.

Seokjin was looking at you with a peculiar expression when you turned back to thank him for walking you back, and it made you pause for a moment while he finished thinking whatever he was so caught up in thinking.

“Thank you for walking me back,” you said with a smile. “And for humouring me.”

The tall male grinned. “Don’t get lost again. The palace is too large for little humans to be wondering about.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, turning to your door. “See you later, Seokjin.”

He bid you farewell, and you were left to ponder all the information you’d just learned. You spent the rest of your day sprawled across your bed, wrapped up in thoughts of soul mates and the beautiful Kelkie King who was quickly becoming dangerous to your health in a way you hadn’t ever anticipated.

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oovitus · 6 years

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.24.18

A friend of mine told me that he recently went to a conference where all of the attendees seemed to be talking about perfectionism, in spite of that fact that it wasn’t the conference theme. They were discussing it as people who had been susceptible to impossible standards in the past, but now counted themselves lucky to have let perfectionism go.

As we were talking, it occurred to me that I haven’t thought about perfectionism in a long time, though it had a hold on me for years. Even after I stopped trying to do everything “right,” perfectionism (and to some extent, being “Type A”) was a big part of my identity. I called myself a “recovering perfectionist,” which was truthful, but in retrospect I think it was also my way of continuing to identify with perfectionism and communicate it to others. I didn’t want to be subject to oppressive standards anymore, but I hadn’t yet figured out who I was without them.

In the end, perfectionism exited my life out of necessity; I untangled from it because I didn’t have a choice. Living with bouts of depression and anxiety in the last few years has meant letting go of a lot of my self-imposed notions of what constitutes productivity, success, or a day well spent.

A common experience of depression, I think, is that small, routine asks can suddenly seem insurmountable: doing laundry, cleaning up, running errands. This would have sounded unbelievable to me at one point in my life, when these kinds of to-dos were just afterthoughts, but now I know what it’s like to struggle with the everyday.

I’m thinking back to an afternoon two summers ago that illustrates this perfectly: my anxiety had been particularly bad, and I’d been paralyzed by procrastination all day. By dinnertime I was genuinely proud of myself for having gotten out of the house to pick up groceries and mail a package. This was a radically different measure of productivity than I was used to, and it didn’t matter: I was relieved to have done something, anything.

I’m in a different place now, capable of fuller days, but my perspective remains valuably altered by that experience. I don’t wake up with a fixed agenda anymore. I don’t plan on doing more than I know I can handle. If I notice that tasks remain undone everyday on my modest to-do list, I take it as a sign that I need to plan on doing less, rather than wondering why I can’t do more.

I’ve learned that my capacity for doing and my tendency to get overwhelmed ebb and flow. Sometimes they shift for reasons that I can identify, like how I’m feeling physically or whether something has made me anxious. Sometimes they change suddenly and for no apparent reason. I don’t try to bully myself out of feeling overwhelmed; rather, I ask what would make me feel calmer and more steady.

I often remind myself of a mantra that my friend Maria gave herself when her MS symptoms started keeping her from the pace and routines that had become customary: “better than before.” The origin of this mantra was an ongoing struggle to keep tidy the home she shared with her young son. As Maria’s “functional self” receded, she noticed the presence of another self, who “though less physically versatile, was stronger than I ever could have imagined from the perspective of the one who functioned’ throughout the day. She began to show me things my functional self simply missed.”

One of those things, she goes on to say,

was to be able to notice when I was completely out of energy to exert myself. This might be when something was halfway wiped, or not wiped at all, but I had somehow managed to put some things away. She would know to say that’s enough for now. And she was very clever about what would satisfy my functional self, who would never have been satisfied with that’s enough. It sobered that functional self to learn when the diagnosis of MS finally came that the “forcing” she had habituated herself to was the worst thing to do if she wanted to preserve her physical abilities. But as the saying goes, it’s really true that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. So my deeper wiser identity came up with something even more ingenious than this looming threat:

Better Than It Was.

Or, (depending on the context): Cleaner Than It Was.

These two statements became my mottos. And they still are. They allowed me to learn to pace myself while still satisfying that Functional Self that I was making what she considered progress through the daily requirements of life, even if many of them were slowed to a crawl or a downright standstill. Better Than It Was.

Maria’s story is uniquely her own, and my own sense of high functionality has shifted for reasons that are uniquely mine. But her clever motto has given me great comfort since I first read about it on her blog. So, too, does this quote from Melody Beattie: “Our best yesterday was good enough; our best today is plenty good too.”

The best thing about letting go of perfectionism is developing a capacity to recognize that “our best” can look very different from moment to moment. There’s no longer an immovable standard of output. I wish that I’d been able to pry my ego away from productivity and being busy on my own, rather than being forced to reckon with a dramatic shift in my capacities, but in the end, it doesn’t matter how I got here. What matters is that I’m learning to be grateful for what I can do, rather than fixating on what I haven’t, or can’t.

Throughout all of this, I’ve had the tremendous luxury of being able to adjust my schedule and responsibilities in a way that allowed me to create a dynamic “new normal.” Not every person has the space to do this, depending on his or her professional and personal circumstances. I recognize and respect the many men and women who go through periods of depression and anxiety while also keeping up with fixed schedules. And of course I worry sometimes about my DI year: now that I’m learning how to take gentle care in the moments when I need to, what will it be like to temporarily lose control of my schedule and workload?

I don’t have an answer, but to some degree I suspect that I don’t need one. My routine next year will be a challenge, but so long as I can do my best without succumbing to the influence of perfectionism, I know I’ll be OK. Much as I’ve made my schedule more realistic, letting go of perfectionism has been an inside job. It resides in recognizing how futile perfectionism is, how it discourages me needlessly while keeping me from recognizing the good that I can do, and maybe have done (another observation that’s prompted by Beattie).

Here’s to a week—and a month, and a summer, and a year—of doing my best and trusting that my best is enough. I wish the same for you, too. And here’s the weekly roundup of links.

Recipes

I would never think to put fruit in a tabbouleh, but I love Katie’s creative mixture of blueberries, parsley, mint, and quinoa—I’d actually love to try it as a savory breakfast dish!

A very different kind of quinoa salad, but no less delicious: a curried mixture with red cabbage, raisins, and pumpkin seeds from Melanie of Veggie Jam.

Two recipes for summer entertaining caught my eye this past week. The first is these show-stopping chipotle cauliflower nachos from my friend Jeanine of Love & Lemons.

Number two is this platter of green summer rolls with mango miso sauce from Anya of Lazy Cat Kitchen. The sauce alone is calling to me, but I also love all of the tender green veggies here (asparagus, zucchini, broccolini).

Finally, a summery vegan pasta salad with creamy avocado dressing—perfect timing, as pasta salad’s been on my mind lately (and I may just have a recipe coming soon!).

Reads

1. This article is about a month old, but it’s very on-topic for today’s post: why you should stop being so hard on yourself, via The New York Times.

2. Ed Yong’s new article on the threat of imminent global pandemics frightened me (and the blurb under the title didn’t help), but it’s an important topic, and I’m glad that it’s being written about. Yong notes the medical supply shortages that are becoming increasingly problematic in the US; hopefully greater awareness might somehow inspire solutions.

3. Reporting on the termination of a major NIH study of alcohol, heart attack, and stroke, which was shut down when conflicts of interest were identified. It’s an important examination of the ethics of funding and scientific research.

4. Dispatches from the Gulf of California, where the vaquita—now the world’s rarest marine mammal—is on the brink of extinction.

5. I was so full of appreciation and respect when I read my friend Karen’s latest post on numbers and body acceptance.

Like Karen, I went through a long period of asking to be blind weighed at the doctor’s office and not owning a scale. That time served a purpose, but nowadays I can be aware of the number without identifying with it, which I’m grateful for. I’ve had a bunch of doctor’s appointments in the last month, and getting weighed has been the last thing on my mind: feeling more at home in my body has been my only point of focus.

Karen opens up about her own recent experience with the scale and the annual physical, then reflects on why she’s committed to being transparent about what “balance” looks like for her. It’s great to witness her journey unfolding.

On that inspiring note, happy Sunday—and from a celebratory NYC, happy pride! I’ll be circling back this week with my first fruit-filled dessert of the summer.

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oovitus · 6 years

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.24.18

One of those things, she goes on to say,

Better Than It Was.

Or, (depending on the context): Cleaner Than It Was.

Here’s to a week—and a month, and a summer, and a year—of doing my best and trusting that my best is enough. I wish the same for you, too. And here’s the weekly roundup of links.

Recipes

I would never think to put fruit in a tabbouleh, but I love Katie’s creative mixture of blueberries, parsley, mint, and quinoa—I’d actually love to try it as a savory breakfast dish!

A very different kind of quinoa salad, but no less delicious: a curried mixture with red cabbage, raisins, and pumpkin seeds from Melanie of Veggie Jam.

Two recipes for summer entertaining caught my eye this past week. The first is these show-stopping chipotle cauliflower nachos from my friend Jeanine of Love & Lemons.

Finally, a summery vegan pasta salad with creamy avocado dressing—perfect timing, as pasta salad’s been on my mind lately (and I may just have a recipe coming soon!).

Reads

1. This article is about a month old, but it’s very on-topic for today’s post: why you should stop being so hard on yourself, via The New York Times.

4. Dispatches from the Gulf of California, where the vaquita—now the world’s rarest marine mammal—is on the brink of extinction.

5. I was so full of appreciation and respect when I read my friend Karen’s latest post on numbers and body acceptance.

On that inspiring note, happy Sunday—and from a celebratory NYC, happy pride! I’ll be circling back this week with my first fruit-filled dessert of the summer.

The post Weekend Reading, 6.24.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

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