#i may have to work on some assumptions i’ve unconsciously made for myself

[eviltext]

in today’s news i made my friends rewatch raw 2016 with me. they weren’t impressed. 😔

#*this is in jest ofc they consented. we talked about it #anyway i should write more reviews. maybe i do see symbolism better in movies. maybe they just dont. idk #anyway maybe im too desensitized to gore. oh welp too late now #anyway maybe i say anyway too often #p #this is to show that not all lesbians have a fucked taste in movies #i may have to work on some assumptions i’ve unconsciously made for myself #come join the raw 2016 fanclub with me

[vkelleyart]

Thoughts on fandom: inclusion and engagement.

(Art credit to the kindhearted @penpanoply​!)

There’s been some stuff floating around on Tumblr about strife in the CO/WS fandom, and though I haven’t been explicitly named-dropped on anything public, my DMs have been... active. lol Rather than rehash what’s been said already, I just want to impart a little wisdom and perspective in the hopes it may soothe frayed feelings and offer a way ahead for cultivating a respectful community. As someone who has been an active participant in online fandoms since the mid-’90s, which was the advent of online fandom content creation (shout out to my fellow X-Philes!), and who has also spent a chunk of her professional life managing social media for the federal government and for activist groups, I can promise you it’s all gonna be okay.

Here’s some context for why strife happens and what we can do to create a more inclusive and communicative fandom environment. 

1) It sounds cliché, but fandoms go through growing pains. 

In the case of the Simon Snow fandom, what was once a small and cozy space untouched by cataclysmic events (such as the release of *gasp* a sequel) has grown exponentially in a relatively short amount of time following the release of Wayward Son. Newcomers are eager to find a home in this space at the same time as folks who’ve been here a while may be consciously or unconsciously wary about widening their circle, and It’s important to remember that this is not necessarily an expression of bad behavior on either side but just human psychology doing its thing. 

The byproduct, however, is that tension and stress builds over time from the lack of meaningful communication across the divide, which subsequently fuels misunderstandings. Ironically, the interfaces we use to communicate don’t help with this because any existing communication about the tension happens in tiny vacuums until a trigger goes off and bad feelings go public. 

Way Ahead: These moments of destabilization are opportunities to see where we can be more self aware about how we engage with fandom and the kind of community we want to be. Can you promote, support, or befriend someone trying to gain a foothold? If yes, please do! Each person must reach their own decision about what they can do within the confines of their available energy, health, and time, but a little self awareness goes a long way as long as you’re honest with yourself and others if applicable about what you can contribute. Anyone who judges you for it isn’t worth the strife.

2) In a fandom comprised of vulnerable/marginalized people, it’s more accurate to say that cliques are “bubbles of trust.”

This one's important. Just by nature of the source material, the CO/WS fandom includes fans with a wide array of backgrounds and experiences, especially when it comes to those who identify with the characters’ queerness, mental illness, and/or trauma. I really believe––based on individual conversations/group chats––that the difficult lived experiences that so many of our fandom peers have endured has produced one of the most open, aware, and accepting fandoms I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. Our vulnerability is, in a real way, our strength.

That said, a community of survivors also has the side effect of cultivating small circles of engagement that I call “bubbles of trust.” When you’re a survivor of abuse, marginalization, mental illness, fill-in-the-blank, it’s often quite hard to risk casting a wide net and expanding your circle to include new faces––which can subsequently be internalized by equally sensitive and vulnerable newcomers as rejection, judgement, or inadequacy.

Way Ahead: First of all, there may indeed be gatekeeping and exclusion going on. But before internalizing someone’s cagey behavior as gatekeeping or purposely exclusionary, ask yourself if you have all the information. Many people are private (I include myself in this assessment) because life has regrettably taught them to be this way, and so they may insulate themselves to a small group of people who have earned their trust. Some people might also triggered by certain content (case in point: smut triggers my anxiety) so they don’t engage with it. Others might have something in their pasts that define how they handle certain subjects (for example, a person of color should not be tone policed for getting angry when confronted with a racialized microagression, however accidental it was). You just don’t know what you don’t know. 

The solution here is to regularly check your privilege and ask questions in a private space if you sense you’re being treated unfairly by someone. If you go public with your grievances in hopes of mobilizing the mob, you may accidentally find yourself stepping into the role of the aggressor instead of the victim.

3) Social Media is not built to help you get engagement. It’s built to help itself make money off of you.

Repeat after me: Hits/likes are not a measurable indicator of talent or worth. There are ridiculously talented folks on Tumblr and elsewhere who, for whatever reason, haven’t had their viral moment, and it’s not their fault. Loads of factors come into play where things like likes, reblogs, and comments are concerned, among them being posting frequency, subject matter, the time of day, the day of the week, the week of the month, the month of the year, the current administration, the stock exchange, the concentration of middle class users, who just won the Superbowl, a madman trying to steal an election and undermine the democratic process, a PANDEMIC, do you get where I’m going with this?? lol

At the end of the day, my humble successes have been helped along by good luck, good timing, high profile signal boosters, and an absurd amount of work. (This is why I try to signal boost new work whenever I get a chance over at @vkelleyshares.) 

So while you cannot control Tumblr’s interface, trends at large, or your fellow users, here’s what you can do to ensure you give your work the best possible chance of exposure.

Have an image ready to go with your post. Tumblr is a visual platform (no matter what it says about being good for text). Not good with images? Set up a Canva.com account and get access to free graphic software with a gazillion templates to create whatever attractive image you want to attach to your post.

Keep the outward facing text brief and easy on the eyes. Too long and eyes will glaze over. Put excess text behind a “read more.”

You may think you’re being cute when you do this, but don’t put yourself down in your posts. (Don’t put yourself down in general, of course.) Doing so acts as engagement repellant. If you don’t believe in your work, no one else will.

Related: Be your best cheerleader. Confidence is a magnet, and if you don’t have it, go ahead and fake it until you start to convince yourself you are worth the buzz. So promote yourself! You have gifts that only you can impart. Use that knowledge to fuel everything you do from your art/fiction writing to your outreach with other content creators, and by golly, if someone’s done it already, acknowledge that contribution and then tell the world that this is YOUR unique take on it.

Treat your fellow fandom creators as human beings, not art/fiction/content boosting machines. I cannot count how many times I’ve had folks slide into my DMs with offers of friendship only to disappear once they realize I’m not available to draw a picture for their fic. It hurts because it’s manipulative and it makes me want to hole up and not signal boost anyone. Creators who truly support each other will not give off a transactional vibe. I want to help you reach more people, but not if that’s all I’m good for in your eyes. 

The long and short of it: Lead with compassion, do your best with the opportunities at  your disposal, and remember that fandom belongs to everyone in it. ❤️

What saves a fandom made of sensitive and vulnerable souls from imploding when it goes through growing pains is radical compassion from those who can offer it. Begin with the assumption that your fellow fandomers are not trying to harm you, and wade into the water knowing that your insight into the lives of your peers is limited by default and you may need to temper your words or actions accordingly. If you’re a content creator, save compassion for yourself as well, as there are indeed challenges to gaining an audience, and lack of engagement does not mean you lack talent or skill. Be your best advocate, and if you have the bandwidth to lift up a fellow creator and make a new friend, please, go ahead do it! 

And finally, fandom belongs to everyone, and no one has a monopoly on characters, tropes, or themes. Create and consume what you love (with respect for your more vulnerable peers), and bask in the variety, my friends!

That’s all I’ve got in my head at the moment, although I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting. Thanks so much to @penpanoply for letting me use her art for this and to everyone else, hang in there and try not to judge each other too harshly. These are unprecedented times, and most of us are doing our best in circumstances that are pushing us to our limits. 

As always, if you have questions or want to sound off on anything, shoot me a message or an ask, or ping me on Discord. It might take me a second to respond (thanks, Covid) but I’ll get to it! Love, love, and more love to all.

#fandom stuff

[poliel]

Surprise Egg 13/13

Unfortunately, no matter how tired one was, waking up was an inevitable eventuality. If one didn’t die in their sleep anyway. So perhaps Buddy should be thankful to be waking up even it was to a strange beeping sound and… that distinct hospital smell.

With a groan they opened their eyes to see that… yep, they were in lying on a hospital bed in a hospital room. It certainly wasn’t their first time waking up in such a location but it was their first time waking up in one while attached to what seemed to be a full suite of life support and monitoring machines. Because that’s what the beeping sound was: a heart rate monitor. There was also an IV and other things they weren’t quite sure the purpose of. Ugh, they’d only just woken up here and they were already tired of it and wanted to go home.

They shifted their paws up to try to push themself up but… nope. Even just moving themself to attempt it hurt too much to be worth it and thus they didn’t even really try. If they had to they could force it but while their pain tolerance was high and level of stubbornness even higher, they didn’t have any desire to when there was nothing worthwhile that could be gained from it. And having discovered how far they could push their body before it quit on them they would rather not do so again, especially so soon.

Thankfully as was often the case in such scenarios, it wasn’t longer before a nurse found their way to their bedside. Buddy didn’t give them a chance to say anything before speaking themself. “What happened? How did I get here? And where are my friends?” The last thing they remembered was asking Eggabell if they could take a nap and her encouraging it. Clearly quite a bit had happened between now and then. “Oh and uh… how long was I out for?” That was always something one should when waking in such a location.

The nurse hesitated for a moment, looking down at their clipboard and then back up at Buddy. “You arrived here three days ago. According to your friends you were unconscious for at least two days prior, probably a bit longer. You got here on an airship your friends landed on our roof. They’re all now in their own rooms being observed and where applicable taken care for their own health issues.”

Feeling even more addled than they had back on the island, it took Buddy a few seconds to parse though the meaning of all that. If any of the Snaktoothers hadn’t made it off the island surely that would’ve been mentioned, right? Hard to say for sure but for now they were going to operate under that assumption and hopefully confirm it later.

First, their story. Given the whole snakification thing there was no way word of this event hadn’t gotten out already. How much had everyone already revealed about the bugsnax? Hopefully not much because it was their story to tell! … “May I borrow a phone please. I need to call my boss.”

That earned a heavy disapproving frown from the nurse. “You should be resting.”

“I know and I will but… it’s important.”

“No.”

“Well… can I talk to my friends then?” Surely they would help them contact Clumby and get this whole thing started. Filbo certainly would at least, right? Because he should know what this meant to them. “I also need my pack.” They couldn’t start properly writing their story without it.

“Later. First, since you’re finally awake, there’s some things we need to handle.”

Ugh, hospitals were the worst. But if they cooperated it’d be easier for everyone and should win them some points with the nurses that would hopefully help them later.

~

Buddy must’ve fallen asleep again at some point because they were waking up again despite not particularly wanting to. They had important stuff to do though so they blinked open their eyes.

“Buddy, you’re awake!” Seated by their bedside, Filbo took their paw gently between both of his. “How do you feel?”

“Eh, I’ve felt worse. But uh… better now that you’re here.” They winked at him, squeezing his paw a little as they tried to pretend like the monitor wasn’t betraying their heart rate going up slightly because Filbo was holding their paw and smiling at them. But it was really good to see him. Mostly anyway. He was still snakified and Buddy now knew what that meant and… it was their fault. They’d fed him parasites for months.

Before they could go any further down that rabbit hole of unpleasant thoughts though Filbo squeezed their paw slightly. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. I was… worried.” His expression sorrowed for a bit before he was smiling at them again. “I brought your pack with your camera and stuff in it. I figured you might want it.” He really was the best, huh?

“Awesome. Thanks. And uh… you think you could get me a phone. I need to call my boss and tell her I’m working on the story.”

“Uh… I don’t think I’d be allowed to. And while you were unconscious, we had all decided that we were going to keep the bugsnax secret ‘cause they’re dangerous and stuff. But uh… we kind of failed at that already. To be fair I did land us on the roof of a big hospital in the middle of an important city. So a lot of people saw us all snakified and you still had Sprout in your pouch so… that was a thing we had to deal with. We didn’t tell anyone anything specific though. All the newspapers and stuff are just circulating rumors and stuff. So… the full story coming out is gonna be from you since you have more right to tell it than anyone else if it’s doomed to come out at all. You have to promise to take it easy and slow though or I won’t let you work on it at all.” He gave them the sternestlook Buddy had ever seen on his face before. It was certainly well deserved though so…

“Yeah, okay. I promise to be good.” And they kind of owed it to him to listen to him after all the times they hadn’t before leading this moment. Speaking of everything leading to this moment though… “Everyone made it off Snaktooth, right?” They still needed confirmation on that.

Filbo nodded. “Yeah. Everyone’s okay.”

“Good.” Knowing that made them feel better for sure. “Now uh… about writing my story?”

Filbo gave them another firm look. “Later, after you’ve rested a few more days, please.”

“Fair enough.”

~

Being bedridden was the worst. Especially since they weren’t allowed to start writing their story yet. The only thing that kept them sane was Filbo staying at their bedside pretty much as much as the nurses would let him.

They were allowed additional visitors too occasionally. Even Gramble was eventually allowed to leave his own room and come see them.

“I brought Sprout too,” was the first thing he said after they’d exchanged greetings with him and Wiggle.

“He’s still attached to it for somereason.” Wiggle didn’t even try to hide her disapproval over it as Gramble pulled Sprout’s buggy ball out of his pouch.

“One little bugsnax ain’t gonna hurt no one. And he rarely leaves the buggy ball so it’s fine. And he still follows the pointer so… he’s different, I think. Since I could never train any of the others no matter how hard I tried. Anyway, here he is.” He held him up for Buddy to see. “He’s only here because you were carrying him in your pouch for so long all of us forgot about him so I figured you might want to see him.”

Buddy lifted a paw in a gesture for Gramble to hand the buggy ball over. He did so without complaint or hesitation. They placed it on their middle, holding it in place with a paw on top, as they peered inside. Sprout was just hanging out inside, looking around and doing a whole bunch of not looking the least bit like how one would think a parasite should look. He was far too cute, especially when he went nuts for the laser pointer. … People kept potentially dangerous pets all the time, right? One just needed to know how to handle them safely and properly and it was fine. So… they looked back up at Gramble “Can I keep him? … Or uh, I know you’re still…”

“Sure. Just as long as you let me see him lots too, okay?”

“Of course.” Permission granted, Buddy carefully pushed the buggy ball into their pouch. Immediately they felt strangely a little better, less antsy.

Wiggle scoffed lightheartedly. “Seems like the paternal instinct that would’ve normally gone towards the egg went to Sprout instead. I guess if it makes you happy though, I can’t tell you that’s wrong.”

“He’s a whole lot easier to take care of than an egg though.”

“Not really,” Gramble said. “With an egg all you got to do is keep it warm.”

“Until it hatches and then you have a grumpling you have to take care of and keep alive somehow. So, no thanks. I can barely even keep myself alive.”

“Well,” Wiggle said, giving them a meaningful look, “I don’t think anyone can argue with that.”

~

They were finallyallowed to start working on their article once a week had gone by and they were doing better. The temptation to push to finish it as fast as possible was there but… they were too tired to really go for it. Not that Filbo would’ve even let them. They lacked the strength to defy him or even try to argue.

Despite everything though they were still good at their job and thus they got it done fairly quickly. After going over it one last time for mistakes or any important details they’d forgotten, they were able to send it Clumby’s way.

Being done with it was a massiveweight off their shoulders. “It’s done! I’m done! I never have to think about Snaktooth again.” They were finally done with that cursed island and never again would they need to think about it. … They would though for sure, it and the unknowing harm they’d caused their friends and Filbo would undoubtedly haunt them. But for now, they were happy to be done with the telling of the tale.

“Congrats!” Filbo said from their bedside.

“Thanks.” They wanted to thank him for everything, helping them and being so awesome but… they were too tired to come up with the words. So their simple ‘thanks’ would have to do for now.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist

[arcane-aspirations]

The Frustration of the Experienced or, When Nothing is New* Anymore

I’ve recently picked back up attempting an active practice of daemianism. This form of daemianism is inspired by the animal-formed, corporeal representation of human souls in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (best known book is The Golden Compass). I first read the series in 2005 or 2006 or so, and I am very sure I imagined what it would be like to have my soul beside me as an animal then. That’s the sort of person I was then - to imagine and bring forth what I experienced in stories that inspired me to my daily life - and indeed, hope to regain a powerful sense of being again.

I first encountered others who were daemians on the internet a few years later. I didn’t remain an active member, but I found The Daemon Page Forum and was fascinated with this community that developed detailed profiles for what sort of person would have what species as their daemons. It was like personality typing, with varying levels of commitment to an imaginary friend or what I would now recognize as a thoughtform.

Let me come back to that. “What I would now recognize.”

Over the years, although I didn’t post on TDF, I would check back every few months as I remembered daemianism and read over various species’ profiles that interested me. I have always been fairly obsessed with representing myself; I never felt like I had to explore or understand myself though - that felt intrinsic and obvious.

Though I always found it deeply frustrating that often the most common “default” characters and teams were the ones I related to the most, genuinely. I considered myself for a wolf-formed daemian for a very long time. That was also an issue for me being Gryffindor, an Autobot, Thunderclan... My archetype gravitated towards that that was popular, which often was annoying in that many who claimed the popular affiliation with something were frequently the ones just claiming an affiliation with the fandom or the popularity, rather than the soul behind it.

I digress. Mostly. That context of something being popular affecting my relationship with the thing itself isn’t completely irrelevant.

I would say the most important and active time in my beinng a daemian was a rough patch in my life around 2015 into 2016. I was lonely and had became my own worst enemy too, given that a precious friend turned enemy makes for the worst sort. The comfort of my daemon, this entity which was supposed to represent the real, true self, was incredibly valuable. Setting aside the slight reprieve it gave from ‘being alone’ - although of course, it was still unforgettable to me that, my daemon being me and all interactions coming from and only being perceptible by me, I was still alone - the sense that I valued, saw, and still was myself at a time where I had very much lost all of that elsewhere was invaluable for getting through that.

My daemon had a name, mostly, and a gender, mostly, and a few forms that were right, mostly. He didn’t do much but provide imagined cuddles from an animal companion friend - I really remember something  I did regularly where I’d imagine leaning our foreheads together - but I remember feeling at least sometimes happy and content as a result of the whole thing. But he wasn’t quite what people on TDF would’ve called a daemon.

Firstly, as much as I liked the idea of having an animal to identify my persona, my self, by, I didn’t like the idea of “settling” in one form. “Settling” indicated being an adult in Phillip Pullman’s series, which I have always reviled becoming and now being. That is, perhaps, a story for another time. Beyond that, it felt limiting - let’s put a pin in that one, too, though only for later in this post.

Secondly, my daemon occasionally wasn’t an animalic shape. In one vivid memory, I danced in my aunt’s kitchen when I was home alone one evening with my daemon in the form of N Harmonia from Pokemon. Is N Harmonia even someone I think is close in personality to myself, and thereby a fitting depiction of myself? Not at all, although I do think we’d be excellent friends.

Thirdly - here’s the woo warning for folks who’ve missed that my blog is witchy - I started having the sense that my daemon wasn’t “just” this thoughtform expression of my soul. I remember feeling like having this thoughtform that was me projected was sort of this... shell of my own self, that then this entity from very far away - in space, in time, from another life, who knows, it’s complicated, I never even felt comfortable saying whether it was real or not - I felt very connected to because we were of similar soul energy could inhabit. That was very much not related to daemianism. A pin here for later in post, too.

I don’t totally remember why my focus on daemianism waned for a bit after that. Things didn’t really get better for me, but my fixations do tend to move around. It may well just be that I got better enough to start playing video games again, and was checked out from my surroundings where a daemon would be projected to remind me where he was. Or it might have just started bothering me too much that he wasn’t “real” in so far as he couldn’t/didn’t exist outside what I projected.

It bothers me that I have to create and maintain so much of the things that bring value to my life myself. It’s exhausting. And those things don’t feel as real as things that exist independent of me and my influence. There’s power in “I invented that” and there’s a kind of resignation about one’s world in “I had to invent that, because it wasn’t there but I wanted so very much for it to be”.

And while there’s others out there, obviously, doing this whole daemianism thing, was that what I was doing anyway? Clearly I was taking it my own direction... or at least, combining it with other non-daemianism things that made it distinctly not quite exactly daemianism.

So while I’ve off and on projected my daemon back into the space around me - that’s the term for imagining and “seeing in your mind’s eye” your daemon existing in and interacting with your environment around you - since then, I haven’t done nearly as much.

I’m picking it back up recently and finding it rather difficult.

Some of the things I established as fitting and suitable back then, while still suitable and true in some lights, are hidden under a complicated tangle of things that don’t make them untrue but certainly obscure or make the way to the situations and perspectives where that truth is apparent difficult. There are roads I don’t walk anymore, even though those roads and how I’d walk them are still important to me. There are many roads I walk now that ...could? should? be acknowledged now that mean nothing to me but resentment that they’re where I walk. I still feel I am the same person I was; I just feel like I never get the same sorts of opportunities to be myself. 

So the forms’ fittingness to my personality feel a bit tangled in the context of my life I can’t control, where embracing that tangle feels like a near final step of losing myself. The name is roughly the same; I want a name that feels right and conveys something, and anyone who’s ever named anything to convey a meaning probably has experienced that problem.

And I can’t focus on forms suiting myself entirely, because I’m still bothered by knowledge of how a form is perceived popularly - or because of an animal’s popularity. That in and of itself feels like misrepresentation or miscommunication; I’m not able to communicate why I really feel that is right because there’s an assumption it’s what I chose consciously or unconsciously because it was popular; I’m not able to communicate through that sense of the popular thing that I feel incredibly different and disconnected from others; I’m not able to communicate what I’m saying because the most accurate denotative and personal connotative vocabulary I can find to communicate is full of connotations I don’t mean to others.

Let’s not even start with pronouns, alright?

But I think something in particular that’s frustrating is that daemianism is not the only thing on my mind when I think:

1. representation of the self

2. a form to indicate the self on an entity with malleable form

3. thoughtforms

4. animal representations of the self

I neither want to compartmentalize nor combine daemianism & daemons with witchcraft/paganism familiars/fetches, my polymorphic shapeshifter Otherkinity, souls, thoughtforms, and entities I may or may not share some kind of special soul-energy-woo bond with.

I don’t want to separate what has a resonance - except that resonance, frustratingly, sometimes shifts.

I don’t want to combine what could be varied and interesting, because now any community or representation of that thing is no longer what I am doing or can speak about and find any sense of connection through - or worse, what I am now taken to be misrepresenting or ill-informed about.

And this is the frustration of the experienced, visible here but far from exclusive to daemianism, spirit work, et al in my life: what I know I cannot but help connect to what else I know.

Connecting what  I know to what I know alters forever what I do and feel about what I know and what I learn next. I have opinions and feelings about so many things, and everything I encounter is layered upon my opinions and feelings about it all.

And I feel like that connection isolates me from ever being able to appreciate and participate in something new and fresh.

It isolates me from being able to connect to the experiences of someone else who doesn’t have the connections and syncretic perceptions that I do.

I never wish to be someone I’m not, but I frequently wish to be less experienced than I am.

*I don’t think ‘new’ is the word I wanted here, but I couldn’t find it. After the post, I feel fine recording that what I wanted to reflect was not just that something was new and exciting, but also that something was able to be fresh and untainted; able to be its own thing viewed on its own terms without being conflated, connected, or tied to anything else.

#daemianism #experiences recounted

[joshscorcher]

Friendly Fire Philosophy

Unconscious Thoughts, Fiction, and Confession of Character

As an Internet Personality, I’m required to spend much time on the internet so I can stay up to date on recent trends and remain relevant. I spend a lot of time lurking on YouTube as a result. Recently, I stumbled across a video about unconscious/implicit bias and watched it (I will not link it for obvious reasons). The speaker told me that everyone, including the viewers watching, has biases and preconceptions of which they aren't even aware.

I don’t wholly disagree with this idea. Many times people have tastes that they can’t explain. Some think that blondes are the most good-looking kind of person. Some think Asians are the most good-looking. Some love green eyes. Some like freckles, scars, or traits not considered “Hollywood Hot.” A simple scouring of DeviantArt is very good evidence that no one agrees on universal bodily beauty (I really wouldn’t recommend doing that, by the way. It gets very weird very quickly). Point is, we all have different tastes that we cannot logically explain other than, “I just do” or “That’s how I was born, I guess.” It gets to the point that shaming someone for something they can’t really control seems not only like an exercise in futility but also cruelty and injustice.

I was silently nodding along to the video, thinking that’s where the speaker was going with this. Then the person made the statement that prompted this essay: They claimed that we all have unconscious prejudices and bigotry.

I thought the idea was shocking. We have bigotry that we don't even know about? How do we actually deal with that? How would we even know about something like that? I searched, but I could find no credible studies proving the existence of this. Not only did I believe this idea was logically flawed, I was personally upset by this concept.

This person is telling me that I'm a bigot and I didn't even know it? What an arrogant statement! They don’t know me nor can they read my thoughts. They’re implying they know so much about how the brains of millions of different people work, that they can accuse them of unsaid thoughts, or even unTHOUGHT thoughts? It sounded sillier the more I continued to think about it.

Of course, I rejected this idea. People aren't a monolith and no one acts the same way. Yes, the fact that we have professions of neuroscience, psychology, and psychiatry certainly lend credence to the idea that there are patterns of behavior between humans, and I also agree with the idea that our unconscious mind can influence our actions. However, this assumption that everyone is bigoted in some way? It was very hard for me to swallow.

The person continued. It was a very twee, platitudinous, and condescending speech about sensitivity, empathy, and being all kum-ba-yah. Suddenly, the person talked about how they confronted their own unconscious biases and hates and wished to spread their newfound enlightenment to others. In that moment, everything became clear:

I was being accused of something of which my accuser was guilty.

I stopped being angry at that point, because I understood. This person felt bad about their racism, and I shouldn’t be harsh on them for that. On the contrary, I believe it's very admirable that they did some thorough self-examination and attempted to safeguard their behaviors and ESPECIALLY their thoughts. Not many people are self-aware enough to police the way they think about people and many people underestimate the value of keeping your mind clean and disciplined. They also wanted to stop racist behaviors from manifesting in other places, again, not a terrible motivation. That being said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I still have an issue with them accusing me of being the same as them. Again, they didn't know me, so how could they make a sound judgment on me, especially something as serious as bigotry? Why is this person assuming everyone is like them?

I'm reminded of something Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.“ I can't say I disagree. Many times, the way we see the world, reveals a lot about our personalities. How often do nice people think the world is great? How often do unpleasant people think the world is terrible? How often do artistic types see beauty everywhere they go? Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender corroborates this idea: “If you look for the light, you can often find it. But if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.” Heck, this concept can be said about the art we create as well.

Art is also commonly referred to as a self-portrait. Kehinde Wily for instance says that "All art is self-portraiture." Frequently, artists are very much encouraged to "write what they know." It can be argued that even the art we create is a confession of character. We often put a lot of ourselves into the art we create and I can't say I disagree with this idea.

Permit me to deviate from my point for a bit. Trust me, I have an endgame here.

My Dungeons and Dragons campaign “Welcome to the Show” has the underlying theme of redemption being open to those who seek it. In the story, the party is trying to get the deposed Queen Jeminya back on the throne of her kingdom, but they quickly hit a snag. As a devil-spawn, Jeminya's soul is damned to the Nine Hells no matter how "good" of a person she is, and she is made painfully aware of this reality. However, she continues to do good anyways, because she believes good is worth doing and it's worth believing in. Her god sees her pure intentions and offers her an escape from her fate; it will be a hard and bumpy road, but she will be able to achieve redemption should she seek it.

Sound familiar? It should. There are sprinklings of my faith littered all throughout the story, and many times I didn't even know I was doing it. I even unintentionally based Asmodeus, the head devil, off of Screwtape from C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" because my trashy fanboyism has apparently seeped into my unconscious.

Some might have noticed that it is very difficult for me to create/act a character who is evil for the sake of being evil, often giving them sympathetic backstories or more often redemption arcs. This is mostly because I find it hard to imagine myself in the position of being pure evil; not having any other underlying motive. In fact, I doubt Pure Evil people even exist. Even Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy VI, whom I really enjoy playing and analyzing, I realize I don’t believe to be Pure Evil. Insane and dangerous? Definitely, but looking closer at him, there are some tragic elements to him; he was experimented on which made him insane. Throughout the game, he descends into a person who cannot comprehend love, happiness, or joy, and cannot find any meaning in life other than destruction. He’s not pure evil; like many of us he’s looking for personal fulfillment.

Many have noticed I take a very Don Bluth approach to my storytelling; "[If] you don’t show the darkness, you don’t appreciate the light. If it weren’t for December no one would appreciate May. It’s just important that you see both sides of that. As far as a happy ending…when you walk out of the theatre there’s [got to be] something that you have that you get to take home. What did it teach me? Am I a better person for having watched it?" This is also a very Christian concept, as we believe that as dark and hellish as it gets on earth, there's a paradise at the end of the journey.

Now back to my point.

I'm not denying the existence of unconscious thoughts influencing our conscious thoughts and behaviors, because I just gave some very good anecdotes of this very phenomenon. What I am denying is the accusation that everyone specifically has unconscious bigotry because one person found unconscious bigotry within themselves.

Have you ever noticed that we very often try to give people the advice that we need to hear ourselves? I'm no exception; very often I've told people that they need to not let their anger control them and to grow thicker skins. Anyone who's met me for two minutes is probably laughing right now, and I wouldn't blame them. They all can tell you that I get defensive and emotional very easily and taking criticism is difficult for me. I do NOT have a very thick skin.

And I HATE it.

I hate the fact that I'm that overly sensitive. I hate that I lash out at people who just want to help me improve myself. I hate that I empower people to control me by letting my emotions get out of hand, as it's caused me to make very stupid decisions that still affect me to this day. I hate the fact that I DESPERATELY want everyone to like me. I hate the fact that I'm the only one of my siblings that has this problem.

I've taken steps to improve myself, but it's still hard and every day is a challenge, especially as an Internet Personality. I took a test and found out my love language is Words of Affirmation. I'll never forget the sarcastic remark my mom made when she found out: "Your love language is Words of Affirmation, and yet you're an internet personality... good luck."

At some point, you realize that everyone is a hypocrite about something. My older brother loves to say, "We often fail to meet our own standards." We hate liars, but who here has never lied, even like a little white lie? We hate thieves, but who here has never stolen, even something small like downloading a $2.00 song? How many times have you taken a french fry from someone else's plate? Maybe you're the rare exception and haven't done any of these things, but this is my point: We often hold others to standards that we don't follow ourselves, and to claim otherwise is to claim one is perfect, which is impossible.

That's why I've stopped getting angry at accusations of closet racism or unconscious hate. These accusers rarely know anything about the people they accuse because they don't know others’ thoughts. In fact, due to what I’ve written above, I often believe in my heart of hearts that these people are projecting their own insecurities and biases onto others, but amusingly, that makes ME the hypocrite because I don’t know their thoughts to be able to make that judgement. All I and anyone else for that matter have to go on is merely our own thoughts.

To be fair, they are correct in their implied point that actions speak louder than words and even thoughts. The Bible says in Matthew 7:16, “Therefore by their fruits you will know them.” So, the actions you take and the fruit you produce are also a strong indication of character, but context exists to complicate the issue. There’s a reason we categorize a human causing the death of another using terms like 1st degree murder, manslaughter, or self-defense. There's a difference between beating up an intruder threatening you and your family, and beating up someone because they called you a nasty name. 

If you do have inner thoughts that you might not be proud of, take comfort that someone might be feeling the same way. Certainly not everyone, but there’s a high chance another person is out there who’s going through what you are going through right now. Safeguarding your thoughts is important, and I would talk to someone reputable for their wisdom or an authority figure you trust on how best to do so.

But no matter what, remember: we are all flawed humans, so you’re not alone.

#should i make this into a video? #unconscious bias #fiction #philosophy

[stringergames]

Downtime Roleplay 2 - Graveside Manners

Post Episode 4 - One Must Die

Set right after the climactic end of episode 4. Fox and Magpie have an emotional conversation. They are joined by Farthen for an arduous task.

Spoiler warnings: revolves around major events from episode 4 of Edge of Night

Content warnings (contains spoilers): major character death; trauma; implied ptsd; references to violence; references to interparty conflict; dissociation; self-harm (scratching); grave digging & burial; references to injury (broken ribs, smoke inhilation, slashing damage, shooting); discussions of death; rats; swearing

Fox fiddles with the note in his hands, trying to pretend he hadn't heard Magpie's words. He deserved some privacy, he'd want privacy, wouldn't he? Fuck.

He crumples the note into his pocket and makes his way over to where Magpie is still bent over Jem.

"Hey, uh, Cre- I mean, Magpie? I think... I mean, do you wanna... you did everything you could, y'know? It wasn't your fault."

Magpie leans back from the body, and sits heavily on the floor, real tears mixing with and encapsulating the pewter smoke still pouring from his eyes. He looks down at his shaking hands, palms up, and whispers quietly, "It's never enough."

Fox kneels down next to Magpie and tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder. "You got her up again, like, a hundred times. If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't have even got out the door. Don't blame yourself because I dropped her, or Tiny shot her, or the house is made of knives."

Magpie flinches at the touch, and moves away fractionally. "I was supposed to be able to bring them back, I was supposed to be able to save them." 

His eyes are unfocused, and it doesn't look like he quite registers Fox fully. He pats briefly at his tabard, but doesn't seem to find what he’s looking for. Magpie brings his knees up and hides his face in his hands, flinching away as soon as his hands touch his face, and opts for keeping them resting in his lap, one hand curled within the other, dragging his nails across the skin.

Fox takes his hand away from Magpie's shoulder, seems to consider his options for a second, and then flicks Magpie between the eyes. 

"I know the present sucks right now, mate, but it seems like the past sucks more." He flicks Magpie again, this time on the forehead. "Now if you wanna talk about it, I'll listen, but just wrecking your hands ain't a good option. They're good hands, Magpie. Very useful, whatever you may think."

Magpie blinks, and looks up at Fox. He goes to rub his forehead where he was flicked, hesitates, and puts his hand back down. The tears on his lashes crystallise, and then melt away again. 

"You –" He stops, hesitates, and looks around, before casting his eyes back to his hands. "I have good hands?"

Fox smiles, and moves back a little to give Magpie some space. "Yeah, you do! Like, the smoke blood stuff? Weird, but good! Useful, anyway, I don't want to make assumptions, but like... you, the magic you do, it's good stuff. You're a good lad to have around."

Magpie gives Fox a tiny, hesitant smile. "It is strange isn't it? I've never met another cleric whose magic does this, but..." He looks at Jem's body, and then the floor. "If it means I can help, even a bit, it's worth it, right?"

Fox looks away for a second. "Strange... can be good," he says quietly, before turning back to Magpie. "And you are helping. Loads. I mean, you got me and Princess to... well, you were right. We did need each other to get out."

"It certainly took all of us to get as far as we did. Against something like that... I wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds." He sighs, and looks at Jem. "I just wish –" His hoarse voice gets caught on the sentence, and he doesn't try again.

Fox is quiet for a moment, struggling for words. Then he stands. 

"We should do something for her. I don't know. I... I think I'll see if Tiny left that shovel out here. Are you... are you gonna be alright?"

"I'll manage." Magpie gives him another small smile. "I always do..." He hesitates, and then quietly adds, "Thank you for snapping me out of it there." He stands to join Fox, and changes the subject. "Are you really a Lord? None that I've ever met would sully their hands digging a grave themselves, not even for their own families."

Fox smiles back, and gives Magpie a small nod, though not to his questions. "I mean, what is a Lord really? I have a top hat. I have a deed to a fancy rat-filled house and a seal. My invitation to that party said 'Lord' on it. Do I have the, uh, titles or lands or family to go with it? ...Maybe not."

Magpie nods sagely. "Ah, of course. Well, ‘fancy rat-filled house’ certainly sounds familiar. I'll keep in mind the many wonderful things you have Lord Ripley, I'm sure the rest of it has no bearing on your status really." 

He gives him a cheeky grin, a little overshadowed by the tear tracks still half-frozen down his face, and a tension that it hadn't been obvious he was holding around Fox leaves him.

"The elitism of the aristocracy these days is shameful, truly," says Fox, affecting a bad posh accent. "Imagine, believing one has to have lineage or money or be wearing trousers to be considered a Lord." 

He snickers, and nudges his elbow into Magpie's arm, before going to look for the shovel.

"Wearing trou–?" He manages to elicit a small laugh from Magpie, who follows him, and helps find the shovel. "We can take turns, I don't think either of us have the digging capacity of Farthen, and good as it was of him to do the others, it doesn't feel right here."

"Yep, yep, good call!" Fox says quickly. He tentatively starts his turn digging, almost as if shovelling is a somewhat new concept. "I'm gonna have to think of a new nickname for you."

"New nickname? What's my current one?" Magpie tilts his head curiously.

"It's – y'know what, you don't want to know," Fox says, shaking his head. "I'll find you a better one."

Magpie sits near Fox to await his turn digging. "It's been a long time since I was last given a nickname. I'll be curious to see what you come up with." 

He looks up at Fox and gives him a gentle smile.

Fox chews his lip, weighing his next words carefully. "I noticed that Jem was calling you, uh, Feathers. What did you think of that?"

Magpie considers it before he responds. "I didn't mind it, it's certainly amusing."

"I could keep it up," Fox says, keeping his eyes on the shovel. "Just for now, even. Nice legacy, I guess."

"I suppose... that sounds nice, as long as I'm still called Magpie sometimes. It's good to keep something to remember people by. Even if it's something as simple as a given name."

"You got it. Feathers it is, except when you're Magpie."

"Except when I'm Magpie." He smiles, and nods his agreement, standing up to take over from Fox. "Want to swap out?"

Fox gratefully passes him the shovel. "Cheers, Feathers."

Magpie smiles. "You may not be a Lord, but you dig like one. One could be forgiven for thinking you'd never dug a hole in your life."

Fox grins back, sheepishly. "It may be a... somewhat new concept to me. Do you dig a lot of holes yourself?"

"Not any more." Magpie starts shovelling, screwing up his face as the pain from his ribs shoots through his body, but making practiced work of digging the hole.

"If I was the sort of person who got easily embarrassed, the fact the guy with the broken ribs can dig better than me would really be making me blush." Fox sits down on the ground, and leans back on his elbows, watching Magpie work. "Fortunately, I'm not that sort of person."

Magpie chuckles slightly, and winces. “I’m glad you’re not, this is difficult enough without having to soothe your ego as well. I’ve had a lot of practice, I’m sure, given the time, you’d get plenty good enough at it too.”

"I kinda hope I don't get a lot of opportunities for practise, honestly. No offence. Let me know when you'd like me to tap back in, though."

Magpie nods. "I will, thank you. I hope there's not much more of this we have to do either. Burying someone is... never easy, even if you didn't know them well."

"It's my first time. Overall, not just digging myself." Fox chews at his lip. "From what you said back there, and your expertise with the shovel... I'm guessing it's not yours."

Magpie stays silent and focuses on digging for a few moments, not looking Fox's way. 

"...It's not my first, no. I doubt it'll be my last." He breathes a heavy sigh, and tries to lighten his tone a little. "Though I have to clarify, most of my digging abilities came from farm work, rather than graves."

Fox decides to follow Magpie's lead, and not pry further. "Farm work? Glad to hear it, not sure I can totally picture you on a farm though, Feathers."

"Well, people are often full of surprises." He digs a few more spadefuls, and then continues. "It was a different time though. A different me."

"People are," Fox acknowledges, rapping his own knuckles jokingly. "Shouldn't have made any assumptions, sorry about that. Whoever you are now is fine by me." He stands up again. "Want a break?"

Farthen comes over to where Magpie and Fox are digging the grave for Jem. He says nothing, but holds out his hand for the shovel the others are using. He has tears in his eyes and lets one slowly fall, soaking into his fur.

"She was bloody annoying and arrogant, but… She didn't deserve to die. I should have tucked her legs in or something."

Magpie nods his thanks to Farthen, handing him the shovel and stepping out of the gradually deepening hole. 

"No, she didn't. Don't blame yourself for this one, Farthen. I don't think it was the blades that got her. The smoke seems a more likely culprit. You can't control how you breathe when you're unconscious, she would have been inhaling it too much. I should have tried to get her up sooner, I thought I was keeping her stable."

"I guess you’re right, I suppose, but you did more than any of us could, the amount of times you got her back up." He chuckles. "Honestly though, how many times can you fall in the same trap?"

"Twice, at least," Fox replies. "Let's try and keep that the group record."

“Deal.”

Magpie nods a silent agreement, and sits at the side of the grave gingerly, hand over his ribs, watching Farthen dig.

Fox hovers at the edge of the grave, unsure of what to do with himself. 

"Y'know, Tiny," he says hesitantly. "I reckon you almost did her a favour, really. If I'm ever about to die of smoke inhilation, you feel free to shoot me. It's a bad way to go."

“I’m not trying to make a habit of shooting people… well, people I know anyway."

"Glad to hear it. It was rough down there, though.”

“Didn't have any other choice, did we?"

"You do what you have to to survive." Fox glances down at the grave. "It's just sad it couldn't work out that way for all of us."

“Death waits for all of us, but when it is time, death waits for none,” Farthen says.

Magpie makes a quiet noise of derision, and stands up, moving to occupy himself with checking the contents of the basket.

"Things that deep are above my paygrade, I'm afraid," Fox says.

*

Written by Rowan E. Madden, Nick Drew & Nathan Godding

Edited by Rowan E. Madden

Edge of Night is a dnd 5e actual play podcast, brought to you by Stringer Games. It is available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts & Acast.

#Edge of Night #Edge of Night Spoilers #Edge of Night Pod #Stream Edge of Night #DnD #DnD 5e #Curse of Strahd #Actual Play Podcast #Text post #Roleplay #Stringer Games #DTRP #Long post #spoilers #tw: death #tw: burial #tw: funeral #tw: character death #tw: ptsd #tw: panic attack #tw: self harm #tw: references to violence #tw: smoke inhilation #tw: references to interparty conflict #tw: implied partial nudity #fox ripley #magpie #farthen dur #jemima linden

[raendown]

My final entry for @narutorarepairweek! Today’s prompt is free day and I took the opportunity to drag an old WIP out of the closet at last. 

Pairing: TobiramaKagami Rated: E Chapter: 1/4 Word count: 3181 Summary: It shouldn't be so surprising that it's Kagami who makes the opening move, asking for so little when he desires so much. From there their relationship unfolds in a tapestry of firsts they've both been waiting to experience.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Senpō

Kagami wasn’t sure how exactly he’d gotten the man to agree. Most likely he had worded it in such a way that Tobirama hadn’t really thought he was serious or maybe the older man was simply humoring him on the assumption that he would never actually win their little bet. Whatever it was, the fact remained Tobirama had agreed over a round of shogi that on the day Kagami beat him in a game he would accompany his one-time student on a date. Not just any old friends-hanging-out-together date either, a proper romantic date with romantic implications and possibly a few instances of actual romantic overtures. If he was lucky. 

There was something that Kagami had realized, however, that he didn’t think his friend had. While that in itself was a rare thing to say and should have filled him with triumph, he still found himself much more excited for the promised rewards than for the accomplishment of coming out on top of an agreement with one of the slipperiest people he had ever known. That more than anything would have made it obvious how important this was to him if he were bold enough to admit it to anyone. Just like any other Uchiha, he was quite fond of outsmarting someone notably smarter than him. 

Armed with this juicy little secret up his sleeve, Kagami made his way through the busy Hokage Tower with a smile on his lips and a bounce in his step. When he knocked on Tobirama's office door he knew very well that it was merely a formality. The man had definitely felt him coming before he’d even set foot inside the tower, had probably been tracking his staggered progress through the hallways and smirking in amusement each time he stopped to talk to someone. Still, Kagami didn’t presume to enter the other’s space until a deep voice which sent familiar shivers down his spine called out for him to do so. 

As offices go, Tobirama’s was fairly typical. It hadn’t changed much over the last few years while peace settled deeper and deeper in to the bones of the village. His bookshelves were perhaps a bit more full and the small couch against one wall was perhaps a bit more well used but he still sat behind the same old desk, pushed up close to the same old window where the man could stick his head outside and holler up at his brother one floor above. 

Hokage he might be but there was nothing which motivated Senju Hashirama more than fear of his younger sibling’s waspish temper. 

In keeping with a pattern they had been playing out since the first year they trained together, Tobirama pretended to ignore him at first, appearing as though he had lost himself in the papers strewn about his desk. He kept his head down while Kagami wandered the edges of the room fiddling with this or that until finally the older man deigned to look up at him with one brow raised. 

“Did you need something?” The twitch of his lips belied the irritation he pretended to affect. Kagami grinned brightly. 

“I came to challenge you to a game,” he said. 

“Hm. Again?” 

“As many times as it takes!” 

Kagami took it as encouragement when all Tobirama did was huff out what passed for a laugh when it came to him and shake his head, one arm gesturing for the board still neatly packed with all its pieces and set in the same spot as always. He didn’t need any further words to hurry across soft carpet and pull out the shogi board, hauling it over to the desk while his friend cleared some space for them to play. A grin sat wide and open on his face as he shook the wooden pieces out of their holding bag and began to set them up. 

“You’re looking particularly cheerful today. Feeling confident?” 

“I’ve got something up my sleeve that you won’t expect for sure!” Kagami chirped. Tobirama graced him with an indulgent nod. “Today’s the day! And I mean it this time! No backing out at the last minute either!”

“We made an agreement, did we not? I am a man of my word after all.” 

The younger only smirked as he spun the board to offer Tobirama the first move. Usually he was offered the advantage of moving first but today he was confident that no matter what happened, he was going to leave this office a winner. Today was the day he earned himself a bona fide date with Senju Tobirama. 

As they usually turned out, the match wasn’t a particularly long one. Kagami wasn’t a stupid person by any long stretch but there were few outside the Nara who could hope to match this man’s intellect and shogi had always been one of Tobirama’s favorite leisure activities. It came as no shock when Kagami was once again thoroughly trounced without any hope of winning only halfway through the game. Yet it appeared to shock Tobirama when he retained his cheerful smile without a single hint of faltering. Piece by piece his defeat grew closer and yet, even as he was finally declared the loser of this round, Kagami did nothing but sit quietly and do his best imitation of sunshine. 

Clearly confused, Tobirama sat back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. 

“Would you like a second game to try again?” he ventured, obviously trying to feel out what kind of situation was going on here. Kagami hummed, stroking dramatically at his chin. 

“I dunno. You’ll probably beat me again.”

“Yes, true.” Tobirama’s face scrunched together in irritation. “But if you leave then it’ll take me longer to figure out what you’re up to.” He didn’t look too impressed when his one-time student laughed at him. 

“Alright, how about this? Roshambo. If you win I’ll stay.”

“Odd choice but fair.” 

Leaning forward, he set one palm flat one the desk and raised the other in a fist, eyeing the younger man somewhat challengingly. Kagami happily took that challenge. He was barely holding in a snicker while he made his way back over to the desk to hold out his own fist, ready for battle, as it were. 

Together they counted to three and bobbed their hands three times – only to both choose rock. On the second try they both chose scissors. Kagami laughed and said they could try just one more time, biting his lip to keep the triumphant laughter at bay. He knew Tobirama better than anyone else and in all likeliness the man had never bothered to note his own habits during the rare game of roshambo someone might convince him to take part in. 

On the third round Tobirama chose paper, the only option he hadn’t chosen yet and thereby unconsciously completing the set in his mind. Knowing he would do so allowed Kagami to make the smart decision and choose scissors again to come out the winner. Upon presenting their choices he reached over and pretended to snip Tobirama’s fingers with his own, grinning so wide it made the muscles in his cheeks hurt.

“I win,” he breathed. “One date, please.” 

“What?” Tobirama blinked at him, nonplussed. Kagami cleared his throat.

“You agreed that if I won a game against you we could go on one date. But you never specified at the time that the game had to be shogi so by the wording of our original agreement…I win. And you owe me one date. Does tomorrow work for you?”

It took a moment for Tobirama to process that but when he did he look stunned as he realized that it was true. “Well I’ll be damned. You’re right; I never did specify that it had to be shogi. Well done Kagami. Excellently played.”

“So…?”

“Tomorrow does indeed work for me. Or if you prefer, I am also available tonight.” He smiled ever so gently, giving Kagami a very serious case of weak knees.

“Yeah! A-alright! Tonight is good too! Awesome!” Swallowing around the nervous lump which had just appeared in his throat, Kagami held fast to his suddenly wobbling smile. “I really thought I’d have more time to prepare myself but – okay! Yeah!”

“Prepare yourself? For what?”

“Nothing! See you tonight!” 

Whirling on his heel, Kagami dashed out of the room and made it halfway down the stairs before he had to turn around and creep back up, sheepishly peeking his head around the door to see Tobirama still standing there with an amused expression. 

“You may pick me up from my home at six o’clock.”

“Right!” 

And with that he took off down the hall once more.

The next several hours were a blur for the young man. If asked he would not have been able to say what he had done with his day, only that he’d had Tobirama on his mind the entire time and his stomach had been a constantly churning mess of nerves and excitement. It was finally happening. Tonight he would have his shot. He’d been waiting for this for so long that he could hardly believe it was actually happening. 

When he checked the clock and noticed that it was getting a bit late Kagami supposed he must have gotten at least most of his duties done that day considering Koharu hadn’t tracked him down for another lecture about responsibility. He wasn’t really irresponsible, only forgetful. Actually, he’d always thought that he and Tobirama would balance each other rather nicely in that respect; Tobirama would help him stay more focused when it was appropriate while he was one of the few people able to convince the older man to take a break every so often. 

In fact, there were a lot of ways Kagami thought they might complement each other and he had every intention of trying to work all of them in to their dinner conversation that evening.

At six o’clock sharp he was standing on Tobirama’s doorstep in a clean, wrinkle-free yukata which his poor exasperated aunt had assured him brought out the faint hints of blue in his typical blue-black hair. With a steadying breath in and out – then another because the first didn’t help – Kagami rapped three times on the door before him and did his best not to look like he was about to faint. He almost did anyway when Tobirama answered the door in a simple yukata of the softest gray edged with little silver rain droplets that gave his skin a luminescent glow. 

“Wow,” he breathed. “You – am I allowed to tell you that you look amazing?”

“Compliments are always appreciated,” Tobirama replied easily as he breezed down the front steps, leaving Kagami to scramble after him. 

“Good. Yeah. Cause you look amazing. Well, I mean, you always do but you’re usually not dressed like this and it’s nice to see you so casual every once in a while, you know? So I think you look extra good and now I’m going to stop talking.” His cheeks felt like he’d swallowed one of his own grand fireballs. He really thought he would make it longer than ten stupid seconds before embarrassing himself like this. 

Thankfully Tobirama was good enough to brush his nattering idiocy aside as easily as always. “I’m pleased you think so. And might I add that you look rather nice yourself in that color.”

Kagami very much hoped the helpless whine he made at that comment went unheard. 

Dinner was, in a word, amazing. He’d never had Tobirama’s attention to himself like this for so long. Usually one of their other former teammates accompanied them or they saw each other briefly at the tower before work sent them their separate ways. Playing shogi in the office had become the only time they shared alone but it was usually no more than an hour due to Tobirama’s busy schedule. Kagami was thrilled when they finally left the restaurant and his date suggested a walk through a nearby park, ensuring that he would have just a little more time to live in this transient dream-come-true. 

At the park they wandered around the edge of the large pond three times and weaved around each individual tree at least twice, their conversation ranging from Tobirama’s latest research to whether or not Kagami’s neighbor might be a retired assassin from Kiri in disguise. It was absolutely amazing, more than he could have ever dreamed of, and yet by the time he found himself escorting the other back through the wide avenues of the Senju district Kagami couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. He could spend weeks on end in this man’s presence and when the time came to part he would still beg for just five more minutes.

They paused at the bottom of the three stairs which would take Tobirama back to his home, facing each other in silence for a few heartbeats until the older man tilted his head to one side with a curious furrowing of his brow.

“I did have fun tonight, if that was your worry.”

“Oh! No, sorry. I don’t mean to spoil it all, I was just, um, a little sad that it’s over now.”

“What do you mean ‘over now’?” 

Kagami shifted his weight, dropping his eyes to watch his hands fiddle with each other. “Nothing. Doesn’t everyone wish every good date could last forever?”

“I’m flattered you consider me so.” There was humor in Tobirama’s voice but he couldn’t bring himself to look up to see it until the man continued. “Doesn’t a good date usually end with a kiss?”

“Please don’t make fun of me,” Kagami said, hoping his voice would behave and not wobble. 

His companion blinked, clearly startled.

“Make fun of you? What gave you the impression I was making fun of you in any way?”

“I know this was a pity date. You don’t actually think of me this way. And that’s okay! Really! I’m grateful that you humored me; but I know that you didn’t think I would ever actually win and you only came because you try to always keep your word. So please don’t make fun of me by pretending. I did have a good time tonight. Just…I’m just sad that it’s over and I have to go back to…you know. How things were before.” Kagami shrugged and caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it nervously. 

Obviously Tobirama had been aware of his feelings for a while now but it still went against his instincts to make himself so vulnerable, to open his heart and ask another man to smash it. Tomorrow and the weeks ahead of them promised to be quite awkward as he tried to fit himself back in to that space where he pretended that mere friendship was enough. He couldn’t bring himself to regret any of this, though. Pretending was something he could do on his own with a little imagination. Having the chance to actually glimpse what the reality might be like was an amazing experience, something he would hold on to for a very long time to come. 

Kagami was startled out of his maudlin thoughts by the hand that grasped his chin and wrenched his face up to see the displeased expression on Tobirama’s face. 

“Pity date,” the man snarled dismissively. 

Then suddenly they were kissing, lips hot against his own, devouring, destroying, demanding until it was all Kagami could do to remind his poor heart to continue beating. A whimper escaped him and Tobirama swallowed it, nipping at him to encourage his lips to part and then licking inside to draw out a helpless moan. 

He was gasping for air when they parted, only avoiding embarrassment because it was clear that Tobirama was having a little trouble catching his own breath as well. 

“You kissed me!”

“I did.”

“W-why did you kiss me?” Kagami heard his voice crack but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it, not when the answer to his question was much more interesting. He dared not move lest the hands framing his face let go and leave him devoid of their warmth.

“Honestly,” Tobirama scoffed. “Why does one person usually kiss another?”

Squirming inside, Kagami said, “Usually because they like each other. But you–!”

“Do you really believe me so cruel as to allow such behavior and then to strip it all away as a joke?”

“Um…”

“Is it so hard to believe that I might actually return your interest?”

“Yes?”

“Ridiculous. And worrisome. I had not realized you believed all of this to be merely a humoring of your desires. Had I known I certainly would have explained myself a long time ago.”

Feeling a little off-balance and possibly also slightly nauseous with so many conflicting emotions, Kagami took a deep breath to ask, “Explain what?” 

Tobirama paused to look closely at him before speaking, the hands still framing his face sliding down the sides of his neck and across his shoulders to squeeze gently. It was a more affectionate gesture than he had ever seen the man grant to anyone besides the Hokage himself – and even then only on very rare occasions. His expression was so gentle it was nearly heartbreaking.

“When I accepted your wager it was not because I was hoping to put you off with an impossible task. In truth I was wary that your interest may not be…entirely genuine. Not to say that I doubted you but I worried that your feelings were the product of misplaced hero worship.” Tobirama pinched his face in to a well-worn look of self-deprecation. “I can admit now that it was not the best method of assuaging my fears but my intention was to gauge your perseverance, to see if you were serious enough to pursue this or if you would lose interest when attaining my affection came with road blocks. It is…within my nature to test things I don’t fully understand.”

“So you were making me work for it just to see if I would?” Kagami summarized. 

“I was trying not to put it in to such crass terms but yes.”

A part of him wanted to be a little offended but the rest of him was already reaching that floaty state of disbelief as he finally came to terms with the impossible: the man he was in love with actually liked him back. 

“Holy crap,” he mumbled. 

“Very eloquent,” Tobirama teased, tucking his head down until they were but a hairsbreadth apart and the proximity stole Kagami’s breath all over again. “Now, I should very much like to kiss you again. I think we’ve both been waiting long enough for this. A reward seems to be in order for such diligent patience.” 

“Gods yes.”

“Charming.” 

His date smirked at him and Kagami’s knees almost folded underneath him. He remained standing only through sheer force of will, eager to taste the older man once again. Tobirama didn’t keep him waiting long. 

#narutorarepairweek2020 #rae writes #tobikaga #tobirama #kagami #fanfiction

[zhanenaomi]

It must be exhausting to be so weird all the time

Earlier, I saw a clip on the BBC Facebook page of Original Flava (a British-Caribbean duo creating recipes), making some bbq jerk burgers. As is my bad habit, I checked the comments for the inevitable racist comment about the BBC trying to be “woke” for showing people that black people exist in the UK. There I found a random account, posting a youtube clip of the late Dame Vera Lynn singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. This comment was obviously in reference to the fact that the BBC recently announced that ‘Rule Britannia’ and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ would be performed without words at the Proms (only for this year). This, again obviously, is the fault of all black people (including Original Flava) and absolutely NOTHING to do with the fact that we are in a global pandemic of a virus that is easily spread by loud singing. The thing that disturbs me most about these comments is less the blanket assumption that all black people just sit around foaming at the mouth at the sheer idea of colonial lyricism, and more that this random person had clearly just copied the link to this video to post on any video they saw with a black person in it. Whether that video was about black people barbecuing, black people singing, black people talking about the economy, they were ready to own us with a youtube video of a song literally none of us will click on and listen to. It just made me think, surely it is exhausting to be so weird all the time?

Now, comments like this are admittedly pretty harmless, especially given the fact that they present that the person commenting is much more hurt than anyone else in this situation. However, by far the most disturbing thing I saw in the BBC comments that day, was on a Children in Need post. BBC Children in Need announced that they would specifically be donating £10 million to black children (a thing that is reasonably necessary given that 46% of BAME children live in poverty) (also this will be going over the course of 10 years, not a one time payment). By all intents and purposes, it is highly likely that vast amounts of Children in Need money were already going to black communities, given they go to… British children that are in need. The post in question was clarifying on false reports that they were giving money directly to the Black Lives Matter organisation, and in response many people said that since the BBC were now giving money to black children, they would no longer give money to the BBC. This, despite the fact that Children in Need fundraises year-round, and raised almost £50 million during their official appeal night last year and has raised more than £1 billion since 1980, and so £10 million over ten years is likely a drop in the ocean for this organisation. Way to throw your toys out of the pram, right guys? “If disadvantaged black kids are getting my money, then no disadvantaged kids are getting my money”! What a bizarre world view to have! It must take up a lot of time and energy to not only decide that giving money to disadvantaged children of colour in a country where they’re more likely to be disadvantaged than white children is racist for some reason, but then also to camp out in random Facebook comment sections talking about how you hate this alleged racism so much that you will be boycotting a charity because of it. Remarkably wild. Amazingly wild. Incredibly wild.

The last Facebook comment section weirdness I want to talk about is the reaction to news involving arrests, crime, and police brutality, most specifically the “If you do nothing wrong, the police will leave you alone” argument. First of all, tell that to yer man Harry Maguire. Second of all, there is police data stating that between March and May, you know, those months when we were knee deep in the throes of a global pandemic that is disproportionately killing black people, 21,950 stops and searches on young black men were carried out in the capital, approximately 80% of which lead to no further action. So if we’re keeping score, not only is the most expensive defender in the world not exempt from being harassed by police when his account suggests no wrongdoing on his part, but around 18,000 young black men were put directly in harms way by being searched by police without masks (and obviously without social distancing) in the midst of a pandemic, for no crime other than being black and maybe having a nice car. The reason I bring up Harry Maguire is because I would assume that most British people believe and support Harry Maguire over the Greek police, and none of them would ever use the “no crime, no police intervention” argument towards a news story about him. You know, like they did when George Floyd died. The point here is that people in these comments like to pretend that they are indiscriminate. They like to say “I don’t care if you’re rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight (insert identity here), if you’re getting arrested you must have done something wrong” which is simply just not true, and the fact that you don’t say these things when a white British footballer is brutally arrested is very telling. It shows who you assume to have being “doing crime” when they were apprehended versus who you assume to be innocent until proven guilty. Because the fact of the matter is that you DO care whether someone is black or white or poor or rich and the like, you obviously do. And its weird to lie about it to save face in Facebook comments. Ain’t you tired, Miss Hilly? (I’m assuming you all understand that reference given the unnecessarily large amounts of people who rushed to watch The Help after the BLM protests began earlier this year).

These things are all interconnected, because I’m sure that these keyboard warriors had some similarly angry takes when Stormzy offered scholarships to black students aiming to go to Cambridge University, and love to talk about “black on black crime” when black people are invited onto news outlets to talk about institutional racism in the police force. What this comes down to, is a clear lack of critical thinking and a clear racial bias. We know that crimes like theft and drug dealing tend to be crimes of necessity. No one steals bread and milk for the “thrill of the chase”. Poverty and crime are intrinsically linked. So why are you so hellbent on preventing black people from receiving assistance to escape poverty? If you want crime to reduce, then you should also want poverty to reduce, this is just the truth. If you don’t see how crime in black communities links to socioeconomic status in these black communities, then you probably (consciously or unconsciously) believe that nothing can be done to help black people; we are just inherently bad, born with a criminal gene. Suffice to say, this is a racist thought to have. Even when black people do manage to “pull ourselves up by our bootstraps” this also does not mean we’ll be treated favourably by the general public. The nation’s favourite punching bag is a black woman who was born into a low income household, attended Cambridge University, worked in the Civil Service and became the first black female MP in this country; this is of course Diane Abbott, who unfortunately receives half of all the abuse sent to female MPs overall.

Although I started out joking about how these people are just weird, the more I write, the more uncomfortable I feel. Is there a way out? Is there anyway we can win? Is our destiny to win the bet, just to be shot in the face by our loan sharks and have our proverbial jewellery shop ransacked (metaphor working on the assumption of your knowledge of the film Uncut Gems)? Its one thing to say weird things in video comments, it’s another to actually truly believe them. In the wake of the recent shooting of Jacob Blake, I’ve witnessed a spate of comments making statements about the case that are simply not true – things that have never been reported by the police or any credible news outlets. What do you gain from lying about these things? I guess you gain more public distrust in the black community and more animosity towards BLM protesters. I assume that’s what these people are aiming for, since I can see no personal benefit to lying about a case (unless you are the actual police officers involved in the shooting?). I actively try and stop myself from hopping into comment sections now because honestly and truly, it’s one of the most exhausting things to see hundreds of people talk about how bored they are of black people appearing on their screens. I’m sorry that my presence tires you out, guys. I’ve been staying off of Twitter because it’s good for my mental health to not be dialled into the ~discourse~ 24/7. It’s sad the way that these things often make black people feel that they are the ones who need to pull away in order to protect themselves. Dawn Butler has tweeted about how many young black women tell her they can’t see themselves pursuing a career in politics because of the sheer amount of hate they see black MPs receive. I want black children to receive financial support without fear that the rest of the world hates them for it. I want black people to get uni places and jobs without hearing others say that they got it because of their skin, rather than their merit and potential. I want black people to be present in the public eye without having to report racial abuse against them to the police on a weekly basis. The way that Britain works is that Britain has been and always will be, a multicultural nation. This is the result of the British Empire that we’re all oh so proud of. Therefore, (and this is not controversial to say), British people descended from individuals born in Empire nations deserve to live in Britain without constant apology for our existence, our actions, and our criticism of our government. Yeah, I bet its exhausting to act in such a bizarre way on social media. But imagine how tired we are.

 References:

Children in Need is not donating £10 million to Black Lives Matter - https://fullfact.org/online/children-in-need-blm/?fbclid=IwAR0RfWtsHKxeFGv8PBrY64J-QoqpiEWb3Td1nPE9WvYvZXTuksIB3ZOET9k

BBC Children in Need’s 2019 Appeal raises an incredible £47.8 million - https://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/latestnews/2019/cin-total

Child poverty facts and figures - https://cpag.org.uk/child-poverty/child-poverty-facts-and-figures

Met carried out 22,000 searches on young black men during lockdown - https://www.theguardian.com/law/2020/jul/08/one-in-10-of-londons-young-black-males-stopped-by-police-in-may

Diane Abbott more abused than any other female MP during election - https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2017/sep/05/diane-abbott-more-abused-than-any-other-mps-during-election

#long post #politics #uk politics #british politics #blacklivesmatter #blm #blm uk #racism #antiblackness #police

[kuroko26]

Kagaminette fic part 2

This is basically a whimsical, somewhat silly sequel of a kagaminette fic in an "Oni-chan AU" created by @gale-of-the-nomads that I wrote.

Had this on the making since May but I was a tad stuck....

Anyway, I hope you enjoy

---------------------------------

Part 2: let's get some ice cream

Another day started for Kagami Tsurugi. Just yesterday, she made the resolution of winning the love of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a classmate of her fencing partner and fellow student, Adrien Agreste. At first, she didn't have a positive opinion of the younger girl because she appeared to be stringing Adrien along but it was all a misunderstanding and once that was cleared and they actually interacted one on one, Kagami was completely stricken by Cupid's arrow. She fell in love with Marinette!

That being said, she was not blind to the blue haired girl's infatuation to her rival. After all, they knew each other for a considerable period of time and she could understand what Marinette sees in him...at least until recent events.

When it seemed an opportunity has arisen, it all ended with her getting akumatized once more out of anger for the sadness her hime was feeling thanks to that liar's machinations.

Ladybug saved her once more and even listened to her venting about the circumstances that led to her akumatization.

She wasn't sure if she actually told the superheroine about her crush on the blue eyed girl and she hoped she didn't as it was something to be known on her own terms…

The decision was made: she would invite Marinette to eat ice cream with her and start to bond with her as the first step to winning her heart.

'what if she doesn't return your feelings?' an ugly voice in her head asked prompting the fencer to reply with certain force:

"Then I'll accept it and be the pillar she needs in the present. Also, don't think you can deter me from trying you unexpected insecure unconscious!"

Along that "voice", came those weird dreams revolving around her desire to ask Marinette out for ice cream. Scenarios like but not limited to: being in her Oni-Chan form and carrying Marinette on her shoulder to eat ice cream, her dueling Adrien and stabbing him (non fatally of course) and carrying Marinette on her shoulder off to eat ice cream and last but not least bizarre, Kagami arriving to the school entrance in a motorcycle (which she wanted to have in the future), dressed in a tokofukku and asking Marinette on a date while Korpiklaani (one of her secret guilty pleasures) played on the background.

"Why in the world would I, of all people, go to school dressed as some lowly bousouzoku!?"

This last thought crossed as she tried to meditate to calm her mind and prepare for today's school day before she was called for breakfast, which just happened as soon as she finished that train of thought.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Breakfast went okay without a problem as Kagami ate quietly while putting all her thoughts into accomplishing today's mission.

"Mother I'm finished so I'll be going to school. Will I see you for lunch?"

"Of course. I'll tell you if some eventuality occurs; now be safe and have a productive day"

Tomoe sensed something was a bit off with her daughter and while she expected for daughter to be able to sort whatever issue she was dealing with if possible but if not, she also expected, more like hoped, that Kagami would come to her.

Xxxxxxx

Morning went without problems of any kind in Kagami's class and went lunch time finally came, two things happened before she could even reach Marinette:

1) Marinette wasn't at the cafeteria when she got there

2) She received a message saying the driver, Takeo, was already here to take her to have lunch with her mother and she knew better than making her wait

Lunch was mainly peaceful and amicable though inside the fencer's mind all she could think of is to fulfill her little quest even if things were starting to look a tad difficult.

"Kagami is something the matter? You seem rather hiperfocused today"

"It's nothing I can't handle mother. I'm returning to school now. I'll see you at home at night"

As Kagami was about to cross the door, Tomoe said the words that would make her usually cool demeanor falter.

"Good luck with that "Hime" person by the way"

"D'oh!" Kagami reflexively said while recoiling her body a bit. She thought it was all kept in her mind but she didn't realize she was muttering it all and her mother picked it up.

"Do not "D'oh!" Young lady, it's unbecoming of a Tsurugi now go before your Hime gets away" finished the Tsurugi matriarch with a hint of a teasing smirk.

Kagami opted for a quick exit before she would feel even more embarrassment.

"I told you she could swing both ways mistress" said the butler that was picking things up from the table.

"And I don't mind provided is someone worthy of my daughter and our lineage"

Xxxxxxxxxx

School was done for the day and she didn't have fencing practice. Nothing was going to stop her this time.

Not even a conniving person standing outside the door of Marinette's classroom.

"Kagami! Is good to see you! Are you looking for someone? Adrien had to go to a photoshoot with his father if that's who you are looking for"

"Rossi... I'm not looking for Adrien on this occasion and about who I'm looking for... I'd rather keep it to myself" said the fencer promptly while entering the classroom in search of her person of interest, who sadly, wasn't in the classroom anymore and unfortunately; a pest that didn't want to go apparently.

"You know, since I've started to bond more with Adrien and Mr. Agreste, I thought we could do the same. For example, I could help you avoid the wrong people to associate with like Ma-"

"I'm stopping you right here. Gossip and badmouthing will not get you anywhere with me. Regardless of my friendship with Agreste, unless you actually stop perpetuating a stereotype, I'd rather keep my distance" the fencer interrupted Lila and left her behind and angry that her scheme hadn't worked.

Of course she was going to slander Marinette and she would be damned of she fell for such petty tactic, not when she had important things to do.

She didn't have to look further because Marinette was a few steps before her and it seems that she was looking for her as well.

"Hi Kagami. Aurore told you were looking for me...is something the matter?"

"There's nothing wrong Marinette" Kagami didn't like how tired and defensive the younger girl sounded and looked. She definitely had to do something about it.

"I've been wondering if you would like to eat ice cream with me this afternoon? I wanted to know how were you feeling after the last time we talked...if you're actually busy then there's no problem, we can do it on another occasion"

"Actually, I'm free this afternoon so I accept your invitation Kagami. Do you know Andre?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Since Kagami hadn't visited Andre's ice cream stand before, Marinette guided them both said place. They didn't said a word to each other, neither knowing how to start a conversation at the moment but both had to admit the silence was comfortable enough in their mutual company.

One look at them and Andre managed to make a special ice cream for the two of them. It had blueberry, blackberry and cranberry with a bit of chocolate sauce and a cherry on top; a ladybug themed ice cream? Kagami inferred and Marinette had the same opinion until a few scoops later she had this little revelation:

"Is this ice cream Kagami themed!?"

She had heard many stories about how Andre had a good eye for potential couples as her parents loved to claim in their engagement story and it's true that Kagami cared about her more than she thought possible but still, love was a bit of a sore issue given the one person she was fully in love with, had let her down many times in the past weeks. She honestly didn't know what to think or feel.

"So after the last incident, how have you been? Have you gotten enough sleep? Are you eating well?" Marinette inquired, making Kagami swoon internally but she was more interested in how the blue eyed girl was doing.

"I have been fine thanks for asking. But I'm more interested in how have you been. I heard you're having a hard time as of late"

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, the blunette started retelling how her problems with Lila started from the Tinnitus to a moment during a class intermission where Lila bragged about how one of her family members owned a successful chain of bakeries and while she had heard so many good about my family's business, she couldn't help but to think that they were lacking in quality.

"Lacking! And then she goes and talks big about the supposed pastries she can make while low key insulting my family's business and ability and when I understandably get mad, let it know and I get labeled as the bad guy because I supposedly attacked poor Lila when she was just trying to give me "constructive criticism"!

I'm starting to think that so many akumatizations are starting to affect their IQ… *takes a deep breath* then, I get another sermon from Adrien about the high road and all of that crap…. I shouldn't have said that about him but his advice is not helping me at all... it's like everyone but me gets their feelings protected and well, is making me reconsider a lot of things in my life"

Pausing for a moment, Marinette realized that Kagami was holding her closer while rubbing her back tenderly. She hadn't feel the warmth of another person aside from her owns parents in a long time that she almost forgot what it felt like and she was enjoying every moment of it, even putting her head on the fencer's shoulder.

"Thank you. I've been on my own during this for a long time that it's always good to have someone in my corner if you get what I mean"

"I completely understand. Marinette, I know we didn't start on the best terms thanks to my assumptions but I now know that I was wrong; I admire not only the way you put all you've got into your passions but your integrity even if you can be impulsive and a bit insecure so I would like to be there for you if you'll let me”

Kagami put as much as sincerity in her words to convey her feelings and good intentions to her love interested and actually succeeded because Marinette's face lightened so to speak.

"Thank you Kagami. This means a lot to me...would you like to exchange phone numbers and e-mails? I would love to keep contact with you, maybe hang out together in the future...but it's okay if you-"

"I would be honored, Marinette. Of course you can have my number and e-mail" the fencer replied while internally celebrating she had made considerable progress in a day with Marinette.

After finishing the ice cream, Kagami followed Marinette to the bakery to wait for the chauffeur to pick the fencer up. They spent the time in idle chatting and when the time came for Kagami to go back home, the blunette have her a packet of cookies as thanks for the nice time they just had.

She treasured the gesture and present so much that she kept the little box, taking good care of it  and using it to store pencils, pens, erasers and such.

Perhaps next time they could have lunch together.

--------

And that's it! Hope you liked it or at least entertained you. I made a lot of references to some post about Kagami carrying Marinette to eat ice cream from other blogs like @nobodyfamousposts , @gale-of-the-nomads or @lenoreofraven (I think)

@beebeebombam , I used your fanart to create a scene so to speak; just to let you know

#kagaminette #marigami #kaganette #marinette dupain cheng #kagami tsurugi #Oni-Chan AU #with a bit of salt #duh #XD

[bishielurvmaxxie]

10 Things I’ve Let Go and How This Has Set Me Free

By Sara Fabian

“I do not fix problems. I fix my thinking. Then problems fix themselves.” ~ Louise Hay

Looking back on my life, I came to understand that perfection was my worst enemy. I was raised in an environment of high expectation, and every day in school felt like I was competing with others and fighting to be the best in class.

At the age of ten I believed I was stupid just because my brain couldn’t work out physics and math. I was good with literature, arts, and foreign languages, but that wasn’t a sign of brilliance in the Eastern-European culture that shaped me.

Much later, as a grown-up woman, I didn’t see myself as good enough, beautiful enough, smart enough, or successful enough. I felt unworthy of being loved by a wonderful man, unworthy of getting a good paycheck to reflect my skills and talents, too unworthy to apply for a tempting position at work.

My life looks completely different today, and I embrace the new me with much gratitude and joy. I love myself as I am. I am happily married and doing what I was born to do in the world.

So how did this shift happen?

I can recall myself feeling overwhelmed after a long meeting at work, and looking for some inspiration to help me release the stress and feel better. As I was searching for The Secret movie on the YouTube, I “accidentally” opened another video that went straight into my heart: You Can Heal Your Life, by Louise Hay.

Today, I know that was no accident. The teacher shows up when the student is ready—so true! I was so touched and absorbed by that movie, I couldn’t stop watching. Listening to Louise was pure magic; every single word went straight into my heart. I finally felt home, in a space where it was perfectly okay to be me: “I love and approve myself as I am. I am whole and complete and life loves me.”

Over the next year, I discovered the work of other enlightened souls—Wayne Dyer, Byron Katie, and Don Miguel Ruiz—inviting me to precious moments of self-reflection and deep learning. Their teaching helped me to let go of old thinking patterns and cultural limiting beliefs that didn’t serve me well.

After much trial and error applying their wisdom to my life, I have found a new sense of freedom. Here’s how:

1. I’ve let go of the need to be perfect.

I am perfectly beautiful and beautifully imperfect, and this is what allows me to be me.

Perfection is an illusion—it doesn’t exist. I stopped stressing myself out trying to be perfect and now I am always aiming for “good enough.” I have learned to embrace my mistakes as much needed opportunities for growth, blessings in disguise that make me wiser. If I fail at anything, it doesn’t mean I’m a failure, because I am not what I do. Sometimes we win, sometimes we learn. We never lose.

“Your best is going to change from moment to moment: it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz 

2. I’ve let go of the need to be busy all the time. 

Being in a rush isn’t a sign of virtue. I have learned to listen to my body, and I no longer feel guilty for doing nothing. I know I sometimes need to recharge the batteries of my body and soul, and I don’t feel like I owe anyone any explanation for doing that.

If I don’t have time for myself, I make it. Watching a good movie, listening to relaxing music, reading a good book, singing, taking a walk to connect with nature—I do whatever makes my heart sing.

“I am a human being, not a human doing. Don’t equate your self-worth with how well you do things in life. You aren’t what you do. If you are what you do, then when you don’t…you aren’t.” ~Dr. Wayne Dyer 

3. I’ve let go of self-criticism.

I pay attention to my inner talk; I don’t call myself names, and I treat myself with dignity and respect. I stopped telling myself things I would never tell a good friend. I am enough, whole, and complete.

I have come to understand that in life, we don’t get what we want. We get what we think we deserve. That’s why it’s necessary to believe in ourselves and see ourselves as enough and worthy of the best things life has to offer.

“You’ve been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” ~Louise Hay

4. I’ve let go of blaming.

I now know that each time I blame someone else, I am making myself a victim. Blaming others for taking my time, my money, or my love is unfair, because I always choose how much I give and to whom. No one can hurt me or upset me without my conscious (and often unconscious) consent.

Instead, I now take responsibility for the way I feel, act, and think. I am in charge of my actions, and I know my future is the result of my current choices. I am what I believe and whatever I choose to be.

“All blame is a waste of time. No matter how much fault you find with another, it will not change you. You may succeed in making another feel guilty about something by blaming, but you won’t succeed in changing whatever it is about you that is making you unhappy.” ~Wayne Dyer

5. I’ve let go of judging.

I know that everyone is on their own journey, and my job is to focus on my own. I also know that each time I am judgmental with people, I’m reacting to something that bothers me about myself. If I believe you are mean, it means I can also be mean; how could I see that in you, otherwise?

“Placing the blame or judgment on someone else leaves you powerless to change your experience; taking responsibility for your beliefs and judgment gives you the power to change them.” ~Byron Katie

6. I’ve let go of making assumptions about what other people feel, want, or think.

I am not them, so there’s no way to know what they’re feeling and thinking.

I stopped making up imaginary scenarios and letting my mind play with me. Each time I find myself disturbed by what people do or say, I know it’s time for a reality check.

From “The Work” of Byron Katie, I’ve learned to examine the thoughts that trouble me and ask myself: “Is that true?” Many of my assumptions likely aren’t. For example, I might assume someone doesn’t like me, when really she’s just having a bad day. Or maybe she’s just shy. Not everyone is the same.

The moment I realize I can’t know what this person thinks, simply because I am not her, my mind gets clear and I am able to meet her with an open heart.

“I found that my unquestioned assumptions were the cause of all war and all peace in my world.” ~Byron Katie 

7. I’ve let go of competing with others.

I now know that my need to fight is nothing but my ego’s scream for self-validation. I don’t need anyone to lose any game so that I can feel good about myself. I love harmony, collaboration, and win-wins.

I’ve stopped comparing myself to others. I choose to connect with people from a place of love instead of fear, and I believe in abundance. I choose to believe that we live in a supportive Universe, where there is enough of everything and for everyone, including myself.

“Love is cooperation rather than competition.” ~Dr. Wayne Dyer

8. I’ve let go of chasing happiness.

I no longer project my happiness into an imaginary future, hoping that someday, when I have that job, that house, that car, that success, I will be happy. I have learned to find happiness in the small pleasures of life, and I embrace the only reality that is, the present moment, with gratitude and much joy.

I stopped waiting for the weekends to feel like living because each day is a gift and every single moment is precious and equally important.

The day I shifted my focus from stressed to blessed, everything changed. I am thankful for everything I am and for everything I have: a healthy body and mind; a loving family; a few genuine, last longing friendships I’ve made over time; and a job I love and believe in.

“I have noticed that the Universe loves gratitude. The more grateful you are, the more goodies you get.” ~Louise Hay

9. I’ve let go of worrying about the future.

I accept that there are things in life that I cannot control, no matter how hard I might try. Each time I find myself worrying, I keep telling myself “Time will tell.”

I might not always get what I want, but I know I always get what I need. I trust the flow of life, and choose to believe we live in an intelligent Universe, where everything unfolds perfectly. Sometimes in life, even the time needs time.

“Life is simple. Everything happens for you, not to you. Everything happens at exactly the right moment, neither too soon nor too late. You don’t have to like it…it’s just easier if you do.” ~Byron Katie

10. I’ve let go of pleasing others.

I no longer seek external validation so that I can feel liked or accepted. Worrying about what others think is a waste of time. Other people’s opinion of me is all about them and what they see in me, filtered through their lenses; it has zero to do with me.

I’ve stopped expecting others to give me what I wasn’t giving myself: love, care, and attention. Loving myself as a whole—body, mind, and soul—is not selfish. I keep my cup full of self-love, and I take good care of my needs and my heart’s desires.

I have learned how to make powerful choices for my highest good without worrying about disappointing people. People disappoint themselves by setting expectations for who they want me to be or what they want me to do.

Saying no to things we don’t want to do is a learned practice and a sign of self-care. If it sounds like a “should,” I don’t do it. I go for the things that feel like a want. My wants come from myself, instead of being imposed on me by others. I always choose how I am spending my precious time and with whom. I know my time is my life, and it’s never coming back.

My life is about me and I have the right to make my own choices. Life is to be lived, not existed, and I choose to live it authentically, with no apologies and no regrets.

“Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz

—

My self-transformation into the mindful person I am today didn’t happen overnight. It’s been an ongoing process that required continuous inner work.

Today, I am still a student at School of Life, and every day is a great opportunity for new learning. I know that I have the power to create my own reality, by the way I think. So I make sure I nourish my mind with healthy thoughts, knowing my mind has power.

And now, I would like to hear from you. Are you holding on to any of these things? What’s preventing you from letting them go?

Not mine. This was taken from tinybuddha.com and written by Sara Fabian.

#this is one of the most inspirational posts i have ever read from the website tinybuddha #i feel that everyone should be able to learn some thing from this #sara fabian #tiny buddha #buddhist #motivational #life #life quotes #beautiful #mindfulness #positivity

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Confessions of a Coffee-Eater | 02

Genre: Smut, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!/Poet!Namjoon x Student!/Poet!

Warnings: sub!Namjoon gets a handjob in the classroom during a lecture, allusion to smoking

Summary: It is in hard times beautiful things can occur and the addiction of primal instincts be suppressed in their proximity. However, when two souls from different social worlds meet in a poetry class, any former urges gain a new direction.

Some of which are sensual in emotion.

And may not be reciprocated.

Masterlist

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There is a lyric which dictates that “sorry” seems to be the hardest word and last night while pondering a way to offer sincere apologies for the unintentional harassment the true meaning came forth as the song played on the radio. Replayed itself again and again as a pen twisted between fingers free from the engraving ink on skin, waiting for any potential customers. The last of the twilight cigarette smoke dissipated before settling into the corner of the back office to catch a few hours of sleep since the last hours of the night shift are dead in business.

The sole idea is offering a cup of anything but fantastic coffee from one of the machines spread around the building and hope a listening ear will be given to a remorseful poor man from Ilsan. A concept that becomes more and more terrifying with each step advancing towards the university building outside the city centre that both students and professors complain about, especially with having to attend and give morning lectures.

The cafeteria is bland like the rest of the dated interior which makes one think more of a high school than a proper academic environment, the only attempt at enlivening the area being the crisp white picnic tables standing in a neat row against an ugly brick wall between the stairs and the guard’s booth. Across from the still empty benches sits the wronged woman, engrossed in noting something down and thus not paying any attention to the anxious onyx beanie passing by towards the tiny coffee corner.

Ignorant to the split second of stopping to simply gaze for a little bit at how flowing hair falls over the shoulder clad in nighttime fabric, the outfit of the day not out of place in an office as the blouse on top of monotone pants and made more interesting with golden accents in the form of a belt and watch radiate a chic mood.

She’s way out of my league. But still, I have to apologize.

Bearing the thought in mind, begotten in that instance of allowing romantic fascination without perverse intent to overtake body and soul, the debit card with little money on it is used to pay for two cappuccinos. Fortunately, last night’s tips make up for the expense so some groceries, later on, will have to be paid for in cash.

The coffees in hand, slowly the table at which Y/N is still working on something is approached while trying to keep breathing under control and composure steady. Notwithstanding, it crumbles to reveal a hint of panic when the busily scribbling pen is put down and eyes look from the page to the steaming cup of caffeine to a well-meaning man in a denim jacket beneath a grey vest with a brown collar.

A slim finger points at one of the bright yellow cups on the table. ‘Is that for me?’

‘Y- Yeah.’ A hand automatically rises to rub the back of the neck, gaze slightly averted to hide cheeks burning as the temperature inside seems to rise. ‘I want to say sorry. For yesterday, because what I- I shouldn’t have done what I did bu- but I couldn’t-’

‘Namjoon. That’s your name, right?’ The inquiry halts the apologetic stammering waterfall likely leading nowhere, a brief nod confirming the assumption. ‘It’s fine.’

‘But I looked at-’

‘Really, it’s okay.’ A welcoming hand gestures casually at the chair of which the back has been unconsciously gripped tightly, knuckles turning white. Strangely, though it could have been due to still being half-asleep, the same motioning fingers appear to want to reach out but can barely withhold themselves. A silly idea, judging by the even voice continuing to speak. ‘Have a seat. We still got a bit of time before we need to go. If you want to, of course.’

Without a second thought, any outerwear is draped over the offered seat before rapidly plopping down. Apparently doing so with much eagerness for a stunned breathless laugh escapes the girl about to take a sip of the peace offering. ‘Thank you, Miss.’

‘Miss?’ An inquisitive eyebrow raises, the unconsciously made mistake only realized too late.

Lips part in panic, wanting to protest yet all words fail to string themselves into a proper excuse. ‘I- I mean- I didn’t mean to- Y- Y/N, I swear I-’

‘Namjoon,’ kind digits wrap around the nautical map covering tensed muscles bared from beneath denim, ‘take a deep breath. Like that. There you go. Good b- Good.’

The slip of the tongue is laughed off, locks shaking slightly in unjust embarrassment fueling a heart truly wanting to shrink before vanishing from the earth entirely. 

Or so it did want to, the warmth in the chest now spreading its rosy glow throughout while repeating the error over and over mentally.

I’m pleasing her. She wanted to say I’m her good boy. I can be. I am. I am your good boy, Y/N.

‘Uhm, are you alright?’ The digits that retracted in a fashion wrongly perceived as trembling reach out again, slightly shaking the feather resting eternally on skin. The warmth of the palm perfectly enveloping it is comforting, a steady beacon guiding consciousness back to reality. 

Away from the perverse thought of that same hand pinning an absent-minded poor soul to the mattress in the same manner. Henceforth, albeit with a suppressed jolt of surprise as if waking from a dream, sight gradually focuses on the beautiful woman wearing a concerned expression. ‘Huh, what?’

‘You were spacing out.’ A whimper can barely be silenced before being made audible at feeling the light squeeze asking for attention, fast-beating heart skipping beats. Once again distracted by the contact and the lips that want to be experienced from up close instead of far away. 

Yet sharply sane enough to muster a half-hearted excuse blaming the morning for the ridiculous behaviour. ‘Oh, ehm, yeah. I’m fine. It’s early.’

What am I doing? She doesn’t know me and I don’t really know her. I need to get a grip on myself.

‘Fortunately, there’s coffee to wake us up.’ The worry melts away into gentle kindness, leaving digits creating a cold wake as they wrap around the bright yellow cardboard cup bearing the university’s logo. But not chilling the honest man turned into a lovesick puppy mimicking the normalcy of drinking coffee while ignoring the pooling heat below.

We still have some time and I can’t move until I’ve calmed down. She shouldn’t know what she does to me, not yet. Not... ever.

‘Can I ask you something?’ To keep the conversation flowing, an innocent desire appears to form the lead to follow. Awkwardly shuffling to hide the strain in jeans, voice is kept as steadily as possible regardless of shyness overtaking demeanour slowly. 

‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘What were you penning down earlier? I- I saw you... uhm, just now- I saw you write something in your notebook.’

Why did I stutter? Why is she looking like that? Oh God, what do I do?

‘And you don’t suppose it actually has to do with the course?’ The sarcastic chuckle on the rim of the cup has a strangely flattered undertone, almost to be called endeared. 

Withholding innermost personal emotions. 

That circulate beneath the indecipherable surface of breathtaking affectionate irises locking gazes with genuine curiosity. ‘Why would it at this hour? It’s just a random thought more than a poem but then again, so is all my poetry. If it can be even called that.’ However, all playfulness fades into under-the-breath muttering as melancholia takes over and Y/N’s focus moves away to finish the cheap warm drink. ‘Just an amalgamation of thoughts.’

A loathsome sight to a boy with love for a woman whom he barely knows yet wants to ensure the happiness of. 

Without being aware of it, a hand glides over the thigh clad in obsidian as speech becomes urgent. ‘Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m sure it’s good.’

And moves away as if burned by fire when the intimacy is noticed thanks to a tilt of the head, enchanting eyes leaning to the side in rather odd fascination. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. Still, may- No, what am I saying? Y/N, I didn’t-’

‘Namjoon, it’s alright.’ Softly smiling fingers brush over shivering honey skin, gliding over it and drawing intricate calming patterns over inked stories to still the panic. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Y- You don’t?’

‘No, I don’t. Please, say what you wanted to say.’

The bottom lip is briefly worried between teeth, a sigh rolling off the tongue when deciding to speak up at last in spite of wanting to disappear, be swallowed whole by the onyx beanie hiding earthly brown locks in dire need of a cut. ‘May I read it?’

‘Promise you won’t judge? You seem to know a great deal more than I about the genre.’ Mayhaps unaware of it, the palm resting on the place formerly deemed forbidden is enveloped as much as possible by a smaller one as a tiny thumb caresses the back of it.

Thus for a few seconds stretching into moments we sit, newly met strangers already of a bond with one another that does not touch grounds with that of lovers nor mere friends. It is of a different indescribable nature, testing the waters of uncharted territory.

But it feels safe.

Trusted.

Like a safe haven the map on the arm leads to.

She is my anchor. 

Which is shown by flipping the tables enough that Y/N’s hand rests between those of a poor sod from Ilsan on foreign soil. And it takes all inner strength to not put it on the cheek, to bask in the kindness. ‘Tell you what, I’ll let you read mine if you let me read yours. ‘Fair?’

The last sip of coffee is quickly gulped down before answering with the same confidence that shines bright in illuminated irises. ‘Fair.’

That dim when noticing the time. ‘We have to go.’

For nine o’clock on a September Tuesday will always be too early to analyze poetry.

But never too soon to see her.

‘Let’s go.’

Nine o’clock on a September Tuesday will always be too early to analyze poetry.

But never too soon to see him.

To lean against the deep-voiced mixture of nicotine and cologne wearing glasses with a thick black frame that others shun, ignorantly afraid of the person they deem a delinquent. However, they cannot see the gentle soul beneath a prejudiced exterior, not feel the fast stiffening of muscles that melt away at a pleased hum.

‘Are you still awake?’ A low giggle resonates in the baritone inquiry, having a chance to talk in a short ten-minute break after processing a ton of poetical and theoretical analysis. 

Judging by the sloth-like sensation spreading throughout, the information might not be committed to memory until notes made on the automatic pilot are read through. ‘Barely.’

‘Want to get another coffee?’

‘Mhm, I’d rather sit here.’ A pleased smile naturally carves itself into lips. An odd thing to happen, but there is something in the subdued scent of soap beneath the heavier aromas of musk and tobacco or perhaps the combination of the three that creates a small piece of happiness. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ Regardless of not being able to see Namjoon’s face, lashes fluttering shut, the quizzical look can vividly be imagined behind closed eyes. And it enhances the sense of kind joy, glad to be in the company of a good friend.

Or more. No, less. What are we? What do we mean? Hm, doesn’t matter now. Gods, should have drunk another espresso before heading out the door.

‘For letting me lean against you like this.’ As a sign of honest appreciation and to be more comfortable, the warm tribal jungle of aquatic blue and emerald green is further snuggled up against. ‘I like it.’

‘Don’t fall asleep, though. We’re halfway there.’ For a split second, there is the curious wish or, rather, expectation for the statement to be sealed with a chaste kiss on the top of the head. Withal, to unjust disappointment, it does not come for. It would have been absurd if it had, of course.

And yet the desire keeps gnawing on the inside. 

‘If I do, please wake me up before the professor sees.’ Fortunately, inner sensations can be suppressed by taking on a playful tone barely shy of badly lying. Nevertheless, a sudden memory of a promise erases the thought of being like this outside of the university, huddled together on a couch.

Or between the sheets.

The timid giant spent in the arms of a girl turned weirdly mischievous as of late.

Eyes languidly open, brought back from the equally as sudden and vibrant recalling of the awkward shuffling to apparently hide the endearing hardened shape in jeans. Voice remains even, luckily, when reminding the buff sweetheart of what is due to him as well. ‘Oh, right. I promised I’d let you read my new poem. Hold on, let me grab my notebook.’ 

Perhaps thanks to the fear of being caught red-handed with furiously blushing cheeks, locks immediately duck under the table to rummage around the backpack that is hardly filled with anything. Notwithstanding, the opposite is acted out until the rampant thoughts of a racing heart have calmed down. 

Only to almost start anew when bumping into Joon’s hand upon rising from beneath the piece of furniture.

‘I- I didn’t- Just making sure you wouldn’t get hurt.’ Swiftly, composure crumbles appealingly into haphazard helplessness as the shield against injury is retracted while actively trying not to stutter. 

‘Much appreciated. Truly.’ To quiet the doubt in the fellow poet’s behaviour, an assuring tone naturally slips into soft-spoken smiling speech. And works effectively as a rapidly breathing chest falls slower. 

Once more, comfort is sought by leaning against the jungle-shaded arm, leafing to the correct page before closing eyes again with the risk of falling asleep. ‘Here you go.’

Without waiting for another cue, Namjoon starts reading the poem in the only manner one should read poetry.

As much shame as it may cause.

It has to be done out loud.

‘Youth shouldn’t think

About Death yet it

Contemplates its very

Existence and the relation

Between them.

Why fear something distant?

Distant.

But incredibly close.

Lurking in effervescent ever-

Present shadows.

Waiting patiently.

For Age.

For Chance.

For Fate. 

For Opportunity.

For Time.

For Me.’

A breathless laugh attracts the tall man’s attention. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ In spite of partially meaning to mock oneself for the quality of the writing, the sudden outburst is mostly due to the surprising effect a voice, Namjoon’s voice has on the piece of writing. A hand unconsciously comes to rest on a muscled thigh, basking in the warmth and the slight movement leaning into the touch by pressing it against the one secretly wanting more. ‘I just like the way you read poetry. You have a good voice for it. It’s nice to listen to.’

‘Y/N,’ breath hitches in a beautiful whimper when the palm moves slightly upward, ‘people are looking.’

A shrug dismisses the worry, not bothered whatsoever by the ones who have silently cast a peer out on grounds of appearance. None would admit this outright, of course, but it is obvious in behaviour during seminars and lectures. ‘Don’t care.’

‘What if they think we are... you know... together?’

‘We’re all adults here, grownups with a sense of what a relationship entails. Besides, does it matter? Let them think whatever, Namjoon.’ As languidly as a cat, eyes open again to blink a few times before looking up at a flustered tanned face. Mayhaps a misperception, but it seems closer than before. 

He looks adorable. No, what am I doing? Focus! He read your poem, so this is not the time for fantasy.

Moving away a little bit from the intoxication caused by the combination of musk and tobacco, enhanced by the sensation of a big palm enveloping the one wandered more towards the inside of denim, speech is endeavoured to be made steady. Nevertheless, the attempt only succeeds in part as careful guidance testing the waters beneath the table leads to an intenser heat. ‘But what did you think of it?’ 

And ends in boldly being spread out across clothed hardened skin of which the ego rapidly grows breathless. Especially more so when willingly applying pressure, thoroughly enjoying the parting of plush lips risking being heard and expression contorting into laboured concentration. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’

‘I- Is this what you, ah, ehm, think about in the morning?’ Hips slowly rock against the offender, seeking the desperately needed friction as skin begins to pass the state of glowing and grows dewy.

‘“I was a woman who thought of dead things. All the time. I couldn’t help it.”’ Enough mental stability can be gathered to manage a blank stare signifying ignorance as to where the applicable quote stems from. Forcefully, the ability to pay attention is compelled to be enhanced as the waist is suppressed with a smirk into sitting quietly on the chair. ‘Ah, ah, ah. Sit still before someone catches you. Lidia Yuknavitch said this in The Chronology of Water: A Memoir. And I’ll be honest, I got that quote from Tumblr.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ All attention is returned to the movements below that have not stopped in the meanwhile, teeth biting down on the lower lip succeeding in nullifying the groan that wants to become audible. 

‘Break time is almost over.’ Time for contact is running out, the chatty professor pacing back towards the lecturer with a steaming cup of cheap coffee. Every second ticks away faster, but the steps in the race towards craved oblivion are too little. On the other hand, it would be a just punishment for the public brashness. 

‘Could we- Can we g-get lunch? Together?’

‘Is that what you want? What you think about?’ The absurdity evokes an amused low chuckle, truly finding joy in seeing the tough yet submissive poet struggle. ‘We just met, Joon.’

‘Y- Yet you let m- me do this, Miss.’ Digits free from tribal ink wrap around the wrist, willing it to remain out of sight beneath the table without stopping. 

What are we doing? We’re basically strangers. But... he held my hand and now we’re doing this. We both want this. This is ridiculous and yet, with the way he calls me that, the power is intoxicating.

And held onto a tad longer, mischief triumphing long enough to find pleasure in the whine at being left hanging high and dry after the squeeze that could have invoked embarrassing euphoria. ‘Not for long, bad boy.’

‘Alright, so! Where were we? Ah, right, why rhyme pleases.’ The professor has returned from the momentous coffee break fully, yellow cup empty and the little caffeine forming enough fuel to make it through the last three quarters filled with poetic analysis. 

Forty-five minutes of swatting away secretive undecorated hands trying to find release, as shameful as it is, by themselves.

To, perhaps, play the part of the devil to the end.

And maybe, just maybe admit to something.

To desire bordering on young love.

To a tribal jungle and nautical map on muscled buff arms.

To him who is clearly struggling.

To Namjoon. 

#hyunglinenetwork #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Confessions of a Coffee-Eater

[scripttorture]

Hello! I was wondering if you could point me towards some examples of well-written torture scenes? Your give great advice on the psychology and historical side of things, but I was wondering if you have any good examples of "torture done right" in writing (ie. written tastefully, plausibly, and without being apologia). Thanks!

Doyou maybe have some examples of well-written torture scenes? Whetherit’s a book or a fanfiction or whatever. Something you yourself readand liked (as far as a torture scene could be… liked).

I’m combining these two asks because they’re so similar.

This is honestly really difficult for me. Not because there aren’t brilliantly written scenes out there. It’s because since I started the blog (and writing seriously) I’ve had a lot less time to read fiction. At this point I’ve read a lot more victim statements then I have fictional torture scenes.

 Actually, right now, I more or less avoid fiction that might involve torture unless it’s for the blog because I don’t want to become over whelmed.

 So I went back and forth on how to answer this. I wrote out and discarded several answers.

 For this one- I’m going to write some scenes myself. Your mileage may vary on how well you think I write. They’re all taken from larger original works and I’ll provide some context for them.

 Hopefully you all think they’re a decent read.

 The context for the first scene is that Erife ‘Needle’ Hennoi is a young man from a military family in a country that’s under military rule. He’s mixed race, his surname is from the dominant cultural and ethnic group (Sardhan) and the nickname ‘Needle’ is part of his minority heritage (‘Southern’). At the time this scene takes place he’s the last member of his family that’s still actively supporting/part of the military. One of his older sisters is in exile with a family friend. The other (Teeka) led her unit in a mutiny and is thought to be hiding with the ‘anarchists’ mentioned in the scene. This is a fantasy story and there is a little bit of magic towards the end of this scene.

 Erife paused at the doorway, listening closely. There were no screams this time, no moans he could make out through the thick wood. A treacherous part of his mind told him he was wrong, he was making assumptions. The military he knew would never-

 Except they had. Countless times before. Almost every state but the Capital stood in testament to that.

 He opened the door.

 The smell hit him like a hurled brick and left him blinking as if his eyes needed to adjust. A heavy rancid soup of waste and human fluids.

 On the floor there was a bundle, like a pile of rags bound up into a roughly human shape. He couldn't see it's face around Lieutenant Kedrai's legs but there was a spill of straight Sardhan hair, an inch of terracotta skin-

 And a funnel, the narrow end would be wedged in their mouth, the water forced down their throat would be distending their stomach and-

 “Ah, Hennoi.” Lieutenant Kedrai turned towards the door and smiled. “Would you pass me that bucket?”

 He thought of Teeka and the way she could lie with a natural smile.

 “I would-” Erife said carefully. “But I doubt I’ll have time to change before reporting to the Major, and she’ll have my hide if I go up smelling like the docks.”

 Kedrai gave a little patronising laugh. He let the funnel drop. Without turning he kicked out, Erife heard it hit, somewhere soft and then Kedrai stepped a little further back.

 It was a woman.

 She was older then him, but not by much, she couldn't have been much younger then Teeka. Her abdomen was stretched out like a blister, swollen until it looked as if the skin would burst. She struggled, sat halfway up and drew her shoulders up in a single deep breath.

 Kedrai kicked her stomach.

 Erife froze, his face set like stone.

 The water spilled out of her mouth, her nose, like a basin overflowing. Kedrai kicked her again and the smell of fresh bile and filth grew stronger still. Gods' mercy it was spilling out of her-

 Erife's hands were clenching up so he put them safely out of sight behind his back. He wanted to look away, he wanted to run, he wanted-

 He wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere at all. But it wouldn't do to show his feelings to-

 It was interesting how instinctively that thought ended, how naturally. 'The enemy', of course.

 Kedrai was shouting- something. And Needle knew he should pay attention but it was difficult when the smell was making his head swim.

 Kedrai took a handful of the woman's hair and pulled her up by it.

 "-those filthy anarachists! What are you hiding for them?! Where are they?"

 There was still bile leaking out her mouth, trailing down her chin. Her breath was coming in splutters and bubbles.

 "You think this is the worst we can do?" Kedrai bellowed. "This is a kindness compared to what I'll do tomorrow! Talk blast you!"

 Her lips moved and the sound that came out was small, choked. Kedrai leaned closer.

 She bit him.

 Kedrai screamed. He fell backwards into the filth. The woman’s head hit the floor with a thump and she laughed, breathlessly.

 Kedrai swore, scrambled to his feet. He kicked out and over the steady beat of the blows Needle heard her swearing. ‘Gate take you’ and ‘the Warrior burn you’ and ‘the Child eat your bones’.

 Eventually she stopped.

 “Blast it.” Kedrai swore.

 “Unconscious?” Needle asked, somehow he kept his voice reasonable, as if he was enquiring about the most convenient train.

 “I’ll get the wretched traitor awake again.” Kedrai stated. “I’ll get her talking.”

 Liar, Needle thought.

 “I’m sure.” He said, in something like the tone Teeka would have used. “But I’m afraid I’m just getting in your way-”

 “Yes, Hennoi you are.” Kedrai retorted. “Though I suppose it’s good for you to see how the real work gets done.”

 “It has certainly been educational.” Needle replied. “I’ll get out of your way. Shall I let the Major know you’ll have something shortly?”

 “I’ll tell her myself.” Kedrai snapped.

 Needle walked out at a steady pace with his head held high. He shut the door firmly behind him. The air outside tasted sweet.

 His heart felt as if it was about to burst. He couldn’t think. That awful laugh- The smell-

 He needed to go up to Roika, he needed to give his report and-

 When Needle started walking he found himself going the other way. Deeper into the prison, the cells. Had they dug more room out of the earth since Ilāra left? Or had it always been this big and the emptiness had made it seem smaller? So many of the doors were locked and bolted now. If there was a room for every step and two or three people for every room then how many-

 “Um, Sir?”

 He hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped, but of course he’d come here. Of course he’d come to her.

 The girl at the door was a Private and barely old enough for the stripe at her shoulder. Teeka would have known her name. Teeka would have glanced at her and known the best way to persuade her. That was Teeka’s talent and Needle-

 Needle should have learnt.

 “Open the door.”

 “Sir?”

 “I gave you an order Private. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

 “But she’s dang-”

 “Your concern is appreciated and I can handle an Avinas now open the blasted door or I shall feed you to the Gateway myself.”

 “Sir!”

 She fumbled over the keys and the bolts. Eventually she got it open. Needle stepped inside and she slammed the door shut after him as if it was holding back the Gateway itself.

 The room was like an adharkist’s chamber, the white of fleeting power. All the better to highlight the black sigils carved into the stone.

 Vee sat in the centre looking up at the ceiling. She turned sharply when Needle stepped into the sigils, like a hungry hound smelling meat.

 “Oh- hello. You feel strange, like chewing lemon rinds-”

 Needle sat down at the edge of the circle, just inside. Vee twisted round on to her hands and knees and crawled closer.

 “That’s different-” She continued and Needle supposed she was talking to him. “I’ve not- I’ve not felt like that before. It’s so beautiful, all your hurt twisted up like knots round the things you need to live. It’s like- oh what’s it like? What’s the word? Those pretty little lumps you get inside. The rot. The cankers. Do you know what I mean?”

 She crawled up until she was close enough to kiss, as close as Kedrai had gotten to that woman and she breathed out, shallow and excited. Anticipation made her shake.

 “Can I have it? Please. It’s beautiful and I want it so so much- Let me take it. It won’t hurt- I think- I know- Probably- Oh please-”

 “Yes.” Needle whispered. “You can have it.”

 She made a high squeaking sound, like an excited child and she didn’t touch him but-

 All at once he felt empty, hollowed out. Neither sad nor angry but a void left by whatever huge, clawing thing had taken up the space in his chest.

 Vee sat back on her heels and hummed. “Oh that’s- It’s strange isn’t it? New. Like someone’s wrapped sharp wire round your brain. I don’t know if I like it but it feels like I have to keep holding it? Like having bones- Is it like that for you? Did you want it back?”

 “No.” Needle breathed and Vee smiled as if she’d been promised a present.

 “Oh- I should- Mother says we should say thank you when we get something. And I didn’t did I? Thank you. No one’s ever given me anything like that before. But I don’t think I’ll keep it forever you know- Now I’ve got it it isn’t new. So I’ll probably want something else soon- Is it like that for you?”

 “No.” Needle murmured.

 There was a hole inside him but the emptiness had left him feeling calmer, focused. Clarity, or an illusion of it.

 Without really thinking he reached out and touched her shoulder. He’d half-expected her to feel different but it was just warm, soft skin.

 “What’s it like?” Vee asked leaning into his hand. “How do you make all these beautiful things? Is it hard? Can you show me?”

 “I don’t know.” Needle told her softly and Vee pouted like a child.

 “But that’s not fair. You do it all the time. How can you not know?”

 “I’m not sure. But even if I knew I’m not sure if I’d be able to teach you. You’re different.”

 “I know.” She replied and sighed deeply. “Everyone always says that. Even Mother-”

 She shifted closer by degrees, until she was sitting curled up in his lap. She was heavier then he expected. After a moment he put a hand in her uneven hair.

 “She’s not coming, is she?” Vee asked. “Only- I thought she would but- But it’s been such a long time. A long long time.”

 “I don’t know.” Needle said.

 “Do you think she doesn’t want me any more?”

 “I-”

 Needle stopped. He looked down at her, guileless and wide eyed and oh so very dangerous. Vee frowned.

 “What’s that? Are you going to lie? That feels- Well it isn’t quite lying is it? It’s like the lie and the truth are all tangled together and tying up your tongue.” She giggled and tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. “Can I have both?”

 “Both?”

 “The lie and the truth. Usually people just give you one or the other but they both make people feel so pretty-”

 “I don’t know whether your mother still wants you.” Needle said. “I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t.”

 “Oh! Yes! Exactly like that! Both at once. Well done.” She patted his shoulder.

 Needle took a deep breath. He felt empty and clear. The answer had never been complicated or obscured. It was stark and obvious as the Crone’s sacred signs. He just hadn’t wanted to accept it.

 Vee twisted in his arms, mouth opening-

 “No.” Needle said firmly. “You can’t have this. Not yet.”

 “Oh. Why?”

 “I need it.” Needle sighed. “And we need to leave.”

 So- on to the second story.

 The context for this next scene is a little different. Rather than immediate this scene is retrospective: Sarika is recounting an important story in her culture to Ravi. It’s very much the mythic justification for the way Sarika’s culture functions. They’re the only culture in this world that still has an aerial fleet and members reportedly never touch the ground. They use their fleet to fight fires and rescue people from natural or man-made disasters. Ravi is slightly obsessed with researching them after they saved his life as a child and Sarika is only the second member that he’s been able to talk to.

 Going into this Ravi knows that Sarika’s people consider themselves cursed, that they used to be soldiers and that the culture was more-or-less founded by two women who loved each other, Inna and Sarangerel.

 I hastened to the roof as soon as I was able, eager to hear the rest. I found Sarika seated and smoking steadily. Repressing my distaste at the smell I sat beside her. We sat in silence for some minutes before I begged her to continue.

 She drew deeply on her pipe and blew stinking tobacco from her nose. She bid me to remind her what she had spoken of last.

 “Inna and Sarangerel,” I replied. “The King’s men had pulled Sarangerel from the wreck. They’d taken her to the dungeons.”

 “Ah.” Sarika stood and moved to the edge of the roof. She sat on the raised edge, her legs dangling down and stared out over the university.

 At the time I did not understand her hesitancy, in part because I did not yet understand her story. As different peoples we set our stories to different beats. I expected a tale of love and daring rescue.

 Sarika sucked on her pipe and the smoke leaking from her nose wreathed her head and hair making her look like a djinni from the old tales, a creature of smoke and air.

 “They tie her hands like this.” She made a quick motion with the hand that did not hold her pipe. I took it to indicate that Sarangerel’s hands were tied behind her back but Sarika did not pause to let me ask or reflect.

 “They kick her. They say she is traitor. They say the King rules the fleet. They say she will tell them where the fleet is. And like the swan she makes no sound.”

 “They take boots, they hit feet. Like this. And like the swan she makes no sound.”

 “They are angry, the men. They want screams and shame. Sarangerel does not give them this. So they take cloth and tie over- Like this, yes?”

 “Her head.” I said softly. “They tied it over her head.”

 “Yes. Tie tight like this. You see?”

 I murmured that I did.

 “She moves and then she does not.” Sarika continued. “And the men they want take off cloth but it is tight. There is time. They take and she is blue. They think she is dead and they are afraid-”

 “Of Inna?” I interrupted.

 “Of Inna.” Sarika confirmed. “They kill her love she would make the rain burn. So they think they will hide this body, make her not Sarangerel. They take burning water* and put on her head like this.”

 She gestured to the lower half of her face, the nose, cheeks, mouth and neck.

 “When she is burnt they leave. They send woman to clean and she sees Sarangerel lives.”

 Here Sarika paused and drew deep on her pipe. I waited, unsure if this signalled worse to come. The tale was not at all what I expected and I am not ashamed to say it disturbed me.

 “She is good.” Sarika said after a moment. “She is of the King’s city but she is good. She sees Sarangerel and she feels pain. Like walking on the ground.”

 Sarika sighed.

 “We do not remember her name. But she takes Sarangerel from this place. She cares like Sarangerel is child. Feeds, cleans, you understand?”

 “Yes.”

 “There is time and Inna hears nothing. She thinks the King has killed her love. She brings the fleet over King’s lands. Like the pilgrim-bird that kills to court. Many towns, many people, they take like this.” She made a flattening motion with her hands, as if lives and cities were cast aside like waste.

 “For the King’s city she comes, flak and fire and thunder- And then the woman, she has Sarangerel, she sends words to the fleet. Says to Inna ‘She is safe’-”

 Sarika trailed off and I had to prompt her to continue the tale.

 “They come from the air for her. You have seen it yes? We drop from the air, we take them up. You have seen it. Like this they take Sarangerel, they take the woman.”

 Sarika drew on her pipe and the smoke streamed from her nose. “And Inna burns the city.”

 “The whole city?”

 “Yes. She makes the air rot, the rain burns. Below the people die.”

 “All of them?”

 “All. There is only the woman who took Sarangerel. She sees burn below, mother, children, loves, home, all burns.”

 Sarika smiled mirthlessly and with a flick emptied her pipe over the side of the roof. I watched the burning ashes fall and tried to imagine them in such a quantity that they mimicked the rain.

 “She says ‘You Tama, you are monsters.’ And then she curses ‘You will not rest. You banish from the ground. You rest when you save more lives then you take.’” Sarika shrugged. “So we are cursed. That is all.”

 I felt quite sure that it was not. “What happened to her?”

 Sarika shrugged again. “Do not know.”

 “Did Inna kill her?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “And Sarangerel?”

 “She wakes. She lives. In time she stop Inna’s fires. She leads us and we save lives.”

 “And her face?”

 Sarika gestured to the lower half of her face and told me that for Sarangerel it was gone**.

 “What about the King?”

 Sarika shrugged as if he was an irrelevance. “He burns.”

 I put it to her that every other version of this story I had heard was quite different. That when outsiders told her story there was no Sarangerel and it was the King who cursed her people.

 Sarika laughed so hard I feared she would fall from the roof.

 *I was unable to confirm whether the liquid Sarika referred to was corrosive or flammable. Sarika gave me both her translation and the Taman word but what precisely it indicates I can not tell. Her Hindi was far from fluent, her Urdu simplistic and her Arabic best described as inventive. I suspect her people value linguistics in quantity rather than quality.

 **Some time later I was fortunate enough to see Taman paintings of Sarangerel. The custom is to paint this damaged portion as a flat red shape without nose or mouth.

 Both of these scenes are trying to accomplish several things simultaneously. They are (I hope) working on multiple levels.

 Sarika is narrating a story that is chiefly a scene of torture and genocide. But this is also highlighting the difference between how her people see themselves and their priorities versus how outsiders see them. It’s expanding on Ravi’s preconceptions and the cultural differences between them.

 In the broader context of the main story it’s the reason Sarika’s people give for their existence. Their culture grew up around a response to torture. They wouldn’t exist as they are if the friends, colleagues and lover of this survivor (as well as the survivor herself) didn’t respond to suffering in the way that they did.

 This is probably the furthest I’ve taken the insistence that torture have long lasting consequences: it hasn’t just shaped the people who were there and their children but a whole culture. Its echo lasts for generations.

 Inna takes the somewhat traditional role of a partner pursuing vengeance on behalf of someone else. It’s not asked for (which is also a common trope). And in this case it backfires spectacularly. Inna’s assumption that she has the ‘right’ to create more victims is the cultural cause of this ‘curse’. She is ultimately to blame for the way her people suffer and Sarangerel (by finding a way to address the situation they are left in afterwards) is the person who remakes them and allows them to survive.

 Sarangerel adapts her entire society to a ‘new normal’, in a way they’re all going through a survivor recovery arc. Led by a survivor.

 The insistence that it’s a nameless, charitable ‘good’ woman, responsible for the curse (rather than a bloodthirsty king) should- I hope- shift more of the power and focus on to survivors rather then torturers.

 The torturers and the King all die, but for the people who come afterwards this is almost an after thought to the story. It’s less important than a cleaning lady who saw her home go up in flames.

 The scene with Erife isn’t quite so world-changing. But it’s an essential part of the character’s arc and growth through the story. It’s a catalyst.

 Up to this point in the story Erife has never really acted on his own account. He’s obeyed orders, even when he’s uncomfortable with them. He’s stopped doing things that help and nourish him in the name of assimilating with the mainstream culture. He’s abandoned or betrayed the family he loves in order to stay on the right side of a government he doesn’t even believe in.

 He’s spent years persuading himself that this half-life he’s settled for isn’t so bad. And this is where that ends. He can’t pretend his situation is acceptable any more. He leaves and he takes Vee with him.

 Unlike the previous story in this case the victim herself isn’t the focus of the story. The audience aren’t going to learn her name and she isn’t going to show up again. But nonetheless she’s had a lasting effect. Moving forward Erife will think about her quite a bit.

 She says and does less then Kedrai but (I hope) she’s the focus of the scene.

 The later parts of the scene with Vee should be suggesting solitary confinement. I hope they’re also suggesting that Vee doesn’t think, process things or behave like a human being. Though if that isn’t clear from this snippet there’s a lot of narrative moments before this that should make that clear to the reader.

 Vee’s response within the context of both the scene and the larger story should be viewed as the aberration. Because the way she’s wired means her instinctive description of terminal bone cancer is ‘pretty’.

 And broadly the scene is also serving to draw Erife and Vee closer together. It’s changed the plot, the characters and their relationship to each other.

 Both of these scenes might be longer then you expected. In the sense that I haven’t just included the descriptions of torture. I’ve provided some build up, the moments before, and a significant period immediately afterwards.

 Because the scene isn’t the be all and end of whether torture is portrayed well or not. We’re talking about a complex nuanced set of situations and the larger context of a story can mean a lot more then a single scene.

 As an example of how complicated this can be take a look at this previous ask about the use of the term ‘broken’ in fictional torture.

 It’s a term that’s often used to prop up torture apologia, supporting the idea that survivors are utterly shattered by torture and can not possibly move on with their lives (not true).

 But at the same time survivors and torturers and witnesses all use this term. And using that language in the context of a survivor feeling overwhelmed and frustrated and unsupported, like their life is spinning out of control because of this one awful event? That’s realistic. Not necessarily positive, but realistic and plausible. A lot of survivors would probably see themselves in a scene like that.

 Using that language to capture part of a survivors recovery process and showing them healing to a point where they can reject that language as something that was dragging them down- Takes that same scenario to the next level and it might empower the survivors reading the story.

 I don’t believe there are simple answers when we’re choosing to write about complex topics.

 And I understand that that’s frustrating, not always having a clear answer. Part of that philosophy comes from how outright harmful I’ve found a lot of writing advice in the past. I don’t want to dictate how people should approach writing. I don’t think that’s helpful.

 For me torture done well isn’t a scene, it’s a plot line.

 In these two examples I’m using it to trigger radical change in the characters. For Sarika it’s the explanation of how her people went from being soldiers to rescuers; it’s part of the definition of her culture. For Erife it’s the moment he realises things are worse then he thought. It’s the start of him thinking for himself and listening to his conscience.

 I couldn’t take either incident out of these plots and end up with the same story or characters at the end. Even though the torture itself is at a significant remove from the major characters. Erife is a witness. Sarika isn’t even that.

 Which reflects a trend I’ve noticed in my writing- most of the time I don’t show the torture scene if a major character is tortured. Instead I concentrate on the aftermath, the symptoms and the recovery process. That’s just how I personally tackle it. There’s nothing wrong with an author choosing to include a graphic scene for a major character.

 But however it’s tackled, whether we fade to black or not, whether we put major characters or minor ones through it, there must be consequences. Huge, character changing, world-warping consequences.

 That doesn’t mean the simplistic cop outs like the survivor who is completely removed from the plot by virtue of their survival.

 Think bigger and beyond the insulting stereotypes. Think of resistance movements and cultures of remembrance. Palmares. Capoeira. The Circassian refusal to eat fish from the Black Sea.

 If torture can be removed from a narrative easily, then it almost certainly wasn’t a good narrative use of torture.

 And there is so much potential in these plots. At their best they explore something fundamental to our humanity: our ability to find meaning and happiness in life regardless of the suffering inflicted on us and our ability to help each other even while we’re suffering.

 I think I’m going to have to leave that there. If you’d like some recommendations for stories that I think handle torture well I’m happy to give you some titles. But most of the stories I love for the way they used torture don’t have any graphic scenes. Some of them don’t discuss torture explicitly at all.

 But you asked for scenes and this was the best I could come up with.

 I hope it helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#Anonymous #tw torture #writing victims #writing witnesses #writing torture scenes #resistance #effects of torture #torture plot lines #my writing #I'm a little bit nervous about showing it to you all to be honest

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 22/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"One week. One week. Truth is punishing me. He is testing me." Alphonse kept muttering under his breath, as he watched Tuesday's class walked through the door of his brother's Alchemy class. Well, his class too next year. The main problem Alphonse had been that he wasn't prepared to fully take over his brother and his teaching style. He must continue on with Edward style of teaching and not his own, this is his year not his own. The reason for taking over for the week, Edward is still under guard of Madam Pomfrey's care for the semi-mild concussion to a severer one due to an unfortunate encounter with the school's poltergeist. Peeves had caused his brother to fall down some flights of stairs. There is no telling how long Edward will be decommissioned for the injury and recovery.

Edward will be okay, just needs to rest and the potions and magical remedies are helping the healing process to go faster. Here's hoping that he has a fast recovery.

With sigh, Alphonse pushed himself away from the desk he was leaning on when he heard the familiar ring of the bell. The classroom is filled to the brim with students, from first to seventh years. From the looks of it, he could already sense who has to leave and who could possibly stay. Picking up a clipboard from the desk and looked down to see that today's class focused on teaching the students the non-magical aspect in alchemy. He let out a mental sigh of relief at seeing Edward's side notes, showing that four students from the original class are in today's class, peer teaching by the looks of it.

Fred Weasley: He along with his brother, George Weasley, show a great aptitude in Alchemy. Remember who is who, they may be the same, but they are not. This Weasley still needs to have a deeper understanding the laws but still is miles ahead of his peers. It is noted that when he and his brother are together, their minds seemed to be linked together and are able to reach no bounds in their research. Warning: Chronic Pranksters.

Timothy Jerkins: Needs a huge dose of reality that not everyone is a stepping stone to supposed success. Appears to selfish and narcissistic, give him a hawk's eye and he'll be a replica to Mustang. The only difference… he makes Mustang look like a saint in terms of personality. Shows aptitude in the laws and understanding of the laws but does not understand how it fits in with the human side of it all. Warning: Unlike Mustang, he actually sees people as true chess pieces.

Kasey State: Where do I start? She grew up in an orphanage, said place made no stance that they even cared for her in her physical, mental, emotional and… there's no end on how much they fucked her up. She shows great critical thinking skills but shows little to no skills in non-magical subjects but is more than willing to over pile her work to get ahead. Talk to the house-elves to have food 'randomly' appear by her whenever she looks hungry and ensure it's easy on the stomach. If you suspect anything, inform her Head of House, she'll take care of it.

Elfrida Hopkirk: Very studious but always leaves everything for the last minute. It's that Ravenclaw side of her, having the brains and smarts gives them the excuse of doing things last minute with the assumption they fully understand the subject. She get's it but her heads is stuck in the clouds with that mindset. Needs to understand non-magical concepts and perhaps move her to Wednesday class. (If you are reading this Al, at least I know when to ask questions until I fully understand what the hell I'm doing before I slack off. She doesn't.)Kasey State: Grew up in an orphanage that sees her nothing more than a paycheck they are paid to supposedly to take care of her. Gave her a shitty education before coming here to this place. I swear, when I first saw her, she looked like she was starved. Have the house-elves set out extra meals for her. Needs a huge refresher in her studies but is very eager to learn. Warning: Don't visit the orphanage. Have Madam Sprout do it.

Alphonse couldn't help but smile softly at his brother's notes on his students, noticing the finer details in them. Details that need to be seen. Fred will be no problem, give him advanced work and have him help out the others. Timothy would help him, but needs to understand the human concepts of life. He'll have to break Elfrida out of that habit if hers. Kasey… Edward had once previously mentioned a student that grew up in an orphanage. Seeing said student in front of him, he could see how desperately she is trying to herself in her clothing, and failing desperately. After traveling for so long as he did and seeing the consequences of war, starvation is one of the many atrocities in humanity.

"Welcome to Alchemy, my name is Professor Elric, Mr. Elric your slated teacher is currently indisposed. Yes, we are related. No, we are not related in that way. He is my older brother. I am engaged. I am very happy with her." Alphonse couldn't help but show his utter disappointment how more than half the class visibly deflate. Seems like a lot of his fans are in class and now has to find a way to weed out the fans from the actual students.

-.-

Severus sat beside Edward's bed, a book in hand and a cup of black tea in the other. It was his turn to take care of Edward when Alphonse isn't around to make him stay in bed. Fortunately he was put into a magic induced sleep and it appears it is doing wonders for his healing process. Even so, here's hoping there won't be any long term effects. On the night table besides the bed is a package of stone cakes sent by Hagrid, one of the many forms of apologies from the half-giant.

There was no need to apologize, Edward in his medical induced haze that it wasn't anyone's fault. Animal's just have a tendency on harming him for the hell of it. This only caused Hagrid to burst into tears once more.

"What are we going to do with you…" Severus sighed, placing the now empty cup of tea on the night table and putting the book on the bed. He continued on talking as if Edward was actually listening and responding instead of being unconscious. "Not even a month in, and you already got yourself in this condition… don't give me that look. You have a tendency to get hurt, lost, maimed, insulting the wrong person, or a combination, which results with you in his sort of outcome… What did I say? Don't give me that look… Ugh… you are impossible."

-.-

"Should we accept this proposal?"

"If we do, it would allow us to put more heirs up front to become the next emperor or empress."

"He still has to pick…"

"Instead of possibly only have one choice from ever respective clan, there would be more. Everyone has an equal opportunity, from the smallest to the largest of clans."

"The only prerequisite he has is that they must attend the new school the Emperor is currently creating with the help of Amestris and Magical Great Britain."

"I like this proposal… providing an equal opportunity and dealing with that bothersome marriage law."

"Don't get me started… The Emperor's father keep taking our daughters, sisters, nieces and granddaughters without much of a care."

"Let's not forget… even the ones that were married or promised to someone were not off limits for him…"

"What if he does the same as his father?"

"Don't make me laugh. I've seen that Amestrian threaten him that if he ever does anything to offend that woman's honor, then he will be the one to beat him senseless."

"Can he do that?"

"From what I've heard, he could... He's not the only one who threatened Emperor Ling."

-.-

Mustang mentally grumbled to himself as he left Grumman's office, he was just kicked out of his leader's office while his Captain stayed behind. It was suspicious to say the least. Maybe there is something going on without his knowledge? There are constant whispers behind his and Hawkeye's back, all of them revolving around this upcoming law that will permanently change the military. Whatever it is… it has to be big…

-.-

"I had made a list of all possibly candidates for once the Anti-Fraternization laws are abolished, so that you know who I approve from greatest to least." Grumman handed his granddaughter a long list of possible candidates for supposed marriage.

Riza's hand were shaking at what her grandfather had just told her, the answers to all those whispers, innuendos, and so on. Her grandfather, the Fuhrer of Amestris, is removing one of the biggest laws the Military has for who knows how long. The only problem is that… why is he giving her a list of candidates for marriage?

"I am going to be officially announcing everyone you are my granddaughter, to avoid having issues of my own."

Riza gave the old man a deadpanned expression, she swore that Roy took a lot after Grumman than she cares to admit. "The list?"

"What? I am giving you my approval to anyone you choose from the list as a possible partner in the future and not worry about me. Plus, once word get's out who you are to me, there would be marriage proposals just for your connection to myself. I want to make sure you know who would be a good possible candidate for yourself."

"Why did you have General Mustang leave the room? Shouldn't he hear the news?"

"I'll leave that for you, I'll be making everything official at the end of the month."

"Thank you?"

-.-

"I'm the twelfth person on this list?!" Roy didn't bother to hide his look of utter disbelief and dismay at the list Riza just presented him with. "How in Truth's name did Havoc get to be number four while I'm twelve! And both Armstrong's are the first two on the list! ugh!"

Jean, for his own part, slowly hid underneath his desk to avoid his head officer's wrath.

"Sir… you're missing the point." Vato called out from his spot in the office, he was scanning through the paperwork that was required to officially abolished the anti-fraternization law.

"How are you above me by one!" Roy called out to Vato, pointing accusingly at him. "How are all of you above me!"

"You could see his pride being demolished bit by bit…" Heymans whispered out to his comrades with a chuckle but stopped with Riza glared at all of them.

"They should just make it official now…" Kain sighed.

"I'm just waiting until Hawkeye slap some sense into him." Jean whispered out from his spot from underneath his desk.

Roy snapped his fingers and ignited the list up in flames. He promptly ran his hands through his hair in frustration. So, this was what was being hidden from Riza and himself, Truth… he already had plans to get rid of that law down the line. This puts a wrench into his plans. His plans involve… it involves Riza helping him bring it down under Maes's name.

Who was their main supporter…

"…I wanted to romantically propose to you…"

"Sir, the law hasn't been abolished yet."

"Is that a yes or no?"

"You haven't asked me anything yet."

#Alchemy Series #Tiny Steps #FMA #FMAB #HP #HP/FMA #HP/FMAB #Crossover #AU #Fanfic #Pro!Snape

[spoopytickles]

Making up for lost time

Summary- Sleeping for 2,000 years has made Esidisi particularly needy. And with Wham out doing gods know what, Esidisi and Kars have plenty of time to fool around.

A/n- I feel like everyone’s super out of character here but at this point I can’t bring myself to care, this took way too long.

Words-2,248

Two thousand years. It had been two thousand years since Esidisi had last seen Kars’ face. He was unconscious for all of it, and even if he had been awake, for a pillar man two thousand years should have felt like the blink of an eye. But it didn’t, for him it felt like an eternity. Love had its ways of changing one’s perception. He longed for the warmth of Kars’s skin against his own. It was disgusting.

After escaping the confines of the colosseum the three pillarmen had settled down in a cave not to far from Rome. Wham went off on his own soon after they arrived. His blood still boiled with shame from being injured by a hamon user. His absence didn’t bother Esidisi or Kars in the slightest. They needed to decide a course of action, and in this state Wham would simply interfere with their thought process.

Without their eldest, most reckless son the two pillarmen were free to make themselves at home. Esidisi and Kars sat inches from each other in front of a small fire. Esidisi carried enough heat to warm the both of them, but the light was pleasant. After so long being contained by the light of a false sun, the familiar firelight was comforting. Though he had other things on his mind, Esidisi was the first to bring up the red stone of aja.

“Do you believe the super aja may still be in Italy? A stone can travel far in two thousand years.”

“I do. Seeing as the hamon users were in possession of the aja before our hibernation, and that there are still hamon users left here, it is entirely possible.”

“And what of the new hamon users?” Esidisi questioned.

“They pose no threat to us. Anyhow I suppose I’ll let you and Wham play your trivial games with the hamon user called Jojo before we resume our search.”

Esidisi let out a surprised gasp, “Trivial? Kars, dear, it is tradition! If Wham believes this ‘Jojo’ to be a worthy foe then I wish to experience his abilities for myself.” Kars turned to face his husband. The firelight made the red of his eyes seem to glow.

“It is childish. Did we not leave such foolish rituals behind when we abandoned the sun fearing ways of our brethren?” His tone was flat but it was clear he meant no ill will by his remarks.Esidisi forced a frown before laughing and pulling Kars into his lap.

“Look at us, this is the first time we’ve been truly together in two thousand years and here we are quarreling! That is more foolish than any tradition will ever be!” Esidisi peppered Kars’ face with kisses, planting one on the tip of his nose before pulling back to admire his work. Kars sat there trying to keep himself from smiling. Sadly try as he might he still had a goofy grin plastered across his face which made Esidisi’s heart flutter. Tens of thousands of years together and still Kars could kill him with nothing but a smile. So long and yet he hasn’t change at all.

Kars squirmed about in his husband’s arms. Desperately trying to redirect him to the task at hand. “We will have time for this sort of behavior after-“ Esidisi cut him off. Standing up with Kars still in his arms, he interjected,

“Ah! But will the time not be there if we take tonight to just be?” Kars finally caved, this unusually clingy mood didn’t seem to be going anywhere. No point in protesting. If Esidisi had his mind set on something, in most cases he would get it one way or another.

“Certainly indulging for one night could do no harm.” He was right, of course. He had an annoying tendency to be right about these sorts of things. One night out of an eternity was nothing. Kars nodded, and Esidisi set about finding a more comfortable place to cuddle. Oh how Kars wished he had more willpower when it came to that man.

Esidisi sat down against the wall of the cave. Setting Kars down gently in his lap, like a porcelain doll. He returned to covering his lovers face with kisses as his hands found their way into his hair. “Is there a reason for this, or has hibernating for two thousand years simply driven you mad?” Kars asked pointedly.

Esidisi withdrew himself for a moment, thinking. “If I’m to be frank,I love you and I’ve missed you.” Quite the charming sentiment.

“And I you, Esidisi,” Kars punctuated this statement with a peck on the lips, “however I can assure you we will have forever together once we release ourselves from the moon’s bonds with the help of the super aja.”

Esidisi frowned. It seemed Kars hadn’t changed either. He was still as obsessed with his work as he had been when they first met. “You focus too much on your work, love. Please, just tonight, then we can worry about the aja.” Kars rested his head against his lover’s chest. He wasn’t going to win this one.

“I don’t have a say in the matter, do I?”

Esidisi grinned. “Not at all.” He wondered what else had remained the same.

Esidisi resumed his prior barrage of affection, clasping one of Kars’ hands in his own. As he placed gentle kisses on each of Kars’ knuckles his other hand absentmindedly traced the muscles of Kars’ back. He all but melted into the touch. As awful as it was to admit, maybe he needed this as much as Esidisi. Just maybe. Not that he would ever say it.

Kars had found himself with toying with Esidisis thick curls when the sensation of a finger being dragged down the length of his spine made him jump. Esidisi stared at him with wide eyes.

“Are you alright, Kars? The hamon users didn’t manage to injure you, did they?” Kars was taken aback by the assumption that he could be wounded by a simple human.

“Of course not! I’m just not used to being touched quite yet, that’s all. You know how it can be to return to life after such a long period of rest.” Esidisi blinked at him, but returned to what he was doing without question. At that moment he had been struck with a brilliant idea to keep Kars from thinking about the aja.

Esidisi shifted his focus from Kars’ face to his neck. Internally Kars groaned, of course he had forgotten about this. The pillarmen were nearly impervious to pain yes, but the gods had played a cruel trick creating them. They were just as sensitive to tickling as any human could be. He prayed this inconvenience would be remedied by the aja. It would be thoroughly unfitting of an ultimate life form to be ticklish.

Esidisi pressed a trail of kisses down the length of kars’ jaw and Kars finally cracked, letting out a near inaudible snort before catching himself and regaining composure. Esidisi looked up at him, this time a smile spread across his face.

“If I may ask, dear. What’s so funny?” Shit. “I’m only trying to please you, if you’re not enjoying this I can stop.” Kars’ internal monologue was running a mile a minute, Keep your cool Kars, if you’re nonchalant maybe he’ll just forget this.

“No! Nothing like that. I told you, I’m just not adjusted to being touched so... delicately, yet. I won’t repeat myself again.” There goes nonchalant. It was pointless. Kars knew Esidisi could read him like a book. It was a talent he’d had as long as he could remember. He also knew that Esidisi knew exactly how sensitive he was. Damn him.

“Hm, of course, in that case you won’t mind if i continue.” Esidisi laughed to himself as he raked his nails down Kars lower back, making him writhe in his arms. He relished in the way Kars tried to contain himself. “You know, if you’re still interested in talking about things which are foolish, I find this weakness of yours comical. Even more foolish is that you’re still trying to hide it. It’s not like I don’t know, so you might as well just give up.” Esidisi moved his hands to kars stomach, carefully tracing patterns onto his soft skin. That was the last straw. Kars threw his head back, dissolving into deep, breathy laughter.

“C-cease this ahahat once Esidisi! T-that is an ordeheher!” Esidisi hummed, still playing with Kars’ abs.

“I don’t think I will. Forgive me but I think you look quite nice this way. And hearing your genuine laugh certainly isnt hurting either.” He moved his hands up, digging into his ribs, resulting in a loud squeal from Kars.

“I’ll kihihihill you!” Esidisi kissed kars’ forehead as he continued to knead his ribs

“Oh no you won’t. You love me!” Esidisi stilled his hands as a thought entered his head. “At least I think you do.”

“You know, I don’t think you’ve said you loved me since we’ve woken up. I’m a bit hurt honestly!” He let out a sob, and honestly Kars couldn’t tell if he was faking. “I don’t think I’ll stop this until you say you love me. How does that sound?” He grinned at Kars, his apparent kindness belied what he was about to do. As a strategist Esidisi could be completely wicked if he so chose, and in his eyes now Kars recognized a spark few lived through seeing. Kars eyes went wide, he was trapped.

“Esidisi are you a child? This is ridiculous and you know it!” As he said this Esidisi went in for the attack. He began tickling Kars with a new vigor, sending him into a fresh bout of laughter. Kars weakly grabbed at Esidisi’s wrists. Any other time the two would have been on equal footing, but in this state Kars could barely put up a fight. All he could do was thrash in ticklish agony.

Maybe agony was a stretch. Sure this could be humiliating but it certainly wasn’t unpleasant. If Esidisi was enjoying himself then maybe he should too. He hadn’t had the luxury of play as a child, this was just making up for lost time. There’s an excuse for everything after all.

Esidisi squeezes Kars hips, causing him to squirm particularly violently. He kicked into the wall of the cave, knocking loose some rubble. Esidisi stopped what he was doing immediately, looking concerned. Kars was teary eyed, and had just kicked a dent in their temporary home. Maybe he had gone too far.

“I- I didn’t harm you did I? I’m sorry I forget that you aren’t as open to affection as me. It was stupid of me to-“

Kars could feel Esidisi’s distress from a mile away, even if he tried to mask it. He sat up and looked him in the eyes. Before he said anything he took a moment to admire Esidisi’s features. His husband really was handsome. A strong nose and sharp eyes. The vibrant purples and oranges painted on his face that now only held meaning to the two of them. The only thing which cut his beauty was the look of dull sadness at the idea that he had hurt his husband in some way. Kars smiled gently at him.

“Don’t look at me that way. You know it is my pleasure to indulge you my dear. Though I may not always say it, I truly do love you Esidisi.” Esidisi’s face softened as Kars hugged him. It had been so long since they had shared a moment like this. So tender, like the world frozen and the only things which kept moving were the two of them. They kissed for a few moments before Kars pulled away.

“You know. Just because I’m not upset doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of revenge. You were ruthless!” To prove his point he gestured to the dent in the cave wall. Esidisi laughted under his breath.

“Ah, well. That’s fair I suppose.” He looked at the ground. “But Wham will probably be back soon! There’s no time for this!” Kars grinned.

“Oh I’ll make time.”

“Now Kars, isn’t this below you? Not too long ago this would’ve been unthinkable.”

“With you my love? I think I’ll survive stooping to this level.”

Kars shaped his hands into claws, sending Esidisi into a fit of anticipatory giggles. One, no, two more beautiful things about him. His smile and his laughter, both blindingly radiant. When Kars made contact Esidisi made no effort to hide his reactions. Like the sun, everything he did was warm and bright and almost too much. The minute Kars’ hands reached Esidisi’s sides he melted into bubbly laughter. Maybe this was childish, but when it was just the him and Esidisi it couldn’t matter less. He wished to spend his eternity here, with the love of his life. No matter how foolish he was.

Wham got back an hour or two before sunrise. He walked in to see his masters disheveled, holding onto one another and laughing softly. He couldn’t tell if they had drifted asleep or were simply too dazed to notice his return, but he left again shortly after. Of course he knew his masters loved each other deeply, but it was rare to see them like this. Whether from fear or awe, Wham couldn’t bring himself to interrupt them. There was something so comfortingly peaceful about the three of them together. In a sense they were the humans might call a family, albeit an unusual one. In the moments just before the dawn he was so grateful that no human could tear them from each other.

#my fic #tickle fic #jjba #esikars #tickling

[chrysalispen]

kissing prompt: ‘a kiss meant to seduce’

not answering these in any particular order but tbh i’m trying to get these nero/WoL wips out the door so have another prompt response. more or less a lead-in to this fic i wrote which i don’t hate quite enough to take down.

not explicit, but probably a T/M rating on AO3 for mention of dirty talk etc.

=============================================================

All told, no one had seemed to be in an agreeable mood on the way down to the Find from the Crystal Tower courtyard, or after they'd arrived. Cid's expression had been positively thunderous, blue eyes dark with his agitation, and the overall feeling from the other Ironworks engineers on site ran the gamut between confusion and suspicious resignation.

Well. Almost no one. Their sudden interloper seemed quite cheerful about the entire circumstance, as though all of this were going exactly the way he had wanted and they were all just cogs in some machine he'd set in motion.

That idea was absurd, of course; Nero tol Scaeva couldn't have had much more of an inkling of what was behind those doors than anyone else here, surely. But the calm, self-assured way he moved told her he did know something, and more to the point, that he had some plan in mind for it once they’d bypassed all the security for him.

That alone was more than enough to make her wary.

She glanced from side to side, looking for Cid, but he appeared to have quit the Find in a fit of pique (not that she particularly blamed him). The other engineers were just as busy, and G'raha was animatedly chattering to Unei and Doga who were both attempting to answer his flood of questions as best as they could manage.

Everyone seemed to have quite forgotten her presence now that her ability to brute-force the doors to the Labyrinth open was no longer necessary. She wished she could feel even slightly surprised, but that was what she was here for, she supposed. The muscle, the good luck charm.

With a sigh, Aurelia approached Rammbroes' study pavilion and lifted the tent flaps, letting herself inside. If the scholar or one of his fellows -- or better yet, Cid -- was there, she could talk with them, feel out if there was anything that they ought to be concerned about before venturing into the tower should Nero's timely appearance be subterfuge for something sinister...? But the tent was---

---the tent was not empty, as it had appeared from the outside. A familiar figure turned towards the sound of her entrance, a leather-bound book clasped in one hand.

She immediately reached for her weapon, snapping, "What are you--"

Nero tol Scaeva lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Before you cut me down in cold blood, the journal is mine own. I was attempting to compare my notes with that of your associates here."

Aurelia's eyes narrowed but the tribunus only stared back, a look that was both coaxing and challenging at the same time, as if waiting to see what she would do. Finally she relented, tucking her staff back over her shoulder. While it was obvious he'd come in here by himself to rummage through papers, it seemed that he hadn't been here much longer than she had. So it wasn't as though he had had sufficient opportunity to do anything.

Nothing she could prove at the moment, anyroad.

"And the tomestones? I can't imagine you'd want to leave those behind without having a look for yourself."

"They're welcome to them," Nero said with a dismissive shrug.

She blinked. “That was... not the answer I expected.”

"Personal experience from the Ultima Project. The majority of those tomestones will be naught more than particularly expensive paperweights; what useful data exists on them has quite likely been eroded due to time and exposure. As counterintuitive as it may seem, their decision to keep written documentation of the dig may be the wiser course of action."  His pale blue eyes had not tracked away from her face the entire time he had spoken. The gaze he’d leveled upon her was sharp, scrutinizing, intense, and this time she didn't have the benefit of his magitek armor to hide that interest from her sight.

Not that he was bothering to hide it in any way. What game was he playing...?

She broke eye contact, feeling ill at ease as she glanced at the entrance to Rammbroes' tent. She'd backed up against a nearby worktable; heavy and sturdy, it sat just below her waist, at hip height. Perfectly appropriate for a roegadyn sitting down to pen missives or peruse dusty old texts or review Allagan tomestones.

Nero was smiling but he still hadn't said anything, and that made her uncomfortable enough to finally break the silence between them with a defensive "What?"

"Any particular reason you happen to be blushing?"

"Wh- I'm not blushing."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

The right corner of his lips tugged slightly upwards, just enough to reveal a flash of canine. She chewed on her lower lip, grasping at the table for a sense of purchase and trying not to think about things she... really should not be thinking about. Really shouldn't. Like how in the seven hells a man was born with a mouth like that. It was- it was unfair.

His answering chuckle made her realize, much to her chagrin, that she had spoken aloud.

He braced his hands against the table's surface and leaned his weight back against it, slotting himself in the open space at her side. Unconsciously, Aurelia shifted herself to put a few ilms of space between them, trying not to think about the difference in height that was somehow far more noticeable now. Nero tol Scaeva was damnably tall; she was average height for a Garlean woman and still barely came up to his shoulders when they stood side by side, let alone in a position like this.

"To that end I've a question for you, eikon-slayer,” he continued smoothly, “if you would be so kind as to indulge me."

"About...?"

"I find it passing strange that a woman who can slay gods without blinking should find my presence in any way disconcerting. An artifact of your upbringing, I assume?" He was baiting her, she knew; the tone of his question was decidedly mocking. But that smile-- that had turned into something speculative and dark. Combined with the intensity of his stare, it set alight a strange, pressurized heat in the pit of her stomach. "Does Garlond elicit this reaction?"

"Cid? Hardly." Aurelia wrenched her gaze away from the movements of his lips to stare over his shoulder at the tent opening. Scholars and Ironworks engineers were passing to and fro just outside; she could see the shadows they cast upon the tarpaulin. "Cid also doesn't stand two ilms away from my face and stare me right in the eyes like he's about to devour me, so take that as you will, I suppose."

" 'Devour' you? What an interesting turn of phrase. Although I must admit you make a salient point. I cannot imagine that you are embarrassed by the slightest of his attentions as you are mine."

Was... was he trying to do what she suspected he was doing? The idea seemed laughable on its face -- Eorzea had no shortage of beautiful women, so who on earth would find her appealing? -- but the problem she currently faced was that it was actually working, damn him. It didn’t help that it had been... she couldn't remember how long since anyone had taken any sort of prurient interest in her, now that she thought about it.

Assuming of course that she wasn't just overthinking this and he wasn't putting her wind up for fun. Either way, she had to put an end to this now before it escalated any further.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not interested.” Calm, collected, and to the point. Yes, she thought; very well done.

She'd hoped that her bluntness would deter him, but that smile only widened, the maw of a hunting predator about to strike.

"Something tells me you are perhaps not being forthright with me." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "Shame on you, hero."

"I mean it. I am not interested," she repeated, this time with more resolve. "After what you did in the Prae-"

"Ah, you're concerned that I might turn on you all like a rabid dog, as it were. Worry for Garlond? Thinking I might sabotage his precious Ironworks or somesuch?"

"Not---no, none of those things, not as such, but to say I trust you would be a stretch. Not a word in all these weeks and suddenly you turn up, unannounced, as thought naught had transpired?"

"Your concern is unwarranted. Merely do I find myself with a plethora of free time in the wake of my sudden discharge from military service.”

“You-,” she began, but he was not finished.

“Lest you labor beneath the assumption that I intend you any sort of bodily harm, for a long while before we were... shall we say ‘formally introduced’, I had this recurring dream about you, me, and an interrogation chair-" At the wide flare of her eyes, he paused, only to grin at her: "...Now that, eikon-slayer, is a very interested look."

She tried to scoff at him, but it came out as a short, sharp, nervous bark.

"What look? I didn't give you any look."

"You most certainly did."

"You're reading intent where none exists-"

"Am I? Couple that with the fact you're mortified by the slightest hint of insinuation on my part and it's quite telling."

"Scaeva, I was in the legions myself once. Do you seriously think I'd not been exposed to the odd bit of barracks chatter?" She scowled at him. "I'm a chirurgeon by trade. I think I know enough of the human condition not to be easily embarrassed by such things."

There it was--the look she'd seen him pass Cid every time he was wont to needle the man in the space of a single conversation, coupled with the upwards arch of one eyebrow. She’d not realized how aggravating it was to be on the receiving end of that look until this moment, now that she was the subject of Nero's condescension. 

"I'd wager that what you believe passes for 'barracks chatter' is overwhelmingly tame. You've not heard the half of it, I assure you. Even the worst among the rank and file will behave themselves around a skirt, especially if the lady in question is a pureblood."

"Perhaps if the lady had seen no military service. I imagine there is precious little they could say that would shock me."

He pushed himself upright and turned to face her, bracing his hands on either side and giving her precious little in the way of an escape route. 

“I am very willing to test your hypothesis."

"I'm sure you are.” She kept her voice steady with some considerable effort. His mouth now lingered but a bare hairsbreadth apart from her own, and trying not to think about that fact was only causing her to hyperfocus on it.

"No time like the present,” he said, “and I am a man of science. Call it professional curiosity, if you like. May I?"

He'd called her bluff, and after her own assertion she felt she had little choice but to accept the consequences. At last Aurelia nodded, stiffly, trying to ignore the faintly triumphant curl to his answering smile.

His hand cupped her jaw, warm and callused fingertips trailing the shell of her ear, palm just barely cradling the soft skin over her throat. If he wished he could close his grip and tighten it, squeeze until she had no air to breathe- but the Echo would have warned her of any killing intent. Although it gave her no indication of any danger from him, it took a conscious effort not to bolt under his arm and flee the tent. Tension thrummed through her frame like a live wire.

Nero leaned inward until they were cheek to cheek. Her breath hitched for the briefest of moments when she felt the light scrape of stubble and caught his scent: some kind of aftershave perhaps, a bit stringent but not unpleasant, and the heat in her belly clenched tight. Lips lingered at her ear and she could feel the tribunus' warm breath fanning very lightly across her skin.

Then he began to speak.

Sotto voce, in their native Garlean tongue. A soft, soporific rumble, breath just slightly uneven- and not the mildly suggestive banter or off-color jokes she’d expected but a soldier's words of coupling, rough and lascivious and filthy.

All of it aimed at her. 

Her grip on the table tightened as she willed herself to remain still through the impulse to slap him or shove him away in shocked mortification, as he well knew a proper young lady of gentle birth would have been expected to do. He knew, too; could sense her dismay, how much it cost her just to maintain some semblance of composure, and he wasn't fooled by it.

He was laughing at her, the bastard: she could hear the soft, breathy chuckles woven through his unending stream of vulgarities. Her face felt as though he had set it afire and she knew she was probably bright red right down to the roots of her hair---and then she felt the press of his mouth, a light kiss along the juncture of her jaw just beneath the earlobe.

A hot shudder of anticipation warped its way down her spine.

"So the eikon-slayer is undone by a bit of bawdy talk after all." He had not moved his lips away from her skin before speaking. She could feel the heat of his breath against her, warm and velvet and damp and gods, he was practically purring in her ear- "It would appear your theory has been disproven, hero."

She found herself unable to respond, mouth feeling suddenly very dry, swallowing with some effort. The clicking sound her throat made in her ears as she did was so, so loud.

And before she had quite managed to gather her wits again, Nero tol Scaeva straightened his posture and backed away from her position against the table with a mocking bow before tucking the journal in his coat pocket and strolling towards the tent flap. Turning his back on her, quite deliberately, and making his exit.

As though the entire exchange had never occurred.

She let out the exhalation she hadn't realized she was holding, sagging back against the sturdy oak surface of Rammbroes’ makeshift writing desk and attempting to ease her breathing into something resembling an even pace. He'd left her rattled and flustered and... burning. There was a deep, aching knot of tension that had formed in the base of her belly, one that would not fade quickly.

And she suspected that like as not, he’d only done it to prove a point, namely that his wits were malms beyond hers and her victory in the Praetorium had been but a simple fluke, a stroke of blind luck.

Small wonder Cid's hackles had been raised by his mere presence. Hells take him, the man was utterly insufferable.

After some time had passed (and the heat in her cheeks had faded), she slipped out of Rammbroes' "study" and saddled her chocobo. She had to talk to Cid about this, she decided, regardless of how sour his mood might be. Someone was going to have to keep an eye on Nero once they set foot in the tower, and given everyone else’s relative importance in the grand scheme of things, it might as well be her; she could endure his baiting so long as she made sure they had an understanding.

Aurelia didn’t see any sign of him on her way out of the camp. Doubtlessly he’d gone in search of someone or something else to act as his temporary source of entertainment until the expedition into the Tower was underway, she thought. She could not well decide if she was disappointed or relieved. 

But if he planned to behave this way the entire time, it was going to be a very, very long expedition indeed.

#nero/wol #nero tol scaeva/warrior of light #another wip bites the dust #i'll leave what he actually said to your imaginations #stupid sexy garleans

[flightfoot]

Apollo’s Defense Mechanisms

Apollo uses quite a few defense mechanisms in TOA, and is implied to have been using them for millennia. Indeed, TOA seems to be systematically breaking these defense mechanisms, forcing him to reevalauate himself. Most of these I’ve alluded to in the past, especially in Apollo has always been the sort of person who fights for his friends - he’s just buried that part of himself for millennia and Apollo’s pretty terrible at reading people’s thoughts and emotions at first, but becomes an expert at it over the course of the books, once he starts dropping his facades, but I haven’t looked at them in-depth, or named them for the most part.

Repression

Basically, this defense mechanism states that a person unconsciously relegates a memory, thought, or emotion to the subconscious, because it would cause distress if recalled consciously. They, themselves are unaware they are doing this.

Since this is unconscious, this particular defense mechanism requires more speculating and assumptions than subsequent ones do. I believe that Apollo has been repressing some of thoughts and conclusions he’s forced to acknowledge in TOA, though it could also be due to some garden-variety denial. They can be hard to tell apart at times.

One of the major things I believe Apollo is repressing, is his knowledge of what a human life is worth. He KNOWS that mortals matter, since he cared about his mortal lovers, like Daphne and Hyacinthus, and his mortal children, like the (previously) mortal Asclepius. He’s seemed to continue to fool himself about how much mortals matter though. Pre-series and threw the beginning of The Hidden Oracle, he considered demigods to be fodder to throw at problems, like in The Hidden Oracle, when he’s told that The Oracle of Delphi isn’t working, and he proposes dispatching “ some of you talented fodder—I mean heroes—” (29).

There’s also that time at lunch, when he’s scouting out top-tier demigods.

I studied the campers, hoping to spot some potential servants…I mean new friends. Gods always like to keep a few strong veteran demigods handy to throw into battle, send on dangerous quests, or pick the lint off our togas. (64)

He’s unconcerned with demigods’ safety here, and doesn’t seem to consider their desires at all. You can see this is in action in Percy Jackson and The Singer of Apollo, when Apollo sends Percy and Grover on a quest, without seeming to care what they think of it at all. 

“we’re kind of off duty, Lord Apollo. It’s Grover’s birthday.”

“Happy birthday!” Apollo said. “I’m so glad you’re taking the day off. That means you two have time to help me with a small problem!”

Later in their conversation with Apollo, Apollo’s pretty upfront about what he thinks of heroes.

“Besides, this is what heroes are for.”

“Running the gods’ errands,” I muttered.

“Exactly.”

He also apparently wouldn’t care about demigods slaughtering each other in battle in the past, and would use it as entertainment.

When I was a god, I would have delighted to leave the mortal heroes to fend for themselves. I would have made popcorn and watched the bloodbath on Mount Olympus, or simply caught the highlight reel later. (TDP 283)

And yet, it doesn’t take much to break him out of this mindset. As soon as Meg goes missing, Apollo is distraught:

I retrieved Meg’s swords from the mud. Instantly, they changed into gold rings - so small, so easily lost, like a mortal life. I may have cried. I tried to break my ridiculous combat ukulele, but the celestial bronze instrument defied my attempts. Finally, I yanked off the A string, threaded it through Meg’s rings, and tied them around my neck.

“Meg, I will find you,” I muttered. (231)

He’s really thinking about mortal lives here, not just Meg’s specifically. Only a few hours later, when Nero’s attempting to burn down the forest and everyone in it, a bunch of dryads emerge from the trees and give their lives to stop the fire. Apollo makes a realization here, one that he makes so easily and fully, I think it’s been in the back of his head for most of his life, but he’s refused to acknowledge:

Then it occurred to me how many times I had asked for sacrifices, how many heroes I had sent to their deaths. Had they been any less noble and courageous than these dryads? Yet I had felt no remorse when I sent them off on deadly tasks. I had used them and discarded them, laid waste to their lives to build my own glory. I was no less of a monster than Nero. (168)

This thought was finally allowed into Apollo’s consciousness. He just couldn’t keep up the repression, not now, not after everything’s that’s happened. He embraces the knowledge, as discomforting as it is.

Denial

Apollo makes several realizations in The Hidden Oracle that he denies immediately afterwards. For instance, he’s in denial about Percy’s feelings about him. He can see how Percy feels, but he refuses to believe it.

If I didn’t know how much Percy Jackson adored me, I would have sworn he was about to punch me in my already broken nose. (26)

Apollo’s also quite upset about the thought that he might be treated as a mortal, with everything that comes with it:

Percy frowned. “Apollo, if you’re really mortal, like, one hundred percent mortal, can you even get in to Camp Half-Blood?”

The seven-layer dip began to churn in my stomach. “Please don’t say that. Of course I’ll get in. I have to.”

“But you could get hurt in battle now…” Percy mused. “Then again, maybe monsters would ignore you because you’re not important?”

“Stop!” My hands trembled. Being a mortal was traumatic enough. The thought of being barred from camp, of being unimportant…No. That simply could not be.

“I’m sure I’ve retained some powers,” I said. “I’m still gorgeous, for instance, if I could just get rid of this acne and lose some flab. I must have other abilities!” (40-41)

He continues some of this denial into The Dark Prophecy, though not to the same extent. He’s extremely irritated at Britomartis for sending him and Calypso to get her griffins, and giving only moderate praise in return:

“Apollo, I must admit you did moderately well retrieving my griffins.”

“Moderately well?” I bit back a few nasty comments. I wondered if demigods ever felt the need to restrain themselves when facing ungrateful gods like these. No. Surely not. I was special and different. And I deserved better treatment. (167)

He makes the realization that “this is how demigods feel”, but the thought is uncomfortable for him, so he denies it. Not very convincingly, though. And even in The Hidden Oracle, he realized how in denial he was, particularly when he saw it mirrored in Meg:

Her denial was so complete, so irrational, I realized there was no way I could argue with her. She reminded me painfully of myself when I fell to earth—how I had refused to accept my new reality. Without Meg’s help, I would’ve gotten myself killed. Now our roles were reversed. (304)

Denial may be one of his most common defense mechanisms, but even it fails eventually. By the end of The Dark Prophecy, he’s pretty much abandoned it. 

Cognitive Distortion

I’ve talked about Apollo’s cognitive distortions before, like the other defense mechanisms I’ve listed, but I didn’t use the correct terminology before. Cognitive distortions are a general term for a thought pattern that causes the person to view the world in a distorted, inaccurate manner.

Apollo’s major cognitive distortions tend to center around remembering himself to be more important and more well-loved than he really is, sometimes minimizing other’s roles in the process. He seems to be consciously trying to reinforce this thought pattern, considering his “standard motivational speech”:

I took a deep breath. Then I did my usual motivational speech in the mirror: “You are gorgeous and people love you!”

I went out to face the world. (31)

He uses this technique multiple times. He uses it again later on in The Hidden Oracle, as a way to stave off his anxiety:

 If I hadn’t let Python take over Delphi, if I’d paid more attention to the other ancient Oracles, if I hadn’t lost my divinity—

Stop it, Apollo, I scolded myself. You’re beautiful and everyone loves you.

But it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that. My father, Zeus, did not love me. The demigods at Camp Half-Blood did not love me. Python and the Beast and his comrades at Triumvirate Holdings did not love me. It was almost enough to make me question my self-worth. (208)

He’s tied his self-worth to others’ perception of him, and then manipulated how he thinks others see him, in an effort to boost his sense of self worth. He attempts to use this in the Burning Maze as well, give him enough of a sense of self to stave off Medea’s attack. It doesn’t work.

“Every bit of my willpower bent instinctively to keeping myself in one piece. I was Apollo, wasn’t I? I… I was beautiful and people loved me. The world needed me!” (p. 372).

Him feeling like he NEEDS people to love and need him in order to justify his existence, to tell himself that he has worth, helps explain why he feels the need to be adored so much. It’s why he fools himself into thinking he has Percy’s adoration and respect. 

He also minimizes others contributions in favor of emphasizing his own, so that he comes off as better by comparison.

I couldn’t quite remember what Percy Jackson was talking about. During the war with Gaea, I had been focused mostly on my own fabulous exploits. But I suppose he and his friends had undergone a few minor hardships. (32)

Apollo didn’t really do much of anything during the War, except hide out on Delos and show up at the Parthenon. But he wants to tell himself that he did, because it makes him feel more important, more needed.

He apparently exaggerates quite a bit, actually. When he’s reading about himself in some of Will’s books, he notes that:

Normally this would have been a happy task. I am, after all, a fascinating subject. This time, however, I gained no satisfaction from my glorious exploits. They all seemed like exaggerations, lies, and…well, myths. (183)

We don’t get details about how these accounts are distorted, exactly, but we do know that Apollo has a history of doing so. Especially with Python. Python nearly killed him, but he told storytellers that killing him was super quick and easy... because that’s what he WANTED it to be. It’s not JUST about making himself sound better. Talking about how he struggled valiantly against his mighty foe would arguably have come across as a more impressive feat. But that’s not what he WANTED to have happened. He WANTS to have been able to have easily defeated Python. He doesn’t want to remember how close he came to being destroyed. Apollo’s distortions are his way of rearranging reality to be more to his liking, even if it means lying to himself.

Psychological Projection

Projection is basically taking your own unwanted thoughts and feelings and assigning them to another person. Apollo indulges in this one occasionally, though it’s rarer than the other defense mechanisms I’ve listed. 

When talking to Percy, he projects his own egotism onto him:

I wanted to get back to talking about my problems. I was impatient with Percy for turning the conversation to himself. Sadly, I have found this sort of self-centeredness common among demigods. (34)

It always disappointed me when mortals put themselves first and failed to see the big picture—the importance of putting me first—but I had to remind myself that this young man had helped me out on many previous occasions.  (35)

Projecting his feelings onto Percy helps him to avoid acknowledging his own feelings, his own egotism. It makes him feel like he is in the right, by pretending that the negative qualities in himself belong to another person.

He projects again later on in the book, when he meets up with Rhea, and is talking about the emperors:

“But how could we not know about this?” I demanded. “We are gods!”

Rhea’s laugh reminded me of a piglet with asthma. “Apollo, Grandson, beautiful child…Has being a god ever stopped someone from being stupid?”

She had a point. Not about me personally, of course, but the stories I could tell you about the other Olympians… (243)

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s in that category of being stupid, but he’ll happily give the label to other gods, so he doesn’t have to deal with it himself.

Displacement

Basically, displacement is taking your feelings out on someone else, because taking them out on the cause of the feelings would be too dangerous. There’s only one notable example I can think of where Apollo uses this, but it’s an important one: when Apollo displaces his anger at his father for electrocuting him and for murdering Asclepius, onto the Master Bolt, and then onto those who made the Master Bolt, the Elder Cyclopes. Apollo himself addresses this one in The Burning Maze, since Meg is doing something similar with Nero and Caligula:

“My father, Zeus, killed  one of my favorite sons, Asclepius, for bringing people back from the dead without permission. Long story. The point is... I was furious with Zeus, but he was too powerful and scary for me to fight. He would’ve vaporized me. So I took out my revenge another way.

[...]

“Anyway,” I continued,” I couldn’t kill Zeus. So I found the guys who had made his lightning bolts, the Cyclopes. I killed them in revenge for Asclepius. As punishment, Zeus made me mortal.”

[...]

“I was projecting my anger onto someone else, someone safer.” (237-238)

Something I find interesting here: Apollo is perfectly aware of how and why he did this. But he went through with it anyway. Even knowing that the Cyclopes weren’t truly the ones he was angry at, he still killed them, because he still FELT like they were, and he needed to lash out at SOMEONE, even if it wasn’t their fault.

By the end of The Dark Prophecy, or the Burning Maze at the latest, all these defense mechanisms have broken down. Apollo has to let out some of his emotions in The Dark Prophecy, crying over a toilet as he relives murdering Commodus, and watching Trophonious cut Agamethus’ head off, because he refused to intervene. But Jo helps him through it, gives him acceptance and support, and gradually he calms down. Later, in the Cave of Trophonious, he nearly gives up and lets himself pass on to the other side of the Styx, but doesn’t because if he does, then Meg will too. And the same goes for Meg. She refuses to let herself die, because even though she feels like she deserves it, if she dies, then Apollo will pass on too. Both of them resist dying because the other person needs them. He starts relying on others, confiding in them, taking strength from their support, and being support in turn.

In the Burning Maze, Apollo feels very guilty and miserable whenever others die. He blames himself for not being able to save Money Maker, thinking that he could have saved her if he still had his godly power. When Jason dies, he blames himself for both Jason’s death, and Piper’s pain. He even blames himself for Crest’s death, for not being able to save him, for making yet another promise he couldn’t keep.

 But now, he deals with the pain differently. He accepts it, and channels it. In fact, he started doing this as early as The Hidden Oracle, when he took all the pain from his guilt, sorrow, and heartbreak, and channeled it outwards in order to subdue the myrmekes. In the Burning Maze, he channels his grief and pain over Jason’s death, into the strength to go on, and not let his sacrifice be in vain. He does the same with Crest’s death, moving forwards, accepting his feelings in full, but not letting them drag him down, but instead taking strength from them. As painful as they are, he refuses to shy away anymore. This is reflected in the last few lines of The Burning Maze:

I would defeat the emperors. I would free Delphi from Python’s grasp. I would not allow those who had sacrificed themselves to do so for nothing.

Perhaps this quest had ended on a suspended fourth chord. We still had much to do.

But from now on, I would be more than Lester. I would be more than an observer.

I would be Apollo.

I would remember. (418-419)

He will take all that pain, would remember all the pain, and everything he’s learned. And he will turn it into strength, carrying on the will of those who are already departed, so that hopefully more will not die. 

#trials of apollo #lester papadopoulos #apollo #the burning maze #the trials of apollo #my analysis post #the dark prophecy #the hidden oracle #toa #I COMPLETELY changed my conclusion on this one #But I think I like this one better #Discussion is always encouraged! #This thing was sitting in my drafts for SO long #apolloappreciation