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meta-shadowsong · 5 months

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An Argument With a Particular Word of God Quote

Note: I wrote this essay a while ago--several months ago--and then just kind of sat on it; but the quote it focuses on has been crossing my dash again the last day or so and it popped back into my head and I decided to go ahead and share.

So. There is a George Lucas quote, I believe from the Attack of the Clones commentary. And I have. Extremely Strong Negative Feelings About It.

The quote in question:

“[The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he can’t hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn’t willing to accept emotionally] and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he’d have been taken in his first years and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.”

Okay. To be clear, my problem here is not with the attachment definition/philosophy that’s being posited here, nor with the description of Anakin’s attitude towards it. The first half of the first sentence, the part that’s bracketed--that’s all completely reasonable/true enough and I don’t have a problem with it.

It’s everything after that.

TL;DR: I think it undermines other key themes and conflicts with certain story/dialogue points in the rest of the saga (meaning episodes I-VI); and I feel like it says some pretty uncomfortable and/or negative things about emotional growth, childhood trauma, Shmi, and the Jedi Order.

Let’s break it down.

First, this only works if you look at the PT trilogy, Anakin’s fall from grace, in a complete vacuum, and ignore the OT and Luke’s journey. Because guess what? Luke was also raised outside the Order, to an even older age than Anakin, and while he struggled in ESB and he did in fact have to learn the hard way, he did learn. (Also, I haven’t rewatched ANH recently, and it doesn’t tend to get referenced much in these discussions, but I think it’s worth nothing that--yes, everything in that movie takes place over like three days and he doesn’t have a lot of time to think/process/start wallowing in his grief; but when you compare the way he handles things there with the way Anakin reacts in similar situations, and he’s already working from a more solid foundation, one that had nothing to do with being raised by the Jedi.)

Second, it’s a…weirdly deterministic take for a series that otherwise places a lot of emphasis on choice. On people choosing to do better (or to not do better). Again, that’s all over the OT, particularly with Luke and Han and again with the second half of Anakin/Vader’s journey. So this particular quote undermines that broader theme/message in a big way.

Third, it completely ignores the fact that this concept, about change being inevitable and you have to be able to move on and let go? Is articulated first and (arguably) most clearly by Shmi. Right there. In the movie just prior to this. That this man also wrote. (“You can’t stop the change, any more than you can stop the suns from setting.” That entire scene.) The mother whose parenting Lucas is essentially blaming for Anakin’s tendency to codependency/unhealthy obsession in relationships.

I am. Really not okay with Shmi being thrown under the bus like this. And, like, there’s probably a broader cultural whatever about how motherhood is simultaneously idealized and ignored in modern (Western) culture and art, and how that influences the way Shmi is portrayed and used and eventually fridged, let alone how she’s talked about outside the text itself. But like. She did in fact say this. The fact that Anakin didn’t grasp it and internalize it is not her fault.

Which is sort of tangentially related to a sort of…broader issue I have with the worldbuilding, especially when it comes to this idealized philosophy, which is that…yes, of course the Jedi are the Good Guys, and the philosophy they live by is a good one (and also acknowledging its real-world Buddhist roots). I am not in any way disputing either of those points. But the idea that only the Jedi, and only by accessing Jedi training/philosophy/etc. through this pretty narrow set of idealized circumstances, can allow you to be a good person in this specific idealized way/to follow this philosophy of non-attachment and learn how to love without codependency, leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. Especially when you have the same lesson/philosophy/ideal coming from a completely different angle in the same goddamn film. In short, the Jedi aren’t wrong, but they don’t have a monopoly on being right.

Okay. Uh. So those are (that last tangent aside) the writing/structure problems I have with this quote. Namely, it doesn’t entirely line up with the themes and storyline of the six films as a whole, and it doesn’t even mesh with the prior movie in this same trilogy.

But there are other issues here, too.

For one thing, this is…this really doesn’t paint the Jedi or their teachings in a very positive light.

Like…this is basically saying, “of course the Jedi can teach people how to love appropriately and avoid attachment/codependency/obsession/dangerous emotional tangles, that’s What They Do, after all--but only if the student starts as essentially a blank slate and has nothing to unlearn.” That’s…not a good look.

Also, it’s kind of a shitty take on childhood trauma? Yes, it’s hard to learn and grow past these things, but the idea that it’s not possible, aside from the implications about the Jedi Order’s pedagogical abilities, is super discouraging for people who come to this path/philosophy later in life than the Ideal. It implies that emotional growth and healing aren’t really feasible and, again, the only way to be capable of this kind of nonattachment is to start from a blank slate. Which a) I don’t think that’s how people or emotions work; and b) again, a super shitty and discouraging thing to say to anyone who might want to try.

(And before anyone comes at me with ‘there is no try,’ that quote taken at face value has the same issue; but if you look at it in context, it’s about committing to a course of action and knowing what you’re capable of, especially in a fairly simple situation/when faced with a fairly straightforward problem. When you also take into account the later conversation about trying to reach Vader, there’s also an acceptance of the fact that there are other factors that are completely out of Luke’s control here, that all he can do is put his commitment and genuine good faith effort and make the attempt to the best of his abilities, but he can’t simply ‘do’ without the other party meeting him halfway. But that’s another essay for another time.)

Lastly, and this is a much more…it has as much to do with modern fandom discussions as with what Lucas specifically said twenty years ago. But there’s this tendency to use entry into the Jedi Order as analogous to adoption. And that’s not wrong! It’s in fact a pretty good analogy! Even before it got reinforced by certain conversations in the Obi-Wan series! But quotes like this highlight the problem with that analogy, especially when coupled with the age restriction on entry into the Order.

Look. There are a lot of issues with the modern adoption system. I’m not nearly qualified to comment on all of them, beyond acknowledging that Some Shit’s Fucked Up. (Not all of it! But Some.) And one of those issues is that, unless the child in question is a [healthy, white] infant, the chances of them getting adopted are extremely slim. Because there’s this attitude that they won’t really belong, they won’t really be a part of their new family, they won’t really bond/bond properly with their new parents, unless they’re brought in as a blank slate. That the (perceived) greater Difficulties in taking in an older child are Too Much/Not Worth It…that kind of attitude.

And, I mean, I’m not a parent, adoptive or otherwise. I’ve never been fully responsible for raising a child (or for any other human being), and I know that it’s a complicated and difficult decision/task even under the most ideal of circumstances. But the idea that older kids aren’t good enough/don’t count/will never really be the children of their new parents is something I know I’ve seen broken down as a toxic mentality before.

Especially in a culture (fandom) that places such a huge emphasis on found family/family of choice and the bonds that grow from there (aka, the refutation of that idea), why is it that, in certain Jedi-positive circles and when looking at quotes like this one from Lucas, it’s just accepted at face value when it comes to the Jedi Order and their adoption/recruitment practices?

Full disclosure, the age limit is basically The Problem I have with the PT-era Jedi Order’s general practices and the one thing that I genuinely think does at least as much harm as good (or the harm it does is significant enough) and should be re-evaluated when Luke (or Rey, or whoever) rebuilds; I’ve written about this before, but, among other things, this idea tends to become a feedback loop which sets the few exceptions up for failure, which then reinforces the idea that older students will fail, and on and on*; this aside from the issues it presents to the people who aren’t lucky enough to be found in the right age bracket or have the combination of Circumstances working for them that Anakin did to become one of the exceptions; the fact that there are no viable alternatives for training and/or support for said potential latecomers is also a huge part of the problem. Anyway, that’s definitely coloring my views here, especially when we look at the Implications rather than the parts where it’s contradicted by other points in the text itself.

I’m going to sort of wind up here by saying that…after all of that, I don’t think that this quote is entirely wrong, exactly. I’ve written about this before (although maybe not posted it, haha), but I do think that the Order’s habit/background of generally not accepting latecomers, combined with Anakin’s particular background and issues, mean that the Order as it stands in the twilight of the Republic was not necessarily a good fit for him when he was brought to their attention, and that he might have been more stable/successful if he’d been brought in earlier, or if the initial refusal had stood and he’d found a different path for himself.

But boiling that down to, essentially, ‘Anakin Wasn’t Raised Right,’ and in so doing a) ignoring the entire other half of this saga/some of the key themes of this saga as a whole; b) forgetting what Shmi said in the last movie/throwing her under the bus; and c) making everyone involved in this situation look bad…I don’t know, that’s really not the way to do it.

*To avoid yet another long tangent…there is an interesting essay that could be teased out about that one line in the mantra, ‘there is no ignorance; there is knowledge,’ and how it relates to the idea of preconceptions. We see this in this particular discussion, both in a sort of positive light (when someone with no preconceptions approaches the Jedi path/philosophy, there is a strong tendency for them to succeed at it), and in a negative light (the feedback loop re: nontraditional students I mentioned). But it also comes up in other areas--look at how Force Ghosts are handled, for example. How much effort it takes for Qui-Gon to connect with Yoda; how the first assumption is that Yoda is hallucinating. Compare that to Luke, who has absolutely zero preconceptions/prior knowledge about how the Force works and how it relates to death, so that when he starts hearing (and later seeing) Ben, his response is ‘this makes as much sense as anything else I’ve learned in the last week sure let’s go with it.’ And, of course, Yoda that line about how wonderful the mind of a child is, uncluttered by such things. Not to mention the bit I mentioned earlier, about raising the X-wing from the swamp, and how that relates to preconceptions and expectations; also related is one of my favorite Qui-Gon quotes, “Your focus determines your reality.”

Anyway, I just think that’s interesting to contemplate--Jedi are people, after all, and this is a very People problem to have.

#star wars #fandom #originally posted december 2023

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maiji · 8 months

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[images: First three pages of a comic drawn in a digital ink-brush style with greyscale shading.]

fight / flight: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Alt text, full transcript and commentary continue below the cut.

A YYH North Bound story. This is "fight / flight" part 3 of 5 parts. This takes place after I Heard A Cicada Cry and Survive.

Content warning: Violence, blood, people fighting with swords.

[images: Remaining seven pages of comic.]

[page 16] *Hokushin slowly stands up, facing Otake, looking as if he’s in a daze. Then the look in his eyes changes.*

[page 17] *Hokushin’s arms both extend rapidly, one arm whipping out to grab his sword. Otake realizes that Hokushin's aiming for Otake's fallen sword with his opposite arm and quickly pounces for it before Hokushin’s other arm can reach it. Closeup of Hokushin’s feet as he dashes towards Otake.*

[page 18] *Hokushin screaming and charging at Otake as the latter blocks the attack*

[page 19] *Hokushin continuing to scream and cry while slashing viciously at Otake, who is now struggling to parry the blows.* Hokushin: How could you?! How could you?? Of all the humans!! Out of all the humans in this godforsaken world!!

[page 20] *Flashbacks of Semimaru: playing his biwa; smiling and pointing out a frog on a lilypad; hand reaching out to touch Hokushin’s face before they parted; walking off into the crowd at Ausaka Barrier.* Hokushin: (Semimaru…) …how could you…

[page 21] *Otake, who is taking a beating, loses control of his sword and it flies into the air spinning. In desperation he grabs his energy bracer again for one more power up, and shoots out another energy attack that slams Hokushin from the side, snapping his head/neck with great force.*

[page 22] *Hokushin is slammed face first to the ground. Otake has retrieved his sword and stands, panting. Hokushin has a flashback of him Semimaru walking through blossoms falling from the trees* Hokushin: (Live happily... Those few days were the happiest I had ever known. I have no desire for any more.) *He closes his eyes.* Otaku, raising his sword in a final attack: Ha!

[page 23] *A new figure with long flowing hair and a white ribbon wrapped around the forehead blocks Otake’s sword with a naginata.*

[page 24] *Powerful spirit energy emanates from the new warrior like a flame.* Otake: (Tomoe Gozen…!! Her spirit energy is as strong as the reports say…!)

[page 25] *Otake and Tomoe Gozen have an unblinking staredown - but Otake, with blood running down his face, is clearly not in the best of shape and is perturbed. He lowers his weapon.* Otake: …Have you any idea what you’re dealing with? Tomoe, adjusting her naginata stance: I care not. Any who seek to harm my lord and his men stand in the way of my blade.

…

Tomoe Gozen to Hokushin’s rescue yaaaaah!!!

Yeaaaahhh I did it!! This is the scene I did test panel drawings for ~2 years ago (2021)! That sure makes the ~half a year it took to get this out since Part 2 feel a little shorter, haha. Part 3 was actually supposed to be the "short" part, but somehow it ended up being 10 pages and thus more pages than each of the previous 2 parts (8 and 7 pages, respectively). This is because action is hard to panel. I am very proud of myself for screaming and crying getting all the way through this; still a lot to improve on but I learned a lot and it is definitely not something I could have drawn back when I first started working on North Bound in 2017 (?! time flies).

Semimaru pointing at the frog in the pond is supposed to be a cute moment from their travels for Hokushin to remember, and is a reference to Basho’s famous haiku. Except that's just a reference for us because this story takes place in the late Heian/early Kamakura period and Basho won't be born for another several hundred years (he lived during the Edo period) so it’s totally anachronistic. But so are rokurokubi anyways.

Please do not worry about Hokushin's neck on page 21, remember he's a rokurokubi so his neck can stretch further. Still hurts though. (And even with a boost from an artifact, Otake's blow was nowhere near as powerful as Yusuke's, since that one made Hokushin's neck twist several times.)

Japanese history buffs, kindly ignore the fact that due to Semimaru being dated to early Heian era and Kiso Yoshinaka and Tomoe Gozen living during the Genpei Wars it is very likely that at this point, even if Otake didn’t kill Semimaru, he would be dead regardless because normal human lifespans and all. But it’s ultimately the principle of the matter that he didn’t get to live out a peaceful life and was instead massacred by Otake. And who am I to not take advantage of creative license for the convenience of storytelling to compress time and whatever history anyways? And we don’t really know a lot of details about Semimaru anyways, and anyways this is a fanwork being done in spare time. Anyways anyways, thank you for your patience and understanding.

I am working on another behind the scenes post to show the progress from thumbs to page sketches, will link here when it’s up!

Update: Here's the behind the scenes!

#yu yu hakusho #hokushin #otake #fanart #comics #fancomics #blood #body horror #yyh north bound #tomoe gozen #semimaru #art by maiji/mary huang

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kyndaris · 1 year

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Light in the Darkmess

When I first bought my Nintendo Switch all those years ago, one of the very first games I played was a little known title called Mario + Rabbids: Kingdom Battle. Who would have guessed that Mario characters - wielding guns no less - mixed with the crazy and rambunctious Rabbids from the Rayman series coupled with XCOM inspired gameplay would prove to be such a potent combination? I, for one, instantly fell in love with the game. And when Sparks of Hope was announced, I noted its release date down in my calendar, eager to give it a spin when it was finally out.

But what makes the connection so perfect was that, just like all those years ago, after trading in my old Nintendo console for something new, I was ready to have a Mario + Rabbids game take my new console out on its maiden voyage. Yes, that’s right. I got myself a new Switch OLED.

Now, I know you may be asking if I needed a new Switch OLED, and the answer is no. But with the Pokemon Scarlet and Violet inspiration for it, how could I say ‘no’ to a work of art? But back to the actual game in question.

Unlike my previous games, Sparks of Hope was a breath of fresh air from gritty realism. Far from the full browns and grey, it was a game infused with vibrant eye-popping colour. Better yet, it also contained a plot that didn’t take itself too seriously.

Following the events of the previous game and the battle with the Megabug, Mario and friends are enjoying a day out at Peach’s castle when suddenly, they are attacked by a Manta, infused with Darkmess. Once they defeat the enemy, rescuing Rabbid Peach along the way, they learn of the threat to the wider Mario universe: Cursa. With a handy spaceship already on hand, Mario and friends jet out into space to rescue the Sparks (a combination of Lumas and Rabbids) and put a stop to Cursa’s nefarious plans.

Such a simple and easy setup, yet it works so well in the context of the world. There’s no moping or indecision on the side of the protagonists. They just jump in, feet first, ready to help. Or, as happened during the exploration of one of the worlds, jumped several thousand metres from a flying ship into a raging maelstrom.

As can be expected in games such as this, the plot is fairly simple. Mario and his gang of friends, including their Rabbid counterparts, journey from planet to planet, fighting the Darkmess as they ultimately make their way to Cursa. There’s not much in the way of shock plot twists except, perhaps, the reveal that Edge had been the leader of the Spark Hunters created by Cursa.

Along the way, Mario and friends befriend the guardians of each planet and help the denizens with restoring peace and order to their worlds. While most of the additional content are simple side missions that pad out one’s time with the game, my favourite sidequest was the romance between a dryad and a lumberjack on the planet, Palette Prime. What enticed me was that though the two had differing views on the cutting down of trees (and what might have been considered commentary on climate change), the two were able, after some help from Mario and friends, to arrive at a common ground. The lumber that the lumberjack would use would be trees that were already dead or dying while the new sprouts would be left alone.

Unlike many sequels that would simply rest on their laurels, Sparks of Hope brought with it a lot of changes to the tried and true formula of the first game. While many of these were quality of life improvements, such as the flexibility in character movements where they could dash and jump with certain impunity across the ground, there were also changes to skillsets of many of the characters.

This opened up new ways to play the game, allowing much more variety in the teams brought into each battle. My favourite tactic, of course, was whittling away at an enemy’s health with a lot of the movement attacks (which didn’t use action points) and then destroying everyone up close and personal with the Dukes from Rabbid Mario.

Occasionally, I’d use Luigi, with his sniper’s steely stare to destroy enemies from halfway across the field. Or, I’d have Rabbid Luigi hit multiple targets with his frisbee.

Sparks of Hope also introduced three new playable characters. Enter: Rabbid Rosalina, Edge and Bowser! One is the epitome of every teenager told to do chores. The second is a ‘too cool for school’ type and, of course, the last is an enemy turned reluctant ally. If ever there was a chance for an enemies to lovers story between the Mario gang and Bowser, this game is it!

And yes, I know people have jumped onto the Bowuigi train already following on from the trailer of The Super Mario Bros. Movie, but well, to add to everyone’s collective headcanons regarding their relationship, did you know that there’s a sidequest in Sparks of Hope where Bowser and Luigi team up?! No? You didn’t? Well, now you have it! You’re welcome!

Diversion aside, these new characters bring with them new ways to fight against the corrupted Rabbids under Cursa’s control. Rabbid Rosalina had the ability to bring about ennui in enemies, making them unable to move, shoot or use techniques. Her primary attack is with a gun shaped like a Luma plushie, acting almost like a machine gun with its rapid fire. More importantly, it helped add to the aesthetic Rabbid Rosalina was going for. And honestly, that’s probably the most important thing.

Edge, on the other hand, was almost a parody of skilled swordsman in many a turn-based strategy game. With hair colour that was a combination of black and green, she evoked the heroes of years past. You know the ones: gruff and stoic, looks cool? I mean, it’s in her very name! Edge! If you add a ‘lord’ to it, you basically see where they were going with it.

As for Bowser, well, the king of the kappas was always keen for an explosive entrance in my playthrough. His stomps and the bazooka he wielded were excellent at targeting groups of enemies, even if the damage he inflicted was fairly subpar compared to the other characters. Still, as I soon learned in Sparks of Hope, crowd control was a very important skill to have on many a map.

Combined with the revamped Mario and friends, the additions made for versatile team combinations depending on the objective. Better, they were all very fun to play with. Especially without the worry of permanent death of a beloved character should they be knocked out in battle. Plus, there were also ample ways to heal up each character after a scrap. True, some might prefer a hard-as-nails strategy game, but with these colourful characters from a beloved IP? Are you insane?

It needs to be accessible and fun! Not frustrating.

In this, Sparks of Hope succeeds. Though there were the occasional tough battles, most of the game was pretty forgiving. And with the ability to adjust difficulty, I’m sure it would as a perfect entry point for those that are curious about the genre as well as appease a few of the strategy-game purists on the internet. Especially since it doesn’t have too complex a setup or unfair difficulty spikes.

On the other hand, I did feel Sparks of Hope faltered a little when it came to memorable bosses (Hello, Phantom?). Still, they managed to keep them challenging and were also able to match the bosses with the unique themes of each world that Mario and the gang stopped at in their quest to save the universe and put a stop to the evil Cursa.

Oh, and before I forget, let me just regale everyone with how excellent the music is in Sparks of Hope. From the minds of three GREAT composers comes the soundtrack to this second entry of tactical strategy Mario games: Grant Kirkhope, Yoko Shimomura and Gareth Coker!

For those that don’t know, Gareth Coker is the composer behind all of the beautiful pieces in Ori and the Blind Forest. Grant Kirkhope on the other hand, has been known for many pieces behind classic Nintendo games. As for Yoko Shimomura, well, there’s no need for an introduction here on my blog. As a fan of Kingdom Hearts, Yoko Shimomura has been a huge part of my gaming journey. And the pieces that she composes are absolute FIRE!

Overall, Sparks of Hope was just the game that I needed after playing through the emotionally taxing A Plague Tale: Requiem and the political masterpiece that was The DioField Chronicle. Colourful, cheery with a plot that needed little brainpower to understand (even if the puzzles did), was just the palate cleanser I needed before I tackled the very serious Dad simulator that is God of War: Ragnarok. Beyond that, it’s a good game that brings a lot to the table, even if it didn’t quite blow my mind as the first game: Kingdom Battle did with its unique take on the world of Mario.

#video games #mario + rabbids: sparks of hope #bowuigi #rabbid rosalina is a mood #mario + rabbids

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ice-sculptures · 1 year

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Why not! 🍓

marie marie marie, where do i even begin?? you are without a doubt one of my favorite blogs on here for too many reasons to count.

all of your commentary is so thoughtful and so detailed and so brilliant and i absolutely love reading it. the way you find so many connections not just within the show itself, but also with interviews from the cast and crew + parallels to other media, is so impressive and leaves me mindblown every single time. your posts have made me rethink the way i view this show and have helped me grow to appreciate aspects of the narrative that i'd never noticed before and make my peace with certain things that i initially disliked, along with completely eradicating any traces of lingering byler doubt from my mind. it is so clear that you have so much genuine love for stranger things and appreciate all of the hard work that went into making every single part of it - not just the writing but also the costuming, set design, music, and all of the other aspects that normally get overlooked by most people - and that so clearly shows through the way you talk about this show. also honestly, i think i may regret confessing this in the future bc it's pretty embarrassing, but i've actually sent you several asks on anon bc i value your opinion and Love hearing your thoughts so much.

and if that wasn't enough, you also make such incredible gifsets!! i seriously would not believe you if you told me you just started giffing two months ago because everything you post turns out so beautifully. all of your ideas are so creative and you're so skilled with typography and coloring and all of that jazz. i always check your blog every day to see if you've posted something new because even the simplest gifsets from you are enough to brighten my day.

but honestly.......even if you weren't a genius analyst and a talented gifmaker, i think you'd still be one of my favorite people simply because of how kind and supportive you are. you always leave such nice tags on all my gifsets and i actively look forward to hearing what you say about everything i post. you are so friendly and you're of the people that has made me feel most welcome in this fandom. just one of the biggest highlights of my dash and i'm so glad to know you 💖

mutuals send me a 🍓and i’ll compliment you :)

#oof this got long and so sappy but basically. i love you #answered #marie tag

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cultivatxr · 4 years

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It was a truth universally acknowledged, that one Miss Aerith Gainsborough could not for the life in her, cook. She had tried of course. Multiple times. But there was no escaping the fact that she was still the woman that once brought the world rock cakes containing actual gravel & had cremated more loaves of bread than the Shinra incinerator had handled dead bodies. So it may have come as quite the shock, when, ( under the careful watch of people more gifted in the culinary department ), she had managed her first feat of sugary success in the form of gingerbread. And not just any gingerbread; but actual delicious, not-the-byproduct-of-arson gingerbread in the shape of several suited and booted acquaintances.

She hadn’t intended to necessarily guinea-pig the turks with her edible masterpiece; but having heard via the company grapevine that there were still several year old rice cakes padding out the cupboards in their staff room, it had seemed a no brainer to gift them with something more plentiful and potentially diabetes inducing. If they were used to worse, how bad could these really be? And so, it was was that in mind that she’d left them there atop the kitchen counter; every face and every detail immortalised in a perfect icing lined doppelgänger (except for Tseng, who had mysteriously lost a leg when she’d gotten hungry on the way).

Happy Sunday.

Read the looped scrawl of a note attached to the tin; something suitably ambiguous, but no less telling, considering the fridge was now also well stocked with a plethora of fresh fruit and vegetables, still streaked with traces of hallowed dirt. Maybe next week she’d work her way up to cake; but for now, this was her good deed for the day; nothing more, nothing less.

Just a small addition to the ranks in a the form of two dozen, gingerbread counterparts for the people that mostly, kept her out of trouble.

#; dash commentary from several days ago #but still pertinent #@ all the turks that brighten up the dash #xoxo

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tmmyhug · 3 years

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I haven’t been on tumblr for quite as long as a lot of people but over several years I’ve noticed this interesting gradual sorta,, shift in the general culture? that it went from this mostly depressed, nihilistic outlook where people would regularly joke about hating themselves and being hopeless and depressed, to a wave of vehemence of “STOP hating everything actually the world is Good and you deserve love!!!” type posts, to now, where those aggressive ‘PSAs’ have faded away and instead I regularly see people romanticizing simple things like stars and hot tea and rainy mornings, and waxing poetic about their friends, and just trying to put love out there. and I don’t know exactly what that means (someone who knows more than me could probably say something smart about generational expression and trauma or popular perception of mental health and whatnot), but I do know that it makes my heart very full to see people learn to love the world and themselves by extension, and a whole userbase adopting healthier coping mechanisms, and therefore teaching the younger users to do so as well. I might just be following different people, but I really do think we’ve grown. everyone has grown. five years ago it wasn’t unusual for the next post on my dash to be a scathing commentary on why nothing matters or an anon ripping into someone they barely knew or someone complaining about how pathetic their interests are. now I have mutuals who get excited and spam reblog art of cows and friends I see tagging each other in pictures of frogs and strangers writing paragraphs about how much I matter. it makes me happy. idk. just an observation I wanted to make. I think people are good and everyone’s just trying their best at the end of the day

#it’s probably part of why tumblr is so much more bearable these days #maybe it has something to do with the mass emigration of users after the p*rn ban #maybe something to do with the fact that we’ve had so much time to hash out so many types of discourse that much of the old ire has faded #maybe the sense camaraderie that comes with being a tumblr user who understands the enigma and convoluted history of pure tumblr nonsense #that only comes with years of being trapped in the same blue hellsite #i don’t know #but it’s lovely #nature is healing pfjdhfhfh #and ik this can’t be said for everyone and a lot of people who are low points in their lives find comfort in lashing out or being cynical #but a cultural trend towards romanticism of life is so much healthier than deriding it #vee makes posts #guess who’s rambling about something nonsensical at midnight again #vee rambles #that one post

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ironwoman359 · 3 years

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Okay smart ass. How come you and the other big blogs aren't saying shit about the racism and other problematic things happening in the fandom? Specially when almost all of you were always ready to put your opinions on something as petty as fans criticizing Thomas for how he wears a skirt.

Well, I cannot speak for other ‘big blogs’ because, while I am friends with some of the people who run the blogs that you’re lumping into the ‘big’ cateogory, we are not a monolith. We don’t have a secret group chat where we all decide “today we shall talk about Thomas wearing a skirt and ignore racism on purpose.” I can offer speculation that perhaps more people quickly added their own two cents on the skirt thing because when compared to everything else that was going on in the world, both on tumblr and off it, it was such a simple thing to digest. Everyone was craving something simple at that time, so it was an easy, cathartic thing to jump in and say “hey, don’t be mean in people’s inboxes” and proceed to stop thinking about almost just as fast. Anyway, like I said, I can’t speak for other people, only for myself. So since you apparently want me to, I’ll speak for myself.

“How come you and the other big blogs aren’t saying shit about the racism...”

I am white. It is not my place to speak over poc about racism. It is my place to reblog their posts, elevating their voices without commentary. That is something that I learned this year, and it is something I intend to continue to practice. I do recall making one post in early June, about not using the b/l.m tag on fanart posts, but after seeing several poc express that they wanted white people to talk less and listen more, I elected to make no more original posts about the subject and stick to reblogging without comment. If you’re looking for some good posts about racism in the sanders sides fandom, here are a few good ones. Though most of the posts about racism that make their way across my dash and subsequently onto my blog are less fandom focused and more broad.

“...and other problematic things happening in the fandom?”

This is where I must repeat what I said the other day; this could relate to any NUMBER of things, and unless you are more specific I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you talking about callouts for specific creators? There were two that happened over the summer that I know about, but A) again, those were about racism, so I chose not to muddle the conversation with my voice, and B) the works being discussed in those situations were works I was personally unfamiliar with, and thus did not feel like I had enough information to state an opinion publically (which again, as I understand it, would have been unneccessary additions to an issue I have no authority to speak on).

So maybe you’re talking about the Twitter callouts, or the situation with the artists for the Storytime Madlibs video? Again, I felt as though I lacked sufficient need/information to make any statements about those issues. I have a twitter, but I barely use it, and don’t use it for the fander community at all. I had NO IDEA what any of that stuff people were talking about was, and still don’t, and since I don’t use Twitter and am not in that community, it seemed pointless to speak about. That is not to trivialize any hurt or harm that was caused or experienced during those events, just to say that I have nothing to do with them, which is why there’s nothing about it on my blog. (The joke I made about fandom twitter was supposed to be universal and relate to how all the twitter discourse these days seems to be a rehash of tumblr discourse from five years ago. Bad timing on my part I guess, oh well.) And, being 100% honest here, I don’t think I even watched the Storytime Madlibs video. If i did, I don’t remember much about it. I know that when it came out that the artists were underpaid, I reblogged one or two posts about how content creators should not be put on pedestals and are not perfect, but the rest of that situation was centered around the artists involved in that video, and since I was not one of them nor did I know any of them personally, it seemed like something that again, I shouldn’t bring up because I didn’t know anything about it. From what I understand, a solution is/was being worked out, but I haven’t heard anything recently.

Or by ‘problematic things’ do you mean the existence of remrom, or unsympathetic sides, or how I’ve been in this fandom for over 3 years and our anon hate problem has never gone away, or the rampant purity culture, or the pervasive ageism, or literally a dozen other things, some of which are genuine issues and some of which are simply differing opinions being handled with all the grace of an elephant on roller skates? I’ve said it over and over again on this blog, but this fandom is not perfect. No fandom is perfect, but this one in particular has a reputation for being ‘pure’ and ‘wholesome’ for some reason; a reputation that it has never upheld by the way, because, shocker, fandoms are made of humans, and humans are not flawless porcelein dolls. We’re incredibly flawed creatures, and mistakes are inevitable. The sooner we all accept that and start treating our mistakes as an opportunity to learn and grow and do better next time instead of a signal that we were always worthless pieces of garbage that had no chance to do anything other than fuck up, the better off we’ll all be.

And may I reiterate: look outside this website for a minute. There is SO MUCH going on in the world right now, every single one of us is utterly exhausted, we are suffering from a massive traumatic event, several massive traumatic events at once, actually, forgive me if my attention is spread a little thin at the moment.

I’ll readily admit, there have been posts in the past several months that I’ve seen, read, and then not reblogged. Often this is because I feel as though the post that I am seeing does not have the full picture, and that it would be irresponsible to reblog only that part of the ‘discourse.’ And most of the time, I just don’t have the mental energy to go looking for the full story on whatever the Issue of the Week is. And I shouldn’t have to. Because at the end of the day, what I put on my own blog is my business, and no one else’s. There’s not some rule list that magically appears once you pass 1,000 followers that tells you what you must and must not do as a blogger. I am not required to weigh in on every little thing that happens in this fandom just because a lot of people in it follow me, and in fact, NO ONE is obligated to reblog something regardless of how many followers they have. If you are dissatisfied with the posts I make and/or reblog, you’re welcome to unfollow, there’s no rule that says you have to stay. But my energy is so limited these days, and I’m not going to devote what little free time and headspace I have to figuring out the ‘Correct’ take on fandom discourse.

I’d like to end by once again reiterating what many have said beffore, that racism is not the same thing as fandom discourse. It is always my goal to not speak over the voices of poc, and if in this post I have done that in any way, I’d like to apologize. Poc are welcome to DM me so that we can discuss it in any such instance, whether on this post or any other from the past or that comes up in the future. I am still working on unlearning racism, and know I am likely to make many more missteps on that journey. Stay safe out there everyone.

#taylor talks #fanders #fandom discourse #racism tw #longpost #ask to tag #asks and answers

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Ten Days - Day Nine

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Smut!

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, domestic Javi, fingering, washing dishes gets a little out of hand

Word Count: 3105

Note: While you nurse a hangover, Javi tries his hand at being domestic.

Read the full series on Ao3

Javi knocks on your door late afternoon the next day. You’ve been nursing your hangover headache most of the morning, lounging on the couch, reading your book and switching back between the news and some cheesy action movie. Around 5 you hear the thumping against your door and groan when you stand and stagger to answer. He stands slouching against your door jamb, a grocery bag in one arm.

“Hey,” he says by way of greeting and doesn’t wait for you to invite him in before brushing past you into your kitchen.

“Hey, Peña, come on in…” you mumble, closing the door. You follow him into your kitchen and flop down in a chair, watching him pull items from the bag. “You know you’re not supposed to be going anywhere, Peña. I coulda gone and gotten whatever you needed.” You see his taut shoulders lift in a shrug.

“I’m going crazy cooped up over there. Needed to get out and get some air. Figured you might need something if you kept at that whiskey bottle after you left last night...” His gaze flicks over to yours for an instant, then settles on the three empty wine bottles lined up neatly next to each other on the counter. He smirks and moves to open a cupboard, rummaging around for cooking utensils. “Looks like I wasn’t too far off.” He chuckles under his breath as he dumps oil into a frying pan and lights your stove. You appreciate the fact that he was thinking of you, but for a moment you’re a tad affronted by the way he’s waltzed in and made himself at home in your kitchen.

“You couldn’t have messed up your own kitchen and just called me to come over and eat?” You grumble as you stand and get yourself a glass of water. You hear him laugh quietly.

“No frying pan.” He says simply by way of explanation. You turn away from the sink at the same moment that as he absentmindedly pivots to grab something, putting both of you awkwardly close to one another, well within the other’s personal space. You feel your face flush and you quickly side step away from the counter, hiding your flush behind your glass as you gulp your water.

“Well,” you say, trying to act normal. “If you’re making dinner, I’m gonna take a shower.”

You practically flee your own kitchen.

***

Within the hour you’re lured back into joining your partner again by the delicious smell permeating your apartment. Pulling your wet hair up off of your neck, you don sweatpants and another old t-shirt (bra included this time!)

“Are you making arepas?!” You call out incredulously as you approach the kitchen, hearing the popping of oil and recognizing the familiar scent of warm cornmeal and fried pork. Your mouth had started watering as soon as you had stepped out of the shower.

“Sorta…” He grunts back. “Didn’t make the dough from scratch but I think it’ll do the trick.” Your excitement at Javi’s choice for dinner is suddenly dashed as you take in the state of your kitchen; your countertop is a small battlefield of ingredients and kitchenware. It appears as though he’s used every single utensil and bowl you own. You shake your head, but appreciate his gesture nonetheless. Flopping back down into the same chair, you take a moment to revel in the feeling of domesticity: you in your favorite comfy clothes, your handsome partner cooking up your favorite snack, existing together in comfortable silence while he works on the food and as you studying the way his back muscles flex beneath his shirt…

You shake those thoughts away as he brings a plate piled with a stack of stuffed, corn flour pockets. You're delighted to see he’s altered the traditional Columbian snack and made it more appropriate for your hangover, filling the creation with scrambled eggs, cheese and beef along with the chicharrón you had smelled earlier. He’s included chopped avocado and tomato on the side to add if desired and you’re impressed by the well rounded meal your notoriously take-out eating, chain-smoking-for-every-meal partner has pulled together.

You tell him as much as he joins you at the table and he shrugs, snorting in self-derision, ducking his head as he digs in, shoveling food into his mouth rather than having to address your compliment. You follow suit and the two of you enjoy your meal over general commentary about the food, idle chit-chat, and cursory work talk. After making a substantial dent in the pile of arepas, you lean back in your chair and yawn, satiated and you rub the small bump in your belly that can only be described as a food baby. Rubbing your stomach reminds you of something.

“Hey! How’re your stitches doing? Is it healing up ok?” You haven't seen his injury since that night on his bathroom floor, but you haven’t noticed him struggling to move or showing any indication of being in pain, so you’d almost forgotten the fact that he had been shot just over a week ago.

Your thoughts stray to that day, remembering the sick bile that had risen in your throat when you had seen your partner flung off his feet by the force of the bullet hitting him, smacking into the ground; the panic that had bubbled in your stomach when you’d dropped to your knees next to him and seen the blood coming from him. Your brain had quickly determined that the bullet had gone straight through the meaty area of his side and had most likely missed any of the vital organs there, but you’d still clamped your hands down on the wound as though willing your hands to keep the blood inside his body. He had writhed and hollered at you to get off of him, but you had refused, screaming at a police officer to call an ambulance. Your panic had not subsided until several hours later when the doctor had told you he was in no danger and would make a quick and complete recovery.

Lost in the frightening memory of that day, you stare blankly at the surface of the table, paying no attention to the way Javi’s eyes flicker as he remembers something, too. You’re distantly aware of his hand reaching into his shirt pocket and retrieving something, but it isn’t until you catch sight of him sharply tossing his head back and gulping a large swallow of water that you realize he’d been moving. He doesn’t look at you as he recaps the pill bottle and slips it back in his pocket. Instead, he grabs both of your plates, taking them to the sink and filling the basin with warm, soapy water.

“You don’t need to do that, Peña, you take care of the counters, I’ll do the dishes,” you protest, dragging yourself to your feet and moving next to him at the sink.

“It’s no big deal.” His voice is low and sounds sleepy. You poke him in the (uninjured) side with your elbow and push him away from the sink with a gentle bump on the side of his leg with your hip.

“That’s not how it works around here, Agent Peña.” You begin soaking dishes in the sudsy water, hyper aware that he hasn’t moved away from you, his leg still brushing yours. He turns so he’s facing you and leans his hip into the counter, studying your profile. You suddenly feel the need to be very focused on the sink so as not to drop a plate.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is even lower now, which seems impossible, and it stirs that thing inside of you that you’ve been desperately trying to control for the last nine days...no...much longer than that. “How exactly does it work around here?” He asks teasingly. You smirk, roll your eyes to distract yourself from the flush you feel throughout your body and jerk your head towards the mess he’d made while cooking.

“The person who cooks never does the dishes. Just clean up your mess over there and bring me those dishes and we’ll call it good.” You feel equal pangs of relief and agony as he moves away from you but you concentrate on washing the dishes. You both make quick work of your respective tasks. As you set to work on the last pan he brings you, he finishes drying the plates with a towel and you’re once again struck by the comfortable feeling of domestic life you feel, standing in your kitchen side by side with him.

Your mind wanders again: when you’re finished, the two of you would retire to the couch and you’d snuggle up into his chest as you watched a movie, his feet propped up on your coffee table and his arm around and you would both sink into sleep. Not long after he would wake you by peppering kisses along the crown of your head, your forehead, your closed eyes and he would whisper sweet nothings to you in Spanish as he picked you and carried you to your bedroom…

A loud plopping clatter sounds and a splash of soapy water spouts out of the washbasin as the pan you’re scrubbing slips from your grasp. You hear Javi chuckle softly next to you and he reaches over and swipes away soap suds that landed on the tip of your nose and directly below your eye. You shiver at his touch and he notices; he pauses midway through pulling his hand back, leaving it hovering for a moment in the space between the two of you. Hesitantly he reaches down and takes your soapy hand in his, lacing his fingers between yours and bringing them both to rest on the edge of the sink.

The feel of his strong hand over yours sends another shiver through you and you can’t look at him, instead keeping your face focused on the soapy water. But you don’t pull away. His hand connected with yours on the counter keeps you in place. You feel your insides start to flutter and burn.

You’re dimly aware of him leaning towards you. You feel his warm breath on your outstretched neck a half second before he places an open mouthed kiss there, on the spot below your ear, where your pulse suddenly thrums a thousand times faster than it had been. You can’t stop yourself from gasping as you involuntarily clench your thighs together against the jolt of pleasure that zaps there, sent directly from the spot where his mouth touches you.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Of course you’ve had other men kiss you on the neck but this...this is HIM. It’s him: with his stupid mustache that tickles along the sensitive skin and the tip of his tongue that swirls and traces the pounding pulse. It’s him: the ambivalent Agent Javier Peña who never seems to care about anyone, but who you know possesses a well of emotion just below the carefully guarded surface of his persona. Him: the sexy playboy whose prowess in the bedroom is the stuff of legends among men and women alike at work...and in the brothels across Bogota. Him: that you have refused to give in to for almost two years of your life, even as you’ve both grown weary and broken and sought comfort from all the wrong places. These last eight days have been merely puffs of air into a balloon, filling it, expanding it...and now this feels like the final push of air that might make it pop...

...You let it pop.

You drop your head back against his shoulder and release a breathy sigh that rises from the very depths of your repressed desire for him, letting your whole body sag back into him. Without taking his lips from your neck, he shifts himself so that he more solidly stands behind you. Your other hand takes on a mind of its own and lifts to stroke the back of his neck, scratching your fingernails softly through the hair at the nape of neck, causing him to emit a sound from someplace deep within him, pressing the noise into the sensitive skin of your neck. He still hasn’t removed his lips from your skin, afraid to break the connection and snapping you both out of this moment that you’ve been crashing towards for a long time.

You exist this way for several seconds, minutes, hours...you’re not sure. You aren’t even conscious of the fact that you’re grinding your ass back into him until he suddenly rips his mouth from your neck and latches his teeth onto your earlobe. A feral growl bursts from his throat as he grabs your hand from the back of his neck and smacks it down beneath his on the counter top as well, caging you between his arms and thrusting his pelvis into your backside, shoving both of your hips forward into the kitchen counter. The feel of him suddenly so roughly pressed against you sends your breath rushing from your chest in a sharp and lusty moan and you freeze for a moment, neither of you moving, save for the soft twitching you can feel along the front of his pants.

Your mouth hangs open and you gasp for a few short breaths. Then you focus on the hand beneath his and move to thread your fingers through his to match your other hands. Gripping him tightly for leverage, you forcefully push your ass back against him: grinding up and down, left and right, forward and backward against the steel outline of his erection. He lets out a strangled cry, rocking his hips along with yours, occasionally snapping his hips forwards to create different friction.

You’re on fire everywhere. Your brain is screaming at you to stop while you still can, but you’ve had enough of that. As you both continue to gasp and push and rub and thrust against one another, the throbbing between your legs becomes too much. Before you can think about it too much, you take his hand and draw it between your legs, pressing his palm against you, moving your hand over his, wordlessly begging him to rub you where you so desperately need. He releases another strangled noise, this one higher and more desperate, then he rests his forehead against the back of your neck.

“F-fu-fuck!” he bites out against your skin. You’ve never heard him struggle with a curse, or any word, so much. You let out a breathy moan in response, moving your hand away as he takes over rubbing you, relocating your hand to where it was previously, carding your fingers through his hair. He trails his mouth to your other ear, taking the lobe gently between his teeth as he did with the other. You whimper when his warm palm leaves the space between your legs. His fingers trail up your abdomen and trace along the elastic of your sweatpants...and stop, there hovering along the hem as his body stills, his mouth pulling away from you slightly, looking at you carefully. You’re both panting frantically and he whispers into your ear: “Can I?”

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, but when you do, you turn your head towards him and nod, leaning back into his body again, your hips squirming in anticipation.

“Say it.” He growls into your ear. You gulp, close your eyes and whisper:

“Touch me.”

His hand is immediately under the elastic, his finger buried inside your wetness, immediately finding that spot inside of you that makes you cry out and thrust your hips forward, seeking more.

He gives it to you.

His thumb brushes over your clit, eliciting more cries and gasps. Soon he adds a second finger into your folds and between the two broad digits and his expert touch with his thumb, you feel yourself quickly rising towards your release, your cries becoming louder, more desperate, babbling nonsense as he brings you closer to the edge. He snaps his own hips forward against your ass in rhythm with his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you, adding quiet hisses of affirmation against your neck, your ears, into your hair. He growls your name as he asks you to cum for him and that’s enough to make you explode, feeling your walls contract around his fingers, your juices surging out of you and covering his hand. In the next instant you feel his thrusts against your backside become shallow and his moans turn into a series of staccato mewls and he presses himself against you and into the countertop, gasping into your hair.

He continues to stroke you with several more long strokes of his fingers as you both come down, the realization of what’s just happened settling over you both. He slips his hand from beneath our sweatpants and rests it gently on your hip, squeezing your other hand gently; your hand had remained threaded with his the entire time, grounding you both together. You can only stare at your clasped hands, feeling your face flush from the reality of what’s just occurred. He moves to press a kiss against your neck again, the same act that had kicked all of this off to begin with and you shy away from him, lifting your shoulder to block his face, pulling away from him and unwedging yourself from between him and the counter. You hear him quietly say your name and he tries to hang on to your hand, tries to pull you gently back towards him, but you snatch your hand away, crossing your arms across your chest and shaking your head, refusing to turn around and look at him.

“I think you should go.” You say quietly after a few moments of silence. You hear him take in a sharp breath, can feel him starting to say something.

But he doesn’t say anything.

You move when he does, keeping the same equal distance between the two of you, heading towards your bedroom on the off chance that he might try to step closer and touch you on his way past you as he leaves. You know if he touches you again you won’t be able to resist him...not now that you know what his touch feels like. You hear him grab his jacket off the back of his chair as you move down your hallway and you lean against your bedroom door, listening for the sound of your front door closing.

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Eight

Day Ten

#javier peña x reader #javi #narcos #javier pena x female reader

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alannah-corvaine · 3 years

Text

the big ‘so you’ve found my blog’ post;

So. The follow button has led you to me, and now here you are with me on your dash. I assume you’re here for one to three reasons: the ffxiv content I post and reblog, my character(s), and/or the aesthetic content. Possibly also my riveting commentary on why ffxiv hasn’t added a sidebraid hairstyle yet. You’re all valid and welcome here.

Maybe you’re curious about me and my OCs, but you don’t want to go digging through my blog and the absolute mess of tags I’ve amassed over the years. I’m here to present a half-assed solution to your curiosity instead of fixing my tags in any sort of meaningful way.

WHO RUNS THIS BLOG?

I’m Alicia, I run this circus.

she/her pronouns, I’m cis.

I’m 31 years old at the time of writing this post.

This blog is 5 going on 6 years old.

If you see @alannahcorvaine that blog is also me but I don’t use it anymore, as it’s a sideblog and I moved over to this blog years ago.

I’ve been playing FFXIV since 2015.

I also play Elder Scrolls Online and World of Warcraft and have separate blogs for related OCs, content, and aesthetics.

I’m a cat person but I also love dogs.

I have a five year old black cat named Kilala who keeps me in line.

I’m not much of a people person, I’m made of anxiety and paperclips.

I yell into the void a lot, the void being my blog.

I don’t really RP outside of spectacularly outstanding circumstances these days, but character and world building are my jam.

Even if I don’t RP, I’m always down for character connections and relationships. I’m totally up for brainstorming and bouncing around headcanons.

Most of the time in game you’ll find me either standing around my house or out in the world taking screenshots. My mailing address is gpose.

I have a full roster of 8 characters on Balmung, but currently only 3 are active. You’ll probably see screenshots of the others too from time to time.

THE OCs

A L A N N A H C O R V A I N E

Your first assumption on seeing my blog name is that it’s probably the name of the titular OC that this blog focuses on. You would be correct. All of my OCs have their own blogs, however I am infinitely lazy and just end up posting screenshots of everyone here because this is where the followers are and the sideblogs end up being used as aesthetic warehouses. Anywhoo, here’s some need-to-knows about Alannah.

Alannah has two main verses: Warrior of Light and Non-WoL.

Her non-WoLverse is actually the primary one, but with Shadowbringers I’ve been focusing more on her WoL story.

I also have an infinite amount of AU verses for her based on various media but nobody has time for me to list all of those.

In both verses she’s a White Mage, a capable healer, but focuses more on offensive elemental spells (wind, water, earth).

Alannah is my only OC with a Warrior of Light verse.

She’s 23 years old.

She has severe allergies to grass, pollen, dust, dander, and certain foods.

Her allergy reactions are largely kept at bay by a delicate chain diadem made and blessed by padjal. It also helps correct her shitty vision, magic is great.

Her deepest fears include deep water and phurbles.

She has four older brothers: Faron, Ean, Davon, and Brennan.

Family issues. Just so many family issues. That’s an entire post on its own.

Her hair is dark brown, not black. I cannot state this emphatically enough no matter what my edits look like.

The white streaks are magical scars, the cause of them vary by verse.

Non-WoL Alannah is married to Nine Outway, they have a three-year old daughter named Aislinn.

Warrior of Light Alannah (hereafter known as WoLannah) I ship exclusively with dead ghost boyfriend Ardbert.

Deep-seated anger issues buried beneath a placid and friendly exterior.

Her aether is just irreparably borked and highly chaotic and is controlled via her staff and arcane symbols painted onto her arms in aether ink.

Her childhood dream was to be a powerful thaumaturge, which didn’t work out with her aether control issues.

R E B E C C A “B R I N A” C R O S S ( @thesilentcygnet )

26 years old.

Born to a moderately wealthy Limsan merchant family.

2 older sisters: Pippa and Lacy.

Jacke Swallow (of rogues guild fame) is her best friend (and secret love) since childhood.

Her entire family was murdered when she was 16 because her father made shady deals with the wrong people and owed them money.

She’s been mute since the day of the massacre after witnessing the murders while hiding in the cellar beneath their feet.

She’s been staying with Jacke and his cohorts in the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss since then, though he’s the only one that knows her true identity.

A long chain of events has lead to her being kidnapped from Kugane, shipwrecked off the coast of Othard twice, sucked into a magical whirlpool, and left stranded on the First.

Will she ever get home? Perhaps, when I’ve finally decided that her ridiculous journey has been Odyssean enough.

K H I A R N A K H A ( @khi-tastrophe )

29 years old.

An incandescent ball of unquenchable rage, probably for valid reasons.

The daughter of the khan of a minor offshoot of the Kha tribe.

Had a twin sister named Khiela, who pretended to be kidnapped by an aggressive suitor and lead Khiarna on a wild goose chase across Eorzea in an attempt to find her.

Khiela and her lover conspired to and succeeded in murdering her father.

Khiarna returned to Othard and murdered the shit out of both of them in retaliation for killing her father.

She was then unanimously chosen as her father’s successor and currently reigns as khatun to the nomadic merchant tribe.

While traveling across Eorzea in search of her errant sister, Khi was involved in a relationship with a pathological liar, which has severely damaged her ability to trust people (on top of her family drama).

Currently in a relationship with Sidirahg of the Sixth ( @sidirahg ), who has the patience of a saint with her issues and also might be a masochist.

Khi is a shaman and uses a mix of conjury and pugilism in combat.

She covers her fists and feet in a solid layer of rock and then lights them on fire, using a combination of speed, flexibility, and disorienting blows to fell her opponents.

COMMON TAGS I USE

#alannah aesthetic - aesthetic tag.

#screenshots - tag for unedited screenshots of my characters.

#edits - tag for screenshot edits done by me.

#drabbles - tag for writing done by me.

#about alannah - tag for character profile memes, ask replies, relevant quotes.

#art of alannah - tag for art i’ve commissioned of Alannah.

#commissions - tag for art i’ve commissioned that also includes my other OCs.

#lanna things - tag for posts relevant to Alannah.

#9 - tag for posts related to Nine Outway.

#familial faultlines - tag for all of Alannah’s family issues.

#benedictions]&[bulletholes - ship tag for Alannah and Nine (contains screenshots, quotes, and aesthetic inspiration).

#the gravity of guilt - sub-B&B ship tag referencing events at the ruins of Nym.

#scars of nym - another B&B tag because I don’t have enough of them.

#otp: as one fool to another - ship tag for WoLannah and Ardbert

#AU: Warrior of Light - WoLannah tag.

#AU: Gloriana - tag for the AU in which Alannah goes power mad / angry at the world and misuses her magic to become an unstoppable force of destruction.

#AU: Dark Sunrise - tag for the AU in which Nine perma-dies and Alannah sells her soul to the darkness.

#keeper’s captain - ship tag for Brina and Jacke.

#boyfriend adjust - ship tag for Khi and Sid.

#tbd - tag for me yelling into the void that I pretend I’ll delete later.

OTHER BLOGS

@eastofean - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Ean Corvaine.

@aether-and-ash - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Aislinn Outway.

@blacklacelullaby - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Katja Iryut.

@cleric-stance - salty healer memes.

@sundownsanctuary - nsfw aesthetic inspo blog.

@lannahlearnsart - my hoard of digital art tutorials.

@halion - general World of Warcraft blog and inspo for my WoW OCs.

@veil-of-blades - ESO inspo blog for various Elder Scrolls OCs.

@theviciousnothing - my personal aesthetic blog.

PARTING NOTES

You’ve done it, you’ve reached the end of this post. All of this is just a basic overview of me and my characters, if you ever have any questions about anything please feel free to drop me an ask or a DM any time. Thanks for following. ♥

#behind the blog #pinned post

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kneipho · 3 years

Text

Submission: @mantrabay

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

#mantrabay #submission sunday #writers on tumblr #photographers on tumblr #written word #photography #submission #other #short story #fiction #original photography #a little known shortcut

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hulahoopingholt · 4 years

Note

Hi, this is a weird message but I'm just wondering if you're okay? I have followed you on this blog and your main one for a long time, and I used to check in on your blog almost every day. I noticed that you haven't posted in several months! Anyway, I hope your life is going well and that you're staying safe in these strange times. This isn't meant to pressure you into returning to tumblr, I just get worried sometimes when people disappear!

HI HELLO TO YOU AND TO EVERYONE ELSE I ABANDONED THE PAST FEW MONTHS.

So the tl;dr is that I’m doing well, there’s just been a LOT going on and tumblr just kind of got lost in the crossfire.

The longer version is I just had a LOT of stuff happen all at once and I just didn’t have the time/energy for the tumblr life. Basically........

I have a boyfriend now!!! He was my very first Tinder date on the very first day of the year and somehow it all just worked really well and I am SUPER happy. It is a little bit trickier because he has a daughter so that’s just a new layer I’ve never dealt with in any kind of relationship but it’s all very exciting and seriously he is a gem of a human.

Work got really busy. Like.........just REALLY busy it was insane. But it was normal.

Then a global pandemic hit OOOPS.

And I work in an industry that was heavily impacted by coronavirus, and my role in particular meant I was basically working........allllllll the time. All the time. Seriously who are these people who say that working from home is a breeze and they never do anything because I was working from the moment I woke up until I went to bed way after my usual bedtime and at one point I actually had a mini-breakdown and my boss insisted I take a (free) day off. Shit’s HARD. Things are finally calming down now but

We’ve also started announcing layoffs. I’m not really concerned about my job being impacted (other than the fact we were already told we’re not getting merit raises this year), but.........just not a great environment to be in.

And I worked at a place a few years ago that went through massive layoffs where my role WAS eliminated so.......it’s icky.

And all through this.......honestly, tumblr kind of started feeling like work? Maybe if I were someone who could be casual about anything it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but just.......keeping up with tags......and content....and adding commentary......even at my MASSIVELY reduced level compared to what I used to do years ago........was just really draining me. So when things started getting busy, first with the happy things with the bf and then with the more stressful things, tumblr was just a really easy thing to give up. I’ll be honest, I missed the people a LOT A LOT A LOT and I’ve thought about all of you a great deal, but tumblr itself.........I’ve been ok without it.

Real talk, at times tumblr just really stressed me out, in ways I didn’t even fully realize until I left. Like.....I’m currently on S4 of a CXGF rewatch and I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I’m not dissecting it or thinking about what other fans are saying or getting caught up in ship wars and I LOVE IT. And don’t get me wrong, I loved all the analysis and such in the moment, I really really did, but........idk I think it just took a certain amount of ~effort and I always knew it did but I didn’t realize quite how MUCH of my energy I was using. I think fandoms are wonderful and amazing and I have a million positive things to say about them, but I think for me personally, it was just using more of my energy than I really had room for at this stage in my life.

And that’s just FANDOM. Don’t even get me started on current events, etc. that circulate. And I know I could just curate my experience and make my dash the place I want it to be and that’s all well and good but........idk, I think at the end of the day right now I really only have room for a casual commitment to this platform and I’ve never been able to be casual about, um, anything, so just leaving was a better option.

And I’m not saying this is forever either, I literally just logged in and was like OOOOOH WHAT IS GOING ON IN HEREEEEE MAYBE I WILL STICK AROUND. But for the time being, really, I just don’t have the time. For reasons good and bad.

But I’m doing well and I hope you all are too and I love you dearly and stay safe and healthy and happy and well.

(Also I just Don’t Do social media in general??? But if you’re on insta I at least check that regularly so if we are mutuals feel free to reach out and I’ll share my name.)

SENDING ALL KINDS OF LOVE!!!!!!

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sabineelectricheart · 3 years

Text

Overnight Clairvoyance

Summary: Estella has been having strange dreams about her best friend and they are making her confused and anxious. Is pulling back really the answer? How does Sam feel about all that?

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 2100

Notes: Friends to lovers. What not to love about that?

Estella shot up from her large bed, her chest heaving, as she tries to anchor herself back into awoken reality.

The sunny day was quiet and tranquil, as it often is in the valley. Her bedroom was on the second floor, and so even the animal and labour noises typical of country living went mostly unheard.

However, the tranquillity of her environment did not translate to a tranquillity to her heart. The auburn-haired girl had been having another dream, a blissful and happy one, but then she awoke feeling nothing but dread.

This was nothing new. She had been having these dreams for months, now, to the point she is close to take on the doctor’s offer to talk to a psychologist. They depicted a future of a happy and blissful relationship, days passed by with lazy, languid kisses and longing and loving stares. The dreams were everything anyone could ever want out of a romantic relationship.

If it was just the general situation, Estella would have been perfectly fine about those oneiric trips every other night. The problem, however, laid with who starred in these fantasies.

Sam had been her best friend since early childhood. A long time ago, before her father passed away and his had been shipped away to war, his family had been tenants at the farm, and so Estella had been encouraged to spend time with the hyper blond boy around the property.

Over time, the relationship blossomed, even after Kent enlisted and was sent beyond the Gem Sea, after Jodi moved with the children into town. They had seen all of each other’s important milestones, they had been there for each other through everything, good and bad. She had always thought of Sam as a brother, just like she did Vincent.

That was, until the dreams began.

Suddenly his very presence made her stomach erupt with fireworks and roses bloom on her cheeks. Every smile he sent her made the girl nervous and every bit of contact made goosebumps arise on her otherwise soft skin.

It did not help at all that her friendship with Sam had always been touchy. From a young age, the two of them would hold hands or hug often. Many nights the two of them could be found cuddling on the large living room couch downstairs, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist, and her legs tangled together.

It had never bothered her before, despite many, many, many innuendos from her granddad, but suddenly every touch made her skin burn.

It was not as if they never had fallen in love before! Both of them had their own romantic adventures with other people, and they have always been honest about those, without any drama or jealousy. Why that insanity now?!

Estella knew it was horribly cliche, this whole thing about falling in love with her best friend, but the dreams made it an inevitability. She could not escape her fantasies of a domestic life with Sam, but there was too much at stake for her to ever reveal her feelings.

She could not even think about the possibility of him rejecting her without shuddering. At the very least, their friend group would shatter. She knew people would take sides and most of their friends would pick the lovable doof Sam over entitled princess Estella. Then, she would be forced to hang out with Haley, or worse, her own mother.

It was also not too difficult to conclude that, if Sam did not feel the same for her, she would lose him forever. She could not bear the thought of a life completely devoid of him. She would rather suffer the curse of eternal friendzone than the anguish of a ruined relationship, not to mention the fact that she would lose her relationship with Jodi, Kent and Vincent. They were like her second family and she could never hazard the possibility of ruining that.

So, Estella tried to pull back slightly, hoping that the distance would help rid her of those blasted feelings. Of course, the girl did not disappear completely from town, she was not able to stand the idea of that. She just… Stopped touching him as much and she spent more time in the farm than at the town square with him.

The auburn-haired girl could not tell if he noticed or not, but she dearly hoped that it all went on under the radar and he believed that everything was fine.

Estella looked around her room, realizing that the birds were not chirping on the trees near her window, and so it must already be well into the day. She spared a glance at the alarm clock on her bedside table and realized it was almost noon, which was very surprising, as she often rose at no later than seven o’clock.

She groaned as she realized that she was supposed to meet Sam nearly an hour ago. She hoped he would not be too angry that she overslept.

The farm owner’s granddaughter sighed and got up, her feet padding towards her dresser. She took a glance at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the messiness of her long and soft hair. She smiled, though, when she realized that, in last night’s sleep-induced haze, she had pulled one of Sam’s jumpers over her head.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the remnants of his scent on the sweater. He had forgotten the article of clothing at her house almost a season ago, when he trekked through snow for a movie night, but was driven back home on her mother’s garish pink convertible. The stupid infatuation was picking up steam by them, and so she hid it under her bed, wishing she could keep it for herself.

Luckily, Sam never seemed to notice he was down a sweater. Jodi must have thought he had ripped it irreversibly on a skateboard accident, as it often happens.

Her deep thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. She frowned and smoothed down her hair, unsure of who it could be.

She walked over and opened the door, only to be met by Sam barrelling through the doorframe.

“Sam?” Estella squeaked, surprise overtaking her. “How did you get up here?”

Sam ran a hand through his blond, stupidly spiky hair and turned to face her. “You really think that your family could stop me from checking on you?”

It was a lie, of course. He was deathly afraid of her mother, and had a profound reverence towards her grandfather. If either of them had told him he could not come up, he would never try to disobey.

“So… I’m wagering that they are out.” The girl jabbed, playfully.

“I saw your mother going out with the car, and your granddad is usually out on the fields at this hour.” He said with a flaunt, his commentary clearly intended to be a joke but the frown on his face ruining the effect.

She laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. She wrung her hands, preparing the apology that was about to spill from her lips.

“Listen, Sam…” Estella started, avoiding his gaze.

“What did I do wrong?” He asked suddenly, interrupting her in a most abrupt manner.

She froze, unsure of what to say. It seems that her hopes of counting on her friend’s overall detachment were about to be dashed.

“Because I think that you’ve been avoiding me and now, you’re not showing up for our plans, and I don’t know what I did!” He said quickly, the words spilling from his lips desperately.

She shuffled awkwardly in her place, next to the dresser.

“I didn’t mean to not show up this morning…” The girl said, meekly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Sam furrowed his thick eyebrows.

“So, you did remember that we had plans?” The boy questioned.

She looked up at him with an apologetic look.

“Of course, I remembered.” She said. “I just overslept.”

Sam let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping.

“I feel quite dumb now!” He joked with a laugh. “I overreacted quite a bit, don’t you think?”

Estella gave him a forced smile, knowing that, while he had been wrong about her ditching plans, she had, in fact, been actively trying to avoid him.

Sam flopped dramatically onto her bed, kicking off his shoes in the process.

“Please hold me. It’s been a day!” He said with a playful grin on his face, his arms outstretched to welcome her into his embrace.

She laughed and made her way towards him.

“Sam, it’s not even noon yet.” The auburn-haired replied with a smile. “Wouldn’t you prefer to at least have lunch beforehand?”

Despite her token resistance, Estella clamoured into bed next to him, feeling the warmth of his strong arms around her needy body.

“What about our plans?” She asked softly. “I thought we’d go to the community centre.”

Sam let out a non-committal noise and pulled his totally-platonic friend closer.

“We can always go next weekend. I want to hang out just you and me.” He said, earnestly. “I’ve missed spending time with my girl.”

His careless words sent a jolt of electricity up her spine. She snuggled closer into his chest, pretending for a moment that maybe he wanted her the way that she wanted him.

*_*_*_*_*

Several hours later, Estella woke up, still curled up next to Sam. At some point, the two of them had fallen asleep in her bed. She looked up to look at his sleeping face, admiring how his eyelashes fluttered against his skin. She reached up and poked his cheek, causing him to stir slightly.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” She said softly in his ear.

He groaned, stretching out his legs and his back. He reached up a hand and rubbed his droopy eyes. He seemed dazed and half asleep, not fully aware of what was going on. He looked at her face and she saw a gentle smile grace his lips.

“I think that you might be my soulmate…” He murmured softly, his eyes half-lidded and his voice groggy.

Estella felt her face fall in shock.

“What?” She whispered out numbly.

Sam seemed to wake up fully then, shooting up to sit in the bed. He put his head in his hands.

“Fuck.” He grumbled. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

She sat up, brushing hair away from her face, and removed her hands from his face.

“Sam, honey.” She breathed, trying to keep her voice even. “Why would you say something like that?”

He looked at his lap, avoiding her gaze.

“I’ve been having these dreams, you know?” He began to explain. “Where you and I are, I don’t know, together, I guess. Happily married, boyfriend and girlfriend, something like that.”

It took everything in her not to gasp at his words. It was just like her own.

“Everything that happens in the dreams is just so perfect, and I know that you’re so perfect, even in the real world. If I could have a Stardrop here and now, I know that it’d show those dreams becoming reality. I really, really want to be with you, and this is my heart’s fondest desire.” He said softly.

Estella sat on the bed in shocked silence, unsure of what to say. How was that possible? That they had both been dreaming of one another?

“And now you’re turning so quiet, and I’m pretty sure that I just messed everything up, but I think that I love you.” The blond boy admitted. “I know I’ve always been shit at sorting out my own feelings, but something about these dreams seems too real for them to mean nothing.”

His voice was filled with nothing but sincerity, his eyes downcast as he took her silence as a rejection.

“I’ve been dreaming of you, too.” Estella finally admitted.

He looked up at his crush with a wide-eyed expression, a shocked smile spreading across his face.

“You have?” He questioned breathily.

The girl nodded shyly.

“I have. And I think you might be right.” She said softly. “I really do think we might be soulmates.”

Sam let out an airy laugh before tackling her into a bear hug. He was feeling so damn excited that he could swim to the Fern Islands and back. She giggled as he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and tickled her side.

“Sam!” Estella shrieked in excitement, slapping his shoulder playfully to make him stop teasing her.

“Hey, get used to it!” He said playfully. “I am your soulmate, after all.”

*_*_*_*_*

Stardew Valley Masterlist

#stardew valley #sam

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mantrabay · 3 years

Text

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

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