#it's about what the author is saying about the nature of the world and how to respond to it

[derinwrites]

How do you finish stories?

Commandment 1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say. A story is like a high school essay, or a scientific paper, or a debate script. You tell the audience what you're going to say, and then you say it, and then you tell them what you've said. Once you know what your story is about, the sort of ending you need should be clear to you. The specific details might change as you plot more story, but if you know what your story is then you'll know how to wrap it up. For example, I knew very early on in writing Curse Words what Kayden would be up against at the end of book 4, what he would have to accomplish, and the general state of things and tone that the epilogue would take. I did not necessarily know who would be involved, what path he'd take and how others would contribute, and the specifics of the political situation or Kayden's future, until very late in the story, because I had no idea who would be alive at that point, what most people's relationships and political alliances would be, and what situation Kayden would be in when it was time to go. If you're getting near the end of your story and have no idea how to wrap things up, then you've lost sight of the purpose of your story. You need to know what you're saying in order to summarise it. Some people get overwhelmed by endings because they feel like they have to sum up and end the entire world to write them -- this isn't true. Real life doesn't have endings that aren't also beginnings and middles for other things, and fiction doesn't have to either (although it can -- you can end the universe if you like). Your job is only to sum up your story, write the conclusion of your essay.

The framing of your question, though, suggests that this might not be useful to you, since you say you don't have a plot. Naturally, it's a little hard to write an ending without a plot to summarise (some authors do backwrite like that, but even if that works for you, you're still going to need a plot eventually). That's outside the scope of this question though, so I'll talk about plotting in general at a later date.

[fishnapple]

CRYSTAL READING: What should you cultivate more in yourself ?

A little explanation of the method I used for reading

Lithomancy : I assigned a meaning for each stone (each stone represents a planet) and cast them on a circle divided into 12 parts, just like an astrology chart and do the reading

Pick a stone :

Reading for each group below :

1. Red jasper

I see a pyramid with strong foundation.

You would need to build a shelter in yourself to stay calm amidst a hectic life.

Life may give you lots of hardship, but if you know how to stay rooted in yourself, you can weather any storms coming your way.

To do that, you need to find your authentic ideals, your own aspirations in life, without outside's interference. Like a personal compass. No matter what you do, where you go, that compass can guide you to the right direction.

But to be able to make that compass, you would need to open up to your own self.

I see that some parts of your are hidden in your own eyes. You need to see all of yourself, both light and dark, both strength and weakness, both selfish desires and selfless devotion. A dichotomy within yourself. It is the opposition that keeps you balanced.

2.Citrine

A leaf or a boat, tenderly floating in the stream. If you could let your heart lead your life and follow the natural flow, you will see that life would be so much easier.

You will be able to see that life works in a very cyclical way. Allow yourself to unfold naturally with time. There is no need to rush.

Strangely enough, by doing that, you would appear to the world as a person holding so much inner power.

I could see that with time, you will become so much more at ease with yourself, and that will create a natural confidence.

Going with the flow of life does not mean doing nothing. It means seeing your dream and having the bravery to take concrete but harmonious steps to come closer to that dream. You would need to cultivate a lion's heart, bravely facing your hidden fears, guilts, and confusions hiding in the dark.

3.Pyrite

There is a focus on relationships.

You have an idealistic approach to romance with lots of fantasies and confusion.

That tends to attract the type of people who are aggressive, domineering, and have a big ego. This kind of relationship would bring lots of stress and disappointment to you.

I notice that my tone for this group is more curt and to the point. Maybe that's how some people feel when they are in your energy. Your energy would bring out some shadows in people.

Sometimes, people would actually have some dark impulses toward goodness. Light would bring out shadow. I'm saying this because I see that opposite of the heavy energy people that you attract, you have a gentle and light energy.

What you should cultivate is a sense of boundary and authority for yourself.

Keep the light, but be more detached and see clearly of what you want, how you want to be treated, and how you can feel nourished in a relationship. Maybe not too focused on 1 on 1 relationship, but be more open to being a part of a community. I see that you are meant to be a soul of freedom, not chained by other's egos.

4.Rose quartz

The energy of a mentor, a teacher.

There is something so strong yet very warm and loving about your energy.

You don't need to be actually in the teaching profession to teach. The way you express yourself, the way you live your life, the way you honour your emotions, and let your inner child shine can inspire many people. People want to learn from you.

I think that you don't need to cultivate something particular, but more like noticing things about yourself to be more aware and navigate them more easily. The strongest thing is the voice. The voice of authority. Be the voice of truth that speaks deep into people's hearts. Even sometimes, that would make people uncomfortable.

I see a playful child with a sharp tongue that speaks some acute observations about the world, but nobody feels offended. That is the special power of children. You could still retain some of that power within you.

5.Obsidian

I immediately see the number four and the Jupiter's glyph (♃, when I actually searched the glyph again, it was a little different from the crystal's image, but I couldn't shake the association) Another thing about Jupiter is that the stone for Jupiter landed on the highest position of the chart, stands between two black obsidian stones (one was the one I chose to represent place of focus, one was this group that you chose). So the theme of Jupiter would be where you should put more focus on cultivating. Travelling, religion, and foreign cultures will bring in lots of transformation for you.

Also, if you are more open about your wish and desires, you would manifest them much easier, broadcast to the universe, and let the universe listen to you. If you feel restricted and not comfortable showing your individuality, this is the message for you to show your light to the world more. Many would appreciate that.

6.Flourite

There is a sense of urgency in this group. The universe is sending you a very urgent message.

It is time to build your lasting legacy. There is something you're meant to create for the mass. It could be something to do with words, something verbal, creative writing, or things created by hands. Things that stir the imagination and deep emotions of the audience. Making this work will bring you sudden fortunes and blessings.

Tap into your dreams. You could get lots of inspiration or source materials from the dreams you have while sleeping or even daydreams. Don't ignore the images. When you put your attention to them, the messages will be clearer to you. Translate them into your works with dedication and steadiness and bring them to life.

#crystal reading #lithomancy #pick a card #channeled message #pick a pile #cultivation #gift #intuitive messages #horary chart #horary astrology #astrology #inner world #crystal casting #divination

[v3nusxsky]

Hey hey hey - 🦭

Can you do an Alpha Larissa X Pregnant Omega Reader. Where reader is pregnant with twins one a boy, and the other is girl. And Larissa is proud like a peacock, that she managed to give her mate and wife a litter of two pups when her family was known not to conceive a litter. ( for more that 4 generations they never managed to have litters in their family, and reader broke the curse. )

Babies then are born and Larissa is shocked when her pups are both born with white hair just like hers. Larissa cries to reader in happiness and reader is laughing and showing her family through camera another generation curse broken. ( white hair is very hard for Larissa’s family to conceive, but that genetic inheritance has been shown through generations before it stopped and miraculously Larissa was born with it and now her pups have it. ( Which is a miracle for Larissa’s family.) both families jokingly saying that reader is a miracle worker.

Hope you have a nice weekend Mars!

Blessings

*Authors note~ we interrupt sinful souls for a little fluffy Larissa fic🥹 enjoy y’all I’m burnt out with school work and this little fic is what I managed to create*

Trigger warnings~ pregnancy? Birth? Omegaverse

Prompt~ see ask^^^

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Life with your Alpha is more than you could’ve ever dreamed off, you remember how she found you suffering alone through your first heat, how scared she was to not be able to help. With your past and how Omegas are treated you couldn’t tolerate touch of any kind especially in heat. Your pained whimpers and whines of fear whenever an Alpha was in close proximity to you broke the blondes heart. It was then she realised, you were destined to be her Omega. She didn’t get this way with any of the other Omega staff, just you.

With time and effort from both of you, your Omega called for her to help during your heat about a year later. Now being your Alpha and girlfriend Larissa did everything and anything to ensure your comfort and safety. Time is a great healer of wounds, and with Larissa by your side you finally got to heal. Heat after heat she proved to you she’d be here in whatever way you need and want her. Happy to just cuddle and scent you into a little moment of peace or to give into her wolf and take her Omega.

The little test with the bright blue lines sat on her desk as she went to make her morning tea. After your previous heat, you’d noticed you felt a little differently, some of the older Omega students even noting your scent was off, so naturally you panicked and well. You’re pregnant. It’s not something you’d planned for right now but with that little blue plus starring right at you, you knew that this was the perfect time.

To say Larissa was extatic would’ve been an understatement, the moment she saw that test, you became the most fragile diamond in the world. Larissa always had to be touching you at all times. And when your stomach started to swell? Well, she was always rubbing and holding your stomach as you leant your weight on her. Introducing you as her gorgeous wife to be. She made sure you got every craving, she was there for every appointment, bout of sickness and even the false contractions.

Giving birth that night will forever be a memory. A perfect prince entered the world with a little squeaky squeal of protest, absolutely perfect in every way. Itching to hold your new pup until another sharp contraction hit. Something was wrong. You immediately called for your Alpha in fear, instructing her to be with your son despite how exhausted and terrified you were. And just a few minutes later your daughter arrived. “It’s a girl” was all you remember before blacking out.

“Alpha?” You whined coming back to the world, “where’s baby boy?” You mumbled not even being able to open your eyes yet. “Shh my sweet omega, he’s right here with his sister. You did so good my love. A litter of pups. So beautiful” she whispered eyes never leaving the sleeping infants. “Two?!” You mumbled trying to sit up despite the strong aftershocks of giving birth to two babies, “I thought I imagined her.”

Only when you held your daughter in your arms did you finally believe it. You’d given your Alpha a litter. Knowing the family history for Larissa it’s unheard of to have a litter. No wonder Larissa is grinning from ear to ear. Only then did you realise you hadn’t been able to dress the pups in their outfits, thank god for getting one for each gender! Larissa gently taking your daughter as you undressed your son.

“Sweet girl? She-“ happy tears trailed down Larissa’s cheeks as she spotted the Snow White curls on your daughter’s head. Larissa didn’t know where her hair colour came from, no one else living in the family had it, yet here her baby girl was with the same stunning feature. “Alpha” you murmured taking your son’s little hat off to show the same coloured hair. “Y/n! They are perfect. Your perfect. My perfect darling Omgea”, your precious litter completing your family was all so perfect.

Larissa’s aunt couldn’t wait to meet the pups, your family stood with her as they all awaited the new arrivals. Larissa, proud as ever carried both car seats into Nevermore, got you settled on the sofa with both babies in your arm, water in your favourite flask at your side. “Theodore Rodwell James, this is your family baby boy, our sweet prince” you murmured happily allowing your mother to hold her grandson. “And this beauty is Isla Arwen Saige, our little surprise” you murmured before handing her off to Larissa’s aunt. “Auntie look at her hair” Larissa prompted unable to wipe the smug smile off her face. The shock around the room being nothing but a beautiful buzz as both babies were passed around the family and congratulations given to the new mothers.

“Two curses broken, what a little miracle worker you are dear” your mother teased before pressing a sweet kiss on your cheeks. “M sweet girl?” Larissa murmured after taking a seat next you. “Alpha?” Was all you offered as you lulled your head to rest on her shoulder. “My darling omega, thank you for this blessing”

Word count~906

#🦭 anon #anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #🦭 #larrisa weems #principal larissa weems #omegaverse #alpha Larissa Weems #omega reader #larissa weems x reader #weems #principleweemsxreader #weems x reader

[yourtongzhihazel]

Orwell’s Animal Farm isn’t so much anti-communist as is it anti-authoritarian tbh. He makes it VERY clear that the animals are better off under communism - the issues arise when the vanguard party is commandeered by a power-hungry coalition/individual

So then why write the people to be bumbling buffoons and literal sheep who are easily swayed by "charismatic leaders"? This is speaking dorectly to the nature of the working class even if he is talking about some improvement to conditions. Again, he is indirectly saying the working class is too stupid to lead. This is an entirely anti-proletarian position. Great man theory is a liberal myth which supposes real big brainers are the leaders of history. This is, of course, false. It is the people who produce and push the wheels of history forward. This notion of "charismatic and corrupt leaders", too, is entirely anti-proletarian and also immaterial.

Orwell never once set foot in the USSR we was just as steeped in bourgeois propaganda as every other westerner so on what grounds does he have to write on the conditions of the working class there beyond from standard anticommunism pushed at the time? Orwell, knowingly or not, became as popular as he did precisely because of his anticommunism ehich is why his book was eagerly published by printing houses associated with both the united states and the british government. That's not even getting into how shit he was as a person.

Second, "authoritarianism" is an entirely useless term taken from the abstract world to be shittily plastered over the material world. Look around and you'll find that anything worth doing eequires authority. The revolution requires authority. The suppression of the bouegeoisie requires authority. Laws are backed with the authority of the state in the form of violence. By declaring all authority the enemy, you are effectively giving up entirely. You cannot form a foherent ideological position using "authoritarianism". Only when you look at the material roots of authority, its use, class struggle and warfare, and the material needs and positions of class society can you come to a coherent position.

#i fucking hate liberals

[sideprince]

I've seen the same post a hundred times now. Sometimes it's a few days old, sometimes it's from years ago, but it's always the same. Some anti posts about how they don't understand how anyone can like Snape because he was so awful, and then there's a long reply that goes something like, "imagine this happens to you, and then this, and then this" to describe Snape's experience. Sometimes there's some James Potter hate thrown in.

Look. You can go through describing a character's entire experience but you don't really need to. Here's the thing that antis don't understand:

For all her faults (and they're big, bigoted ones) Rowling understood a really integral part of the human experience and conveyed it through Snape. Everyone needs love and to feel accepted. It's that simple. Snape became a Death Eater to seek acceptance (Rowling has confirmed this, though I can't remember the source - whoever wants to add it please do), because it was the only way he could find any.

Snape's understanding of morality, like everyone's, is subjective. Some readers understand this and some don't. When faced against a morality that says there is good and bad in the world, everyone makes choices based on their personal experience. Context is everything. Someone who experiences pain and suffering will not see the person inflicting it on them as moral. That's it. 'How can this person be good when they caused me so much suffering?' = human psychology. Most of the people who think 'I'm a bad person and deserve this' have been gaslit and abused into thinking so, because it's not a natural reaction - it's one that has to often be socialized into someone at a young age, exactly because it's not natural. Everyone is the hero of their own story; no one sees themselves as a villain, because they see the valid aspects of their own perspective.

You can write essays on how vulnerable people needing acceptance is what cults and fascists exploit to recruit vulnerable people, or on how the standard anti's un-nuanced reading of Snape both ignores canon and displays a disturbing lack of empathy or compassion, but at its core it just boils down to context. From Snape's perspective he experienced cruelty, therefore the people inflicting it must be cruel. Again, it's that simple. He was a person, like any other, except he was fictional so he wasn't even real. On the flip side is James Potter, who, for all his faults, didn't get to live long enough to get a chance to change and grow unlike Snape, and I think the Snapedom also needs to acknowledge that.

They're fictional characters representing things an author wants to say, not sports teams, not martyrs, and not all good or all bad emblems that define your identity depending on how you feel about them. It's depressing how much time is wasted arguing with bullies and trolls whether from the Marauders fandom or just random antis. I literally can't find more than three blogs to follow without this argument coming across my feed daily. I know the Snapedom is Not OK™ and that's kind why we're all here, and I know that my take is super unpopular but like Snape, I don't care what others think: this fandom has been having the exact same argument for years and nothing has changed. There's fanart and meta and fic and so much content out there appreciating this character, you're not going to change an anti's mind who's deliberately trolling in the tags, so why are you trying? What are you getting out of it? What does it give you? It's exhausting just scrolling past it.

#The thing about morality is that it's subjective #the religious leader who's a beacon of moral purity to their congregation #is a source of selfishness and pain to someone they abuse in secret #is that abuse victim immoral for rejecting the values the religious leader represents? #the congregation might think so because their definition of morality relies on the religious leader being a moral guide #the victim might not think so though because how can something be righteous if it causes suffering #look this is just an example of how perspectives can vary and I know there are more possible takes on that example #my point is that the idea that there's no clear 'good' and 'evil' there's only power/what you do with it is actually how psychology works #'good' to one person can be pain to another #'scourgify' is an innocuous household spell that cleans stains until it's used to waterboard someone #context matters more than labels like 'light' and 'dark' magic

[alibasnur]

Annie (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Anne Sallow x M!MC Rating: PG Content Warning: Mention of parents’ death, mention of attempted homicide Word Count: 2.9K Summary: It was the end of spring before the 5th year of Hogwarts started. Anne Sallow became close to a boy who delivered her potions every week. Jonah Wilkinson was an American muggle-born, adopted by a family who lived a few villages away. She took comfort in his presence, but things changed after the summer began and Sebastian came home. Author's Note: This is my first published HL fic. I love Anne and hate Solomon lol. English is my third language. Details about my MC Jonah here https://www.tumblr.com/alibasnur/747796751465988096/jonah-wilkinson-hl-mc?source=share

The pain was excruciating. No matter how often they had appeared, Anne could never get used to it. She dropped to the floor, and the uncooked vegetables for her supper were scattered.

She sat there for a minute, holding the side of her abdomen for relief. She was left alone in the house, and the pain turned her cold with sweat, even with the warmth coming from the fireplace.  

She didn't notice a knock coming from her door at that moment. But that person behind the door surely heard her cry and excused himself into the house.

"Miss Sallow..?” A concerned voice approached, it was boyish, youthful sounding. 

“My goodness! What happened?" She heard his footsteps rushing to her side with a hint of panic in his voice, and then she could see his face when she looked up. 

She almost mistook him for Ominis Gaunt, but with freckles on his face that softened his features, deep brown eyes with a seemingly functioning sight, and red-brown hair that stuck out of his hat.

She took the hand that he offered, as she had no luxury to be wary about this seemingly kind stranger.

His arms lifted her with ease, which was a bit of a surprise since he didn't look the age to have that strength. She limped to her usual seat in her cottage house.

Swiftly, the boy picked up the vegetables she dropped on the floor. Anne almost felt bad for letting him do so, and for being in a poor state at their first meeting.

The pain ceased and it dawned on her who he might be. She was expecting a potion delivery from Mrs. Wilkinson, the healer from another village.

"Thank you." Anne was still seated when he put the basket of vegetables on the table.

"Don't worry, miss Sallow." The boy smiled. He grabbed the satchel he left on the floor, and took out a few bottles of potions for her.

"Just Anne, please.” 

"Alright, Anne.” He was a bit hesitant to call a customer so familiarly at first. But it sounded more natural for them, given their similarity. 

“Are you the Wilkinson boy?”

“Yes, I’m Jonah, Jonah Wilkinson." Jonah smiled.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble finding our address.."

"No, it wasn't. And the journey was nicer than I had expected. From what I heard, I thought I might have to take another route. But it turned out it was alright.” 

"I'm glad.. the loyalists have been a concern for people who visit the hamlet." 

Anne felt relieved to know that she didn't unintentionally put Jonah in danger. 

“Do sit down, I have heard about you. I heard that you came from America, I'd like to hear more about it." As soon as she felt at ease, her usual talkativeness came back. 

“It’s true, my parents are muggles, I couldn't stay with them so the Wilkinsons took me in.” 

He took a seat facing her and felt comfortable enough to tell his journey that he felt welcomed. 

“It must be hard getting used to the Wizarding World.” 

“It was, at first. But I can manage.”

The Wizarding World. If Mister Wilkinson had only met him on the street and told him about its existence, Jonah would think that he was unwell.

They met in an Asylum, when Jonah overheard the staff preparing for his euthanization, by the decision of Dr. Barebone, saying that children of magical ancestry like him shouldn't live long enough to pass their blood. 

“Have you heard the name Barebone?”

“They are descended from Scourers, aren’t they? I’ve heard from Professor Binns in my History of Magic class.”

It was no wonder words had spread about them in Britain. They were considered a big problem to the American wizards.

“Yes. I met one of them, they are the reason why I can’t stay with the muggles.”

“They hated wizards, didn't they? Did.. did they do bad things to you?”

“Well, unfortunately. They said it was part of the treatment. I went to their Asylum, you see.. a mental hospital. I was seeing magical creatures and my family thought I was mentally ill.”

They put him through several treatments, not sure if they were even necessary. One day, they decided it was time to put him to sleep forever and send words back to his family that he died due to an accident.

Mister Wilkinson came to his rescue before it was too late, he went through an ordeal to be able to adopt him. He had been grateful for his current life, although his experience with the Barebones still gave him nightmares sometimes.

“I can’t imagine what you went through. And I’m sorry that you have to separate from your family, you must have missed them..”

Jonah didn’t deny her assumption, he did miss his family. Fortunately, Mister Wilkinson occasionally looked into their life when he visited America, just to let Jonah know that they were safe.

Mister Wilkison said that he would put himself and the rest of the wizarding world in danger had he stayed. The Ministry obliviated them for the sake of secrecy, and now they had no recollection of their son. Jonah had to accept that bitter reality. 

“I do miss them sometimes. But if they are doing well, then I’m happy enough.”

“I’m glad that they are doing fine. I miss mine too sometimes, I lost my parents before I came to Hogwarts.”

Anne stared down, the look in her eyes was of nostalgia rather than grief. But to Jonah, losing one’s parents to death sounded more painful than his own experience. Now it explained why she lived with her uncle. 

“Oh, I’m sorry..” 

“It happened many years ago, I have come to accept it. But I still remember that they were both professors. If they were alive, I would be one of their students.”

He wished he could relate to talks about being in a Wizarding school. Years had gone by after his 11th birthday and his letter never came to their door.

Jonah's magical sign was too weak, and perhaps that was the reason. He felt bad about himself, as he had no potential to cast a single spell. He might as well go back to live among the muggles.

The Wilkinsons insisted that he stayed, that Jonah was as good as their own. It did put him at ease, and although their sentiments were true, they never admitted the fact that they needed him after all. He had been helpful with the farm, Mrs. Wilkinson’s potion-making, and taking care of Mr. Wilkinson’s aging mother.

Anne had been listening with interest. The skin around her eyes was reddened with months of illness and sleep deprivation, but even then Jonah could see the sense of adventure that she gave off.

She enjoyed living in the Highlands, but it could feel narrow sometimes. If she were to make it, she could see herself sailing across the ocean and to another continent, observing how the wizarding world ran in the new world.

But her uncle seemed to be convinced that almost nothing could be done about her curse, and it killed the remaining hope inside her.

Mrs. Wilkinson's potion was the last resort, and if nothing worked, they would stop trying.

Jonah realized that he had forgotten something when he looked at the uncooked vegetables on the table.

"Were you going to cook something?" His question indicated a bit of worry. He couldn’t help it when he knew an ill patient was still having to busy their hands with a tiresome task.

"Yes. I have spent my days at home since I got sick. Uncle Solomon isn't home yet and my brother is at school. Don't worry, that pain appears at random times. I can still do things normally."

It didn't soothe Jonah to know that her pain could appear any moment, and it could be more disastrous than it was when he just come.

"I can help you." Jonah offered. Perhaps he could stay for a while, at least until her uncle comes back or a meal is prepared for her to eat.

"Oh, no, no! I've troubled you enough! Besides, Uncle Solomon will be back soon, and it's getting dark..." Anne declined, although no one could tell which one would arrive first; her pain, her hunger, or her uncle.

Jonah was reminded that he was supposed to be back before supper. His family at home could start without him, and they would be fine. But he couldn't leave Anne alone, having to lift pots while holding a sharp pain and no one could guarantee her uncle would be there at that moment.

"Just a bit, miss Annie. Just until your uncle comes home." Jonah bargained.

He did not mean it to be rude or weird when that ‘Annie’ slipped out of his tongue. He only meant it to make her feel that he was a friend she could ask for help, that he was comfortable enough to stay, and that it wouldn't be an inconvenience.

Anne didn't seem to mind with that little name, Jonah could see it when she chuckled her resignation.

"Alright, then. Thank you, Jonah. Truly."

.

"A delivery for Miss Annie?"

Anne hadn't told him that the last time someone called her by that name was when her mother was still alive. But that name sounded natural coming from Jonah's lips, and she didn't find any offense from it, not even just one bit.

She certainly didn't mind being Annie to someone as kind and jovial as Jonah. He brought a new light into her life, and Anne often found herself looking forward to his visit. 

At a certain time every Tuesday and Friday, her face would light up when she heard a knock and a playful voice pleasantly disturbing her, sending her loneliness at bay.

Sometimes her pain happened to come in his presence. Jonah could only hold her hand and surrender to the helplessness of that moment. Her pain became his, and the joyfulness in his face dimmed as he took in her cry to heart. 

He wished he could do more, but had he asked, Anne would say that he did. By being with her, by making sure she wasn't alone, her pain became much more bearable.

Mrs. Wilkinson came to know how Jonah became fond of spending time with her at the Sallow's. She put some buns in his basket for his next delivery. They sat together in the front yard of her cottage house, and she would tell him stories about her day at Hogwarts.

He envied those who had known her before her illness, as they had seen her at the brightest days more than Jonah had. 

Her laughter had a pleasant ring in his ear, her playful smiles and cheeky grins, and he would do anything to keep it that way, or much better as if she wasn’t ill. 

"School holiday is coming." Her eyes observed the hamlet. "My brother will be home next week. She smiled, but Jonah could see a certain anticipation, as if something could happen and that she could sense it approaching.

"My situation made it tough for him too. He would argue with Uncle Solomon. He insisted on finding my cure, Uncle Solomon always tried to prevent him." He could see how she turned somber as if recalling a bad memory.

"Why would your uncle prevent him?" Jonah wondered. 

"He's worried that Sebastian would make things worse..” Anne sighed.

"Well,” Jonah shrugged. "Maybe there is a cure out there." Jonah had never met Sebastian, yet he already agreed with him.

Anne broke her gloom with a chuckle. 

"You are starting to sound like Sebastian!”

They both went silent for a while, Jonah's mind had been occupied with many possibilities. 

She had been taking potions from Mrs. Wilkinson, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. The only difference was that she gained a new friend in Jonah, and they both enjoyed one another's company.

"It's getting dark," Anne mentioned. "Your mother would be worried." He suddenly remembered about the talk of the town, that the loyalists were building a new camp around his usual route.

"I should be going, then." Jonah stood up, grabbing his cloak and satchel.

"Do be careful, alright?" Anne looked up to him, still seated in her usual spot.

"I'll be back next week.” Jonah walked to the gate. "Take care, Annie.” 

She waved as she watched him leave. They departed with a smile.

It wasn’t a goodbye after all. Because next week, they would laugh together again, Jonah would take her down a stroll, and they would enjoy Mrs. Wilkinson's pie while playing wizard's chess together.

.

The village got livelier again when the schoolchildren came home for the holiday, and Jonah expected the same atmosphere when he arrived at Feldcroft.

The cart stopped not so far from the wall, and Jonah began to see the boys and girls he had never seen before. Some of them helped on the farm, some of them jumped ropes and the others played on the Hopscotch waiting for their turn.

"Our sunflowers are starting to bloom, why don't you pick some? It’s a healing flower, i’m sure your Annie would appreciate them."

His mother's advice never crossed his mind before, he did remember how she smiled when wildflowers were blooming in her little garden.

And now Jonah stood in front of the door, with a bouquet of sunflowers in his right hand and his left one holding a bag of bottled potions.

He was going to knock on the door but hesitated the moment he heard shouts between Solomon and a boy. Anne mentioned her brother being home for the summer, it was easy to assume that he was the shouting boy that Jonah heard from inside the door.

Their argument heated and Jonah started to worry about Anne being in that situation. For the first time, Jonah didn't feel welcomed in this house. He almost got hit in the face when the Sallow boy stormed out of the house in a rage, paying no heed to Jonah's presence.

Jonah stood aside from the door when he heard Solomon's footsteps approaching with an aggressive quickness.

“That's right, out! Out with you! Before you ruin things like your father did!" Solomon berated.

Solomon still stood there to watch Sebastian walk further away from his sight, his eyes still fuming, he grunted with annoyance as he turned towards Jonah,

"I.." Jonah felt uncertain whether it was right to speak now. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sallow. I'm here to deliver this week's potion.” He continued, business was business after all, but he wouldn’t deny his wish to see Anne.

"Take the potions back with you! We’re no longer ordering Mrs. Wilkinson's potions!" He demanded. 

"Alright, sir. But, may I ask why?" 

"They are not working! You should know that already, considering how much time you spent with my niece!" Jonah could hear an accusation in his tone. 

Solomon's statement brought an embarrassment to Jonah, he felt as if all the time he spent with her word was for the sake of it alone, rather than being helpful.

He cherished the moments he spent with her, and Anne enjoyed them too. However, Solomon saw it as wasteful, an inconvenience, and at times, inappropriate. 

Jonah was a boy after all, and the fact that he was a Squib and unschooled at his current age made Solomon look down on him even more. 

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Solomon looked down at the sunflowers in Jonah's hand as if they were a frivolous thing that would make a mess in his house. Solomon wanted this to be done with, and for Jonah to go already.

"Yes, sir, I.." He held the flower hanging in his left hand, his stare full of hope. "Can I see Annie? Is she alright?"

Please, Jonah didn’t say it out loud but he meant it with pleading eyes, let me see my Annie, even just for a while.

"She is not in the position to receive a guest! I expect you to look into the situation! I appreciate your intention, but she wouldn't need those flowers!" Solomon shot him a scornful look that sent Jonah a few steps back in intimidation.

"Now, good day to you!" Solomon bid him farewell. For a glance, Jonah saw Anne's hopeful look from the door. She could only watch when her uncle treated Jonah so unpleasantly. It made her heart sink to see her uncle decide on her behalf.

Her pain came just a moment before Jonah's arrival and it led to today's argument between Solomon and Sebastian. As much as she wanted to defend Jonah, she couldn't bring herself on her feet without the pain sending her back down to her seat. 

“Wait, sir!" 

Solomon slammed the door shut in front of Jonah. It sent Anne a startle, she could feel her sight blur with tears from the shock. 

Jonah stared at the sunflowers in his hand, his bag was still full of bottles, but he walked back feeling empty.

His journey home left an unpleasant aftertaste, and Jonah wasn't sure that he would find the guts to visit again.

He sat cross-legged on the cart, plucking the sunflower petals and letting them fall on the road. He would see Annie again. He would not. He would see Annie again... 

He would not.

He held the memories of Feldcroft with his Annie in it, dear to his heart. But perhaps Solomon was right, it wouldn't help her.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #wizarding world #hogwarts legacy mc #anne sallow #sebastian sallow #solomon sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fic #canon x oc #hl mc #fanfiction

[specialagentartemis]

Something always fascinating to me is the "character who thinks they're in a different genre" phenomenon. The theme of the story you are telling determines what the right and wrong actions to take are; but the characters, reacting in-universe to the situation, don't know what story they're in, and the exact same responses can be what saves you or damns you depending on what kind of story the author is telling and what the story's message is about what life is like.

In Wolf 359, Warren Kepler approaches the mysterious and powerful aliens with threats; he kills their liaison and tries to position himself as a powerful opponent. However, he's shown to be wrong and making things worse: his preemptive aggression is unwarranted and unhelpful and bites him in the ass. The aliens want to communicate and understand humanity and share our music. It's Doug Eiffel, the pacifistic (and kind of scaredy-cat) communications officer who loves to talk and share pop culture, who talks to them and understands that the aliens are scary not because they want to kill us but because they don't understand the concepts of individuals and death. Talking to them, communicating with them, understanding where they're coming from and and bringing them to understand a human point of view, is what succeeds. Openness rather than suspicion, trust rather than aggression. Kepler thinks he's a dramatic space marine protecting the Earth from the alien threat by showing them humans are tough and can take them, but that's not the kind of story this is.

Conversely, in Janus Descending, Chel is in awe of the strange and beautiful alien world around her. She wants to touch it, understand it, get up close to it. When she sees a crystal alien dog, she wants to befriend it, despite Peter's warning. But when she gets close to it, extending her arm in greeting, it attacks her and drags her down into the cave to try to eat her. This sets the inevitable tragedy in motion. Suspicion is warranted; trust will get you killed. Because this is a sci-fi horror, with a major running thematic reading about how racism and sexism will destroy your brain and your society, and how the people who think they're too smart to be prejudiced don't see their own prejudice and will end up ruining the lives of the people they still don't fully see as equals, this kind of trust that Chel shows this strange alien is tragic. However it is also a horror story where there are very real hibernating space snakes ready to wake up and eat the fresh meat that has landed on their planet, and by being too trusting Chel has accidentally introduced herself to one.

Kepler, suspicious and ready to shoot any alien he doesn't understand, would likely have survived Janus Descending; Chel, with her enthusiasm for learning about and meeting aliens, would have been a wonderful and helpful member of the Wolf 359 crew.

In a similar manner, in Alien, Ellen Ripley yells to the rest of her crew not to bring the attacked crewmember with the alien on his face back on the ship and into the medical bay, you don't know what contamination that thing might have; she's ignored. She tells them not to let the crewmember out of quarantine even though he seems fine; she's ignored again. Ripley is the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, and she is consistently ignored, until an alien bursts out of her crewmate's chest and then eats everyone and Ripley is proven to be right and also the only survivor. (And it turns out that the science officer consistently overriding her protests was an android sent by the company that contracted them, and said android was given orders to bring the alien back so the company could study it and do weapons development with it, try not to let the crew find out about it, and kill them if he had to in order to do so!)

Ripley's paranoia and mistrust of the situation was correct, because Alien is a space horror and the theme is in space no one can hear you scream (also corporations consider you expendable).

Conversely, in All Systems Red, we have a damaged and almost-combat-overridden Murderbot being brought back into the PreservationAux hab medical bay after being attacked by other SecUnits. Gurathin becomes the one person protesting this isn't safe, we don't know what's going on, he doesn't want to let Murderbot out because it's hacked and probably sabotaging them for the company contracted their security and sent it with them. Gurathin thinks he is the Ellen Ripley here! He is trying to warn his teammates not to make a dangerous mistake that will get everyone killed!

However, All Systems Red is a very different story than Alien, and Murderbot is neither a traitor on behalf of the company to sabotage them and steal alien remnants for weapons development, nor a threat to the humans - it's a friend, it's a good person, and it wants to help them against both companies willing to screw them over. Trusting it and helping it is the right thing to do and is what saves their lives. Gurathin is proven to be wrong.

If everyone on the Nostromo crew had listened to Ellen Ripley, they would still be alive (except Kane. RIP Kane), because this is a horror story about being isolated and hunted and going up against this horrifying thing that wants to kill and eat you and just keeps getting stronger. If everyone on the PreservationAux team listened to Gurathin, they would all be dead, because this is a story about friendship and teamwork and trust and overcoming trauma and accepting the personhood of someone very different from you.

Same responses. Different context. And so very different moral conclusions.

Warren Kepler was about how the brash violent over-confident approach to things you don't understand is wrong, and that openness and developing that understanding between people is what's important; Chel was about the tragedy of trust destroying a Black woman who wanted so much to believe in a world that could be kind and beautiful. Ripley was about a woman whose expertise and safety warnings were ignored and brushed aside and everyone who did so died because of it; Gurathin was about how even justified fear shouldn't mean you make someone else a scapegoat and mistrust them because they seem scary.

Sometimes you're in the wrong genre because you need to be, because the author is trying to show how not to react to the situation they set up in order to build the mood and the theme they're trying to convey.

#Wolf 359 #Janus Descending #Alien #The Murderbot Diaries #Murderbot #meta #my meta #it's about what the author is saying about the nature of the world and how to respond to it

[quietwingsinthesky]

unfortunately i unironically enjoy stupid my little pony horror stories why am i like this

#im sorry. i am!!! #cupcakes is ironic enjoyment to be clear cupcakes is. not a good fic lmao. but its like funny gore shock value. #BUT THERES GOOD ONES I SWEAR #GO READ BIBLICAL MONSTERS BY HORSE VOICE #GO READ THE WRITING ON THE WALL. ALSO BY HORSE VOICE. #GO READ LEVIATHAN. AGAIN BY HORSE VOICE IM STARTING TO REALIZE A LOT OF MY MLP FIC RECS ARE HORSE VOICE FICS #GO READ A FLEETING LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS (and its sequels) BY FLASHGEN #the blink series (various authors) is also a personal favorite of mine because i love the teletransportation paradox in horror #uhhh what else. why am i even doing this literally no one following me wants mlp darkfic recs #look i need to say something or ill explode thats how i function #The Visiting Hour…. good fic. Silent Ponyville is closer to cupcakes in terms of quality/vibe i think but its a fandom classic. #Somno Captis. Something Sweet To Bite. Rainbow Factory is good and let no one tell you otherwise. THERE IS NO LUNA!!!!! GOING HOME!!!! #im telling you guys. i promise. they’re good fics. #no one wants this rec list and yet. here it is. #and personal rec but like if you want a really long thing. The Secret Life of Rarity and its sequels. #again. cupcakes vibes in its slasher/gore nature. the first fic in the series drags a little towards the middle with episode recaps #But With Murder This Time. the public life of sweetie belle is great though. and obviously the next few fics in the series are fantastic. #genuine compliments for how it takes the ‘what if pony…. but SERIAL KILLER????’ concept and then has Serious Repercussions that end up #slamming into you like a brick wall and fucking up the entire world of the fic. i should reread that series. #anyway im done now sorry about this #mlp

[kittyprincessofcats]

ICJ Ruling

Okay, let's get into this.

First of all, I get the frustration at the court not ordering a ceasefire. I was disappointed and frustrated at first too, since a ceasefire was the biggest and most important preliminary measure South Africa was requesting - and of course we just all want this horror to finally end for the people in Gaza. So I get the frustration and disappointment, I really do.

However, I do think this ruling is still a major win for South Africa, Palestine, and international law as a whole and here's why:

The court acknowledged that it has jurisdiction over this case and completely dismissed Israel's request to throw out the case as a whole. It will now determine at the merits stage (that will probably take years) whether Israel is actually commiting genocide.

The court acknowledged that Palestinians are a "distinct national or ethnic group and therefore deserving of protection under the genocide convention". Pull this out next time someone tells you "there's no such thing as Palestinians, they're all just Arabs".

The court acknowledged very unambiguously that "at least some" of Israel's actions being genocidal in nature is "plausible". South Africa has a case, officially. Israel is accused of genocide, in a way the ICJ deems "plausible", officially. This is huge. (And seriously, how freaking satisfying was it to hear all of those genocidal statements by Israeli politicians read out loud and used as justification for this rulling?)

The court might not have ordered a "ceasefire" in those words, but they did order Israel to "immediately end all genocidal acts" (which includes killing and injuring Palestinians) and submit proof that they actually did. How are they going to comply with this ruling without at least severly reducing or changing what they're doing in Gaza?

In fact, this wording might actually be more appropriate for a genocide (vs a war), as author and journalist Ali Abunimah notes on Twitter:

He's completely right. Israel lost today, by overwhelming majority (I mean, 15 to 2? I heard people predict the rulings would be very close, like 9 judges vs 8, but instead we got 15 to 2 (and even 16 to 1 on the humanitarian aid). Holy shit.) The court disimissed almost everything Israel's side of lawyers said, while acknowledging that South Africa's accusations are "plausible".

And this is important especially because of Mr Abunimah's second tweet there^. Because the question is, where do we go from here?

This ruling means that Israel is officially /possibly/ commiting genocide and that should have huge international consequences. The rest of the world now HAS to take these accusations seriously and stop arming and supporting Israel - and if they won't do it on their own, we, the people, have to make them. This is THE moment to rise up all around the world, especially in the countries most supportive of Israel (the US, the UK, Germany): Protest, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and an end of arms deliveries to Israel.

We now have a legal case to back our demands: If Israel is, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" commiting genocide, then all of our governments are, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" guiltly of aiding in genocide. And we need to hold that over their heads and demand better. We need to do that right now and in huge numbers. Most politicians only care about themselves and saving their skin. We have to make them realize that they could be accused of aiding in genocide.

(As a German, I'm thinking of Germany here in particular: After South Africa's hearing, our government dismissed their case as having "no basis" - how are they going to keep saying that now that the ICJ officially thinks otherwise? Over the last months, people here have been arrested at protests for calling what's happening in Gaza a genocide. How are the police supposed to legally keep doing that now that the ICJ has officially deemed this accusation "plausible"? I used to be scared to use the word "genocide" at protests or write it on my protest signs - not anymore, have fun trying to arrest me for that when the ICJ literally has my back on this one 🖕🏻.)

So yeah - don't be defeatist about this, don't let Israel's narrative that they "won" (they didn't) take over. This might not be everything we wanted, but it's still a good result. Don't let what the court didn't say ("ceasefire"), distract you from the very important things that they did say. Let this be your motivation to get loud and active, especially if you live in any country that supports Israel. Put pressure on your governments to not be complicit in genocide, you now officially have the highest international court on your side.

#ICJ #ICJ ruling #ICJ hearing #South Africa vs Israel #Free Palestine #Palestine #Palestinian genocide #Gaza #Germany #I get why Palestinians are disappointed and I don't want to devalue those feelings #(but maybe this can give you hope) #But thinking about this as a German this is huge #Most politicians and people here still deny (or at least strongly doubt) that there's a genocide happening #Calling it a genocide is seen as an 'extremist' position #And some of our politicians have been borderline gaslighting us and calling anyone who calls it genocide 'crazy' #So I'm just feeling immense vindication and a newfound fearlessness and motivation to be louder and more active than ever #and I hope others here feel the same #I hope the quiet masses stop being scared to say something now

[prokopetz]

Something I love about The Far Roofs is how much of a swerve its premise is if you're coming to it uninitiated.

Okay, so there's these talking rats with a culture of swashbuckling heroism – basic Redwall/Reepicheep stuff.

Also, there's a magical realm called the Far Roofs which exists above every human community, and that's where the rats go adventuring; a little weird, but you can see the precedents in popular fiction. It's like wainscot fantasy taken to its logical-yet-absurd conclusion.

By default, the game wants you to play as a fictionalised version of your (presumably human!) self and go up onto the Far Roofs to have adventures with the rats. All right, now it's coming together: it's like isekai fantasy meets The Muppet Show, with you as the obligatory human character, right?

Then we get to the nature of those adventures: the rats have this whole culture built around questing against beings they call "the Mysteries" – beasties with names like Harpy and Goblin and Unicorn. So basically it's a bunch of muppety rats on the roofs fighting Dungeons & Dragons monsters, and you go up and help them do it. Great.

And then you get to what the Mysteries are actually like, and... well, I'm going to let the following excerpt carry the weight here. (This particular bit of text also appears in a previously published work by the same author, so I'm not giving anything away that's still under wraps.)

Unicorn, which is named Numinous, dwells three steps away and beyond the world, but most often in the Farthest Roofs, where the Steppes of the Sky come down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court. There it is stepping upwards from the world, as it has always been stepping upwards from the world, caught in a moment of transcendent glory that does not complete. It simply is. Melanthios heard the footsteps of Unicorn. Melanthios heard the ringing of Unicorn’s bells. So Melanthios chased Unicorn off to the Farthest Roofs, and Melanthios did not return. Anton and Karel, who were his sons, were wiser than their father. They heard the bells but they did not follow. Instead, they memorized the scent. They gathered swords, and ropes, and nets, and they went out. They brought food and water and all manner of gear. They clung to the roofs with all four feet wheresoever after Unicorn they went. It proved no good. Anton looked up, and Karel to his brother. The world came down— That’s what Karel said. He had time to look away. He had time to bury his head in his paws. He did not see the fullness of Unicorn’s presence. He only saw Anton his brother become unreal. In the light of the moment of the Unicorn, Anton became as a paper figure in the fire. His reality burned out. His shadow seared into the roofs behind him. Where he’d stood, for just a moment, the Steppes of the Sky came down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court; and Anton was gone away. So Karel ran and Karel ran and Karel ran from the Unicorn; and all his life, he envied but was more fortunate than his brother.

These are gods. You're going up there to kill God.

Like, it's still silly wainscot fantasy with funny talking rats, but there's that tension. It's like if Fraggle Rock occasionally took a hard turn to serious cosmic horror – Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson – and that tonal juxtaposition was treated as something unremarkable.

Basically what I'm saying is go back The Far Roofs.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #the far roofs #dr. jenna moran #crowdfunding #kickstarter #violence mention #death mention

[rebeccathenaturalist]

ETA: I wrote up a guide on clues that a foraging book was written by AI here!

[Original Tweet source here.]

[RANT AHEAD]

Okay, yeah. This is a very, very, very bad idea. I understand that there is a certain flavor of techbro who has ABSOLUTELY zero problem with this because "AI is the future, bro", and we're supposed to be reading their articles on how to use AI for side hustles and all that.

I get that ID apps have played into people's tendency to want quick and easy answers to everything (I'm not totally opposed to apps, but please read about how an app does not a Master Naturalist make.) But nature identification is serious stuff, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to identify whether something is safe to eat, handle, etc. You have to be absolutely, completely, 100000% sure of your ID, and then you ALSO have to absolutely verify that it is safely handled and consumed by humans.

As a foraging instructor, I cannot emphasize this enough. My classes, which are intended for a general audience, are very heavy on identification skills for this very reason. I have had (a small subsection of) students complain that I wasn't just spending 2-3 hours listing off bunches of edible plants and fungi, and honestly? They can complain all they want. I am doing MY due diligence to make very sure that the people who take my classes are prepared to go out and start identifying species and then figure out their edibility or lack thereof.

Because it isn't enough to be able to say "Oh, that's a dandelion, and I think this might be an oyster mushroom." It's also not enough to say "Well, such-and-such app says this is Queen Anne's lace and not poison hemlock." You HAVE to have incredibly keen observational skills. You HAVE to be patient enough to take thorough observations and run them through multiple forms of verification (field guides, websites, apps, other foragers/naturalists) to make sure you have a rock-solid identification. And then you ALSO have to be willing to read through multiple sources (NOT just Wikipedia) to determine whether that species is safely consumed by humans, and if so if it needs to be prepared in a particular way or if there are inedible/toxic parts that need to be removed.

AND--this phenomenon of AI-generated crapola emphasizes the fact that in addition to all of the above, you HAVE to have critical thinking skills when it comes to assessing your sources. Just because something is printed on a page doesn't mean it's true. You need to look at the quality of the information being presented. You need to look at the author's sources. You need to compare what this person is saying to other books and resources out there, and make sure there's a consensus.

You also need to look at the author themselves and make absolutely sure they are a real person. Find their website. Find their bio. Find their social media. Find any other manners in which they interact with the world, ESPECIALLY outside of the internet. Contact them. Ask questions. Don't be a jerk about it, because we're just people, but do at least make sure that a book you're interested in buying is by a real person. I guarantee you those of us who are serious about teaching this stuff and who are internet-savvy are going to make it very easy to find who we are (within reason), what we're doing, and why.

Because the OP in that Tweet is absolutely right--people are going to get seriously ill or dead if they try using AI-generated field guides. We have such a wealth of information, both on paper/pixels and in the brains of active, experienced foragers, that we can easily learn from the mistakes of people in the past who got poisoned, and avoid their fate. But it does mean that you MUST have the will and ability to be impeccably thorough in your research--and when in doubt, throw it out.

My inbox is always open. I'm easier caught via email than here, but I will answer. You can always ask me stuff about foraging, about nature identification, etc. And if there's a foraging instructor/author/etc. with a website, chances are they're also going to be more than willing to answer questions. I am happy to direct you to online groups on Facebook and elsewhere where you have a whole slew of people to compare notes with. I want people's foraging to be SAFE and FUN. And AI-generated books aren't the way to make that happen.

#foraging #mushroom foraging #plant foraging #mushrooms #edible plants #edible mushrooms #wild foods #food #nature #AI #fungus #fungi #poisonous mushrooms #poisonous plants #botany #mycology #rant

[drchucktingle]

Hello Dr Tingle! I wanted to ask you about that re: your post about how all your books are serious literature (hell yeah Love is real). How do you personally deal with the whole traditional publishing institution? It attracts a whole different level of coverage and it seems that they're very quick to try and box you and like turn you into a brand. Is it stiffling? Is it freeing? Does the attention help more people understand your trot? I don't know I've never been published but since you have experience in both traditional and self publishing I'm interested in knowing how that's feeling for you

well this is a pretty complex question with lots of different trots but i will try my best to answer. lets start with WHO I AM as buckaroo name of chuck

what i create has a very strong voice and my way is pretty recognizable. while buckaroos do not know what most authors look like, i REALLY stand out in a dang crowd with a big pink bag on my head. if you see 50 random author photos and mine is mixed in and then you ask 'which photo do you remember the most?' it is probably gonna be chuck. i also have a VERY UNIQUE STORY with what i create and my artistic sensibilities, not a lot of buds are out there making trans mothman erotica along with their big five traditional publishing bestsellers (SIDENOTE preorder BURY YOUR GAYS)

now if you were going to take 'CHUCK TINGLE' to a marketing department they would FALL OVER BACKWARDS IN THEIR DANG CHAIR with excitement. it is hard to think of an author with a stronger BRAND than i already have in the sense of 'instantly recognizable trot and specific unique style'. even in answering this you can tell that i dont even TALK like other dang authors.

what i am getting at is this: i am VERY VERY LUCKY because my existence just so happens to equate to what a company would see as GOOD BRANDING. it is not intentional on my part, it is just the hand of fate i guess. im out here expressing myself in a FULL ON WAY that is PRETTY DANG STRANGE TO SOME and it just so happens to work as mainstream branding too

on paper you might think 'what the heck no way chuck tingle will fly as a mainstream trot' but honestly the main thread of this timeline can be surprising sometimes. ive been saying the key ingredient for years and i will say it again: LOVE AND SINCERITY RESONATE. when you make art with this fuel, the timeline will feel it. when you stand up tall and shout with your whole chest THIS IS MY WAY AND I LOVE MYSELF. I AM THE WORLDS GREATEST AUTHOR TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT, the timeline will listen

so all that said, i do not mind the idea of myself as 'brand' because i am not CHANGING myself to create this effect. what some might see as 'brand' i just see as another part of my art. i have always believed that art is THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE not just the painting but what is outside of the frame. WHO I AM is just as important as the books i write, and interacting with my way is a whole MULTIMEDIA experience that INCLUDES YOU TOO. it is the feeling when your friend shows you your first tingler cover, or the feeling when you realize that i am not playing a character. this is ALL a part of the tingleverse and it is all a part of my honest raw expression as a queer and neurodivergent buckaroo.

YOU ARE PART OF THIS ART TOO

it is my nature of have a PUNK ROCK trot. always has been. but to me that does not mean just angrily going against everything for the sake of going against everything. for me, this punk rock trot means fighting to EXPRESS MYSELF IN THE MOST HONEST AND PURE FORM POSSIBLE and to create the art that i want to make without any boundaries

somehow i have threaded the needle in this really interesting once-in-a-dang-lifetime kind of way. my pure punk rock self as an OUTERSIDER ARTIST just so happens to resonate with this larger system of brand and traditional publishing and popular culture. i COULD reject this, but rejecting it would be LESS HONEST.

this is just who i am. i LIKE pop culture. i LIKE joy. i LIKE dressing in all pink and wearing my custom suits. I LIKE PROVING LOVE IS REAL WHAT THE HECK ELSE EVEN IS THERE? i love being a queer outsider artist and using my small voice to shout at the big bad devils and i like that every time i shout a few more of you buckaroos join the chorus and together we are just getting louder and louder and louder and WHO KNOWS what comes next for us all trotting together.

when i post something like 'WHAT A GREAT DAY TO PROVE LOVE' it is not me sitting here in a bad mood thinkin 'well i gotta make todays post to keep up with my brand'. i am ACTUALLY FEELING THAT FEELING and i actually believe it with every fiber of my being. honestly, half the time i post about the beauty of this timeline i am probably over here literally crying tears of joy (chuck is an emotional bud i get riled over the joy of existence A LOT)

and heres the best part of this trot: because i really have this punk rock way it makes me very powerful. others can pretend not to care about success and brand and all that but I REALLY DO NO CARE. i would write tinglers whether buds were reading them or not, this is just my natural state, and that makes me incredibly strong. if some big corporation says 'YOU MUST DO THIS' and i dont want to do it i just say 'no thanks'. it is not some big debate about my career or anything like that because I REALLY DO NOT CARE IN THE SLIGHTEST. i care about the art

because of this, my relationship with my GIANT TRADITIONAL PUBLISHING MACHINE is great. we trot like equals and we get along really well. i tell them exactly what i want to do and they let me do it. i really do not have to answer to anyone and they deserve a huge amount of credit for respecting me in this way.

and heres the thing, THEY ALSO HAVE SOME GREAT IDEAS

SPECIFICALLY my imprint of NIGHTFIRE is very dang cool. yes, they are the head of a giant hydra of a BIG FIVE PUBLISHER, but nightfire is SO DANG ART-FOCUSED

there is no right or wrong way to be an artist, and my path is not the only one, but i can tell you what WORKS FOR ME. this is the advice i would give myself, and buckaroos can take it or leave it

here it is: never beg the big book publisher, or record label, or movie studio to pay attention to you

do not let it become a lotto ticket in your brain. do not think that you are some weak little creature and maybe if you trot just right they will scoop you up and take care of you. do not go to their door begging to be let in

LET THEM COME TO YOUR DOOR

create something so incredible and beautiful and honest and powerful and unique and important that they would be foolish to miss out. create a community or a system or a timeline or a world of imagination that thrives on its own and THEY SHOULD BE SO LUCKY TO BE A PART OF IT

then when you sit down at that board meeting it is not 'please brand me, ill do whatever you want'. instead, it is 'lets make a deal and see how much love we can prove together.'

now lets trot buckaroos

#buckaroo lifestyle #chuck tingle #tingleverse

[ruins-posts]

── “Descent” [Ryomen Sukuna]

synopsis— Sukuna finds out about the one curse more powerful than he ever could be. author's note— Sukuna might be unwanted in the manga, but that's not happening on my watch.

Sukuna belongs to no one. He does as he pleases— and yet, his body shields you from the cruel sunlight that peeks from behind the curtains, that would have otherwise disturbed your generous slumber. His eyes cannot leave you as much as they want to. You're simply the most perfect thing one could lay their eyes upon.

Lips slightly parted, you take deep, fulfilling breaths. He wonders what your silly little human dreams are about. He secretly finds himself hoping he's in them.

He hates it.

Despises, in fact— how naive you are, showing kindness to a being like him. Someone who had a nature more monstrous than the fictional ones the humans create. Whose mere name could send chills down a person's spine. He hates how gentle your touch is. He hates how he loves to see you smile.

Perhaps he will get bored of it, someday.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as a few strands of hair fall down your perfect face. It irritates him more than it does to you— the fact that he wants nothing to trouble you. Nothing. But oh, silly you— fell in love with trouble himself.

Sukuna never knew he was capable of such gentleness till he brushed the hair away from your face. The same hands he used to slaughter his enemies, spread his cruelty, now reduced to doing such a gentle act? How pathetic of him.

His hands remain on your cheek, cupping it gently— wanting to explore this new side you brought out of him. And it makes you stir from your gentle slumber. Eyes fluttering open slowly, the first sight you are greeted with it your beloved master.

"Sukuna..." you greet him sleepily with a soft smile. His heart twists. How could anyone ever smile at him so sweetly? He wants to pull his hand away.

But you stop him. Your hands— softer, gentler, smaller, reach to hold the one he used to caress your cheek. He is not familiar to such a touch of gentleness. He never had been. His heart beats.

You close your eyes shut again, embracing the soothe of his touch, cradling his hand closer to you. The monster's hand. The hand of a person who has only known destruction and death. Placing a soft kiss on his palm, you shuffle closer to him.

The ones who dared do look at him without his permission were rendered limbless the very next second. How come could he allow someone to get so close to him? How could he melt in someone's embrace like he does in yours?

He doesn't know the answer. The love that the world never showed him, you showed it so selflessly he couldn't say a word but place a kiss on the top of your head.

The king was, for the very first time, silenced by a human. To say he was the strongest...perhaps was now, as per him, a wrong statement to make. A curse much more powerful than him did exist. And he had been conquered by such, because for the first time, a being like him who did what he could solely for his pleasure — found himself at the mercy of another.

That curse was love. And he, in the secrets of his mind, declared that there was no curse more powerful than love.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna

[thatwritergirlsblog]

Advice for Creating a Magic System

As a fantasy author, I thought I'd share my 5 tips for creating a captivating magic system.

1. Are you writing low fantasy or high fantasy?

Firstly, it's good to know from the get-go whether you're creating a magic system for a low fantasy or high fantasy story.

Low fantasy doesn't necessarily mean there are less fantastical elements or that the story has to take place in a version of the real world. Low fantasy simply indicates that the fantasy elements/magic is not commonplace in that world. Magic and other fantasy elements exist, but only a privy few know about it.

Examples of low fantasy stories include Harry Potter by She Who Shall Not be Named, the Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and my book To Wear A Crown.

High fantasy, on the other hand, indicates that the fantastical elements and magic are known about and commonplace in that world. The people of the world know that magic exists, that there are fantastical beings, other races etc.

Examples of high fantasy stories include Eragon by Christopher Paolini, Crescent City by Sarah J Maas, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, and Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard.

2. Hard magic systems vs soft magic systems

The next thing that's vital to decide is whether you're creating a hard or soft magic system.

A hard magic system has built-in limitations. There are certain things that magic can do and that's it. Examples of stories with hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo.

A soft magic system doesn't have inherent limitations in relation to what it can achieve. Examples of soft magic systems include Eragon, Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings.

3. What can magic do?

Now that you know whether you're writing low or high fantasy, and whether you're working with a hard or soft magic system, it's time to create some magic!

This is the part where I can't give you too much guidance, because it's all about your creativity.

What do you want magic to look like in your story? What do you want magic to be able to achieve? How big of a role do you want magic to play in the story and your characters' lives?

Do you want different classes of magic wielders, each with mastery over their own element? Do you want magic to be a flexible tool that can be used to achieve almost anything? Do you want your magic to be limited to telepathic actions or creating portals? Do you want different people to have power over different aspects of nature or different magical disciplines?

Can wielders use magic without any tools, or do they need spells, runes or rituals?

The possibilities are endless, but it's important to establish exactly what magic is capable of in your world.

4. How does it work and where does it come from?

Now we know what the magic can do. Next up is why it can do those things. Where does the power of the magic come from and how do wielders command it?

Does the power/force of magic come from within the wielder? Does it draw from inner life force and energy? Does it draw on energy from another realm or dimension? Does it pull from the surrounding natural elements? Does the power come from a deity or from demonic forces?

Identify the source/origin of the magic.

From there, elaborate on how it works. How does a wielder access the source of the magic? Is it through strength of will, incantations, selling their soul etc.?

For example, let's say that the power of your world's magic comes from the cosmic energy of another dimension. In order for wielders to access that energy, they draw specific sigils on their skin and these sigils act as portals to that world. Once the sigil is complete, the cosmic power flows into the wielder and they can now command it.

5. The limitations

Very importantly, you have to be clear on the limitations of your magic system. Fantasy magic systems often fall flat because they don't have clear confines.

If you're writing a hard magic system, this step is a bit easier, since there are inherent restrictions on what magic can do. With soft magic systems, you have to decide just how much magic is capable of.

But whether you're writing a hard or soft magic system, you need to consider the cost of using magic.

Does the use of magic drain the wielder's energy? Does each instance of using magic darken the wielder's soul or deteriorate their body further? Does using magic damage the natural world around the wielder or drain others of their life force?

Magic without a cost, limitations or consequences just isn't as captivating.

Reblog if you liked these tips. Comment with your own advice. Follow me for similar content.

#write #writing #writeblr #writing advice #writer #writing tips #writing fantasy #writers on tumblr #fantasci tumblr

[shadesoflsk]

RETROSPECTION & OUTCOME

pairing: leon kennedy x afab reader.

summary: The journey of healing is not an easy one. Obstacles and doubts filled the path Leon decided to take. However, the agent had planted the seed of self improvement and with your help, a strong and resilent tree will grow.

warnings: strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of reader being a nurse, age gap (reader is 25+) angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of gore, blood and violence, no alcohol consumption but Leon attempts to, Leon's inner thoughts, self doubts, lack of self confidence (from Leon's part) mild mentions of religion trauma, smut, handjob, Leon cries during it, kind of switch Leon, needy Leon (give him a hug please) p in v, creampie, fluffy at the end (yipeee)

word count: 14k

author's note: helloooo :] This is my first try at writing a long fic, I had so much fun writing it. It all started as a character study for Leon and then it ended up as... this lmao. For the first chapters, I had vendetta Leon in mind and at the last one we finally have DI Leon! Please... if you see any mistakes no you don't. Anyway love you guys hope you like this as much as I do.

— masterlist

I. ETERNAL DAMNATION.

His cold blue eyes are a pool of misery and misfortune. The dreadful gaze of an individual who once was and continues to be subject to the violent reality of what a government can do.

He remains stoic to whatever adversity he has to face, one look at him and you would believe this man has no feelings whatsoever. He kills, he gets paid, repeat. A never-ending loop in which many would believe Leon finds pleasure. Especially since he carries himself as the Government Golden Boy aka best weapon. To use and to dispose of, Leon S. Kennedy.

Shoulder pats and praise words stir up a pot filled with anger and hatred — emotions that Leon doesn't often feel with others, just with himself.— He tries not to dwell on them, but it gets so difficult and challenging whenever he hears that his own achievements are cause for celebration. Do these assholes know how many people, infected people, he had to kill in order to bring peace? No, they don’t. Unbeknownst to them, those people could have been saved.

At least in Leon’s mind. 

The suited men surround him. Privilege and smugness are qualities that Leon would often use to describe what those who hire his service are. Those congratulations and fake praises ring in Leon’s mind as he keeps thinking about the people he had to betray and kill for the ‘sake’ of his country, for his nation, and for the ego of his president. 

But he takes the compliments, like a good boy. The president believes he hit the jackpot with a rightful agent who is proud of his country. God Bless America and in God we trust, he says as his hand reaches for Leon’s. The blue-eyed agent hesitates each time, out of fear of tainting his oh-so-dear boss’ white shirt. Because nobody cared enough to spare him new clothes and a wet towel to clean himself. A trophy to show the world what a powerful human weapon they had. Rough, tall, and with calloused hands, hands of a killer. 

Leon S. Kennedy is proof of what the cruelty of a government can do. He is no longer a human, but the shell of a man. His name is printed in many documents which shows the gruesome acts he had to endure, in the name of the country. “Agent Leon S. Kennedy had successfully retrieved a sample of the virus.” “Condor One saved Baby Eagle.” He has received a plethora of names yet none of them really encapsulated who he was.

They have shown that they do not care about their citizens, like at all. Raccoon City was a prime example of that. He sounds like a broken record, the memory replaying in his memory every mission he gets assigned. But, for him, it was his first-hand experience with how cruel and gruesome reality could be.

Tough call, they say. We did what we could, they added. Leon knows all of those phrases by heart now. His gentle nature remains in him, even though it was covered by layers of a rough past and self-taught distrust. But even now, at his grown age, he fully believes they could have done so much more.

His mind is all over the place whenever he comes back from a mission. The usual white and never-changing walls surround everyone at the gathering that the president holds each time Leon ‘succeeds’ in a mission. His fingers seek any type of comfort, they twitch, they pinch his own clothes but nothing works. 

People notice, they do. It’s obvious that the spotlight is on him yet he never embraces it. Simple nods and awkward smiles are his way to go and signature gestures. Deep inside, he knows those white-collared dicks spare him weird and pitiful glances every chance they get.

His chest burns with a desire for solidarity and altruism. He feels a lot and feels everything too deep for his own liking. His core dances between his hatred for heroism and the need to be a hero. He doesn’t believe he’s one. Throughout his life he has contemplated who he is and the type of man he has grown to be. His mind is a living hell and he’s the demon incarnated.

He wonders when it all started. Maybe he was doomed for the start, as he stood in front of his parents’ grave asking God why. 

Deuteronomy 31:8; “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” The catholic father who used to hold the mass every Sunday said one morning. Now, did God forget about him? He should have prayed harder, to escape his own damnation.

Strained screams and the reek of rotten flesh fill his dreams. Madness and chaos are the main plots in his nightmares in which he pleads to stop having. His own reality was a mirror of every agony he has to face every day in his line of work. Why is God punishing him even in his dreams?

Those cries of pain and the smell of both burnt flesh and gunpowder are a toxic combination to Leon’s messed up mind. To him, they served as an everlasting proof of his devilish nature. He realizes that the image of innumerable lifeless bodies’ guts all over the floor with his brains smashed over the ground is a common occurrence for him. He becomes desensitized albeit his soul hurting for those who lay at his feet.

Now, he knows that what he's doing is in the name of survival. Millions of people live unaware of the dangerous situations he has to fight on a daily basis, they get to sleep on a warm bed next to their loved ones. If he wants to keep that on, he ought to kill.

But he wouldn’t do it otherwise, he wasn’t built for that life.

But despite that, the usual eerie feeling washes over him whenever he has to pull the trigger. He has grown accustomed to them, on the battlefield he was a fiery pawn, following orders as they told him to.

But as soon as his character ends his performance, his facade and mask falls off his face. He’s no longer a puppet from his higher-ups, he was just him. Leon.

II. RECOGNITION.

He places Matilda — his brush to paint every ground with blood — on his nightstand. To be fair, that’s a habit he can’t just let go. After every mission, his mind is all over the place for the next few days. Every sound activates a fear deep within him that keeps him awake at night and worried during the day.

He washes his hands, a thorough ritual he follows step by step. His hands touch the water, lukewarm to bring him some kind of comfort. He rinses away every blood spot he may have engraved on his bruised skin. The warm and clear liquid reaches his fingernails, which he meticulously scrubs, washing away any leftover of someone’s brain. 

He takes pride in being clean. However, it had developed into an obsession at this point. Being dirty meant killing, and killing meant despair. So, he tries to avoid his gaze on the mirror each time he arrives home. Sadly, he usually doesn’t recognize the man that is staring back at him.

Eventually, he turns off the faucet and walks towards the couch. He’s tired, both mentally and physically. He doesn’t get any younger and living as an agent surely doesn’t help his case. But at last, his home. Safe.

He turns on the TV, he’s welcomed by the News Channel which he quickly changes. Nowadays, it appears that nothing good happens in this messed up world, and he doesn’t want to bring sorrow to his home too. He searches through the vast choices of channels until something catches his eye. Casablanca.

A feeble smile forms on his face, a simple thing like that brings Leon a small percentage of happiness, which it’s a lot given his constant state of dullness. 

He sometimes quotes phrases from the movies he watches. He genuinely expects someone to notice, his tired blue eyes would roam over the numerous faces of agents, hoping someone catches the meaning behind his words. He’s tired, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to chat with someone.

Nobody seemed to notice, maybe they were busy.

Curiously, he had changed the channel just at the right moment when Rick Blaine said his line. Leon’s favorite.

“I never make plans that far ahead.” Both the character and Leon say simultaneously. It brings Leon a sense of joy. Pathetically enough, his hobbies remind him that he is, in fact, still human. 

He sighs, looking around his apartment. It was dull, it showed his lack of decoration and personal touch. He believes there was no point in placing ornaments or things of that sort since he doesn’t even spend most of his time there. In recollection, he has no home. At least not physically.

He’s a man of the world, people look at him and see someone who is strong and independent rather than a simple man. But his heart’s heavy, with a burden and anguish that no painkiller could ease.

He’s tempted to grab a bottle from his cabinet. Drown in the burning liquid and pass out. He doesn’t like alcohol. But he has always been weak to addictions. So, even when he was a rookie cop and his girlfriend broke up with him, he ran to the nearest bar and took all the booze he could. Maybe he should’ve noticed the red flags, and maybe gone to therapy or something like that. But… oh, right, the next day the world literally ended for him.

But, he refrains from doing so. Deep down, he knew that letting his addiction win would be a deadly solution to his problems. Acknowledging is the first step to recovery, experts say. However, he knew that he couldn’t do it alone.

Before even letting more negative thoughts come into his mind. He gets up from the couch and walks toward the bathroom, again. He stays in front of the door for a few seconds, as if scared of going back there. Eventually, he does enter.

His hand reaches for the switch and the lights are turned on. The luminescent white light revealed his face in front of the mirror. He takes one, two, and three deep breaths before fully opening his eyes. 

He bites his lips, seeking a sort of relief from that action yet he bites too hard that almost draws blood. He’s trying his best, this mundane act is no longer something that he does daily. So, grant him some recognition. 

His eyes travel and land on the mirror and after a while, he fully sees himself. His eyes are wide open, not because he was surprised to discover the man that was in front of him. But to compare him to the one he used to be. 

Just a few years ago, his blond hair was still bright, showing signs of his thorough routine. But now, it has turned into a black mop that could no longer be compared to his past self. His stubble has grown too, he was a late bloomer, he didn’t grow a beard until he reached the age of 27 when he could finally see some signs of pores growing hair. But to see his face so… rugged and rough was definitely a slap back to reality.

He takes two steps back, his hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Swiftly, he takes it off, revealing his chest and abdomen. He was no stranger to his own physique since he obviously showers. 

However, the sight that the mirror provided was very different from seeing his point of view. His eyes were observing someone else’s perspective, if he ever had the chance to date someone they would see… that.

A chest which was filled with scars and bruises. They were like tattoos, imprinted on his skin. Those will never fade and if he grants someone the misfortune of dating him, will they be repulsed by the idea of witnessing his tainted self?

He wasn’t a hero, he was far away from calling himself that. But he is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, those marks can remind him of his arduous path. Not in a condescending way, but in a fulfilling memory.

III. FURTHERANCE.

He feels… weird. It’s been a while since he last got a haircut, and having someone holding scissors next to his neck wasn’t something he was looking for. But, there he is.

It took everything in him to call the hairdresser. He has long forgotten how to even speak to someone in a normal setting. “Agent Kennedy here, haircut, out.” He couldn’t say that! 

At last, he booked an appointment. It wasn’t the most expensive place, not because Leon didn’t have the money but rather, because he wasn’t looking to be surrounded by luxuries and opulence. A cheap but nice place would do.

Once he arrived, he noticed that he didn’t match well with the place. He knew he carried an aura of mystery and unapproachability but Jesus, it was now obvious with the way some old ladies kept looking at him as if asking: Who the hell is this man?

All of his previous actions led him to where he’s sitting now. 

The granny behind him keeps showering in compliments which he couldn’t quite understand. A few years ago, he may have blushed and waved a hand dismissively, but now? He doesn’t see how he could be called a handsome man.

For him, looking good and taking care of himself had stopped being a requirement a few months ago. But it wasn’t something that happened out of the blue. He gradually started noticing the changes and once he realized, his whole appearance had changed. 

His eyes are piercing and never changing, an unmistakable aura of exhaustion and helpness surrounds him. Yet, once the old lady's eyes land on him, he can’t help but smile back. It was always in his nature — he lives for others.

It’s always been like this. Naturally, his gullibility and his unfounded faith have shaped and molded him differently throughout the course of years. Having to survive an apocalypse, taking care of an infant, and getting betrayed by a certain someone would sequentially take a toll on him. Nonetheless, his primal wish for altruism and hope will always remain in him. They were his roots which led to creating a strong and fortified trunk. 

He’s still hoping this tree will thrive.

The lady asks him how long has it been since he last cut his hair, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Normally, he would cut it himself, since time was priceless and he couldn’t nor wanted to go to a specific place to get his hair trimmed. So he learned by himself, which wasn’t the safest option.

By the way the old woman’s hands brush on his hair, shaking and trembling due to the years, he knows that she knows. It’s obvious by the way some strands are awkwardly cut and overall most of them were misshapen. A poor attempt at maintaining his heartthrob boy hairstyle.

He remains silent — for most of the time. —  He doesn’t answer any questions that were directed at him. Not because he didn’t want to, it’s just that his line of job never prepared him for small talk. In fact, chit-chat just meant that someone was trying to gather information out of him, which prompted him to just refrain from speaking

The government has fucked him up.

He acknowledges it. But it’s not easy to make a change when that something is the only thing he has known for at least 15 years of his life. The curse of despair had so unlucky landed on him and he knew no witchcraft which could prevent him from that.

His mind register most things people would overlook. Given his duty at the job, he ought to be an observer. Yeah, he is also a fighter but he relies heavily on his analyzing skills before attacking. Knowing your enemy before striking is what has saved him every damn time.

His permanently furrowed eyebrows and cold eyes are the first thing he notices in the mirror as the woman keeps cutting some of his hair. A hand unconsciously reaches for the little space between his brows. 

Maybe if he stops frowning.

Maybe if he stops scowling.

Could he give a better impression of himself?

It’s lacking authenticity, he feels like he’s acting rather than being genuine. But for now, he tries forcing a gentle smile which doesn’t meet his eyes yet it’s better than almost pouting every time he breathes. 

All of a sudden, the bell of the door rings announcing that someone else has arrived. Some of the old ladies who are waiting for their turn start getting up from their chairs to greet the person who had just come in.

An everyday customer, that must be. Leon thought.

He was oblivious of how much you are going to change his life.

He can’t see you, not yet. But as the observer he is, he can deduce that this said individual is genuinely loved and appreciated. A drastic contrast between the way he’s received when he returns from a mission. Fake laughs, fake thankful words. 

A complete fraud.

You walk as if you own the place, but your stride doesn’t come off as haughty or arrogant. You exude an aura of familiarity, hospitality, and therefore a gentleness that it’s foreign to Leon. 

You walk towards his seat, where the granny is cutting his hair. As soon as the gray-haired woman sees you, he observes how her eyes light up with delight and joyfulness he hadn’t seen before. 

“Adelaide…” You stop before you even reach Leon. He admires the scene developing through the mirror. He sees you for the first time, you’re definitely a nurse or at least you work in the healthcare area given your uniform. You have your hands on your hips and a playful glare was formed on your face. If he could guess, you just caught this lady doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

“I think I told you you should be resting.” You squint your eyes as you keep looking at Adelaide, Leon takes note of her name. You are accusing her, yet your friendly demeanor doesn’t falter. 

It’s refreshing to see innocent social interactions. It's a welcome-back reality check. At least, at this moment, he could embrace the tranquility. Although it will end as soon as the hairdresser informs him that his hair is done.

“You know I can’t stand still…” Her voice comes out as a booming melody. Even though the years were obvious by the wrinkles on her face, she sounded so animated and beaming. “This job is everything I have ever known.”

Now he can agree on something. However, he is fully aware the situation is deadly different. Between cutting hair and slitting someone else’s throat, there is a vast difference. But, in his mind, he could already make up a conversation based on that information.

“I know, but…” You take a step further and place a hand on the granny’s shoulder. Leon couldn’t help but feel like an outsider now that the three of them were reflected in the mirror. “You could just take a few days off… Your shoulder will thank you for it.”

As you advise the granny your eyes dart from her eyes in the mirror to Leon’s. 

For the first time.

You acknowledge his presence with a nod and a simple smile. Time seems to stop as he scans your face. You look younger, you are definitely younger than him. Not young enough for him to feel weird about it, but there was a certain glint in your eyes that told him you haven’t experienced misery and desolation in your life. Unlike him who has yet to experience happiness.

He doesn’t want to indulge so much, but his thoughts are having a blast right now. Maybe it was his lack of social interactions and meaningful relationships but he wants to know more about you. 

“It’s quite unusual to see a man here. I would have thought someone like you would go to a barber.” He comes back to reality as he notices you are talking to him. Your eyes remain fixed on his as your smile continues to be displayed on your face. 

Someone like… him? Yeah, that statement isn’t new to him. Especially since his demeanor is still so rugged. But hey! He’s making a change even though you don’t know.

“Barbers don’t know how to cut my hair.” He realizes his voice came out rigid and plain. He didn’t intend to, but he is used to his military speech and tone. “They… just don’t get it right…” His last sentence is definitely more hushed but not any less monotone. 

“Fair enough. At least Adelaide here knows exactly how to keep your hair safe from a buzz cut.” Leon lets out an amused breath as you joke about his hair. It feels like a gentle breeze, indulging in light-hearted teasing with a stranger. And not any stranger, but you.

He has felt attraction, he’s a man after all. His line of job wasn’t the most ideal to find a partner but he can’t deny how some agents were pretty to look at. However, he couldn’t form a romantic relationship there. Between death and violence, the battleground wasn’t the place to have a partner, form a family, and live happily ever after.

“Yeah…” He sheepishly responds, he doesn’t know what else to add. You had taken the reins of the conversation as soon as you teased him. Now, he hopes something comes into his mind to keep the conversation flowing.

“I haven’t seen any other gentleman wearing this hairstyle,” Adelaide says as she resumes her work. She moves the scissors gracefully. She is — with no doubt — an expert in this area. Though the simpleness of her salon tells him otherwise. “If I may say, I think it really suits you.”

“You should have seen me in the 90s.” Those words leave his lips before he even registers them in his mind. It was an innocuous joke, nonetheless, it carried a hint of self-deprecation. He doesn’t look like his old self, he knows that. Especially after seeing himself in the mirror that night. But nobody there has to know, for them, it was a simple light-hearted joke.

The whole salon erupts in laughter, he doesn’t think his words are that funny. But hey, he will take the compliment. 

However, his eyes catch a glimpse of you not laughing. At work, most people wouldn’t laugh at his own words because they weren’t needed. He knew that. But then again, none of you were in a life-or-death situation. Leon doesn’t want to overthink, but… did he come out as a pretentious dude? Or an arrogant dickhead? 

Or maybe you have caught the real meaning behind those words.

You let out a breathy laugh, not too long to be considered a giggle but not short enough to be a chuckle. You don’t add anything else, your eyes just linger on his face for a few more seconds before turning on your heel.

For a moment, he’s taken aback. He feels like he’s going crazy but for a split second, he sees himself in you. Not because you shared the same past or path and there was no way you had the same traumas. But the way you had observed him, made him feel analyzed, as if you were studying the way he talked and expressed himself.

Maybe he’s indeed going crazy.

Leon watches you taking a seat on an empty chair, next to another customer who gives you a polite smile. From there, he hears you telling Adelaide that your shift at the hospital has just ended and you just wanted to check up on her. 

For a while, he relaxes until Adelaide tells him that they are done. She persuades him to bleach his hair after he accidentally told her that he had blond hair in the past. But he escapes her attempts by telling her that he wants to pay.

He walks towards the register and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. It was quite cheap, especially when he had cut so much hair. At least he looks more presentable now.

You appear out of nowhere as he was paying. Your frame leans over the counter and for a second, you let the awkward silence linger in the air. 

Eventually, you speak.

“You don't belong here.” You say without an ounce of malice. You're expressing a fact. Leon has never been around the salon and doesn't look the part.

He frowns slightly, he was keeping up his laid-back appearance just fine until you blurted out your thoughts.

“It's my first time here.” He states before turning around and facing you. 

“That I know.” You nod.

“Then… was your comment really necessary?” Leon's words could come off as rude even though it wasn't his intention. But, it seems they don't even phase you.

“Not really.” You shrugged. Your voice was nonchalant. “But as you could already guess, I'm a nurse. And I have seen people like you come and go out of the hospital.”

He is trying to understand what your point is. Under any other circumstances, he would have told the other person off for even daring to speak about him and his lifestyle. He wasn't violent, not at all. But sometimes his limit was put to the test.

“What I'm trying to say is that…” He sees your attempt at explaining yourself. “I think It's safe to assume you're an agent or something of that sort, right?”

Leon doesn't react nor wants to. People knowing he was an agent wasn't a problem since it wasn't a secret. 

After a few seconds, he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and nods. Being honest could be the start of a friendship, at least that's what Leon thinks.

“Was it my frame and physique that gave it away?” If he was an artist he could easily say he was getting better at the art of improving. Just a few weeks ago, he would have never left a comment like that lingering in the air. 

“Nope.” You cross your arms at the level of your chest. 

And there you go breaking his fantasies. He thought his phrase was so flirty.

“There's a scar on your cheek, it looks pretty deep.” You gesture to Leon where the scar is on your own cheek. He instinctively brings his finger to where it is in his. 

That's one of the few scars he remembers exactly how he got it. 2004, Spain. He experienced what betrayal was beforehand. Who he used to hold in high regard was the one who didn't hesitate to hold a knife and leave a nasty reminder of his deception. 

“I got it in a fight.” He sticks with a simple phrase, not diving deeper. Nonetheless, he realized you’re a perspicacious individual, lying won’t get him anywhere.

“Fight… right.” 

Both of you smile knowingly, the smirk giving away a sense of teasing between the two of you, for the first time. Even though you know nothing about how far and wild his job actually was, you had an idea that this said fight wasn’t just a normal and common one.

“So…” Leon sees how you shift your weight from one foot to another. There hasn’t been a shy bone in yourself ever since you entered the salon but now words don’t come out of your mouth as easily as before. “If you ever need a nurse, you can call me.”

As you rummage in your bag, you speak once again. “I may not be the most experienced but believe me when I said I had experience with some military and agents.”

You hand Leon a business card, your full name was there as well as your phone number and the hospital you work in. Your name falls swiftly out of Leon’s lips as he reads the content on the cardstock.

“And senior citizens.” He flashes you a dazzling smile, he doesn’t seem to realize that it’s been a while since he last smiled so freely and so.. natural. It feels like the sun hitting on his skin after a cold day. A warmth he had long forgotten he could feel.

He knew it was soon. Too soon to even imagine being your friend. But as he puts the card in his pocket, he wishes that this could be the beginning of something more.

IV. RELAPSE & RESTART.

He almost falls once he opens up at the door that leads him to his apartment. Another gruesome mission to add to his mental diary and more scars that will adorn his already hurting body. 

The same never-ending story, the same story being told once again. He doesn’t know when it will end. 

If it even ends.

The last months have been all about his ‘recovery’. He was a patient man, he was sure of that. However, he doesn’t understand how doing mundane things would help him. He was taking baby steps and walking on eggshells, trying not to fall back into his old addictions.

Which were slowly creeping into his mind.

A call from Hunnigan was the last thing he expected a few days ago. He was surprised not to get any task earlier but that didn’t mean he wanted to go back to fight off bioweapons and kill walking undead who were once rational people, with dreams and wishes just like him. 

But as much as he wanted to hang up and leave that world behind — knowing that the government wouldn’t give two shits about him and would walk through the same door he previously did and blow his brain — he accepted the mission.

In his own story, he’s a tragic character who can’t break the cursed loop he’s trapped in. The soft sounds of the rain no longer brought comfort to his aching heart, since those constant pitty-patter reminded him of the blood dripping from the people who were killed, by no one else but him.

He often thought he was going crazy, especially now as he walked towards the kitchen and stumbled on his own feet. Seeking something to grab on while he fights off the exhaustion. This last mission had taken a toll on him, both mentally and physically.

His fingers reach for the edge of the counter as he finally stays on his feet without the fear of falling onto the floor. His tired eyes close for a moment as he takes in his surroundings, his lonely apartment and his lonely life and his lonely self and his —.

He shakes his head, he wasn’t exactly in solitude. After that hurried meeting with you, he gained a new friend. He got to know you personally, something that he had missed for the longest time. To actually know someone deeper and not only their last names and occupations.

In exchange, he gave himself the chance to be more vulnerable. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt. But he was too afraid to fuck up the chance to have something meaningful with you. He told you about his years at the police academy, and he briefly shared his experience in Raccoon City, trying to be as vague as possible. In other words, he bared his soul to you.

But that didn’t mean everything was filled with butterflies and rainbows.

One night when you were treating one of his injuries (which he never treated in the past) he accidentally told you about his addictions and dark thoughts. Those which showed a persistent state of numbness and trauma. It was never his intention to worry you about those minor things, which he truly believed were not important.

But, as he recalls that night, he realizes that sadly, he can’t just end it all with a bullet through his brain. He has always thought about it, it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed his messed up mind on those lonely nights when he wished someone would grant him a blink of sleep without having to dream about death and despair. 

His eyes open as he once again walks through the kitchen, the moonlight provides a faint source of light that casts on his dark space of living. He remembers that you once told him he should get some lights, and he indeed bought them but he can’t just seem to find enough time to put them on.

His mind wanders through the moments he has spent with you. You always said the most soothing of things, when you wanted to. You advised him, told him how worthy he can be and how special he must be to others even though they don’t know it yet.

Another step.

He didn’t quite catch the meaning of those words. For him, he only brings despair wherever he goes. A demon of destruction and annihilation. If hell had a list of its next guests he believes his name would be on the top of that list. God wouldn’t want him in his paradise.

One more step.

Nonetheless, you weren’t a teddy bear who only chanted words of praise and fairy-tale stories. You called out his bullshit, especially when he dared to joke about going back to his old habits.

Stop.

“Would you like a glass of whiskey?” He would sarcastically ask you whenever you visited him at his apartment, knowing the kind of reaction he would get out of you. You had none of that, though. As soon as he uttered those words, the grip your hand had on his arm would get tighter to the point that Leon would beg you to stop it. 

He knew you genuinely cared for him and he convinces himself that you’re wasting your time with someone like him. Someone already broken from the start. You were younger, with a life ahead of yourself, and a career to follow. And like the devil incarnate that he is, he is stopping you from that.

The story repeats itself, everything he touches turns into dust. He’s no longer a human but the shell of a man who once had dreams of becoming a cop. To become someone who would help innocent people. But instead, he’s killing those same poor souls in the name of the fucking government.

His fingers graze over the cabinet.

He despises his life, he hates everyone who forced him to follow this path. The resentment flows in his system as his hand grips the cabinet door even tighter; if he wasn’t so tired from his mission, he would have broken the tacky wooden furniture.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does he have to continue witnessing the horrors of his life every day? 

Why do the ghosts of people haunt him every day as he tries to close his eyes and relax? 

Why has he become so desensitized to the bloodshed and yet as soon as he comes back to reality, it knocks the air out of his lungs?

And why is he already unscrewing the lid of his whiskey?

Time slows down for a moment as he gambles his choices. It's been months since he last took a sip from his so beloved whiskey. But at the same time, just one tiny drop would crumble all of his progress.

But why is progress so important if the product is going to be the same? Even if he gets better, his life won't. The only difference is that he may smile more during missions and act like everything is fucking alright even if it isn't.

But he isn't so lucky to fall deeper into his hell that easily. As soon as the cap falls onto the floor, the front door knob twists, announcing that someone is entering.

And who else has a key to his apartment?

The last person he wants to see right now.

The door creaks, antagonizing the imminent moment when you would see him at the scene of the crime with him being the culprit of his own homicide.

“Leon?” He hears you say as you step in, the darkness of the room allowing him a couple of seconds to hide the murder weapon – the bottle – and act clueless. But it seems that not even his nervous system is on his side. He just stands still.

“Sorry for being late. I had one hell of a shift back at–...” He sees your frame as you approach the kitchen. Your face falls momentarily, taking in the sight you were watching. Disheveled hair, bruises all around his face, and dark eyebags that gave the impression he hadn't slept for weeks.

Your eyes fall on the bottle in his hand. There was no cap which leads you to believe that he was drinking. Leon wanted to scream and tell you that you got it all wrong, but no words left his lips.

“Are you drinking?” Anger-filled, you take long strides before reaching for the bottle. Your eyes scan the content, seeing that it is half empty. Your accusatory gaze falls on Leon's.

“It's not what it looks like.” Worst phrase ever. He knows that he's telling you the truth, yet he couldn’t come up with anything worse than that. 

He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide open as you keep staring at him with those eyes filled with… disappointment which it's worse than being screamed at. He wasn’t built for that. He was used to resentment looks, to punches and kicks. But disappointment came every time he had to tell families that their father wouldn’t make it that night because he died on a mission. It came each time he had to inform a mother that their beloved son succumbed to a virus. 

The once rookie cop still lives within him. The one who hates disappointing people, the one who wants to save everyone. But especially the one who can’t do it alone.

“Then help me understand.” You place the bottle on the kitchen counter. Your stare doesn’t falter yet a hint of concern washes over your face. “Because all I see is you drinking after literally promising me that you’d never do it again.”

As a matter of fact,  you didn’t actually see him drinking. He wanted to say that, but he knew it would bring even more anger to your already burning expression. However, as soon as that thought left his mind, another one came.

The sole fact that he didn’t drink, doesn’t spare him from any culpability. If it wasn’t for your intrusion, he’d be lying on the couch, wasted and intoxicated waiting to pass out. 

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. Leon isn’t dumb, he’s exhausted but he’s aware of how much you’re holding back. You would never scream at him, that’s obvious. But you didn’t want to bring even more self-hatred to him.

He had his own mental battles, ones you will never understand no matter how much he describes them to you. His anxiety was always bothering him, like an annoying bug buzzing in his ear. You knew how overwhelming everything was.

And you knew how recovery wasn’t an easy step to take, but it definitely takes so much maturity and perseverance, something that Leon surrounds himself in – even though he doesn’t see it. He’s a fighter, he’s a hero, he’s a lover. He keeps fighting and fighting even when he doesn’t see an end. But he mastered the art of moving forward.

So, he’s allowed to fall from time to time.

“Did you drink?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Were you planning on doing it?”

He’s silent for a moment, he’s afraid that his answer will mean more disappointment from you. That you will get to see how pathetic he really was. 

“Yes.” He eventually confesses.

You absentmindedly nod, letting out a long sigh.

“Another mission?”

“...yes.”

You didn’t ask for the details, knowing – to an extent – about Leon’s job, you knew it must have been so impactful in order to almost throw him back to his old friend, alcohol. And you knew Leon was like a sponge, he absorbs everything he experiences and never tells anyone. You thank God that he accidentally told you about his addiction, now you can at least protect him.

“It was…” Leon continues speaking, his fingers scratching a spot on the kitchen counter. His eyes don’t meet yours, as if he’s trying his best to make the words come out of himself. “It was really bad this time.”

He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like an attempt to water down the situation. One thing about him is that he doesn’t cry. He wouldn’t let someone see that side of him. He’s rigid, he’s stoic, he’s unemotional. He’s a DSO agent, born to serve his country and die for it. 

But right now he wants to be a child again. 

He wants to be that same infant who would fall on purpose just to get kisses from his mother. He wants to be that same innocent child who could come back running to his mom’s arms when the world was too scary. 

He wants to stop the world for a second and cry at the top of his lungs, he wants to punch a wall until his knuckles bleed, he wants to be held, he wants to be told everything will be okay even if it will never be okay.

His thoughts drift to when he was younger – to when he could imagine himself being a better person. If he could speak with himself, what would he say? The image of a tiny him crosses his mind, a young Leon playing all by himself with tiny police cars.

Within him, there’s a rookie cop begging for help amidst the gruesome scenario he had to face back in 1998. Beneath all the layers of self-hatred and resentment, hidden in that dead gaze.

He shakes his head, in a poor effort of swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. An imminent sign that his emotions will fall like a waterfall, reminding him of his own weaknesses. His curtain of hair falls onto his eyes, blurring his vision. 

Or was it his tears? He no longer knows.

He deserves an award for how hard he’s trying to stop the inevitable. His fingers shake, his breath gets heavier and his heart aches. But he couldn’t bear it for much longer, especially knowing that at least, he had someone to go to when his mind was too much for him.

So, he allows himself to feel human again.

“It was horrible…” He finally breaks down. He silently lets the tears fall from his eyes as he sobs. The thought of every mission is on his mind as the constant spams of his sobs control his body. 

He feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, the uncontrollable way that he chokes on his sobs makes his throat constricted. 

He lowers his head, he doesn’t want you to see how weak he has become. A tough agent simply doesn’t cry. An agent bites, chews, swallows, and shuts up. 

Silence sets in the kitchen, occasionally broken by Leon’s tears and choked breaths. His fingers itched to grab something, to hold onto something. To feel that he wasn’t alone, that he was indeed not all by himself in this messed up world.

You slowly reach for him. Baby steps, for someone who was touched starved, even if he was unaware of that fact. For someone that’d jump whenever he feels touched, because his mind can’t let go of the fear of being bitten, of being killed. 

You quietly made your way to Leon’s hand, your fingers ever so grazing it. Feather touches brushes against the back of his hand, making sure to notice if he shows any signs of discomfort. There were none.

However, you surely notice that his sobs have stopped for the time being. He’s still sniffing though. As if on cue, his glassy eyes lock on yours, before you fully intertwine your fingers with his.

You didn’t hug him immediately, you didn’t throw your arms around his neck at the very right moment when he started crying, and you especially didn’t give him a shoulder pat as if saying “Don’t cry.” He appreciates the fact that you took it slow, you gave him a warning and proceeded further when he allowed you to.

Loving takes time, and loving Leon would surely take longer than anything you have experienced.  You have treated many patients, you know that the injuries in a body heal fairly quickly. Now, the wounds in a soul that was doomed from the start are not something that easy to mend. 

After a while of your fingers being intertwined and sweat covering the palm of your hands, you feel the faintest squeeze, coming from Leon’s side. You look at him and see a tiny smile formed on his lips with some dry tears adorning his face.

You say nothing, scared to break the atmosphere of tranquility that had formed after Leon stopped crying. It took some seconds for Leon to muster up the courage to go further, intimacy and platonic touches were already something he was unfamiliar with. Now, he had to add romantic feelings to that list.

If he had met you when he was younger, he’d have surely asked you out. Take you on a nice little date and steal a kiss or two. But now, he was trapped in the course of the years, older and supposedly wiser. However, you were the one who was being strong – for him. Not the other way around.

But, as much as he wants to pity himself and wonder about those what-ifs, he has a friend now. He would take care of that heart of his in the future. For now, he wants to embrace the one friendship he hasn’t tainted yet.

The one person who still hasn’t seen the horrors that this world has to offer.

He untangles his fingers from yours and looking at your eyes one last time, he brings your hand to his cheek. The palm of your hand bringing some warmth to his skin.

With his eyes closed now, you see an expression you haven’t seen before. A peaceful one, as if he was sleeping without his usual nightmares. It was comforting, in a sense, knowing that you have brought a moment of serenity to his tumultuous life.

You were surprised at first, not expecting Leon to show that display of affection. However, part of you understands that he was seeking comfort. It’s been a while since he last felt safe with someone, someone who he could cry with, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

Your thumb grazes over his stubbled cheek, wiping away any proof that he has been crying. 

“Thank you…” His voice is barely a whisper, you almost didn’t hear him singing his gratitude.

You want to say “You’re welcome” or “It’s okay” but none of those phrases convey what you really wish to show. Saying the first one would dismiss all of your previous actions as a simple attempt to comfort him. And the latter was a lie, it’s not okay, even if you wanted to believe it yourself.

“I got you.” You stick with that one. It wasn’t a lie but a promise you plan on fulfilling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” He asks, opening his eyes. His tone is a hopeful one.

“I do.” You reassure him.

With your free hand – the one that wasn’t on Leon’s cheek –  you reach for the bottle of whiskey that was long forgotten after their little situation.

“But before that, we need to get rid of this.” You show it to Leon before he chuckles. “We’re now only drinking apple juice.”

He didn’t miss the use of we instead of you. Maybe he’s reading between the lines, but he hopes that you’re by his side now that he wants to leave his addiction for sure. He wants you to see how much he can achieve if he sets his mind on it.

“Apple juice it is.”

V. ABSOLUTION.

The nakedness of his body didn't override the vulnerability he showed once he let you in his life, mind, and soul. But as you help him wash his back, he can’t help but reminisce about that first night when he first saw himself in the mirror.

He remembers being insecure about showing his scars to someone, scared that the other person would be disgusted by the sight of it. 

However, you weren’t repulsed, far from that. In your mind, Leon’s skin served as a canvas and each bruise and scar were strokes of a paintbrush. In this case, they showed Leon’s hard life and non-achievable freedom. They showed how much Leon had endured and how many fights he had won.

Therefore, they were proof that Leon was a lover of life. He loved everyone else’s lives that he would sacrifice his in order to protect the world.

Leon sometimes drops hints about his job. He didn’t directly tell you about the government and its fucked up methods, but you collected the clues and formed your own puzzle.

He was forced to join.

It was strange, in a way. To know that a gentle soul like him had to face the hostility of a country, of a government that could easily threaten someone into joining the force. However, you weren’t clueless about its power.

Eventually, after those hints, other hints came along the way. 

Leon was sweet, funny, and a gentleman. Your dynamic as a nurse and patient was long forgotten even though you still tend to some of his wounds. And your friendship shifted into something more, especially after the whiskey situation months ago. 

However, even though his qualities overshadow his flaws, there’s something he can’t hide.

He’s too awkward for his own good.

Ever since the alcohol incident, Leon would always try to be smooth and compliment you over the simplest things. “Have you done something different to your hair? No, you didn’t? Oh… Well, it looks good” He would often facepalm himself because he couldn’t flirt even if his life depended on it.

Eventually, after those not-so-discrete hints, he took matters into his own hands. He often faked minor injuries. “You don’t understand, my eye literally hurts” and he would have access to admire every tiny detail your face had to offer. From your moles to the way your eyebrows furrowed trying to concentrate.

And that led to feathery touches. In the name of friendship, of course.

After one dinner – that Leon so gratefully prepared – you would often find yourself sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed to one another as you played with his rough hands. You would ask him where he got that scar, how he got this one right here, wow it looks really deep. 

And he let you because he did the same. Because those angel-like touches soon turned into endlessly staring sessions where silence was more inviting than any word could be. You gazed into each other’s eyes for only God knows how long. Expecting that the other one would break the intimate moment but none of them had the heart to do so.

It would be an understatement to say that Leon felt so safe with you. Over the months, Leon had gotten to know what a home felt like. His apartment remained the same, physically and aesthetically speaking. But the way it immediately lightens up when you arrive – yeah, Leon could finally call it home.

That’s why, it was so easy for Leon to let those words slip out of his mouth one night when you were leaving.

“You feel like home.” 

And for a moment, you let those words sink into you. You thought you were merely an acquaintance, a simple friend at most. But no – there he was, Leon Kennedy, US government agent, telling you that you’re his home.

Meanwhile, the silence at that moment made Leon go insane. He thought he fucked it up, you would surely run away now. Who the fuck says that someone is their home? Shit shit shit—

“You’re my home too.” 

And that was everything he needed to hear to stop all of his dark thoughts from appearing once again. The darkness that embraced both of them set the perfect scenario to indulge in this crucial moment. A late confession, but a real one.  

As he gazes into your eyes, he can’t help but wonder if this tiny fragment of happiness would go away like everything else had in his life. You’re too precious, too important to die, to vanish from his life and never come back.

And your hand reached for his cheek, your thumb caressing the same scar you noticed when you first met him, he couldn’t help but ask God to grant him one more chance in life. He promises — in a fragment of seconds — to be a better human, to be a better citizen but please, don’t take away this last string of hope he’s holding to.

And he felt that God had finally responded to his prayers when he saw how you leaned closer, letting your lips find his in a gentle but so meaningful and awaited kiss. He hesitantly parted his lips, scared that this may be a dream. But of course, he doesn’t dream so that had to be the reality. The sorrow, the anxiety, the longing, and the expectations — all of those were long forgotten as he mentally thanked destiny for this.

“Earth to Leon” You giggle behind him as you rub a sponge all over his back. You were careful not to be so rough on his already aching back. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Of course, he found himself daydreaming. 

From that night, his relationship with you skyrocketed. And his home became your home too.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but he found himself getting even more comfortable with you. He didn’t even need to ask himself — letting you see him naked as both of you wash each other’s bodies? Yeah, it was definitely love. 

And he loves being in love.

“I just spaced out for a bit.” He responds with a yawn, the silence that surrounded both of you was inviting to just sleep throughout the night. Funnily enough, you only just sleep. Leon was grateful the first nights since he was getting used to the fact that someone else was sleeping on his bed.

But now he was growing a bit impatient.

Especially with your lingering touches.

As you let the water wash away all the soap, your lips soon find his back, pressing soft kisses on each scar that adorned his skin. “It’s okay…” a kiss on a tiny scar. “Are you going to take your sleeping pills tonight?” Another kiss on a scar that was near his shoulder.

Right… he was put on medication. He often takes sleeping pills when his eyes won’t shut down even if drowsiness is engulfing him. But lately, sleep has become easier, and his nightmares have decreased.

He’d like to think that after you started sleeping next to him, his mind started to feel at peace. But that was something unreal, nobody could fix someone. 

But he had to be honest, you surely helped him a lot.

“Not tonight.”

He feels you nodding as your chin lays on his shoulder blade. It’s in moments like these where he thinks that life doesn’t sound so bad. As he zones out and lets you do all the job, he realizes that maybe it’s okay to keep on living.

He’s a big teddy bear, to say the least. The DSO agent who once swore duty to his country was pushed aside when he was with you. Why would he need to keep up his facade when home meant security, therefore you are what makes him safe. So, as you help him out of the shower, drying him off with a towel he lets you take the reins, his body on autopilot mode.

His strong arms wrap around your frame, perfectly molding and fitting like puzzle pieces. It feels like the flow of water, gently swaying your bodies until they reach their destination, their little nest away from everything outside. 

He takes pride in serving, providing, and protecting. It was deeply imprinted in him, right in his bone marrow. The blood that runs through his veins pushes him to never stop, to continue working for others. 

However, as you help him sit down on the bed his mind shuts down for a moment. He allows himself to take this moment of peace and drown himself in it. Be a little selfish, if he can. The tranquility of a domestic setting was still so foreign to him yet he doesn’t understand how he could’ve lived without feeling this for so long.

The towel around his midsection hugs him just right to prevent the material from falling. His hair is still a little wet, and so is yours. You use the extra towel to help him dry off. 

He very much enjoys the lazy touches you share at nights like these. It was a nice reminder that the darkness of the imminent dusk will not bring more nightmares, but peaceful dreams. The ghost of his past was getting tired of haunting him, it seems.

You’re still pretty careful with him, as if you were handling fine ceramic which in a sense, he was. He was shattered porcelain, glued back together with utter care. You both were artists, who completed with great skill this piece of art called life.

And now, your lips are acting like a brush, as they touch Leon’s skin. Kisses are planted along his jaw and he lets out a sigh from the feeling of being treated with so much devotion. If he could serve as a blank canvas, he was ready to rewrite his story with you.

Or maybe not rewrite, his past made him a person as much as it hurts. His grief, his pain, and his previous solitude built up the man that he is now. So, he will add another page to his life story. He will paint another landscape where the sun rises and casts its lights on the world. 

He looks at you and sees nothing but raw love and a hint of desire hidden behind those orbs. He notices, then, that just like him you are indeed eager to please him in the other sense of the word. It was embarrassing to realize that he shouldn’t have kept quiet about his needs when you had already proved to him that it was okay to speak, to think, to feel.

It’s been a while since he last let himself be this physically vulnerable. Sure he wasn’t an inexpert in the area but it has never been this intimate. Hearts never bonded and names weren’t remembered. Never has someone truly cared about his welfare before. To put it a name, he’d have called it a trade. He let off some steam and the other part got what they wanted. No strings attached and surely no feelings hurt.

However, it would be a lie if he told himself he didn’t crave to actually make love to someone. To feel someone’s body brushed against his in a sweet and gentle motion. To let himself and his soul be kissed with so much love that it would make him cringe. 

You stop your waterfall of kisses for a while, letting the silence linger for a few seconds as you grab his hand. Slowly, you interlace your fingers with him, a well-known display of affection from you. Your signature, you may even say.

“Hey…” His eyes search yours, and he sees how you’re looking for approval, for his consent. He once heard eyes are the mirror of someone’s soul and the world suddenly feels so small as he remembers that he met those same eyes months ago, unaware of the effect you’d have on him.

“Hey.” You repeated, for the second time this night, his mind decided to wander again. “Is it okay if…” you trail off, not because of embarrassment or sudden shyness, not at all. But he can deduce that you wanted him to finish your sentence. 

I’ve been dying to touch you. I’ve been craving you touching me, he wanted to say. However, his sense of decency stops him from uttering that rather needy phrase. In a way, he can infer that you already know about his lustful desires. It was a matter of time before both of you indulged in those carnally and normal needs. 

Nonetheless, he is oblivious that you won’t let this night be like any other. No, you wouldn’t try anything too crazy — not yet — But after months of knowing him deeper and rawer, you know he’s tired. Exhausted from his life, exhausted from his job, and overall drained. He deserves to be treated right and you’ve been excelling in that task. 

But, you’ll show him that he can be as greedy as he wants to be.

“You can trust me.” You say in a hushed tone as if you were whispering a secret to him. Your hand slowly descends until it reaches where the towel meets his waist. 

“I do trust you.” He responds with a determined tone amidst the suggestive move of your hand. “I feel like I won the lottery with you.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, resuming your kisses around his stubbled cheek. Although this time, they carry some neediness in them.

“Positive.” He lets out a shaky breath as your finger ever so grazes over where the towel is tucked in. “Because you saw good in me when I had nothing to offer, you—”

“Stop.” Your voice remains soft even though your command doesn’t falter. ”None of those self-loathing words right now.”

He’s speechless for a moment before he slowly nods and lets your hand go lower. Leon feels his blood going south just from a few words.

But then again, loving you was really easy. So it was no surprise that he found himself already leaking at the anticipation of your imminent touch. 

“Let me make you feel better.” You whisper, allowing your hand to undo the towel that was previously wrapped around him. In a swift movement, it falls on the floor exposing his already hard length. 

You glance at Leon one last time and observe his reaction. There was no sight of changes of mind or hesitation, so you free his and your desire.

You connect your lips against his neck, and with gentle sucks, you prepare him for what’s about to come. Your wish —besides touching him— is bringing comfort in such an intimate act like this. He has trusted you with his soul and body before, that’s correct. But right now, you can feel the level of loyalty and therefore love he’s showing you. 

Your hand reaches for his dick, you thumb the slit of his tip collecting the precum that has already formed there, using it as a lubricant. 

Your fingers circle around his cock and, slowly, you start stroking him. You don’t want him to cum just yet, the feeling of being treated like this was something you want him to drown in. So, you keep up the steady pace. 

You disconnect your lips from his neck and focus your eyes on your ministration on his cock. The lewd sounds combined with the faint whimpers coming out from his lips were almost like background music that you are starting to love. 

He takes the opportunity of you pulling away from his neck to hide his face in the crook of yours. His breath tickles your skin as he continues letting out the most pretty sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck…” He hisses as his word gets lost between the shlick sounds of your hand jerking him off. His nose brushes against the side of your neck as his cries fill your ears. You can hear him whispering your name from time to time, as well as some other curses of his own.

However, his tiny cries of pleasure soon turned into real sobs. 

No, he wasn’t sad but Christ, it was the first time actually took their time to focus on his pleasure and his well being. He always thought that love was never meant for him, that the simple act of falling in love would be impossible and unachievable. The thought of having his life attached to someone else used to send shivers down his spine.

Now, his world is no longer black and white, your mere existence brought color to his life.

Your hand stops for a minute, worried that you may have done something wrong. That leads Leon to pull away from your neck as some tears roll down his face. 

“Sorry… I — just continue please…” The desperation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed as he went back to nuzzle against your neck. And even if he was dazed out at this very moment, you will remember to talk about this again at another time.

“It’s okay, let it all go.” You reassure him as you resume your previous motions. It doesn’t take long before your hand sends him over the edge and close to his own climax. 

You pump him, your thumb grazing over the head of his dick from time to time. He absentmindedly thrust his hips up into your hand, seeking his near release. For him, you were granting him a visit to Heaven itself. Just the mere touch of your hand had him seeing angels and cherubims. How would it feel to be deep inside of you?

His lips are red from biting them, attempting to muffle his moans. His brain is a mess, with thoughts of you and only in there and his cock is throbbing as it chases his own high. Overall, Leon was putty in your hands. 

And by the way, his hips are starting to miss their rhythm, you know that it was a matter of seconds before Leon came undone in your hand.

“You’ve been so good for me…” You coo, still jerking him off with a slightly faster pace now. “You deserve to cum, don’t you?” You were always good with words but Jesus, he didn’t expect you would literally talk him through it.

As you whisper those praise words, he can’t stop his hips from rutting and bucking into your hand. “Yeah…— fuck — I’ve been so good. Please, let me cum.”

The image of a tough agent begging for release will surely imprint in your mind for a while. 

“Of course.” Your lips tug into a smile as you pick up the pace. It was a sight to behold, seeing Leon coming undone in your hands with his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a dazed out expression that brought butterflies to your tummy.

Eventually, your hands slow down as Leon writhes under your touch. He lets out a loud muffled whimper as white thick ropes of cum spill onto his stomach and of course, your hand. 

He stays still for a while, letting his body rest for a second. He plants lazy kisses on your neck as a way of saying “Thank you” since words couldn’t really translate what he was feeling right.

“Shit—” After a while, Leon curses as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. His expression is one of exhaustion but his lazy smile tells you he was brimming with happiness. He reaches for his towel that was previously thrown off and cleans your hand.

“Are you ok?” You ask as Leon wipes your hand, you can’t help but let out a giggle at the considerate action.

“Yeah but…” He trails off as he cleans his abdomen too. You can already predict what was going on in that head of his. “What about you?”

“I’m okay Leon.” You sigh as you bring your now clean hand to his cheek. “Your pleasure is mine. Besides, you’re exhausted.”

But as much as your statement was true, you can’t deny the desire that was dripping between your thighs. Between the intimacy of your act and having Leon so vulnerable in your hands, your system knows what it wants.

“I am.” He doesn’t deny the fact that your ministrations sucked the life out of him. But he can keep going. For the first time in his life, he is grateful for his stamina as an agent. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Before you could even protest, Leon was already kissing your neck. The scent of your body wash filling his nostrils as his lips get hungrier and needier for the taste of your skin. And as you attempt to once again speak, he muffles your words with his mouth on yours.

You feel your reasoning go weak as well as your limbs. It took a few kisses for you to comply and let yourself be laid on the bed, strong but gentle hands holding you close even when you fell on the soft mattress.

He’s above you for a second as he admires the view. Your towel, unlike his, was still wrapped around your body. You wriggle your way to where the pillows of the bed are and you wait for him there.

He wastes no time to join you, carefully lying next to you rather than above you. You catch a glimpse of what he’s trying to do. One of his calloused hands reaches your waist and softly motions you to roll over your side. 

You roll over and you’re met with your reflection on the mirror that was next to your bed. Funnily enough, it was perfectly placed so it showed both of your bodies. Somewhere deep in your mind, you wonder if Leon set up the mirror there for this right purpose. 

But then again, Leon was spontaneous, behind all of his layers of grumpiness and sadness that once used to surround him, you knew his sappy, corny, and cheesy side that was hidden. And now, you get to notice his quirks every single day.

He grips your hips as he lays sideways too, slightly spooning you. “You no longer need this…” He murmurs as he takes off your towel, the sight of your bare body in the mirror has his mouth watering. Acting like a damn dog wasn’t on the list of things he’s proud of.

As he discards the fabric that covered your body, you feel his once again hard cock. But this time, it was painfully close to your core that you could already feel every vein brushing against your walls.

“May I?” He knows your answer, he’s just asking for the sake of it. To hear your voice dripping with lust and neediness. To hear you hum that yes in your sweet tone as always.

“Please…” Your whisper was enough to make his cock twitch. What is with you and your voice that melts Leon whenever he hears you? You’re both his salvation and weakness. He can’t function without you.

He has always wanted to leave a mark in this world. That he had indeed existed for something else than death and destruction. That he was more than Leon Kennedy, the US’ best weapon. He wanted to show the world that he, Leon — just Leon — was more than his messed-up destiny. 

He loves, he desires, he laughs and he yearns for connection. And right now, his body’s aching to feel you around him.

He snuggles closer and wraps a tight arm around your waist, hugging your abdomen just right. Instinctively, you arch your back, letting your rear brush against Leon’s dick making hiss from the friction.

For a moment, he stops hugging you. You almost whined for the loss of closeness when you feel Leon guiding his dick which easily slides through your wet folds. The tip of it bumps against your clit sending electricity all over your body.

He’s savoring this moment. Sadly, he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer once he starts. But, at least, he knows that this won’t be the last time since he finally allowed himself to be selfish, to wish happiness for himself.

Happiness has a name and is both yours and Leon’s.

At last, he pushed into you, just the tip for now. Admiring your face in the mirror, he whispers sweet nothings against your ear. Rambles about how perfect you look and feel right, how lucky he is, and so on.

“Look at you…” Leon points at the mirror and you open your eyes which are glassy from all the pent-up desire you’ve been holding back. At any other moment given, you’d have been quite self-conscious about the exposure of your naked body. But Leon — as you once did with him — is eager to show you that you’re indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“Look how perfect you look being mine.” Even though his words could sound possessive to anyone else, you know his voice brings out affection and tenderness. There are a few things Leon could call them his. And most of them are mundane items that don’t exactly bring comfort to him. 

But to call you his was something that he has always looked for. To show you off, buy you everything you’ve always desired, and tell the world that he had finally found his home. His one and only.

As he finishes his statement with a kiss on your cheek, he eases himself into you. He pushes all of his length as he hushes you once you hiss from the stretch.

“Shhh there you go…” He once again wraps his arm around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhales the scent he has grown to love. The same that has been lulling him to sleep ever since you decided to move in with him. 

He stays still for a few seconds, the feeling of filling you up could make him cum right on the spot but he stops himself. He distracts from your pulsating walls by kissing your neck and sucking on the skin which will clearly turn a soft purple color the next morning.

The pain soon turned into comfort and therefore it resulted in pleasure. As he hears you saying a soft “You can move” he slowly pulls out before thrusting into you with the same pace and force. He feels your walls clamping down his cock as he continues his motions. 

He slides in and out with lazy thrusts, his and your eyes are closed as heavy breaths and drowsy moans leave your lips. You were correct, he was exhausted from his previous high. But the way you drowsily made love was making this whole thing even more perfect.

“Taking me so well.” He murmurs against your skin, his breath tickling your neck as he grips your waist even tighter than before, as if he is scared that once he opens his eyes you won’t be there. “Sucking me in, like you know I belong here.”

His hand goes to your chest, where he plays with one of your nipples. His fingers pinching the sensitive spot as his hips continue lazily bucking into yours already feeling like his mind was all over the place.

You feel a heat forming on your belly as Leon continues whispering words you can’t quite register now. Too drunk in desire and too cock drunk to even care. “Fuck I love you so much…”

“I love you too.” You can’t really say anything else, everything would be sentences with no coherent meaning or sense. So you stick with your favorite phrase, you could sing every day that you love Leon, and he would do the same. Because the word love was once so far away from him.

It was poetic to see that Leon could feel his second climax of the night near as he heard you say that you love him. The back and forth of his hips slightly increase their speed but it remains true to the lazy nature of the act right now, though.

“I’m close.” Leon stutters as he says those words. “Can I come inside you? Please tell me I can.” There is some desperation in his voice, an aching and burning desire to paint your insides. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, you can.” You manage to say before Leon lets out countless thanks you. Your body starts writhing under his grasp as your fingers start digging into Leon’s arms, leaving an imprint of your nails on his skin.

“Cum on me. Go ahead, do it for me.” He coos, coaxing more sweet whimpers out of you. “Let me fill you up.” 

You let out a muffled whimper as you came undone. He could feel your cunt gripping him as you reach your desired orgasm. Eventually, Leon’s hips which were previously rocking into your and slapping against his skin are now slowing down.

The wet noises sound so filthy yet Leon is having a blast right now. He could imagine himself getting to experience this every night with you by his side. Who could have thought that selfishness could be so rewarding?

With a low grunt, he cums inside of you as he promised. Letting his load fill your insides. He couldn’t hide the satisfied smile that formed on his lips. What a view.

He remains inside of you for a bit longer than needed. You can’t judge him, especially with the way he nuzzles into your neck letting out a yawn. Poor him was worn out. After his first climax, he had already felt that he touched the sky, and now he was in heaven.

After pulling out, he rested his cheek on your shoulder. Part of him wanted to feel you again yet he couldn’t even move an inch. However, it fulfilled him to know that you were going to be right next to him tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for as long as you allow it.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“We have to change those thank you into I love you.”

Leon was the sweetest guy. However, those thanks still came from a place of skepticism. 

“Sorry…”

He sheepishly said before drifting off to sleep. And, as usual, no nightmare is waiting for him to haunt his dreams.

VI. SERENITY

Attempting to get out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning should be a crime. However, your drowsy state didn’t stop you from reaching the now empty space next to you. The bed still provided you with the scent of the person you loved the most yet he wasn’t there. 

With a groan, you decide to get up from the bed. Your feet meet the cold tiles before you curse from the sudden pain you feel as you step on the remote. You have told Leon countless times that he shouldn’t sleep when he’s watching TV, yet the only response you get is “I’m just resting my eyes.” Therefore, that causes Leon to fall asleep with the remote on his chest which obviously falls throughout the night. 

After a while of inhaling and exhaling deeply from the pain, you make your way out of the room. The scenario that greets you is the same as other days just that Leon was missing in the picture. 

Your steps are slow as sleep is still running in your system, a yawn escapes you while you walk towards the kitchen counter. A note is waiting for you and you deduce it’s from Leon.

“I just went to run some errands, I’ll come back as soon as possible. Love you so so much.” 

His name was written at the bottom of the page next to a happy face that he had drawn. Silly, you thought.

You see that Leon had already prepared you a sandwich before he left. It was cold to the touch, so that means Leon has been gone for a while. He may come any time now. 

Life with him was… surely an adventure. He still goes on missions, leaving you to your own devices for days or even weeks. But they no longer haunt his mind like before. He still needs to be treated with utter care after one, though. Bruises and scars are not the only effects his journeys have on him. 

When he returns from a mission, the once dull and boring apartment welcomes him yet this time, it is full of colors and memories you have made with him. However, it’s not enough for him to completely drop his facade of a tough agent ready to end someone’s life. As you treat his wound, every tiny sound has him jumping on his seat. 

You can’t blame him, it takes a while before he can return to his usual self and be embraced by your warm body that will waste no time to hug him tight. Reminding that he was finally home.

Eventually, after settling down and returning to reality, his personality will shine again. If someone asked you to describe Leon in one word it would be impossible. The man that you chose to spend life with was everything all at once. He was definitely clingy, to begin with. Excuses were his everyday words as he tried to explain why it was completely alright for him to follow you everywhere you went.

At this point, it felt like you had adopted a puppy instead of having a boyfriend. “What’ chu doing?” He would often say as he peeked around the edge of the door frame and watched you from afar If he had a tail it’d be wagging so fast. The tough agent no longer existed in your presence, instead, a man who melted as soon as you hugged him took his place.

Loving, in his language, meant going overboard just for you. If he had to get on his knees and beg for a tiny kiss he’d do it. He’s grown needy to those sweet gestures only you could provide. But he didn’t need to win them. Loving, in your language, meant offering your heart on a platter for him.

God does he love you. You have the man whispering funny names in your ears as you wake up. You unlocked a part of him that he had long forgotten he had, he used to joke when he was nervous — freaking out because he thought he might die on a mission. But now, he invented a plethora of new pet names just to bother you and see you rolling your eyes laughing.

He’s gone through so much, he’s seen so much. Tranquility was the last thing he thought he would be surrounded with. Ever since he was forced to join the military, he made up his mind on the fact that his life would never be the same, Racoon City was his starting point and only his death would stop him from suffering.

Now, as you finally hear the door unlocking you admire how his figure appears. You squint your eyes as you try to pinpoint what’s different in him.

“Hey, you.” Leon walks towards you, closing the gap between you two as he hugs you.

“Hey, you too.” You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Missed me?”

“Not much.” You punch his side, not strong enough to make him jump but rather tell him that you were joking. “Now… On what adventures did you go without me?” 

“I just paid a visit to Adelaide.”

Adelaide, you haven’t forgotten about the old lady that you treated. However, you didn’t expect Leon to remain loyal to his service. And now that he mentions it, you realize what he has done to himself.

His hair has turned lighter. Blonder.

“Did you bleach your hair?” You can’t help but laugh at the thought, he had poor Adelaide working so early on a Saturday morning. But then again, you remember that both of them are workaholics, even though their jobs couldn’t be any more different.

“No, you’re going blind.”

God, he was so dumb.

Eternity used to sound like a cruel fate before. Stuck in a loop that he couldn’t escape from. But now, he will always look for you even in the tiniest details. He’d look for you in the darkness as two flicks of light trying to reach each other. In the universe, as two particles of stardust waiting to create something even bigger — a world for themselves, and a world to live on. 

Because, after all, you reached for him when he had nothing more to offer than his rotten self. You loved him when he couldn’t even love himself.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #resident evil

[headspace-hotel]

Just spent a couple hours digging into this book. I'm not even sure what has worse environmental impacts, the paper the book is made of or the opinions printed within.

Is "post-colonial" literary theory a joke? It's distressing that a book printed in 2021 by a reputable academic press can be so painfully Eurocentric, and I mean PAINFULLY. The philosophical and literary frameworks drawn upon in most chapters are like what some British guy in 1802 would come up with. In most of the chapters, every framework, terminology, and example is inseparably fused to Latin, Greek, and/or Christian philosophers, myths and texts, even down to the specific turns of phrase. You would think only Europeans had history or ideas until the 20th century.

Don't get me wrong, non-european and even specifically anti-colonial sources are used, and I don't think all the writers are white people, but...that's what's so weird and off-putting about it, most of the book as a whole utterly fails to absorb anything from non-European and in particular anti-colonial points of view. The chapters will quote those points of view but not incorporate them or really give their ideas the time of day, just go right back to acting like Plato and Aristotle and Romantic poets are the gold standard for defining what it means to be human.

In brief, the book is trying to examine how literature can shed light on the climate crisis, which is funny because it completely fails to demonstrate that literature is good or helpful for the climate crisis. Like that is for sure one major issue with it, it shows that people *have* written stuff about climate change, but it sure doesn't convince you that this stuff is good.

Most of the works quoted are rather doomerist, and a lot of the narrative works specifically are apocalypse tales where most of Earth's population dies. The most coherent function the authors can propose that literature fulfills is to essentially help people understand how bad things are. One of the essays even argues that poetry and other creative work that simply appreciates nature is basically outdated, because:

“One could no longer imagine wandering lonely as a cloud, because clouds now jostle in our imaginations with an awareness of atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide and other atmospheric pollutants” (Mandy Bloomfield, pg. 72)

Skill issue, Mandy.

The menace of doomerism in fiction and poetry is addressed, by Byron Caminero-Santangelo, on page 127 when he references,

the literary non-fiction of a growing number of authors who explicitly assert, some might even say embrace, the equation between fatalistic apocalyptic narrative and enlightenment…they are authoritative in their rejection of any hope and in their representation of mitigatory action as the cliched moving of deckchairs on a sinking ship

He quotes an essay “Elegy for a country’s seasons” by Zadie Smith, who says: “The fatalists have the luxury of focusing on an eschatological apocalyptic narrative and on the nostalgia of elegy, as well as of escape from uncertainty and responsibility to act." Which is spot-on and accurate, but these observations aren't recognized as a menace to positive action, nor is the parallel to Christian thought that eagerly looks forward to Earth's destruction as a cathartic release from its pain made fully explicit and analyzed. Most of the creative works referenced and quoted in the book ARE this exact type of fatalistic, elegiac performance of mourning.

I basically quit reading after Chapter 11, "Animals," by Eileen Crist, which begins:

The humanization of the world began unfolding when agricultural humans separated themselves from wild nature, and started to tame landscapes, subjugate and domesticate animals and plants, treat wild animals as enemies of flocks and fields, engineer freshwater ecologies, and open their psyches to the meme of the ‘the human’ as world conquerer, ruler and owner.

This is what I'm talking about when I say it's dripping Eurocentrism; these ideas are NOT universal, and it's adding nothing to the world to write them because they fall perfectly in line with what the European colonizing culture already believes, complete with the lingering ghost of a reference to the Fall of Man and banishment from the Garden of Eden. It keeps going:

“Over time, the new human elaborated a view of the animal that ruptured from the totemic, shamanic and relational past.”

Okay so now she's introducing the idea of progression from shamanic nature-worshipping religions of our primitive past...hmm I'm sure this isn't going anywhere bad

“While humanity has largely rejected the colonizing project with respect to fellow humans, the occupation of non-human nature constitutes civilization’s last bastion of ‘normal’ colonialism. A new humanity is bound sooner or later to recognize and overthrow a colonialism of ‘nature,’ embracing a universal norm of interspecies justice.” (pg. 206) 

OKAY????

Not only denying that colonialism still exists, but also saying that humans' relationship with nature constitutes colonialism??

Embracing limitations means scaling down the human presence on demographic and economic fronts…(pg.207)

ope, there's the "we have to reduce the human population"

Embracing limitations further mandates pulling back from vast expanses of the natural world, thus letting the lavishness of wild (free) nature rule Earth again” (pg. 207) 

aaaaaaand there's the "we have to remove humans from wild nature so it can be freeeeeee"

don't get me wrong like I am a random white person with no particular expertise in anti-colonialist thought but I think this is an easy one. I'm pretty sure if your view of nature is that colonialism involving subjugating humans doesn't exist any more and actually humans existing in and altering nature is the real colonialism so we should remove humans from vast tracts of earth, your opinion is just bad.

Anyways y'all know I have an axe to grind against doomerism so it was probably obvious where this was going but good grief.

#climate #climate doomerism