#ysa speaks into the void

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hello hi yeah life is kicking my ass?? and i would like a break?? i’m tired girl thats enough lessons!,!

#mentally i am unwell #emotionally also not well #BUT PHYSICALLY #also not well #ysa speaks into the void #ysa speaks #idk my tag bro

[somewhat-sane]

“Take Me or Leave Me” from Rent

And Sangsoo

#yoo sangah #han sooyoung #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #omniscient reader #HSY as Maureen #YSA as Joanne #honestly I can JHW as Joanne too #but YSA fits more #I speak to the void #sangsoo

[retroactivebakeries]

The Invention of Order Ends Universal Conflict

Sometimes, people want different things. A field mouse wishes to move undisturbed through the grass. An owl wishes to fatally decelerate their talons into the mouse. The world, unable to accommodate both outcomes, grounds the tension of unrealized futures into the present, in the form of an all-permeating characteristic of suffering. It’s bad enough when animals or people disagree. When the gods and monsters of UNIVERSAL MYTHOLOGY PREHISTORY can’t get along, the stars shake in the heavens!

AJH-EPHET is a hippopotamus-headed demiurge. His ninety-nine hands hold ninety-nine flames, and each flame is as a world unto itself. With a gesture, he can beckon souls to rest in one of the myriad heaven-realms entrusted to his keeping; with a reprimand, he can consign the wicked into bespoke hells of exotic tortures. Perhaps our world is but one fire among the many he holds, the shadow cast by the flickering candle of AJH-EPHET. Once a wicked spirit of void and formless smoke, he has spent ten thousand universal lifespans pursuing atonement, attaining the serene bearing of a saint among saints. And, should things ever come to blows, the whole carrying-a-world-in-each-hand thing gives AJH-EPHET’s punches a direful momentum that approaches infinity. That’s why he’s the trusted bodyguard of the IMMANENT DIVINE PRESENCE, the Cosmic Absolute and True Thing. But nothing, nothing on heaven nor earth could anger AJH-EPHET enough that he would forsake his saintly path and stain his fists with violence — not unless they were some kind of SUPREME PROVOCATION WITCH!

YSA is a SUPREME PROVOCATION WITCH. She lives in a witch-house on the moon, harvesting its light to weave into spells. YSA thinks that she should sit the throne of heaven, pluck the Cosmic Absolute’s diadem from its brow and wear it on her own, scourge her enemies from the world with atomic flame, and live forever in a paradise of her own making. PERFECTLY NORMAL DESIRES. And yet, the intentions of AJH-EPHET are a mighty leviathan of opposition unto YSA’s. So long as he holds fast to his course, all her hopes are doomed to remain childish dreams. She knows this, and that knowledge is a thing whose weight she cannot labor under. And so YSA must get AJH-EPHET to forsake his virtue and fight her, no matter what may come.

Luckily, she knows the secret flaw of AJH-EPHET’s saintly resolve—even if he spent ten billion more kalpa in meditation and austerities, he can’t extinguish his heart’s secret fear of loud noises! YSA makes a sneaking-step. Her cupped hands are filled with silvery dweomer-glow. She spreads them apart. She brings them together. Clap! It is a sound that transcends mere volume, the infinite vibration and self-echoing eternity, the noise that is to all others as an ocean to puddles. AJH-EPHET’s hippopotamus ears startle, and his saintliness slips for half a second—just long enough for him to enter what poets speak of as the world of blossoms and lightning, the invisible realm of superspeed where secret wars are waged between the blink of one eye and the next by divine champions.

YSA is waiting for him there. No weapon forged could match the infinite fist of the demiurge, but for a SUPREME PROVOCATION WITCH, three spells might suffice. She speaks a koan that throws the whole corpus of mathematics into uproar, confounding the very cosmos to anything more complicated than kindergarten arithmetic. Reality can scarcely count AJH-EPHET’s ninety-nine fists, let alone begin to ponder the infinity that each portends. The hippo-headed god throws a barrage of lightning-speed punches at YSA, only to discover that his sublime killing art doesn’t add up! 

He changes plans. He reaches out with the hand that holds the flame that is the Ninety-Third Hell of Amenable Razors, damning YSA to an eternity therein. No sell! Spell number two was an illusion, a copy detailed enough to fool even the eye of a god. YSA’s not even there—she’s still on the moon! Stupid AJH-EPHET! 

YSA’s pretty pumped, but it will be a while before her final spell reaches completion. She sits back, orders pizza, and patiently waits as her cauldron bubbles with the elixir of her victory. But that was a mistake! While she’s waiting on translunar delivery, the universe shakes off its headache, and starts figuring out the trickier bits of math again. Infinity resumes concepthood. AJH-EPHET makes a pushing gesture with one hand, accelerating a small segment of atmosphere to lightspeed in the moon’s general direction. 

Bang!

YSA falls out of the sky, landing with a thump. She decants her final spell from her cauldron, a witch’s brew to set the body and the soul of he who drinks it to war—eternal war, if its drinker were as mighty of soul and body both as the witch’s foe. AJH-EPHET counters with a right jab that distant astronomers interpreting gravitational activity might mistake for a black hole.

TRICKSTER GOD BOPHA climbs down from the stars on their invisible insect-ladder. “Friend gods, you need not fight amongst each other. I have devised a most marvelous contrivance by which all your battles may be resolved. I call it a lawsuit!”

[inyri]

48. …out of habit. for Nine and Theron please

(Something sweet for a Friday evening. Nine/Theron, with bonus appearances by a special guest or two… SWTOR. About 2 years from current time.)

Odessen. Winter.

“Mama.” Ysa calls out from her room, a plaintive whine. “Mama, help.”

She opens her eyes with a soft groan. It’s so cold outside and the bed is warm and Theron’s warmer; she curls into his arms as he stirs awake, too.

“I’ll get up,” he murmurs. “It’s my turn.”

That is, she thinks, an excellent point. It is his turn and it’s early yet, only the smallest hints of dim grey light slanting through the far window and snow still falling in the courtyard beyond; she can see the flakes in the near-dark, if only barely, but more than that she can feel it in a nagging soft ache in her shoulder, in her spine, all the old injuries her body can’t quite manage to forget. Beneath the blankets it’s easier. But-

Ysa keeps crying, pitch creeping upward little by little- mama, mama- and then a fierce doggie, no! with all the toddler sternness possible in a vocabulary limited to half a hundred words. When Theron starts to sit up, starts to fold the blankets back over her body, she nudges them back toward him.

“She wants me,” she says, wriggling out of the pile of quilts. “And you heard that. She’s trying to climb out. Again.”

Theron reaches out for her hand, catching her fingertips with his and pulling her back down. “Natural-born escape artist. Can’t imagine where she gets that from.”

Her grin punctuated by a wide yawn, she lets herself fall over beside him; head on the pillow beside his once more, she turns toward him to catch him in a lazy kiss. It’s a habit they have: going to bed, getting up, leaving or coming home, ever since he came back to her after Nathema and he’d wake up clinging to her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, like she might crumble into dust if he let go, even for a moment-

(She always knew, somehow, that he’d come home.

But there were times, he told her more than once- on so many nights when his nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep they just lay together instead, speaking the worst of their secrets into the silent dark and letting it carry them away to wither out of consequence in the light of the morning that came after- that he didn’t think he’d live that long.)

Kiss me, she’d say and he’d lean in with a teasing grin, or she’d steal up behind him just loud enough to give the game away and when he turned to catch her she’d laugh and claim her prize, or he’d bend down to meet her as she sat in the courtyard with her face turned up to the warm sun.  It’s a habit they have, and this morning his kiss doesn’t mean don’t go or see you soon or be safe. It simply means I love you, sleepy and sweet and gentle, and she smiles against his mouth.

“You, I expect.” She kisses his nose, too, just because. “I’m sure I was perfectly well-behaved as a child.”

“I never climbed out of any cribs.”

Hard to believe, frankly, given his tendency to climb, perch, or hang upside down from anything in easy reach, although- “Did you ever have a crib to climb out of?”

“Semantics.”

Ysa calls out again, then, and Theron leans off the side of the bed, grasping blindly at something; after a moment he drops something fabric- her shirt or his, she can’t quite tell in the dark- on her head and she blinks and reaches up to take it.

“I’ll find something else to put on,” he says, “while you get her.”

She climbs across him, off the bed and toward the bedroom door, and slips her hands into the shirt (his- last night’s T-shirt still smelling faintly of his cologne; she inhales out of reflex, breathing him in) as she moves. “She needs to learn to stay in bed. This is the third-”

One last howl. She winces.

“Never mind.” The floor’s a comfort under her bare feet, at least, the heat beneath it an expense that had paid for itself in the first few weeks of winter. “We’ll be back in a moment.”

Already halfway sitting up, Theron mutters something that’s probably agreement as she steps out into the corridor. When she gets near enough to Ysa’s room, just around the corner from theirs, she can hear her still fussing, babbling animatedly over the noise of muted claws on padded floor. Peering into the room, she folds her arms across her chest.

“Ysa? What are you-”

She can’t quite see her daughter, only two small hands pressed firmly against the snout of a very aggrieved-looking akk dog, and at the sound of her voice Pinky (they’d tried to argue that the dog was red, really, but Ysa’d insisted, and she supposes one could call that color pink if one squinted) turns back toward the door with an expression that could only be intepreted as I Am Trying To Keep Small Squishy Thing From Falling, Larger Squishy Thing, But You See What I Have To Deal With and a short, soft whine.

(Since it appeared in the courtyard a month ago the dog had hardly left Ysa’s side. All her Holonet searches had done was confirm that yes, akk dogs are Force-sensitive and yes, they do bond with people and there was likely going to be very little any of them could do about it beyond figure out what to feed it and where it was going to sleep.

She’d even called the Corellian Zoological Society- anonymously, of course. The akk dog keeper, Void take the man, only laughed and wished her luck.)

Nine sighs and scratches behind its ears. “I’ve got her, pup. Go lie down.”

With a whuff, Pinky does, backing away from the crib to curl up on the huge cushion in the corner of the room and revealing Ysa, standing up with both hands on the bars and her sleeping-sack in a heap beside her and already trying to lift one chubby leg over the top rail.

“Ysa. No. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Her eyes wide, blinking upward- Theron always swears she takes after her but there’s no mistaking it; she got that expression from her father- Ysa pauses mid-climb. “Want up.”

“It’s not time to get up yet, dearest.” Even as she says it she moves to intercept her, looping her hands under Ysa’s arms and depositing her back on the mattress. She isn’t going to win this but she can at least pretend she’s not going to give in immediately. “Let’s go back to sleep, hm?”

“Mama, no-” that was at least six syllables. She got that one from her father, too. “Up.”

She can pretend to be stern, too. “How do we ask?”

“Up please?”

She lifts her back up into her arms and Ysa wraps her arms around her neck, nestling her face into her shoulder with a happy hum that winds her own heart all the tighter around her daughter’s tiny fingers. “That’s better.” Pressing a light kiss to her forehead, she settles her onto her hip. “Shall we go and find your papa?”

“Mm-hm.” Already half-asleep again, she thinks.

It’s back down the hall and around the corner together, then, step by step until she crosses the threshold of their room and Theron looks up and smiles; he’s fixed the blankets in her absence, a little nest in the middle of the bed for all of them to curl up in together, and opened up the curtains to a better view of the falling snow. Sitting up in the blanket-nest, he holds out his arms and she passes Ysa to him before she sits down too.

“Another escape mission, I see.” He settles back again, Ysa draped over his chest with a barely audible hi, papa before she’s snoring softly. “Successful?”

“Foiled by the dog,” she yawns and squirms in beside him, pulling the last blanket over all of them. “But then I was sabotaged by a very convincing please.”

“She gets that,” Theron grins, “from you.” His arm around her, he turns his head toward hers for one more kiss before they all fall back to sleep.

An old habit, now. One worth keeping.

#thornhands #inyri writes #kiss prompts #nine/theron #equivalent exchange outtakes #featuring ysa #and pinky #too sweet by half but they need to be happy sometimes don't they?

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#i would like to thank all the shows writers for giving me benedict content #been loving his character so far #bridgerton #ysa speaks into the void

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#now that season 2 of bridgerton is out it will be my entire personality for the next few weeks ok thanks for understanding #ysa speaks into the void

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some candles are just lies

#like um bITCH I WANT TO SMELL APPLES #ALL I CAN SMELL IS FLAMES #ysa speaks into the void

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how old do i have to be to start using slang wrong to embarrass people younger than me

#urban dictionary is my bff #ysa speaks into the void

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#so i’m cleaning my room #and i found writing from when i was getting over someone #AND THE SHIT I LET SLIDE #like i’m surprised i let him treat me so badly #like that’s on me for letting it get like that #but also the fucking disrespect?????? who did he think he was?????? #anyways I’M good now #idk about him bc i’m an unforgettable bitch so #ysa speaks into the void #also that last tag LMAO

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i am in a Mood™

#it’s not a good mood #i will not elaborate further #ysa speaks into the void

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i’m gonna need all of you to stop writing so beautifully or else i might believe in romance again

#MY LOVES I CANNOT YEARN IN THIS ECONOMY #yes i’m talking about poetry and the many excerpts i see floating around tumblr #ysa speaks into the void

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I’M OFFICIALLY ON SPRING BREAK!!!!!! if you need me i will be taking a nap

#school is tiring sometimes #but we still kickin it #ysa speaks into the void

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can we talk about when anthony sniffed the air after kate walked pass him bc i think that should be talked about

#listen #i am not proud of what that did to me #but also dAMN bitch #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #ysa speaks into the void

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#hello i'm making my monthly return to tumblr to tell you #don't watch atonement and about time back to back #i am in tears #both movies are great #i just was not prepared to feel feelings #ok that's all #ysa speaks into the void #still can't remember my tag oops

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y’all know that one text post that’s like what’s your weirdest celebrity interaction? ok well I only figured mine out now bc I forgot majority of my life anyways andy grammer and a bunch of rising artists liked my instagram photo of the venue they were probs going to play at

#this whole time i just skipped the post thinking i’ve never had an interaction woth anyone famous or well known #this is really random sorry LOL #i just remembered it so yeah #ysa speaks into the void #ysa speaking into the void #idk my tag anymore

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i didn’t realize how big crows are

#one just landed next to my window and like????? #it was GIANT #ysa speaking into the void #ysa speaks into the void #i dont know what my tag is anymore fukc