#null reflective facade

[shrimpricebowl]

drew some of my ocs... swear ill draw them somewhere else other than a white void soon LMAO

[socksoffz]

You pat Caleb’s head and his life changed. Just simple fluff.. enjoy.

Calebs eyes seemed to bore into your soul with a kind of softness that contrasted everything that seemed to make up the man before you. The conflicting room of mirrors that was Caleb, the many faces and facades he put up all seemed to melt from a simple touch.

Your hand reflected the gesture that he’d done to you many times before. The complexity of your relationship, the dark alleys of doubt that creeped into your mind whenever you tried to search his eyes and his expression. His expression that always seemed to be holding something back. It was all irrelevant, null and void as your hand naturally went to the top of his head.

The inconvenient height difference forgotten as you both sat on the couch, his head in the perfect spot for you to return the favor after all these years. He didn’t smile at first, his eyes reflecting the fast beating of his heart more than anything else.

If he had a tail it would undeniably be wagging, the planes he flies wouldn’t stand a chance against the gust of wind that his tail would produce.

Then, there was the smile. You could tell he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept the affection he had received instead of given himself. You would make sure he believed it, ruffling his hair obnoxiously for good measure. That was when he laughed, the sound bubbling up in his throat before coming out as an almost giggle as he pulled your hand away.

“Okay.. Okay Pipsqueak, you’ve got your revenge.. I surrender.”

[thenullprophet]

THE WORD IS NOT THE MAN

Track 005 from Administrative Haunting: “THE WORD IS NOT THE MAN” They call it prophecy, But what they really mean is loyalty. They call it truth, But what they really mean is obedience. Null Prophet sees through the facade: — The idolization of power. — The conflation of the figure with the message. — The willful blindness to the cracks in the reflection. This track isn’t about betrayal. It’s about waking up.

NULL PROPHET OUT. THE WORD IS NOT THE MAN.

Tags: #null prophet #the word is not the man #administrative haunting #spoken word #identity critique #prophetic voice #dystopian spoken word #bandcamp release

[sasorikigai]

@sonxflight stabbed the heart.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Scorpion knows he was human, once. Fragmented memories swirl in flashes, with recollections a mere foggy dissonance. Even in the flashes, he remembers to heed the deafening snarl of his demons behind the impervious wall of necrofire. Hanzo would dare to step slowly to embrace the sliver of his humanity. He becomes very aware that his demon will use this as proof of his weakness, and yet it's been years away and it still brings up his tenderness with bared, serrated teeth, stalking closer and closer with the promise of a vicious fight with the mere tip of his soul - towards the inevitable, overflowing vengeance.

Hanzo knows from days past; in nights unslept and in-betweens, of misery and despair sewn. Those he desperately and resiliently refused to thread in looms. His psyche still sets out in void, null and hollow, to find the meaning in loss and sorrow, unbearable grief of losing everything he used to hold dear, and he still does. Those old days of Shirai Ryu are now mere memories painted gray and sallow, and he repainted his present with ash from unwilling mellows, through the mess and destruction he harbored and caused, as he laid in excruciating pain. He could not truly escape the broken days, but soon, the tangled mess of questions and unspoken pleas would soon transmorph into resplendent vividness and passion of his eternally burning fire and love.

"In a world full of words, my purpose seems to finally become clear," how his vehement gaze burns with all that he sees, holds, and reveres in Ryou Sakai. Simply intoned words could not fathom the respect and love his beloved inspires. Without the samurai's empathetic embrace, how his heart leaped unbound. No longer shackled long by guilt's constriction. But now with him, Hanzo has found his place. As if he was breaking out of the mold, to shine a radiant light in a world so cold and merciless. How his voice laces with blossoms, despite being low, somber, as he delves deeper into his self-reflection, as his facade remains serenaded with unyielding truth.

"Despite my wicked past causes agony and pollutes the air of my heart and soul like an unkillable plague; a disease that wraps around my lungs and suffocates my goodness. Perhaps I was somehow forced to stare up at the sky uprooted, to be changed into something new. For hope was that unseen force that caused to rebuild myself, coaxed my eyes open when I shut them. How I still struggle to live entirely in the present, for I am nourished by dead thoughts and dead creeds, and it is the past which is engulfing me, not the future." ▬▬ι══���════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[ginwhitlock]

Southbound ch 1/ ch 2 / CH 3 : Null Wind

After the Cullens leave her behind, Bella is left to pick up the pieces by herself. A year after her eighteenth birthday, a split second decision lands her in her truck, running far away from everything she has ever known. She decides to go south. What will she find in San Angelo, Texas?

I’d never felt so warm.

The golden light streaming through the open windows heated up the room in a dry embrace. I could see the filtering haze over every piece of honey-lacquered furniture piece in the living room. Bookcases lined up and down the walls on either side of the front door, highlighting a sitting area around a hand-tooled turkish rug. The dining room to my immediate right looked unused but tidy. For some reason, the live oak table looked like it could comfortably seat four. Who else did Peter entertain?

A drawn-out wind carried through the windows. I’ve had to learn that Texas breeze is just that-- a breeze and nothing more. Had I not already had to endure the minimum eighty-five degree heat shield for the early majority of my life and not to mention the last two months, my jeans would feel like I was carrying steel wool up a mountain. 

“Here Bell-- if I can call you Bell,” Peter started, arm still resting on the bronze door handle leading to the outside behind me, “go ahead and kick up your feet on the sofa and I’ll getcha somethin’ to simmer down this blasted heat.”

I could hear his wooden heels click on the tile as he retreated into what I could only assume to be the kitchen, being that the floor was formatted like a doll house. Walls dividing the arid space without exception. 

Esme would have been horrified. 

The thought of her heart-shaped face made my heart flip, the stoney exterior cracking and shifting in my chest. The brick wall I’ve put up started to claw its way out of my throat. 

I slunk over to the dusty-looking brown chair in the corner, its position allowing me to see the front door and the kitchen opening to my right with ease. All my exits are straight-legged in front of me. If I bolted before he came back in, I could make it to the door handle in just enough time. But god, what would I do then? If the truck is on it’s last leg-- if on any legs at all-- I’m sure it's hardly worth a likely buckshot in the ass. 

As my back pockets touched the softened hide my brain went into full overdrive. 

What do you think WERE doing? We should be on the road, basting Lynard Skynard in some southwestern dry county, not act like you’re meeting a boy’s parents for THE SECOND TIME EVER! Do you not have any common sense? What would happen if Edwar--

“I hope you like sun tea.”

A rough-knuckled hand held out a glass filled to the brim with squared off iced cubes and murky brown liquid. The cup glittered with a department store shine. 

They must’ve been his special ones. Guess no one gets guests out here. 

My hand slowly reached out and took it, a tentative sip following, my fingers sliding on the chilled surface. It tasted like roses and honeysuckle, a contrast to the red dirt lining my soles and the open air around everything here. 

It was only then that I realised he had taken off his hat. 

His eyes were beautiful. Mahogany stained, hand-sanded, fired art. The swirling of reflective speckling nearest his pupils brought out the darkened freckles on his cheeks. His sandy blonde brows shaded his lashes in a trimmed fence line. Peter looked the part of a country, fair haired, Marlon Brando, and I realized in that moment my stare was reflecting in his eyes in a glass-like mirror. My brain swam to the surface, focusing on the change in his facade. 

His mouth set in that same childish grin, matching his soft, playful features. “Again with the staring. Do you do much else darlin’?”

A beet red blush spread across my cheeks like margarine. I could feel the long forgotten heat spread down my neck and onto my chest. 

As I was about to speak, something changed in his whiskey-soaked sightline. His almost boyish features hardened into a grimace. His hand fisted my own, setting the tea on the coffee table at the crease of his calves. 

Finding my tongue growing heavy in my mouth I spoke, “Pe-ter is everything okay?” My eyes raced to his hand as it rose to his collar. 

In an instant his face physically uncramped, the smile coming back to features, wolfier now more than ever. But his eyes gathered into slits in a humourless way. 

“You just have such a pretty blush, Bell, you flush like a schoolgirl, ya know that?”

His voice came out hushed. Slow as molasses on a frigid winter afternoon. Like each word was a connecting jigsaw puzzle and he was looking for the next piece. In response, saliva ran down my throat like I had had a cold, the heat rising through the air and into my head. The knot in my stomach felt like it was tightening, closer and closer to snapping if he leaned any farther into my face. 

A rogue wind blew through a set of copper windchimes on the front porch. 

Peter’s stare disconnected as he rushed to pop open the button of his collar in a quick flick of his fingers. A true smile replaced the earlier one and spread over his upper lips and into his eyes. His mouth reminded me of a slow, murky river. The kind no one should go into without a life jacket. But the kids still try it, and all you hear is shouting from a town over, nothing coming from their mother’s lips but sobbing for the next forty-odd years. 

“Oh lord-- sorry lil Bell, didn’t mean to get in yer space like that, the south winds here are just…” His voice hardened, “just wash somethin’ over the house… over me today.”

His feet, still clad with his cowboy boots, shifted around the stump of a table and to the couch he had mentioned before. It’s long back almost obscured the front door with his added height. 

Without the coffee table, with our feet outstretched, we could’ve touched. 

I calmed down my breathing enough to speak coherently, “No… I get it. Definitely… get it.” A swallow followed to bring the collection of spit back down. 

Jesus Bella could you have gotten that out any less freaked out? Something is thoroughly wrong with this man PLUS whatever the hell ‘winds’ he’s talking about, you could very well be putting yourself in more danger than you ever had in Forks. He could be plotting to dump your body out in the desert for god sake. 

Or he just thinks you’re pretty. Maybe this is just how cowboys act, huh? This could be what you’ve been wishing for for months, Bella. Some cowboy to take you away. Wait... how does that song go? A bastardized voice came from the back of my skull. The same sickly-sweet tone that turned off my blaring alarms around…

“So what brings you to San Ang?”, Peter rolled out, his feet landing on the table, his hands stretched out behind his fluffy blonde halo. A small sliver of pale skin could be seen right above his belt. I looked to the floor before answering, only adding to the stupid blush which hadn’t left.

“Just traveling. Relationship went bad. Could even say it nuked my life.”

The oddly reassuring nod from before came back in full force, a stark contrast from the baited silence he blew across my face what seemed like just moments before. If he tries something, what does it matter if I tell him the rest of the story? I sighed, my body curling forward to grab the glass again. “He just sort of left me. He took my heart with him, you know. For a year I wandered around my hometown, numb to my core, just looking for anything he left behind. I even had a friend try to pull me out of it. I think I ended up pushing him away before I left.

“So now I’m here. Came into Texas maybe a month and a half ago. Just followed the road signs,” My eyes snapped up to his, “there aren’t any on this road.”

Peter’s brows quirked up in a laughably adorable way-- am I really calling the potential nutbag adorable?

Almost as if he felt my mood change, he laughed. A full belly, hands on his chest, forehead wrinkled like the Sunday morning newspaper, laugh. 

The sound eased away my present fear and outrage just a hair. 

“My lil Bell-- don’t you get what private property means? You’re smack dab in the middle of abouta’ hundred acres of nothin’, missy. The mud you found yerself on was just a walkin’ trail through the land.”, Peter belted out, body leaning forward, his hands lowering to his knees. 

My thoughts raced, but only one sentence formed in my mouth, its edges familiar window glass, “It’s Bella.”

A snort started his response, “C’mon. A little girl like you don’t wanna be referred to lika singin’ cartoony princess? You gotta be shittin’ me darlin.” He blew out a harsh stream of wind through his teeth. I could almost visualize him sitting on a porch somewhere spitting out peanut shells, dust coating the tops of his jeans. 

“Listen I don’t need your sympathy or your criticism of my ability to navigate. I’ve been doing just fine on my own, just let me see a phone and I’ll get outta your hair.” My body became heated with a different kind of feeling, the anger rushing through me at his insult. I stood up, my jeans ripping away from the leather seat. 

His form didn’t move an inch. His eyes rolled into his head and went to stare right back at me. 

“Bell,” I pinched my eyebrows together at the nickname but he continued, “I’m not insultin’ ya, I’m proud that you got this far south on yer own two feet. I have to say I didn’t expect much from a girl sleepin’ in her own truck in the middle of some one-way backroad, but you’re surprising’ me in a lot of ways.” His eyes swept to the kitchen for a quick second. 

“Oh and Bell, The nickname works. Trust me on it. It’s that voice of yers. Sounds like Christmas carolin.”

My face constricted in a dumb-found expression, the observation rattling me to my core. I’d never thought of my voice as anything other than dull compared to the Cullens. Some lifeless monotone of a teenage girl. His face looked sincere, the braziness fading behind his eyes. He looked even sweet as he said the last few words. Like there was a memory he wasn't sharing in between them. 

I managed to get out soft ‘thank you’ as my anger faded to a null ache. My hands climbed up my hips to my collarbones as I held myself in a self-cradle. 

I could almost hear a piece of the cement around my heart cracking in the nonexistent wind. I had left my light jacket in the truck, and yet, I felt as if I was hiding behind another barrier, a straight jacket around my collapsing sanity. Their memory, their mob horns tic home and their sing-song voices and their obviously faked investment into my life trying to weasel its way out. 

“Sweetheart you’re rocking.”

Looking down at my posture I could see the slight sway to my stance, a mechanism I had developed just nights after He left me in the forest, Charlie had said it was a self soothing technique. I just thought it was proof that I may be actually losing my mind. “Oh, Sorry.” My legs brought me back down to my seat in a slow collapse. 

His smile widened, his pearly-white teeth showing themselves off for the first time. I expected a crinkle to appear around his eyes, but it never did. I wondered what it did look like when the lines overcame his face in the night, what kind of beauty showed through when he was alone. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry about Bell, I get what you’re doin’.”

I nodded my head, almost not present in the conversation. My eyes glued to my lap. 

“And about that phone… I called my brother earlier, he’s on a huntin’ trip not far from here. He should be home soon and I’ll have him fix up your truck. No worries darlin’, no worries.” His hand found hovered over the bridge of my knuckles making my eyes drift up into his. I found a genuine kindness in them, and something else I couldn’t identify. Again, there was something about the words as they curled through his mouth. Like he knew something I didn’t. 

Peter’s hand slowly retracted to his belt, the shine of the metal highlighted by a beam of sun through the windows. It bounced back onto his skin, creating a shimmer. 

My thoughts captured that and put it into the back of my mind for later. “When is he gonna be back?”

A determined gleam sauntered into the quirk of his lip. 

“Tonight my lil Bell, he’ll be back tonight.”

For some reason my stomach twisted at his words, and not just at the warm butterflies the nickname started to ignite. 

[hauntscreation]

@psyccheout​ asked:

' is the void scary ? isn't it ... lonely ? '

   ‘twas a question asked many times before, those blessed with his presence unable to hide their curiosity  ━━  an answer granting closure to queries haunting individuals for generations, a sense of discomfort lingering between words and silences, burying beneath the vowels that would spill from lips.  by now, oliver had learned to expect these questions, the awe of his followers bleeding into their interest and creating an atmosphere of reverence, wherein his words needed to be picked with care.  misinterpretation could warp one’s perception of the truth, for better or for worse   /   leading to campaigns of destruction, the piling of corpses  /   the building of connections, the admiration of natural forces ;  it depended on who carried the answer within.  it was this ambiguity which fueled hesitation, a stranger’s intentions muddled no matter the facade they’d conceived.

   but elliott was no stranger.  he had proven himself again and again, with gentle touches and well-intended compassion :  oh, sweet elliott, whose persona starkly contrasted the person he was, stumbling over words with wavering charm.  it was endearing, watching this man’s cheeks blazon red whenever complimented, oliver’s eternal, experienced self not often encountering men who couldn’t hide their romantic virginity.   oh yes, love was woven into every gesture by now, the soft ache of a fragile heart making oliver’s every touch delicate.  cherished, treasured, devoted  ━━  fingers curled around fingers, oliver desiring a sincere physical connection  / a reminder of the other’s presence   /   their shared human forms.

   ❛  it is,  ❜  in spite of plain wording, intonation reflected a complicated relationship with that answer;   𝚆𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂,  𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙵𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂,  𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙴    ━━  yet, there was continuation of being, a chance at a life without rules or boundaries beyond the confines of the cruel void.  if it weren’t for its brutal mercy, all that now mattered to him would be null.  in between the blackness of his infinite eyes, between the constellation-like formations that dissuaded surrounding darkness, a spark of hope was visible.  beyond anything else, he hoped to be understood.

   he wanted elliott to understand him.

   hand squeezed hand.  ❛  but is it also fascinating.  it has brought forth life and preserved it, interrupted fate and allowed its branches to flourish.  my suffering cannot be understated, nor could the manner of which it orchestrated my birth be any more traumatizing, but  …   ❜    a pause, hesitant.   ❛  i met you.  amidst this lonely, melancholic realm, i am nothing but the savior men believe me to be.  i am nothing but mere myth, a legend to be unfolded and laid bare by the ones who wish to destroy me, so they can pick up the pieces of what i once was and construct a new slanderous tale to tell.  ❜   what would he be, if another blade were to be plunged into his flesh ?  what would become of him, were he ever stripped of his power ?  he shuddered at the thought, a fear of vulnerability.

  ❛  …  with you, i need not fear this.  you care for me without an ulterior motive. you touch me with such grace and love, one i’ve never experienced before.  i don’t sense the inner hunger for power that consumes most men.  i don’t see that arrogance in your eyes when you hold me.  it’s a relief.  it brings me utmost joy.  ❜     it felt   ━━  strange, letting heart pour its contents onto a person worthy of this trust. that did not make it any less difficult, however, and eye contact was broken mid - sentence.  once again, a serene quiet set in, lasting moments longer than the one that came before it.

  ❛  i suppose i should thank you, elliott.    ...  thank you for loving me.  ❜

[amelia-pinches]

a very long rant about Patricia Williamson

I also have something written about the overall thematic themes for each season and their significance that I was gonna post first, but I can’t finish it because my mind keeps going back to this.

Before I begin with all the negatives I have to say about what the writers did to her, I would like to state that she is my favorite character. Patricia was the first character that I truly resonated with as a kid, and I still do to this day. However, I can’t ignore how her character development was cut for plots sake, and how so much of her personal story is so incomplete. I feel like the writers used her as a leg to lean on whenever they needed drama, or a simple fix. Granted, she has more backstory than other characters like Fabian or Amber. Nonetheless, for Patricia, something about her personal story feels off to me. Maybe it's because I see myself so much in her that I have a personal bias for her closure, but I like to think I am so invested because I feel as if she had so much unused potential. 

Starting off with S3, we see a new Patricia compared to the previous seasons. Her hair has changed, and her style seemingly has matured  HOA has used a style change to symbolize a personality shift. In S2, Alfie acknowledged his style change representing a personality change, as he stated it was a new year for a new Alfie. Granted, he said he changed his style for Amber, but I think he changed it to feel better about himself. Getting Amber gave him the confidence he didn’t necessarily have before, and in S2 we see him standing up for himself more often than he did in S1, and he was more assertive in S2 compared to S1. In season 3, Joy said the reason for her style change was for the same reason: to find a new Joy. In fact, Joy’s style change was an important part of her arc in S3. She was letting go of her old self, and really letting go of the past she desperately tried to recreate in S2. She updated her style -”its Joy, but a new Joy”- and her style was a reflection of her personality shift; Joy, but matured. 

Yet, with Patricia, we didn’t see that change that should have happened. If anything, her personality regressed to S1. I personally don’t think that Patricia at the end of S2 would have treated KT with such cruelty that she did; I definitely think that she would have not liked her and her jealousy could have caused some rude comments. It is S1 Patricia that would have had no issue treating KT how she did, but S2 Patricia would have held back. S1 Patricia was angry, and in S2, we see her less angry and more reserved. I like to think that after the events of S1 and throughout S2, she rethought her beliefs and morals. In S3, we should have seen her act on these new found morals, but instead she resorted back to that anger from S1. I remember watching S3 and waiting for that moment where everything clicks, yet that never happened.  We never got an explanation to her any of her behavior in S3. We know she is extremely jealous, but why? Jealousy has its roots with deep seated issues. I don’t believe her jealousy is caused by not trusting Eddie, but rather something internal. I’m pretty sure that its been accepted due to her feeling inadequate in her family life which transfers to every other part in her life. Only problem is we never get any actual confirmation to this. We don’t get much confirmation about her character in the show actually. We know what we can assume, but it's still up for debate. Patricia’s character fluctuates so greatly that it's so hard to pinpoint who she is, or what she wants. 

Throughout the show, Patricia is disconnected from everyone else around her. Even when she does connect, it's not really a full connection. The only time where I think where she had a true vulnerable connection with someone is Alfie in S1. Other than that, all of the other instants where she is supposedly connecting with someone, she is still holding back. There is always a wall between her and everyone else. While Eddie does break a majority of those walls, he still hasn’t broken all of them. They never have a point where they talk about all of their problems and resolve them. I would like to note that I am a huge Peddie fan, and it is my OTP, however it does a lot of issues that I can’t ignore. Communication is Peddie’s weakest area, but there was no shown effort in resolving it. They don’t sit down and try to listen to each other or just say what's wrong, despite how hard it is. They have a couple of cute one-liners, but that still doesn’t fix the root of the problem. Then with Joy, their relationship starts to slowly drift apart in S2. Joy is trying to overcompensate for the previous year, and Patricia doesn’t know how to comfort her in a way that was needed. Consequently, red flags were ignored, and their friendship began to dissolve. Thus in S3, it is so obvious that they are no longer best friends, and they are just friends. Nevertheless, I have the feeling that even before the start of the show, Patricia didn’t 100% connect with Joy. Yes, they had great chemistry (and probably were gay for each other on some level), but Patricia held back. After all, Joy didn’t know Eddie was Patricia’s first kiss, which tells me that Patricia never talked about personal things like relationships. Joy knows Patricia very well, but that wall is still there. 

We also never really get to see Patricia shine, per se. Yes, she had some important moments, but those were all in support of the plot. Even with Eddie, her part felt more like aid to his character development than hers. I really wish we got to see a moment where she was the main focus, even if it was a small moment. The show has all this buildup for her own moment, and it never happens. With the moments that are supposed to be “hers”, they fall flat or are so lackluster that they are barely anything.  All of her moments are for support of other characters. She mainly stays in the back, hidden unless she is needed. I think the best example of this is her relationship with Piper. It was resolved so quickly without going into detail about anything. (I’ll go into how the Piper-Patricia story-line was so undeserving and unimpressive later.) I feel like the drama with Piper was merely there so it could transition to Eddie’s secret being exposed. Basically, the parts where it should be about her and her character are misused in order to fulfill a plot line, rather than to fulfill herself.

I want to address the whole Patricia-Piper thing. I don’t know what to call it to be honest.. Aside from the fact how their relationship dynamic would have been great for Patricia’s character, their relationship dynamic should have been in the show simply because it would have been something people could have looked up or related to. I don’t have siblings, so sibling relationships confuse me to death. Still, they intrigue me tremendously. Youtuber, Ladyknightthebrave, talked about Hollywood's depiction of siblings in her video essay about Fleabag (I strongly recommend watching this if you have seen Fleabag because honestly it's so great). In it she describes how Hollywood loves brother-brother or brother-sister relationships, but sister-sister relationships are rarely shown in a light that is meaningful. I can’t help but agree with her, even though I don’t have siblings of my own. There are plenty of examples of brother-brother or brother-sister relationships in the media that are done so well and are so familiar to people, despite having a brother or not. I personally feel like that sister-sister relationships are done in a manner that's so simplified. With that said, Poppy-Jerome’s relationship goes into great detail; we can really see the dynamic and issues of their relationship. We see how they need each other as brother and sister and how they support each other. Yet, Patricia and Piper’s relationship was so downplayed. Their “big moment” where they try to connect with one another and try to understand each other was  “‘I’m jealous of you because ___.’ ‘Well I’m jealous of you because___.’”, and that's it. It was abrupt and crude. There was no depth to their conversation, and if given the necessary depth, I truly think almost everyone could have related to their relationship. I just feel the audience, as well as Patricia, deserved that connection. Like, Patricia didn’t evolve from this. She remained the same as before. It didn’t affect her facade at all. After it was over, it was like it barely happened.

In the entirety of the show, we see Patricia through her facade. Sometimes, we can see cracks in it, but in the end, we never see her drop her act completely. When she seemingly does, it is practically nulled later on. Patricia’s words go against all of her actions constantly. Despite the fact that she has all the ideals of rebellion, unless you count Joy’s search as an act of rebellion, we never see her actually rebel for her own purpose. When she rebels or speaks out, it's for sibuna’s agenda, not her own. She told Piper to “dare to fail” even though we have never seen her do this. In fact, we have never seen her succeed either. We see what she wants us to see. HOA really should have had at least one point where her facade breaks, and the audience gets see what she is really thinking and what she really wants. It is not like they couldn’t fit it in because I could think of plenty of times where that moment would have fit in perfectly or even better than what was given.

I really don’t think the HOA writers and producers put much thought into the overall effect and really used her a way to make the plot continue in an easy way. I do understand why they did it - to a certain extent. The show is made for kids, and kids usually don’t really care about character development or arc. However, I think Patricia’s character could have been such a significant character for kids. Like I said, I relate to Patricia a lot, and I think others do as well. I also think if she had some sort of defining character arc, her character could have spoken to many people, young and old. There’s something so relatable about her, even with the lack of a defining arc. I feel like her character had so much potential, and HOA really missed a chance at creating a character so iconic. But in the end, there was no fluent character development. This leads her to feel like a more relatable side character at times viruses a main character.

[erideights]

You won't leave me behind so easily.

Request by anon: What would happen if, when Crowley went to the burning bookshop looking for Aziraphale, he instead found Y/N?

Pairing: Crowley x Fem!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 2072.

Warnings: Mentions of fire, I guess. And maybe a typo, I'm sorry.

Everything happened so fast.

Before anyone could really react.

The days until the prominent arrival of the end of the world were less and less and progressing faster, suffocating the throats of those few who knew about the great event and who, at all costs, tried to get out of it alive.

There was no way to stop it, Crowley thought.

There must be something we can do, Aziraphale argued in his head.

And Y/N? She was one more human, a victim of crossfire, with more knowledge than she could ever accept about the events to come and how her life would end in not that many hours.

The clock was running and she felt stuck, lost, drowned by the great plan that showed little mercy to her existence.

That the angel and the demon were now mad at each other because of their argument of how to proceed not too long ago did nothing to help in this apocalyptic scenario; it made things worse, divided the team of three, thus diminishing their hopes not only for saving the world, but for saving themselves.

And again, Y/N was only human...what could she do but watch everything happen and feel an oppressive impotence in her chest that made it difficult for her to breathe with each beat of her heart?

The scene in which Crowley and Aziraphale argued was playing over and over again in her head as she walked nervously and anxiously through the living room of her apartment, looking for a way to solve things with the few —small, minimal, null— resources that she had.

What could she do to make that pair of idiots come to good terms again and seek together how to get out of all that without dying trying?

Not finding the way to flee, because Y/N wasn’t 100% agree with Crowley's plan to go to Alpha Centauri, but the way to save the planet where they lived, as many millions more humans and thousands of animals and plant species that they deserved, in fact, to be able to continue their lives.

Because a war between Hell and Heaven to see who’s stronger? What a fucking joke, they looked like 10 year olds arguing in a school.

———

The characteristic siren of a fire engine sounded in the distance, not too far away, barely audible above Queens's You’re My Best Friend, as a 1933 Bentley moved through the streets of London at such speed anyone could think it defied the laws of physics imposed by the universe.

If only they knew.

The first sign of alarm for the demon was seeing the truck parked right in front of the bookshop that he knew so well thanks to the long afternoons and even longer nights spent there in company of the only two living beings for whom in reality, he would give his life.

The second, were the flames devouring the facade of the building, destroying everything in its path, without mercy for everything that housed its interior, not only physical but emotional. What happened to the laughter accumulated there? With the empty wine glasses and the existential crisis talks?

With his memories?

The third, and this was the trigger that forced Crowley out of his flat and start the car, was to stop feeling the presence of the angel on the face of the earth.

He couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to, he supposed that it was some divine thing beyond his comprehension, but Aziraphale had disappeared from his demonic radar and the idea of ​​the march of his best friend in times of crisis shrank his heart in a fist that only tightened more with every second of the clock.

To suspect that the woman he loved —a frail human prey to the terrible and countless facilities that she had to die— was with the celestial being until his disappearance, made everything worse.

His thoughts were running over each other in panic inside his head as he slammed the passenger door and his quick steps headed for the shop.

A snap of his fingers was enough to open the doors as well as to stop hearing the voices of the firemen trying to get his attention and save him from what would be an imminent death for an ordinary mortal. And once the doors were closed, Crowley's screams and cries for his best friend were muffled by the chaos around him; the wooden beams that supported the place wouldn’t last much longer, the shelves had already begun their fall across the entire floor.

There was no book that could survived that disaster.

Or so he thought before glimpsing from the corner of his eye a large copy whose green cover seemed practically intact, ends slightly scorched but no damage serious enough to give the book for lost.

But then he heard it.

A distant cough, a dull groan, a choked voice asking for help.

Y/N was laying on the floor, sweat coating her forehead and cheeks vaguely tinted with black dust thanks to the ash mixed with the air.

To the naked eye, she didn’t seem to had an ugly burn or a mortal wound that Crowley couldn’t heal with a little demonic miracle of his own, but that didn’t stop him from falling to his knees beside her and hugging her against him, promising once and again that everything would be okay.

She was conscious, but she’d breathed too much smoke to be able to move on her own foot, so regardless of whether her heart had flip in her chest when she saw the mischievous demon that she had fallen in love so hopelessly years ago, because that was the effect he always had on her, she felt relief that it was him who came to save her.

The last thing she could remember before falling into a terrible and suffocating unconsciousness were the golden eyes of the redhead, whose anguish —caused by the events— had flooded them at the verge of tears, and she couldn’t help feeling a sharp pain through her chest escorting her to the most absolute darkness.

———————

‘’Aziraphale?’’ For a moment Crowley thought his tired eyes were playing tricks on him and making him see things that weren’t really there, because a distorted reflection of what he considered his deceased best friend’d appeared out of nowhere in front of him and… that couldn’t be, right? ‘’Are you here?’’

But, contrary to the expected reaction —none under the premise of hallucinations— the demon frowned in confusion when the angel's voice reached his ears. ‘’Good question. Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?’’

‘’Of course I can hear you.’’

‘’Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things.’’ Aziraphale looked confused, disoriented and, more importantly, pained. Crowley supposed that, in his condition, —whatever it was since he couldn’t understand it—, the angel couldn’t see him; their gaze never crossed, the blue one of the platinum blond lost somewhere in the ceiling. ‘’Did you go to Alpha Centauri?’’

‘’Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend. And I... nearly lost her too.’’ Unconsciously, the demon's hand squeezed softly the one intertwined with his, although she probably wouldn’t feel it. In that moment, the redhead's peculiar eyes traveled to the calm face of the young girl, asleep and at peace in his bed; the damage she received wasn’t serious enough to feel the need to be taken to a hospital, it was rather obvious that he would end up taking care of her.

He wanted to.

‘’Her?’’ The angel looked even more confused for a split second, eyes widened and voice soaked in horror at the sudden realisation of the person they were talking about. ‘’Oh, wait, you mean Y/N? Did something happen to her? Please do tell me she’s okay.’’

‘’Your bookshop. It burned down. She was there.’’

His bookshop? Burned down? Reduced to ashes ...? He would ask, but his concern was not especially focused on one place, but on ‘’Did she? But I thought… I thought she was with you—’’

‘’She wasn’t.’’ Crowley cut off quickly, a bit annoyed with his lack of knowledge about the whereabouts of the girl before finding her where he found her; he supposed that both had been so focused with the whole ''end of the world'' thing that, after the argument between him and the angel, when the three seemed divided by different urges, none cared about the only living being that, by her own, couldn’t escape. ‘’But don’t worry, Y/N’s here and she’s fine. She’s the strongest human I know, she’ll be okay.’’

And so the conversation between the two went on, the revelation of Aziraphale about where the end of time would begin, his relief knowing that his friend also rescued Agnes' book —that would give them a chance to save them all— and the promise of meeting there once the angel found a new body.

And in the same way he had appeared a few mins ago, he disappeared, returning the silence to the dark room of the fallen angel, who was in a heart dilemma; he couldn’t leave Y/N alone, not when he didn’t know for sure if he would see her again. But take her with him, in her state, and to such an extremely dangerous situation?

What he didn’t know either, was that the girl had been awake for a while, listening partially and in pieces his conversation with Aziraphale because, unfortunately, she wasn’t a celestial being, she couldn’t catch the presence of her white winged friend, but she did catch enough to know that she needed to ignore the faint pain that his body had and go with them to save the damn world.

So when Crowley sighed again, still shuffling his options, she sat up in bed without warning, causing her favorite demon to slightly jump in his seat in the chair next to the mattress.

‘’C’mon,’’ she said with much more vitality than one could expect, her voice stressing her impatience, for there was no time to lose. ‘’we need to go.’’

‘’We?’’ He asked, incredulous, snorting a bitter and dry chuckle from the deepest point of his throat. ‘’You’re not going anywhere.’’

‘’And will you be the one to stop me?’’ God, he was helplessly in love with that woman who only knew how to make snarky and sassy remarks when she wanted to piss him off. Was he a masochist or something?

But deep in thought, adoration written all over his face, he didn’t get the chance to really stop her until she was out of bed and heading towards the door of the flat down the corridor full of plants that, at Crowley's sight with that look of pure rage on his face, began to tremble.

Holy shit, she was fast.

‘’Y/N, for fuck’s sake,’’ he grabbed her left wrist and spinned her around, making the girl look at him straight in the face. To prove his point and try to intimidate her with his annoyed expression? Maybe. ‘’You don’t really have any kind of preservation instinct for your own life, do you? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?’’

But instead of being afraid of him, being the good girl he expected her to be and agreeing to stay away from all that, Y/N slipped out of his grasp, searching quickly for the lapels of Crowley's jacket. In a second she pulled these towards her own body to counteract the immense height difference and trapped his parted lips in a passionate kiss.

Oh, she wanted to do that for a long time now.

For a brief instant, Crowley was completely frozen, unaware that his feelings were indeed returned and of course, the moment in which he wanted to kiss her back and searched for the hips of the girl to bring her closer to him, she pulled back and fixed her deep eyes on the golden ones of the demon.

‘’We're leaving, both of us. And don’t you dare try to stop me, Crowley, I won’t leave you.’’

[uniqueuglyfruit]

#I mean the poor guy had NO canon personality ( @sauntering-down on this post )

Actually!! While it’s true we know little of Kom’rk, it’s not true we know nothing. We actually know a lot more about him as an individual than generally believed, even from the few scenes he’s in.

To summarize first, Kom’rk, when we first meet him, gives a sense of one who fears the infrequency with which he sees his family has developed into them not caring enough about him to miss him. However, he deflects this with a joke, preventing it from getting too serious. While he seeks validation, it seems he doesn’t want to appear possibly needy or clingy, and when he does get doted on and fussed over, he acts as if it’s not a big deal. Generally, Kom’rk is either easily bored or feels the need to maintain an aloof, bored facade even among family.

At Kyrimorut, Ordo asks Kom’rk to help him with larger tasks, and Kom’rk readily helps him. Despite the fact it seems Kom’rk makes reports through Jaing, in person, Kom’rk is open, almost forward in expressing his concerns―even those that may be simple annoyances. Kom’rk also readily and quickly criticizes his brothers, most especially Ordo, firm but also kind as he does.

To place him in comparison with the other Nulls, he’s closest to Jaing, with whom he has an easy and joking rapport, and it seems he works best professionally with Jaing; this relationship is likely similar to the one Mereel and Ordo have. He has similar preferences and styles of socializing as Mereel, and he and Mereel seem to have similar tastes in what they look for in a social scene. His sense of humor seems most similar to Ordo’s. He’s one of the more extraverted Nulls.

So, very long quote by quote breakdown of what we know (or what I interpret) about Kom’rk and his relationship with some other characters, the latter of which I talk about more than intended, but how characters relate to others is also important.

After his brief appearance as a child, Kom’rk spends most the series as an unseen character, spoken of but never physically present. Much of what we learn first about him is about his significant relationships.

���Fierfek, son, Kom’rk and Jaing can track a flitnat across the galaxy and we can’t find a gang in our own backyard.” (Triple Zero)

“Only ones I haven’t met are Jaing and Kom’rk, and they’re still after Grievous.” (True Colors)

This is the first thing we learn about Kom’rk. It doesn’t establish overly much about Kom’rk’s personality, but it establishes where he is in the scheme of skills and operations the Nulls have. He’s a skilled tracker, and he’s assigned, with Jaing, to track Grievous. And it also establishes an important relationship: Jaing.

Unlike the other Nulls, the long-term assignment that Kom’rk and Jaing are given is a joint op. This is highly unusual, as the Nulls are essentially trained to work as solo operators. This doesn’t suggest anything to me about Kom’rk’s or Jaing’s abilities―they’re tracking Grievous, intensely high value target. Rather, it tells me that Kom’rk and Jaing must work especially well together professionally. And while the Nulls all get along and work well together, it takes a particular kind of rapport for two people to work very closely on a single mission over the course of years.

I’ll get back to this.

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s learning a few saucy tricks from my brother Kom’rk. Good man, Corr.” (True Colors)

“So [Corr] you’ve enjoyed a rich social education with Mereel and Kom’rk, have you?” (True Colors)

The second thing we learn about Kom’rk is he spends time with Corr, and he and Mereel have been influential in shaping Corr’s coming into his own with a marked self-confidence, extraversion, and easy sociability.

There’s no reason to doubt this―Kom’rk may have an assignment on Utapau, but there’s indication that Kom’rk doesn’t necessarily stay there all the time. (I’ll point it out later.)

Judging by the development in Corr, one can judge the difference as reflective of what Kom’rk is like as a person. And it suggests an extravert who enjoys a social scene and is easily sociable, who has similar styles and preferences of socializing as Mereel and likely enjoys similar social settings as Mereel does.

“I saw Kom’rk once, but he doesn’t seem as…” And that was as far as Darman got. (True Colors)

This is an incomplete thought, and there isn’t anything concrete to get from it, really. I just love it. Considering the two Nulls Darman is most familiar with are Ordo and Mereel, it’s safe to say that Kom’rk’s bearing and demeanor strikes Darman at a single glance as different enough from those two to make an impression such.

Of the six Nulls, [Mereel] was the one best able to deal with the demons the Kaminoans had forced on him. But the others—A’den, Kom’rk, Jaing, and Prudii—kept Skirata awake at night to varying degrees. And Ordo… (Order 66)

This is a quote I always pull for the Nulls. I work under the assumption that this isn’t randomly ordered. I always maintain that this is specifically the order from least to most concerned Kal is. Under this, we learn that Kal isn’t overly concerned about Kom’rk. To some degree? Yes. But Kal doesn’t believe Kom’rk needs as much concern as three other Nulls.

It is also, in my belief, a rough ordering of the Nulls from most extraverted to most introverted. (My thoughts on Kal’s association of extraversion with well-adjustment are for another time, even if not elaborating weakens my point here somewhat.) By this conceit, it confirms at this moment Kom’rk as one of the more extraverted Nulls.

Then the hatch opened and Kom’rk stuck his head into the compartment.

“So, nobody missed me,” he said. “I’m gone a year, and nobody baked a cake.”

“Kom’ika…” Skirata got up and embraced him with a crunch of armor plates.

Ordo waited his turn. “Come on, get that bucket off and let’s take a look at you… shab, son, you’re looking thin.”

Kom’rk shrugged, clipping his helmet to his belt. His face did look drawn. (Order 66)

This is meeting adult Kom’rk for the first time. Obviously, of immense significance, despite its brevity.

Now, personally, I choose to understand that the first statement Kom’rk makes actually is of significance, and I choose to believe that, for a fleeting moment, it’s utterly sincere. (Why introduce a character with that if it doesn’t speak to some truth?) Kom’rk is afraid that he’s been gone so long, Kal and Ordo don’t care anymore and they don’t miss him.

But, that’s a weighty statement. One that yells a little too loudly for validation, and would even be needy and clingy. Solution: deflect and diffuse with a joke. Steer the conversation elsewhere before it gets too far down the road toward serious. (Mereel does this all the time, by the way.)

Kom’rk does get the validation he seeks. Kal immediately goes to hug him, and he is concerned about how thin Kom’rk looks. However, despite for a moment fearing he won’t get this reception, Kom’rk simply shrugs. He plays the concern off as if it isn’t of importance―or, he plays off the potential that he isn’t as well as he should be. Or, both.

“Grievous still comes and goes on Utapau, Kal’buir, and he gets visits from interesting allies we didn’t know he had. The Regent of Garis, in fact.”

“And there was I thinking he was in the Republic camp.”

Kom’rk handed Skirata a datachip. “A crumb to toss to Zey—here’s the voice traffic between the two of them, minus the locations, of course. We don’t want Windu or Kenobi charging in there and blowing it before we’ve milked the situation.” He lowered his voice. “And Grievous keeps asking Dooku what’s happened to all these gazillions of droids he was promised, poor old dear. I think he’s been set up.”

“Told you so,” Skirata said. “All propaganda. All osik.”

“Can I have a change of scene, then? It’s boring out there.” (Order 66)

I’d like to note the irreverence in Kom’rk’s tone when talking about Jedi, Grievous, and the assignment Kal gave him. (Compare: Ordo’s staunch acceptance of the lot Kal assigned him, despite deep dissatisfaction with it.)

[Jaing:] “He [Grievous] misses Utapau, obviously. I got a tip-off.”

[Ordo:] “You’re not there, then.”

“No, we’re just tidying up a few loose ends on the Rim.”

“Time we told Zey?”

“Yeah.” Jaing sounded tired. “There’s still something not right about this, but I’m past caring, and so is Kom’ika.” (Order 66)

Here, Kom’rk is indicated to not be at Utapau, instead managing other undisclosed tasks elsewhere.

To return to Kom’rk’s relationship with Jaing, this strikes me as Jaing makes Kom’rk’s sitreps on his behalf, or for the both of them. A little later, Ordo asks Jaing to relay his message to Kom’rk, suggesting to me that when Kom’rk is away, it is normal for Ordo to speak to him indirectly through Jaing.

This gives more of a weight to the possibility that Kom’rk fears Ordo and Kal are unconcerned about him, because he is more distant than the others, but it also speaks of a certain kind of dynamic: not only is Kom’rk rarely heard from directly for us the reader, but he is also rarely heard from directly for narrating characters like Ordo.

It is worth remembering here that of all the Nulls, Kom’rk is away from home base for the longest periods, at one time gone for a year.

Why Kom’rk may communicate indirectly through Jaing, if such is true, is unclear. Perhaps for efficiency. It is redundant to have both Jaing and Kom’rk report the same information. Perhaps it speaks to strain in his relationship with Kal.

Good time to talk about his relationship with Ordo.

“Is it going to burn properly?” Kom’rk asked. “Do you want some accelerant on the pyre?”

Ordo thought that was a good idea, and wondered how it could be done discreetly. (Order 66)

When Ordo and Kom’rk had herded the whole clan into the karyai… (501st)

While I may suggest that there’s possibly strain in his relationship with Kal, I hesitate to suggest such with Ordo. (Full disclosure: Ordo is my favorite.)

I say this because when Ordo needs two large tasks done, one of which is a delicate and emotionally charged matter, Ordo asks Kom’rk for help, and Kom’rk gives it. While one may chalk it up to necessity, the sincerity with which Kom’rk helps Ordo with the pyre speaks to me otherwise,

“They’ve completely overhauled the system overnight, Ord’ika.” Kom’rk took back the ’pad. “Data, comms, everything. We can’t get in. We can’t take stuff out. We can’t talk or listen at will. We can’t spy.”

It was the first time Ordo could recall when he and his brothers had not been able to get at anything they wanted. […] “It’s more an annoyance,” Ordo said at last. […] “None of this is beyond you or me to bypass, and Mereel or Jaing can crack this over a cup of caf.”

“I’m sure we can, but we’re starting over. The whole system’s changed. We’ve been used to being on the inside, exploiting opportunities, but if we want to keep that level of access, we’re going to have to start working harder.”

“Apart from extracting our brothers, why is this urgent?”

Kom’rk shrugged. “Just in case.”

And we hate being shut out. Ordo and his brothers were used to being in control. “We still can’t comm Darman or Niner, then?”

“No, and we can’t even get a medical sitrep on Niner. Or find out where Darman is. Because it’s the Imperial Army now.” (Order 66)

Ruu left, taking her plate with her, and Kom’rk raised an eyebrow at Ordo.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, ner vod, but you lack sensitivity. Poor woman didn’t go looking for Kal’buir. We abducted her.”

“She knows the score.”

“So you’re happy now.”

“Less tense, let’s say.” (501st)

Despite my saying Kom’rk appears distant over comms, in person with Ordo, he is almost forward. He is open with his concerns and has no issue quickly and concisely stating them, even if they’re ultimately simply annoyances rather than urgent matters.

I don’t interpret forwardness as a sign of strain―Kom’rk comes across firm, but not unkind. As someone with multiple siblings, I can say this tone is common, especially when sincerely and without malice trying to help a sibling address a flaw they have.

Frankly, as I see it, it is suggested that Kom’rk’s relationship with Ordo is a direct, open, and straightforward one. Also, is it possible that the deflection he displays earlier is for Kal, rather than Ordo? (Full disclosure: I do not like Kal and am heavily biased against him.)

Additionally, though the inability to hack into the military mainframe is relevant to the situation with Niner and Darman, Kom’rk’s concerns over it are not framed that way. Kom’rk is mostly concerned they have no access and his frustration of being shut out. He also appears aware Ordo may not consider this urgent―Ordo does not―but that doesn’t stop him from mentioning it. While it’s one part thoroughness, one part some relevance to a problem they have, I also think it’s two parts feeling able to express even minor concerns to Ordo.

“Son, you know how many times we’ve pulled that stunt?” Skirata asked.

“Yes. You know how many times it’s worked?” [said Prudii.]

Kom’rk inspected his fingernails. “Well, that’s another problem they’ve brought upon themselves—it’s not like they can take our DNA to prove who we are. Or stick us in a lineup. (501st)

I just wanted to point out behavior indicative of boredom. This is the second time. So, at this point, I’d feel safe assuming Kom’rk is either easily bored or feels the need to maintain a bored, aloof facade, even around family. (I’d also note both are around Kal, and he doesn’t exhibit this when not around Kal, your mileage may vary due to the small number of instances.)

Kom’rk had claimed a corner [of the workshop Jaing set up] to himself and was hunched over a 2-D holochart, tapping numbers into a datapad, completely absorbed in the calculation.

“Who’d have thought it, Bard’ika?” Jaing said, not looking up from the screen in front of him. “Saucy old di’kut, showing up like that. Moral of the story—always go back and check for a pulse.”

“Ordo’s never going to live that down,” Kom’rk muttered. “Ha… ha…” (501st)

Again, support for works well professionally with Jaing.

Also since everyone and their pet strill is probably ribbing Ordo in absentia about how he was wrong about Maze shooting Zey, especially Ordo who is always right and whose entire reputation rides on his being right, perhaps Kom’rk is tired of this topic already. A drawn out laugh like that is often flat-toned: “[mocking tone] Ordo’s never going to live that one down. [unamused] Ha… ha…”

Seeing as Jaing finds this whole thing funny, Kom’rk who doesn’t appear to find it funny at all, serves counterpoint. Likely speaks to at least a concern for how Ordo is taking it, or an empathy for how Ordo will not find this funny himself at all. Kom’rk is either tired of an overplayed joke making fun of Ordo at Ordos expense or isn’t a fan of making fun of Ordo for something Ordo cannot also laugh about. Probably speaks to Kom’rk’s sensibilities or again overall relationship with Ordo.

“Still, it’s hard to cap someone who’s just standing there looking pathetic, even when you know you’ll regret it one day if you don’t.”

“I’ll do it,” Kom’rk said. “Nothing personal. Just necessary.”

“Or we could use them to our advantage.” Jaing tapped his finger on the pile of flimsi. “Because one day, the Empire’s going to really tick us off, and we’ll need the skills of some saber-jockeys who owe us.”

Kom’rk laughed. “They’ve owed a lot of people for a long time. Don’t see much of them repaying their debts.” (501st)

“Of course, if we know where they’re holed up, we could just wipe out the rest of them now,” Kom’rk said. “Or even do a deal with the Empire. But I don’t trust any of them.” (501st)

Pragmatic. Cynical. Negative about the Jedi.

Yes, traits that are said to be shared among all the Nulls to varying degrees, but it’s nice to actually see them.

“Let’s not be too hasty. We know where their bolt-holes are, and with a little ingenuity we can track their movements. They step out of line—the Empire gets a treasure map with here be Jedi on it.”

Kom’rk laughed again. “That boy’s sick.”

“You got that location yet?” Jaing asked. “Chop-chop. Get a move on.”

“In a minute. It’s looking like the Plawal Rift.” (501st)

Again, more support for his rapport with Jaing. And this exchange demonstrates a different energy and tone he has with Ordo. Where he is much more straightforward in his exchanges with Ordo, he has more jest and hard edges for Jaing. It’s a balanced push and pull, and almost a series of little playful jabs.

Now, I’ve talked already a lot about Kom’rk and Jaing, but here, in this moment, is where I feel most that their relationship is similar to the one Mereel and Ordo have, that very balanced counterpoint and deep, unspoken understanding. Just as much as one better understands both Ordo and Mereel as individuals through their relationship, I think it’s possible to have the same with Jaing and Kom’rk.

“Ordo thinks I’m going soft on my old associates,” Jusik said. “I can’t blame him.”

“Are you?” [said Kom’rk.]

“Do you think I am?”

“Nah. Do you want me to shoot you if you are?”

Kom’rk had that kind of deadpan humor. But humor had its serious purpose in life.

“Yes,” Jusik said, half-meaning it. “Make it before I do any real damage.”

Jaing just looked up at Kom’rk, the slightest pause as if it wasn’t funny.

“You got it, ner vod,” Kom’rk said, and went back to his holochart. (501st)

This again speaks to an understanding of Kom’rk that Jaing has that other people may not, or at least that’s how I read Jaing’s hesitation while Jusik is still trying to figure out how serious Kom’rk really is.

Also, Kom’rk’s sense of humor, laid out in exposition. Much like Ordo, he’s dry―though even more dry than even Ordo is, it seems. But it does say a lot about him that agreeing to shoot his adoptive brother is conceivably something he’d say as a joke. Or, maybe it suggests something about his opinion of Jusik.

And that’s everything we know about Kom’rk, and what we can possibly glean it all. Social, dry witted, distant. But close with his brothers, most especially Jaing, likely Mereel, and readily but kindly criticizing Ordo. Possibly worries about how much his family actually cares, but masks it under jokes to not come across as needy. Both open and distant when it comes to communicating, depending on context. It’s true we have very little proper scenes with him, and be clearly is the least developed of the six Nulls, but we actually know a lot more about him and what he’s like than generally believed.

[thebumblebeetumbletree]

#1 , #50, #100 lol any or all if you want no pressure, for ironstrange please and thank you. please dont stress out over it though. :)

No pressure! Honestly, I'm thinking of writing short fics for each one in different slashes. I just didn't realize how big of a hit this list would become, so I'm really excited to answer any and all questions. So, thank you anon!!

1."You always smile like you're about to cry."

50. "You look pretty today. I like you in blue."

100. "Kiss me, asshole."

Stephen didn't like Tony's smile. When he forced his face into a facsimile of one, the corners of his eyes didn't crinkle and there was no twinkle. It looked strained and tense, like smiling physically hurt him. In all, there was just something, off about it, like the man couldn't be bothered to even be happy.

Some days though, Tony actually smiled- his eyes crinkled and sparked to life. His face becoming so animated Stephen had to look away in fear of being blinded. He liked that Tony better, the one that was happy again- the haunted glaze pulled back from his hazel eyes, replaced with the old mischief Stephen used to see in magazines.

He looked roguish and young, and Stephen tried not to think about that particular fact, not when it set his stomach bubbling. His palms always got sweaty when he saw old pictures of Tony, he especially liked the one of him in Monte Carlo- the skintight racing attire a dark blue and stark against the mechanics skin. He liked when Tony wore blue. Or hot rod red.

Today, was one of those days. Tony's smile came easily, like high tide and his laugh even more so. He indulged in some ‘mystic mojo’ with Stephen, an easy going smile poking at the edges, and even allowed the cape to wrap him up. Stephen feared the cape would one day leave him for the mechanic, he couldn't say it was a bad thing though. He apparently liked Tony in fire engine red as well.

But there was a moment, a shadow over the sun, where Tony stopped in front of the display where Stephen had taken to leaving the time stone. He suddenly stiffened, his face pale and his eyes wide, like he swallowed a grape the wrong way.

“Tony?” Stephen called softly, stepping up beside Tony's stiff form, their reflections glaring back at them. “What is it?” He knew what it was, but everything had been going so well that Stephen half hoped it was just a fluke.

“You look pretty today,” Tony suddenly said, his eyes not once straying from the enchanted glass. Stephen hadn't ever considered himself to be attractive, his own insecurities about his accident and the subsequent scars that littered his hands had made the dating pool narrowly small. In fact, completely null. “I like you in blue,” Tony finally turned his head towards Stephen, his face tilted up and over his shoulder at a lazy angle. Stephen blushed, suddenly feeling small under Tony's weary and appreciative gaze.

Was Tony Stark- flirting with him? Stephen wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't happening right then. And sure, there was something between them, had been since Titan, and when Tony and Pepper finally called it quits. Stephen had felt something stir in his belly- something he hadn't felt in a long time and feared putting a name to- when Tony had come after him. Had saved him from Mawes with his not son.

When he'd woken up, Tony had been the first thing he saw. His smile weak but genuine, it was the last real smile Stephen had seen. And now, here they were, Tony trying to put up a front while Stephen just tried to grapple with the conversation's direction.

“You always smile like you're about to cry,” the words were suddenly out, the idea he'd wanted to say, but had been too afraid of the repercussions to actually speak aloud. He wished a portal would open up and swallow him whole, maybe send him far away and back to Kamatage.

If possible, Tony tensed even further. His back was a mass of tight muscles and his hands were clenched as tight as a fighter's, Stephen really hoped he didn't punch him. “I-” Tony broke off, his face screwing up in annoyance.

“I'm sorry,” Stephen blurted out, his hands shaking worse than ever before. His cloak pulled away from them both, giving them a facade of privacy. “I shouldn't have said that, my apologies Star- Tony.” He turned away, too ashamed to face Tony and see what his careless words had caused.

“No- wait. It's...you're right,” Stephen turned back to face Tony, who had turned his own back to the glass case. “I'm not doing okay, or at least that's what everyone says.” Everyone? As in, Ms. Potts, his spiderson and the enlightening Colonel Rhodes? ‘Most likely,’ he thought wryly.

Stephen took a step closer when Tony didn't glance up at him, his mind seeming to take him away from the moment. From Stephen. “Tony? There's nothing wrong with you. I lov-” he broke off. Tony didn't seem to notice.

“I'm not okay, Stephen,” he finally looked up, his eyes were teary and red.  “I'm not. I haven't been for awhile.” Stephen observed Tony, truly taking him in and noticing all the minute details he'd somehow missed. He'd lost weight, not a lot, but enough for Stephen to notice and his skin was pale instead of the tan he'd grown used to seeing.

Tony stepped closer, Stephen mirrored him. “Tony-”

“Do you know anything other than my name?” Tony quirked a smile, it didn't reach his eyes. “Not that I'd mind you saying that, but maybe in a different context,” he glanced meaningfully down at Stephen's crotch before pointedly looking over his shoulder in the direction of his chambers. Stephen rolled his eyes and blatantly ignored the obvious ploy to distract him.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, “Tony.”  

Tony rolled his eyes and closed the few feet remaining between them, “just- shut up and kiss me, asshole.” Stephen hesitated and Tony rolled his eyes again and grinned, a real one that had Stephen's knees shaking.

Tony kissed him, and the cloak saw fit to squish itself between and around them, tugging them closer together. Actually, Stephen quite liked Tony's smile.

[hugotontheonbiquiffinarians]

Melancholy As A Gib Cat

A/N: Stream of consciousness, abstract, allegorical writing; dialogue and narrative never seem to harmonise in my style because they’re still stuck in the honeymoon phase, so if it reads with a surrealist, philosophical tone, it’s probably intentional lol (probably...)

One lone susurration of pending concern braids the air with tension.

“Sir…?”

The hour is a quarter past midnight. Clocks, sedated in circumduction. Stood before a hunched and forlorn figure, the nurse is toilworn. Yet again stricken by travails entailed by working an additional night shift, she sighs interminably, mechanically, at the returning absence of reply.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we need you to vacate the premises. You’ve been lounging here since noon and have yet to provide any reasoning as to why you’re here.”

She’s confused by the jarring decibel of sudden laughter ejected from his throat. An abrupt propulsion of hilarity expectorates from the phlegm-encrusted pharynx, leaving her briefly disoriented. Did he really think this was... funny?

“Orderlies must not be so great at their job if 12 hours have passed and the ‘homeless’ man hasn’t been escorted to that slate of solid air you call an exit.”

Beyond the delicate tenor of his voice, oddly enticing in its fluctuation, the nurse pretends to lend a deaf ear to this retort, turning a blind eye to the lopsided grin that falters upon his painted features. Feigning nescience, her own facade of draconian necessity is adjusted accordingly, despite expressing unspoken agreement to her colleagues’ chronic apathy and incompetence.

Nevertheless, while Mondays had always been particularly hellsent in the realm of corporate captivity, this Stygian Monday seemed to be wrapped especially by the Dark Prince himself. The fact that it was the night of All Hallows’ Eve made her consider this disheveled man’s appearance as no mere coincidence. When he had first arrived on the scene, stumbling through the Exit as Entrance, mildly disoriented, she had failed to recognise precisely what had compelled her brows to arch in amusement. What source of strange attraction had magnetised the warm cocoa of her irises to that broad brush of porcelain white masking his face. 

Lest she forget how evocative his complexion illustrated. The outline of his form was unusually thin. Frighteningly so. As obscure compensation, he was dressed to the nines in a trio of lurid colours, both appealing yet tawdry to the mind’s eye. An edible arrangement of all primary colours, somehow satisfied in discordant harmony. A fitting description for her peculiar taste. An ode of testament to the otherwise concrete depiction of malnutrition evincing as aesthetically pleasing.

Initially, she had surmised the cartoonish outfit as being his choice of costume in adherence to that festive day of tricks and treats. Either that, or his profession happened to choreograph the motions of an actual clown. A number of employees had conceded in arriving to work cosplaying as their fulsome, fictional fancies. As such, any flux of odd characters roaming about was to be expected. Anthropomorphic pumpkins, animated skeletons and ragamuffin children included.

In any case, this curious visitor of afternoon and eventide had been given to staking a claim of extended residence to the reception area. When he wasn’t loafing about, casually, if not at self-conscious moments, modestly dancing about the floor, before an Argus-eyed crowd of perplexed patrons, his lissome limbs could be observed sprawled along the expanse of four chairs, lackadaisical and gay in demeanour, the peeling paint of a white ceiling providing him jocose entertainment for the lees of an unproductive evening.

He was a man of average height, to be sure, but his gangling structure gave the illusion of a taller stature. This eccentric coalition of artistic elements: tousled mop of head, saturated by acid green, highlighted punctuation of avian beak, which was further accented by the occasional creeping of a queried smile riddled with snaggleteeth. Summarily, a sort of misshapen handsomeness. She could only wonder if he had silently observed her as she did him with such unprecedented intensity.

“Do you need medication? Any health complications you want to identify?” Insouciant as the gait that waltzed him through in absurd performance, Arthur takes a neutral drag from the burning cylinder of his self-prescribed medicine, effectively substituting any verbalised answer. Perhaps this poor soul was just like the others. Solicitous, only by social mandate. It needn’t be repeated ad nauseam, but, indeed, he thinks. Indeed, humans were vapid, egocentric creatures; born and bred without the guidance of a tender leash. Without the scourge of humility as a redolent scar to sear inveterate marks of mediocrity.

“I’ll be more than happy to help.” Regardless of station or influence, the individual was little more than a fractured reflection, rife with lacerations, knifed and bludgeoned by nameless enemies. Bereaved and forgotten to tuneless threnodies.

“Unfortunately, at this late an hour, we can’t accept regular clients if the situation isn’t exigent. To endure the best possible assessment for your proposed infirmity, I recommend you return first thing tomorrow.”

The nameless anonymity of selfhood guided by severed fibers of the optic nerve. To heedless vision does refractive frame reveal a bruised and battered mosaic.

“What’s your name?” Arthur’s sharp intake of nicotine precedes the inquiry.

“Pardon?”

Arthur flits his weary gaze to the empty patch of fabric where a tag of nomination should be.

“I see you neglected to wear a name tag.” The humour in this sardonic intimation is diluted. Drowned to expiry by the egregore of predetermined comedy. Straightening ever so slightly in his seat, Arthur relaxes against the sterile, leather cushion of the hospital’s waiting room decor. It was unprofessional. “It’s a lovely costume.” Sincerely, it was. That blatant disregard to identity, presumptive though it was, could never have gone unnoticed, if not wholly unappreciated.

Before the innominate nurse can voice a rebuttal, Arthur accentuates his commanding tone by procuring a twin cigarette from the hard pack nestled in his left jacket pocket, swiftly and effortlessly lighting it with the old school dexterity exampled by that of a seasoned smoker, rich with the prescription of addicting tales from a turbulent history. It is this expression of confidence and appealing manner which has the nurse’s bosom palpitating with a sense of unrealised sexual awakening. A sense of sapid scent to the olfaction that was as fleeting in arrival as it was in departure. Yet, clinging in anticipation. Lingering in a recess of orphaned emotions.

“How are the patient and physician expected to establish a relationship built on trust if names aren’t exchanged?”

The nurse couldn’t decide whether or not to be annoyed at his inquiries. He was beginning to give off the vibe of a man victimised by premature senility, lonely and isolated. Struggling to connect with others due to both variables being broiled in longevity. By no means was the presumption intended as derogatory. Harmless scrutiny of the human condition was often easily misconstrued for criticism and pejorative nuance. However, as it stands, the nurse couldn’t eschew assertion in her isle of employment not advertising specialised treatment to the elderly. Moreover, it was plain to see that the man was nowhere near elderly, in spite of gaunt and debilitating appearance. Nor was he gallivanting in a glorified convalescent home.

“Firstly, I’m a nurse.” Securing her hands in her pockets, she can’t help mimicking the man’s neurotic actions, fiddling with the fraying threads of that orangish shade of red. His, admittedly nice, hands, if not fastened to his habit, were havering in exploration, gliding across sparse thighs to grasp and release at various areas, hovering above his face with gentle, reluctant pressure, memorising every pore and facial quirk, patently emotive in expression. If nothing else, his presence was innocuous, at best. Still... one could never be too safe.

“Secondly, you haven’t been registered as a patient.” Fingers start drumming with sentience against a contrast of more replete thighs, concealed from perusal by the deep ivory pockets of her lab coat. “After midnight, we have to start shifting focus to emergencies only.” If she were uncomfortable, it didn’t register in her voice. Unbeknownst to her, the gentleman sat before her possessed quite a flair for spatial awareness. This, alone, registers with dormant reflex. Only her body language conveys an increasing touch of unease to the brand of his indelible presence.

“Seeing as you aren’t in need of intensive care, I won’t be able to assist you properly unless you make a morning appointment.” Even whilst perusing the distance, there was something strangely intimidating about his gaze. Flecks of numbing pain sparkle across his sclera, contrary to the deadly evergreens of his remaining anatomy, pupils fixated on a full lunar radiance knocking at the entry, dilated in aspiration.

The following response of chest pangs are null in sympathy as the nurse suppresses an aberrant impulse to embrace the man who seems to have embodied the spirit of Atlas and Sisyphus in solidarity. Still, her empathy relents to portray as tone deaf.

“My apologies, but I really do have to ask you to lea-“

“Who are you to decide that?” Visible offense erases the scenic tranquility of his physiognomy. He was affected by Weltschmerz. Thoroughly distressed. Nervously anchoring his cancer stick to rouge-stained purse of lips. “That I’m ‘not in need of intensive care’?” Anxious knees begin to bounce of their own volition, gradually elevating intensity with each tapping force of urgency against polished tile. “Are injuries only examined as skin-deep to be considered treatable? What if I were bleeding internally with no apparent symptoms on the surface?”

Arthur frowns in contemplation, appearing struck by a gold mine of memory, extracting a weighted ore of recognition from the farrago of his musings.

“What did you mean by ‘we’?” Cocking his head like that of a cat bedevilled by the spirited tick of inquisitiveness, those piercing, ocean eyes of his flicker and fix in a way that makes the nurse delirious, for a brief spell. “Do you not exist alone?”

There was no ‘best course of action’ in this scenario. The man was clearly a clown. A delusional joker. In every sense of etymology. As those fabricated brows of crimson patiently await a verdict, she peers down at him, an owner, sapped of vim and vigour, siphoning their fuel reserve of energy to an eager pet, imbibed by a perpetual battery of endurance.

Decisive is she in her aim to play along. Any choice of dialogue that ultimately resulted in the man’s resolute departure was in direct correlation with her supporting role as the damsel in distress. There’s only one thing she wants to know before she ushers away this creepy, (cute) clown herself.

The instantaneous display of misplaced intimacy is not telling of an absent mind. Where this surge of impulse to touch strangers derived, she had no desire to ponder. Sans any ounce of shame, she had longed to get a feel for the enchanting canvas of his suit. And here, it is unclear as to whether Arthur or the nurse relaxes beneath this foreign caress. Of trust, a test, to anyone’s guess. An inviting hug of hands in silent greeting. A polarised streak of magnetism, mesmerising her idealistic heart to him. Therein, begs another question to the insatiate bird of passage. Was she merely attracted to the idea of him, as a means to evade capitalist oppression? Or, was it instead an insisting tug of fate? Kismet? Predestination? Searching earnestly, perhaps even desperately, for any signs of transparency shielded beneath that striking hue of sorrowed blue.

“I wonder…”

How she fantasised about running away to the freak show. The one that wasn’t christened ‘society’.

“Who’s the man behind the clown?”

Unconsciously, the filter slips from his ruddy mouth, reduced to embers with the spreading fervor of his crooked smile.

Maybe he could be her one-way ticket to dream town.

[sweetnull]

- ‘ enjoy! have a lovely evening! ‘

the door closes, and the bells on the handle ring for the last time that day. null stops in her waving and allows the facade of effortless happiness to fall away. eyelids sag - the same as the corners of her mouth. silence comes over the shop. not even the birds calls from outside can shatter the quiet within. she feels exhausted: both inside and out.

when was the last time i felt… happy?

when was the last time i smiled because i simply could?

why am i doing this?

in the stillness of her corner of the world the thoughts once held at bay run loose. however, null can no longer be bothered to chase then away. instead the witch approaches the door of the shop and locks it. the artsy sign that reads: come in, we’re open! is turned about to show its night face: sorry, we’re closed! one by one the shades are drawn on the windows. absentmindedly the hardwood floors are swept. these actions no longer have any means to them. they are simply what need to be done. they are the routine, as they always have been.

wearily the woman enters her living space. immediately heading towards the kitchen area. five o’clock meant supper time. these days however it is mostly for the pets rather than for all of them. brief sounds of dry kibble falling into their respective bowls is all that comes from the room. no hungry mouths come to feast… its not much of a surprise. they likely cannot stand the smothering waves that come from witch’s aura. so she stands in the space alone.

null does not bother going to the fridge, as it’s empty. she could eat cereal again, but she’s not hungry. instead straight to the bedroom the female wanders. there is not point in changing clothes. it simply meant one less thing to do tomorrow morning upon waking up. all that the witch does do, however, is kicking off her shoes and socks. all of these things have become a silent, all consuming motion. she lays there on the bed while the recurring dream comes back to her…

a monster with a million eyes stares at her. she of course, stares back. they stand like this for a while, or is it years? time has no meaning in dreams - yet the walls are lined with clocks. they may be broken, but they remain. it is strange why such broken things persist when they have no meaning.

though the monster lacks a mouth to taunt, it manages to do so:

- ‘ silly girl! was it really worth it to sever yourself from everyone? do you really think it will make all your pain go away? ‘

it laughs: a sound that is akin to true evil. null can see her eyes in the many reflections of herself from both the eyes and the clocks: they are hallow, devoid of emotion. how long have they been like that? she can’t be bothered to remember… so the witch simply clears her throat and replies:

- ‘ y e s. '

[wardensantoineandevka]

#I mean the poor guy had NO canon personality ( @sauntering-down on this post )

Actually!! While it’s true we know little of Kom’rk, it’s not true we know nothing. We actually know a lot more about him as an individual than generally believed, even from the few scenes he’s in.

To summarize first, Kom’rk, when we first meet him, gives a sense of one who fears the infrequency with which he sees his family has developed into them not caring enough about him to miss him. However, he deflects this with a joke, preventing it from getting too serious. While he seeks validation, it seems he doesn’t want to appear possibly needy or clingy, and when he does get doted on and fussed over, he acts as if it’s not a big deal. Generally, Kom’rk is either easily bored or feels the need to maintain an aloof, bored facade even among family.

At Kyrimorut, Ordo asks Kom’rk to help him with larger tasks, and Kom’rk readily helps him. Despite the fact it seems Kom’rk makes reports through Jaing, in person, Kom’rk is open, almost forward in expressing his concerns―even those that may be simple annoyances. Kom’rk also readily and quickly criticizes his brothers, most especially Ordo, firm but also kind as he does.

To place him in comparison with the other Nulls, he’s closest to Jaing, with whom he has an easy and joking rapport, and it seems he works best professionally with Jaing; this relationship is likely similar to the one Mereel and Ordo have. He has similar preferences and styles of socializing as Mereel, and he and Mereel seem to have similar tastes in what they look for in a social scene. His sense of humor seems most similar to Ordo’s. He’s one of the more extraverted Nulls.

So, very long quote by quote breakdown of what we know (or what I interpret) about Kom’rk and his relationship with some other characters, the latter of which I talk about more than intended, but how characters relate to others is also important.

After his brief appearance as a child, Kom’rk spends most the series as an unseen character, spoken of but never physically present. Much of what we learn first about him is about his significant relationships.

“Fierfek, son, Kom’rk and Jaing can track a flitnat across the galaxy and we can’t find a gang in our own backyard.” (Triple Zero)

“Only ones I haven’t met are Jaing and Kom’rk, and they’re still after Grievous.” (True Colors)

This is the first thing we learn about Kom’rk. It doesn’t establish overly much about Kom’rk’s personality, but it establishes where he is in the scheme of skills and operations the Nulls have. He’s a skilled tracker, and he’s assigned, with Jaing, to track Grievous. And it also establishes an important relationship: Jaing.

Unlike the other Nulls, the long-term assignment that Kom’rk and Jaing are given is a joint op. This is highly unusual, as the Nulls are essentially trained to work as solo operators. This doesn’t suggest anything to me about Kom’rk’s or Jaing’s abilities―they’re tracking Grievous, intensely high value target. Rather, it tells me that Kom’rk and Jaing must work especially well together professionally. And while the Nulls all get along and work well together, it takes a particular kind of rapport for two people to work very closely on a single mission over the course of years.

I’ll get back to this.

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s learning a few saucy tricks from my brother Kom’rk. Good man, Corr.” (True Colors)

“So [Corr] you’ve enjoyed a rich social education with Mereel and Kom’rk, have you?” (True Colors)

The second thing we learn about Kom’rk is he spends time with Corr, and he and Mereel have been influential in shaping Corr’s coming into his own with a marked self-confidence, extraversion, and easy sociability.

There’s no reason to doubt this―Kom’rk may have an assignment on Utapau, but there’s indication that Kom’rk doesn’t necessarily stay there all the time. (I’ll point it out later.)

Judging by the development in Corr, one can judge the difference as reflective of what Kom’rk is like as a person. And it suggests an extravert who enjoys a social scene and is easily sociable, who has similar styles and preferences of socializing as Mereel and likely enjoys similar social settings as Mereel does.

“I saw Kom’rk once, but he doesn’t seem as…” And that was as far as Darman got. (True Colors)

This is an incomplete thought, and there isn’t anything concrete to get from it, really. I just love it. Considering the two Nulls Darman is most familiar with are Ordo and Mereel, it’s safe to say that Kom’rk’s bearing and demeanor strikes Darman at a single glance as different enough from those two to make an impression such.

Of the six Nulls, [Mereel] was the one best able to deal with the demons the Kaminoans had forced on him. But the others—A’den, Kom’rk, Jaing, and Prudii—kept Skirata awake at night to varying degrees. And Ordo… (Order 66)

This is a quote I always pull for the Nulls. I work under the assumption that this isn’t randomly ordered. I always maintain that this is specifically the order from least to most concerned Kal is. Under this, we learn that Kal isn’t overly concerned about Kom’rk. To some degree? Yes. But Kal doesn’t believe Kom’rk needs as much concern as three other Nulls.

It is also, in my belief, a rough ordering of the Nulls from most extraverted to most introverted. (My thoughts on Kal’s association of extraversion with well-adjustment are for another time, even if not elaborating weakens my point here somewhat.) By this conceit, it confirms at this moment Kom’rk as one of the more extraverted Nulls.

Then the hatch opened and Kom’rk stuck his head into the compartment.

“So, nobody missed me,” he said. “I’m gone a year, and nobody baked a cake.”

“Kom’ika…” Skirata got up and embraced him with a crunch of armor plates. 

Ordo waited his turn. “Come on, get that bucket off and let’s take a look at you… shab, son, you’re looking thin.”

Kom’rk shrugged, clipping his helmet to his belt. His face did look drawn. (Order 66)

This is meeting adult Kom’rk for the first time. Obviously, of immense significance, despite its brevity.

Now, personally, I choose to understand that the first statement Kom’rk makes actually is of significance, and I choose to believe that, for a fleeting moment, it’s utterly sincere. (Why introduce a character with that if it doesn’t speak to some truth?) Kom’rk is afraid that he’s been gone so long, Kal and Ordo don’t care anymore and they don’t miss him.

But, that’s a weighty statement. One that yells a little too loudly for validation, and would even be needy and clingy. Solution: deflect and diffuse with a joke. Steer the conversation elsewhere before it gets too far down the road toward serious. (Mereel does this all the time, by the way.)

Kom’rk does get the validation he seeks. Kal immediately goes to hug him, and he is concerned about how thin Kom’rk looks. However, despite for a moment fearing he won’t get this reception, Kom’rk simply shrugs. He plays the concern off as if it isn’t of importance―or, he plays off the potential that he isn’t as well as he should be. Or, both.

“Grievous still comes and goes on Utapau, Kal’buir, and he gets visits from interesting allies we didn’t know he had. The Regent of Garis, in fact.”

“And there was I thinking he was in the Republic camp.”

Kom’rk handed Skirata a datachip. “A crumb to toss to Zey—here’s the voice traffic between the two of them, minus the locations, of course. We don’t want Windu or Kenobi charging in there and blowing it before we’ve milked the situation.” He lowered his voice. “And Grievous keeps asking Dooku what’s happened to all these gazillions of droids he was promised, poor old dear. I think he’s been set up.”

“Told you so,” Skirata said. “All propaganda. All osik.”

“Can I have a change of scene, then? It’s boring out there.” (Order 66)

I’d like to note the irreverence in Kom’rk’s tone when talking about Jedi, Grievous, and the assignment Kal gave him. (Compare: Ordo’s staunch acceptance of the lot Kal assigned him, despite deep dissatisfaction with it.)

[Jaing:] “He [Grievous] misses Utapau, obviously. I got a tip-off.”

[Ordo:] “You’re not there, then.”

“No, we’re just tidying up a few loose ends on the Rim.”

“Time we told Zey?”

“Yeah.” Jaing sounded tired. “There’s still something not right about this, but I’m past caring, and so is Kom’ika.” (Order 66)

Here, Kom’rk is indicated to not be at Utapau, instead managing other undisclosed tasks elsewhere.

To return to Kom’rk’s relationship with Jaing, this strikes me as Jaing makes Kom’rk’s sitreps on his behalf, or for the both of them. A little later, Ordo asks Jaing to relay his message to Kom’rk, suggesting to me that when Kom’rk is away, it is normal for Ordo to speak to him indirectly through Jaing.

This gives more of a weight to the possibility that Kom’rk fears Ordo and Kal are unconcerned about him, because he is more distant than the others, but it also speaks of a certain kind of dynamic: not only is Kom’rk rarely heard from directly for us the reader, but he is also rarely heard from directly for narrating characters like Ordo.

It is worth remembering here that of all the Nulls, Kom’rk is away from home base for the longest periods, at one time gone for a year.

Why Kom’rk may communicate indirectly through Jaing, if such is true, is unclear. Perhaps for efficiency. It is redundant to have both Jaing and Kom’rk report the same information. Perhaps it speaks to strain in his relationship with Kal.

Good time to talk about his relationship with Ordo.

“Is it going to burn properly?” Kom’rk asked. “Do you want some accelerant on the pyre?”

Ordo thought that was a good idea, and wondered how it could be done discreetly. (Order 66)

When Ordo and Kom’rk had herded the whole clan into the karyai... (501st)

While I may suggest that there’s possibly strain in his relationship with Kal, I hesitate to suggest such with Ordo. (Full disclosure: Ordo is my favorite.)

I say this because when Ordo needs two large tasks done, one of which is a delicate and emotionally charged matter, Ordo asks Kom’rk for help, and Kom’rk gives it. While one may chalk it up to necessity, the sincerity with which Kom’rk helps Ordo with the pyre speaks to me otherwise.

“They’ve completely overhauled the system overnight, Ord’ika.” Kom’rk took back the ’pad. “Data, comms, everything. We can’t get in. We can’t take stuff out. We can’t talk or listen at will. We can’t spy.”

It was the first time Ordo could recall when he and his brothers had not been able to get at anything they wanted. [...] “It’s more an annoyance,” Ordo said at last. [...] “None of this is beyond you or me to bypass, and Mereel or Jaing can crack this over a cup of caf.”

“I’m sure we can, but we’re starting over. The whole system’s changed. We’ve been used to being on the inside, exploiting opportunities, but if we want to keep that level of access, we’re going to have to start working harder.”

“Apart from extracting our brothers, why is this urgent?”

Kom’rk shrugged. “Just in case.”

And we hate being shut out. Ordo and his brothers were used to being in control. “We still can’t comm Darman or Niner, then?”

“No, and we can’t even get a medical sitrep on Niner. Or find out where Darman is. Because it’s the Imperial Army now.” (Order 66)

Ruu left, taking her plate with her, and Kom’rk raised an eyebrow at Ordo.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, ner vod, but you lack sensitivity. Poor woman didn’t go looking for Kal’buir. We abducted her.”

“She knows the score.”

“So you’re happy now.”

“Less tense, let’s say.” (501st)

Despite my saying Kom’rk appears distant over comms, in person with Ordo, he is almost forward. He is open with his concerns and has no issue quickly and concisely stating them, even if they’re ultimately simply annoyances rather than urgent matters.

I don’t interpret forwardness as a sign of strain―Kom’rk comes across firm, but not unkind. As someone with multiple siblings, I can say this tone is common, especially when sincerely and without malice trying to help a sibling address a flaw they have.

Frankly, as I see it, it is suggested that Kom’rk’s relationship with Ordo is a direct, open, and straightforward one. Also, is it possible that the deflection he displays earlier is for Kal, rather than Ordo? (Full disclosure: I do not like Kal and am heavily biased against him.)

Additionally, though the inability to hack into the military mainframe is relevant to the situation with Niner and Darman, Kom’rk’s concerns over it are not framed that way. Kom’rk is mostly concerned they have no access and his frustration of being shut out. He also appears aware Ordo may not consider this urgent―Ordo does not―but that doesn’t stop him from mentioning it. While it’s one part thoroughness, one part some relevance to a problem they have, I also think it’s two parts feeling able to express even minor concerns to Ordo.

“Son, you know how many times we’ve pulled that stunt?” Skirata asked.

“Yes. You know how many times it’s worked?” [said Prudii.]

Kom’rk inspected his fingernails. “Well, that’s another problem they’ve brought upon themselves—it’s not like they can take our DNA to prove who we are. Or stick us in a lineup. (501st)

I just wanted to point out behavior indicative of boredom. This is the second time. So, at this point, I’d feel safe assuming Kom’rk is either easily bored or feels the need to maintain a bored, aloof facade, even around family. (I’d also note both are around Kal, and he doesn’t exhibit this when not around Kal, your mileage may vary due to the small number of instances.)

Kom’rk had claimed a corner [of the workshop Jaing set up] to himself and was hunched over a 2-D holochart, tapping numbers into a datapad, completely absorbed in the calculation.

“Who’d have thought it, Bard’ika?” Jaing said, not looking up from the screen in front of him. “Saucy old di’kut, showing up like that. Moral of the story—always go back and check for a pulse.”

“Ordo’s never going to live that down,” Kom’rk muttered. “Ha… ha…” (501st)

Again, support for works well professionally with Jaing.

Also since everyone and their pet strill is probably ribbing Ordo in absentia about how he was wrong about Maze shooting Zey, especially Ordo who is always right and whose entire reputation rides on his being right, perhaps Kom’rk is tired of this topic already. A drawn out laugh like that is often flat-toned: “[mocking tone] Ordo’s never going to live that one down. [unamused] Ha... ha...”

Seeing as Jaing finds this whole thing funny, Kom’rk who doesn’t appear to find it funny at all, serves counterpoint. Likely speaks to at least a concern for how Ordo is taking it, or an empathy for how Ordo will not find this funny himself at all. Kom’rk is either tired of an overplayed joke making fun of Ordo at Ordos expense or isn’t a fan of making fun of Ordo for something Ordo cannot also laugh about. Probably speaks to Kom’rk’s sensibilities or again overall relationship with Ordo.

“Still, it’s hard to cap someone who’s just standing there looking pathetic, even when you know you’ll regret it one day if you don’t.”

“I’ll do it,” Kom’rk said. “Nothing personal. Just necessary.”

“Or we could use them to our advantage.” Jaing tapped his finger on the pile of flimsi. “Because one day, the Empire’s going to really tick us off, and we’ll need the skills of some saber-jockeys who owe us.”

Kom’rk laughed. “They’ve owed a lot of people for a long time. Don’t see much of them repaying their debts.” (501st)

“Of course, if we know where they’re holed up, we could just wipe out the rest of them now,” Kom’rk said. “Or even do a deal with the Empire. But I don’t trust any of them.” (501st)

Pragmatic. Cynical. Negative about the Jedi.

Yes, traits that are said to be shared among all the Nulls to varying degrees, but it’s nice to actually see them.

“Let’s not be too hasty. We know where their bolt-holes are, and with a little ingenuity we can track their movements. They step out of line—the Empire gets a treasure map with here be Jedi on it.”

Kom’rk laughed again. “That boy’s sick.”

“You got that location yet?” Jaing asked. “Chop-chop. Get a move on.”

“In a minute. It’s looking like the Plawal Rift.” (501st)

Again, more support for his rapport with Jaing. And this exchange demonstrates a different energy and tone he has with Ordo. Where he is much more straightforward in his exchanges with Ordo, he has more jest and hard edges for Jaing. It’s a balanced push and pull, and almost a series of little playful jabs.

Now, I’ve talked already a lot about Kom’rk and Jaing, but here, in this moment, is where I feel most that their relationship is similar to the one Mereel and Ordo have, that very balanced counterpoint and deep, unspoken understanding. Just as much as one better understands both Ordo and Mereel as individuals through their relationship, I think it’s possible to have the same with Jaing and Kom’rk.

“Ordo thinks I’m going soft on my old associates,” Jusik said. “I can’t blame him.”

“Are you?” [said Kom’rk.]

“Do you think I am?”

“Nah. Do you want me to shoot you if you are?”

Kom’rk had that kind of deadpan humor. But humor had its serious purpose in life.

“Yes,” Jusik said, half-meaning it. “Make it before I do any real damage.”

Jaing just looked up at Kom’rk, the slightest pause as if it wasn’t funny.

“You got it, ner vod,” Kom’rk said, and went back to his holochart. (501st)

This again speaks to an understanding of Kom’rk that Jaing has that other people may not, or at least that’s how I read Jaing’s hesitation while Jusik is still trying to figure out how serious Kom’rk really is.

Also, Kom’rk’s sense of humor, laid out in exposition. Much like Ordo, he’s dry―though even more dry than even Ordo is, it seems. But it does say a lot about him that agreeing to shoot his adoptive brother is conceivably something he’d say as a joke. Or, maybe it suggests something about his opinion of Jusik.

And that’s everything we know about Kom’rk, and what we can possibly glean it all. Social, dry witted, distant. But close with his brothers, most especially Jaing, likely Mereel, and readily but kindly criticizing Ordo. Possibly worries about how much his family actually cares, but masks it under jokes to not come across as needy. Both open and distant when it comes to communicating, depending on context. It’s true we have very little proper scenes with him, and be clearly is the least developed of the six Nulls, but we actually know a lot more about him and what he’s like than generally believed.

[phulkor]

Filter REST resources with partial responses

Sometimes, when we call an endpoint, all we need is one of the fields. A tendency I've seen is to add new methods to access those properties directly and we'll see if there are alternate solutions.

Suppose the settings of the settings in a specific microservice are represented as follows:

public class Settings { private String userId; private String walletAddress; }

It might seem interesting to access the wallet address of this entity through a new endpoint:

GET /settings/{userId}/wallet-address

There are a few thing wrong with this approach.-: * REST is about representing resources, and altough it's not always possible to stick to this, in most cases it is. So a better approach would be to just call /settings/{userId}, get the email and be done with it. * It adds a lot of code if you need to add a method for each field you want to access separately:

[ resource layer ] ↓ [ facade layer ] ↓ [ service layer ] ↓ [ repository layer ]

This is code that is gonna break and that you have to maintain.

You understand the consequences ...

...but you still want only that field.

Well why no use a filter to return a partial response?

API request filters

To circumvent the problem, we are going to implement a filter on the fields of our response. Lets use a nice user example:

GET localhost:8080/users/1?fields=walletAddress

Here is a response example for an extended API of our user resource without the filter:

GET localhost:8080/users/{userId} { "userId": "1", "firstName": "Boba", "lastName": "Fett", "emailAddress": "boba.fett@email.com", "address": null }

and with the filter:

GET localhost:8080/users/1?fields=emailAddress { "emailAddress": "boba.fett@email.com" }

The magic

Now lets look how to implement this in spring. We'll use an interface here - because I like interface and I do not like annotations - but that choice is up to you:

public interface JsonFilterable { }

Then use ResponseBodyAdvice to filter our responses before sending them on the wire:

@ControllerAdvice public class JsonFieldFilterAdvise implements ResponseBodyAdvice<Object> { @Autowired private JsonFieldFilter jsonFieldFilter; @Override public boolean supports( MethodParameter returnType, Class<? extends HttpMessageConverter<?>> converterType) { return JsonFilterable.class.isAssignableFrom(returnType.getParameterType()); // 1 } @Override public Object beforeBodyWrite( Object body, MethodParameter returnType, MediaType selectedContentType, Class<? extends HttpMessageConverter<?>> selectedConverterType, ServerHttpRequest request, ServerHttpResponse response) { HttpServletRequest httpRequest = ((ServletServerHttpRequest) request).getServletRequest();// 2 if (httpRequest.getParameterMap().containsKey(FIELDS_FILTER)) { return jsonFieldFilter.filter(body, asList(httpRequest.getParameter(FIELDS_FILTER).split(",")));// 3 } else { return body; } } }

The supports() method checks which objects gets filtered

In the beforeBodyWrite() method we recover the fields to filter from the http request

Finally we throw the hot potato of filtering out the fields to a JsonFieldFilter (see below)

The hot potato

Depending on which implementation you use for generating the json, you might need different solutions to filter out the fields.

You can set the fields of the object to null, in that case you'll need to annotate your DTOs with @JsonInclude(Include.NON_NULL) in case you use jakson

You can use reflection to exclude the fields you do not need, a simple solution is to use com.fasterxml.jackson.databind.ObjectMapper:

Object mapper

In case you use the object mapper, the code to implement is straightforward:

public Map<String, Object> filter(Object toFilter, List<String> fields) { final Map<String, Object> map = objectMapper.convertValue(toFilter, Map.class); if (fields == null || fields.isEmpty()) { return map; } map.keySet().retainAll(fields); return map; }

You do lose typing but because it's done before transmitting the object on the wire, so I believe it's not a big deal here.

We'll have to work out the documentation as to not forget that fields filter, but that is for another time.

Happy coding !!

[iam-illusion-and-memory-blog]

Inconsistencies

Once it was captivated by a countdown A nuisance revealing naivety Revolving recollection of image we own Uncertainty of captivation

Entanglement between the unknown Revolution of our images Around with the faces Papers they record for themselves

And once again it was a gathering A recollection from a recollection An imprint that belongs to an imprint With the unique signature that will never stray

From the recollection’s higher position Like a safekeeping of a banknote An imprint  with an ink of a quote It undergoes nullification

Movement through the displacement From a major to minor Vice versa, traveling in a manor Panting and gasping on a null attempt

It has been immeasurable The time it takes to be futile The disillusive value wearing away For a facade to be a theater play

It’s been silent and repetitive And one moment of help A solution for a thorough Look for something that’s been burrowed

At last for a very long moment Those letters that make me reflect Are seen through the collection And it becomes a recollection

[miamibeachcondoslofts]

Paramount Bay

Paramount Bay

2020 North Bayshore Drive, Miami, FL 33137

< Back to Miami Luxury Condos

Paramount Bay

Rising to impressive heights above the Atlantic Ocean, Paramount Bay Miami condos offers the best of busy downtown living juxtaposed with tranquil seaside life. Designed by Lenny Kravitz through Kravitz Design Inc., these units aim to please the aesthetically astute while providing all the comforts and conveniences of a pampered lifestyle.

Built in 2010, this modern building remains at the cutting edge of design with a reflective facade and tiered levels. Inside, a cascading public garden transitions into the main foyer. Lush landscaping with exotic foliage is sure to impress.

Once inside, dozens of units with a variety of floor plans await. All come outfitted with updated kitchens. Wood cabinetry, stainless steel, sub-zero appliances and chrome fixtures complete the room. Massive windows span from the ceiling down to porcelain tile flooring.

Plus all residents at Paramount Bay Miami get to enjoy the on-site lap pool, sunrise pool, and spa. Break a sweat at the fitness center or while playing outdoor games. Your wireless internet is complimentary, and as always, you can expect 24/7 security and concierge services.

Miami Realtor Josh Stein has upped the ante when it comes to sophisticated urban living. At Paramount Bay Miami, the cool city lifestyle has met its match with chill tropical living. These beachfront condos promise the best of both worlds.

Building Stats: Year Built: 2010 Stories: 47 Total Units: 346 Bedrooms: 1 to 3 Sq.Ft. Range: 1,128 to 2,845 Sq.Ft.

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Paramount Bay

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Aria on the Bay Biscayne Beach Icon Bay

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