cruelonlytobekindarchived

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

let me tell you what i wish i’d known when i was young and dreamed of glory– you have no control WHO LIVES WHO DIES WHO TELLS YOUR STORY.

ind. & sel. canon divergent multi feat. links of wind waker, ocarina of time, and breath of the wild, & many more as awakened from a seven year slumber by KAT VALENTINE.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

Here is a place for it to happen. A place where I can love you. The letter delivered, the year decembered, the river swum.

as crafted by kat valentine. 

promo by the wonderful @wellward!

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

Here is a place for it to happen. A place where I can love you. The letter delivered, the year decembered, the river swum.

as crafted by kat valentine. 

promo by the wonderful @wellward!

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@beguilcd (x)

you hear her speak and your eyes close. you do not reach out in the force— you do not have to, after all. you only have to hear her and you feel her in your bones. you only have to feel her and you can hear her in the echo of your mind. it is the connective nature of the jedi, and, more than anything, the connective nature of your body, mind, spirit.

you smile, and even with the soft flush of your cheeks marred only by that jagged scar, you are nothing but gleeful. it remains in your breast. it sits perched in your throat. all that is, indeed, just fine. all that is merely the balance of who you are. but there’s a shade within her words. it feels like a darkness, and that darkness is all too familiar to you.

but you will keep it silent for just a moment. and for many after.

“we will talk of that in the future, i assure you. we will. there is no shame to it. i have felt, and am feeling, that same haunting tune that you have heard. but you fear it— in time, you will learn.” you wish to touch her but there’s a sense in your mind that tells you not to. your prosthetic arm twinges.

“for me it has always been a companion. always the part of the galaxy i was born with a map of. when i do not understand the world around me, i always find safety in the living force,” simply, indeed, a small flower comes to your hand, picked gently and taken from the ground. floats upward, right in front of you, and you blow on the flower— fluffy little seeds scatter. they dance on the breeze and leave you up into the wind. around you, always, flowers seem to bloom. “it will be a friend to you. sometimes it will be frightful. but what you must understand is that to love one must accept all sides of themselves— one must know the dark and the light. a truth i have been forbidden from discussing— but i do not wish you to suffer it.”

you have known that pain too intimately.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

There’s no consensus in the psychiatric community what I should be termed.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

highness.

“if you choose to obey, is that not still a choice you have made? you demonstrate precisely what i mean to tell you, alana. your religion has taught you that to obey is to surrender the self. it need not be, and i will have none serve me who do not serve in love and in trust, free from compulsion.”

you are not so blind that you cannot see the heart worn so plainly upon her sleeve, or perhaps placed within the saber she tries to offer you. it must be difficult to keep so bruised a thing to one’s self, to live with the mottling color and wait and wait for it to heal. the warmth of other hands assuages it, for a time. this, you remember clearly.

your own heart is still settling in your chest, now that you must keep it on your own. and you cradle your pain quietly, but you do not ignore it. you hold it tenderly in the night and press your lips to its small, pale face, or what you imagine it might have looked like. 

how very small its fingers.

“heed what you will and only as you will. perhaps while you dwell here, you may discover what that means. unto that purpose, i allow you.”

you’re something now you do not understand. before this, you lived in isolated silence, cloaked and quiet. before this, you had been undetectable. but with the rise of the rebellion, you felt where it was the force had tugged you, and it had done so for a reason. you looked into leia’s kind brown eyes, so much like her mother’s, with the vibrancy of her father’s rage, so much so to renounce him; you watched luke kneel before threepio and artoo and could only remember the brother you had loved so in the thoughtful, compassionate tone of his voice.

the force has brought you here. it has brought you here the same way it had brought you to the twins. you don’t know where to put this sudden spike of discomfort. an anxiety aching in your stomach, and then in the tips of your fingers.

“i can heed that suggestion to the best of my extent, highness. --do you not serve in both trust and in love even if the sense of duty?” you would die for everything, that’s the thing, you would die for anything. perhaps it is a desire to make this stop. perhaps it is a desire to belong to someone, something again, to be free in the shackles you know.

“regardless, i must ask, what service may i be of while i am here?” now there is sincerity warm and calm in those cold blue eyes. they have always been so contradictory, “it would be both unseemly of me and impossible for me to remain sedentary. in spite of the meditative nature of the jedi, i prefer to be set to task.” it rings in your ears always-- you are not focusing. you are not at peace. you are not one with what you need. you are not even one with what the force needs from you. you have four hours in reflection.

you can still feel her grief, somewhere inside your throat, perhaps, like a stone you have tried to swallow but cannot, like you could fill your belly with rock and it would repair this. to feel nothing or numbness, but you think that’s you mixing. you can feel it reached out into the force, and you can feel it as though it is a hand held out, yours, wanting it taken.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

kintsukuroi: (noun) to repair with gold; the art of repairing metal with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

ind. & sel. JULIA WICKER of THE MAGICIANS. as ft. on theyeardecembered. spellcasted by kat valentine.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

“i cannot heed your command. if you demand me to act under my own banner, then you contradict yourself by being the voice behind the demand. i would have to choose for myself to obey that order.”

your tone is calm and somehow frightful. it’s blank and even. it is the sort of thing that brings to mind the council’s discomfort with you— your memories there, and the sound of no! again! with every swing of a saber and step forward. you remember the way they looked at you whenever hannibal addressed them; they looked at you like you were the untrustworthy one even though, at the time, he was the most trusted. your anger has always been your own.

your passion is a forbidden thing. it’s not allowed, but it’s beneath the surface of your skin. it pricks you. it hurts you. it aches. it throbs and then it continues onward. it beats within your breast where you have always hidden it. always.

you have known so much love, such love you have buried. you have quieted yourself. you have forced yourself into silence. you have refused to look at the things you are and then at once had accepted them, kept them always away. always privately kept for only you.

“i have not been part of the order since its death and the extinction of my brothers in a great torrent of needless bloodshed. i stopped being a part of the order when i witnessed the slaughter of hundreds of children— children who had already been torn from their families, children who had arrived orphaned, some, but hopeful. the order died to me that day. my teachings are the heart of who i am, because i could never forsake their truths, but the order means nothing to me now.”

and you don’t mean that. your hands are shaking.

cruelonlytobekind‌:`

the desperation is palpable, isn’t it? doesn’t it mean you need to be somewhere? doesn’t it mean you want to belong? and it beats restlessly in your breast. how she closes your touch around the saber once more, and you’re left peering up at her, eyes wide and desperate. there is so little you would not do in this moment. or in anything. you would die for anything, if only it meant to die, wouldn’t you?

you don’t know what you want, but sometimes, you know what you want is sleep. slipping away to silence. anything that will bring calm to this world. anything that will quiet your suffering.

you slide your saber back to your belt and you try to quell the white-blue anger the color of your eyes roiling inside your body, restless and bubbling. it always goes just over, but you remember how to take yourself back and back. master windu’s voice is one you always seem to remember so well– it’s both, not one or the other!

you’re not lost at all. you’re here, in this second, and you’ve been cast out, you think. tossed off. cast out. not even to be taken in when you offer your life, your fealty, your truest heart.

you feel a pain and you could curse obi-wan– anakin. could curse them for both leaving you– returning to the living force to keep their days between each other, forever enshrined in the stars. you hate them both for leaving you this way. you hate them both for making you beg just like this– for making you feel just like this. you hate them because moving on must be so much easier than the suffering of life. so much easier than the throbbing sense of aching  emptiness. your body feels like a fresh bruise. and you? you’re much too old to feel this kind of indignant humiliation, somehow.

your fingers keep clenching. unclenching. when you close your eyes you imagine a thin line of electric blue and you see how it begins to shiver, to shake. you see it in the back of your eyes and behind your eyelids, a place only you can go. you center yourself in this second. the surge of emotion was what it had been, you think– you haven’t felt this much in years.

“it has been my mistake. i ask to be forgiven,” you feel nothing but this blustering storm in you, lightning crackled and thunder loud. you have never felt this, not this way. not with such ferocity. you have none to blame but you. “i…-i do wish to stay. whatever calls me here, something does.”

your head dips and you peer down like a scolded child. but your head tilts, glance upward, “i don’t ask as jedi. i ask as myself, not on behalf of the council, or any council. the order has no hold over me anymore.”

this is familiar, and you think the familiarity frightens you. the jedi who have come seem to be cut from the same cloth, every time, even if in different ways. do they all carry such strong undercurrents of feeling beneath those dutiful surfaces? alana’s fierce desire to give herself to some purpose, vader’s immense grief and secrecy, obi-wan… obi-wan, and everything that he was, and everything that he taught you, and everything you learned, much of it too late.

“do not lie.”

it is not a rebuke, even if it seems that way at first; your voice is too gentle for that and your intent is nowhere near it. you have learned from experience.

“lie neither to me nor to yourself, alana. you can say that the order has no hold over you and you can try to convince yourself of it, but there will be years and more yet to come that despite all your defiance, what they have imbued within you will grasp at every thought and action. it will take all your strength to find true freedom. you must know yourself well enough to know this.”

your mask creeps its way over your face again, still and unfeeling. you’re a hypocrite—you know it and you have no choice but to live with it, because it has already been done, you have already endured the worst of the pain. now you must endure the choice you made, and the forever consequence.

“as i said, i will not make you leave. we do not often host foreigners here, but as you are jedi and you have returned a precious relic of ours, there is an exception to be made. yet you owe me no fealty. your only fealty is to yourself; it must be, and this is the sole command i will give you.”

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

                                                “HEY! LISTEN!”                            

link (deaf, primarily wind waker & ocarina of time based with breath of the wild influences) as ft. on theyeardecembered and absolutely adored by kat valentine.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

kintsukuroi: (noun) to repair with gold; the art of repairing metal with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

ind. & sel. JULIA WICKER of THE MAGICIANS. as ft. on theyeardecembered. spellcasted by kat valentine.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

highness.

“anakin.”

you repeat the name softly. it is not one you have heard, but now that you do, you understand it. perhaps you knew the ghost of this name. perhaps it lingered around him, perhaps if he had been unmasked you would have seen this name written in darth vader’s eyes. would have heard it unwhispered on his breath. he spoke to you in a way you think he did not speak to many; you think it’s because you were never afraid of him, because you welcomed him.

maybe anakin’s shadow came with obi-wan. some sort of omen, some sort of passage. you can feel such things so clearly from time to time, and yet never needed to give it such close consideration. and what do you feel from alana?

you close your eyes against her flurry of movement. you do not fear it; you try to make sense of it. the same, over again. a cycle. her desperation to belong, her loneliness, her apartness, that she would sacrifice much—maybe all—if only for a shred of the love which you so reluctantly know to be forbidden to her kind. yes, that a part of her wishes for the martyrdom of those whose footsteps she tries to walk in, that she would throw herself into the jaws of death if it would save anything at all, if it would make her just and righteous.

and that she, so very lost, needs somewhere to place her allegiance.

poor girl. you fold her begging fingers back over the metal of her saber.

“your saber is yours alone. i do not dare to accept your service in such a capacity, when the jedi pursuing some alliance with me has only thus far led to ruin. i will not take your weight upon my shoulders on the same day you tell me that darth vader has met his end; i will not hear you say sir kenobi’s name and then turn and spite him.”

you wish there was a place to put this pain, to put it down. “i will not make you leave, alana, if you wish to stay here for a while. but i will not bind you here. i refuse to.”

the desperation is palpable, isn’t it? doesn’t it mean you need to be somewhere? doesn’t it mean you want to belong? and it beats restlessly in your breast. how she closes your touch around the saber once more, and you’re left peering up at her, eyes wide and desperate. there is so little you would not do in this moment. or in anything. you would die for anything, if only it meant to die, wouldn’t you?

you don’t know what you want, but sometimes, you know what you want is sleep. slipping away to silence. anything that will bring calm to this world. anything that will quiet your suffering.

you slide your saber back to your belt and you try to quell the white-blue anger the color of your eyes roiling inside your body, restless and bubbling. it always goes just over, but you remember how to take yourself back and back. master windu’s voice is one you always seem to remember so well-- it’s both, not one or the other!

you’re not lost at all. you’re here, in this second, and you’ve been cast out, you think. tossed off. cast out. not even to be taken in when you offer your life, your fealty, your truest heart.

you feel a pain and you could curse obi-wan-- anakin. could curse them for both leaving you-- returning to the living force to keep their days between each other, forever enshrined in the stars. you hate them both for leaving you this way. you hate them both for making you beg just like this-- for making you feel just like this. you hate them because moving on must be so much easier than the suffering of life. so much easier than the throbbing sense of aching  emptiness. your body feels like a fresh bruise. and you? you’re much too old to feel this kind of indignant humiliation, somehow.

your fingers keep clenching. unclenching. when you close your eyes you imagine a thin line of electric blue and you see how it begins to shiver, to shake. you see it in the back of your eyes and behind your eyelids, a place only you can go. you center yourself in this second. the surge of emotion was what it had been, you think-- you haven’t felt this much in years.

“it has been my mistake. i ask to be forgiven,” you feel nothing but this blustering storm in you, lightning crackled and thunder loud. you have never felt this, not this way. not with such ferocity. you have none to blame but you. “i...-i do wish to stay. whatever calls me here, something does.”

your head dips and you peer down like a scolded child. but your head tilts, glance upward, “i don’t ask as jedi. i ask as myself, not on behalf of the council, or any council. the order has no hold over me anymore.”

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@drliscuddy

you don’t know how to talk about this. or anything. all of this settles around you like snow, except it’s falling ash, dotting your skin black, smearing unkindly on porcelain. sometimes you almost see it. sometimes you almost look down and there are the smudges of red, all over you. you hate this wheelchair, frankly, and your jaw works with a resounding click. the television’s soft glow illuminates the room-- your photosensitvity hasn’t been stricken yet, that chord unplayed, and there’s a sound in the background you can’t distinguish. you put the sound on to drown out the silence. sometimes, the quiet is laced with what sounds like voices, like a snake slithering through your ears, between them.

there’s a pot on the floor between you. it’s full of the only thing you can eat, now-- glue-looking, fake macaroni and cheese. it feels like a slap in han-- dr. lecter’s face. it’s disgusting and generic and comforting. it’s just oozing orange. you can eat maybe three forkfuls before you can only consider it. your legs aren’t useless-- but they’d said you wouldn’t walk ever again. fuck them. they thought you were dead, too, so.

“do you ever wonder what would have been different?”

your head, still fuzzy, almost always, still foggy, makes you feel like you explained this whole trajectory of thought. (you did not.)

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

kintsukuroi: (noun) to repair with gold; the art of repairing metal with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

ind. & sel. JULIA WICKER of THE MAGICIANS. as ft. on

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

kintsukuroi: (noun) to repair with gold; the art of repairing metal with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

ind. & sel. JULIA WICKER of THE MAGICIANS. as ft. on theyeardecembered. spellcasted by kat valentine.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

I mean it’s also provided I can sustain the energy levels but listen so far today we’re doing pretty okay on self care.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

when I allow myself to actually encourage and recognize my own enthusiasm and use it to reach out to others because my brain isn’t inhibited by the Anxieté I feel stupid good about everything so if I slam into your message box or just generally end up Hype As Hell know it’s because I feel like an unexpected dance break in the middle of a good musical movie.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

.....i’m marlana garbage as always.