#IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME EMPIRE STATE OF MIND SONG

[latinokokonoi]

he’s taking his luffy role very seriously

[thelittleliars]

Eventful concert

Natasha Romanoff x Singer Fem!Reader Black Widow x Female Singer Reader

Warnings: mention of depression and being suicidal

Words: 1.7k

Summary: The Avengers couldn't prevent hydra from attacking you during one of your concerts.

AN: Not proof read. I somehow wrote this all today without having a writers block or ideas falling flat! Also since it's October 2023 *cough* Endgame events happening *cough* this is a part of remembering Natasha Romanoff. Nat moya lyubov, I will love and remember you forever 😭🖤

You heard tons of screaming fans as soon as the lights went dark. Usually you'd start with a bit of dancing and walking around from one end of the stage to the other, but you couldn't do it that night since you had a fractured foot. Instead you limped with one of the two crutches you had towards the middle of the stage where your microphone stood. When you were on your mark for the night, lights turned back on and shone on you. "Hi everyone! How are y'all doing?" You asked the crowed in which you got only screaming as an answer. "I'm excited to be here tonight. New York City baby!!!" The crowed was excited and hyped as you said the city you were in right then. You were the same back in the day when you went to concerts and you favorite artists said your hometowns name. It was always something special. "Unfortunately I fractured my foot last night and I can not give you all a 100% performance as I usually do but I hope this slowed down show is still something you'll enjoy." You smiled as you heard some get well soon's and we love you's. "Alright let's get started!!" 

The first song was a faster more upbeat and happy one. You tried your best walking with a single crutch in one hand and the microphone in your other hand from one side to the other side. Just because you needed crutches didn't mean  you wouldn't walk around to see all of your fans. You loved seeing your fans, interact with them and hear them sing the lyrics with you. The second song was slower than your first one but still faster than most of your work. It was also more of a song that was about the struggle of finally finding happiness again after dark patch. As your third and fourth song you played the saddest songs you'd ever written. They still broke your heart each night you sang them but the pain was worth it since you knew they were fan favorites and helped them as much as they helped you. 

"Thank you all so much for coming and singing along. I just wanted to make sure to let you all know that you're welcome here for whatever reason you came tonight for. It's valid if you came for only to see me and do nothing more than look at me. It's valid if you came here because I'm a lesbian artist and you wanted some safe space to relax. It's valid if you came because you can relate to my depressed and suicidal lyrics. I'm here for you all. I love you all. And thank you for having enough energy to come here tonight." You looked at your pianist and gave her a signal for them to start playing slowly. "Since I'm here in New York right now, I decided to play a cover of a huge song back in 2009. If you know it, please sing along." It was 'Empire State of Mind' by Alicia Key and Jay-Z that you decided to cover a small portion off and the crowd went absolutely wild as soon as they recognized which song it was. With fans shouting the lyrics and them screaming in general you nearly missed hearing security through your ear piece saying that there was a breach. After that somehow chaos broke out. Fans were screaming in fear and tried to leave the venue to get to a safe place. Your pianist was about to reach you to get you to safety when a huge bald guy launched at you. You tried to fight the best you could. If you hadn't your crutch you were helplessly lost. He got some good punches on you though but before you got knocked unconscious, he was flung through the entire room. Confused of what had happened you tried to move your head but two hands came out of nowhere and held your face steady in place. You looked up only for the first thing to see red hair falling down to your face. Your vision then cleared more and you saw the most mesmerizing green eyes you had ever seen in your entire life. "Let your head rest like this for a minute first. You shouldn't move your head too fast too, you might have a concussion from the brutal hits you received." When the sound of her voice hit your ears it felt like the wind got knocked out of you. Her voice was so warm and soothing but at the same time raspy and sexy. 

"I-I-I'm Y/N" You stuttered out like an idiot. She simply gave you a genuine smile. "Yeah I know." She said before she helped you up slowly. After she made sure you were good and there was no sign of a concussion she introduced herself. "I'm Natasha." Oh lord. You thought. A pretty girl with an even more prettier name. How will your lesbian ass ever not fall in love at first sight? "Let's get you backstage."

"What? No, I can't go." You started to protest. "I need to make sure that my fans will be alright!" 

"Don't worry. They're safe." She gave you your crutch. "I saw the Avengers out there helping." You took your crutch and you both started to walk very slow in the direction of the backstage. She kept a close step near you in case you loose your strength. "The Avengers..?" You said confused but by the look of her gaze it was as if you should know them. Out of fun you acted as if you realized that you them. "Ohh yeah sure THE Avengers.."

The sarcastic remark shocked Natasha a bit. After what happened with the Civil- War they caused she was sure that everyone knew about them. "You-you don't know the Avengers?"

Your face fell stone cold. "God damn why do americans always assume that people know for sure every single person in their stupid country.." You huffed down the couple of stairs that would get you behind the stage leading to your backstage room. Natasha was close behind you giving you room to take the steps at your pace. "I'm not american." She almost said it in an angry tone. You stopped when you finished going down the stairs. "But your accent...? You don't- I'm sorry for assuming." Natasha stepped closer to you before speaking in russian. ">No worries darling<" Your knees suddenly gave in a bit, the redhead was quick to steady you by having a good grip on your waist. There was this churning feeling deep inside of your stomach as she touched you again. How come that you felt like you just fell in love with her? This was insane, it possibly couldn't have happen this fast, right?

"I think I might really have a concussion." You blamed your little incident on your weak knees instead of the real reason that is your gayness. Though nobody could ever blame you for going weak for a woman, they're women for goodness sake!

Natasha knew you weren't serious but was also going to make sure you were going to see a doctor to rule it out officially. "This must be one hell of a bad day then."

"Being held by a beautiful girl is never a bad day." Natasha didn't know what to say. Men always commented on her body in a sexual way and a bunch of women were always body shaming her so hearing your sincere compliment made her feel a lot of different things. "So I have to ask since I'm too curious for my own good. Are you a fan of mine or just a casual music enjoyer?" Before she could answer she was saved by your manager who came running towards you. "Oh thank god you're alright so far. Or do you have other injury I don't know of?"

"She got pretty harsh hits to her head as you can see by all the blood." Natasha stated the obvious. "I'm no doctor but so I can't rule out a concussion." He nodded as he listened closely. "Is it still far to her room?"

He shook his head. "No but there are another set of stairs." That was enough for Natasha to swoop you up in her arms. You let out a yelp, not expecting to be carried - especially not bridal style. This truly made up for being almost beaten unconscious. Shortly after she sat you down gently on a chair, a doctor came in and made a concussion evaluation. While you were busy with the doctor, Natasha checked in with the other Avengers, said she'd come back to the Tower once you were cleared and stitched up. It didn't take long until the tests were over and you had a stitches on your forehead and temple. You ended up only with a mild concussion and thankfully nothing worse. "About that question earlier.. I'm still interested in an answer."

"Unfortunately neither." She said with a heavy heart since she didn't wanted to see you sad but lying to you didn't see the right choice either. You nodded, she noticed you not being sad or disappointed and that got her wondering what you were thinking about her. "Then what's your reason of coming to my show? There are more than two choices here." At that Natasha opened up about being an Avenger, even explained what that is and also about Hydra, you were shocked to hear it all since you apparently missed a bunch of things that were going on. Not long after her explanation you manager rushed you to get to your tour bus since you had a show the next day in another state. That was how you ended up giving her your cell phone number, even boldly told her to call or send a text since you wanted to give back something for her help. And that was exactly what Natasha did the day she knew you finished touring.

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

State Of Disgrace (smut)

Summary: Being a Roy is harder than it looks.

Shipp: Kendall Roy x Cousin!Reader, Roman Roy x Cousin!Reader

Words: 2699k

Disclaimer: SMUT! it's not really proofread, I have to say, but I kinda like the way it came out.

I was five and he was six. We rode on horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight. 

I used to shoot him down.

Being a child was easy enough. Being a Roy child, however, was a bit more capricious than a regular household.

My mother died in childbirth. She was a lovely woman by the eyes of friends, a gold digger by the malicious judgements of others. Nevertheless, for me, she was nothing but a stranger. My father was Alistair Roy, the youngest brother of my uncle Logan, who tragically also died of extreme sadness due the loss of my mother. 

Some called it depression. I used to call it his swan song.

I moved in with Logan Roy at the raw age of two. Before that, I'd never even met him. My father, before his tragic passing, was just like uncle Ewan, you see. He avoided any further familiar contact with the capitalist monster and ruler of the empire of disgrace Waystar was to them. 

Uncle Logan was not a warm man. His wife, Caroline, was even worse. So, every warmth needed by a two year old was entirely given by my older cousins — whom I had also never met before — and Roman.

Roman and I had the same age, me being just a couple of months older. We grew instantly attached  hip to hip, so much everyone else started to call us "the twins". It was not, however, a praise title, but a Shakespearean war name, for ever since we'd got enough motor skills, we began to explore the vast world that extended to the huge grounds of our mansion. Then Siobhan came, a needy, smiley little girl that resembled her father so much. Connor and Kendall were excited with their new sister; I feared the small ounces of attention I gained daily would be threatened by her charming toothless smile and spikey gingerish hair. And Roman, as much as he was also happy with the new sister, shared the same inconscient dread, the crumbs he used to get from his mother as the youngest slowly fading away. That's when we got more and more agitated, gaining a few more reprimands as soon as another nanny would quit. 

I particularly remember a day where Roman and I distracted the nannies for one minute, fleeing to the pool area. It was a windy day; the crystal water trembled and rippled, the soft movements catching my clueless attention like Narcissus was caught by his reflection. However, instead of languishing away, I came too close, my balance still in development. 

The water received me with the cut of a thousand blades, cold as the feeling of danger that felt like a punch in my stomach. Roman's screams rang in my ears and, after almost half a minute submerged, it began to resemble a sorrowful howl, like a wolf pup. I was four, too young to fully comprehend what was happening, too old to suppress the memory of peace that instilled in my heart. I was no longer the sad little orphan, the spare suitcase that couldn't find its place.

Roman's howls were gone. In an instant, I would lose my sight as well. The deep, vast blue of the pool water and the tiles, the reflection of light on the surface above me were the only things I could see. My lungs, a few moments ago burning up with the invasion of that intruder substance, were now obsolete and dispensable. My body felt feeble and, for a moment, I was only pure conscience. 

It was right at that moment that Roman's face came to my mind. How could I ever leave him? We were parts of the same molding, made of the same matter. How could I allow him to carry the guilt of my accidental death for the rest of his life? 

That was not my call, though. I couldn't swim. If it wasn't for Connor, who was bringing some girl over to the infamous little pool house and heard Roman's cries for help, I would be dead and buried. I can still remember the feeling of the water being launched out of my lungs through my sore throat, the desperate sound of coughing and the tears that stained Roman's face while he stared at me still in panic with the prospect of losing me. That's precisely when I just knew we belonged together, as kindred souls, platonic or not.

Unfortunately, I would also find out later in life I would do anything in my power to feel that kind of lugubrious peace again. Furthermore, that state of disgrace would also bring me closer to another one of my cousins. 

Seasons came and changed the time. When I grew up, I called him mine.

He would always laugh and say

"Remember when we used to play?"

Restless adolescence. I began sipping on drinks when uncle Logan or Caroline weren't paying enough attention, developing quite a taste for neat whiskey. At thirteen, I drank (and cursed) like a middle aged sailor. At fifteen, all the alcohol was locked up and the waiters were instructed to keep an eye on me at parties. 

It was also the age of fickle flings and steamy makeouts with any boy who gave me enough attention — or enough booze. Never been much of a fan of stimulants, but the barbiturates… They were my bestest friends, knocking me out sometimes for a whole day, making the world seem distorted and distant from my usual cold reality. There was no one left to acknowledge my problems; Connor had moved out, Kendall was at Harvard and Logan had sent Roman to a military boarding school to try and cut a bit of our almost symbiotic connection. Shiv was penetrating the fearsome gates of puberty, so no one was able to keep a two minute conversation with her anymore. The nannies or maids weren't paid enough to care, and Logan's corporative minions only extended their attention when I used business vocabulary. Once I realized that, I began to read every piece of news, fully understand what meant to rule a media conglomerate and excerpts about corporate business. It was brain porn to me. Knowledge was as addictive as the drugs and booze, and I was a junkie craving attention like a moth to a flame.

Caroline left, leaving Shiv and I as the only girls in the house. I chose to take a step to the spotlight, being able to impress whoever tried to sink in deeper with my knowledge and grownup words. She's so mature for her age. So clever. So smart. She's got class conscience. Little Y/n Roy is all grown up! Logan noticed my sudden interest and stimulated as much as he could without showing any favoritism on my behalf, bringing me to Waystar with him sometimes, allowing Gerri to guide me on whatever I wanted to know and understand when it came to business. That actually brought me closer to the blonde, austere woman; I sought a motherly figure to tend to my emotional needs like a junkie with a needle. 

I was also surprisingly good at corporative game. It was like playing poker, the one who pretends the best gets to count the cards and win. Board vision. I began to, as my Sherlock Holmes books expertly instructed, actually observe more than just see. 

A peck with the teeth in the nails. A quick lick or bite on the bottom lip. Dilated pupils, nostrils flaring. Avoiding eye contact. All signs of discomfort or vice versa became crystal clear to me, showing up like Christmas lights. That also taught me to be an even better player, and I became a virtuoso of deceit. The difficulty of interaction I had with people I hated had faded completely and now, at sixteen years old, I felt absolutely nothing but a huge void that came with being in control of all my feelings. Sentiments made me weak, I had learned. It clouds the judgment and proliferates like maggots on rotting flesh. If one loses control over it, it's gone. 

That should also include vices, so I mannered my consumption, elaborating some sort of twisted diet with small albeit enough doses. Being in control  was exhilarating, and I felt as if I was at the top of the world. Drinks? Only in parties of sorts and reunions, and a single glass. Drugs? Just to keep me concentrated or calm, nothing more. Uncle Logan began to see my improvement, and a conversation about business school had been approached. 

After a while, however, it started to get a bit dull, always knowing the right thing to say or what everyone wanted to hear. Defiance and rebellion were in my veins. Uncle Ewan told my dad he wasn't going to marry my mom; uncle Logan, so I've heard, forbid him to bring her into family gatherings. Many scenes were detailed crudely by the press over the years, painting my parents as the villains of a dynasty and uncle Logan as some sort of Zeus almighty. For weeks, I expected the perfect opportunity for misbehaving. Nothing serious enough to reach my uncle's ears, but to, at the very least, assure my conscience I was still the same Y/n Roy, daughter of Alistair and Giorgiana Roy. I was in paradise craving the forbidden fruit without even knowing how it would manifest.

Until Kendall came back from Harvard for Thanksgiving holidays. 

He looked different then, somehow cooler, more confident and laid-back than he usually was. It was kind of comic how attractive Kendall could be when he wasn't looking like he had a pine tree up his ass. After dinner, I managed to suggest an innocent gathering in my bedroom to talk about college and news from the world outside the golden cage we were usually trapped into. 

"Hey, you should try this" he suddenly pulls a small bag of cocaine from his pocket, waving it in front of my eyes like a plate of meat to a starving dog. "Seriously, this is the shit."

I laughed in contained mockery, knowing that, if Kendall somehow felt diminished, he would slip through my fingers like sand. Instead, I watch him prepare some lines to blow using one of my school notebooks as support. Two lines after and I can no longer see the greenish of his irises, black englobing everything. If possible, he looks even more confident, this sort of bellicosity making him even more appealing to me. 

I switch my crossed legs from position. His now dark eyes accompany the movement, narrowing. I'm wearing a short skirt, and the way I move my legs makes me look like I'm recreating that one famous scene from Basic Instinct. 

He stares in silence for a few seconds, studying my face, seeming to be gathering the guts to do something. 

"Do you like what you see?" I suddenly ask, new acquired courage, one of my hands traveling through my dressed body. Kendall shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath trying to restrain himself. I wait for no response, pulling one of his hands and placing it right on one of my breasts, the warmth of his touch allowing a small sigh to escape my lips.

"Y/n… what uh… what game are you playing here?" He tries to organize his thoughts, but I purr like a kitten as if that simple touch of his feels like the grasp of a flame in the coldest winter. "Oh, fuck… don't… don't do that, come on."

"Don't act like you don't want it to happen. I don't see you removing your hand" I crawl in his direction, stopping from inches of his mouth. "I want you, Ken."

"Y/n, this isn't right, I mean, I'm fucking older than you, we're cousins…"

"So? So what? Come on, Ken. Don't you ever get tired of being a fucking model to this family? Daddy's little toy soldier?" I jolted forward, sitting on his lap. He doesn't stop me. "I fucking want you. How many were brave enough to say that to your face?"

I lick my lips as I rub my hips against his and a low grunt echoes on his throat. He looks almost helpless; it's pathetic. I can feel his dick getting hard underneath the dark denim pants, and that gives me some sort of enigmatic power, like I'm a form of Venus. Kendall's hands lift my skirt, moist visible in my underwear, almost staining his pants. 

"Fuck, Y/n… how are you so wet already?" He pushes my panties aside, losing his patience and ripping it apart, making me giggle. I start humping against his pants while kissing his jawline, touching his lips with mine for the first time. He tasted like minties, cigarettes and a bit of the whiskey we drank after dinner. After that, he finally decided to let go; his tongue invaded my mouth with passion, and he made me lay down on the floor, towering over me. I pulled his shirt, throwing it across the room, sucking the sensitive spot on his neck that caused him to let out some sexy moans with his deep voice. My cunt was pulsing to the point it started to actually hurt a bit.

"I need you, Ken." I said, starting to unbutton his jeans. 

"What a greedy little thing you are" he pulls my hands away, trapping them on the floor above my head by my wrists. With the free hand, he took his dick off his pants, the tip glowing with precum. 

He finally rested between my legs, the feeling of his head against my entrance making me a bit nervous for the first time that night. I got even more wet just with the expectation, and just when I was about to rush him, he entered me without a warning, a loud moan escaping my lips. My nails carved the skin of his hand, and he hastily quieted down my whimpers with a sloppy kiss, letting go of my arms and allowing me to wrap them around him.

"You okay?" He questioned, his gorgeous green eyes looking so sweet, so concerned, that I actually felt slightly guilty of using him to achieve my own whims. With a smile, I nod, and he moves painfully slow inside me, my breathing intensifying. It hurt at the beginning, but soon, the pain started to give in, and my hips began to synchronize with his own movements like an intricate dance, sweat accumulating on my forehead. My whole skin felt hot, feverish, and my hands grabbed Kendall's ass to pull him closer, my legs wrapped around his lower back.

His breathing changed, and he squeezed my skin so rough I was sure it would leave bruises tomorrow. 

"Y/n… fuck, wait… I'm gonna…" his body began to tremble as he fastened his movements, and a louder grunt came out of him while he poured himself inside me, leaning his forehead against mine. 

Our breaths mixed up, sweat dripping out, and a now pleasant and new pain between my legs. He laid on top of me until he became too heavy to endure, rolling his body sideways afterwards, laying on the cool marbled floor. I turn down on my stomach to face him, the cold white marble alleviating the pressure on my low abdomen. He looks herculean with his hair all messed up, face glistening with small drops of sweat and a peaceful manner in his eyes, eyes no longer darkened by the drugs, but clearer like leaves on springtime. 

We kissed a few more times, talked about trivialities, and he left soon after, placing a kiss on my shoulder, too hasty to record and too soft to ignore.

The matter was hardly discussed afterwards, and I never mentioned he was my first, not even when it happened again, and again. For many years, I told no one, the secret feeling like a little barb around my lower abdomen every time I saw him. 

Until I felt safe enough to share it with Roman. But that's a story for another time. 

[rainbowdaisy13]

Thoughts on the I Know Places Spotify canvas? Literally tons of closets

I Know Places visuals have always been doors and closets from day 1, which again, HELLO EARTH TO SWIFTIES?? IKP is one of Taylor’s songs that gives me goosebumps because it really captures her terror at being caught as being queer—this is NOT an issue for straight people, even ones that are cheating—it’s not the same level of absolute mind numbing terror, it just isn’t

⬆️ I’d like to add—that’s appears to be The Empire State Building IMO to signify NYC

[guttersnarls]

GHOST: THE EMPIRE IN THE HEAD OF TOBIAS FORGE

Radio Metal  

Thursday, July 21, 2022 by Cyrielle Lebourg-Thieullent

There is an unrealistic wish, especially among right-wing people, that we should not talk about politics in music, but I don't see how we could do otherwise.- Tobias Forge »

Interviewing Tobias Forge is always frustrating. Why? Because we never have enough time! Even if his identity has been officially revealed with Prequelle (2018), it is clear that the man behind Ghost still fascinates, both by his success, a result of a sharp vision he has for his project and music, but also by his ability to think. Ghost is above all entertainment, of course, but behind big show satanism, there are always pretences, tracks to clarify and a more "real" dimension to explore.

At the end of our last interview on March 21, on the occasion of the release of Impera, we were far from being able to discuss everything we wanted with Tobias. This is why we seized the artist's visit to Paris a few days before Hellfest as an opportunity to continue our exchange and, in particular, to deepen his vision of art, but also his concept of the cycle of empires, drawing a parallel with what we are experiencing today. As always, the exchange was too short, but exciting and sincere.

Radio Metal: All the songs on Impera - and even in Ghost's discography - have in common a great sense of hooking, but otherwise, you touch a very wide variety of styles that change from one song to another. As a musician and listener, are you quickly bored?

Tobias Forge (vocals & instruments): Good question. I listen to a lot of different styles of music. Everything revolves a bit around pop rock and metal, but I have always listened to all kinds of "music of choice", that is, things that I listened to myself and chose to bring home, and that were relatively noisy compared to what the rest of my home generally listened to. I have also always had an ear turned to radio and the hit parade, especially in the 80s and 90s, but not so much now. So I think that what we hear being filtered through Ghost is all my childhood and adolescence that merge, and that's all that goes from underground music to sweet pop, classical music and all kinds of things. I try to reflect this joy in Ghost. It's random: sometimes people adhere, sometimes not.

It's interesting as, sometimes, there is a contrast between the title of a song and its musical content. For example, "Call Me Little Sunshine" is very dark. Conversely, "Darkness At The Heart Of My Love" is very solar. Do you like to destabilize the listener and play with him?

Exactly. I think it's also part of the satirical and cynical way I try to be funny. I have this type of humor. An example that comes to mind from the outset, by way of comparison: I know that many people find The Smiths or Morrisey a little sad, that his words are sad and bitter, while I, most of the time, find them very funny, in the same way that Oscar Wilde - whom Morrisey, I imagine, tried to copy - was quite funny but in a very I think I'm going a little in the same direction, and there is always a balancing act being played out, that is, if there is a sweet side, I always add a touch of salt elsewhere so that it is balanced or equal.

Concept level, Prequelle and Impera are both based, directly or indirectly, on rather dark observations on the state of the world. Impera even goes to political ground. Do you think it is the role of the artist to be an observer but also to take a position from these observations, to sound the alarm?

I think most of the artists I know, with a few exceptions, write about what they see and experience. I think it's very natural. This is not a rule or a preference. That's just how it usually happens. You work with what you have, with what you see, in the same way as a humorous sketch author, a screenwriter or a writer... If you know the author or his or his or her story, you know that there are many anecdotes that he or she has experienced and incorporated into his or her texts. Indeed, what else will he use? If you plan to write a film about people, you will write about what you know about people, right? So I think there is an unrealistic wish, especially among right-wing people, that we should not talk about music politics, but I don't see how we could do otherwise. The only thing we could do would be to do it in the manner of Tolkien so that it doesn't look real, but even when you read The Lord of the Rings, it's a very poignant and realistic criticism of the dictatorship, and nothing but the existence of the Ents as forest lords who hate men because they destroy it... It's very simple

I don't know the answer to your question. If you don't feel like writing about it, don't do it. If you feel like you're doing it, do it. Your only job, so to speak, if you intend to monetize what you do or, in a way, to please an audience or if there is momentum to maintain, is to choose the words you use well. You may want to choose how you mix your cocktail, because in the end, you present it to someone else. You have to pay attention to what you say, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't say things, it just means you have to be aware that what you say can have an effect. But it also applies if we sing "hail Satan" and other things.

I think that's also the problem right now: there are a lot of people in the West and during most of the history of pop culture, most of us Westerners were on the same side. It was easy to say that Margaret Thatcher was a sadistic slut. It was easy to throw stones at Dan Quayle and all these old personalities of the past, because not only was there a gap between rich and poor, but there was also one between young and old. It was not always a political position, it was also a generational difference. Many of these limits have been crossed now, because even a senior citizen today loves rock and roll and everyone listens to Jimi Hendrix, so there is not the same generational gap between a culture lover and an old chnoque. Now, with everything that has happened in the last two years, full of rock fans in America whose girlfriend has aborted, who like to smoke grass and who like to listen to rock and roll in their garden, all of a sudden, find themselves to be freedom fighters. It creates a lot of chaos, and it's not only in America, it's also everywhere in Europe.

It has created a new kind of left and right. So with many of the traditional elements of rock and roll about which we have been singing for fifty years, all of a sudden, people are there: "Don't go in it. Don't talk about your feelings. Have you ever listened to "Street Fighting Man"? Have you ever listened to "Gimme Shelter"? Have you ever listened to any rock and roll song? Do you think "Down Payment Blues" is a fictional song that talks about nothing? This is stupid. Most of the interesting music I know is semi-political in one way or another, but it's just that now people are there: "Don't touch politics, man. Don't do that. But it's a new trend and it will pass too.

As was last mentioned, Impera talks largely about the greatness and decadence of empires. You said that there was "a natural cycle where a society is built, perfected, and then generally collapses". Do you think we are at the stage of collapse right now, at least in the West?

No collapse. I believe that most empires very rarely disappear. Just, they are transforming. I think we are at a time when some changes will occur, probably in a few months to a few years, and some key imperial structures will potentially disappear. In fact, I am a fairly optimistic person. So I feel that those who will disappear are those we consider the bad, because currently we are living in a time when at least two of the three or four worst dictators or aspiring dictators in the world are quite old. What we are fighting, at least in an obvious case, is a mental illness that is quite hard to define, because it involves a great blur. The other is fundamentally... If I want to be very kind and indulgent towards him, I can say that we can bring him back to reality, in a way, because he is a nostalgic person who dreams of the good old days of the KGB where people had no choice, and it is clear that he does not give any to his people. With a little luck, it is the consequence of his advanced age and a terminal illness. If you know or have any interest in the concept of karma, this guy has incredibly poor karma and the level of attention that is paid to him and the amount of money that is spent to eliminate him, it is comparable to any other dictator on the planet - if you don't go back than seventy years. Generally, when you have so much power against you, you are screwed, and the other will probably eliminate himself, because he is probably not far from the jail or the crazy house. I think that once these are out of play, there will still be bad elements on the planet but which will be far from being as influential as them, because an isolated buffoon in North Korea is not even comparable with these other two.

To return to your question, I think it is important for us in the West to keep in mind that this empire of which I believe we are most afraid or hate the most and want to see shaved is in the head of a madman, because empires can also exist in a person's head, in the same way that the Star Wars empire existed in the head of George Lucas. The latter simply found a mirror into which he could project it so that the rest of us could go in and out. I think it is our duty now, as far as possible, to understand that a crazy dictator is one thing, but that the Russian people are another, and that with a little luck, the window of forgiveness will be opened a little longer than it takes to eradicate cancer from this body, so that we can see the empire in its head collapse and a new appear, because physically So I see that the evil empire will fall, but that does not mean that the streets of Moscow and the Moscow people will disappear. The next step is therefore to leave the prospects open, so that when the black clouds disappear, we can become friends again.

All empires can transform, they can change shape and that's what they will always do. From the point of view of which I speak, which may seem utopian, there will always be forces within every empire, every situation, every era, who will strive to move towards what we have today. The problem is that today, we live with the culmination of several. We're talking about people we've known for as long as we remember - well, maybe not in Putin's case, but he's still been there for a long time. There are a series of events that have led to this madness. Same with Trump. It is a series of carte blanche and breaches that have led to what is now, potentially, a cataclysm. By finding ourselves between these two mountains, we have the impression that they will fall on us. To paraphrase Liz Cheney, there will come a day when he will no longer exist. There will be new ones, but I think it will be a long time before it happens, because it takes a lot of time for a hysterical imperial madness of such a level to appear. As a result, I believe that we are on the verge of a great upheaval and then there will be a time of tranquility to take stock. We will still have problems with other things, so I'm not saying that there will be peace in the world and that everything will be at the status quo, but that's the kind of imperial decline I see.

To be frank, I am a huge worshipper and believer of the world of Western pop culture in which I live. I grew up in a very Americanized country and with a mother who was very culturally enriching and embraced everything related to art and culture in Europe. I want the West to prevail, because I live in the West. I believe in our libertarian ideals - our choice of reproduction rights, our choice to listen to punk rock, noise, everything we want, and our freedom to say almost everything. So that's what I want. All those who do not want this [make a finger of honor], because I want everyone to be free to listen to everything they want, to stuff their reproductive organ in, next to or on whoever wants it to be there. Whatever the consequence, it is his choice, and if he comes to suffer, we have the means to ensure that he does not destroy his life. So I think it's important that all these things last and that's the empire in which I want to live.

You said that we "find to linear religions and it's very bad for us, because it makes us believe that life is one thing, so we just have to live it and in the end will come something else". On the other hand, some insist that one of our problems in our current Western societies is that we have become too materialistic and lack spirituality, and that we do not look enough at something greater than us... What do you think?

It's very hard to be linear, even when discussing these things. Finally, I can talk about it, but it's hard to have a position, because I am a rather materialistic person. I collect a lot of things, so I'm really obsessed with the physical manifestations of what I love and what inspires me, and I would feel existentially threatened if I didn't have that, but like anyone suffering from trauma, unless it kills him, I know that you can always find comfort in any situation. So I can't put the word into action. Like most people, I have trouble with the possible idea of dying. The only thing that works in my favor right now is that statistically, I don't have to worry about it yet, but as I get closer to it, I just hope I will accept it, so that intuitively I feel that it is part of the life cycle, but the fact is that I myself have trouble with it. I drive a car, I like it. I wish I had been vegan, but I don't. Like many other people, I do selfish things. I'm trying to improve. I see myself in the future as trying to improve every year in many areas, in my attitude towards others, in my way of looking at others. I think that's about all I can do with my own abilities, because like everyone else, I have my limits, and one of my limits is that I don't work if I'm not a consumer [laughs], unfortunately, because my whole life has revolved around pop culture.

I played a video game called The Last Of Us. As much as I liked this game, it was a painful reminder that, for me, it's not worth living in this world, because almost everything that interests me requires electricity and cooperation between people. Without it, I don't think this life is worth living, but it's my handicap. It's me. Maybe if I were put in front of the fait accompli... As I said about the traumas we face: we always find a way to manage them. I met someone once who had been arrested by the military on the street in Argentina. He was tortured in front of watching his girlfriend be raped. I was there: "How can we survive this? He told me: "As strange as it may seem, once it happens to you, you find a way to bear it. He languished for ten years in prison and came out: "That's how it is. I have never experienced this kind of thing, but it is proof that we are able to bear much more than we think. I don't know where I'm going. I just know that until I get to the end, I hope to be able to tell myself that it is part of a cycle and that I will have no doubt when it arrives.

[ketrindoll]

Russian imperialism and colonisation as a twin to Western colonial culture

Translated from the original post written by Ukrainian historian Yevhenya Havrishenko. [While mainly focusing on Ukraine, it applies to all countries formerly occupied by Russian Empire, USSR, or Russian Federation.] It’s a long text, but worth the read if you’re interested in colonization and examples of it beyond Western states.

So there is this post-colonial theory. It is a theory that has been developed by scholars in post-colonial countries who are trying to revise the established cultural attitudes about their occupants. For a long time, this discourse was confined to a reassessment of the position of the former colonies of Western Europe, but guess what happened? A little spoiler. The research concluded and proved the colonial nature of Russia (RI, USSR, and RF are just different names for the same empire).

In this post, I will try to briefly outline the main colonial narratives that the metropolises imposed on their colonies in order to: a) justify predatory exploitation and b) keep the colonies docile by convincing them that this is the way it should be. This was when the "sharovar" stereotypes began to form, and these ideas spread. Transculturation (the replacement of an enslaved culture with an alien one) was perceived by Ukrainians as a transformation of themselves and increasingly used as a representation of themselves. The acceptance of a surrogate culture as one's own is rooted in stigma - if the stigmatized (in our case, those discriminated against on the basis of ethnicity) see that resistance is impossible, they try to gain secondary benefits and start playing along with the stereotype.

1. Exoticizing colonized space The colonizer traditionally depicts the colony as something exotic, fantastic, highly romantic, and even erotic. Everything that happens there is exalted and overly emotional and fun. The purpose of colonized culture is to entertain the white master with a safari helmet, and therefore, it should not be overloaded with content. Bright, unpretentious, and silly "so as not to disturb the authorities with its sophistication," and, God forbid, if it leads to complexity. In our case, a striking example of this is, unfortunately, Gogol's "<...>Little Russia", where Ukraine is portrayed as a place full of idyllic or fantastic adventures, jokes, and artificial villages. Because of their exotic nature, the stories were popular in St Petersburg's high society circles. The same can be said of the welcoming of delegations dressed in national costumes, with songs and soldiers. Many of the former colonies have something similar - local exoticism.

2. Objectification All colonialists describe the enslaved as a community that is not only non-subjective, i.e., lacking a will, but has never had one, and therefore needs the firm hand of a master and the supervision of a "truer nation." If you portray the indigenous as infantile and helpless, then it is easier to explain the need for colonialism, whereby the 'master' supposedly brings order and civilization and helps the immature to manage themselves. In Russian historiography, in whose paradigm we have been living up to now, there is a gaping hole between Ruthenia and the time of the Khmelnytsky uprising because it is striking to some people that we have had a wonderful life without the advice of the Big Brother. The stereotypical Ukrainian is either an apolitical villager who cares about his own backyard or a narrow-minded nationalist (in the sense of aggressive, not determined, liberation). And Russians, in the same Soviet cinema, have always been assigned the role of committee chairman, militiaman, and teacher. Because he is a representative of the government, who looks at a broader context, thinks more globally, and is a representative of the "statist" and "mature" people, who are paternally concerned about the interests of the whole empire.

[The same was done to Lithuania. Lithuanian Grand Duchy achieved statehood earlier than Russia, went through Renaissance with all of its ideals, unlike Russia, and was a large and powerful central Europe nation. However, during the Empiric and Soviet occupations, Russia tried to erase that history. Present Lithuania’s past as flawed and corrupt, or inherently Polish and thus not national at all.]

3. Cruelty, chaos, and reservoir of the colonizer's fears The general tendency of colonizers when describing the indigenous population is to attribute savagery and cruelty along with infantilism. If the former is always well-adjusted, highly educated, rational, and truthful, the enslaved is the embodiment of the local devils, who are frightening, elemental, irrational, dark, superstitious, villainous, hostile, cunning, and lustful. Despite the generally accepted canon of witty, good Ukrainians who will eat dumplings and sing a song, Russian propaganda has always been full of horror stories about Petlirovtsy/Banderovtsy/Azovtsy, who is a threat to the civilian population that must be 'saved' from everyone. Gogol's evil spirit also comes under this heading because the colony is a 'demonic' place that can only be cleansed by the 'blessing' of the emperor's boot.

[During Soviet occupation, national resistance to occupation and guerrilla warfare in Lithuania was depicted as a vile bandit movement, who assaulted civilians and only wanted money. That belief was so strong, a lot of people born between 1940 and 1980 still believe in it. There is proof that NKVD - later renamed KGB - officers and local collaborators would dress up as guerrilla fighters to terrorise rural populace in order to extinguish support.]

4. Primitivity Of course, the culture of a colony must be more primitive than that of a colonist, and it doesn't matter if this is true. This thesis is the basis for the many prohibitions against modernising Ukrainian culture on its own ethnic basis. By introducing various rules and orders and by artificially preserving it in an archaic, censored, castrated folklorism on a social-domestic level. As a result, the best representatives of science, art and culture have been repressed for centuries, and simulacra have been created in the form of various unions and collectives which were supposed to control the development of culture, preventing it from overstepping the set boundaries. Is it really worth wondering at the vast amount of literary works about serfs, the obsession of theatre, choral and dance groups with domestic and rural themes, as this was all that was allowed, and anything that was created that was different remained outside the law? The Ukrainian was to be portrayed as something parochial, rustic, without glamour, manners and high culture, which only opened up through the mediation of the elder brother and the master. Slavist Eva Thompson refers to the terminological appropriation of one culture (the colony) by another (the colonist) as a distinct feature of Russian colonialism - a stabilization method that consists in the regular, systematic, and purposeful incorporation of the "25th frame" into mass culture. That is to say, by inserting hidden narratives that Russians are civilizationally superior to the people of the national republics of the empire and that they are capable of doing everything better. These were unobtrusive messages, allusions, and comparisons, often deliberately distorted and completely false, disseminated through films, television programs, magazines, textbooks, fiction, and the like, where Russia, Russians, and Russian culture were elevated, and local culture was presented as inferior, provincial and backward.

[Despite Lithuania having theatres, operas, and Universities centuries before Russia did, Soviet occupiers tried to present themselves as givers of high art and culture. As a teacher of all that is culturally superior. To this day, we are reminded, sometimes by fellow Lithuanians who grew up with this propaganda, that they built us hospitals and schools - regardless of the fact that we had those before they came and many they destroyed while annexing us. Even earlier, during the Empire’s occupation, Russians closed our University, which was one of the beacons of Enlightenment in Europe - the Metric system originated in Vilnius. During the 50-year era of Soviet occupation, the idea that Lithuanian national identity was kept alive purely by serfs and farmers got planted into the national psyche, with many folklore festivals and museums originating specifically during this period of time. So many of our writers and scientists were denied submissions for Nobel awards as well.]

5. Deprivation of ownership rights to national history As in the case of Orientalism as described by Said, the Russians have not given up trying to prove that the local ancient culture, which, as in the case of the Eastern Europe and Ukraine, is older and more pronounced than the culture of the colonizer, is more likely to be the cradle of their own culture than that of the Ukrainian. The local population is not allowed to identify itself, and in films, cartoons and fiction, medieval Ruthenia is portrayed only as Russian. Ancient artefacts are plundered to appropriate and represent their own culture, while Ukrainian history is uprooted all the way back to the Enlightenment and presented as lacking a serious tradition of statehood, aristocracy and politics.

[Lithuanian royal palace and Vilnius Museum of Antiquities had a large collection of artwork by history’s most renowned artists, as well as archeological artifacts. Lithuanian nobleman Tyshkevich had the largest collection of Ancient Egyptian artifacts - all collected decades before Carter and with official permits from the local officials - which he donated both to local Museums, the Louvre, and other notable places. All that was in Lithuania disappeared during WWII - stolen by both Nazis and Soviets alike, likely taken to Russia, never to be returned or sold by looters.]

Russia's national policy in Crimea was similar but with some differences. For several centuries, the indigenous population of the peninsula has been orientalized and humiliated, discriminated based on their religion, Islam. Most of the indigenous population were exiled from their homeland or forced to emigrate to save their lives, even during the Empire era. After the Bolshevik occupation and annexation by the USSR, despite a brief period of so-called "indigenization," Soviet policy reverted back to what D. Brandenberger calls "Russocentrism". The Crimean Tatars were expelled from Crimea and replaced by Russians and later by loyal Ukrainians, who finally established the peninsula as a colony. Crimea was turned into a cauldron of nationalities in which absolute supremacy was given to the Russians and Russian culture, from which a new type of identity was to be born: the Soviet man. As a result, the descendants of the settlers developed a separate local identity and, through the mediation of birthright, could already claim this territory. As you can see, the indigenous peoples of Crimea were not even left with the option of a kitsch culture but were simply wiped off the face of the earth.

[USSR did the same to the Baltic states, replacing whole families exiled to the Siberian wilderness to die with the Russian population, most moving into the houses of exiled people, with their belongings still left there. Russian Federation is doing this to Ukrainians nowadays, where locals are replaced by Russians who then participate in “referendums.”]

Whatever name it picks over the years, Russia has always been a colonizer. An Empire of Evil that plagues its neighboring states. Equally genocidal, equally cruel as its Western counterparts. And while many Western states are now moving towards a reevaluation of their history, presenting it in a negative light, Russia never did. Russia invaded Ukraine on that same false pretense that Ukraine is “theirs.” You cannot support Russia or its culture without also being pro-colonialism and pro-Imperialism.

[harrowharkwife]

juno zeta

hi rowan!!!

favorite thing about them: i mean, the general aura of milf, to get the obvious out of the way, lmfao. but the real answer is her sense of humor, i think. she's fucking hysterical. her cruising for we suffer before the evac/rescue mission was even over? fucking iconic. love her.

least favorite thing about them: i mean, if i start getting into my thoughts on sixth house society and state policy, we'll be here all night. so to keep things brief, just the ways in which she upholds the sucky parts of house, and especially sixth house, society. the moments in dr. sex where she speaks for cam, brings cam along as her attaché, etc come to mind, just re: sixth house elitism in general. also i wanna clarify that this isn't me being like "juno zeta is a bad mom," it's me being like "juno zeta is the only textual depiction we get of typical sixth parenthood, and she seems to be a perfectly average/fine/good parent by sixth house cultural standards." which says more about sixth house history/society and the empire in general than it does about her in particular, IMO. but like i am always here to dunk on sixth house atrocities <3 and juno is Very much Sixth, the same way that cam and pal both are- and i mean this in both the (affectionate) sense and the (unfortunate) one. me when characters are affected by their upbringings and are products of the societies in which they were raised: 🥰

favorite line: this bit from dr. sex of her sassing her team always makes me laugh: "Archivist Zeta said, with an edged cheerfulness, “The King Undying resurrected us with eyeballs for a reason, children.”

brOTP: especially after the paul of it all, i think her and pyrrha could have a LOT to talk about. i think it could be cathartic and also terrible for both of them. i would also give my weight in gold to see a juno zeta & mercymorn interaction. i bet it'd be insane

OTP: i mean we suffer obviously, but i am also not immune to the abigail/juno agenda or the pyrrha/juno one

nOTP: men i think, she gives me lesbian vibes. i don't get the sense her and pal's father were involved at all, since the sixth only does vat womb and not gravid carry.

random headcanon: i picture her with LOOOOOONG like impractically long gray hair, which isn't canon, but it's just 'cause juno really reminds me of an old astrophysics prof i had one time who was a deeply funny woman with gray hair so long it reached the backs of her knees WHEN BRAIDED!!! when braided!!! insane.

unpopular opinion: idk if i really have one? i guess maybe just that some interpretations of her dynamic with her son don't really resonate for me, particularly interpretations that they're really close/have a great relationship. i think they're definitely civil, and i think they like each other as people, but idk. maybe it's just my mommy issues talking, but i don't think they're close like that gjctndxfndnt

song i associate with them: huh, idk if i really have one?

favorite picture of them: oh man... come to think of it idk if ive ever seen juno fanart? i gotta go look for some!!

thanks rowan this was fun!

[garbagequeer]

i see your Nationalposting and as a fellow Longtime National Fan I would greatly like to know your favorite Old National songs/lyrics <3

hi!! im not sure what's considered Old the national so i'll go with anything before high violet and i'll leave out the ones that feel like obvious common favorites (about today, slow show, mr november and fake empire all of which i love). and i'll order them by album because i wrote my answer and now it's annoying me that it's in a random order

from the national:

i love the lines on bitters and absolute that go "if i were a spy in the world inside your head / would i be your wife in a better life you led" i think because it builds a good rhythm by using rhymes not only between lines but also inside the same line (wife and life, if i and spy) and a little alliteration by using 4 W words in so little space. it gets stuck in my head so much because it's so catchy phonetically

i'll also say 29 years which feels like cheating bc it couples with slow show but i love the imagery of this song and also the sound of the feedback and guitar in the background is so beautiful (i read somewhere they made it by stroking the cords with a fork but idk how true that is. if true i <3 getting weird with guitars)

THE PERFECT SONG. they really made a perfect song about not finding the perfect song. i love the "shallow minded adult tricks but i know there's a river in me" line and the general theme of this song. no notes it's the perfect song fr i cant talk about this one

from sad songs for dirty lovers:

murder me rachel (love the ribbons imagery and if anyone knows any other songs that uses that id love to know about them... send ribbon songs for my ribbon songs collection please. so far i've got this one, describe by perfume genius and sober by lorde)

lucky you because i love a pathetic ass state of mind forever

it never happened because it is perfect for a somewhat sad walk around the neighborhood and i love the line "now nobody's funny / no god, they took our fashion week" in part because of the twist of mentioning fashion week which is always a little funny when describing all these horrible things that get them depressed (feeling very old, nothing being funny, no god) and the "what to my wondering eyes should appear [dramatic pause] ...nothing" because it is equally funny while serious too. i also love how it changes sound halfway through i love a song with parts.

from alligator:

i adore the menacing lyrics to city middle about having money and ideas and being worked up and drunk/high and wanting to "gator around the warm beds of beginners" and the vague and hazy images of these people pissing in a sink or confessing things. and i like how it builds to being louder as it progresses following the story from the menacing beginning where it seems these people are going to do some damage to other people over this calmer melody to a more anxious melody/repetitive lyrics where instead we find them to be doing damage to themselves. normal binge drinker experience

i love the general frantic desperate energy of abel and the lines "you turn me good and god-fearing / tell me what am i supposed to do with that" and "i see water on the bridge / well, you better hold my hand through this". i love the general conflicting feelings in this song. i should live in salt's crazy older brother

from boxer:

green gloves <<<333 i think they were crazy for this one it's probably my favorite song about friendship ever

i love the line from apartment story about how the stereo "sings to itself of its long lost loves" i think it's a really fun device but also works perfectly in context to depict the sway certain things like art or beauty have over our perception of our lives and how we use these things as covers and crutches to deal with the mundane dissatisfaction of working life. i also like how first he seems more dismissive of the stereo which is just doing "whatever it does", which to me shows the distancing tired adults have to these artistic or beautiful things due to the reality of their lives and a certain level of cynicism. I also really like the first verse with the couple getting ready to go out and the little lines that indicate frustration with this ritual ("i try and try to pin your flowers on", "i can tie my tie all by myself" for offering a similar contrast between appearances and feelings

i'd love to hear someone else's thoughts on favorite songs and lyrics from the national btw so you can send you favorites if you want :^)

[yellowspiralbound]

Personal Breakdown of Swan Upon Leda, Stanza by Stanza

Disclaimer: this analysis is entirely personal opinion. If you have a different interpretation that's great! In fact, I'd love to hear your interpretations of the song. Anyway, analysis time:

A husband waits outside

A crying child pushes a child into the night

She was told he would come this time

Without leaving so much as a feather behind

To enact at last the perfect plan

One more sweet boy to be butchered by man

This tells the story of a child anywhere from 5 - 17 being forced to birth her rapists baby.

The first line mentions a husband, which can be interpreted as the child's husband - child brides are very common in a lot of places - or it could be the child's father, the husband of the child's mother. I personally think the first scenario is more likely.

The next lines mention that she was told she wouldn't be raped this time. Emphasis on the this time. The feather is a reference to the swan that raped Leda, which is how we know the child being born is a result of rape. In my opinion, this child bride was raped by her husband before they were married and, since her virtue was ruined, she was forced to marry him. Her family promised he would not rape her again, but he did and she became pregnant. This was the husband's "perfect plan." He would rape her, which forced her to marry him, and then rape her again to trap her in the marriage with a baby. The last line tells us that the baby was born male. He will grow up to be "butchered by men" likely meaning his father will be abusive or that he will grow up to be exactly like his father.

But the gateway to the world

Was still outside the reach of him

What never belonged to angels

Had never belonged to man

The swan upon Leda

Empire upon Jerusalem

The "gateway to the world," in my mind, refers to the female reproductive system. It has always been out of reach to this "him." He can't produce a child on his own so he rapes women to access the "gateway to the world."

The next bit, "what never belonged to angels had never belonged to man" is so personal to me. The bit about angels can be a reference to so many things. The angel can be Zeus raping Leda. The angel can be the Christian God forcing 13 year old Mary to carry Jesus. The angel is a representation of how women are treated mythologically. The thing that never belonged to these angels is, of course, the female body. The next line states that the female body has never belonged to men. To me, the greater implication is that men have taken their examples from the "angels." They think they're owed the female body because the gods took it as they pleased.

The next two lines are comparison lines. The swan is upon Leda like how the kingdom of Jerusalem has been historically and biblically conquered over and over and over again. This line does, however, imply that women are holy. We are sacred ground in the same way Jerusalem is - we are holy.

A grandmother smugglin' meds

Past where the god child-soldier

Setanta stood dead

A graceful turner of heads

Weaves through the checkpoints like a needle and the thread

Someone’s frightened boy waves her on

She offers a mother’s smile and soon she’s gone

The first line is pretty self explanatory: an old woman is smuggling medication, likely some sort of contraception or abortion pills. She could also be smuggling abortifacients - things that cause miscarriages such as mugwort.

The next part is more confusing to those of us who aren't Irish. Setanta is an Irish mythological figure, but his importance here doesn't come from his mythos. Setanta has been used by Irish nationalists ad a symbol for a unified Ireland. The knowledge that the grandmother is sneaking things past Setanta implies that she's bringing the medicine from Southern Ireland into Northern Ireland, where the abortion laws are stricter.

Hozier next describes the grandmother going through the checkpoints into Northern Ireland. She does this by being a graceful turner of heads. My impression is that she's using her beauty to distract the people checking her so she can get the medicine through. If you've ever read the Witcher books, there's a scene where Yennefer makes herself more beautiful so that people will look at her and not at Ciri, who is supposed to be dead. That was the first thing I associated with the "graceful turner of heads" line.

Beyond just beauty though, the grandmother is using her status as a weapon. She's just a sweet old lady, she wouldn't do anything wrong. To me, this is a reference to how women are often seen as too pure, too innocent, too submissive and obedient to cause issues. The grandmother knows she's viewed this way and uses it to her advantage.

The next line is a simple interaction. She has someone on the inside that helps with her smuggling operation. This boy, maybe one of the people working the checkpoints, maybe a police officer, or maybe just a young boy, helps the grandmother navigate to the people she needs to deliver the medication too.

The important thing about the boy is that he too is someone who is not suspected to be involved in the smuggling of abortifacients because he's a boy. Men as a societal class are rarely involved in the fight for women's rights. This boy will not be a main suspect if the smuggling is uncovered - and that is why he's doing it and not a young woman.

The gateway to the world

The gun in a trembling hand

Where nature unmakes the boundary

The pillar of myth still stands

The swan upon Leda

Occupier upon ancient land

This last verse is a slightly altered version of the chorus. The gateway to the world is, as we previously discussed, the female reproductive system. This time, however, there's a gun. This gun is likely the result of being denied an abortion. The woman has no way to stop the birth no - no way except an at home abortion. Perhaps she's horribly depressed, as people tend to be when they're pregnant with a rapists child. Whatever the reason, this woman has decided suicide is the answer. She will have an abortion by killing herself.

The next two lines, "where nature unmakes the boundary, the pillar of myth still stands," is about the fight for women's rights. We - women - are the "nature." We are unmaking the boundaries that men have placed upon us and our bodies. The pillar of myth, however, still stands in our way. This pillar of myth is, of course, the religious arguments that stop abortion access.

The last line of the song, "occupier upon ancient land" is very direct. Hozier is calling women an occupied nation, an oppressed people.

MUSICALITY ANALYSIS:

Swan Upon Leda is a very soft song, which doesn't seem to match the material. This is an incredibly angry song, but it's sung like a lullaby. To me, this is an incredibly important aspect of the song.

The first important thing about the softness is that it's a representation of female rage, in my opinion. Historically and still today, women are expected to carry themselves with dignity. Anger is not a dignified emotion. Angry women must often stay silent or soft to protect themselves. We don't have the privilege of a screaming match with men that hurt us because that might make them hurt us more. Our anger is, by necessity, a quiet affair.

The other important thing about the softness of the song is that it sounds like a lullaby. I think this has a few meanings. First of all, lullabies call babies to mind which is very fitting for a song about abortion. The second thing is that, to me, the lullaby implies that women inherit the grief of being occupied. Even the small, female baby listening to this lullaby understands the rage inside it. We are born with this quiet rage. It is our lullaby, the thing that lulls us to sleep.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2023 || FFXIV Write info\\Prompt list\\Character info \\Master post ||

Prompt 11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

used to mean that a person who has failed or been hurt when trying to do something is careful or fearful about doing it again.

Character(s): Atticus Wolfram and Shaili (belonging to @tokki-yue) Cw: none Word count: 863 Notes: Out of all my ocs, I think Atticus fits this one best <3 Set around Endwalkwer time but no real set place in the story. Also, did anyone else get the forbidden xmas song stuck in their head when they saw this? No? Just me?

Atticus was the type of person who wouldn’t get close to people. Couldn’t, was more of a better way to phrase it but he never said that aloud to anyone, knowing that would lauch into a myriad of questions he didn’t want to answer. This was especially true when it came to loving people. 

He had loved once before. A childhood friend who he grew close with. They trained together, joined the Legion together, shared every moment together–Atticus had built his entire world around him, feeling that he was his forever. He had been so blindly in love that he slipped up and exposed his father’s rebel operation against the Empire to him, believing he would feel the same. He hadn’t. He had a deep love for their homeland, and sense of pride and duty to the Empire that Atticus couldn’t relate to. Perhaps if he had been raised in a different household, things would have been different. 

Even so, Atticus knew, deep down, he was never meant to stay in Garlemald. 

He just wished he hadn’t said anything to him about it. Maybe things would have been different and he wouldn’t have destroyed so many lives for his mistake. He vowed to never let himself get to close to anyone like that again. He couldn’t trust himself to not get hurt and he couldn’t trust himself to not hurt them. 

But with her, it was different. She knew where he came from and what he had done. And while most people would run away, she stayed. She was willing to see past his flaws and mistakes, and she didn’t hesitate to call him out on things. She kept him grounded and in check, and even if she didn’t feel the same about him, he certainly couldn’t ignore the way his heart fluttered to his stomach every time she looked at him or smiled at him. There was always this strange tightness in his chest whenever he was around her, and if given the chance he would tell her everything just as he had before with him. And yet, he still hesitated, even if all the signs were there.

Some things, he had learned, were always left better unsaid. And sometimes, second chances were never worth it. 

“There you are!” 

Atticus was pulled from his thoughts, blinking the moisture back into his eyes from staring too long at the water. He turned around to see Shaili just coming over the crest of the hill gazing at him with a mixture of impatience and relief. He gave her a nonchalant wave, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“You can be quite difficult to track you know,” Shaili stated matter of factly. “I feel like I’ve searched this area at least twenty times before spotting you on a cliff of all places…what are you, a cat?” 

Atticus laughed. “Maybe on another shard, I am.” He turned back to fix his gaze at the water again, quietly adding, “I just like the view of the ocean from here–really helps clear the mind when you need to think.” 

“You, thinking?” Shaili hummed playfully as she stood next to him. “Well that’s the beginning of disaster, isn’t?” 

Atticus leaned sideways in order to nudge her slightly off balance, she made a small protest but managed to catch herself. “Aha, but sometimes that disastrous thinking of mine has saved our necks more than once, and you know it.” 

Shaili let out a scoff in reluctant agreement but smiled down at him all the same. Atticus couldn’t help the small intake of breath at the way she smiled at him. “Well, if you’re done thinking, we’re going to grab dinner at the Last Stand, if you want to come.” the Au’ra turned away, muttering. “I mean, you don’t have to–you can stay up here and think until the sun sets for all I care, but Anya was insistent I go find you beforehand and ask, so here I am, tracking you down when I should be eating…” she trailed off and Atticus couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It sounds as if you want to me to be there since you went through all that trouble searching the city for me,” Atticus teased playfully as he stood up and brushed himself off. “So I suppose I should honor the lady’s request.” he tossed her a charming smile and a wink.

“Oh shut it,” Shaili rolled her eyes but the Elezen caught her lips tugging into a small smile before swiftly turning on her heal and heading out down the hill again. Atticus watched her go for a few seconds, a fond smile on his face as he placed a hand on his chest to still his fluttering heart. 

Despite everything, she was still willing to give him a chance. It was only fair to return the gesture, right? 

Shaili stopped and turned around, arching an eyebrow when she saw the Elezen hadn’t moved. “Hurry it up, would you?” 

“Yes, of course, I’m right behind you.” Atticus laughed as he followed her and they continued down the hill, side by side. 

Perhaps she was worth the second try. 

[grateful-for-zayn]

Zayn Delivers His Own MTV Unplugged Set on ‘Room Under the Stairs’

The musician’s stripped-down fourth studio album is a showcase for the bare foundations of his artistry

BY LARISHA PAULMAY 17, 2024

Zayn’s starting point for his fourth studio album Room Under the Stairs was an emotional low point. “Alienated” began in his home studio in rural Pennsylvania, where he wrote the majority of the record on his own in a state of both creative and physical isolation. The percussive track simmers in solitary sorrow as the musician dives simultaneously into the darkest depths of his mind and the bottom of a bottle. “Know my reasons for the pain, but if you brought it in front of me I know I’d do it all again,” he sings over hollow acoustics, admitting: “I know from all my years that my feelings never change.”

Ahead of the album’s arrival, Zayn performed “Alienated” with a five-piece band for a rare live performance video. The instrumentalists are really his only audience there, following his lead and providing layers of harmonies throughout the performance. And yet, the singer spent most of the set crooning with his eyes closed, seemingly growing more comfortable in the space throughout the song. Zayn last performed in front of an actual live audience more than half a decade ago, having cited severe anxiety as the primary blockage between him and the stage. That will change tonight as he celebrates the release of Room Under the Stairs with an intimate concert at London’s O2 Shepherd’s Bush Empire.

The 2,000-capacity space is a fitting launch pad for the album. It was in venues of that size, and occasionally even smaller, that music’s biggest stars broke their songs down to their simplest forms on MTV Unplugged. Zayn crafted Room Under the Stairs in this same vein. The record, written almost entirely solo and co-produced with Dave Cobb, is a 49-minute acoustic special in its own right. While promoting the album, Zayn’s most persistent messaging pushed his solitary songwriting process as the core of the album. Bolstered by live instruments, the stripped back production format he established with Cobb naturally places so much emphasis on the lyrical content, particularly on songs like the standouts “Shoot at Will” and “How It Feels.”

“Can you tell me just one thing/Can you give me a reason to stay/‘Cause the feelings I’m harboring/Don’t seem to see the light of day,” Zayn sings with a sense of defeat on “How It Feels,” his vocal wrapped in swelling orchestral production and a sparse piano melody. “Shivers down my spine/Never forget to remind me, I’m alive/‘Til I let go of this moment/Something holdin’ me to this place/I’ve been breaking, always faking/I’m just lying to your face/And I can’t tell you how it feels.” The singer spends a significant portion of the album in his headspace — operating from the vantage point of someone self-aware enough to recognize the problem, but not yet resolved enough to enact meaningful change.

On “Gates of Hell,” Zayn completes another loop in his cycle of chaos, repeating: “I don’t like you very much/But I keep putting up with your shit.” It’s one of the weaker lyrical moments on the record, burdened by the monotonous strum of an acoustic guitar over production that sounds especially incomplete. The singer started working on Room Under the Stairs around four to five years ago, and while the timeline of when each song emerged is unclear, certain cuts like “Gates of Hell” and “Concrete Kisses” — which channels Frank Ocean on a bridge that deserved better lyrical company — come across as early demos that were never conceptualized to their fullest potential. In those moments, Zayn’s MTV Unplugged set becomes a singular barstool in a bustling café where no one is paying too much attention to the man on the open mic stage.

Sporadically, Zayn communicates the sense that he would have almost preferred that context — the quiet life of a coffee shop crooner. On his farm in Pennsylvania, he’s achieved as much seclusion and anonymity as any former member of One Direction could likely hope for. Room Under the Stairs is a reflection of that change, but it isn’t a complete departure from the singer’s three R&B-driven studio albums that came before it. His solo debut Mind of Mine leaned into atmospheric simplicity on “It’s You” and “Drunk.” And on “Good Years,” from the both bloated and underrated Icarus Falls, and “Better” from his third effort Nobody Is Listening, he similarly explored crucial self-reflections. He wasn’t truly lacking insight across those R&B-inflected records. Mostly, he just needed an editor.

Occasionally, Zayn slips back into that R&B pocket. “Something in the Water” gives weight to the Justin Timberlake comparisons that emerged when he became the first to go solo. It’s one of three songs on the record that the singer didn’t write himself, but he sings “got me dripping in that old school love” with the conviction of a true veteran of the genre. On “Grateful,” Zayn delivers a highlight not only of the album but of his complete catalog. “And it feels good/And I knew it would/When I’m telling this story/It’s complicated, some mishaps/I’ve been mourning/But I’m grateful for it,” he sings, relieved to be freeing himself from the burden of the past. Reminiscent of an early career Alicia Keys, that same passion (and stunning harmonies) breaks through in his vocal performance across the soulful album closer “Fuchsia Sea,” pulling it into the space of an instant classic.

It’s not hard to understand the appeal of teaming with Cobb for Room Under the Stairs, meant to serve in many ways as a reintroduction and reentry into the pop machine on Zayn’s own terms. The producer is one of Nashville’s most in-demand collaborators whose credits include team ups with Chris Stapleton, Brandi Carlile, Sturgill Simpson, and more. But it was never really the sound of country and Americana that strengthened their releases — it was the emotion, songwriting, and storytelling.Zayn hits most of these core marks on “The Time,” but sings each verse with a distracting country accent mountains away from his British twang, which randomly resurfaces on the chorus.

But it’s on “Birds on a Cloud” that he clears each category with thrilling ease. The song is set against the sonic backdrop of what sounds like a perfect beach day — all sunshine and perfect temperatures — but features one of the most devastating refrains on the album as he pleads: “Please give me one more day of happiness, I need it.” For a moment, in the warmth of his lower register on the bridge, Zayn finds the contentment he’s been searching for. “Stardust” evokes the same breezy feeling — though it channels a flower field more than a beach. It marks a rare moment where a love song on the album isn’t marred with the acknowledgement of toxicity — though, to be fair, he didn’t write that one. It’s a curious selection in the context of the rest of the record, but perhaps signals towards the optimism he spends most of the record hoping to make room for.

While MTV Unplugged often captured artists at the height of their careers, Room Under the Stairs is a showcase of an artist willingly setting the bar higher to give himself something to yearn for both emotionally and creatively. Zayn’s simultaneous emergence as a lead songwriter, producer, and — for the first time in nearly a decade — a live performer is a heavy load to place on one record and it doesn’t arrive without its stumbles. But across these 15 songs, he evokes the feeling that those missteps and the spectators making note of them disappear when he closes his eyes and just sings, entirely unplugged.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics:

1 thru 10. Old stories rendered into new tongues & clad in new arts.

Tales cast into different multi-media variations.

Joined by novel nightmares just set down into print.

All freely fed into the maelstrom of minds that make up new realities as a form of entertainment!

1914: Part 2, Notes.

1. Since I haven't found the full texts to these articles, I'll be using whatever commentary & quotations I stumble across.

2. I think most everybody is aware of Lovecraft's racist beliefs & his willful propaganda of such foul inequality.

3. Isaac Bickerstaffe was an Irish play & booklet¹⁰ writer.

Isaac was also a Lieutenant in the 5th Regiment of the British infantry. And, he served in the Marines during the 7 Years War.

Weird Shit: Bickerstaffe hurt the production of his own 1st play!

Isaac stupidly criticized David Garrick (The top actor-manager of that time!)- for the 'barbarity' of setting Shakespeare's plays to music...

Bickerstaffe's light opera, "Thomas & Sally," was a huge hit - playing around the British Empire!!

From then on, Isaac's comedic works were also successful. He even wrote the 1st English comic opera, "Love in a Village."

More Weird Bits:

3A. A newspaper falsely stated that Bickerstaffe had committed suicide - by drowning himself in the south of France!

3B. Suspected of homosexuality, Isaac fled to mainland Europe.

There, he lived in poverty & misery.

3C. Then, another false news report claimed that Bickerstaffe had died in Sussex, England.

Yet, he actually disappeared around 1808...

3D. After this disappearance, his 'colleague' (Charles Dibdin) was long accused of selling Isaac's songs - as if they were Dibdin's own work...

4. Howard's love of astronomy started when he was 12 years old.

That was when HPL first found his grandma's books on astronomy in the family's attic library.

Soon afterwards, Sarah (Lovecraft's mom) bought him a small mail-order Excelsior spyglass - for 99¢!!

5. Nostradamus was a French astrologer, pharmacist, physician, writer, translator & 'seer.'

He's best known for his book, "The Prophecies," a poetic work that supposedly predicts the future...

Strangely enough, there's several predictions that seem close to actual events.

Yet, you never hear about the totally wrong predictions.

For example, a shooting war (between Russia & the U.S.) was supposed to have started - in the year 2000 AD...

You don't always get what you pay for!

6. Queen Anne of Great Britain was plagued with ailing health all of her life.

She endured 17 pregnancies & yet, outlived all of her children!!

In doing so, she became the last of the Stuart line of succession.

Painfully shy, Anne learned to assert her authority when it was needed!

It was she who oversaw the union of England & Scotland.

7. Johnathan Swift was an Anglo-Irish author, poet, essayist, satirist, political pamphlet maker & the Anglican Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland.

He's best remembered for writing the satiric "Gulliver's Travels."

One of his many pen names was Isaac Bickerstaffe!

But, Swift (a Tory) was permanently exiled ("like a rat in a hole") when the Whigs returned to power - right after Queen Anne's death.

Weird Stuff: Swift wrote his own obituary, a year after 1st showing signs of dementia.

Guardians were appointed due to Swift's violent outbursts - with old friends.

Swift, in great pain, tried to rip out his own inflamed left eye!!

Then, Swift spent a whole year with- out saying a word.

But, thankfully, he finally died.

Following his best friend to the grave - a year late.

8. John Partridge published a popular almanac of astrological predictions.

But, Partridge falsely claimed to know the death dates of various church officials!

Swift, using the pen name of Isaac Bickerstaffe, predicted Partridge's death - in late March of that same year (1708)!!

Then, Swift issued a pamphlet stating that Partridge was indeed dead - contrary to Partridge's own rebuttal!

9. Though the planet Venus is usually thought of as Earth's twin - it's actually more like a complete opposite!!

Venus spins backwards, has a day longer than its own year & lacks any seasons!

It's thought to have once being habitable - about a billion years ago!!

10. Librettos (little booklets) are used to mark detailed scene descriptions in operas, ballets or other musicals.

Next: Part 3, Quotations.

[aaronafgash]

10 NEW SONGS - 3/1/24

1. Von dutch - Charli XCX

After a full month of teasing on social media, Charli XCX has finally released her lead single for her upcoming album, Brat, and it does not disappoint. This song sounds like drugs and I mean that in the best way possible. The girls and the gays will love this, and who am I to disagree with them?

2. Thinking About You - Faye Webster

Didn’t love some of the singles so I was a bit nervous to hear what Faye Webster’s new album, Underdressed at the Symphony, would sound like, but those concerns were immediately extinguished as soon as I heard this intro. Faye’s band has always been a secret strength behind her music, and that proves to be true yet again on “Thinking About You”. The Wilco-esque groove leaves you in a trance, so much so that you might not notice that she sings “I’m thinking about yooooooou” about a thousand times!

3. Wanna Quit All the Time - Faye Webster

Again, Faye and her band sound incredible here. I love the kind of tropical, twangy vibe we’re getting on this one - it reminds me quite a bit of Molly Lewis, to the point where I actually checked to see if she had any writing / production credits (she doesn’t). Per usual, Faye keeps it real lyrically. “Overthinking in my head again / I’m good at making shit negative / Right now I hate the color of my house” elicits the same feelings I get when I hear her sing “I’m losing my mind / Why the hell did I paint these walls white?” on “Jonny” from her debut album. I could listen to this on repeat for hours.

4. Excalibur - Good Morning

One of my favorite indie groups of the last decade, Good Morning comes correct with a new single from their upcoming album Good Morning Seven. As someone who had a strange, partially isolating, semi-existential Vegas experience a few years back, and as someone who also happened to stay at the Excalibur a few years before that, it’s safe to say that I can personally relate to this song. Vegas as a concept is pretty bizarre, and lyrics like “And over there by the pyramid, right next to the fountains and the Empire State Building / Could have sworn that I was present for the minute” beautifully encapsulate what it can feel like at times.

5. ecstasy - Public Library Commute

Just a nice, chill, catchy, easy-to-listen-to song. I’ve been a fan of Public Library Commute’s previous work and this continues that trend. Lovely harmonies and I’m a fan of his vocal tone.

6. Sometimes - Mannequin Pussy

Mannequin Pussy rocks so hard. I Got Heaven feels like their most cohesive and accessible album to date, and “Sometimes” is a clear highlight for me. Love the grunge, but I appreciate their softer moments too - those two aspects of their sound fit perfectly together.

7. THank god 4 me - ScHoolboy Q

I didn’t love the new album Blue Lips, but it’s always good to see ScHoolboy Q back, and I did enjoy this song a ton. Starting with the chill, vibey sample, switching to an horn-blaring trap beat, and then combining the trap drums with the intro sample is brilliant producing, and Q sounds great over it all, adjusting his cadence and flow to each section.

8. Need Nothing - Katie Tupper

Had to dig pretty deep to find this one, but Katie Tupper sounds excellent on this jazzy, simple, upbeat track. I’ve heard her featured on a few songs on vbnd’s Daughter of the Sun, but my exposure to her is pretty limited outside of that. May need to familiarize myself with her game considering how much I fuck with this one.

9. Slug - Matt Champion

I haven’t followed Matt Champion’s career too closely post-BROCKHAMPTON days, and the bits and pieces I've heard haven’t left much of an impression. But this hits. A fast paced beat, and unexpected, textured, and layered vocals bring this together.

10. Cinnamon Crush (feat. Lindsey Lomis) - Jacob Collier

Jacob Collier is hit or miss for me for sure, but I tend to be into his more R&B-leaning songs, which is exactly what we have here. Beautiful harmonies - I appreciate how well he and Lindsey Lomis’ voices blend together. Lindsey crushes her voice, floating and running over the thumping, understated beat.

[swordandboardllc]

Introducing THE STUMBLING BLOCK Volume 1

I’ve dipped my toes into the zine world only a teeny handful of times, and certainly hadn’t considered making one of my own. But with a newsletter, an ongoing blog, and the twitterverse, it was easy for Gideon Marcus to convince me to do so. All it needed was a name, and that too was something they easily convinced me of. 

“You could call it ‘The Stumbling Block’” he said, and while I’m not sure he was being completely serious about it, I honestly can’t think of a better name. I want to point out stumbling blocks in fantasy, both in published works and pre-published drafts. I want this to both create stumbling blocks in authors, and show them how to clear away those blocks. Without further ado, let’s create some discomfort. 

We are writers. We live with vast imaginations. Yet ‌in worlds where we imagine FTL engines or dragons, science-as-magic or magic-as-science, it seems we cannot imagine disabled or chronically ill people existing alongside it. Disability affects 15% of the world population, yet certainly does not appear among 15% of the characters we write about. 

I maintain that writing is not a comfortable act. We delve into hard parts of ourselves and our societies to drive not just plots, but social change. We give fictional commentaries on past events to give hope for the future, regardless of how we veil the events we steal from. Even if all you write are cozy stories, you can’t write something cozy without knowing what you’re shielding the reader from. And that always bleeds through‌. 

I spoke with a fellow writer who stated, “Well, there’s a reason you don’t see a lot of disabled characters in an action book.” Yes, there is. 

Ableism. Often internalized. 

There is a good chance that you, or someone you know, wear glasses. Visual impairments and their accommodations have become normalized, if not fashionable, in North American society. It doesn’t appear strange to go to work wearing glasses. Nor is it odd for your protagonist to wear them, if time period appropriate. It’s time to do the same for other assistive devices (self-propelled wheelchairs were invented in 1655, so no excuses for fantasy writers), as well as the disabilities that go with them. 

Good Versus Evil: Scars, Disfigurements, and Moral JudgEments

Evil often comes in two forms: the hideously ugly and disfigured (consider characters like The Hound from A Song of Ice and Fire, or the entire race of orcs from The Lord of the Rings), or hauntingly beautiful (The Empress in The Poppy War, or Maleficent of Sleeping Beauty). Most protagonists, even if they state how plain they are (Bella from Twilight), they rarely actually are anything less than whole and hale, often still classically pretty or handsome. They are rarely ugly. After all, reading is escapism. It’s easy to enjoy a book where the reader is in the perspective of a beautiful character healthy in both mind and body. We can feel good when they do good, uncomfortable when they’re mistreated, and heroic when they defeat injustices. It’s easier to focus on the plot when we use the shorthand of ‘wholeness’ and ‘able bodied’ in our character creation. It’s uncomfortable to have a protagonist that forces us to examine our biases on abilities while they’re on their quest to destroy the evil corporation/empire/dragon. It takes more creativity to solve the solution of ‘How does an ambulatory wheelchair-user slay the dragon?’ than ‘How does my able-bodied character do it?’

Examination of what makes us uncomfortable breeds introspection and empathy in the reader. It’s our subconscious biases through social conditioning that lead to issues of entire races being coded as evil. Consider that while we may expect beauty to betray us (Melkor in the Silmarillion), it’s a far greater surprise for hideousness to be heroic (I don’t imagine we’ll see the first good orc in Rings of Power, for example). When our biases are deeply ingrained in our tropes and societies, how do we avoid them while still authentically telling the story we wish to tell? After all, I’m not here to tell you that you can’t write certain stories. But we can broaden our horizons to minimize real harm, and create those warm fuzzies of being seen.

Disability is the one minority group you can join at any point in your life, and likely will the older you get. That fact should be kept in mind with your world-building and character creation, and will help you divest disability from moral judgments. It’s fine to have a villain with facial scarring–only if they’re not the only character with a facial deformity. How your protagonists react to these deformities is huge. Statements like ‘now their internal and external match’ regarding a villain’s new deformity is harmful and that harm can be called out through your author voice. If the plot armor is too thick around your protagonists but not your antagonists, if disabling issues are quickly healed away for your heroes, and traumas leave no psychological impact, then you run the risk of placing moral judgments on the injuries and long lasting disabilities granted to the villains. 

Bad things don’t just happen to bad people. Life is, thankfully, not fair (after all, if it were it would mean you deserved anything terrible that happened to you, which isn’t true). Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. Disability can happen to anyone, and adding disabilities to your characters and accommodations to your worlds only makes it richer. And perhaps it will leave both you and your readers with a greater empathy and understanding for the struggles disabled people face in the real world every day.

The Author Disability Checklist:

Am I afraid to put in disabled characters? Why?

Do only my antagonist characters have long lasting physical disabilities?

Are traumas that should leave long lasting chronic effects (such as chronic pain or PTSD) glossed over after they occur? 

Are disabilities used for inspiration-porn (ie: I can overcome this issue and lead a comfortable life, so therefore anyone can with enough positive thinking and gumption)?

Do you think that disabilities will distract from your plot or make it harder to write? 

If your answer was ‘yes’ to any of these, there is a good possibility that you have internalized, ableist biases that could benefit from a discussion with a disability advocate or sensitivity reader. 

An important point to keep in mind: what is ‘disabling’ will change depending on your setting and cultures. A sci-fi novel set on a spaceship in zero gravity might mean that mobility issues are non-disabling. Sight in a society designed for the blind, or a physical inability to communicate (vocal communication in a society of only skin color changing communication, for example), would create new and different disabilities for you to tackle. 

The Disabled Character Test

Inspired by the famous Bechdel Test (Does a movie have at least two women, who talk to each other, about something besides a man), I present The Disabled Character Test: Is there a disabled character, and no moral judgment attached to their disability? Like the Bechdel test, the Disabled Character Test is simple on the surface, yet frustratingly few shows, books, or video games pass this low bar. Keep in mind that, like the Bechdel test, this isn’t a test to say whether or not a given piece of media is good. Simply whether or not there is representation. 

For our inaugural edition, I present Star Trek: The Next Generation. 

Is there a disabled character: Geordi LaForge, a blind engineer who uses a visor and optic implant combination to see a greater range than the regular human eye is able to. 

Is there a moral judgment attached to his disability: No! Geordi is not presented as a better person (inspiration-porn) or disabled-as-punishment (bad things only happen to bad people). 

Geordi’s visor is shown to be both a solution to problems as well as a discomfort. The visor and implants need to be maintained or else he has chronic migraines (something many people with glasses can empathize with). The visor technology can often be used to solve issues that the crew of the Enterprise encounters, but the visor isn’t the only valuable aspect of Geordi. It is part of him, but it’s not the most important part of him. It doesn’t define him. Instead, Geordi is a brilliant engineer, best friends with Data, has a terrible love life, and just happens to need accommodation for his disability. It is part of him, but it isn’t what solely defines him. 

Geordi LaForge is the first character I remember recognizing as disabled. It felt normal that of course Geordi couldn’t see without his visor as my mother has glasses. It wasn’t strange for me that, in a future with spaceships and transporters, of course there was an upgrade for glasses. Visual issues wouldn’t simply cease to exist, there would just be cool new tech to deal with it! I was a kid watching TNG, and when I saw Geordi for the first time I didn’t know about issues like eugenics. Or that eugenics and gene editing were solutions many authors and screenwriters would choose to explain away disabled people in their creative works.

About the Author

L.J. Stanton grew up in Calgary, Alberta. She attended the University of Guelph and is a former horse trainer and riding instructor. 

After immigrating to the U.S., Stanton was diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. With her husband, they started the media company SWORD & BOARD LLC. Stanton’s debut novel, THE DYING SUN, THE GODS CHRONICLE: BOOK 1, won the NYC Big Book Fan Favorite in Fantasy and was a finalist for the National Indie Excellence Award. Stanton is a founding member of SCRIBE’S JOURNEY Podcast and AFTER THE... talk show on Twitch.

Stanton now lives in Orange County, California.

Support Independent Creativity! Become a Patron Patrons receive early access, workshops, bookmarks and exclusive merchandise, their names in book acknowledgments, and more!

[saturndivine]

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you. 

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control. 

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.” 

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible. 

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness. 

“And I love too, that love soon might end, 

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby. 

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.” 

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root 

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand 

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness. 

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars.  This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. 

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.” 

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul. 

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path. 

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. 

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.” 

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy. 

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead. 

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.” 

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit. 

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, 

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. 

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat. 

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

Link to Website [Services, Blog, & More!]

[moonstrider9904]

Command

Chapter 9 of Moonwalker: The Batch

{series masterlist} | {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{join my taglist!} {crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Crosshair x Fem!OC, Hunter x Fem!OC

Chapter summary: Despite Sarah's efforts, things take a turn for the worse and it begins to seem impossible for her to leave Kamino alongside Crosshair.

Warnings/tags: Mature (minors still not allowed). Angst, so much angst, love triangles and tensions due to these, language, mild mentions of injury.

A/N: Happy Moonwalker Monday! I have been dreading yet excited for this chapter because it is the fateful separation. See you next Monday with the next update, taking place during the events of Saleucami--and possibly kindling things with Hunter?

Word count: 4.2k

Songs: They Know by MOTTRON

The shock troopers led Sarah all the way to the bottom of the med bay to a room she'd never been in before. It was a rather large chamber that was adjacent to the laboratories with the more advanced equipment, and if she didn't know better, it felt like a room like that one shouldn't have been in the med bay.

It felt more like something that would belong near the brig; it was large and empty, with a table, two chairs, and a control panel, like a spot to question someone and intimidate the answers out of them before throwing them away to rot in a cell.

Three people were waiting for Sarah and the troopers in the ominous room. The first one was Tarkin, whom she'd seen coming. The second person waiting there was Nala Se, who instantly raised all of Sarah's inner alarms, bringing her state of alert to its fullest.

But the third person there, the one who would always make her zone anyone else out, was Crosshair.

Her gaze found him; he was still only in his under-armor suit and his bronze skin had a sickly, pale undertone to it, not the usual warm brown it had, and he looked tired, dismal.

She walked faster, leaving the troopers behind her before she was instructed anything else. Panting, Sarah cupped Crosshair's cheeks and looked into his eyes as she struggled to hide her own despair. His gaze was much harder than before, besides the tired, pained, angry look he already carried, and unlike other times, his gaze didn't soften when he looked at her.

"Are you okay?" She asked him softly as her fingers brushed the skin on the sides of his face.

While Crosshair didn't answer, and he continued to look at her with that same expression, the sound of Tarkin laughing filled the room.

"I might have known from the start that this would be the way to recruit you," he bantered.

"What's going on?" Sarah's tone shifted to an aggressive one, and she protectively grasped Crosshair's wrist. "Why are we here?"

"For the same purpose we discussed earlier," Tarkin replied. "You both excel in your own ways. I have been notified of the state in which you've left the brig. I am still convinced you will show promise in the Empire, and now that your beau is recruited, you will stay."

"Neither one of us is going to fight for you," Sarah barked back. "You're delusional if you think we are."

Credit given to all her confidence, Sarah was cut off by the sight of another two armored clone troopers entering the room, each carrying parts of an entire set of gear. The armor was black and it had the new crest that the Empire was using, and lastly, Sarah noticed another 773-Firepuncher, brand new and updated, being handed to the one trooper who would ever be able to master it.

That armor and gear were meant for Crosshair, and no sooner had the troopers arrived than they began to dress him with it.

Sarah knew Tarkin had brought her there to mess with her mind.

"No," Sarah said, her voice weak and breaking with the knot in her throat.

Still with a hard gaze, Crosshair allowed the troopers to continue to dress him, not uttering a word at the woman in front of him.

"This isn't you," her voice raised its volume as her heart slammed at her chest. She walked up to Crosshair and shoved one of the troopers away from him so that she could be directly in front of him.

"What did they do to you?!" She begged for an answer, eyes sorrowful and reflecting her plea.

She watched a flash of recognition passing through Crosshair's eyes, as though some corner at the back of his mind wanted to claw its way through the shell of this odd, dull, tired exterior they'd made of him. Whatever it was, it didn't manage to surface, and Sarah was already getting her wrists held together behind her, with the barrels of blasters pressed against her back. Sarah was then forced down to her knees as they held her arms extended, and she had a plaster pointed to her neck, rendering her completely immobile.

Tarkin held his hand up, signaling the troopers to stop, and then he looked over at Crosshair to give him a sign of approval.

Sarah's wide eyes drifted to Crosshair as he looked down at her, not trying to murder anyone who was threatening or hurting her, the way he'd done only so recently.

"Sarah," he spoke, his voice deep and eerily monotonous. "Comply."

Sarah began to pant. He had never stood by and said something of the sort. She knew him, she knew her Crosshair, through their imprint, she'd gazed into his very soul, and she knew he wouldn't do that if he were in his right mind.

In her desperation, the only one she could turn to for an answer was Nala Se herself. Sarah's fear-driven gaze found the Kaminoan head scientist, momentarily putting aside her anger if it meant Crosshair could be saved.

"What's happening to him?"

Sarah expected Nala Se to behave smugly at her question, but the Kaminoan's eyes remained intently on her, even if she didn't speak or do anything.

After a few tense moments of silence, Tarkin spoke up again. "CT-9904, you have orders not to harm her. The rest of the squadron you belonged to will suffer the punishment for treason. Now, Sarah."

She evaded his gaze, but it was hopeless. The way she was being held by the soldiers didn't allow her to look away for long, and beside her, Crosshair continued to be given imperial armor by the remaining troopers.

"You are not one to hide your concern for this clone, I must say that," Tarkin spoke again. "Accept to fight for the Empire and you will be granted full pardon as well as continue to serve by his side. All you have to fo is obey."

As Tarkin talked, Sarah noticed Nala Se slightly lifting her head when her eyes landed on her. Sarah kept looking over at her old enemy and, discreetly, Nala Se gestured using only her eyes to her left, pointing at something that was behind Sarah. Nala Se's gaze lingered on that spot for a while before looking over at Sarah, her facial expression remaining unchanged.

But Tarkin had stopped talking, and Sarah needed to see whatever Nala Se was signaling.

"What do you want from me?" She said, struggling in the troopers' grip. "You mentioned Palpatine before, what does he want?"

As she pretended to struggle, Sarah angled herself to quickly see what Nala Se wanted to show her. Tarkin answered, taking Sarah's bait, giving Sarah enough of a window to get a visual.

Strapped to one of the legs of the table was a small, rectangular smoke bomb. There was no logical reason for it to be there other than someone having planted it beforehand, possibly Nala Se thinking she'd need a quick escape now that the Empire was getting more involved in Kamino. Sarah wouldn't even have to move over there to detonate it; a simple blast would suffice.

"Is that understood?" Tarkin asked.

Sarah hesitated, hoping he would take the bait again. "I understand."

She was then allowed to stand, but her arms were still restrained as one of the newly-arrived soldiers walked up to her. As he showed her the imperial armor that would be hers, a set that matched Crosshair's, Nala Se turned around and slowly paced towards the control panel where she grabbed a familiar holopad.

"Governor," she spoke. "It appears the prisoners have escaped."

Tarkin faced the scientist. "What do you mean escaped?"

Sarah knew that was her chance. Rounding up all her strength and speed, she yanked her arms towards her and caused the two troopers restraining her to butt helmets with each other. She then leaned back to dodge the blast from the third trooper, grabbed the barrel of the blaster with one hand using the opposite elbow to impact his helmet, hard enough to knock him out too.

Crosshair was about to reach for Sarah, his arm extended. Sarah was about to take his hand, but she stopped herself when she saw him fully in imperial armor.

As she hesitated, she knew she couldn't waste another second. If this plan failed, she wouldn't be spared a second time, and then Crosshair and her would be trapped. Though her heart ached, she decided to follow the plan and accurately blast the smoke bomb, detonating it and filling the room with a dense, gray fog. With the blaster still in hand, she ran outside and made her way back to the brig.

Not very far from the brig, before turning down one of the main corridors, Sarah crashed into someone much taller than her. Frightened, she aimed with her blaster, but she loudly sighed out her tension when she realized it was Hunter and the others.

"Sarah!" He gasped, his hands grasping her arms as he checked her for any injuries. "Are you alright? Where's Crosshair?"

"Still with Tarkin," she answered. "He's in the med bay, but they might move from there. I barely escaped."

"Okay, hey," Hunter's hands traveled down to her wrists, helping her remain calm. "We're on our way to the hangar, our gear might be there. We get it and we go back for him, alright?"

She nodded and, before they kept running, she tugged on Hunter's hand.

"I don't know what they've done to him, but it's bad," she warned.

"We'll manage," Hunter reassured her, and then he led the way back to the hangar.

As they arrived at the dark hangar, Sarah saw several crates between them and the ship. All of their things were indeed there. As everyone went to armor up, Sarah found the crate where her rifle lay, and at the bottom were the two diamonds, each with their own chains. She secured her diamond around her neck, purposefully allowing it to show, and she kept Crosshair's diamond handy as well, knowing she may need it.

It didn't take long for the others to finish gathering their most important items, and as Tech headed into the ship to ready it for their escape, Sarah closed her eyes to cancel out everything else so she could focus on finding Crosshair. Their bond through the Force had made it easier for her to see him if she focused well enough, and it wasn't long before she found him.

But when she did, she gasped. He, and a squadron of soldiers, were just outside the hangar.

Everyone had the instinct to hide behind the multiple crates scattered around the hangar when the large door opened, revealing a formation of shock troopers backed by Crosshair. Sarah had already seen him in his imperial armor, but the scene took the life out of Hunter and the rest of his brothers.

Sarah was hiding just beside Hunter behind a large box, and she had first-hand view of the way his hope and expectations crumbled to dust as he saw his youngest brother wearing the enemy's armor, and as that shattered, so did her heart.

She saw as Hunter crushed the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, and he turned to her with the fierce determination he always knew.

"Get to the ship," he said. "Make sure Omega gets there safely."

"You're not going anywhere," Crosshair called from across the room. "You really should have killed that Jedi, Hunter."

Hunter then stood up, and he went to face Crosshair directly, standing several meters away from him. A thunderclap lit by lightning thickened the tension between the two brothers, standing at opposing sides when they should have been the biggest of allies.

"You've lost your mind," Hunter spoke, pain riddling his otherwise husky voice.

"You just couldn't see the bigger picture," Crosshair replied to him.

"What happened to you?!" Hunter's voice raised, desperately trying to find an answer as to why his youngest sibling was now turning his rifle on him. "What about us, what about Sarah?!"

"She's staying with me," Crosshair replied. "As she should."

"Crosshair, stop talking nonsense and come with us," Hunter tried to persuade his brother, the plea bleeding through his eyes. "We're your family."

Crosshair remained silent. A quiet struggle flashed through his eyes, but it remained mostly invisible behind the exterior resulting from whatever they'd done to him, a factor still unclear to everyone in the squad. The marksman looked as if he wanted to speak, but, trembling, he took aim with his rifle and fired at Hunter.

"Crosshair, no!" Sarah yelled, horrified at the sight.

Hunter had managed to see the blast coming, and he dodged just in time to take his place back behind the crates beside Sarah and Omega, putting his helmet on again and getting ready to find.

"Get to the ship, now!" Hunter called.

"Let me talk to him!" Sarah answered. "I can get to him."

"Sarah, we need to leave—"

"I'm not leaving him behind and neither are you," she stated, her voice final and powerful.

"We don't have a choice right now," Hunter replied. "We either leave or we get killed."

"You promised!" Sarah said, the sound of blasts in the background nearly muffling her voice.

But Hunter would always hear her, and her words pierced through him harder than any blade could. He knew he'd made a promise to her; he hated the idea of letting her down almost as much as he dreaded leaving Crosshair. Still, Hunter remained speechless behind the crust of his helmet, concealing all his emotion and every one of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he said to her. "But I have to protect you and my brothers."

Sarah shook her head, convinced Hunter's mind was set on escaping. She got up and walked to the middle of the battlefield, not caring a bit about the crossfire she'd be caught in.

But at the sight of her, Crosshair lifted his rifle and rested it upright on his shoulder as his free hand went up in a fist, ordering his men to cease fire. He removed his helmet and looked at her, softening ever so slightly as his eyes fell upon the woman for whom he'd never admitted his love out loud.

"Get over here," Crosshair spoke.

"No," Sarah softly shook her head, her voice already breaking with tears announcing themselves. "Cross, listen to me—"

Behind her, her squad took the opportunity to get closer to the Marauder, a detail that didn't escape Crosshair's ever-watchful, hardening gaze.

"If they move again, I order the troopers to open fire," Crosshair growled.

But Sarah used the Force to shove the other troopers back, making them crash onto the wall hard enough for them to be unconscious if only for a few minutes. After that, she held out Crosshair's diamond for him to see, and she noticed that it got his attention just as she'd planned.

"Come," she said softly, bringing his gaze back on hers. "Let's leave."

"Sarah..." Crosshair's voice was the softest any of them had ever heard it.

"You don't have to stay here," she continued as the tears began rolling down her face. "We can leave now, Crosshair. We don't ever have to see this planet again."

Crosshair looked as if he was hesitating.

"Please," Sarah said. "Come with me. Stay with me, Cross... You can tell me what they did to you, and we'll revert it. It'll all go back to normal. We'll be together. Just come with me, please."

But it wasn't enough. Crosshair still remained stoic and hesitant in front of her, making Sarah lose bits of her hope with every second that passed. Streams of tears rolled down the skin of her face, dampening her marks and rolling onto her own diamond around her neck.

"Remember Kashyyyk," she tried to get through to him. "We saved each other. When I woke up, you were there with me. You even smiled at me."

"You told me..." Crosshair began to speak, but he stopped in the middle of his sentence, grimacing through the sharp pain in his head.

"I was about to kiss you and, dammit, I should have! I should have kissed you the first time I wanted you, I should have kept you close!" Sarah sobbed. "Please, just come with me!"

Crosshair's gaze hardened as it look like he was holding back tears, but the shock troopers were beginning to get back up, raising the tensions once more. Sarah and Crosshair still looked at each other, the air cold around them, as the thunder roared just a bit louder.

She refused to look away, if only it meant clinging to the image she held of him. Crosshair, the man with the toothpick fixation, who one-shot dozens of droids to win a competition against his older brother, who saved her life from that centipede, whose life she'd saved too, who'd slept next to her when they were both safe, who had waited at her bedside until she woke up after being poisoned, who had kissed her back...

He was fading, and taking his place was the man who was being forced into everything he would never do.

Crosshair put his helmet back on, concealing himself from Sarah.

"Stun her," he ordered his men. "Eliminate the rest."

Sarah quickly managed the first stun bolt headed her way, her gaze trailed on Crosshair. If she could just get her hands on one of those blasters, she would stun him. She would drag him out of there if she had to. She would refuse to leave him there, in the hands of the Empire where he would be manipulated and corrupted.

As she tried getting rid of the troopers, she heard the Marauder powering up behind her. Crosshair ordered his man to seal the hangar's doors, preventing their escape, but just as Sarah noticed the doors were failing to close, her distraction earned her not a stun bolt, but a dart that electrocuted her and weakened her enough to lose feeling in most of her body, making her drop to the floor.

And then, a smoke bomb was launched. Sarah lost visibility of everything, and she wasn't strong enough to see through the Force. All she could make out was Crosshair getting ready to reach for her, but Wrecker launched himself toward her at the same time and he took out the troopers flanking Crosshair, only for the marksman to fire at Wrecker's shoulder.

Now, they were both down. Echo rushed over as soon as the smoke had cleared, and he helped Wrecker crawl into cover while Hunter risked himself to go and get Sarah.

Just as Crosshair prepared to fire at Hunter, a shot clearer than day, he felt a large, intangible weight press over him, restraining him from being able to move or do anything. His visor found Sarah as she was being taken into Hunter's arms, gently and delicately cradling her figure, as his older brother took her away from him. Sarah's focus didn't break, and Crosshair wasn't able to fire a single blast.

"Let's go!" Hunter called.

"No...!" Sarah yelled, her voice strained. "We can't leave him!"

"Tech, get the ship ready!" Hunter yelled out again.

"It's ready, sarge," Tech said through the comms. "We just need you on here."

"Hunter!" Sarah cried, all but wanting to release Crosshair from her grip if it didn't mean they'd be blasted.

Another tear trailed down Sarah's face when Hunter turned around and ran her over to the Marauder, as she realized Crosshair wouldn't be going with them.

By the time Hunter was running up the platform of the ship with her in his arms, she was weeping. She was so distraught that her Force grip on Crosshair had worn off; despite expecting a blast to hit Hunter, or one of the ship's engines, none came. She was simply sat down to rest on one of the ship's passenger seats while the ship hurried away from Kamino.

They had made it out.

They were all in there except for Crosshair.

***

She sat in front of the Marauder's central holopanel, her gaze lost in space. She looked numb, but all the effects of the electric dart had worn off. She didn't speak a word, her silence was cold and dismal like loss itself. She heard words spoken around her, but she didn't listen. She didn't answer when she was addressed.

All she saw was the image of Crosshair, the last time she saw his eyes before he put his helmet on again.

If she hadn't gotten distracted, she wouldn't have gotten hit by that dart. She would have been able to get him out. Or perhaps she should have stayed longer with him in the med bay, or she should have made sure to escape with him.

There were multiple things she could have done, but none of them had happened.

Now, Crosshair wasn't there anymore. He was alone on Kamino.

He was alone.

Hunter rounded up the courage to go and sit next to her; she could tell his own flame was burning low, but he still seemed more concerned for Sarah than for the brother he'd lost to the Empire.

"How are you?" He asked her quietly.

Sarah looked up at him, but she was unable to speak. The knot in her throat kept her from uttering even a syllable, and she brought her hand to her forehead, frowning hard to keep herself from crying again.

And as Hunter looked at her, she knew her heart wasn't the only one that was broken.

"Not all is lost," Hunter told her. "We have to do what we can with what we have, and what matters now is that you and Wrecker are recovering."

As the others filled the center of the ship, Sarah thought about what Hunter said. She couldn't bring herself to be mad at him; he knew he'd only attempted to save as many of his squad as he could.

From the corner of her eye, Sarah noticed Wrecker nudging Omega, who walked up to her with Lula in her hands, offering the plushie as a symbol of unconditional love, of support, of a wish for someone to recover.

Sarah took the plushie and held it tightly. "Thank you."

Looking at Omega, Sarah thought of Nala Se. She thought perhaps, when she'd helped her escape, she was thinking of Omega. Perhaps she trusted Sarah would help Omega get out safely.

Hunter took Sarah's hand, slowly as though he were hesitating, his fingers lightly brushing the chain that secured Crosshair's diamond.

"What did Tarkin want with you?"

"He wanted to recruit me too," Sarah replied, keeping her hand there below Hunter's, latching onto the sense of warmth and comfort.

"And he tried using Crosshair to get you to do it..." Hunter realized.

"I should have stayed," Sarah admitted. "I shouldn't have left so quickly. Crosshair might have come with us if I had."

"This wasn't your fault," Echo comforted her. "You did all you could, you tried. In the end, there was nothing else we could have done."

The words lingered in Sarah's mind. Heavens knew she had indeed tried to bring Crosshair along.

But despite her efforts, he wasn't there.

Hunter's hand gently squeezed hers. "It's possible Tarkin will come after you. If he knows you're Force-sensitive and wants you to fight for him, he'll try to catch you."

"He'll try to catch all of us," Tech pointed out with a dull edge to his voice.

"I hope he does," anger bled in Sarah's voice. "He better come for me, and he better bring Crosshair with him."

Silence fell on all of them as they watched Sarah, until she sighed and softened her hard eyes at them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be fine, just... give me a bit of space, okay?"

Echo nodded at her and he began gesturing at the others to return to the cockpit. Before leaving, he briefly met Sarah's eyes with a sad look, and then Sarah was alone again.

She closed her eyes, breaking through her bitter anger to try and focus on her bond with Crosshair, trying to find him through the nothingness and the spiraling thoughts as her hands clutched the diamond, and after a while of darkness, she saw him.

He was walking, his back turned on her. He was hunched ever so slightly, but his posture straightened. Hesitant, Crosshair turned and looked behind him, being met with nothingness while Sarah saw his narrow, pained brown eyes.

And it was too much for her. Her eyes opened and her focus was broken, ridding her from the image of Crosshair. It was only then that she realized she didn't know when she would be able to see him again, if ever.

The tears finally rolled down her face again; she clutched every muscle in her body to keep herself from weeping loudly, as she begged herself to pull through that loss the way she had done the last time she lost someone.

And as if to seal all of their fates, the Marauder then jumped to hyperspace and left Kamino behind.

Taglist: @zoeykallus @sageislostinspring @misogirl828 @dangerousstrawberrypie @salaminus @ladykatakuri @whore4rex @morganlefaye13 @seriowan

Thank you for reading!