#its someone with power deciding what is a 'correct' way to interpret and enjoy their content

[byleresque]

This thought has been hunting me. People out there insist that Mike still loves El romantically and they're endgame, but in the show El doesn't think so. She canonically doubts these things. She broke up with Mike over it. People watching a show where a character says "we don't work as a couple and he doesn't love me" and deciding that they can make better judgement. We as viewers only see the plot relevant shots and theoretically they hang out and talk in between those, they know each other and their bond better than us as observers ever could, how are we supposed to ignore what El thinks about it all? El and Mike are the only ones seeing the full picture here and if we don't listen to them then what are we even going by? Dismissing her feelings because "of course they're going to overcome it they're the main couple"? Isn't it that IF they overcome it they'll be ONE of the couples in this show full of main characters and dynamics? I don't enjoy this interpretation of canon at all. I'm also uncomfortable with the notion that our feelings don't matter and we're all bound to end in the relationships that are socially expected from us

the way milkman isn’t even for milkman...

it goes so much deeper than El is sad because Mike doesn’t say ily -> something happens to change his mind that she is not privy to (i.e. several talks with Will later) -> Mike says ily and now they are the strongest couple to ever couple.

and maybe i know this because i like to watch shows with my eyes open, but El and Mike did not in fact come out of that stronger!!

anon you are so correct that people are dismissing El’s feelings. she is a girl already insecure because she’s lost her powers, she’s being bullied, and her boyfriend hasn’t told her he loves her in several months (how many?? like eight??) even though she says it in every letter she sends. she is desperate for a win. that, and she has been lying about her life in california for that long as well.

i think we don’t talk enough about El lying in her letters. one of El’s core traits, one of the first things she learned in the outside world, is friends don’t lie. for her to lie and lie to Mike shows a deep fracture in their relationship. she doesn’t trust him. she has doubts. maybe she rationalized it as not wanting him to worry-- but like Mike said, he knows about bullying. he knows about being the black sheep. so why lie?

because El doesn’t feel like Mike is someone she can lean on emotionally because he doesn’t lean on her either. they can kiss and hug and smile at each other but do they talk?? ever??

both of them would rather pretend to be content than admit their one piece of social currency, the only thing that gives them a perceived link to normalcy, is circling the drain. their relationship feels like it’s one wrong move from snapping in half which is, uh, exactly what happened.

and maybe a problem like this could’ve been fixed by talking and opening up, but they CAN’T because they honest to god just don’t know each other well enough to do that. what they have is the result of a puppy love crush stretched long past its expiration date. 

but back to the viewers... i think it’s frustrating/hilarious that people are like yep, they’re good! they may be broken up and avoiding each other, but they’re the main couple so they’ll figure it out :) like?? the amount of awkward milkman keeps serving us is just painful to watch. fun fact i did not watch s3 when it came it out because their couple dynamic weirded me out. i was like. am i going crazy or are these kids going way too fast.

i’ll be real with you anon i don’t think ANY of them have the full picture. El doesn’t know why Mike can suddenly say ily except perhaps overhearing Will encourage him to do it. ouch. F in the chat. Mike is all jumbled up from all the stuff Will has been saying, plus the painting and the GUILT oh my god. that boy ain’t right but that’s a conversation for a different post. and Will (honorary mention for being the #1 milkman truther) has the least pieces but is doing the most and unintentionally pushing milkman further off the cliff.

what kind of dramatic conclusion would that be if Mike and El were just fine in s5? El isn’t going to have any questions? They will suddenly be secure in their relationship? incomprehensible. and i totally agree it’s uncomfortable to think that you should just stick to the socially approved relationship and your doubts in that relationship are completely irrelevant. and i HAVE seen people talk about them as if that’s the only course of action left for them. “ohh well i don’t like Mike and El together but the writers wouldn’t make them break up again” says who?? they did it once! and this sentiment is always said to me with this vibe of the writers not being competent enough to fix milkman. as if every other couple in the show isn’t very well-liked. come on. come on now.

a milkman endgame would feel bleak. you would feel like they don’t have much of a future to look forward to outside of 2.5 kids and tv dinners. it doesn’t feel genuine, it doesn’t feel like THEM. how restricting would that be for El? how depressing would that be for Mike? and i think the duffers know that. i think they realized it would be a downer ending to these character arcs and pivoted in s4 to show Mike happily hanging out with the outcasts in the Hellfire club and El going on a backstory mission to rediscover her worth. all a part of the byler agenda

(so instead of that lets now imagine a byler endgame where they can stand up to the world together-- not mistakes and not afraid to live a little differently. they make themselves better just being together. and now El is free to find herself outside of all the goddamn men in her life. duffers i believe in you)

[fluffyblue-multifandommess]

In all cases, the use of our IP with your Projects must be appropriate for our Critter Community. Projects cannot be defamatory, offensive (including but not limited to anything transphobic, sexist, homophobic, racist, ableist, ageist), or harmful to others (as determined solely by CR). 

not that i have any intention of making offensive CR content but do they actually get to make dictations like that or is fan content still protected by fair use even if it goes against what CR deam “inappropriate”?

like this is a genuine question I have no idea how this shit works

[erenaeoth]

I love reading your thoughts (and fanfics) about Tekken. And currently I’m starving for JinHwoa…could you please share any thoughts you have about what we might see in T8 regarding those two? Or perhaps what you specifically would like to see happen with them in T8?

sat down to write a short reply and now its nearly 2,000 words...

I've spoken a little before about Tekken 8 and Jin and Kazuya but I decided to speak a bit more here about hopes for Jin. Please be assured my hopes for Kazuya can fill a library but the library would be 70% angst and despair.

Jin, Redemption, & Hwoarang

Thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoy my fics and rambles :)

My expectations for Tekken 8 aren't particularly high, and I'm mostly hoping for a chapter of the story that reflects the entire series so far, and gives us some satisfactory arcs for the protagonists, namely, at this point, Jin and Kazuya. I would love to see a redemption arc for Jin that lets us really see him break down with regret. He's very good at noticing who he hurts and just closing down. He'd rather wallow in self-hatred and martyr himself than deal with the real consequences of his actions. So I'd like to see him have to live and work through all the sticky reality of his actions. To do this, he'd have to notice that despite hurting Hwoarang and Xiaoyu (especially Hwoarang), they both still see Jin as someone beyond just the monster he's become. Xiaoyu never stops believing in Jin, and Hwoarang, despite having suffered at Devil's hands, still says to Devil that it's weak, and not the opponent he's interested in. Devil is a monster to him, and it’s Jin that Hwoarang wants, not this warped thing eating the better man he knew.

Both Xiaoyu and Hwoarang have faith that there is a Jin beyond Devil that is retrievable, and right now in the Tekken saga, I think this is the biggest difference between Jin and Kazuya. Jin’s utilising Devil and the Mishima Zaibatsu to bring about his vision for how the world ought to look, is very similar to Kazuya’s motivations. Jin has always warred against and despised his Devil, but the more he utilises it and falls prey to its way of thinking, the more his actions resemble Kazuya’s. It’s hard to know the tonal direction that Tekken 6 and Tekken 7 have taken without having another chapter in this story as a frame of reference, but we’ve seen a few instances (at the end of Tekken 6 and 7) that imply it’s become more easy for Jin to slip into his Devil form at will, something that importantly only Kazuya could do and control previously.

My interpretation of the end of Tekken 7 is that Jin has rounded a corner from trying to ‘correct’ things to simply trying to destroy the Mishima and Devil, and that he sees this as his last responsibility. We’ve seen his self-destructive inclinations since Tekken 4 (and the extremities in his judgement from earlier, since his sole focus in Tekken 3 is Ogre’s destruction), and in my opinion, Jin intends to be a weapon launched at Kazuya, and has little intention to live beyond that encounter. If the end result of this encounter isn’t to be mutual destruction, then I think Xiaoyu and Hwoarang have to play an important role in essentially helping Jin to see the hope that they see.

Jin believes that Xiaoyu is naive to believe in him, and whilst he cares for her, and that care is powerful enough to even give Devil pause (TK6 SC; Pachislot 4) I think Hwoarang can offer something different. He’s the only person we know ever to have survived being mauled by Devil. He’s fought Jin’s Devil twice, and has seen and knows that monstrous side to Jin. And I think it’s important that Jin was partially still in Devil form when Hwoarang saved him and took a grenade for him. Hwoarang can look Devil in the eyes and still want to see Jin. I think that kind of honesty will be a lot harder for Jin to turn away from than his school friend who has always maintained an innocence to him that Jin himself doesn’t believe he has. In Hwoarang, there is an opportunity for Jin to accept that he’s done terrible things and to see himself as being able to become something better than that.

So I would like to see Jin really think about what it means to have someone he’s severely hurt look at him with that kind of determination and belief. Personally, I’d like him to break the cycle of Mishima violence and refuse to meet Kazuya on his own grounds. I don’t know if he still has the strength of character to do that, or if the storytelling of a future game could be up to the task of telling in a satisfying way that Jin has become a villain but that this doesn’t remove him from the possibility of hope.

To do such a story justice, I would like to see the same opportunity offered to Kazuya. For various reasons, I’m not sure Kazuya would ever, or even can, take up such an opportunity. This was one of the things I wanted to explore in Chasing Demons, where, even when I took my most optimistic estimate for him, I left ambiguous whether Kazuya would truly give up this power. One the one hand, he’s someone with absolute determination and self-control, and if he decided to let go of Devil, he absolutely would. But on the other, I think a lot of his confidence comes from knowing that he has the power to shape his surroundings, something he’s never done without Devil’s assistance before. The equation of more power and control equalling greater feelings of safety and some degree of contentment has not been proven wrong for him, whilst all things painful to him have happened because he didn’t have sufficient power, or let others close to him who made him doubt the path he was on. So Kazuya is in a very different position to Jin. He’s on his own. He’s built himself to be alone. And things are going well for him. His motivation to let go and change is very small.

By contrast, Jin has hit rock bottom, lost all confidence in his choices and himself and exists for nothing beyond his blinkered approach to martyrdom and ending what he perceives to be a greater evil. There is space narratively for him to not have to condemn himself to oblivion. The Tekken writers are aware of this, in the sense that there’s been a tragic trend of all the ‘justices’ Jin has committed himself to ending up worsening his situation and the lives of those around him. If Tekken 8 goes the way of Blood Vengeance and says ‘Jin has to become almost as bad to defeat Kazuya, then flies off because he can no longer be a part of society’ it would indeed be in keeping with the string of tragedies that comprises his life. I think this would be the more dull option narratively, as it doesn’t really break with anything that’s happened previously, except perhaps that those close to Jin will ‘secretly know’ he is a hero. This would be annoying, because offing your dad isn’t really a particularly heroic move, especially when you’ve got a world war to your name (and said dad doesn’t). So it rings shallow to me. I wouldn’t see such a character as a hero or even an anti-hero, he caused a lot of murder then murdered a guy who’s also not that nice. Does he want a pat on the back?

Fighting games like building up to big fights, so my hopes for Jin attempting a non-violent solution are slim. So, realistically, my best possible hope would be for Jin to be willingly exorcised and to fight Kazuya as a human. Probably also unlikely as the games seem to be building up to some Devil on Devil fight. Maybe Kazuya could finally absorb Jin’s Devil part way through a fight though, so that Jin still has to fight him just with his own strength.

But anyway, a Jin redemption arc handled properly and not tritely gives great potential to a number of other characters’ arcs. It would give Hwoarang and Xiaoyu the reward for their pursuit of who Jin used to be. I would like to see them hold Jin to account, as the people who care most about him as a person. I don’t care for arbitrary systems of justice being meted out on people, but neither do I want stories that dismiss heinous actions just because they’re done by protagonists. So I would like to see Jin have to work to become a better person alongside people who can help him refind hope in himself. Hwoarang and Xiaoyu are integral parts of that story.

The things I want for JinHwoa don’t really fit within my expectations for a Tekken game. I can wax lyrical about ways in which Hwoarang might retain enough significance in a future game for him to have a satisfying arc and for Jin to find some peace, but no mainstream fighting game is going to give me what I actually want. What I actually want is for Hwoarang as the one person who’s seen all these different sides of Jin and who’s still enamoured, intrigued, infuriated, and compelled by the Jin he knows is still underneath, to push Jin to the edge of his comfort zone, and force him to admit he’s afraid to keep living and face the consequences of his actions. I want Jin to see that the Hwoarang’s hope and dedication to him shouldn’t be taken for granted and for him to really think about why it is that someone pursues a ‘rivalry’ that involves fleeing the military and walking into two warzones for him. And why, if it was just about testing strength against strength, did Hwoarang throw himself in the way of grenade for him, permanently disabling himself. Hwoarang will, for pride’s sake, always be the last to admit love, but perhaps Jin could see that, and see to what self-destructive lengths Hwoarang would go for him. I want Jin to finally stop only seeing things from his own perspective, and to think about how much his life, that he seems willing to dispose of, means to others. I would like him to choose to live at first out of a desire to not cause further pain to those who love him, and second because he genuinely wants to become someone worthy of being loved the way that he is. Even if he struggles to find meaning and purpose in his own life, maybe it is enough for him to want to bring some happiness into the lives of others. I think a realisation like that would convey meaning into Jin’s life and give him the foundations to start building himself into a better person.

So I want Hwoarang’s love for him to help Jin see worth in his own existence, and his love in return is to strive to live for Hwoarang, someone who’s always had so little to rely on and who has pinned his hope and identity on someone whom he believes to be worth his time. I want Jin’s redemption to stem from his desire to atone through living, and for his choice to live to come out of love. thanks bye

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Through The Looking Glass Ruins" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

When Disney announced episode titles/synopsis for the new season (On a day that left my head SPINNING!), there was one episode that I knew deep down that would cause controversy and discourse amongst the fandom. And that episode was "Through the Looking Glass Ruins." Not because it would be bad, far from it. Instead, because the episode was a Gus episode with a Lumity subplot, that meant that discourse would start as fans decide which story they prefer more. A situation that, might I add, would result in no winners.

Do you prefer the Lumity plotline? Well, guess what! You're a racist who chose to talk about an overrated ship rather than a heavily underrated character who just so happens to be a person of color.

Do you prefer Gus' plotline? Well, guess what! You're a homophobe who decided to shine a light on a character who's underrated for a reason instead of praising a ship that just so happens to involve two girls.

Either side you pick is going to result in making people mad. The only way to avoid that is by explaining in heavy detail that you still enjoyed one side despite preferring the other. Even if you loved both, you'll most certainly have to explain to everyone that you mean it and that you're neither racist nor homophobic. And all I have to say is this: F that.

F that S in the A right now.

Because I, or anybody else for that matter, shouldn't have to explain myself when it comes to saying why I prefer one plot line or the other. I shouldn't have to prevent getting ripped apart by some bulls**t, black and white mentality of people who can't accept that others like a show for different reasons than they do.

You wanna know what I think about "Through the Looking Glass Ruins?" Well, continue reading to find out. You'll have to make your way through spoilers, but it's the only way for you to learn why I consider this episode not worth any discourse that I'm already certain is cropping up.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Opening Scene: I'm kind of digging how snappy and to the point these opening scenes are getting. In the span of what has to be less than a minute, we're given all the information we need to know: Gus is insecure about his illusion magic because he accidentally got Willow injured. It's a great way of setting up why Gus wants to prove himself to the Glandus students and a great way of showing how much Willow's friendship means to him. Look at how he's reacting a few days after the incident. He's still mopey and guilty about it, and I feel bad for the little guy.

Gus in General: And while we're already talking about him, let's give this episode a round of applause for giving Gus the spotlight without having him screw over his friends...except for Willow.

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" really fleshes Gus out much more so than past episodes. As I said, it plays heavily into his own insecurities while proving how he's capable as an illusionist. He's also the best possible outlet to explore more about what illusionist magic can really do. It can't hurt anybody or work well in a fight. Instead, its strengths lie in the act of convincingly tricking others into thinking that something that should be fake is actually real. And Gus got to prove he really is a super witch because of his illusions through a jaw-dropping scene that's as dark as it was enthralling. The fact that he did it all by himself, without the help of an illusion elder who was right there, is honestly even more impressive. A lot of people aren't that interested in Gus as a character, but I feel like, after this episode, he certainly won a few more fans over.

Willow Getting Injured and Missing the Episode: This is a smart move, in my opinion. Willow acts as the voice of reason in the friend group, so if she tagged along with Luz and Gus right away, she would have easily talked Gus out of joining the Glandus kids on a dangerous quest. I love Willow, she's a solid character, but writing her out is really the only way the plot could have progressed.

(I also love that she wasn't mad in the slightest over Gus getting her hurt. She has every right to be, but she also understands that it was an accident, and Gus wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt her. And that's sweet!)

King’s Prerecorded Message for Gus: That's just adorable. We need more cute friendship moments between these two, DAMN IT!

Gus Being Sick of Luz’s S**t: Of all the characters I expected to get sick of the whole Lumity situation, Gus wasn't really one of them. I'd always thought it'd be Willow, primarily because the rest of the fandom latched onto that idea, but for Gus, I'd figured he'd be more supportive rather than annoyed. That being said, seeing him call Luz out for borrowing his library card to see Amity (Not ask her out. Just to see her) is not only a hilarious moment for Gus but also an adorable moment for Luz. It's something I would never have seen coming, but now that I have it, I want more. GIVE ME MORE!

(Sorry if I'm being a little intense)

Luz Trying to Cheer Up Gus: It's moments like this that prove why Luz is my favorite character.

Willow might have the most common sense out of the group, but it's Luz who still has the biggest heart. She knows her friend is down in the dumps, so Luz pulls out all the stops in cheering him up. Whether it's researching the first-ever human (really surprised he wasn't the tiniest bit excited about that, by the way) and lending him glyphs for his mission to help show up Mattholomule. She may be slow in the romantic relationship department, but episodes like this prove that she excels with a platonic friendship.

Bria: I consider Amar adorably optimistic, and I have no strong feelings for Gavin, one or the other. But with Bria? Holy hell, did the writers do everything they should with her!

At first, it seems like she'll be a generic nice girl for Gus to have a crush on. Only for that writing to be a perfect twist into how she's kind of the worst. You see hints of her true personality in the overly sweet way she threatens to force Amar to eat a bug he gets distracted by. A viewer's initial reaction to that would be to think that while she's sweet, she still means business. But no, it's actually a perfect way to reveal her true intentions while hiding them at the same time. Bria may be rotten to the core, but with how perfectly executed this twist was, I can't help but adore her contribution.

Mattholomule: ...I would sooner expect to have gone insane before believing that this little s**t weasel would make his way onto my good side. Despite that, here we are in episode five of the new season, and I like Mattholomule now.

The reveal that Glandus High forces students to believe that the strong survive and the weak are inferior explains so much for Mattholomule's thirst for power in "Something Ventured, Someone Framed." It doesn't excuse his actions, not by a long shot, but it definitely paints a clearer picture. It also explains his treatment of Gus, as well as Mattholomule's reasoning to help him. Because of Glandus High inserting a "the strong survive" mentality into Mattholomule, he belittles Gus due to thinking that illusion magic makes Gus weak. But after seeing how they're both stooges to Bria's mistreatment, he's quick to apologize and willingly helps Gus out. In the process, the two of them create a believable and cute friendship...a friendship that is absolutely going to be interpreted as something else by the fandom...which is something that I'm more than supportive of--HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! I WENT FROM ONE OF THE BIGGEST GUSTOLOMULE DENIERS TO ONE OF ITS SUPPORTERS IN LESS THAN A DAY! HOW DO THESE WRITERS MANAGE TO TAKE ELEMENTS THAT WERE ONCE ON MY S**T LIST TO THEN MAKING ME MORE THAN OK WITH THEM!

IT'S INSANE!

Mostly impressive.

BUT ALSO INSANE!

Edric and Emira: More so than ever, I am so happy that the writers took their course correction with Edric and Emira. These two work so much better as supporting characters rather than minor antagonists like several fans thought they would be after their treatment of Amity in "Lost in Language." They're quick to pick up on Luz and Amity's mutual affections for one another and do their part to help their friend and baby sister out. It's wholesome to watch, and, you know what, I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Edric and Emira Blight are much better mischievous twin characters than Fred and George Weasley. As much as I adore Fred and George, there is an issue how they're always referred to as Fred and George, not Fred or George. It's because their personalities are as identical as they are, so separating them is pointless. With Edric and Emira, they have enough individuality that you could enjoy them separately as much as you could seeing them together. Emira is more emotionally supportive in how she listens to Amity vent her frustrations about her feelings, while Edric is more of a doofus who can't take a hint to save his life. It creates a great set of characters who can potentially work well on their own. I hope they get explored more at some point, but for now, I'm happy with the cute moments these two offered already.

Lumity Moments: BUUUUUUUUUUUUT, nothing compares to the cuteness of these two.

I don't care if I'll be called a racist for it because these! Moments! These moments are the highlights of "Through the Looking Glass Ruins" for me! Seeing these two interact in this episode, now that the pining is mutual, was everything I could have ever hoped for, and so much more. Seriously, how can you complain about anything about all of this when you get cute bits like:

Luz getting flustered of seeing Amity with her hair down

Amity risking her job to help Luz

Amity being motivated to find the diary due to the possibility of a date with Luz in the human realm

Luz going through hell and back to get Amity her job back

All of the blushing

And that F**KING KISS AT THE END HOLY SH--Don't you dare think I'm not going to further discuss that. DON'T YOU DARE!

Gus' story was entertaining with how it surprised me in all the right ways, don't get me wrong. But seeing Luz and Amity's relationship develop more and more always fills my heart with glee that, believe it or not, I'm always going to remember it more. I love you, Gus, but I love Lumity more.

Philip Whittabeen: So we finally have a name to the alleged human who was here years ago, and we get properly introduced to him through a really visually appealing animation change. I'm personally curious to see where the writers go with him, but it's too early to say if his inclusion will be worth something. But I will say one thing, though. One thing, and then I'm going to move on.

Here it is:

Philip sounds eerily similar to Emperor Belos to me.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Luz’s Sentences in Spanish: I want to give a personal shout-out to mi buen amigo @l-egionaire for pointing this out because there are some things to analyze in what Luz says in Spanish in this episode. Knowing what she means, it's clear that they are ideals that Camila instilled into Luz. Ideals that possibly show a lot about Camila's personality on top of revealing where Luz got her hopeful optimism and sense of determination. It's the second sentence that Luz says later on that I really want to delve deep into:

"Nada funcionará a menos que lo haga funcionar."

Translated, that means "Nothing will work unless you make it work." Again, this proves the dedication that Luz has filled into her soul, but to me, it says a lot about Luz's dedication to Amity. She wants to make this relationship work but fully understands that it won't unless she puts in the effort. It's a sweet sentiment that says so much about how Luz feels about Amity that some fans might not be able to pick up on if they don't speak Spanish. Or, in my case, have a good friend who finds the translation for you (thanks again @l-egionaire).

The Galderstones: Pretty interesting concept, I'm not going to lie. It's also interesting that of all the types of witches in the Boiling Isles, it was illusionists who were the ones that guard over the Galderstones. Because illusion magic can't really harm anyone, it makes a weird type of sense that they would be the ones to keep the Galderstones out of the wrong hands. And, even better, it showcases Gus' strength as an illusionist when he was able to take down Bria, who was hopped up on Galderstone power, through that same "harmless" magic. It just goes to show that if you have a big enough brain, you don't need to overpower somebody. You need to outthink them.

Malphus Being a Surprisingly Cool Dude: What can I say? I'm a sucker for expectation subversion.

Luz and Amity Crying: First of all, a HUGE round of applause to VAs Sarah-Nicole Robles and Mae Whitman through their vocal performances in this scene! They really sold how upset and broken apart Luz and Amity were due to their feelings for each other messing things up. More so with Sarah-Nicole.

Second, this might be the closest these two have gotten to a confession so far ("so far" being the keyword). I specifically latch onto Amity's expression after hearing Luz agree that she's always weird around Amity. In one way, it looks like Amity is surprised to see she made Luz cry, but in another, it could be that she realizes that perhaps that Luz has feelings for her as well. Or, at least, that's how I interpreted things. The thing about art is that there's no one interpretation to agree on. And that's what this scene is: Art. It's performed, written, and animated well, that no matter how you look at it, it's a masterpiece.

“I’ll call the hounds”: One line. One line was all it took for me to love the Keeper of the Looking Glass Graveyard.

Amity Dyes her Hair: I always assumed that Amity would let her original hair color grow out as defiance to Odalia. But dying it lavender? Thus crafting her own identity without having her be compared to either Odalia or Alador?

...yeah, that's brilliant. Whoever thought of that, you are a genius and deserve all of the credit that comes from it.

ALL of the credit.

Amity Kisses Luz on the Cheek!: I'll save my "Wha-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" for an actual kiss, but for now, THIS IS AWESOME!

This moment, much like other Lumity moments, was everything I could have ever expected and so much more:

Amity's instant panic after realizing she seriously just did that

Ed and Em looking fondly at their sister taking such a big step

The look on Luz's face, which may or may not hint that she realizes that the feelings are more than mutual

And the fact that Luz's legs give out soon after Amity leaves

It was adorable as all forms of hell, and it was a perfect way to end such a perfect episode...or, at least, an almost perfect episode. I do have some issues.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Mattholomule Helping Gus too Easily: The Glandus kids were right there, in-ear and eye-shot, yet did nothing as Mattholomule effortlessly helped Gus and the Keeper escape...how?

Gavin falling for Gus’ Illusion: I want to laugh at how stupidly easy that was...but it's too stupidly easy for me to forgive.

And that’s about it. Just two nitpicks that don’t really take away that much enjoyment from the episode

IN CONCLUSION

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" keeps Season Two's winning streak going by being another solid A. It fleshes out characters, develops cute relationships, and keeps the story going despite being so character-driven. It's easily more than worth the time...but it's not worth any discourse that comes from some fans preferring one plot over the other.

I highly doubt that some people are racist for loving the Lumity plotline or homophobic for loving Gus'. Maybe some people are, but also consider that maybe, just maybe, a person loves a ship because it's their favorite, or a person likes a character cause he's their favorite.

Which.

Is.

Fine.

There's no definitive way to like a series, and demanding that people like it for the same reasons you do is not worth anything. Because, believe it or not, even Dana Terrace doesn't care how people love her show. In the AMA she did, when a fan asked if she's upset about fans obsessing over Amity's crush on Luz, this is her word for word reaction:

"Not at all! No, the main focus of the series will never be on any romantic thread but that doesn't mean those threads aren't important. And I'm thrilled that people connect to our characters!"

THERE YOU HAVE IT! The creator herself fully admits that she doesn't care what fans latch onto. She's just glad to have people who like the show in the first place! So don't create discourse just because some people enjoy a part of an episode more than others. The second you get that through your heads, the sooner we can all move on with our lives.

(Also, that's five episodes in a row that are hits. And, man, is that stinker going to hit harder because of it.)

[pumpkinpaix]

HI! I'm new to the MDZS fandom and I fell in love with Suibian, but you don't see it that much. I seen somewhere that it would burn out a weaker core and I cried cause I wanted to see that, and as far as I know it doesn't happen anywhere. I'm wondering if you could tell me anything and everything you know about Suibian. I'm starving for anything about it

hi anon! ahahah, it’s always a dangerous thing to ask me about “anything and everything” on a topic because I usually have too many thoughts, most of which are unorganized. but! if you’re interested in that, then here we go!

First, re: your comment about Suibian burning out a weaker core: I am not aware of this theory (or is it something from an interview?? if someone knows, please say so!), but if it brings you joy, then it’s certainly an interesting one to consider! Unfortunately, I don’t have much more to say on it because I’m unfamiliar with it, but I do have quite a lot to say on some other Suibian concepts!

ask and ye shall receive (a very jumbled heap of thoughts as i spiral further and further out of control):

[all rough translations are mine, and thus all mistakes are mine. I am using the version of the novel that is available on luoxia because I can’t be bothered to go flipping through my print edition ahaha.]

the questions about Suibian that interest me the most are why it sealed, when it sealed, when Wei Wuxian began to wield it again, and what that might all mean. I’m going to be talking about novel, CQL, and audio drama canon all together, because I think looking at each canon alone and in combination can raise a lot of very different points!! (I have not watched the donghua or read the manhua yet, so forgive me, I have nothing to say about them. /o\)

So! the one piece of information that we’re given consistently throughout all three of the canons is that Suibian was sealed after Wei Wuxian’s death and that no one but Wei Wuxian himself (and Jiang Cheng, by proxy) could draw it from its sheathe. Thus, Wei Wuxian’s identity is revealed and the golden core swap comes to light. Wei Wuxian is surprised by this, and asks Lan Wangji, “Did it really seal itself?” (novel, chapter 63; CQL, ep 42; audio drama, S2E15).

The novel and audio drama both include a line from Wei Wuxian that emphasizes Wei Wuxian’s surprise, implying that sword-sealing is very uncommon:

万中无一的大好事竟然让我给撞上了

Something incredible that happens less than once per ten thousand times, and I actually encountered it.

the irony, of course, is that this incredible thing is what ended up blowing his cover. rip Wei Wuxian.

but what I think gets really interesting is comparing different points at which Suibian sealed itself and what that might imply in conjunction with other information. Jin Guangyao says “shortly after” his death, but CQL includes a scene in episode 19 that implies that Suibian actually sealed itself much earlier.

[ID: Gif from episode 19 of the untamed drama. Lan Wangji attempts to draw Suibian after he and Jiang Cheng storm the Nightless City and retrieve their swords. He cannot pull it from the sheathe. /end ID]

(in case anyone is curious, it’s about 30 minutes in. I spent the effort to make the gif, so I might as well give you the timestamp lol)

this scene takes place during the period of time when Wei Wuxian is in the Mass Graves (aka the Burial Mounds) after Wen Chao cast him down and left him for dead, right near the beginning of Sunshot. I’m fairly certain it’s not mentioned in either the novel or the audio drama, so this is a CQL-only detail. (please correct me if I’m wrong; I get my canons muddled all the time //hides face)

CQL basically does nothing narratively with this scene other than giving us some sad shots of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng (honestly, valid ;A;) but!! if we decide to accept this scene as our jumping off point, we can get to some interpretations about Wei Wuxian using information from the other canons!

take this exchange from chapter 57 of the novel (immediately prior to the massacre at lotus cove):

江澄道：“还不是又为咱们的剑的事去温家了。一想到我的三毒现在说不定被哪只温狗握在手里，真是……”

他面露嫌恶之色，魏无羡道：“可惜咱们的剑还不够灵，要是能自动封剑，那就谁也别想用了。”

江澄道：“你再修炼个八十年，说不定可以。”

Jiang Cheng said, “He’s gone to the Wen sect regarding our swords again, hasn’t he. Whenever I think that my Sandu might even now be in some Wen-dog’s hands, ugh…”

His face filled with loathing, Wei Wuxian said, “What a pity our swords don’t have enough spirit. If they could seal themselves, then no one could even think about using them.”

Jiang Cheng said, “If you kept cultivating for another eighty years, maybe.”

from the novel, it seems clear that sword-sealing is something that only happens when a person’s cultivation level is exceptionally high. if this is true, and we go with the CQL timeline of Suibian sealing itself long before Wei Wuxian’s death, it means that Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level wasn’t just high, it was leagues above pretty much anyone else when he was still a teenager. (In fact, Suibian had most likely already sealed by the time this conversation takes place.)

If we don’t go with CQL’s timeline, however, I think we could make a very different argument. It’s a bit of a reach, but I think it’s a lot of fun, if you’re willing to come with me on this journey!

Jin Guangyao says Suibian sealed itself “shortly after” Wei Wuxian’s death, but we don’t really have external confirmation of that. For all we know, someone only bothered to test it sometime after his death, and Suibian had been sealed for some indefinite amount of time. All we can say for sure is that by some point shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian was already sealed and resisted being drawn by anyone who tried it.

We’re told over and over that one can only wield a spiritual sword effectively if you have a golden core/the spiritual energy to match it. Wei Wuxian stops carrying/using Suibian because he knows that in his hands, it will act as nothing more than an ordinary sword. His method of cultivation is no longer suitable for the sword. Suibian is tied to both Wei Wuxian’s soul and his golden core.

If sword-sealing only happens when the cultivator’s level is unbelievably high, then I think we can make the argument here that by the time of his death, Wei Wuxian’s core was likewise unbelievably strong – but Wei Wuxian is no longer the one developing his core. Jiang Cheng is.

I know it’s a ridiculous reach. To be clear, I don’t think the text actually intends this or supports this in any meaningful way, but I do think that it gives us some very tasty potential!! If Suibian sealed itself sometime after the core transfer (which, honestly, we wouldn’t know – after all, who’s been trying to draw Wei Wuxian’s sword?), but just if, I think we can plausibly make the argument that Jiang Cheng’s cultivation is truly extraordinary.

:DDDDDDDD

It’s fun right?? It’s a fun concept!!! Even if it’s nonsense, even if it’s not that deep, even if this was an unintentional coincidence, I think it would be interesting to look at this as being some kind of measure of Jiang Cheng’s accomplishments. On the flip side, I also think it’s very important thematically that Jiang Cheng’s value as a person has nothing to do with his cultivation, that he is, in fact, always second-best, but that doesn’t make him any less worthwhile or deserving of love. Maybe I’m just projecting lmao. Of course, being extraordinary doesn’t preclude him from still lagging behind Wei Wuxian–Wei Wuxian might have just been more extraordinary ahahah. We can have both!!

Now for a totally different thing! Interestingly, this conversation about cultivation levels and sword-sealing (the one with Jiang Cheng) also happens in the audio drama, S2E12 (about 15 minutes in, since I just checked), but Wei Wuxian adds an additional comment:

(don’t have the transcription of the original chinese, I’m just going to translate it as I hear it)

“But maybe you don’t need to cultivate to a certain level to have your sword seal itself. What if there were some other way?”

these two versions of the conversation actually imply pretty different things, I think! this addition opens the possibility to the audience that sword-sealing is possible even without an extraordinary level of cultivation, and I think lends credence to the idea that Suibian is just an unusually loyal sword, regardless of Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level. Whether that’s something inherent to Suibian’s “personality”, or whether this says something about how Wei Wuxian inspires loyalty wherever he goes, or whether it just speaks to the strength of their bond remains to be seen.

(obviously, this could imply any number of other things as well, but I find this to be the interpretation that makes me happiest.)

If we go with “Suibian seals itself after Wei Wuxian’s death” in this canon, I think this emphasizes the loyalty aspect with a touch of grief.

If we combine this with CQL and have “Suibian has been loyal since he was a teenager”, that also emphasizes the loyalty aspect – just in a different way.

Of course, doing meta combining unique details from different canons is largely pointless in terms of crafting any real “analysis”, so I’m mostly saying all of this because I enjoy the process of building the supercanon in my head that brings me the most joy! To summarize the varied interpretations I’ve brought up in this post:

CQL-only: Suibian sealed itself when Wei Wuxian was a teenager, at latest, by the time he was thrown into the Mass Graves.

Novel-only: Sword-sealing is very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself, so Wei Wuxian’s core, by the time of his death, was extraordinarily powerful.

Audio drama-only: Sword-sealing is considered very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation, but might also be accomplished by other methods. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself. If Wei Wuxian’s core is not wildly and improbably powerful, this implies that Suibian has become an exceptionally loyal sword by the time of his death.

CQL/novel: Wei Wuxian was already incredibly powerful by the time he was a teenager.

CQL/audio drama: Suibian has been exceptionally loyal to Wei Wuxian since at least his teenage years.

Novel and audio drama-only have a much wider range of when Suibian could have sealed itself, as mentioned, so there are further variances within those interpretations.

there’s a lot of potential here!! with my personal feelings regarding the story, I like novel-only with Suibian sealing post-core transfer, audio drama-only with Suibian sealing post-Wei Wuxian’s death, or CQL/audio drama with Suibian sealing as a teenager pretty much all equally. I think the CQL/novel interpretation gets too close to casting Wei Wuxian as a hyper-special and innately noble individual in a way that undercuts the strength of his character arc, but that’s my opinion. (As an aside, this is actually one of my major complaints about CQL in general, independent from what I’m talking about here. But that is a topic for another day ahahaha. To be clear, I still love CQL very much, despite my many frustrations!)

As for what I think is the most “likely” to be the “right” interpretation (whatever that’s worth), I would probably say the one that emphasizes Suibian’s loyalty with Suibian sealing post-death, because I think it’s the most thematically cohesive and has the textual support to back it. (I think it’s a valid interpretation even using novel-only text; it’s just slightly less explicit without the additional comment from Wei Wuxian.)

A final detail:

We don’t get anything from either CQL or the novel that explicitly addresses when/if Wei Wuxian is able to wield Suibian again, but the audio drama’s rendition of the “Yunmeng” extra very subtly indicates that by the time that extra takes place, Wei Wuxian has cultivated a golden core and is carrying his sword once more. You only get it at a couple of moments, but Suibian sometimes clinks when Wei Wuxian moves or when he bumps into something. The two instances I can remember specifically are when Lan Wangji tosses the ring onto him (the ring hits Suibian), and when he’s rowing the little boat onto the lotus pond and the motion makes a sound. It’s!!! Extremely good!!! It makes my heart very full!!!!!

ANYWAYS, if all of my scattered rambling didn’t fill the Suibian-shaped hole in your heart, I would also like to recommend @zeldacw‘s wonderful WangQingSuiChen series of comics, featuring anthropomorphized versions of Wangji guqin, Chenqing, Suibian, and Bichen. I believe the most recent comic is here, and there are links to the rest of the comics in the post. If you just want her general tag for the AU (which is more than just the comics), it’s here!

If you have interest in listening to the audio drama yourself, you can purchase it through the MissEvan app (Mao’er FM). There are buying instructions linked in this post! If you need English subtitles, @suibiansubs is the group that does them. :)

I really can’t recommend the audio drama enough, tbh, it’s really really dear to my heart, and the team clearly worked so hard and cared so deeply for the story they were trying to tell. Consider this my regularly scheduled plug for the audio drama ahaha.

As always, my meta is my meta and if you don’t vibe with it, that’s chill! I change my opinions constantly (I think I changed them like three times in the course of writing this ahahaha), and I know some of my older meta has been making the rounds and every time I see it I think about all the ways my views have shifted since I wrote it rip. For this post moreso than usual, I want to emphasize that pretty much all of the meta included in this is meant to explore intriguing what-if possibilities, not for serious literary analysis purposes. I am aware that a lot of this is reaching/overinterpreting into implications that probably aren’t there. I just think they’re fun to consider!

so this was a mess, but I hope you or someone out there enjoyed it anon!!

(ko-fi, if you’re so moved)

[scroll-of-thought]

How powerful are personal associations? Like if you interpret an object to help with something that isn’t necessarily part of its “traditional” association, does its effectiveness change?

This is a great question, and I thought it would be an easy answer, but I actually had to put a lot of thought into it. So like all great questions we’ve got a little bit of unpacking to do.

Firstly, I think it’s important to frame these objects in the right context. Like, if you’re working from an established practice or religion, then you’re personal association might hold no weight. You use what you’re told because that’s what your deity dictated, or because you’re using a preexisting spell that’s been designed and must be executed in a specific way. But if you’re inventing your own spells, and/or working with a source or entity that doesn’t have defined rules like that, then your personal associations hold as much weight as traditional ones or more.

And I’m glad you put “traditional” in quotations, because a lot of the associations and correspondences you read aren’t often “traditional” in the sense that they’re don’t often follow a specific practice or religion, aren’t used universally, haven’t been used for generations, or are even old. Many of them are someone’s personal association that made their way into a book. Especially in a lot of modern books and articles. An exception might often be plant and herbs, and that’s simply because they’re traditionally used for folk medicine, and those meaning stuck around beyond their age.

So, excluding the conditions in which you’re bound to specific associations (religious tradition, specific practices, and using other people’s established spells) personal associations can be just as powerful, if not more powerful, than tradition.

Let’s take a moment to talk about other people’s spells. When you invent a spell, you design it like you would a machine or program. You’re the one who specifies the symbolic meanings needed to make it work. And symbolic meaning is very important here, as it’s the variables of your code. If you have a very specific parameters for these variables, then they must be met or it might fail or have unexpected results. So if you try to use someone else’s spell and you replace a variable with something close, it might work, or it might not. Likewise, if you interpret the meaning of that object differently it might act as a completely different variable.

For example, let’s say a spell calls for a red candle to represent love. But for you, the color red has never really felt like love to you. Maybe you had a bad experience with a red dodgeball in school, so red has always felt like gym class and embarrassment. You might use a red candle and the whole love spell completely fails, and maybe ends in embarrassment.

But there was your first kiss in the forest that one summer and since then green feels like love. So you decide on a green candle instead and you get much better results than you would have if you tried red, even thought they still weren’t the same results the original witch got.

Because the original witch didn’t JUST mean red, they meant the feeling red gave them. To capture their feelings and replicate their code your, associations have to line up enough to get the correct results. This is why most of the time I invent my own spells, because they’re meant for me to use alone and are based on my associations, and if I’m planning on sharing them I design them with leniency in mind for the variables.

And similarly to religion and tradition, if you’re trying to affect something else, sometimes your interpretation doesn’t matter as much as the target’s interpretation. Like a black candle to banish a negative spirit might work because that type of spirit associates a light in darkness as a driving force to push them away. While a different spirit might be drawn to a black candle for it’s own beliefs.

So that’s the long answer, but I believe it has a lot to do with the context and system the object is being used in. That context might mean your association is extremely important and powerful, or not at all.

Hopefully that was helpful :D I really need to stop writing essays, or at least you guys need to stop asking deep questions like this. And I hope you were able to find your answers in this wall of text. As always, followups are welcome, and I do actually enjoy writing these. Thanks for the ask Anon.

[gffa]

Hi!  Of course it’s all right, I’m always delighted to get even half a chance to talk about this stuff that I love so much!I will say, of course, there are few true concrete answers to any of this, even if word of god commentary lays out a direct answer, because several of the creators have spoken about how it’s important to maintain the sense of speculation and theorizing, as that was one of the things that was such a joy to them before they started making SW, too.  As well as, you know, just the basic fact that everyone’s going to interpret things differently and that doesn’t make one more inherently valuable than another, as well as word of god commentary and, hell, even canon is only as meaningful to you as a fan as you want it to be!That said, I like the case I make for the things I’m passionate about, so I’ll make my case again because I enjoy doing it! We‘re always told that the Dark Side is evil and Light is good. But if you divide it like that, what does true balance mean? Fundamentally, light is good and dark is evil, that’s absolutely true, but the thing is that it’s never meant to be about a purity thing, but instead being about what you embrace as a worldview.  Each one of us has both good and bad in us, the way you keep balance isn’t by exorcising the bad and then you’re good forever, but to every day keep making the choice to embrace the good. George Lucas explains the Force in, at its most basic terms, that the light is selfless (love, compassion, caring) and the dark is selfishness (greed, anger, hate, suffering).  The only way to rise above the dark side is to discipline yourself against it.  (George Lucas Explains The Force in a The Clone Wars writers meeting + transcription here) On the dark side specifically, how the Force works: “Once you become afraid that somebody’s going to take it away from you or you’re gonna lose it, then you start to become angry, especially if you’re losing it, and that anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Mostly on the part of the person who’s selfish, because you spend all your time being afraid of losing everything you’ve got instead of actually living.” How Yoda explains how the dark side/the Force works in The Phantom Menace:“ Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.“ These are literally the same exact explanation, which shows us that, yes, Yoda and the Jedi are absolutely correct about how the dark side of the Force works! Another example: “In the end, it’s about fundamentally becoming selfless moreso than selfish.  It seems so simple, but it’s so hard to do.  And when you’re tempted by the dark side, you don’t overcome it once in life and then you’re good.  It’s a constant. And that’s what, really, Star Wars is about and what I think George wanted people to know.  That to be a good person and to really feel better about your life and experience life fully you have to let go of everything you fear to lose. Because then you can’t be controlled.  [….]  These are the core things of Star Wars.”  –Dave Filoni, Celebration Chicago 2019, Rebels Remembered Panel “Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed that is. [What must I do, Master Yoda?] Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”  –Yoda, Revenge of the Sith “[Anakin] turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you’re greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you’re going to lose things, that you’re not going to have the power you need.” –George Lucas, Time Magazine These are also echoes of each other and the themes of how the dark side works in Star Wars, again showing us that the Jedi are correct in their understanding of how the Force works. And this is also what the Jedi teach:  That you must face your inner darkness (your fears, your hate, your guilt, your anger) because it comes from within and it’s a lifelong thing.  It starts with them designing their tests for younglings to move forward in their training by going to Ilum, where they will face the things they fear, the things they must overcome, to not become trapped in their mind.

It goes hand in hand with the Jedi’s bigger philosophy of understanding yourself and controlling yourself, that these things aren’t bad, but you need to get a grip on yourself (especially when you have these tremendous psychic powers and connections and can be influenced by outside emotions that you don’t even realize aren’t your own, as happens more than once in canon). Which is why one of the earliest lessons we see baby Jedi being taught is about meditation and understanding yourself, looking within to know who you are:

One more example: “All of my movies are about one thing.  Which is the fact that the only prison you’re in is the prison of your mind.  And if you decide to open the door and get out, you can.  There’s nothing stopping you.“ –George Lucas (American Voices, 2015) “You-you said we would be trapped.” “Not by the cave you were, but by your mind. Lessons, you have learned. Find courage, you did– Hope, patience Trust, confidence, and selflessness.”  –Jedi younglings + Yoda on Ilum, Star Wars: The Clone Wars, “The Gathering” The Jedi teach that this is what they must guard against, must discipline themselves against: “Qui-Gon whispered, ‘The dark side?’ He knew it was a thing all beings carried within them, a part of himself he would learn to guard against—the crèche masters had taught him all that.“  –Master & Apprentice, Claudia Gray “[The] only way to overcome the dark side is through discipline.”  –George Lucas What do the Jedi mean, when they say „Trust in the Force“, and „May the Force be with you“? They’re blessings, basically!  “Trust in the Force” is that the Jedi believe the Force will guide them, that if you can quiet your mind enough to hear its whispers, it will guide them into the moment and direction they’re meant to be in.  Many times, they cannot possibly know the Force’s plans, so they kind of just have to shrug and go, “Well, we’re limited mortal beings who cannot possibly have an omniscient point of view like the mystical energy field that we can tap into a small fraction, so if you don’t know which direction to go, all you can do is trust the Force to guide you.” And “May the Force be with you” is the similar, that they’re saying “good luck” and that they hope the person has good fortune in whatever they’re going to go do. Are they always just talking about the Light and totally disregard the Dark? I would say they’re definitely not disregarding it, because the dark is part of everyone, it’s a lifelong challenge to overcome it, it’s not a one-and-done thing, but that doesn’t mean they embrace it.  Nor does it mean that temporary, momentary emotions are the same thing as embracing the dark side–we see Jedi having darker emotions all the time and nobody’s like OH SHIT I HAD A NEGATIVE FEELING, I’M A BAD JEDI.  No, they just don’t let it control them and don’t act based on those feelings. For example:

Negative emotions!  Worry, anger, sorrow!  All from “perfect” Jedi characters!  Characters who are Jedi Masters and who believe incredibly strongly in Jedi principles and teachings! And not once do any of them say, oh, shit, no, I’m not allowed to feel that–instead they express their feelings, but do not let those feelings control them. They do not embrace the darker emotions, but instead face them and then let them go. What would be the fundamental difference between how a Sith like Sidious, a sort of grey Jedi, like Ahsoka, and someone who tries to be the perfect ideal of a Jedi, like Obi-Wan, use and see the Force? It’s all about how you approach it, basically.  The dark side is not sustainable, the dark side corrupts, it cannot be balanced with the light, Matt Martin of the LFL story group explained that that’s one of the things George Lucas was very clear on and thus why “Gray Jedi” can’t really be a thing!  If someone tries to embrace the dark along side the light, eventually they will fall into the dark.  (Mystical, immortal creatures don’t count.) But momentary anger and upset and fear and selfish impulses are normal, so the goal Jedi strive towards isn’t the eradication of these things, but the honing of the skill to let go of them.  (As “letting go” is a theme that’s rewarded in the word of god commentary and in the narrative, such as Anakin letting go of his hate and rage and doing something selfless is what allows him to become a Force Ghost, the only way to achieve that is through selflessness, the dark side cannot do it.) Ahsoka, for all that she isn’t a Jedi later on, who probably allows herself more darker impulses before she lets go of them, because she doesn’t have the same weight of granted authority over others placed on her, is still very much a light side user, she’s not gray at all!  Same for Qui-Gon, while he’s something of a maverick, he very much adheres to the light side of the Force. As for Sidious and other dark siders, the Force is the Force is the Force, it’s all about how you use it.  While there’s a certain element of how this can manifest in external ways (ie, certain places are stronger in the dark or the light) that press down on the person from the outside, in using the dark side or the light side, it’s about how you approach it.  Do you do so with selfless intent?  Then you’re on the light side.  Do you do so with selfish intent?  Intending to hurt people, embracing the pain and suffering you can psychically or internally feel?  Then you’re on the dark side. It’s about how you choose to act on the things inside you, what you choose to hold onto and what you choose to work towards letting go. "Knowing that the film was made for a young audience, I was trying to say, in a simple way, that there is a God and that there is both a good side and a bad side.  You have a choice between them, but the world works better if you’re on the good side.” –George Lucas The light is about how your feelings should be cherished, but you cannot let them rule over you, because you’ll hurt people.  Like Ezra getting so afraid when the Grand Inquisitor threatened Kanan, that he caused the fyrnocks around him to attack and could have really hurt someone.  Like Padawan Dooku cannot tell his own feelings from what he thinks is an external source of the dark side in Dooku: Jedi Lost.  Like Anakin gets so angry in a training session that he literally brings the training room’s ceiling down on them before Yoda saves them, because he couldn’t control himself in Choose Your Destiny: An Obi-Wan & Anakin Adventure.  Like Obi-Wan says in The Clone Wars, it’s not like (romantic) feelings aren’t allowed, they’re natural.  But he senses a deep well of rage in Anakin and he needs to face that and deal with it. The Jedi are about, “Get your shit together because, when you have level 100 psychic abilities, you can hurt people, so you have to get a grip on that.  Because the dark side lies, it twists things, it lingers in your head and poisons your thoughts, it’s not a reliable narrator.”

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

"OC telling LI about their past" with a pairing of your choice for DWC? :D

Here you go, enjoy! Hopefully!

Solavellan, “Reminisces and Fables” (AO3)

Rivka stood over the map in the meeting room, with all its little counters and symbols, in particular the two which were lain over Redcliffe Castle, and the other on Therinfal Redoubt. As she looked from one to the other, deciding which course of action to take as concerned closing the Breach, she felt her fingertips stroke the long scar running down her temple, ending shortly above her right eyebrow.

So deeply engrossed in thought was she that she hadn’t heard Solas walk in, only noticing his presence when he spoke.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “But you appear as though you might need some advice, or simply to talk about your impending decision.”

“Solas,” she said warmly, looking up to greet him, “I suppose I do. Incidentally, just how long have you been standing there, watching me stare at tokens?”

“Not very,” he answered, “Merely long enough to note your tic.”

“My tic?”, Rivka asked.

“Merely that whenever you are deep in thought, you touch your right temple, and when the problem is of a specific nature, you run your finger along it,” he explained.

Rivka crossed her arms, asking, “Interesting. How often do you look at my right temple and my fingertips, Solas?”

Some colour rising in his cheeks, he defended himself, saying, “Only…often enough to notice that it is a habit of yours. May I venture a guess, seeing as that is hardly a fresh one ascribable to your encounter with the Breach, or our exploits since then?”

“You hardly need to, Solas,” Rivka said. “I must’ve forgotten who I told it to before, but I simply fell on a riverbank whilst gathering herbs one day—”

Solas shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “A just-so story, and one that pins no responsibility onto anybody except your own childish clumsiness. If you’d allow me to give my opinion…”

Her eyes flashing with anger, Rivka turned to fully face Solas and closed the distance with him, spitting, “I beg your pardon?”

“Its origin is one of your most formative memories, Rivka,” he explained, “Which guides your thoughts so strongly that I could not help but catch glimpses in your restless sleep those few days after your recovery from the initial attempt to close the Breach.”

“You dare—”

“I did not wish to pry, but I could not simply stand here and accept the sanitised version of your story,” Solas said, standing firm. “I can guess from how you touch your temple whenever Ser Rutherford enters your vision or when you consider even the possibility of going to Therinfal Redoubt, or you might wish to save some time by clarifying its meaning.”

Her heart still thundering with rage, Rivka collected herself with several deep breaths, before saying, “Fine. It seems to me that keeping secrets from you is a pointless exercise. Just know that this anecdote has never travelled beyond my clan before.”

“I understand, and I apologise for asking you this so forcefully. I merely thought that vocalising your thoughts might help you resolve your current dilemma.”

Sighing, Rivka sat back on the table. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Where to begin…? Well, I think I’ve mentioned before how as a First-in-training I was basically tending to the children, right?”

“Yes, hence your skill at telling the old fables.”

“Yeah, that,” Rivka said. “Once, about five years ago, I was trying to keep them occupied whilst the clan was out hunting when Templars from a nearby city came on a raid, hunting apostates or maleficars or whatever the shems call mages they don’t like. I told the children to run for the hills whilst I occupied one of them. He didn’t like that at all, and tried to kill me, spitting every curse he knew as he tried to carve me in two.”

Solas cast his eyes to the ground, saying, “Forgive me. I sensed the fear and pain in your memories of that scar, but hardly knew…”

Rivka shook her head. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago, and I suppose I’m glad I can finally tell someone here about it before getting corrected on how they must have been exceptions, or particularly ignorant, or whatever. I was still very raw as a mage back then, and could only put up a barrier a couple of times before he got in range, and we tumbled over the edge of a riverbank—that much is true about the version I tell people—and that’s when I struck my head against a rock.”

“I’m so sorry,” Solas muttered.

“It’s not as though you were him, Solas,” she said, continuing, “When I came to, I was being forced underwater, with my face up, thankfully. He was trying to drown me, probably while he was searching for his sword to finish the deed, but that didn’t last long at all—thank the Creators. The hunters from my clan had returned, and one of them got an arrow through his neck, and another one killed him. As that Templar fell down and I got my breath back, his helmet came off and I saw his face.”

“Oh?”, he asked, wondering what that detail’s significance was.

Rivka choked, holding back tears, before finishing, “He couldn’t have been a few years older than I was. He was barely a man, and whatever Circle he reported to had turned him into a zealous mage-killer—I don’t think they taught him the epithets, but at least most of the people spewing them aren’t killers. I want to tell that story to everyone I meet who thinks that the Templars can go back to doing good. It’s not even as though I harbour any resentment for Cullen in particular, I just hear it the most from him.”

Sighing empathetically, Solas stepped closer to her, saying, “You can imagine with the life I’ve eked out for myself that close encounters with Templars are no stranger to me either, although my experiences are perhaps not as vivid or perilous as yours.”

Looking up at him as she wiped her eyes dry, Rivka said, “Thank you. You were right, Solas. It did feel good to get that off my chest.”

“And you are truly remarkable,” he said in return.

“What do you mean?”

Stroking the underside of his lip, he said, “The man was trying to murder you, and to this day you still feel sorry for his life…and his death. That takes a compassion scarce few people in this world have.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” she said. “It just seemed like such a waste. In another world he could have been here, at Haven…or maybe one of the hundreds we’ve killed in the Hinterlands…or in Therinfal right now. I don’t want to imagine, sometimes.”

“At any rate, this goes a long way in explaining your reluctance,” Solas said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rivka said, “Am I allowing my own personal experience to colour my judgement like this? Maybe Cullen’s got a point, but maybe he doesn’t.”

Thinking hard, Solas said, “Perhaps I might be able to help you there a little, with a story of my own.”

Perking up, Rivka asked, “Oh? What would that be?”

“Well, a parable told of Fen’Harel at any rate,” he said, smirking, “Who seems to be fast becoming your favourite stock villain.”

“I didn’t know you paid those fables much heed,” Rivka said, her curiosity piqued.

“They serve their purpose,” Solas said, “As do all stories, in their own way. Forgive me if my retelling isn’t quite as entertaining as yours are.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said with a smile.

“Very well,” he began,

“The Dread Wolf had been feasting well upon a flock of august rams, but to his regret, he swallowed one’s remains rather too quickly and a small bone became caught in his throat. He was in pain and discomfort, being unable to eat or drink, and went from animal to animal to help his suffering, but they simply laughed and left him to his plight.

“Finally there was a heron by a riverbank, who asked him to promise her a reward should she help him, and he readily agreed, his pain being so onerous that he would do anything to alleviate it. She used her long beak and reached down his throat to fish the offending bone out, and having completed her task, turned to Fen’Harel and asked for her reward.

“Fen’Harel said to her, grinning with his teeth bared from ear to ear, ‘Your reward? Is it not enough reward that you have had your head between the jaws of the Dread Wolf and lived to tell the tale?’”

Rivka’s brows pinched towards each other, as she said, “I think I’ve heard that one before. Is it not the moral of the story that the heron’s being greedy for what should ultimately be an act of charity?”

Solas clasped his hands, leaning by his side on the table. “That certainly is a valid interpretation. But consider this other one: The powerful have no reason to reward the weak for their help with such inconveniences, terrible as they may be, once it is lifted and their power is restored.”

Casting her gaze at the marker which lay atop the Templar stronghold on the map, she asked, “Are you likening the Templars to the Dread Wolf then?”

“Hardly,” Solas said casually. “Merely that there is no guarantee that there will not be another Templar like your assailant, nor an elf like you at his mercy, ten or even twenty years down the road, regardless of what course of action you choose.”

“Is your opinion of them that low?”, she asked.

“Low?”, he retorted. “I think that’s positively optimistic. It appears, however, that by dint of your mark that the decision falls to you and who can help seal the Breach more effectively…well, I must have taken up far too much of your time by now.”

“Not at all,” she said, returning to his gaze. “Thank you, Solas. For hearing me out, and for your advice. I think I know what to do.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said, departing the chantry.

Rivka turned back to the table, sweeping some of the tokens off it and peering at the one marking Redcliffe Castle with a new determination, making her decision.

@dadrunkwriting

[dindooku]

rating: E (swearing and violent themes)

word count: 6,572

tw - not explicitly said but can be interpreted as at suicide

And you thought that suddenly waking up on a planet in another Galaxy, only to be accompanied by a space wizard…a Jedi…was the greatest thing ever. Oh no… you were wrong. Granted, that was all great and everything, but it was no match for the fact that you were granted a lie in — a grand one at that.

You can’t remember the last time you let your body wake you up, not an incessant alarm clock or the hailing of bullets. It was weird, but definitely not un-welcomed.

You rolled over to face away from the wall, yawning and grumbling as the hands of sleep slowly lifted their trance. Slowly blinking open your eyes, you suddenly jolt up, remembering where you are, then crying out a curse at the now, new forming lump on the top of your head from the ceiling you’ve just head-butted. “Fuck—,” you mumble as you slowly roll out of bed, lightly rubbing your hand at the sore spot on the back of your head. You take a glance at your watch, 11:13 AM. Jesus, I really must've been tired. Placing your feet on the floor, you flex your toes and submit to the urge to stretch, grumbling again as the aches and pains of years of warfare click and pinch your body. You decide to wrap yourself up in the blanket Obi-Wan had given you as you trudge out into the front room.

But, it was empty, no sign of life. Surely Obi-Wan would’ve told you if he was going out, or leaving you? Either way, you make your way over to the fridge, hoping to find some scraps to munch on.

A sandwich catches your attention, and you quickly wolf it down without question. If it was Obi-Wan’s, you’d just make him another. He’d understand.

Peering around the room again, you test your voice, “Obi-Wan?” Nothing, “Obi-Wan, are you here?” Again, silence. Assuming he’s gone out, you decide it's probably best you get some fresh air, you’ve never been one for sitting around and doing nothing, so you quickly get dressed into a fresh set of clothes and head out into the temple.

Although you’d never been to a Monk temple or anything grandiose like that, you could only assume that this is what it would be like. The halls were quiet, but the occasional patter of footsteps or rage of children laughing broke the silence and tickled that sense of security that so deeply hides away in your chest. You aren’t used to being so…relaxed. For years your body has been on high alert, always assessing, reassessing, waiting for someone to attack you, to hurt you — yet here... you don’t even have to give defending yourself a passing thought. It’s just, completely and utterly calm, serene, balanced.

Before you know it, you’ve paced the halls for the last half hour and now you are stood outside some set of what appears to be... Dojos?

Glancing around again to make sure no one is watching, you gently place a hand on one of the doors, slowly edging it open. You chance a peek inside, but to your satisfaction, it is empty. You quietly step in, making sure not to make any noise as you close the door behind you. Stepping into the room, it is clear that it is some sort of training area, and upon further inspection your suspicions are correct. Around the edge of the room lay different pieces of equipment, which look like obstacles of sorts. You glance back around the Dojo, basking in the natural light that is pouring in through the high windows. The simple, creamy white walls are sturdy, but don’t feel overbearing, or claustrophobic — like before, it's just peaceful in here.

Letting your gaze roll over the room, you come across a cupboard in one corner. Making your way over, you make note of the soft floor beneath you, the cushiony fabric lightly hugging the soles of your feet, dreamlike. Reaching into the cupboard, you’re quickly met with the familiar array of weapons, although these are…different. Surrounding one edge, an array of combat and throwing knives sit comfortably among one another, along the other sits small staffs and odd-shaped objects you’ve never seen before. But in the middle sits a familiar sight, an odd, metal cylinder. Picking it up, you eye it for a second. It's constructed of metal and is about a hands length or two long. Along the bottom sits black, corrugated slats, and as you look up, a stainless steel-like tube makes up the main body to the top where it thins dramatically into a golden copper colour but is then fanned out into a large flat disk. In the centre of the cylinder, sits a red button. And, if you have ever learnt anything from horror or sci-fi movies, is that you should definitely not press the red button.

So what do you do?

You press the red button.

Instantly the room is filled with a violent blue and the electric hum of raw, static energy. The moment chills you to the bone, and the shock of such a marvellous, beautiful object stuns you. You absolutely, 100% could not have guessed that was what the red button would do. And, as if the inner child was pulling puppet strings within your mind, you slowly back up and wave the funny looking laser sword in front of you. The majestic hum of the blade tickles your eardrums, and you can’t help the intoxicating smile that is now riddling your face, scrunching at your forehand and around your eyes, the emotion of happiness and utter awe broadcasted by your innate reaction to such a feat of beauty.

You are transfixed.

But, you should know better, because as you turn around Obi-Wan is staring right at you — and he too is struggling to fight the fantastic grin gracing his face.

“So I see you’ve found my lightsaber,” he mutters.

“This..this is yours?” You whisper, still not taking your eyes off of the mesmerising blue blade.

“Yes, all Jedi have them, they’re called lightsabers. Unfortunately, I must ask for it back,”

“Yes, yes of course, sorry…I—I shouldn’t have touched it, I just, it—” you stutter out, trying to find a reason as to why you touched his stuff other than it looked cool.

“It’s quite alright, Darling, no need to panic,” he chuckles, reaching around you to switch it off so he could place it on his belt, “but I do believe we have some training to do, so…” he trails off, walking over to the cupboard to place the lightsaber back onto its stand, as well as removing his cloak, placing it neatly on the floor. He walks back over to you and places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you ok, my dear?” He asks, genuine concern now threatening to take over his grin.

“Yes…yes, I—I’ve just never seen anything like it. Its—,”

“Beautiful. I know,” he mumbles, giving your shoulder another tight squeeze to reiterate his point, “But, right now, I need to see you fight,” he says, quickly stepping back and getting into a ready position.

“…Fight, you want to, to fight me?” You ask, not quite sure whether he is joking or not.

“Yes, Dear. Loth-Cat got your tongue?” He chides, a smidge of sarcasm lacing his words.

Oh, ok, he wants to play.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” grinning back, you take a step back and calm yourself, standing broad and powerful.

“Hurt me? You could never, darling I’m a Jedi—”, But before he could finish his sentence, you’ve landed a nice, heavy thud of a kick to his chest, which sends his falling onto his back. That's odd, he thinks, I should be able to feel when she’s about to do something, I…what? Obi-Wan is visibly confused, and so you stop and crouch to the ground instantly, patting down his chest to make sure you weren’t too heavy-footed to start off with.

“I—I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” you say, panicking a little as you pat him down, checking for injuries or any broken bones.

“No—no, it’s me, I--I got distracted,” he mutters, still slightly put out at his inability to use the Force to predict your actions.

“No, I shouldn’t have—” but before you could finish, he’s gripped you by the ankles and is rolling you onto your back. Instantly you roll onto your front and scramble forwards, turning around as you both ready yourself into your respective fighting stances. Again, Obi-Wan lunged at you, but this time you dropped down, kicking your right leg out to trip him from behind. As he fell he grabbed your collar, bringing you down on top of him so that now you were straddling his hips. But, niceties aside, you were in full combat mindset and you were out to win — your body had trained for this for years, and every move was now muscle memory, you were practically a war machine now, designed and manipulated to kill.

So, you braced to the side, jumping back up again to the other side of the room. Obi-Wan followed suit, except — wait. His belt was gone, where…you had it. You had your right hand wrapped a couple of times in a loop, and your left was tightly gripping it as if it were a whip. And that's exactly what you intended to use it for.

Flicking your right wrist, you shot the harsh leather belt out, cracking it just a few centimetres away from the skin on Obi-Wan’s forehead, only then pulling it back, snapping it taut. The toothy grin that pinched at Obi-Wan's eyes didn't put you off like it should've, and instead had the complete and opposite effect, shooting a wildfire of intense heat surging to your core. You were enjoying this way too much, and by the looks of it... so was Obi-Wan, though he'd never admit it. So, you'd use this to your advantage, cracking the belt a couple more times, letting the buckle ting and snap at the pull of your wrist. It kept him at bay for a few moments, but only briefly. Eventually, he lunged forwards, aiming to land a punch as he bound towards you, but you twisted to the side, wrapping his wrist in his own belt. He twisted around, not hesitating to throw a punch to your right cheek. You should’ve expected that, you did just threaten to whip the man, but nonetheless, the thrill of a hard punch to your jaw woke you up. No stupid mistakes. The anger at your mistake was now bubbling, so you quickly wrapped the retreating hand he’d used to punch you into the belt, binding his wrists to yours. He let out a sarcastic chuckle as the realisation hit him — but so did you, both of you reaping the benefits of your...interaction. The smirk on your face grows a little wider now, the true fun only just beginning.

You shifted your weight harshly to the left, throwing him in a 180 to disorient and gain momentum. You then dropped to your knees, only to then twist and bring your entwined wrists above your head and then yanking hard, down over your right shoulder, bringing him onto his back; his head now facing you as his body was strewn away from your thighs. You quickly unwind his wrists, forcing the belt down over his neck to strangle.“Tiger got your tongue, Master?” The satisfaction in your voice over the play on words was clear. Oh, you loved proving people wrong, especially when they pretty much do it for you.

He gently patted your wrist to tap out, and you released him from the hold. Choking a little, he sits up and crosses his legs as he turns to face you, encouraging you to follow suit and do the same. You now both sat cross-legged opposite each-other, knees just lightly touching.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asked, rubbing slightly at his neck, still grinning despite the discomfort.

“I—I had to learn it myself. In the army, you see, I was the only women in my training battalion, so I was always pitted to fight and train against men, who, if you take a look at me, were typically a lot larger and stronger than me — physically. So, to give myself a fighting chance, I had to play their weaknesses to my advantage,” you said, smiling a little towards the end.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan encourages.

“Well, typically the men would think that they’re going to win, simply because I’m a woman and they’re bigger or stronger than me, but I’m a lover of physics, so I used that to my advantage. They weren’t especially quick or agile, and often they relied on their brute strength to win fights — that's only so good if you can actually land a punch,” you say, harbouring an infectious smug grin as Obi-Wan realised what you were saying.

“Smart girl,” he says, returning your smirk with an equally fictitious grin of his own. And at the use of his words, you blush a little, ducking your head in an effort to hide your quite clear arousal at the specific concoction of praise.  

“Yes, well, I figured if I could avoid their punches and use their own weight against them, the odds were in my favour, you could say I would have the high ground... So, like when I took your belt, I used your momentum against you, which A, — means you end up on the floor or out of place, and B, — I use minimal energy to do so, harbouring your efforts to suit mine. It’s all just simple mechanics, really,” you joke, but pleased with your explanation.

“Good…again,” Obi-Wan says. And with that, you both spend the afternoon training, learning from one another, morphing and smelting your own techniques with his, and vice versa, to a point where you were working in complete unison.

_____

“Master Kenobi, you’re needed immediately in the Council Room, it is urgent—,” comes a voice, a smaller younger creature of sorts as they burst into the training room, catching you both off guard. They’re panting as if they’ve just finished running a marathon.

“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be there right away. Thank you,” he commands, instantly retrieving his cloak and lightsaber from the cupboard. You follow his movements with your eyes, waiting for his instructions. He walks to the door and is halfway out when he stops, turning towards you.

“Well, come on! We can’t leave them waiting!” He says, waving his arm in a beckoning way to hurry you up.

_____

“Skywalker, you are to accompany Master Kenobi and Amy to the Mid-Rim planet to resolve the escalating tensions,” says Mace Windu.

“Go, you will,” Yoda confirms.

“Yes Masters, although, are we sure it is safe for Amy to be travelling with us?” Anakin asks.

“Trained, is she not, Master Kenobi?” Yoda asks, turning his head towards Obi-Wan.

“Yes, she is. It was evident from our training today that her skill set is…unique, and I feel as though the 501st and 212th will greatly benefit from her direction and expertise,” Obi-Wan assures.

“What do you mean unique, Master?” Anakin mutters, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face. And if looks could kill, Anakin would be facing an early grave as the sharpened daggers of Obi-Wan’s glare was enough to puncture even the most protected of souls.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan starts, cursing the younger man with just the use of his name, “Amy is very skilled in combat, and I feel as though she has more to offer us than what we can offer her,” Obi-Wan punctuates.

“Yes, I am quite keen to see this style of fighting myself, Obi-Wan,” Mace says, rubbing his chin in thought, “Maybe even an incorporation of Vaapad could be organised,” He adds.

“I can ask, although I am sure there will be no objection, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan returns, nodding slightly at the offer. He knows Vaapad would be incredibly beneficial to not only your own fighting style but also that of Windu.

“Midichlorian count, know she does?” Yoda asks, changing the subject to something of more gravity.

“No, I—I have not broached that subject yet. Her energy in the force is something I have never experienced, Masters, as I am sure you can sense it too. I feel as though if we inform her of her abilities, we may not be able to offer the right support or, the fact of the matter being, we do not know what powers she does have,” Obi-Wan says gravely.

No one truly understands what is causing your disturbance in the Force to be so…unruly. They understand that the force is not necessarily embraced on Earth and that the human race is not Force-sensitive. But that does not explain your unique signature. It is not like the usual signature a Force-sensitive may harbour, which is outgoing and pure. Their signature reflects their emotion, their current state of mind. For Obi-Wan, it curls slowly in a smooth, milky cloud of crystalline and sea foamy blues, caressing his form with every breath. However, yours is almost…reversed. Like the light isn’t radiating out from you, but into you — as if you’re sucking in and absorbing the energy as you move. You’re not a vessel to the force, as one would normally expect, instead, you are a drain. And even though the Jedi are encouraged not to feel fear, it is unspoken among the Council members that their unease is not uncalled for. You are dangerous, unhinged, and they haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it.

“Talk to her, you must, important her understanding, it is — only problems it will cause, secrecy will. Trust you Obi-wan, she must,” Yoda says, and the council room is silent. Everyone is contemplating the potentialities of this arrangement, but if anyone were to calm and train the unpredictable nature that is Amy, then it is Obi-Wan; the great negotiator of the Republic.

“Yes, Master Yoda, I will see to it that we have this discussion. To add…what are we to do of her training? Must we teach her the way of the Jedi? She will have to face trials, and as we all know, she is not attuned to the Jedi way,” Obi-Wan asks.

“Hmm…” Yoda ponders, his ears dropping and his attention shifting elsewhere, deep in contemplation, “Meditate I will, future uncertain, it is,” He says. And with that, he bashes his stick to the ground and the meeting is adjourned.  

_____

You’re waiting anxiously outside of the council chambers. You couldn’t necessarily hear what was going on inside, but the general energy was…stifling. It was tense, and more than one person was obviously displeased with the current situation. But, as the doors to the chamber swung open, it was quite apparent who was causing the tension.

Anakin and Obi-Wan storm off down one of the corridors, and though you know it is rude to spy in on conversations, you only wanted to see if there was any way you’d be able to help. That and the fact that you just couldn’t help yourself, the SAS recon training made your skin itch with the need to gather intel, so, you silently watched from afar, keeping enough distance to make sure they couldn’t see you, but just close enough so you could listen in.

“What kind of nonsense is this, she is not trained in the form of Jedi, she will get killed out there, Obi-Wan!” Anakin boomed, his frustration clear.

“She is more than capable of handling herself, Anakin, trust me when I say that she will not be easily intimidated,” Obi-Wan instructed, placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, bringing them to a halt just next to a pillar.

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I understand, but she has no idea what she is getting herself into, she’s from another Galaxy for Maker’s sake! Think master, if she is to come with us, she must know,” Anakin demands. Know what?

“Anakin, I know. I do not feel comfortable bringing her along with us on this mission either, but her skill set is unmatched - she has experience beyond her years and her expertise could be game-changing!” Obi-Wan pleads, shaking the hand that is gripping Anakin’s shoulder.

“Game-changing yes, but she isn’t a Jedi, Master—how can we trust her?” Anakin whispers, he knows he is asking dangerous questions, but he cannot rid the fact at hand, you’re dangerous, and he doesn’t want to trigger a chain of unfortunate events which, he feels, the two of them will not be able to control.

“Anakin, please, she must come with us. This is a test of sorts, we must see what she is capable of so that we can react accordingly. Keeping her locked up in the temple will not solve the problem, only make it worse. We must realise her potential before it becomes unhinged,” Obi-Wan mutters. Unhinged…potential? What are they on about?

“Master, with all due respect, I do not feel comfortable fighting alongside a ticking time bomb,” Anakin snarls, his brows furrowing at the idea.

“Anakin, I do not appreciate your tone. She is not as dangerous as you are making her out to be, your ill-received emotions will only make things worse. You must have faith in me, young one. We must trust in the Force, she was brought to use for a reason,” Obi-wan insists, lining his voice with a bit more force this time, making sure his point comes across.

“I suppose you’re right Master…but that doesn’t mean I am comfortable with this, she still has—negative potential,” Anakin whispers, removing Obi-Wan’s hand from his shoulder and turning to step away, “I just hope you’re prepared to do what is necessary if she were to Fall, Obi-Wan,” Anakin mutters before completely turning away and leaving Obi-Wan alone in the hallway. His shoulders slump, and you notice that this is the stance of a beaten, conflicted man.

Without wanting to startle him, you slowly make yourself known to the outside world as you cautiously step into the hallway, bringing Obi-Wan’s attention to you.

You can practically feel the tension rolling off of him, and if the look on his face didn’t say anything, you knew that Obi-Wan Kenobi was in need of a hug. You slowly strode up to him, maintaining the soft, but stern eye contact to make sure that he stood in place and just as you were within reaching distance, you grabbed him, pulling him into your arms and wrapping him tightly in your presence. You tucked your head into his chest and listened to the slowly decreasing beat of his heart. He tripped back a little, and a small gasp left his lips, but just as quick as he had moved back, he moved twice as quick into your embrace, tucking his head down and into your shoulder.

Obi-Wan knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be seeking console in others, and that as a Jedi he should release these feelings of anger and frustration to the Force, not rely on the comfort of others. But it just felt so good to be in your arms, and for you to be in his. He’d not felt the warmth of a hug in too long, and since Satine, he never trusted himself to ever let go if he found himself in one again — and he supposes now that he should have listened to himself because, as time slowly moves on, his resolve on letting go of you is quickly wearing thin. He chastises himself for being so open and flirtatious, for insinuating plainly devilish intentions, intentions he is not sure he will ever be able to allow to come to fruition, intentions he wants but knows he cannot get.

“Obi, talk to me,” and that just about cuts it. The sweet, muffled voice grabs him by the heart and corners him — the empty, hollow shell of his capacity to care and love others is now being forced open and the sand timer has started ticking. He knows now it’s not a matter of if, but a matter of when. And that realisation alone terrifies him. He can’t lose another, he can’t go through that pain again. Too many times has the sand vial been broken, and too many times has it been hurriedly repaired and glued together, only for the missing pieces to allow sand to trickle out and collect in pools, sinking into hollow feelings of despair and loneliness. But now, you’re here, and the tighter you squeeze, the less sand falls from his grip. And so, he understands, it’s you that is keeping him together, it’s you that is allowing his version of time to return to normal, to reverse the entropy of darkness threatening to consume his soul.

“I—I feel so conflicted Amy,” Obi-Wan mutters.

“I, I think you know what you need to do, and I think you know that you need to be a bit lighter on yourself, to trust your instincts a bit more,” you say, trying to reassure him that his feelings are not invalid, “Sometimes, Obi, following the rules isn’t always the right thing to do. We learnt this the hard way on Earth, we all flocked like sheep to cater the needs of those who demanded it, instead of looking at the bigger picture and fixing the problem at hand. You are a wise man Obi-Wan, and I have complete faith in whatever decisions you make, you must let go Obi-Wan, let go of the feelings that plague you so new ones can heal you,” And you punctuate your meaning by squeezing just that little bit tighter.

Obi-Wan sighs, you were right. He had to let go of those past feelings and focus on the bigger picture. Grieving is a natural part of life, but the whole purpose of grieving is to feel and let go. Holding onto the past will only suppress the future, and he knows what he must do, he knows what is right, he just hopes that he has the strength to do it.

You tug on Obi-Wan a little tighter again, before letting go. You move your head from his chest, but bring your gaze back up to him, holding onto both of his biceps, you sigh, “I’ve never been one for politics Obi-Wan, but I have spent my fair share working under those that rule. You have a choice in this, I did not have that luxury. Do what feels right, do what brings you comfort, do not sacrifice your own needs for the needs of others who would not return the favour to you. Sometimes... you have to be selfish.” You finish.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and just stares at you. Everything you said was exactly what he needed to hear, exactly what he’d been telling himself but refusing to believe. But, because the words came from you, unprompted and honest, he must do his duty and believe them. Yes, he must do what feels right. But what he feels right now is definitely not what he should be thinking, as his attention finds itself upon your lips.

He’s drawn like a ship in a Tracta beam, he can’t look away. He wants so badly to kiss you, to take that pretty mouth of yours for himself. He wants so badly to show you how he feels, to show his hidden, deep desires to seek pleasure in you.

And you gaze up at him, following his attention and realising that he too is thinking what you’re thinking. Your heart is practically soaring right now. Never have you fallen so hard for someone, ever. You are just under some sort of spell, both of you frozen in time and not wanting to crank the lever to start it back up again; like entropy has met its equilibrium.

That's when you find yourself leaning up, pushing slowly on your tiptoes to meet the invitation of his lips. Except you can't, because Obi-Wan has stepped back, and has decided that now of all times is to fiddle with his belt and reach into his pocket and turn on his communicator.

Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You get the hint. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. He just wants to wind you up, make you believe he wants you, and then leave you hanging, each and every time. Well, you’re not falling for it again. You know your way back to your quarters, and you know its best if you just leave without saying anything, making your way back to the privacy of your bedroom to seethe there.

But you don’t. You’re pissed.

“Fuck you.”

Obi-Wan freezes mid-conversation with Cody, who was just prepping the ship for departure tomorrow morning. His gaze cuts to you, eyes now alight with something you’ve never seen before, a darkened, slow-burning fire that all but fuels your own anger.

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan replies, sternly, almost inaudible. But you hear him all right.

“I said, Fuck. You.” And you punctuate each and every syllable.

“Excuse me, Cody” Obi-Wan says, and closes the top on the holo-projection, although his stare has not left yours throughout this whole interaction. Your heart is thumping now, to the point you fear it may actually pop out of your chest and run down the hallways due to the stress. But you're not backing down. You’ve been in some of the most dangerous, stressful situations one can imagine, and you didn’t back down then, so there's no way in hell backing down now. But, before you have time to counter, Obi-Wan has grabbed you by the arm and is hauling you down the corridors of the Jedi temple. You protest but punching and pushing at his grip — but its unrelenting, and the two of you just scramble against each other until you are yet again at the door to his quarters. The door slides open and he yanks you in, and just as the door closes you let all of your unbridled rage rear its ugly head. You twist out of his grip and kick him into the wall, bridging a few feet gap between the both of you. He recovers and goes to grab you again but you stop him dead in his tracks.

A feeling you’ve never felt before, something foreign, but…intelligent, alive, and very, very powerful. It's coursing through your veins now and it’s almost blinding you, and the familiar buzz of static clouds your mind and brings dark spots to your vision, but you hold out, you’re not done yet. You throw a hand out in front of you, splaying your fingers and forcing your palm in his direction, channelling all your anger and hurt in his direction, pushing him back up against the wall. Obi-Wan gasps as he is shunted back, the air in his lungs knocked out from the sheer blunt shock of your reaction.

Next, you grip your hand into a tight fist, and slowly begin dragging it towards you. Obi-Wan begins to choke, not from strangulation, but instead from the agonising pain of the force within him being torn and ripped from his control. You hold him there, in this complete state of distress, teetering on the edge of both yours, and his own self-control.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again, do I make myself clear?” You growl, your voice wavering and flickering a harrowing tale of hurt and anger.

“Y—yes…” Obi-Wan breaths out, struggling against the lingering pressure on his chest.

“If you don’t like me, Obi-Wan, stop leading me on. It is cruel.” Snarling this time, your emotions twist into excruciating hurt, the power you harbour intensifying and magnifying the bleeding ache of rejection.

“It's not that I do—don’t like you…I—Jedi are not…attachment is forbidden” he chokes, and just like a switch, the rage dims and Obi-Wan drops to the floor, gasping for air. He clutches his chest, but the pain is not the lack of oxygen, but more so the sudden influx of the Force surging back into his body. Like pins and needles in a leg, or a cramp, the feeling that returns is not unwelcome, but it is painful to say the least, even if it be temporary.

And that's when you realise what exactly you’ve just done. The guilt is unparalleled. It doesn’t matter if it is forbidden or not, it's the fact that he said no, he pulled away, and that your initial reaction was to act like a spoilt child and throw a tantrum, a dangerous, uncontrollable tantrum. The rage from before has slowed its pace, and now the heavy, leaded guilt sinks you to the ground. You have never reacted like this before. You’ve always had a close relationship with anger, but you’ve never let it rule you; normally you would embrace it and use it to your advantage, only to let the emotion slip away when the time had passed. But for some inexplicable reason, the moment he rejected you, you saw red.

“I—I’m, sorry, Obi-Wan, I’m so—sorry, I don’t know what that is, I’m so so sorry, please—,” You mutter out, still stuck in place. You gaze down at your hands and flex your fingers. Never have you done anything like that. But that isn’t your main concern right now, Obi-Wan is. You did this, this was your fault, now fix it. “Please, let me help you, I—I didn’t—,”

“Darling, it's ok, just, please…manage your emotions. I feel I am partly to blame for this too, I—I must explain myself,” Obi-Wan assures as he pushes himself up off the ground, brushing down his garments as a nervous response to the tricky situation he now finds himself in. He looks up at you and immediately his heart sinks. Your eyes are red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, and you’re visibly trembling. He knows he owes you an explanation for his behaviour at the very least, “Why don’t we go and sit down on the sofa and talk this out, hmm?” He says, bringing an arm out as he cautiously steps forward, ushering you over to the sofa. You both sit, except you take extra care to sit on the opposite side of the sofa, leaving as much space as you can between each-other. You don’t want to hurt him again, and now you don’t even trust yourself to keep a tap on your own emotions.

You tuck your hands underneath your ribs and wrap around yourself, curling in. You feel so small now, so weak and miserable, it’s embarrassing. This whole situation is a complete and utter fucking mess, you’re a mess, your life is a mess. But you’re broken out of your self wallowing by a gentle hand, a lifeline, courteous of the ever-generous Obi-Wan. He pulls the closest arm out from its grip around you and pulls,  slowly encouraging you over towards him until eventually your head is resting on his lap and you’re laying out along the sofa. One of his hands sits along the upper part of your waist, where his thumb leaves small, comforting circles on your trembling ribs, whilst the other slowly soothes your hair in gentle, passive strokes.

Eventually, you’re calm enough to reason, and Obi-Wan breaks the silence.

“It is forbidden for Jedi to have attachment… attachment leads to feelings of anger and jealousy, and therefore to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan starts, but you cut him off.

"You don't have to explain yourself, it's ok, no means no and I'm sorry I read things wrong, and I apologise for my language, it was most rude of me to address you like that, especially whilst you were mid-conversation," you sniffle, trying your best to hide the cracks of nervousness in your words.

"Amy, it's...it's complicated. I accept your apology, although I am sure Commander Cody found it quite amusing--," but before he can comfort you, your heart drops. Oh shit.

"C--commander?" you mutter, hoping that you just heard Obi-Wan wrong and you didn't just swear in front of a senior ranking official.

"Yes, Commander," Obi-Wan reiterates.

Oh, Jesus Christ. You've really blown the boat out on this one, what a fucking idiot.

"I am so sorry, Obi-Wan, I--," you stop, not wanting to dig yourself into a hole you can't get out of. Maybe you should take Frankie's advice and just keep your mouth shut, "so much for a great first impression," you mutter out loud. You've completely blown it. The room falls silent now, and you slowly allow yourself to revel in the calming touch of Obi-Wan. You get it, he's just being nice, being the gentleman he has been born and raised to be -- but deep down you don't want things to be that simple; you want him to want you, you want these small actions and personal moments to have an ulterior motive; to be for you because he feels for you, not because it's the right thing to do, but because you want to feel worth something, to feel like a possession and not an object. You've been nothing but a number, a tool in the rigorous machine that is violent politics for over a decade now. You forbid yourself from luxuries like a social life or sentimental connections, but you're not home anymore, you're in a completely different Galaxy. But life is never fair you reason; because even though you're ready to start letting someone in, they are not even remotely interested in returning the gesture. It hurts, but when has life ever been anything but painful for you? Looking back on it, what has your life been? You spent all those years 'doing good' and serving others, only to never have others do good for you; what's the point in living life if it isn't even yours to enjoy?

Life is just a vicious cycle of hurt and regret, and now more than ever you wish you pulled your own trigger all that time ago.

Obi-Wan has been quiet for some time now, and, now you focus again on your physical body, you notice his hands have stilled, resting peacefully on your head and shoulder. You chance a look up to make sure he's ok, and you're glad you did because Obi-Wan's head was leaned over onto the side of the arm of the sofa, completely passed out from sleep. You couldn't help but smile at his peaceful form; a couple of unruly tendrils of golden strawberry blonde hair tickling his forehead, and the painful lines of stress melted away, giving in to the smooth, tranquil blanket of serenity. He truly was a masterpiece, and he didn't even know it. You knew this man didn't reciprocate his feelings to you, through either his own decision or that of the Jedi rulings, but it didn't mean you had to be cruel, so, you just relaxed, fully indulging in the company of one another in the seclusion of his apartment, away from prying eyes and judgement.

You could go through the hurt if it meant you could have more moments like this -- this was worth it. He was worth it.

[eclecticlanie]

Child Spirit claps back!

OK! SOOOO. A little back story first. I left my first husband 10 years ago. I left EVERYTHING with him except my daughter. I use to write novels (never published), songs, poems, draw all sorts of artwork, and my clothes were my life (I was particular about my fashion choices). I left everything: books, original artworks, basically my soul and identity. When I left I did not write or do any art ever again. I had to focus on being a first time mother, go to work full time, and school full time. I had a new identity that left no time or room for who I was from that day forward.

 My Hubs (2nd husband) produces Drum and Bass music and has since he was a teen. I support and help him as much as I can doing whatever I can (singing, speaking, picking out sounds, synths, etc; telling him to remove certain things that don’t work well, so on so forth). He has always taken music seriously and wanted to go much further than he has with it in the past but has held himself back due to fears of being in public eyes and what the media could do to him. Understandable. 

We decided recently to go for it-to take this to the next level if we could. In this process, Hubs decides I need to unpack that 10 years of exiling my talents. He bought me a notebook and now hounds me to speak to him so he can write or have me write my own songs and poems again. I say hounds but really he is trying to inspire me and find me a muse, there is no true negative connotation on it. I am just naturally pessimistic. Hubs is most definitely an optimist and before anyone asks, yes, sometimes it makes me sick (figuratively). In reality we balance each other extremely well. I never have had a more healthy relationship with anyone other than my mother in my life with the exception being Hubs. He is my everything, next to our kids. 

So that brings us to today. We, Hubs and I, are in the kitchen. I am cooking ground beef to make tacos on the stove. We were talking about how I don’t like my voice on recording but I do like it raw and natural and how I don’t understand why I feel I sound different on recording versus not recording. I then decide we need to discuss what we want to change and not to change if we happen to go next level with this music endeavor. As I leave the stove and go into the fridge (literally the fridge is next to the stove so it is only one step away) to make a glass of soda, I ask, “If we do go next level what do we want to stay the same and what do we want to have change?”

I turn around with the soda bottle in hand to go to the counter where my glass is waiting and Hubs is standing. I see a child standing next to him that isn’t mine with sandy brown or sandy blonde hair down to its cheeks. I’m not entirely sure which would better describe the kids hair. I assume it’s a non-binary child right off the bat. This child scares the shit out of me. It was not there prior to this moment. I never have seen this child before in my life and it is standing next to Hubs. I let out a short loud scream upon seeing this child and at this exact moment the child swings it’s hand and hits my Hubs glass of soda out of his own hands. The glass went up then hit the floor. It did not shatter, break, or crack. It was in one piece. Soda was on my upper and lower cabinets, on the floor and the side of the stove. The child was gone. Vanished. 

“What was that?” Hubs looked at me. 

“I don’t know why i screamed like that.” I tried to rationalize with myself, “It was a child.”

I pour myself a glass of soda and go back to cooking. Hubs and I discuss what just happened and didn’t continue the previous conversation we were trying to have about our possible future. We agree to invite the ghost upstairs to have a conversation via tarot after we eat dinner. Tacos took maybe another 3 minutes to cook and construct. We ate at the stove and the kids ate at the dining table. So a whole ten minutes maybe passed before we ran upstairs and grabbed my Nightmare Before Christmas Tarot Deck, pendulum, and pendulum board. 

I’m sitting on the bed and my back is killing me. This spirit is sucking my energy to stay present so I can receive it’s message. I start shuffling and right out of the gate cards are spilling.

The first five:

1. XIX The Sun: 

Directly from the guidebook: 

“When cloudy skies pass, the sun comes out, shining warmth and happiness on everyone’s lives. The excitement, renewed energy, and joy Jack experiences when he discovers Christmas Town perfectly embody the energy of the Sun tarot card. 

Upright: If you’ve been sad or troubled lately, the Sun is a sign you’re about to feel a very positive shift in your life. Use this rejuvenating energy to reconnect with good friends and enjoy yourself. There’s so much enthusiasm in this tarot card. It signifies a powerful time for inspired brainstorming.” 

Interpretation: I believe this represents both the child I seen and the situation. The child had no ill or negative feeling. It was a joyful and happy child. As for the situation, the Sun is calling me out on how I’m very negative and down on myself and that positive things are happening in my life. I need to start removing myself from being pessimistic and join ‘Team Optimistic’ by following through and doing as my Hubs has been pushing me to do. 

2. XVIII The Moon (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Moonlight illuminates Jack in the graveyard as he reflects on his feelings. The moon represents a great lament, the subconscious, and intuition.”

“Reversed: In order to move forward, you need to be honest about your feelings, with yourself and others. Expressing yourself will life a weight off your chest and get you out of a melancholy headspace. The Sun is about to come out, and a new day will bring new possibilities.” 

Interpretation: I was in the process of expressing my feelings on my voice right before the glass was thrown. I was being negative and hurtful to myself. The child did not like it and that is why they hit the glass to gain attention and to give me this message thus “the sun is about to come out”. I will be enlightened by the other side as to their feelings rather than focus on my own. 

3. X of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“Upright: X of Needles indicates something is coming to a painful ending. Whether this refers to a friendship, relationship, project, or job, you may be left with heavy emotions. Give yourself time to grieve, but trust that it’s for the best. Fresh beginnings are ahead!”

Interpretation: The 10 years I am unpacking is the means to an end. The hurt will end. I’ve hurt myself enough. My talents no longer need to be buried and not used. They are valid and need to be expressed. They will bleed and feel rushed because the flood gates are now open.

4. Queen of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Upright: The Queen of Needles is intelligent, intellectual, and sensible. She takes time to make up her own mind and isn’t easily swayed by trends, fads, or popular opinion. Fair and practical, the Queen of Needles shouldn’t be underestimated. This card is a call to remember how strong you really are.” 

Interpretation: The child is 

5. III of Needles (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: III of Needles reversed symbolizes coming to terms with the past It’s time to pluck the needles out of your heart, and let it heal. Nurse your wounds and go forward.”

Interpretation: I need to let myself move forward and not punish myself. I need to allow my gifts to thrive and be of use in my life. 

I decided to use the Pendulum board a little bit to confirm everything I had seen. I asked the spirit if I was correct with the sandy brown-blonde hair color. The pendulum swung ‘yes’. I continued, “Definitely not a red head then.” The crystal swung ‘no.’ “Is there more you want to tell me?” ‘Yes.’ I picked up the cards and started shuffling again. Five more cards popped out. 

6. IX The Hermit:

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Hermit is a thoughtful, introverted figure who likes to spend his time ruminating alone--like the Creature Under the Stairs.

Upright: Now’s the time to get inspired by example and withdraw for some quiet alone time. The Hermit calls for reflection, so do a bit of soul-searching. Consider your current position, goals, and dreams. Remember your past, and learn from it so you can bring those lessons with you into a successful future.”

Interpretation: The child wants me to really look deep into myself and accept who I am. 

7. III The Empress (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Empress is a maternal, nurturing figure who enjoys self-indulgence and life’s creature comforts. Our Empress is the Corpse Mom, who is often seen leading her child on a leash.”

“Reversed: Are you being too hard on yourself? You may have been feeling self-critical lately, but beating yourself up about perceived failures and flaws won’t help. Be patient, and give yourself room to make mistakes--they’re learning opportunities.”

Interpretation: I couldn’t have interpreted this card any other way than as they described. I needed to stop bullying myself. The child seemed very adamant with this message.

8. IX of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Has your confidence been dealt a blow recently? If you’re feeling low, you may be your own biggest bully. Start focusing on your positive qualities instead of fixating on your perceived negative ones. A shift in perspective is what’s needed to get you out of despair.”

Interpretation: Again, I couldn’t have interpreted this card any differently. I need to get my head out of my ass.

9. VI of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“VI of Needles usually indicates you’ve been through a difficult time. Have you recently been in conflict with someone or experienced an unexpected setback? It’s time to pick up the pieces and get on track again.”

Interpretation: I need to make peace with myself, pick up the pieces I left behind and put them where they belong in my life-not outside of it.

10. Queen of Candles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Reversed: The reversed Queen of Candles lacks self-confidence. Have you been giving too much attention to the opinions of others? Don’t stifle your ideas and lose your voice. Make time for a bit of soul-searching, and express yourself. Don’t worry what others may think. You have so much to offer!”

Interpretation: Another hard one! All jokes aside, this child couldn’t have been more direct. I need to keep my opinion on myself out of the picture. I need to use my voice-literally. I need to see the value in me and gain confidence. 

I then started telling the spirit I really understood the first time around about their message. Hubs is half laughing at me that I got called out by a child ghost. I continue to state out loud that I understand I need to be nicer to myself and use my talents with the focus of the future in mind. I also state that my back is really starting to kill me and that i would like it to leave if it had nothing more to say. I start shuffling and what do you know... Five more cards...

11. XIIII Death (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Death is often a feared tarot card, but that’s just because its misunderstood. It’s a card of transformation and transition-beginnings and endings. Like the creaky, old gates in Halloween Town’s cemetery, the Death tarot card is a spooky symbol of change and transformation.”

“Reversed: Are you putting off a life-changing decision? Resisting change is impossible and will only cause harm in the long run. Letting go of the familiar can be tough, but trust that accepting transition will make way for positive, fresh beginnings.”

Interpretation: Clearly a change is coming. Whether it be my attitude about myself or how I manage my mental health? Only time will tell. 

12. IV of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Here, the restful energy of the IV of Needles card becomes static. Are you feeling stuck? Have you reached a plateau? It’s important to shake yourself out of your routine. When you take a different perspective, you’ll see you have all kinds of opportunities around you.”

Interpretation: I need to look outside of the box when I think about myself.

13. XIV Temperance (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Like pouring magical potions into a cauldron, Temperance represents the act of combining different elements together in perfect harmony.”

“Reversed: If life is feeling hectic, it’s time to bring things back into balance. Pay attention to areas of your life that may be a little neglected. The recipe for success requires a pinch of self-reflection and a dash of Temperance. stir thoroughly, and enjoy.”

Interpretation: I need to balance my negativity with positivity. 

14. IV of Candles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“IV of Candles represents celebration. People are recognizing your accomplishments! You’re feeling stable, secure, and comfortable. Be proud of yourself and enjoy the attention, but remember there is still work to be done when the party’s over.”

Interpretation: Although, at our current status as a family, we are successful and doing decent for ourselves but, individually, we can always work and build our characters. 

15. III of Presents (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Reversed, III of Presents represents an imbalance within a professional or financial collaboration. If you’re working with others on a project, make sure everyone’s doing their part. Disaster strikes when things become inequitable. Prioritizing teamwork will get you where you want to go.”

Interpretation: I need to be more open about my thoughts, opinions, hopes, fears, etc towards Hubs on this new adventure. 

With this I felt a lot of my back pain let up. I started to slip the cards back into the deck and shuffle them again just to give them an after reading cleanse. Hubs randomly states he was thinking about splurging on a cyber whip rave toy and then another two cards popped out. 

16. XX Judgement:

Directly from guidebook:

“We all have pivotal decisions to make in our lives. Will yours land you on the naughty list or the nice list?

Upright: Now isn’t the time to be hasty and impulsive. Consider your actions and choices carefully, and take time to think things through. Remember that all actions have reactions. Be sensible, and stay true to your conscience.”

Interpretation: The Childs leaving statement is to be mindful as well as ‘you do you’. Apparently, Party time is not on its list of things to do. I may have taken this a little condescendingly. This ghost doesn’t like to have fun. 

17. IV of Presents (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Is your relationship with money healthy? Is it getting you where you want to go? If not, it may be time to look over your budget and reevaluate your priorities. Make sure you’re not spending frivolously if your cash flow can’t support it right now.”

Interpretation: The spirit child was telling us to maybe not go out and buy a light up whip to dance with. No parties for you! Well... In our house, raves will persevere! GLOW STICKS OUT! RAVE ON! 

[mimiplaysgames]

save it for the morning after

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 7,219

Summary: Aqua learns the value of being vulnerable.

Read on AO3.

A/N: HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY!!!!! I’m so glad to celebrate the only OTP I have, so ENJOY THE SMUT. I want to thank @lyssala, not just my critique partner but also such a good friend, a wonderful cheerleader, someone who knows the right things to say in my darkest nights, and an amazing writer who has given pieces to this fandom that still inspire me. Thank you so much for your support, this piece would have died without you.

“Can I kiss you?” was his response when she finally gave in to her curiosity and outright confessed that for years, she’d been thinking differently of their friendship. She wanted to know if she was the only one to experience how her stomach lurched into her lungs whenever he gave her attention.

It took him a great amount of courage to ask, even though she was the one to take the risk and expose herself first. But growing weary of being patient sometimes reaped great rewards, and a calm, collected (flattered) Aqua, who failed to contain the smile stretching across her face, answered by leaning forward to meet her lips with his.

They were warm and intimidated. He held his breath.

Her hands stayed crossed over her lap, knees tucked under as she sat on the carpet. Terra’s knuckles whitened as he balled them into fists, one on the loveseat behind them and another on the coffee table, like he was terrified of contaminating her with his touch unless he washed them first.

The two of them kissed in her favorite spot in the multi-storied library, at a usually undisturbed nook tucked away at the edge of a maze of shelves on the second floor. The only other thing here was a fireplace – unlit, because the sun shone through the tall windows. Open books waited across the table, full of studies for their Mark of Mastery exam, which was coming up in a few short weeks. They certainly weren’t compelling enough to keep anyone’s attention, so they sat there, ignored.

Terra only allowed himself to fully breathe when they parted. He licked his lips, and swallowed. “That was interesting.”

“What?” For something that was supposed to be good, pleasant at best, ‘interesting’ wasn’t an ideal reaction.

“Uh, well…” He rubbed his fingers, ran a hand through his hair, and avoided her eyes. “You smell good.”

“Oh… so do you.”

His eyes caught hers, lips pursed exactly the way he would have them when the Master criticized his progress. “You didn’t like it.”

“No! I mean yes! I liked it,” she said, hoping the blush burning in her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “It sounded like you didn’t.”

“I did.”

They slowly melted into a nervous laughter, clearing their throats as they picked off glances from each another for any sign that they could continue.

She moved first, inching her knees closer to him and he met her halfway this time. This kiss was more relaxed, made for two friends needing the safety in exploring the unknown together. He eased into more of them when she leaned in, and found the most appropriate place he could place his hand – her elbow.

What stopped them was the sound of footsteps, hearing the Master call for their names.

The rip out of the kiss was full of wide-eyed shock, held breaths, snatched books, bent pages, and throwing themselves on opposite ends of the table like they never had the audacity to think about touching each other.

Terra signaled to her with a hum, but she couldn’t interpret his warning. He whispered with tight lips, “Your book is upside down.”

It was. She was just too mesmerized on the moment. Her heart knocked in her ears. She stared at a blur of ink, where words didn’t have letters. She wasn’t used to sneaking around.

She corrected it and pretended to read, just as the Master appeared around the corner. Terra was the only one prepared to play it smoothly – and he did it so well.

So this was how he hid his thoughts from her, well enough to keep her guessing whether he reciprocated her feelings. She let him talk as she took the seconds to calm her beating heart before joining the conversation. Something about how proud the Master was to see them working so hard, that lunch today was going to have meat.

The struggle to keep their giggles to themselves until they were sure the Master wouldn’t hear them was harder than any test they’ve taken so far, so much that her cheeks hurt from the uncontrollable grins she clenched behind her hands.

Being close to him was distracting enough that they agreed to study for the exam away from each other. They made sure their spar sessions were focused and productive – up until Terra decided they needed fun. It turned into a game of cat and mouse: he’d swoop his offenses inward, breaching the gap when she evaded his heavy swings, just so he could grab her into a hug. With a smug look on his face to top it off.

Small moments were filled with him holding her hand – once an innocent act but now it had different connotations. They talked about when they realized they held crushes for the other. Terra was the first.

When they critiqued each other’s work, it was always interrupted by smiles and lingering stares. They stole kisses when Aqua pinned him on hidden walls, so they wouldn’t be caught right away. He leaned downward enough so she didn’t have to be on her toes, and they progressed to a point where he held her close by the waist and she started to part her lips to invite his to do more.

But the day the Master noticed their technique floundering was the day they stopped, at least for now. The exam came first, and they promised each other to back off – until the moment where they would pass the test and became Masters together like they were supposed to.

In her favorite nook in the library, the light from the fireplace burns. It can only shine so far, able to stretch past the loveseat she’s sitting on, but weakens, engulfed in the darkness on every floor, taking the books with it, amplifying the shadows, if they are even there to begin with.

It is night. An army of silent snowflakes beat on the window panes. Tightly wrapped in a fleece blanket – nothing this soft existed in the Realm of Darkness - she doesn’t relax. She can’t. The cackle of the flames is predictable, but what isn’t is the pattern of creaks that moan in an old castle caught in the middle of a blizzard.

But she is confident she can handle whatever lurks among the shelves behind her. She is Aqua, Master at keeping her proverbial shield up, checking if the rooms are free of threat five times a day, and being snippy with her Keyblade.

She is only a complete dunce at sleeping.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, even though there aren’t any shadows left to speak to here. But old habits are hard to break. “Any of you.”

Silence replies too loudly.

It’s common nature that the quiet is the most powerful. Keep a person feeling like she is small, inconsequential, nothing. No greater force worthy of such a title than to break away any sense that she has a reason to exist.

The blizzard outside makes good work of suffocating the trees under a blanket of white. It’s eerie how it’s just as hushed. The snow is weightless, even in droves, and no creature outside dares to test its endurance. Even if she finds the strength to scream at the top of her lungs to make it stop, it will barely be a whisper against the tranquil onslaught that envelopes the entire castle. By morning, they’ll be buried. And she’s the only who knows.

But it’s in the way the earth drowns in snow where she finds what really bothers her: she can’t fix loneliness by herself. 

At least silence has one weakness.

“Who is there?” she asks at the footsteps approaching. They are soft against the carpet - whoever is there is barefoot.

“Me,” Terra replies, gliding across to take the seat next to her. He is dazed, like he’s experiencing something electrifying in the exclusivity of his mind, and she doesn’t have the privilege to feel the same.

“What is it this time?” She lets go of the grip on her blanket.

He smacks his lips and hisses out an esophageal breath. “Mouthwash.” He fans at himself. “It burns.”

She laughs through her nose. Terra has always been sincere, but this is entirely different, and endearing. 

Cut off from all his senses for over a decade, he now experiences the smallest things with the biggest enthusiasm. A “WOW” for the taste of marinated beef. Mouth agape in a stupor when he hears music. He cried the first night he came back to the castle, watching the stars.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says when he doesn’t stop squirming and rubbing his face.

“Easy for you to say.” He takes one hard look at her. “What are you doing here anyway?”

She should have known this is coming. “I’m fine.”

He snorts. “You’re talking to yourself.”

“I’m not…” It’s useless to lie to him.

“I’m guessing you’re talking to Heartless. Did you name any of them?” He leans his arm on the backrest of the loveseat, surveying the library.

“Sure,” she says, deadpan. “There’s Dark Darkness, Bitter Sadness, and I Don’t Recall.”

He straightens himself. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Dead.”

“Cute.”

Aqua really, really hates to be associated with anything cute, and he knows it. But she would be lying to herself to pretend like she doesn’t miss it. She shuffles out of the protection of her blanket and curls over on his lap, leaning on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“I’ll let that slide for now,” she warns.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, and she has no resistance to how it melts away years of hard conditioning. In the early years in the Realm of Darkness, she hugged herself for comfort. In the later ones, she forgot what a hug was. There is something about an embrace that nearly shoves her into tears, like it’s an apology she’s been needing to hear. 

He puts a hand on her bare knee, and she has to wonder if he remembers the kiss they shared in this very room, all those years ago.

“You’re never going to get warm if you don’t dress appropriately for the weather,” he says, talking about her shorts.

“I’m fine,” she repeats.

“You’re shivering.”

She draws a long inhale to stop herself from snarling, a crooked smile wrestling on her face. “What do you want, Terra?”

“Are you going to stay here?”

Years of being possessed and he comes back with this maddening need to know where she is at all times of the day and night. He doesn’t spare Ventus, either.

“Would you feel better if I was safe in my room?” Safe being the wildcard of a word. Being in one place for too long always makes her expect that the floor is going to suddenly collapse.

“I’ll carry you.”

It’s not a bad offer. “Fine. Piggy-back style.”

He grins, no doubt proud he has succeeded in convincing her when she’s really just doing him a favor. Or maybe he really has. It doesn’t matter when he has his hands under her thighs.

So this is what it’s like to be as tall as he is. It’s cozy to nestle her face into his hair, breathing in a faint trace of sandalwood and his natural scent, something along the lines of earthy dough.

The residence wing is dark because it rests in the comfort of the storm, one lit lamp to be the only guide in the hallway. But everything is the same, and neither of them need to reacquaint themselves to it. The castle truly never gave a damn about the test of time, and time never spared a care for it either.

It’s too quiet, and she feels the anticipation in Terra’s shoulders as he creeps up to Ven’s door. The lights are off.

Their boy is locked in a dream, with Chirithy curled into a ball at his feet, like it’s attempting to be a proper cat. What they see is a marvel: Ven is finally sleeping.

They don’t dare say anything to each other, keeping the scene undisturbed. Aqua fights back tears as she digs her face into his neck. It’s been a long time since any of them have seen any real improvement. 

Terra meticulously shuts the door, drawing the longest seconds to twist the knob.

He carries her to her room, letting her go in front of the bedside table. The lamp that sits there casts off such a dim golden glow it leaves the rest fighting for the right to stay in the light.  She should really replace that lightbulb soon.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“He cheated,” she says, her voice hushed and dark.

“Who did?”

“Xehanort.” In an attempt to keep her voice low so there isn’t a probability that Ven will wake up, she hisses. “He cheated everything. Death. Time. And in the end, he gets away with it like nothing ever happened.”

In these situations, Terra usually takes the path of least resistance. Not a day has gone by that he has spoken about what he’s been through, and the mention of Xehanort leaves a mark in the glint of his eye before he works to erase it.

And she can’t demand him to speak when she refuses to talk about a lot of things, too.

“He gets to rest in peace when we’re the ones who still deal with the fallout,” she continues, keeping her whisper sharp and she flails her arm around to prove a point and lets it slap back to her side. “When is time going to work for us? When will it let us sleep?”

“We’re going to be okay, Aqua.” It’s his go-to.

She doesn’t know how he does it, how he got so much stronger than she hopes to be. His eyes are still soft like she has always known them, but he has grown to wear the face of a man who was forced to let go of everything. No Mark of Mastery hovering over his head, no faraway glances at worlds unknown that he’s desperate to explore. Terra is now and will be present with his family first before anything else.

Aqua inches closer to him, needing a hug to save her from sobbing. But she doesn’t ask for it. She has survived isolation for so long, she can certainly survive the night once he goes to bed.

“How are you not angry?” she asks softly.

His jaw drops. It’s too personal a question.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She rubs her face, backing away.

“No.” He holds her arms to keep her near, a smile on his face. The Terra-smile: gentle, steadfast, faithful. “It’s about time we talk about these things, anyway.”

She doesn’t want to talk about it.

So he volunteers, avoiding her gaze. “If I really make myself think about it, of course I get mad.” His eyes scatter around her room, though there isn’t much to gawk at. She’s very tidy. He clenches his jaw for a moment, and wills himself to let go like he’s done with everything else. “But how can any of that be important when I can see again?”

It’s hard for her to know right away if she finds that justified, when she still wants some sort of retribution for what she’s been through.

“What about peace of mind?”

Terra chuckles half-heartedly and inward, the sort of thing he’d only do when he’s shy. He takes her hand. “You’re here. You’re real. I don’t need anything else.”

What she finds in the touch is irony. Love is too strong a word to give him when they’ve been separated for this long, even though her feelings have remained unchanged all these years, in spite of everything.

“Can I kiss you?” is her response.

He doesn’t give her enough time to interpret what it means when he stares hard at her, speechless. Instead, she is pulled toward him, and he comes at her with such a fever that he stops himself before he finds her lips, letting himself finish with a slow, nonthreatening advance.

The kiss is tender and long, mending together their shattered pieces with the care not to break them any further. The moment he pulls away is the opportunity she takes to close the gap, in case he disappears into thin air. She rests her hands on his chest, encouraging him to stay, gasping in shock over the smell of mint in his breath.

And stay he does, caressing her as he feels the sway of her back, the curves of her waist, the softness of her arms. She nearly collapses when he brings his hands to cup her jaw – it isn’t too far away a time when she believed she’d never feel his desire for her again. She parts her lips, and he responds in kind, holding her tighter as he runs his hands over the same areas again and again, like he keeps forgetting what she feels like.

Their first accident happens when she throws her arms around him and they bump into her bedside table. The lamp rattles like a screaming echo, and he rips from her embrace to catch it. 

They flinch when they hear the soft thump of it landing it on her nightstand. They stare at her open doorway, waiting to hear if Ven will start rustling, desperate for their attention. Please, let the poor boy sleep in peace.

Nothing stirs save for their panting.

Terra takes the initiative to shut her bedroom door. Wrapping herself in her arms doesn’t have the same effect. They aren’t as tender as his.

It’s when the door is coaxed back into its frame that they strain near-giggles, breathy and careful. He pats her doorknob, like he’s unsure if he’s invited.

“I don’t want to stop, Terra.”

A second or two pass by before he rushes back to her. It doesn’t matter who hugs who first, tasting themselves with their tongues, someone’s hands in someone’s hair, bodies pressed together, and heavy breathing.

They shuffle over to her bed, and it’s an awkward dance where they take turns stepping onto each other’s feet, and they’re too busy with their hands to make commentary or laugh about it.

Sitting down forces more distance in between. She spent enough years in isolation - this needs to be fixed. She climbs him, straddling his lap. It happens so quickly and so naturally that it’s nearly innocent when it truly never is. The buck of his pelvis, the growing erection underneath his soft pajamas which she feels through her thin shorts, and the groan exchanged from his lips into hers confirm it’s a good decision.

He rubs a hand on her thigh, focusing his mouth on her face, her jaw, down to her neck.

Her neck, the stars don’t know how much she has daydreamed of this. And they can’t witness it, not with the storm clouds keeping the castle discreet.

Her body doesn’t respond like she expects it to. Fighting Heartless, fighting Terra in a duel is a reflex of intuition. That is reactive, primal, intelligent, where she understands her body well enough to know the limits of how far she can jump, how hard she can take a hit and still stand.

Kisses on her neck, though, appear in how she squeezes his hips in her thighs, how she leans her head back to give him more room, and how she realizes too late that she’s gripping his shirt into knots.

Terra responds to her movement with deep guzzles in her skin, pushing on her tailbone to rub against his groin. She gasps.

He stops immediately in between a smack of his lips to her skin, reeling back. “Was that-”

She murmurs disapprovingly – at him putting a stop to his actions and at the hint of apology in his voice. “I liked it.”

To prove it, she grinds against him, closing her eyes as she feels the warmth of her insides as he throbs underneath her. This fabric needs to go. She nearly asks him to strip them, but he’s so busy with her mouth that she doesn’t dare interrupt.

He squeezes her thigh, pulling it toward him though there is nowhere else for it go, and meets her movements, creating a rhythm with her that at first is messy and unsynchronized, until they find a proper momentum.

His breathing gets more coarse as time goes on.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I-It’s hot,” he sighs, squirming like the acknowledgment has made the room’s temperature unbearable.

Aqua teases his shirt, and he desperately does the rest, throwing it over his shoulders and tossing it to wherever it lands.

His body is a craft, years of dedicated labor shown through the dips of his pecs. Her hands are too small to wrap around his biceps, and his abdomen is firm. Then there are the irregularities, the tears of skin that have braided over each other, a huge fossilized gash across the left side of his chest, where his heart beats behind it.

The last thing she saw before she plunged into darkness after him. Magic will probably never erase it.

He splays a hand over her fingers against the scar. “It’s okay,” he says.

“What is?”

“Everything,” he breathes. “Whatever you’re feeling, if you’re never ready to talk about it, it’s okay.”

She has to wonder if he tells himself the same thing to make peace with all the debris left behind for them to pick up. Does he also consider words dead after all that’s happened?

She has to stop wondering or else she will cry.

It’s okay.

It’s okay if she releases anger with her nibbles against his neck, in a spot where she quickly learns he likes most. It’s okay to try her hand at forgiving darkness when she steadies his face to explore his jawline. If she can’t find it in her heart to forgive now, she’ll try later. If she kisses his scar with a spell and it still doesn’t disappear, maybe there will be a day when she will be proud of him for wearing it. If they skip a beat in the rhythm of their grinding, if they choose to forget that anything bad has happened to them so they can enjoy the moment, now, in between the interlacing of their fingers, they’ll be fine.

Terra’s fingers trace and take steps up against the sides of her waist, lifting her shirt up along with them, until they find a space to linger right on her rib cage.

“Aqua?”

“Yes,” is her affirmative answer.

Too needy to let her do it on her own, he lifts it over. She doesn’t let him see when she presses onto him, skin to skin on areas she used to think were forsaken, now exposed. This is the closest they have ever been. His hands are calloused, finding new areas on her soft shoulders that leave a friction. It electrifies her and she’s about to beg him to finish her off.

A warm thumb finds itself testing the side of her breast, waiting for her reactions before treading further. Until a hand plays with massaging it, the callousness of his palm making her breath hitch in his lips.

It’s a good a time as any to pull away, and he observes her with the expression of someone forced to relive regrets as he slowly conducts his fingers to make the softest skin on her body move.

“I never told you,” he says solemnly and moves to the other breast before lifting his eyes to look right into hers. “You’re beautiful.”

Aqua catches a scoff before it fully exhales, releasing it as a chuckle instead. She is probably never going to get used to that. “Terra, speak for yourself.”

She knows him enough to notice when he catches sight of an opportunity to tease about her shyness, and she promises herself that she will pay him back twofold if he takes it.

But instead, he finds the inspiration to flick a thumb at her nipple. To make his finger do the same, to hold it in between. She shivers and a whimper escapes. It is not a breakdown of her defenses but a dissolution, and she loses strength in her knees.

“Shit,” she sighs, unable to find control over her sensations, relaxing into his embrace.

“You alright?”

“More than.”

He lays down her body, making sure her head lands on a pillow, and she lays down her arms when he hovers over her, following a brilliant idea to trace kisses on her collarbone, her pectorals, down her breastbone, before coming back up to take one of her nipples.

His tongue tickles. Her lower body clenches.

There is something velvety about his abdomen when she rubs her palms against them, or her hands suddenly got clammy. Traveling downward, she teases the hem of his pajamas, wondering if she can level the playing field.

“Can I?”

He smiles into her softness. “Please.”

His pelvis lurches forward when she continues to travel, finding a sweet spot tucked between his inner leg and the rest. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, and the impeccable wall he’s been doing a good job of keeping up this entire time disappears.

Terra stifles a moan, letting it out in grunts and muffling it against her shoulder so he doesn’t risk making too much noise. He slips a hand in his pants to wrap around hers, tightening her grip, coaxing her to move it the way he likes it. Weakness takes him over, too, and he settles by her side as she continues.

There have been times when she’s knocked him down in duels, times where she’s accidentally hit him in sensitive areas that had him reeling, but nothing is like this. It’s like watching him dissolving, head buried in the pillow, eyelashes fluttering, face speaking a language of its own as he enjoys it, chin stretched so much that the veins of his neck start to protrude. A pulse beats in her hand, and he’s completely submissive.

But soon he gains his will back to look at her with half-lidded eyes, and takes a finger to her shorts, drawing circles on the top of her pelvic bone, and her heart beats harder. It’s easy to let her nerves take over, but she decides to be brave when she does not resist, rolling on her back, inviting him.

He slips his fingers into her shorts, running them over her panties first, and the chill climbing her spine is already enough to send her over. Her wetness is cold in comparison to him, and when he’s done, he spares her the agony by slipping under the last piece of fabric sheathing her from his touch.

It isn’t just courage when she gives him the most vulnerable spot on her body. He takes it slow when he massages her slit. Her hips perk, on the edge of throttling but she holds on to the last bit of her control. There is truth there as well, to offer the areas they protect the most to the other. Maybe it will help them rebuild the strength they’ll need to endure the insane amount of years necessary to let them move on. Together.

Her relaxation teeters on a spike, very easily thrown off, as she closes her eyes and lets herself feel. She gasps. Sharply. He found her clitoris.

“There,” she moans.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake Ven.” She feels his voice on her temple, followed by a peck. He chuckles into her hair. “I don’t think you want him to find us like this.”

She nearly smacks him for putting an image like that in her mind at a time like this. But she must have been scowling hard when she hears him laugh gently.

He is watching her as he works her, tracing circles around such a sensitive collection of nerves, lying on his side and resting his head on the other hand. Studying her face.

“Your reactions are very interesting,” he says.

The more he does his job, the more it becomes unbearable to contain herself. She covers her face in both of her hands, rubbing her eyes hard enough to stop them from letting her tears run. It’s been a long, long time since she has remembered that she deserves good things.

“Terra, I’m ready.”

“For what?”

“You.” It takes a moment, watching his face blank in confusion, before she continues, “I want you.” She needs him.

It’s a struggle between knowing she should relax and enjoy the ride, and the desperation to have everything at once and learn what he’ll feel like inside. But it’s fine, she can take all the time to explore everything else once she’s had what she’s most curious about.

He sits up, his mind wandering, apprehension sitting at the tip of his tongue. “Isn’t it going to hurt you?”

“Maybe,” she says, recalling three books she has read on the subject, which have mentioned it might. Three vague books in a library of hundreds, with a Master never inviting such a discussion. She makes a mental note that she’ll have to buy better ones.

It’s in the nature of their work to brace for pain. Swinging Keyblades, for real or for practice, is an art of building resilience, respecting the bruises and scrapes for what they are until soreness is no longer an issue. They have grown up under this discipline – Terra and Aqua are partners in improving their technique but also in standing together. Accidents will and have always happened, and they have to listen when it hits too hard.

The strictest rule they have abided by is not to strike the other’s head.

She smirks. “Just don’t hit my head.”

It makes him smile, and he nods. Standing off the bed, he bundles her shorts and panties and pulls them off, his fingers trailing the sides of her hips, down her legs. Then he takes his pants down, and it’s when she sees his naked body that it truly hits her like a ton of bricks that she is actually doing this with her best friend.

“What?” he asks nervously.

She doesn’t know what her expression looks like and there aren’t any good words she can use to compliment the tone of his thighs, how the dim light in this room casts shadows around the folds flexed by muscle, his length which is aroused and ready, his height, anything else.

What she knows is that she is blushing, there’s a smile she can’t remove, and she is hiding it behind her hand.

“You look good,” is the best thing she can come up with.

“Really?” he replies like he knows it. “Speak for yourself.”

He’s back on the bed now, on his knees, taking hers and spreading her open. Rubbing her inner thighs like he’s warming her up, taking his time to look at her.

“It looks like a rose,” is what he has to say, wrapping a hand around her hip to give one of her buttocks a firm squeeze. He wears a coy smile, like’s he’s planning something devious. “You’re beautiful.”

He laughs when she scoffs at the compliment, and she’s probably going to have to deal with it for as long as they’re together. He plants a kiss on the inner side of her knee, and can’t help himself to but to give more to her thigh.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… Tell me when to stop and I will.”

Slipping himself into her doesn’t come as easy as it should. The mind can be a horrible friend.

Horrible enough to stop her attempts to relax. He meets resistance as he sinks deeper into her. It’s impressive how strong her muscles are to put up such a fight, and she doesn’t know how to calm them down.

So she tells herself that it will go away when she notices that Terra is really taking his time, carefully monitoring her responses. He stops to give her time to adjust, and each new sharp wave evaporates as pleasure comes to the rescue and takes its place. There is what feels like a hard push deep within that gets her to clench her eyes tight enough to see red.

“I’m sorry,” she hears him say.

“Don’t,” she snips. It’s something she hears too often. He apologizes for what he’s done, for what he didn’t do and for things that she still doesn’t blame him for. Maybe she’s a hypocrite, asking him to live without crying over the same things she cries over when she’s alone.

She’s tired of being reminded of things they can’t go back to fix, of having to tell herself that she isn’t fucking crazy. There’s no place for that here, right now. After all, if there is any person out there that she could possibly choose to trust this with, it’s him.

She softens her voice, assured that’s he’s just as nervous as she is. “It’s okay.”

Aqua lifts her head to invite a kiss and he answers. This gets him in deeper and he moans into her mouth, and she learns that he particularly likes her bottom lip. He lets himself relax on top of her while he waits for her to give him the okay to move again.

A short moment to acknowledge the fullness is all she needs, wrapping her legs around his, sending him into a rocking motion.

This is how it works, him rolling his hips forward for her to take him in and she gives back with a sway of her own. He pins her against the bed, interlacing all of his fingers into hers, timing his thrusts with his deep kisses. They steal her breath, but they give her life.

Aqua remembers too well what it’s like to never let go. Letting go used to mean to get eaten alive, to fall to darkness, to be taken advantage of. Anxiety was a friend she relied on, using its warnings to keep her prepared for what is coming next. Most of the time, it worked, but there have been times where it completely sabotaged her.

She relishes the strength of his thrusts and the friction he massages her insides with when she lets anxiety go in sweet surrender. The weight of his body on hers is like having a guardian there to keep her safe, where it’s easy and she doesn’t have to think or analyze anymore.

Inspiration strikes, and she lifts her legs higher to squeeze his hips, eliciting a moan from him. It sounds intoxicating. His thrusts become faster and harder as he grunts into her shoulder, his hot breath coming at her ear at the same speed. His kisses just can’t keep pace, and the room fills with the scent of what they’re doing.

He gets on his elbows, and his heavy eyes perk open when he looks at her. His own darken, their bold color desaturated in such delicate artificial light, but if they aren’t under the scrutiny of something bright and natural, then they are safe to be themselves here. He is lost somewhere in her, speechless in the feeling, and it feels good to have him do this, her hands on his back feeling them work.

The way he looks at her like this makes her realize that he really, truly means it when he tells her she is beautiful, and she wants him to know, wants him to always remember, that she is the one to love him first.

She immediately sits up, because words won’t come and they don’t need to. She hopes the kiss can translate what she’s really thinking. It stops his focus and forces him back to his knees, holding her to receive what she’s giving. But nothing she does seems to be enough to send the exact message she wants to tell, and she finds herself turning the tables, straddling on top of him as he lays out on his back.

This movement is easier, riding herself up and down on his length, and she thinks he finally knows. He changes from throwing his chin up high as he pushes himself into the pillow to letting it hang, from chewing his lip to hot sighs. She is doing this to him, letting him savor her like this. He grips her hips, kneading her ass as he pushes her harder on him, the pressure captivating her up the spine. She forces herself to not let it out too loudly, moaning through pursed lips. She changes the angle and it’s even better, hitting her in sensitive areas she’s never realized she has.

He grips her harder, enough to snap her out of her meditation. Terra clenches his teeth, his face contorting in pain. “I can’t,” he says.

“Terra?” She stops.

At the sound of his name, his eyes blink. He scrambles, throwing his arms around her tightly, and he buries himself in her shoulder to muffle the sound of his crying. Tears fall down her chest, first warm and then chilling, and he fights for breath, shivering because this, like many other experiences for him these days, is overwhelming and powerful.

This finally undoes her. She cries hard enough to clog her nose, her tears covering his face when she holds him firmly. She’s exhausted.

“Hey,” she coos, rubbing his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a slow moment to breathe her in deeply. “I ruined the moment.”

She sighs. “I thought I hurt you.”

He rubs the sway of her back, but he’s really trying to comfort himself. “No… not at all. This is the best thing I’ve ever done with you.”

There isn’t a truer statement, these two finally taking a moment to sew themselves a new life.

“It’s okay. You’ll get used to it,” she says softly into his hair.

Terra exhales slowly, and she feels the muscles of his arms give way to weariness. She gives him gentle kisses on his cheeks, and he tenses just enough to pick her up like she weighs nothing and lay her beside him. Her bed is smaller. It brings them closer.

He trembles from the adrenaline, his gaze darting all over the ceiling. They never finished, but it’s probably something that would happen when he’s constantly re-discovering what it’s like to feel.

“Are you sore?” he asks, taking his turn to wipe undried tears from her face.

“A little.” She returns the favor, finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder.

There is a shot of guilt on his face and there is really nothing she can do to convince him otherwise. That there is such a thing as a good bruise. It will take time.

“Do you need anything? Water?” he asks.

If he slips away, even for her sake, he takes home away with him. “Stay with me,” she says, holding his waist tighter.

The nod he gives shudders too fast, like a schoolboy unsure how to talk to a special girl. “Did I…” He clears his throat, and he doesn’t stop shaking. Still.

It’s cute.

“Did you…?”

He’s afraid of what she will say, so he answers it for himself. “I could have done better, I think.”

She giggles into his shoulder, and he groans, mumbling about how embarrassed he feels.

“No one expected you to be a sword master when you first tried,” she says. “We’ll both improve.”

He nods softly, the look on his face telling her he’s still kicking himself for not doing his best job, like he has forgotten that good technique takes practice.

Terra rolls onto his back, his hand stuttering at her touch on his forehead. Everything they’ve done is leaving a mark on him, like his entire body doesn’t know what to do with all that stimulation.

He eyes her window. The blizzard has softened, but it leaves them a tall pile of snow packed on her windowsill, nearly reaching half as tall.

He sits up, leaving her embrace, and he has only half a sane mind when he fiddles with the latch. It is difficult for him to undo because he is shaking so much.

“Terra, what are you doing?” She covers herself immediately.

“It’s really hot in here,” he says, leaving a space in between his words like they’re too difficult to utter.

The window opens outward, toppling mounds of snow over and he sighs loudly onto the marble. Then he jumps back, shuddering from the ice.

She laughs when the wind hits her across the face, bundling herself up in a roll.

“Shhhh.” He has a finger to his lips. Snow starts to dance its way inside.

A hand to her mouth too late. “Oh no, what will Ven think if he wakes up?”

Terra picks her up to sit her on his lap, taking her comforter to wrap the both of them tightly in a knot together, like a cocoon. “He’s old enough to know what this looks like.”

He finally breathes something that sounds like he can rest, letting snowflakes hit his skin like the cold doesn’t bother him - rather it calms him, his shudders tensing up at the first touch and then slowing. He has her covered so that she’s protected, supported in his embrace where it’s difficult to wrestle out of. Not that she’d want to. Being this close is a privilege she will remember never to take for granted again.

A star-shaped snowflake, broken only on one side, falls on his neck. She takes it in with her lips, suckling on it.

The ice is a painful sting on her tongue, like a needle that shoots down her throat. But it is welcoming, reminding her she’s alive Nature doing its best job uncorrupted.

At least now, she has him to share the view with tonight.

They have warmth wrapped under that blanket, kept just for them and saved for a rainy day. Or a snowy one.

[auctes]

as someone who believes toko best trigger happy havoc character, i HATE IT when people say "syo has no depth!!!" and "toko's an annoying joke!!! wowzurs!!!", AS AN AMAZING FUKAWA/SYO FAN, CAN YOU HELP ME CONSTRUCT COMPELLING ARGUMENTS ON THE COMPLEXITY OF BOTH?

hi ,   anon  !

it  can  be  frustrating  when  people  reduce  our  faves ,   but  the  first  thing  i’d  like  to  say  is  :   they’re  kind  of  right  about  touko  being  a  joke .   touko’s  fragile  mental  health  is  usually  played  for  laughs ,   and  reduced  to  a  punchline .   the  localization  calls  her  a   “  schizo ,  ”   and  her  maladaptive  daydreams  are  framed  as  something  psychotic  rather  than  for  what  they  are  :  a  coping  mechanism  that  her  brain  has  developed  to  help  her  endure  a  high - stress  situation .

i  love  when  people  ask  these  things ,   because  the  more  we  talk  about  that ,   the  more  we  can  start  to  break  down  touko’s  character .

i  would  also  like  to  state  that  this  is  a  dissociative  identity  disorder   [ DID ]   conversation .   i  do  not  have  DID ,   and  i  am  not  a  psychologist .   i  will  answer  this  to  the  best  of  my  ability  based  on  personal  research  and  an ardent  love  for  the  character ,    but  welcome  corrections  if  necessary .

let’s  talk  about  syo .

syo  has  depth .   she  is  an  extension  of  touko ,   who  is ,   herself ,   a  deeply  introspective  person .   while  syo  is  played  for  comic  relief ,   it’s  important  to  understand  where  she  comes  from  :   trauma .   childhood  trauma  that  touko ,   as  a  very  small  child ,   could  not  cope  with .   due  to  the  intense  physical ,   emotional ,    and  psychological  abuse  to  which  she  was  subject ,   touko’s  mind  created  syo ,   who  fronts  during  times  of  duress  and  guards  those  memories  that  touko  cannot  endure ,   as  a  means  of  ensuring  touko’s  survival  and  base  function .   syo  and  touko  do  identify  as  separate  entities ,   with  a  few  key  points  to  consider  :

1 .   DID  alters  can  be  ...   anyone .   anything .   have  their  own  ages ,   genders ,   sexual  identities ,   ethnicity ,   personal  histories ,   and  memories .   syo  identifies  as  the  name  the  media  give  her ,   but  identifies  with  touko’s  body ,   and  accepts  this  as  her  appearance .   a  lot  of  alters  look  physically  different  to  how  the  body  of  the  core  personality  looks .   that’s  always  been  very  interesting  to  me .

2 .   touko  acknowledges  syo  as  part  of  herself .   both  touko  and  syo  bounce  back  and  forth  when  referring  to  themselves  :  between  singular   (  i  )   and  collective   (  we  ) .   syo ,   to  herself ,   looks  like  touko .   she  looks  in  the  mirror  and  goes ,   “ i  look  like  this . ”   touko ,   especially  in  her  later  appearances  throughout  the  series ,   feels  a  sense  of  belonging  to  syo ,   and  acknowledges  that  she  is  a  part  of  touko .  

3 .   they  “  share  emotions , ”   meaning  that  there  is  some  sort  of  co - conscious  link  between  them  that  doesn’t  go  away  completely  during  a  switch .   when  touko  hurts ,   syo  hurts.   when  touko  is  in  love ,   so  is  syo .   while  syo  may  not  be  able  to understand  and  interpret  complex  emotions  to  the  capacity  at  which  touko  does ,   she  absolutely  still  feels  them .   this  is  what  enables  syo  to  act  upon  them  :   as  a  persecution  alter ,   and  later  a  protector  alter ,   syo  knows  when  she  is  fronting  that  touko  is  scared ,   or  stressed ,   or  in  danger .   these  are  the  cues  upon  which  she  justifies  her  murders ,   but  also  those  upon  which  she  is  able  to  fall  in  love  and  build  friendships .

which  leads  me  into  my  next  point  on  syo  :   everything  shed  does  is  with  the  health  and  prosperity  of  touko  in  mind .   DID ,   as  a  trauma - based  disorder ,   is  a  neurological  mechanism  in  place  to  protect  the  integrity  of  the  individual .   alters  fulfill  a  purpose  :   they  perform  roles  that  the  core  personality  physically  cannot .   syo  is  absolutely  no  different .

when  touko  decides  to  actively  end  syo’s  murderous  tendencies ,   syo  complies .   she  knows  that  touko  is  suffering  maltreatment  at  future  foundation  on  the  basis  of  her  being  labeled   “  unstable  and  dangerous ,  ”   and  so ,   syo  abstains  from  killing  so  as  not  to  jeopardize  touko’s  wish  to  eventually  join  the  foundation .   while  she  still  responds  aggressively  to  threats ,   the  only  time  she  seriously  contemplates  killing  is  during  another  episode .

you  can  watch  it  here .

this  scene  is  so  loaded  with  depth .   firstly ,   we  see  a  clear  co - conscious  link  between  syo  and  touko .   syo  volunteers  control  of  the  body  back  to  touko  when  touko  is  ready  :   even  then ,   touko  is  able  to  recall  the  moments  immediately  before  the  switch ,   when  komaru  makes  an  emotional  appeal  to  syo .

here ,   we  also  see  a  reflective ,   emotive  side  of  her .   we  see  her  pause ,   despite  whole - heartedly  believing  that  she  is  going  to  kill  komaeda .   it  is  apparent  to  syo  what  is  important  to  her  :   byakuya ,   and  komaru .   these  things  are  important  to  touko ,   and  therefore ,   important  to  syo .   she  has  never  been  treated  as  normal  :   she  has  never  really  been  considered  by  anyone  to  be  a  part  of  the  system ,   as  opposed  to  a   “  deviant  who  kills  for  pleasure .  ”   and  she  thanks  komaru  for  talking  her  down .   in  saying ,    “ i  betrayed  you ,  ”   syo  is  feeling  remorse .   it’s  touko’s  remorse ,   because  it  was  touko  who  made  the  deal  with  komaeda  to  exchange  komaru  for  byakuya .

but ,   in  the  end ,   it  was  syo  who  threw  the  fight  in  order  to  spare  komaru’s  life ,   because  she  cannot  bring  herself  to  hurt  a  person  for  whom  she  and  touko  feel  so  warmly .

i’d  also  like  to  turn  your  attention  to  danganronpa  3  :   future  arc  episode  six ,   in  which  we  can  further  witness  syo  and  touko’s  co - consciousness ,   and  syo  ultimately  choosing  to  pursue  what  feels  safe  and  warm  and  inviting  rather  than  exacting  vengeance .   komaru  talks  her  out  of  killing  monaka  :   out  of  quite  probably  letting  herself  die  in  the  process .   komaru  knows  instinctively  that  syo  has  emotions  :   love .   protectiveness .   bravery .   syo  loves  byakuya  and  komaru  more ,   and  feels  a  desire  to  protect  them ,   more  than  everyone  assumes  her  to  simply  love  violence  for  violence’s  sake .   if  something  won’t  serve  the  purpose  of  protecting  touko  and  what  is  important  to  her ,   she  isn’t  going  to  do  it .

now ,   let’s  think  about  touko .

my  blog  is  full  of  essays  upon  essays  regarding  touko ,   but  i  believe  she  can  be  best  summarized  by  the  phrase ,   the  heart  wants  what  it  wants .   a  truly  emotional ,   giving ,   and  romantic  woman ,   she  actively  hides  herself  underneath  a  repelling  armor  of  grossly  exacerbated  flaws  in  order  to  protect  her  heart  from  being  harmed .

touko  has  suffered  in  the  past  from  consistent  dehumanization ,   belittlement ,   and  abuse .   her  parents  expressed  that  they  would  have  preferred  her  dead ,   and  so  they  abused  her  at  home .   her  classmates  thought  she  was  weird ,   and  so  they  bullied  her  exorbitantly .   whenever  touko  would  actively  reach  out  to  others  to  pursue  friendships  or  romantic  relationships ,   she  would  be  betrayed  by  others ,   and  made  to  suffer  for  it .

to  help  you  understand  the  breadth  of  the  psychological  impact  that  nearly  two  decades  of  being  treated  as  less  than  human  has  had  on  touko ,   here  is  a  link  to  a  short  thing  i  wrote  on  her  ablutophobia ,   or  fear  of  bathing .   it’s  a  very  quick  overview  of  her  self  image  issues ,   and  self  preservation  tendencies .

next ,   why  don’t  we  consider  how  fully  and  completely  touko  fukawa  loves  ?   as  a  romance  novelist ,   we  expect  her  to  harbor  a  highly  idealized ,   grossly  saturated  perception  of  romantic  love .   instead ,   we  get  a  woman  who  writes  romance  purely  because  she  believes  in  channeling  the ugly  tragedies  of  her  situation  into  something  of  beauty .   here  are  my  style  notes  of  touko  fukawa’s  literary  works ,   but  we  learn  from  her  that  she  :

1 .   prefers  to  write  stories  that  are  grounded  in  reality .

2 .   enjoys  magic  realism ,   aggrandized  settings ,   but  innately  human  characters .

3 .   prefers  romantic  tragedies  to  happy  endings .    (  komaru  remarks  upon  how  sad  so  lingers  was .  )

furthermore ,   touko  states  that  while  the  power  of  delusion  and  its  subsequent  escapism  is  a  powerful  coping  tool ,   she  understands  the  harsh  line  between  fiction  and  reality .   she  understands  that  no  love  story  on  the  page  can  resemble  how  true  love  feels ,   but  her  work  is  so  intricately  entwined  with  emotion  that  she  scaffolds  her  novels  with  universal  emotional  appeal .   fictional  romance ,   then ,   does  not  satisfy  the  resilience  of  her  own  heart .   she  is  as  cynical  as  she  is  whimsical  :   a  true  hopeless  romantic  who  believes  herself  undeserving  of  loving ,   and  being  loved .   she  pours  her  heart  and  soul  onto  a  page ,   so  that  others  may  feel  to  even  a  small  margin  of  the  scope  of  her  feelings .

touko  has  a  very  resilient  heart .   despite  the  horrible  things  that  togami  did  to  her ,   and  the  abysmal  way  that  future  foundation  treated  her ,   touko  is  able  to  protect  the  last  shred  of  love  within  her  being  and  use  it  as  fuel  to  improve  herself  as  a  person .   please  remember  that  all  personal  tragedies  are  learning  experiences  of  touko  :   the  pain  she  felt  as  a  child  became  a  rich  and  lucrative  imagination .   the  trauma  she  undergoes  as  an  adult  is  the  catalyst  to  her  finally  turning  against  her  self  loathing ,   and  building  herself  from  the  ground  up .

what  do  i  mean  by  that  ?   well  ...   touko  fukawa  is  a  badass .   komaru  naegi  remarks  constantly  upon  fukawa’s  strength  ;   that  she  can’t  imagine  a   “  weak  touko .  ”   touko  loathes  herself  ;   her  fears ,   her  weakness .   loathes  that  she  can’t  function  as  a  normal  human  being  who  holds  meaningful  friendships  without  being  suspicious  of  them  ;   loathes  that  she  can’t  look  after  herself ,   exact  self  care ,   without  knocking  back  a  cocktail  of  conglomerate  anxiety .   loathes  that  she  was  weak ,   and  cowardly ,   and  it  almost  got  her  killed  when  she  has  learned  the  value  of  being  alive .

touko  vocally  objects  to  people  walking  all  over  her .   she  wants  to  be  vilified  ;  she  wants  to  be  autonomous ,   and  respected  as  a  woman ,   an  artist ,   and  a  person  within  her  own  right .   touko  exits  her  killing  game ,   and  the  next  time  we  see  her  in  ultra  despair  girls ,   she  is  the  furthest  cry  from  the  woman  we  previously  knew .   why  ?   because  touko  put  her  foot  down ,   and  went ,    “  i  need  to  change .  ”    touko  decides  to  do  away  with  her  cowardice ,   to  fight  for  acknowledgement ,   and  to  reclaim  her  own  life  when  she  has  been  so  deprived  for  so  long  of  basic  human  kindness .

touko  systematically  exposes  herself  to  blood  to  combat  her  hemophobia .   touko  credits  other  people  for  their  strength  and  uses  it  as  inspiration  to  keep  going .   touko  puts  a  stun  gun  to  her  head  and  endures  fucking  electrocution  so  that  she  can  control  her  switches  and  bequeath  her  body  to  syo  when  she  needs  to  physically  protect  other  people .   touko  mother  fucking  fukawa  admits  that  she  is  scared ,   but  picks  her  broken  body  up  of  the  ground  and  stays  standing  so  that  she  can  do  what  is  right .

touko  has  an  incredibly  strong  sense  of  right  and  wrong  that  was  cauterised  by  her  participation  in  the  killing .   in  this  scene ,   we  see  touko  voluntarily  get  the  shit  kicked  out  of  her  so  that  she  may  save  thousands  of  innocent  lives .   she  calls  haiji  towa  a  coward  for  hiding  underground  and  not  fighting  back  against  the  warriors  of  hope  as  they  terrorize  towa  city .   she  does  these  things  simply  because  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do  :   because  if  no  one  is  going  to  stand  up  and  fight  for  the  people  who  cannot  fight  for  themselves ,   then  by  god ,   touko  is  going  to  do  it .

and ,   finally   ...   the  heart  wants  what  it  wants ,   and  touko  wants  to  offer  her  heart  to  others .    “  i’ll  definitely  protect  both   ...   even  if  it  costs  me  my  life  .  ”    actual  quote  out  of  the  mouth  of  touko  fukawa .   touko  loves .   touko’s  heart  leads  her  into  danger  with  the  full  conscience  of  her  inevitable  death ,   but  she  follows  it  to  protect  the  lives  of  those  closest  to  her .   we  see  her ,   over  the  course  of  ultra  despair  girls ,   as  she  gradually  opens  up  to  the  first  person  who  has  ever  called  touko  a  friend  :   to  have  treated  touko  with  an  ounce  of  humanity  and  kindness ,   and  to  have  assured  her  unconditionally  that  touko  was  not  alone .

pain ,   to  touko ,   is  transient .   physical  pain ,   that  is .   she’d  allow  a  person  to  beat  her  to  a  pulp ,   even  kill  her ,   if  it  meant  she  would  saves  the  lives  of  those  who  matter  to  her .   byakuya  and  komaru  make  her  a  stronger  person  :   love  makes  touko  fukawa  strong .   love  makes  her  stand  against  impossible  odds ,   and  tell  those  odds  to  go  fuck  themselves .   touko  listens  to  her  heart  :   to  what  her  emotions  are  telling  her ,   and  for  that ,   her  loyalty  is  stalwart .

i  hope  this  helped  you .   i  hope  you  have  enough  in  your  arsenal  to  speak  up  for  our  girl ,   and  to  remind  everyone  of  the  strong - ass  motherfucking  hero  she  is .   if  you  have  any  further  questions ,   i  am  always  up  for  talking  about  my  daughter ,   and  how  phenomenally  important  she  is  to  me .   i  don’t  think  this  post  really  scratches  the  surface .

in  conclusion ,

[lexinthelibraryofdreams]

Still here

Imagine: Part two of “Imagine Matt holding you close after you are badly injured”

Words: 1533

A/N: So, a continuation of “Stay with me”. I was thinking about this for a while now and I decided to go with this rout. Probably not the most accurate but I have no clue about the comics, so this is purely my own interpretation. Hope you enjoy

Warnings: -

Part one

Your body felt light, as if you were floating. There was no pain even though all of your last memories were filled with it. You opened your eyes but saw nothing. Suddenly, there was a presence behind you.

“Hello, Y/N,” a voice said and you turned around. “Dad?” you asked, voice unbelieving. Finally, your feet found solid ground in the black nothing and you carefully moved closer to the figure. A sad smile spread across the figures face, before it changed into a bodiless specter out of golden light. “No, unfortunately not. But I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help, actually,” they said and you looked around. “But where is here?” They only hummed slightly and moved closer to you. “Depends. Do you believe in the Afterlife? I could be that, if that’s what makes it more acceptable,” they said and a knot formed in your stomach. “I’m dead?” you asked and the figure seemed to think about it. “No,” they stated finally and you furrowed your brow.

“That’s the thing,” they started to explain. “For everyone else, this would be the place where they would decide where to go after death but you,” they hummed again, before adding, “you won’t because you simply can’t die.” A dry laugh escaped you and they turned to face you. “What? Don’t you believe me?” You simply shook your head. “No, of course not. You’re implying that I’m what? Immortal? That’s ridicoulus,” you stated and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “What about that car accident then?” the suddenly asked and you looked at them with a questioning gaze. “What?” you asked, unsure what they were talking about. They studied your face and then started walking. Even though there was nothing but darkness around you, you decided to follow, hoping something would make sense soon.

“The one that cost your father’s live. And also killed you,” the said after a long silence.

You stared at them with the cold feeling the memory brought in the back of your mind. “It didn’t. I survived. And I’m still feeling guilty.” Suddenly, your surroundings changed and you immediately recognized your room. Everything was just like it had been in the morning but one detail froze you in your place.

Incredulously, you stared down at your own body, lying on your bed in front of you. Someone had taken your armor off and washed off the blood but the cuts were still visible. What scared you the most was the missing rise and fall of your chest. You turned to ask the figure but they were gone. Another voice caught your attention and you followed it to the living room. On the couch there were Claire Temple, the nurse and a very beat up Matt. Claire gestured towards your bedroom. “I’m telling you Matt, something is wrong there. She’s clearly dead but by now she should have gone cold. You can still move her arms and legs, despite the lack of vital signs. I can’t explain it to you.”

“He loves you, you know,” the figure said, startling you. “He’s just pretty good at hiding it, not wanting to destroy your friendship.” You looked up at them, finding them staring at you. Their voice sounded warm and soft. “And you love him, even though you don’t want to admit it, even to yourself,” they continued. “But before you can go back to him, you will have to understand who you are.” The scene shifted again and you wanted to protest but they only gestured for you to look around.

You were in an ER. Nurses were walking by, taking in a new patient, a girl not older than twelve years old. She was pale, unmoving and there was blood on the side of her head. As she was wheeled away, one of the paramedics turned to a nurse. “Her father didn’t make it. When I first found her, I thought she was dead but we suddenly picked up vital signs. I don’t know how she survived that crash, it was brutal.” He shook his head and left after saying goodbye. During his explanation, your heart had picked up its pace. That had been your younger self after that fatal crash. A cold realization settled in and you looked at the figure. “I died,” you whispered and they nodded, wiping away the scene with a flick of their wrist. The darkness fell around you again. “Who are you?” you asked after a moment.

“Destiny,” the figure responded.

“Destiny? As in you determine who dies and who doesn’t?” you asked quietly. After what you just saw, it didn’t even sound crazy anymore. They chuckled and said, “It is far more complex than that but for now it is enough.” You looked at them in silence, hoping for a further explanation. “I’m only a part of Destiny, your part to be precise. But that has nothing to do with your immortality. Or your skills in the mortal world. Should you decide to leave it someday, you will join the cosmic powers as a Keeper of Life. To teach you about empathy and humanity, you were send to Earth as one of them.” Your mind was racing to process everything. “So, essentially you’re saying I’m some sort of a cosmic being?” you asked carefully and they nodded. “Correct. It may be hard to accept but with time you will get used to it. Now that you know about everything, your powers will start to emerge. Use them wisely.”

They turned around, ready to leave and you called out again. “What happens now?” They looked at you and you were back in your room. “You are free to go.” Then they vanished, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You opened your eyes even though you didn’t remember closing them. Taking a look around, you saw your room. Only now you felt the throbbing pain in your body and it never had been more welcome than now. Carefully, you sat up, taking a look at the stab wound between your ribs. It had closed, healed and now there was nothing more than a scar. You shoved your legs over the edge of the bed and pushed yourself into a standing position. Slowly, you made your way into the living area only to find it empty. How much time passed between now and the moment you had seen? As you were looking for a sign of Matt, the opening and closing of the front door made you jump. You turned to see Matt walk around the corner, clearly distracted and then he froze.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice strangely shaky and you walked towards him. “Yeah,” you said softly, almost soundlessly. Whatever he was holding, he let go of and caught you in a hug. You threw your arms around you, ignoring your body’s protest. “I thought you were-” he said, cutting himself off as he brought some distance between you. You hummed quietly, stating, “It’s a long story. I still have to process it myself.”

He loves you, you know.

The melodic voice of Destiny echoed around your head and you looked at Matt intently. “What?” he asked, feeling your gaze upon him. “I love you,” you said, surprisingly calm. Now that you said it, you knew it was true. And for how long it had been that way. The surprise in his face was clearly visible and he swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “Really?” he asked and you had to smile. “Really.” Then he pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm and soft against yours, carefully examining the new territory and possibilities. It simply felt right, as if it had to be that way. You broke the kiss as an idea formed in your head. No, not really an idea, more of a plan. You didn’t know how you were sure it would work but you just were.

“Is something wrong?” he asked and you shook your head. “No. I just want to try something,” you mumbled and he cocked his head slightly. Carefully, you grabbed his glasses and slid them off as he nodded. Your finger caressed his cheek as your other hand folded the glasses and put them into his pocket. “What are you trying?” he then asked. You pressed a kiss to his nose. “It’s a surprise.”

Softly, you took his hands into yours, never breaking eye contact with him. An electric feeling spread through you and it felt familiar and strange at the same time. You could see his eyes regaining focus and he blinked in surprise, which quickly turned into shock as he realized what was happening. He didn’t say anything and was only examining your face, taking in every detail. With tears in his eyes, he finally asked,” How? How are you doing this?” You ran your thumb across the back of his hand and smiled softly. “Honestly? I don’t really know. And unfortunately, it isn’t permanent,” you replied and he slightly shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. But I’ve seen you now and I will never forget your face again,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you again, which you gladly accepted.

[ichbinhier0]

THE WITCH'S DINER

Genre: Dark Fantasy Lessons I've learned from this south korean web series: 

1. If a coincidence keeps occurring, people think of it as destiny.

2. What does the word "revenge" mean? Since when was revenge such a gentle and soft word? 

3. Guess what.. we speak freely and think freely, right? But that carries power. What I'm saying is, that is really scary. If you keep having bad thoughts, then it would really happen in real life.

4. When they say that they understand, how much do they actually understand? 5. We are pressured into making decisions all the time. From very trivial to important things. The difficult options spread out in front of us look at us and say.. "make your choice right now." It's so natural, that we barely tend to notice it. Life is always a process of making those trivial or important decisions. But in life some decisions totally change our lives. We didn't realize it until that moment. That all decisions in this world come with a price.

6. Ending a relationship of five years took less than five minutes.

7. Everything felt as if it were a dream. They say it's not over until it's over, but sometimes it's really over when it's over.

8. There are so many wishes you want yo make and so many people you want to get revenge on. You can't have both. Red or Blue. You choose.

9. Adults tell you to become a good person. But you shouldn't be good. You suffer. It makes your life tough. The world's a cruel place. Even if you sacrifice for others, you get nothing in return. Don't be good. You get stabbed in the back.

10. There are things that exist but are not seen. They are also visible things that are assumed not to exist  What you saw isn't the true nature, just inforrmation. Information your brain interpreted from what your eyes saw. We exist between those senses. In a place you see but do not see. People do not hear their own heartbeat. It's just the same.

11. I cook magic dishes that grant wishes. Eat my food, and a wish will come true, but you must pay the price. Words carry power, and so do thoughts.

12. Unexpected things happen all the time. What choice you make determines the end result. Life is tough  That's the default setting.

13. The courage to take responsibility for your future and the resolve to take action on it. I think these are important.

14. There's no need to try so hard. It's not like you need to acknowledged by others in order to prove your worth. I hope you can just be you, and be brave. You're not weak. Someone who thinks he's right and lives his own life can never be weak. You're just unlucky.

15. Whether your decisions comes from fear or out of hope, all decisions come with a price. Just like two sides of a coin, a price has two sides, light and darkness. But people only tend to look at the light. Since that makes it easier to make their decisions.

16. Everything you do comes at a price.

17. No matter what others think, my life is most important to me. I'm just going to live for myself everyday.

18. Your love must be pretty deep. The deeper the love, the greater the pain. Always remember the pain of this moment, and the grief of your love too. It's a tragedy that you will forget about the grief and end up falling in love again.

19. I think which way you choose is not important. What's important is what kind of attitude you have.20. What if we could foresee everything? Everyone thinks what happened depends on their mindset. But if people could stop their feelings at will, if they could control their feelings, would that be paradise or torment?

21. There is no correct answer to life. You don't have to live up to Mom and Dad's expectations. I think your choice is most important. I'm not running away. I'm challenging myself. Before, I did stuff because people expected it of me and because they were my parents wishes. But now I want to prove myself to me. I want to be a better person. The world doesn't have just one set answer. You must decide on your own. Regardless of your ability, everything depends on your choice.

22. Right. We only have one life to live. There's no need to live in regret.

23. Don't try to detemine the value of someone else's happiness. Only they can tell if they'll become happy or not

.24. Love like you have never been hurt before.

25. Everyone suffers. If life is a struggle anyway, and if people who know the struggle of each other, I thought that would make things slightly easier.

26. I'm saying this is not the end. You must continue to watch. Don't judge one's life merely based on its surface. You must watch til' the end. Whether it turns into happiness or not. A bad time is followed by a good time. When you lose one, you win one. Only much later, you realize, "If it weren't for that time." "I wouldn't be enjoying this happiness." Life is a long race. You must watch patiently.

27. When you feel sad, they say it's best to cry.

28. Someone said that people fall for lies for one simple reason. The trust that the other person will not lie to them. Because of that trust, I treated that person sincerely.

29. But I'm not sick. You may not be physically, but mental sickness is also a sickness.

30. For as long as we live, we cannot avoid gettint hurt, and there is no wound that doesn't heal.

31. I thought I had lost direction. But now I understand. You never lose direction. You just keep finding a new way. All encounters in this world are magical. That there are roads in every path of life.

32. Even when we think all is over, and when we think we're struggling on our own, we are not alone.

33. "Roopretelcham"- Everything you think and choose comes true.

34. The more you believe and wish for it, the more likely it is to come true. Such magic does exist. Your life is no exception.35. Without hardships, no one can recognize the happiness they live with.

[tonystarktogo]

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 8

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Read on AO3

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Clint is frustrated, Natasha is frustrated, Steve is very frustrated, and the three of them handle it as well as you’d expect them to, Jarvis is sarcastic, and Tony wants to take things slow for the first time in his life.

Please enjoy :)

Chapter 8: Restlessness

.Avengers Tower, New York.

Cap’s training. Again. If you can call systematically destroying their private gym “training,” that is. Clint winces as he watches yet another reinforced punching bag sail through the air and hit the wall with a loud snap. At this rate, they’ll be running out of bags for Steve to demolish before the week is over.

Suffice to say, Steve hadn’t taken the disappearance of one of his team mates well. Clint has a suspicion that the whole situation hits a little too close to home. It hasn’t been long since Cap’s lost his entire team—to old age and a certain train none of them talk about—or at least, it hasn’t been long for him. Not that Clint is stupid enough to say something, but he knows Natasha suspects the same.

It’s why neither of them has breathed a word to Steve about it. That, and the fact that even Clint, who likes to think of himself as fairly level, is about ready to join the guy.

To say that their search has been fruitless would be an understatement. And there’s nothing more frustrating than hitting a wall in the middle of a mission. Especially when a man’s—Tony’s—life may well depend on it. Clint knows the statistics as well as any field agent. It’s true that the first twenty-four hours of a kidnapping are the most important; they set the tone for the investigation—and finding the victim after becomes increasingly unlikely.

Of course, they aren’t talking about just anyone. They’re talking about Tony Stark, who blew his way out of a freaking cave in the desert. It’s the main reason none of them are willing to give up. That, and in their line of business, you don’t assume someone’s death. No one is dead unless you’ve gotten hard proof—and sometimes not even then.

But none of that changes the fact that they don’t have a clue about Tony’s whereabouts. And when Clint says “not a clue,” he means not a clue. As in nada. As in not a single one.

[continues under the cut]

Staring at the walls and screens covering the common living room area, at all the data they’ve amassed that still isn’t telling them a freaking thing, Clint rubs a tired hand over his eyes. He’s been going over the same security footage for the fifth time and has no results to show for.

“JARVIS?” he questions without much hope. The AI has been quiet since its creator’s disappearance, but Clint is pretty confident that it would speak up the moment it caught anything regarding Tony that they’ve missed. If there’s one thing Clint has learned after months of jumping off buildings and having Iron Man catch him without fail, it’s to trust in Tony’s creations. They’ve yet to let him down.

“I apologise, sir, no new information has come to light since you last asked two minutes and forty-seven seconds ago,” the AI responds with a sarcastic drawl that sounds disturbingly real. Clint loves it.

“I know, J-man, I know, sorry,” he mumbles. Clint isn’t sure exactly where the “artificial” part of the intelligence ends—knowing Tony, probably not where it should—and he doesn’t need to be a tech-whisperer to know that JARVIS is doing everything in his power to find Tony. Pressuring the guy, system, whatever, isn’t going to help anyone.

At the tip-tap sound of Nat’s high-heeled boots against the floor, Clint jerks around hopefully. Unlike himself, Natasha tends to get her best results when she’s pissed. It makes her more vicious, causes her to use sources agents with more scruples wouldn’t, makes her dig deeper until she hits a bone.

Her hair and makeup is impeccable as always, but they don’t quite cover the dark circles below her eyes, nor the tension around the corners of her lips. No success then, at least not yet.

“Alright, this is disturbing.”

“What do you mean?” The question comes from across the room, where Cap walks in, still wearing his training shorts and covered in sweat. Clint would whistle and make a crack about those abs, were he in a better mood. Right now though, all he can muster up his a shrug.

“All of this.” Clint gestures at the maps. “I mean, there is nothing here. It’s not that we don’t know how to interpret the data, it’s that there is no data to begin with. How do you kidnap anyone, let alone Tony Stark, in the middle of New York City without leaving a trace?” he exclaims. “I get Afghanistan, okay, but this is New York. Even with the electrical shortcut, there should still be something, anything, outside that radius. People don’t just disappear. We’ve got SHIELD, we’ve got the three of us, and we’ve got the best AI we know, and still we got nothing ? Nobody is that good!”

“Correction,” Natasha interrupts with a displeased frown, “nobody was that good. Doesn’t mean it’s impossible. So I suppose the question becomes, who do we know who might be capable of such a feat?”

A heavy pause—no, hesitation. Clint grimaces. When Natasha hesitates, it never means anything good.

“Or what. ” she finishes grimly.

* * * * *

.Somewhere on a tiny blot of land in between lots of small islands.

It’s surreal, Tony decides. The last two days have been nothing but surreal.

When he had thought about how his trip to the past would go, he had never imagined it would be like this. Granted, he hadn’t thought about it much at all. At the time, thinking about it had inevitably lead to excitement, to doubt, to heartbreak. Because the thought that this insane idea might actually work—it had always been a little too good to be true. Tasted a little too much of hope.

Still. Sometimes, when his mind had begun to wander, Tony remembers imagining it. No retelling of the story as it should have gone, no rewritten scenes, nothing concrete. Just… flashes. Of a general idea that had been all the more powerful for it. The thought of seeing Pepper again, her face unblemished by the attack that had cost them Happy. The faint sensory memory of being pulled into a hug by Rhodey. The warmth, the security, in fighting side by side with the deadliest people he knew—

Tony frowns. This, how it all actually went down, it’s not how he’s ever pictured it. It’s not how he would have wanted things to go. But his wants haven’t mattered in forever, and as much as Tony would like to gripe and whine, the truth is, he’s fine with it. He’s fine with running around like a headless chicken, without resources or a plan, moving further and further away from the people for whom he’s sacrificed everything. Because they’re alive. He gets to fall asleep at night, knowing they’re here, in this world, drawing breath, and that’s more than he’s had in a long a time.

“That’s all nice and well, darling, but it’s not gonna get shit done,” a sarcastic voice drawls in the back of Tony’s head. It sounds disturbingly like Vic. Damn, but he misses that woman. “How much more time are you gonna waste lounging on a bloody beach watching waves crash before you finally get your arse moving?”

And, well, imaginary voice or not, she’s got a point.

Despite his unnerving encounter with that strange old lady, the past two and a half days have been peaceful, of all things. It’s a foreign sounding description, the kind that itches because there has to be something wrong with it, you just can’t put your finger on it. It’s strange enough to freak Tony out, if he allows himself to ponder these thoughts for too long. So he doesn’t.

Really, he can’t afford to. Being on the move is all well and good—and Tony is well aware that he’s on a clock—but a race is hard to win when you don’t even know where the finishing line is. That’s never stopped Tony before, of course, but he can still be smart about it. It’s kind of his thing, being a genius and all.

“Yeah, well, all those smarts didn’t make a damn difference in the end, did they? You know, Stark, if you really were as clever as you think you are, you’d have found a way to stop this. You’d have found a way to end this.”

“I did end it!”

“Did you really? Or was there just nobody left to die in your stead?”

Tony flinches. The pain these words bring is distant, a wound that’s already scabbed over. He rubs a small hand over his forehead, a useless attempt to soothe the echo of an old hurt.

Footsteps to his right have Tony angle his body reflexively towards Dead-Eyes—an instinct he doesn’t completely understand but is slowly getting used to. Dead-Eyes is just there. A silent presence by his side that only leaves when Tony tells him to.

Should be wrong, probably. Messed up, certainly. Yet, at the same time, it’s not. It feels normal, natural even, and the more Tony gets used to all these memories, the more he understands why. Dead-Eyes is safe because Dead-Eyes is one of—perhaps even the only thing—that hasn’t changed.

“Who’s your watchdog, anyways?”

Stark blinks, follows the woman’s gaze towards the corner of the ruined farmhouse-turned-bar, where Barnes lurks. He’d call the man out on his dramatic act, except Stark is pretty sure the man doesn’t know how to do anything but lurk. It’s his natural state.

“Old friend,” he answers with a shrug.

That piques the woman’s interest, like he knew it would. “There is no such thing as friends,” she states, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Stark smirks, dares her to speak against him. “First time I met him, I tried to kill him. What better way to start a relationship?”

“You must have lots of old friends then,” the woman mutters drily. Shakes her head. Then, “What changed?”

Stark lifts his eyes from where he’s been watching Barnes glare a couple of wannabe Cleaners into submission. “Hm?”

“What happened, I don’t know, the second time you met? How did you become friends?” There’s a curiosity in the woman’s voice that’s hard to find these days. Something that goes beyond the steely determination to survive. It makes Stark hope she’ll live through this, even as his gut tells him she won’t.

“Oh, the second time?” he answers despite himself, all charm and nonchalance. “The second time I met him, he was already dead.”

Tony blinks the fake smile and honeyed sweetness away, but the scene is… sticky, like gum stubbornly clinging to your hair, and it takes him a long moment before the sight of dirty tables and war-hardened people fades into the bright hues of endless blue that surround them.

Dead-Eyes is watching him, expressionless as always. He’s wearing long, sand-coloured pants and a washed-out shirt, and despite the soft clothes and metal arm hidden under a thick bandage that Tony had spent the better part of the morning covering it with, he still looks—well. Like you’d want him on your side in a knife fight.

There’s no hiding the jagged edges when that’s all that’s left of a person, Tony thinks. Remembers thinking. Whatever.

This is exactly why he’s still here. Why he’s spent the past two days clinging to Dead-Eyes’ flesh hand, pickpocketing tourists and generally doing his best to get lost in the crowd. Why he watches little kids splashing in the water with shrieks of delight instead of breaking into the best lab he can get his hands on.

Sure, the knowledge isn’t trying to tear his head open from the inside out, and, yeah, Tony has a fairly good idea of what happened in that messed up future of his. None of that changes the fact that he got a good decade worth of memories downloaded into his brain within a couple of hours. That kind of transfer—he’d speculated about the consequences, they all had. As it turns out, Strange was right. The human mind can’t handle that kind of data input. Honestly, Tony is sort of glad the sorcerer isn’t here right now. He’d be unbearable if he knew, the bastard.

Thankfully, he was also wrong; Tony has yet to go insane from the overload. At least, he assumes he hasn’t. He’d have noticed that, right? Right.

Anyways, the closest Tony has come to describe the weird sensation of knowing-but-not is to compare it to a software update on a computer. The data is all there, but it takes the system time to sort through it and store the relevant information in the right places. And the system—it’s not dumb, it learns from its mistakes, but it still makes them. It misfiles certain data bits, can’t properly transfer some, has to change pieces, even loses some of the information. It learns, but it’s an ongoing process.

As a programmer himself, the inaccuracies rankle him a little, but computers aren’t meant to be human; the comparison is bound to fall short. That doesn’t make it useless.

So, yes, Tony remembers. He knows who he is, he knows why he is where he is, and even though he currently can’t recall what his exact mission is, he gets the general idea. Save the cheerleader, save the world, the usual.

But until the flashbacks—and that’s not quite the right word for it, but Tony can’t think of a better term—stop overwhelming him every time a new memory is triggered, he needs to remain on standby. Despite the restlessness twisting and snarling under his skin, like a second layer that wants to break through. Tony can rush many things, but he can’t rush this. He can’t rush his own mind, not when he needs all the information he has before he can make a plan.

He only has one shot at this. He’ll have to get it right on the first try.

So he’ll wait. With gritted teeth and nervously drumming fingers, but he’ll wait.

It’s a decision that goes against everything Tony believes in, but so far it has payed off. They’ve spent the past two and a half days slowly traveling from one island to the next. Always on small tour boats, mingling with other tourists. With their borrowed clothes and the meticulously placed bandages on Dead-Eyes’ arm, they don’t do too bad of a job at blending in. Tony has settled on a house fire to explain the “injuries,” as well as his “mother’s tragic death.”

Movements like these, where everything is paid in cash and two American tourists get lost in the crowd, are as good as untraceable. It’s enough to appease the restlessness, for now. And well, it’s helping. The clear sky, the see-through water, the gentle breeze. The heat and the sand under his feet that has finally stopped sending cold chills down his spine.

With every passing hour, every deep breath Tony takes, the events of the past—future—years become clearer. He recalls, with a clarity only life-changing moments hold, the desperation that fuelled him, controlled him, ever since he made it back out of that damn wormhole. The deep-seated certainty that they were on the brink of another war, one humanity was woefully unprepared to handle. The frustration and clawing fear when no one listened.

Tony had been right, but that revelation hadn’t brought him any satisfaction. Had come much too late to save the family he had already lost. They had been unprepared for Thanos’ attack, broken and scattered and divided. Of course, that hadn’t stopped them. Enemies and friends and strangers alike, they had risen to Thanos’ challenge and they had answered it the only way they knew how to: they fought.

And maybe they hadn’t won—it had never felt like a victory; too many good people had been lost to them, too many innocents had died—but they had survived. That should have been the end of it. It should have been enough.

Six months later, whilst Tony was still practicing a genuine smile in the mirror, Namibia had been razed to the ground. An entire country was wiped off the map of Earth from one moment to the next, and nobody knew how.

The timeline after that gets a bit spotty, mostly because Tony himself doesn’t know exactly how things went. Too much happened too quickly, and there weren’t enough people around studying the phenomena and collecting data for them to tell how things proceeded. But, from what he remembers, there had been health hazard warnings going out from places like Monaco, Singapore, and Macao before people had time to panic—and then they did panic.

Sand grains rub against Tony’s palms as he curls his fingers into tight fists. From the way he thinks about it, it could have been a sickness of some kind, maybe even a plague. All these words swirling around in his mind, about a cure, about infections, health and aggressive viruses—it fits.

Doesn’t mean it makes sense though. An illness that kills, a new one, maybe even biological warfare, alright. Tony can easily imagine the devastation it caused. But more than people dying, he remembers fighting, remembers living with guns and knives strapped to his every body part, remembers being covered in blood more often than not.

There is more to it than a mere virus, and yet, for some reason, the answers refuse to come. Are silenced by an impenetrable bubble that keeps parts of his newfound knowledge huddled away, beyond his reach. Tony, being Tony, prods and pushes and shoves, but so far the bubble hasn’t given an inch.

Half the time Tony thinks he should be glad for that small mercy. Maybe he doesn’t want to know how bad things had really gotten. Maybe he doesn’t want to remember all those terrible acts that tore him apart, turned him into a man capable of—

His delicate sensibilities don’t matter though. He can’t allow them to matter, can’t spare himself from whatever minefield lies hidden in his own mind. Peace and innocence are luxuries Tony can’t afford right now. Not when knowledge is the only advantage he has.

Tony reaches out and isn’t surprised in the least when Dead-Eyes meets him halfway, having already gotten used to being led around on Tony’s hand. It’s part of the cover, but Tony isn’t entirely sure Dead-Eyes realises this. Realises that hand-holding would be frowned upon if they weren’t playing a family. Actually, Tony has no clue exactly how much of the world Dead-Eyes even processes.

Dead-Eyes isn’t stupid, of that Tony has no doubt. There’s a calculating intelligence in those blue eyes, an awareness that serves as much as a weapon as everything else Dead-Eyes wields. But social norms? Human interaction? Hell, even prejudices of some sort? Tony hasn’t seen any of it, and that’s just not normal. Of course, Dead-Eyes always was the exception, wasn’t he?

“You found him,” Natasha states, an air of disbelief around her. “After all this, you finally caught up with Bucky Barnes.”

Tony turns back towards their prisoner. Stares at the man’s blank face, an eerily familiar emptiness in his eyes. Tony has seen it many times before, too often not to recognise it on first sight. And really, there is only one answer he can give her.

“No. I didn’t.”

Natasha purses her lips. “No,” she agrees. “You didn’t.” Then. “We’ll have to test him.”

Tony doesn’t even flinch. “I know.” No exceptions. It’s a rule for a reason—this they learned the hard way.

“Are you prepared to do what is needed if he fails?”

It’s a question Tony wishes Natasha hadn’t asked, though he understands why she needs to know. Guilt is a powerful motivator, and they don’t have any room for errors.

He looks her straight in the eyes when he replies. “Yes.” It’s not the first time they’re lying to each other. Or themselves, for that matter.

Tony swallows the sudden urge to throw up. An ill sensation that makes no sense, doubly so because this is hardly the worst memory he’s received. Certainly not the bloodiest.

He clings to Dead-Eyes’ flesh hand uselessly, as Vic’s voice rings mercilessly in his head. “Go on, take your time figuring out that sick, co-dependant mess you call a relationship. I’m just gonna lie here and quietly bleed out in the mud while you get your bloody act together!”

Tony can’t remember the exact fight where it happened, there were too many to tell, but he remembers Vic’s acidic words clearly because even riding the high of a battle won and covered in entrails he didn’t care to identify, they had made him snort with laughter. Vic had never done anything quietly in her life. She had also had a knack of getting her point through Tony’s thick head.

The situation is a different one now, and the truth is, there is no telling what Vic would say if she were here now, because she isn’t. Vic, wherever she is, doesn’t even know Tony. Will never have to know him, if he has anything to say about it. Will never have to kill her own mother, will never carry that wounded, shattered look in her eyes.

If he can keep that from happening, then it will be worth it. That Tony is sure of. But he’s going to be smart about this, not gonna take any unnecessary risks. No half-assed preparations and improvisation.

“Two more days,” he says out loud, even though he’s really addressing the voice inside his head that sounds so much like Vic. It’s a plea and a promise in one. “Two more days, and then I’ll start.”

He should have known that Fate would take that as a challenge.

* * * * *

Tony drags Dead-Eyes onto a small tour boat—because a whole island inhabited by iguanas sounds intriguing, and because he feels too restless to stay in the same place any longer. The boatsman is a small man with a booming voice who keeps ruffling Tony’s hair, much to his annoyance.

He would have sworn Dead-Eyes was amused by the treatment, except when he catches Dead-Eyes staring, it isn’t with the familiar smirk he half expects to see. Instead, Dead-Eyes wears a puzzled expression, a furrow between his eyebrows that says he’s struggling to work something out.

Tony decides he really doesn’t want to know. Thankfully there’s an uncomfortable sensation distracting him, like a small weight pressing gently down on the back of his neck. It’s a feeling Tony recognises from dozens of missions, that prickling knowledge dancing on his nerve endings, telling him he is being watched .

It should be ridiculous. There are only twelve other passengers on their tiny boat, none of whom carry a concealed weapon larger than a switchblade. A group of college students, half of whom are currently posing for Instagram pictures. Two pairs who look sickeningly romantic—seriously, all these forehead kisses and soft smiles are going to give Tony hives. And three older men who haven’t stopped arguing about some foreign policy since they’ve stepped onto the deck. None of them look like an assassin waiting to strike. Of course, the whole point of being an assassin is that you never look like one, so that’s a cold comfort.

Tony leans over the railing of the boat for a moment, pretending to take in the beautiful sight of an endless horizon, only occasionally disrupted by a tiny blot of land. When he turns to look at Dead-Eyes over his shoulder, he uses the position to observe everyone else. The boatsman is explaining something to one of the college students, all wild gestures and deep-throated laugh. The younger pair is making out full-time, and—there.

One of the students is standing slightly separated from her friends, gaze fixated on them. Or, well, not them, Tony realises after a moment of carefully suppressing the urge to tell Dead-Eyes to shoot now, ask questions never. She’s watching Dead-Eyes, not him.

Some of the tension in his back uncoils at the realisation. Alright, maybe he’s a little paranoid. Not that anyone can blame him—it’s not paranoia when you’ve got an entire secret spy organisation on your ass—but killing some kid for eyeing up his unfairly attractive shadow might be a slight overreaction. Even by his standards.

Despite the stress and general uneasiness though, the trip is absolutely worth it. Tony hadn’t given iguanas much thought before, but they’re so freaking cool. And loud. Who knew reptiles could make so much noise? Two of the college girls make a show of shuddering in disgust, which Tony doesn’t get at all. Iguanas aren’t slimy or glittery—they look like miniature dragons.

“I want one,” Tony breathes in reverence.

He’s watching a couple of them rhythmically wiping their heads, and he can almost hear “Highway to Hell” playing in the back of his head.

“Understood,” Dead-Eyes replies with a small incline of his head.

It’s pure luck that Tony pays enough attention to him to reach out and grab Dead-Eyes’ arm before he can jump overboard, probably to catch Tony an iguana. Awesome as that would be, it would probably get them into trouble with the local authorities.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but really, don’t,” Tony mumbles just loud enough for Dead-Eyes to hear. “It would draw attention and we really don’t need that.”

And if Tony is still humming AC/DC under his breath? Well, nobody save Dead-Eyes is gonna know—and it’s not like the guy will talk.

Tony is still humming the song half a minute later, when he suddenly realises that the rhythmic dum-dum-dum he’s been hearing in his head actually sounds more like a rumpa-rumpa-tap. And it’s not as much a part of his imagination as he would have liked.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to realise it with a soft swish between his teeth, Tony closes his eyes and says to no one in particular, “Please tell me I’m not hearing a chopper.”

“I’m not hearing a chopper,” Dead-Eyes repeats obediently.

“Me neither,” the blonde who’d been eying Dead-Eyes up calls out from where she’s standing near the tail of the boat. “I count three.”

I hope you like this slightly longer chapter! If you have any thoughts, questions or ideas, please leave me a comment or a message, I’d love to hear them! And merry Christmas, everybody!

[allenmendezsr]

Palm Read Easy

New Post has been published on http://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/palm-read-easy/

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Hypnosis and the methods by which the mind works have always fascinated me; I guess that’s the reason I spent so much time investing in an education in psychology.

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In Other Words, What’s The Point Of Knowing Exactly How Your Life Is Going To Play Out Regardless Of What You Do To Change It?

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And After A Few Good Years, I Successfully Armed Myself With The Ability And Craft To Read Palms

Now, I realize that not everyone has years to invest in mastering a craft through countless episodes of trial and error so I decided that I would take all of my knowledge and create one simple, comprehensive resource that anyone could use to learn and master palmistry all within the same day!

That’s right, not only will this program teach you about palmistry, but you will be able to apply what you learn all within a few hours.

Introducing Palm Read Easy

      Consisting of Four Empowering Learning Modules, this program will reveal:

Line Interpretation – Learn the major lines of the palm including the heart, life, head, trident and destiny lines and how to interpret the meaning that each one holds.

Foretelling Mastery – Discover what the future holds for yourself as well as others.

Major Hand vs. Minor Hand – Learn the difference between a person’s hands, what it means, and why it’s so important.

Palm Destiny – Learn your destiny according to your palm and why the left is so much different than the right.

Real Life Application – Learn how to apply what you learn from palm reading into your own life to gain further enrichment.

Redirect Signals – Learn to give advice to others based on what you see and how it can affect their destiny.

Hand Texture Observation – Learn the difference between a spongy texture and a rough texture and what this means about someone’s personality.

Reading Delivery Skills- Learn the correct way to deliver unwanted information so people do not get insulted by your observations.

The Meaning Behind Flexibility – Learn about the flexibility of someone’s fingers and what it says about the way they live life.

The Role Of Fingers – Discover the meaning behind the length of someone’s fingers and a quick and simple technique to measure their length without using a ruler.

The Four Types Of Hands – Learn to quickly identify the four different types of hands including the earth hand, the fire hand, the air hand and water hand and how they affect everything a person does in life.

Advanced Hand Identification – Once you master the basics, you can now explore the next level of hand identification where you will be able to identify the conic hand, the active hand, the philosophical hand and the psychic hand and why each is so unique and special.

The Mystery Of The Mixed Hand – Learn the meaning of this special hand and what it means abut a person’s makeup.

The Mound of Lunar and Venus – Learn about these two areas of the hand and what they indicate.

And Much More!

And aside from the abundance of information that you will acquire in just four modules, I will also give you some powerful tools to help you apply your new found knowledge to every day life.

After all, knowledge without purpose or execution is pretty much useless.

And Now You’ll Not Only Be Able To Execute What You’ve Learned But You’ll Be Able To Start Applying It Within The Same Day

That’s how effective and easy this program is to use.

If you are ready to experience palmistry in its rawest form, as well as the secret techniques essential to mastering the craft, then act now and take advantage of the opportunity that awaits you.

For just $27.97, which is less than what you would pay to have someone read your palm, you can master palmistry for yourself and begin applying the knowledge to your life as well as those around you.

And to prove to you how confident and positive I am that this program will change your life, I am willing to let you try it risk free for a full 8 weeks.

Here’s how it works

Click Below To Order For Just $47.00 $27.97

To Your Success, Steve G. Jones, M.Ed.

Don’t wait any longer, take action today and begin to open the window to your destiny.

P.S. – Remember you have absolutely nothing to lose because you can try the program for a full 8 weeks before deciding whether or not you want to keep it.

P.P.S. – This program will enable you to see the future before it unfolds by transforming you to a master of palmistry all within just a few hours of learning about it.