#this could both exists where flower is either present or not you choose

[canine-teethed-sheets]

BABY JUMPSCARE

BEHOLD!! HOOD'S AND SPAZZ'S NON CANONICAL CHILD, VERIDIAN!! OR MINT!! (they both nickname her Verdi)

yes!! her soul is a firelike shape!! kinda tipping from my DT brother's soul headcanon but shhh

Mint is a small curious child who's really pouty most of the time but she means well <:)

she was found in a box while the two were taking a walk in an AU and Spazz WAILED that she wanted to give her mercy on the poor littol babey

bonus:

Mint: *points to Flower* doggy!!

Flower: wh- N O—

(@socksandbuttons look a baby!! :D)

[kayzero]

So like. Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory XIII don’t exist in the Pokémon universe. So there’s no reason for the Julian or Gregorian calendars to exist. Angels don’t exist in the Pokémon universe either, so the Enoch calendar, but the story behind that is Uriel came down and gave Enoch a calendar with exactly 13 weeks in all four seasons for 364 days.

Black and White confirmed that the Pokémon universe has four seasons, and it’s entirely possible for a human to have created a calendar splitting Arceus’ eighteen Plates throughout the year, each month containing 4 five-day weeks.

And if they did, the months could look something like this:

[ Image ID: A list containing all eighteen Pokémon types split between the four seasons. Spring has Normal, Fairy, Poison, and Electric types, with Electric underlined. Summer has Grass, Bug, Fire, Steel, and Fighting types, with Grass and Bug italicized and Fire underlined. Autumn has Psychic, Flying, Ground, and Dragon, with Flying Underlined. Finally, Winter has Rock, Ghost, Ice, Dark, and Water, with Ice and Water underlined. / End ID. ]

Explanations under the cut.

Summer and Winter have five months because of math Fire and Ice are the Summer and Winter Types. These are explained in-universe as the Supreme (Type) Months, the months in the dead middle of their respective seasons without any dimming or bleeding into the next season. And this is TRUE in the Pokémon universe because (most) people aren’t stupid enough to cause ecological disasters when causing an ecological disaster awakens an all-powerful legendary Pokémon that’s angry at you specifically for causing an ecological disaster! Global warming doesn’t exist! People are afraid of Cappy the Polar Ice Cap Legendary smacking them out of existence!

I’m open to discussion and suggestions about where to shift each type.

Italicized types were considered for a different season, and will be explained more thoroughly.

Underlined types probably won’t be changed without an Astounding Logical Argument that makes me feel stupid for even considering anything else.

Spring:

Animals give birth in the spring and Normal Type Pokémon are based on normal animals.

Fairies are associated with. Um. *flips notes* n. nature. i’m gonna be real with you in every planned-but-not-written explanation of a human sensing fairy type energy i describe it as “smelling wildflowers” and that’s all that went through my head.

Poisonous animals like frogs and snakes and the like. They hibernate. They come out of hibernation in the spring. Yay! This could easily be Winter for the same reason PLUS the fact that you store poisons in cold, sometimes freezing, temperatures.

Electric likely will not change. Thunderstorms happen most frequently in the spring months, because of the moisture and the heat present in the air. Electric could have easily been a Summer Type but I figured that because it rains more frequently in the spring because of snowmelt (“April Showers … May Flowers”), it would be easy to rationalize thunderstorms happening more often in the Spring in Pokéland.

Summer:

Grass and Bug were both considered for Spring because of the whole winter melts away and grass blooms and whatnot and then of course once the plants bloom it attracts the bugs. If I were going to change these two Grass would go to Spring and Bug would stay in Summer maybe.

But I ended up choosing Summer for these two because the summer sun makes the Grass grow and also all the other plants and then the heat and humidity brings all the Bugs to the yard. and they’re like. your sweat is tasty. why do bugs swarm humans we’re so much bigger than them.

Fire is unlikely to change. It’s the Sound of Summer. Summer hot. Sun go brr. Heat Wave Waves Heatingly. Etcetera.

You use fires to forge Steel. Or something along those lines. Honestly I just pulled that out of my butt, I was thinking about Heatran and like Heatran is a legendary and sub Steel. Volcanos or whatever.

THE FLAMES OF YOUTH IGNITE WITHIN FIGHTING TYPES and that’s why they’re in the summer. If you try to fight in the winter you like. Cramp up or something right? Is that bias? I hate winter it causes my body pain.

Autumn

Psy. chic? Fall Season is. appropriately. brain. y. (this is literally my favorite type i was NOT going to put it into the Evil Winter Season. die winter. i hope the global warms faster i’d rather drown than freeze.)

Flying was unlikely to change... however, migration plus tornadoes sneason was my initial thought. But Tornadus-Therian Searion is actually in the spring and migration is a two way street, the birds come back in the pringles. I might just. Switch Flying and Poison. If you Aggron Agree with switching Flying with Poison let me know in the comments.

You know how you run out of spaces and a type just HAS to go into a slot? Luckily I only had one of those. Unlucky it was Dragon. You smart folks probably have a better idea as to what Dragon should switch into but unless you have a good reason as to why the second Type should switch out, don’t @ me (or do @ me I like the attention).

Winter

Mountains are wintery and snowy because they’re so tall. And do you know what mountains are made of? …You do? Can you tell me, I’m lost, I thought they were made of chocolate but they don’t melt in the summer time so that idea’s washed…

Ghost was originally in the Fall, because Spooky Halloween, except not only could October totally be in the Winter now that I’m in charge of the calendar, and if it can’t, then Halloween doesn’t have to be a Fall holiday, it can be a winter holiday!

Ice? Ice. Baby.

Do you know how Dark it gets during the winter? How quickly it gets Dark? Even if we eliminate Daylight Savings (and we are eliminating Daylight Savings) the Equinox still happens in Winter. Days are still shorter. Darker. Sneasel type.

Water is unlikely to change. Like, it was initially in the spring because “oh look the ice is melting it’s time for spring” no bitch that shit cold. the ocean is cold. even during the summer the lakes are cold. it’s at the end of Winter towards the Spring side of things but That Shit Cold.

and that’s it that’s all i have does anyone have ideas for month names or day names aren’t the months named after like. emperors or something. should we name the months after legendaries. If someone comes up with a month name that’s a palindrome that starts with Ho and ends with oh I’ll give you $10. Call that a fiction commission.

[hellmouth-manor]

can't stab what's not there | alou | futility.5

Forgiveness?

Alou experiences a small prickle of ego at the word, for numerous reasons.

What wrong has he committed that even requires forgiveness?

What right has he accomplished that warrants it, either?

Both questions and their answers ring discordantly true and untrue to his own senses, and it rankles and it irritates like a splinter.

But he’s pulled out of his agitation when bright red blood wells up on Cu’s finger.

A small wound like this is the best sort of problem. The stakes are low. It’s easy to fix. The results are near immediate. Clean soap and water, a bandage, some pressure, and ointment– it’s a straightforward remedy, delivered swiftly and easily.

(But… it’s not that simple, is it.)

Any sign of favor would expand the gulf that already exists between Cu and the others. And as much as he values the young man’s loyalty, and the potential of his love, and the reassurance of his reliance– People are only as good as their connections. They grow from their interwoven stories. Their tragedies and happiness weave a design unlike any that could be artificially conceived. Even Alou still knows the value of that. Why else did he tell Poppy again and again– not to use him as a crutch. To seek out the support of others?

(Because he knows deep down he can’t give them what they need.)

Even in this, Alou presumes to act on what he thinks is best for them.

It’s all too complicated a problem. So he ignores Cu’s bleeding, even if one hand twitches with the desire to draw up a cloth at least.

“Of course we were. Or I’d like to think we could be. You’re the most important people in my life.”

‘Oh, give me a fucking break.’

Fuck. For maybe five minutes, he’d existed in a blissful world where Hisashi didn’t exist. Not that the sentiment didn’t extend to him, in a completely different way.

Alou lifts his chin even as Hisashi lashes him with his own spoken judgements. Each statement is a piece of himself, sharpened to a fine point and hooked into sentiments and feelings that had– over time– grown hazy and indiscernible under the patina of justification.

But… Yes, Hisashi was also one of the most important people in his life. He was a straw-man for the ugly, meaningless violence that Alou had always meant to conquer– If he could just transform it– 

Oh, it takes every ounce of willpower not to snap and tear the thorny rose of Hisashi Beaumont from limb to limb. But the beautiful destruction he wants to indulge in is the exact type of violence that disgusts him– no matter how poetically he flays the skin, no matter what flowers he chooses to grow in that cadaver, no matter the colors or the arrangement or the composition– it’s still what it is. His ego writhes under the laughter that peels away beautifully poised layers of presentation.

Are you saying we’re the same?

He almost makes the mistake of asking those words. But he is so, so afraid that they’re different, after all. Instead, he sits back in his chair.

“Did you know the imp king– Malyce– he was a player, once. Maybe it’s time for him to retire, too. Imp King Hisashi has a nice ring to it.”

Still, his voice drips with dissatisfaction. And he seems to be growing tired with this game. There’s less pretense as he picks up Poppy’s questions, happy to be moving on. Mask off, he rubs his forehead briefly.

“I was picked, and then I picked you in turn, with guidance from Louisa Nightingale. I relied on La Danse Macabre to bring forward the candidates they had both cultivated and found… You saw the boards for yourself. For some of you, the work began generations before you existed. For others, it started at the cradle. For the rest, the influence was… lighter, perhaps.”

Or hands off entirely, as would be the case for someone like Kamiya.

“But I’m the first game master–” nominee “--who was ever cultivated for the sole purpose of running this game. And you were all developed or gathered with that in mind. I may not have had a personal hand in designing your lives, but my existence alone shaped yours.”

Alou seems to be picking up momentum again, as if the act of hearing his own voice alone was revitalizing. Then suddenly– he stops. He takes a moment to register Poppy’s frigid attitude and recovered aplomb.

“Do you think I don’t know how to handle a little stab wound?”

[herosneednotapply]

AU's:Gods AU: Adelaide

"No one owns Life, But everyone is owed Death."

She was born in the fertile soil of the earth. Compressed and shaped under contsant pressure like the rarest of gemstone. Eventually to be spat much too soon from the dark unknown into a barren world. As she wandered the earth, lush nature and greenery grew in her wake. A natural and uncontrollable phenomenon for the young woman they would come to call Kore. Because like a child she knew nothing and did not embody the petty emotions of jealousy or hate. There was only wonder, curiosity and fearlessness buzzing away in her bones.

An existence that lived in peace with the nature spirits and humans that inhabited that early world. Speaking the old language of nature and creation that had long been forgotten. Until the day the sky broke open and blood rained down. War was brutal and stole the child like innocence from Kore. She did not put her lot in with either side choosing instead to protect those that were being trampled underfoot. It was at this point that she rose to godhood. The name that laid heavy on her tongue since the day she climbed from the earth's dark embrass was spoken. The girl had grown into a woman and her name was Persephone; the destroyer.

When the war was finally over and the victors cast their gaze over their spoils they found her. Covered in the golden icor of Titan and giant alike. Their king wanted to kill her but was hard pressed to find that she was an existence that could not die but only be forgotten.

This is where her tale dips into the mythologies of men. Persephone the Goddess of Spring was born. It was easy to mold her image and control the narrative after getting rid of anyone who remembered the little goddess Kore. Demeter played the role of both mother and warden. Never allowing her out of her sight all under the guise of being protective of her only child. Oh how stifling it must have been to a creature that had once been free to be confined. It was like having her wings plucked.

She supposed it made it easier to make the deal. To clasp hands with the god king that now ruled the deep darkness that birthed her. It was harder when years down the line she would betray his loyalty and faith. A glimmer of her original self present as she broke the rules and halted the spindle of fate. Denying death it's due and cursing herself to a eternity alone.

An imposter is bestowed her name and wears's her Godhood like a shroud. All the while she mingles amongst humanity as a fleeting after thought. Looking over them and granting their wishes as she did before her story was stripped from her.

-

In modern times the once goddess runs a flower shop/nursery. Here she speaks the forgotten tongue over the plants; embuing them with blessings before sending them on their way. Occasionally you can find that which you seek the most buried away in the shelves of her shop. If you're desperate enough she accepts appointments to help you personally.

[ratherbefangirling]

DRABBLE: MISS RIGHT

Pt.2

Mafia Yoongi x Reader

Warning ⚠️: toxic relationships, mentions of blood, death..

this yoongi is too hot for me to handle

Previous

Again you were at crossroads.

What was it about Yoongi and his ability to force you to take decisions you couldn't and take choices where you could.

The tears in your sisters eyes caused a grudge for the first time you truly wished to be free from her. As this thought made place in your head you hated yourself and then Min Yoongi because it was easier to blame him.

"You." You said.

There was a smirk decorating his features.

"Let her go." You add.

"That easily are you making a joke out of me kitten."

"You're a business person Suga. If you let her go I will cut ties with my family."

He considered playing with his gun.

You were no fool you knew keeping your family close would hurt them. It was for the better but why did your eyes water and heart weep.

This was what it led to, your sisters lie.

You didn't know why he made you choose. You did not know your sisters crime. Did she even have one. All you knew is that fateful morning it was death that had knocked your door. And even on your deathbed you would belong to him and nobody else not even yourself.

"Smart kitty." He said beckoning you.

You stood infront of him refusing to acknowledge your sisters pained form. You no longer had a name only a title. Without your name you were not bound to anyone. Not even your womb mate.

He pat his lap motioning you to sit.

Without your name you had no notions of shame or embarrassment either. It was good to be nameless. To be a shadow in the night.

You missed the anger in your sisters eyes.

Suga placed an arm around your waist. Keeping his head on your shoulder.

"Let her go." He tells Hoseok his right hand.

"Do you want to tell your parents something kitten." He asks turning towards you.

You shake your head.

What could you tell them. What was left there to say.

Later you would regret it. Not much but a little. You should have told them that you were thankful for everything even if so many days you wished you seized to exist. To tell them they shouldn't cry for you and not worry about you.

"What are you thinking kitten?" Yoongi asks.

You focus back on the present.

"It's unreal I'm going to graduate tomorrow." You tell him.

It's a bittersweet experience. This is the last of you that is you. All your classmates are worried about their future and excited to leave behind the students days, some are going to study more, some are excited for new experiences.

You wonder what you would be doing if not memorising the underworld of the city.

"I'm so proud of you kitten." Yoongi tells you. He reaches his pocket to pull out a box.

Curious you see him reveal a pink diamond pendant.

"Happy Graduation kitten." You almost laugh at the kitty paw shape.

He is pleased to see you smile. Despite his reluctant behaviour he understands and appreciates what you've given up when you got dragged in here. He carefully helps you wear the necklace almost getting distracted by the expanse of your neck.

"Thank you." You say and he gives you a soft smile and your crashing.

A bouquet of flowers greets you in the morning attached on it is a note from Yoongi.

Best of Luck, Kitten.

Yoongi was busy today a fact which you both like and don't.

Today you get to say goodbye to the last few years of your life and finally enter your new life.

You take your time in getting dressed.

You line up with your classmates and friends. You go to the stage to recieve your degree. Despite the chaos. You spot your sister and your family. You go to meet them. You know Yoongi probably send someone to keep watch but it's the last time. Surely he's not that cruel.

You hug your parents. It feels good to cry in your mother's arms. To feel your dad pat your head and your sister hold your hand tightly. It feels like graduation.

Your friends take your attention for a while and you promise to keep in touch knowing its a lie but pretending otherwise.

Despite everything when you have a free moment you touch the necklace on your neck. Hoping he'd be here to complete your picture.

You and your family go to have lunch together nobody addressing the elephant in the room. Strained smiles are smiles after all are they not?.

Your phone rings and the conversation drops.

"Hello." You answer.

"Hello kitten. How was your graduation?"

"It was nice. How was your day?... did you get free."

"Yes, infact I'm coming to pick you up." Your grip tightens.

"See you." You say and the call ends.

"My fiance is coming to pick me up." You say maintaining your smile. Your mother's cowering is good enough reason to break but as you've learnt with growing up tears are to be private if you don't want the people you love worrying.

You wait outside even though the sun is hot. A parcel in your hand.

Yoongi eyes you as you wordlessly enter his car.

"What's that?"

"I am sure you came to see me immediately, you must be hungry. So I got food for you." You say passing him your peace offering.

Luckily he takes it.

"Won't you feed me as a reward for being a good fiance." He says.

"If it makes you happy." You says complying.

"It does." And you note the seriousness of his face.

So you give him a soft smile and something inside of him flutters but you don't know that and it's a lovely afternoon.

Yoongi informs you it was time.

The time to put a last nail in your coffin. It was time to marry him.

You were not surprised. It had been quite a time since you'd met.

You rub your engagement ring as he drives.

You turn on the radio and a sad love song plays before you know it you fall asleep tired of the day you had.

"Why is this so hard?" Yoongi whines as Hoseok snickers.

You turn pages of the catalogue. Surprisingly Yoongi was taking time to help you plan the wedding.

"You can rest if you like?" You offer your fiance.

"It's our wedding." He says in way of explanation.

"I'm aware." You say hiding the smile that threatens your lips but he catches it and grunts.

"Take a nap Yoongi I will look through the decors and then you can finalise ok." You propose.

He nods and proceeds to lay his head in your lap.

Lately he had become more touchy. You weren't opposed to it. Infact since the day he discovered it wasn't you but your sister in the bar you didn't feel the guilt of falling for him.

If you ignored the fact that he had blackmailed you into it, you were marrying the man you loved.

Yes loved. You had accepted it. There were many battles you fought on a daily basis but this you let yourself succumb to it.

His love that drowned and choked and took till you were nothing but also warmed and filled and completed you.

You knew he chose you because of his skewed sense of responsibility but you were his and he was yours now.

And maybe this was destiny.

And you weren't alone.

You chose a few themes before gently waking Yoongi up.

Ignoring his swearing. You showed him your choices and excused yourself to the washroom.

On the way back you heard his guards talking.

"Kingpins are so damn lucky not only they have wives but as many side chicks as a man could want."

You stilled. This thought had never crossed your mind.

Yoongi noted your withdrawal but had no time to address it since he had been called for an urgent business.

"Kitten I have to leave Jimin will take you home I will visit in the evening to finalise this."

You nod. He kisses your forehead.

In the evening he finds you watering plants. He notes you've done your nails. He also sees the lip tint you've put giving your lips a cherry like quality.

"Kitten." He calls out you put the watering can down and greet him.

"Hi." You say.

"'Come sit.Do you want to order something."

Food he's figured makes you more vulnerable to his question. Food always puts you in a good mood and if you're not in the mood for food you're anxious.

"I dont know if you want to." you sit taking your place by his side.

As he expected you play with your food more than you eat it.

You put your utensils down a frustrated noise escaping your throat.

"Are you going to take a mistress or more?"

He levels you a cool gaze.

"Who put the idea in your head?" He asks

"That's literally not the point answer me Min Yoongi."

He tries to calm himself he really does.

He grabs you and pushes you against the sofa and leans on top of you.

"I was trying to be a gentleman but you don't understand that do you." He says and scoops in for a kiss.

Soon one kiss turns to many or it's the same you do not know all you know is lips those soft plush lips against yours and tongue and teeth and his anger and his hands and his warmth. Nipping your lips biting them and fighting you and caressing you.

He stops and looks at you dazed and breathless and then you seem to realise he's still over you. You turn shy and he laughs because only you who can fight him looking straight into his eyes and melt into a puddle into his arms.

"No." He says.

"What?" You say your brain still malfunctioning.

"You're the only woman in my life and it will be so till I die." And you are stunned once again because Min Yoongi only Min Yoongi makes you like this and says things like this.

Makes your heart flutter and unleashes the butterflies.

His stomach makes a sound and you realise your dinner is getting cold.

He turns shy and you stop yourself from pinching his cheeks was this the same man who had manhandled you just moments ago.

"And if you are that worried mark me." He says nonchalant and resuming to eat.

For a while you are stunned then you decide its better to eat quietly than experience more of his duality.

You are surprised when he let's you meet your family on the wedding day. Infact going all out to invite your friends too.

As far as they are concerned he is an owner of a Lamb skewer Restaurant.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Your mother looks beautiful in her new clothes courtesy of your fiance. Your sister is absent for the event.

After the ceremony, you and Yoongi make rounds to meet owners of all businesses over and underground who have come to the auspicious occasion.

The reception is wilder. It consists of all his men.

He raises a toast to you and the cheers are deafening.

Hoseok comes and whispers something in his ears.

"Go home." He tells you.

You catch his hand.

"Are you leaving... where are you going?"

"I promise I didn't want to leave but this is something I need to deal with. Go and rest I don't know how long it will take."

There is an ache in your heart.

Uncertainty and panic flooding your senses as you wait for your husband. You've tried passing the time. Taking a bath till your skin wrinkled. Taking your time completing the skin care routine. Eating Supplements.

Going through the photos in your phone. You also took a nap but you find yourself alone at 5 am. Deciding sleep had left you you start to cook breakfast for two. If he does not come you could eat breakfast for a second time.

You're in the middle of cooking when the door to your penthouse opens.

Yoongi comes in drenched in blood and you freeze.

Turning of the stove. You go towards him.

He looks at you finally. He opens his mouth and then closes it.

"Are you hurt?" You ask frantic.

This man you wanted to scream. But it wasn't lost to you in true fashion your wedding night was something you couldn't have imagined.

He strops of his clothes as you prepare a bath for him even adding a bath bomb for him.

While he would not say it he is grateful for it to see the blue and purple of water instead of the dirt and grime.

"Do you need any help?" You ask him.

"My shoulder hurts can you wash my hair." He asks.

You nod.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub. Taking a dollop of shampoo and massaging it into his hair.

You wash your hands.

"Go to the front let me rub your back."

He does as you say.

You grab a loofah and put showergel and rub his back his neck his shoulders.

You take time to see the scars in your husbands body.

"I'm sorry I didn't want to leave its just some bastards decided it would be a good time to steal my stuff on my wedding day. We had a rat so he needed to be made an example of." He informs you.

"Do you want to soak more while I make breakfast."

"You must be tired should we order something."

"That will take so much time besides I'm already half done." He nods in understanding.

You wash his hair trying your best to not get soap in his eyes.

You change into pajamas as you wet your nightsuit helping him.

You complete your cooking. He enters dressed in sweatshirt and pajamas too.

"Is your shoulder fine now?"

"Since you helped me wash it didn't hurt to wear clothes." He replied.

You nodded and placed breakfast on the table.

You both sat down to eat. You were pleased to see Yoongi consumed the plate clean.

As if the nuances of your wedding were not ready to rest you were to meet Yoongi's old friend and Business partner Kim Seokjin.

You knew he was old money and that at somepoints Yoongi and him were roommates and you didn't know what to do with this information.

"So here's the troublemaker." Jin teases.

Yoongi stays silent beside him. You sit next to Yoongi.

"Hello I'm Suga's Wife." You introduce yourself.

"Such a good pet." Jin comments.

"Jin hyung." Yoongi says.

He smiles in return.

"You must be something if Yoongles here didn't stop you you would have ended up in the very brothels your husband owns."

You understand that Seokjin despite his harmless looks was not a man to cross.

"You must wonder why I didn't come to the wedding. It was because I thought he was joking. The boys play me time to time. I must say you had nerve RM tells me you bit his ear off and almost assaulted my man here."

You look towards Suga subtly.

Had your sister really done that.

" To be married to him I should have some nerve no?"

To this he let's out genuine laughter.

Yoongi's phone rings. He leaves you with Jin and you want him to stay but you can't ask that.

"Jokes aside I'm glad you married him." Jin says serious all of a sudden. "That boy has had a hard time, though he may not let on he's soft on the inside and suffers due to it. Did he tell you his parents died. He probably wouldn't have. Don't blame him for it he only wants you to know the good parts even if he's convinced he's horrible. Take care of him Y/n."

"I will."

"Good."

Jin says satisfied.

Yoongi comes back.

"I'm sorry it was important."

"Those Riverside boys again." Jin asks taking a sip of his tea.

Yoongi nods.

"Let's have lunch together sometime." Jin says as he leaves.

And you look at the man in front of you and wonder how much of him do you really know.

But you know it doesn't matter because you're ready to love all of him.

"Ice-cream?" Yoongi asks.

"Is that my reward for being a good girl."

Yoongi smiles simply.

He watches you as you lick the soft serve and takes a bite.

"Hey not my ice-cream!" You whine.

He giggles but you continue pretending to be mad.

So instead of the ice-cream on the cone he tastes the one on your lips and then your kissing forgetting the existence of the ice-cream.

He pulls away and you are wide eyed and breathless.

"You want more icecream." He teases but you are too shy to respond.

One day I'll get back at you Min Yoongi, you promise.

The sun shines in the distance and the clouds that had covered it are nothing more than wisps . Its a beautiful day, a beautiful day to be in love.

●●● fluff ends here ●●●

Only continue if you want to feel the heat of angst and cliffhangers.. because I have zero self control.

Months pass by and before you know it you become pregnant and you see the softness of your husband shine through more brighter than ever.

While you are usually accompanied by bodyguard he let's you roam as you wish. He becomes more soft with you, smiles more often, cooks for you, massages you, talks to the baby.

Finally it seems that your happy family is complete.

Except that your child is declared a stillborn.

Then you can't bring yourself to look at him.

He too avoids you and once a happy marriage is in shambles.

The nursery sits abandoned and the baby shoes gather dust.

Yoongi is torn. Seeing the dead look in your eyes. He knows he needs to care for you but this ache inside makes him brutal.

The monster that had gone to sleep with the news of his child has come back with a vengeance.

Five months pass.

After a lot of convincing from Hoseok and pleas from Jimin. Yoongi is ready to make amends with you.

"I think I should ask for a divorce and leave." He hears you talking on the phone with someone.

His heart drops, you can't go. He won't let you. He lost his child He won't loose his wife. Did you not love him. Were all those confessions lies, no wonder how easily they slipped out of you.

He checks your phone.

You had been talking to your sister. He finds you had called her before your delivery. Betrayal stabs him in the chest. He knew he shouldn't have separated you from your family but what about him was a promise to him worth nothing.

Imagine his surprise when your sister called him.

When she presented him a baby who she claimed was yours and Taehyung's who was Jin's little brother. Alive and well.

"She was going to run away with him." Your sister informs you.

"You think I believe you. ..why would you even tell me."

"It was supposed to be me. It was me you met but she took you away from me like she's taken everything my parents affection, people's attention, always pretending to be nice when she has nothingbut a rotten core." Your sister says.

"If you are defaming my wife I will forget you are her sister." He warns.

He wanted to not believe her but it made your acceptance make much more sense. Why would you do that. Break his heart like this.

But if that's what you had done then you'd pay for it.

That's how you found yourself in the despicable place once again except this time the gun was pointing at you instead of your sister.

"Your sister tells me you've been playing kitten, care to tell me... won't you let me in the fun."

Taglist: @scuzmunkie

Next

[husbandohunter]

Boys over flowers [Genshin Impact/Various x Reader] Part 2

Not everything had to be about fighting. Ahem Childe.

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Xiao

{Zhongli}

Out of all the bountiful possessions in the land he carved with his very own hands, the glaze lily had always been his favourite.

This flower was a nostalgia stained with time. As much as he loved them, the love he felt was more of a bittersweet sadness if anything. The loss of a friend, his mentor, someone he cherished so deeply, all of it was held into a single glaze lily.

Once as Morax, now as ordinary Zhongli, in those 6000 years he had seen it all. Even his grief for Guizhong faded into a memory.

Sometimes Zhongli felt like he was reading from a story book. Detatched while staring through an omniscient standpoint. It seems that his infinite years brought both experience and lonliness along the way.

"Zhongli? What are you staring at?"

But not when he was with you.

The glaze lily went on many journeys when he met you

He remembers the first encounter on a sunset night just as the petals  were about to bloom. You were there, crouched down, staring into his golden eyes.

“This is for you! Not many can be fully matured like this so make sure to take good care of it,” You held it out to him and he takes the stem out of your hold.

“A parting gift, I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Zhongli sees it as a sign of a new contract, “It seems you possess a good eye when you were selecting them.”

He remembers the bouquet you presented during his birthday, the garland you placed on his head when he was reading, the vase by his desk always filled to the brim whenever you’d pay a visit to his parlour.

He remembers how the blue petals scattered across the floor the day you two married, everywhere he went so did this flower. Everytime he saw this flower, he thought of you.

Was it okay to feel like this? No one can ever replace Guizhong, was it okay to love again even when this being was much more perishable than she was? Zhongli was use to the experience of tragedy and loss as it was part of life.

Ah, so this must be what it feels like to live like a mortal.

To cherish every passing moment knowing that it won’t last forever. He will embrace it to the end. 

Old memories that were once dust rose from the soil, now reborn into a new beginning. Your curious gaze leans closer to his profile, sitting side-by-side under the blankets of your shared bed, the corners of his lips lift into a small smile.

“I’m only reminiscing, my dear. You don’t need to worry for me.” He kisses your forehead and tucked you to bed. The candle now blown out as his arms wrapped around your waist while spooning from behind.

Zhongli closed his eyes, knowing if he dreamt of a garden full of glaze lilies, there will be no sadness behind it.

{Childe}

Mother fucker would try to turn this into a sparring session.

This is why you NEVER invite Childe. If the valley were the air nomads, Childe was the fire nation. He’d stomp his muddy shoes in front of you just to get your attention simply because he knows it will piss you off.

An angry s/o means a potential fight. Win win situation.

Thus, no one blamed you for giving him a cold shoulder after that.

“Aha, looks like I went a little too far, didn’t I? Alright alright, I’ll stop trampling on your flowers from now on, you have my word. So talk to me, okay? Please?”

Alas you spare him a glance, “Make that a pinky promise.”

He didn’t know you were so serious about gardening. The Feiyun commerce guild took greate pride in cultivating the finest silk flowers in all of Teyvat and you being from that guild held up that legacy. Even if Childe tries to buy back the ones he stepped on, nothing could match the quality of your work.

Needless to say, your little hobby became a normal thing, Childe was very chaotic in nature so something more calm was nice to mediate that attitude. You taught him how to water plants, place the fertilizer and knowing which ones to pick.

But let’s be real, florist Childe isn’t that far-fetched because he is 10/10 waifu material.

Then Teucer comes in and tags along. He wanted to take some silk flowers back to Tonia until Childe informed him they’ll wilt on their way to Snezhnaya. 

“Aww, that’s too bad,” he would say while pouting, “Then I’ll give them to you big sister (Y/n)!”

“How sweet, you’ll be quite the charmer when you’re all grown up, Teucer. Maybe even better than your big brother.”

“Come on now, babe. You know that’s impossible.”

You twirled the silk flower right under your nose, the playful tone never leaving your voice, “Oh really? You and Teucer both share the same genes so yes, it is a possibility.”

An amusing glint dances in the ocean of his gaze as he gleefully remarks, “Well if you put it that way, I think Teucer would be at a very big disadvantage.”

“What do you-”

Before you could finish, Childe covers Teucer’s eyes and leans over to steal a sinful kiss, sliding his tongue inside. He purposely brushed his lips over yours after parting, completely satisfied by your flustered expression.

I love this bastard

{Xiao}

Hip hip hooray for having both Qiqi and Xiao in your party. Must be fun collecting their ascension materials.

“Adeptus Xiao!”

Your dumbass fell off the high cliff while obtaining the violet grass, Xiao yeets in from nowhere and caught you from death’s clutches.

Shall I mention that this had happened TWICE already?

Xiao carries you to safety and gently settles you down to your feet. He shot you the sharpest and most deadpan look he could muster because actions speak louder that words, he was trying to make a point.

You gave him a weary smile as the violetgrass batch limps in your hands along with the qingxins.

“I can hardly fathom how utterly stupid and moronic you can actually be. What did you think would happen when you tried to pull off that stunt? That you’d suddenly grow wings and be able to fly?”

His harsh words put you back into your place like a scolded child, “I’m sorry...I just wanted to help...”

Mah man does not watch what he says and always end up guilty. Your kicked puppy look is really going to be the death of him. He means well, just harsh when it comes to your well-being.

“Fine, give me those. I’ll take care of it.” He wouldn’t allow you to retort, he just took them from your hands and left without a word.

Let’s just say that Xiao isn’t the best when it comes to handling flowers as he would handle monesters, his touch isn’t the most delicate either and would prefer to get the job done fast. 

Sometimes he’d pull the roots our along with it, dirt and mud dripping from the bottom of the stem. Or the opposite. He pulls too hard and the stem just SNAPS and you’re left with just the blossom. 

“Does it matter? They’re only ingredients as you’ve said.”

That gave you a perfect excuse to teach him the ways of gardening and just be more delicate overall. 

At first he didn’t understand why humans were so meticulous about these things but when he saw a man present a bouquet to his wife, Xiao began to reconsider his methods. He doesn’t undersand mortal traditions as much and sticks to something simple and classy.

Don’t be surprised when you find a bunch on your desk for your birthday <3

{Albedo}

The sheer cold of dragon spine could naturally kill any botanical organisms aside from mints. The only flowers Albedo usually sees are the ones he artificially makes.

But being the genius he was, Albedo knew every variety of flowers to exist in the book. In this case, HE was the expert.

To him, the flower was the symbol of life. Albedo only knew the scientific facts of plant life and their natural functions, you on the otherhand were more familiar with the flower languages in a deeper meaning.

Today was a rare day where Albedo figured he’d step out of that freezing lab and conduct his research somewhere warmer, specifically Windrise where it’s quiet and away from the city.

“Dandelions may not be flowers but thei’re the main specialty of Mondstadt carrying the meaning of ‘freedom’! That’s probably how the Acting Grandmaster got her title.”

“Freedom...” He ponders, “I guess you cold say that.”

Albedo can’t understand why people would choose to associate meaning with plants. Where do their ideas come from? And why? Frankly, he can’t see the point in any of it. 

But at the same time, it made him happy to see you so enthusiastic about his research even if it wasn’t quite near the target. Albedo had always been so engrossed in his work and you’d just silently keep him company of the side, not many times where you both fot to nerd out on the same topic.

Emotions were still a mystery to him. It seems that even upon the most boring subjects, they don’t seem boring anymore when talking to his significant other. Soon enough, Albedo found himself putting his research aside and just listening to you talk. 

“And the Rose expresses romance and love. It’s common for lovers to give it to another during Valentines day.”

He hums cheekily, “Are you telling me that just to hint me to give one to you?”

“W-Well, I didn’t say that.”

He got nothing done. Perhaps his research can wait for another day, right now, he was more curious on what other meanings can a flower hold.

[youmightfindyourself]

It’s Hard to Find a Good Lamp Donald Judd 1993

In the middle 1980s I wrote that in the middle 1960s someone asked me to design a coffee table. I thought that a work of mine which was essentially a rectangular volume with the upper surface recessed could be altered. This debased the work and produced a bad table, which I later threw away. The configuration and the scale of art cannot be transposed into furniture and architecture. The intent of art is different from that of the latter, which must be functional. If a chair or a building is not functional, if it appears to be only art, it is ridiculous. The art of a chair is not its resemblance to art, but is partly its reasonableness, usefulness, and scale as a chair. These are proportion, which is visible reasonableness. The art in art is partly the assertion of someone’s interest regardless of other considerations. A work of art exists as itself; a chair exists as a chair itself. And the idea of a chair isn’t a chair. Due to the inability of art to become furniture, I didn’t try again for several years. However, I’ve always been interested in architecture and continued to sketch ideas.

Of course if a person is at once making art and building furniture and architecture there will be similarities. The various interests in form will be consistent. If you like simple forms in art you will not make complicated ones in architecture. “Complicated,” incidentally, is the opposite of “simple,” not “complex,” which both may be. But the difference between art and architecture is fundamental. Furniture and architecture can only be approached as such. Art cannot be imposed upon them. If their nature is seriously considered the art will occur, even art close to art itself. The mistake I made with the table was to try to make something as unusual as I thought the work of art to be. Back of this was the assumption that a good chair was only a good chair, that a chair could only be improved or changed slightly, and that nothing new could be done without a great, strange effort. But the furniture slowly became new as I dealt easily with the reality. A good chair is a good chair. The particulars slowly created the general forms that could not be directly transferred. I can now make a chair or a building that is mine without trying to derive forms from my own works of art. After a few years I designed a pair of sinks for an old building that I bought in New York City and for which I’ve designed much subsequently. These were designed directly as sinks; they were not a conversion; I didn’t confuse them with art. The basin of the sink is an ellipse, which so far I’ve never used in art, instead of a circle, which I do use. I also designed a large table with chairs, somewhat like benches, to be made of folded one-eighth-inch stainless steel, brass, or copper. These were never made because the fourth floor of the building in which it was to be is very open, primarily two planes, floor and ceiling, while the table and chairs are very closed. The latter would ruin the space. I later made some bookshelves for the third floor.

I kept the building but moved to West Texas with my two children, where I rented a small house on the edge of town. The house was quartered into eleven-by-eleven-foot rooms. There was no furniture and none to be bought, either old, since the town had not shrunk or changed much since its beginning in 1883, or new, since the few stores sold only fake antiques or tubular kitchen furniture with plastic surfaces printed with inane geometric patterns and flowers. The two small children played and slept in one of the four rooms. In order to give them each an area of their own notwithstanding the one room, I designed a bed which was a closed platform of one-by-twelves with a central, free-standing wall, also of one-by-twelves. The bed was designed so that the lumberyard could cut the few different lengths to size and I could then nail them together in place. I liked the bed a great deal, and in fact the whole house, for which I made other furniture. Later, in a large place in town, I designed desks and chairs for the children using the same method of construction. More furniture developed from this beginning.

It’s impossible to go to the store and buy a chair. In North America since the “Mission” style became unfashionable in the 1920s and in England since the similar furniture derived from William Morris also became unfashionable, there has been no furniture which is pleasurable to look at, fairly available, and moderate in price. The only exception is the bentwood furniture developed by Thonet, which became less fashionable in the 1920s but has continued to be made until now by Thonet and others. This is still not expensive but it is not down the street in the store. The furniture designed in the 1920s by the well-known architects that continues to be made is expensive for most people, although not as expensive as the materials and the construction imply, and is hardly nearby to purchase. Neither is all of it agreeable. Mies van der Rohe’s is still the best and should not be considered as only a worn status symbol. As bad ideas should not be accepted because they are fashionable, good ideas should not be rejected because they are unfashionable. Conventions are not worth reacting to one way or another. Most of the other furniture in production, such as Breuer’s Wassily chair and Le Corbusier’s furniture, is an early civilized and almost forgivable sentimentalizing of the machine. The chairs of both architects are derived from the better camping and military chairs of the nineteenth century. Old good ideas made new and shiny are now a dismaying precedent. Sentimentalizing the machine is now a malignity of the century. This is present in most available furniture and in most buildings. It is extreme in Pompidou and Lloyd’s. In furniture this puerility is usually combined with the puerility of domesticity, the societal progress of the machine with personal progress in the society.

Almost all furniture made since the 1920s and much before in any of the “styles,” “modern” and “traditional,” has been junk for consumers. As I’ve written, the ornate and overstuffed furniture of the last half of the nineteenth century, crowded into corresponding rooms, was not supplanted by simple and functional modern furniture. Instead, this was turned into Victorian furniture, also crowded into matching rooms. Decoration isn’t just applied; a chair is decorated. Modern, progressive furniture has been corrupted into the opposite. Primarily, “traditional” furniture, Victorian furniture, continues. It’s ordinarily what’s in the store. This is what most people have to choose from, whether in Yellowknife or New York. As in politics, this furniture is not traditional and conservative but is an imitation of past furniture. The appearance of the past represents status by invoking a higher class in the past than the purchaser is in in the present. The imitation old furniture symbolizes up and the imitation modern symbolizes forward. Usually the first is in the home and the second is in the office, sometimes one or the other in both, and seldom the reverse. Good office furniture is also difficult to find. The bizarre and complicated “modern” office of the rich executive, who has photographs on his desk of his wife and children in their traditional setting, is a summation of the surrounding corporate headquarters. Since he or his wife is on the board of the museum, it must look progressive, like the headquarters, but with a touch of tradition, for her, for upward mobility to the past, for something better than business, such as learning, although there is nothing better, and, generally for the gentility of art, which symbolizes all of these. Then, also, he may be on the town council, or he builds shopping centers, or he builds apartment houses, giving the people what they want, to go with the furniture in which they had no choice. Upward and forward, and lower every year, not only in architecture and art, but economically and politically, since reality is equally absent. Anyway, what kind of a society is it when you can’t even buy a chair?

Architects, designers, businesspeople, even politicians, say that they are giving the people what they want. They are giving the people what they deserve, because of their negligence, but they are presumptuous to claim to know what they want. What they want is what they get. An exception to imposing upon the public what they want, or perhaps a rare good guess, is the design of Sony television sets and other equipment of some other Japanese companies and of some European companies. This has no relation to traditional Japanese architecture, which is fortunate, because if it did the new version of the old would be just as debased as it is in the United States. Department stores in Osaka are floor after floor of kitsch, as they are in New York. And always surprisingly, and always everywhere, new Japanese and Korean architecture show no fundamental lessons learned from their past architecture, the same as in Paris. In the United States the television machine began disguised and continues as at once the myth of the machine and the myth of the old home. The Americans gave the Americans what they wanted; they didn’t want it. Neither did anyone else. In addition to the success of Sony’s design, there is the smaller success of Braun, whose design must be the model, somewhat better, as earlier usually is, for Sony’s design. A few months ago there was a curious article in Lufthansa’s magazine justly praising Braun and its chief designer, Dieter Rams, praising “German” design of course, but explaining that “German” design was now second to “Italian” design (consumer products are not where nations differ in design) but that Germany would catch up. This means become worse. “Designer” Italian furniture is the world’s worst. The only things as bad are the plastic bottles for liquid soap. It is an exception and a possibility that you can go down the street and choose a TV and enjoy looking at it when it’s turned off. In Texas, when I made the first furniture, I wanted a television set. This wasn’t down the street, but almost so, twenty-five miles away. All the sets were American, all were made of plastic imitating wood, some like your Anglo grandmother’s sideboard, some like your Italian grandmother’s credenza, some like your Latino grandmother’s aparador. I chose an Anglo set by Zenith. Again as usual, the design and the technology were congruent. The color was that of the first colored comic strip, printed during an earthquake.

Most of the furniture that I have designed remains fairly expensive, because of its methods of construction, and it is not easily available. We have made a serious effort to lower the prices but the furniture is handmade, basically even the sheet-metal pieces made by Janssen, one by one. These would be cheaper made by hundreds but still there would be considerable handwork. The wooden furniture cannot change. Lower prices require great numbers, which require a large distribution. This usually leads to the department store. The distribution of furniture, and of books, probably of most things, are monopolies against diversity, which eliminate exceptions and complication, which have an invariable scheme for production and for costs, and of course for appearance, and, for books, subject matter. For both furniture and books the designer and the author absolutely receive very little. The production cost of furniture is not as fixed as the cost of the designer, but it is low. The cost of the designer must have developed from that of real modern furniture, since the architect was always dead. The producer, not the factory, and the retailer, or both as one, receive the most money, some as profit, some for the expenses of the distribution and the salesroom. This makes an impossible price. And of course it seems that the middleman should get less. The larger the distribution the more to the middleman. Therefore the best method is a small distribution, which is what we do. And, importantly, we are the producers, which combines that profit and my profit into one, leaving only the retailer as extra. Our furniture goes around the world, but only one by one. Most things could be made in the area in which they are consumed, eliminating the big distributor, often one company charging for three functions, instead of two for one as in our case, charging three times as the distributor, the producer, and the manufacturer, that is, profiting as corporations. Almost anything they can do anyone can do anywhere. And obviously even cars and TVs could be made by any large city or small country. I have always thought it strange that there are no cars built in Switzerland. I have heard that there was once a company. Why should Texas import cars and trucks from Michigan? The oligarchy of monopolies of distribution prevents innovation, invents only restrictions, and raises blank walls. The flat and boring society is a maze of blank walls just above eye level. This prevents new and real inventions, so obviously there is no chance for only a new chair or a little book. The purpose of big business is to maintain its oligarchy rather than to do anything else, for example, to fulfill two of its biggest claims, competition and innovation. Efficiency is another claim, part of progress, efficiency for profit, not necessarily for production, and not for the public. Only in the mythical “progress” is there a suggestion of benefiting society. Most businesspeople think that such slight altruism is part of their advertising. And “free enterprise” is a slogan of the Pentagon.

Noam Chomsky writes:

Free trade is fine for economics departments and newspaper editorials, but nobody in the corporate world or the government takes the doctrines seriously. The parts of the US economy that are able to compete internationally are primarily the state-subsidized ones: capital-intensive agriculture (agribusiness, as it’s called), high-tech industry, pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, etc.

The same is true of other industrial societies. The US government has the public pay for research and development and provides, largely through the military, a state-guaranteed market for waste production. If something is marketable, the private sector takes it over. That system of public subsidy and private profit is what is called free enterprise.

My experience is that both furniture distribution and book distribution are impossible. On the other hand the art business is such a one-horse business that something larger seems better. But this is perhaps because the context for art is so weak. The only possible way, perhaps, to make cheap mass-produced furniture is to start with a construction cost and to design accordingly. At present we would have to debase the construction of the existing furniture for mass production. Beginning from a fixed construction cost still leaves the questions of too little to the designer and too much to the producer-organizer-wholesaler and to the retailer.

The roughly made pine furniture made by me and others in Texas was made first, with a few exceptions. So far this has not been made for sale. Next, well-made furniture in fine solid wood was made for my building in New York and then in small numbers to sell, as it still is. The wood and the craftsmanship make this the most expensive. In 1984 I designed some chairs, benches, a table, and some beds in sheet metal, which were painted one color to a piece. There were also a couple of chairs and a table made of copper. This was for myself but also was the first furniture to begin as furniture to sell. Since this was sheet metal and the construction is common, I thought it would be cheap enough to be used outdoors in public, but there is still too much handwork. Until then, except for the first pine chairs, all of the furniture was somewhat heavy. Five years ago I designed some light chairs and two tables in solid wood. These are simply but well made in Yorkshire. Similar ones were made recently for outdoors in galvanized steel and of granite, again heavy, and also in Texas in painted steel and of slate. A few years ago, first for use, then for sale, desks, tables, and a bench were made in Cologne of clear plywood. The sheets of plywood are cut as little as possible and are slipped together, interlocking, like a children’s toy, an old idea. These also, sometimes with the plywood coated commercially with a color, as well as chairs like those in pine, are made in New York.

I am often asked if the furniture is art, since almost ten years ago some artists made art that was also furniture. The furniture is furniture and is only art in that architecture, ceramics, textiles, and many things are art. We try to keep the furniture out of art galleries to avoid this confusion, which is far from my thinking. And also to avoid the consequent inflation of the price. I am often told that the furniture is not comfortable, and in that not functional. The source of the question is in the overstuffed bourgeois Victorian furniture, which, as I said, never ceased. The furniture is comfortable to me. Rather than making a chair to sleep in or a machine to live in, it is better to make a bed. A straight chair is best for eating or writing. The third position is standing.

First published: Donald Judd Furniture: Retrospective, exh. cat. (Rotterdam: Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, 1993), 7–21.

Donald Judd Text © Judd Foundation

[lanawinters-ily]

The Way We Were

The reader has a stormy, bittersweet relationship with Lana; when they meet again, will it end in happiness, or will she walk away?

Based on the Barbra Streisand song ‘The Way We Were’

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Word count: 1400

Warnings: a LOT of metaphors & a turbulent relationship

Memories Light the corners of my mind Misty watercolour memories Of the way we were

There she was. Lana Winters. Your Lana.

Well at least she was at some moment in time.

You had met on a typical stormy Tuesday; yet another grey, bleak day in what seemed like a melancholic lifetime at that point. Your job was the same every day, no change, no variety to break up the never-ending cycle of life.

Until you saw her. The rain had been streaming down the train window, mirroring the tears of pure frustration that fell down your face, monotony overwhelming & reminding you of just how ordinary you were. But then she had tapped your shoulder, turning to meet sad eyes with chocolate orbs of wonder.

And you fell for her immediately.

Because if there was one thing that was for sure in such an unpredictable universe, Lana Winters was far from ordinary.

Scattered pictures Of the smiles we left behind Smiles we gave to one another For the way we were

Make no mistake, Lana was just one woman, but her presence packed an almighty punch, transforming your outlook by filling it with positivity & absolute joy. The tedious routine of life soon became glimpses of heaven in every moment, the beauty of simplicity revealed by the love of your life.

Before you were looking at the wide view, insignificance in such a vast planet making every aspect of life some sort of mocking cosmic joke; as if you were the extra in the movie of someone else’s existence.

Then Lana pointed out every detail that made up the world around you; the details on the petals in the flower fields you walked, the birds chirping each morning from your bedroom window, the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze singing a lullaby to rock you to sleep.

She turned the negatives to positives, the rain no longer a reflection of God’s sadness, becoming Mother Nature’s nurturing of the planet; watering to sooth the wilting souls that walked the ground.

She was your personal land of Oz – bringing plain Dorothy into a bright technicolour vision, worlds away from the black & white Kansas you had been stuck in for so long.

Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time re-written every line?

But once a plane has left the ground to soar above the clouds of dreamland, at some point it must return to lucid reality. Romanticizing love is never idealistic, the honeymoon period often fades into truth when the couple learns all they can about their partner, bringing along the flaws & sufferings of life.

Only the Gods are immune to the human affliction of pain; immortality granting wisdom & maturity that only originates in the freedoms away from the confines of time.

Despite the naivety of the beginnings of a relationship, Lana was not a Goddess, & not a Queen; she had cracks in her porcelain surface, deep ones at that. You had your own insecurities of course; cruel voices pointing out every blemish, every sentence spoken, every outfit worn, but not to the multitude of how Lana had suffered.

Her horrific traumas were never verbally revealed to you, triggers providing peepholes into the haunted era of her twenties – scars both physical & mental slowly chipping away at the bridge of your union. You would never know if the truth could have saved you both, or ripped the bandage of the inevitable split, but either way, you never fully understood each other.

The romance of nature seemed to be your only continuous bond, reliance on surroundings to further linger the magic spark of your first glance at each other.

A distraction from the fractures slowly creeping over the glass, ready to shatter at any given push.

For some, putting two broken halves together heals the damage, comfort providing the ultimate cure, but not for you. The shards were too sharp, too jagged, too complex to be fixed with a few words or physical affection.

Really, fate had doomed your love from the beginning, the universe’s entertainment as the new Shakespearian- style tragic romance of the century.

If we had the chance to do it all again

Tell me, would we? Could we?

Oh, but how you yearned for her. It was like having a half ripped away, functions of the body barely surviving, not even close to thriving like you had been with Lana.

It was as if you meant to have your appendix removed, but lost a lung instead. How long would it take for you to not be able to pull in a breath without her nearby?

No matter how broken the sides where, you were willing to try every single possibility to make it work again, but was she?

Is there such thing as a one-sided soulmate? The sun gives so much to the earth; a way to survive, hope for the future & security with the warmth that radiates.

But the Earth simply looks back in appreciation, not providing much in return.

One simply orbiting the other.

Memories May be beautiful and yet

The times shared were just too wonderful & joyous to be abandoned; a lighthouse shining through the grey fog of memories.

Every time you heard Lana’s name, all you could think of were the bright summer days in which you would both sprint through flower-filled fields, chasing each other & giggling like you were little girls again – a childish blissfulness under your shining sun.

You were surrounded by Lana in those glory-days; she was radiant to you, with comfort in all the seasons.

And you would kiss softly under a blanket of darkness as night fell, whilst the stars looked on with their bright, twinkling smiles.

You longed for that eternal summer again, the beauty, the meaning to every moment.

What's too painful to remember We simply to choose to forget

But of course, the seasons carry on, melting into each other as the weather changes. And, as the weather fluctuates, so does the mood of nature; calm, peaceful summers fading into temperamental, dreary winters.

You were children of the earth, the outside world shaping your love for each other, so how was it to last as the seasons moved on? There was no eternal summer for you.

Like frostbite you nipped at each other, the snow beating down outside; stamping on the flowers of hope that you had nurtured in the sunlight.

Frostbite if left untreated, will only spread, much like the little flaws in your relationship that were growing as the days advanced, darkness threatening to hold you hostage.

So your sunshine left, & the flowers were buried under the ground again.

So it's the laughter We will remember

And here she was again, in the present day.

She peered at you with those muddy eyes & flashed a smile, igniting a switchboard of emotions within your very core.

The smile sounded like a thousand jokes shared on a beautiful day, & seemed to last for eternity in your mind. It was bright & warm, evoking a feeling of security, of home at last.

The smile sounded like bickering & arguing; short insults hit in a cruel game of lover’s tennis. It was pierced with venom, teasing with the prospect of a future that was promised, but never received.

It seems that the seasons were now inside of you, a turbulent cycle sped up to feel like an entire year worth of emotion as you flitted through them wildly.

Well, at least she had followed through with the vow that monotony & blank feelings would escape you after the day you met.

It was so bittersweet; should you live in the past or move forward with a different future?

Whenever we remember The way we were The way we were

As if to answer your question, Lana broke your gaze & looked up at the sky as grey clouded the sun, & rain started to spit onto the ground.

She just turned around & walked away, leaving you with the hums of life you began with, beautiful song dimming into the last teasing notes.

The crescendo of your existence faded into the distance, as you wondered if you would ever hear music quite like this,

Ever again.

Taglist: @ka-s @ninaahs @stayeviildarling @babypocahontas @lilypadscoven @winters-witch-bitch @basicasshole @bottom4delia @forevercountess @violentwavesofem0tion @sporadicsupercorpquotesmonger @liberosisaspire @mellowalieneggsknight @thecasualgeek1 @lucykilljoy

[aggressive-positivity-network]

So I (A white cisgender heterosexual woman who likes pumpkin spice lattes and Animal Crossing, so yeah) grew up in a very, VERY LGBTQ+-phobic household, and that translated into me having basically no knowledge on the LGBTQ+ community. Could you do me a massive favor and just lay out straight the words and phrases and generally help a dumbass out?

Oooh, no problem! And believe me, you aren’t a dumbass. I knew next to nothing for a while, and I grew up in a very supportive household. I just didn’t have the means to learn about it.

Here’s a phrasebook for some common phrases you might hear:

TERF: Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist; they believe that trans women should not be included in their fight for gender equality, and that because trans woman “used to be men” they shouldn’t be allowed in women safe spaces because they might rape someone. Sooo yeah. Keep away from them. They are pretty nasty and misguided. Also known as radfems.

Pansexual: Attracted sexually to anyone of any gender identity.

Panromantic: Attracted romantically to anyone of any gender identity

Bisexual: Attracted sexually to two or more genders.

Biromantic: Attracted romantically to two or more genders

Pan/Bi Discourse: Some people think pansexual and bisexual should become one or the other because they’re very similar to each other, but whether you identify as either of them is a personal choice, and you shouldn’t let anyone dictate your identity - ever. You can even be both at the same time, if you choose to identify that way! Honestly, it isn’t that big of a deal which one you choose, as long as you feel comfortable between them!

Demisexual/Demiromantic: Needs to form a strong emotional bond with someone before pursuing a romantic or sexual relationship. They probably wouldn’t enjoy speed-dating or sleeping with someone they just met. They might not experience sexual attraction for someone unless they knew the person very well.

Asexual: Does not feel sexual attraction for anyone; however, they still might like to have sex, may be neutral about sex, or might even be repulsed by it. Most people confuse this with chastity (not choosing to have sex, usually for religious reasons) or abstinence (choosing not to have sex until married). However, they still might get horny, or want to pleasure themselves. The usual difference is having it with another person. If they see a hot guy, for example, the immediate thought may be, “Wow they’re attractive,” rather than, “Have my babies.”

Aromantic: Does not feel romantic attraction for anyone; this may mean that usual romantic relationships don’t appeal to the person, or that shows of romance (flowers, dates, etc.) doesn’t appeal to them. However, they can still have very strong platonic relationships, and still do enjoy sex, but might not develop crushes or want to go on a date with someone. They might marry platonically, or marry romantically on certain terms.

Grey/Graysexual: Anyone who is in that “gray” space between being asexual and being sexual. They might like the idea of sex, but hate the product. They might have fantasies they’d like to live out in the bedroom, but not actual sex. They might like sex, but under certain conditions. People have their own names for the different facets of graysexuality, but are all under this umbrella.

Grey/Grayromantic: Anyone in that “gray” space between romantic and aromantic. They might like huge shows of romance in novels, but wouldn’t be a fan of it happening to them. They might have a crush on a person, but would never be in a relationship with them, even if asked. Graysexuality also has different names for different facets, but it’s still all under this umbrella.

Queer: Usually used as a temporary or even permanent label for when someone is still trying to figure things out. They know that there is something inside of them that’s different - but they’re not quite sure yet.

Non-binary: People who are neither male nor female, and are outside the gender spectrum. A few have androgynous (gender-neutral) styles or body types, but no matter what they wear or what they look like, they are still non-binary!

Trans: Someone who was born gender, but knows in their heart that they are another. Someone may be born a boy, but always feel like a girl, vice versa, or both genders may change to non-binary, bigender, genderqueer, or genderfluid. Being trans simply means you are making the physical and/or mental transition from one gender or another.

Transmasc: A trans person that presents as masculine, with both clothes and manner.

Transfemme: A trans person that presents as feminine, with both clothes and gender.

Bigender: Someone who identifies as male sometimes and female sometimes.

Genderfluid: Someone who drifts from one end of the binary spectrum (male on one side, female on the other) and may have several sets of pronouns. They may feel more feminine one day, more masculine another, and somewhere in between later that week.

AMAB: Assigned Male At Birth; this has no bearing on current gender identity, but it’s medically useful and can help trans people talk about themselves before they transition.

AFAB: Assigned Female At Birth; this has no bearing on current gender identity, but it’s medically useful and can help trans people talk about themselves before they transition.

Two-Spirit: A Native American who identifies as the traditional third gender, with both a masculine and a feminine spirit inside of them. It’s a pretty new term, and not all Indigenous people choose to label themselves or others that way.

Femme: A woman who dresses and acts in a traditionally feminine way.

Butch: A woman who dresses and acts in a traditionally masculine way.

Beard: Describes a partner in a relationship that exists for the purpose of keeping someone’s true sexual attraction status a secret. A gay man might have a relationship with a woman, who would be considered his beard.

Queerplatonic Relationship: A relationship that is a mixture of the traditional platonic relationship and the traditional romantic relationship. People included in this relationship can raise children and own a house together, but most likely won’t participate in sexual and/or romantic activities.

Polyamorous Relationship: A relationship that includes three or more people at any given time. This may look like a couple having an open relationship, where they can date others as they please, or it may be a set few people that stay together. Two people can be attracted to one other person, three people can all be attracted to each other, two couples can have sexual or romantic relations with each other’s partner - there are infinite combinations, and, as long as it’s healthy, they’re all valid!

I hope this helps! This is not an exhaustive list, but these are pretty much the basics and a little bit more. If you have any specific term you’d like me to define, I’d be more than happy to! Also, if I got any wrong, please feel free to correct me, and I’ll edit the post as soon as I can!

Also, who’s your favorite Animal Crossing character? I like Blathers a lot! Nerds and professors have my entire heart.

[scnkei]

Hisana smiled softly, blue tinged violet hues observed the flutter of the birds as they hovered around their nest. It was approaching Spring, where new life was brought into the world and everything awakened after months of wintery slumber. The subtle floral scent that hung in the air, tickled her nose with its sweetness. It was quite pleasant. However, this particular moment was even more so, due to the company and presence of a very familiar and treasured person: her dear husband. The same person who cared for her when she was ill, risked his freedom by collaborating with Urahara Kisuke to ensure her health and now, still protected her at the cost of himself and his reputation. It was only natural that Hisana worried for him. Concerned that the repercussions of associating with a criminal and keeping her existence a secret, would not only find him but be cruel in its delivery. That was not what she wanted for the man who only showed her kindness. Demonstrated to her that there was softness in a world so bitterly callous. Hisana did not feel she deserved such compassion--but regardless will do her best to safe guard him. Shield both her sister and this generous man from harm. She could not--would not--allow him to endure anymore than he already has.

"Byakuya-sama, as pointless as this question may be, it is one I must ask. If you could do it all over and never met me, would you ? For the family ? And as that may be impossible, if there was an opportunity to correct that action, would you take it ?" In other words, she may not be able to affect the past but there were options for the present and future. As it stands, most of the family considered her decease, perhaps with the exception of one or two trusted members and Rukia. Ah--her sister. Hisana had no inclination to abandon her. Abandon him. If, however, her absence would alleviate the burdens on their shoulders when it came to her, was it not worth it ? If she disappeared one night, would it not be better for Byakuya ? No one would find out the secrets and hence, he'd be safe. Bonds with the family may very well improve. Rukia would not suffer either, should her presence be discovered. So why did she stay ? If she loved him as she said she did, won't she leave to keep him safe ? "Byakuya-sama--my questions are not asked with the intention to hurt you. I ask them--because I wonder what is the best way to return your compassion, your love. I wish to keep you safe and my continuous presence jeopardizes that. How can I call myself your wife, when I sit here and add to your responsibilities. Put everything you worked hard for at risk." Was it because she was inherently selfish ? What was the right course of action ?

     Spring had used to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The world coming to life from its grave of winter had only reminded him that his wife was more dead than alive. Spring was the season for romance, and perhaps his loneliness had weighed even heavier on his shoulders during those months. All these troubles were a thing of the past. The years and years of waiting had brought him where he wanted to be - by Hisana’s side. The bird song no longer sounded hollow to him. The flowers bloomed more vibrantly. The grass was greener. The breeze softer. And she? She was beautiful. Her delicate hands white and angelic, her violet eyes deep like nightshades. Her reiatsu a brush of soft warmth.

     They were sitting side by side in the garden, in silence. Byakuya was not the best at starting conversations, but he would gladly talk with her should she so desire. Hisana eventually broke the comfortable silence, and the question she posed him was one he never imagined she would ask him. She asked him if given the choice, he would choose to never have met her. He had been looking at the sky, where birds flew back and forth building their nests. She had a serious look about her. Not that he thought she’d joke about something like this. Byakuya was bewildered by how her mind could be occupied with such thoughts. Was it because he wasn’t touching her? Or because they were just sitting here in silence? Had he done something to upset her? Oh, how he wished he could be a better husband so that she would never have to think such thoughts!

     It was almost as if she could read his mind, because she proceeded to say that she didn’t mean to hurt him. He was not... Hurt, per se. He was just hurting for her. Why could she not understand how precious she was? She still thought of herself as a burden to him. Nothing could be further from the truth. 

     ❝ Hisana. ❞ His voice was soft - as always when speaking to her, and yet there was a certain weight there. He wanted her to understand he was being serious with what he was about to say. He took her hand. Gently, of course. He bent his head down, a gesture he would never - ever - do towards anyone, and then he kissed her hand. ❝ If I went back in time, the only thing I would change would be that I would find you sooner. ❞ He spoke against her hand, and then placed yet another kiss to her skin. ❝ Worry not for my safety or my position. ❞ He looked at her now, meeting her eyes with his own cold, grey. ❝ I would throw it all away for an hour in your presence. ❞ Rational. He was always rational. Unfeeling. He weighed his options and always put his pride first. But all of that meant nothing when it came to HER. For her, he would do anything. It wasn’t supposed to be logical, because it was love. It was love, and he would only ever love her. ❝ I love you. ❞

[the-himawari]

A3! Magazine Interview Translation - 2D☆STAR Vol. 11 (2/2) [Spicy Cuisine Research Society]

Their main activities are mixing spices, finding delicious restaurants, and eating!

5 members from the “Spicy Cuisine Research Society”, a club for like-minded people within MANKAI Company, have convened! Let’s listen in on their fired-up talk on how they first got hooked on spices, and the unexpected methods of using spices they’ve been secretly wanting to try out!

“Chikage’s blend is a toxic substance. No one can eat it.”

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

——This time, everyone within the “Spicy Cuisine Research Society” from MANKAI Company have gathered! What was it that made you first interested in spices?

Omi: I guess it was when I joined the Theatre company and noticed that Director subtly changed the spice mixture every time she made us curry.

Chikage: Director has a pretty good tongue, doesn’t she? Her sense for choosing spices isn’t bad either.

Tsumugi: A sense for something like that exists too, huh… I was interested in edible flowers, so I was invited to join.

Citron: For me, spices are the arch of my national flag*! I love spicy food!

Tsumugi: Could it be you mean “taste of your homeland”? The kingdom of Zafra has many spicy dishes and they were all delicious.

Chikage: I seriously considered permanent residency there.

Omi: Ahaha, Chikage-san stocked up on a lot of spices in Zafra, right?

Kumon: (Autumn Troupe’s) Sakyo-san asked if he was a vendor!

Chikage: I suggested adding “Mankai Company’s Specially-Made Red Sauce��� to our goods but I was rejected instantly on the spot.

Citron: Chikage’s blend is a toxic substance. No one can eat it.

Chikage: I wonder if I should prepare the proper documents and hold a full-scale presentation next time.

Omi: You’re serious about this, huh…

Tsumugi: I guess it’s time for the trading company employee to show his true abilities…

Kumon: Rather than interested, I think guys who mix spices are kinda cool…!

Citron: It’s like making an original drink at the drink bar of a family restaurant, right!

Kumon: Yeah, yeah! You can get a taste of how it feels to become an alchemist~.

Tsumugi: Didn’t (Spring Troupe’s) Itaru-kun say something like that too…?

Chikage: In other words, that’s what a chuuni…

Kumon: UMMM! I think everyone would rather hear Chikage-san’s story over mine~!

Omi: Well, you do think of Chikage-san when you mention spices. I’m also curious how Chikage-san became interested in them.

Chikage: It’s a long story though…

Tsumugi: Keep it brief here.

Chikage: I've always liked spicy things from the start, and I thought that if it was spicy, then all foods were generally the same. But then at one point, the chicken masala I ate at a restaurant in a certain country was shockingly delicious… And not only that, but also the yukgaejang, mapo tofu, chili con carne… No matter what I ordered, everything was exquisite.

Omi: That restaurant served a lot of multinational dishes, huh…

Kumon: All of them sound tasty! I wanna try them…

Chikage: So, when I thought about what made them different from other restaurants, the answer was quite simple. That’s right. The spice mix they used was perfect. With just the difference of a few milligrams of a single spice…

Citron: Too long. The word limit will be used up with just Chikage’s story.

Chikage: I haven’t even finished telling half of it yet.

Tsumugi: We’ll listen to the rest when we get home.

——(Haha). What type of activities does the Spicy Cuisine Research Society usually do?

Tsumugi: A lot of the time we eat the dishes Omi-kun made for us using the spices Chikage-san prepared.

Kumon: Ah, but we went out to eat recently, didn’t we? At that mysterious restaurant Citron-san found!

Chikage: It was a Chinese and Vietnamese cuisine restaurant, right? It felt strange when the là zǐ jī and phở were served together.

Omi: Haha. The restaurant’s appearance and owner felt a bit shady, but the food there was pretty delicious, right? The cilantro was nice to eat and I learned a lot.

Citron: Omi is eager to learn, huh! I’m expressed**!

Kumon: Expressed?

Chikage: Could you possibly mean “impressed”?

Citron: That’s it!

——Do you have any spicy dishes which you actually secretly want to try out or eat right now?

Tsumugi: It’s summer, so it’s the season you want to eat spicy food, right?

Omi: That’s true. If you have any requests then let me know. If you want, I’ll make them for you.

Kumon: Me, me! I wanna eat some mildly spicy braised pork!

Chikage: Braised pork that’s dyed bright red… Sounds nice.

Tsumugi: He said mildly spicy, Chikage-san…

Citron: I heard shichimi*** is tangy and apparently goes well with beer!

Omi: That’s true. It seems like it can be enjoyed as a side dish with alcohol.

Kumon: Beer, side dishes … That’s so adult…! So cool!

Citron: I want to eat atchizo**** made with red chili peppers!

Omi: Ajillo? Braised pork and ajillo are both simple, so I’ll make them tonight.

Kumon: Seriously!? Woohoo! I’ll tell (Summer Troupe’s) Tenma-san over LIME!

Citron: How eggciting~! I’ll make (Winter Troupe’s) Azuma bring out the good wine!

Omi: Tsumugi-san and Chikage-san, do you two have anything you want to eat?

Tsumugi: Actually, I think it might taste good to pour sweet chili sauce over ice cream.

Omi: Oh, I see. That sounds like it’s worth giving a try. I was just coming up with a dessert for Chikage-san.

Chikage: I told you that you didn’t have to worry about me. But well, thanks. I’ll look forward to it.

Citron: Omi’s a bother***** after all, hm~.

Tsumugi: It’s mother.

Kumon: Does Chikage-san have one? A spicy dish you want to try.

Chikage: Hmmm… Ah. The other day when I went to an escape game with (Autumn Troupe’s) Banri, we received a shaved iced making machine for some reason as an extra prize for clearing it.

Omi: Ahh, that’s why (Autumn Troupe’s) Taichi and them were fired up about making shaved ice.

Citron: Ohh! Japanese summer! I want to make shaved ice too!

Kumon: That sounds super fun! Melon syrup’s the only choice for me!

Chikage: Speaking of syrup for shaved iced, the classics are Melon, Strawberry and Blue Hawaii, but I…

Tsumugi: I have a bad feeling about this.

Chikage: I think habanero sauce would go well with it, don’t you?

Omi: Would that… taste good? I feel like that would just be spicy ice water…

Chikage: Wouldn’t the flavour depend on the sauce?

Kumon: I don’t think that’s the point…

Citron: Chikage’s exclusive dessert has been decided here.

——It was fun getting to understand everyone’s love for spices.

Tsumugi: Thank you very much.

Kumon: Ah~ I got hungry while we were talking. Why don’t we grab a bite and then head home?

Omi: Well there’s still some time before dinner. I guess we can have a small, pre-meal snack.

Citron: I have a restaurant I want to visit!

Tsumugi: What type of cuisine does the restaurant serve this time?

Citron: Indian & Bhutanese food!

Chikage: Heh, I’m a bit interested. It seems I’ll be able to eat some interesting dishes.

Omi: More like where do you find a shop like that...?

---

*Citron originally says "国旗のアーチ" (kokki no achi: arch of my national flag), which Tsumugi corrects as "故郷の味" (furusato no aji: taste/flavour of your homeland) **Citron originally says "バッチンバッチン" (bacchin bacchin), which Chikage corrects as "感心、感心" (kanshin, kanshin: impressed) ***Shichimi is a common spice mix in Japan which contains 7 ingredients ****Citron originally says "アッチーゾ" (atchizo[?] I'm not actually sure if that’s a real word), which Omi corrects as "アヒージョ" (ajillo: spanish-style garlic shrimp) *****Citron originally says "ヤカン" (yakan: kettle), which Tsumugi corrects as "オカン" (okan: another way of saying "mother" in the Kinki dialect)

Summer Troupe |

[translightyagami]

Mikalight Week fic: 24-Hour Gym

a short mikalight fic for, what else, @mikalightweek. wrote it sort of quick? and its not explicit but is very sensual and there’s a lot of body talk and you can basically assume they fuck after the fic (i was TOO LAZY to write the smut). Anyway.

This fic is rated BPBB, for Bench Pressing Bodacious Babes.

Quiet and soft humid air filled the gym. From the window, Teru watched him with his standard issue NPA duffel bag slung over his shoulder, laughing at a text on his phone. When he looked up, they almost met eyes and Teru turned, facing his reflection in the wall-length mirror. His black hair hung in lank strands beside his face; his grey T-shirt collar darkened into a full-leaf of sweat over his front. The gym door bells jingled as he came in, cheeks pink from the mid-winter outside and a wary smile on his face.

Of course, Teru recognized him. Kira. Light. Above the brown trendy haircut floated his full name, the kanji confusing for a minute until – congealed and solidified – the meaning existed. While Light checked in with the sleepy front desk clerk, he talked loud and high-pitched. It was a voice unlike the one Teru heard in the warehouse, the one that told him after the police and that little white haired boy were dead, to go home. To make up an alibi. And to meet him, at this little 24-hour gym, in ten days.

Watching Light’s mirror twin walk to the back lockers, Teru lifted his dumbbells on autopilot – eleven, twelve, twelve, no wait – before setting them down, grabbing the towel he tucked into his jogger’s waistband. Nervous sweat and exertion sweat mixed together, all mopped away by a monogramed hand towel. When he glanced back up, Light was at the rowing machine.

For twenty minutes, they waltzed: Light moved to a machine, doing his reps, while Teru went to a different machine, did his own program. (An unceasing eye for detail made note that Light lifted about ten under Teru’s lowest weight.) Having shed a jacket now that he’d warmed up, Light worked in a loose white tank top that hung low in the sleeve holes. Every so often, when he reached to grasp a bar, his chest swooped in and out of view. Teru caught scar tissue, though never a long enough glimpse to know its shape. He stood from the arm extension machine and walked to the bench press. All the way he felt two sharp eyes peering at him from a leg machine.

Teru set the plates: two 10 kg., and then two 2.5 kg. plates, an unusual though not overwhelmingly larger weight than he lifted on a normal night. Foolish and near school-boylike, he wanted to show off in front of the other man. After setting the weights, he leaned back and rested his head beneath the long metal bar – and waited. The sound of God walking, a long stride with confident footfalls, was familiar in Teru’s ears. Head haloed in florescent, Light bent above the metal bar with arms outstretched.

“Do you need a spotter?” His tone suggested a joke – ha, ha, who else but me – but Teru only heard the question in serious.

“Yes,” he said, and it was then he realized these were the first words he’d spoken to Light in public. How apt, how right, that their exchange be God extending his hands to help Teru carry such a heavy burden. Light hovered his palms just around the silver length, eyes trained on Teru as he wrapped fists at either end and – oh! – lifted. Every rep, staring directly into a brown-eyed microscope, and Teru almost shook, lost his strength, when their hands nearly brushed. He managed ten reps before gently resting the bar back in place. Sweat dripped off his neck and above him, it made gems across Light’s forehead.

“Wow,” Light said. “You’re pretty strong.”

“T-thank you,” Teru cursed his stutter. He didn’t expect the compliment and it made a little flower burst inside his concrete encased heart. The flower only grew the longer Light looked at him, smile just a pink curve, eyes unnervingly genuine. It was a look that fake people in movies gave each other – Teru hated how much he liked to trust it. God had to be genuine – a kingdom of justice would never stand on false ground. Light’s stare trapped him with a weight deeper and heavier than any dumbbell, and when he glanced away, Teru gasped. His breath had flattened in his chest.

Light left first, at midnight, and when Teru went to his own locker at one thirty am, he found a note shoved into the air slits. On the note was a phone number and curt letter L for a signature. He folded it into the smallest triangle he could, having memorized the number, and set the paper beneath his tongue. As Teru packed his things, nodded to the gym employee, walked into a cold and calamitous city sidewalk, the paper poked and scraped the inner wet flesh. Pain in little bites followed him on his walk – each bright moment a moment of God beside him. Do you need a spotter? A question, a divine extended hand. Wow. You’re pretty strong. Strong, a warrior disciple, God’s most beloved. And, at the platform for his train home, he swallowed the dissolving note – communion.

Teru started working out in high school, when a gym teacher suggested a natural physical ability like his could use sculpting and recognized in him a perhaps genetic inability to play on a team. Ever since the first time, he took to the regimentation, the preplanning and trackable results of gym life. Within the walls of his usual club – the membership to which took up an embarrassing but necessary amount of his pay – Teru found ritual. A work out was an offering to the divine in his own body, and now it became religious practice, a modeling of himself into a better tool for Kira’s will.

This late night arrangement became weekly. On Tuesdays, Teru and Light worked out in the same hole-in-the-wall 24-hour gym, just them and one employee. Two owls dancing around the machines, Teru knew both their stares were gobbling each other’s body behaviors like so many tasty mice. He saw in Light a similar high-school athletics resolve, although the way his muscles smoothed rather than fit into shapes spoke more to sports than targeted workouts. Teru resisted his own snobbery in this observation – though he found a dedication to the perfecting of the body rather than to sportsmanship more pleasing. Kira had his reasons, maybe, for choosing athletic pastimes. There too was a certain leanness to Light’s body as well. Even with a layer of more authoritative muscle, he looked vulpine, foxlike in his lithe frame. His posture retained the slight slouch that many people who were slim in their young adult hood had; in fact, Teru only recognized it since he himself trained it out of his own habits a year prior.

And, yet, the flurry of observation – itself a thrill in its artificial intimacy – didn’t compare to those few minutes where Light leaned over, put his elegant hands out, and spotted Teru’s bench press. He took to doing them more often than his usual schedule. Combined with the bigger weights, an unevenness grew in his routine that Teru would never have allowed before. He couldn’t stop himself though. Anything for a few moments close enough to Light to see the split of his lips, the sweat trickling over his flushed cheeks.

On the fourth week, while Teru wiped down the leg press after he used it, Light approached him.

“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t weird how we’re always in this place together, but we’ve never learned each other’s names?”

“Mikami Teru,” Teru said. The tone was straightforward, and his volume normal – and still he imagined how imprudent he sounded. “I don’t usually go to this gym.”

Light narrowed his eyes and shook his head, just enough to say not the plan. Up his back, Teru’s spine stiffened. It was no joy to disappoint Light.

“Well,” Light said, slick voice untwisting the frustration in his gaze and presenting a smile that bordered on pretty. “I’m Yagami Light. I’ve really admired your routine. Maybe sometime we can meet up. I’m no good with workouts, not like you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Teru nodded. Meet up? Before he could ask a clarifying question, Light spoke over his concerns.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I’m free after five.”

He walked away, not leaving a number except the one boiled in Teru’s stomach. No matter how heavy the weights he lifted, no matter the volume of the baby crying on his bus home, all Teru thought of was his phone and tomorrow after five. His palms itched.

He called at five twenty the next day, having rushed home after a meeting went long, and Teru never heard a worse noise than the ringing before Light picked up. On first answering, his tone was unpleasantly gruff, accusatory – a man in the drag of an older, wiser man. It clashed with the smooth youthfulness of Light’s voice in the gym, which only returned when Teru tentatively said his own greeting.

“Oh! Mikami,” Light said, a balm over the scratches left behind by his put-on masculinity. “You’re calling so late. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“No,” Teru said. “Never. I don’t forget important things.”

“Mm,” Light said. Behind his voice was a tapping sound, someone hitting paper with a pen. “I’m honored to be an important thing. Say, I didn’t catch it before, but where did you say you lived?”

Teru sat on a kitchen stool; he’d been standing, impatient, in the breakfast nook as though preparing to run to wherever Kira needed him. But the question set him down – why did Light want to know? And was it safe to say over the phone? Realizing he’d left dead air too long, Teru muttered that he lived further south – about an hour from the 24-hour gym.

“Oh, I see,” Light sounded mildly perturbed to be have been waiting. “I was just thinking, my girlfriend is making cookies and I thought I’d send you some. Do you have an address that’d be good?”

His girlfriend? Teru didn’t press but his stomach sank. However the phrase stung, he listed his apartment address in dutiful detail. In his ear were the soft scratches of Light’s pen writing everything down and, once he finished, Teru coughed. He didn’t want the phone call to end.

“Did you play sports?” His question flowed out in a proper, clear way, and Teru congratulated himself on how normal he sounded. “Maybe in high school?”

Light went quiet and when he spoke again, the words were cold.

“I played tennis,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered because,” Teru scrambled for something less damning to say, “you’re in such good shape but don’t like to work out. And usually that’s because of sports, I find.”

“Ah,” a low simmer melted Light’s voice. “You like to work out, don’t you, Mikami?”

“Mm,” Teru said. “I enjoy the time to work on my body. Physical fitness is a key to leading a good, worthwhile life.”

“Interesting,” Light said. He tapped his pen before popping his lips. Their wet click was at once disgusting – the body, the spit, the base physicality of it – and alluring – the body, the spit, the parts of Kira blessed by his own inner spirit. “I’ll send those cookies tonight. Expect them at your door around midnight, hm?”

“Oh.” This wasn’t about cookies. “Yes, I’ll look for them then. Thank you, Light. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m always kind to my friends,” Light said.

At midnight, Teru heard the curt knock of the one he waited for. Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, wrapped in a coat, green sweater and black jeans, was Light. He smiled when Teru gestured for him to come inside – a good, well-raised smile. In a small childish part of himself, Teru wished to return such a pleasant smile. Instead, he nodded and raised his eyebrows as Light pressed a plastic box into his hands.

“I wasn’t lying, before on the phone,” he said, shaking off his coat. “My girlfriend was baking. She insisted I take some to meet my new friend. My recommendation?” Light swung around, coat on his finger and a wryness to his expression. “Toss them. Misa can’t bake.”

“How unfortunate,” Teru said. I’m a passable baker, he thought.

Light walked further into the one-bedroom space. He put his coat onto the black lacquered hat rack’s lower rung, ran a finger across the tight gray rectangle couch, and complimented the large entertainment center Teru built. When he let it slip that, in fact, he’d built it himself, Teru saw a curl of interest in Light’s gaze.

“I’ve always liked building too,” Light said, shrugging. “But never something so well constructed.”

He wandered into the sitting room and looked to his feet, a play-acted shyness. Nothing in his body language bar the glance down suggested timidity. Teru followed, although he knew his own behavior was less confident. Light flicked his eyes up and stilled Teru’s movements.

“I’m proud of your actions,” he said. “How well you served me, served the kingdom Kira hopes to build.”

A tremor worked through Teru and he sat, unable to keep his legs steady. To be acknowledged made him eager and fraught. Without thinking, he bowed his head, and a warm palm pressed over the back of his neck. Light murmured something.

“What did you say?” Teru asked, eyes going blurry the longer he stared at his own lap.

“I said,” Light slid a finger beneath his chin, tipping Teru up and into his line of vision. “Do you think you could bench press me?”

“I,” Teru frowned, his instinct to refuse presenting weakness. He fought past it. “I can try.”

The smile from before – polite, the kind a mother asked for during family pictures, toothless – warped into the brilliant split Teru recognized from the yellow warehouse. Light smiled in high volume, loud and greedy.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me undress.”

“Undress?” Teru’s resolve wavered and he stood.

Light shrugged, already popping the button of his jeans.

“Won’t you need better traction?” He asked. “My clothes might cause your hand to slip.”

Breathless, Teru watched God strip down to a pair of black briefs. Shirtless, the two pink scars he saw glimpses of before swiped just beneath Light’s nipples, which hardened in the air-conditioning. Mental deduction took Teru up to chest surgery, although he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. As he stared, Light’s eyes took on impatience not unlike when Teru slipped up in the gym.

“Do I not please you?” Light raised his eyebrows, swinging out his hands. “Do you find God wanting in some way, Mikami?”

“No, no,” Teru covered his mouth. “I apologize for the imprudence. I only was curious.”

“Keep curiosity to the cats,” Light said. “Now, lay back and we’ll try this.”

Teru pushed his coffee table to the side and laid himself down on the sitting room rug. Flat on his back, Light leaning over him almost nude, a strange helplessness infected him. No matter what happened next, he had no real choice other than what Light chose for him. It didn’t help that Light’s gaze had an almost lepidopterist’s leer – staring at a captured butterfly and wondering what pins to use on its corpse. Teru shook himself inside; Kira didn’t think of him as a butterfly. He was a servant, a faithful one, and Kira found him strong.

Stretching up his arms, Teru cupped his hands and met Light with his own stare.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “slowly place your waist in my right hand and your thigh in my left.”

Light nodded, walking around to stand next Teru’s shoulder. He bent in a gentle arc and his waist was the first thing to touch against Teru’s palm. In a shift, the confidence of before didn’t echo in Light’s actions now. He was cautious, still leaving one foot on the ground as he laid himself into Teru’s grasp. A muffled groaned left Teru; even with his weight distributed away, Light was still heavy.

“Um,” Light said. “Is it okay to let go?”

The question was human, quiet, and Teru wanted to file it away suddenly. He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers where they held Light, and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Light gasped as he lifted his leg. Balanced between Teru’s straining arms, he hovered untouched by anything but air and the other man. Teru was in pain – not just from the difficulty of holding up an adult man but from how good Light felt. He was warm, soft, and yet at the same time hard, solid muscle beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth, Teru heaved and lowered his armload until Light’s hip was just above his mouth.

He couldn’t help himself; Teru kissed the bare skin. His lips slid just so over goosebumps, tasting hints of salt and body lotion. Even partway through, he wanted to kiss the vulnerable hip again – memorize the flavor of Kira against his mouth. Light trembled and let out his name in a rasp.

“Mikami,” Light whispered. “Fuck.”

No answer occurred to him, so Teru lifted Light back up. As charged as the moment was, a small part of him celebrated being strong enough to, in fact, perform one bench press of another human. Light squirmed in his hands, too much, and without warning, Teru’s grip loosened. God fell out of his palms and landed hard on Teru’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah,” he shouted at the same time Light yelled, “Fuck!” They sat in sore heap. Teru rubbed his hands together, over and over. He’d failed; he let Light fall, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him stable. With trepidation, he glanced toward the other man prepared to see anger in God’s eyes, but instead Light stared back at him with arousal. His eyes were hot, molten, and his movements became languid.

“You’re so strong,” Light said, and now his voice was like nothing Teru ever heard before. There was a wildness mixed in with hunger. Light looked at him, and Teru wanted to be devoured.

“I knew the moment I saw you,” Light crawled up Teru’s aching body, his words like lava poured from his mouth. “You would be my strongest one.”

“I want to be strong for you, God,” Teru let out. “I want to serve you, be your sword.”

“Oh,” Light laughed, and it was an abrupt sound. Teru couldn’t say he liked it but the brightness in Light’s cheeks was good.

“You’ll serve me very well,” Light said, brushing Teru’s hair away from his ear so he could speak into it. His voice burned into the delicate shell. “Mikami.”

“Teru,” his voice came out a little weedy, yet Teru met Light’s hot gaze with his own resolve. “Call me Teru.”

[elmidol]

So Sweet the Scent

Reysma (Rey x Phasma) PWP

Originally written in 2019 for Sayr on AO3

Warnings: Sex pollen

Word Count: 3.8k

If given the chance to properly choose between the harsh, dry deserts of Jakku and the humid, swamp-like nature of the planet she was presently on—for the life of her, she did not remember its name though its coordinates were forever ingrained in her mind—Rey would have requested to be sent to Jakku. This was largely due to her familiarity with the existent hardships of what could technically be referred to as her homeplanet. She had survived as an orphan there for as long as she could remember. Survived mostly on her own. This was in stark contrast to the shaky alliance she had made with one Captain Phasma following a skirmish leaving both of them stuck on the planet together. The chrome armored female had made it clear she preferred to survive, which had led to her calling the temporary truce since Rey’s budding Force sensitivity allowed the younger woman to identify threats all the sooner.

 Ironically the skirmish had had nothing to do with the Resistance nor the First Order, not really. Only in that a weapons supplier had arranged to meet the opposing parties at the same time without either being aware of this duplicity. Captain Phasma had not been willing to overlook the transgression when it cost the lives of several troopers, and Rey had been more focused on sending the Resistance personnel with her on their way before they could be slaughtered. The events on Crait had left her allies crippled; she would not allow them to risk their lives. The vessel she herself had intended to take had been destroyed by a surviving stormtrooper. Rey had returned the act in kind, albeit mere seconds before the alarm blared stating that the vessel she was aboard was set to self-destruct.

 Captain Phasma and Rey had then entered the same escape pod. Neither of them made a move to kill the other, both more focused on whether or not they would safely break atmosphere. The comm devices within the escape pod was broken. That was just their luck as well. Rey was merely grateful that the chrome-armored woman had noticed this before making any move to attack her. She had proposed the truce, and Rey had been caught off-guard but accepted. The older female seemed to possess a vague recognition of the planet, which was more experience than Rey possessed.

 It was not an uninhabited planet, and, according to Phasma, there were smaller villages that had technology capable of initiating contact with ships that could pick them up. The issue? Those villages were several days’ journey away. The former scavenger wondered if her temporary comrade would betray her when they were closer. She glanced at the armor every now and again in an attempt to better read her.

 The first night, they slept up in one of the trees, albeit taking turns. Being unfamiliar with the wildlife and what predators may be stalking them, both knew better than to not have a lookout. Phasma had taken the first watch, waking Rey for the younger woman to stand guard for approximately four hours while she slept. Though focused on listening and watching for predators, as well as using her force sensitivity to reach out and feel for them, Rey stared at the chrome armored woman. She wondered what Phasma looked like underneath the armor. Finn defecting from the First Order had not only changed her life, but also her perspective. He had once worn a helmet, yet it had never defined him. What had drawn this woman to the First Order then?

 She rested her chin on her knees, which she had drawn closer to her body to allow for an easier time balancing on the branch. Her hair clung to the back of her neck where it wasn’t pulled into a bun. What length was Phasma’s hair? Rey imagined that it was rather hot and stuffy inside that armor. She did not envy Phasma, although she started to wonder why the other hadn’t removed it at all. Was it pride that kept her from doing so? Or was it the protection offered by the armor?

 Rolling her shoulders, she closed her eyes and reached out with the Force again. She sensed life around them, in the plants and in the creatures that were near. Death as well. Nothing sinister, not in the sense that it would be a threat to them. There was something else though, something that almost whispered to her… It was unfamiliar but alive. She could sense a longing from it. As she opened her eyes, she turned her head and strained to hear all of the sounds around her whilst identifying to what they belonged. She never did locate the creature that had reached back for her within the Force that night.

 On the eve of the third day, the pair arrived by a source of cleaner water. There was enough dry materials to make a small fire, which Rey ignited via her blade. “Quite useful,” the other intoned, her voice so smooth to Rey’s ear. She smiled awkwardly, unsure how to react to the praise, or what could pass for it. Captain Phasma was not much of a conversationalist. Rey had not been much of one either when she had first left Jakku. That had changed the more she interacted with others, namely the Resistance and the handful of Force sensitives she had found scattered around the galaxy.

 Phasma’s attention did not linger on that moment. After having spoken those two words, she had grabbed hold of either side of her helmet and lifted it off her head. Rey sucked in her breath. The woman had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Her flesh underneath the armor was pale; not surprising given how often she must wear all of that armor. The older woman scooped some water into the helmet, swirled it around, and dumped it out. The next time she filled it, she held the helmet over the fire that had been lit. They had no other source of holding enough water to be purified for drinking purposes; the one container they had used broke had gained a hole, rendering it useless.

 Those blue eyes flicked over to her when she was unable to tear her eyes away. Rey quickly averted her gaze, her heart hammering in her chest. When it came to physical attractions, she had not experienced many in her lifetime. Random crushes, emotional connections. Never this though. To her, Phasma was gorgeous; a strange thing to think about one’s enemy. It left her all the more confused and curious about the blonde.

 I should focus on something else, she told herself, eyes traveling around their surroundings before she started to use her other senses instead. There it was again, that whisper. This time it sounded nearer to her. Rey took a step in the direction of the noise. Phasma said something. Her mind processed the words then replayed them for her. Did she sense anything? “Not a threat,” Rey said by way of response, walking a little farther. “I...need to go to the bathroom.” A lie. She did not want to risk Captain Phasma’s safety, nor annoy the woman with something so trivial. That being said, she wanted to learn at long last what that voice calling to her was saying.

 The other woman remained behind without protest, offering only a quick do be careful that Rey heard before stepping around a tree. The voice grew louder, as did a scent unfamiliar to her. It was sweet. Much like a flower, she thought, or a fruit. It caused a pressure in her abdomen. Hunger? A row of vines, which she pushed aside with her hand. Rey came across the source of the call. It was a large, unfamiliar plant. Its flower larger than her. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was carnivorous then reminded herself there was no sense of a threat from it. Nothing like what she detected from predators or enemies. Her nostrils flared as she breathed the scent in more deeply. The petals on the flower twitched.

 Rey straightened, her body growing rigid. The flower gave a quick spasm that sent its pollen into the air. Rey sneezed then once more inhaled, enjoying the sweetness. The heat in her body multiplied. The pressure in her belly growing stronger, pushing lower.

 Oh.

 She was not a foreigner to arousal. Rey felt her cheeks flush not only as her body responded, but of a sense of embarrassment. She could not allow the other woman to know that she had been anything but careful. This was dangerous. The plant had used pheromones to attract her, and who knew what sorts of beasts would be able to smell her now. They would hunt her. If the plant had a symbiotic relationship with a predator, she was doomed.

 Pressing her thighs together as the strength of her arousal increased, Rey grit her teeth. Her hand went to the front of her pants. She held in a moan at the momentary contact, all the while she mentally berated herself. Rey stumbled a few steps backwards. It would be stupid to remain here alone in her current predicament. Walking over to Phasma, though, would mean showing just how careless she had been. Rey toyed with the decisions between foolish and embarrassing. It was becoming more of a chore to breathe. She was damn near panting by the time she managed to choose before the effects could compromise her thinking more than they already had.

 She had been sweaty before due to the humidity. Now she was drenched as the pollen drew out her body’s physical responses. Rey stumbled into the clearing where she had left Phasma. Her cheeks felt hot beyond all reason; they were flushed, she knew that they were, and no tan was going to hide this fact from the blonde-haired woman who turned her way to regard her.

 “Don’t go near the flower,” the younger woman somehow managed to say between deep gulps of breath. She shifted over to the nearest tree that would offer her a semblance of protection and privacy. “So...sweet.”

 Her hands were pawing at the bark. Rey could hear Phasma stand and take a step away from the fire. The helmet containing the water discarded off to the side. “I’ll watch.”

 “Do...you really want to?” Rey asked, biting down on her bottom lip and twisting around. Phasma tilted her head. It dawned on the young woman that she had heard wrong. I’ll take watch. “Right.” She turned around again, rubbing her thighs together. She had to climb this blasted tree while she had the strength.

 “Do you need help?” It was an offer that she had not expected from Phasma, and she was not about to say no. Rey bobbed her head, nodding without trying to speak. Her lungs were already too taxed with trying to breathe. No need for words.

 Phasma closed the distance between them, setting a hand on the small of Rey’s back. A quiet moan escaped from her. The taller woman ducked down, shoving Rey up several inches. Rey used that momentum to climb further, her arms wrapping around the nearest branch. She was soon joined by the other, who assisted her up another three branches. The blonde grabbed several of the vines that had grown along the trunk of the tree, securing them about Rey’s waist in a similar fashion to what both of them had done during the nights. Tight enough to prevent a fall, but loose enough where one could get free at a moment’s notice.

 Nodding to herself in satisfaction over her work, Phasma began to step onto one of the lower branches. “O-oh...where….?”

 She paused to consider Rey. “Assistance with the climb.” Rey averted her gaze, her embarrassment growing with every passing second. “Have you never…?”

 The implied touch yourself had the brunette picturing herself back on Jakku on the days of storm. Stuck in her makeshift home. Her fingers buried inside herself, her cries of pleasure drowned out by the sand and wind that pelted the outside. Her hand crept between her legs as she thought of it. For a moment, she forgot that Phasma was still there, waiting for an answer from her. Rey peeked past her eyelashes at the blue-eyed woman, whose gaze was locked on her face.

 “I...Mmm… I have.” She closed her eyes, choosing to be reckless for one final moment as she reached out to hear the voice of the plant. She felt, too, a connection with the woman in the tree with her. A shared desire. Passion. Master Skywalker would have told her she was giving into the Dark side to entertain such thoughts. Her body thrummed in pleasure at that thought. It felt sinfully delicious. It made her ache all the more for contact. “I just…”

 Think you’re dangerously gorgeous.

 She was too shy to say those words even with the pollen taking its claim on her faculties. Phasma touched her shin. “Are you sure?” An offer. An opening for her to say she was mistaken, that she did not want this, that it was all just the pollen. Only it wasn’t. She had thought the woman lovely before she had pursued the voice. Rey had simply shoved away those thoughts because, off this planet, Captain Phasma of the First Order was her enemy. And because she had feared rejection. So many people referred to her as girl. She wasn’t. She was a woman, young perhaps, but a woman all the same. “I’m not gentle.” Both gloves removed and tossed down to join the discarded helmet. She had impeccable aim.

 “I can take it,” Rey said earnestly, watching through half-lidded eyes as Phasma walked two fingers up towards her thigh. In contrast to her words, the blonde did not suddenly surge forward in any manner. There was no harsh kiss, something that Rey realized she had been hoping for. She wanted to feel that mouth upon hers. On Jakku, to appear strong had kept her alive. That did not mean she didn’t enjoy allowing another to take control. She was not entirely familiar with sex; she had been touched by one other woman who had been roughly the same age as her, and it had been an enjoyable experience. Yet also clumsy. Nothing like the delicate way in which Phasma seemed to know where to touch. Tracing a pattern up the length of her leg, massaging her mere inches from where her legs met. Rey gulped in air. Her chest was heavy, the humidity and arousal doing a number on her.

 Phasma paused again. “I won’t continue if you pass out.” A promise. A warning. A sign that she valued Rey’s consent, which proved to the former scavenger that she hadn’t been foolish in offering her body to the other. Rey nodded, parting her trembling legs and touching one hand to the side of her neck. Phamsa used her free hand to touch the band that had kept all of that brown hair away from the young woman’s neck. She snagged it on her finger, unwinding it with expertise, and slipping it onto her wrist for safe keeping. “Move your shirt out of my way.”

 The hand on her thigh shifted upwards, thumb making contact with her pubis. Rey jumped at the contact. She could feel how wet she was already, and knew that Phasma would be able to tell. Her hands clumsily worked open her top, tugging down the excess cloth and raising up the shirt. Phasma groped her right breast through her bra. Two fingers found their way past the material, toying with her nipple, her areola. Testing what made her body react the most. Her hips jerked forward at a swipe down the underside of her breast.

 “How much did you inhale?” The younger female groaned, not caring if she sounded desperate or childish. What did it matter?  “Or are you always so sensitive?” Oh… She tried to think, but could not focus. Phasma’s entire hand was inside the cup of her bra now, kneading the sensitive flesh. She used her wrist to shove aside the cloth, her breath hitting the sweat, making it hotter instead of cooling Rey down. “Let’s test it then, if you can’t answer.”

 She had been expecting a kiss, hot and wet with tongue. Not a nibble. It shot straight between her legs, her entire body giving away to a spasm. She clenched, her inner walls grabbing at nothing. She wanted so badly to be touched everywhere. Phasma trapped a portion of the flesh between her teeth and sealed her lips around it, her tongue dancing along it. She cupped Rey in full. The brunette bucked her hips, grinding against the woman’s palm. The vines kept her from achieving the strength she wanted to; Phasma continuously teased her, withdrawing her hand then returning it. Rey felt Phasma’s body tremble in silent laughter. Not mocking though. She was laughing because she enjoyed Rey’s reactions to her touch.

 Phasma nibbled a trail up Rey’s throat, to her jawline, and slid her tongue past pliant lips. Rey moaned into the kiss as the other woman explored her. This was what Rey had been picturing. The fingers pinching at her through the cloth of her pants were an added bonus. Swiping along her folds, bunching together her wet panties.

 The humid air still managed to feel cool as Phasma tugged Rey’s bottoms, underwear included, halfway down her legs. The Force user struggled to obey the other’s orders of bending her knee, just one, long enough for the clothing to be hanging from its twin. Her legs were then hooked over armored shoulders. Rey felt her toes curl in anticipation. Would Phasma bite her as she had done with her breast? Or simply touch—oh!

 “Ohhh.” A single finger prodded her. Slid into her, just the tip. Rey swerved her hip, twisting and pushing downward. A second finger, both of them fully inside of her. She was wet enough to take them, as well as the third. The smacking noise as the fingers spread a little away from one another as they remained inside of her brought a satisfied smirk to Phasma’s lips. Rey was watching her, her eyes glued to Phasma’s face as the blonde examined the work she was doing. Phasma started to thrust her fingers in and out, her wrist in constant motion. Rey sloppily met her pace, her hand on the back of Phasma’s head as the woman’s tongue flicked along her clit. She was true to her word; not gentle, however not rough to the point that Rey wasn’t enjoying herself. The extra pressure was much different than what she had experienced with the other woman on Jakku. That had been one aspect her previous encounter had lacked. Enough force behind the actions.

 Phasma curled her fingers within Rey, her knuckles brushing along the woman’s inner walls, which clenched around her. She pressed her tongue flat against her, tilting back her head and tasting her. Then flicked her tongue downwards, its underside nudging the bud from left to right.

 Over-sensitive as she was from the pollen, the Force user felt her climax crash upon her. Phasma did not relent. Rey’s legs jerked towards her body, although not completely as Phasma’s armored shoulders kept them spread. The blonde moved a little higher with her mouth, her teeth ghosting over the flesh. Then clamped down. A tiny spike of pain that was washed away by the kiss, by that skilled tongue. Phasma swiped her thumb over the flesh she had marked, her fingers nearly leaving Rey completely.

 “You had some on your clothes,” she whispered. Here voice was heavy, a weight that Rey was well familiar with. The younger woman couldn’t say that she was sorry, not entirely. It had not been intentional, yet that did not mean she wasn’t going to enjoy the outcome. In fact, as Phasma drew up to her full height and removed enough of her armor to expose herself, Rey was one-hundred percent certain it had been one of the best accidents to have happened in her life. “No biting.”

 She almost laughed. It wasn’t hypocrisy, not really. Rey tilted back her head, her lips parting and tongue experimentally pushing forward so that she was able to taste Phasma the moment the older woman had hooked one leg over Rey’s shoulder. It was Rey who moaned louder. She nevertheless enjoyed the sound that the other had made and hoped to coax more such noises from her. Both of Phasma’s hands were in her hair. One tugging it gently, manipulating her head so that she licked all of the right places. The other petting at her, especially when she did a good job, which always had Phasma whispering: there, yes.

 Rey could feel her face growing wet and slick with the other’s juices, with her cum. She dragged more into her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. Until Phasma pulled away from her. Not entirely, though—Maker, she would have been so disappointed had it ended there. Not only because the pollen still had ahold of her. Also because it would have meant that she had missed out on this.

 Phasma straddled her, scissoring open her legs and slotting herself between them. She pressed their bodies together, rocking her hips. Rey relished in the feel of Phasma’s clit sliding along hers. Both of them groaning aloud at the friction. At the sparks of pleasure flooding through their bodies. The blonde guided Rey through it, telling her how to move, how to grind up without hurting either one of them when the former scavenger started to become a little sloppy. Phasma did not chastise her for her inexperience, did not make Rey feel anything but wanted. She praised her with her words. With her tongue. Her lips and teeth more. Rey knew she was marked several places by the woman. If any of her allies saw...she didn’t care. Not in the reckless sense.

 Phasma cupped her cheeks when both were close to cumming. Kissed her mouth, kissed her deeply. It was as though, with their similarities and differences of circumstances, they were connected through more than this mere act of sex.

 “Another two days before we arrive at the nearest village,” Phasma whispered as they sat in the tree together, gathering their bearings and staring down at the remnants of the fire. Rey was toying with the vine that had kept her from pitching forward after her third orgasm. She nodded without registering what she was doing. Then stopped upon looking at the other’s face. “Don’t go near the flower again.” Rey felt her cheeks growing hot again. “Just...ask.” Hot now in excitement. She breathed deeply, enjoying the musk of sex far more than the sweetness of the flower. Phasma placed two fingers under her chin, leaned in, and nibbled on her bottom lip. Tugged it between her teeth, allowing it to pop back into place. “Rey.”

 That was the sweetest thing of all; her name spilling from those lips.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Secret of the Sun Drop (Part 1)

Were now at the season finale folks and it’s the beginning of the end. This is the series’ highpoint, it’s all downhill afterwards. However, while this episode is good, it’s still got flaws so let's get to it. 

Summary: On Rapunzel's nineteenth birthday, Frederic tightens his grip on the Rapunzel and the kingdom, while Varian makes his move to attack. 

More Indication of the Timeline 

Remember, Varian said that it would be matter of months until the rocks reached the island in QfaD and today is the day that they reach it. Now Raps is saying that Frederic has been lying to her for months. At least since TWoRR, which makes more sense if you remember that that particular episode was meant to slot between QfaD and this episode. 

The show has a bad habit of making the passage of time an important plot point but failing to showcase how much time has past. Showing episodes out of order didn’t help, but even more than that the audience shouldn’t have to rely on one line exposition to gain knowledge of what’s going on. The show fails to use actual visual indicators of what’s going on. There’s little visual change in seasons, next to no change in character models, and all we have are made up holidays to go by.   

Also yes, Rapunzel has left a fourteen year old alone for three months. This isn’t something that can be excused. Seriously, stop trying to do so people. It just makes you look bad when you do.  

Wow, Way to Victim Blame, Raps. 

“Unstable”? We’re seriously going to use ableist terms to describe a grieving young teenager who’s been persecuted and neglected for months on in?

And Rapunzel knows he’s been persecuted and abandoned for months at this point. She’s read the note. She’s been attacked by same the guards that attacked him. She’s heard the rumors. She seen his father’s corpse. She has just admitted in this very spiel that Frederic has been lying. She knows how people are unfairly treated by Corona’s legal system and that ‘treason’ is a death sentence to anyone but herself.  

Yet, all she can do here is whine about how all of this only affects her. This entire speech is just me, me, me, and I, I, I. Don’t tell me she’s a kind and compassionate person when her hypocrisy is made into a fundamental plot point for the season’s main conflict. 

But let's get to the real reason for this little recap. It’s to create bias in the viewer. 

The viewer is aware that Varian might be up to something, but Rapunzel logically, should not be. Varian technically hasn’t done anything wrong yet. The worst he’s done is feed people truth serum, which is no different than Xavier drugging folks with the mood potion. Given how Raps didn’t care about Xavier doing that she shouldn’t care about Varian doing it either, especially since it didn’t physically harm anyone. Also Varian very much is in the right to take the flower and she knows the only thing he’s going to use it for is to free his father and possibly stop the rocks. He’s been very upfront about that. 

Also don’t you dare bring up the stupid reprise! Intent isn’t action. You can't condemn people for having negative thoughts. You can only condemn people for acting upon their negative impulses, which, once again, has not happened yet. 

Furthermore, Rapunzel isn’t privy to Varian’s innermost thoughts and hasn’t been present for those instances where he did voice negative intent. Ergo, him singing a misplaced reprise does not excuse her behaviour. 

The characters in the show treat Varian as a villain before he ever actually becomes a villian, and that’s only because the creator wants you to side with his self-insert instead of actually addressing the moral conundrums that he’s written into the show. 

Does Anyone Else Besides Me Find the Glorification of Classism In the Show Disturbing? 

So supposedly all of these gifts have been given to Rapunzel by the regular citizenry of Corona. There might be a few from a couple of lower nobles or royals from outside of Corona, but for the most part it’s implied that all of theses presents are from poor people. 

Rapunzel is a princess. She’s literally the richest person in the whole kingdom and holds people’s lives in her hands. Giving a thoughtful gift because you like her is one thing, paying tribute to her very existence just because she technically owns you is another. 

Keep in mind people have been brainwashed for nearly two decades to worship Rapunzel. They’ve made a holiday out of her birthday. Later on we see the townspeople defend the King even when it’s been proven that he’s done them wrong. They follow Rapunzel blindly through out season three. ect. 

The people of Corona are dangerously loyal to feudalism, royalty, and authoritarian rule long past sanity, and given the other authoritarian messages in the show, it takes what is meant to be a sweet scene of a girl who grew up with nothing suddenly gaining acceptance and turns it into a creepy endorsement of the class system. 

More Evidence that Frederic is the Worst 

This scene makes it clear that Frederic is the one who is threatening Cassandra here, not her dad. It was never Cap who held the convent thing over her head. Now you can hold Cap accountable for choosing loyalty to the crown and his job over his daughter’s well being, but that is one of the few things that is actually addressed in the show, in this very episode in fact, so why would you? 

Also, why only now? Frederic has known about Cassandra’s involvement since TWoRR when he first read Rapunzel’s diary. It’s strange he’d go out of his way to silence Varian for months on in but waits until the last episode to persecute Rapunzel’s bestie. You could argue that maybe he didn’t wanna risk tipping off Rapunzel but then why didn’t this happen during TAR instead?  

Once again the writer is playing favorites in order to create bias. It’d be suddenly a lot harder to excuse Frederic if he was hunting down Cass along side Varian as she’s a main character and you couldn’t keep that as a ‘read between the lines’ scenario. Which, incidentally, is why we never get a Varian focused episode to show his time on the run. You couldn’t get away with having the main character siding with your dictator self-insert if you actually visually showed him persecuting a helpless child. 

Don’t Expect This to Go Anywhere

Rapunzel is rightly angry about this clear abuse, but then never brings it up ever again. It’s completely forgotten about after this point. Frederic is never held accountable for his actions. 

This is the Point Where Varian Actually Becomes a Villian

Not the flower, not the truth serum, not the damn reprise, but here. This is the point where his actions cross the line. Violence, particularly violence against people who aren’t currently hurting you, is wrong. Varian is a villain, he does do bad things, and I’m not going to ignore that. 

However, knowing where, when, how, and why he becomes a villain is extremely important in not only understanding the story but in also navigating the moral minefield that is this show. 

Because Varian is still the victim even as he slides into the role the antagonist. There’s been no change in the power dynamics. His life is still under threat from the king. Every action he takes is a step to either free his father and/or defend himself from a corrupt government that would see him hanged just for daring to defy it’s dictator.   

People defend Varian to this day, not because he has a tragic backstory, but because he’s been forced into a dangerous situation with little way out. There’s nothing else he could have done that wouldn’t have lead to his eventual untimely death. Because indirect violence is still violence. Frederic is no less evil just because Varian fights against the king’s indirect violence with direct violence.  

Varian’s Life was Forfeit the Moment He was Turned Away During the Storm and This is the Show Confirming That

This is a grown man, with all the power in the world, threatening a child. A child who he has cannonly persecuted for three months before this incident. A child that was neglected by Rapunzel despite him being her responsibility. 

Any excuse you give to defend either Frederic or Rapunzel is already made invalid by the simple fact that they are both adults and Varian is not. They are both in charge here, not the fourteen year old. 

We do not hold people under legal voting age to the same standards as adults for two simple reasons. One, they are powerless in making the laws that they are accused of breaking, and two, they haven’t reached the point of development where they can take care of themselves and be expected to make rational decisions within a functioning society. Now we could have an argument all day long about the pros and cons of when the rights and responsibilities of adulthood should be granted to people (16?18?21?), but at fourteen/fifteen, Varian isn’t there yet regardless. 

You can not in any good moral consciousness hold people lacking rights to the same responsibilities as those with rights. 

That isn’t to say that kids can’t do bad things. They obviously can and have before. But when enacting judgement and the punishment that goes along with that, you have to keep their lack of rights in mind and make the sentence proportional to both their age, circumstances, and their crime. This is why courts that try teens as adults are absolutely vile. I do not care what crime they commited, you don’t do that. 

I’m not criticizing Rapunzel and Frederic here because I personally dislike them or something. I’m criticizing them because I’m opposed to the messages that they become mouthpieces for. When you defend these two characters you defend their stance to persecute and abuse a child. Ergo, you spout the same authoritarian beliefs that are currently tearing my country apart and I will hold you accountable for it. 

Like them all you want, but liking a character does not mean blindly going along with their bullshit. 

This Still Abuse

In fact it’s the same abuse that Gothel did to her. It was wrong then and it’s wrong now and there’s no excuse for that. 

What a lot of people don’t seem to understand is that you can be both a victim and a bully at the same time. What differentiates Rapunzel, Frederic, and Varian from one other is their level of respective power in the situation and how their trauma actually impacts the rationale behind their actions. 

Frederic is the most accountable in this whole conflict because he’s the one with the most power and because his personal trauma isn’t grounds for what he does. They’re a reason that’s been given, but past trauma isn’t an excuse to hurt others who had nothing to do with that trauma. He is, ultimately the instigator of all of the conflicts in season one. 

Rapunzel is not as accountable, but she’s not entirely blameless either. As both an adult and a princess, Rapunzel held the power to save Varian and stop things from getting this far and she choose not to do so. Rapunzel’s trauma is a reason for why she fails in her responsibility but it’s still not an excuse as Varian has nothing to do with her personal insecurities. He’s not responsible for getting her to fix her shit and had he done nothing she would have continued on ignoring both his and her own problems. Frederic’s abuse would have still been there with or without the black rocks or Varian’s involvement. She’s not deserving of how her father treats her, but neither is Varian deserving of how she treats him.

Varian is the least accountable. Sure there are somethings that he does wrong, but as a child he holds no power in the situation. His only means of fighting back is his own intelligence, but being the smartest person in the room isn’t necessarily a power imbalance. Also his trauma is currently ongoing and his actions are directly tied into making his abusers stop. Because yeah, both Frederic and Rapunzel are abusive to Varian. Neglect is a form of abuse.

Eugene is the Only Person in this Situation with the Right Response, Shame It Won’t Amount to Anything

After all this, Eugene has no reason to ever trust Frederic again.  Neither does Rapunzel, nor the rest of kingdom. He should have been shunned from here on after. This isn’t promoting ‘cancel culture’ or whatever, this is acknowledging that ‘forgiveness’ isn’t and shouldn’t be a shield from the personal consequences for your actions. 

But Frederic is the Creator’s Self-Insert and Therein Lies the Problem

I keep calling Frederic the creator’s self-insert not because I’m making assumptions or accusations but because this is something that Chris has admitted to publicly on numerous occasions. If you want a reference than just check out his interview during D23. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ECeflBTS58

There’s also more confirmation on his twitter and in other interviews. Though I’d personally recommend that younger fans stay away from him and his twitter, given his past behavior. (more on this later)

Chris has also publicly made excuses whenever criticism of Frederic has reached him. The same excuses that he then puts into the show itself. That’s why he and the show is so desperate for Varian to be the hated villain instead and goes out of its way to create a bias in how characters and conflicts are presented. 

Look, having a self-insert or a character you relate to isn’t in of itself a bad thing. Nor does having such a character mean that you personally avocate all that they do. I mean Varian is my favorite character in the show, partly because I’m a political activist, but that doesn’t mean that I approve of attacking government officials in their homes or something. Yet, if you want to make your self-insert likable to the audience then why on earth would make them an abusive dictator and then never hold them accountable to that? 

I cannot say what goes through Chris’s mind nor what his actual beliefs are, but the very fact that show won’t acknowledge corruption for what it is and constantly excuses abusers is worrisome enough on its own. It either means that Chris is woefully incompetent, actually encourages authoritarian thought, or some combination of both. Add in his bullying of younger fans, to the point where his was kicked off the Tangled discord, and what is left is not a flattering picture of the man. 

The Show Completely Assassinates Arianna’s Character Here

You’re telling me that the Queen has no power? You’re telling me that the only mother in the show is going to stand aside and do nothing while her only daughter, who has been missing for 18 years, is abused? You’re telling me that Arianna only exists in the story to excuse her husband’s actions? You’re telling me that this ‘strong, independent, badass’ woman you co-opted from the movie is only here to be subservient to a man and you’re going to act like this is a good and noble thing, that it’s ‘true love’? You’re telling me that if she’s not only willing to do this, right now, then she apparently has done it before in his 18 long years reign of terror and oppression? 

Fuck whoever wrote this! This is an insulting to women everywhere and a slap in the face to people who were actually victims of abuse.  

This is Enabling Abuse, Don’t Do This! 

BULLSHIT!!!

This is the line abusers feed their victims all the damn time!!!

The movie smartly made the decision to keep Gothel’s personal feelings towards Rapunzel ambiguous. That’s why she is one of the best villains in Disney history. If we only look at the movie than she may have ‘loved’ Rapunzel too. Who knows? It doesn’t matter. 

Abuse Is Abuse Regardless of the Abuser’s Reasons or Personal Feelings Towards Their Victim

Many abusers think that they love their victims. It’s a lie that they sell to both themselves and their victims. But it’s a twisted, toxic, and possessive ‘love’ that doesn’t actually care for and respect it’s recipient. Ergo, not love at all. 

There’s not enough words to express my disgust with this exchange. There are children watching this. It’s directed right at them and sadly, yes, there are undoubtedly some watching who are trapped in abusive homes. The show just reinforced the beliefs of those abusers and helped to keep those children trapped in that situation by confirming what they’ve already been taught. 

This is beyond irresponsible, and someone higher up should have stepped in before this. It’s clear that this show lacked any sort of real oversight. You have a million dollar series being showrunned by two newbie producers with zero writing credit and no one thought  that there should maybe be a senior executive and editor involved?

That’s Not Enough

Admitting that something is wrong, right after excusing it, isn’t enough. You need to show the characters taking action and changing their ways. If Arianna truly believes that this ‘isn’t right’ then why does she not do anything about it after this conversation? 

So What Did the King Do to Monty?

He runs off the tell the king the very thing that said king has gone to great lengths to hide and has yet to admit his involvement in. Also Monty doesn’t re-appear until after Varian blows Frederic’s cover. So what happened in between now and then? Did Frederic persecute Monty as well, lie to him, or did Monty not ever reach the King before the scandal was revealed, because any one of those answers would conflict with Monty’s actions later in the story. 

Watch as Cass Forgets Her Motivation 

We’re at the end of the first season and the audience is only just now getting this important insight into the deuteragonist, a reveal that’ll only be walked back on in later seasons. 

If Cassandra’s whole motivation and reasoning is just to earn her father’s approval, which she does gain by the way, then how come she gives a crap about what other people besides him thinks? If being a guard is her true goal then why is she after praise from strangers constantly? You don't get praise from being a guard. It’s a thankless job and she should know that from see what her dad has to do all the time to stay in Frederic’s good graces. Also why not make her dad more central to her arc and resolution, then? 

What I’m getting at is that Cassandra isn’t consistent. What she wants changes conveniently to suit the story’s needs rather than being based in any actual logical progression of events. Often flip flopping from one supposed ill-defined goal to another and back again; till in the end she winds up with no goal at all.

Set Yourself Free is the Only Point Where Rapunzel’s Arc Works

This is the only lesson that Rapunzel actually learns. How to be assertive. This is set up, is build up to throughout the season, and then culminates into this climax/reveal. For once there’s an actual resolution here to a previously established problem. A resolution that isn’t then walked back on. Rapunzel remains assertive throughout the narrative and grows no further past this point. There’s nothing else learned, even as she takes this lesson and runs it into the ground by overstepping her bounds and going into full on bully mode in later seasons. 

Undermining Tension 

I talked about this in What the Hair, but Cassandra conveniently ignoring orders without consequence, or even any real effort on her part, showcases that the convent was never really all that much of a threat as it was built up to be. It goes from being a ‘threat to her safety’, a basic need, to a ‘threat to her sense of belonging’, a psychological need. One is less of an immediate threat to her physical being and ergo holds less tension. 

Even Hookfoot Admits He’s Useless to the Story

Look, pointing out the flaws in your story doesn’t make them any less of a flaw. I like Hoofoot, but he adds literally nothing to the series. There’s was no need to include him if you weren’t actually going to tie him to the plot. Just like Monty, Friedborg, Willow, and Axel; Hoofoot is a character who could have been exercised from the show and it wouldn’t have changed much of anything other than to give more screen time to the actual plot and main characters. 

And for those who want to come at me for saying they should get rid of the tokenistic disabled rep, just remember there was no reason why Lance couldn’t have served both functions in the story. He could have been both disabled and black, while carrying all of Hookfoot’s episodes and being part of the ongoing plot. Much in the same way that Xavier and Monty should have been streamlined; combining both Lance and Hookfoot into one person would have left us with a more rounded character and a more focused show overall. 

Varian Isn’t Lying Here

Look, just cause he’s the villain doesn’t mean he’s exaggerating the truth. Someone on tv tropes tried to claim that Varian was being unreasonable in accusing Frederic of ‘villfing’ him, but uh, no, that’s exactly what the king did. We got the on screen evidence for it back in Quest for Varain. It’s also true that he’s been keeping the rocks secret, lying to the populous, and has thereby endangered many of his citizens.   

Cap is the Only Parent on this Show to Get Called Out, Recognize his Failings, and Actively Change His Ways....and the Show Still Messes this up by Having Cass Apologize to Him?

Cap is the best parent in the show, hands down, but that’s a very low bar to clear. What makes him the best parent is that he admits his faults and goes to great lengths to fix them. He never goes back or reverts to old ways and doesn’t offer excuses for his behavior. 

But the show seems to think that you should forgive dad’s just because they’re dad’s, not because they’ve actually done anything to earn that forgiveness. That’s why Cass interrupting Cap’s apology to apologize herself doesn’t work here. She, and no other other child on this show, owes him (or any parent) such an apology and Chris can go stick a rusty nail up his butt for ever suggesting otherwise.  

Oh, Look, Cassandra Getting What She Wants, Again

What is this? The fifth or sixth time now that Cass has been rewarded by the narrative? Gee, it’s almost like she doesn't really have anything to complain about in seasons two and three. 

Varian isn’t Harming ‘Innocents’ Here

Remember when I said that Varian is both the victim and the villian? That’s reflected in who he actually attacks. Arianna, the guards, Cass, Eugene, ect. are all enablers for his abusers. They’ve knowingly chosen to side with a dictator who has repeatedly done unacceptable things. The guards and the main cast at least are very well aware of the truth. As to whether or not Arianna knew of the full details behind Varian’s treatment, she does know about Frederic’s past actions and has excused them for years.   

That doesn’t make Varian treatment of her, or others like her, right, but Arianna isn’t blamess either. 

If you’re a person with power who is attached to a system of government who goes on to uphold corruption, and remain silent in the face of that corruption, you become a part of the problem. You become the oppressor even if you’re not directly involved in the more violent events yourself or even personally hold the views of the person committing those violent acts. 

A queen is responsible for a her people and she abandons that responsibility by staying with Frederic and supporting him. 

Turning his Pet into a Mutant Monster is the Only Time Varian Hurts Someone Who Isn’t Involved 

As I said, Varian is a villian. I’m not going to act like he doesn’t do bad things or that all of his actions are justifiable. The reason I’ve gone into great detail about Varian’s reasonings into what he does isn’t to excuse his actions; it’s to point out that ‘heroes’ are every bit as much to blame as he is. 

Everyone is at fault here; not just Varian, not just the King, not just Rapunzel ect. But the show forces Varian to carry all of the blame regardless. Which is why the show fails. You can’t set up a morally complex situation like this and not follow through on it completely. Failing to do so winds up reflecting poorly upon the writers and those that try to excuse them. 

Conclusion 

Dang, this took forever. This is why I’m following Disney’s lead and splitting the review into two parts. Come back tomorrow, where hopefully part two will be up. 

[apptowonder]

Beautiful City -- A Theological Ramble on “Godspell”-- Pt. I: Jesus Musicals and Christology

So I had a lot of thoughts and F e e l i n g s about the 2011 revival of Tebelak and Schwartz’s musical Godspell and I wanted to share some of them here. This is gonna be a pretty disorganized piece (hence the title), but I hope that whether you’re a fan of the show or a reader of my work, you might find at least one thing that resonates or helps you understand why I feel the way I do about this show. To give my thoughts some structure, I’m turning this into a blog post series. This first piece will be divided into two sections: a longer section on theology and a shorter section on personal response.

1. Godspell vs JCS, and a Brief Diversion on Christologies

So one easy hot take is to compare and contrast Godspell with Jesus Christ Superstar, the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical that came out around the same time. Conservative Christians at the time were not too fond of either of them, but both found a strong audience among secular theater-goers and (presumably) progressive Christians. Tebelak, fwiw, was gay and a lifelong Episcopalian who had considered the priesthood at various points in his life. Webber is an agnostic who says he finds Jesus fascinating as an important historical figure. These facts aren’t meant to favor one writer over the other (although I will explain below why I personally prefer Godspell), but knowing these facts does do some to explain why these shows ended up the way they did while covering very similar subjects.

The general consensus I’ve heard and would agree with is that Superstar is about the interpersonal relationships of Jesus the man, and especially his relationship with Judas Iscariot. Godspell also brings the relationship between Judas and Jesus to the foreground, but Godspell (true to its name) is ultimately more about the gospel itself. About Jesus’ teachings, about the community of love that he created, and a little bit about Jesus the Son of God.

In this respect, I’d like to propose that these two musicals unintentionally illustrate two historic approaches to understanding the person and work of Christ. Jesus Christ Superstar loosely follows a theology of Christ which is aligned with the historic Antiochene school of Christology. 

A. Antioch

(St. John Chrysostom, famed Patriarch of Constantinople and student of the Antiochene School)

The Catechetical School of Antioch was a loose affiliation/institution of theologians who trained many of the prominent clergy in the Eastern churches. It emphasized the distinction between the divine and human natures of Christ. It was most invested in historical readings of Scripture. While the orthodox Antiochene scholars certainly confessed that Christ was both divine and human, they tended to state that the divinity of God the Son was not always accessible to Jesus in his humanity. Taken to the extreme, some Antiochenes embraced the heresies of Adoptionism* or Nestorianism**. The value of this school, however, was the investment in an accessible, anthropological reading of Scripture, and an understanding of Christ that emphasized the transcendence of the Son of God and the humanity of Jesus as one of us.

Jesus Christ Superstar approaches its subject matter with a mixture of both pathos and cynicism (intentional or otherwise). Taking place entirely during the Passion, none of the theophanic moments of Christ’s life are depicted (eg, the Baptism of Christ or the Transfiguration).*** We see only his humanity, and it is a very pitiable humanity. I say this not as a criticism, clearly the show succeeds at producing a great deal of sympathy and poignancy for its characters. The presence of the divine in the show is nearly absent. The Last Supper in both shows is not given its full doctrinal weight, but Superstar tones down the spiritual significance of it more than Godspell does. In Superstar, Jesus notices the indifference of his Apostles and says “For all you care, this could be my body that you’re eating, and my blood you’re drinking.”

Jesus and Judas both talk to God, and imply that God answers, but we are only shown one side of the conversation. When Judas commits suicide and is singing the titular number to Jesus on the cross, he does so as a disembodied spirit whom Jesus is not able to interact with. Rather than the traditional account of Jesus going down to Hades and preaching to the dead, here the dead preach to a human Jesus who is doing God’s will but may or may not be able to hear them. All in all, Webber (though obviously not himself an Antiochene by confession) is showing us a Jesus who is primarily a glorified human with a relationship to God, who is nonetheless not especially divine in his capacities, outlook or body. Where he is connected to divinity, there is a clear separation between his divinity and his humanity

B. Alexandria

(St. Cyril, famed Pope (Patriarch) and student of the Alexandrian School)

The Catechetical School of Alexandria was the other major center for Christian theological training in the early Eastern Church, located at Alexandria in Eastern Roman Egypt. It traced its lineage all the way back to St. Mark, but was most strongly influenced by the teachings of Pantaenus, Origen, St. Clement and St. Cyril (above). The Alexandrians were invested in allegorical readings of Scripture, and the use of “pagan” philosophy in the service of theology. They also emphasized the union of the divine and the human in Jesus Christ. Orthodox Alexandrians recognized that Jesus’ divinity and humanity were not consumed by each other, but they tended to suggest that Christ’s divinity and humanity were always operating simultaneously and synergistically, that it was impossible to tell exactly where one ends and the other begins. Taken to the opposite extreme of the Antiochenes, some Alexandrians embraced the heresies of Monophysitism (i) or Apollinarianism (ii). The value of this school was an investment in a polyvalent, mystical approach to Scripture, and an understanding of Christ that emphasized the saving power of God’s own divinity taking on our humanity in an immanent way. 

Godspell is more invested in the ethical impact of Jesus’ life and ministry. However, it is more willing to blur the lines between the divine and human world for the sake of its message and framing of Christ. We see the Baptism of Christ on stage, and although there is no explicit depiction of the Holy Spirit or the Father, the scene is preceded by John the Baptist’s messianic song, “Prepare Ye,” and is woven in and around the song “Save the People,” a song where Jesus proclaims the coming salvation that God the Father will work in their midst for the benefit of all. This happens while the new disciples are also being baptized and receive a flower signifying their membership in the community forming organically around Christ. Jesus’ presence is charged with the eschatological promise of God being in their midst, which is a more Alexandrian reading that blurs the line between where Jesus the human ends and Jesus the divine begins.

I argue that we also see in Godspell an allusion (perhaps unintentional) to the Transfiguration. There is a scene where the stage lights are off and the disciples hold wave glow sticks around Jesus in rhythmic patterns while Jesus talks about the light within. Even if this is not an intentional reference, the visual language of the scene lends itself to the light of God being present in the midst of the people.

Before the Last Supper, Jesus sings the ballad “Beautiful City,” encouraging the disciples to continue the beloved community after his death. While it is a secularized approach in some ways, there is again that blurring of humanity and divinity where the promised city is coming, is beautiful, marked by eschatological hope, and is still “not a city of angels, but a city of man.” During the Last Supper, Jesus prays the traditional Jewish blessing over the bread and wine, and then has lines which mirror the words of institution for the Eucharist. Whether one reads it as a memorial or a sacrament, Tebelak and Schwartz choose to frame the Last Supper as an intentional institution on Jesus’ part. The table is also bathed in light and smoke, implying divine energy or grace gathered around Jesus and his disciples.

On the cross, in Jesus Christ Superstar, Jesus’ last words emphasize his human obedience to the Father: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” In Godspell, the words are less literal to the Gospel text, but they lean towards a more divine-human reading of Jesus. He says, “Oh God, I’m dying,” and the disciples respond, “Oh God, You’re dying,” with the dual meaning of expressing despair and acknowledging his divinity. Jesus’ exclamation here is also very in line with Alexandrian theology, which emphasized the idea that if Christ is truly God incarnate, then a part of God did truly die on the cross, and not just a human who represented God or who was carried through his existence by God.

Finally, though both shows are ambiguous on the Resurrection in order to place their emotional cores front and center (iii), Godspell arguably has the more explicit allusion to the Resurrection. While Superstar ends with Jesus’ death on the cross and a final overture, Godspell ends with a stirring reprise of “Prepare Ye,” intermingled with “Long Live God,” again the messianic expectation. Jesus’ body is lovingly carried by the disciples offstage. In the production I saw, they carried him upwards into the house, where a bright white spotlight was shining. Though both the Antiochenes and the Alexandrians would naturally endorse faith in the Resurrection, in a secularized context, the Alexandrian-flavored Christology of Godspell is more comfortable with depicting Jesus’ divinity infusing and breaking into the human sphere of action. As such, Godspell is more comfortable than Superstar with at least alluding to the most awe-inspiring feat of Christ the God-man, his rising from the dead.

2. Conclusions and Pointing to Pt. II

In the end, the earnestness, exuberance and eschatological hopefulness of Godspell won me over, whereas after Jesus Christ Superstar I was impressed but not moved in the same way. The interplay between grounded radical ethics, unironic joy and tenderness, and the sprinklings of luminosity and divinity in Godspell spoke to me profoundly as a queer Orthodox Christian. Watching a filmed version of the stage show, I felt a visceral sense of connection to my faith and my God, one that echoed various points along my spiritual journey where my heart “burned within me” like the disciples on the Emmaus road. Where I was surrounded by friends who were seeking Christ, and the presence of God was an animating energy of love, hope and joy in our midst. In the next part, I want to pick up the Alexandrian lens to begin to talk about what moved me about this musical in particular, drawing on my specific experiences as a queer Christian, as an Eastern Orthodox Christian, and as someone who inhabits both of those identities simultaneously.

*Adoptionism is the belief that Jesus was entirely human at his birth and that the divinity of the Son of God came and inhabited him at his baptism or later.

**Nestorianism is the belief that Jesus had a human nature and a divine nature, but that the two were entirely separate from one another, with the divine nature operating the human Jesus without experiencing any of the human things Jesus experienced directly.

***The Transfiguration is not explicitly named as such in Godspell. However, I will argue later that it does make an appearance.

(i) Monophysitism is the belief that Jesus had one nature which was an indistinct mixture of humanity and divinity. This belief is not to be confused with its orthodox Alexandrian counterpart, Miaphysitism, which is the belief that Jesus has one nature where the humanity and the divinity are united but do not dissolve into each other. The latter doctrine is the belief of the Oriental Orthodox Churches.

(ii) Apollinarianism is the belief that Jesus had a human body but a divine soul/mind.

(iii) Jesus Christ Superstar’s emotional core being the pathos of the character relationships, Godspell’s emotional core being the poignancy and ethos of the gospel and the community of disciples.

[marahope-things]

I think the similarities that people are finding between Adora/Catra and Mara/Light Hope are less to do with the relationships being the same internally (as in, in terms of the dynamics between the two characters) and more to do with the fact that their stories deal with a lot of the major themes of the show, because the two pairings embody a LOT of the major themes of the show between them.

I don’t think it’s an accident or any kind of misrepresentation that the two relationships have parallels, but as someone who enjoys Mara/Light Hope A Whole Lot, while being pleased but more or less happy with how Catradora is presented in the show and not feeling a need to go beyond that, I want to unpick why, and what some of those differences are.

Partly because I think people make broad, thematic-level arguments about why a pairing is attractive to them, and for me, there are a lot of intra-relationship or interpersonal dynamic elements that have more bearing on why I like a ship. And it’s hard to frame in a positive light, but with Catradora, they already engage with some relationship dynamics that I’m a huge fan of (namely, rivalmancy, childhood-friends-to-lovers, and enemies-to-lovers).

The big similarities I see people picking up on are: The mind-control thing, and the "you deserve love too"/"you’re more than what you can give to other people" exchange.

And these are extremely valid parallels! They touch on two Extremely Core messages of the show! They’re very real! And you’re correct—those parallels do mean something about Mara and Light Hope, about their importance to the show and its message. Mara and Light Hope embody many of the show’s core themes, and I am glad people are starting to write about that!

But I find myself sometimes feeling like that’s… not quite the reason why I like the pairing. Y’know?

So, with the caveat that this is just my feelings about the pairing, and probably literally everyone who ships either Catradora or Marahope has a different opinion than me in some way or other, I want to discuss the major differences between Catradora and Mara/Light Hope as I see them.

Because we started liking these ships before we saw the themes that they’d be used to embody in the end, right?

Breaking it down

What Adora and Catra have is a rivalmancy, essentially—especially when they’re first introduced.

Even when they’re on the same side, they have a competitiveness to their dynamic, and part of what drives their split is that Catra, on some level, resents Adora for getting all of the things that she wants, but can’t have, because of (basically) Shadow Weaver—and then abandoning both it and her. It’s a rivalry between peers, fellow soldiers, and there’s a colossal amount of abandonment issues and emotional trauma involved as well. They’re also both close to the same age.

And they were raised together. They spent their formative years extremely close, and their split has a lot in common (probably intentionally) with painful adolescent splits that happen as people grow up, change, grow apart, and (sometimes) come back together. It’s quite moving!

Mara and Light Hope aren’t peers in the same sense; you get the sense that they started out more like co-workers, and their eventual split only happens because Light Hope has their mind wiped and their ability to choose taken away from them (Catra, on the other hand, makes a lot of choices that put her and Adora at odds, often intentionally). The two of them work together and depend on each other, and they become friends, and their roles are complementary. Literally neither of them could do the other’s job, and they depend on each other’s skillset and resources to stay safe and fulfill their own duties effectively.

So they meet as fully-formed (relatively) people in a professional context and become closer, rather than being together for those formative years and undergoing a separation as they change and discover they don’t fit the same way they used to.

There’s also an implication that Light Hope may have trained other She-Ras in the past. I don’t know how long Mara expected her tenure as She-Ra to be, but it seems like that could be a lifelong commitment, once she’s been chosen. If so, then that could imply that Light Hope’s "age" (though I don’t know if that’s something anyone would even keep track of for an AI, because they weren’t supposed to change and “grow” like a person) is on the scale of centuries by the time she meets Mara.

And even if you headcanon them traveling to Etheria together immediately after Light Hope was minted, they’re still not really anything like Catra and Adora in their dynamic. The development of their relationship has a lot more in common with interspecies or human-AI relationships in sci-fi—Terminator, Andromeda, and Killjoys come immediately to mind.

I’m also intentionally including platonic relationships here, like John Connor and Uncle Bob in Judgement Day, too, because this is such an established trope, and touches on some of those Core Sci-Fi Questions that exist in the genre—about the nature of life, consciousness, sentience, individuality, and choice. It’s not just in a romantic context that you see humans and AIs ruminating to each other about what beauty is, why people find flowers “pretty”, what it means to have free will, to feel emotions, or to be an individual. Hell, you can even include Data from Star Trek in that list.

But it is also something of a trope for AIs to "fall in love" or develop special bonds with humans that they work particularly closely with, or for humans to fall in love with AIs (sometimes they go more Pygmalion with the latter and cast the human as the AI’s creator).

Which brings me to the core trope being engaged in Mara and Light Hope’s relationship, one that Noelle has actually alluded to in their remarks during the "Exit Interviews" streams:

Relationship makes Light Hope more than their intended purpose.  

Memory and programming

In one of the streams, Noelle states that the writers’ room made the decision that something about Etheria "broke" the people who have tried to conquer it, and kind of made them part of itself (God this show has Star Wars all over it). He uses several examples, including Hordak.

Hordak, however you feel about him, develops a sense of individuality that makes his re-assimilation into the greater Horde impossible. Like Light Hope, he remembers things he isn’t supposed to, and on being presented with a physical reminder of Entrapta and his relationship with her, Horde Prime’s conditioning begins to break down.

Over the course of her arc, Mara comes to realize that being She-Ra means something more than her superiors have told her, and on realizing what her superiors are doing to Etheria, concludes that She-Ra, and all of Etheria, are being exploited and need to be protected from the First Ones. So, by betraying the First Ones (breaking her oath to them), Mara fulfills her role as She-Ra.

And Light Hope falls in love with Mara, something she was never supposed to be able to do. In the end, it is the memory of Mara that allows Light Hope to break through her programming long enough to allow Adora to destroy the Sword.

I know I brought up how AIs gaining sentience and self-will is a trope within sci-fi, but the best recent example that I can think of off the top of my head (and the reason I was able to articulate this at all) is actually The Good Place, with Janet.

In The Good Place, successive reboots are the in-universe mechanism that allows Janet to grow and change—but it’s her relationship with the other core characters that shapes who she becomes and what she believes. In fact, if she hadn’t been stolen and rebooted so many times in the first place, she never would have become who she did at all.

So: Like the rest of the cast, relationship makes Janet more than she was originally intended to be. Relationship makes Janet whole and fully alive. Light Hope’s story is, um, a bit more tragic, but I think the comparison works.

Catra and Adora, on the other hand, are dealing with a separate problem(/s): Catra’s pain and abandonment (and Adora’s self-abandonment) as a result of what they endured growing up, and the angst of childhood friends growing up and growing apart. It fits very squarely within the parameters of She-Ra as a kids’ TV show.

To boil it all the way down, their relationship *is* the problem. And it takes the whole show to fix it.

What’s suggested by the (sparse) textual evidence on Mara and Light Hope is that their relationship followed a more well-worn sci-fi path: By becoming friends with Mara, Light Hope learns how to be in relationship with another person, how to make her own choices, go against her programming as needed—how to have fun and appreciate beauty and being. Her falling in love with Mara is, metaphorically, her learning how to be alive in the world. Through loving Mara, she gets a glimpse of a world beyond being someone’s instrument, someone’s tool.

That’s part of what’s so heartbreaking and beautiful about them: In the midst of a situation that’s that’s built on deception, concealment, and coercion, where both of them appear to have been lied to or denied the entire truth by their superiors, where Mara, Light Hope, and the entire planet of Etheria are considered expendable by their superiors as long as they get their shiny weapon, Mara (who seems to understand that there’s more to life than duty and heroism) creates a space for Light Hope that is free from the constraints of her programming, to a degree. And as a result, Light Hope changes.

If Light Hope is a villain for her role in all of this (and this is complicated by the fact that she’s a programmatic being created for a particular purpose), then loving Mara is part of what makes her redemption possible. Her relationship with Mara makes her more than a weapon. In fact, it breaks her as a weapon.

And there’s certainly elements of that in Catra and Adora’s relationship, but it’s not the throughline that it is for Light Hope and Mara until you get to season 5—a full three quarters of the way through the show.

Love also doesn’t play as positive of a role in Catra’s redemption arc, really (where her parallels to Light Hope would be the most obvious), both because her villainy is something she explicitly chooses, and because her internal conflict and pain regarding her feelings for Adora are so much a part of her villainy. It only becomes redemptive in Adora’s struggle with the Failsafe—i.e. when we get back into the world of the First Ones, where most of the themes of "destiny" live.

So yeah. That’s the breakdown. I want to get into the individual tropes, but I’m going to have to save that for another day.