#this has been in my drafts for nearly a year

[dragonfruitsoup]

temari, who gives so much of her life to her family, to her village. the girl's been aging at an exponential rate since she was 6 (as most nin do, but shhh). temari, battle-worn and bruised and as resilient and proud as ever, being shoved into the kazekage's office. kankuro, (alive. alive.), leaning against the closed door and gaara, (alive. alive.), propped up in his fancy little chair at his fancy little desk with his fancy little hat hanging off the hook behind him. a formal little slip of paper, an ultimatum.

the 'we don't care if you go spend it with your boyfriend. ('my what!!?') or go find a beach house along the coast somewhere. but you're not stepping a single toe in this village for the next year.'

they give her a week to pack, and the second swiftest messenger bird suna has, and the reminder that all the major villages have been informed that any expense of hers is to be billed to suna. (amazing what a united front can do...)

temari, stepping out of her home for the first time without her brothers or backup or a mission. she has her fan, of course. she has her headband, of course. she has her tiny gourd of sand from the youngest and a little wooden weasle cause kankuro is, in fact, a massive dork. she has a new scarf from baki and sandals from ebizo and a very pretty set of kunai from her team, just in case.

temari, who looks east, toward konoha, a familiar trip at this point, but catches a caravan moving south. sits along the shoreline for three months, horrified at so much water. learns to swim through a riptide the hard way. aides the fishermen pulling in nets and fixing their sails and teaching the young ones to navigate by star because some things are constant.

packs herself up and heads north when the weather gets cool. passes through the land of rain and earth to get to the land of iron. learns how to pack snow to insulate and how to make the thickest stews. spends two months picking up swords and getting a crash course in smithing.

she writes letters every three days. keeps them bundled together until the hawk swoops back with its latest delivery. the ache of being without her brothers has shifted, no longer a gaping wound. still hurts, of course. she still turns to ask kank something or point out a plant to gaara, but it happens less frequent. her letters look less and less cohesive and more like notes stitched together as the months wear on. (she keeps a letter tucked between the folds of her shirt, just below her left shoulder. the one where the ink is smudged and splattered, where you can tell the boys were fighting for the pen before the other could fill up the space. curls her hand over it while whispering prayers to the stars. she will die before she admits this to anyone.)

she writes occasionally to baki and ebizo and her team. she starts writing to shikamaru when kank starts ragging on her ('your sad, pathetic boyfriend came looking for you and moped around the village for a week before going home with his tail between his legs. it was hilarious. i definitely took a photo for you. can't believe you dumped him already. what, find someone cuter in your travels? -k' 'shikamaru asked about you while he was here. he was here for standard meetings, don't listen to kank. be safe. -g' she does, in fact, keep the picture kank sent in with the rest of her letters. it's shikamaru, leaning against a railing, head tilted back, smoke curling from his mouth. he's backlit by lantern and she has to press a hand against her chest to quell the stuttering of her heart.)

she stumbles through the gates of konoha two weeks before fall truly hits, the leaves on the cusp of change. her pack's frayed, busting at the seam in one spot. she's come up from the coast, mouth blistered from fruit that apparently she's mildly allergic to, who knew. her hair is long, longer still, summer sun bleached and braided over and twisted up to keep off her neck. probably the longest it's ever been in her life. (she's four seconds from chopping it off herself. holds out solely to take a picture for kank, because she knows he'll want one). seeks out chouji first, her favorite and she makes that no secret.

she shares a whole notebook with ino over plants she's seen. talks weapons with tenten and parts with a small dagger she helped temper. gets drunk and shit-talks with kiba & naru.

she spends a whole day cleaning and talking to the stones of asuma and shikaku. the private ones, tucked into the nara land. she made her rounds to the public graves earlier when she arrived, paid her respects to those that served in the war. but these. these she spends the extra time to honor.

meets the downright horrifying deer the nara are so proud of. learns how to tend the woods and the deer alike. temari decides, that while she understands what an absolute honor this is, she would be okay with never stepping foot in there again, thanks. the deer know things. they see things. (she'd never tell shikamaru, but staring into their eyes is not unlike being on the business end of shukaku's gaze.)

it snows the day she leaves. soft and slow and glittering while she presses a kiss just below the corner of shikamaru's eye outside the gate. her bag's been replaced and her sandals repaired and she's eager to get home to her brothers.

and the homecoming is spectacular. the sun, already hazy and stuttered as it breaks the horizon, lights up the walls. turns them into a crown of brass and copper and gold for half a moment. a blink-and-you'll-miss-it. catches all the little specks of rock and sand that refract from the edges. and oh, oh. she'd been taking her time, meandering her way back on an unfamiliar route. but her heart stops in time with that blink and oh.

she doesn't know when she started running, but the ground rises up to meet her.

the unforgiving earth slides and shifts and throws her towards the silhouettes, parasols in bright red and purple like halos, perfect circles behind them that burn with the sunrise.

the sand in the gourd at her waist hums. like it knows. like it's trying to reach its own brethren, matching grains in matching gourds.

the backpack gets dropped and so do the parasols and the impact makes her teeth clack and gaara wheeze and kankuro, the ass, just topples them back, letting the sand plume up around them as they bump their heads.

[imintobones]

Happy national cucumber day !

[awakefor48hours]

Well okay then, tumblr. I get it

[callisteios]

Hi, feel free to take my new uquiz to discover what kind of vampire you are!

[ncthandrake]

ROBIN BUCKLEY Stranger Things | S03E06

[shkspr]

when it comes to superwholock. im in love with dw enough to admit that it has flaws but is still a fundamentally really good show that means a lot to me. and im removed enough from spn to admit that it sucks but it has its moments and more importantly it has its characters. bbc sherlock fucking sucked tho i was so into it and for what. it was a shitty shitty show. im not like ew omg cringe i used to enjoy things yikes! im just saying that time and distance gives you perspective and my perspective is that liking dw is correct and liking spn is allowed and liking bbc sherlock should be in the dsm

[saturniidd]

some days I think about the time my mom and I were sitting in the living room and out of nowhere she started asking me questions like "so you're sensitive to loud noises right?? and bright lights??" and I was super confused and then uh. I glanced over her shoulder and she was putting my answers in an online autism evaluation test

[uraharashouten]

Reishi Circulation and the Soul Balance

Kaien, Bleach chapter 268:

"Our bodies are konpaku. And when we die, our bodies turn to dust... and become the reishi that forms Soul Society."

Yhwach, Bleach chapter 615:

"The Spirit King was created to stabilize Soul Society, which is made unstable by the huge number of souls flowing into and out of it!"

CFYOW III, p196:

"In that age, in all of creation many things were ambiguous. There was no such thing as life or death, and without progress, there was no retreat. While it swayed to and fro, you see, this was a world where one could only wait for all things to chill over the course of ten thousand or even one hundred million years. Even becoming a Hollow was part of the circulation of reishi." Speaking in a matter-of-fact manner, the Osho recalled the world prior to the birth of Hueco Mundo or the world of the living.

CFYOW III, pp298, 307

Hikone, who confirmed that there was nothing strange about their own spiritual pressure, was once again confident that they had cut Hisagi in half, but... Hisagi remained unharmed. To be accurate, Hikone certainly had cut Hisagi, but from the moment they cut him, t h wounds closed up as though they had never happened. No matter how many times Hikone attempted to rend into Hisagi with their blade, the moment the back of the blade passed through the Soul Reaper, the wound was already healed. Or rather, it was as though Hikone had never cut Hisagi in the first place. ... The bankai's power was a chain that sealed away the flow of life and brought the world into stagnation. By connecting everything, it forbade death, forbade life. The black sun even bound the reishi in the atmosphere. Because of that, it was named Kazeshini—death wind. The cycle of the world would stop, ending all retrogression and evolution, imprisoning it in chains. In the circumstance where life was forced into stagnation, there was, ironically, a world with no boundary between life and death. It may have resembled the form of the world before the Soul Society had been born.

It's difficult to imagine a world without boundaries between life and death, such as was Yhwach's stated goal to create when he originally planned to dethrone the Soul King. So it's noteworthy that even before there was a circulation of souls, there was a "to and fro" circulation of reishi. In observing Shuuhei's bankai, we can imagine how reishi flowed back and forth between life and non-life in the original humans. When the body was physically harmed, it could draw from that reishi and will of the attached soul to restore it. Reciprocally, the soul's reii reserves could be restored by the life processes of the body.

But if Ichibee's story is straight, at some point, something started causing Chains of Fate between body and soul to be eaten away by encroachment, resulting in the first Hollows. And the problem... is that the reishi remained locked in that form, unavailable to sustain life. As Hollows consumed living humans and each other, the hoarding of reishi began to impinge on the population, and thus the plan for the current soul cycle with a separation between the realms was hatched.

Now, we know that the balance between purified, unbound souls and those either chained to living bodies or corrupted must be kept at all times or the system collapses... but what about the flow of reishi itself?

Upon death of the physical body, every soul purified by a zanpakutou returns its reishi to Soul Society, where it continues to be bound up in that soul until it discorporates. But as observed here, there must be something special about the process of birth. The beginning of a new human life must somehow return to the Living World enough reishi to comprise a soul. Or it may even be the case that it's the process of conception itself, and the development of a new Living Human, that generates the reishi required to form the soul within it.

We know there's an exchange rate between souls and power. In a living human, that would be life power. What if a living soul starts with only enough reiryoku to sustain one human life for, oh, say, a hundred years? Little by little, energy of the soul is consumed to sustain life, until anything beyond what's needed to maintain the shape of the soul itself is depleted.

Now, we know that as long as body and soul are connected, wounds to the soul affect the body. And wounds to both can likewise be treated via the body.

We also know that the organs that give shinigami their power, the saketsu and the hakusui, also map to the physical body. The saketsu in a living human is the Chain of Fate, the cord that ties the soul to the body, and corresponds, physically and metaphorically, with the heart. The hakusui would be the seat of spiritual power... which in a human would be the power of physical life.

We know there's a potential to exchange soul for power in a shinigami... so it follows that the soul fuels life power in a human.

So, we can't help but wonder: what if you somehow enabled living humans to produce more spiritual power than is needed to sustain the body-soul relationship? What if you gave them... extra?

Well, first of all, you'd have to be selective. We do know it's risky for the average human soul...

But there are those exceptional humans that have innate spiritual abilities and demonstrate dominance over the reishi in their environments. What I am saying is, if you are a shinigami and would like to deputize a human with any reasonable hope of success... choose a Fullbringer.

Now imagine deputizing all the Fullbringers. The celestial accounting seems to place earthbound souls (and by extension, Hollows that have moved to Hueco Mundo) on one side of the balance sheet, and 'pure' souls (shinigami and any soul who has undergone konsō) on the other.

But I wonder what would happen if you began to blur the lines...

[izzy-b-hands]

today should be a t break day

bc I'll need it to be more effective in the coming days if we see family, and then I'll have the survey shifts

but since late last night i keep randomly nearly breaking into tears and thinking abt the stupidest shit that needs to stay in the box in my brain

so idk. maybe it will be. it is thus far. but I'm not leaving my room without a container of some edible or another in my pocket either

[zzzero-percent]

i really do think we missed out not calling will and hannibals ship name wannibal

[zappedbyzabka]

Thinking about all the lingerie and pretty things fem Terry buys for Joanie.

She loves dressing up her girl and spending money on he. Knowing that just about everything Joanie wears now was bought by her makes the possessive monster in her purr, and her pussy throb.

She just can’t help herself when she sees Joanie in those mini skirts and low-cut tops; she has to sit her up on the counter and kiss her while she pets her clit through those silky panties.

It’s even worse when Joanie’s wearing lingerie, which she has multiple sets of in all different colors; Terry’s favorites are the red sets, but she looks so delicate in blue.

She likes rubbing herself on Joanie’s chest and getting her all wet, rubbing her clit on Joanie’s nipples until she cums, then burying her face in them while she uses a strap on Joanie. (Which she also likes to stick between Joanie's tits.) Whenever Joanie wears stockings, Terry knows it means she wants to be wrecked. She knows Terry doesn’t just get her pedicures and rubs lotion on her legs and feet every night for no reason, and knows those stockings are accentuating something.

Almost every time, she orders Joanie to straddle her face so she can lick and mouth at Joanie through her panties until she’s soaked through and begging Terry to take them off and let her cum. That's when she pulls them down her thighs so she can really get a taste. Usually she’ll allow Joanie to reach over and rub her clit for her too. And If she’s reverse cowgirl, she can lean down suck it.

Joanie is real crazy for Terry in those tight business skirts, (and she looks perfect in camis.)

But also thinking about one of Joanie’s devoted cobras getting the privilege of a night with her.

Terry is, as everyone who’s ever met them knows, very obsessive and possesive about her girl. She can hardly stand seeing her with anyone else, but she might just let a cobra fuck Joanie. Only because Joanie enjoys it, and she’d do anything for her princess in the end. The girl has changed her, she’s special, and anyone who thought they meant something to Terry knows that they’ll always be beneath Joanie on the importance scale. (Kreese an exception in ways.)

She’ll have Joanie lay between her legs and lay back against her chest or she’ll sit on her knees beside her with Joanie’s head in her lap, while one of those boys ruts into Joanie and makes her moan. They aren’t allowed to touch (or even really look at) Joanie’s tits, so Terry puts her big, manicured hands over them possessively, and raises a brow at whatever boy got lucky enough if they look upset over not getting to watch them jiggle. She refuses to let them taste Joanie either, because that’s nectar just for her tongue.

She’ll get irritated if she thinks they aren’t making Joanie feel good enough to make all of it worth it, yank on their hair roughly, and say, "Treat her pussy like you’ve been wanting it since you met her—like we all know you have—or this is over, pathetic boy."

That always gets a little giggle out of Joanie and always works in getting Joanie fucked properly.

Terry kicks them out right after, with zero hesitation, and wrecks Joanie herself just to remind her that, in the end, only she can fuck her right. Reminds her who she belongs to.

With Kreese, it’s a lot more complicated because she/he had been training Joanie and had gotten attached to her. Kreese had plans for Joanie and cared about her even if it was hard to show—it makes her/him stew and regret and wonder if Joanie fell into Terry’s arms because of it, because she/he didn’t make a real move fast enough. She was gorgeous, with big, perky tits, a curvy waist, and silky blonde hair perfect for pulling. Kreese will always consider her (both of them really) the one that got away, past relationships aside. She/he will never be able to find another like Joanie, and will never be able to be with anyone else, that is for sure.

(If only Kreese knew Joanie used to have a puppy crush before she found Terry. All that regret would be unbearable.)

Terry assures Kreese that despite her theft of Joanie, she does still care about their longtime friendship and partnership, which is why she would at least allow Kreese to have a night with Joanie once—obviously with Terry right there and heavily involved—going as far as to kiss Kreese too, which Joanie enjoyed. If it’s girl Kreese, she ripped Terry’s hands away from Joanie’s chest and got her mouth on those pretty tits she’s been fantasizing about, and immediately gets pulled off of Joanie by her hair and dragged out of the mansion like that. If it’s male Kreese, he purposefully cums on Joanie and takes the very, very harsh beating Terry gives him with a smile. Either way, Kreese’s impulsiveness gets her/him cut off by them both (mostly Terry; Joanie has a soft spot for Kreese) permanently because Terry is not good at forgiving or forgetting.

Girls/couples night, where they pamper and love on each other, doing self care and face masks. Joanie is the main pamperer; she adores combing and doing treatments in Terry’s hair, bringing out those pretty, inky ringlets she has when her hair isn’t straightened. She loves applying the clay mask on Terry (all while telling her that her skin is already perfect) then massaging her shoulders for her. She makes sure that their bath water is the steamy temperature Terry likes and admires her beautiful body when she slips off her bathrobe and steps in; she’s so tall and elegant, a dangerously stunning woman.

Joanie loves dick—loves the way the cobras/Kreese felt inside of her, but all she really needs/wants is Terry’s strap and that perfect face looking down at her while she’s pounding Joanie and hitting that sweet spot. All she needs is that talented tongue and those red lips kissing her. All she needs is the way Terry looks in her silky robes with her hair down—the way she looks alll sweaty and only slightly out of breath in her sports bra after a vigorous workout. How her voice sounds first thing in the morning, and she's still sleepy enough to whine for Joanie to keep holding her.

That’s her woman.

(Old draft. Decided to start posting them slowly. Krilverlaw is the endgame for this au in my head)

[cityandking]

dai/zaref (& ozy) + pacific rim au. 1.7k

He finds Zaref in the command hub, already hooked into comms, eyes half glazed that way he gets when he’s processing the endless stream of incoming information. Scratch sits next to him, chair twisting this way and that as she types away at her tablet, muttering numbers under her breath. Zaref looks almost peaceful by comparison, slight twitch of his mouth the only thing to belie his worry. Daichi stills a moment to watch him, a pillar stood still and solid in the churning mess of the command center. He makes the same picture he always makes, and it gives Daichi pause the way it always does.

Then one of the Jaeger techs brushes past him, close enough to nearly knock shoulders, and he steps into the slipstream of the chaos.

"Hello.” He’s almost on top of him before Zaref looks up, startled by his nearness. The twins are there too, half watching and half playing some kind of finger-count game. He ignores them for the most part, used to their eyes and the air of judgment they exude. Whatever early-days familiarity they have with Zaref, it doesn’t bother him anymore.

Mostly. There are other things to worry about.

“Hello,” Zaref returns. He’s tired these days. They all are, of course, but Zaref particularly.

“You needed me?”

That gets a twitch of amusement, like Zaref appreciates the double meaning. Satisfaction flashes through him in turn; it’s rare he gets his words so right. Scratch spins around in her chair to check something on one of her half dozen monitors, chatting away to Dobin on the other end of her line, paying the exchange no mind.

“Yes,” says Zaref with the same layered understanding, and Daichi hides his smile in the nod of his head. “Scratch, you have the conn.”

“Yep, got it,” she confirms, never once looking up from her screens. She adjusts her headset as Zaref hooks his off, and Daichi ignores the eyes on them as they step out of the command hub altogether. He swallows back his questions. If Zaref’s holding a briefing outside the hub, it must be important.

Or, maybe it’s not the brief itself that’s sensitive. It doesn’t take him long to recognize the route they’re taking, and they’re halfway down the hall when Zaref slows and stops, shoulders braced.

They don’t need to worry about anyone bothering them, not here. Only a select few come to this part of the base.

“Is this— Are we here for you?” Daichi asks. It’s a tender subject, one he isn’t quite graceful enough to dance around. Zaref’s lips thin, almost imperceptible. A no, then.

“A new pilot arrived on the morning flight,” he replies.

Ah. Daichi understands. He lets the sting of not-knowing pass over him. He trusts Zaref to tell him when things are important—like now, paused three quarters of the way to the dojo, deep enough in the base that the chaos and the fear can’t touch them.

The sting of Zaref’s quiet refusal is a harder one to let go, but that regret is old and familiar, and it only aches a little. The hope sticks furious under his breastbone that one day Zaref will trust him beyond the mats of the dojo and the meager privacy of a bunk.

Not that he doesn’t. Not that Daichi doesn’t know he does. He just hopes, is all.

But Zaref doesn’t drift—hasn’t ever, according to his file. Rumor is that’s what washed him out of the ranger program, but Daichi’s always had a sense there’s more to the story.

“Who?” he asks.

“He says his name is Ozymandias.”

“Auspicious.”

“Something like that,” Zaref agrees dryly, mouth tilting up, all wryness and exhaustion and the fraying gallows humor they hang by. “Sunburst’s repairs will be finished soon.”

And Daichi will need a copilot, now that Izzy has relocated to the other side of the Pacific. As with most things regarding Izzy, he does his best to not let himself linger on that.

“Where was his last posting?”

“Sydney.”

Daichi frowns. There hasn’t been an active Jaeger program in Sydney in nearly a decade. Zaref, seeing his confusion, adds, “He came recommended by Kallux.”

His frown deepens. “Private sector?” He tries not to let the disapproval color his voice, but it’s difficult. The private sector causes more problems than just the black market trade of kaiju parts, and not everyone is as forthcoming as Scratch’s friends. “Has he piloted since then?”

“Yes. Scratch can send you the file.”

“And you want him?”

“I don’t think want has anything to do with it,” Zaref returns, mouth pursed. Daichi winces—he certainly hadn’t meant it like that—but Zaref is frowning again, almost hesitant. “He… claims he brings nothing to the drift.”

Daichi eyes Zaref. “Do you believe him?”

Daichi’s heard people say it before. It rarely holds up when the neural link connects. Silence, he’s found, is a rather subjective experience.

“I’d like you to check.” He makes a face, almost apologetic. “I know it hasn’t been long since Izzy left, but—”

“We need pilots.” They’ve had bad luck lately—bad before they lost Marshal Frida and worse after. There’s a reason Scratch is up half the night with Dobin, both of them plugged into their calculations, frowning about shrinking windows between breaches. There’s a reason they’re all so tired.

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“If it doesn’t work—”

“It’s alright,” Daichi says again. “I wasn’t going to drift with her again either way.”

Zaref’s expression goes pensive as he touches the scar at Daichi’s temple. It doesn’t look nearly as bad now as it had three weeks ago—he’s been patched up by the best they have, same as Sunburst Mantle.

“Maybe one day.”

“Maybe,” he allows, but he doesn’t think Zaref believes it any more than he does. It had been a bad argument to drive her a hemisphere away, and that had been his fault. He still feels bad about it. He knows the others miss her too, particularly Zaref—and not only because it leaves him with one half of a benched Jaeger crew.

Maybe not benched, if Zaref has found him a new copilot. What luck that this Shatterdome just so happens to have an extra ranger on the loose.

“We shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he says, turning to press a kiss against Zaref’s wrist and tug his hand down from where his thumb is sweeping distractingly over the curve of his ear. “If this goes well, maybe you’ll be able to bench the twins.”

“I wish I could bench the twins,” Zaref sighs, giving his hand a squeeze and pulling back, shoulders straightening and expression smoothing, falling back into the role of Chief Officer. It’s a pity—Daichi likes him soft.

When they reach the door at the end of the hall, it’s cracked open. Daichi wonders briefly how far the sound carries. If it had been closed before they stopped to talk.

“Just,” says Zaref on the threshold, a hitch of hesitation. “Don’t force it.”

“Of course not,” Daichi says, wry and lying and obvious. Zaref huffs, unamused and unimpressed and unsurprised, and opens the door.

The dojo is as still as it always is, heavy with a dusty sort of silence despite its pristine condition. A pair of boots sits at the edge of the mat, neatly squared, and in the center of the room is a man. The new ranger. Ozymandias.

A little grandiose as far as names go, but those in the Jaeger program can hardly be accused of humble or sensible naming conventions. And the folly of forgotten kings is perhaps not the worst thing to reference, even if the lone and level sands are a long way from the ocean-bound Jaeger program.

He stands facing away from the door, hands folded behind his back, at ease. He’s a little taller than Daichi, maybe, and he wears his hair long and golden and threaded with grey. There’s a squareness to his stance that speaks to military training. He doesn’t move as the door swing shut behind them.

“Ozymandias?”

“Ozy,” he offers, finally turning around. He has the barest hint of an accent, Mediterranean maybe, flattened by time and travel, and a strange coloring in one eye. Daichi can’t tell if it’s blind or not. He tilts his head, nearly birdlike as he looks between the two of them, and Daichi understands why Zaref might believe it when he claims he brings nothing to the drift: there’s an unsettling blankness in his gaze.

“Daichi,” he bows. “Sunburst Mantle.”

“I know.” He doesn’t offer up an introduction of his own.

Across the room, Zaref catches his eye, a silent question. Daichi shakes his head and bends to unlace his boots. Zaref doesn’t need to stay. In all honesty, Daichi doesn’t think they need the spar. He can already see something familiar in the man, the kind of understanding that lends itself well to a neural link. He isn’t sure he likes it, but the liking doesn’t matter.

Over Ozy’s shoulder, Zaref gives him a lingering look—warning, almost, which is as sweet as it is pointless—and slips out the door. Ozy’s mouth twitches as the latch clicks.

“Method?” Daichi asks.

“Hand-to-hand is fine.” He sinks into an opening stance—Pále, it looks like. Interesting. “If it’s alright with you.”

Daichi settles into position in turn, rolling out his shoulders. “Are you sure you want to return to the Corps after so long?”

Ozy’s mouth twitches again—a smile, sanded down. “I don’t think want has anything to do with it,” he says. “My path led me here. Isn’t that enough.”

“Maybe,” Daichi allows.

He’s right about the spar being unnecessary—as they prove four hours later, when Dobin’s grim prediction proves true and a Cat IV spills out of the breach, sprinting over the Bonin Trench. Later, when they’re back on base, Zaref finds him in a slip of privacy, holds him tight by the shoulders and takes a long, trembling moment to say—

“Well?”

“He’s right,” Daichi says, forehead pressed against the thrum of Zaref’s pulse, the reminder that they’re alive, at least until the next attack. It had been a bad fight—they’re all bad fights, these days—but not nearly as unsettling as the bare desert of Ozymandias, sands unstirred by any breeze of thought or desire. “He brings nothing.”

“Is that alright?”

It is what it is. “We need pilots,” he says.

Want has nothing to do with it.

[awakefor48hours]

[welcometogrouchland]

What if I proposed the analysis that Belos actually has very little internal moral compass and that his veneer of righteousness has always been implied by the writers to be complete fabricated bullshit even before watching and dreaming basically confirms it.

[im-still-watching-anime]

reading my drafts like damn this is so good i should really finish it and post it as i am actively closing the window