#also might do a separate post of the library itself i love how it came out :)

[elderwisp]

just a few unedited photos but omg i'm so happy wif my reshade

#i also changed the dialogue font #we'll see how that goes #also might do a separate post of the library itself i love how it came out :) #tessellate: extras

[antifa-terra]

PLEASE talk about your Alison Chao if you haven't already I would love to hear more about her

*rubs hands together excited*

I’m so glad you asked! First off, I’m everhue on the Wanderer’s Library site, and a lot of my thoughts here come from/are expressed in short stories I wrote there. Some of which got deleted because of the voting system, which is a large part of why I don’t post there anymore. Seemed like a waste. But I think are a few there.

To explain my Allison Chao(s)— I have three— I need to explain my interpretation of SCP Foundation lore, or at least the magic, Library, and multiverse lore.

In my interpretation of the world, there’s three ways to affect reality. There’s the normal, boring ways — with your hands, by talking to people, etc. Non anomalous. Follows predictable and literal rules. Then there’s magic, which follows more esoteric and metaphorical rules but is still relatively consistent. Anyone can do magic if they learn how, through performing rituals, chanting spells, using enchanted objects, etc. It’s more flexible than physics, but in order to do anything new, you need to build on what’s been done before. Basically sufficiently advanced and weird science. Your traditional dnd wizardry falls into this.

The third way is reality warping, which is entirely narrative based. You can’t trust anything to work twice, unless you can. Everything about reality warping is contextual. It’s chaotic and impossible to predict, unless it isn’t. If you’ve listened to Mabelpod, then that’s the vibe of reality warping to me. Some people are really good at convincing reality to do what they want, while other people make it harder to change the world around them thanks to their realness. I personally like the interpretation of Dr Clef where he’s a reality anchor and also separately likes to fuck with people.

These are less solid distinctions and more points on a spectrum. All magic actually originally comes from reality warping that’s been repeated enough— the narrative has solidified to the point where it’s just part of reality. All the science stuff and containment procedures are as much a way to tame the anomalous and then it into magic. So long as you follow the containment procedures— the rituals — then it won’t get out. This is also how the anomalous world manages to stay hidden despite the impossibility of keeping a secret that big — it’s a spell that everyone who stays up late at night paranoid is casting again and again.

So, coming to the Library. The Library isn’t a real place. It’s an idea. The platonic idea of a library, of home. The Serpent, which is also the Library, is simultaneously the most powerful reality warper and reality that’s been warped. I came up with this stuff before I read the Scholomance books by Naomi Novak, but there’s a lot of parallels there. Except there’s no dark secret with the Library— she’s basically the result of human yearning for knowledge and safety. She’s massive and infinite, but she also takes up no space at all. All that space is folded in on itself. The people that live in her are the realest part of her. The Ways are part of her, but also their own thing. They’re manifestations of the experience of travel, reality warped by the collective desire to just be there already. They can hypothetical take you to any universe within the infinite multiverse, but in practice, they don’t.

The multiverse is actually infinite, since enough people believe in that, but people’s conception of what infinity looks like is actually quite limited. For example, you might be able to conceive of a universe where humanity’s made it to space or where the South won the American Civil War or where you’re on Reddit instead of tumblr, but what about what you can’t concieve of? If the rules of physics weren’t what they are, what would reality look like? Every alien in fiction is in some way based on what life looks like on Earth, even if that’s through trying to be the opposite. If the multiverse is infinite, surely there must be universes we can’t understand. But how would you travel to somewhere that operates by different rules, narratively? You don’t usually. So universes tend to end up in constellations. Very very big constellations, don’t get me wrong, but everything that’s been written on the SCP foundation— save the stuff that so deeply contradicts the rest of this that it’s not worth trying to reconcile— is part of one constellation of universes.

Finally, we get to the idea of being multiversally common. I promise, we’re almost to Allison Chao. This is important, or at the very least, I enjoyed writing it out. Multiversally common is nearly synonymous with “narratively relevant,” but not always. If you’re familiar with the phenomenon of kinning, then the most multiversally common character in a work would be one that shows up on the most kin lists. You could make a religion out of this, probably, but I wouldn’t recommend it because it’d be a hassle. They’re also the characters that are most likely to be included in alternate universes or have fic about them. Obviously protagonists are going to be common, but there’s also other types. For example, if you’re going to write a DC comics Elseworlds miniseries about the end of the world to zombies or vampires, then you wouldn’t necessarily follow a character like John Constantine or Zatanna but they’d probably show up to say, “yeah, there’s some weird magic here.”

A lot of my thoughts on this, the ones that aren’t based in broader observations about the nature of narratives, come from the Black Queen hub. Namely, where it says “there is always.” That seemed unlikely to me, because surely if there’s an infinite multiverse, then there’s got to be worlds where there isn’t. So, multiversally common— there is always an Allison Chao in narratively relevant universes. She isn’t necessarily a reality warper as much as she is a manifestation of warped reality. Any individual Allison Chao might be real, but they’re also part of a broader story. Even their refusal to engage with the narrative is part of the narrative.

So finally, we get to mine. All three of them, actually. Allison Chao (Sparrow), Allison Chao (Checkers), and Allison Chao (the Reaper). Sparrow is the most similar to most people’s interpretations, I think. She has the forgetability hat, she’s known by LS and Black Queen to different people, she leads a splinter group of the serpent’s hand. She’s also a trans lesbian and kind of a tankie. She’s well read on Marxist theory and magic alike, although she prefers to use already enchanted objects, amulets, and charms rather than mess around and try to make things herself. She’s very focused on her own reality and Earth and has done a good job of adding to the collective Black Queen notes, even if visitors sometimes accuse her of bias. Her cell is also on the more aggressive side as far as Serpent’s Hand goes. She self identifies as a freedom fighter, others would label her a terrorist.

That’s true for almost all Serpent’s Hand groups, but in her case, it’s not entirely unfounded. She’s focused on the Foundation to the point of exclusion and is willing to negotiate with groups like MC&D, which her much less narratively important ex-girlfriend (and my oc) Quetzal, who leans much more towards anarchism and prefers to be more of a nuisance to every group defending the status quo rather than focus their energy on one group, calls her out for being a hypocrite about. Sparrow also only semi ironically kins the Doctor from Doctor Who. This was on Quetzal’s call out post too.

Checkers comes from me reading a few articles about Three Portlands and seeing off handedly mentioned that an Allison Chao was on the roller derby team. Three Portlands is kind of like the Library, except she’s both more and less tied to individual realities. There’s only one/three of her in any particular universe. Where the Library is another plane in periphery to every universe, any iteration of Three Portlands is a pocket dimension tied to the corresponding Earth at three points. It’s a college town. Checkers goes to Deer College for a post graduate degree. She’s transgender and bisexual. She’s also a Marxist-Leninist, but instead of doing terrorism, she publishes essays in various journals. She gets her anger out in roller derby. She travels the multiverse on occasion but mostly for research. She’s in a severe academic feud with a genuinely impressive number of alternate selves, including Sparrow, as well as half the academic anomalous community. She’s made out with the captain of the Global Occult Coalition’s school’s derby team. Autistic and bipolar.

The Reaper is a weird one, because she didn’t actually start life as an Allison Chao. She’s very VERY loosely based on a character from a YouTube series, since I liked some of the ideas explored but didn’t really feel comfortable with the creators. Her universe is the least like the “normal” SCP foundation setting. Her world is in an ambiguously historical setting, with most cities, towns, and buildings being vaguely medieval, but she frequently references modern literature that doesn’t make any sense in that context. She’s an anarchist and frequently quotes Proudhon, Bachunin, etc. She has the forgetability hat, but she mostly uses that for sneaking rather than in combat. She claims she found the Library by “getting lost,” although this doesn’t really make sense. She shouldn’t be able to access the Black Queen notes because she doesn’t have a computer. She does anyway. She’s a fairly powerful reality warper on account of (potentially deliberately) not realizing what she’s doing. She’s also an alchemist and writes surprisingly good romance novels. Arguably a terrorist. Trans girl and in at least five different homoerotic rivalries at any given times but not emotionally intelligent enough to notice. Probably gay, definitely ADHD and autistic.

Thanks for asking! It’s been too long since I’ve thought about them.

#SCP foundation #allison chao #sparrow #the reaper #Checkers #my ocs #sort of #scp #wanderers library #The black queen #Asks answered

[writing-in-april]

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (2/?)

Part two: Caught

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After reader’s first introduction to Spencer she can’t wait for the next meeting and tries to look for him.

Part One, Part Three

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hey guys!!! This is my final fic for my 1250 follower celebration!!! Plus this is part two to my new series 🥰 I’m like so excited for this guys I’ve got so much planned for this one!! Thanks again to @spencers-dria who came up with the way I started out this story 😘 and @andiebeaword who gave me the prompt that spiraled into a series!!! Let me know how y’all like this series so far 🥰 also I will be mass accepting the rest of the requests for my 30 fics in 30 days tomorrow so be warned for a bunch for posts lol and I’ll be making a Masterlist for this series as well- maybe with a cute moodboard?? Thanks for reading guys!!!

Warnings: 18+, Speculation on how dark Spencer can be, mentions of kidnapping, Dom Spencer, Public sex (of course), Fingering, Use of the nickname Doctor, Slight size kink, Muffling, Spencer gives Reader a nickname at the end (I won’t spoil it 😉)

Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.6k

Ever since the last meeting you had been itching to lay your eyes on Dr. Reid. Even though you could have waited until next month when there’s another book meeting happening, with a new theme, your impatience was not having it.

The library that housed the book club and apparently now any of your interactions with the mystery man had never been frequented as much by you- until now.

Everyday after work now you stopped by to try and find him. You did other stuff there for sure, making your way through a full fantasy series while you kept your eyes peeled for his fluffy hair. Sometimes you did walk through the shelves that were stacked high with every book you thought imaginable just to maybe get a peak at him, or maybe speak to him if you were lucky.

You felt like you were both dancing around each other, never touching or even getting close enough to speak. But, a little look of his curls, a spot of his mesmerizing eyes, or a glimpse of his cardigan assured you that he was there.

You were sure he had to have seen you just as you had seen him at some point. Maybe he only wanted to see you during your book club or maybe he was done with you after that one time in the empty room.

Seeing him without half of his face covered seemed to make the shroud of mystery surrounding him get pulled back further. That however didn’t change the fact that you barely knew the man that danced between the shelves. You had called him by his earned prefix more than his real name and even then it was only his last name with the earned prefix attached that had slipped between your lips.

It was not like you did not know his first name, you had heard his full name with his title attached when he had first introduced himself to you, albeit behind that mask of mystery. And, even with his physical mask removed even with one look it would be obvious to anyone that there was an invisible mask still covering most of him.

There was this strange pull towards him that you could not explain. You felt like Christine being entranced by the phantom, his twisted face or in this case his soul behind the mask not shocking me away. You still hoped I was not dealt with a man that was as demented as Christine’s phantom. You could take a damaged man, not a kidnapper along with whatever other things the phantom of the opera had done to Christine. With one look at his face he hooked you in, perhaps unintentionally. But, if it was intentional and his bad didn’t squash the good in the end you didn’t mind at all.

Your feelings teetered on a precarious edge, you’d willingly take the plunge off if he’d just give you a peak at what was underneath. It all hinged on whether or not he’d let you take a look. He’d given you a taste of his Dr. Jekyll plus a little of his Mr. Hyde, but it left you nowhere in determining who Spencer was underneath.

Spencer- that was the first time you had even thought of his first name by itself without a prefix attached. You wondered how good it would sound if you let it stop dancing on the edge of your lips and let it slip out.

The ghost of his name danced on your lips precariously at the edge just like you were, so close to being whispered out. Only the pages of old books would hear you, there was no harm in saying his name. It was only a name after all.

Even though it was just a name made up of two syllables it was stuck on your tongue like it was one of the hardest words to pronounce. Your lips did finally speak in the softest whisper when you finally managed to stomp out your hesitation, “Spencer-“

“You called?” A gasp left you, way too loud to be appropriate in the library, but then again you had already bucked many of this library’s rules. You whipped around to face the voice that you recognized instantly as you had been closing your eyes tight every night trying to remember his voice and picture what he had done to you.

Seeing him without the mask up close, not through quick glances when you caught his fugue from afar was somehow more intriguing to you than when he wore the mask two weeks ago. When you did not come up with a response for at least a minute, he cut through the somewhat awkward silence, “What book are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” That was an honest answer from you, you had other motives for hiding between these shelves.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline clearly spotting your skittish behavior. You thought you were a good liar too, you wondered how it was so easy for him to read you. It made you feel vulnerable considering you couldn’t get a read on anything about him, besides the basics. Maybe you were just a bad liar and he was a master at it. “So you were just browsing? In the nonfiction section- specifically in the ancient and medieval philosophy section?”

His questions flustered you even more. It was like he knew that you had spotted him once in this very spot speeding through a stack of books a mile high while sitting cross legged on the floor. You would admit you stood there in awe for a moment to admire the way his fingers slipped down the page to track what sentence that he was on at an inhuman pace. You had been too shy to approach him that day, even though it was a perfect opportunity to do so, mostly because you were intimidated by how fast he seemed to be reading. Though later you thought maybe he had just been skimming to find what interested him, you wish you were brave enough to ask. That was why you had been loitering in the last spot you had your last chance to speak with him. It was possible he had already spotted you from your staring. Your voice shook a little as denied, having no suitable white lie to say, “No…”

“Not interested in philosophy then, no Plato for you??” He knew you were here before, watching him, his tone made it obvious.You shook your head from side to side slowly with your breath held tightly in his chest. He looked away from you for a moment to glaze over the spines of the books ordered by the Dewey Decimal System, maybe looking for something that sparked his own interest. It was only a small moment that his gaze wasn’t fixated at you, but you still felt like whining at him to get his attention back onto you. Luckily, you did not have to make such a sound as his pupils fixated back onto yours before he spoke again, “I thought so, you seem more like a fiction lover.”

“You’d be correct.” You confirmed, still barely breathing.

Your breathing wavered when he moved a little closer, if you hadn’t been paying such close attention to every minute moment he made, you might have missed it. The warmth of him was closer than it had been since the last time he had touched you, the desire for him was urging you to pull him in to touch him. Last time he had initiated every touch. his hands were closest to you, with nimble fingers that could work you over the edge skillfully and you knew that from experience. His head cocked to the side with eyebrows in question pulling you away from your daydream about pulling him in with your touch. He cleared his throat, then questioned you, his voice dropping down a bit, “So, if you weren’t looking for a specific book and you weren’t just browsing for a new one- what are you doing here in this section?”

“N-nothing…” A stutter still escaped you despite your best efforts.

It seemed like he was circling you like a hawk over head, though you wanted to be caught up in his claws. A little yelp of surprise escaped you when he suddenly grabbed your wrist rather tightly and yanked you forward towards him. You stumbled slightly into his chest, but you were quickly stabilized by him pushing you back into the shelves.

You were getting whiplashed again from his transition from delicate to sharp when he carefully put both wrists into one hand, then pinning them above your head. Your jaw was dropped down in shock and you almost stammered out another reply when he hit the nail on the head as to what your intentions were, “Were you looking for me?” At first you gave no response, but he pulled one out of you by sharply commanding you, “Answer me!”

“Yes!”

His lips were on you in a familiar fashion, harsh, almost enough to where your lips might bruise a little. When he bit your lip rather hard, you thought that there was definitely a chance that the bruise would form or at least it would be swollen. You loved it though, letting him guide the kiss to make it as rough as he wanted. When he separated his lips from you, you went to open your mouth to protest, but was cut off by a harsh shush from him that would make the librarian proud.

Each of the shelves you were pressed into pinched painfully, not that you cared all that much. You were more focused on the man who was now unbuttoning the front of the jeans you wore. On the inside you were cursing yourself for not wearing a skirt so he could’ve had easier access, it’s not like he could have stripped you down out of them- even if you wanted him to.

You’d both have to settle with your pants being pulled down to the tops of your thighs, he did leave the panties pulled up though, for the moment at least.

His other hand still held your wrists firmly while he started to tease by rubbing slow circles to your clit through your panties. When you tried to buck your hips into his hand you were punished by putting one of his thighs between your own and pushing what felt like his full weight onto you. There was no way you could move underneath him, even if you tried squirming he had you pinned to the too firmly shelves like a piece of art hanging on the walls.

All you could do was try to beg for what you wanted, “Please, pull them down.”

“But, I like seeing you in them.” He looked down at you with his eyes that looked like black pools because of the mood lighting in the library. You whimpered again, but cut you off by saying. “If you want me to oblige you, maybe you should ask me nicely and use the name you know you’re supposed to use.”

You knew exactly what title he was referring to, it had been ingrained in your mind after the last time. Part of you wanted to use a similar comeback of last time and call him Mister instead, or maybe even dare speak his first name again. On the other hand, your legs were shaking from being just simply teased a little. You had been looking forward to having him touch you like this again, and if you did not comply there was a chance his punishment for you would be taking away all touch.

“Please- Doctor, please pull them down.” Your volume was undoubtedly much too loud for the normally dead silent library. You were confident that you would not be caught just like last time, this was a scarcely traveled area, plus the librarian was farthest away from here. There had been another motive for picking this area to try to spot the morally gray doctor.

Instead of pulling your panties down, he ripped them off of you. The tearing of the seam echoed off the shelves along with your gasp. Even if you had really liked the pair, it was too hot to really be angry for him ripping them apart. And- when he stuffed them in his pocket a sharp spike of arousal ripples through your core. You could even still see the wet spot you had created on them despite the rip before he had shoved them into his pocket.

When his hand returned to your core you mewled desperately. He returned his nimble fingers to rubbing circles into your clit, this time a little bit faster than before and with a bit more pressure. You had to bite down onto your lip when he started alternating the circles with pinching your clit, knowing that the sharp cries that wanted to escape would be too loud for the librarian to miss, despite being far away from her.

“Do you want my fingers inside you?” He asked gruffly- as if I’d refuse having his long fingers crooked inside me, dragging across my g spot.

You didn’t need him to prompt you to say “Yes, please Doctor!” You were becoming easy for him to bend to his will, just to get another taste of his touch on your body. Maybe next time, if there was one like you hoped, perhaps if you were not so desperate for him to bring you to your peak, you’d smart off to him again. After all, from what little that you had experienced as a punishment from him like last time, you knew you’d enjoy it.

The smirk on his face told you that he was pleased with your eager submission to him. He pushed your head to the side slightly with his own to suck a hickey at the underside of your ear then nibbling slightly up the shell of it, “Good girl.”

Your eyes rolled back farther than you thought possible when he spoke, plus the added sensation of him plunging his fingers into your dripping hole added to that as well. The thrusts of his fingers were slower than you expected, as if he did not care that time may be of the essence, that anybody could walk by soon. Curling them upwards on one swift motion helped him easily find that perfect spot inside you which made your body try to squirm underneath his grip again. As you squirmed you could feel his hard bulge pressing into you making your mouth water and you drip down your thighs even more. Despite wanting to grind into it more he reaffirmed his grip and started to plunge his fingers into you faster. Your eyes shut tight at the onslaught of pleasure.

“No- look at me while I’m doing this to you.” Wrenching your eyes open with effort you followed his command, locking his eyes with yours. His eyes entranced you, you could almost feel the dark hooks pulling you in impossibly closer. Those hooks were pushing you towards the edge of your orgasm as well.

“Can I cum pleassse-“ You gasped almost too late as you were having trouble staving off your release, you didn’t know if you could handle him holding it off at all, “Doctor?!”

“Come on, cum for me- only for me, you’ve been really good for me.” A man being possessive towards you would normally have your orgasm fall away quickly- but when he said it your orgasm snapped through you on command. Your hands fell limp at your sides as he released his steel grip on them to clasp his hand around your mouth to quiet the noise that you tried, and failed, to stifle.

He had you still almost fully pinned down as you rode the waves of your orgasm out. You gripped the shelves with your free hands tightly, trying to hold onto something. You’d touch him, but there was the unspoken rule to not touch him without permission hanging in the air.

He let you come up for air once you had finished by removing his hand from your mouth, along with the one from your pants. He also tried to move you off of his thigh so you could stand, but your shaky legs would not allow you to do so, still weak from the force of your orgasm.

He only pulled away from you when a small thud was heard that judging by the source of the sound, was somewhat close to where you both were. He helped you button your pants back up, it felt kind of weird to wear them without your panties. The reminder of him stuffing them into his pockets still outweighed the discomfort.

Your whole being was probably much more disheveled than he was, there was only a slight cock to the right with his tie, that he quickly fixed. He then leaned, capturing you in a kiss that was much softer than any others he had given you. It did not feel like a goodbye kiss, more like see you soon.

“Until next time, Shelley.” His words that were whispered like a ghost on your lips, it was the quietest thing he had said throughout today’s dalliance. He almost seemed afraid. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the nickname, knowing it came from the time that you first had encountered him. It made him seem even closer to you than you had thought, him giving you the nickname made you feel somewhat claimed by him. Hopefully this was not all in your head.

“Until next time- Spencer.” You hesitated a little before saying his given name. You already had a nickname for him, one that seemed less intimate than the one he gave to you. Calling him by his first name seemed like a way that you could express similar thoughts without spilling all your guts to him.

Once the butterflies had faded a little you realized that he had not let you reciprocate any pleasure. You wanted to chase him back down through the library, get down on your knees and take his cock into your mouth until you swallowed his cum. There must have been a reason though, why he did not let you reciprocate. You hoped he was just busy and that at the next meeting in two weeks time, he’d let you take him into your mouth.

You yearned to touch him rather than to have him touch you. The thought of running your hands through his hair slowly enough to appreciate every wave and curl sent butterflies a flight in your stomach. Would he ever let you get that close? Close enough to study every curve of him in earnest instead of being pinned against something in a way where you could only appreciate a part of him. However much you felt desire being stoked whenever he took control over you, pinned you like he did, the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of exploring him with your own hands was too much to ignore. You just wanted to explore every inch of him with no semblance of time, no rush to be somewhere else, just to examine every part good or bad.

You’d have to tiptoe close, dance around him like he did with you until he let you see truly what both sides of him were behind the mask.

You still hardly knew the man before you, the one that was retreating away from you, sadly. Today had felt like your first glimpse into something more, mostly his good side. Dr. Jekyll was the one that you had seen the most of, but you could deny your desire to see every part of him, that thought had not wavered. There was that dark part of him that remainder hidden under the mask, if he showed it to you would you know him? Or would it just deepen the mystery of which is his dominant side- Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? And even though you were undoubtedly curious to see every facet of what made the morally gray doctor you could help but fear whether or not you’d like everything that you’d see.

Part One , Part Three| Series Masterlist

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

Dr. Jekyll or Mr.Hyde: @rainsong01

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom!Spencer: @rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds series #spencer reid series #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #1250 follower celebration #1250 followers

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Everything Is Blue

I've been trying to post these every 30 notes, but that happened within hours on the last post, so I'm sorry for not being done with this sooner and for how rushed it feels.

Warnings: Arguing ; Mention of Death ; Mention of bombs ; Unrequited[?] Love ; Memory Loss ; Slight Stalking ; Angst

Words: 3.7k

You hadn’t spoken to him since that incident after the festival. You knew your harsh words you had all but screamed at him had driven a stake between the two of you. It hurt so much more to think about now. You had berated the brunet when you saw him. He had messed up and you needed to let him know just how much. But when all that had left his lips in response had been a sullen “I’m sorry.”, your anger at him just increased.

“For what? I want to hear you say it.” He didn’t have a right to suddenly look so morose when just minutes earlier, you had found him cackling to himself over plans. Your form had loomed in the doorway of where he kept the wooden desk. You didn’t dare step foot into the room where such a stranger waited. His smile hadn’t been the same one you had known all this time and you actually flinched at the sight of it. You felt like prey. And now, after he had chased after you when you had turned to storm off, he thought he was allowed to look like he had been caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t have been? He had already told you the worst, even if he hadn’t done it.

“Everything.” The answer had caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to be so earnest in his apology. At your lack of a response, he had just shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I have so much work to do.”

He turned to walk back to his small “office” and you reached out for him. “Wilbur, please-”

“Don’t follow me.” His voice was firm. That had been the first, and only, time he had used such a tone with you, but this had also been the first, and only, time you had yelled at him. You tried to hold back the sound that escaped your lips. You wanted to chase him anyways, but you had a discussion with Technoblade that needed to happen.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him afterwards. You wanted to mend the great divide that seemed to loom between you two. But he didn’t seem to. He never spoke to you after that. Communication always came from another member; Techno or Tommy, more often than not. And now? Now you would never be able to fix things.

You still remembered the look in Technoblade and Tommy’s eyes when you told them you were on both of their sides. Techno had never once lied to Tommy or Wilbur about never wanting to re-establish L’Manburg, but putting Tubbo in the position of president had been done so fairly democratically. If anyone had had a problem with him inheriting the position, they could have voiced it. Instead everyone had cheered. You couldn’t fight for either side you loved so much when they were both right. Not after watching the third person you held closest to you get slain by the man who was supposed to be his father. You couldn’t lose either of them too.

Techno was a comfortable constant in your world. He was warm, funny, and the friendship between you two only seemed to grow with each passing day. You could ask him for anything in the entire world, and he’d give it to you with very little questions asked. So you helped him leave after Tommy and Tubbo set to rebuild L’Manburg. He was ready to change, he had said so himself. So much violence and carnage had left his hands permanently stained with blood. The voices didn’t help at all. You knew that. If you hadn’t have felt the need to help Tommy and Tubbo with the next phase of their life, you were sure you would have stayed in the arctic with him, away from everything that had happened. He had been more than happy to share the cabin he wanted to build with you. There would be a farm, he said, and animals. Your company was so nice, he wouldn’t mind sharing it every day. But despite how wonderful that offer sounded, you could only remind him that Tommy and Tubbo were still children and required more guidance than he did. He didn’t look happy about it, but let you go anyway with the promise that you’d come visit often.

As if anything could keep you away from your best friend.

When you returned, Tommy had sent you back to Pogtopia to collect the loose odds and ends that had been left there. It wasn’t much, just things that he had thought would help. But he couldn’t leave the process to run the errand. You were more than happy to do it for him. You knew he wouldn’t want the reminder of Wilbur, his mentor and brother in almost every sense of the word, being gone so soon.

When you had descended down the familiar walkways, you marveled at all of the buttons still left there. It felt more like a museum exhibit now than the place where the rebellion had bloomed. Aside from what you pilfered, everything had been, and would remain, untouched. Lingering in each of the “rooms”, memories about all that had happened in such a short amount of time started to haunt the quiet base.

There was a small chest in the corner of your alcove, however. One that hadn’t been there when you had left the night before the final stand for reconnaissance. You had been supposed to report back what you had found, but you had chosen to send Wilbur a message over the comms instead and visit the old library you had once called home rather than return and deliver it orally. Your leader wouldn’t have noticed either way. You were still back in time, so it didn’t matter, even if he had.

You knelt beside the wooden chest, opening it carefully. A sword sat inside, wrapped in a faded and torn brown trench coat. You ran your fingers over the material gently. The one Wilbur had been in during his death was a darker brown and wasn’t as worn. Why he had left it here, in a chest in your room, wrapped around some stupid sword? You pulled out the bundle, carefully unraveling the blade so as to not tear the fabric that held so many memories. lore was inscribed on the handle and you watched the blade shine with purple enchantments. Why in the world was this here? Your lips trembled as you remembered hearing Phil’s murmured recount of what had happened in the button room.

Had Phil not been there, would he have asked you to slay him with the very sword you held?

You dropped the weapon, hands clutching at the fraying fabric of the trench coat now in your lap. You hugged it to your chest, wishing its owner were here instead. It smelled vaguely of dirt and ink and the smallest amount of sap. There was no trace of the gunpowder you remembered perfuming his skin last time you had seen him in it. Was this how he wanted you to remember him? A former president who smelled of the dirt and sap from the country he loved and not the TNT he’d destroyed it with? A poet who spilled ink on himself rather than betrayed his friends? An elder brother who left quiet gifts for his friends and loved ones even if he didn’t know if he’d be able to see them accept it?

Tears stained the fabric as they fell off your chin like the rain that hadn’t seemed to come. Not even the heavens would mourn your friend who had fallen victim to the corruption he had sought to eradicate.

For the first time in a very long time, you felt completely isolated and alone.

L’Manburg rebuilt itself steadily. Phil had been a great asset to everything, and with the efforts of everyone, the place was just as thriving as before. You had made more friends beyond those who had helped in the rebellion. Your relationship with Tubbo growing more and more as time went on. He was a bright spot whenever Tommy or Techno were busy or otherwise couldn’t see you. You may have been close during the time of Pogtopia, but now it felt like you had adopted another little brother. It felt like you had taken the place Wilbur had left.

Tubbo would come over for tea sometimes, advice others, but more often than not, he came with new conversation points and stories about his week. He had been holding out on you. He might have come across as smart before, but the child was a downright mad scientist when he was broken out of his shell. You were glad he had been chosen as the president, even if it kept him so busy. You just hoped the power wouldn’t corrupt him the same as the two that came before him.

A small smile crossed your lips when you saw the boy across the river separating the two of you. You didn’t know he would be out and about today. You had just finished visiting Tommy, in fact. You would have invited him along. You raised your hand to wave but paused. There, peeking out from behind him, was the faded visage of a familiar beanie. Nausea settled in your stomach. Everything suddenly too hot and too cold. That couldn’t have been him.

Cold and empty black eyes turned their attention on you and you were suddenly reminded of a sword wrapped delicately in a warm trench coat tucked safely in your ender chest. You fled before Tubbo could see you too.

You avoided the spirit for weeks. Niki told you of how kind the apparition was when you bought pastries from her. Tommy mumbled about how forgetful the man was whenever you two had your weekly dinner. Techno described to you the odd personality the ghost had taken on whenever around. But you still refused to see him.

He, however, wanted to see you.

He was determined. After you had run from him so many times when he had tried approaching you both directly and indirectly, he sought for alternative methods to see you. The former president found that invisibility potions were the easiest way. He could follow you through the streets discreetly, see the expressions on your face when you talked with your other friends, stare into your eyes when you daydreamed at the docks and imagine you were looking into his once more. If he tried really hard, he could imagine that it was all directed at him.

Ghostbur missed you and he couldn’t remember why you refused to speak to him. You two had been so close. Did Alivebur do something bad to you to make you not want to even look in his direction? You wouldn’t even let him ask.

The rain had finally come around once you had stopped actively mourning. It was ironic, really. You predicted that the storm would be around for at least a few hours. Which was good. Crops needed watering and the air had started to take on a dryness that made your throat parched even with vast amounts of water.

You hadn’t predicted he’d come around with the storm.

Raindrops fell in torrents against the wooden pathways and dirt outside. It was a calming sound. You almost wished for some soft guitar to play an accompaniment to the natural percussion. The thought brought a sour taste to your mouth. Tommy had the instrument now, but the thing was old. Strings were rusted from many nights in the rain without being properly dried and the bridge had shifted from so much neglect. You wondered if the ghost could still play. You’d never find out, but you still crushed the curiosity the moment it had crossed your mind.

A loud knock echoed through your home, disrupting the incomplete symphony and you removed yourself from the warm couch you had been curled upon. You opened the door a little, trying to not flood your home with the storm that unleashed it’s wrath outside. A yellow sweater and red beanie came into view, but they sizzled in the downpour and looked almost like they were melting. Tubbo had told you of his weakness to water, why was he out in this weather? Why was he at your door?

“It’s pouring rain, what are you doing here?” You hadn’t meant for your tone to be as icy as it was.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You took a small breath, closing your eyes as you tried to talk yourself out of allowing him inside. The small hiss of rain hitting his jumper filled your ears and you released the breath in a sigh as you failed to convince yourself. The door swung open wider and you stood to the side. After a moment, you looked at him again.

“Get in here before I leave you out there.” You watched the ghost scramble to rush out of the rain, and you watched him silently for a moment before closing the door behind him. Brushing past the ghost, you walked to your kitchen. You hoped some tea would soothe your nerves and the ghost would be quiet. Phil had given you a small bag of chamomile herbal tea that had lavender buds in it. He said it was to help with sleep and reduce stress and you couldn’t help but think he had gifted it to you for this exact moment.

You waited for the water to heat on the furnace. Once the bubbles slowly grew and rose to the surface, you pulled the pot off and turned before startling. Wilbur had been right behind you, watching the water as well. You recognized the feeling of hot pain quickly grow on your chest and you gasped, setting down the pot on the counter as you moved to pull your shirt away from the scarred flesh to prevent further scalding. Wilbur had yelped as well, some of the water having sloshed onto him. You looked up to him, eyes wide when you saw his arm start to melt.

“Sorry, are you-” The words died on your tongue when his eyes met yours however. The feeling of crying immediately replaced your concern. You missed his brown eyes. The ones that looked into yours so attentively when you were talking. The ones that flashed with his emotions, even when they were kept off of his face. The ones that looked like melted honey in the sunlight and rich chocolate in the torchlight. You hadn’t realized your vision had become blurry with unshed tears until you watched the grey blob of his hand put something into your own.

“Have some blue. It’ll be okay.” You stared at the mass in your hand, the small blue pile growing darker and darker. You looked up at the ghost, confused. “It’s blue!”

“Yeah, Wilbur. It is.”

“No, no it’s called blue. It starts out translucent and then slowly turns blue as it absorbs your sadness!” You scoffed, setting it on the counter next to the pot.

“Obviously it doesn’t work.”

“It does! You’re not gonna cry anymore, are you?” You turned to look at him again, freezing when you saw his smile. That stupid smile that shouldn’t have been so wide on his ashen face. You shook your head, turning back to put the water into your mug. It had cooled a little, but that was alright. It would brew okay still.

“Why are you here, Wilbur?”

“I told you, I didn’t know where else to go.” You slammed the pot onto the counter with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“But why me? You finally want to talk to me now? After everything you’ve done?” You spun on your heel to glare at the ghost that floated in your kitchen. The water on your shirt was cold now and sticking to you, but your face felt so hot. His smile dropped from his face and he looked stricken.

“I did something to you?” You bit your lip, feeling your throat tighten. How could he not remember?

“You ignored me for so long, Wilbur! I tried so hard to make things up to you after our fight, and what do I get? A stupid sword and a coat with too many memories attached. Like that would ever make up for anything! You know what?” You reached into the ender chest that sat in on the counter, throwing the bundle at him. “Why don’t you have it back, then? Load of good it does me!” You sniffled, feeling tears prick your eyes. You laughed a little, wiping at them with the back of your hands. “I feel so stupid. I missed you so much and yet you’re right here in front of me. So why doesn’t it feel like you’re you? Why doesn’t any of this make me feel better?”

The feeling of something cold touched your cheek. It was like cool morning mist before the dew and it felt nice against your flushed skin. You felt your lips tremble when you realized the ghost was holding your cheek just like he had the night before the festival. They didn’t smell like anything this time.

“Because I’m not Alivebur. I’m Ghostbur. We’re different.” You heard the sound of your tears fall against his hand before you felt them, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I don’t remember what happened between us before he died, but I do remember you were very important to him, [y/n]. You’re very important to me.”

“You don’t remember anything?” You sniffled, starting to move away from his touch. His hand dropped back to his side.

“I remember a lot of things, but I don’t remember why you’re mad at me.” A half-laugh tumbled from your lips, but it sounded more like air than anything.

“I wasn’t truly mad at you until you blew up everything and died, Wilbur,” You paused. “-Ghostbur. What do you actually remember, then?”

You didn’t miss how the correction made a smile bloom once more on his lips.

"I remember saying I'd die for you multiple times." A snort escaped you and you shook your head, pressing a hand to your mouth and looking away from the apparition before you.

"I didn't think you meant literally. That was always my job, wasn’t it?” You felt him pull away your hand gently and hold it. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but you didn’t like it. His touch lacked the soft tangibility it once had and it was just another painful reminder.

“Let’s go sit on the couch. I want to talk to you again. I want to catch up.”

You nodded, your tears starting to dry a little.

He guided you to your living room, perching himself on the sofa before waiting for you to sit as well. The air felt tense as he pulled you into a conversation. After a while, the wind and rain slowed and were a quiet hum compared to the easy laughter and sweet smiles you two shared. You avoided the heavy topics. The ones that would make this kind dream dissolve back into the harsh reality that awaited you later when you couldn’t pretend like nothing had happened. Once the lull on his side of the conversation lasted too long, however, you turned to look at him. You were met with a warm gaze that held the spark of something you didn’t even know could present itself in the dead eyes of your once dear friend.

“[Y/n]?” You hummed in response. “I’m so glad I came here. You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe. It feels like everything was so devoid of colour, I didn’t know what it meant until now.”

You laughed a little. “That’s not my doing, ‘bur.”

Ghostbur stood and moved to look out your window, watching the sun slowly set. You hadn’t realized the storm had stopped until you saw the golden light wash him in a warm glow that made him a vision to behold.

“[y/n]?” You hummed again, reaching to finish your tea that had been remade over the hours. “Why didn’t you love me?”

Your heart stalled in your chest. You turned your head and watched the ghost slowly turn to you and you furrowed your eyebrows. What was he talking about? “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you didn’t know.” Your mouth was dry, but you set the mug back down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ghostbur. We were friends. Of course I loved you.” He shook his head.

“Not in the way that I wanted. I-” You watched him fish some blue out of his pocket and play with it. “I really loved you, [y/n]. I wanted you to be by my side through everything. But when you seemed to continuously choose Technoblade, I felt like I couldn’t say anything. Now, you’re hurt by what Alivebur did. I know other people haven’t truly forgiven me for what he did. I haven’t either. And I don’t like hearing about it, but it still hurts.” He looked so sad, the blue in his hands growing darker and darker. “We can’t even be together now because I’m a ghost.”

Suddenly his eyes lit up like he had remembered something. You watched him immediately turn and make his way to the door. Navy blue pieces forgotten on your floor. “That’s it! There’s so much work to do.”

The memory of soft apologies spoken in a ravine echoed in your ears. Your heart picked up speed and you stood, reaching out for him as if to stop him as he pulled open your front door. “Ghostbur, please-”

“Don’t follow me.”

How many times would you have to hear that before the words didn’t hurt anymore?

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #unrequited feelings #tw: arguing #tw: death #tw: bomb #tw: memory loss #tw: stalking #angst

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

A/N: Aaaaaa this is the first fic I'm posting ever ever. It's basically a way to follow the red thread of my desires. OC is named Brishti. She's Indian. She's Bengali & curvy & an introvert. This whole fic is 90% going to be a slow burn fluff fic about two introvert nerds getting to know each other. Seriously there's like hardly any real angst, maybe slight angst about okay when are these two going to bang - if you look very carefully but basically its just slooooow fluuuufff. Hopefully you all like it. Please let me know what you think. Current Chapter: This one is loooong. Remember this is all happening in the 1960s. OC & Namjoon are both really well off first gen immigrants. In this chapter we have our couple coming closer together - talking about some issues they've both had in their lives. Also this is the chapter where you'll get to know one of my favourite Namjoon songs and like why the OC is named what she's named. Also just a reminder because im a bit paranoid - Rim Jhim (referred to as Rim) is our OC Brishti. Its a pet name that's introduced in this chapter. And Namjoon being the wordsmith that he is makes it shorter, with the korean meaning of the word.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface-ish Chapter 1

Chapter 2

And so it went for the next few days, the two of them quietly discovering each other. They were finding out the normal, casual, small things - how he didn’t like mint chocolate, how she loved bitter black coffee. Since both of them worked, they decided to split the chores at home. It worked out great because Namjoon liked to sweep & Brishti loved to do the dishes. They both struggled to cook but they decided to learn how to cook each other’s cuisines. So she was learning how to make kimchi (the green onion one) & he was learning how to prepare daal (the yellow one). They split the rent & decided to create a separate bank account for their savings. Talking about money increased warmth because they discovered that neither valued it excessively.

Slowly, they began talking about things a little more intimate. Meanings of names were revealed. She was impressed that his name meant genius. And he loved that hers meant rain. Pet names were introduced. He called her Rim - an even shorter version of her daak naam Rim Jhim. He told her to call him Joon. She looked away, smiling, then - silently telling him they’re not there yet. What he didn’t tell her was that he was already making up a fairytale about Joon, the genius & Rim, the brilliant jade that makes him so.

They spoke about books the most. Between them, they had half the globe's literature covered. She had read Indian authors & Russian & Spanish ones. He loved Korean authors, Japanese literature & all the Greek Classics. He geeked out about philosophy & poetry while she nerded over nature writing & music. They spoke about how they might take a look at other European writers & musicians together. To that end, Namjoon brought home a book of love poems by Rilke.

He hadn’t told her that he wrote poetry too. He hadn’t mentioned anything because it seemed like an indulgence of the past, poetry. But that night everything changed. After a late dinner, Brishti had asked to read aloud from the book he’d brought. As she read ‘To Music’, Namjoon saw tears float in her eyes. Secretly, something inside him had wept too. And just like that, he knew he would begin writing soon.

Each week the two watched late shows of classic hollywood musicals in a nearby theatre because they’d decided against a tv in their home - opting, instead, for a record player. Meeting for a movie each of the two Fridays they’d spent together so far was an experience both looked forward to - not only for the movie. In the darkness of the movie theatre, they experienced the first glimpses of intimacy. Soft smiles, whispering, silent glances, hands caressing each other. He loved how she laughed with abandon. She loved that he would tear up during the emotional scenes.

Her smile was getting wider, warmer toward him, Namjoon noted everyday. He’d been sleeping separately since their wedding night because he wanted her to feel safe. He was mostly okay with that except if he thought about it… If he thought about a time when he would get to touch her - Namjoon almost felt dizzy with feelings.

This happened the most when he saw her read by the window, he ached to touch her. That was her - Brishti - that was who she was at her core. Reading, running her fingers through her short hair, staring out the window, thinking, looking at clouds & then going back to reading. She was still quiet, but less so. She spoke about the rain and the trees and when she was happiest, he learned, when she really trusted that no one was going to judge her, she spoke about the moon. It had happened twice in the last few days.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. As though that needed reasoning, he thought about it at the office too. It wasn’t the only answer he could come up with but Namjoon had never seen a body like hers. She didn’t seem brittle or delicate, the way most women looked - or were “supposed to look”. She didn’t care what a body is supposed to look like, at least, it seemed that way to him. Brishti’s curves were not subtle. She was short and while almost everyone was shorter than him, Brishti was just… sexily so. She’d do these things… seemingly normal, everyday things but they would quickly, embarrassingly, inspire an arousal in him. Like, that thing she did, when she stretched after waking up or even if she stretched her arms or her neck… for some reason that turned him on so much, he’d have to hide… or excuse himself. His breath hitched, everytime he thought about how he hadn’t still actually seen her body.

Brishti, too, enjoyed looking at him from afar. Sharing, creating a living space with a man was never something she thought she would enjoy. They had exchanged the basic stories of how they had reached each other.

Namjoon had said, “I’d met a couple of women… girls… but they just seemed either plastic or porcelain… you know? I mean, not all of them could have been that but that's how they… presented themselves? You… I saw your photos in a pile that the matchmaker labelled ‘rubbish’”

“What?!”

“Yeah… I’m sorry but it’s actually a compliment to be labelled ‘bad’ by a matchmaker. That’s why I was looking in that pile in the first place… when I heard you wanted to keep working… Honestly I was so relieved...”

She smiled, “At least you got a look at me… I didn’t even know what you looked like till we met. I had no choice at all. A boy had agreed to marry me - despite… me… so that was the end of it. That was the bargain with my brother… otherwise I wouldn’t have been allowed to work either.”

“Wow… I’m so sorry, Rim. That’s really… really unfair.”

“Hmm yeah… I just figured if I can keep earning & the man turns out to be wrong, at least I can leave.”

“That’s… thanks for not leaving...”

Brishti smiled, “I got lucky...”

Namjoon understood, then, that Brishti might be an introvert but that did not mean she was shy. She made him blush & laugh. She made him speak without inhibition. The more time he spent with her, his feelings poured out.

“Thanks… It’s been really nice to share this home with you. Just to have you to talk to… My life was not going that great...” he said.

Brishti nodded, even though she already knew this. Whatever he said, strangely, she could see a deeper melancholy behind it. They spoke about being strangers in a strange country. She told him how she had to fight at the library for Tagore to be considered classic literature. How she was slowly but surely, being accepted in the oddball group that ran the library. She was not the only non-english person there, so things were easier for her. Besides, true readers had always been more accepting of the different.

Something made her regret sharing her happiness about this because his struggle in this foreign land was far more intense… she could sense pain behind the words he used. Namjoon did not enjoy his job the way she did. He worked overtime most days and came home bone-tired. Kim Namjoon was in many ratraces at the same time - races Brishti felt he didn’t want to participate at all. Being a lawyer, being an asian - the ‘model minority’, being a slightly well-off Korean in a sea of white men, in a sea of less fortunate asians who were being treated much worse than him. Trying to create a name, an identity of his own was wearing him out... chipping away at his soul.

Brishti sometimes saw him and saw a great banyan cutting itself down, trying to be a shrub just to fit in. When she asked him how his day was, he always smiled. It was real, the smile and yet it couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. Something that was beginning to bother Brishti more and more, these days. He... had begun to matter more and more these days.

Now, about two weeks into their marriage, she was experiencing butterflies about the smallest things; Things like watching him sleep on the fold out, bringing him coffee in the morning. She felt a pull deep inside her take over when he would come out of the shower in the bathrobe, skin glistening from the shower & musky man-scents launching her body in a fantastical arousal & her mind in overdrive. Somedays, Brishti even went for a shower after he’d been, just so she could soak in his essence & bathe in a trance she had never felt before.

On their third weekend together, Namjoon didn’t have to go to work the whole weekend. He’d spoken to his superior at the firm to let him have weekends free - after all, he was married now. Post lunch that Saturday, Brishti and he kept unpacking, organising while talking (well, later on, it was just coffee & talking) into the early hours of Sunday. They spoke about things they loved, people they had loved. About fictional crushes and real ones. Both of them spoke about their past relationships. Something Brishti was delighted about - especially since Namjoon told her he was not the type to hold someone’s past against them.

Brishti couldn’t believe it when Namjoon had correctly guessed, “It was the photographer, right?”

“What-?! How- Where- How did you…?” Brishti couldn’t even form a question.

“Your photos, at the matchmakers… something was different. All the other pictures women give out for arranged matches seem... fake. Yours were… real… private. You looked comfortable… looked like you were being teased...” What he didn’t say was how much it seemed in those pictures like she was with someone she truly liked… maybe even loved.

Sat on the ground opposite Namjoon, Brishti kept her gaze on him. It unnerved Namjoon that she could really see him. She unnerved him further when she said, “You should say what you aren’t saying… or… asking?”

“Did you love him?”

“Not really… it was just... a different kind of friendship… ended almost as soon as it began. But I- I don’t regret it. It wasn’t the kind of love-” she trailed off. She looked away, smiling but trying to hide it. The same way she had in the photograph.

He pressed further just to tease her “Kind of love...?” Namjoon was intrigued because she was blushing now & he wanted to plant a thousand pecks on her. Instead he said, “So you can just… stop what you were saying? Mmm. Okay. I see.”

She looked at him then, “I’m feeling… a lot… of… different things these days. Especially because of a couple of dimples...”

Just like that, she turned the tables & his dimples appeared. He blushed, “Yeah… same. I mean… you don’t have dimples but I’ve-”

She nodded to let him know she understood. And then asked, “Uhm... Have you… had sex?”

Namjoon bit his lip, “Yeah… yes. I... had a girlfriend in law school. It… uh… wasn’t serious… for her.”

Brishti looked away nodding, as if stopping herself from saying something.

He looked at her… knowing what she probably wanted to say. He wanted to hug her but he only said, “It doesn’t matter, does it? For me it doesn’t. Doesn’t matter if you’ve had sex too… I know how people can be about virginity… I- honestly… it's just another way to control people.”

She looked at him with a mixture of emotions. She took a minute to compose herself & then said, “I’ve never met a man like you… and it's a little confusing and annoying… Not that you are annoying… not at all. It’s just the world is annoying because this is how low the standard is for a man. A man accepting that the woman has a past makes him… forward…? But of course the woman has to… because, well, he’s a man and he has needs. We’re all told that… Shirley... who works with me… she knows it too. Women just aren’t supposed to talk about their pasts. All women.”

She paused & got flustered further because of how dedicatedly Namjoon had been listening. It really seemed as if he was taking notes. The serious expression on his face, it made Brishti's ears feel hot. Almost as a distraction, she went on -

“It's crazy but that seems to be the only thing THE WHOLE WORLD has agreed on - they can’t agree on one way to make bread but they all agreed that women are inferior. It’s such a basic thing to just let me work… because I want to… but it's annoying that it makes me feel lucky. My best friend had to go through hell because she thought she could trust her husband with the truth about her past… so it makes me feel lucky that… you won’t…”

Namjoon could see the pain in her words. Maybe that’s how she could always sense the pain in his words, he thought.

After a calming silence passed over them, he spoke - “I won’t. I don’t really know what it’s like for a woman. And… maybe you won’t like to hear this, but… I was the same, Rim... I was the man my society had trained me to be. Everything changed when I came here. When, for the first time in my life, I understood what it’s like to be treated inferior. Since then, I just… I cannot be the cause of a feeling like that within anyone... So… you’re right. I’m not doing anything everyone shouldn’t already do. All of this should be normal. Expected. Hopefully the world learns a bit faster…”

Brishti smiled at Namjoon. She chuckled when tears pooled up in her eyes. He instinctively reached out for her & placed a hand on her leg, just below her knee. A jolt went through Brishti and she looked surprised. He did too. Namjoon retracted his hand immediately & looked away, blushing. That’s when Brishti laughed out loud. She stood up. And asked him to stand up, silently.

He did. It always made Brishti’s heart flutter just how gorgeous and tall he was. Someday, she would tell him. Someday, she would show him. For now, she couldn’t help feeling bashful as she asked, “Can I get a hug, Joon?”

This was the first time she’d used the pet name that he’d asked her to call him by. This was what his family called him. And her using this name assured Namjoon of just that - she was becoming family. Her question had made his heart flip. He moved without really thinking, because this is what his body had wanted since the day he saw her. He pulled her up in his arms. He felt like he was melting. She was soft. Warm. Beautiful. And in his arms.

Brishti gasped a little when Namjoon had scooped her up in his arms. She was on her toes, literally & figuratively. She held onto him, less as a hug & more as support… at first. Then, she felt his arms… the strong arms that she had been ogling at, around her. It was as if a knot came undone, within her, suddenly. And in its place, the softest silk suddenly flowed through her body.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. The same essence that she’d been soaking in after he had showered, that she had been breathing in whenever he would pass by or reach past her. The essence that she had now become so hungry for that she had been secretly sleeping with the shirt he’d worn from the laundry basket. That essence was now all over her. Her chin turned up, resting on his shoulders, her cheeks touching his, her hands - on their own - reached the nape of his neck and began to play with his hair.

When she did that, Namjoon held her tighter, pressed her on to him. He felt her body react to his. One hand reaching her shoulder around her back, he moved the other closer to her waist, so his hands could fold over her curves. He could feel her breath hitch when he did that.

Brishti was revelling in the feeling of his hands, his fingers, feeling his fingertips press into her - that was a feeling she could never have imagined making her so... so... drunk. She was drunk. She ran her hands up and down his vast back, all the way up to his hair. All of a sudden she could feel herself overcome with emotion. Tears began pooling in her eyes again. And she said, before it was too late, she said, “Thank you, Joon, for everything… thank you.”

When he heard the tremble in her voice, Namjoon pulled away, just so he could see her. Brishti quickly retracted too - to wipe off her tears, trying to laugh off the silliness, apologising. Namjoon replied, “It’s okay… I understand… I… Thank you, Rim. I hope you… you know what I mean...” What he wanted to say, what he hoped she understood was that she was what was helping him come alive. But being unable to, Namjoon knew someday he would. Someday soon.

Brishti nodded to say she understood. Namjoon tried to lighten the atmosphere, saying, “You’re not… just anyone, you know? So… maybe you should tell me something I could do which is… not just basic decency, but something that can be considered truly feminist, you know. I’d love to do that for you.”

Brishti smiled and nodded. She suddenly felt tired & almost of its own accord, her body stretched into a yawn. She said, “I’ll think of something. We- I should go now… Do you want- anything?...” Brishti was delighted about how drunk she had gotten from one hug. It was exciting that she knew she’d be sleeping with the sweater he had tossed in the laundry basket tonight. She decided to take a bit more time to enjoy being intoxicated without a substance, together and alone.

Later that night, as Namjoon laid on his fold out sofa, alone, he thought of how great it had felt to have Brishti in his arms. To have someone who wanted to know about his day. To feel her heartbeat, like raindrops, knocking on his chest like it was a window pane, almost as if asking to be let in…

Thoughts like these, they made Namjoon reach for the notepad & pen that he always kept close by. He wrote. He wrote of being world weary and suddenly having a friend. Suddenly feeling like the world wasn't rushing him, that he didn’t need to run, that he could take time, be slow, be a poet. His heart tugged at his pen as it wrote lines about what it felt like to have someone cry for him. To have someone be full of feelings for him, to have someone to embrace his weary body. He wrote about how he missed that embrace and yet it was okay… as long as she was still here, maybe not just next to him, yet. Maybe someday. It was okay because she asked how he was every day and Brishti was here, forever. Namjoon felt tears run down his own face, as he titled the first poem he’d written in almost five years - Forever Rain.

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Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please please let me know what you thought! Get into my messages about it! I would love nothing more than to hear what you felt about this!

#bts kim namjoon #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics #forever rain #brishti

[puckyeahobx]

in the middle of the party b*tch get off of me

a/n: here’s some jj for you guys....this is a personal favorite of mine and very much so inspired by the one tik tok he posted where he had handcuffs O.o

summary: y/n and jj go to college together and celebrate halloween at his frat house <3 sexiness ensues

warnings: nsfw duh 

It wasn’t that you thought JJ was dumb, but it was moreso that you thought JJ was focused on other things like fixing cars, finding the best weed in a fifty mile radius, and taking care of his friends. His criminal record also didn’t necessarily lend itself to an academic lifestyle either, now that you thought about it...but JJ had never ceased to amaze you as long as you had known him, so I guess you really should not have been shocked when he showed up on your doorstep with an acceptance letter to North Carolina State. He said it had nothing to do with you thinking of going there too, but you knew better. 

High school ending had really been freaking him out even if he had tried not to show it. His friends were the one thing that had kept him grounded all of these years and he wasn’t sure what would become of him once you all went your separate ways. Luckily, though, you ended up choosing NC State. They had the best program for your major out of everywhere you applied and had offered you a decent chunk of cash. It had nothing to do with JJ going there...obviously. 

Kie was at UNC Chapel Hill, Pope at Duke, and John B was on a gap year, trying to figure out what the hell he wanted to do, which left you and JJ to your own devices your freshman year. It was a big school and you both found groups of people you liked, JJ with his frat brothers (also a huge shock to you, but the guys in his frat were actually really cool and pretty pogue-like, he wouldn't be caught dead in a kook infested frat) and fellow social services majors, you with your roommates and friends from classes, but you two always ended up spending the most time with each other anyway. It didn’t take very long into your freshman year to realize that old habits really do die hard. Whether it was walking to class together, eating in the dining hall, studying in the library, you guys were always together. Sometimes your new friends joined you guys, but more often than not when you weren’t in your dorms you were alone together. This wasn’t an issue for you, of course. Just like the rest of the world, you had been into JJ since you first met him. And lately, through all the alone time and leaning on each other, it became clear that he might maybe feel the same way.

It was the small things like how his hand rested on your back when he walked up behind you or when his arm fell on your shoulders when you sat on your shitty dorm futon together or how anytime one of his friends flirted with you in front of you his jaw clenched and he suddenly was at a loss for his usual sarcastic banter. But you were getting ahead of yourself, right? You two were each other’s rocks at this time. It was probably all platonic like it had always been. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t push the limits of friendship and have a little fun from time to time, did it? No, no it didn’t. So when Halloween came creeping around the corner, you made sure you had your fun.

JJ’s frat was obviously throwing a party in celebration of the holiday, because if there’s one thing frat guys love it’s alcohol and almost-naked girls - the true nature of Halloween. It was a costume party but that was pretty much code for “Show as much skin as possible”, so you went for the classic angel look. A white bra, a white mini skirt you found at the back of your friend’s closet, and Party City wings. It was truly innovative. You tried to make it look like you actually tried by hot gluing some rhinestones on your bra and doing your hair and makeup all ethereal and sexy, but you knew that as soon as you stepped into that disgusting, sweaty frat house you would somehow go from an 11 to a solid 7 and that was just something you were going to have to be ok with. It was always dark anyway.

You didn’t arrive at the party until a little after ten because your friend went a little too hard at the pregame and had already vomited all over her devil lingerie, so you all had to deal with that mess before tucking her into bed and escaping out the door before things could get worse. But after many texts and snaps from JJ harassing you for keeping him waiting, you were finally there and your stomach was flipping with nerves. JJ refused to reveal what he was dressed up as, saying it was a surprise, and you just couldn’t wait to see him as someone else, hoping he’d see you as someone else tonight too. Someone he wanted to be with. 

The music was heard from the front lawn as you stepped out of the uber and up the steps, waving to the pledge from your Comp 101 class, thankful that JJ had somehow weaseled out of his pledge duties for the night. Once you stepped inside you and your friends immediately scoped out your surroundings. There was a party going on in the main entrance and living room, but there was also lights and music coming from the basement, meaning JJ could literally be anywhere. Luckily, the ratio of guys to girls was positively halting so being able to single out a 6 foot man amongst a sea of girls shouldn’t be that hard.

And then, you saw him.

You almost fell over at the look of him. You could tell he had already started drinking and was a little sweaty by the sheen covering his face and the way his hair was standing up on its own, like it always did after he ran his hands through it. He was leaning against the wall, PBR in hand, assessing the crowd and laughing with the guy on his left. Your eyes travelled down from his hair and glowing skin to his neck and chest, both completely uncovered. He was in a navy button up that was incredibly tight around his biceps but only buttoned on the bottom two buttons. A gold badge was pinned over his right breast, and then it dawned on you. 

“You’re a fucking cop!” You punched his arm as you snuck up on him.

Startled and rubbing his arm, he softened when he saw who had just assaulted him. “Never thought you’d see the day, huh?”

“What happened to ACAB? Looks like someone’s all talk…”

He scoffed and threw his arm around your shoulder, walking with you towards the bar, “It’s called irony sweetheart. I thought a genius like you would understand that?”

You rolled your eyes and shook his arm off you, laughing at his remark (and trying to not focus on the “sweetheart” of it all), “So, what branch of the police force is it that allows their officers to walk around half naked?” You teased as you walked up to the bar, asking the frat brother in nothing but a cowboy hat and too short cut off jean shorts for a cup of whatever the drink was tonight. 

“Um the one with all the sexy stripper cops. They even gave me these,” You turn back around with your drink against your lips and you nearly spat it out when you saw what he was talking about. He had a pair of what looked like actual handcuffs dangling off his pointer finger, “Fully functional,” he finished with a wink.

You gulped and hoped he didn’t notice, “Very impressive, does the rest of the force know about the stash of weed in the loose floorboard in your dorm room?”

His face, and the handcuffs, fell. “You’re no fun, Y/N. It’s Halloween! You can be anything you want! And tonight, I’m the only cop that isn’t a bastard.”

You laughed at his mini outburst and put your hand on his cheek sweetly, still laughing. “You’re right I’m sorry. You make a very non-bastard cop. It suits you.”

“I always have looked good in blue.”

Lightly smacking him you rolled your eyes again and brought your hand back to your cup, looking at him as you took a big drink. He was looking directly back at you. You finished off the cup and tossed it at the overflowing trash can, “Let’s dance. I love this song.” This was a lie, you had never heard this song before in your life, but you just wanted an excuse to grab his hand and drag him on the dance floor. 

Everyone around you was dancing ass to dick, going absolutely stupid in a true intoxicated fashion, but you weren’t nearly drunk enough for that yet. So, instead, you and JJ did what you always did was just jump and scream at each other, throwing in some limb flailing every now and then. If you were really lucky, he would throw in the sprinkler every now and then. This was all fine and dandy, a couple of songs deep, until you felt your elbow accidentally collide with something rock hard, immediately followed by something wet splashing all over your back.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry-” you said, spinning around, mortified. You were met with the biggest man you had ever seen in your life who did not look very happy to see you looking back at him. But, considering his eyes looked glazed over, you figured that had less to do with you and more to do with the fact that he was probably off something far out of your league. 

“Fucking watch where you’re going next time,” He gruffed at you as he jerked the arm you had hit away.

You were stunned by how aggressive he was, “I’m- I’m sor-”

But before you could stutter out an apology, JJ was pushing you behind him, puffing his chest out as he faced the roided-out gentleman giving you a death glare. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”

“She spilled my drink,” The giant said as if you had just murdered his dog.

“Yeah and this is a frat house, go turn on the faucet in the sink and I’m sure Captain Morgan will come out,” spat JJ.

Sasquatch scoffed and shook his head at JJ, “Just keep a better handle on your bitch, pledge. I don’t need some slut wasting all of our alc.”

“You son of a bitch.” You saw JJ’s arm wind back, his fist clenched ready to swing.

“JJ, no!” You grabbed his arm before he could do something seriously idiotic and didn’t let go of it until you had made your way off the dance floor and into the backyard. “What the fuck were you thinking, trying to throw a punch at that guy?! He looked like he eats whole goats for breakfast!”

His hands were running through his hair and he was pacing. You could tell he was trying not to punch the siding of the house - you had seen him worked up like this countless times over your near lifelong friendship. Loyalty was both his greatest strength as well as his greatest curse. “He called you a bitch, Y/N! And a slut! In the same breath!”

Looking at him now, his hair all messed up, his shirt still unbuttoned, and face as emotional as ever, you had never been more attracted to him. You closed the gap between the two of you and grabbed his face between your hands, “Thank you for trying to protect me, but I’d much rather be a bitch and a slut if it meant you weren’t pulverized by Bigfoot.”

At the feeling of your touch, his whole demeanor changed. You saw him swallow and take a breath, “Yeah, uh, well. You know. I’ll always protect you, Y/N. That’s what I’m here for, ya know. I live to serve and protect you know,” chuckling half-heartedly as he tapped the badge on his chest. 

You tried to laugh along with him, but you were too busy staring from his lips to his eyes and focusing on the dizzying feeling of being so close to him. He made no effort to move out of your personal space and having him here, his back against the siding of the house, your hands on his strong jaw, you felt like maybe now was the time to bring up what you had been feeling these last couple of months. But before you could open your mouth to spill your guts, something in him snapped and he sprung forward at you. 

Suddenly, your hands were in his hair and his hands were on your waist and now you were the one with your back against the giant brick building, the bricks scratching deliciously against your exposed skin. You whined against his lips as he pressed against you, the sound apparently shocking him out of his trance because just as suddenly as it had started, he was pulling away, leaving you completely dazed, lips still half puckered as your eyes fluttered open. 

He was back to pacing, not daring to look at you. “God that was fucking stupid, I’m so sorry Y/N. You were just yelled at by some heavyweight douchebag and all I could do was not throw a punch and then I just had to go and kiss you like a fucking jackass,” he paused his pacing and looked at you, his face all screwed up with guilt, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

For a moment you considered the situation and didn’t move a muscle or say a word but then you just laughed. An eruption of manic giggles fell from your lips as you watched him go from guilt to confusion. “You’re a real fucking idiot you know that,” you managed to spit out between laughs.

“I mean, yeah, jackass, idiot...they’re one in the same I guess,” he seemed hurt by your words so you stepped closer to him again.

“No, God, shut up. You’re not a jackass. But you are an idiot. I don’t care that you kissed me,” you paused, “That’s not true. I care a lot, actually, because I loved it and I wish you wouldn’t have stopped because I was really starting to get into it after the, like, 12 longest, most torturous years of build up ever.”

He couldn’t believe the words you were saying, “Wait...so you- you like me?”

“What, you think I come to the frat parties for the mystery booze and trap music?”

Now it was his turn to laugh, his face completely breaking open in elation, “And to think I just assumed you were a party girl...turns out I’m just irresistible.”

“Oh shut up,” you sighed as you slammed your mouth against his again, pulling him down to your height. Once again his hands found their firm grip on your hips, holding on for dear life. 

And then he pulled away again.

“Stop fucking doing that. Kiss now talk later,” you tried to lean back in.

“No, uh, I just,” he cleared his throat, “I was just wondering if you wanted to take this inside maybe?”

You smiled up at him before kissing up his neck and whispering in his ear, “Whatever you want.”

He shivered and groaned, breaking away from you, grabbing your hand and leading you back inside. You weren’t sure where he was taking you because, since he was a freshman, he didn’t live at the frat house or anything so it’s not like he had a bedroom. Not that it mattered. He could take you to a damn broom closet for all you cared. But he didn’t take you to a closet or even a vacant bathroom. You maneuvered around the sweaty crowd of people until you were back at the front of the house but this time going up the staircase where all the upperclassmen lived. 

“JJ what are we doing up here…” You asked with a slight edge of concern in your voice. 

His face was full of mischief as he looked back at you, smirk plastered across his lips. “Don’t worry about it baby, I’m just trying to find us somewhere a little more comfortable.” And with a wink, he was turning the knob on a door that definitely didn’t belong to him.

As far as frat boys went, you imagined this was a relatively well kept room. There were still some pizza boxes stacked on top of the desk and clothes spilling out of the closet but, all in all, it didn’t look infested or anything. 

“JJ, who’s room is this?” You asked as you saw him lock the door behind you. 

“Bigfoot’s,” he said with that same smirk on his face, complete and total pride practically bursting his seams. 

Your mouth dropped as you looked at him incredulously. JJ was always one for pranks and revenge, but this floored you. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” You said in awe as he made his way back over to you.

“Maybe, but damn. What a way to go.” 

Then he was kissing you once more, but this time he had guided you back towards the bed and you were laying underneath him, his body hot and hard against yours, making it hard to breathe. His hands ventured from your hips to your hair and back down again, making sure to give your tits a squeeze on the way back down, pushing them back behind you to guide your ass up so he could get as close to you as possible. You were back to your gasping and whining as you felt the effect you had had on him through his pants, grinding against him in desperation. 

“Fuck you’re so fucking sexy, Y/N,” he moaned against your neck, leaving the slightest of nips along your jaw between kisses. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this or how many times I’ve thought of you exactly like this.”

“You can have me anyway you want. I’m yours,” You weren’t really thinking about what you were saying before the words left your mouth, but it didn’t make them any less true. 

He growled against your neck and grabbed you again, scooting you up towards the top of the mattress. His hands found yours wrapped around his neck and took them in his hands, pushing them above your head. 

“Anyway I want, huh?” He was sitting on his heels, looking down at you with hooded eyes. All you could do was nod. “Well, I do have these handcuffs, and it’d be a shame for them to go to waste.” You moaned at the implication and watched him unhook them from his shorts and attached them to your wrists, wrapping them around a bar of the headboard. “Told you they were fully functional,” he ended with a wink.

All you could do was whimper as he bent back down to kiss your lips and then your neck, taking a pit stop at your chest to move the cups of your bra aside enough for him to give plenty of kisses there as well, until he was finally trailing his tongue down your stomach. He looked up at you as he reached the waistband of your skirt. You nodded, “Please,” not even being mentally present enough to care about how desperate you sounded. 

“So polite,” he muttered as he pulled your skirt and panties down in one fluid motion, leaving you completely bare to him. “So damn beautiful.”

Then he was on you like a starved man. JJ had always been popular amongst the ladies on the island and while you always assumed his looks and bad boy nature had been enough to seal the deal, you now know why they kept coming back. He was a fucking machine. Between the way his fingers fucked you skillfully, knowing exactly where your g-spot was on the first try, and the masterful way he used his tongue on your clit, it was no wonder he had a body count in the double digits. You felt yourself catapult towards the finish line at an embarrassing speed. All you wanted as to grab onto his hair and grind yourself against his face. You were so close when he took his mouth off you and replaced it with his thumb, his fingers keeping their pace inside of you.

“That’s right baby, scream my fucking name. Maybe he’ll hear you from downstairs. He told me to control my bitch but I’m not quite sure this was what he meant.” He crawled back up your body, one hand bracing himself beside your face and the other inching you closer and closer with every second, “You look so fucking pretty, getting fucked by my fingers, Y/N. You’re so wet for me already and I know you want to cum. So just do it baby, cum for me.” You did not need to be told twice because suddenly your legs were clamped shut, and your body was arching so far off the bed that your wrists felt like they might break against the handcuffs. He kissed your neck as you came down, whispering sweet little praises in your ear. “That was so hot.” You smiled weakly as he looked at you from above.

“Please let me touch you,” You whined as you struggled against the handcuffs, desperate to get your hands on him. 

“God, yes, be my guest,” He laughed as he went to undo your handcuffs, kissing your wrists as he pulled them away. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t think about how these might hurt.”

“It was worth it,” You smirked as you grabbed his face, pulling him down to kiss you and then immediately pushing him onto his back. 

You mimicked his style from earlier, starting with the lips and moving down the neck before making your way slowly towards the waistband of his shorts. You unzipped his shorts as his hands went to your hair, making a makeshift ponytail. You both worked together to shimmy off his bottoms until you were face to face with him.

Immediately, you took him into your hand and marveled at the size of him and the way he instantly moaned and threw his hand back as you started to pump him. Needing more of those noises, you wasted no time in licking up his length and taking him into your mouth. He helped you set a pace by guiding your head with his hand in your hair, profanities falling out of his mouth. “You take my cock so good, baby. Your pretty fucking lips...driving me fucking crazy…”

He started shallowly pumping into your mouth before pulling out just when you felt like you were starting to get good. “You’re fucking amazing princess, but unless you don’t want me to fuck you we’re gonna have to try that again some other time.”

You moved your way back up his body, this time fully straddling him. “I’m an angel, not a princess.”

Smirking yet again, he grabbed your hips and grinded you against the length of him, “Sorry, but last time I checked angels don’t spend a lot of time taking dick in their mouths.”

“Well in that case I can just head out if you want me too-”

He flipped you over again before you could finish your teasing, “You’re not going anywhere.” And then his lips were back on you and his hands were everywhere all at once, guiding your legs to take their place at the side of his waist. Before long he was lining himself up at your entrance, teasing you against your clit, before he finally plunged into you hard and fast. You were still so worked out from his previous work that you didn’t need time to adjust, instead just able to focus on the feeling of him filling you completely. Before long you had your legs stretched over his shoulders, giving him even better access inside of you, making you scream his name over and over again as you felt yourself start to clench and flutter. 

“Your pussy is so fucking amazing, Y/N. So wet and tight for me. God you take it so good,” His eyes were screwed shut as he was trying so hard to focus on making you finish before he lost it. “Such a good girl for me, sucking my dick and fucking me like that. Oh, fuck.”

He leaned back, holding your legs in front of him, and started pounding you even harder. You grabbed a hold of the sheets next to you and screamed so hard your voice cracked in your throat as you came for the second time. You barely noticed him finishing after you, too far gone in your own bliss. When your soul came back to your body he was falling onto the mattress beside you and wrapping you up in his arms, both of you still panting. 

His hands found your hair as you rested your cheek against his chest, his heartbeat hard and loud in your ears. He lent down to kiss the crown of your head and he sighed against it. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit is right,” You laughed as you rested your chin on his chest so you could look at him, “Well that was fun.”

“I don’t think fun really begins to describe it. I’d go with life changing.”

“Life changing? Wow, I’m honored. I think we should write Bigfoot a thank you letter for making this happen.”

JJ scoffed, “Pssh that guy? No thank you. No one gets to call my girl a slut and get a damn thank you note out of it. I don’t care how good the sex is after.”

You smile slightly and your voice softens, “Your girl?”

He looks down at you with a smile mirroring yours, his one little dimple making your stomach do backflips and his fingers tracing shapes on your back, “I mean yeah, I guess beating around the bush is a lost cause at this point. Is that ok with you?”

You laid your head back on his chest, reveling in the gentle way his fingertips were barely touching you, “That’s more than ok.”

Trying not to seem overeager he cleared his throat, “Cool.”

Laughing to yourself you responded, “Yeah. Cool.”

Unable to help himself he scooped you up in his arms tighter and pulled you even closer, his head resting in your neck trying to hide his smile. Your fingers danced along his scalp and you smiled to yourself. Yeah, you could get used to this.

#jj x reader #jj imagine #jj outer banks #jj fanfiction #jj smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #rafemaybank wrote this

[xxanimecoolgirlxx]

Warning, pretty dark content for this one! There may be themes like mentions of depression, death, abuse (physical and other kinds), and other things that might make some viewers uncomfortable, if so, move on for this post! Things mentioned may not be for the fate of heart. I also want to make it a point that i do not condone any behaviors mentioned in this story. This whole storyline for this is pretty dark so keep that in mind.

Anais watched on with soul sapped eyes from atop her ivory throne at she watched her 2 year old daughter bounce about the room, playing with her imaginary friends no doubt. Any other mother would probably be ecstatic at the prospect of playing around with their toddler daughter, establishing a strong bond between mother and child. Not just leave them alone most of the time to their own devices.

But then again, Anais hadn’t had the strength to do much of anything. Physically or mentally. Life just seemed so dull, so grey. What would be the point of doing.. anything? She barely had the headspace to take care of herself, let alone a small child. A child she never wanted to begin with.

She tried not to resent her daughter, Magenta. She swore that she loved her, she truly did. But she just was a constant reminder of him. Her pale skin, her dark eyes that seemed so innocent yet somehow so dark at the same time. She couldn’t describe it exactly. It was just.. there.

But she knew she couldn’t blame Magenta for the transgressions her father had committed, that would’ve made her just as much a monster as him.

She remembered before him, she was a practitioner in the art of magick. A member of a fairly large community that called themselves “The Whisperers of Fate.” specifically. Some called it a cult, with strict rules that bond its members with the threat of harsh punishment and banishment for disobedience.

Back then, she ignored those rumors. She had learned so much under the Tutorage of her superiors, becoming such a promising student amongst her peers. Sure, they had rules and oaths they were sworn by, but they were to make sure everyone was in check. So that no unwanted people tried entering this community, or no current members turned corrupted.

Sure some of them were a bit more questionable. But they were understandable if they were actually apart of the community. The vows of eternal chastity were make sure that they were truly dedicated to their studies and to their craft. Earthly pleasures were mere distractions. The vows of having no partners that aren’t strictly platonic, The vows of never leaving the land one was born to make sure that their ways wouldn’t be taken and twisted into something that would disgrace the group.

In retrospect, perhaps the rumors weren’t as bias and baseless as what she had been led to believe.

When the fall and the subsequent massacre of the reapers happened, the world was put into chaos. Reapers, entities who were responsible making sure people died when it was there time and were brought to the afterlife, were supposed to be immortal and moral beings. They did not hold grudges, they didn’t hold any qualms. They only did what their duty called them to do. Whatever happened amongst their ranks, it was unknown to the rest of the realms until the aftermath was felt across everywhere.

Nobody knew exactly what happened that caused it, but suddenly every reaper was dead, gone, some may even argue that they had been erased completely from being. All that they knew is that one of them toppled them all. An reaper only known as “Death.”. It took an even shorter period of time for him to take over the realms under his tyrannical rule. Amongst the chaos of the new world order, The Whisperers of Fate were virtually untouched. They simply complied with whatever demands that would make them swear loyalty to their new lord and moved on. No period of anarchy and destruction, no take over, none of the hardships that other places around them faced.

At the time, Anais felt it was proof that the community was, indeed, the correct path to follow. She watched as everyone and everything around her outside of the community was warped and twisted into something it wasn’t. She felt as though she was safe from all outside forces, that she’d just go about her life as if none of this had even happened.

That wasn’t until HE approached her community. She didn’t know to this day why he came to the place. Her best guess was to discuss with the community’s matriarch about political matters and such. Ever since the whole takeover, the community’s influenced spread rather fast across the land, to the point where they essentially controlled the land. Either way, she finally saw HIM, Death for the first time.

It wasn’t a conversation, rather her just stopping by to pick up scriptures and runes by her superior’s orders. Death was in the form he normally took. A skeletal like creature in dark ropes decorated in jewelry and an ominous Scythe by his side. She couldn’t help but notice how he stared at her for a spilt moment. Purple dots just gleaming into her, it sent chills down her spine. Then he went on about his business. Anais thought it would be the last she’d see of him.

Oh how she wished that was the case.

Death’s stay at the community was longer than what she knew it was, and in that time, her daily life would start to.. shift. It started with the occasional feeling of being watched. It was ignorable at first, as that was an usual feeling for anyone in the presence of Death and his entourage. But it started turning more persistent as the weeks moved on. To the point where it seemed to follow her no matter where she went or what time of day it was. Even in her room with the curtains drawn and the door locked she still felt something was watching over her.

Then the interactions happened. At first it was through anonymous letters. They were rather vague at times but were generally harmless. Quizzing her on her knowledge and such. Something in her told her she shouldn’t be doing this but she blew it off. She was starting to become a rather well known for her exceptionally dutiful role in the community and how gifted and talented she was proving to be In her crafts at her age, even starting to outshine her peers in the young adult ranks. This was probably just another test amongst many to her to prove herself.

Then she began seeing him face to face. His appearance was intimidating to say the least. She would always just try and meekly answer what is was he had to say in order to just get out of there. But overtime, the conversations began getting.. odd. He spoke of wanting to bring her along with him with his entourage across the lands. He said it would be a great opportunity for her community to gain recognition across the world.

But the way he spoke. The way he looked at her. She had a feeling that it was more than just wanting to do a good deed for her community. No, it was something much more selfish.. more sinister. She reminded him of the oath that forbad her from doing such a thing, from leaving her homeland. He relented. For the moment at least.

From that point, Anais did everything and anything to make sure she stayed away from him. Studying extra hours, helping her superiors out with more chores, taking care of the elders and the younger members of the community. Anything to make sure she wasn’t in the general area that he’d come to.

But that still didn’t work. It would seem that he’d just so coincidentally manage to bump into her no matter where she went. She’d try to make the conversations short but he’d always made sure that they lasted longer than what she was comfortable with. He was still trying to convince her to come with him, that surely her matriarch would make this one exception. She’d always turn it down. Eventually it came to a point where it was apparent it was less about the Whisperers of Fate itself and more about HER in particular.

Then when she was finally able to get away, able to excuse herself from her, she’d always find gifts left at her chambers. No matter how she tried turning them down, they just kept appearing. It was only until Death began making passive aggressive comments about it on passing that hinted towards the gifts was that she felt forced to reluctantly accept them.

It finally came to a head at the final week that Death would be there before he would head off. She had finally been approved to summon in her Familiar, a high honor that was usually reserved for the older adults. She ended summoning in a raven. It’s feathers were it’s usual black with it’s undertone being shades of dark purple and blue that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. It’s eyes were a ocean blue, separating itself from its normal, less mystical brethren.

The raven followed her everywhere she went, usually from afar on a branch or from a window seal or sometimes simply flying above her or sitting on her shoulder. It almost never left her side. It didn’t help that it would chirp whenever it sensed Death around. It made avoiding him all the more easier. After all of that, it should’ve been easier to avoid what came next.

It was a dark night, she had been walking through the corridors of library she often visited. It was empty besides from her. So when the raven began chirping, she was led on alert. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Why was he here? She didn’t know where to go or where to hide, there weren’t any true hiding spaces.

That’s when the raven began leading her towards a statue the far end of the library, sensing her distress. She followed where the bird to where it flew above. The creature then began peaking at a certain area behind the statue. Confused, Anais didn’t know what it meant. The statue itself was too small to effectively hide behind. Even if she could, it was in the middle of the library. He’d only have to change his direction of moving to be able to see her from behind there.

Then she realized the place the raven was peaking at was looser than the other stone. She pressed on the loose piece of stone and below her, a staircase to a room below the floor was revealed. It didn’t surprise her too much, the library was known for having hidden rooms, but most of those were very well known and banned off or not in this section of the library. She quickly descended down the stairs when the raven nudged her, seemingly warning her to hurry before Death came.

The room was pitch dark, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Even then, it was still very difficult to see, especially when she got to the end of the room. Unlit candles surrounded them, which would’ve been useful had she brought a match. Hey, at least her raven’s bright purple eyes shine through-

Wait. Purple eyes?

Anais’s heart leapt from her chest as she stared at the raven that sat there on the ground next to her. It cawed at her before it began growing in height, it’s body began misshaping and manipulating itself to finally form a human like shape. Anais watched in horror as Death finally let up his disguise and appeared before her. The form he decided to take on was that of a young man, perhaps to try and convince her more easily? Whatever the reason, it didn’t work.

Death loomed Over her as he spoke. He declared his love for her. He spoke of how he was just so enamored by her, how he had decided that she had to be his. It was such a shame he had to go to these lengths but she simply kept fighting what was going to inevitably happen. He confessed that he had been interested in a queen before meeting her, that he had a few other candidates in mind before meeting her. But now that he had made up his mind, he declared that it had to be her. He would accept no other woman, he would accept no other answer than her giving herself over to him.

Anais begged for him to just let her leave, she once again reminded him of the several paths that wouldn’t allow her to do that. But this time, he didn’t relent. He wouldn’t let her escape. He seized her, ignoring her begs for him to just let her go and her cries for someone to help her. He knew that nobody would hear or disturb them in this hidden place. This time, she wouldn’t be able to run..

After that night, the moment she got back to her chambers, Anais shut herself in her room, locking it and curling up in her bed, shaking, and white with fear of what had just happened. She knew then, that she was doomed. She had broken.. no, he made her break her vows. She didn’t want to, but it still happened. She tried so desperately from not letting it happen, but it did. Anais broke down into tears. She couldn’t let anyone know. She just couldn’t. She broke one of the most sacred vows, there was no way there wouldn’t be any punishment for it. She took a moment to breathe. She decided that the best course of action was to just keep quiet about it. Make sure nobody knows about what happened. Make herself as scarce as possible and make sure Death couldn’t find her before he’d have to go. It was the best thing she could think of for the moment. Probably not the best plan, but it had to be better than nothing.

Though she didn’t even get the chance TO stick to a plan. Not even an hour afterwards, she found herself being dragged down to the public square by her superiors, all the while spitting venom at her, swearing at her for breaking her vows. She tried to explain what happened, that she didn’t want to do disobey the community, just to please, please spare her.

They either didn’t believe her or simply didn’t care as they threw her in the middle of the community’s public square, tying her to a pole. She never thought she’d ever been in this scenario. This was usually something she’d very occasionally heard about. A member doing something so horrid that just couldn’t be forgiven that they had to be punished in the worse way possible. It seemed almost unanimous that she would was guilty of the transgressions she had supposedly committed. Her superiors told her it was from an unquestionable source that informed her of how she seduced one of Death’s entourage members into her bed. How she had been doing so for almost the entirety of their stay here.

Anais tried to speak out, but her voice was drowned out from the crowd’s cries of disgust and anger. More venom was spat at her. Anais almost thought this was a mere nightmare, something she’d wake up from, with the reassurance that none of this ever happened. It felt surreal that the faces that look upon her with kindness, pride, admiration, gentleness a day before, now looked upon her like she was the worse sinner that had ever lived. In their eyes, she probably was.

Then, her former superiors announced to the crowd what her punishment exactly was going to be. Anais could only weep as she realized what her fate would be, words failing to be comprehensive at this point.

For days, she was beaten, for days she was starved and denied water. It became a daily spectacle, watching her be whipped 20 times a day, before being kicked around and given as much punishment as an individual would like to dish out, anything, as long as it didn’t kill her. They would use just enough magick on her to ensure that. They broke and twisted her hands beyond repair to ensure she couldn’t use any of the spells or incantations she’d learned. A poison elixir was forced down her throat that muted her from ever being able to utter a single word of any type of magick ever again. Her familiar was stoned to death in front of her eyes, with her bound and helplessly trying to struggle in her restraints to try and save her trusted companion. When the familiar died, it felt like a piece of herself died along with it. It just felt like the world just stopped for a moment. Maybe that was for the best, because she couldn’t remember the rest of the beatings and ridicule for the day.

But the worse was to come on the final day of her torment. This time, they didn’t just beat her and let it be done with, they began flaying her. Specifically a tattoo located on her lower back. It was a rite of passage in the community, something that one gains when they enter into the community as a new blooded magick user. It was a practitioners pride, particularly for Anais. And now it was stripped from her.

Afterwards, she finally was let down from her bindings and walked through town square with accompanied by two of what used to be her friends and peers. She had to endure one last round of harsh curses and swearing, of various rotten things thrown at her and insults hurled her way as they finally exited the community. Then they walked, and they walked, and they walked. Anais still tried to protest her innocence to the two people she had known since childhood. They didn’t even meet her glance besides from a disgusted glare or say anything back to her. She was already dead to them.

They eventually stopped in the middle of seemingly nowhere in this desolate wasteland, many miles from the community. By this point, the sun began to set as night came. They promptly left her there. She didn’t have the strength to call out to them as she collapsed on the ground, in nothing but the rags that barely covered her body and covered In her own blood.

She didn’t even move from the spot she was laying in, she didn’t even feel the need to. Her entire life had just crumbled into Dust in front of her. Everything she had ever held value in, anything that she ever had meaning in, no longer had any significance to her in this state. She could’ve been eaten alive by whatever critters and creatures that roamed the wastelands and she wouldn’t have stopped them. What did she even have to fight on for?

That was when she felt a presence looming over her. She didn’t even have to look up to know who was looming over her beaten and broken body. She had honestly wished that Death had just come to just get it over with and just end it all already, to just make her horrid existence forfeit. But the rational side of her knew that he wouldn’t give her such a luxury, no he didn’t come here to end her pain.

Death didn’t say a word, he crouched down to her level, a skeletal hand caressing her swollen and badly bruised face. Any earlier on in her life she would’ve screamed and tried to get away, but she just stared up at him, eyes reddened from crying, at least, the one eye she could open as the other one was swollen shut. She was just so done with fighting, she just couldn’t muster up the energy to do it anymore.

Death just carried her in his arms as they both disappeared into the wind, back to his domain, back to his castle where Anais found herself somehow the queen and yet the prisoner of the palace.

All of which brings her back to the present day. Besides from scarring, the damage sustained to her hands was permanent, muscle tremors and overall weakness didn’t allow her to do much with them anymore. It was difficult for her to hold a pen, let alone do something as delicate as writing incantations or other things that would require a steady hand. It didn’t matter anyways. It wasn’t like she could do anything with the constant supervision of the guards constantly posted around her, as well as the serpent like dragon kept around her like a guard dog.

She felt like a precious gem, guarded and protected fiercely but never meant to have any agency of her own. It was an hellish existence, never having time to herself without the overbearing of either her ‘Husband’ Death or the all seeing eyes of the guards meant to keep her safe, to do everything and anything for her, except give her any amount of freedom, of course.

She coughed a bit, resisting the urge to vomit. Maybe they were doing more harm than good. Did they really think leaving a normal human in their corrupting presence for long extended periods of time wouldn’t have any consequences? This sickness she has caught wasn’t getting any better, though she was sure Death remained willfully blind to that fact, for that would call into question if he was truly meant to have her all so completely. It didn’t matter, nothing really did anymore.

She glanced over to Magenta, who was now toying with the dragon assigned to guard them. Alright, maybe one thing did matter.

Magenta then waddled over to Anais

“Mother! The snake isn’t being nice.” Magenta said, crawling into Anais’s lap. Anais managed to form whatever she could try to pass as a smile.

“Well, I’ll just have to speak with him about his rudeness later then.” Anais said.

Magenta then snuggled up into her, her face pressed against her swollen stomach.

“When is he coming out, I wanna play with him already!” Magenta whined. Anais took in a shaky breath as she tried to form a smile once again.

“Just be patient for a bit more, it’ll take a few more months. He can’t come out right now, he’s still growing.” Anais explained softly. Magenta grumbled but let it go as she got off Anais, most likely to go harass the dragon again.

Anais sighed. She tried not to think of Death whenever she thought of the little ones, but deep down, she just couldn’t shake it. Though it didn’t really matter much to her anyone. Not much did. If things kept going like how she predicts, if her sickness gets worse, if her son’s birth weakens her even more than she already is, she most likely wouldn’t be alive long enough to truly care.

#dark content #fiction #creative writing #original content #original characters #warning #tw violence #tw dark themes

[the-blind-assassin-12]

No one asked but...

ROUND TWO: READING AND NOTE TAKING 

** This sprang from a conversation with @malionnes regarding Logan Delos’ reading and note taking habits. And now here we are.** 

Logan Delos

Logan likes an immersive read. Absolutely nothing that he does is topical; he likes to dive in completely or else he doesn’t bother. Things like fiction vs. nonfiction, genre, length, etc. don’t matter as much as the depth of the subject matter. If it's fiction, he needs challenging plots, interwoven timelines, complex characters and well crafted dialogue. As a child he had a world class imagination, most likely due to his mother reading classic fairy tales like Grimm’s and Hans Christian Andersen to him and Juliet, and that sticks with him as an adult and is probably to blame for some of his more...adventurous behaviors. When it comes to nonfiction, he wants the facts but he doesn’t want them to be dry. He wants lusciously written true stories like The Hot Zone or Isaac’s Storm. Logan is very good at multitasking, so if he’s reading for pleasure he might listen to an audio book while working out or driving, but he needs to physically read words when it’s for something important.

When it comes to recording his thoughts about what he’s read, he’ll dictate them to his phone or tablet as he’s reading, or else type them up once he’s done with the chapter or passage. If he’s reading something in preparation for a meeting or presentation, he’ll even note the page number and exact line so that he can confidently cite things to support his argument. 

Billy Russo: 

Billy likes to read things he can relate to. We know he doesn’t shy away from flawed characters in fiction, but he prefers nonfiction. The Things They Carried and Marine Sniper: 93 Confirmed Kills are two that he’s read more than once. He’s also into a good biography or autobiography- usually about war heroes but occasionally about successful businessmen and famous athletes. Billy is especially good at tuning out background noise in favor of focus, meaning that he can read on his cot in an active war zone, or sitting on a crowded bus or subway train in the city with full comprehension… which was decidedly not always the case. Billy wouldn’t even entertain the idea of reading until he was in seventh grade and the US Marine Corp visited his school for an assembly, and they made quite the impression on him. He met a few of the soldiers and got to ask them questions, and he learned that certain high ranking positions in the military required more than will power, brute force and toughness- they required thought and cunning and intelligence. So in one year he went from being at a 5th grade level to a 9th grade level by voraciously reading everything he could get his hands on. 

Pre- TBI Billy had a memory like a steel trap, so note taking wasn’t entirely necessary. Even if he didn’t have excellent recall, leaving his thoughts in the margins for someone else to read without working to come up with on their own isn’t his style. If a particular line strikes him he might underscore it with a single black line pressed into the page, but never with any context as to what made the line stand out. 

Ryan Brenner: 

Ryan doesn’t have the luxury of carrying a whole library with him, but there is one book he always carries: Webster’s Dictionary. Ryan only got through middle school before heading out on his own, meaning that his formal education was stunted. But one of the more influential people he’s met while traveling was a professor named Jack who taught College Composition at a small University outside of Philadelphia. Ryan met Jack when he was about 20 and the two men were working as ranch hands for a few weeks out in Wyoming. Jack taught one semester a year and spent the rest of his time traveling the country, taking up odd jobs and writing about his travels. He showed Ryan that just because you’re not in school doesn’t mean that you should stop learning and thinking about the things that you experience. He recommended a few books that he knew would challenge Ryan, and gave him a copy of the dictionary, encouraging him to look up any word he came across that he didn’t know. “No shame in admitting you don’t know something, Brenner, only in pretending that you do.”

Since that summer, Ryan made it a point to always have a book with him, whether it’s one he borrows from a friend, picks up from a discount book table or from a little free library. He doesn’t always like everything that he picks up, but sometimes he stumbles on a new topic that interests him and will try to read a few books in a row on the same topic. Most recently he’s been into books on the construction of America’s bridges and tunnels. If there is something that he wants to remember, like a quote or a fact, he’ll dog ear the page until he can write whatever it is down in his notebook. So getting a book back from Ryan means that there will be little triangular creases at the tops of some of the pages, and even though he’ll try to flatten them back out before returning it you can still see where his fingers folded the page and you’ll know that something on it made him stop and think. 

Nick Tortano: 

Gonna make this quick: Nick doesn’t read. He can, he just doesn’t unless he has to (i.e. owner’s manuals and assembly instructions). But when it comes to entertainment? He’d rather watch the movie. And by “watch the movie”, he’d rather… well… you know. ;) 

Benjamin Greene: 

Benjamin is a true bibliophile. His to be read pile is taller than Big Ben, and not for lack of trying to whittle it down. He is one of those academics that will read something- a book or article or research paper- and then he’ll go on to read everything on the bibliography and recommended further reading pages. His curiosity is insatiable, but so is his creative side, so he generally reads two books at a time; one for work and one for fun, and he typically carries both so that he can choose what to read based on his mood or stress level. He enjoys finding quiet moments in busy places like parks, city centers, train stations etc, and sometimes he even listens to music while he reads, always pairing it with what he’s reading. If it’s academic research though, he prefers to be in a library. The leather and wood and the smell of all those pages and the sound of them turning help him focus.  

Benjamin enjoys sharing books with people. He loves when he can make a recommendation that fits, and he loves hearing other people’s thoughts about his favorite books. As such, he makes notes all over the margins, with underlines and asterisks and arrows to things that he noticed or that he wants the next reader to notice. Sometimes he’ll even jot down a question as food for thought for whoever he’s loaning the book to. If it's something he really thinks you’ll like, he’ll include a short note, usually on a post-it or taped to the inside front cover, explaining why the work made him think of you.

BONUS UNDER THE CUT!!! 

King Caspian: 

Don’t ask me how I know this but... King Caspian writes all of his notes on separate pieces of paper and tucks them securely between the pages so as not to ruin the book itself by writing in the margins or folding pages. He knows that knowledge is power, and he treats that power with respect. 

#head canons #reading head canons #HCs #billy russo #logan delos #ryan brenner #nick tortano #benjamin greene #ben barnes characters #BONUS CHARACTER

[loopy777]

Is Deus Ex Machina always a bad thing? People who didn't like the finale of Avatar are always quick to point out the lion turtle, but I think we both agree the ending was both emotionally and thematically satisfying, and to me that's the most important thing. But my question is: if it IS satisfying, is it still a DEM? After all, DEM usually carries this idea that the ending is ruined and it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, which the Avatar finale doesn't.

Coincidentally, I was thinking about this just the other day, although I wasn’t considering making a post on it.

I think what makes this discussion troublesome is that there are two very different operating definitions for “deus ex machina.” I tend to think of it in terms of the classical definition, so I don’t personally have any problem with it when it’s done well, but most people seem to be operating with something like the same kind of shorthand that has turned “Mary Sue” into a meaningless complaint.

The term translates to ‘god from the machine.’ Wikipedia can give a functional summary of how it was originally employed and the criticisms that arose about it even amongst those old-timey Greeks. My own take is informed by those origins and the Greek myths that I’ve loved since I first learned about them in grade school. In a setting where gods and magic are in play, I don’t see a problem with a god being so moved by the events of the story or the character of the protagonist(s) that they intervene in otherwise impossible scenarios. The key here is that the story needs to justify why the god/power is intervening here and not in all kinds of other situations; if a god comes along and raises someone from the dead, or hands over a magic sword, or whatever, then it needs to be clear why people still die and magic swords aren’t sold at every corner market.

The Lionturtle is indeed a deus ex machina in that it is a god-like power suddenly entering the story to hand Aang knowledge that he would not otherwise have been able to attain. However, AtLA firmly establishes that there are spirits in the world with god-like power. Hei Bai is the first at a relatively small scale (and was another spirit moved by Aang’s steadfast purity to enact a happy ending, hmmm…), but we also see Koh having knowledge that predates the existence of the moon and the ocean, Koizilla being able to smash a whole fleet with the help of the Avatar State, Wan Shi Tong being able to move an infinitely-large library between the spirit and material worlds, and an eclipse of the sun shutting down all Firebending. These are all powers that the normal humans of the setting do not have, but they are all exercised as a result of the intervention of the protagonists, so I think they’re perfectly fine elements to have in the story.

Just about the only thing that might separate the Lionturtle from these other examples is that it seeks Aang out, rather than the other way around. However, I think that’s an oversimplification of the situation, in which we had just gotten an full episode of Aang holding fast to his belief in the sacredness of all life, despite disagreement and harassment from his friends. He meditates in search of an answer, and it’s then that the Lionturtle reaches out. So I think Aang ‘earns’ its attention by his unique beliefs, his steadfastness in the face of painful opposition, and his action in seeking a solution via meditation.

Why does the Lionturtle not reach out to other people? Well, the only pacifists in the franchise are Air Nomads like Aang, and there’s possible evidence that they weren’t all as steadfast when push came to shove. However, I don’t think the fate of the world hinged on whether Gyatso or some other random Air Nomad killed an enemy while fighting; Aang is in a fairly unique situation in that regard. Theoretically, a previous Avatar might have faced the same dilemma that could have been resolved with Energybending, but as we saw of Yanchen, perhaps those Avatars didn’t really seek out another solution besides violence. The Kyoshi novel does a great job handling this, showing Kyoshi struggling with similar questions but finding her own answers that do not match Aang’s. Perhaps Aang really is the first person in an Age who merited the Lionturtle’s intervention. It helps that the intention at the time of writing was for it to be a technique only available to the Avatar, so that definitely limits the potential situations where it might have been relevant.

So we’re left with the question of whether Energybending itself conforms to the established rules of the setting. I personally think it does, quite handily. We saw examples of bending being taken away before, at least on a temporary basis. The death of the Moon Spirit takes away all Waterbending. The eclipse on the Day of Black Sun takes away Firebending for its duration. Ty Lee pokes Qi-points to disable bending even while leaving limbs otherwise functional (sometimes). Those all help clearly establish that bending is tied to the physical body, and specifically the Qi energies flowing through it. We see esoteric manipulation of those energies by way of Waterhealing, Lightningbending, and the time Aang’s spirit is knocked out of his body by physically crashing into a bear-shaped shrine/idol.

So yes, the Lionturtle is a newly-arrived god who imparts special magic to solve a problem that couldn’t otherwise have worked out so neatly, but all the elements are there to make it a workable plot element. If the Day of Black Sun had worked out, would people be complaining about how Deus Ex Machina it is for the gAang to stumble across information on an eclipse coming before the return of Sozin’s Comet that will take away Firebending and allow Aang to confront Ozai without training up to the a higher fighting level?

Well, not if Aang kills Ozai in that scenario, I expect.

The root of the way most people use ‘deus ex machina’ in modern times, I think, links to what Aristotle is said to have been alluding to in that Wikipedia article, and what Nietzsche also seems to be getting at. Specifically, they seem to think it’s better when a tragic story is allowed to end in tragedy, rather than an audience-pleasing happy ending getting tacked on in an act of weakness and cowardice. It’s fair to criticize this (I enjoy tragedy as well as happy endings, when it’s done right), but I think it can be taken too far into a desire for bleak endings in general. It would be more ‘mature,’ the thinking goes, for Aang to have to kill Ozai, be tainted, scream his angst to the sky, and show the audience that Life Is Dark even though it’s a trite message that doesn’t really follow from anything that came before. The thing about Tragedy that a lot of people forget is that it needs to be set up with as much care and earnestness as Deus Ex Machina, or else it’s just as hackneyed and immature.

AtLA is not a tragedy. It is not about the mistakes and flaws of the protagonists piling up into chaos. So the complaint about ‘deus ex machina’ doesn’t even really apply, according to the original controversy about it. Aang is not freed from the consequences of a flaw, because his desire for peace and life is something that’s consistently portrayed as good throughout the rest of the series. It’s built up in his culture, the appreciation for the Air Nomads that’s conveyed despite their flaws, the focus on his being the last survivor of a genocide, and even the subtitle of the series (providing you don’t live somewhere that got the much more generic “Legend of..” title that fits Korra’s more generic legend so much better). It’s not a tragedy if everything is working out until a last minute swerve when all the good things suddenly become bad.

That’s a Comedy, according to certain modern definitions. ;)

The only story that could end with Aang giving up his ideals to kill Ozai using the philosophy and ways of the Fire Nation is a story about how the Fire Nation is right- that morality is secondary to strength and necessity. And if that’s the story being told, wouldn’t it have been easier to just make the Fire Nation the heroes in the first place, slaughtering corrupt pacifist hippies who would rather we all die than fight to improve the world?

No matter how you look at it, people who criticize AtLA’s ending by calling it a ‘deux ex machina’ aren’t doing so by using the text of the story at all. They’re either glossing over how the setup for all the plot elements is all right there in the story, or else they’re doing exactly what the ancient Greeks criticize bad deus ex machina for in the first place by putting the wrong ending on a story. So most who use ‘deux ex machina’ as a criticism aren’t thinking about the nature of Story at all, I think. They’ve heard the term, mistake it for general criticism of ‘unearned’ plot points, and/or use it as justification for their own pretentious fascination with bleak endings.

So, to summarize my answer- yes, DEM can be a criticism in and of itself, depending on the definition in play. It can apply to AtLA, also depending on the definition in play.

But applying DEM to AtLA as a criticism just doesn’t add up.

#deus ex machina #story #tragedy #literary criticism #Anonymous

[mccrps]

Barnaby x MC x Talbott 

A/N: I have no idea why I didn’t post this sooner? laziness prob bc this really was a mess kinda. To the anon who asked for more Barnaby, here’s a bit of a love triangle for ya. Barnaby x MC x Talbott set in year 5 after the Celestial ball. 

Warning: umm spelling errors most likely so I’m sorry about that. there’s no filth in this fic and for that I am proud, it’s just fluff and both of my boys being cuties and just lsdjflskjfslkfj i love them both so much i can’t pick between them.

Word Count: 1,841

If someone had told you, you would die of embarrassment a week ago you would have laughed. But sitting in Potion’s class with Snape holding what was basically a love note had you backpedaling hard out of the room. 

Every eye was on you and you wished somehow a Chimera crashed in and swallowed you whole.

After class Barnaby even walked up to you sheepishly and your eyes widened. “If it’s me just tell me, It’s cute that you wrote a note though.”

You immediately turned as red as Bill’s school tie and your mouth opened and closed, not sure this was the right moment to state it wasn’t at all for the bullheaded brunette. All you could manage was a weak smile before bolting out the door. 

You caught up with Bill a little later, your nerves getting to you all at once and you needed his advice to keep you sane and thinking clearly. 

There was something about Talbott that drew you in, an animalistic look that crosses his eyes at times. You knew it probably had more to do with the fact that he was an Animagus, you figured you had the same look to you as well. 

But Talbott did it differently. He did everything differently. Everything alone. You hated it. You craved it. The freedom of it all. 

It was one of your reasons for becoming an Animagus in the first place, you knew Talbott had suspected it as well. The two of you more were more alike than not. Only getting closer as each day went on.

The note burned in your palm as you quickly slipped it into one of Talbott’s notebooks and did your best to act as nonchalant as possible as you kept walking to your next class.

You paced in the corner of the Library a few times, only to get your wits about you just enough to do this one thing. You’d ask him to meet you in your favorite spot-- even if was a rejection, you needed to know how he felt. Needed to know that this thing, whatever it was between you, wasn’t just one sided.

"Hey..” Your eyes darted to the bookcase, meeting a dark honey gaze over the organized pages.

“Talbott..” You kept your voice low, knowing Pince liked to pop up from any direction.

“Yes.” His reply nearly made you laugh, shaking your head. 

“I know it’s you--”

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Oh..” You were taken aback, not expecting him to even show up, much less say the words you’d been dying to hear. You walked around the bookcase, eyes slowly rising to meet his, the both of you grinning like fools. “Okay.” 

The news of Talbott being the note’s recipient spread faster than wildfire and you were faced with a dilemma you didn’t realize would present itself this early on. One of your friends had called out to you in the dorms while you had been changing for your date, stating that Barnaby was looking for you and it seemed important. You frowned slightly, knowing you wouldn’t be able to say no to him but also risking running late for your date. you figured whatever it was could be figured out after your date so the quicker you spoke to him, the quicker you’d be more at ease. Your eyebrows furrowed deeply, taking the sight of the athletic boy, his stance one of tension and it only made you feel worse that your attention was slightly elsewhere at the moment. 

“Barn..what’s up?” You did a quick scan of him, making sure he wasn’t hurt but you couldn’t see any trauma and you expected the worst.

“Hey...are you avoiding me?” He asks slowly, raising an eyebrow unsure. 

Your face mimicked his in confusion, blinking a few times as you tried to wrap your head around why he was upset. Shaking your head, you stepped closer to him, looking at his features, a nervous expression on his face. “No..of course not why would I be?”

“I heard about your date with Talbott...” His hands were in his pockets and while he usually did that anyway, you had a feeling right then it was more of a comfort thing. You didn’t really know what to say to him. Of course the two of you had a brilliant time at the Celestial Ball, even sharing a few snogs behind the curtains too. And yes you had told him you fancied the pants off him, you’d yet to make it official. And making it official wasn’t something on the top of your list. Not that it wasn’t something you would have protested, more so the freedom of not labeling it all made it easier to for the two of you. There was no pressure.

“Jeez that was fast..” You mumbled, leaning against the stone wall.

“Yeah faster than butter spreads on toast...and you know it spreads fast—I just..” He stopped talking, probably thinking he was rambling but your eyes held his, waiting for more, he mimicked you, leaning against the wall. “I thought it was for me you know, after the ball—I thought we had a great time. I mean you and I...we’re adorable..” Barnaby chuckled softly at his words, his eyes searching your face for something unbeknownst to you.

You listened to him carefully, connecting all the pieces together in your mind. “Are you...are you jealous Barn?” Your voice was soft, a grin threatened to break free. 

He sighed, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know..I’ve never felt this way before...”

“I still fancy you, Barnaby. That hasn’t changed.” You moved closer to him, your gaze hadn’t left his face the entire time, not wanting to miss any second of any of this.

“What?...How can you fancy more than one person?” Barnaby’s expression grew even more confused. “I only like you though...”

“Well yeah....I expect people our age to have more than one crush, it’s not exactly marriage is it?” You shrugged off your last comment as a joke and Barnaby nodded, you could visibly see the wheels turning in his head.

“Are we okay though?” His words struck you harder than you thought they would. Yes he was jealous but above all, you were still friends and even if you wanted to date other people, he wanted to make sure he always had you. Your fingers reached out to grab his and he immediately pulled you closer, his hand wrapping around your waist and you let out a little gasp in surprise.

The only response from you was a nod, your eyes too focused on each other, the pull between you undeniable.

“I just want you to be happy.” He murmured and your heart soared, this time you couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on your face.

“Thank you, Barn.” You whispered back, your eyes shining with admiration for him.

“Besides I like a little competition...”, He smirked, leaning forward a bit, resting his forehead against yours. “And you’re saying I still have a chance so...I’ll be alright.”

If you could like him anymore than you already did, you would. If you could only like him you would, but you couldn’t help it, your heart wanted to know and love as many people as possibly. You’d had enough life threatening adventures for many lifetimes, you knew more than anyone how fragile life really was. There was just too much to give, too much to do. Sometimes you felt like you might explode at times, feeling as if there were too many emotions inside you all at once, practically bursting at the seams.

You felt as if you couldn’t breathe right then, like he was the only thing that mattered at the moment. And you wanted him to know that. You wanted him to know that even if you’d be going on your date with Talbott, you hadn’t forgotten about him. How could you? How could anyone?

Your lips met his softly at first. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a kiss of appreciation, of admiration, of comfort.

It was so much more than just that.

He pushed against you, his lips meeting yours in a rush, fingers gripping your waist, another gasp escapes you and his tongue meets yours hurriedly. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, deepening the kiss even more.

Your hands reached out for him, grabbing onto his shirt.

Much too soon for your liking, he pulled away, the both of you all but gasping for air. It was suddenly too hot and you knew he was thinking the same thoughts you were. A dark, lust filled look in his eyes, his hand sprawled on your lower back sliding lower.

“Later...I promise..” You had to get ready for your date, you would’ve hated to be late, especially on a first date.

His eyes stayed on your lips for a few seconds before he nodded. “Don’t call it a date around me.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip. His hand reached out, fingers tracing your lips, he leaned forward one more time, kissing you again, this time only a peck. “I’ll see you around yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The date starts awkward, the both of you not knowing what to say but you can’t stop staring at each other and blushing and grinning like two idiots.

Tonks and Charlie crashed the date to your utter embarrassment. You and Talbott tried to ignore them, making little side jokes and comments. The two then try to leave you guys alone but Tonks ends up knocking all the teacups over and somehow manages to ruin the date in record time. 

Talbott and you walk back to Hogwarts, side by side not saying much as you both followed behind Tonks and Charlie. As you all separated to your dorms, your hand brushed against Talbott’s a note being pushed into his palm. You winked at him, grinning as you walked towards the dungeons.  

You asked him to meet you in the courtyard, this spot meaning just as much to them as their dark library corner.

Just as quiet as a shadow Talbott’s face came into view and you sat up straighter, smiling at him as he joined you by the fountain.

This to you, to him, was a way better date, one where you both did something you enjoyed while not needing to fill the space with noise or talking. Sitting side by side, your hands brushed against the other. In a fleeting moment of bravery you intertwined your fingers together. You’re more aware of Talbott now more than ever, his thigh touching yours, his fingers holding onto yours just as tightly as you held him, the heat radiating from him. Everything was Talbott and your heartbeat drummed your ears. You turned to look at him finding him already doing the same to you, his smoldering gaze keeping you in a trance. You didn’t even realize how close you two had been.

A single shooting star races across the sky as your lips meet his.

#talbott winger x mc #barnaby lee x mc #harry potter hogwarts mystery #harry potter #hogwarts mystery barnaby #hogwarts mystery talbott #writing #mine #talbott winger #barnaby lee

[capmackie]

no sleep for the wicked

Bucky,

I pray this letter finds you well — it’s been so long, so very damn long. 

I know you’re wondering how I possibly could’ve gotten your address — I’m surprised myself, to be honest, you really did not want to be found lol. I must say, you’ve done a helluva job of keeping yourself off of the grid but I can’t say I’m surprised; if James Buchanan Barnes made his mind up to do something, it was good as done.  I’ve always admired that about you. But if you taught me, anything brother, it’s to take life in my own hands, craft my own destiny and after 10 years, 86 days, 14 hours, and 56 minutes of searching, I’m finally sending this letter off.  I don’t know what I’m expecting out of this but I’m here to ask you to come back home Bucky. I hope that you know that you are missed — shit man. We never expected you to leave and never once thought you’d stay away for so long after that. Nothing could ever take your place here, not even me.  If only for a weekend, please come back.  P.S. — can I still call you Bucky?

Love,  Steve ——————— The smell of coffee is the only thing in the world that can possibly rouse Sam Wilson out of his fitful sleep. Even then, it takes James Rhodes placing the mug directly in Sam’s face for the sheriff to even stir. Long nights at the Handonsville’s Sheriff Department will do that to you. It’s a deep roast, made by some kind of hipster brand that Sam can’t even pronounce and is *too damn expensive* if you ask him, but it gets the job done. And the job needs to be done, unfortunately. What went from an absolutely rarity of Sam staying overnight to work on a case has become a constant in his life. And Sam’s loves constants. He loves a routine, loves order and predictability; loves waking up every morning at 5:45am, going on his morning jogs and greeting the early risers of the town — Mrs. Carter down at the library, Mr. Barnes who own the local meat shop, loves making it back at his cramped apartment at 6:15, not a minute later. And as much as Sam loves the constants in his life, he will never get comfortable with the sudden constant-ness of the disappearances in his town. No matter how many times it happens, no matter how each disappearance closely mirrors the one before it, no matter the same sad looks on each one of the missing person’s families' faces, the collective dread they all seem to share when they come into the office to report that their son, daughter, sister, cousins hasn’t been home in over 24 hours. No, he’ll never get used to that, no matter how constant. Sam stretches, feels his body protest fervently against the position he slept in, hears his bones cracks as he stretches. At only 30 years old, Sam already knows he’s getting too old for this shit. His body continues to groan in protest as he wearily stands, stretching his arms and back once more before grabbing his coffee to take a look at the ‘Missing Persons’ board. He’s been in the station since last night, pouring hours into a case file — which doubled as his pillow, to make some sense of the mysterious disappearance of one Casey Johnson. So deep into the file, Sam didn’t even bother to make the ten-minute trek back to his place, eventually just giving in and sleeping at the office. Casey Johnson was the latest victim in what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of disappearances in the small town. Nothing about Johnson was similar to the case before him; he was young, two weeks removed from graduating from high school. He was a good kid, a little on the dopey side but kind-hearted nonetheless. Anyone who knew Johnson knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly and that made the question of *who would hurt him* that much more pressing. He had no run-ins with the law, on the contrary, he spent most of his free time down at the office with Sam, with dreams of eventually becoming a sheriff himself. So no, there was no pattern between Johnson the last case, Steve Rogers, the soldier notorious for his frequent visits to the station, who disappeared just a few days before Johnson. The only thing they had in common was leaving their respective places with an unspoken promise to be back — Rogers was off to the post office to mail a letter while Johnson was taking the garbage out for Mr. Barnes at the meat shop, never to return again. It made no sense. --- The first instance of someone going missing, it was Pixie Thomas, who was quite as eccentric as her name would suggest. With no reason to suspect foul play and with one of Pixie’s favorite bands on tour one town over, it was safe to say that she left to become one of their roadies. The second, third, fourth and fifth time it happened, well those cases weren’t so easy to write off. The victims ranged in ages, marital status, wealth, race. It was almost like whoever was behind this was choosing them at random which spelled trouble for the small force. With nothing to link the missing together, it was nearly impossible to know when and where the perpetrator would strike next. “Earth to Sam, hello?” Rhodey’s voice and wave of hand brought Sam back to the present. This kind of thing has happened before, Sam becoming so hyper-fixated on a particular case that he forgets to eat, drink, *blink*, but nowhere near this magnitude. Now, more often than not, Sam finds himself lost in his work and the other officers just find him lost. “I know you like to think if you stare at this wall long enough, the answers will appear like you’re in some kind of Sherlock episode but I’m sorry buddy, it ain’t happening.” Sam *might as well* be in a Sherlock episode the way this case is turning out. Actually there’s nothing more in the world he would love more than to ask Benadryl Cumberbatch for help with solving this shitshow but alas. “Go home Wilson”, Rhodey continues, “you need some rest.” “Can’t”, Sam replies. And it’s true; he can’t. He can’t just separate himself from this case, it’s not that easy. He can’t leave it unsolved, can’t chance the townspeople catching word of the seven disappearances within county lines and how their very own sheriff department has no clue what the fuck is going on. Can’t go home to *rest* when people like Casey Johnson or Steve Rogers may never make it back home ever again. Blowing on his coffee, letting the steam of the hot beverage envelop him for a moment, he turns to Rhodey and then back to the corkboard. ———— Growing up in Handonsville, Sam wanted nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a sheriff in the town that loved him and he loved back. Handonsville, with all of its small-town charm — small, quaint, stereotypical —  is the only home Sam has ever known. It’s one of those places where no one is a stranger, for better or worse. Here, secrets are hard to hide and even harder to keep. Little to no anonymity is a small price to pay considering how fiercely the small town protects each other and itself. Growing up and until Sam’s third year on the job, there was no crime, no violence, no ... anything to be honest. The sheriff’s department was mostly for show, something to make out of towners reconsider their ideas of fucking with the people of Handonsville. And it worked. But now something had changed in the sleepy town. There were no threats from outsiders; no drifters unaware of the unspoken rules that govern Handonsville causing trouble. No, it was a different malevolent presence blanketing the town, sinking onto the residents, heavy and restricting. Now, the danger came from inside of the town. You could practically feel it in the air. The feeling of dread, of waiting for the first fall of rain to come after the dark clouds move in. The anxiousness of seeing lighting flit across the sky, preparing yourself for the roar of thunder that’s sure to follow. In the three decades Sam has lived in Handonsville, he never had any reason to ever doubt his own safety or the safety of the other 800 residents that called this place home too. Until today. Until Derek Anderson, the town’s resident mechanic, came barging into the office, yelling that he needed to speak to Sam and he needed to do it *right away*. Frantic and upset, Anderson ignores Rhodey’s suggestions to quiet down, the officer throwing an apologetic look over his shoulder at Sam who’s come from the back to see what the disturbance is all about. Before he even reaches the man, Sam knows immediately what all of the commotion pertains to, he can feel it in his gut. The eighth disappearance in less than two months in Handonsville. ———————— Taking the crumpled piece of parchment paper out of the garbage can for the sixth time today, Bucky finds himself staring down at the words of someone he hoped to never speak to again. At the mere mention of coming back home, of *Handonsville*, Bucky felt the floodgates open; nostalgia pouring down on him, pulling him under until he has no choice but to float with the current; had no choice but to let the memories he tried so hard to repress wash over him, engulf him completely. It’s nothing against Steve; no, Steve was a light in Bucky’s life, a light in so many others lives as well. Steve was smart, funny, had a penchant for danger the same way Bucky did. They were brothers in every sense of the word; playing together, fighting together, even crying together once when Sir Snaps a Lot, Steve’s turtle died. They didn’t know it then but it was a reason why they got along so well, like they were actual brothers. Because while Steve was a light in Bucky’s life, smart, funny and a risk-taker, he also was the byproduct of an affair that ruined the Barnes’ home completely. How their father thought a secret of that magnitude would ever remain hidden in a town like Handsonville was beyond Bucky and the ensuing drama drove him and his Ma out of town. It took years for Bucky to even acknowledge his father again, much less his father’s son. And *Steve* — the same Steve who was his age and his height and classmate and his best friend was no longer just that. Steve was his brother and no matter how many times they often referred to each other as brothers before the truth came out, how natural their relationship, the unmistakable bond the two shared, it wasn’t right to refer to Steve as what he actually was. But that was years ago, a lifetime even, and Bucky had made his peace, putting time and eight thousand miles of distance between himself and the sins of his father, only for one measly letter to draw him back, like a moth to an open flame. A small part of Bucky knew nothing good would ever come from him going back home. Knew there, he was more likely to meet his demise than his dawning; but under the incessant need to separate himself from the town that shunned him, turned him away was the egregious *want* to prove that he made it without them. That there was a great big world outside of the small town and that world accepted him even when they wouldn't. With his jaw set and his bags packed, Bucky set off to Handonsville. ————- It’s all starting to run together at this point. And not that Sam isn’t emphatic to the plight of Mr. Anderson — his heart yearns for the other man, the very idea of having to file this kind of report for your child is *traumatizing*, it’s just that he’s seen this scene play out before. He’s seen the frightened look on Anderson’s face before, he’s seen in at least seven times in the past two months. He’s heard the script before, sure the names and dates and last seen places are different, but in the end, it’s all the *same*.

#this is a mess but it's my mess

[thedinanshiral]

On the Evanuris

We know not nearly enough about the Evanuris, the ancient elvhen so-called gods, and what information we have is either myth, legend, or casual commentary by an undoubtedly biased contemporary source, Solas.

While this post was inspired by a particular line Solas says in Inquisition, it’s also been requested on Twitter so i’ll try my best. First a small disclaimer, I partially subscribe to the spirit origin theory, so i’ll start there. I’m presenting another theory based on it as well, so it’s fair to say it’s mostly wild speculation on my part (but I like it!) 

At the end of All New, Faded for Her, when Solas returns to Skyhold he mentions to the Inquisitor he went to find a quiet place to sleep, dream and visit the place in the Fade where his Wisdom spirit friend used to be. Says he found it empty, “but there are stirrings of energty in the Void. Someday something new may grow there”. Which got me thinking, where do spirits come from?

Unlike those with a physical existence spirits aren't born, there's no Spirit Mommy and Spirit Daddy making Spirit Babies. Solas explains -without as much detail as i'd like- that once a Spirit “dies”, something remains and if the spirit was strong enough or inspiring enough, from what remains a new spirit may form that would inherit something of the former spirit but would not carry on its identity or memories.

So where do Spirits come from, originally? Chantry states it was the Maker, but i'm skipping that and jumping directly into creatio ex nihilo. Leaving aside the big old question of the origin of the Maker, I propose we discuss the Void a bit. People often think of the Void as an empty space or plane, the abscence of whatever, Nothing with a capital N, when it is also quite the contrary. The Void holds everything within. It's an Absolute and as such, it's everything you can think of and everything you can't think of too. It's raw unlimited potential.

Here’s a silly example: Imagine there's a chef who wants to create a new entry for their menu and have only a basket with 5 tomatos in it. They can be very creative but there will always be a limit to what one can prepare with only 5 tomatos. Now imagine this chef goes empty handed to the farmers' market; there they can pick up a variety of ingredients in whatever quantity and quality they like, and prepare many different meals.

The Maker is the Chef, the Void is the market. The Void is never truly empty, the emptyness is what one may bring into the Void but not the only thing the Void has to offer.

So maybe, just maybe, the Maker -assuming it's real- was the first spirit to form in the Void, maybe completely at random as the result of a combination of void energies, we can't know for sure. In the many creation myths of various cultures it's always a mystery how and why the first divine entities appear, in many cases it's just “and then, pop! There they were”, in others it's an act of “love”, as in the Whole being too much for/in itself breaks down into smaller fractions, generates itself a separate existence and then begins creating other forms as an expresion of the universal love that it is compelled to share with a multitude of life. Essentially all life in the universe is the Universe giving itself a big, big hug and having feelings. This form of “creation from nothing” also grants perspective, as the Absolute in producing other beings generates the possibility of different perspectives of itself.  

With that said and tying up Solas’ words with the elvhen spirit origin theory, i’d say there’s a possibility the Void is where spirits originate from, weirdly enough. This could be supported even by Chantry teachings as per the Canticle of Andraste 14:11

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

The first “god” we hear of is the Sun. It being an early entity is evidenced in its lack of a proper name, as it's just “The Sun”, and father to the All-father, Elgar'nan. The Sun symbolises life, beginnings, the origin, as in the rising of a new day. The Sun may have been a first spirit, a concentration of  pure, raw energy in the Void, and when the generation chain resulted in different beings apart from itself who could see a different aspect of the Sun, a negative and damaging one, the Sun was overthrown and the Evanuris, its children, rose in its place. The Sun wasn’t alone, however, there was also the Earth as a female and motherly figure, who doted on her son until the Sun out of jealousy and spite burnt everything to ashes, inciting Elgar’nan’s rage.  From the tears of the Earth pooled into oceans rose Mythal as a new entity of reason to contrast with Elgarn’nan’s violent emotions. Together they restored the defeated Sun -establishing the day and night cycle – and all four restablished life and everyone lived happy forever.. Except not.  Let’s say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

From the Sun and the Earth, Elgarn’nan and Mythal came into existence and according to the myths, they generated in turn other entities that eventually became the elvhen pantheon. Falon’din, Dirthamen, June, Sylaise, Andruil. How every Evanuris embodies or represents a different aspect of life also plays in this idea of an Absolute breaking itself up into its many components. This cascade effect doesn’t end there, as later on we learn from Ghilan’nain’s example that the Evanuris could elevate others to their same godly status.  

As spirits directly descendant from the first one, the Evanuris were powerful and naturally the ones that followed came to see them as superior, divine. But as Geldauran says in their claim “There are no gods. There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon” , the Evanuris in all their power were blinded and in their perception of others as lesser beings they accepted no question of their place in the order of the world. They saw themselves at the top of the chain and not once doubted this. Perhaps the more they defined their individual identities in contrast to the others, the more they solidified into the physical world, the more “earthly” they became, more susceptible to material sensation and needs and desires, and grew more entitled and aggressive in how they took their claims over the world.

All this eventually lead to them “creating” (the Evanuris are after all called “Creators”) the elvhen, possibly more spirits of varying strengths and skills they saw could be used as servants. Some may have joined a physical world willingly, but others may have not, and no “god” would stand being refused by a lesser creature so, enter the vallaslin. Bonding magical marks, used to ground spirits and bound them in service to a particular Evanuris became proper slave markings later on as elvhen became “people” and developed a complex societal structure that expanded over two different planes of existence.

Vallaslin are blood markings, chances are they used lyrium and we know lyrium is the blood of titans; considering Dagna's experience of being tall as a mountain and thinking all the thoughts, we can imagine Titans are, similarly to the Sun, original spirits -or close enough-, entities who had not yet divided themselves into other aspects. So their blood, their nature, is in a way purer than that of the Evanuris, holds potentially more power within, and it would seem they lack distinct personalities, egos and all the nasty things that come with it. They simply existed as they were with no desire, no ambition to be more or do more. And their blood could bridge the physical existence the Evanuris had already mastered, with the spiritual existence they were possibly beginning to lose. Perhaps lyrium branding offered the possibility of bounding a spirit to the earthly plane without sacrificing its spiritual magical powers while simultaneously stripping them of the agency to use them, turning them into the tools the Evanuris needed to continue their rule.

We learn at the Shattered Library in Trespasser that elvhen and spirits were very familiar with each other, implying they had a common origin or nature, even that elvhen could choose to remain spirits, the fact they could sleep for centuries in Uthenera living in the Fade without their bodies dying would too indicate they're related somehow. The Evanuris are not specifically mentioned as retaking a spiritual form, it is however implied they were shapeshifters and favoured the form of massive powerful creatures who could exist both on ground and on air, dragons. Liminal creatures, much as they might have been themselves, neither here nor there. The dragon form was exclusively theirs, others could not “take the wings” and were punished/exiled for doing it.

The Forgotten ones may have been mirror aspects of the Evanuris who got, well, forgotten as they may have been way less popular among the people. The fact they were antagonising the Evanuris tells me they were on similar if not the same level of power/skills. The Forbidden ones could have been similar spirits-turned-people who “abandoned form”, ie returned to their spirit existence to escape the war of the Evanuris against the Forgotten Ones or the Titans. May have been elvhen servants, slaves, warriors who refused to fight a senseless war that only served the Evanuris ego and power hunger.

Then we have Solas, Fen'Harel, possibly also a powerful spirit perhaps summoned or recruited by Mythal, on similar level as the Evanuris and Forgotten ones, powerful enough to trick and imprison them all in two different levels of reality at a time when said levels knew very little distinction. He created the Veil. And while the Evanuris were trapped in the Black City, the Forgotten ones were left in “the Void”. So far his relationship to Mythal is unclear. He may have been a servant of hers, a guardian, her champion, we just don’t know yet, but it’s clear they were close. There’s a line from Cole in Trespasser “He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face ” . “He did not want a body but she asked him to come” sounds like a spirit being summoned. “He left a scar when he burned her off his face” , Solas not only has a scar on his forehead, but as Fen’Harel he erased the vallaslin of former slaves, and even offers to do it to a romanced Lavellan. Solas may have been a spirit summoned by Mythal who later for some reason decided to release himself from her service by erasing her vallaslin off his face. My guess is this may have happened after her death.

Whatever Solas’ origin is, he was powerful enough to reshape the structure of the world, and what once was all one plane became torn apart from itself. A physical world interwoven with the Fade and connected to the Void became stratified in one a strictly spiritual plane (Fade) above in the sky, a strictly unmutable physical plane (Thedas) below it, and an inaccesible abyss (Void) presumably somewhere in the underground. Still, it's interesting and worth noticing that even in Evanuris times the Void was below the rest of the world. (Andruil “descends” into the Void for her maddening hunting trips).

Next we have the issue of the Old Gods of Tevinter. It is believed the Old Gods have dragon forms that slumber in the underground and that they communicated with men through dreams, teaching them secrets of magic the then new human civilization used to build a powerful empire.

There are considerable similarities between the OG and the Evanuris, not just in number and attributes but I suspect also in nature.

Maybe, just maybe, the dragon forms were like mounts. Mindless creatures the Evanuris could possess, or maybe by getting trapped away from the physical world somehow the Evanuris had their spirit severed from their bodies, with their spirits trapped in the fade and their dragon bodies -that they most likely used for battle- parked in the Thedas underground garage. Remember ancient elvhen could separate spirit and body while sleeping without their bodies dying, when they entered Uthenera, and while that suspended state lasted, servants would tend to their sleeping bodies. Maybe that's what darkspawn originally were. Servants charged with looking after the Evanuris dragon bodies while not in use, trapped underground after the Veil was created and drove to madness like the rock wraiths of the primeval thaig, who later became darkspawn. By the time the Magister Sidereal reach the Black City the corruption, the Blight, already existed. The Blight exists since Evanuris times. For all we know the Blight is an inmmune response of Titans treating the elvhen as parasites/viruses attacking them, assimilating them somehow – as Titans/dwarves had a hivemind, so do the Darkspawn through the Archdemon's song-. If the dragons sleeping underground belonged to the Evanuris and had servants looking after them, i imagine being trapped in the Void for millenia, a place that even pre-Veil had corruption, must have affected them gravely. 

It most likely took the Evanuris some time to recover after getting trapped away from the world by Solas. And when they finally gathered the strength to project through dreams, say they find human dreamers instead of their own people and learn the world they knew is destroyed, the elvhen are conquered, enslaved, abused, powerless. The elven people are no longer of use to the Evanuris so they turn their eyes and attention to the conquerors, the powerful ones, the ones they can use. So the Evanuris take on new identities as the Old Gods (as the humans wouldn’t adopt the same gods as the conquered, defeated people), and begin manipulating humans in dreams, sharing ancient powerful magic with them, proving they're real, guiding Tevinter into hegemony.

The Tevinter imperium becomes the spiritual successor of Elvhenan. Powerful empire ruled by mages under the banner of powerful entities built on the back of slaves and the abuse of magic falls and is replaced by....a powerful empire ruled by mages under the banner of powerful entities built on the back of slaves and the abuse of magic? Yeah.

The Evanuris played Tevinter, though, played nice and friendly for a while, built up that human trust in them, made them rely on them, only to suddenly and without any warning ghost them, pulling humans into despair, fear, anxiety, fear of abandonment, fear of losing all the power they had amassed. Until suddenly gods started talking again, and now humas were so terrified of losing them twice of course they'd do anything the gods asked of them without any doubts, of course they'd blindly follow their gods' requests no matter how outrageous or great. So Old God say “break open the Veil, hop on into the Fade and join us in power to rule as gods” and they just go for it.

It's possible the Evanuris wanted to possess the Magister Sidereal and that's why each old god's priest was present. But shit happens and everyone gets tainted. Now with the Veil temporarily broken it's also possible the Evanuris spirits were drawn to their dragon forms underground, unfortunately unable or too weak to awaken them themselves -possessing powerful mages, dreamers at that, would have been an entirely different story. So they use an ancient “connection” with the descendant of their servants, now turned darkspawn, compelling them to find them and dig them out at any cost.It's been said time and time again the darkspawn taint the Old God dragons and turn them into Archdemons but it's not entirely impossible the dragons are already tainted, and that's how they can connect with the darkspawn in the first place.

This would explain why Solas is so against eliminating the Old Gods, why Flemythal and Morrigan had knowledge of rituals to separate their souls from the dragons. I suspect the Old Gods ARE the Evanuris, or vessels of their spirits at the very least. Among the constellations found via astrariums there's one for each Old God, but also one called “Draconis” which doesn't match any Old God and is suspected to have been the representation of an 8th Old God that got taken down from hystory (there's one of a wolf as well..). The “god” that got eliminated was Mythal and of all Evanuris she's the one most strongly identified with and represented as a dragon. Not only that, the dragon in Draconis is one with a single tail body and its two wings open rising in flight, very reminiscing of the half-woman/half-dragon statues of Mythal where the lower female body is shown wearing a long skirt.

Side tracking a bit here but we know who from the Evanuris were problematic: Elgar'nan was too impulsive and violent, Falon'din was an attention seeking arse who relished so much in the worship he received he actively promoted war to increase the number of deaths and therefore the following he had as “guide of the dead”, Ghilan'nain was the elvhen equivalent of a mad scientist gene-splicing anything that moved, Andruil was a blood thirsty hunter and possibly also hunted for slave labour. Mythal was a judge and possibly the voice of conscience of all of them until perhaps they tired of hearing her draw lines for their antics and decided to take her off the picture for good, and Fen'Harel was most likely one of Mythal's champions/warriors/knights/guardians who got done with all the infighting that cost the life of his dear friend and was destroying their world. The remaining three don't really appear much in the lore available, Dirthamen is Falon'din's twin yet as god of secrets and knowledge (similar to Razikale, the Old God of Mystery, one of the two Archdemons left) there's not much known about him other than he loved his brother.

The ones we least know about are June and Sylaise. June god of craft and Sylaise Hearthkeeper were apparently a couple, married, and makes sense because much of crafting requires a constant well kept fire. I suspect they were on the neutral side and may have aided Fen'Harel in secret, because when you mix a god of crafts with a goddess of the hearth you get a forge and the Dread Wolf's base in Trespasser had an armory and ancient elven armor and weaponry were nicely designed. Solas doesn't have anything to say about them ever during the entire game, unlike how he reacts to Andruil and Falon'din, and unlike the Dalish myths of him with Ghilan'nain ...as far as i can recall there's nothing that links June and Sylaise or even Dirthamen with Fen'Harel, specifically. It's so clean a slate it's almost as if it was squaky cleaned on purpose to hide something...

And that’s all for now. It’s a lot to process, I know, my head hurts too but it’s finally out of it. I’m leaving a lot of minor details out because this is already long enough. In the near future i’ll hopefully analyse some characters like Ghilan’nain and Andruil individually.

Thanks for reading!

#Dragon Age #Evanuris #Fen'Harel #Mythal #Tevinter #Dragon Age 4

[kordeliam]

introducing ..   NORAH BARDOT  as  CORDELIA  !! 

i  can’t  even  begin  to  put  into  words  how  excited  i  am  for  this  group.  i’m  honestly  still  in  shock  i’m  here ??  i’m  super  passionate  about  every  aspect  of  this  group  already  but  ANYWHO  i’m  nica  ( 20 in the cst. chaotic writer and english student )  and  i’ll  be  writing  the  naive,  gentle,  miss  bardot  --  scholarship  student,  whiz  kid  photographic  memory  extraordinaire,  mom  friend  to  all  of  your  chaos  children.  an  endless  resume  covered  in  flowers.  her  pinterest  can  be  found  HERE   which will  give  you  a  good  aesthetic  summary  because  i  know  her  intro  might  be  a  bit  wordy ??  i’m  also  going  to  put  up  a  connections  page  and  post  her  letter  separately  soon  but  please  message  me  for  norah  ramblings  and  plots !!  

character inspo :    hermione granger ( harry potter ) ,  lucie manette ( a tale of two cities ) , eponine ( les miserables ) ,  jo march ( little women )

you never knew opulence  --  no razor sharp collar bones framed in pearls nor soft silk on softer skin  --  no, certainly not in the traditional sense. but your life was wealth in abundance, if you knew where to look. love overflowing. two warm parents, nestled in a warm apartment tucked away in an unassuming, cold south london borough. a carousel of family pets, usually strays you plucked from the streets, desperate to nurse back to health. your mother blamed that   hero gene   you inherited from your father. a moral code so completely spun into your dna that sometimes it would feel inescapable. you would do what’s right, no matter the cost. your mother blames your family’s poverty on the hero gene, too. when she mentions it like that, with her face straight and voice so flat, you aren’t sure it was ever a compliment. 

you always questioned if it was inherited as much as it was taught, the good parts of you, the selfless parts. it was, after all, your father who ran the soup kitchen just down the block, who brought you with him nearly every weekend to help serve.  look, look at those that have it so much worse, and you will know why i do not want.  ( and if this mantra, so instilled in you it’s whispered almost like scripture , makes you see the other students at ashcroft a little differently, could you really be faulted ? )   

it was in the kitchen your family first noticed your potential  --  your genius  --  a quiet girl with a brain like an elephant.  you do not forget .  you could recant shakespeare like you had hamlet open in front of you, and you loved to spoil the children with words, with stories, with the same escapism you used yourself  --  but must never admit.  do not want .  you memorized charts, recipes, sonnets with a glance. you skipped your fourth year, advancing so rapidly your parents didn’t know what to do with you besides gawk. it was your memory, photographic, and your work ethic, scrupulous, that set you apart. but it was your heart, your conscience  ( gentle, PURE )  that truly defined you. 

DEATH TW. CANCER TW.  if only you had been smart enough to detect the signs of cancer in your father, before it was too late. you’re stubborn, and from a young age you think you’re smarter than you are. gifted. there’s no way you could have known, your mother would tell you this, and the bills? can you imagine the bills? she’s right, of course, and fate is cruel, but you are resilient. you don’t give up on the soup kitchen, even with the memory like a knife. it’s what your father would have wanted, and all you crave anymore is to make him proud. build a life for your mother, a better life. maybe, without him around, it’s okay to want  a little. 

your life changed after that. your mother pulled you out of school; home school would suit the two of your needs better, anyway. you were smart enough to handle it. your mother seemed to think so. and you could work odd jobs, keep your home lest that be pulled from beneath your feet as well. but high school became nothing but a fantasy, something you saw played out in movies. boys in varsity jackets and girls in cheerleading kits. sneaking out through the window only to sneak into the bars. you wouldn’t know rebellion, you couldn’t afford to. naive innocence brushed across your forehead, branding you different. 

some days the loneliness liked to make a home of your bones, pitch itself into the hollow of your chest until you thought you might burst. an ever growing desire to be known, to be loved, like you read in the stories. the ones you couldn’t forget. your academics were your only defense against that suffocation, working towards something so you didn’t fall back instead. you were compensating, but it worked, that day you received your acceptance letter to ashcroft. the scholarship.  “ we recognize talent when we see it. ”  you’re pretty sure you would have memorized the letter even without your photographic memory. it meant that much. 

the imperium society followed suit, a natural progression for someone as bright as you. top of your class, because you work hard and you care for nothing else more. even with the pressure of maintaining your scholarship weighing heavy on your shoulders, you did not waver. ashcroft, the society, they were the proof that you could make your own way. that one day, your mother would live happily on a farm somewhere, and you would continue on to medical school. you starved for the future you were paving for yourself like you hadn’t eaten in decades. 

you fit snugly into the imperium society. you didn’t make any enemies, not like the others. you would sooner be stepped on than cause any trouble. in some ways, it was you that was the glue, holding everyone together. keeping everyone at peace. you with your level head, your encoded morals, your perception. your soft voice that had a way of ringing louder than all the others. there was no room for emotion when it came to the diplomacy of the society. you made friends that felt like family, you fell in love, fell into bed. it was all coming together. 

and then octavia was murdered. you knew her well, everyone in the society did, but you practically lived with her. you spent late nights studying together in the library, long weekends galavanting through the city. the two of you were so different, but that was what you liked about her. she forced you out of the shell you didn’t know you were trapped in. and then she was dating lysander, one of your closest friends, one of the few who really REALLY knew you, and you  loved  her brother. it felt like a web you were undoubtedly entangled in, but a grief that wasn’t yours to bear. is it wrong that you still aren’t sure what hurts worse, the loss or the aftermath? 

you aren’t sure if you believe in ghosts  --  you always hoped and prayed your father would visit you and HE certainly never did  --   but it’s impossible to deny the tug in your gut that tells you this is real .  you have an annoying knack for always being right. you know you need to help, there’s no way you could ever forgive yourself if you let octavia’s death go unsolved, if you left your lysander to be imprisoned forever, but the hairs that stand up on the back of your neck tell you you’re biting off more than you can chew. 

#˗ˏˋ ♡ ◟ * CORDELIA ／ BIOGRAPHY. ˎˊ˗ #death tw #cancer tw #spectreintro

[ontrackmind]

Study Style

So, I made a post recently about how I like to take notes in medical school. Today, I want to talk about how I study in medical school. These methods might not work for everyone, but I find that this method works for me. I have a daily routine, weekly routine, and a test prep routine. If you are looking for some tips, maybe these can help. The most important part is to know how you study. Knowing what works best for you and sticking with it will ultimately help you more than using an ill-fitting method that someone else came up with. Try out a few things, but if it isn't working then try something else. If you notice improvement, then don't change things! Don't try to fix what isn't broken.

If you are looking for a change, this is what I do:

1. Read the handouts/pre-class material! I make sure to read all of the handouts before class. Often we have more material recommended than we can possibly read for each class. I start with the pre-made pdf files and journal articles because I figure, if it was important enough for a professor to synthesize into a condensed document, it is important enough to know. When I get stuck on a concept, that's when I refer to the textbook for help. A lot of people in my class use first aid as they study, too. I will use it for pathways or if someone in our class points out that a particular section is extra helpful for our class material, but otherwise, I plan to use first aid mostly for Step study. I have found that it is better to read the handouts and be exposed to the material, even if I am confused, than it is to go into a lecture completely blind. It is much harder to follow new material at a fast pace.

2. Do the objectives/Know the main points of each lecture Each week, I fill out our weekly objectives. These are often broad, big concepts that we need to know for the exam. While it's not comprehensive, it is a great place to start. I review all of the weeks' objectives over the weekend. Often, our material builds on itself, so if I didn't understand a topic last week, I will struggle to understand a more advanced concept next week.

3. Flashcards In the evenings, I try to do a few Anki cards. Sometimes it is a class made deck or the pre-made Zanki deck. This doesn't always happen, but when I do get to do some flashcards, I feel like I retain information better. Spaced repetition does indeed help with recall.

4. Use outside resources when needed Usually on Friday or Saturday, I use outside resources like pathoma, sketchy, or boards and beyond. I find that these things are helpful, but since they are supplemental to our class material (and are often more Step focused than our curriculum is), I set aside time for these resources separately. Knowing the information will be helpful for Step, but it isn't always the most high yield for my classes.

5. Handwritten notes before exams Before exams, I start transitioning to paper notes during study time. If we are given flow charts or tables that could be helpful for the exam, I usually print those specific pages and practice drawing it from memory. It's a great way to learn concepts or test your understanding. I also start to write out pathways, rewrite anything that requires basic memorization, and will hand write notes about concepts that I really struggle with. I find that I remember things longer/better when I take the time to write them out. It takes a while, so I try to limit my handwritten notes to when it is truly needed.

6. Flashcards again! (Quiz style, not learning style.) The 2 weeks before exams, I really amp up my use of Anki cards as a way to quiz myself. I also find any/all practice questions we have had from the unit and take them in a "mock quiz" environment. I try to reason through each right and wrong answer without using notes. It is a great way to test myself. I really try to test myself here. I try to come up with a reasonable answer before flipping the card. Don't just do it half way and read the answer when you haven't come up with one. That's not testing yourself. That's just reading.

7. Practice questions If I can find a quiz bank- even better! I save questions from study groups/student organizations and Board Vitals until a few days before the exam. I find that this helps me test my reasoning/recall and helps with my test anxiety. I am a very nervous test taker, so simulating a test environment before the actual test helps reduce my nerves, especially when I take time to go through every missed question thoroughly.

8. Work in a group only if it is helpful for you I do not do well with study groups. I like to share resources, but as soon as you put me in a room with other people, I get distracted. I have to study on the silent floor of the library or at home where I can't talk to other people or get off task. I don't remember information as well when I study "conversation style" or in group work, and I often get confused when concepts are verbally explained. I also find that I hate being quizzed by other people. It takes me longer to learn things with other people than it does on my own. This isn't the case for everyone, but I know this is how it works for me, so I only will agree to study groups for group projects or when it is actually "light studying" during a weekend day.

9. Take breaks, but not too often I am VERY task oriented. Checklists are my life. If you have ever looked at my snapshots of my planner, you will see that there are lists for basically every day, with sticky notes containing more lists on top. Since I know I am task oriented, I generally plan my study time around goals rather than time limits. (While I love the pomodoro method, it doesn't always work well for me. Task based planning works better). I usually set a goal of 1-2 tasks before I allow a break, and I tell myself what the break will be and how long it can take. If I'm in deep study mode/crunch time, that includes scheduling meals, phone calls to family, checking email, paying bills, watching Netflix, etc into my study breaks. Doing this helps keep my day structured and goal oriented without setting specific time limits. And, seeing unfinished tasks on my to-do list is a great motivator to get back to work once I have finished my dedicated "study break task."

10. Don’t pull all nighters                                                                                      If you are tired and unmotivated, staying up late just means more procrastination Plus, anything you read/review won’t stick as well because you’re exhausted. If you are cramming for an exam, the stress might make you feel worse, and you will be mad at yourself if you oversleep for an exam or can’t concentrate on the test because you’re too sleepy. When I find myself lolling off to sleep, I know it is time to turn out the light and get ready for bed. Even if I decide to wake up a little early the next morning, getting the extra sleep will help me in the long run. I find that getting a decent night’s rest helps reduce my stress level and helps me stay focused when I sit down to study next (plus, I fall asleep in class less!) Most of the time, I have found that staying up all night just isn’t worth it.

I have a million other nuances about studying I can share, but everything gets very person-specific after this point. What I like/do might not fit everyone, but it has worked well for me. Hopefully everyone else studying out there finds their ideal study style, too. Happy studying!

#studyblr #medblr #study style #study tips #study help #notes #note taking #flashcards #studyspo #study motivation #school #medical school #med school #med student #medical student #ms1 #future doctor #md #md/mph #do #education #learning #tests #exams #how I study #advice #school help

[momentofmemory]

it’s almost the end of october, which means one of the greatest, most terrifying exploits known to writers is upon us: NaNoWriMo.

there are plenty of super good survival posts out there, but as this’ll be my seventh time participating (six wins, hoping for a seventh), i thought i’d drop my own set of tips into the mix. i’m going to focus mostly on the practical details of how to write; if you want tips on the writing itself either search the writing/reference tags or pester me to do another one later :P with that said, ~on with the post~

Step One: Figure Out Your Goal

i know, i know, obviously it’s to write 50k, but what does that mean to you? are you expecting

polished prose, ready to send off to a publisher?

being able to write every day? 

just throwing up a bunch of ideas?

a mix of everything?

all of these are valid, but they’re going to require different approaches. if you want jaw-dropping writing, you’re going to need in the ballpark of five or more hours each day, if not more. if you want consistency, you’ll want to look at your normal schedule and set up a couple times you know you can write at. if just you want words, pretty much all you need to make sure is that you squeeze writing time in whenever.

your goal will probably change as the month progresses, and that’s totally fine. just check in every so often to remember a)what you’re working for and b)if it’s actually plausible. speaking of...

Step Two: Realize Your Limitations

1. Typing.

imma get super practical here: your typing speed dictates how fast you can get done. if you write 40wpm (the average), you cannot write the full 1667 in a half hour any more than you can run a mile in under three minutes. it’s honestly not a bad idea to check out your own speed, if only to help you understand yourself better. in my experience, actual writing then works like this (using my max speed, 89, as an example):

Absolute Max: 89 wpm (baseline)

Warring: 70 (75% of baseline)

In the zone: 45 (50% of baseline)

Taking my time, concentrated: 22 (25% of baseline)

anything lower than your max/4 probably means you’re spending a lot of time either researching or staring at the page, so just be aware of that.

2. Time & Focus

this kinda goes without saying, but best case scenario this is at least 1-2 hours of your life a day, or dedicating full Saturday/Sundays if you’re a weekend warrior kind of person. it’s so, so worth it if you can make time for it, but also don’t feel bad if you can’t! doing a half nano (25k) or whatever you want is also a fully acceptable plan.

that said, if you do have time, figure out your focus too. if you’ve never been the kind of person that can type for six hours straight, you will probably not magically become this person when it hits Nov. 1 (though with practice, you might be by Nov. 30). i like trying to write at least 300 before work and another 300 during lunch. that way there’s only 1k left for the evening, and having words on the page just makes me feel better. experiment with different ways of blocking out your time in the first few days and see what works best for you.

3. Don’t Forget You Live in a Body

writing is hard work, you will need to eat brain food! hunching over wrecks your back, stand up and stretch every so often! you will hate existing if you forgo sleep for days! and for the love of charles dickens, patron saint of getting paid by the word, take care of your mother-effing wrists!!

seriously on that last one. i’ve ignored it in the past and thoroughly screwed up my wrists one year; don’t be me. keep in them in a neutral position, do regular stretches, and if you need to, get wrist wraps (i recommend these).

Step Three: Actually Doing the Thing

the previous steps have had pretty broad advice, but now it’s time to get down to the nitty-gritty. these are mostly things i know work for me, and therefore may not for you—adjust to your own needs!

1. Write for 15 Minutes Every Day, Non-Negotiable.

i don’t even mean this is a “write 15 min and then your brain will be tricked into writing more” kinda way, but like, literally. you’re probably not going to be able to do 1667 every day—sometimes you’ll be tired and just won’t have the time. you’re very likely, however, to have 15 minutes, and you’ll want to use them. Doesn’t matter if you write 50 words or 500 in that time, at least you’ll have done something, and that’s usually enough to keep you from feeling like just giving up the next day.

2. You Might Need Physical Spaces

i’m a pretty sensory person when it comes to writing, and having a dedicated writing space is so helpful for me. going back to the idea of being an embodied person, it’s a lot easier to get your brain into a writing mode if your body’s already there. some good options include:

coffee shops (cozy! food!)

a specific room in your home (easily accessed! do what you want!)

libraries (free! quiet!)

a friend’s house (writing buddy! easy access to sounding board!)

all of these places usually have access to wifi, which is a positive.

3. You Definitely Need Digital Spaces

i pretty much always write in the same processor, once again because it helps set the mood. the main options include:

google drive (solid choice, cloud backup, mobile accessible)

dabble writer (cloud backup, links to nano, dark mode, chapter options)

write or die (only for actual writing—a scary but effective motivator; save elsewhere)

word/pages/etc. (ready to go on your computer, formatting options)

scrivener (great plotting tools, detailed interface)

i use dabble writer myself (they’re a nano sponsor, so you can get it free for this month, and as a double bonus you get it half off for the rest of the year if you win). and no, i’m not getting paid to wax poetic about them, but honestly i’ve used it to win the past two years and i adore it. 

anyway my biggest tip here is that i SUPER SUPER DON’T RECOMMEND NON-CLOUD OPTIONS. it’s very risky, but if you must, do a proper back up at least once a week. that shiz is not worth it.

4. The Timer is Your New Best Friend

because i’ve heard this argument before: no, it’s not a crutch, and no, it’s not cheating. it’s literally best practices. i’m personally a big fan of this online timer, and i let it run for 15 min every time i write. after each session i check how many words i wrote, then after maybe a quick 1-2 min break, start over.

you can totally set the timer for longer or shorter periods, depending on what works for you. i’m a fan of the 15 min sessions bc it’s just long enough to get a bit of flow going, and just short enough that i can convince my spacy brain that we can get through it without wandering. it’s also a fantastic length for warring, if you’re down for that.

5. Write That Idea Down for Lewis’s Sake

the original idea for the chronicles of narnia came to c.s. lewis when he was at a restaurant, and thank the lord, he wrote it down on a napkin. he wouldn’t write it until some time later, but if he hadn’t written it down, he might’ve forgotten it. why is this important, you ask?

BC YOU WILL FORGET THINGS.

if you have an idea, write it down in your phone or your notebook or the waterproof paper in your shower, because i don’t care how sure you are that you’ll remember it, you super won’t. i’ve forgotten many solutions to plot holes in my time and i still hold vigils over their graves. don’t be me. write it down.

Step Four: Managing that Inner Critic of Yours

all right, pay attention. i’m not going to tell you not to edit, because i would be a massive hypocrite if i did. i totally edit during nano. the important part is letting your editor help you win, not hurt you. and that means gaming your critic’s system.

1. Have a Dedicated Deletion Section

many people hear “don’t delete anything” and baulk, because for some of us it’s distracting and we want to rewrite that section until it matches our vision. so, i’m here to tell you: delete it!! rewrite entire chapters!! just save the original content as part of your word count. this is another reason i love dabble, bc at the start of nano i just make a separate part of the book, label it “delete”, and any time i’m writing and dislike a sentence/paragraph i just dump it into that folder and move on. this way you still get to keep the numbers (and why shouldn’t you? you wrote them!) while also writing words you actually like. plus, sometimes that line you deleted in ch. 1 winds up being supremely pertinent in ch.15, and now you can just copy/paste it instead of having to try to remember what exactly you’d said.

2. Acknowledge Ranting as a Time Honoured Tradition

think there’s no precedent for that 2K diatribe you wrote on the london underground? well fear not, because you can’t possibly do worse than hugo’s entire chapters worth of content on the french sewer system! or melville’s frankly terrifying obsession with the finer features of whale biology!

like, yeah, maybe you’ll decide later you don’t need it, but for now, embrace that soap box. dead white guys have been doing it for centuries and still get places in college syllabi. the least you can do is give it a place in your word count.

Step Five: Have Fun!

i know, i know, it’s cliche, but seriously. if this isn’t fun, or at least rewarding, why are you doing it anyway? so enjoy it! send passages you’re proud of to your friends! daydream about it in the car on the way to work/school! cry over a notebook about the twist you just came up with! nano’s a time of fun and exploration, and you shouldn’t miss out on it because you’re thinking too much.

also, this might be counter productive to put at the end of an essay on nano, but don’t obsess over reading essays on nano :P there comes a time when one must simply do, and nano is pretty much the definition of that.

#nanowrimo #writing tips #writing #reference #writing advice

[dailyaudiobible]

02/16/2020 DAB Transcript

Leviticus 1:1-3:17, Mark 1:29-2:12, Psalms 35:17-28, Proverbs 9:13-18

Today is the 16th day of February, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it's great to be here with you today. So weird coming to you from Rome. We spent yesterday working through jetlag but also working to capture film and photographs of some of the places here that intersect with the New Testament and will be continuing that journey through today and then moving to Israel tomorrow where we will get ready to begin the annual Daily Audio Bible pilgrimage but we talk about all that later. Let's move into the Scriptures for today. And guess what? We finished the book of Exodus yesterday, even as we were beginning the gospel of Mark. So, we have fresh books in front of us.

Introduction to the book of Leviticus:

So, Leviticus is the third book of the Torah, of the Pentateuch, the third book of the Old Testament and it was written to the children of Israel. And…I mean…we’re in the middle of the desert at this point in the story and God is establishing the terms of the covenant between himself and the nation of Israel that is being formed and it’s about a year since they’ve been out of Egypt, and the law is being given. And…and as…as we pay attention to this…and this is one of those areas where it’s like, this is a law book we’re about to read. So, we can zone out pretty easily because who goes to the library to get a law book to read unless you’re an attorney or something? But if we’ll pay attention to what's going on here, we’ll…we’ll see the plot behind the story, right? We talked about that the other day. We’ll see that everything that is being instituted is for a reason about these people's identity - who they are and who God is. And, so, we’ll see that this…this theme that God wants fellowship, but that fellowship can only happen through holiness is a huge thing. He’s…He says in this book, “I am holy therefore, you will be holy. So, if…I mean…if we just read Leviticus, just listen to the words not really, you know, paying attention to…other than what's going on then we’ll see a lot of blood in this book because there’s a lot of sacrifices in it. And if we look at the Old Testament, which is…which is ancient through the perspective of the culture that we live in right now, then yeah, it will seem barbaric and antiquated and the irrelevant and all of the things that people have said over the years but it's not. Like, we might…we might wonder like “why…why would they just start sacrificing animals? Why would God want animal sacrifices and for them to be burned up on an altar?” So, it’s like six weeks ago now that we began our journey and we were in the garden of Eden and we saw Adam and Eve and their rebellion. We talked about this. That separated them from God. And, so, when God came look for them in the cool of the evening they were hiding, and they eventually tell God that they were afraid because they were naked. And what God does is telling here - He covers them with the skins of animals. So, it was God who set this precedent of atonement and covering. It cost something to cover the man and the woman, it cost the life of an animal. So, like now in this church era that we live in we’re in a culture that…that's after Jesus came with the final sacrifice. And, so, all of that sacrificial stuff is antiquated to us and far outdated to us, but it wasn't then. And let's not forget what that final sacrifice, the one Jesus made looked like because it put on display all the barbarity of mankind. But God is baking into this culture, that sin comes at a great cost. So, you might've made it this far in the Bible before. You might have made it to Leviticus before and then started like, “I have…I don't how to relate to this.” Embrace it. What you're watching is the establishment of a culture by a sovereign God, a culture that is intended to show a fallen man the great price of its rebellion, and the great price of this separation, but to also reveal the most high God in His holiness and to understand that this people is invited into that holiness. And the whole thing is happening in the harshness of the desert wastelands where there’s nowhere for them to run. Like they're not going to go to the grocery store and pick up some corn. Like, there in the desert. There’s no place for them to resupply. And that's where we find ourselves as we begin the book of Leviticus chapter 1 through 3 today. And it's a brand-new week so we’ll read from the New International Version this week.

Prayer:

Thank You, Father for Your word. Oh Lord we love You and we thank You for bringing us into this new week and as discombobulated as travel, especially as international travel can be, we are so grateful for the opportunity to be on this pilgrimage and, indeed, we thank You for all that we are being able to see and experience. We thank You for context. We thank You for illuminating the story that is in the Bible so that we can more clearly sense You’re leading on the narrow path that leads to life, because it's a counterintuitive path and so often we find ourselves off of it, so we thank You for all of the ways in a year that You come for us through Your word and through each other and through the experiences that we share. And, so we invite You fully into every aspect of all that will be happening in the coming days. Come Holy Spirit we pray in the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, home base, it’s where you find out what’s going on around here. So, stay tuned and stay connected,

For the next couple of weeks what's gonna be going on around here is…is travel, the annual pilgrimage that we take as a community to the land of the Bible. So, we…we stopped over for two days here in Rome to capture some things. So, man, we got to visit some…some parts of the Vatican yesterday. I've never been so it's like, yeah, pretty overwhelming…pretty…pretty overwhelming. But on a more sobering note we were also able to…to visit a prison where Paul had been kept and also the…the place of his…his execution and his…his burial. He’s…he’s…like he's buried here as is the apostle Peter. So, I’ve posted some things on the Daily Audio Bible Facebook page, some pictures and stuff of what we’re seeing, what's going on. And I’ve mentioned that a couple times. This is a good time to follow the Daily Audio Bible Facebook page or on Instagram, Daily Audio Bible on Instagram Facebook.com/dailyaudiobible on Facebook . That’ll keep you connected to the…to the…the pilgrimage that we’re on because we’re kind of posting photographs, little videos, and stuff like that at as they happen at different places. So, it's kind of updated throughout the day and you can kinda check back and see what’s going on. We’ll be seeing some of ancient…of the ancient ruins of Rome and I'm very much looking forward to that today. There are just a lot of Roman ruins in the land of Israel and the biblical lands because at one point it was a part of the Roman Empire. It was a part of the Roman Empire during Jesus life and ministry. It was the Romans who executed Jesus. So, I have been familiar with the architecture and the aqueducts and just some of the magnificent places there but just sort of connect those dots to Rome itself and just sort of see some of the ancients archaeology that remains is…is gonna be great, so we’ll be posting some pictures of that today and then trying…trying to turn the corner on the jetlag as we prepare to fly over to Tel Aviv tomorrow. So, thank you for your continued prayers.

And I remind you that it is our intention to come back again next year and we pray every year. I don't know…I don't know how many years out, but we are planning to come back in 2021 and that pilgrimage is available for registration now as I have mentioned before. You can get all the details at dailyaudiobible.com in the Initiatives section, just look for Israel 2021 and you’ll be able to get all of the details they're. Looking forward to that. And as I have mentioned usually by the time this pilgrimage is over that 2021 will be mostly full, if not all the way full. So, if it's been on your bucket list then…then check it out. Hope to…hope to see you sometime. It is a life changing experience. It's weird because I've been many times but it's a life-changing experience every…every time for me. So, check it out,

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. And I thank you, I thank you profoundly for your partnership. If we didn't do this together we wouldn't be doing this at all and I'm grateful that we are. So, there's a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that is your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request a comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can just hit that Hotline button, the little red button at the top of the app and start sharing from there.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi family this is his little Cherry in Canada and Brian has been reading to us from the Old Testament about the priests and their garments and all of the rituals and rigor murals that they have to go through simply to enter God’s presence and not die. And it’s not that God is waiting to zap them, it’s just that when you are dealing with a gazillion volts of electricity there are certain precautions that you have to make or you will die and God knows that. But I’ve just been so struck by how the blood of Jesus accomplished what generations of Levitical priesthood could not and now it is so effortless for us to enter God’s presence. I simply open my eyes in the morning and step into the arms who has waited for me all night. I can simply, without washing my face, without putting on certain clothing, without even praying, I can simply step into His arms and saying. [singing] in Your flowering arms in Your flowering arms there is nothing I must do but trust in You and rest. In Your flowering arms in Your flowering arms there is nothing I must bring. I sit and sing and rest. In Your flowering arms in Your flowering arms there is nothing I must be but your little Cherry I rest in Your flowering arms [sing ends].

Hi DAB family this is Nadine formally of New Hampshire now a resident of Maine. I learned that on February 3rd my father…my husband filed for divorce so pretty much just a waiting game until I get the paperwork. I just ask that you lift me up and get…pray for strength for myself and for him as well. I don’t know where I’m headed now. I’m sad and I’m broken but I can’t change things. So, just give it to God and go with the flow and just pray that my journey ahead is more than I dreamed of. Thank you.

Hi Daily Audio Bible this is Paula calling from the small island in the sea on the East Coast of Canada. I just want to say I can’t believe how God has changed my life to this broadcast. I was scrambling up an embankment with satan hanging on my heels reaching up to God. My life was in a mire and God scooped me up and without all the forcefulness of father holding onto his most prized possession he said mine to Satan and lifted me up and He has blessed me immensely through this podcast. I am amazed at what God has put before me. It is my life better? No. And understatement? No. But oh how much easier it is to handle each and every day as I join you and I hear your prayers. I pray for each and every one of you as you pray. I pray for the boys as their mom Diane spends her last days and how they need to be embraced and for the Toni’s and Bob the Budgie. And it’s just amazing how it’s simple little tweets in the background can make everything so happy. And I just feel like…like I’ve come home and you guys have pulled out the chair and patted it and said, come, come sit at the supper table. Come dine with us as we eat and of our in God’s word. And I just want to say thank you thank you so much for being yourself. I see myself in so many of you, some places I am now and some places I’ve been and I’ve been…I’m going…I’m not going to go into that. I just want to say thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done. Thank you for just being there. God bless you and I will be calling back. Thank you so much.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is Denise from a lot of different places but I’m in Charlotte North Carolina this minute and I just wanted to reach out to Christie from Florida/Ohio who called in and her prayer or update was played at the hour and 30 minute mark of the community prayer on February 9th and she let us all know that she was the anonymous caller from 1/6 who called in right after finding out that her sister had committed suicide. And Christie I’m so glad to know who you are. I’m so sorry for your sister and I’m sorry to find out that you’ve just lost a grandfather. I, on Mondays, have started praying for the grieving and one of the line items I have is 1/6 anonymous who lost her sister to suicide and I’m just so blessed to know that who your name is and who am praying for. Also, I’m happy to hear that you are going home to Ohio. I know that something that you have wanted and I know it’s not under the circumstances that you would’ve wished but God makes a way and if I had my Bible open I would read to you from Deuteronomy 1 but I’m not near my Bible this minute but it talks about how, you know, Moses comes down from the mountain and tells the Israelites you have gathered at this mountain too long it is time to go and he lists all these geographical places he says it’s time to go to the home of your ancestors. And any time anyone tells me they’re going home, going back to the place where there from I’m always reminded of that part in Deuteronomy and I am just happy that this is a fruition of something that you have wanted and I bless the way and I asked Father to give Christie from now all the way Ohio just for provision for the job that she’s looking for that she can be near her parents to minister them and have…be able to use her skills. And Father I just ask that you give peace to their hearts as they all come together as a family and that you watch over them in your mighty mighty name. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Good morning DABbers this is Nancy in Oregon I just want to say I’ve been to the Bible the whole entire Bible. Today is my anniversary. It was a year…a little over a year ago that I was listening to the archive. So, today is a full day or a full year that I listened to the Bible. I’ve never done that before and am just pretty excited. But on January 31 I have gone through from Genesis to Exodus with you guys. I appreciate all your songs, your poems, your support, your encouragement, your prayers, your support. Just keep praying that I can do this. Some days I go through this the serenity prayer – God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change __ I can’t go any further. So, just pray that I get through that, that I can just get and accept things that I cannot change and the courage to change the things that I can and the wisdom to know the difference. I’m hanging in there. I’m going to CR and it’s the faith-based kind of like __ with families and__ other things that I’m __ for. Thank you for your support, your encouragement. I love you guys and I’m sharing this program with others so that it they can enjoy it too and go to the Bible. God’s glory. It’s all about Jesus. Jesus and nothing but Jesus. Thank you so much. Bye-bye.

Hi Daily Audio Bible my name is Lisa I’m calling from Central Florida it’s Monday, February 10th. The reason for my call is I would like to ask for prayers for my husband Michael. He was diagnosed with ocular melanoma 18 years ago. He’s had some issues, health issues that we’re addressing the different diagnostic testing - CT scan, upper G.I., and that type of thing. I’m very worried about him. He doesn’t take care of himself and he hasn’t health wise for someone who had cancer. And I just wish that he would, you know, realize that my son and I really want him to be around and to start taking care of himself when he should. I just ask for prayers for him for these testings that are coming up and I just pray that everything’s okay and that he realizes that we do love him and want him to be around and just to start taking care of himself. I appreciate all prayers. Thank you very much. I recently started listening January 1st. My son Dylan actually introduced me to the Daily Audio Bible, and it’s been a blessing ever since. I made a New Year’s resolution that I was gonna start listening and I have listened every day since January 1st and I listen to all the prayers and I pray for all of you. It’s just amazing to me all that Brian has done, and I appreciate it and I thank you and I love you all. Bye-bye.