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bethestaryouareradio · 10 months

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Growing with Kids

“I rejoice when I see anyone, and especially children, inquiring about flowers, and wanting gardens of their own, and carefully working in them. For the love of gardening is a seed that once sown never dies, but always grows and grows to an enduring and ever-increasing source of happiness.” Gertrude Jekyll

How immensely fortunate I was to grow up on a farm where both parents were connected to the land and taught their five children to care for plants and animals. At a very young age, we were each given a small plot of earth to tend our very own gardens. We could plant whatever we wanted: fruit, vegetables, flowers, trees, or even just let the weeds take over. Whatever we decided to do, we were told that the success or failure of our plantings was one hundred percent our responsibility. Each of us received this gift with gratitude and excitement as we each created our unique and individualized design.

The benefits of introducing children to gardening are numerous and life-enriching. Kids are inherently curious and soak up new information like sponges. Gardening with children encourages a lifelong commitment to good environmental practices and stewardship of our earth. Since gardening is a hands-on experience, kids relish getting dirty and wet, and especially enjoy finding and touching slimy creatures. As their grown-up garden guides, we must teach safety in nature. We must point out that they must never nibble a leaf or flower without knowing if the plant is edible as many plants are poisonous or can cause allergic reactions. The same holds true for picking up frogs, snakes, lizards, spiders, or other critters. Educating our little ones about the natural world and how humans coinhabit is part of our critical supervisory function.

Benefits of Gardening for Kids

Education: Besides learning sustainable practices, kids are close-up witnesses to the circle of life. We plant a seed or seedling. We water, fertilize, and prune the plant. It matures, flowers, and possibly bears fruit. Annuals die at the end of the season. Perennials return the following year. Evergreen shrubs and trees maintain their leaves while deciduous plants are barren in winter and re-leaf in spring. Botany, biology, and ecology are all evident in the garden.

Health: Outdoor play is essential to developing a healthy body and mind. Gardening is an outstanding exercise and it’s playful. Pulling hoses, carrying rocks, weeding, raking, pushing wheelbarrows, hoeing, and planting all contribute to stronger muscles and stress-free minds.

Mental Well-Being: Mindfulness and tranquility are part of the gardening experience. Numerous studies have shown how anxiety and stress are reduced by spending even twenty minutes outdoors in nature.

Nutrition: If they grow it, they will eat it! If you were to ask a child where zucchini comes from, unless they are growing a garden, they will probably tell you that it comes from the grocery store. Once when I was doing a gardening demonstration for children, kids asked me why the iceberg lettuce on my demonstration plant wasn’t wrapped in cellophane. A similar question arose when my chicken laid an egg during a petting zoo visit.

“What’s that?” the child asked.

“An egg,” I responded.

“What do you do with it?” the child retorted.

“You cook it and eat it. It’s fresh,” I answered.

“But it’s not in a carton!” was the prompt and surprised look on the child’s face.

We need to teach children about where our food comes from as well as the benefits and nutritional values of growing our own produce. In this way, they will establish healthy eating habits.

Life-Skills: Perhaps more than anything, gardening instills skills and qualities that will last a lifetime fostering cognitive development and problem-solving skills. Patience, creativity, curiosity, tolerance, generosity, responsibility, pride, and respect are just a few of the virtues that we all learn in the garden. We can’t rush a tomato. We must be patient and learn that delayed gratification reaps rewards. Designing a garden stimulates creativity and imagination. When we investigate the insect crawling on the artichoke, our curiosity is aroused. Tolerance of misshapen or imperfect crops is necessary. We are responsible for our plant’s life by providing it the essentials it needs to survive–soil, sunlight, water, and food. When we harvest, we feel pride that we have succeeded and are generous by sharing the bounty. Respect, empathy, and compassion for all living things are grown in the garden. Also important, gardens teach us that mistakes are normal. Failure is fertilizer. When a plant dies, heap it on the compost pile and grow a new garden. Through gardening, children learn that there is no perfection, giving them the permission to take measured risks.

Environmental Awareness: Through caring for a garden, kids develop a deeper appreciation for nature. They better understand the impacts of their actions and how they can personally contribute to a greener, cleaner planet. When kids connect with nature, they will want to protect and conserve the environment for future generations. They will develop a lifelong appreciation for nature’s beauty and grandeur.

A Few Safe and Simple Flowers to Grow with Kids

Sunflowers

Marigolds

Cosmos

Clover

Crocus

Black-eyed Susan

Cockscomb

Dahlia

Forget-Me-Not

Geranium

Hollyhock

Lamb’s Ear

Lavender

Nasturtium

Passionflower

Pansy

Petunia

Strawflower

Sweet pea

Verbena

Zinnia

Easy Vegetables to Grow with Kids

Basil

Beans

Carrots

Cherry Tomatoes

Corn

Cucumber

Dill

Lettuce

Mint

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Parsley

Pumpkins

Radishes

Zucchini

Watermelon

Growing with kids is a rewarding and educational experience. As children nurture plants, they discover happiness, satisfaction, and a love for the natural world that will stay with them throughout their lives. Most of all, through gardening, they grow a healthy body, mind, and spirit.

Although the vegetables and flowers that I planted as a child are long gone, my youngest brother’s garden is still thriving. He had chosen to plant tropical seeds which grew into towering palms!

“Treat the Earth well. It was not given to us by our parents, but it is loaned to us by our children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors. We borrow it from our children.” Ancient Native American Proverb

Happy Gardening. Happy Growing with Kids!

Photos and more: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1712/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-Growing-with-kids.html

Listen to the radio broadcast about kids and gardening: https://www.voiceamerica.com/episode/146040/beat-the-heat-gardening-with-kids-mall-makeover

Check out Press Pass: https://www.vapresspass.com/2023/08/04/growing-with-kids/

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#growingwithkids #gardeningwithkids #garden #cynthiabrian #goddessgardener #lamorindaweekly #starstyle #empowerment #voiceamerica #familyforever

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adlbeay · 3 years

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I wanted to talk about the themes in the Walk in the Dust event. The story of Arknights has always had a high level of thematic consistency, but it’s especially prominent in this event. I feel like a lot of the discussion of the story in certain places comes down to “lore” and surface-level plot details, so I wanted to get this out there somewhere.

The two big ideas that are covered in Walk in the Dust are that of revenge and the homeland. Let's talk about revenge first. Long post and story spoilers under the cut.

In the beginning, we are introduced to Elliot, aka Passenger, who by the time we meet him, is an aimless husk of a man. He is utterly empty inside despite being the most powerful figure in the Reefsteep black market, with vast wealth and political influence under his thumb. Having completed his decades-long quest to slay everyone who was involved in betraying his teacher, he has no more goals for his life. After killing the Lord Ameer of Ibut, the last of his targets, he realizes that the revenge he had been pursuing was ultimately empty, that the weapons he built and the schemes he engineered to that end no longer moved him. Even the death of the Lord Ameer didn't matter one bit in the political landscape of Sargon.

As for the Sargon army... We live in different times now. The ruling Padishahs simply care not about what is happening here in this barren wasteland. My guess is that it matters not to them whether it's the father or the son that's in charge. Actually, to tell the truth, it hardly matters to me either.

Ultimately, no one cared if the Lord Ameer was murdered or simply died in an accident, not even Elliot himself. Sargon continues to be exploited by the Columbian military and the ruling Lords. Professor Thorne remains dead. His research, once entrusted to Elliot to prevent it from becoming a weapon of war, has nonetheless been used by Elliot himself to bring even more death. Now, 22 years later, Passenger sees finding Kal'tsit as his only path to salvation, so that she can once again give him a purpose like she did when she rescued him the first time.

Folinic's mom, Lillia, also shares the same kind of story. Her husband was killed in Chernobog when the count decided to purge the researchers working on the sarcophagus device. Among the children of the families broken up by this incident are Lyudmila (later Crownslayer), Alex and Misha (later Skullshatterer), and Luisa (later Folinic). Lillia finds Kal'tsit after months of searching, intending to take revenge on Grand Duke Vanya not just for her husband, but also for Luisa, who never got to know her father because of it. Kal'tsit tries to talk her out of it, even during the final phases of the plan, but Lillia's mind is set. She entrusts Kal'tsit with taking care of both Luisa and Lyudmila, as she knows she won't be able to come back to live a normal life after this. And... she succeeds. Although it is Kal'tsit who ultimately administered the poison, their plan works flawlessly and Duke Vanya is finally dead.

Except it still ended up being completely meaningless. The Grand Duke was in a glorified nursing home already near the end of his life, and if Kal'tsit didn't kill him then some other conspirator from the Ursus political backstage would have done it anyway. He was already crippled and blind, and as we find out during the confrontation with the Emperor's Blade, even Kal'tsit only agreed to Lillia's plan because it defused the conspiracies of other powerful figures who would have used the Duke's death to spark another rebellion. The only thing that Lillia ended up accomplishing was making sure that Louisa would grow up without both a mother and a father, and Lyudmila would never get the answers she really wanted about her family's death. And, although she ended up not doing it, she was even also planning to go back to Chernobog to kill Sergei, Alex and Misha's father, for his betrayal.

And this carries on through the future outside the event. Crownslayer ends up joining Reunion because she thinks it will give her the answers she wants and avenge her father. Folinic almost lets her anger at Atro's death get her into a confrontation with Wolumonde. In the end, Crownslayer is stopped by Kal'tsit and Folinic is calmed down by Suzuran, but we might be able to imagine what would have happened if they managed to carry out their vengeance.

The theme of homeland is one that's intrinsically tied to Kal'tsit and has at least a bit of relation to the broader story outside of the event. It's harder to talk about since it's not clearly split into individual stories like previously, but there's at least one character that exemplifies this theme the most: Old Isin.

Old Isin is appropriately to his name, old as rocks. He remembers being a servant to some lord of a long-lost city that very few even know once existed, and spends his time telling fortunes while trying to seek out people who, like him, also share that past. According to Kal'tsit, the city's people were scattered when it was destroyed, and now only Isin even remembers the origin of the name "Reefsteep". Even then, Isin only has vague memories, and believes it to be his unforgivable sin that he has forgotten so much about the city.

Old Isin originally helps Kal'tsit and Elliot because he hopes that she can help him remember about the lost city, and thus absolve his "unforgivable sin". And Kal'tsit indeed does help him. Isin begins to recall the conquests of armies a thousand years ago, something even with his age he should not have been a part of, much less remembered. Kal'tsit dispels the illusions clouding his memory, and reveals that what Isin remembers is only the stories that the padishah recounted to him, that the glory of his old city was only a memory of another memory. In truth, the city in Old Isin's memory was merely a stepping stone for the padishah's ambition to conquer the uncharted deserts, and was abandoned just as easily when that campaign failed. His homeland's glory was just an illusion created in his mind by the padishah's charisma.

Which brings us to the Emperor's Blade. Wherever he stands is the dominion of the Empire of Ursus. Whatever he does carries out the Ursus Emperor's will. Or at least, that's how the Royal Guards imagine themselves, single-handedly carrying out their homeland's legacy. Kal'tsit lays it out clearly:

Kal'tsit: Tell me, what does the current Ursus Emperor think of the Pine Valley affair? Or do you mean to tell me the seeds of that uprising, the origins of the crisis were all the will of the Emperor? Feel free to keep deceiving yourself, but the truth is the young emperor is unaware of the events that transpired there. You believe he has no need to know. You... all of you seek a bygone era. You are just caught up in the former emperor's grand vision!

As does Patriot in Chapter 8:

Patriot: I fought with your fathers. Your strength and tactical acumen are no less impressive than theirs. But you look at the Ursus of those times with rose-colored glasses. What you see is nothing more than your wild fantasies.

The Royal Guards are described in not too unclear words as soldiers who probably believed too much of their own grandiose affect. They are unparalleled fighters, to be sure, but it isn't hard to infer that those words about executing Ursus's will and each Royal Guard being his own nation are words intended to strike fear into their enemies rather than statements of any real truth. Indeed, if you know anything about the internal politics of Ursus, the idea of "Ursus's own will" can be seen as more of a nostalgia at a bygone era when Ursus was, or at least seemed, united in conquest under the previous Emperor. The perceived glory of their homeland is what motivates the Emperor's Blade, but like with Old Isin, the truth behind it is shaky at best.

We also have the contrast between the retired veteran at Pine Valley and Grand Duke Vanya. While talking to Witte, the veteran cuts off one of his own fingers, claiming that the scars he has suffered in Ursus's wars, once considered symbols of his glory and honor, were ultimately meaningless, and he wants this self-inflicted wound to be his only legacy to Ursus. At the same time, the Grand Duke is postulating about how the seeds he had sown in the winter would give birth to beautiful flowers. Even though his actions and the crimes he committed never bore fruition, he is convinced even in death that Ursus's soil will bloom.

The issue of a real or imagined homeland, and its loss, is also shared by the Sarkaz as a whole not only in this story but in the main story and many other events. It's even arguable that Rhodes Island's mission to help the Infected was originally inherited from Babel's goal of establishing a stable homeland for the Sarkaz. After all, as pointed out in many places, the Infected and Sarkaz share much of the same discrimination.

Sarkaz Mercenary: Home...? How could us devils... us Infected possibly have one... Kal'tsit: The Sarkaz have tried to rebuild 'Kazdel', their home for centuries, though they have never succeeded. Everyone has a different idea as to what the term 'homeland' means, but as it stands right now, Kazdel is perhaps as close as you can get to the term's original meaning.

And in Twilight of Wolumonde:

Armed Infected: We’re going home? To what home?

Mudrock: Kazdel. There may be no place for Sarkaz outside of Kazdel. But in Kazdel, there is a place for you. Not because of tolerance. But because there is... nothing there. Kazdel... is where the homeless go. A land of rootless people.

So what does all this have to do with Kal'tsit?

In the ending cutscene, Passenger asks Kal'tsit whether this "Rhodes Island" is yet another passing persona to be used to accomplish a goal and discarded when it's complete. Like the persona of the Trusted Advisor, or the Servant, or the Laterano Cleric, will she abandon Rhodes Island as well? Kal'tsit initially puts up a front saying he has no right to ask, then bluffs about having thousands of answers, but is pushed by Passenger saying he'll even accept a lie. In one of the only times we get to see Kal'tsit faltering, she actually has no answer to this.

Unlike the other characters we see throughout the story, Kal'tsit has no homeland. No matter how fake or illusory it is, Old Isin and the Royal Guard have something to believe about a place where they can belong. The nobles in Victoria, as incompetent as they appear from the outside, are dedicated to defending the peace of their home despite having no ruler. Even the ostracized Sarkaz can ultimately go back to Kazdel, as unpleasant as that might be. But while Kal'tsit wanders the earth to keep the homelands of others from falling into chaos, she has no homeland of her own to go back to.

In one of the trailers for Chapter 9, we hear a recording from Theresa, addressed to Kal'tsit: "I hope this Rhodes Island can be a place to call home, a place you can always return to."

#arknights #arknights spoilers #kal'tsit

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deniigi · 3 years

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Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

---------------

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ‘artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

#star wars #han/leia #dinluke #lando calrissian #fic #ficlet #don't mind me I'm just thinking about petty neighborhood politics

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

Heyo, reporting back to request a continuation of a continuation of a continuation, if you wouldn't mind! Aka, please more 3rd Life Villainpulse angst, I'm so invested (and very curious as to whether his latest murder attempt was an actual success, or if he really should have stuck around to verify the death...)

i genuinely rly love this! i’ve got such plans for it now that i think i’ll make it into an actual proper fic.

i’ve also now posted it on AO3, titled Stand For Nothing! link here

…

Impulse is getting concerned. It’s been over five minutes and no death message in chat. It should’ve happened by now. He had been worried about being found near the scene of a death — it’d already been about five minutes since the meeting and someone would’ve gone to find Skizz, so his items would almost certainly be found — but now he’s starting to think he should have stuck around anyway and made sure the job was finished.

He had been intending to stay here at his villager trading centre until the death notification came up and then he would run back to Dogwarts and play the distressed best friend.

But no death message. So his plan has to change.

When he makes it back to Dogwarts, he finds Ren standing outside the Renchanting building, his face pale. When he spots Impulse, he quickly beckons him. “Impulse! For the love of god, where’ve you been?!”

Impulse blinks. With no death message in chat, what can Ren be so worked up about? “W-What? What’s happened…?”

“Skizzle’s been attacked! We heard an explosion outside our walls and when we went to check, we found him out there, passed out. He’s in a critical condition but Martyn’s with him now and hopefully he’ll recover.”

Impulse can only stare at Ren with an open mouth and a pit in his stomach. Somehow, in all the possible outcomes he pictured for this scenario, he never imagined Dogwarts would actually find Skizz alive. After three perfect murders, it seems he got careless.

“O-Oh my god,” he manages to choke out. “C-Can I see him?”

“Not yet, but Martyn will tell us when we can.”

Ren takes him down into the living area under Renchanting. There, Etho is pacing back and forth in front of a closed door, clearly deep in thought, but he glances up as Ren comes in. “Ren, you found him.”

Ren nods, even though it wasn’t really a question. “Any word?”

“Not yet. Martyn has three healing potions in there with him though, so I’d say Skizz’s chances are really good.”

Impulse has to strain to keep his expression steady at that. “G-Good. That’s good.”

Something changes almost imperceptibly in Etho’s expression, but Ren, clearly not noticing, rubs Impulse’s back reassuringly. “He’ll be okay, Impulse. Don’t worry.”

All Impulse can do is nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and Martyn appears, his body blocking the view inside the room. “He’s awake,” he reports, a very serious look on his face. “Ren.”

Ren quickly ducks into the room, but when Impulse starts to follow, Martyn blocks him. “Not you,” he says coldly. “Etho, stay with him, please.”

Impulse’s heart freezes. There’s only one reason Martyn would stop him from seeing his injured best friend.

Skizz has told him everything.

He takes a step back and bumps into something behind him, causing him to jump.

“What’s going on, Impulse?” asks Etho casually, an only-just-discernible undertone of danger in his voice. “You seem a little tense.”

“My best friend almost died,” Impulse replies coldly, but even he can tell his words are unconvincing.

“Indeed. I wonder how that happened?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Etho. Why would you have any reason to suspect me?”

Etho just folds his arms and says nothing, infuriating Impulse. “You said I was the only person on this server you really trust!”

“That was before I joined these guys. I’ve had a weird feeling in my stomach about you for a while, Impulse. Something hasn’t felt right since this whole thing started, but I assumed it was just me trying to apply rationality to this irrational world. But one thing never changes, Impulse. No matter how much you try to change it.”

Impulse falls silent, scowling at the ground. He’s already given away too much in his tone and expression.

He glances sideways at Etho, who has his eyes fixed on the door Ren and Martyn went through. Realisation dawns on him: Etho isn’t expecting him to put up a fight. Etho thinks he has nowhere to go.

Now is the time, then. He can’t afford to wait any longer; when Ren and Martyn come back out here, it’s over. Impulse knows he can’t take on three people at once. This is his last chance to escape alive.

So when Etho shifts position a few seconds later, Impulse strikes. Before he can react, Impulse sweeps Etho’s legs out from under him and shoves him into the wall as he’s falling. Without waiting around to see the result of his attack, Impulse takes off running.

He makes it out of Renchanting and is just about to run down the hill towards the crastle when an arrow whizzes by him, nicking the sleeve of his t-shirt and causing him to lose his balance. Suppressing a scream, Impulse topples down the hill and lands in the shallow river at the bottom. He tries to continue onward but has to stop as he puts weight on his left foot and realises he must have twisted his ankle during his fall.

Gritting his teeth through the throbbing pain, he looks up in time to be able to dodge another arrow fired at him by the figure on top of Dogwarts’s wall.

He has to keep going.

Every step on his left foot is agony but he pushes himself on, half-galloping down the hill on the other side, the crastle in his sights.

“Bdubs!” he shrieks as he draws near, his heart racing. The Red Army is likely right behind him. “BDUBS!”

The person he’s calling rushes out of the castle over the drawbridge just in time to catch Impulse as he finally loses his balance and pitches forward.

“Impulse! You’re soaking wet!? What the-?!”

“Th- They’re coming for me,” he croaks. His eyes flicker up and he spots two faces in the windows on the second floor. It’s time for the performance of his life. “Dogwarts turned on me! They think I killed Tango and Cleo a-a-and made you kill Joel!”

“What?!” gasps Bdubs. “That’s ridiculous! Why would they think that?!”

“I-I don’t know but th- They’re gonna kill me, Bdubs…!”

“Not on my watch!”

Bdubs quickly ushers Impulse inside the crastle and into the waiting arms of Jimmy. Together, the two guide Impulse upstairs and lay him down in the bed Grian has placed in a position safely away from the slit windows.

“What happened, Impulse?” Bdubs asks softly. “How did they turn on you?”

Impulse takes a shaky breath. “Something happened to Skizz. He… He got attacked. Then he told everyone it was me and that I’d killed Tango and Cleo and manipulated you into killing Joel.”

“First of all, that’s utterly ridiculous,” Bdubs snaps. “I killed Joel because he was about to kill you. And second, why on earth would you want to kill Tango or Cleo?”

“I-I think you might’ve been right, Bdubs. I th-think Etho was responsible for Cleo’s death. And now he’s got Dogwarts trying to make me a scapegoat.”

Bdubs’s gaze darkens. “Despicable little-.”

“BDOUBLEO!”

“Stay there,” says Bdubs.

He strides to the window, flanked by Grian and Scott, armed with his crossbow. “What do you want, Ren?”

Down on the ground, having left Skizz in the care of BigB, stand Ren, Martyn, and Etho, staring up at the castle. The latter two hold bows, while Ren is armed with a sword and shield.

“We know Impulse is hiding out in there,” Ren announces, with the regal but dangerous air of a king. “Hand him over to us, Bdubs.”

“No way in hell,” Bdubs snaps back. “He told me everything!”

“We can guarantee you he did not,” responds Martyn steadily. “Not the truth, anyway. He’s using you, Bdubs.”

“YOU’re the ones using HIM! As a scapegoat!”

“Impulse isn’t the angel you think he is, Bdubs,” Etho says darkly. “You’re protecting the person who killed Cleo.”

“No, YOU killed Cleo,” snarls Bdubs. “And I bet you killed Tango too and tried to blame it on me! You’re just trying to frame anyone you can so you can get away with it!”

Despite the pain and stress he’s experiencing, Impulse can’t help feeling proud of himself. The seeds of doubt and suspicion he’s sown between Bdubs and Etho are paying off now.

“Bdubs.” Ren’s voice drops slightly as emotion creeps into his tone. “He attacked his best friend and left him to die. If we hadn’t found him in time, Skizz would have succumbed to his injuries alone and terrified in the middle of nowhere, murdered by his own best friend.”

“What exactly is Impulse’s motive supposed to be, here?” Scott asks suddenly. “You say he killed Tango and Cleo, orchestrated Joel’s death, and tried to murder Skizzle. Why exactly would he want to do that?”

“Skizz claims Impulse said it was because Tango “knew too much” about something,” Martyn says. “Some kind of secret that Impulse is keeping. And that Cleo’s and Joel’s deaths were “necessary to push the war forward”. That’s his motive, Scott. Impulse wants war, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it.”

“We ARE talking about the same Impulse, right?” demands Bdubs. “Our Impulse? The sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly? Are we sure Skizz didn’t just misremember? He's a little unreliable like that. Maybe he said it was someone else who-.”

“Don’t you dare!” Martyn bursts out suddenly, his voice filled with the most venom anyone had ever heard it. “Don’t you DARE say that! You weren’t there, Bdubs! You didn’t have to fix his broken ribs and his fractured neck and his shattered arm! You weren’t there when he finally woke up after several minutes of crying out and panicked breathing like he was having a nightmare! You didn’t hear the way he cried, how terrified he was when he told me what happened, the raw agony in his voice! That’s not the demeanor of someone who MISREMEMBERED! Skizz has gone through hell today and it’s all Impulse’s fault! So I’m not leaving here without his head, in one form or another!”

“YEAH!” Ren yells in agreement, hitting his sword against his shield. “No more arguments. No more wasting time. If you don’t give us Impulse right NOW, we will declare war on you and take him by force.”

Inside the crastle, Impulse’s heart skips a beat. This is it: the moment of truth. Either everything he’s been working towards will finally come to fruition… or Bdubs will hand him over and he will die.

Bdubs straightens up, a steely look of determination appearing in his eyes.

“Then consider us at war.”

#3rdlifesmp #3rd life smp #impulsesv #bdubs #rendog #skizzleman #etho #vaunna’s requests

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elriel-oblivion · 3 years

Text

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter.

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

#elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar

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snippyrocket · 3 years

Text

@lionfanged sent:

' he is not coming back, proton. it is time to move on. ' his right hand finds proton's left, limp and lifeless at his side. the skin pressed against atticus's own was cold, clammy, like all of the life had drained out of him at news world-shattering. ' kanto is no longer safe. please, let me take you to hoenn, and i will protect you, shinya. '

Move on.

The words sound far colder than Atticus likely intended them to. Proton knows that he’s only trying to protect him, wanting to pull him free from the sinking ship that is Team Rocket before he gets sucked under amongst the wreckage.

But how can he? His world -- everything he’s known for the past decade or so of his life -- is crumbling all around him.

They were supposed to be untouchable.

It feels like a sick joke. Title, rank, loyalty... None of it mattered, in the end -- their efforts paid back in kind with the cruel sting of abandonment. Years of work have slid straight down the gutter, as Interpol and the League likely seek to swoop in to take advantage of the chaos and flush out those unfortunate enough not to make a stealthy exit in time.

And for what? What great, terrible thing had led to their downfall? One boy?

Was Sakaki’s ego really so fragile that a child was all that it took to topple his empire and betray those who had served him, loyal and steadfast, for all this time? Was he really worth so little that the boss would not take him along? That he would leave his executives in the lurch without a word of explanation -- knowing how the abandonment would reopen old wounds and leave his youngest feeling vulnerable and exposed?

Even if their relationship had turned sour and resentful these last few months, he couldn’t have seen the betrayal coming as it suddenly rounded the corner and slammed into him -- hard -- leaving him winded and breathless in it’s wake.

Had he pretended to care just to better use him to his advantage? If even Sakaki would not have him, then did that mean..?

He barely registers the hand reaching for his own.

The heart is an awful, treacherous thing, and though Proton -- no, Shinya -- is nothing but utterly silent as he’s tugged away and his feet start to move, the seeds of mistrust have already been sown.

A single look at Atticus says far more than words could ever manage:

Will you abandon me, too?

#lionfanged #NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #I AM IN PAIN #the big abandonment........... it is here and it is far scarier than anything halloween could EVER conjure up

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the-esempee-merchant · 3 years

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How did the Siege of the Capital happen?

It is time for

worldbuilding with Nare

or: Nare wrote a thing and then realized they’d forgotten to share the explanation for 90% of the things they’ve written.

So: What you need to know is that Eret takes the throne in a very chaotic time. After Eret’s father dies, multiple problems in the kingdom that were already brewing come to a head.

The Church, who has spent the last few centuries slowly attempting to grab more political power, sees their chance with a young, inexperienced ruler. Supported gets their power grab by many of the smaller villages on the borders who are trying to survive amidst an also long-running famine that’s ravaging the Esempee and steadily getting worse.

On the other side, there’s the hybrids, angry at their lack of protection by the law and – the farther out you go – the discrimination they experience. The whole thing is basically a powder keg waiting to explode. Enter: Dream.

Dream is immortal, a powerful necromancer, and very, very bored. So of course the logical thing is to start a rebellion against the king.

The metaphorical powder keg explodes. The hybrids rally around Dream as one of their own. The people of the borderlands don’t really care who leads them, they just want a way to get additional resources. The Church…well, the Church mostly wants the pesky current king gone. Eret is smart, politically oriented and keeps countering their plans to grab power either in the state or on a social level and they’re sick of it. If it takes enduring a practitioner of the highly loathed necromancy magic on the throne to be rid of Eret, they’re ready to take that deal.

Dream has the people.

Eret has an army.

So Dream, who is very old and has been bored for a long time, calls upon some of his old contacts. Namely, mercenaries.

Now there are a great many mercenaries in the Esempee and they’re very different from each other.

There’s the “classic” mercenaries, selling their fighting power to the hightest bidder with more or less questions asked depending on who you hire.

There’s the bounty hunters, hunting down escaped criminals, magic users who abuse their power and the like.

There’s the assassins, similar to the bounty hunters but different enough to count as their own class.

And then, there are the Speedrunners.

If you ask them themselves, they’d say they’re barely mercenaries. They’re adventurers, collectors, not selling their skills to anyone with money.

If you ask other mercenaries, they’ll say speedrunners are insane.

Both groups can agree on that they’re the most skilled people you’ll find in this country. They’re fast, deadly, courageous and able to both find rare artefacts and break into the guarded and highly dangerous dimension of the “Nether” and live to tell the tale. And all of that without many of the things normal people need to even survive the normal world itself.

They’re also barely ever visible in the public eye and whenever somebody manages to catch a glimpse of one of them, masks and helmets cover their faces. Considering speedrunning is the only mercenary branch that is officially banned by the law, it’s an understandable precaution.

All the more confusing it got for the residents of the Esempee when the speedrunners suddenly showed up in Dream’s army, managing to take down the remaining army and the Capital in only a few days.

After Dream’s ascension to the throne, many Speedrunners faded into the background again, though Dream’s new general is Illumina, the legendary speedrunner himself. Other groups that have helped Dream also seem dissatisfied with his rule with the exception of the Church who gladly takes the power Dream doesn’t seem to care for.

The seeds for former king Eret - who managed to escape the carnage of the Fall of the Capital with help from remaining members of their army – to take back the throne are already sown.

#mod nare #the siege #don't want to maintag this so enjoy like no tags #the runners

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o-wise-corvid · 3 years

Text

Oooookay guys! Here’s the prologue to my little fic idea. It’s um... it’s gonna be depressing okay so if you can’t handle some gut wrenching emotionals, leave this for another day. I really hope y’all like it and I’m gonna try to get at least one update in a week. Anyhoo. Enjoy.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life

TAGS: PG-13 tops/mention of deaths/battle trauma/PTSD/ nightmares/ self-loathing thoughts/ um... If y’all see something else I need to tag, holler. Oh and if ya wanna reblog, go right ahead.

Prologue- Captain Cody

A varactyl death scream. The echoing sounds of blaster fire. His own voice repeated over and over, bellowing orders, shrieking in pain. He watched the Jedi fall. Obi-Wan turned himself over in midair, determined to survive. The commander’s arm was still lifted in the kill order gesture, two fingers pointing at the target. His arm. “Blast him.” Words formed easily by his mouth while the inside of his head screamed, fighting his own bones and muscles.

Cody’s eyes snapped open and he cried out wordlessly, relieved to find himself in his bunk, shrouded in the dark, legs twisted up in sweat damp covers. He lay still, trying to bring his breathing under control.

“Captain?” The black protocol droid that had been assigned to his quarters snapped to life and turned hollow, yellow visual sensors toward him.

“It’s fine, Sixthree.” His voice sounded ragged in the hollow, stuffy echo of the room.

Cody sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bunk with a groan. His hips and lower back protested, popping as he moved. He was getting old and feeling it. Standing, Cody shuffled to the refresher and braced himself on the little sink that stood directly opposite the door. The squared off, slightly warped mirror betrayed more than his body ever could.

His hair was silvered at the temples and around the back of his head, thinning up top. He’d been considering going totally bald for a while now. Just to be done with it. Wrinkles spread out from his eyes in webs, carving furrows from his nose and down the sides of his mouth, creasing his forehead. The scar framing his left eye was more like a crevice now, pulling his eyelid down a little. His body wasn’t as lithe and flexible as it had once been, though he’d like to see one of the fit new Shinies take on a spider droid up next to him.

“You look rough, Trooper.” And then he smiled dryly at himself, scratching the stubble on his chin and cheeks absently.

A sick ache left from the dream curdled in his guts and he splashed some lukewarm water on his face. The memories of the Order didn’t seem like they would ever ease. The hatred of what he’d done followed him like a shadow, literally everywhere he looked, the result of his contribution to the Galactic Empire slapped him across the face as if on purpose. The monster had risen from the seeds sown by what most people now called The Clone Wars and it was huge, dark and ugly.

Obi-Wan. Cody gave an audible hiss at the thought of his name. The Jedi had been his friend, had saved his life, and how had he been repaid? With a watery grave, a shot in the back from his own Troopers. Guilt, old and familiar made him tighten his grip on the sink, the flimsy plastisteel groaning under the force he exerted. There’d not been a man in he galaxy that Cody had respected more and a faint glimmer of hope that his actions now would’ve made The Negotiator... what, proud? Not hate him because of what he’d done, the way he did in many other nightmares that made the regular circuit of his fitful dreams.

Cody wasn’t sure. He walked around, issued order about keeping the destroyer he’d been charged with floating, and trained new recruits when he wasn’t looking fierce. Recruits?! Stupid little kids that thought they could ever match the ferocity and skill of Clones. His brothers. There were so few of them left anymore, all spread around, trying to imprint their abilities on people who were not bread to war and battle. It was such numb-skulled concept. The Empire wanted the effectiveness of Clones but didn’t want to keep making them.

“Captain Cody.”

That voice brought him to attention. It was Vader. A chill crept over his scalp and down his spine until it sank into his feet, turning them into blocks of ice. Cody crossed to the communication display that took up most of the living quarter’s space. Vader’s head and shoulders loomed, huge and eclipsing, angular mask staring at him indifferently. He snapped to attention, uncaring that he was only in the black bottoms that he wore under his armor. “Lord Vader.”

The head inclined slightly in acknowledgement. Just after the end of the Wars, Vader had caught him in this state before and when he didn’t address the fact that Cody was naked to the waist and obviously just getting out of bed, Cody realized that Vader either tolerated it, doubtful, or simply didn’t care. He had no idea who Vader was underneath the armor and cape, but his suspicions leant toward a former Jedi. Who in the Force that might’ve been, he had absolutely no clue. The man knew soldiers though and he didn’t antagonize those who did their job and did it well. One thing he knew though was that he didn’t want to get on Vader’s bad side. Cody had betrayed his Jedi against his will, but this man... this man was something else. If former Jedi he was, Vader had slain and hunted his brethren until the mention of them was all but forbidden. If he knew soldiers, then he’d been in command. And there were only a handful of Jedi who had actually led troops, none of whom Cody could stomach the thought of becoming the beast that was Darth Vader.

“Your presence is required in the training yard. I have a new assignment for you.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” Cody answered automatically, without inflection. It was the way a Clone still under the control of the chip would sound like and Cody was careful to hold himself in that tight pattern, not allowing the facade to slip for even a second. If they knew, if anyone so much as suspected...

But his life was cheap at this point and if he had to die, trying to keep an eye on the Empire was a good use of what little time he had left.

He dressed quickly after Vader ended the transmission. His armor was not dissimilar from that which he’d worn nearly all his life, except black was the main color rather than white. It did look nicer, the shiny plastoid gleaming darkly with his signature bright yellow-gold accents. He bore the rank of Captain now, which was more decorative than anything, but even after all these years, Cody felt most comfortable with the weight of his armor encapsulating him. The Imperial insignia across his chest soured that comfortable feeling though.

Vader was waiting for him in the training yard, a thrumming shadow with the breath of a sleeping giant, waiting to reach out and crush anything it decided deserved a slow, strangling death. He was well over six feet tall and made Cody feel like he was looking up into the mouth of some enraged, ravenous beast. But he snapped to, saluted and stood at attention with practiced and even graceful fluidity.

“Captain,” Vader greeted smoothly, stepping to the side. His long cape shifted to reveal a... little girl? Cody’s eyes flicked down at her, seeing the naked terror on her face and it was all he could do not to tilt his head to let her know he was looking at her.

“This child is a force wielder, Captain. She lacks the ability to become as powerful as myself or even as the Jedi who you once served beside, but her talents can be used for the Empire’s service. You will train her in hand to hand combat. Your service record reflects the type of master she will require to be of use to us.”

“Yes sir,” Cody chirped, hoping his voice didn’t betray his total shock at what was happening. “She will... stay with me?”

“She will stay wherever you deem fit. Do not coddle her, Captain.” The command dripped menace and Cody fought the urge to swallow nervously.

“Of course not, my Lord. She will learn or she will die.” The little girl flinched at the word, glancing between the two faceless men. Vader nodded pointedly and left, the cape billowing behind him like a storm, not sparing a further considering moment for the little girl.

“Follow me.” Cody made sure his voice carried an acidic growl loud enough for anyone within earshot to register.

The girl gave a start and then obeyed. Her eyes were huge and dark, dirty and tangled black curls spilling around her face. Her skin would’ve been dark, possibly the same shade as his, had she not been leeched with cold and fright, her hands balled into tight little fists that she kept pressed to her chest.

He led her to his quarters, unsure of where else he was even supposed to take her. No one so much as glanced at them as the odd duo passed through the monstrous ship and Cody wondered if it was out of fear or apathy. Once they were inside, Cody ordered the protocol droid to go find some clothes that would fit the girl and bring in some food for her. The chattery clanker hurried off to do his bidding and Cody locked the door behind it. Then, he turned to look at the little girl.

What was he supposed to do now? Training older teenagers and grown adults was one thing. But a kid? A kid who’d been ripped from her family and tossed on a Star Destroyer with an old Clone, no less. Where was she from? What had happened to her? What must be happening inside her head right now...

“What’s your name?”

She blinked up at him, fear and anger making her eyes over bright, not answering. Instead, she made a frightened little noise and stepped back from him, glancing around for somewhere to escape. She was so scared, so lost. The sight of her did something unspeakable to Cody’s heart and he fought the urge to just scoop her up and hold her. Kids shouldn’t be experiencing this. They should be at home, with family, with people who could provide for them and protect them. This was so wrong. So cruel.

“Hey, hey, no...” Cody hesitated and then slowly removed his helmet, remembering an incident with Waxer and Boil on Ryloth in what felt like another lifetime. The helmets were scary back then; he probably looked like some sort of predator to her. Sinking down on one knee slowly, he leveled his eyes with hers, hoping not to further terrify his new charge. “I’m Cody. I’m not gonna hurt you, little one. But if you’re gonna survive this, you’re gonna have to trust me.”

She stared at him, breathing hard. There was no way he could get her off the ship and back to safety; her home was probably a crater by now, wherever it was.

“I... come here.” He reached for the blanket crumpled on his bed and tugged it free. “I know it’s cold. You’ll get used to it. Especially once we get you some decent clothes.” He opened it up to her, inviting her to take it. She didn’t. The dark, wide eyes watched him, tears spilling over and down her cheeks. Cody didn’t expect to feel a lump form in his own throat but there it was.

And that was when the world of Trooper CC-2224 shifted.

Something clicked, almost audibly, inside Cody’s head and the running, yowling script of “How am I supposed to do this?” halted, erased itself and was replaced with one firm sentence: “I’m going to do this.” Because of course he was. There wasn’t another option. He might’ve betrayed the Jedi, he might be still serving the Empire despite having slowly but surely shrugged out from under the control of the chip in his brain, but he was not going to just allow this little girl to suffer if he could possibly help it. For all his failings, for all his regret and self-hatred, this little girl could be the one thing that he finally got right. She needed a family, a protector, a provider... well... she had one. If this was coddling, then he guessed he’d just have to make his peace with disobeying a direct order, come what may. There really wasn’t any other choice.

“It’s okay, precious. I’m not-“ His breath left him as the girl flung herself at him. He wondered for a split second if maybe his epiphany had somehow shown through on his face as the girl’s momentum sent him rocking backward a little. It didn’t really matter though. This was where he realized he wanted her, safe and wrapped up in his arms. The relief of being able to comfort her somehow bled the strength out of him like a wound and he sat down with a weary sigh.

Skinny arms clutched around his neck and the cries of a child who had seen and felt too much too soon tore the air the quiet room. They stabbed at his chest, sounding too much like the green varactyl as it had fallen. “Easy, easy,” Cody tried, eyes stinging. He let the little girl cling to him as hard as she wanted, rubbing her bony back soothingly. He wanted to say something, to find the magic word that would make the pain that was this small creature lessen. But there were none, he realized as he swiped angrily at his own wet cheeks.

“You’re gonna have to trust me, okay?” he repeated after a long minute, having wrestled his emotions down to where he thought he could keep them still. “You’re gonna be okay.” Whatever was going to happen with this little girl would not be easy but in no way was this something he’d miss. Toss her off on some underling? Step in to check on her once a week? Unthinkable.

She grew still and then stepped back a little bit, hands still on his shoulders. Swollen, red eyes. Streaked, grimy cheeks. A dress that was mostly patches and frayed edges. “Cody,” she tried, and managed a wobbling, watery smile.

He smiled sadly at her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “That’s right. You... you can either tell me your name or if you’d like, you can have a new one.” What made him do it, Cody wouldn’t be able to say for several years. But the ultimate reason was that this little creature reminded him so very much of his brothers. He’d never held someone, let them cry on him and felt their body heave with sorrow, that wasn’t one of his brothers.

“I can pick a name?” A curious, almost happy note crept into the girl’s voice, which was high and sweet.

“Sure. I picked mine.”

She frowned but it was more curiosity instead of something troubling. A grimy hand came up and dug the heel of her palm into her eyes, then she gave a loud sniffle. “Your parents didn’t give you one?”

“I didn’t have parents,” Cody said simply. “I had brothers though. Lots and lots of them.”

The girl’s face brightened but then fell. “My parents are gone, too.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Cody cupped her face in his hands, trying so hard to be gentle. “But you’ve got me. I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna be okay.”

Her eyes glistened but she didn’t start sobbing again. Instead, she reached up and traced the curve of Cody’s scar with one finger. If there had been some part of himself that Cody had been withholding from committing to keeping this girl alive, it was now officially and unconditionally surrendered. He expected her to say something about the scar, but instead she asked softly, “Could I have my Mama’s name?”

“Tell it to me.” He actually impressed himself with how steady his voice sounded because inside, everything felt like it was breaking and twisting, reshaping itself into something not unpleasant but not easily made.

“Gaia,” she said quietly.

“That’s lovely.” Cody smiled, a tear that he hadn’t watched closely enough slipping down his cheek. The little girl saw it and daintily brushed it away. “You sure about it?” he asked, clearing his throat to try to hold some part of himself together.

“... Yeah...”

He pulled her into another hug, which was warmer than the first. She curled into him like they’d known one another her whole life and Cody, now so exhausted that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and never get up, leaned back against the wall with a tired grunt. “Okay, Gaia. Okay.”

#star wars #sunshine squad #commander cody #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #temura morrison #gaia #darth vader #latent Mandalorian parenting syndrome

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yslkook · 4 years

Text

#alignment (2)

#corporate part 2

summary: the announcement of a new project brings you closer to jungkook. also, you see jungkook at the gym, and your grandma tells you for the millionth time that you should marry seokjin.

word count: 3938

warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health

a/n: omg ok i know i said this was going to be enemies to lovers but it’ll probably be softer than that because i’m me. enjoy!!

***

For once in the workplace, you’re excited and thrumming with anticipation. It had been determined months ago that a submission for one of your new products would be occurring soon, and now it was time for those plans to come to fruition. Preparing for submissions to the country’s approval authorities was an arduous, but enticing task. Enticing for you at least.

This is where you thrive. This is where the half sown seeds you had planted in the ground come to full bloom. You’re good at telling people what to do, having the tough conversations and you’re good at navigating through tough problems. It’s why your boss had assigned you to this project months ago. Even if you resented your boss and he likely resented you, he was smart enough to play your strengths.

After all, it would only make him look good when you were successful.

Over the last few years, you’ve saved up enough money for exactly three designer pantsuits. Today was not the occasion to bring out your black Balmain pantsuit or your Dior heels. The power that your Balmain pantsuit and Dior heels gave you was reserved for special occasions. Only when powerful players were involved and you needed to bring your A game to the table. And when you needed to make a statement- that none of them should even dare to undermine you.

You were a contributing team member, not the lead. You wanted to be, though. You wanted to be the submissions lead, but that was almost always given to the regulatory department. Since they had knowledge of the regulations and adherence to them.

You’re sucked into a daydream where you would start one of these kickoff meetings in your Balmain pantsuit. You would need every single one of these people to know exactly who was in charge. Your painted lips would leave no room for jokes. Not in your conference room.

Namjoon looks at you and you nod. This isn’t your first time being part of a major submission, but you won’t be caught making a fool of yourself.

But still, you pack on a saccharine smile dripping with honey. You need to come across as approachable. They need to trust you, and you need to trust them. You put aside your disdain for your manager and his manager for the entirety of the day and the smile feels much less forced as the morning goes on.

Your manager who sits three seats away from you. And another young woman on your team sits next to you. She’s new, and looks at her in the same way that Jeon looks at you. Wide eyed and innocent. As if you’re meant to guide her through the inner workings of capitalism.

Even Jeon Jungkook, sitting two seats away Namjoon’s boss, doesn’t bother you. Not today. Not when you’re in your element. The sight of him still sends your blood into a rage, but not today. You hardly think about the fact that he’d garnered the attention of all of the higher ups in the regulatory department, and he’s only been here for two months.

You’d graduated from flat out ignoring him to at least offering him a small nod of acknowledgment. He still can’t understand your dislike of him. You pretend to ignore the questions in his sparkling eyes.

You could command the entire room with well-timed jokes earning chuckles from your audience, as they would listen intently as you explain the project timelines and what each team is designed to do.

It’s only a dream, a whisper of a future that you’re torturing yourself over.

“We’re anticipating submission in November of next year. That gives us fourteen months to prepare,” Namjoon says, pointing to the slide being projected on the screen, “We’ll need to go to Tokyo at least three times in the next fourteen months. Two workshops will be scheduled in Tokyo to bring them up to speed and go over a detailed risk management plan. And then we’ll be in Tokyo for the submission itself, where the approval authorities will assess our data. Tokyo in November is beautiful, so let’s be ready for it.”

There are murmurs within your audience, buzzing with anticipation of the next fourteen months.

Tokyo in November is beautiful, you think wistfully.

As Namjoon instructs each person’s role in the team and what the deliverables are, you let your gaze float over to Jungkook. You haven’t truly seen him in the few months he’s been here, unable to reconcile the fact that he was fresh meat and had more of a rank than you. He was doe eyed, naive and a kid with his tail between his legs.

And yet, he was anything but. His hair was dark and fluffy, almost wavy. A stark contrast from the different colors his hair would be week to week when you were in graduate school. He had such a baby face back then, but even then, you thought he was cute. In an adorable, awww look at you, sort of way.

Now, you think, now- with his ears pierced and tattoos on his knuckles, dressed in all black. Filling his clothes out. Now, with his boyish charm, he looks like the man you knew he’d grow up to be. His lips are pink and pouty, slightly parted in concentration as he listens to Namjoon.

It’s only been five years. Only five years and you feel like much more time has passed. He had been more than a mentee to you- one of your good friends, always protective of him over mean girls but not afraid to tell him when he was being stupid. Jeon Jungkook was all bright eyes and bunny smiles, and he still is.

He catches you looking at him, offering you a wide smile as his eyes glitter at you. You can’t help but smile back, giving him more than your usual thin-lipped smile.

You nearly scoff when you take in his tattoos and his earrings. Of course he wasn’t reprimanded for that, in the name of inclusivity and freedom of expression. The corporate world has come such a long way, and yet some things are still the same.

Like you not getting the recognition you certainly deserved, in favor of it going to your male counterparts and superiors

It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault.

Jungkook’s smile fades when your fleeting smile turns into a small frown as you glaze over him. You swivel your chair and he watches your eyes land on your boss. A thinly veiled look of irritation blooming into something similar to disdain flashes across your face when your eyes land on him. It comes and goes swiftly, your dark eyes reverting to a perfect palette of blankness.

You’re a far cry from the person he knew all those years ago, and yet you still feel so familiar. He wonders if there’s a specific reason that you seem to hate him, but he tries not to dwell on it. On you. On the past.

You were a mere blip in his twenty-six years of life, and he’s certain the feeling is mutual. But he wants to catch up with you again, see how you’ve been over the last few years. But it seems you could care less about him. That’s okay.

You had been his dream girl, once upon a time. At least in his mind. He had been just a kid, only twenty-one, and he’d only known you for a few months before you left graduate school abruptly. You were older than him, unattainable even. He and his friends had chalked it up to a stupid crush on an older girl and his own rose-tinted glasses.

But then you had left without so much as a goodbye, and it hurt a little more than a crush.

Jungkook catches steel and ice curling in your brown eyes and he wonders if he knew you at all.

***

Anyone who wasn’t part of the core team had been dismissed, only leaving you with Sana, Jungkook, Namjoon and a few others. It was a total of six people. You agreed with that approach- the less was better. If more people got involved, it would become impossible to move forward. You even thought that only one person from your team and Namjoon’s team should be involved. But you didn’t voice it, knowing that Namjoon had put a lot of thought into the strategy and approach.

With your input as well. You had spent at least two hours a week for the last few weeks with Namjoon, and sometimes by extension with Jungkook to help with the strategy and planning of the project.

Namjoon was always good about giving you credit where credit was due, almost as if it was second nature. Which you appreciated. It was much more than you could say for your own boss.

Working with Namjoon was one of your favorite parts of your job. You both worked well together, like two puzzle pieces that smoothed each other’s edges out. You both had strategic foresight in different ways, and it just worked.

You wish, not for the first time, that you were in the regulatory department. Rather than your own. But it was common knowledge that it was an unspoken requirement that everyone in the regulatory department had a graduate degree. And you did not.

Seokjin would often joke that he was worried that you’d leave him for Namjoon. To which you would tell him to stop being stupid. After all, at the end of the day, Namjoon was just a work colleague and Jin was your friend.

Jungkook had watched and listened intently to you and Namjoon during those meetings, taking notes to summarize. Without warning, you’d turn your eyes to him and ask him what his thoughts were.

In the beginning, he would stutter at the sudden question. And you’d move on quickly with a flash of your eyes, a nonverbal confirmation that he had failed your not so explicit test.

But he’s a quick learner, and he’s perceptive. And he knows you remember, from the fond way your eyes shine at him and the way you give him a small smile when he does speak up. When he’s not thrown off by your sudden brusqueness.

Jungkook thought he misheard you when you had even complimented him-

“Well, we might be getting rusty. The new kid thought of this and we completely overlooked it,” You snort, but throw Jungkook a rare smile.

“I’m not a kid,” Is all Jungkook can choke out.

But then you had gone back to barely acknowledging him in the hallways and anywhere that wasn’t Namjoon’s office, so Jungkook let it go. Again.

Jungkook shifts his eyes to you, centering himself. Your pen scratches lightly as you take notes in your neat, black notebook. You never go anywhere without that thing.

“I can set up the biweekly meetings,” Jungkook offers, already looking for an available time for the five of you on his laptop.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Sana says, “Beat me to it.”

Jungkook shrugs with a smile, “it’s no problem.”

The four of you pack up, putting away your laptops, pens and notebooks into your respective bags. You’re in a good mood today, happy to be part of something important. You felt like you belonged somewhere, and even if it was temporary and for work reasons... It was still nice to be needed.

You were in a good enough mood to walk with your group to their desks, something you rarely ever did. You were mostly the first one in and out of conference rooms, not really waiting up for anyone. Unless it was Seokjin or even Namjoon.

“Have a good rest of your day, Jungkook,” You murmur, meeting his eyes as you pass him to head to your own cubicle. You offer him another smile as you look at him from over your shoulder, one that he returns. Once you walk away, he sits in his chair, leaning backwards and looking up at the ceiling.

Jungkook has whiplash. He stretches his arms before checking his email and deciding to call it a day.

***

Jungkook gathers his gym duffel bag in his hands and cleans up his desk to head to the gym, located just downstairs on the other side of the building. It’s about a four minute walk, and then another few minutes to change into his gym clothes,

There were plenty of perks of working here, but the gym was his favorite one. It had been newly renovated only six months before he had joined. Everything is pristine and new and it’s everything he wants in a gym.

He plugs his wireless headphones into his ears and allows himself to get lost in the music and the rhythm of his feet thumping against the treadmill.

He pays no mind to you sliding onto the elliptical, five machines away from him. He’s too engrossed in his own workout, allowing the adrenaline and music to flow through his veins. Once he’s done with the treadmill, Jungkook heads over to the weights, mats and body bars to do a quick upper body workout.

His eyes are trained on himself in front of the mirror, mentally keeping track of his reps. Jungkook doesn’t even notice you standing a few feet away, with your own weights.

You can’t help but sneak a few glances at him. A few more than you probably should. Despite the way his gym clothes are incredibly loose on him, nearly hanging off of his shoulder… You can still tell that he takes his gym routines seriously.

You slide your eyes towards his form once more in the mirror and see the deepening furrow between his eyebrows as he huffs through his reps.

For someone who internally claims that the sight of him disgusts you, you sure can’t keep your eyes off of him.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you decide to change the song and start your lifting regimen. Thoughts of Jeon Jungkook fade away as you concentrate, eyes centered on your form and your form only. Beads of sweat from your cardio workout merge with fresh beads of sweat pooling on your forehead, your neck, your chest, your armpits.

You’ve recently started coming to the gym more frequently as a means to expel some pent up negative energy. Over the last year or so- maybe even two or three years, or maybe this energy has been with you for much longer and you had failed to realize it- you’ve tried to make it a point to come to the gym at least three or four times a week. You came here to clear your mind, and if you were losing inches and becoming toned because of it… Well, that was just a plus.

It wasn’t a permanent fix, of course. It wasn’t a permanent fix to your laundry list of issues that you knew you had and that you knew you were running away from. But for the hour that you were in the gym, it felt like nothing else existed. Your mind was off and the only thing you heard was the pounding of your heart.

The last time your laundry list of issues had been discussed out loud, Jin had recommended seeing a therapist. That conversation had ended up in a big fight and lots of tears from both of you. You weren’t ready to admit to yourself, much less someone else, that you needed help. That you needed so much help.

The idea has been popping up more and more recently ever since Jin mentioned it. And honestly, you’re surprised it took you this long to think about it seriously.

You’ll table the thought for later.

You audibly wince as your shoulders nearly give out at the end of your set. By then, Jungkook has noticed your presence only five feet away from him. He wants to correct you on your stance to tell you to straighten your back and tell you that the way you’re holding the kettlebell is too loose.

But he bites his tongue. After all, it had taken two months just to get a simple ‘have a nice day’ out of you and he won’t ruin that.

However. He sees the strain on your face and the way your knees aren’t bent. You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t correct your posture.

Jungkook pulls his earphones out and calls your name. The first time he does, you don’t hear it. Then, you hear your name faintly and it startles you.

“Didn’t see you there,” You lie through your teeth, wondering if he caught you checking him out not even fifteen minutes ago.

He did, but he keeps that to himself.

“Uh,” Jungkook starts, his hand raised in an awkward hand wave.

You roll your eyes.

“You’re the one who called my name, Jungkook. What is it?” You ask impatiently, with narrowed eyes.

Right.

“Your posture isn’t right. You’re gonna hurt your back if you don’t widen your legs and straighten your back,” Jungkook explains, hoping you don’t take it the wrong way.

Annoyance washes off of your face quickly.

“Oh. Thanks,” You reply, “Like this?”

You heed his instructions and pointedly look at him for approval.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, ignoring the stutter of his heartbeat, “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“Were you a personal trainer in a past life?” You ask.

You chalk up the small talk to the rush of endorphins. Not an actual sense of curiosity. Your body betrays your inner thoughts, as she usually does.

“Nah, not officially. I got into working out in college and would help out friends wherever we could,” Jungkook says, placing his weights back on the rack.

“Friends?” You scoff apprehensively, “So are we friends now?”

“I guess I should’ve let you injure your lower back then,” Jungkook replies, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

You can’t help the surprised laugh from escaping your lips.

“Have a good rest of your workout,” Jungkook says and doesn’t wait for your reply before turning around and walking back to the locker rooms.

He leaves the gym the same way he entered, casting a gaze over you as you bend over to pick up your weights on the mat in front of you. Jungkook looks away quickly, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

***

Home is your grandma’s cottage, in between Seoul and Incheon. It’s closer to Incheon than it is to Seoul, but it’s still not terribly far from work.

Home has been your grandma’s cottage since your Appa passed away. Even before. The pale green walls and the seemingly random scattering of plants have always reminded you of that familiar, cozy feeling that comes with home. Many of your best memories are in this cottage.

After you shower, cleanse, tone, and moisturize your skin, and change into a sweater and shorts, you head downstairs to see if your grandma has returned from her evening walk with her friends.

“How was your walk, grandma?” You ask, heading into the kitchen to see what to warm up for dinner.

“It’s getting colder,” She says, rubbing her hands close together.

“Where’s your scarf?” You chastise gently, encasing her hands in yours, “Go change into something warm. I’ll set the table.”

Grandma gives you a smile, her eyes bright and identical to your Appa’s eyes. And your eyes. You had never met your mother as far as you can remember, but you think that there’s hardly a trace of her in you. You’re close to the spitting image of your grandmother from when she was younger.

She comes downstairs in one of your Appa’s old sweaters and flannel pants, looking warmed up. You wordlessly hand her a glass of water and curl into yourself on the chair.

“You came home late,” She says, scooping food onto her plate.

“Been working out a few times a week, remember?” You reply after a mouthful of rice and wipe the corner of your lips.

Grandma rolls her eyes at you and you grin sheepishly.

“Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy at the gym. Or a girl. Ji-yoo told me that her grandson’s friend’s sister met someone at the gym-”

“Grandma!” You whine, “Really?”

“Well, you have Seokjin right there. But you refuse to date him,” She says pointedly, giving you a teasing smile.

Grandma loves Seokjin, a fact that she’s never hidden from you. From the first time you had introduced Seokjin to her, she had been relentless in telling you that he was your soulmate.

Maybe your platonic soulmate. But not your soulmate in the romantic sense. He knows everything about you, and you know everything about him.

You had never told her that in college after a night out that you were both too sober for, you had tried hooking up. Just to see what it would be like. You were both lonely, and wondering if your close friendship could or should be something more. His lips had touched yours for all of five seconds, his tongue slipping into your mouth quickly and then you had both pulled away instantly. It was too weird, and you both had burst into laughter right after. Seokjin had been your first kiss, but as weird as it was- you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Oh, stop it, that ship has long sailed,” You wave her off.

“You know him more than married couples know each other.”

“I can’t marry him. He’s my only friend, I’ll lose him if I marry him,” You joke but your grandma’s eyes turn sad at your words.

“Maybe if you let yourself accept love, you’d have it. You’d have that, instead of having to hang out with your grandma on Friday nights.”

Appa used to always say that your sarcasm had been an inherited trait from your grandma. And it had apparently skipped over him.

“And what do you know about Friday nights?”

“I was young once. I met your grandfather on a Friday night,” Grandma says knowingly, with a bold wink.

“He swept you off of your feet,” You say, “Somethings are just meant to be.”

“Yes,” She says fondly, “They are.”

You both eat in silence, you noisily shovel rice and vegetables into your mouth and Grandma watches you fondly.

“I met a kid from school at work,” You say off-handedly, “I mean, I didn’t just meet him. He’s been working with us for two months.”

“School?” Grandma raises an eyebrow. You talking about school is rare.

“Yeah. I used to mentor him. Before… before I left and before Appa died,” You say bluntly, trying to keep your voice even.

Grandma’s eyes grow even softer when she catches the hitch in your breath.

“What’s his name?”

“Jeon Jungkook. He only just graduated and he’s got a position two fuckin’ levels higher than me! Two!” You groan in exasperation, “I hate that guy. What does he have that I don’t?”

“A dick,” Your grandma says wryly and you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, pretty much. We’re on a big project together, so I’ll have to deal with him. Sometimes when I see him, it just… makes me so mad. He’s fresh out of school and landed such a great position. Meanwhile, I’ve given them everything and they won’t even fuckin’ promote me. God. I hate them and I hate him, too,” You rant, crossing your arms across your chest petulantly.

Grandma only gives you a small, all-knowing smile.

“I’m sorry, honey. You deserve better,” She offers.

You sigh and rub the side of your face tiredly.

“Yeah. I know.”

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook #bts x reader #bts fic #jungkook fic

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theinfiknight · 4 years

Text

This is a lil piece of poetry I wrote because Hollow Knight made me feel so many things, so feel free to read it if you like

A land apart did he arrive Empty of life and yet alive Mind and soul he gave to keep A king is made, rejoice and weep

Thought and self given to all Stand above to answer his call Eternity, a promise made to last The king looks forward, forgotten is past

Light left behind, a cast off shell Changing, growing, kingdom doth swell Stag to beast, mushroom to moth The king rules supreme, light is forgot

Light is forgot Light is forgot Awry strays the minds of the glow hungry moths Grievously will they pay For their sins that day To forget creator til they can remember naught

One great shell of eclipsed might One fierce, one mysterious, one kindly knight One malodorous brave that stains the air The king is great, his famed five, fair

All among all acknowledge his reign Pale king, White Queen, land lives again Great doors left open to all who seek The king shines radiant, for mighty and meek

Higher beings, these words are for you alone Welcome to the kingdom that gods call home Enter this land of creator and god The king permits it, obey our laws

Welcome to Hallownest, of legend and story! Welcome to the Eternal Kingdom! Share in its glory!

Make your fortune at crystal peak! Where unearthly stone seems to sing Else in the city find that which you seek Prosperity and fortune, promises the king

Wander along down the Pilgrim's Way Take in the beauty of greenkin tamed Behold the queen's gardens, wild and fey The king shines, supremity claimed

Explore the crossroads that wind afar Where trade and life does pulse and ebb Witness it thrive, a kingdom grown large The king at the center, of the living web

Rejoice to witness his light in person In thrall lies mortal bug stood before him Misery cannot exist, nor Kingdom worsen While in his radiance. All adore him! . . . . Memory lost shall remember again Light shines through in hearts of woe Eternity crumbles, ruin begun The king is fractured by forgotten foe

Unity offered, self removed Power and might in exchange for will Join something bigger, it behooves The king is shadowed, light shines still

Oh pale one, great one! oh glorious! They beg, they cry out, they despairingly call Scorching, radiant, bright but odious The king is helpless, light takes all

No cost too great, no act too low Of root and soul, in void will they grow Empty, mindless, to cage that which shines The king will act, against power divine

No will to break, no mind to think To gaze into blackest void, and not blink No voice to cry, no soul to die All light casts shadow, and shadowed they lie

A container to hold void enslaved Vessels of purity, the umbra's shade Birthed, shaped, and left to rot The king needs them not, they are forgot

Massive birthplace of void unmade Deep and dark does the abyss go Buried within do his children fade The king closes it off, they need not know

Chosen vessel, pure and empty Son and hero made, hope renewed Tarnished forever, by love aplenty The king mistakes, purity is skewed

Despair no more! Behold in awe! Palest God's most silent son! Empty, its core, without flaw! Our Hollow Saviour, the war is won!

Peace and heart, for a time return As silent Prince does grow and learn To think, to be, to feel and to fight Light and dark in a single shell, a Hollow Knight

Greater still is surety required Firmer still must the lock hold Three chosen to ascend ever higher The king is eternal, but time grows old

A lock for diversity, of the archive's halls A scholar, the teacher, wise and prepared Mask entrusted away, the endless calls The king requires the it, the dream Monomon shares

A lock for king, for dream, for monarch Loyalty and life, given for the throne Watcher on high, spire so dark The king demands it, Lurien sleeps alone

A lock for union between high and low A deal is made, a dalliance to keep The 'beast' is tamed and seeds are sown The king's work is finished, Herrah sleeps

Beloved of beast, daughter of Wyrm Raised by root, fierce and strong Hive trained to strike true and firm The king gives life, child of silk and song

Strength misjudged, bonds created A broken vessel to chain light unbound Eternity imprisoned, no end awaited The king imposes, sacrifice enshrouds

Willingly does it rise to meet it Freely does it sacrifice its soul For only by dark is light defeated But how so is it hollow, with no hole?

Where emptiness once lay, dreams persist Ideas and love and a life to give Kindness in its brow, restraint in its fist Never meant to die, but also never to live

Unknowing, the deed is done Unwilling, the king buries his son Unfeeling, it goes away to burn Never again may it return

Never again will light release. Never again will Hallownest know peace . The seal is set, the lock is done Our knight is chained, the war is won Light fades away, Kingdom secure All hail the king, eternity is here!

Eternity is here! Forget that fear! Forget that scorching glow! Bask now in pale glory of The kingdom that eternal grows! . . . .

Fading, fading Mind and soul awake Hurting, hurting Love and heart to take Empty, so empty Hollow, he is not Foolish, so foolish Hallownest begins to rot

Shame. Sorrow. Love, Light... and another Do not think. Do not feel. Do not... Father?

Light burns harsh, angry and proud Vengeance shines through Hollow shroud Forgotten she will not be, first and brightest The king needs understand, it is no foe he might best

Orange, virulent, infection spreads Mindless, soulless, unity takes Fear the living, strong and mad, fear the mindless dead The king regrets, low and sad, strongest of wills can break

Brother turns on brother, burning, burning Madness, a frenzy, churning, churning Carnage, rage, bodies flying, flying Massacred and broken, dying, dying

Gone is the promise, left has the dream Only echoes and shadows, acid and steam Kingdom of glory, left now for dead The king is silent, low bends his head

Greenkin lost, Unn hides away Bloated fungi disfigured like clay Bound in the garden, the white lady withdraws The king has failed. Lost is the war . It's over, it's here, the doom that I feared It's done, they've won, all I hold dear Is gone, by spawn, of blight divine I've failed, oh jailed, Hollow son of mine.

Fate will not deny its course I cannot see the way, and fear the worst An end has reached its time to die Shame drowns in sorrow. Goodbye. . . . Gone is the king, cry in lament! Abandoning the very ones that he swore To protect, tearing open a mighty rent In his own heart, shut like the great doors

Dear king, how, why have you left us?! We wander and we search for you still Into darkness we stumble, for it yet does Hurt in our hearts where once was your will

They still call out your name with despair and regret For none could tame their savage souls, yet you the challenge met What you gave to bug and beast was unfathomable, and yet Foolish it was to make them, their first light, forget

The fading town reduces and dies Kingdom and city now, in ruin lies No dream, no mind, only light and pain The king is gone. What now remains?

Palace vanished, knights five, disbanded Monarch but a memory, stagways abandoned Limbo sleeps forever, mourn the paradise lost The king's love severed, this is eternity's cost

One by one the last souls burn In search of glory that will not return Enter the darkness and succumb to light The king is long gone, for he lost the fight

He lost the fight! He lost the fight! Give your self up to blinding light! Take all your dreams and hold them close The light calls out, and your willingness shows

Give in to light! Give in to light! Forget that foolish king! Forget his insolent attempt to close what never should have been!

Power, knowledge, and all that your heart desires Come to me, become greater, burn in the cosmic fire! . . .

Fools gather at kingdoms edge Drown their fear in violence and blood Ancient sorrows do they dredge The king shadows in shell molt flood

Buried in green, a hunter wastes away Closed, angry, mantis warriors stand proud Deeper, hungry, the beast's devout, decay Bereft, lost , kingdom withers in the ground

Ancient nailmasters mourn in solitude Remnants of greatness from a better age Nailsage's legacy, once strong and shrewd Now faint as marks on a torn off page

Mossmen remain in puddles of leaf Awaiting a return ever unreturning Wishing like all else, drowning in grief For a lost god that vanished after the burning

The light seeks out even those who hide Tempting the brave, proud and the mighty Even the unbending mantis lords' pride Do not blind themselves to it lightly

Even among the proud, traitors emerge Valuing strength above mind and skill Petras and warriors, lost to the scourge Caring not for the battle, only for the kill

The queen's gardens are lost to those Invaders who, expelled from their lands Enraged, swarm that thorned repose Executing the will of their light's command

Seeking palest root, bound and blind Solitude in exile, like her beloved But of the mighty, the mysterious, and kind The fierce of the five still guards what they covet

The mysterious, the heartbroken withers alone Distant from her love, far from her home Brave Ogrim slowly loses his mind, His faith and the the very life of the Kind

Outsiders, few, still sparingly appear A strange fool who thinks himself mighty A masked bug lured by memory unclear And a haughty warrior approaching doom lightly

Very few now remain in the fading town The old bug who stands by and advises The mapmaker who ever heads further down But on a distant hill, a figure rises!

A diminutive echo of deep silence That approaches unceasingly, toward The great door that does Kingdom fence, Holding aloft the ghost of a sword

That strikes at the great portal, with nail Cracked and grown old with wear With strength unseeming for one so frail Shattering the door as if it were never there

Small and weak seems the knight As it enters the land plagued bright Can an entire kingdom's fate Rest on the silhouette in the gate That enters so boldly and unafraid Unfeeling as void in which it was made Drawn once more by phantom's call Returning to the land of light's fall

No mighty strength does it seem To wield as it walks as if in dream Down the dusty, ashen road That leads to lonely, fading abode . . . . A land apart did it arrive Empty of life and yet alive Blood and corruption now does seep A kingdom is dead, sorrow and weep

Higher beings, heed well this writing Focus soul to heal crack and seam Through twisted spell or vulgar fighting You will achieve that which others can only dream

Every footstep hangs heavy with fate Into the kingdom that burns in light The speck that will confound even the great The unceasing march of the Hollow Knight

That’s all, hope you liked it. Do reblog if you did

#hollow knight #hornet #the pale king #writing #poetry #videogames #hallownest

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cxmplexity · 3 years

Note

Here's some food for today :

My man Geto

My man Geto, again

Love of my Life, colour of my soul Nanami

And without further ado, some new songs for your playlist:

Joji- Slow dancing in the dark

Hyukoh- Jesus Lived in a Motel Room

RINI-Meet me in Amsterdam

Also, to the anon who appreciated JANNABI's rec, I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZING LIFE TOO🌚🌚

That's it for today babie, hehe, talk to you soon, take care.

-🌒

Anonymous said:

Aaalliiii😭😭 I feel like apologising for being MIA is gonna feel like lip service at this point, my finals are over (Thank fuck) but I jumped right into writing an academic paper and had my nose to the grindstone for a while now. I AM GONNA READ IMPULSE TODAY AND HAVE MY HEAD FILLED WITH CHOCK FULL OF THEORIES. Thank you for the recs! I will be sure to check it out (the book's totally going to in the top ten of my to-read list now), I would love more non-fic recs since I am pretty out of phase with the genre. I have read Mahmoud Darwish and Adonis's works and oh my god they are so beautiful! It's seriously so effusively fervid, I can only imagine how beautiful it is in its original language. I do the same thing when I read poems from my native language, the feelings don't tend to transcend the same way, it's really strange when you think about it because translation is supposed to bring the world together. Lmao, not you saying you feel guilty for pushing back your reading plans, bestie, I will be here for a long time, so no worries there. Almond sounds interesting, I would love to read it(right after I finish the short stories I brought a few weeks back💀💀 ISTG, I end up buying books before I finish reading the old ones).

"Seeing you in my inbox is truly the highlight of my day" Girl, you are turning me into an emotional mess right now, don't make me go all soft now. I am so glad I came across your work and I haven't been more glad than now for breaking out of my no-active interaction space on Tumblr 😭😭 Seriously, I am befuddled and happy at the same time. I don't even know if we ever will be able to meet IRL, but I so hope we do.

GIRL, GIRL, Percy Jackson and the lightening thief was the first mythological fiction I read, well, apart from an anthology of Greek Mythologies which was actually the very first book that I read back when I was in the 2nd grade.

I brought the Song of Achilles a while back after seeing some quotes flying around on Social Media, and it's been sitting on my shelf ever since, sjsjjs, I am literally such a sloth. I am definitely making a movie watchlist with your recs, I have a feeling I'll be blown away by your recs since we almost have the same taste and also because your writing is top tier so your taste in the Arts will slap too (such a no-brainer).

Now that I think about it, the intense pressure of holding myself to a high standard at the expense of my own well-being has been a perpetual feeling ever since childhood, and it's true, once the seeds are sown, it permeates the whole being like poison, a poison which becomes your life source in a cruel twist of fate, because I really cannot imagine letting go of this apparent need to suceed anymore. I will be going for a Master's instead of a PhD because I want to keep my options open(since I am still not sure if I want to go into academia). Lol, it's not surprising at all, certificates and achievements just literally make me feel things, and I totally get what you mean by having a wall solely dedicated in pursuance of it. And seriously, I won't even deny being an ambitious person, I am very obsessed with the idea of being professionally successful, it's just what it is(╯_╰).

Lmao, I can definitely visualise you belting out beats and breaking into stellar choreos now, yes girl, absolutely divine,is what I conclude. I have had Angus and Julia Stone playing on my headphones and read Paulo Coelho while lazing around on the sofa, but not at the same time * Lenny face * stellar deductions, we vibing too much rn.

🥺🥺 OML, A playlist by my alias,awwww, Aaaaliiie, I will melt for real now. Kskwks, this only calls for more song recs. Oh YES, Suna and his languid hawk eyes, serotonin who? It's Suna hours.

Just want to thank you for always taking your time to read through these word vomits and always being so sweet and replying to them with so much care. Honesty, talking to you like this, and reading your works is one of my favourite parts of opening Tumblr. Literally, appreciate you so much. Keep slaying baby, keep slaying.

P.S. Girl, I saw mentions of knife play, and I....I just want to thank you for making me discover yet another kink of mine.

P.P.S. Thank you for the food as always, Toji's Tiddies were DIVINE.

P.P.P.S. Now that I think about it, Geto's fic is what made me reply here for the first time, so Geto is someone who is responsible for our friendship then? * Lenny Face*

Take care baby🌒

i don’t know why but every time i see an ask in my inbox that starts with a dramatically, elongated Aaaliii my suspicions are confirmed that it’s in fact, you, that sent me an ask snsnns.

welcome back babes! please don’t feel the need to apologise. i was actually gonna ‘summon’ you since you’ve been gone for a while but i remembered you had important finals queued. it’s really good to have you back, you’ve been greatly missed. how did they go btw? hope they weren’t too taxing, although i’m sure you’ve excelled them. and I’m absolutely not surprised that you engrossed yourself into a paper right after exams. yup...definitely not peak intj behaviour. what paper are you writing, if you don’t mind me asking? just sticking my nose into other people’s academics since i’m not back in uni for another month lol.

ooo native language? bilingualism is thexy. what languages do you speak? i’m just stuck with english and arabic lmfaoo. i’ve been learning german on and off but i’m trying to get back on track with sign language hehe. honestly? same, i still have loads of books that i bought ages ago—mostly philosophy and psychology—that i never got to read, and i still went on to buy another batch of books that i’m currently struggling to even finish...but i’ve been dabbling with some poetry lately, so i guess that’s a start.

an anthology of greek mythologies is a lot less embarrassing in comparison to a kitten book snsnsj. not you saying my taste in arts is top tier when yours completely surpasses it. your recs (whether it be music, books etc) never fail to amaze me. please never stop providing them because they’re an absolute delight!

i couldn’t agree with you more; academic success seems more like a necessity than a conscious choice to make. especially if it’s been germinated in your head from a really young age thanks to peer pressure. it would be difficult to untangle one’s self worth from their grade book because you suddenly find yourself wrapping your whole identity around it to the brink of self sabotage. powering through 5 hours of sleep and an incomprehensible amount of caffeine was definitely not how i wanted to spend my youth. i tried to unlearn it, but i’ve adapted myself to live with it anyway.

you really need to stop with all this sweet talk because you actually spoil me too much with it....you’re ruining my street cred i’m not supposed to be turn mushy lmfao. please remember that you are an amazing person and talking to you is an absolute pleasure. any “word vomit” you send is extremely appreciated. thank you for sticking by. i hope i continue to see you in my inbox as long as we’re both on this hell space of an app, which i can see will be a very long time hehe. (quotations marks around word vomit because they aren’t really that, just us gushing over our interests like two intjs should)

i swear you’re the third person that started developing a knife kink because of my reblogs sjsjsjsj and hold on...another? there’s more? 😭 nope, i definitely don’t have a knife play toji fic currently in mind...no i will not put all of my current wips on pause just to write it on a whim.

now that you mention it, maybe it’s time to construct a heartfelt thank you letter for a fictional man with long onyx hair and genocidal tendencies since he’s the reason we crossed paths....might get called a worthless monkey but it’s worth a shot.

thank you so much for the fanarts and song recs. i’ve listened to them all last night but i absolutely fell in love with meet me in amsterdam. for this to be a fair exchange, i provide you with:

Childish Gambino — Sober

Barnes Blvd., Taneréllr — Love from NGC 7318

The Weeknd — True colours

i hope you have an amazing weekend. take care lovely, catch up with you soon 🤍 x

#cxmplexity: asks #🌒#cxmplextunes

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apothecaryave · 3 years

Text

Familial Pains

Going home was never the pleasant experience poetry dictated it should be, not for Aveline. But she had run clean out of excuses, each letter she’d received somehow containing more guilt than the next. It was to the point where simply seeing the familiar parchment of her mother’s stationary made her stomach drop. The longer she tried to put off opening it, the larger it grew in her head, taking over the desk and all other correspondences until she at last slit it open with the resigned panic of war prisoner set to meet her execution at last.

We are well, her mother assured her, save for the pain of your absence. Aveline always rolled her eyes at the sentiment, convinced the money she sent on the regular was more than enough to ease any such sorrows.

She’d never been close with her mother or her brothers, and her biological father was not a man she entertained any notion of reconciliation with. It didn’t matter that the injury he’d caused her adoptive father had been an accident, or that he had shown her paternal affection despite the infidelity her birth was proof of. All she had to do was recall every lost, confused, then guilty expression of her adoptive father whenever he couldn’t recall where he was or why he happened to be holding a sack of coin in hand.

That innocent panic of his before she explained that they were headed to the show he’d been looking forward to, and that what he was holding was the simple payment given to him after dropping off a promised shipment of medicine on their way — no apology could fix that. No number of ‘sorry’s and ‘I didn’t mean to’s would make it any less difficult to explain to her real father, over and over again, what was happening and why it was happening when all she wanted was to spend a simple, happy evening visiting the man who never should have loved her.

But it could never be so simple as avoiding the faces and voices that brought all her old feelings up from under her skin. Now her bothers had married; there were nieces and nephews to spoil, mild ailments of aging to remind her of her mother’s mortality, and a compounding sense of familial responsibility she had never escaped.

Aveline was not a son: she would never inherit the farm, nor had the land been of any real consequence to her livelihood once she had left the village. But she was still the eldest, and by far the most financially successful, and despite the emasculation, her father and brothers had benefitted greatly from her contributions over the years. The farm, as she was often told, was thriving and expanding thanks to the newly hired hands, tools, plants, and all other investments that had brought the once humble landscape into extensive orchards capable of sustaining the quickly growing line of Durands.

She couldn’t deny that a part of her still, despite all reason, was planted firmly in that farm. As the carriage rolled down the road, she was surprised by how little had changed over the years. The overgrown streams were still overgrown, long grass grasping at the energetic splash of water that escaped with crisp, melodious sound. It suddenly felt not so long ago that she explored those slippery rocks barefoot, braving the wicked chill as she searched for colorful pebbles to collect.

It was her home itself that had changed the most. The carriage came to a halt at a place she never would have recognized had it not been for the orchards surrounding it. Gone was the humble cabin — a cozy one room affair with a loft where the whole family had slept. In its place was the sort of town house she might have expected within Gridania, more than three times the original’s size replete with a second story and three chimneys.

“Time has been good to us all.” Aveline murmured to herself as she stepped out of the carriage, one hand occupied with a large bag. She gave the coach a handsome tip, but scarcely managed to turn around before not a few, but six children came bounding out of the front door.

The eldest (or so she assumed, the girl being the tallest among the gaggle) stopped short a few feet of embracing her, instead throwing her arms up excitedly in a bright, “Auntie Aveline!” The other children joined her in a semicircle with the same chorus, and Aveline was suddenly helpless with awkwardness. Being the eldest of her siblings, unmarried, and utterly foreign in the place that was once her home, even ‘hello’ felt strange on her lips. Did she call these charming strangers darlings?

“Aveline!” Ah, that sharp, high voice meant to be softened with affection could belong only to her mother. Though far from elderly, her mother’s face had new wrinkles, and though she hastened without delay toward her daughter, Aveline could tell that her knee was still giving her trouble.

“Mother.” Aveline tightened in her mother’s embrace, suddenly and guiltily wishing that she’d been stolen up by her niece’s arms instead. Those young eyes were so bright and innocent in their childish delight — no expectation, no disappointment, just wonderment at the mysterious woman their grandmother had undoubtedly spoken of.

Her mother, on the other hand, noticed this off-putting tension immediately, and disapproval muddied her gaze as she stood back with her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Aveline, what sort of greeting is that after all this time? Your father and I have been aching to see you!”

Aveline grit her teeth. Of all the words she might have said, those were among the worst. That she should feel any familial guilt over that man was a notion capable of making her turn her back there and then to run after the carriage that was already trotting off.

But Aveline had been raised to be a polite girl, and the reservedness she saved for the most difficult of her apothecary clients was in full force. “I’m sorry, Mother — it was such a long trip. But I’m delighted to see all my nephews and nieces in such good health. As ever, you look lovely in blue.”

Her mother glowed at the compliment and gave her shoulders a squeeze before leading her inside along with the gaggle of children. Everything afterward was a blur of activity. There wasn’t even time to feel further awkwardness, for she was reintroduced to her brothers’ wives, their children, and the veritable waterfall of things that had changed about the Durand farm. Their well-to-do lifestyle was obvious in every detail, from the crisp cusp and polished buttons of her brothers’ shirts to the small but comfortable sitting room near the front of the house. Here was a proper growing estate where the Durand name might take root and thrive for generations.

And she had no place in it.

Not that she was unwelcome, of course. Her nieces and nephews gushed over the presents she had brought them, pastries from her shoppe with dolls and toys thrown into the mix for good measure. Young children were easy to buy gifts for, and their pure adoration for so simple a gesture made Aveline happy in a way she’d not felt in a very long time.

She found, too, that her sisters-in-law were easy women to get along with, mild and kind-spirited and far more than her brothers deserved — a point they smirked at when they saw her sisterly admonition cast over her shoulder. Though her brothers still couldn’t pass on their old habits of teasing her, the barbs had diminished greatly with age. She didn’t know them as well as she might have liked to, she realized, and a sudden emptiness threatened to claim a sliver of her heart. How much had she missed, and was all her time spent away as worthwhile as she liked to believe?

It took only the entrance of her father to remind her that it had not been so. The room felt stifling the moment he entered. He was a tall man, a proper elezen with the lean musculature and pointed ears to prove it. He all but loomed over the gathering of hyurs, entirely out of place with his elegantly angled features. Even his poise was different and she hated it, that natural grace not at all in line with a family of humble farmers.

How was it, after so many years, that her rage could bubble so hotly to the surface? There was no provocation in his expression, just a deep sorrow and gentle resignation in the face of her rejection. He asked nothing from her, no affection and no acknowledgment, greeting her gently and assuring her that she was welcome.

And that just made her angrier. She wanted desperately to hate him as the villain he was, to charge him as a negligent, cruel, awful man, but it was plain his place was firmly rooted in the home. Her brothers admired him, her mother unrepentantly loved him, and his direction had undeniably been key in turning the poor fortune of the Durand family around. Aveline had merely speeded along the careful seeds he had sown, and one look at the gorgeous orchards peeking from the windows assured her of this.

Thus, all the awkwardness returned once the children had settled and she was left in the company of adults and exceptionally delicious apricot wine. As the sun set, casting a warm glow about the sitting room, conversation slowed, turned serious, and she was faced with the questions she’d feared the most.

“Are you never going to settle down, Aveline? You always go on about your bistro and that apothecary of yours, but never your personal life. I hate to imagine you lonely.” Her mother’s face was all concern, though the last of her words pierced Aveline’s pride with the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

Aveline’s hand tightened around the curve of her wine glass, but she let the sensation go almost immediately. Had she been a male, she mused, a lifestyle of keeping lovers in lieu of marrying would have made her an eclectic, but not unredeemable rake. As a woman, however, she might as well have been a spinster. An artist or businesswoman could still have merit in the eyes of her family, of course, but to lack a man with a ring on his finger was lacking all the same.

“I’m many things, but not lonely. I’ve lovers who bring great enrichment to my life and that is all I desire.” Aveline struggled to reign in her smile as her mother gasped (and frankly, the rest of the room’s company as well), the latter caught completely off guard by her daughter’s unmistakably proud admission.

“Such men can’t provide you with a family, my dear. Do you not want a family?” Of course her mother pressed the issue, her shameless hypocrisy making Aveline’s ears hot. That wretched man sitting beside her mother, her birth father by all technical terms, had sired her as a bastard child. The father of her brothers, the man her mother had married, was the selfsame person who had been injured and willing to die some place quiet after coming to the ridiculous conclusion that the shameless elezen in front of her could provide for the family better than he ever could.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to ruin her mother’s new dress and shatter her wine glass at the woman’s feet. Her whole body trembled with fury, and she very nearly forgot the question entirely. It took every onze of willpower in her body to restrain herself, and the fury slowly, painfully cooled into ice. Silence filled the room while she did nothing but sip from her glass.

“Mother…” Oliver, the youngest of her two brothers, had enough sense to intervene, but not the words to do so effectively. Did he share the same sentiment, even in the smallest way? The full intensity of Aveline’s gaze fell on him like daggers. The way he recoiled, stunned and penitent, made her sick with the realization that he simply wished to avoid conflict. How prudent of him, wanting to keep the peace at the price of bottling all her ugly feelings away.

But it was selfish, to step back into their lives and cause a scene. Here was blissful happiness, a simple life managing orchards and making fruit products. All the old wounds had been forgiven and healed over years ago. They didn’t need an emotional knife to start the bleeding again.

Aveline ignored the throbbing in her head as her mind wrested full control of her emotions, twisting them so they could fit back into the depths of her chest. Her voice wouldn’t shake, but it remained empty when she spoke. “It’s quite fine, Oliver. What I want from my lovers isn’t a traditional thing. On all accounts, they lead lives far more exciting than I do. To tie them down in any regard, be it to my particular lifestyle or as my only devoted partner, would bring no one happiness.”

“Oh, Aveline, you’ve always been so unselfish. But you seem so unhappy, and I—”

Aveline cut her mother off with a not-quite-subtle thud of her hand against a nearby end table as she set her glass down. She stood quickly, brushing off her skirt with one quick, angry flourish. “The orchards have been calling to me since I first laid eyes on them. Please do excuse me while I catch some fresh air.”

Who in the seven hells was her mother to decide whether or not she was happy? A woman didn’t bask in adultery and presume her bastard child’s life would be a happy one. If anything, Aveline decided, she had learned how be happy despite her mother’s infuriating weakness. She took these feelings out on a pebble as she kicked her way along one of the orchard’s paths, finding petty satisfaction in its helpless skitter before her fury.

At length, she came across a stream marking the end of the orchard. The sun had set some time ago, leaving the world washed in pale moonlight. Beyond the water lay the forest proper, deep and dark with the tall shade of trees obscuring everything. She was utterly alone.

Something inside her snapped at last. “You half-witted, pompous strumpet! How dare you! How dare you pass judgment on my life! You weak, disdainful, miserable cretin, basking in some bastard’s love while father suffers! You have… no right…”

Her whole body trembled as she shouted into the trees, the world silently absorbing her furious tumble of insults. It still wasn’t enough. Forgetting all decorum, she bent over, snatching up pebbles and twigs to toss into the stream. They made a wonderful cacophony of splashes, but more importantly, helped to temper her outburst through simple exhaustion. A few of the flatter stones even managed to skip a few times across the water before disappearing forever.

“If I’d been your son, you’d be celebrating my success!” Splunk! “But you abandoned father! You abandoned me!” Sploosh! “What sort of mother speaks of marriage when she has no dowry set aside? You selfish, ungrateful—” Aveline had escalated to the biggest rock she could lift without hurting herself, slinging it into the water with the force of both arms. It made a magnificent splash high enough to reach her, the cold water splattering over her dress like a furious downpour of rain.

Her eyes were wild and wide as she glared down at the water. Breathless and bent over her knees, all she felt was an empty sense of satisfaction for having let the words out. How long had they bubbled under her every smile? She hated every reminder of such feelings, all of them irrevocably leading back to her mother. Weak. How could a woman be so weak?

And why did she still feel so angry over it? Any rational person would tell her she was overreacting — the rational voice in her head said as much. She was deep into her twenties and far beyond blaming any insecurities on her parents. The past just insisted on being so very present, her mother’s incessant happiness, her happy family and idyllic life hammering deeper every miserable memory she had of her father.

Even as a child, scarcely a decade old, she’d sensed death in her adoptive father’s intention when he left home. There had been a panic in her she hadn’t understood, an urgency that warned her she might never see him again. No matter how old she grew, she’d never forget his gaunt face, defeated and hopeless as he sat listlessly beside the road.

“Go back home, Darling,” He’d told her. And she’d refused, clinging to his sleeve as she sat next to him. He was too numb to consider her feelings, and found himself rambling on about his every insecurity. His wife didn’t love him — she was better off with a man who could make her happy. He’d mucked up his first ever attempt at running a farm, threatening starvation on his own kin — they were better off with a competent man who could keep them fed. He no longer had a reliable mind, the head injury impairing much of his ability to remember the most basic things throughout the day — he was better off without himself.

Every day since, she had battled his each and every defeat. Before he gave up his merchant business peddling goods across the realm, he had been a competent and optimistic man. So she told him to be a merchant again, and like an old man remembering how to skip, he’d found some friends, some debts, and took to the road as if he’d been born for it.

He’d needed help at every step, too. When he inevitably bumbled a deal or forgot where he’d put his earnings, she’d been there to take on odd jobs to keep them fed. When he got them lost on a long road between cities, she’d been there to forage and shelter and guide them back on the right track. She still remembered how much the hunger had hurt, how scary those dark nights alone were. But there had been happy moments, too, gazing under the stars and having her first earned coin dropped into her hands.

Over time, it had gotten easier. She’d matured rapidly and learned quickly how the world far beyond her village worked. And, in time, her father had found some comfort and shelter in an old friend from Gridania. The blessed woman offered him food and shelter on the pretense that he manage her stable’s finances and help look after the chocobos. More than that, she genuinely cared for him, perhaps even loved him, given the looks she saw them exchange when they thought she wasn’t looking.

She had no reason to be bitter, not with her fortune, her lovers, and all that had evolved in her favor. And yet, standing amid the familial bliss of her mother’s farm, she felt pity for the girl who had parented herself into adulthood. There was no shaking the feeling that something precious had been taken from her, yet she had no right to feel that she was lacking in anything.

“Are… Are you alright, Aveline?” Colin, the oldest between her brothers, was timid as he approached. The crunch of his footsteps was followed by the warm glow of lantern light.

Her senses returned to her abruptly, and she absently wiped at her damp cheeks before turning around to face him. “I’m fine. There’s no cause to worry.”

Colin bit his lip, and her stomach twisted at the thought of what he might have overheard. “I’m glad. I heard shouting.”

Oh. Well. “I might have been letting off some steam. There’s nothing you need concern yourself over.” Her expression was a guilty one, and the streaks of mud her hands had left on her cheeks didn’t add any dignity to the moment.

“I see.” Colin’s gaze lingered, brimming with concern, but all that followed his simple statement was a long and awkward silence. “You can tell me about it if you want.”

Aveline blinked, surprised. She expected him to urge her back to the house, not to expand on her irrational outburst even more. “There’s really nothing to say. Not more, at least.”

Her brother shifted uncomfortably before stepping closer. When he saw the extent of her dampened clothes, the line of his mouth flattened into yet more concern. “May I see you back home? It wouldn’t be right if you caught a cold.”

Her pride and a stronger need to be alone very nearly turned him down, but they’d set aside a guest room for her and it would be significantly warmer than the evening air steadily giving her goosebumps. She sighed and relented with a nod, placated by her brother’s worry.

The walk back was a slow and quiet one. Were it not for the perfect silence, she likely wouldn’t have heard his muttering.

“I have regrets, too.”

Aveline lofted a brow at this curious confession, not having expected it in the least. “I beg your pardon? Not about Mother, surely.”

“It’s more to do with you.” Colin ducked his head, uncharacteristically bashful. “I haven’t been much of a brother.”

“You can’t blame yourself for the distance of our parents. Though you were a miserable tease when we were younger, it’s nice to see that you’ve outgrown the worst of it. I don’t know how your wife would stand you otherwise.” Her smile turned wry — it was good to tease him as a sister should.

Her brother answered with a faint snort. “Lily always felt so delicate to me. You know how she struggled carrying our first child, and the first thought that came to my mind was that if anyone could help, it was you. You’ve always been so far ahead of me, strong and untouchable. I was so foolish, never thinking of how vulnerable you must have felt.”

“Where… is this coming from?” Aveline felt a prickle of something uncomfortable. Her brother had never been one for feelings, and she frankly hadn’t been one, either.

“I just…” Colin rubbed at the back of his neck, never meeting her gaze. “I just want you to know you’re not alone. I know I’m too late, and I’m a poor excuse for family, but this is your home, too. No matter how you feel about Mother, you have a place here if you ever want it.”

Aveline didn’t know what to say, and silence fell naturally between them again. On the one hand, she was perfectly ready to inform him that she would never want a place where her mother resided, but it wasn’t an offer from her mother. For once, utterly independent of his family, Colin had decided to be a brother.

“Thank you.” The two words were the most she could manage in the moment. All other thoughts led to old pains and complications she was too tired to consider, and so it was a brief and awkward goodnight when she finally stepped into her room.

#ffxiv roleplay

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raz-b-rose · 3 years

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Hey so,, the Bible states that Eating burgers is a sin Women speaking in church is a sin Wearing blended fabric is a sin Eating SHRIMP is talked about more in the Bible as a sin than homisexuality is Women wearing pants is a sin Writing in your Bible or defacing it in any way is a sin Do some research on your own religion if you're going to preach it

Thank you for asking, I love this opportunity to help bring understanding to commands such as these. Thank you for your patience, lets get to it.

I can understand the overwhelming presence that is Gods word. Its a big book full of a lot of things that take a lot of cross referencing on occasion. After all, it is just one continuous story of God who was and is and always will be.

Warning, there's a lot.

Anyway there is a simple answer to all of those and it starts all the way back at Abraham. Some quick condensed history. God chose Abraham to establish the Hebrew/Jewish people. He faithfully followed Gods commands, and Isaac was born from his faithfulness and for Gods promise. A promise that Abraham’s offspring would cover the earth.

Isaac then had Esau and Jacob. Jacob then had 12 sons, Joseph the youngest was used to bring the Israelite people to Egypt. Where the Egyptians turned them into slaves.

Now enter Moses. God used this man to bring them out of Egypt and towards the promise land. This is where God starts to establish what would set his chosen people apart from the rest of the world. The old laws were there for their faithful obedience and for outsiders to know “thats an Israelite”.

The entirety of the OT speaks of Gods character, plans for salvation, and absolute authority. The laws are a reflection of that as well.

so now we have the group of laws God had Moses establish.

Now Jesus fulfilled the OT law.

Matthew 5:17-20 (Jesus speaking)

17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. 18 For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least vin the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great vin the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Part of that fulfillment was the laws on food. Food was used to represent Holiness/ cleanliness. Everything about them had to be clean (their bodies, their homes, their sacrifices, etc.) Blemish free.

The Pharisees had twisted the laws to become legalistic and strict. An example would be here

Mark 7:14-23 (Jesus speaking)

14 And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: 15 There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.”[e]17 And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable. 18 And he said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, 19 since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?”[f] (Thus he declared all foods clean.) 20 And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. 21 For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, 22 coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. 23 All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Food isn't what makes us unclean anymore, but rather the condition of our heart.

There is also a lot of debate over Acts 10:9-16

But I believe this passage has a double meaning. God is reminding Peter that he does not need to be legalistic to be “clean” anymore. Therefore the laws for food were fulfilled. This is reflected in his interpretation of the vision in verses 27-29.

Remember there was clean food and unclean food. Same for people. You weren't to associate with “unclean people”. Jesus fulfilled this law by opening the path to God to everyone, not just Jews. God gave the great commission to go out into all the world to everyone to preach the good news. This meant that anyone now had direct access to God, and the Jews no longer had to go through the extra steps to seek forgiveness. Salvation is within everyone's grasp, no matter what.

The command for blended fabric fits with these as well.

Deuteronomy 22:9-11

“You shall not sow your vine yard with two kinds of seed, lest the whole yield be forfeited, the crop that you have sown and the yield of the vineyard. You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together. You shall not wear cloth of wool and linen mixed together.

By reading this we see the pattern that God is commanding that things that are different should be kept separate. Again we need context of the time.

Pagans in the area believed that by mixing things together they would achieve “magical” results. So God made this law to set them apart from them. He reaffirms this command, even going as far as to say not to let cattle bread with different cattle, in Leviticus 19:19.

In todays context, what sets us apart from others is our internal change that is projected outward. We become lights for God, and show Him through our change. Of course none of us are perfect, and if we aren't careful it can quickly become fake and legalistic.

We can wear blended fabric because Jesus fulfilled this law.

Next keeping with our fabric theme, clothing. This verse comes from Deuteronomy as well, so I will just put the link for both here.

Deuteronomy 22:5

“A woman shall not wear a man’s clothing, nor shall a man put on a woman’s clothing; for whoever does these things is utterly repulsive to the Lord your God.”

Some pretty strong language right there, but it's important to acknowledge why. We are sinners. God set very clear laws on what was and wasn't allowed. Remember that was to set His people apart, and to test their faithfulness.

Historically at the time men and women dressed very similarly. There were cultural ways used to discern between genders and that is what this verse is talking about here. Men did not wear pants when this law was written (at least not by the Jewish people) so why would it be a sin for women to wear pants today? It simply isn't. (Just because human men decided to use the bible to push their weird sexist agenda via mistranslation, does not mean this is what this verse intended.)

To apply it to a modern setting, it would be “why are you wearing what you are? How do you want people to perceive you? What is your heart behind wearing these clothes?”

So really this is another verse directly tied to transgendered identity sin, again a pagan tradition at the time.

ALL SIN is repulsive to the Lord. (The Hebrew word used in this verse is found all throughout the OT, with various uses.) Yes God established the laws, but He also established the sacrificial system for His people as well. He loved them, loved us, and gave them a way to atone for their sins and find forgiveness from God.

But the sacrifice of animals could only go so far. That is why Jesus came to be the final sacrifice. The Lamb of Salvation for us. He willingly gave His life for us, just as we can willingly continue to sin against Him, or willingly give our lives to Him.

Jesus fulfilled the laws and abolished the need for the sacrificial system.

OK this one has no verse in the bible that God commands us to not write in our bibles. None. Unless I’m just having trouble finding it, it's not a thing.

The sin is changing the words, as some translations do so you have to be very careful about which ones you use.

I got a book from the library years ago that was like a devotional for teen girls. In the book it had a verse from Psalms that sounded weird to me and when I compared the translation to my ESV, it had removed the part about God's faithfulness and love. Took it right out. That is a huge problem!

I know that translating the Hebrew and Greek to English is very difficult, especially given how the Greek had multiple words for love alone, and many other words. However, the languages are not so vastly different that you make changes like that without a prideful agenda. Good translations that I use, ESV, NASB, AMP for study purposes. As well as NKJV if you like a classic. I’m constantly comparing translations, and looking at original texts to get a feeling for what words were used.

I encourage you to note your bible. Mark what speaks to you, the blessings, the commands, the warnings. Every time God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are mentioned, where verses intersect. Note everything.

For some of our brothers and sisters around the world they may only have a few pages to pass between each other, or are able to have His full word and treasure God's words dearly and keep everything they can close. They want to remember it all, and remember what they learn. And God wants that for us.

No writing in your bible is not a sin. Changing the words or removing them is a sin.

Ok now onto your “woman can’t speak in church” debate. 1 Corinthians 14. But because of everything I’m about to get into, this answer will be longer than the others. Feel free to stop here and come back. I know I’ve already written a lot.

First we need to look at the history of the city of Corinth, as when Paul wrote his letters, each one was tailored to the church in question and addressed their strengths and weaknesses.

The city of Corinth was a trade city set in a key location for sailors from all over the world. Its citizens were from all over the world, though mostly Roman, Greek, Jewish, and even a considerable amount of Italians. Because there was such a mix of cultures, there were a mix of religions.

The largest of these being the worship of the false goddess aphrodite. Sexual actions were common with her “temple” and prostitution was a rampant issue with the city. We have two sins of sexual nature and idol worship already. Within the church itself there were reports of incest, infighting, and drunkenness during services being reported as well.

Acts 10:1-23 is Paul's first visit to Corinth where he helped found the church. A family close to Paul and in the Corinthian church wrote to Paul with their concerns for how the church was conducting themselves. The 1 Corinthians letter (book) was written in response.

The church was a blend of Jews and Gentiles. So practices such as the aforementioned were common practice within the city and the Gentiles were at a loss for how to conduct themselves because these things were common during the worship of false gods.

Becoming Christ-like is a beautifully long process. It's not over night, no matter how much we wish it was. These people were still human and loved Christ but still knew very little about Him, and God the Father. (even some of the Jews had a lot of misconceptions they had to change)

So at the very beginning of his letter, Paul reminds them of their new identity. (1:1-9) and reaffirms their forgiveness through Gods grace and faithfulness to our salvation. Nothing we do after we accept His gift can revoke it. It is ours for all time for one time.

Woman and men were traditionally seated separately in synagogues so it makes sense that practice was still used in some new churches, such as that of the Corinthians, as they did have Jewish members.

He is calling out woman for calling to their husbands during sermons and being disruptive. Paul is asking that they save their question for after. He is also teaching woman new to these practices, gentiles, how to be respectfully in the church.

Paul encouraged woman to pray and praise in the church, chapter 11. So it would be contradictory for Paul to then turn around and say “woman can’t speak in church” in chapter 14.

To answer, yes woman can speak in church, but not teach to a body of men. Women can teach women, but women can’t teach men. God established a order of command.

God

Jesus

Men

Woman

Children

Following this upward, everyone is under authority of the role’s above them. That is how God designed the family unit, and in turn the church. The church is the body of Christ, and each of us have a purpose within his body for it function. Woman have a time and place to teach, and lead, but not to men.

I am only addressing the command pertaining to women at this time. I would love to do an in-depth look at all of 1 Corinthians, there is so much to it. Really, thank you for the opportunity to study these passages deeper, and teach them to you. I hope I did, I hope these make sense now.

I do need to add. When comparing these commands to the command of homosexuality, its important to remember the context. Homosexuality is a sin because it goes against Gods very direct design for mankind, how the family unit functions in direct relation to the church. These other ones however were established for a period of time to set the people apart from outsiders, and do not go against His intended purpose for creation. That is a very big difference.

Feel free to ask anything else, I loved doing this. I will try to get something for all of 1 Corinthians out, but I have a full life at the moment, so it will probably take awhile.

Praying and God bless

#Raz speaks out #Christianity #answers #christian #ot laws #nt commands #bible study #biblical history #comparing sins #big post #understanding the bible #culture

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digimonnetwork-project · 3 years

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Episode I

The seeds are sown...

“Shidou...Shidou....Isamu Shidou pay attention!” There was a dull thud as Isamu was thrown out of his thoughts by the sudden acquaintance of his head and the teacher’s book. At his old school, the boy in question would never have gotten in trouble for daydreaming in class, let alone assaulted for it.

“Gah! I’m sorry, Ms. Mazawa! It won’t happen again!” Isamu exclaimed, bolting from his chair and bowing repeatedly while he rubbed the back of his skull, certain a bump would develop where he’d been struck with the teacher’s book. He pictured something large and swelling, hopefully enough to get him out of math next period, but would go down before soccer practice after school.

“Honestly!” She huffed, twirling her graying hair in exasperation, “Shidou, this is the third time this week. You know I hate doing this, but if you can’t be bothered to pay attention to the lesson I’m going to have to keep you after school.”

Aside from the streaks of grey in her hair, Ms. Mazawa didn’t look more than a few years passed thirty, but her barbaric teaching methods made her seem centuries older. Isamu suspected she might be one of the old monsters of folklore, maybe Arikura-no-baba or Osakabe, but Isamu really didn’t care enough to try to research which one she could be.

“Yeah right you don’t like doing it, you keep kids after school all the time.” A chill ran up Isamu’s spine as Ms Mazawa’s irritated scowl deepened into a glare, making him overly aware of the fact that he had said this out loud instead of keeping it in his head.

She swatted him upside the head with her book a second time. “Shidou, I was just going to keep you in class for thirty minutes to reread today’s lesson, but your smart mouth just earned you a detention spent setting up the cafeteria for the archery club’s fundraiser tonight!” She declared.

“Y-yes ma’am!” Isamu stuttered, getting a giggle out of his classmates, “I’m sorry ma’am!”

“I hope you are.” Ms. Mazawa replied and turned to go back to the front of the class.

Isamu sighed and returned to his seat, brushing brown bangs out of his face and looking at his desk. At his old school, his classmates would have been laughing with him, not at him, he thought reminiscing, again, about his former life. The bangs he just moved fell right back into his eyes. He really needed to find something to keep his hair in place.

“Psst! Isamu!” He turned around at the sound of his name and saw his classmate Masato Namura give him a thumbs up. Beside him, Aki Mikami pushed up his glasses and awkwardly waved at him.

Isamu gave a small nod of acknowledgment to the both of them before facing the front of the class. The two of them were nowhere near the top of the food chain in this school’s social hierarchy, but they were the only friends he had here. He turned his head back out the window, catching his phantom reflection in the glass. How was it that he only had two friends? At his old school he was the cool popular kid that was friends with everyone, how did he become so bad at connecting to people?

In the glass, Isamu noticed more than just his own blue-eyed reflection. Just outside the door way he could make out the faint image of someone standing just outside their classroom. He looked that way just to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. Yes, there was a girl standing there, waiting to be invited in.

“Now that that’s out of the way, class...” Ms. Mazawa said, turning to the door, “We have a new student transferring today. Please give her a warm welcome. You can come in now, dear.”

The girl stepped in front of the class with her head held high. The students all have short gasps of amazement at the fact that she dared come in without her uniform on. The transfer student was wearing casual clothes, ankle length beige pants with green trimming that matched her Chinese style shirt and held her bag in front of her like a purse, rather than a backpack. Oddly, the thing that stood out about her wasn’t her lack of uniform, but the fact that she was wearing a white fingerless glove on her left hand with what appeared to be a strange digital watch over it.

“Hello.” She said to them, pulling a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “My name is Ju Ling, my family and I just moved here from Bejing. I don’t have my school uniform yet because of a mix up that gave me the wrong size.” She looked over at Ms. Mazawa who waved her hands for her to continue, “I'm an only child who likes computers, though I’m not necessarily very good with them. Thank you for having me, I look forward to joining your class.”

With a bow, she concluded her introduction and looked at Ms. Mazawa again who directed her to take the open seat next to Isamu. They whispered something to each other and Ju giggled as she came forward, Ms, Mazawa had probably instructed her to make sure he didn’t start daydreaming again. Isamu sighed and began scratching notes on the lecture.

This was going to be a long day...

When the last bell of the day rang, Isamu almost forgot about his detention and started out the door with Aki and Masato when Ms. Mazawa reminded him of his unwanted duties. Basically he was setting up chairs and tables for an hour and half, rather than the half hour lesson he would have gotten if he hadn’t mouthed off, but still that was an hour and a half Isamu wasn’t spending at the park practicing with Aki and Masato.

Another defeated sigh escaped him, tryouts for the Soccer team were a few weeks away, Masato was the right midfielder and Isamu had been the striker for the team at his old school, but Aki had never played an official game. Isamu felt terrible that he had to miss out on training Aki, the blond haired boy wasn’t awful by any means but he needed as much support as possible.

The archery club supervisor met him outside the door where he saw another of his classmates, Kaiyo Nakano, lined up as a volunteer. Isamu knew she was a volunteer, number one because he knew she hadn’t gotten in trouble, secondly because Kaiyo seemed to volunteer to help out with every club, though she was only an active member of the chess club.

“Hey, Shidou, I’ve already signed us both in” Kaiyo greeted, taking the opportunity to partner up with him, “It’s easier for me to work when I’m not in a skirt, so I’m going to change out of my uniform before we start. You go ahead and change too, that way you can just leave right after we’re done.”

“Oh? Okay, thanks.” Isamu replied, he hadn’t even known they were supposed to sign in as volunteers, but with Ms. Mazawa nowhere in sight, he supposed there had to be some way for them to prove he’d actually done the detention work. Deciding not to waste time, Isamu went to his locker at a slight jog and grabbed his casual clothes to change in the nearby boys bathroom.

As he swapped clothes Isamu’s text alert beeped and he juggled his phone to check it as long as there was no one to scold him for texting when he should be working. The message was from Gorou, a friend from his old school. Isamu’s heart skipped a beat, he’d messaged Gorou about hanging out over the weekend three days ago, what had taken him so long to reply? To his disappointment, Isamu opened the text to find a simple “Sorry, can’t come ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” in response to his invitation.

Isamu dejectedly put his phone away without replying and finished changing so he could get to work. He stepped out of the stall sporting a pair of capris and white shirt with the word “REAL” printed in english lettering on the front, and a black track jacket with blue stripes running down the sleeves. He folded his uniform into his school bag and started back to the gym, running into Kaiyo again on the way.

Apparently she’d had the same idea to change in the girl’s bathroom. She was dressed in a pale pink shirt with the words ‘Be Kind” written under a graphic resembling a heart made out of an arrow, an army green jacket, light shorts, and long striped socks.

“Looking sharp. Leave your bag by the door and don’t forget to pick it up when you leave” She winked at him with a friendly, teasing tone and led the way back, and took him over to a supply closet once they dropped off their bags. She went on to explain “It's actually not a lot of work to get this all set up, but it takes two people to carry one table, sometimes more for the big ones. Mr. Kojima and Mrs. Arai will tell us where to put them, we just have to coordinate and do the heavy lifting.”

She wasn’t kidding about it being heavy, Isamu could hear her grunt as she pulled a table out from the closet and was soon grunting himself as he grabbed the other end and helped her lift it away. “And you volunteered to do this?” He blurted without thinking, he really needed to stop that, it usually got a laugh in his old town, but around here, it usually got him in trouble.

But to his surprise, Kaiyo did laugh, “What can I say? I like to keep busy. It sure beats going straight to my homework.” She said, they both paused for a moment while the supervisors instructed them on where to move the table to. Kaiyo showed him how to set it up, and they were quick to return to the supply closet to get another table.

For a little while, Isamu actually felt like he was finally connecting to people as Kaiyo introduced him to other students from around the school. He’d never needed anything but soccer in his life for a long time, but as he was socializing with the volunteers and other kids in detention, Isamu thought Kaiyo probably had the right idea by volunteering with other clubs outside of his personal interests.

It didn’t take long to get everything set up, and as much fun as this had surprisingly turned out to be, Isamu was the first one out the door when everything was done- after just barely an hour rather than the hour and a half they’d thought it would take. What were the odds that Aki and Masato were still at the park? Isamu didn’t want to leave them hanging, and considered texting them when he found there was no need to.

They were waiting outside the school gates for him, already changed out of their uniforms. Masato had dark grey jeans with yellow stripes on the side, and a vest half zipped over an old graphic tee from the 80s. His dark brown hair was kept out of his bangs with a red bandana that, for some reason, Ms. Mazawa let him where in class.

“Man, they sure kept you in there long enough, did’ja have to clean the toilets with a toothbrush or something?” Masato griped as he picked his bag off the ground and stood back from the school gate.

“Ms. Mazawa told him to help set up for the archery club, I don’t think that’s what they do in detention.” Aki told him and pushed up his glasses, his white jacket was zipped up all the way and had an orange stripe running horizontally across his chest and shoulders. He had dark green pants tucked into long boots, and his bag was strapped over his shoulder.

“What would you know about it? You’ve never gotten a detention!” Masato teased, lightly punching Aki’s shoulder, playfully, Aki stepped on his foot in response.

“He will if he keeps hanging out with you.” Isamu joked back and turned to Aki, “And yeah, I was totally scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, all detention kids have to!”

The look on Aki’s face was priceless, it took all of his will power not to laugh, “Y-you’re kidding, right!?” His glasses slipped further down his nose and once more he had to push them back into place.

“About the toilets or about you getting in detention because of me?” Masato slinging his arms around each of their shoulders, at which point Isamu couldn’t help laughing, ruining the joke entirely.

“Well, never mind.” He said, freeing himself from Masato and sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Sorry to have kept you guys waiting, you still free for practice or-”

“-Shidou!” All three of them turned to look, surprised to hear Kaiyo calling for Isamu.

She was running toward them from the school entrance. She’d been a volunteer and was free to go whenever, but Isamu was under the impression that she was going to stick around to decorate too. His face flushed a little when he saw the reason she was running to catch up with him.

“What’s up Nakano, can’t you see we’re trying to escape from this place?” Masato trilled with a mischievous grin.

Kaiyo skidded to a stop and panted for a second before she looked at Isamu and smiled as she handed him the bag she was carrying with her. His bag, that he must have left at the fundraiser despite her warning not to. “You forgot this.” She winked at him, “Tanizaki wanted to hang it from the basketball hoop but I told him it was mine. You owe me big time.”

“Ah, th-thanks Nakano.” Isamu replied, taking his bag back and flipping it over his shoulders.

She waved her hand dismissively, “You can just call me Kaiyo if you want.” she said, hiking her own bag onto her shoulders and turned away, heading down another street, before shouting over her shoulder “See you guys in class tomorrow! Don’t forget your homework again, Namura or Ms. Mazawa might actually make you eat lunch in the hall this time!”

Masato made a face while Isamu quirked his eyebrow at the bizarre sounding punishment, “It’s worse than it sounds,” Masato said, “Anyway, I guess I better get home and do that homework. You guys alright practicing without me?”

“Actually, I’d better do the homework too.” Aki said, pushing up his glasses and looking at the ground, “After all we have that math test coming up and it’s my worst subject.”

“You say that about every subject.” Isamu rolled his eyes slighting, very aware that he needed the practice for the math test more than he needed practice for the soccer try-outs, “Man, sorry about the detention guys, I hate to have you waiting for me and not have time to actually practice.”

Masato clapped his shoulder, “It’s alright, we can practice for a while and then do homework together at the park. I fail, you fail, what do you say? We can always practice more this weekend, you guys free?”

“I’m always free.” Aki replied with a shrug. “And studying together would probably be good for all of us, too” they both turned to Isamu, waiting to hear his answer.

His fingers brushed his phone and thought about Gorou, but remembered that his friend claimed to be too busy to hang out this weekend- somethin he was never too busy for when they lived on the same side of the river. “Yeah, I’m free too. Who wants to race- huh?”

Isamu paused mid sentence, staring up at the building across the street where the air had seemed to distort for a second. Aki and Masato both looked the same way, but there was nothing to see. Isamu quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light, “Sorry, seeing things I guess.” He said, though he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of being watched, “Anyway, I’ll race you guys to the park!” He pushed his way passed them and took off at a run, giving them no choice but to give chase.

Isamu laughed as he ran, Masato quickly started gaining on him with Aki no more than a few feet behind. The park was a few blocks away, and all three of them were exhausted from the run, “I’m.. so...slow…” Aki complained as they panted by the water fountain.

Masato checked the clock on his phone, “Actually... I think we... broke our record” He said.

Isamu clapped Aki’s shoulder, coughing slightly, “And you... kept up, just fine...I had guys on my team… At my old school...who were much slower…” He told him.

It took a few more minutes to convince Aki that he had done well, before they all agreed to sit at a picnic table and complete one page of homework before they started practice. Working together they actually managed to complete two pages before they remembered they wanted to practice some, too. Aki had a duffle bag which he kept his swimming trunks and towel in, as well as his uniform and clothes when he needed to change, and now it had become home to their soccer ball.

Between homework and practice, Isamu forgot about the strange distortion he’d seen outside the school, but while they were practicing the feeling of being watched started to creep up on him again. Not wanting to frighten Aki or Masato, he ignored the feeling and focused entirely on being the instructor, teaching both of them a trick he’d picked up at his old school to pass the ball between teammates while feigning a shot at the goal to confuse the other team.

At long last, they’d had enough practice and went back to their homework where it was harder to ignore the feeling of being watched. It was starting to alarm Isamu greatly, “Man, guys, I’m starting to get really tired” He sad, stretching to try to avoid suspicion of why he was suddenly backing out of the study group, “I think I’m finally getting this, so I’m going to head home for dinner and finish up tonight. I can text if I need extra help right?”

Masato nodded, “Yeah, it’s starting to get late, too” he said, “My aunt will get worried if I don’t at least call.” Aki agreed, and they all got up to leave the park- the feeling following Isamu, though neither Aki nor Masato seemed to be concerned. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to put them in danger so he tried to discreetly hurry them along.

However, the three of them spent a few extra minutes talking on the side of the road and finalizing plans for their weekend meet up before they finally parted ways. Aki and Masato lived three blocks away from each other, but Isamu lived in an apartment in the opposite direction.

Having lived down here long enough to have learned a few short cuts, Isamu avoided the crowded main roads by taking less used alleyways, hoping to lose whatever was haunting him. This particular street was a back road behind a few convenience stores that occasionally company trucks used for deliveries, but Isamu rarely saw anyone actually using them.

His text alert beeped again, making him jump slightly, but he stopped to check it, this time the message was from another of his friends from his old school canceling their plans to hang out the next day. Isamu frowned and put his phone in his pocket without texting back. He’d only moved across the river for his father’s new job. Why was it so hard for everyone to meet him?

The boy became so lost in his thoughts that his sense of alertness started to fail. Isamu had his phone out again, looking up what assignments he had to for his classes and trying to decide what he needed to complete after dinner and what could be done during lunch tomorrow when he noticed movement. Isamu looked up, now absolutely certain that it was not just his imagination, or a trick of the light.

Where he had seen nothing but an odd ripple from the corner of his eye, something melded into view. It looked like a giant chameleon wearing military gear. “Found a good one!” A raspy voice called out from the monster’s direction. Wait- that thing wasn’t the one speaking was it?

Faster than Isamu could make a run for it, a long slimy tongue lashed out of the creature’s mouth and wrapped around his body. He screamed and wiggled desperately, but was yanked closer to the chameleon’s open maw. Isamu closed his eyes, not wanting to see his upcoming doom, and wondering if the creature would kill him first or if it intended to swallow him whole and alive.

Neither option appeared to be the case, however as mere meters from the beast’s jaws, the tongue suddenly lifted him high. Isamu hardly dared to open his eyes again, but eventually had to when the raspy voice demanded he did, confirming that it was in fact the giant chameleon that was speaking.

Isamu struggled to breathe in the firm grip of the tongue, but did as commanded and opened his eyes to look at the creature, which was scrutinizing him the same way he might inspect the latest electronics while deciding what was better quality.

“Yes, yes. You’ll do.” The monster muttered, Isamu whimpered as the tongue started to retract back toward the creature’s mouth, certain that this time he was going to be lizard chow, but to his relief, Isamu’s toes brushed the ground and he was released. Isamu toppled over, landing face first onto the pavement. “You’ll do just fine.”

Instinct told Isamu to get up and run, but logic reminded him that the creature would catch him with its tongue again if he tried...and maybe this time he would end up as dinner. “I...I’ll do just fine for what...?” Isamu asked, clearly food wasn’t what this monster was after, for now at least, but he had no idea what it really wanted from him.

The answer came with a massive foot being pressed onto his back, pinning him to the ground. “My Tamer!” The creature replied, “I am Chamelemon! And I need a leader like you to make me stronger!”

Chamelemon spoke as if Isamu should know what that meant, “You seem plenty strong to me!” He said, and wound up again regretting his tendency to say what was on his mind, when the pressure on his back increased as Chamelemon pushed him harder into the ground.

“Don’t be a fool! I barely scrapped through the war on my own! I need you to be my Tamer!” Chamelemon growled, “Now, make me stronger or I’ll kill you!”

Isamu wasn’t really in a position to say no, even if that’s all he wanted to do. Who did this thing think he was, what did he mean leader? Sure he had taken charge of Soccer practice but that hardly made him a leader. What could someone as powerless as Isamu do to make Chamelemon stronger? Two shapes appeared in Isamu’s peripheral vision, a black one and a white one. Female voices cried out strange words.

"Moon Surge!”

“Sun Bash!”

He managed to turn his head just enough to see the white shape, some kind of dog-like animal, shoot a small blast of light energy at Chamelemon. Though Isamu couldn’t see it, the black one on the other side of him was doing the same thing. The combined blast was powerful enough to knock Chamelemon back, allowing Isamu to scramble away.

With a good look at his rescuers now, Isamu realized that they were an almost identical pair. The canine features extended only to their faces and body shapes, their ears were long and tipped with tuffs of fur that were red on the black creature and blue on the other. They had long tails with spikes on the end.

“Ju! Get ready” The white one called, glancing behind her, passed Isamu forcing him to look as well.

He was surprised to see the girl that had transferred into class just that day. Ju looked equally surprised to see him, but didn’t dwell on it long as she focused on whatever it was that the white creature had told her to prepare for. Ju lifted her arm, pressing buttons on her digital watch.

The black one dodged a lashing from Chamelemon’s tongue, “Leptomon! Ju! We need to act now!”

“Don’t rush her, Cannismon!” the other replied, shooting another blast of energy from her mouth.

“All set!” Ju called, looking up from her glove, “Do it!”

The small dogs leaped between Isamu and Chamelemon, and their bodies began to glow. “Eclipse Snare!” they cried in unison and bounded forward, black and white energy trailed their every move.

Chamelemon attempted to squash them with both his tongue and his claws but Cannismon and Leptomon were much faster than him. The pair encircled him several times before their glow diminished and they sprinted away . The trail of energy they’d left behind tightened like a noose, trapping Chamelemon in its coil!

Ju took a few long strides forward, holding her gloved hand in front of her, “Initiate data conversion!” She shouted.

A computerized voice replied “Data conversion initiating.” A beam of light shot out of Ju’s watch and struck the giant lizard. Chamelemon started to pixelate, “Conversion in progress.”

“No!” Chamelemon struggled in his bonds, much like Isamu had while trapped by his tongue, and just as fruitlessly. Bits of his body broke off in small pixels and were dragged down the beam into the watch. The process was slow at first but picked up speed, and soon there wasn’t enough of Chamelemon left to struggle.

When he vanished entirely, the beam returned to Ju’s watch and the computer voice announced, “Conversion complete. Scanning new data....Scan complete. Digimon identified: Chamelemon. Would you like to view Chamelemon’s profile?”

“Not now.” Ju said and lowered her arm, pressing another button on her wristwatch.

The air around them pixelated in a similar manner to how Chamelemon had vanished, but aside from that, nothing seemed to change. “Digital Construct deactivated.” The computer said.

Ju then turned to Isamu, “You alright?” She asked.

Isamu’s mouth was hanging open in shock, “Wha- Did you kill it?” He asked.

Ju laughed, “What? No! No, I never kill Digimon. I just converted his data into something a little easier to carry.”

Isamu jumped when two small bodies suddenly pressed up against him, “If a Tamer converts a realized Digimon back into scan data, they can take them back to the Network, or even all the way back to the Digital World!” The one that had been called Leptomon said, bumping her head against Isamu’s hand like she wanted him to pet her.

“We always send the hostile ones back to the Digital World. If they attack humans in this world they’re not going to be welcome in the Network.” Cannismon added, wagging her tail, but keeping back from Isamu.

“Digimon? Network? Digital World?” Isamu looked at Ju for some kind of explanation, but the transfer student was busy giggling.

Finally she stepped over and offered him her hand to help him back to his feet. “That’s a little hard to explain, but Cannismon and Leptomon seem to like you, and they don’t usually warm up to strangers. Maybe Chamelemon was onto something, choosing you.”

“I don’t understand.” Isamu exclaimed, digging his hands into his pocket, “Choosing me for what?”

“To be a Digimon Tamer.” She replied, lifting her glove to him so that he could see that it was not a watch on her wrist. She lowered it and held her hand out again, this time in greeting. “I know I introduced myself this morning, but I think we should have a more proper one. I’m Ju Ling, I’ve been a Tamer for three years. These are my partners, Cannismon, and Leptomon.”

“Nice to meet you!” Leptomon said with a sing-song-voice, Cannismon gave the same response in a less enthusiastic tone.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Isamu Shidou.” He replied, shaking Ju’s hand and looking at the creatures at their feet for a moment before turning his eyes back to Ju. “What’s a Tamer?”

Next episode

#Digimon #Digimon fanfic #Digimon FDD #DigimonFDD #Digimon fanseries #chapters

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #324

“i'll sharpen my knife upon the stone made from the ruin of a dead god's throne / listen to these words as my seeds are sown: it's time to amputate the infected zone”

What is the last game you played on your phone? Pokemon GO. Do you give people personalized ringtones? No. Does your phone screen have any cracks? No. What makeup products are you wearing, if any? None. How would you describe your skin tone? Very pale. Do you have your full birth name on Facebook? Yes. What is your least favorite fruit? Probably cherries. How often do you walk around barefoot? Whenever I'm in my house or another person's who prefers shoes off inside. Would you need to sleep with someone before considering marrying them? Nah. Do you think people look up to you? No. How often do you have trouble sleeping at night? Every night. Do you ever rehearse conversations before you have them? YEP. In my head, at least. Can you name five current world leaders? No, haha... When taking a cab, do you talk to the driver? Cabs aren't really a thing here. I've never been in one. Do you always read the book before you see a movie based on a book? No. What is your favorite urban legend? The Jersey Devil. Mothman is dope and super creepy, too. I love cryptids, period. Are you an elitist (even a little bit) when it comes to anything? What? No, because I hate people like that so much. What type of fabric is most comfortable for clothing? I dunno, I don't pay attention to this. If you wear one – bras with or without a wire? With, so long as they're not poking out and stabbing you... If you wear one – are you able to find cute bras in your size? Definitely not. What length do you like your shorts to be? You'd have to pay me some big bucks to see me in shorts, period. Have you ever cut off jeans or other pants and made them into shorts? No. Have you cut the sleeves out of T-shirts to make tank tops? I don't think so, no. What was the last disappointing movie you saw? *shrug* What was the last disappointing book you read? Even bigger *shrug*. Do you ever watch compilation videos? Of what? Rarely, but if I do, they're generally old Vines and stuff. What was the last thing you rolled your eyes about? Probably something stupid on Facebook. Do you like Hellboy? If so, do you prefer the old movies or the new one? I have no thoughts on this. Favorite Disney character who isn’t royalty? Dory! Do you have a lot of people whom you don’t talk to all the time or see all the time, but still consider to be your friends? Yeah, like friends from high school and online childhood ones. Do you typically do your make up the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? It's just about always the same. Do you enjoy making surveys as well as taking them or do you just prefer to copy, paste, fill out, post? The latter. I don't make surveys. Have you got a significant other? How are things between the two of you? If not, what was your most meaningful/long term relationship and how did that come to an end? I don't. My longest and deepest relationship was with Jason, and he ended it when my depression became too much for him to handle. Have you spent much time in a vehicle lately? What for and where have you gone most this past month? No. I've barely left the house lately for obvious reasons. Has it rained yet this year where you live? How about hailed? It's been raining like crazy lately. A few mornings ago, it also hailed very heavily for a few minutes. What is your favorite thing about Mac computers? I like the sleek, clean look of them. What is your favorite thing about PCs? They have more power for playing games. What are some errands you need to run soon? None. Well, we have a Wal-Mart order to pick up I think tomorrow, and I'll probably ride with Mom. What color was your high school graduation gown? Red. It was between that and navy, and I was really hoping for the latter, but it lost the vote. The red was so obnoxious. How many graduation gowns have you worn? One. Are your parents’ dreams for your life different than your own? I don't think they have their own specific "dreams" for my life. They both want me to create my own future that makes me happy. Have your dreams for your life changed? Definitely, over all the years. Would you ever want to learn sign language? Not especially, but it'd be cool I suppose. What’s the last thing you had for dinner? Chicken tenders, I think? Or was that the night before? Have you ever performed a solo dance in front of a crowd? No, but I almost did. At my old dance studio, the high school seniors had the option to a solo, and I was working on one to "Coma White" by Marilyn Manson, because it was and still is a song I really feel in regards to my mental health and many medications I "have" to be on. I was doing fine, but I stopped when I realized I just really was too nervous as a dance competition approached. Have you ever sung a solo? No. What was the last job you had? Deli worker. For two hours. What was your first job? Sales associate at GameStop. Who was/were your favorite coworker(s)? I never really had one. At what age did you start experiencing sexual attraction, if any? I don't know. Probably my freshman year of high school is when my levels of attraction to people reached a sexual and not just romantic level. Have you ever split open a rock with a hammer, to see a geode inside? UGH no, but I so wanna find one of those one day. What states have you lived in? Only North Carolina. S.O.S., get me outta here. What is your favorite thing about the month in which it is now? You start to see some flowers blooming. Who were your best friends in high school? I had a decent group of close friends, but I was closest to Hannia. I wish I still had contact with her. ^Are they still your best friends now? No. She deleted me off Facebook at some point. Do you live near the mountains? No; they're on the western end of the state, and I live on the opposite side. Do you live near a beach? It's about two hours away. What is your favorite beach that you’ve been to? I don't have a fave. Do you collect seashells? Nah, but I like picking them up and looking at them. My sisters and I used to collect them, though. We have a plastic container of them somewhere. If you were to start a new collection, what would it be? I desperately want a cornucopia of Markiplier merch, sobs. Is there a certain place or store you especially hate going to? I don't like going to most stores, really. I'm an online shopper. When was the last time you made plans with someone? October of last year. How long do leftovers usually sit in your fridge? Depends on the food. They tend to stay in there a bit too long, though. What is something you do for other people that shows you care for them? Offer to listen to them and always be a source of support and love. What was the last animal/pet that you met? Kinda recently, someone in our neighborhood was walking their German shepherd, and Mom chatted with the lady for a bit while I listened. Is there anyone in your life with whom your opinion changes on frequently? No. Have you ever kept a journal? Do you currently keep one? Yes, on-and-off during multiple periods of my life. These surveys are like my journals now. Is there a certain song or band who remind you of specific people? Yep. Motionless In White and Black Veil Brides, Jason. Pink Floyd and Evanescence, Sara. Metallica, Mom. Van Halen, Dad. Etc., etc. How often do you style your hair differently from how you normally style it? Never. Have you ever found out that you have been sleep walking? No, I never have. What’s the last thing you promised yourself? I don't know about promised. I take those so seriously, even to myself, that I hesitate to make them. Have you ever tried making something from one of those short cooking videos? How did it turn out? No, but my friend once tried making that "muffin in a cup" thing and it was absolutely horrid. Very eggy. When was the last time you had to wait in line for longer than a few minutes? Good question. Going into places is so rare nowadays, so it's hard to encounter this issue. Well wait, maybe at a fast food place? Idr. Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No, but I should do that once I actually use my own money to buy from small businesses in particular... if I had something good to say, anyway. I'd feel bad trash-talking a product. Do you ever interact with any brands/companies online? No. Is there anything you seem especially sensitive to, such as sounds, smells, etc? Smells, yes. What was the last thing you had the urge to do? Read, even though I didn't do it. .-. Is there anyone you feel that takes you for granted? No. Do you ever read the comments on social media posts? Sometimes, particularly if I have strong feelings about something. What was the last “good” thing to happen to you? My PHP therapist felt confident enough in my progress to step me down to three sessions a week versus every weekday. Last awkward situation you were in? Thankfully it was a one-on-one session, but the same aforementioned therapist was asking me questions that really stumped me, so I kept going very quiet as I thought and felt awkward and dumb. He's brilliant at his job. Think of the last time you were sick – what were you sick with? I think the last issue I had that qualifies as "sick" was a double ear infection from Hell itself. That was like two years ago. How do you think your life would change without social media? I'd be incredibly bored, but I, among I think most others, would be more positive and have a more realistic outlook on life. Social media highlights the best times in our life, and I do feel that that has had a negative effect on pretty much everyone. I don't at all believe social media is bad in essence, though. It's a wonderful way to stay connected. What was the last thing you wanted to buy, but couldn’t afford? I can't afford a new terrarium for Venus for probably a while, being without a job and all... How do you get your news? Facebook, haha. How often do you drive? Never, right now. My permit is long expired, and my vision isn't up to par to renew it. If you had to go (back) to school and completely change your career path, what would you choose to study/pursue? I guess biology? Are there any TV shows you constantly quote or know almost every line to? No. What do you think about lizards? I adore lizards; they're all so cute, big or small, and truly little dinosaurs. They're beautiful and so vast in appearances and behavior. Is there anything that people assume about you that isn’t true, and that you find very irritating? Not that I find irritating, no. How would you rate your “detective” skills? Uh, what am I "detecting?" I'm pretty good at digging online if I'm really hunting something down, I guess. Have you ever done consumer testing (testing products before they come out on the market)? If not, would you ever want to? No; I wouldn't be opposed, depending on the product. Have you ever received anesthesia or morphine? Both. The one time (I'm aware of) where I had morphine oddly enough did jack-all, though. If you had to choose which video game to be in, which would it be? Hmmm. Maybe like, Shadow of the Colossus, living in the beautiful garden on the top of the shrine? With the deer, the birds, fruit, just its general beauty... That would be awesome, especially with one other person, especially an s/o. Just the two of us in a gorgeous land. Between the two, would you rather live in a place where it’s only night or where it’s only day? Only day, I suppose. Vitamin D is very important, for one thing, and it always being dark would definitely affect my depression. And what about the flowers blooming and being able to take pictures? :( Sleep would still be possible by just closing your shades and stuff. Is there anyone that makes your skin crawl? Maggots, bot flies, parasites, patterns of small holes, etc. Do you like it when people are affectionate with you? Yes. If we're at least friends, anyway. I'm a very affectionate person. Have the past few days been bad, good, or neutral? They've been pretty all right. If you had to be an actor/actress in a movie, what genre of the movie would you be best at? Probably as an insane villain in a superhero movie or something. Are people more likely to tell you to tone it down or to speak up? Speak up. I'm a mumbler. I can be too loud sometimes too, though, particularly when I'm excited. What’s the last thing that you procrastinated? Now. Emerson's birthday was last month and I still haven't touched her pictures... Out of fire, earth, water, wind, light, and dark, which element appeals the most to you? Dark. What’s your favorite color on a vehicle? Burnt orange, pink. The last pain that you experienced, was it physical or emotional? Physical. What was one of your favorite songs as kid? I liked lots of pop songs. When’s the last time you tried to get revenge, if ever? Never. It's not something I chase after. Do you like Taylor Swift? No. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? The Haunted Mansion, I think. That's a Disney movie, isn't it? If you met your favorite celebrity, would you be calm or star struck? I'd be a deer in headlights, stuttering and stammering over ways to thank him and crying like a bitch. I'd be super embarrassed, but I absolutely hope I get to meet him one day. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. Is your school close to your house? I'm no longer in school. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? Yes. Did/do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Yeah, I like her. What shorthand do you use the most? Probably "lmao." What album is the current song you’re listening to off of? METAWAR. In your opinion, what song is the most overplayed right now? I wouldn't know; I don't listen to the radio. Are you in a band? No. When I started high school though, I wished I could be a guitarist in one. That's one reason I started taking lessons, haha. Does your favorite band have a male or female lead singer? Male. Have you ever been to a Broadway show? No. Do you prefer group or individual work? Individual, by a long shot. I work much better alone. Could you ever complete a 500-piece puzzle? I think I have before. I used to love puzzles. When was the last time you rode in a limo? Damn son, never; what could possibly give you the idea I could afford to ever do THAT????? Do you take naps daily? Almost every day, yes. Do you still make Christmas lists? Yeah, because I'm asked to. Do you watch the show Dexter? Never seen it, no. Are you currently using a blanket? Yes. My feet are cold. How long is the song you’re listening to? 4:06. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom, but only by a year. Did you ever listen to Avril Lavigne when you were younger? Who didn't? I still listen to a couple songs. When was the last time you changed a light bulb? Not all that long ago when Venus' lamp bulb died. How often do you clean your car out? I don't have my own car. Did you ever buy NOW ("Now That’s What I Call Music") CDs? My older sister did, yes. What color (mainly) is your computer? It's black. What is in the back seat of your car right now? In Mom's car, idk. But there's usually some stuff back there. What is your favorite episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.? Never watched it. Last person’s house you were in? Besides my own, my older sister's. Who is the last person you sent a message to on Facebook? My friend Chelsea. We were catching up. Were you an honor roll student in school? Yes. Do you have a tan? HA. Are you someone’s best friend? Yes. <3 What do you think of when you think of Australia? Huntsmen spiders. *shudders* Favorite gemstone? Of the basic ones, rubies. If we're talking of all of them, even the obscure, then dragon's breath opal. I'd LOVE to have a ring of one of those. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? Almost always the drive-thru. What color is your mom’s hair? It's all gray now. Does your first memory involve your dad? No. Biggest annoyance in your life right this minute? My social anxiety. Do you like watching a bonfire? Yeah. Fire is mesmerizing. Do you ever get flu shots? No, but I really should. Once the Covid vaccine is accessible to all though, I'm getting it for the protection of my immunocompromised mother.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''affluenza'' by 3teeth

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