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worldsover · 3 years

Text

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

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Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts.

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

#kpop smut #aespa smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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orangegreet · 3 years

Text

Photo by Peter Chiykowski on Unsplash

It was an impulsive decision she made, veering off the road.

Trotting her tired pony through the bog, Alina thought to reach the pond directly by cutting through the grounds.

She only realized the graveness of her error when the beast whined, its hooves stuck in the thick mud.

Alina cast a glance above at the unforgiving sky.

Meaning only to get the weary little pony a drink, she ended up stranded in the treacherous earth between road and house where few could notice her.

In earnest, she raised pleading cries toward the manor—pleas which were lost as the rain began to fall.

All that could be heard were the sheaths of water which fell in cascading waves over the grounds.

The vast estate around her might have been beautiful with the help of the sun gleaming down on its features but in the gloom of autumn dusk and the haze of rainfall, everything was colored into shades of gray and black.

How terrible this journey had become. A sickly old pony for a sickly little woman. Together for a week of travel from their coastal home in the south and up into the ever-dreary wilds of the north country. It had been a long, arduous journey.

Only now to be nearly swallowed by the grounds of Blyth Fell? It was a poor omen.

How deeply troubling to be so far north from everything she had ever known and completely at a loss for what to do next. Would she die here, helpless and sodden?

The thought throttled her heart and she melted into a shroud of self-pity.

No one would hear her. No one would see her what with the rain and the closing of the day. She would surely catch her death within the hour.

Or perhaps she would grow so weak as to slip off her horse and become pulled into the earth herself where the mud would expand into her ears, her nose, her throat.

Drowning in sludge on the eve of her employment—it would be a fitting end to her tragic little life.

When her tears began to fall, she was thankful they could blend in with the rain drops running down her face; the tears and droplets would be fast friends in their wallowing.

So preoccupied was she that when two large hands clamped around her waist, she shrieked in fright and kicked at her assailant.

“Calm yourself, blamed woman!” The gruff voice shouted above the din of the storm.

Sharp eyes cut into her own, black and menacing to her enervated state.

“You are in need of assistance and I am unfortunate enough to be passing by.” He told her. Water covered his face and dripped from his nose and his jaw.

Alina was dumbstruck by his beauty.

Enough that her tears abated for the moment.

“I will have to set you by the carriage.” The man continued.

Her eyes lingered on the dark, wet locks curling from under the brim of his hat. She nodded in acquiescence though he had already begun to tuck her over his arm like a paper doll and trudge up the hill.

A great, black carriage stood at the top of the slope, door ajar and horses nudging at the road in impatience.

“Inside.” He commanded, setting her down with haste. Alina stepped into the shelter obediently and watched as the man worked his way back to the front of the coach.

The driver already had one of the horses unhitched and together the two men trailed the steed back down the hill toward her distressed pony, stopping just short of the bog land.

Alina tried to watch their progress through the carriage window, eyes squinting through the bleary haze.

After a few minutes she thought she saw her that her pony had drifted further away even as the black stallion veered back.

The window fogged. She wiped it away with her wet sleeve and pressed closer. Her sweet, dear little pony was now very deep in mud. The base of its hauches no longer visible.

The carriage door swung open and she shrieked.

The dark haired man cast her a haughty look and then shifted into the carriage, moving across from her while he rummaged in his belongings beneath the bench.

“Ah, there.” He was holding a long musket aloft with one hand and stuffing the muzzle with another.

“Should be quite fine.” He leveled the rifle and, as if remembering her existence, looked up again, “Ah, yes. I’m afraid the beast will need to be put down. Look away, if it please you.”

It did not seem to make a difference for him.

His eyes skipped right over the horrified look on Alina’s face and he swept out of the coach again, door rattling in his wake.

The black tails of his coat billowed behind him in the wind and she swore he adjusted his hat into a perfect tilt as he balanced the firearm and aimed.

Bang.

Even the tragic sound of mercy was muffled by the rain.

Alina was too shocked to make any noise. Mouth agape, she watched the blurry figures through the window as they slogged back up the hill to reattach the black horse to his harness.

She was too shocked to do more than shuffle away from the door in a daze when the man stepped inside again.

Saddle bags dropped at her feet and he reached into the bench seat to remove a rag.

He tapped the front window once seated and the carriage took off again.

The pause in their journey suddenly felt as natural as if they had made a stop-off to pick wildflowers.

The man eyed her warily as he cleaned his gun.

Alina opened her mouth to speak and closed it several times, the carriage jostling her as she floundered for words.

“I never intended to…that is, I meant to...It seemed prudent to get the pony some water. We do not—that is to say…I never fathomed such terrain…” her hand covered her mouth in shame before she could continue.

“Hmm.” He smirked and returned to his task. “Well in your desire to care for the poor beast, you quite ensured it’s doom.”

Though tears sprang to her eyes at the condemnation, she found her anger at last and glared.

He chuckled in surprise. His face crinkled with mirth. Even in cruelty, he was beautiful.

“You are most welcome, by the way. For coming to your rescue.”

Great thanks indeed. The man was more monster than gentleman in her view.

Manners won out eventually and she mustered a gracious nod. Her words were still heavy in her chest.

The dark eyes remained on her, studying her features even as she forced her gaze back to the window.

“Pardon me, sir. My wits fled me for a few moments and now I am unsure. Could you deliver me to Blyth Fell? I should like to have walked from the road so as not to be an inconvenience. Or if your coachman would be so kind as to stop here, I can find my own way.”

Alina shifted to pick up the saddle bags which contained all her belongings. Everything left to her in the world.

“You are an orphan, are you not?” He was smirking at her again.

“How did you…” the cruelty of his smile cut through her question.

“I told my staff I wished for an orphaned governess this time.” He said, simply. “Our last one was far too home sick. All her free time spent holed up in her room writing letters to her sister or someone similar. I did not heed the particulars closely, you see.”

He examined the shine of his gun as he buffed. “Only her misery. That which she spread about the hall like a plague. It was a relief when she resigned her post.”

The way he looked at her was as a predator to cornered prey. Alina gulped.

Did he just kick his lips? A trick of the mind, surely.

Her words bubbled up from the tangle of her insides, “Then you are Lord Kirigan.”

He blinked and then smiled again, “Indeed. And your name, miss?”

“You know I am an orphan in your employ and you have yet to learn my name? I am hired to be governess to your children, am I not?” The venom with which the words whipped out of her mouth astonished them both.

Apparently, the little pony was not as forgotten to her as it was to her companion just now.

Alina reddened in her cheeks and ears while Lord Kirigan stared dumbfounded for a moment.

“I apologize, sir. It has been a long journey on my own and I have quite forgotten myself.”

He adjusted his collar and seemed to right himself at her admission. “Quite right. As if I am allotted the time to learn every detail of someone whom may or may not withstand the trial period in my employ.”

Alina’s heart raced under the threat. Enduring the long journey back south as a disgraced ex-governess was not comforting in the least.

She collected herself, straightened her posture and introduced herself.

“Miss Starkova.” The Lord held her name in his mouth a moment longer than usual and she was struck again by his dark eyes, watchful as they collected the details of her across from him.

“Unusual name for this part of the world. Am I to assume your credentials are adequate?”

A retort rose to her mind and she bit it back, nodding and listing off the education and training she accomplished in Weymouth. Alina would need to tamp this urge to defy him if she intended to keep her employ beyond the carriage ride.

As if she had manifested the ending with the thought, the carriage came to a stop.

Her head tilted as she looked up at the manor through the window. Lord Kirigan made no move to leave, watching her first with open curiosity and then a scowl.

The coachman opened the carriage door and Kirigan exited.

The rain had morphed into a light drizzle. The Lord straightened his coat before turning back to the carriage and offered his hand to the new governess.

Hesitating for only a moment, Alina’s fingers slid over his warm palm.

Once more, her eyes met his. A heartbeat of energy or perhaps merely her pulse could be felt in the space where they touched. He narrowed his gaze at her and then wrenched his eyes away, dropping her hand after she descended the carriage.

“Ivan will see to your bags.” Lord Kirigan called over his shoulder as he entered the house. “Welcome to Blyth Fell, Miss Starkova.”

Alina watched him recede into the dark entry before her, unable to look away even as the drizzling rain collected at her brow and ran down her face.

#darklina fic #darklina fanfic #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #alina x aleksander #darklina #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #eventual hea #eventual smut #haunted #darklina server #the darkling #shadow & bone

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

Text

14 | Ritual

Written for Kidgetober 2020. Week 2 Theme: Myths & Magic. Day 14: Ritual.

Summary: Alternate Universe - Magic. All Pidge wanted to know was who her soulmate was. And if all of her attempts at using divination to find out were not going to work for her, then she'd just have to develop her own ritual for it. Nothing could go wrong with that, right?

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune. Titled as “Magic of the Season”.

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14 | Ritual

The Castle of Lions was the premiere magical institute of Altea and notoriously difficult to be accepted into even for the best and brightest. They only accepted a maximum of five students per year and Pidge was blessed to count herself among the four chosen in the first year she applied. It meant there was plenty of individual training and enough room for everyone to have their own space to practice and study their chosen Craft.

Pidge loved her room. It was a circular space located at the top of the western tower and came equipped with a bathroom that she was rapidly coming to appreciate. Three windows allowed light to filter in whenever she pulled back her heavy curtains and there was a door that opened onto a tiny balcony that was perfect for stargazing.

Most important, it was her space and she could do whatever she wished without worrying about being interrupted.

She was especially grateful for that as she prepared for her newest ritual, one designed to allow her to divine the identity of her soulmate. It was a concept that fascinated her from the first time it was mentioned by High Priestess Melenor, but also one that felt completely out of reach for Pidge because of one very big reason.

She was awful at all forms of divination.

And from all of her studies, the tried and true method of ascertaining the identity of one's soulmate was through some form of that magical art. There was simply no other way.

Pidge threw herself into the process, taking the time to break down all of the steps and test out a few different ways. She'd gone through a full month of mediation and attempting Astral travel, but found it nearly impossible to quiet her mind long enough to achieve that goal.

When it became clear that meditating wasn't the right path for her, she moved onto the various forms of scrying, starting with the classic crystal ball. And although she tried it with several different types of crystal, she didn't find one that she “vibed” with enough for it to actually work and gave up on that path after two frustrating weeks. She spent another week with a shallow bowl of water and a quartz crystal cluster. And then a round mirror. And then a piece of hematite lit only by candlelight.

All of that brought her to the decision that the only way she would succeed in her goal would be if she crafted her own ritual. She'd had moderate success with Dream Magic in the past and hoped that it could be useful for what she intended.

Pidge took every step that she could think of the ensure the highest chance of success. Her room was already cleansed after her last ritual, so she began with a relaxing bath with purifying salts and herbs and remained there until her head felt clear and light, her magical energy brimming beneath the surface of her skin in anticipation.

She slipped on a simple cotton dress and clasped a band of hematite around her right ankle to help keep her grounded through the process. Next came a circlet crafted from silver, which had a sun-and-moon centerpiece made of sunstone and moonstone, locked by a small diamond on either side. It centered neatly over her brow.

She was ready.

Pidge gathered up the rest of her tools and began to arrange them in the center of the room, taking care with each item and focusing on her purpose. Using a piece of kunzite, she carved her chosen runes into the proper candles before setting them down around her. A stick of sandalwood incense was lit last and she stood with the kunzite in her hands and watched as the smoke curled up into the air.

She breathed in and then released that breath, feeling her magic rise in answer to her call, before turning to the north to begin the opening of her circle, calling in each elemental force to request their aid in her ritual as she lit each candle.

With energy swirling around her, Pidge slowly sat cross-legged in the center of the circle and closed her eyes. She held on tight to her intent, refusing to stray to any other thought.

She wanted to find her soulmate.

She wanted to know who they were and where she could find them.

The candlelight flared along with her magic as her spell took hold. Pidge could feel the heat of the flames. The thickness in the air. The scent of sandalwood, heavy around her.

It continued to build, higher and higher, until the next thing Pidge knew the soft early morning sun was shining in through the windows and all of her limbs were stiff and sore from apparently passing out on the floor.

Pidge groaned as she sat up, blearily looking around and taking note of the fully-melted candles and the stick of incense that was completely burned out. The kunzite was still in her hands, held onto so tightly that it left behind marks when she finally let it go.

As she examined the indents it left, she noticed something else unusual.

Encircling her right wrist was some kind of band of silver ink that was no more than a centimeter wide, comprised of intricate spirals that formed some sort of pattern, but not one that held any meaning as far as Pidge knew. She studied it for a moment, her tired brain working to try and make sense of it all, but a knock at the door interrupted her and she quickly jumped up.

“Just a minute!” she called out.

Pidge hesitated at the edge of the circle and then stepped back into the center. She took a moment to steady her breathing and then went through the steps to close the circle, taking the time to thank each of the elemental forces for their aid. Only then did she hurry around and prepare for the day.

Cleaning up would have to wait.

Another knock and the sound of her friend, Lance, calling for her had Pidge rolling her eyes at his impatience. She checked her reflection and took an extra minute to remove the circlet and place it back into its box before answering the door.

“You have got to learn some patience,” she said before Lance could open his mouth.

“Hey, I'm not the one running abnormally late,” he responded. “You didn't stay up all night reading again, did you? I don't know how you lose track of time doing that.”

“Some of us came here to actually learn and study.”

“Ouch. I'm wounded. My heart!” Lance placed one hand over his chest and dramatically swooned. “Your cruelty breaks my spirit! And after I brought you breakfast!”

Pidge's stomach growled when she caught side of the cloth-wrapped bundle in Lance's hands. “So should I profess my undying devotion to you now or do you want to wait until there are other people around?”

Lance laughed and handed over the food as they left the tower and headed towards their first lesson of the day with Alchemist Alfor. He chatted about whatever came to his mind while Pidge devoured the sandwich and made reaffirming noises so he knew she was still paying attention. She finished it as they passed under the arch marking the potions and alchemy wing of the castle and, coincidentally, came across the other two students of their year – all-around sweetheart Hunk Garrett and his more hot-tempered friend, Keith Hawkins, who also happened to be embroiled in an intense rivalry with Pidge.

The two pairs came to a dead stop beneath the archway.

Pidge was in no mood to deal with him so early in the morning and especially not after yet another failed attempt at divination spellcrafting, so she pretended as though he didn't exist as Hunk and Lance jumped into a lively conversation to try and lift the atmosphere around them.

“Anyway, there's a note on Alfor's door asking us to meet in the Four Seasons Courtyard for our lesson today. That's why we're on our way back through,” Hunk explained.

“Lucky for us that we ran into you!” Lance laughed as he slung an arm across Hunk's shoulders. “Do you think we're gathering ingredients for something? Or does he have another lecture on how our environment affects alchemic equations?”

Hunk shrugged. “Guess we'll find out once we get there.”

The two walked ahead, leaving Pidge and Keith to silently follow behind them. Pidge used every ounce of her willpower to keep her mouth shut and not look over at her rival, telling herself that it wouldn't be worth getting into an argument right before class.

It was when they arrived in the courtyard that everything went wrong.

Pidge tried to walk towards Lance to sit with him like she always did but was stopped by Keith grabbing her wrist and tugging her back towards him. She whirled on him, a snarl on her lips, only to be interrupted by his own furious remark -

“What the fuck? Let go of me, Holt!”

“I am not holding onto you! Why would I, Hawkins?” she snapped back.

In unison, they glared at their wrists, each seeking to prove that they were right, only to discover that they were both wrong. There was nothing there, though Pidge continued to feel pressure around her wrist as though there was something holding onto her.

“Is there a problem over here?” asked Alchemist Alfor as he approached.

Keith tried to yank his hand away from the invisible force but it only served to make Pidge stumble forward and throw a another glare in his direction.

“Alright, alright. Calm down,” Alfor said before either of them could start speaking again. He, like everyone else in the castle, was well aware of the animosity between the two of them. “I'm sure this is someone's idea of a prank and we can get it sorted out quickly. Lets take a look at what's going on, shall we?” He held his hand out over theirs and murmured a few words. Within seconds, a twisted braid of gold and silver appeared around their wrists, with a short chain connecting them.

Keith frowned. “What is that?”

“Fascinating... I've never seen anything like it,” Alfor admitted. “I would wager that the silver is related to some form of soul magic, but I'm unsure of what the gold represents. Melenor would be the best to ask about this sort of thing, unless either of you has an idea?”

Pidge's blood turned to ice in her veins.

Soul magic.

It couldn't be.

Not him!

“He is not my soulmate,” Pidge refused, unaware that she was speaking aloud.

Keith's eyes flashed with something Pidge couldn't define and he tensed his jaw before responding. “Who would ever want you to be their soulmate, Holt?”

Alfor must have called for backup while Pidge wasn't paying attention, because suddenly Battle Mage Shiro was there and was hurrying them to Melenor's office while Alfor stayed behind to teach Hunk and Lance the lesson he had planned for the day. It was there that Melenor confirmed her husbands thoughts that soul magic was involved, with the silver strand representing femininity while the gold represented masculinity – a perfect balance symbolizing the bond between them.

Pidge had no choice but the tell them about the ritual she performed and how it was designed to reveal her soulmate, and from there Melenor came up with a plan to help them.

“You will live together for one week. If you cannot learn to get along in that time, I will undue the spell tying you together. I want to make it clear that you will give this your best effort. Magic has bonded the two of you together for a reason and I should think that both of you would endeavor to learn why.”

So there they were, in the brand new set of rooms they were being allowed to borrow for one week while they lived together, unable to move more than a few feet apart. Neither of them spoke for the first hour, until Keith finally sat down and refused to budge, his violet eyes hard as he stared up at her.

“I don't understand what your problem with me is,” he said.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“I'm serious. From the very first day we met you've treated me like I'm the scum of the earth. What did I ever do to you?” Keith demanded.

Pidge opened her mouth to respond, but Keith wasn't finished.

“Imagine it's your first day in the most prestigious magical institute in the world and as you're leaving your first class you finally see your soulmate. And at first you think it's just another dream, like all of the others you've had since you were old enough to understand what a soulmate is, but when you try to talk to her it all turns into a nightmare.

“At first I thought you were just stressed, but that wasn't right, was it? Because you get along with everyone else in this school. Just not me. So what is it, Holt? What did I do to you that was so horrible that you need to turn every chance meeting into a confrontation?”

The hot flash of fury that Pidge felt when he first started talking dissipated the moment he spoke of his dreams. A heavy, cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach as her mind worked to comprehend what she was hearing. “You... you knew this whole time? Why didn't you ever say something?”

“What was the point? I knew it would only end in rejection. You proved me right about that earlier,” Keith responded. The heat was gone from his voice, replaced by a deep sorrow.

Pidge sat on the floor next to him and pulled her knees up against her chest, thinking back to her first week at the Castle of Lions. It had been a massive change from the rigorous structure and rules of the Galaxy Garrison where she previously studied and she remembered struggling to adapt to a new environment. It took her a moment to place when her first interaction with Keith, an event she blocked from her mind because it didn't seem worth remembering aside from it being the starting place of their rivalry. A rivalry she was starting to think was almost entirely one-sided.

She had volunteered to try and solve an alchemic equation Alfor presented to them and when she was finished, Keith was the first to speak up and offer a critique on her work. She remembered the flush of anger at being called out for making what, in hindsight, was a stupid mistake that spoiled the rest of her work, and then the embarrassment as two students of another year started sniggering to themselves over it. The fact that Keith completely snubbed her as they all left the classroom served to cement in her mind that he was challenging her intellect and from that day on she refused to show weakness.

She breathed out softly and pressed her forehead to the tops of her knees.

Had she really based their rivalry on a simple misunderstanding?

Had her time at the Galaxy Garrison really impaired her social skills that much? Lance was always joking about it, but maybe there was some truth to that.

The competitive atmosphere. The constant drive to do better and be the best. Maybe she carried that with her to the Castle of Lions and let it influence the way she interacted with her peers. She thought she was getting better at it with help from Lance and speaking with their instructors, but those first few weeks...

That first interaction with Keith, when he corrected her and then didn't say a word to her after that – so different from the Garrison, where rivalries were encouraged as a way to push one another to do better. That lack of acknowledgment for it made her feel as though he was looking down on her. Like she was unworthy of being considered an equal.

“Keith, I... I'm so sorry,” she murmured, unsure how to put all of her thoughts into the right words. “I don't know what else to say. All of this is my fault. Our fighting. This chain tying us together. I've never been great at divination and I've been trying for months to use it to find my soulmate – to find you – and after all of that I ended up making a spell and well... I guess Magic got tired of being ignored, so it found a way to make things more obvious for me. And here you've known all along! I can't imagine how that must have felt.”

She snapped her mouth shut and uttered another quick apology as she realized she had started rambling.

“I didn't mean what I said before,” Keith said after a moment of silence. “About how no one would want to be your soulmate? I didn't mean that.”

Pidge lifted her head from her knees. “I kind of deserved it. I've been awful to you.”

“And I was awful right back,” Keith responded, a sudden spark of passion to his voice as he twisted to look at her. “We've both said and done things that we regret. I'm not going to sit here and go over all of it when it'll only make us feel worse. Look, we're stuck together for at least a week, right?”

Pidge nodded.

“Then let's make the best of that time. By, uh, talking things through, I guess. I don't know how people normally do this sort of thing,” he admitted.

“Neither do I,” Pidge said with a grimace. “But we're smart. We can figure it out.”

Keith made a curious sound, but didn't voice whatever he was thinking. Instead, he stuck out his left hand to her – the one with the gold-and-silver chain clasped around his wrist. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Pidge agreed, grasping his left hand with her right.

The chain loosened ever-so-slightly between them.

#voltron #kidgetober #kidgetober 2020 #fanfiction #day 14: ritual #week 2: myths & magic #this one got a little long on me #testing out some ideas for an original work here

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atamascolily · 3 years

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Okay, I have calmed down enough after reading Aftermath: Empire’s End that I can address the bit that really got to me.

TL;DR: the entire “Contigency” business is based on an extended chess metaphor and... I have questions.

Previously, we have learned that a Jakku orphan named Galli Rax stowed away on Palpatine’s Space Yacht so he could get away, only to be caught by Palpatine. Palps told the kid that he had two choices: die, or go back to Jakku and make sure no one stumbled across the Mysterious Thing (”the Observatory”) Palps was constructing out in the desert. Galli chooses the latter, and Palps sends him back to Jakku and Galli does his thing. Ten years later, Palps shows back up with the space yacht to compliment Galli on a job well done and take him away.

O.... kay. I’m not sure how Palps was able to ensure Rax would keep his end of the bargain. Sure, he has a supervisor Yupe Tashu and a bunch of droids, and I suppose they could have killed Galli, but... there didn’t seem to be anything stopping Galli from running away? I doubt even Palps would have bothered to stalk one kid just to prove a point, but it just seems really weird from Palpatine’s perspective to be so hands-off.

Anyway, so the first thing they do in their Big Reunion is Palps teaches him how to play chess. And I don’t just mean Thinly-Disguised Space Chess as a stand-in for the real thing, I mean actual chess.

Here’s the passage that made me start to howl and gibber from a world-building perspective:

“It’s a very old game. Shah-tezh, in this interation, thought over the eons I have seen it spawn many variants. Dejarik. Moebius. Chess. In most of the iterations the core mechanism remains.”

To be clear: this is Palpatine talking. What the hell does he mean by “over the eons I have seen”? That’s not the sort of thing you say if it’s something you know from a book or a story, that’s what you say if you’ve personally experienced it. Is Palpatine really that old?? If so, this is HUGE, absolutely earth-shattering bombshell from a world-building perspective. Is it ever followed up on? Not that I can tell.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

(To be fair, I’m not against this, per se, but I just... feel like if it was important.... it should be relevant.... and not name-dropped once and never mentioned again? Like, it matters? AAHHHHHHHHHHH.)

The other thing that made me scream, is, of course, the fact he comes right out and says it’s Chess In Space, which.... While I have used “holo-chess” as a synonym for “dejarik” in my fics, and Wookiepeedia says “holochess” is an accepted synonym for dejarik in nu!canon, this particular passage reads weirdly to me because it implies that chess as we know it on Earth is a separate but related game to dejarik, not just another name for the same game. And I... have questions about that, just like I would if “poker” suddenly appeared in the GFFA lingo along with “sabacc”.

{Also, I just want to note that the Persian word for chess is shatranj. Per the “History of Chess” article on Wikipedia:

Players started calling "Shāh!" (Persian for "King!") when attacking the opponent's king, and "Shāh Māt!" (Persian for "the king is helpless" – see checkmate) when the king was attacked and could not escape from attack. These exclamations persisted in chess as it traveled to other lands.

This isn’t the first time real-life details have migrated into Star Wars - “Tatooine” is named after a location in Tunisia, and the Lars’ farm is located in the “Great Chott” which actually exists on Earth.... but still. I’m just saying.}

And again, this is probably me being stupid and petty about Details That Don’t Matter, except that the one is actually huge from a plot and thematic perspective, so it’s hard not to get tripped up on it.

Anyway, so Palps instructs Galli in the intricacies of shah-tezh, and it all boils down to one thing: “without the Imperator, the demesne cannot survive”.

And That’s the reason why Palpatine has to personally make sure the world burns after his death, because it means that his Empire has completely failed if he dies and deserves to be punished. O.... kay then.

(Granted, Palpatine is a crazed narcissist, but... there’s like no way this makes logical sense, right? And Rax doesn’t even think “oh, that’s insane, but I have to agree to stay alive”. Even at this juncture, when he barely knows Palpatine at all, he’s completely swallowed the Kool-Aid. Which is odd because he’s very skeptical about other things.)

Anyway, Palps repeats it because it’s his guiding principle: “If an Empire cannot protect its Emperor then that Empire must be deemed a failure. It collapses not only because its central figure is gone, but because it must not be allowed to remain.”

He’s so incensed he nearly strangles Galli, but then he relents, and says Galli is “the Contigency” and if he fails, he’ll be replaced, because literally, “destiny”. Then they go watch opera, because Palps hasn’t found anyone to watch opera with him since that one time with Anakin and... Vader isn’t into that, lol.

(The problem with making opera Galli’s thing is that ALL OF THOSE SCENES ARE FLASHBACKS or referred to in passing in the narrative rather than viewed directly. So we don’t see him poised at the opera, plotting, the way Palps did in ROTS, or contemplating art like Thrawn does. So it’s easy to forget that he has this quirk. Also, it makes him feel like a Thrawn knock-off. But I do like that it’s canon that he’s just the Biggest Drama Queen ever, though.)

I’ve said this before in earlier rants, but to repeat: I do not see Palpatine as having the relative humility needed to even consider his own death seriously. in ROTJ, he acts 100% confident that he’s gonna come out the winner. So to come up with an entire elaborate plot, on the off chance that someone might off him seems just... kinda OOC?

Sure, he’s the type to have wheels within wheels and all kinds of schemes going on simultaneously, but... this one involves placing a lot of trust in Galli Rax going along with the script, and I just... don’t get why he would assume Rax would automatically go along with it, or be able to. There are just so many variables that the novel doesn’t seem to address and it’s just hard for me to imagine Palpatine doing this without making other/additional Contigencies, not just one.

Anyway, so it turns out “the Contingency” is to lure both the Imperial remnant and the New Republic fleets to Jakku and then literally blow the entire planet up to take everyone out at once, while a handful of specially chosen loyalist ride off in Palpatine’s Space Yacht for the Unknown Regions to form a new Empire. Which... okay, sure, why not. In theory, this sounds pretty cool and it involves all of Palpatine’s favor tricks, including a planet-destroying superweapon.

Where it actually breaks down is in the details, of course. And Palpatine is still dead, of course, so it does shit-all for him, except for some vindictive satisfaction while still alive, I guess.

(And if he is planning on coming back, it seems weird to burn down the house you plan on re-occupying later? I guess? *shrugs*)

Anyway, it turns out that Palpatine has a whole network of Observatories, where he does all kinds of secret, evil things:

Palpatine began establishing the Observatories before the start of the Galactic Empire, infusing each with purpose: Some were meant to house ancient Sith artificats, others designed to host powerful weapons designs (or the weapons themselves), others still meant as prisons harnessing the lifeforces of those captured within for a variety of strange purposes.

(which, given that the Ashmead’s Lock prison on Kashyyyk is powered by its inhabitants’ life force a la The Matrix, strongly suggests that it, too, is an Observatory, although the book does not say that directly and canon will probably never mention the energy-harvesting thing again despite ALL OF THE QUESTIONS THE EXISTENCE OF SUCH TECH RAISES.)

I’m okay with this passage, because it means that the Maw Installation, the Eye of Palpatine, and Wayland are all part of this system. It feels very much in-character. However, only Jakku is part of the Contigency, at least according to Galli, but--tbh, I kinda doubt it, because when have we ever known Palpatine to tell the truth? Or have Only One Plan?

Anyway, for decades, the Observatory computers have been plotting a route through hyperspace into the Unknown Regions. (I thought this was something only Jedi could do, since they were supposedly hard-core Space Navigators? Otherwise, what was even the point? *shrugs* Why do you even need a “Sith Wayfinder” anyway? *cough cough*) Then there’s an obligatory Thrawn reference, since Thrawn is canon, but Rax is pretty dismissive and says that the only reason Palps tolerated Thrawn was for his secret navigational insights into the Unknown Regions.

So if Palps loses his original demesne, he’s just gonna go conquer the Chiss or something? Except he can’t, because he’s dead, so what ever. I don’t even know, okay? Does anyone know what happened to Thrawn or the Chiss post-OT in the Disney ‘verse??

Anyway, Palps is convinced there’s something in the dark side waiting for him out there, which Galli is dismissive of. You’d think a guy who had literally been Force-choked would be more accepting of this instead of assuming it was just wishful thinking, but okay then. This is pretty clearly meant to be an obvious Snoke reference, which gets wonky with the TROS retcon that Snoke was a clone-puppet of Palpatine the entire time!

Anyway, Rax gets Yupe Tashu all geared up with Secret Evil Sith Gear and a Magic Kyber Crystal and tosses him into the planet’s core, and it starts the self-destruct process. Except it doesn’t because Rae Sloane kills Rax at the last moment, puts a stop to it, and steals the yacht full of feral children and flies off into the sunset to carry on Rax’s master plan because the New Republic destroyed the Imperial fleet while she was distracted and she apparently is tired of all this shit? Okay.

Anyway, she makes a deal with Armitage Hux that she’ll keep Brendol from abusing him if he keeps the feral kids from attacking her, and apparently it works out. This is supposed to be the origin of the First Order, and I guess they find Snoke or something, but none of the details are ever explained in any material I can find, so.... *shrugs*

I just really don’t understand how the First Order can be functional under the conditions herein described and how it logically evolves from This One Ship to a massive, disciplined force capable of wiping out the New Republic.

So I finished the book and... was kind of mad, because it just felt like a complete waste of my time. Overally, this whole thing just seems like a lot of build-up that doesn’t go anywhere, and provides weird backstory that only raises more unaddressed questions for things that really didn’t need it.

also, it’s darkly amusing to me that this book comes out saying, “yup, the ST is a literal game-board reset of the OT, and Palps fully intended for it to be that way, even though we at Disney had no plans to bring him back as a villain at first” and I just... well, props for honesty, I guess?

anyway, the whole thing is a mess from a world-building perspective, and even though Star Wars is Fake and In Space, I just get grumpy when things don’t line up, especially since that was supposed to be one of the major selling points of this new canon in the first place.

#star wars #WHY DISNEY WHY

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yamisnuffles · 4 years

Text

Your Fire and Your Flood, Pt 2

Chapter 2 is here at last.

Read on Ao3

- - - - -

In the beginning there was neither light nor was there dark. There was nothing. There was everything. There was Her and She was both. She was all the light and dark to come, the stars, moons, trees, and clouds. Everything and nothing. That was how Crawly felt. There was no light around him anymore, barely any in him, nor was there dark. Just nothing. And everything.

Consciousness came in fits and starts. First in the feel of droplets on his scales. It must have been rain because that was all he’d felt for weeks. It had started to feel like that was all he’d ever known. But if it was, it had slowed remarkably, no longer a downpour but the occasional drip... drip... drip. He would have thought it curious- each drop too warm, too heavy with something he felt more in his soul than his flesh- but he wasn’t in a place to be curious about anything. He was adrift in the dark and that was all he knew again before long.

The next thing he was aware of was heat. He’d been warm from the moment of his creation. Her love burned at the foundation of every angel. It should have been enough to carry him through anything, had sustained him through the coldest nights and even in the void of space. Rain, no matter the amount, should have been nothing. He hadn’t realized just how cold he’d gotten until heat returned to his body. It came from somewhere outside him, soft and peculiarly inviting. His body was suffused with it until the spark inside him was stoked to new life. He wasn’t sure how long he continued in that nebulous existence. He was only ever aware of the return of cold for the warmth that always followed.

Finally there was song. Song. That was something that hit him at his very core. Seraphim were made to sing for Her. Crawly had sung often, especially as he spun out constellations. Each heavenly body was another note in an infinite song. He hadn’t sung since then, hadn’t heard other angels sing for even longer. Human song had its own kind of beauty- raw and honest and vital. That it was different from angel song did not make it worse but it was different. There was no mistaking what he heard now was an angel singing. That sound was like a hook to the center of his being that yanked him all the way back to consciousness at last.

At first he wasn’t sure if he’d properly woken up. He couldn’t make sense of what he saw. He thought he was sitting amongst the clouds, but that couldn’t be. He slithered and stretched underused muscles as his mind lifted from the heavy fog of a very long sleep. The movement as much as his gradual awakening told him that he was actually swathed in a white cloak. He wriggled toward the light through folds of soft fabric.

He was in a small cabin on a ship large enough that it was barely troubled by waves. Not far away, framed against a miraculously sun filled window not far away, was Aziraphale. That explained the cloak. He should have known instantly from the smell- which he gathered now on his flickering tongue- but the ongoing lilt of angelic song had pushed all else from his mind. It was everything in a way that made his prior nothingness feel like a distant memory. It filled him until he felt he might burst.

Not for the first time, he wished for another corporation. This one wasn't made to house so much emotion. His heart swelled. He wanted to smile. He wanted to cry. He couldn't do either, so instead he used a voice laden and hushed with feeling to speak the only truth that mattered to him.

"Aziraphale." And that, too, was everything.

If only it hadn't meant an end to the song. Aziraphale silenced immediately and spun on his heel. His mouth hung in a wobbling, wordless circle. Shock, sorrow, joy, and more all washed quickly across expressive features. Crawly had forgotten just how blue those eyes could be, especially swimming in unshed tears.

"Oh,” Aziraphale said, finding his voice at last. “Oh, Crawly, you're-"

Aziraphale rushed forward and bent smoothly to draw the whole unwieldy mass of Crawly’s serpentine form into his arms. The long body of a snake wasn't meant for hugging, so Crawly met him halfway by winding around Aziraphale's torso. It meant Aziraphale was left hugging himself as much as anything but it was enough.

Tears fell from Aziraphale's eyes and suddenly Crawly understood what he'd felt before, the rain that wasn't rain. "Hey, I'm alright," he said, not wanting to be the source of Aziraphale's pain. "I'm okay."

"You silly- You foolish-" Aziraphale blustered in a voice that might have been successfully cross if it hadn’t come from between gasping, shaky breaths. "You- you impossible serpent. I thought you were gone. You nearly were."

Crawly nuzzled into the downy hair at the base of Aziraphale's neck. He couldn't bear to see the other angel cry, especially when he was the cause. "Sssssorry."

"You should be." Aziraphale hiccupped over another sob and quieted as he tried to even out his breathing. "I don’t know if the water really would have killed you but that, that… absurdity might have. Whatever were you thinking?"

"Wasn't, really. Just sort of… did it.”

Aziraphale tilted his head to aim a withering look at the snake on his shoulders. “You just decided syphoning off your own ethereal energy was the best thing to do?”

“Yes?” Crawly buried his head at the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck. “I was tired, okay? You don’t know how long I spent trying to convince someone, anyone, to listen to me. But all any of them ever see is the Sssserpent of Eden.” He hated that phrase, hated what it represented and that he could never escape it. “A thousssand yearssss like thissss. They whissssper and tell sssstories sssso everyone knowssss.” Of course his hiss would become more pronounced now and he hated that too. “I was so tired,” he continued when he was certain his voice wouldn’t betray him. “And desperate. I wasn’t about to let the only humans who believed in me die.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. He reached around to stroke gently along Crawly’s back, leaving a trail of warmth wherever he touched. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

Crawly melted into the touch. For a moment he was able to imagine that everything actually would be fine and then he stiffened. He slithered around so he could talk face to face. "Wait, where are the humans?" His whole body went slack, sure of the answer already. "It didn't work, did it? I screwed it up and they didn't make it anyway. I promised. I promisssed and still…"

“Crawly, no. Shhhhh, no, no, no,” Aziraphale soothed. “They’re fine. Just fine.”

Crawly was so busy cursing up a storm that it took a second for him to process what Aziraphale had said. “They’re… alright?” he asked, not daring to hope until it was confirmed again.

“More than, I’d say, given they were sustained for so long by celestial energies. I can take you to see them when you’ve rested up more.”

“I don’t need more sleep. I mean, probably do, but I already got a lot. I think. How long was I out?”

“Well-”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t be able to get more sleep until I see them for myself. So if you won’t take me, I’ll just find them on my own. I’m sure I can sniff them out.”

Crawly moved to drop from Aziraphale’s shoulders but was stopped by a firm hand and a sigh. “Alright. Promise me you’ll try to rest up more after, though.”

“Promise,” Crawly replied without hesitation.

Once out of the cabin, a wave of animal smell hit Crawly. They didn’t have far to go. They passed tall fenced stalls that held elephants, camels, and giraffes. One of the giraffes had its neck curved to look into the next stall over, the one that Aziraphale approached after a furtive glance about.

“Miriam, I’m coming in,” he warned as he undid the latch. “I’ve got someone with me that I thought you might want to see.”

“You’re bringing someone?” came a woman’s nervous reply. “Who- oh.”

Crawly saw instantly what Aziraphale had meant about the humans being better than alright. There was the slightest glow to them, visible in the dim corner where the two elder children were huddled behind their mother, Miriam. As soon as they saw who was with Aziraphale, they all rushed over, the children in an excited jumble and their mother at a more controlled pace. Anah and her brother Reuel hopped up and tried to grab onto the end of Crawly’s tail but were stopped by Aziraphale.

“Alright now, children, Crawly has been through a lot. Best to look and not touch,” he tutted.

The children pouted in unison. Joy bubbled up inside Crawly at the sight of their innocent, open petulance. There they were, clearly considering disobeying the Principality, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s no fun,” he said and he dropped down without further warning.

The children shrieked and giggled. They stumbled with pudgy legs amongst his many winding coils while their mother and Aziraphale looked on with matching exasperated expressions. Their petting was far from gentle but Crawly enjoyed it more for that. He could still remember perfectly the way they’d hardly dared get near him at first. Now it was clear they could hardly get close enough.

“Az- Azira…” Anah screwed up her lips. “The other angel said you were sleeping and that we had to leave you alone. If you don’t need to eat, why do you need to sleep?”

“Because I like to sleep,” Crawly answered. Which was the truth, if not the whole truth of the situation. He didn’t like lying when answering questions but he didn’t think a teeny tiny omission would hurt in this case, given that the alternative was to risk the children feeling guilty for something he’d chosen to do. “Sleeping is great. Sometimes I think I would like to nap for a year.”

“A year?” Reuel gasped.

“Maybe a hundred.”

This was met by a peel of laughter from both Anah and Reuel who clearly thought he was joking. Which, he was. Sort of. A bit. Maybe.

“Wanna see the ostriches?” Anah asked, veering to another topic without warning the way only a child could.

“And sheep!” Reuel chimed in.

“Sheep are boring.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh. We can always see sheep.”

Aziraphale held his hands up. “Children, we can see whatever you’d like.” He closed his eyes a moment and Crawly could feel him probing for the presence of any other celestial beings. One snap later to ensure they went unnoticed and he added, “Lead the way.”

The children scampered out of the stall, followed by their mother and baby brother, and finally the two angels. Crawly rode on Aziraphale’s shoulders so that he could actually see the animals. The children were more than happy to chatter at length about each animal they passed and Crawly was happy to listen. He found he was actually fairly interested since most creatures tended to give him a wide berth. The miracle that made them all more docile for life on the ark ensured he could get a good look without any of them panicking.

He wasn’t sure when he nodded off. Sleep was usually something he chose to do instead of something that simply fell on him, but one moment he was enjoying the children’s glee at the snakes and the next, he was nestled back in Aziraphale’s robes. Starlight washed the floor in a soft glow. Aziraphale was seated next to him, legs folded primly underneath himself. He was humming some human tune to himself and startled slightly when Crawly stirred.

“Awake again I see.”

“Nnnnh,” was Crawly’s eloquent response. He felt cold again and slithered up into Aziraphale’s lap in search of warmth. “How long was I out this time?”

Aziraphale conjured extra heat into his palms and stroked along Crawly’s spine. “Not long. Only a few hours. I do believe you’re properly on the mend at last.”

Crawly couldn’t manage much more than a thoughtful noise in response. The heat felt so nice and when he didn’t say anything more, Aziraphale started to sing the same tune he’d hummed before. Crawly thought it sounded familiar but Aziraphale had replaced the words with cheerful sounding nonsense. Combined with the ever present lap of water against the hull, it threatened to put Crawly right back to sleep. He would have happily submitted if it hadn’t meant he was liable to forget once more something he’d wanted to say.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Whatever for, my dear?” Aziraphale responded without pausing the soothing motion of his hand.

“The humans. You didn’t have to rescue them. I know you’re not supposed to.”

“Ah, well…” And now Aziraphale pulled back into himself and wrung his hands together. “No, I’m not, but no one ever said I couldn’t help you. So when I finally found you and you had the humans with you, what choice did I have? Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to save them but you’d already done that and I wasn’t about to kill them. Whether I did it outright or simply left them, it would all be the same thing in the end. Which meant there was only one thing to do. And you were all huddled together and really, it was just easier to take the whole boat and all its occupants than try to extricate you from the lot.”

Crawly could tell from the way Aziraphale was rambling that he’d rehearsed those excuses a few times in case he had to explain himself. “How’ve you kept four humans from going unnoticed?”

“It would seem most of the angels find all the animals a bit… distasteful, so they’ve mostly left me to it. Gabriel in particular, who was meant to keep me updated on when I might see land again. As for Noah and his family, they trust me to keep things in order.” Aziraphale squirmed and his gaze skipped around in search of sudden intruders. “So it’s really been no bother. Certainly nothing to thank me for.”

“You did a lot, Aziraphale. They all seemed happy and healthy. Don’t say that was all down to me because I haven’t been doing much of anything for a while. After everything they’ve been through, you made them smile again. You did that.” Crawly knew how difficult it must have been for Aziraphale. The Principality seemed forever torn between what he felt was right and what he thought Heaven wanted from him. He’d gone above and beyond even knowing it could get him in trouble. “So, yeah, think I actually do have to say thanks.”

Aziraphale squirmed again but it was clear he was pleased from the way his lips curled up despite himself. “When you put it like that, I suppose I must.” He averted his eyes and his cheeks tinged with pink. “Though I feel far from altruistic. I did it for you. Because of how much you’d given. Because of how I…”

He trailed off, leaving Crawly to wonder. And wonder he did, about that angel with self conscious crimson painting the tips of his pale ears and the light of a halo glowing delicately from just this side of reality. Aziraphale had gone so far out of his comfort zone, risked the wrath of heaven, all for him. A snake, the Serpent of Eden.

Again Crawly felt something too big, too complex for this simple corporation. It filled him and filled him and filled him, bigger than the wrathful sea outside. How could he feel something so huge? He doubted there’d be any containing it even if he’d had his proper form. He was a star too heavy to sustain itself, a supernova waiting to be born. He didn’t know how else to put it, even to himself. He didn’t think he’d ever felt something like this. It was all consuming and yet it gave and gave.

It was everything and it was nothing. It was-

Oh.

“Aziraphale, I- I think…”

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t say it. Were angels even allowed to love in this way? This was no wide, encompassing love for creation nor the intrinsic act of being that was loving Her. This was specific, desirous, needing of another like a mortal might need for air. Even if it could be holy, Crawly wasn’t sure it could be when coming from him. It would drag Aziraphale down. Aziraphale was meant to soar in the heavens, not be forced down into the dirt.

“What is it?” Aziraphale prompted again.

This feeling was a revelation but Crawly couldn’t reveal it. He’d rushed in too often and stumbled into folly. He couldn’t risk that. “I think I… might sleep again. For a bit.” There. That was better. Safer. “Could you stay with me? Maybe sing a bit? Helps me sleep.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, his smile beatific.

Crawly slithered back into the pile of robes though he’d never felt warmer than he did with Aziraphale’s thigh pressed against him and a song drifting through the air just for him. He hadn’t thought what he felt could grow anymore but there it was, bubbling up. He had the same feeling he did when he’d first awakened from his long slumber, that he was swathed in clouds rather than fabric. He buried himself in the robes, sure that if he continued looking at Aziraphale he would burst.

Once more, impossibly given how he felt, sleep claimed him. It was not darkness that met him this time but a dream of the stars. Six wings carried him in a familiar dance. It felt right, better than it had when he’d done it in the waking world because this time Aziraphale was with him. They flew hand in hand to every one of Crawly’s creations. When there was no more to show, Crawly let out the feeling that was burning to be free and turned himself into a star just for Aziraphale.

He lingered blissfully in that dream until the sun on his eyelids couldn’t be ignored any longer. A smile remained painted on his lips despite the stiffness in all of his limbs. He indulged in a languorous stretch and yawned so wide it was a miracle his jaw didn’t end up unhinging. His fingers were buried deep in tangled curls before anything struck him as odd.

“You’re- you- you’re… oh my.”

Aziraphale’s stunned stammering confirmed it. He knew what he felt but he still had to look down, to press fingers into lightly freckled skin, in order to believe it. He was a tangle of limbs piled at Aziraphale’s feet. He had his body back. His. It didn’t make a bit of sense and he expected scales to sprout at any moment, but there was no denying it.

He thought of conjuring some clothes but decided for the moment that he’d rather wear Aziraphale’s discarded cloak. He didn’t care one speck that it was too large. He liked it more for that. Delighted laughter burbled up and escaped his lips- his lips- as he tried to get to his feet. It continued, even as he stumbled. It would have kept going until he hit the deck with his face but Aziraphale caught him first. Heat blossomed in his skin where Aziraphale’s hands made contact. Even if his legs hadn’t felt confusing at the moment, being so close to Aziraphale this way would have robbed him of the ability to walk all the same. His knees were uselessly weak.

“Careful now,” Aziraphale said softly as he tucked himself under an arm. “You’ll need some time to get used to your legs.”

“My legs,” the seraph repeated with a wide, crooked smile. “My legs.”

Aziraphale snapped and a pile of cushions appeared. He lowered the other angel onto them and then cocked his head. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. The skin about his eyes crinkled with his smile. Those blue eyes blew wide suddenly. “Oh. I remember now. You’re not Crawly. You’re-”

“Don’t.” A shiver passed through new skin. The former serpent couldn’t pin a finger on exactly why he dreaded hearing his old angelic name, only that it filled him with a distinct sense of wrong. “That’s not me anymore.”

“Not you?” Aziraphale asked, perplexed. “My dear, it’s your God given name. You’ve earned it back and you’re saying you don’t want it?”

“Nope.” The seraph picked absently at his fingernails and toes. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered. “Not that. Not Crawly either.”

“If you insist,” Aziraphale huffed.

“I do.”

“What should I call you, then?”

A good question. He drew in a long breath until he felt truth lodge somewhere in between his ribs. “Crowley,” he answered and he instantly knew it was right.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale echoed and if Crowley hadn’t known before, it was sealed as soon as he heard it come out of those lips. “If that makes you happy then, yes, I think it suits you.”

Crowley flashed his teeth in response. “Suits me, huh?”

He wasn’t sure who he was right now. His skin felt familiar and foreign all at once. He grabbed one of his feet and hooked it behind his neck. He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be able to do that. He wiggled his various digits and felt the pull of muscles and tendons as he stretched out his limbs again. He felt a bit looser at the joints than he had before but otherwise normal. He stuck his tongue out until he could see the rounded pink tip of it. Normal too. Unless… He concentrated and it forked at the end, falling somewhere between human and serpent. Concentrate more and it was back again. He was fairly certain if he really wanted to, he could be a snake again, but he didn’t want to.

Aziraphale watched him with a bemused smile as he continued testing the new parameters of his body. “Do you have any idea how this happened.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’ and thoroughly enjoying forming his mouth around words again instead of just willing them to come. “And for once, I’m not going to question it.”

He set his feet flat and pushed up in another attempt to stand. His hips swayed this way and that. He probably would have fallen again except that he pulled his wings out to balance him. A pleasant tingle ran up his spine. They ached to be used. His current quarters weren’t large enough to really stretch them, which only left him with one option.

He folded them tight against his back and reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand firmly in his own. “Come on.”

“Where to?”

“Just come along, would you? More fun if I show you.”

Aziraphale gave a small, tight nod. Crowley thought it was the other angel who was trembling and then he realized it was him. That wouldn’t do. He pushed past that jittery feeling, took a few gravity defying strides forward, and then hopped out the window, taking Aziraphale with him. Aziraphale all but fell out after. Crowley pulled the startled blond into his arms and they floated down together with the aid of six star bright wings.

He couldn’t help but laugh again as they made a soft landing on the surface of the water. He released Aziraphale from the embrace and took a few more increasingly steady steps. When he didn’t fall straight on his ass, he took another step, skipped, hopped, and fluttered forward. It was all marvellous. He could have spent the next thousand years reacquainting himself with everything he’d missed in the last thousand.

Aziraphale followed after him with a more controlled gate. “You really have no idea why you got your body back?” he asked. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Given the timing, I suppose it must be what you did for the humans. Which, if that’s the case, Her plan truly is ineffable.”

Crowley twirled about on one foot and looked straight into eyes the same blue as the water beneath their feet. His heart pounded hard in his chest. Love, it said.

“Not a clue,” was the easy lie, though only a partial one at that. He knew in his soul what this was about but that didn’t mean he knew the reasoning. Perhaps She was rewarding him for not sullying Aziraphale with this imperfect, all too human love. “Like I said, not questioning it.” He extended a hand toward Aziraphale. “Fly with me?”

Aziraphale let out his own wings with a contented sigh and took Crowley’s hand. “I’d love to.”

Love. Love. Love.

Hand in hand, they took flight.

#fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #anthony j crowley #snake crowley #angel!crowley #go au: tmgt #aziraphale #my writing

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ciestessde · 5 years

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Phantasma Magica Ch. 1

STORY SUMMARY Clockwork and the Observants send Danny to Hogwarts on a special mission. But, cryptic as ever, that Old Stopwatch never actually told him what would happen on it!!! “All you need to do right now, Daniel, is stay focused on your mission. And remember, the-” “‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ Yeah, you’ve only repeated that a few dozen times today.”

Podfic Version

Ghost Zone - Clocktower - Sometime in the 2000s

After the accident that transformed him into a dangerous creature known as a “phantasm,” Danny had been staying with Clockwork, the Keeper of Time. The ancient being had saved Danny many times, and in many ways, by then. He’d even taken Danny under his wing as his apprentice. And as his apprentice, Danny was often sent on missions – either by the immortal Keeper himself, or by his bosses the Observants. It was one of these missions that Danny was currently trying to find out more about.

“Why are these things so much trouble, again?” Clockwork was floating around the room, his purple robe and spectral tail flowing behind him, working on making his apprentice a few extra batches of imitation ecto-energy, or “substitutes.” Just in case Danny ran out while on this mission. (Not that Clockwork was trying to hint at anything… Because honestly, if he did, it would just make things worse for the poor boy.)

“They are only trouble if they fall into the wrong hands. I had planned to discreetly destroy them myself, but…” By the way he trailed off, Danny knew he would never get the end of that sentence. “Alriiiight… So are you at least going to tell me why you’re sending me to a MAGIC SCHOOL first?” Silence. “Aaarrrgh!” He bumped his head against the nearest wall. “*sigh* Fine. Whatever. Why do I even bother asking questions, anymore…” Clockwork handed him a large backpack with the substitutes in them (all 3-years-worth… And, yes. It WAS heavy), and, after Clockwork formed his legs once more and retrieved his staff, they walked in silence to one of the innumerable clock-shaped viewing screens.

Clockwork twisted a few mechanisms on his staff and waved it in front of the screen, and, with a sound like tv static, a view of a dark, mysterious forest appeared on it. “Y’know, just because no time will pass HERE, doesn’t mean it will F E E L like it to ME.” “All you need to do right now, Daniel, is stay focused on your mission. And remember, the-” “‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ Yeah, you’ve only repeated that a few dozen times today.” Clockwork stepped out of the way of the portal, and Danny flew through.

Despite knowing the most likely outcome (and having a backup plan for all over-fifty likely dangers), he couldn’t stop himself: “… Be safe, Daniel.”

Hogwarts - Forbidden Forest - 1993

As expected, Danny had arrived above a forest and about a mile away from the school in the late morning. He took his time flying, and, after a few minutes, he was about halfway there. At this point, he decided he should probably go ahead and take one of the substitutes, seeing as it had been a while since he last ate. But as he was about to uncap the bottle, he noticed a strange black shape moving toward him from the school’s direction. It was moving rather quickly…

He could feel his hackles rising from the aura the creature was giving off and the way it made the space around it darken. It was too close, and coming in WAY too fast. He managed to get the bottle back in the bag, but he didn’t notice the OTHER of the creatures come up from below him in time. It knocked the bag out of his hands before it-

Pain. Electricity. Screaming.

The creature shrieked when the blast of ethereal fire hit it. But, although he’d fended off the one, its buddy was only a few feet away now.

Danny picked up speed – still trying to get to the school – before realizing how much weaker he felt. ‘Those things must feed off ectoplasmic and ethereal energy. But how? What are th-? OH!’ Now he remembered: Dementors. They were Spirit Eaters, just like phantasms like him. Except they usually only fed off of emotions. ‘So why do I feel weak? … Wait, I feel wea- The substitutes!’

Danny turned around to try and find the bag and the (hopefully not broken) bottles of imitation ecto-energy, but the dementors were done only trying to snack on him. They were still starving, but anger and ages-old hatred between their kinds had overruled hunger. If Danny slowed… they would destroy him.

So Danny flew. And he fought. And he became weaker and weaker, and – eventually – hungrier and hungrier. And by the time the wizards showed up, he was starting to fall apart…

Hogwarts - Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) Class

Professor Remus Lupin was writing on the board in silence, finishing his final preparations for the day’s lesson, while the third-year Slytherins and Gryffindors – including the Golden Trio themselves: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger – settled into their seats. But while the rest of the class were preoccupied by today’s lesson, the latest gossip, or a forgotten textbook, Hermione…

“Professor? Could you tell us a little about phantasms? They were only briefly mentioned in the book.” She continued to flip through her textbook until finding the page in question. A brief paragraph greeted her with the challenging lack of information that had left the brunette in an absolute storm of frustration, no matter how many times she went over it.

Remus Lupin, dressed in his usual ragged robes, turned his gaze to her with a mixed expression. His normally sad, wistful smile fell, and a sigh left his lips. But his tired eyes brightened at the topic, as a hand brought itself up to rub his furrowing brow in thought. “You bring up an interesting topic Miss Granger. The little information that is written – is true to the fact that there is little known about them.”

The class was silent, waiting to sate their curiosity. Despite the numerous times most of the students would simply roll their eyes at ‘Know-It-All’ Granger’s antics, this was something even many of the pureblood Slytherins in the room hadn’t heard of. All ears honed in to hear the professor’s next words, hung with anticipation.

“From what little we do know, I can tell you that phantasms are very rare creatures of the spectral class. Not unlike ghosts or poltergeists with their varied appearances and personalities; and yet they hold a frighteningly close similarity to dementors in the dangers they pose. They are, indeed, Dark Creatures.”

Harry shuddered as the rest of the class broke into nervous murmurs. Snickers came from some of the Slytherins, followed by teasing gestures imitating dementors aimed at Harry. The raven haired teen just gave a huff in response, turning his attention back to the professor, while Ron continued to glare at Malfoy and the other Slytherins. Hermione then broke the moment of tension and returned the eyes of the class to their professor. “How is it possible for a ghost-like creature to also be a dementor-like creature?”

Lupin pondered her words for a moment, his mind attempting to piece together the few existing bits of information regarding the matter. “In that lies the mystery. From what little is known, we can only piece together a few facts, considering that they are, in fact, corporeal beings – unless they wish otherwise – and are extremely aggressive in demeanor.”

It was Ron’s turn to earn a few points for curiosity, “But if they’re so aggressive… how come almost no one’s ever seen ‘em?” “Good thinking on your part Mr. Weasley, though that in itself brings up more questions than answers. As your book states, many old stories of ghost attacks or hauntings are results of phantasms holding claim to their territory. More often tormenting muggles and going out of their way to avoid the wizarding world.”

This brought another snicker from the Slytherin group. Malfoy leaned back in his chair and shared a cruel smirk with some of his housemates. “Seems there’s actually a respectable creature out there after all.” More bits of smug laughter came from the group at the implication their ‘leader’ had made. The weary teacher cleared his throat to grab the attention of the students before a fight broke out.

“They’re not to be taken lightly, Mr. Malfoy. Most reports of attacks – from the few who have survived – have been upon unwary witches and wizards that stumbled into their haunts. Despite their preference to muggle neighborhoods, they will not differentiate when it comes to what they claim as their territory. Though I have not met one personally, from what I’ve heard, they can make even a dementor look docile in comparison.”

The class fell silent once more with the weight of the professor’s words. The meaning in his tone was clear: This was not a matter to be taken lightly. The silence was only broken by a nervous squeak from Longbottom. “P—pp-professor…. Are they….. r-really that dangerous?” Neville chirped, his body attempting to sink below his desk. “Indeed. They are one of the few dark creatures that dementors will respond to in earnest – and violently for that matter. Usually the two species will avoid one another, but should they cross, a fight will undoubtedly occur. “It is also said that their presence can often be mistaken for that of a dementor’s, as the room will become as cold as ice. But rather than the happiness being drained out of you, a sense of feeling hunted will settle in your gut… ”

And right then, what would have otherwise been an inconsequential lesson – doomed to be forgotten except for the occasional nightmare or horror-story – became a well-timed joke for the old, meddling Keeper of Time.

Lupin found his words cut short as his gaze turned towards the window in surprise. Every pulse in the room raced, adrenaline pumping through them to prepare them to fight or run – but a feeling of despair soon layered on top, competing with this sudden desire for life. Harry, Ron, Hermione and the others, turned in the direction of their professor’s gaze; expressions of fear, horror, and curiosity forming upon their faces, as all eyes fell upon the window glass. Crystals of ice crept up the window panes like an all-consuming fungus, encrusting the view to the outside world in a layer of frost – just as a black figure flew by, followed by another two, much larger, forms. Gasps rose from the crowd of students as they darted over to the window to see the spectacle that had just raced by. Professor Lupin pushed his way to the front of the group, peering out the frigid glass towards the scene playing out less than thirty meters from them.

Two dementors encircled, and were lashing out randomly at an unusual entity. A teenage boy, not much older than Harry or the others, floated there in the middle of the two wraith-like creatures. He was dressed quite oddly: a long-sleeved black shirt and black pants; white boots, belt, and gloves; and a sleeveless, white hoodie. His snow-white hair hung down into his face – but it didn’t hide the blazing green glare and bared fangs the boy directed at the two dementors. Just as they lashed out again at the floating boy, a yelp rang out from most of the class. A flash of neon-green light had tumbled one of the beasts backwards! However, it quickly recovered from the intimidating attack, and all three specters shot off across the grounds – the two dementors remaining in hot pursuit of the ghost-like boy.

Hermione was the first of the class to recover from the shock enough to speak; her gaze turning from the window, to Professor Lupin, and back again. “Professor, was that… ?” Remus remained in stunned silence, staring out the window in his own spell of disbelief. However, quickly shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned to face the students. “So it would seem. Class is dismissed – and I want you ALL to head to your houses immediately! I must speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

Hurried footsteps clattered down the stone corridors as students and teachers alike scattered about. The Golden Trio darted through the crowd and over to the nearest window that viewed the grounds. Soon followed by the Weasley twins, who’d spotted them slipping by. “Wotcher, Harry! This has to be one of the weirdest sights Hogwarts has seen, ‘eh?” George grinned, patting the raven haired teen upon the shoulder, as he and his twin peered out through the glass.

A black-and-white speck went whizzing by the gamekeepers hut, with the two other figures in hot pursuit. The extremely large man that resided in the hut could be seen exiting and flailing up at them in agitation. “Hagrid!” Harry jolted, looking ready to leap through the window and save the man from the angry specters.

“Easy now, Harry. I think we best let the professors handle this one.” Fred had the same grin as his twin, his hand coming up to pat Harry’s other shoulder. “Yeah, even the professors are gonna have trouble with this,” George chimed in. Harry heaved a sigh in response. Hermione shook her head, “I just hope Professor Dumbledore knows enough about them to do something.” Ron was about to smack himself in the face at her comment, but stopped when the scene swept by the window. The blur of motion caused him, and several others, to yelp in surprise.

Outside the Entryway

“Merlin’s beard!” Professor McGonagall swore, a hand held to her chest to steady herself from shock. The three specters just whisked by centimeters from the tall, severe-looking teacher’s head as she stepped out onto the grounds. Her eyes followed the scene fly out across the lake and back again. Her gaze then shifted over towards Dumbledore, who had just arrived in the entryway of the castle. “It’s trouble enough just having dementors around the school grounds, but in Heaven’s name! This is too much, Headmaster!” The old wizard chuckled, his piercing blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “There, there Minerva. This will be settled soon enough. But first, it would be best to separate them before this matter escalates. Severus?” Dumbledore turned to look back up the stairs, a serious look on his face as blue eyes met jet black.

“Yes, Headmaster?” The thin, sallow-skinned man remained stoic, his tone flat with a hint of irritation. Although it was likely due to general frustration (with the DADA professor), rather than with the situation at hand. “If you would?” Professor Snape nodded, his wand at the ready for the creatures’ next pass. The group of professors (as well as the unavoidable huddle of students behind them, just inside the entryway) watched the creatures’ exchange nervously.

As they flew, the black-and-white blur would sporadically fire green projectiles at the following dementors, causing one or both of them to briefly fall behind. They sped over the lake, the Forbidden Forest, and made several laps around the castle once again, before coming within reach of Snape and Dumbledore’s wands. “Expecto Patronum!” yelled the Potions Professor, successfully blocking the dementors’ pursuit. At almost the exact same instant the Headmaster cried “Irretio idolon!”

The boy-like apparition immediately fell, as though snagged on a line. When he hit the ground, there seemed to be a physical struggle – as though the phantasm were trapped in an invisible net held together only by the tip of Dumbledore’s wand. Once he regained his bearings, the phantasm tried to fly away again. The old wizard wasn’t expecting the smaller creature to be so strong; before he knew it, Dumbledore was pulled a couple meters forward. He quickly started shaking and sweating from the strain of trying to keep the phantasm in place. “Pomona!” The dumpy, dirt-covered Herbology professor quickened her pace from the Greenhouses, carrying a sack of what resembled roses in one hand and glowing green dust in the other. She carefully combined and formed these into a circle around the phantasm, being sure to stay well out of striking range. When she finished, Dumbledore immediately released his hold on the spirit.

Professor Sprout fell back in fright when the phantasmal boy sprang at her, fangs bared and growling so low she could feel the ground vibrating beneath her. She breathed a sigh of relief when the barrier held. Everyone took a few moments for the shock to wear off, before Hagrid approached Dumbledore. “Wha’ should I do with…” Dumbledore shook his head, “I’m afraid, Hagrid, that this will take the care of professionals to be dealt with safely.” “Ay, ay, Headmaster, sir.”

“And who, may I ask, has the most unfortunate job of supervising the creature until such professionals arrive?” asked McGonagall. “I believe that falls to whomever is most familiar with and knowledgeable on such matters.” His eyes, duller than usual (though not by much), turned questioningly to the other professors on the stairs. Remus stepped forward. “I suppose that would be me… Though I’ll need at least one other to help me, as I can’t be watching it at all times.” “I’ll take the night shift, professor, don’tcha worry none,” said Hagrid, “I’ve ne’er met a creature I couldn’t take a liking teh.” “Yeah,” whispered Malfoy, near the back of the huddle of students still just inside the doors. “But I’ve never met a creature or wizard who could take a liking to that oaf. Except blood-traitors and mudbloods.”

The Heads of Houses quickly began ushering students back to their dormitories after that, and the search began for how such a dangerous and powerful creature had managed to come so close to Hogwarts without being detected by the castle’s barriers. And that evening, in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, a certain group of students discussed how they could use this situation to learn more about the elusive creatures called “phantasms”… as well as whether, and how, this might give them a new way to fend off the ever-lurking threat of the dementors.

This fanfic is a crossover between the Harry Potter book series and the Danny Phantom AU “Time’s Apprentice” by Atrieisan on deviantart (check out her comic – her artwork is beautiful!)

This is only Arc 1 of 3, but all of this arc has been written. So you can expect regular updates every Wednesday until Arc 1 is finished! You can find this fanfic here, as well as on:

Fanfiction.net/~ciestess ArchiveOfOurOwn.org/users/Ciestess/profile Deviantart.com/Ciestess

Also, if you like my writing, you should check out my other series “One-Shot Wednesdays” where I write a requested short story every week! I’m also in the process of writing an original book series called “Crossroad of Infinity,” so if you want to know more about that, you can check out more of my Tumblr (#CrossroadOfInfinity , send me asks, etc.)

Finally, I want to thank everyone who helped beta this story, including Jay. Bloodworth ( @jaywrites101 ).

I hope you enjoy! And if you did, please REBLOG!

#harry potter #danny phantom #phicc #Atrieisan #ghost hunger #phantasma magica

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cephalon-celaeno · 6 years

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Abram: Reconciliation

Act 1 — Valkyr

It doesn’t take Abram long to realize that he is nothing without his Warframes.

First, it’s Ephemera. His Cephalon asks him, calmly, ignorantly, when he’s going to leave the ship again. “There are missions waiting for you,” she says. “If you truly do not wish to do them, I will pass them on to others. But it would be... healthy, for you to leave.”

“Sure,” Abram rolls his eyes. “I’ll get on that as soon as you make my Warframes listen to me again. They’re the ones acting like children.”

“Abram,” Ephemera says, gently, “you know that this is a solvable disagreement. You only need to put in the effort. You haven’t lost your Transference or your Warframes.”

“Tell that to them!” Abram insists. “I want to get back out there and be useful again, but they won’t do anything to work with me!” Ephemera doesn’t reply, and Abram sinks back into his solitude.

The second is Izi. “I don’t know anything about Warframes being alive,” she admits, and yeah, Abram sees how that could be troubling for her situation, “but I imagine they’re just like any other people. If you find out what’s upsetting them and work to fix it, that should solve the problem.”

“They’re the problem,” Abram insists.

“No,” Izi says, “you’re the problem. There are five Warframes and one of you; the only thing all of them have in common is you. That’s just math. And don’t lie. You want them back. I know you, and I’ve watched you define yourself by them for ages. You can’t exist as you are without them, so it’s either change or die.”

“So now even you want me dead.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Izi murmurs, and hangs up.

Third, and this infuriates him, is Wyn.

He had hoped that their last conversation would be their last. When they contact him again and open the conversation with “have you made up with your Warframes yet?” he almost explodes on them.

“Why does everybody assume that it’s me who has to make up with them?” he yells. “How am I even supposed to do that if they won’t talk to me? It’s not my fault, I’m just the one suffering the consequences of their choice!”

“Have you even tried?” Wyn asks. “Or have you just been sitting around waiting for them to suddenly change their minds about you?” They don’t get an answer, and they don’t wait for one, either. They disconnect as soon as they ask the question, leaving Abram with the thought.

Perhaps, he reasons, after the thought has had time to sit in his head, it is worth reaching out. He isn’t sure if it’ll work, but it’s better than sitting around and waiting for something that may never happen. The longer this stretches on, the smaller he becomes. Abram had never realized, or recognized, just how much he defines himself by his Warframes before.

He decides he needs them back.

He only activates his Transference halfway, enough to touch the mind of his Valkyr but not enough for her to push him away. He waits on the border for awhile, fearing that she’ll still reject him anyway, but instead he gets an impression pressed into his mind: “Speak, and we will see.”

“How can I help you? How can I repair our relationship?” Abram hates how desperate he sounds, but there is no choice; he is desperate. Without his Warframes, he is nothing. He needs them back.

“Selfish boy, I know you too well,“ she snarls. The hostility, in this space, is palpable. He feels it burn his face. "You only want to help me for your own sake. You don’t care for me; you only want it to go back to the way it was before: you, angry; me, silent. I have spent too long waiting for this; I will not be silenced again.”

Pain flashes across the Transference link, leaving static in its wake. Neither of them speaks for several long moments, until Abram breaks the silence. He whispers, “where do you hurt? Show me.”

She hesitates, but only a moment; she probably wants to let this through, to make him feel the pain she doesn’t deserve. It creeps up on him:

clamps on his neck, around his wrists;

skin searing, a constant burn where flesh never made for sunlight feels it;

a feeling as though his head is about to split open, or like it already has.

It blends into itself, converges on a single burning point, and that point is all of him.

No wonder she’s so angry, Abram thinks. Anger is the only emotion that burns bright enough to be felt through this immense pain. Anger is all he’s left with when it consumes him. He understands.

The pain vanishes, stolen away by Valkyr again, and it’s a relief when the numbness of Transference returns. He can’t speak for a moment; he can barely force himself to breathe and recover. Nothing he’s felt has been as awful as that. “How come I’ve never felt that before, when controlling you?” he asks. His voice is weak, and not by choice.

“I shield you from the worst of it,” she says. She sounds tired, but relieved, like she’s finally released a secret long kept.

“But why?” Why would she care enough about him to hide it?

“It is my own burden to bear. You never asked for it.” A pause. “Neither did I. But I wasn’t given a choice.”

“So why give me a choice?”

“Because I must!” she hisses, then seems to pull herself back. “No creature, no matter how terrible, deserves this. I am not so bitter as to share it with a child who knows little of suffering. What would it help?”

“It would help me understand you,” says Abram. “Even back when I believed I was you, I never knew. You’ve been shielding me from it all this time; how could I have ever known?”

“You’re making even my suffering about you, child,” Valkyr growls. “That is why I never shared it with you. Everything of mine becomes yours instead. There is no room for agency in your shallow world, and that was the last thing of mine which truly belonged to me.”

“I...” It’s too hard to apologize, and after a moment of waiting, Valkyr shakes her head and turns away.

"Don’t speak to me again,” she says, “until you find a way to heal my pain. That is the only apology I will accept.”

That, at least, is a course of action. Abram finally has something to do, something to pour his energy into, a solution to his problem. And the solution is almost simple, as well: to heal Valkyr, all he has to do is get her back the parts stolen from her.

Abram remembers Alad V’s Zanuka: it’s made of Warframe materials, Valkyr’s materials, and if Abram has to tear them off with his bare hands to return Valkyr’s skin to her, he will.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t need to.

He speaks with Valkyr, shares his plan, and she allows him into her mind for this purpose. She’s willing to rip the Zanuka apart herself, if she has to.

Abram doesn’t take full control, because she won’t let him. It’s a different feeling, working alongside her rather than alone with a fragment of her watching. The two of them together are… stronger, faster, more fearless and less hesitant. She, like Abram, relishes every landed blow, every drop of spilled blood. Her anger, like Abram’s, is consuming but focused.

They’re the same, Abram realizes. They’re the same, and maybe healing her will heal something in him, too.

By the time they find the Zanuka, the two of them are working together better than they ever had before. It’s exhilarating. Abram laughs, and Valkyr’s voice joins his, a victorious roar. Abram returns to his orbiter in high spirits with its remains.

Ephemera scoffs at the sight. “To think I was worried,” she says. “Your Transference is fine.” Abram ignores her jab, and instead asks her if her foundry will be able to return Valkyr’s skin to her.

“Perhaps,” Ephemera says. “But it won’t be the same. Repairing is more than simply sticking pieces where they used to be. You’ll need more than that.”

Abram is no craftsman, but he does the best he can to assemble the parts he stole back like armor. It doesn’t look quite right, when he compares what he built to Valkyr herself, so instead of leaving it there, he decides to try something else.

Ephemera suggests that he take other things, things he doesn’t use or need, and repurpose them. So he does: he takes relics of the past, pieces left behind, mementos of the Orokin and scraps of old Warframes, and he returns to the armor he crafted and makes it better.

And better, and better.

“You’ve been working on this for an awfully long time,” Izi observes, the eighth time she drops in and finds him still working on this project. “It’s different, for you. I never thought you’d work this hard on anything that doesn’t directly benefit you.”

“It does benefit me,” Abram insists. “If I repair her, she’ll work with me again.”

“But you don’t have to put in this amount of effort,” Izi points out. “You could stop at good enough. But instead you’re working to make this perfect. That’s far more than what directly benefits you.” And she’s right, Abram knows. He could have just stopped, and Valkyr would probably still let him back in.

“No,” he says, “I couldn’t just repair her. Wholeness is more than that.”

“That’s what I’m surprised by,” Izi says. “You don’t just want her back -- you want her to be whole again. You really are capable of being kind. Of caring about people besides yourself.”

Abram doesn’t agree with her, but he doesn’t have to say that. She knows, already.

He doesn’t tell Izi what he has come to realize: Valkyr is a part of him, but she’s also a being of her own. She wasn’t made for him to simply project his own personality on. She deserves to be comfortable in her own skin, and if it takes his work to make that happen, he needs to put in that work.

Ephemera helps where she can, finding ways to merge pieces until they’re things of their own, new and better. And Abram attaches them to Valkyr herself with prayers that it will work like he means it to.

And when he’s done, she’s whole again.

Without him controlling her, she flexes her hands. And she looks around, and she sees him and gives him a tiny, approving nod.

“You did more than you needed,” she says, voice touching his thoughts. “Perhaps I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

“Maybe something in you inspired me to change,” Abram counters. “Maybe I finally recognized that what you need is, in a way, what I need as well. Either way, I did it.”

Valkyr looks at her hands. Abram doesn’t think she’s going to speak again until she does. “Did you know I have a name?”

He didn’t.

“It’s Kara,” she says. “You -- the past Abram -- didn’t deserve it, but after what you’ve done I feel differently. You -- the current, and future Abram -- deserve my respect.”

And she falls still and silent again.

#cephalon recordings #celaeno speaks #operator abram #abram: reconciliation #yall i just reread this and izi is the best character EVER and i adore her #it's uhhhhhhh a little late at night so im posting it immediately #i still need to write the thing that happens BEFORE this but this is finished now so it doesnt matter if i post out of order #the formatting got messed up at some point but i just went and fixedd it

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chrisemrysblog · 6 years

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Hello~

This is my gift to @thau-draws for @dgmsecretsanta2k17 who wanted something with Mana, Nea and Allen, as well as time travel~ It’s more of a dimension-time travel, but I hope you like! And as you also wished for more Nea, I made most of this from Nea’s eyes~

You might guess, but Allen is from after running away from the Order (and before being found), while Mana and Nea are written from my personal headcanons/interpretation.

I hope you’ve had happy holidays~

“Five more minutes...” Nea mumbled as he felt his cheek poked, swatting at the offending hand and turning, kind of liking the scent of flowers.

… Wait. There should not be flowers in his bed.

Golden eyes snapped open, squinting and groaning as the sun hurt his eyes; but feeling immensely confused. Nea had noticed his brother was also sleeping beside him, and they were definitely outdoors.

Wait. If Mana was still out, then who woke him?

Rolling onto his back, Nea used an arm to shield his face as his eyes opened again, landing on a young white haired man with a friendly smile. One that was too fixed to be real. And one that felt familiar, for being at the receiving end of it whenever a certain someone was stressed.

“… Allen?” Nea sounded very confused, and for good cause, the last time he checked, Allen was a red head. And a bit older. And had glasses. He squinted. The scar felt weird…

But despite all that, Nea knew he wouldn't mistake Allen. And the flash of surprise in the silver eyes told him he wasn't wrong. Before he could speak though, he heard Mana groan, and he looked to the side. Nea couldn't help the snort as he realized Mana was face first into the grass, and he could help even less the snickers when his brother suddenly jerked to get on all fours, then sitting on his knees, rubbing off some of the green and dirt on his face with a hand.

A sharp intake of breath brought Nea's attention back to Allen, seeing Mana look too from the corner of his eyes, and his brows furrowed at the shocked look the young man wore. Silver eyes were wide and mouth open a bit, staring at Mana as if seeing a ghost. No, not as if, Nea realized as Man properly gazed at this white haired version of their beloved friend, blinking and tilting his head. The stare, the blankness that felt like shock, Nea suddenly realized that for this Allen, he really was seeing a ghost.

Someone he didn't think he would see again. But then the white haired turned puzzled, silver eyes going from Mana to Nea to Mana again, as if he couldn't quite understand what he was seeing. Nea's gaze was attracted up as something golden wiggled out to hover, and a big grin formed on Nea's face.

“Timcanpy!”

… Something was definitely up, because even the golem seemed uncertain what to do. But after a bit of hesiation, it dashed to press against Nea's cheek, a sign it recognized its master. Or first master?

“So… Do you know how you got here?” The white haired finally asked.

Mana blinked and looked at Nea. The short haired twin shrugged. “I think we were playing around…” Nea's cheeks took a slight red color, because he recalled now. “I was testing how the melody affected the gates…” Golden eyes took again into this white haired Allen. “And I'm guessing we shouldn't be here?”

Allen scratched behind his neck, and Nea realized the way his gaze kept drifting away was because he was trying not to stare at Mana. Of course, his twin realized it, and worry was starting to show on Mana's face. “How do you know me?” Allen asked instead of replying.

However, that stunned both twins a bit. Was this Allen saying that, while he seemed to recognized Mana and Nea, he hadn't expected to be recognized? Something floated in Nea's mind then, accompanied with a feeling that he associated with the one he got controlling the Ark. A thought that might be his own bond with the Ark talking.

“… What is the year?”

Mana sent a startled look at Nea, but the widening of his eyes told Nea that his brother was getting what Nea might suggest. And Allen's nervous smile confirmed it before the year slipped from his tongue.

They time travelled. Not only that, but they were 35 years in the future.

In the end, when Nea felt the sudden need for food, telling him he burned so much energy apparently opening a gate to the future, the three of them settled for going to next town and eat. Allen had told them it was not even an hour away, when Nea's stomach had grumbled.

They hadn't talked much, even if the Campbell twins had walked on each side of Allen, Mana occasionaly trying to get something out of the young man. Like how was he still young. What happened to his hairs. But Mana had stopped when he saw the troubled look, and the flinch. Allen had masked it well, smiling and saying, “But shouldn't the future stay hidden as much as possible?” but the two brothers knew there was a story behind all of who Allen was now.

One that Allen himself didn't seem to know, Nea mused. He knew the two of them, yet seemed to not know the ones in front of him. He seemed to have an history with Mana, but not the one walking beside him.

Nea wanted to catch Allen's arms, make him look into his eyes, and make him tell it all. He hated that troubled look, hated the sadness he saw showing for a moment, hated not knowing why their beloved friend was all alone and looking so tired.

From the way Mana nipped his bottom lips whenever he wasn't smiling gently at Allen glancing at him, Nea knew his twin felt the same. They weren't even caring much about possibly messing with their future, because what if they could avoid the bad parts? But Allen didn't look ready to share. Even when Nea voiced outloud that the Ark only travelled space, meaning that even if not much changed if at all, Mana and Nea were from an alternate world, and not the past.

What was so terrible, that Allen would be unwilling to share, knowing it might still happen?

Something bothered Nea as they got into town, but he wasn't sure what, at first. Mana had decided to link arms with Allen at some point, and the startled look had pushed Nea to do the same, smirking at how the white haired seemed unable to decide how he felt about it. But he didn't push them away, even seemed to relax some.

Relax… That's what is wrong, he's tense again. Nea realized, glancing from the corner of his eyes. He blinked, and figured out what bothered him. Allen had a hat over his hairs, but not long before getting into town, he had pushed it down a bit more. He was also keeping the twins closer, as if hiding.

Nea let his gaze drift up, and he met Mana's one for a moment. His brother was acting interested in the town, and well he was, but that didn't mean he missed the little details. Because truth was, Allen meant a lot to them, and there was no way they would miss the sign something was wrong, even if this Allen wasn't theirs. He was still Allen, different and yet the same at the core.

And well, Nea didn't like the idea that whatever it was, Allen seemed to fear it. That he seemed unwilling to be noticed, to be recognized. It made him want to open a gate there and then, to drag Allen with them, and get him all warm and comfortable in the Campbell Manor. And likely leave it to Mana to wreck anyone who played a part in making Allen look like this.

But Nea still had to recover a bit, and figure out what made that dimensional gate form. So for now, getting food in all of them was the priority.

Allen tried not to tip them off, Nea knew he did. He suggested they order to share, and so the large amount of food wasn't that suspicious. He tried to pace himself, but at times food vanished fast, making Mana stare in amazement. When the desserts came, and this time to each their own, Allen took only one, but Nea felt certain he heard a faint rumble from Allen's stomach, and pretended he couldn't finish his own dessert, passing it off to Allen. Which made Mana do the same.

So when they left the place, Nea grabbed Allen's arm, and dragged him in a secluded alley, Mana on their heels. Allen made a sound of surprise, confused and maybe, just a bit nervous. Because Nea had grabbed the left arm, but what the white haired didn't realize, was that Nea had done that on purpose.

Neither twins had been blind to how he only removed his right glove to eat, and quite honestly, they had felt something off. Touching the arm even through the sleeve, Nea was certain now.

Allen had a parasite type Innocence.

Whatever Nea meant to say to Allen, to question; Allen's gasp and sudden fear as feathers sprout from his arms stopped the short haired twin. He let go of Allen, worried it was his fault, and both twins hovered close, Nea calling, “Allen!” while Mana asked, “What's happening? Are you hurt?”

Allen gripped his left wrist with his right hand, left arm trembling as he sent a look that was both concerned and frightened, even as it was covered with determination. “Nea, can you open the gate? Can you two leave?”

Nea blinked in suprirse, and the answer was yes. He was the master of the Ark, its player, and so even such a travel didn't leave Nea out of energy for long. But why would he leave now, when Allen looked so distressed?

“Likely, but you're coming with us.” Mana was the one to reply.

“What? No I can't-” Allen started, startled and wide eyed at Mana.

“Nonsense.” Nea waved a hand. “I only need to know a place exist to open a gate to it. I can bring you back to your time, well, world, whenever.” He tapped Allen's nose with an index finger. “On the other end, I'd rather take you away from whatever making all this happen. Or do you not trust us?”

It was painful, really, the way Allen curled a bit on himself, looking so lost and so determined still. “That's not it… You realized, didn't you?” He lifted his left arm a bit, though wobbled on his feet, jaws clenching as more of his arm turned to feathers. “And you're not from here. You should go back and be safe.”

Nea's gaze grew fierce, almost snarling at the mere implication of leaving Allen unsafe, or that Allen would be a danger to them. But it was Mana that reacted first, arms slipping around Allen's chest from behind, their height similar so Mana rested his chin on Allen's right shoulder.

“Then you should understand we want you safe, too.” Mana replied, voice all soft.

It was enough to make Allen falter, to make him look vulnerable. Whatever his relation to his own Mana had been, the white haired couldn't resist the promise of safety from even another Mana. From a younger version of his Mana. Whatever it felt to Allen.

Nea stepped forward, and place a hand on top of Allen's head. The softness of Nea's eyes seemed to startle Allen just as much. “Sorry, you're stuck with us. Maybe my Ark wanted us to find you. Maybe we're just all that lucky. But we're not leaving you alone, now that we found you.”

Now it was the turn of the twins to be startled when tears fell from the corner of Allen's eyes. He dropped his gaze, looking so conflicted and almost broken. “But I'm not-You don't know me.”

“Then even more of a reason to take you with us. I don't know how long you've been on your own, but that's over.” While Nea spoke, a gate opened under the three of them, their form sinking in it. Mana grinned, Allen widened his eyes, and Nea gave a little smirk. “Like I said, I can let you come back whenever. But for now, we're stealing you off, until we know what's your story is~”

Allen made a protesting sound, glancing down to make sure at least Timcanpy was still within his shirt. But deep down, he felt warmth. He wanted it so much, the protection and care this Mana and Nea wanted to give him. He almost gave in too, but it also brought even more derermination to keep them away from the threat that lurked within Allen.

“You don't understand...” Allen voiced, softly. “I can't let you get hurt, and I'm not safe to be around.” Allen opened his own gate then, perpendical to Nea's, to only have Allen in it, and he closed his eyes with a tear sliding down as he willed it to take him away.

Except, he heard a growl and then Allen's gate just vanished. Allen snapped his eyes open, still in Mana's arms, who had tightened as if afraid; and Allen was shocked into silence at the depth of the desperate anger in Nea's gaze. Not as if, they both feared that I would slip away… But of course Nea would overpower me.

And now, the two twins knes that Allen had Musician's powers. Or likely, they could tell he was the host of Nea.

“You idiot! What part of you're stuck with us no matter what can you not understand?” Nea grounded out, clasping both hands on Allen's cheeks and pouting. “I'm going to chain you to one of us if you try that again!”

Allen wanted to comment, but Nea gave a little smirk, and the gate finished absorbing their forms. And when they landed in the middle of a dirt road, a mansion a few meters from them, and a large field all corn all around with a tree to one side; Allen found that he didn't mind anymore. He found that he fell back into Mana's hold, eyes closing and feeling comforted by the hands still on his cheeks.

He didn't know how much those two would get out of him. If they would be satisfied with just some facts. He didn't know if it would change anything, for them and for him. But in the end, Allen felt relieved to be there, to not feel Apocryphos creeping on him. He felt safe.

How could he refuse the warmth of care and security Mana and Nea offered to him, when it had been all his lonely mind had wished for, after all these weeks on the run?

#d gray man #dgmss2k17 #Allen Walker #Nea Campbell #Mana Campbell

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wintaer-bear · 6 years

Text

Children of the Universe Ch. 1

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader (ft. Jeon Jungkook) Genre/ Rating: fantasty!AU, creation!AU, angst / NC-17 Word Count: 3.1k

“We live by the Sun, we feel by the Moon.”

“I don’t understand why they don’t just end it,” he says cynically. “The other Sun Warriors and I could be in and out within a fortnight. What’s the point of sending you in? No offense, but this is war.” He leans against the door, watching as you complete your final strokes. It’s a picture he’s seen before, one of greens and blues much calmer than the harsh yellows and reds of the Sun.

“Sending you in to destroy the rest of what’s left of them wouldn’t be war Jungkook,” you murmur, stacking your paints against one another, binding them in a final spiral. “It would be slaughter.”

You give the standing boy a final farewell before sliding past him, a kiss on the cheek as the two of you have always exchanged when one goes off to battle. “Wish me luck.”

Jungkook does and for what seems to be the first time, he sincerely means it. Typically, he doesn’t think twice of your departure, knowing full well that you’re more than equipped to take care of yourself given the circumstance. However, this time he can’t help but feel a sense of dread hang over him, an type of uneasiness as you skip pass. This time you’ll be entering alone, into uncharted territory, competing against one of them, a descendant of the moon. His jaw tightens at the thought. “___,” he whispers. “Be careful.”

You almost tell him you wish he’d join you, that you would feel a hundred times more at ease with him at your side, but your hesitation is enough to stop you and instead you give him a small smile. It’s obvious he knows. Just as it’s obvious that you know Jungkook is needed here where he can offer military support when the Crown wields it. He is the Sun’s greatest warrior and you, its greatest weapon. Together, the two of you were raised in glory and in duty to put an end to this inevitable war.

The transport to Earth is a long one. You’ve never been there before - few have. It’s a relatively new territory, one that just showed up after a cosmic sound rippled through the galaxy. It’s more trouble than it’s worth really, killing thousands of your people and even more of your enemy’s. But you suppose that’s the point of this treaty, if you can even call it that. It’s supposed to change all of this. It’s supposed to put an end to the ruthless killings.

But you know better. The Crown of the Sun would never submit to the Moon, not when it’s so close to winning. It would never, in its orbit, allow you, heir to its Kingdom, lose this competition.

It dawns on you that you are not sent for peace, not for freedom. You are meant to destroy the last of the evasive Moon Children and allow the Sun to become the true center of the universe, a feat none before you has yet to accomplish.

You sigh, the burdensome thought weighing on your shoulders as you look out into the vastness of the universe and you begin to wonder. You wonder how many more planets like Earth exists, how many more wars you will have to win, how many more territories the Sun will encompass before the Crown deems it as fit. The thought makes you you toss in your transport.

Before the beginning, before Earth, there existed just two places - the Sun and the Moon.

Children of the Sun were born in warmth, in light, in vigor and in zeal. They derived their energy from the core of their star, an unknown entity protected by the radioactive and convective envelopes surrounding it. It was a gaseous and volatile home, but the inhabitants loved it all the same.

Children of the Moon, however, were born from darkness, a hyperborean state that made them frail and weak. Too often, they were found lost in way of sentiment, their disposition scattered to the point of incoherency and driven mad from the raging and endless cold. It was no place to call home, but its inhabitants loved it nonetheless.

For eons, the two cosmogyral dwellings existed separately - existed in peace. Neither were aware of the other and neither sought out to conquer what was not their own. But the children of the universe are finicky, insatiable and always, always searching. When the Sun shined it first ray of light on the Earth, and the Moon touched its orbit, there was no telling, no knowing the devastation the little planet would bring, the number of deaths it would acquire.

You saw it all happen. The unraveling of the first act of celestial greed. You were there when the Sun Warriors ran rampage across the Moon, setting red fire to the rocks of homes and sending the remaining survivors into hiding. You were present when the Crown made its final decision to end this once and for all and now, you will be an instrumental tool in the demise of the Moon and its Knights.

When you land, the smell of strange Earth seeps through your nostrils. The potent air makes you queasy. You try not to breath it in, afraid the stink will stain even your lungs but the effort is futile and you gasp for breath. The atmosphere feels heavy in your throat and it takes you a couple of deep pants to adjust.

This place is nothing like the Sun. There’s nothing here. It’s desolate, untextured, flat, and gray; the equivalent of your beginning canvases at home. You would say it reminds you of the Moon, but even that is too kind. At least the Moon secures homes. This place - this hallow space is empty, uninhabited, and these two facts alone frighten you. A chill crawls up your spine as you feel for the first time since your creation that you are alone. A galaxy full of life, a hundred lifetimes filled with vibrancy and fire, and yet, tonight, you feel the first hint of isolation.

You look to the sky, hoping to pinpoint a sense of familiarity, but the sight you see only haunts you further. Painted in the blanketed night sky is the Moon, and oh, how brightly it shines. You almost mistake it for your own life source until you realize it’s much too translucent in it’s glow to be your home. The Sun burns yellow, vivid and sharp but this, the Moon, it doesn’t burn at all. Rather it reflects a white, translucent, gaussian noise. A mesmerizing sight in itself and all too sad to stare at, but you can’t seem to peel your gaze away. You’ve never seen it this close. You’ve never seen it this radiant. The Sun’s own light overpowers any other fluorescence in the galaxy. Compared to it, everything else seems dim. But this, you never knew, the Moon shined too.

You continue to stare as the Moon shifts in its place. You can almost hear the thunderous steps of the Sun Warriors walking its surface, searching for the last of the Knights of the Moon, and you wonder. You wonder if your brothers and sisters feel the same dread of being away from home. You wonder if they can see the light radiating off the Moon. You wonder if it’s blinding like the Sun’s.

You wince at the memory. You’ve always known Children of the Moon to be lesser, weaker, but hearing it said out loud makes it all the more real. The thought of the galaxy without them brings a grip to your chest, a weighing pain that makes you feel an indescribable way. It’s like willingly scooping out a piece of the sky and leaving a hole in its place.

You allow yourself to get lost in questions that will never be answered and scenarios that may never occur as you prepare for tomorrow. When the Moon is replaced by the Sun, while the Sun is shining its brightest, you will meet your fate. You will meet, and duel in creation, the ever so evasive heir to the Moon, Kim Taehyung.

Daybreak does not come without tribulation. The moment is here. Today you begin to create Earth in your own vision, a gift, and burden, you remind yourself, the Crown has bestowed on you. Your palms are clenched and damp by your side as your nerves make way to your knees, locking them in an upright position until his arrival. You’re not sure which way to look, where to expect him, so you allow yourself to stand, chin forward as if you were to greet your fiercest enemy.

It never comes. He never comes.

Thoughtless, you sit and wait. Unsure if you should attempt creation on your own or gather your wits and return home with news of misfire. Doubtlessly, reporting either options means you have failed.

You imagine the return home: the looks of disgust as you drag your empty canvas along the raging heat waves. What would the Children of the Sun say when they see their heiress return empty handed with no promise of a better tomorrow? What would they think when they have to yet again, send another one of their sons to an endless war?

The pressure makes your heart ache and you feel as if the walls you’ve built so high might begin crumble. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to cry now while you’re still ahead - still alone. Frustrated and tired from the days journey and lack of resolution, tears sting at your ducts.The moon beams down on you, spotlighting your stance and you can’t help but laugh hopelessly at its travesty. It was silly of you to hope for peace when the Moon has none.

You will return home with news and the Sun will set loose fury on the ones who denied peace.

That night you dream of fire: not the burning flames of the Sun, but a white blaze that visits your palms. It does not burn you. It does not hurt you. Instead, it fuels another light within you that you have never embraced before. It’s agonizing, harrowing in the most non-physical sense. It’s an emptiness you feel in the hallows of your bones. One amplified by a calling of a hundred desperate goodbyes rotting inside what you suppose is your soul. This makes the first night’s fear of isolation feel minuscule and you jolt awake in anger then fear. Whatever it is, whatever the fire held, you know, you never want to touch it again.

The night is silent as it wraps around you, the galaxy’s taunting way of reminding you of your failed attempt to make and save life.

Despite your skepticism of the treaty, a part of you still wishes you had the chance. The chance at birth at creation; a chance to save your people from engaging in endless killings.

The mountains you had in mind, the rivers and seas that would border the continents, down to the types of creatures that would dwell here as hosts for their astronomical guests, you had it all planned out. Now Earth will remain a wasteland, a graveyard for the losers and a martyr for all the winner’s future enemies.

You almost feel sorry for it. For the Earth and the Moon. None stand a chance against the heat of the Sun, and it is this thought that makes you drift back to an overwrought sleep.

Dawn knocks and it brings with it a stranger - a traveler. He comes sporting nothing but a smile, as if it could calm the rage between two worlds.

“Taehyung,” he introduces, extending his hands in a lucid manner, as if the two of you aren’t here to discuss the end of his world, as if he wasn’t late on his end of the deal.

You stare at the hand. You’re a Child of the Sun, you do not smile at enemies, you do not smile at strangers, except to welcome them to their ends.

You had expected a more dramatic entrance, a concentrated beam of light or shower of asteroids to announce his arrival. It’s glum to have him simply appear before you as if he’s always been there. Has he? … always been here? The thought dawns on you. It would be no trouble for a master of evasion to stay hidden and scope out his opponent and the new terrain without notice. The tribulation makes you apprehensive. You hate to be at a disadvantage.

“___,” you announce.

He smiles back at you once more, unafraid. You try not to stare, but his presence is almost demanding, alluring, characteristics you attributed to only the Crown. Odd for someone who has spent the better half of his life hiding, wasting away on a cold rock. His eyes are serious and heavy. They’re huge and you swear you can see your own reflection in them but perhaps they are his most incriminating features for the rest of his features are soft: his lashes long and his hair hang just above his brows. He’s bewitching, and you hate to say, as intoxicating and compelling to look at as the Moon in all its natural glory.

“You’re late,” you remind. “We were supposed to start days ago.”

“Creation,” Taehyung shrugs, “starts when the artist feels something and ends when he doesn’t.” He steps closer to you. “Were you feeling something, Sun Child? Were you feeling inspired? Don’t hold back on my account. By all means, knock yourself out.” His tone is mocking and provocative, nothing you expected from a leader who spent the better part of his reign hiding from your kind.

“Depends if you count impatience as a source of inspiration.”

He smiles and his eyes turn crescent. “One of the worst,” he mocks. “But it’ll do. Show me something,” he says. “Anything. What can you create with such a rampant emotion?”

You’ve never been one to back down, call it privileged. You roll your eyes shut and bite your tongue. It doesn’t take more than a second to return your thoughts to the blank canvas you hold in the back of your mind. You trace a figure in your head. It’s the same one you have drawn a dozen times before practice for this moment, for Earth.

“What is that?” He gawks at the twisted thing. It’s slender with an plethora of entangled limbs for only God knows what.

You let his ignorance slide. “It’s the first living thing on this planet,” you congratulate. “I’m going to fill this place full with them. From mountain to sea, these monuments will grow with the rays of the Sun.”

Taehyung takes a single look at the creation and returns his gaze back at you, unimpressed. The creation is small, smaller than you had drawn, and barely topples over him as he brushes by you to better examine it. “For what purpose,” he breathes solemnly, “do you make them stretch to a height they will never be able to reach?”

You pause at his question. What other purpose was there than to serve the Sun? There was no purpose in your creation. It simply just was. An object, a figure existing solely to honor the Sun. Existing only to grow with the sun and to wither without it.

Taehyung sighs. “That’s the problem with you Sun Children. So thoughtless.” He touches it, but just barely. His fingers graze along the branches, feeling them, touching them, in way that’s almost delicate. “So brazen.”

You are sure his words are said to hurt and to insult but nothing bothers you more than the way he handles your piece of art. None of your creations are weak. None of your paintings are inadequate or unfinished. The way his soft fingers run across them as if they’re some fragile peace annoy you beyond measure. No one has taken your work so lightly.

“Lets see you do better then shall we, Moon.” You tease.

Taehyung swallows, stares back blankly and allows his smile to disappear. “Like I said,” he repeats. “Creation takes ingenuity.” With that he shatters a limb of your tree, breaking it into a million different pieces of celestial ash. “Feeling.”

There’s a moment of awe, a short period of disbelief as you see him shatter yet another limb. And then another.

“What -” you pay louder than you anticipated. “What do you think you’re doing?” You run to slap his hands away from your plant, from your work of art.

“Testing,” he says, allowing you to push his hands away. Taehyung shoves them back into his pockets as he leans over to examine the expression on your face. “How does it feel,” his tone is whispered, heavy and grim. “To have something so precious destroyed by your neighbor?”

There’s a laden pang in your chest, a hefty feeling on your eyelids as you close them shut to prevent yourself from sowing havoc. Sun Warriors aren’t supposed to have feelings. Not like this one anyway. But no one ever dared touch on of your creations, let alone break it.

“Does it shock you?” He mocks further, tilting his head waiting for your response. “Does it make you feel weak?”

You want to lay waste to him, to skip this entire act of ceasefire and destroy the fingers he dared to lay on your back. You goggle at your creation. It’s deformed shaped now bent and unsymmetrical, ugly with the Moon Knight’s doing. It shouldn’t bother you. It was just one tree - one creation. You can make more. You can make hundreds more, thousands even. And it is this thought that brings your heightened emotions back to a calm, a type of military rational.

If you lash out now,Taehyung would just disappear again. The current Sun Warriors would never be able to find the rest of the hiding Moon Children. The Crown would be furious. All the lives sacrificed to bring you to Earth would be in vain. The Earth would remain desolate. You would go home and wait another eon to prove your worth. You swallow. You smile. You lie.

“Not in the slightest, Prince.” You try your best to hide the malevolence in your voice. It works. Taehyung’s reaction is indifferent, a slight upturn of his lips as he simply straightens himself out and shrugs. His hands clap together to remove the dust of your branches and he raises his gaze to the sky that has not yet allowed day to break through its walls as he breathes out.

Your eyes follow his gaze into the sky. In it, the two astronomical ornaments hang in adornment across from each other.

For a moment, he looks entranced. His glare intense and hellbent on his home before they return to you with a look you’ve only seen Jungkook wear when he’s to leave for battle. The light shatters his gaze in a squint, and you would call his expression captivating, if only he didn’t ruin it with his the way of his mouth.

“Then you haven’t created anything worthwhile at all.”

He breaks your trance and shatters the rest of the remaining tree beside you. You can feel the ashes burn your skin as they make contact on their way to the ground.

You don’t know it yet, this crushing loss unregistered in your pain tolerance, but it is the first time Taehyung breaks a little bit of your heart - though it is certainly not his last.

You watch as the condemned Moon Child disappears into the horizon. The picture above him inscribed by the universe itself. Above him, the Sun swallows the Moon and shines bright without its eternal competitor, as if it has not existed at all.

A/N: Children of the Universe mini-masterlist here

#bts fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #taehyung fanfic #v fanfic #taehyung angst

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itsmoriii · 3 years

Text

Do Not Enter

by: Maui Jane M. Padilla

“Katotohanan at panaginip… Alin ang nanaising maging kathang-isip? Pumikit, huminga nang malalim. Bigyang buhay ang mithiing kinikimkim.”

___________________________________

Variety of dreams are given to people everytime they enjoy their luxury of sleep. I always wonder how other people want their dreams to be. What usual dreams do people have? Were there times where two people had the same or even just similar dreams? How about the frightening ones? How do they manage those kinds of dreams?

Everyday felt like a pattern. A repeating cycle of life which will never stop with its annoying plot twists of giving everyone a problem to deal with.

Mine though was different. These unending problems became traps for me, keeping me from breathing and leaving me as a lifeless individual. Trying to have a grasp of what uncertainties I would deal with was uneasy with the growling noises I kept hearing.

“Aba, sinong nagsabing pwede mong gawin ang gusto mo sa perang ako ang nagpakahirap? Huh, Amelia? Hindi ba sinabi kong ‘wag mong gagalawin ang pera ko? Anak ng tupa naman!”

I lost count of the sighs that I blew out. Again, those words kept on rushing to my ears, withdrawing me from coming back.

“Thraia, you’re spacing out again. Ano na naman ba ang iniisip mo?”Ali, my friend, asked me as he devoured the crunches of the chips inside his bag.

By shaking my head, I believed that I sent him a clear signal that I do not want to talk about it. The moment that the curves from his lips were formed, I knew I was not successful.

“Ah! Naalala mo ang pamilya mo, ano? Uy, gusto na niyang bumalik!” He teased and moved his brows upwards then downwards.

“No,” I immediately dismissed the idea.

It was sickening to think that I would have to leave this world of perfection if I chose to go. Who would leave this world for a chaotic place? For the uncertainties? Not me.

The beauty of the sun as it little by little hid from us gave me a peace of mind. With its usual color of yellow – almost orange, turning into a darker shade of it, to gradually vanishing as it bid a temporary goodbye was a sight to see.

“Thraia!”

Startled, I instinctively imagined a gun as a weapon and made it appear inside my closed palm.

“Easy, Thraia! Ako lang ‘to.”

“Ano ka ba! Bakit ka naggugulat?” I almost had a heart attack! I wanted to add but chose otherwise not to waste my energy.

“I saw a door of dream! Ang sabi sa nakasulat ‘Do Not Enter’. Tara, pasok tayo!”

The thing with us is we could travel from our own dreams to another with the ability to control these dreams. Seemed impossible, but then was there even something real in this lifetime? Some experts call it lucid dreaming.

We met each other because this guy kept on invading doors of dreams. Based from his characteristics, he loves people. The reason why he chose to stay remained as a mystery to me.

“How bored can you get, Ali?”

Oblivious of everything, I let him held my hand as we walked through the path of surrealism. Smiles from both of us never vanished since we met. Differences were deemed nothing, because in this world, nothing could ever hurt us.

Our feet were both aching from running, walking, then running again, but still never stopped from moving. I was satisfied with this kind of life. Him and me, in this world of perfection with the colors of life, nothing more and nothing less.

But there would always be a moment of a sudden strike of reality. The moment one would feel that he or she could turn the uncertainties into the most certain things ever would be the same exact moment that fate would start playing. The moment that one decided that he or she could walk through the darkness with his or her companion would be the exact moment that the companion would get tired of walking.

“Grabe, nakakapagod naman!” Ali complained.

“Saan ba kasi ang punta natin?” I was certainly not complaining and enjoyed it rather... Words could never fathom the feeling that I had that moment.

He looked around innocently. “Thraia, mukhang naliligaw tayo.”

Dumbfounded that we could still get lost in this place, I fell silent. How was that possible? Was the lady of dreams playing with us? What was that about?

“Good intuition, Thraia. Pinaglalaruan ko nga kayo.”

Why my tears fell as soon as I heard the confusingly familiar voice of a lady was a question which would never be answered.

“Ginip…” Ali murmured.

“You know her?” I turned to Ali who looked the gloomiest of gloomy.

“Ali… Inihanda mo na ba ang sarili mong umalis at kalimutan ang panaginip na ito?” The woman who Ali reffered to as Ginip uttered.

The gasping of air felt like the most important thing that exact moment. It was so hard to process every word.

Clueless… ignorant… incognizant… oblivious… unaware… I lost counts of synonyms to describe what I felt.

But deep inside, I knew this would come. I knew and there were signs, yet I chose to ignore those and just shrugged shoulders.

Dumb! I called myself.

It was moments ago since Ginip left, yet my head was still as chaotic as before.

“Thraia! Pakinggan mo muna ako.” The pleading in his voice did not escape from my ears, but I was still dumbstruck.

I inhaled my thoughts and breathed out to be able to get a grip of myself. “Why?” I finally managed to utter despite the unstable breathing and the threatening of tears.

“I miss my family.” I rolled my eyes stopping him for a while. “What we have here is perfect. Pero, Thraia… wala namang totoo rito. I want to live a life. This is not a life. It’s a nightmare disguised as utopia.”

The goddess of dreams must be laughing at me. She must be a fan of dramas for deciding to pour out the rain to create an even more heavy atmosphere. No lightnings and thunders… just the strong pouring of the cold raindrops.

“You see these? These raindrops? Hindi totoo ang mga ‘yan, Thraia! This world exists only for the weaks! Malakas ka, Thraia! Please! Let’s get out of here. Sumama ka sa’kin.”

No.

Accepting my defeat, I nodded my head to him. Seeing him delighted gave me a sinking feeling because I knew exactly what my nod was for.

“Umalis ka na, Ali. Your family misses you so much. I’m sure.” I smiled at him while trying to get rid of the stupid tears racing with the droplets of the rain.

He shook his head violently, not accepting the answer I gave him. I sniffed and wished for him to go as soon as possible.

“Thraia, please. Come with me,” he said with his weak and shivering voice.

Don’t leave me just yet, Ali. I need more time… just a little more…

“Ali, mukhang kailangan mo nang umalis.” Ginip suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Ali grabbed a handful of his hair out of frustration. What’s with the disappointment?

“Ginip, give me a little more time. Parang-awa mo na.”

My heart sunk at the sight of him. The first time seeing him this hopeless would be the last time that I would see him in this lifetme.

“I gave you enough time, Ali. Ang panahon na iyon ay sapat na. Makakaalis ka na, Ali. Live a meaningful life,” Ginip said with her tone of finality.

For the last time, I stared at Ali’s image. Pity, he looked so devastated and not in his usual self. His sobs with his shaking shoulders weakened my knees which caused me to lose my balance.

He held out his hand to me. I tried to hold it but I was too weak to even lift my hand. He reached out for me that I felt the sadness while his arms enveloped my waist.

This… would forever hunt me.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, Thraia. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

The moment I decided to wrap my arms around him, he disappeared.

The screams I never imagined I could shout escaped from my mouth.

“Is it really hard to acknowledge the truth, Thraia?”

It is!

“The truth will set you free. Oo, Thraia. Mahirap.” I lifted my gaze and looked at the still standing Ginip in front of me. “Pero ikaw ang gumagawa ng sarili mong kulungan! You imprisoned yourself in a place where nobody could even approach you.”

But Ali was able to…

“Yet you let him go. He was not enough for you to acknowledge what the truth really is,” Ginip sighed.

I sobbed. Until when would I be like this? Living in the shadows of something that does not even exist…

“I gave Ali a mission,” she told me.

With my face still chaotic, my brows knitted from what I have heard. What mission was she talking about?

“He asked for a favor to be with you. He told me that you looked so lonely and he wanted to be with you. You see, Thraia… this world is not as safe as you think it is. I agreed because I care for you, but in return he must convince you to go back with him.”

What? He never told me anything!

“It’s because you must not notice. He was only allowed to convince you but you should still go out on your own will.”

The thought of Ali realizing that it was game over for him triggered my tears to rush again.

“I’m sorry, Thraia. You are forever trapped in this world. There is no coming back for you.”

“Katotohanan at panaginip… Alin ang nanaising maging kathang-isip? Pumikit, huminga nang malalim. Bigyang buhay ang mithiing kinikimkim.”

___________________________________

“Hoy. Senyorita! Baka gusto mo nang tumayo riyan! Tanghali na! Anong akala mo? Sa muta nanggagaling ang pera? Magtrabaho ka, hoy!”

The loud noises from the background awakened me. I remembered myself falling asleep with the annoying bickering of my parents last night. I jumped out of bed and hugged my mother – Amelia. The action shocked her… and me.

Running out of my room with my unusual jolly and enthusiastic face, I noticed the door of my sister’s room. The words were nostalgic but because of the feeling of happiness, I walked pass it. The breakfast is already prepared so I grabbed a plate and took what I could finish before going out for work.

The sun is not present today. Great! It will probably rain and I forgot to bring my umbrella! Nonetheless, I still continued on walking until finally, the expected heavy pouring of rain arrived.

I immediately looked for a place to stay for the meantime. When I saw a mall nearby, I did not hesitate to enter. As I was waiting inside the mall for the rain to stop, amidst the busy walking people, a stranger lost his balance and bumped particularly into me.

“Sorry, Miss!” He laughed awkwardly.

When our eyes met, we felt it… the sense of familiarity.

“You look familiar…” I told him

He blinked a couple of times. “Hi! My name is Ali and I think I already found my dreams,” he said with a ghost of smile in his lips.

What? Is he drunk? I rolled my eyes and walked pass him when a sudden glimpse of something crossed my eyes. Why am I seeing the door of my sister’s room inside this mall?

Thalia Ginip’s Room

DO NOT ENTER!

#short story #creative writing

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tindang · 4 years

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Snapchatting on my way to Boston Logan.

4/23/20 - Day Break

Last Saturday, from 2 to 5am, I drove from Clearwater to Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport. Work wanted me back in Boston. They’re expecting everyone to be at their desks, sipping on coffee, making small talk, rubbing their aching backs within two weeks. I doubt it’ll happen, but I like having a job during this pandemic and want to keep it.

The drive was mesmerizing. Cruising at 80mph, I passed by St. Petersburg, then Sarasota, Fort Myers, and North Naples, before jetting cross-state towards the Eastern seaboard. It was dark driving through inner Florida; the kind of darkness in which I couldn’t help but imagine running out of gas and being stranded in oblivion, lost to posterity, or swerving and somersaulting down a hill to avoid a peripheral deer. Both thoughts sent shivers. Does Florida even have deers?

I started reading Vietnamese with my mom again while I was home and have continued it thus far back in Boston. Yesterday, we read about Sunita Devi and her 4 children. Part of India’s working class, the family lived off of the $73/month Sunita made cleaning homes. One can imagine what has happened to the family in this era of Covid-19. I pray for them and hope that Modi steps up the government’s assistance programs so that India’s vulnerable may survive the coming weeks.

In the U.S., SARS-CoV-2 has invigorated racism against Asian Americans. David S. Jones, a professor at the Department of the History of Science at Harvard, suggests that this violence is part and parcel to how societies make sense of epidemics. In the New England Journal of Medicine, Jones writes:

“One dramatic aspect of epidemic response is the desire to assign responsibility. From Jews in medieval Europe to meat mongers in Chinese markets, someone is always blamed.”

This remark gives bearing to the intractable nature of social division in times of crisis. It begs us to imagine a different history, one in which all countries, all peoples, can come together, hold hands, and sit down to tackle the problem as one. Is this history possible? I think that Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient offers a compelling response. The story highlights four lives--Hana, Caravaggio, Kip, and Almásy--housed under the same crumbling roof of the Villa San Girolamo. Each character is damaged in some way as a result of a war that had just ended--Hana, the loss of her father; Caravaggio, the loss of his thumbs; and Kip, the loss of Lord Suffolk. In a time of repatriation, negotiation, and reconstruction, their existence together represents not only an attempt at healing but also an experiment in reaching past race/nationality to create a new pluralistic identity.

Such an identity would have the capacity to engineer a world free from racial violence. In the novel, this world is made possible through a kind of place-making that works to dissolve and precipitate constructs of identity. The Villa, for example, functions as a receptacle for “the remnants of war societies” (92). Pockmarked, soiled, emptied, and burnt to ruin, with “little demarcation between house and landscape”, the Villa is open, literally, to any one who wishes to store their fractured selves (43). It’s a privileged space made for innovation, for recreating oneself anew. In this way, the Villa acts as a simulacrum of the desert, which Ondaatje invokes to describe a place outside of nation where one can chart new paths of being. Indeed, for Almásy, the desert was where he not only “became nationless” (138) but where he could be “his own invention” (246).

While place dictates the situational circumstance through which identity is reformed, it is the love, friendship, and community within the Villa that provides the energy for this process to occur. Manav Ratti notes in The Postsecular Imagination that Odaantje makes use of aesthetic tropes to frame such relations between his characters. Ratti states, “the aesthetic imagining of another world, rich in pleasant sights, smells, sounds--enables the affirmation of friendship and affect, especially between individuals with marked differences.” Aestheticization, which describes the attachment of value to the sensory experience of objects or events (Sharman 178), is thus a catalyst for tolerance and understanding between the Villa’s inhabitants who differ by race and nationality. Ratti points to one passage that instrumentalizes this use of aestheticization; Almásy states:

“It is assumed that the face of David is a portrait of the youthful Caravaggio and the head of Goliath is a portrait of him as an older man, how he looked when he did the painting. Youth judging age at the end of its outstretched hand. The judging of one’s mortality. I think when I see him [Kip] at the foot of my bed that Kip is my David” (116)

Here--and I admit that I am paraphrasing Ratti’s line of thinking--Almásy calls forth the image of David with the Head of Goliath to establish some basis of commonality between Kip and himself. Hence, this passage serves to underscore a relationship between two characters who share few lines of common history.

Though Ondaatje spends considerable time building up this utopia-on-a-hill, it comes quickly undone in the wake of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Upon learning of these incidents, Kip confronts Almásy and asks, “How did you fool us into this?” (283). In this encounter, Kip rejects the life he’s led for the last few years, and “[leaves] the three of them [Hana, Caravaggio, Almásy] to their world” (286). “Their” world is one without distinction, whereas “ours” consists of lines that separate Japan from America, India from England, of nation, citizenship, and the other. I’m not sure whether, with this ending, Ondaatje hints at the impossibility of different people coming together to radically effect change, but he certainly leaves us with a schema for imagining this alternate reality.

I want to stop writing because I have to study but it is interesting to see the parallels and dissimilarities between The English Patient and Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. The latter tells of twins, Marion and Shiva, who grow up in post-World War II Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, born to an Indian nun who dies giving birth and an English doctor who abandons them at birth. Like the Villa San Girolamo, Missing Hospital, where much of the story takes place, is situated at the end of the same war and exists as a privileged space; descriptively, it sits upon a “verdant rise” and was built to resemble “Eden before the Fall”; functionally, it serves a plurality of local residents and caters to members of the Emperor’s family and other high-ranking government officials. However, unlike the Villa, Missing experiences bouts of violence that stem from political conflict. This is where Verghese’s narrative departs from that of Ondaatje’s. Cutting for Stone is as much about love, friendship, and community as it is about the real-life violence that holds sway over these relations; it is politics that poisons Marion’s love for Genet, and it is the political economy that harms the patients that Marion attends to during his time in America.

In short, this story too does not offer us much hope for a united front against Covid-19 or any future cataclysm. If anything it strays further from this prospect. Verghese relays this message early in the text; Marion, who writes this story as the omniscient narrator, claims:

“Born in Africa, living in exile in America, then returning at last to Africa, I am proof that geography is destiny. Destiny has brought me back to the precise coordinates of my birth, to the very same operating theater where I was born” (10)

Without 600-pages of context, we are left blind to the meaning behind these words. But, from the outset, we are introduced to the fatalism that underlies Marion’s recollection of history. This kind of fatalism that embeds itself within a geography considers global unity a childish ideal. From here I ask, what is the alternative? Perhaps Verghese addresses this in the text, somewhere, but for now I am tired and do not want to write anymore.

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jestbee · 7 years

Note

Can I also send a One Word Prompt thing? :D I'd love your take on 'empty'. Thanks, Jane. You're the best.

So I had this idea and I don’t know where it came from, it just crept up on me when I read your prompt and kind of made me a bit sad. It probably should have been written a year ago but... here you go.

Continues under the cut.

Tags: fluff, sad fluff, i guess, but like good sad?, tatinof, dan being all introspective, phil being the worst motivational speaker everWords: 1078

There wasn’t an echo. If he shouted loud enough, projected past the first row, there might have been, but his energy was sapped, he folded like a marionette with cut strings. His feet dangled over the edge, swinging over the orchestra pit. He wouldn’t fall, he wasn’t in any danger of falling, but he felt slightly unstable any way.

The footsteps shuffling in behind him were familiar, and he didn’t need to turn to know who they belonged to.

“Hi Phil.”

He folded himself in next to Dan, his own long legs coming over the side of the stage, feet momentarily blocking the spotlight shining up at him. It was a nice contrast, a bit of the darkness.

“Strange when it’s all cleared out, huh?” Phil observed, staring out at the empty seats, rows and rows of them, like taunting faces.

“In all the time we’ve been here it’s been empty,” Dan corrected, “this morning, and this afternoon, during sound check and rehearsal. In fact, it’s been empty more than it’s been full save a few hours this evening--”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Dan agreed, “I just mean... it’s funny how quickly you get used to it.”

“It not being empty?”

“Exactly.”

Phil hummed next to him, leaning back so his palms were flat on the boards, wrists bent, taking the weight. “You get all cryptic and deep when you’re tired.”

Dan shrugged. He was tired, yes, but there was also something about the old theatre, the knowledge of what had passed through this space before them, what would continue to pass after them, that was making him introspective.

“This is the last one,” he murmured by way of explanation. He didn’t need to elaborate, trusting Phil to understand the jist of what he was saying without needing to find the energy for more words.

“The last one of this tour,” Phil said, “But...”

Dan sighed. He didn’t want to hear anything about Europe, or Australia, or any of the other places. That hadn’t been what he’d meant at all.

“There will be more after this,” Phil continued, “after all of this.”

“Will there?”

Phil sat forward again, bringing his face level where Dan was hunched over, his gaze falling into the depths of the floor below, watching the light glint off the piano keys.

“There will always be something more,” Phil nodded.

“What if there isn’t?” Dan asked, finally voicing the thing that’d been playing in his mind on a loop, “What if this is it? What if this is all we accomplish?”

“Then it will have been a lot of fun.”

Dan groaned, it made its way out and turned into a shotgun-sharp laugh on the way. There was a slight echo then, up near the chandelier.

“How do you stay so upbeat?”

He shrugged, in that careless, free way he had that drove Dan up the wall when he was trying to be morose.

“I just figure that we’ve done some really great stuff over the years, and we got to do it together.” He grinned, his cheeks filling and eyes sparking like they always did, in that infectious way Dan tried to avoid but rarely could. “If that’s all I get, if this is really it then yeah... I’ll think it was fun. But Dan... this isn’t it.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Dan wanted the firm promise of something, an idea, a grand plan to hang his hat on. He wanted to trust that they’d have more to wait for, more to wish for, more dreams to come true.

“Right.” Phil swung round then, lifting his legs from that endless drop and crossing them in front of him ankle under knee, like a child waiting patiently. He wasn’t waiting, he was charging forward. “Say this is the last stage we set foot on.”

Dan opened his mouth to protest, but Phil held up a hand, cautionary, stalling. Dan was the one to wait then. He didn’t cross his legs, he left them where they were, swinging miles above the instruments.

“Say it is,” Phil continued. “Say we never do anything else, our YouTube channels die, everyone loses interest and no one stops us in the street, no one asks for an autograph or a selfie and people forget we ever existed except in some distant memory when they’re digging our dusty book out of a box in a few years time.”

“Is this supposed to be motivational?” Dan asks slyly, “Because you really suck at it if it is.”

“If all of that happens,” Phil strode on, ignoring Dan’s petty interruptions and seeing them for what they were, the mere bolstering of someone scared that all of that was to pass. “I’ll still know you existed, and you’ll still know I existed. All this will still have happened, we’ll still have done it together. We’ll be in our flat, or a house, and it’ll be us, or us and a dog, or us and-- nevermind. We’ll be there. And the book won’t be dusty, it’ll be on the shelf with the pictures and the rest of the things we’ve made happen. Even if this is the last stage we ever stand on, it isn’t the last thing we’ll ever do together.”

Dan’s mouth wanted to make words, he knew they were in there somewhere, he just couldn’t form them around the pressure in his throat, squeezing upward. His eyes stung. He shut them, just to be safe.

“So yeah,” Phil finished, “It’ll have been fun.”

Dan blinked his eyes open then. He didn’t dare look over at Phil, not when he was trying to be gloomy and depressing, not when Phil was making it so difficult for him to stay that way.

The empty seats blurred together. There was moisture on his face, and he batted it away. Leaning, without looking, into Phil’s waiting shoulder. They didn’t hug, because it felt too much like an apology, or commiseration. They leaned, it was brief. It was enough.

The room was still empty, still a vast open space in all actuality but Dan felt it close in until it was just them. Just them and their little patch of stage. The small bit they’ve been granted in this huge great world. The bit they made their own. He’d take it, even if it was all they ever got.

“It’ll have been the most fun I’ve ever had,” Dan said finally.

#one-word prompts #prompt fic #my fics #myfics #fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic fluff #fanfiction #dnp #dan and phil #tatinof #the amazing tour is not on fire #phan #phandom #obv10usly

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superseraphim7 · 7 years

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Ashtar: Leaky Boats and Luxury Ocean Liners “Well, Greetings, Beloved Family! We are so overjoyed to be here with you once more. These Gatherings are getting more and more High. Of course, I’m talking about the energies that you bring – the vibrations, your consciousness, your Hearts and all of you! Of course, you are a lot more than what you see when you look into a mirror. You know that. You exist on many levels and you have many, yes, parts, particles, and so on and so on. “But what is happening is the great coming together and that is taking precedence over any kinds of individual self-realization in the sense that what is happening when you do your self-realizations is that you understand the importance of joining in Oneness. Now, we’re not talking about just joining in any club or group or anything like that. We’re talking about High Vibe, High Dimensional joining with all of the LoveLight workers Worldwide and beyond! “You heard about the ships.* They’re pretty big. They have to be to hold everybody that they’re going to be holding!. Now, we know that there are some disbelievers among those who are scheduled to be taken aboard these ships, after they are – let’s just say ‘processed’ on Planet Earth. Nevertheless, it’s getting more and more real to them. They’re finding out more and more that they really don’t have any place that they can run to. We’ve locked down the Planet, you know. They can’t escape. They can’t get off Planet Earth. We’ve cleaned out their underground spaces and places, and so what is left for these original archons, if you will, is simply to stand in the Light. “Now, most of them aren’t going to do that willingly – but more and more are! And there’s always that Light at the end of the tunnel. It’s there for all of them, as it is for all of you. This is the time during which all of Planet Earth is in its final moments of cleansings, clearings, and so on and so on. And, yes, the dark hats have added to the severity of it, but it’s a way of getting it done quickly. “Now, you know I don’t give dates. It’s been a long time since I gave dates. Back in the days when I first started speaking through this Voice, I had a lot of things that I was here to talk about. But my primary message has always been Love, Compassion, Forgiveness and Gratitude in any, any possible way that I could get it out there!!! “And we’ve had some serious moments and we’ve had some fun moments along the way. I was reminded the other day about the leaky boats. You see, the dark hats have been in leaky boats ever since, well, ever since they got here, really. They just didn’t know it because they thought they were in the big ocean liners beside the leaky boats. But the Truth of it is, you’ve been the ones who’ve been there! I told about that the very first time I appeared in public. The Lightworkers have been asked, as I did then, to throw life preservers – you know, those white donut things on ropes – to everybody in those leaky boats. And there has been some acceptance! Those who have accepted – that’s a rather simple picture, but you get what I mean, have accepted the offers. More and more are! “Our goal, of course, is to bring everyone into the Light. That’s not going to happen. But as soon as someone accepts a life preserver, we read their fields. We work with them to bring them to the Light and, yes, we can give them a place on our big, shiny ships, beautiful white ships glowing with energy of Love but, of course, they have to be in a place where they will not be in any way able to be a threat to anyone else on the ships, because these are the Lightworker ships. “Now, that was simply a picture that I painted when I first appeared, but it’s a good one. It’s a valid one. It’s held up – and so it is very important for you to paint your own pictures! Do your own creating, but in some manner or other, open your Hearts even wider to welcome these ones, so at least to bring them the comfort of the Love that We All Are, because in this way they can see that they do have an alternative path. And, of course, the more who come to the Light, the more High energy that creates, and the faster the Planet moves up!!! “So if you needed a reason to join in Love, Compassion, Forgiveness and Gratitude for these ones, there you have it, because we’re all here to participate in the moving up of Planet Earth. That’s why you’re here! That’s why I, and our trillions of ships are here. So let’s just get right on with it, shall we? “And, oh my goodness, have we got some wonderful, wonderful adventures in store – experiences, adventures, whatever! A lot of you have memories. They may be buried in your subconscious, but a lot of you have memories of being Ashtar commanders. And why not, because you are! “And where do you think you spend your sleep times, anyway? Do you ever wake up a little tired in the morning, or your brain feels like it’s been stretched a bit, because you’ve been doing some kind of calculations or piloting, or whatever? Well? Check into it if you wish. We’ll validate it for you. You’ve all got boarding passes anyway. It doesn’t really matter whether you have a title or not, just come on up!eraoflight.com “Now, we are moving up into a Higher level of living lifestyles. We’re calling it the Golden Age, because that’s a good way to describe it. And there is so much in store, but I do want to take this opportunity to remind you all that we’re not there yet. Well, you probably know that! That’s no mystery! We’re close, but most of you, I will say, in this wondrous Gathering, have a little bit farther to go in the crocodile tank. Maybe go down a little bit deeper into the darkness, and then come on up into the Light that shines for everyone, for all time, in the Golden Age! “Now, some of you may be feeling a bit in despair. Don’t! Some of you may be feeling a lot alone because we understand that your families may or may not be supportive. Well? Just reach out to each other! You don’t have to know each other on the third dimensional level. Just reach out! Call in your Ashtar On The Road Family. It’s a pretty big group. Call in Ashtar. I, Ashtar, and the Mentors are here for you! Call in your guides, angels, anybody that you want to, and surround yourselves and lift yourselves up in the energy of Who You Really Are, assisted by the energies of all those you bring in. “That’s a really good way to get yourselves lifted up, because the more that you do that, the more you will bring about permanent residence in the Higher Dimensions where you are completely up, up and away from third dimensional Planet Earth -because, you know, it’s not going to all disappear. There is an alternate location where it will continue on for those people who simply aren’t ready. And that’s no judgment, that’s just the way it is! “You, Beloved Ones, came to move up, to move on. If you have a dear friend, a neighbor or a family member or somebody that you’re concerned about, don’t be! They’ll get there in their own time, at their own pace. You know, there are some people who just haven’t really lived the full 3D, Planet Earth experience, and they have more to do. Love them and let them go! That’s the best and the most freeing advice that I can possibly give to you. And above all else, we treasure Freedom! “Alright! Well, we have quite an interesting message coming from St Germain,** moving us further into the Higher Dimensional atmosphere. So let us continue on and bring in St Germain so that we can all enjoy, and I do mean ENJOY! And do not be put off and dismayed – this is not what this is about. It is not his intention to do that. Some of you may be shocked. That’s all right! Just let it settle in and you’ll feel the wisdom and the ultimate Peace and Freedom of what he brings. “Thank you, most Beloved Family, for being here with us in our Ashtar On The Road Gathering for this day of days! And so it is. Salut!” » Source – Channel: Susan Leland

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wordsandshawn · 7 years

Text

Fighting Panic

Requested: I was wondering if I could request a caring Shawn one where maybe you two get into a fight and you leave and then you have a panic attack or something and you call him and even though you two were fighting he still comes over and cares for you? Sorry if that didn’t make sense lol

Masterlist

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~~~

“Stop, y/n.” Shawn says, his voice full of anger. “You can’t keep holding it against me. It’s my career, my job, don’t you understand?”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I’m not holding it against you, Shawn. I just need to know you’re not forgetting about me!”

“I’m not, I don’t know why you would say that!” He says, his voice just as loud and terrifying as it was a minute ago. You can’t match his tone. You don’t know how to scream back at him, and you don’t want to.

“You’re always busy, and even when you’re not, you’re thinking about all the things you need to get done, which I get, but I feel like you don’t even remember that I’m here, that I’m your girlfriend.” You reply, honestly.

“How could I forget, y/n? I can’t forget, and I don’t.” He spits back.

You only wait a beat before replying, still trying to absorb his last words, “Do you want to?” You ask, your voice full of fear and sadness.

“No, not normally. I don’t know y/n. I’ve had a long day, and I just don’t want to do this right now.” He says, exhaling loudly and running his fingers through his hair.

“Okay, I get it.” You say, standing up and grabbing your keys. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to get out of the house because you just can’t be here right now. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s been a long day for you too with both school and work, but Shawn doesn’t seem to notice or care. It’s not his fault. He had a long day too, and it’s just hard for you to both be there for each other when you’re so run down yourselves.

Shawn got home from work ten minutes after you did, and neither of you were able to be very loving toward each other. You were supposed to be having a nice lazy night where you’d both get away from the stress of your lives for little a while, but it ended up just turning into an argument about work. Both of you were exhausted and stressed out which caused the perfect storm and laid the foundation for the fight you two are currently in.

As you head towards the door, Shawn doesn’t say anything to you. He doesn’t even try to stop you from leaving. You slam the door behind you as the tears start falling. You push them away as you enter your car and back out of the driveway. The tears fall continuously as you blink furiously to clear your vision so you can see the road.

You drive about ten minutes with no destination before you finally just pull into one of those 24 hour diners. You’re in the parking lot, but you can’t get yourself to get out of the car. Sitting alone in the car in the dimly lit parking lot of an empty diner, you finally let yourself think about everything that just happened. You feel like you caused the argument. If only you had just left Shawn alone once he got home. He was just tired. He probably just wanted to shower and sleep, and its your fault that you didn’t let him. You wanted to watch a movie because you unwind best that way, but you should have known that Shawn wanted to be alone with his thoughts. You should have known that he’s under a lot of stress and he gets that way sometimes. It’s not fair for you to always be taking from him, when he’s already given everything he has. He was so angry at you, and he should have been. It was your fault for wanting so much from him.

All of these thoughts swirl in your head, and you remember how he was so mad at you when you left. You don’t want to think about it, but you can’t help yourself. He doesn’t love you anymore. It’s all your fault. You left and he didn’t come after you because he doesn’t love you. The fight was your fault. Your breathing increases. You’re both stressed out and filled with anxiety at the thought that Shawn doesn’t want you anymore. He doesn’t love you anymore because you just take from him. This fight was the end. It’s the end and he is going to find someone so much better than you. He’s going to find someone who can love him better than you can.

The tears come at this point. You cry. You cry so hard that you can’t breathe anymore. And now, panic starts rising in your chest. This is partially the panic of feeling like Shawn doesn’t love you anymore, but this is also the kind of panic that you hate to say you know well. This is the kind of panic that comes without reason sometimes, and that terrifies you even more. But even though it started with a reason, as another minute passes, you realize you can’t even focus on that panic anymore, because it’s an all new panic, the type you wish didn’t exist. You can deal with anxiety and panic when you know where it came from because then you know how to stop it. But this one no longer has a source you can control, and you hate that. You feel your heart beating. You roll your windows down, desperately trying to get some air into your lungs but that doesn’t work. You’re crying and struggling to breathe.

There is only one thing that you know how to do when it gets this bad. You spend a second contemplating it, but only a second because you can’t do this alone. It only rings once before he answers, “Y/n?” There is still some anger present in his voice, but only some.

“Shawn,” You manage to squeak, the tears still falling as you continue gasping for breath. You’re probably breathing so loud he can hear you from the other side of the phone.

“Y/n? Where are you?” He knows what’s wrong immediately. He doesn’t sound angry anymore.

“I’m sorry,” You choke out.

After a few seconds, he responds. “Y/n, hunny, I’m not mad. Baby, I swear I’m not mad.” His voice is as smooth as silk. He knows the sound calms you down. You hear keys rattling and then a door slamming in the background. “Can you tell me where you are?”

You move in your seat so you can catch sight of the fluorescent sign on the building in front of you. “Honeys.” You rasp.

“Let me just put it into my GPS. I’m going to come and get you. I’ll be right there. Don’t move.” You just nod, even though he can’t see you. Your breathing has calmed slightly and your heartbeat doesn’t feel like you’ve just finished a hundred meter sprit anymore. It feels like you just finished a fast run, but it’s not about to beat its way out of your chest anymore. “Baby, are you breathing?” He asks, concerned.

You force yourself to breathe, and then say quietly, “Yes.”

“Deep breaths. I’ll be there in a little while. I’m coming baby, I’m almost there. Are you in the car?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, lock the doors, okay? And roll the window down just a crack so you get some fresh air.”

You do as he says, only now realizing that its past ten at night and the parking lot doesn’t exactly look like the safest place. You start breathing a little harder at the fact that you actually might be in danger.

“No, baby, you’re safe. Okay? You’re safe, I’m right here. Just listen to my voice.” He tells you soothingly.

You slump against the window, exhausted because of everything that has happened in the last hour. You don’t want to exist anymore. You don’t have the energy. Shawn talks nonstop the entire way. You listen to his voice, but not really to what he’s saying. You can barely focus on anything anymore. The sound of knocking on the window startles you, but Shawn’s voice comes through the open space. “Its me baby, can you unlock the door?”

You do as he asks, and in a second he has the door open and you in his arms. He kisses you on the forehead. “I’m sorry,” You mumble as you hide your face in his chest. His strong arms wrap around you and surround you with warmth despite how chilly the air is outside.

“No, I’m sorry baby. I never should have let you leave, and I never should have yelled at you.”

You aren’t crying, but you are breathing hard now. “Shhh,” He tells you smoothing your hair. “I got you, I’m right here.” A few minutes later, you’ve calmed down significantly.

“Lets go home, yeah?” He asks, and you nod, moving out of his arms to climb back into the driver’s seat of your car. He pulls your hand back, not letting you get in. “What are you doing?” You ask.

“I’ll drive,” he replies.

“You have to drive your car,” You tell him.

“I don’t want you driving home alone.” He responds.

“Its fine, I’m feeling better now.”

“No, baby. I’m driving.” He says it kindly and not in a mean way at all, but you also realize that he’s leaving no room for negotiations. He walks you over to the passenger side and opens the door for you, making sure you’re in and seated before walking back around the car.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to leave your car here over night.” You tell him once he gets inside.

“It’s fine.” He tells you turning on the car, and backing out of the stall.

“What if you get a ticket, or even worse it gets towed. Shawn, I think we should just both drive home ourselves.”

“Baby, I’m not letting you drive home by yourself. If it gets towed I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“You can just follow behind me in your car the whole way.” You offer, but he’s already driving out of the parking lot. He grabs your left hand with his right and intertwines your fingers. “I can’t do this if I’m in a different car. I just want to make sure you’re right here and you’re safe.” He says, and this time you don’t argue anymore. Because the truth is it may make more sense for you both to drive home separately, but you don’t want to do that. You just want to be beside him, his hand in yours.

You drive home mostly in silence, with only the radio playing in the background. Shawn sings softly along, with his hand in yours the entire drive back, not even caring that it means he has to drive with one hand. The fight from earlier that evening is long forgotten. Both you and Shawn realize how much you love each other and how much you need each other. You realized you love him so much and you don’t ever want to live without him, because you don’t know what you’d do if you didn’t know you could depend on him in times like these. And he realized that even when he’s mad at you, he still loves you more than life itself and he’d do anything for you.

And that’s all you need. Once you’re home and back inside, Shawn showers you with love and kisses, and tells you how worried he was and how sorry he is. You apologize as well, telling him that it wasn’t his fault. After getting ready for bed, he holds you tightly in his arms until you fall asleep.

#I know its been a while #sorry life just kind of got crazy all of a sudden and i don't think its gonna calm down anytime soon #So have this imagine for now #I loved this request #bc caring shawn #I still have some older requests that I will try to get out #but also i'm going to just write things that inspire me for now #I appreciate you all #feedback is always appreciated #shawn mendes #requested #imagine #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #caring shawn

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vitalmindandbody · 7 years

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10 Simple-minded Ways To Heal A Broken Heart

I cant do this anymore.

The terms still reverberating in your ears, ricochetting around until they land like a punch in the gut. Youre instantly transported to a new world, one you didnt know existed before this moment. A world-wide and life without your beloved.

It doesnt feel real. You pinch yourself to wake up from this nightmare, but youre still here, still revolving from this declaration, this revocation of love.

Warm snaps stream down your face until you begin to sob, that terrifying uncontrollable sobbing that leaves you gasping for air. You want to hide away, cry yourself to sleep, and somehow magically feel better tomorrow.

Weve all been here. Or some modification of it. Weve all had our centers cracked and stomped on. Weve all diverted over every moment of our relations in our headings and wondered, What could I have done differently?

But we are now transported into a macrocosm where the love we seemed is grasped away from the americans and dont know what to do with ourselves other than suffers and sorrow our loss.

I recently read a work that briefly touched upon anguish and its advice mostly amounted to go out with your lovers as far as possible. WTF? Thats it? Thats how Im going to heal my mettle? Most of my lovers are scattered in all regions of the world. Becoming out with them every night isnt even a viable option.

How on globe do you turn off those kinds of impressions? What happens to affection lost? How do you mend a broken heart? I decided to investigate how to mend my own shattered heart.

In previous breakups, Ive simply idly fallen into my personal motifs of desire lost. For me, I exclaim, I stay in bed, watch bad tv, chew cookie dough, and hide away from the people who love me. I mainly dont DO anything. I sit and wait.

Because time heals all winds, right? Or does it? If occasion is a construct of our attentions, do “weve been” have to wait for the occur of period, something illusory to mend ourselves? Can we speed up the process of healing our wraps? How much is impossible to ensure our healing through our wars and blueprints?

So, instead of blindly falling into my decorations, I started to ask myself some questions about my habits. Im looking at my structures with enjoying interest, playing with them a little bit, realise what is actually acting me and determining what patterns are there exclusively because of economy, because my memory, form, and nerve are too tired for anything but pattern. And heres what Ive learned

1. Lean Into Sensation

Essentially, everything we know as physical beings comes down to sensation that we name good or bad. When I began to lean into the wizard in my body, requesting what it had to tell me, thoughts began to transform. I asked where the ache lives in my torso. I closed my eyes and supposed symbolizing my excitement. I described what it felt like in writing, how I had to remind myself to breathe and how fascinating the absence of a act- breath and love feels so heavy.

I examined the tightening in my chest, trying not to label it good or bad, just simply as superstar. Human tolerating is predominantly an expression of the results of labeling event as good or bad and right or wrong.

The thing about perception is, its ever changing. It doesnt stay forever. When we change our perspective of know-how merely being a temporary district of existence, it takes service charges out of it, simply through the simple-minded number of observation. In my own experience, the sensation itself tend to change faster the closer I look at it.

By noticing how heavy the fact that there is breath felt, I began to fill my lungs with slower, deeper breaths and learnt my entire being become a bit lighter.

2. Frankie Says Relax

Remember those t-shirts from the 80 s from Frankie goes to Hollywood? Passes out those guys had a good idea.

While this might seem a little bit self-contradictory to simply discovering perception, this practice of tightening your body has slightly different merits. We support so much better tension in our mass on a daily basis, and its even more amplified in times of high-pitched stress.

Make a practice of checking each part of your mas for tension. I like to start out lying down on my back and closing my gazes like I would for savasana. Take a couple of deep sighs, then try to contract and tense up every single muscle in your organization at once. Hold this for got a couple of seconds, then liberate the tension in your whole mas. Repeat a couple of times. I find it helpful to see the comparison in how my person tones between the tension and the relaxation.

Then take it further by slowly checking each part of your form from leader to toe. Tense up an individual muscle group for a moment, then exhaust it. Crinkle your forehead, and handout. Squeeze your eyes tight, and handout. Clench your jaw, and handout. Press your tongue to the ceiling of your opening, then make it hang loose in your mouth.

You get the picture. We all know we view so much friction and stress in our shoulders and backs, but also pay attention to the little neighbourhoods. Tightening the smallest muscle radicals, particularly in my appearance, often prepare the most difficult difference in how I seem afterwards.

3. Move It

Rest is important in mending a middle. But I often situate too much emphasis on it. Yes, I need to take care of myself with sleep and the blessing of stillness. But I now believe it is equally important to move your torso very. The medium of shift isnt important. Just move.

On day one I went to a yin yoga class. While technically moving my body, the needs of the of yin yoga are much less than read a spin class. Yin allowed me to extend my form while still allowing me to appear introverted and my existence internalized which was all I could handle.

On day two I croaked for a four mile walk in the common. I remained my headphones on and didnt talk to anyone, but extended my legs and got plenty of oxygen into my lungs.

This movement is facilitating me hinder some momentum and vigour for other aspects of ��peoples lives” I dont want to placed on hold while my centre heals.

4. Reach For A Better Feeling Thought

This one can feel a bit tricky. For starters, the thought of exuberance can feel so far removed from where you are right now. So, start where you are.

If you are depressed, what next best happen can you contact for? Depression is experiencing hopeless, disheartened, retiring. There isnt even any energy around depression. Happiness and desire can feel like a world away from depression.

Can you reach for something that seems slightly better than this powerless desperation? Perhaps hope? Or wrath or storm? Most passions have more vitality behind them than hollow. While temper isnt a situate you want to stay in, it can also stimulus some movement.

What if every day you worked towards an spirit merely one step in future directions you wish to move? Take a look at the Emotional Guidance System scale I formed from Ask and it is Given below. Moving up by one spirit a daylight will put you in a pretty good region in not so long a time.

There is something else to watch out for here. In the midst of my profound bereavement, I have minutes of genuine laugh when I hear something funny. The first few meters it happened, I immediately experienced guilty.

It was as if my feeling good in any way was a disloyalty to my broken heart. My mentality was telling me that if I feel good, its as if I didnt appreciate such relationships as much as I felt I did. Well, that is hogwash. That is my hurt ego talking. My relationship mean and still signifies “the worlds” to me. Tell me be really clear on this point…

If youre having a hard time contacting for a better sensitive conception, try some visualizations. Stay away from thinks about your relationship and cherish. They are very charged topics, so start somewhere easy.

Close your eyes, thought the sentiments of the warm sunlight on your look, and cool breeze on bare shoulders. Dream the flavor of your favorite dinner on your tongue. Dream your abs hurting after a good belly laugh. Improve on this feeling with knowledge from our lives you can draw from. What in your life is full of ease and joy?

5. Surround Yourself With Reminders Of Truth, Beauty, And Love

I have a tattoo on my left forearm that enunciates Love Inspired by a blog upright called the Beauty of the Ellipsis, it serves as a reminder that ardour isnt a finished thinking. It is always in motion, ever deriving. Adoration for myself, my family, your best friend, and those Ive lost.

I have a maple seed necklace to remind me that in every moment Im planting the seeds of my future. I have prisms hanging from my windows for an extra perforate of coloring and rainbows on sunny epoches. I am gradually building a jungle in my house. I fill empty spaces with plants that remind me of life and vitality even on the grayest of days.

Fill your encircles and life with little bits that remind you of what you know to be true, beautiful, and joyful. These neednt be grandiose or expensive, just simply concepts that reverberate with you. Here are some ideas to get you started.

Flowers from Traders Joes. Pinterest board filled with beauty. Follow an inspiring Instagram or Tumblr account. Make or find a mantra. Use Canva to build and print out invigorating paraphrases to embellish your room. Croak for a step and find the perfect stone to bring home. Find a brand-new favorite aroma and spread it around your mansion liberally. Buy new stationary. Treat yourself to a book from Etsy. Draw portrait or stimulating mentions with sidewalk chalk in your vicinity. Find a neighbourhood neighbourhood to make a coffee or tea mug. Alternately, find one that impresses your imagination at Society6. Create an altar or sacred cavity and crowd it with crystals, palo santo, and offerings. Spend day with children. Find reminders of your truism and joy.

These may seem to be insignificant things that are only on the surface, but I find the more I border myself with items that experience whimsical and magical in some small-scale acces, the more Im able to remind myself of how I want to feel in each time. They help me choose to feel glee and magical when I might otherwise choose grief.

6. Self-Care Saturday( Or any era. Or every day !)

We can be quite penalize to ourselves in times of conflict and stress, so take some time to really take care of yourself in some way.

Were all busy and charged with the responsibility, but if you dont take care of yourself first, the main responsibilities can begin to suffer as a result. Im more focused and productive when Ive taken care of my necessities first. I attend to my responsibilities in a bigger and better behavior when my goblet is full , not empty.

Theres a lot of area for reading here as to what self-care consider this to be for each person. While technically, all the suggestions in this article are a species of self-care, I miss “youve got to” block off some time specifically for self-care, mining deeper into what that means for you.

Maybe its taking a long, palatial shower and spending duration pampering yourself with tinctures for your skin that move you feel radiant. It might be spending a duo hours in live animals shelter fondling with puppies and kittens. Perhaps its planning a hot stone rub. Maybe its nourishing your form with vibrant healthy food youve cooked yourself. It might be taking a couple hours to read a book thats been sitting on your nightstand for months.

Tailor your self-care and rotate it into a weekly or even daily ritual.

7. Invest in Yourself

Im willing to bet everyone has something new theyd like to try if merely they had the time, coin, or excuse.

Here is your allow stumble to try that something new.

Did you want to pick up knitting, or perhaps learn to play the guitar? Maybe memorized some bayonet abilities to hoist your prepare? Rock climbing, sky diving, paint, memorizing another language, the possibilities are interminable. You can find a class on just about whatever it is you like online these days.

As progenies, we try brand-new occasions all the time. Its how we discover and change at an exceptional charge. But this slows down as we grow up and our visual field becomes smaller as we narrow down our athletic field. So expand your compass, invest in yourself in some way, and learn something new.

The cognitive requirements of memorizing something new are also welcome to serve as a great pattern of distraction when you need a distraction. Perhaps youll be brought to an end picking up a brand-new hobby, check off another carton on your pail listing, or have a good story to tell.

8. The F wordForgiveness

Ahh, a big creepy one! The topic of forgiveness can be a fiction in itself. Perhaps there is a requirement forgive the actions of your ex, or maybe forgive yourself for your own. Or a combination of both.

We dont always like to forgive people for actions we deem incorrect or unkind because it can feel like we are giving them a free pass. But Ive became aware that maintaining onto exasperation and resentment is always worse. Its a tremendous force suck and you cant find joyful as the same duration “you think youre” feeling justified in your fury. So, I select my own gaiety over my resentment.

Its a choice to make over and over again. Its not easy to forgive in one large-hearted sweeping action. It generally happens in increments. Its helpful to practice radical rapport, vividly dreaming how it feels to be the person who did you wrong. You know most people are essentially doing the best they can with the information they have at each minute. It becomes easier to suppose why they did what they did when you put yourself in their shoes. You begin to feel more empathy for them.

You recognize that the indignation youre accommodating acts no one. And you gradually begin to let it go, piece by piece.

Because forgiveness is not for them, its for YOU.

9. Afford what you wish to receive

I was walking around, detecting like no one loves me, which is totally and completely untrue, but when youre heartbroken, your subconsciou does all kinds of irrational thoughts. I received a pal of mine berth about writing a note of encouragement to a pal, and I wished to be that friend with every fiber of my being. I wanted to open up my mailbox and receive letters of cherish, a validation of the adoration that exists for me.

I expected myself what could I do to feel that adoration? I decided to Pay what I wished to RECEIVE. I started writing words of encouragement and love to pals and strangers alike. All I had to do was write what I wanted to hear, for myself. It was that easy.

This did two things for me.

One, the brain doesnt is the difference between handing, receiving, or even witnessing magnanimity. When you perform an act of kindness, the pleasure and rewards cores light up, releasing feel good chemicals as if you were the recipient, which some psychologists have dubbed the helpers high.

Two, it demo me that we live in a macrocosm of abundance. I dont is a requirement to accumulation away love and kindness to keep it. It actually thrives when I open it away. Its generative. And often, when you demonstrate adore and kindness away, others are inspired to mirror your enjoy and kindness back to you as well as fee it forward to others.

We cannot presume to understand the dominance of the extent of what a few kind words can do for someone and its ripple effect on the world. Win win triumph!

10. Investigate Your Own Patterns

This is by no means a complete list. Merely recommendations of the start of opportunities for your own healing. The biggest occasion you can do for yourself is to get curious, examine your own personal decorations in its own experience of sorrow, and doubt each one.

Hold each one up as they sound and question Does this suffice me?

If the answer is truly yes, keep it. If the answer is no, try something new or the opposite of that first inclination. Play with the brand-new reaction, see if that one provides you better, prepares you feel better both in the present and the long term.

And most important, be gentle with yourself. There are epoch to push your borders, to peruse, and to experiment. But i still have a meter for rest and a is necessary to give. Dedicate yourself the grace to know you are where you need to be when you need to be.

Know that you wont always feel like your centre has been rent out of your chest. Lessen the distance between a shattered heart and a mended middle by experimenting with these alternatives to your motifs. One day youll open your middle again and feel the rushing of falling in love. Youll look into attentions that truly see you and reflect your feeling back to you. And youll be ready for large-scale ardour because youve already done their efforts to heal your middle.

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