descendants of darkness

Try this the next time you go stargazing:

“As you lie on your back, it is natural to assume that you are looking up at the stars, but “up” is just a cultural construct. Neither Earth nor the Milky Way have an up or a down. Indeed, when you stand on Earth’s surface, you are not standing up; rather, you are sticking out into space.

So, as you lie on your back, instead of thinking of yourself as looking up, picture it so that you are on the underside of Earth looking down into the blackness of the night sky. It may take a while, but eventually you will experience all the stars as way down there below you; and you will be surprised that you are not falling down there to join them.

You don’t fall because Earth’s gravitational pull holds you. It is not your weight, but the Earth’s hold that suspends you above the stars. If Earth’s gravitational embrace were to suddenly vanish, you would descend into the dark chasm of stars below.

As you lie there feeling yourself hovering within this gravitational bond while peering down at the billions of stars drifting in the infinite chasm of space, you will have entered an experience of the universe that is not just human and not just biological.

You will have entered a relationship from a galactic perspective, becoming for a moment a part of the Milky Way Galaxy experiencing what it is like to be the Milky Way Galaxy.”

- Excerpt from Developing Ecological Consciousness: The End of Separation by Christopher Uhl

Photography credit: Starl0ck

tell me the story of neville longbottom, the other boy who lived.

tell me the story of a boy who was born unimpressive, who could have been a chosen one had snape listened longer at the door. who had parents that loved and cherished him for far too short a time. who lost his mother and father to the cruelty of death eaters, who had to grow up with a family that always saw him as less than who he was, who he could be, because his magic remained hidden inside him, coiled like a snake.

tell me the story of a boy who could never quite handle school, who could never muster the courage to raise his hand in class, who always messed up his potions somehow. who sat in the gryffindor common room as hermione patiently went over her history of magic notes for him and wondered for the millionth time why he didn’t end up a hufflepuff. who never saw himself as anything special, not really, because there were other kids in his year whose stars burned brighter, while he struggled just to keep up with the bottom of the class.

tell me the story of a boy who stepped up, who foresaw hogwarts descending into darkness and refused to let it happen without a fight. who became the next leader of their secret fight against the dark lord, rebelling against snape and the carrows from within the castle. who led the surge to take the sword of gryffindor from snape’s office; who took blow after blow from torturing death eaters to try and protect the first-years who didn’t deserve any of this. who ended up hiding in the castle, creating a supply line to hogsmeade and continuing to fight under threat of expulsion (and worse) because someone had to do it.

tell me the story of the unchosen one, who went from a nervous little boy to the slayer of nagini in seven years. tell me about that neville longbottom.

not your color

(or, 4 people Hisoka was jealous of)

1. Tatsumi

Jealousy is not an emotion with which Hisoka has much experience.

He knows it in himself of course - empathy is at least that useful, after all. But it’s…strange.

Tsuzuki and Tatsumi have always been fairly close. They gravitate towards each other, orbit each other regardless of their shared past or current grievances. Hisoka watches them around the office, unable to help himself. He remembers the grief on Tatsumi’s face, the grief in his soul, as he spoke of the end of their partnership. It was deep and tearing, impossibly endless, and something in Tsuzuki had echoed it as he ran away.

But he also remembers the quiet, boundless joy in Tatsumi’s heart at the girl's—Luka's—softly whispered words of love to his book-self. Hisoka can’t bring himself to forget that those characters were them, in every way that matters.

It twinges, a bit, that his own character had nothing at all to do with Tsuzuki/Luka—just a plot-point, a roadblock on the way to the end of the story.

He watches them in the office, leaning in close with their heads bent together, and can’t make himself read them.

He’ll never admit that he’s scared of what he’ll learn if he does.

It makes Hisoka angry, too, because Tatsumi abandoned Tsuzuki when he really needed him, and that’s…well. Still, Tsuzuki is more stable now, and for all that Tatsumi has offered Hisoka his blessing as far as their partnership is concerned, Hisoka can’t stop wondering if Tatsumi is interested in…something different than a working partnership.

And Tsuzuki…he watches Tatsumi with large, wide eyes and a desperate hope bubbling inside of him. He laughs and smiles and thanks Tatsumi shyly when the secretary brings him boxes of pastries or cups of tea, the gesture always covered by bluster or excuses but full of sickeningly sweet earnestness nevertheless.

It’s…well. Not disgusting, not exactly, but Hisoka wants to think it is. One of the problems with being an empath, though, is that it’s ridiculously hard to lie to himself.

(That means that when Hisoka slinks into one of Tsuzuki’s favorite bakeries one day, a very large portion of his paycheck in hand, he can’t fool himself that he’s in there for any reason but to find a gift box that will compete with the ones Tatsumi has been bringing. It’s…disheartening.)

Hisoka has no right to his feelings, either, and that just makes him more frustrated.

2. Muraki

It’s ridiculous and idiotic and a little twisted to be jealous of the way Muraki leans close to Tsuzuki, deep within his personal space, and strokes cold fingertips down his cheek. Ridiculous and idiotic and a little twisted that Hisoka doesn’t feel better even when Tsuzuki flinches back and tries to twist away.

Hisoka is jealous, regardless.

Muraki touches Tsuzuki like breathing, but with an edge of greed. He wants, and when they’re all in a room together Hisoka is a little bit terrified that what he’s feeling—for Tsuzuki, about Tsuzuki, because of Tsuzuki—is all just some sick reflection of the open, grasping, desperate avarice that twists the blackened remains of Muraki’s heart whenever he lays eyes on Tsuzuki.

But, when Muraki is gone, when the bastard has pulled his latest vanishing act and crawled back under whatever slimy, dank rock first birthed him, Hisoka admits that writing off the blame for this knot of feelings in his chest isn’t quite so easy.

Because Muraki wants to possess Tsuzuki, wants the shinigami stretched out in his bed and feeding his immortal life and a dozen other things that make Hisoka’s head pound with a mix of fury and disgust, because Muraki wants to take them by force. That’s the fun part for him. On the other hand, Hisoka wants to be the barrier between Tsuzuki and the world that is far too harsh for his soft heart. He wants to wrap Tsuzuki up in cotton and silk and lay him on a bed of pillows somewhere with as much chocolate as he can eat and no reason to ever despair again.

Tsuzuki is still an idiot, most certainly, but Hisoka wants him anyway. Not regardless of the fact, but including those idiotic tendencies.

It’s nearly enough to send Hisoka scurrying for Watari, to check for potions or poisons or other mind-altering substances. Maybe even just blanket insanity.

But whether he’s been hit over the head too many times or not, Hisoka’s blood still boils whenever Muraki reaches out and touches Tsuzuki, lays hands on him or leans a bit too close or whispers disgusting things in low, intimate voices that make Hisoka want to separate his head from his body even more than normal.

It’s…not pleasant, perhaps, but it’s manageable.  

3. Watari

Watari is…handsy.

It’s aggravating.

And his constant quest to turn Tsuzuki into a girl does nothing to endear him to Hisoka. It’s not like Tsuzuki isn’t already prettier than -

Well. Anyway.

And Tsuzuki keeps trusting the mad scientist responsible for a good portion of their body-swapping or love potion or truth serum incidents, even though it never ends well and Hisoka seems to be the only one who sees it.

Really, it’s maddening.

And then Watari goes and throws himself at Tsuzuki whenever they come back from a mission, drapes himself over him whenever they’re in the lab, flops all over him like some kind of damned octopus whenever they’re in close proximity.

But if Hisoka has any urges to rip Watari’s wandering hands right the hell off his body, it doesn’t matter. His control is iron-clad and his will is second to none.

Hisoka growls a little under his breath as Watari presents Tsuzuki with his latest scheme disguised as an innocent cake and the moron just takes it, but that’s fine. He’s in control. He’s most certainly not imagining Watari with all that long blond hair going up in flames.

That would just be petty.

4. The Count

As far as looks go, Hisoka can admit without compunction that Tsuzuki is stunning. Beautiful. Violet eyes and skin like milk and wild, silky black hair that’s never quite tamed. And then there’s his personality—sweet and gentle and kind, too kind for the world they live in, all combined with an edge of danger and power and crystalline fragility, like a dagger made of broken glass. It’s…addicting. People look at him and want to wrap him up somewhere safe even as their hearts start pounding and their blood starts pumping with the bone-deep recognition of dangerpredatorrunhide.

The dichotomy of Tsuzuki is just as fascinating as his beauty, and while Hisoka knows he himself is, unfortunately, also appealing to the eye, he will never quite have Tsuzuki’s presence.

Simply put, Tsuzuki is exquisite.

But does everyone really have to be so damned clingy about it?

Anakin…exists relative to the state of the galaxy. He is not Luke, he is not the youth of western literature on a journey; that is Luke’s role. Anakin’s role is that of the demi-god of Greek and Roman origin. When Anakin rises, the galaxy rises with him, when Anakin is in turmoil, the galaxy is in turmoil, when Anakin falls, so falls the galaxy. Anakin is intrinsic to the galaxy because Anakin, like so many other mythological demi-gods, is an avatar for the gods or, in the case of Star Wars, the Force. Regardless of any one person’s views on the Force (which are extremely disparate and widely varied, so we won’t broach that subject here), this fact is indisputable. Anakin, as the Chosen One who will “bring balance to the Force”, is its avatar. When Anakin is claimed by the Dark, the Jedi Order’s zenith is reached, the Balance is tipped, and the Order descends into darkness with Anakin, just as his return also signals theirs. 

The title ‘Return of the Jedi’ doesn’t just reference Luke becoming a Jedi, but Anakin’s return to the Light, and with it, the ability for the Jedi Order to once more flourish. In this he is much like Beowulf, when the Geatish hero sacrifices himself to defeat the dragon at the end of the epic poem. Failure would spell ultimate destruction for Beowulf’s people and country, just as, had Anakin failed to destroy the Emperor, the Jedi and the galaxy would truly have been wiped out. Anakin himself has to die, however, because he is what tips the scales. Once he dies and becomes one with the Force, only then is balance restored.

— 

‘STAR WARS: The Creation of a Modern Myth: Cultural Influence, Fan Response and the Impact of Literary Archetypes on Saga Perception’ 

(via muldertorture)

This right here is absolutely fundamental to understanding the entire purpose of the Skywalker saga, as Lucas so painstakingly told it. The destruction of the old Jedi Order that had ‘lost its way’ and forgotten its true role in the galaxy, and the founding of the New, heralded by Anakin’s return to the Light, and Luke’s essential role in reminding him—and us all—of what it means to be a True Jedi.