even though it's not really visible


“I am going back Derek” Stiles whispered so no one will overhear them, even though they were standing in the treeline where no one walked by

“I assumed so when i saw the girl with the trousers standing there and you wearing your old clothes again“ Derek chuckled with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the silence hung between them, eyes not meeting each other.

“Derek, i-”

“Me too,” Derek interrupted, the pain is visible in his eyes “ I wish I could’ve come with you, I wish you could stay with me,” he shuddered and reached for the younger man’s hand, lips hovering over Stiles’s knuckles before he placed a soft kiss on top of them and placed them over his heart “tomorrow the Confederacy will attack and just as all the soldiers here think, i might not make it-”

“Derek you c-”

“I don’t care,” Derek finally looked up “i don’t care if it means ill give a future for you to come back to” a soft smile played on his lips though his eyes are visibility wet “If souls are really bound to find their other half i hope mine will find yours again, even if its worlds apart i hope my soul will find you again”

“It will,” Stiles wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, holding him tight “i will find you” he moved back to look into Derek’s eyes, determination visible to both of them making Derek chuckle.

“Stiles! we need to go! the portal is closing!” Lydia shouted one foot already in the glowing blue circle. Derek sucked in a breathe, pain coming back to his eyes.

“Derek,” he took the man’s face in his palms “ill find you,” he placed a soft kiss to the man’s lips “i will, no matter where you are,” he pulled back “ill find you”

“I know” Derek smiled and let go of Stiles who walked over to Lydia. with one last glance behind him stiles disappeared into the portal.  

@write-light “Civil war era OR in a vortex”

…how about…both…buahahahaha
he does find Derek btw. in a bakery in beacon hills. owned by the hale family and a really frowny werewolf who later becomes Stiles’s boyfriend and many years later the father of his children.

How to care for people with invisible illnesses

1. Never tell them that they do not look sick. We are very aware of this, hence why its called INVISIBLE illnesses.
2. Never make them feel like their feelings are invalid and we are overnreacting. We are usually in pain but do not show it.
3. Please understand that we want to go out and feel normal but sometimes its too much to get out of bed.
4. Dont discourage us from persuing our dreams and future just because we are unwell. We are aspiring humans as well.
5. Understand that we are really trying. We are not just lazy.
6. Dont make us feel like shit when we physically cannot do things.
7. Understand that even though its not visible pain, its just as dibilitating as a visible disease.
8. Ask us questions if you dont understand and dont just assume. We are more than happy to try to help you understand.
9. Show us that we are loved and wanted. Most times we feel like a burden to our loved ones. Its terrible to feel alone in this.
10. We want more than anything to feel normal. Dont treat us like were fragile. This makes us stronger and more determined to succeed. Encourage us to never give up.

anonymous asked:

Have you seen the mummified dinosaur at the Indianapolis Children's Museum? It's really cool

You mean Leonardo the Brachylophosaurus mummy? I actually didn’t know about that until just now – thank you for telling me!

Apparently – and it’s visible in this picture, too – it’s so well preserved that the neck musculature can still be made out, and it clearly shows how the muscles would have kept the neck bent so the head was kept up and close to the body. There’s actually a bit of a trend in paleoart to reconstruct animals with the necks fully extended and parallel to the ground even though the neck is kept bent by the neck muscles in most living animals, and it’s quite nice that there’s some concrete proof that this was the case in extinct animals too.

And apparently there are even remains of parasitic worms in this guy’s fossilized guts, which I think is absolutely awesome!

anonymous asked:

Sith Qui-Gon and Sith Anakin bringing down the Jedi and confronting their (unofficially) joint-custody Jedi padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. How does Obi-Wan react? How do they try to seduce Obi-Wan to the dark side? Do they have to subdue him? Take away the force from him? (can work towards QuiObi, ObiKin, QuiAniObi, or none) Thank you!!!

Smoothing his hand over the soft strands of copper hair, Qui-Gon smiled when Obi-Wan gave a little murmur and squirmed against the couch fabric.

“Don’t wake him, he’ll go into shock if you wake him now.” Anakin murmured, still monitoring the Force with his eyes closed.

“I’m no padawan myself Anakin, I know better then to pull someone out of Force enhanced sleep until the Force settles.” Qui-Gon offered dryly before going back to stroking the short hair. “That does not mean I have to keep my touch off him.”

That just got him a low snort from the blond who went back to monitoring the Force.

Since Order 66 hit and Qui-Gon and Anakin had managed to modify it from kill to stun orders, several Force signatures had escaped Coruscant though there were still a large collection of them in the temple.

Qui-Gon knew the value of balance and balked at the idea of murdering the young, his disagreement with Palpatine loud and raging with Anakin watching the two older men quietly before quietly reminding Qui-Gon of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan who officially belonged as Anakin’s padawan but had been just as much Qui-Gon’s if unofficially.

Obi-Wan who would never reject the Jedi teachings.

Obi-Wan who had lost his first master at the start of the war at Geonosis.

True and steady Obi-Wan with dancing green eyes and copper hair who was still in the temple, would still be in the temple when the Order activated. Obi-Wan who would die before he let his home fall, Obi-Wan who would not hesitate to stand between a blaster and any other Jedi in the temple.

Obi-Wan who was so attuned to the Unifying Force that the death of so many Jedi, the upheaval of the Force could destroy him.

They had needed to rescue him. He needed to be kept safe.

Palpatine could be dealt with later.


Obi-Wan stared at the temple, thin plumes of smoke still rising even days later and visible from the Senate District where Qui-Gon and Anakin’s apartment rested. Or perhaps it was Amidala’s apartment?

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure anymore though he had not seen hide nor hair of the Senator since he woke up in the apartment with the Master’s yellow eyes on him and the Force crying out at so much death of its chosen children.

He hadn’t seen much of anything except the apartment really and he finally glanced down at the ankle brace around his leg that prevented him from leaving, a brace that either Anakin or Qui-Gon checked once a day to ensure no tampering or faulty wires.

Cold shivers ran through Obi-Wan’s frame and he pulled the blanket he had taken from the couch with him out on the open veranda tighter around himself.

He had yelled at them, he had screamed and he had cried, rejected their attempts at comfort and eventually he had calmed down.

To many years of teaching had told him too calm down, too many years of meditation and lessons and the guidance of the light to keep him screaming.

Anakin had tried to get through to him, had tried to convince him how faulty the Jedi had become.

And yes, Obi-Wan had agreed with that, to both Qui-Gon’s and Anakin’s surprise.

And then Obi-Wan had started crying quiet tears that somehow seemed to hurt more then the screaming had.

“But did that mean you had to pull the Jedi out by the root?” He had whispered between bitter tears before he had gone to one of the guest rooms of the apartment to hide.

Apparently the younglings were still alive.

The creche had been untouched.

A small mercy.

He’d asked, with great reluctance, what the two Sith were planning to do about it, about the babes and the scared younglings.

Some would go home, home to the families that wanted them.

Some would stay at the temple, be taught by Ahsoka and oh had Obi-Wan wept even more bitter tears when he realized his friend had been dragged into the Dark side of the Force by the two Master’s he had so admired and been taught by after Geonosis.

But they wouldn’t be harmed and perhaps at this point, that was all Obi-Wan could ask for from his gilded prison.

There was a soft shift, the door opening, steps on the floor.

Obi-Wan had three years of recognizing those steps and had no need for the Force or his eyes to know who they belonged to as he kept his eyes on the plumes of smoke even as the sunset was approaching, spreading golden rays.

He made no motion when they stopped though, feeling eyes on him.

“…A great man once wrote ‘The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.’” He whispered, his voice filling the air. “I wonder how you two will be remembered once all has come to pass. What judgment history will pass. What means you two will go to for your goals to be meet…” He bowed his head before turning enough to look at both Qui-Gon and Anakin. “If you’re waiting for my indulgence, I will say it right now that there will be no forgiving this. No amount of time can make me forget the plumes of smoke. No amount of time will make me forget the fading screech of the many deaths all over the galaxy.” He pushed to his feet, the blanket left on the floor.

“No amount of time will make me forget this betrayal. No amount of time will make this any easier to carry.” He whispered, only a tired aching inside of him left of emotion. “But I’ll play pretend. The Galaxy will see its Emperor and his linage fall into place.” A humorless smile crossed Obi-Wan’s lips.

He finally turned, finding Qui-Gon by the pillars of the veranda and Anakin by the touch, the blonds hands digging into the fabric of it as they both watched Obi-Wan with those predator yellow eyes.

‘Eyes of the Fallen.’ Obi-Wan gritted his teeth before giving a low bow. “My lords, I live to serve.” He offered, tone mocking.

“You should know your place by now Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon rumbled quietly.

“Indeed I do my lords.” Obi-Wan High Coruscantian voice had a mocking lit, still in a half bow.

“Obi-Wan, don’t push our patience.” Anakin warned, clearly fighting against the snarl he wanted to give the nineteen year old.

Obi-Wan took four steps back at that until he stood at the edge of the veranda, a sick kind of satisfaction in seeing both of their eyes widen, the way Anakin’s mech hand tore into the couch from the force of his grip and the way Qui-Gon’s frame had gone tense. “Or what?” He whispered as the wind caught on his clothes and hair.

“Obi-Wan…come back from there.” Qui-Gon murmured, taking a step towards him only to freeze when Obi-Wan slid his left foot back until the heel of it was off the edge.

“No time will sooth the outrage of what you two did.” Obi-Wan whispered. “And I may be powerless to stop you two and Force blocked but you will do well to remember this…I am not powerless to everything.”

I’m finally settled at university. Lessons start next week which means the frequency of my uploads will drop off pretty drastically I’m afraid. Thank you all for reading my stuff this summer. It’s been an absolute pleasure to do it. I’ll endeavor to keep it up as much as possible over the next year. Enjoy, everyone!

Prompt[s]: He was gonna do kiss her omg why didn’t he 😔

Pure magic as usual!

The Tower is my new religion honestly, ITS SO GOOD AHHHHH

‘The Tower’ (Part 19)

All Chapters // Part 18

Brynjolf looked up when the bedroom door opened and broke into a toothy grin. You were stood in fresh clean clothes, leaning heavily on the door frame for support. Loki was about a foot behind you, frowning at the raucous dwarf from afar.
“Hey, lady!” He roared with a skin-cracking smile. “Look who’s up and at ‘em.” You waved triumphantly and then stumbled, Loki catching you just in time and helping you to stand upright. Sliding your arm around his shoulders, he helped you hobble into the room. Very different from the last time you couldn’t walk, you noted to yourself…

“I… I don’t believe we’ve met,” you said as you were lowered into the window seat on the other side of the firepit. A dead pig was spitting and crackling over the flames. The smell was indescribable. Your stomach growled again.
“Oh, I do be beggin’ your pardon, lady. I’m Brynjolf.”

You spied the crossbow on his shoulder and briefly remembered the way the bodies of the men had slumped with ease.
“You… You saved my life, didn’t you? You’re the reason I made it home.”

Brynjolf skipped with glee and then bowed theatrically. “At the risk of soundin’ big-headed: you’re god damn right that was me! Shot the bastards right between the eyes, bang, bang, bang!” He threw his head back and laughed, clutching his belly as he did so. The joy of this man was infectious and you found yourself smiling too. Loki’s expression suggested he wasn’t as inclined to agree.

Keep reading

The thing that I’ve noticed is that virtually every cishet inclusionist argument boils down to whether aphobia is not only a legitimate form of oppression, but also whether it grants cishet people admission into the LGBT+ community.
And even though homophobia and transphobia can easily be seen in society and has visible laws and measurable statistics to represent and understand its effects, the only evidence of aphobia is anecdotal or hypothetical.
And even if aphobia did exist, that doesn’t make it somehow relevant to the LGBT+ community. Aphobia never has been and isn’t relevant to the formation of the LGBT+ community and its goals.
Cishet inclusionists really need to think critically about what they are advocating for and why, and also understand the context of the things they are pushing for.

onceuponacaskett ha respondido a tu publicación “*does the dance of irritated fandom elders* queerbaiting is when the…”

Queerbaiting is intentionally misleading audiences into thinking a gay couple will be a bigger part of a show than it really is, all just for gaining viewers. QB is teasing a “big gay wedding” for a couple even though said couple won’t get to have that. QB doesn’t just mean its traditional definition anymore. It’s purposefully directing gay couple advertising at lgbt fans even though there’s no intention to follow through whether the gay couple is already together or not

Queerbaiting has a specific meaning that serves a specific purpose. Queer identity is not visible to the naked eye in the same way that a physical identity is. There is no way to receive clear LGBTQ representation unless it is directly stated, because until that point a general audience can ignore it by going “lol no homo.” This is why the term queerbaiting exists.

False advertising is false advertising. And I don’t see anything false in saying “Alex’s major storyline for 3x01 is related to her relationship and this is how she feels about it in that episode.”

Placing value in a bunch of Twitter spoilers instead of having the patience to see how a storyline plays out does not mean a production is out to harm you. But it does mean that people won’t take your complaints seriously because you’re complaining out of context. And this fandom has an embarrassing history of playing “boy who cried wolf” based on misinterpretations of spoilers.

tl;dr promoting a storyline with a bittersweet ending is not automatically an affront to gay representation, no matter how sad or disappointing it may be.

(for old-school Glee nerds: was there this much outrage when Santana broke up with Brittany in 4x04 after proclaiming they would always be girlfriends at the end of S3? Because this reminds me so much of that.)

anonymous asked:

I just love Keith's vlog so much because even though some people say this is sudden character development it's all visible in his character throughout the series? And it's all part of the reason he's been my favorite character for so long and it feels really good to have it confirmed and I want to cry because maybe now the fandom will understand Keith a bit better and I love him

I saw a post saying that the 3 minute vlog had more character development than 3 whole seasons and rolled my eyes so hard that I got a migraine. How is him finding out his heritage and about his past and becoming the black paladin and facing challenges and becoming a leader not character development???

BUT I DIGRESS!!! because as long as people realize that he is more than the fanon crap headcanons that have been circulating for a year then I don’t care!!!!

Keith is suchH a GOOD and he truly deserves the best and the fact that he’s so multifaceted and knows his flaws,,, bring me a more woke gentle boy,,, u cant. I love him so UFKCINF much

anonymous asked:

I stumbled across my own old post from when I ranked all spn seasons in order of my favorite to least and realized I need to figure out where to add s12... was wondering if you had such a ranking and what it is?

Oh no :P That’s a tough one. I’m still thinking about what @k-vichan said on @superspecpod about liking the emotional/motw stuff of season 12 a LOT but ranking the overall plot really really low. (And I just watched 12x15 so I’m freshly annoyed about this exact thing because Perez tried SO MUCH HARDER than he needed to to make the Crowley and Lucifer stuff interesting and to make it go somewhere - anywhere other than 2 more episodes of Lucifer sitting around chained to a chair in a boring room exchanging the same old samey dialogue - so the rest of the Buckleming episodes after just make it like a lesson in not trying so hard because you can coast by on about 3% of the effort >.>)

Maybe it’s time to start getting more nuanced because it’s really hard to decide and there are other seasons which aren’t so starkly split but still have an imbalance in my eyes. I’ll rank them out of 10 for those categories.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I just want to say I appreciate all the work you do here on tumblr and in your podcasts so much and even though I'm kind of like a ghost and I just consume your work without being super interactive just know I love absolutely everything you do and it's so visible how much painstaking work you put into each post and piece you do and I want you to know I really do appreciate your work and you so much. Devotion like yours is so refreshing to come by. Thank you 💕💕💕

Oh man, this is such a wonderful message to receive. Thank you very much. I really appreciate it and have a wonderful day!💘

anonymous asked:

Ultimate pain scenario: are you familiar with the song "a little Fall of rain" from les miserable? Imagine the same scenario taking place at the showdown with junge in s2. Saru gets injured, but it isn't noticable when Douhan comes to get him. Back on the surface of the hide out, he is reunited with yata - Who notices something "wet" (ie the blood) at sarus hairline, and sarus Like "im not hurt, it's just rain stupid" and then he passes out

Definite pain scenario. Say that at some point during the fight with Sukuna Fushimi takes a bad hit and isn’t even aware of it, like when Sukuna knocks them both off Yata’s skateboard Fushimi gets hit hard by some flying shrapnel. He’s not really aware of it though, like it hit him in such a way that his hair gets a bit matted by the blood but it’s not immediately visible because of that either. Yata leaves him behind to go get in position, unaware that Fushimi has any worse injuries than bruises and the leg wound, and even Fushimi himself assumes that the dizziness and the swimming vision is a side effect of blood loss from the leg. Douhan shows up to save him and she doesn’t notice either, bringing him up to the surface without difficulty. When she and Fushimi finally make it out of jungle’s hideout a light rain is falling and Scepter 4 is busy securing the area as best they can. Fushimi waves Douhan away, claiming that he can make it the rest of the way on his own. Her mission’s complete so Douhan nods and disappears, leaving Fushimi leaning against the side of the building underneath an overhang so he won’t get soaked while he waits for someone to come pick him up.

Fushimi can tell that he’s feeling a little weak and dizzy but he assumes again that it’s the blood loss from his leg wound. He can feel something wet on his face too and clicks his tongue, irritated at the rain. That’s when Yata spots him, having already run himself ragged looking for Fushimi ever since he made it out of jungle himself. Yata initially relaxes as he runs up to Fushimi, complaining that Fushimi just about gave him a heart attack and why are you over here alone you idiot you need to go get your wound looked at. He trails off suddenly, eyes widening and voice shaking as he says Fushimi’s name and puts a hand to Fushimi’s forehead. Fushimi’s eyes narrow, wondering why his vision won’t seem to focus properly as he asks what Yata’s going on about now, it’s just a bit of rain and rain can’t hurt him. Yata’s like what the hell you idiot that’s not rain you’re bleeding and Fushimi looks at him all incredulously like don’t be such a drama queen Misaki, a little fall of rain isn’t going to hurt me. That’s when a wave of dizziness hits him and he sags against the wall, Yata catches him and shakes him a little, voice noticeably trembling as he tells Fushimi not to pass out, promising that he’ll get Fushimi to the doctor. Fushimi’s vision is darkening a little and he wonders again about all that rain that seems to be hitting his face, reaching up weakly because look Misaki you’re even getting rain on your face. Yata just keeps telling Fushimi to stay with him and Fushimi stares up at him uncomprehendingly, blood all over the side of his face and dripping down from the gash on his forehead.

“oui– yes,” she answered. though to be honest, she wasn’t really listening. brie had no idea if there was even a question asked. she was fidgety– visibly anxious, and certainly not herself. she’d smile occasionally, but it didn’t have much heart behind it and it never quite reached her eyes. “i’m sorry– i wasn’t paying complete attention. what was it that you said?”

Ozma/Mhach+Nym lore musings

I hope I’m not late to the show here (hell, I haven’t cleared Wiping City yet myself) but the Ozma fight gives me the most enormous chills and I wanted to point out something I thought while slamming my head against it repeatedly!

Here there be potential Weeping City spoilers! (I’ll edit this later to have a real cut. But I’m on mobile now and it really likes to not let me manually enter readmores.)

So, Ozma is a bizarre geometric…thing, that might not even be a Thing in the sense of being made of normal matter, as it can change shape and volume at the drop of a hat and evidently contains or is itself some manner of black hole-like construct. Plus it has a very definite apocalyptic/singularity theme to its attack names. It’s this Evangelion-y doomsday machine that can warp time and space around it at will, and doesn’t even feel voidsent in tone at all.

In the brief Atomos/Meteor phase (as well as in the reflection on Ozma’s surface), you can see already-destroyed ruins in the background. If you really look, though, the ruins are Nymian – you can clearly see the typical high, narrow arches and the tuning-fork shaped spires that are visible out in the map.

Plus, y'know, huge damn meteor dropping, very slowly. But that’s not in La Noscea usually, and thank the Twelve for that, right?

Mhach and Nym were contemporary with each other and at war, and Mhach unleashed the Green Death against Nym. That wouldn’t account entirely for the extent of the destruction of the Floating City that you can see…but it’s also possible that they might have used Ozma as a weapon against Nym and dropped a meteor on them to finish the job. This is an entire army of black mages in a Final Fantasy game after all.

Between all these things I started to wonder: since Ozma seems to be a singularly-creating weapon, and therefore can compress spacetime (dat Time Kompression feel, plus limited time travel is established in the opening video of 2.0) is it trying to kill us in that phase by kicking us back to the final destruction of Nym?

I dunno man I am simultaneously creeped out by and in love with the idea of Mhach’s defense system just dumping intruders into some time-compressed doomsday singularly. That’s pretty goddamn intense for a midboss!

SERIOUSLY THOUGH. So much Nymian wreckage in that fight, it’s absolutely intentional! I really think we’re being shown not told about the final moments of Nym and quite possibly the event that finally triggered Oha-Sok to flood the world and begin the Sixth Umbral Era. If I get a chance to grab some screens of it I will, since I main white mage I can probably run down in the final doomsday-phase DPS check for a few. It’s not that intense of a check and damage incoming is fairly low then.

Over a month ago I asked for some folks to send me some sort of fanfic drabble prompt, and I did one of them from by pal Healthbloge, and now here’s the other. It took waaaay longer even though much less happens in this “story” but hey, I had a life-changing exam to deal with at the time. Whatevs.

@supernovakirby, here’s your vaguely KakaSaku piece! The one I told you is mostly about Sakura going fishing, but then I extended it because I could, and here we are. KakaSaku and a slight undercurrent of a fear of the deep sea and stuff like that. 

Writing something almost canon-like is dark territory…


They sent her to the Land of Waves, to a far-off and wet corner where there was no economy and the longest and most curious finger of the reigning government could barely even sense that a human civilization patch existed in that thick fog. She was here to go fishing.

And fish she did. Sakura was equipped with an old, forcibly-aged piece of crap fishing rod and forcibly-aged piece-of-crap clothes. She had scraped up a handful of outfit with input from Ino. Her last conversation before leaving home in February had been a back-and-forth dialogue about clothes and ugly shoes, mostly Ino’s ugly shoes. They laughed and laughed before Sakura left, with a bag of ugly clothes. The most pleasant goodbye she’d had in years. Thinking about it made her feel warm.

February was eight months gone, and Sakura was somewhere near a fishing village with no name. She was alone and lived in a shack the size of three small closets that she built herself by the nameless lake. She built it after she passed through the voiceless town and made peace with its thirty-one illiterate locals. Though they had spears pointed at her at first and made many a threat about seductive witches and her strange “blood”-colored hair, their suspicions could not hold after she cleared cataracts from the elderly and burned the symptoms of pneumonia off of their sick children.

Now, they let her be, and now Sayuri the strange southern medicine woman got occasional visits by appointment. The visits this whole month had been few, and thank goodness for it. Eight months was the timetable she had been given before leaving home. Was it nearly time? How close was the estimate? Sakura thought about it all the time, and stayed out most of the day fishing, as usual.

She watched the lake, and listened to the creatures around it. It was the method of the mission, anyhow. “Sayuri” would “meditate” by sitting and fishing, but underneath this façade, Sakura Haruno waited and watched. In accordance with the objective, most of her days were made up of sitting against a large rock, a nearly concave rock, clearly a seat of many fishers before her, and listening to the water while holding a fishing pole in her hands.

She heard small animals moving and breathed softly, listening for the soft, soft footsteps of a human who intended to be hidden. She listened, for months, but never heard any such thing. The villagers’ tromping down her road was easily distinguishable, and they had yet to be an enemy in disguise. But she’d be a fool not to prepare for it daily.

For that reason, she only rarely allowed her mind to wander. In between her long stares over the water and many soft breaths into the mist, in between mental judgments of fish-sound or rabbit-sound or owl-sound, she did, occasionally, drift. And among the hours and hours of quiet and water lapping and nothing changing at all, she would think about something else 

Sometimes she recalled passages from books, or conversations with her friends, or tried to recite songs backwards. She was alone, sometimes bored, currently jittery. It was near.

The pole hadn’t shook or vibrated for near two hours. And tomorrow was a Monday. Her mind was the only calendar; she’d judged any written records to be a bad idea. On this Sunday evening, she fished the lake, for hours, as usual. Watching the water, and feeling its vibrations. She thought about learning to paint, and perhaps painting fish whenever she got home. She didn’t even really like fish. At all. So maybe the long reeds instead. No matter what subject she thought of painting, nothing felt suitable. Or comfortable, all of a sudden.

Around this lake that felt as though it had become hers, reeds grew without direction, silver crickets made pleasant noise in defiance of any season, and some pale and sleepy pink blossoms constantly drew her eye and made her think of Ino. The lake’s wide expanse wasn’t entirely visible thanks to the mist and this quality alternately made Sakura feel protected and not. Today, she felt…tense.

It was something like six in the evening, she deduced. And so warm, for November. The crickets were a bit louder than usual. At one point a fish actually slipped its head above the surface to bat its lips at a fly on the surface and Sakura started so hard her fist put a hole in the rock ground next to her. her. All the cricket noises stopped. Sakura growled and pretended she wasn’t embarrassed.

The crickets started up their careless noise again, but her shoulders remained taut. She inched her legs out from where they were curled up against rump until they eventually stretched down along the rocky ground and onto the lower bank where some dirt was scattered. Another foot or two further, the lakewater lapped forward and back and again. A breeze pushed it a bit further up. She shivered.

Eight months, it had been. Doing this. Day after day. Was Ino’s hair longer, or cut shorter by now? Sai could have sold a hundred paintings, or moved to his new place at last. She thought about Naruto, too, maybe he would have laughed when she punched at the ground just now. She stopped short when the fishing pole bobbed.

Her hands squeezed the pole. A bite! Finally, something! It was pulling down, almost straight down.  She reeled in the line, quietly, just in case. The fish pulled back, again, further, and Sakura yanked the pole back.

Once it came up over the surface and splashed sideways back into the water like a helpless drunk. An idiot’s smile had fully bloomed on her face, and she almost laughed.

Quite suddenly, the fight stopped. The line went slack and whisked back towards her. Sakura could nearly see the shadow of the fish floating near the surface, like a slack and weak fishing line itself.

Sakura instantly stood up and observed the rest of the lake, or what she could see of it smothered in mist. Multiple shadows had appeared on the lake surface, a dozen, twenty, more. They came side-up or belly-up, instantly dead. Their mouths hung open in something like shock, or displeasure.

Sakura threw her worthless fishing pole onto the ground, and began walking up the shore. Around the shore. Around the whole lake, if she had to.

Eight months? Almost exactly eight months. This had to be it. Oh, god, truly, it was time.

Surely it was, for if it wasn’t, there was another unseen force killing the marine life, and something unexpected had come to this place without her notice.

‘Are you here? Please!’ she thought, or perhaps said aloud. The shoes Ino had helped her work into a state of purposeful, convincing wornness were soaking up lake water. Again and again she spotted dead fish or dead frogs on the surface, but nothing more. No change, no people, no attackers? What was this? What else would there be?

Her hands didn’t shake, but her heartbeat was so strong she felt it in her throat. Dead, dead, oneo of them missing an eye and blood dribbling out of the mouth. So many. She spotted a blue-striped reed bass that had given her the slip three weeks before. Ha, the damned thing died and good riddance. The thought wasn’t welcome.

Just as it slipped out of her peripheral vision, she saw, and stopped. Her body was shaking, hands and shoulders and feet and everywhere else. It was true. It had worked.

Some thirty feet out into the lake was the shape of a man, wading forward. His torso was slathered with underwater weeds the color of a corpse’s skin. His clothes were unrecognizable, and dark. Underneath the sounds of the water being pushed, she heard his breaths. The only sounds left in this place, she thought. His face was unmasked and gasping.

Sakura went immediately forward and smiled. “Kakashi!” she said. She waded forward, but only a few steps. He was walking forward at an even pace. Unchanging. “It’s Sakura. I’m here to retrieve you. Do you understand? Are you all right?”

One of the reeds clinging to his shirt slipped away. It was small, but weighted with water and it plopped as it sank into the water. It was small, but it bothered her that he did not react at all. In small steps he came towards her. She stopped moving. The water was up to her knees.

“Speak to me. Prove to me that you’re Kakashi Hatake.” she told him, louder than before. “Do you understand?”

One arm, and the opposite arm and shoulder suffered some sort of strong twitch. They tried to rise up or reach, but couldn’t. The head lifted slightly. It was no walking gait for a human, unless something was gravely wrong. But she wasn’t swayed either way. Sakura remained in her spot, and repeated herself. She also added, “What did you say to Tsunade when you left, Kakashi? Tell me now.”

Another step forward and another, smaller piece of underwater plant slid off his shirt and reached for the water. And this time, the head raised up again and stayed up.

He spoke, thank God. “Prommissse ttooo…” Sakura reached forward slightly. Her eyes had widened at his guttural, weak voice.

Kakashi’s legs began to shake, and his steps were suddenly small and fast. Desperate. He could reach her in second. She prompted him again with, “Tell me your promise or you’ll never leave this lake.”

“Wrrrite newsscrolll!” he gasped. Sakura closed the final few steps of the gap and held him up before he could fall face-first into the shallow water. His body was soaked through and it immediately spread onto her own clothes. She could hardly care about that, or that he smelled like a fish barrel. His muscles were twitching and even his chin bobbed slightly against the back of her shoulder. 

With one arm over his shoulder and the other around his hip, she walked backward, carrying him out. His feet and legs dragged on the lake bottom. He put forward no effort to helping himself through this last stretch, and did not object when Sakura turned him and lowered his body till he sat down. There was no convenient rock here for him to lean against, so she lowered him again till he lay in the dirt. And within seconds that was soaked, too. All throughout, he breathed heavily through a gaping mouth.

Sakura felt at his neck for a pulse. She expected and received a count easily in the 180s, like the man had been sprinting with wolves at his heels before he came up through the water. She tore away the remaining reeds, and moss bits, and pieces of broken shells—and teeth? Small, needle-like fish teeth—till only his odd clothes remained. A plain, perfect black tunic that she imagined slaves wore to work in fields long before the founders who built Konoha had lived. Pants of the same make, but the ends were shredded in ribbons so thin and fine it seemed even the motion of his walking could have shaken them off. Sakura lifted some of them with two fingers, and saw Kakashi’s bare ankles.

It wasn’t present on his feet, but from the ankles upward, her old sensei’s leg was smothered in thousands of red punctures, each one miniscule as a fish’s single tooth. Dozens. Hundreds. Were they fish teeth? Fish bites? Even Tsunade’s long-ago examples hadn’t been so small. She wasn’t familiar with what creature had done this.

She grazed one finger across his calf. Fifteen or twenty bites fit under her index finger alone. At the drag of her finger, Kakashi’s leg spasmed weakly and his toes attempted to curl in.

“Do they hurt, sensei? Itch? Burn? Tell me what happened.” Sensei, like old times. An accident, but she only cared about it a little. She looked up from his spotted calf. “Can you even speak?” She went up and over his legs and pelvis and hovered over his face. Oh, she hadn’t seen this face in a year. His mismatched eyes found her with a great effort.

“Blink twice if you can’t speak. If your voice is strained.”

“I’ffnn.” Perhaps he tried to nod, or perhaps his head and shoulders had twitched.

“What does that mean? ‘I’m fine?’ You’re not. Stay still, I’ll soothe your throat.” Her right hand hovered over his throat. The neckline of the tunic was soaked and old and ruined enough that it sank down and left parts of his pectoral muscles exposed to air. They weren’t solid and lovely muscles anymore, not wholly anyway. He’d lost weight and muscle mass everywhere. His collarbone, shoulder, even his nipples had been bitten through. Some had bled, she could see, and scabbed and been torn open or had the bloodflow run off by water.

While she observed, she gathered a smoother, warmer bundle of chakra between the spaces of her fingers, and moved small, soft threads into his throat. There were fewer bites there, but his throat was indeed swollen. He would need to cough up some bits of moss, too.

He was trying to nod again, it looked like. The fool. Maybe he was hallucinating as well. That would put these bites into another class of wound entirely. She pressed down on his left shoulder right her right hand and said, “Stop moving,” offhandedly.

But he tried again, stronger. This time she looked and frowned at him. “What is it? What are you doing?”

She saw the attempt immediately after. It seemed pathetic. He jerked his shoulder only to try to jerk the arm up in turn, to reach up at her. Sakura saw what he was wanting, and helped him put his arm around the back of her neck. And—with no discernible wounds on his torso, in the stomach—she reached her own under his left shoulder and pulled him up until he was in a sitting position, embracing her. He felt warmer than he had moments before. 

His right arm came up of its own strength and slapped down across her back as well. His face pressed into her shoulder and the touch of his face and mouth felt so strange after such a long time, but worst of all was that he shook. Oh, he shook and shook and held so tight that she was scared.

“Actually…hhherre. You’re here?” he was trying to say.

“I am.” He sighed into her shoulder. His hands were weakening already. They kept a soft grip on the fabric of her shirt. It had been months. “I’ve been here since February, waiting for you to show up.”

“I missed you. Missed you.” He leaned forward into her, pressing his face to her shoulder, her neck. His hands made one final stand at grasping the fabric of her shirt, and fell simultaneously. Sakura shivered for a moment. His own tremors had stopped.

“I worried that you were dead, wherever you were. She didn’t tell me where you went.”

“Sakura, what’sss…th’month?” She told him it was November, though the weather might not make it seem so. “Oh. Oh, it’s…been longer th’n I thought.”

Sakura fought down a second bout of shivering when she realized that his clothes were still dripping, still soaking her own. She gently pushed his head up and out of the crook of her neck, and laid his whole body down again, slightly aside from the puddle that marked where he’d just laid. “Where were you? It wasn’t in my own mission objectives to know where Tsunade-sama sent you. But that’s over with now. Please tell me. If you want to. How did you get to, to the bottom of this lake?”

“One of the…the…a fish, that I followed. It knew this way. I followed.”

His weak body and hazy eyes left her guessing as to whether his mind was still clouded by fatigue or wounds. And he wasn’t giving anything else. Sakura considered stripping the tunic off of him entirely. Somehow it was still waterlogged.

“What does that mean? You were swimming in this lake, with the fish? For a year? It’s barely a mile across.”

“I don’t know. It w’s underwater. Caves. The fish from in there wouldn’t fit in this lake. An’ I couldn’t find him. So I’m, mmm—” Her old sensei’s eyes began to roll back in his head. Sakura grabbed for his head immediately, but they were already coming back down. The eyelids followed. “Sakura. Less’go. Please.”

The mission was nearly over with. The only piece left now was a long walk home. She touched his throat again and cooled its swelling with her own chakra, and did the same over his left shoulder and pectorals. That alone would take her close to an hour to do thoroughly. The bed in her “shed” might not fit him. The fisherfolk might think she summoned a spirit to live with her.

Kakashi’s own chakra was just as depleted as his physical state suggested, and he even fell asleep before five minutes had passed. Sakura smoothed over every spray of bites that she could find. She removed the strange tunic in the end and threw it into the lake, where it promptly sank. The dead fish remained on the surface, but a few birds did come by to peck at them.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she told him, as though he could hear. For now, she finally heard the sound of her own chakra swirling in a patient. She heard the familiar water lapping and thought of a thousand things to do once she finally returned home.


Meh, I’m satisfied with the “story” just fine. I’m also super-satisfied that I got some practice with remembering what my own writing “style” looks like. It’s hard coming back to writing things after a long period of nothing and seeing that all the words you put forth look like bland cardboard. 

The main idea I attempted to put forth here was that Kakashi was on a mission to pursue either a large, powerful fish who could hopefully be contracted into being a summoning animal. Unfortunately, he found that this fish lives in a strange, supernatural waterworld where fish the size of whales roam around, and the fish in question, Kakashi found, was already eaten by another fish twice that size, and really, humans should just stay the hell away from this place. The one door to teleport him out of there wouldn’t open up for months either way. So he floated in there like a li’l fish, stealthily hiding from big fish till he could swim home.  Oh yes, and Sakura was meant to assist/carry him on his journey home, so she was dispatched to nonchalantly wait by the “exit” and see him home safely. And Kakashi is extremely happy to see a familiar face and get the fuck out of Dodge at last. 

Now, Kirby just asked for a KakaSaku story, and for the longest time this thing sat with just that long description of Sakura going fishing every day. This story’s about 3,000 words and I wrote 2,300 of them in one sitting of about 3 hours. Aughh, feels good. What a great Friday. 

okay so i really feel as if SJM could do better with PoC characters, like making them more visible and just having more, and she could obviously do better with gay characters as well. Since really theres like…3 queer characters. if that. 

but, i also feel like her books tackle abuse/trauma better than ANY OTHER fantasy book. also disability. 

She essentially dupes as all into liking tamlin or at least brushing off his mild abuse in ACOTAR. Feyre seems happy at the end so we all kinda shrug, even though he’s pretty horrible in ACOTAR. Then in ACMAF its immediately obvious that Tamlin is an emotional abusive prick. And we’re all like??? omg?? but then Rhysand comes along and saves Feyre, but more importantly, he works to help her save herself. Like theres none of this rhetoric of “true love will save you” because that ISNT TRUE. like Feyre works through her own shit with Rhysand and the others there to support her and love her. But its ultimately up to her. And, Rhysand himself has suffered abuse and rape and so his healing is also super important. I think Rhys still has a lot of healing to do and i hope we see it in book 3. But because of his abuse, Feyre is super careful not to push anything sexual on him, like she thinks he probably hasnt been w anyone since Amarantha. 

And then there’s Aelin’s whole arc in ToG. She’s lost her ENTIRE FAMILY AND LIFE AT THE AGE OF 8. She’s been abused emotionally by Arobynn for years, and then she gets sent to Endovier. Meanwhile, she’s lost the one person, Sam, who she truly loved since she lost her family. She becomes a slave and is emotionally and mentally abused for an entire year. Then, she comes to Ardalan and endures terror at the hands of the king, and endures Chaol not accepting her for who she truly is. And this is all on top of the horrors and trauma of her childhood. And stupid Chaol has the fucking gall to criticize her for using magic? And he thinks she is selfish??? meanwhile she is like an incredibly strong person who has survived more than anyone should have to? And again, her healing process in Heir of Fire is not based on romance. Like yes, Rowan helps her but he also forces her to help herself, while supporting her as her friend and companion. His unconditional support allows her to heal but their love isnt a substitute or reason for her healing. and maas makes this extremely clear. Like friends are necessary for healing and love can do a lot to help trauma. But love doesnt FIX anyone. Also, SJM never makes the point that Aelin or Feyre needs to be “fixed.” There’s nothing wrong with them. They just need to realize that for themselves and find the strength to continue fighting. 

Also i wanna briefly mention Lysandra and Aedion. They’ve also both suffered sexual exploitation. AND IT DOESNT DEFINE THEM. THEY ARE FULLY FLESHED OUT CHARACTERS WITH HOPES AND DREAMS. 

Finally. ELIDE FUCKING LOCHAN. Disability is like the MOST RARE in fiction. you either have books that are specifically about disability or books with only able characters. Elide is a character who is both disabled and abused. Her whole life has been shit. Her uncle has CHAINED HER. HEr leg is SHATTERED. She has to limp everywhere. But shes such a bad bitch and like escapes and finds Lorcan and makes him her like servant and hes terrified of her. All the while, her disability is an issue and topic of discussion but not her single most important trait. She isn’t tokenized. 

So yes, SJM has done a pretty bad job with PoC and queer representation. But i think her representation of sexual abuse, trauma, emotional pain, and disability is STELLAR and 100% on point. Representing domestic abuse and emotional abuse is EXTREMELY IMPORTANT. and SJM does it in a way that doesnt make the character’s identities based on the fact that they are a victim. Rhysand, Feyre and Aelin are all three dimensional characters. They aren’t in the story simply to be the victim character. And Elide’s disability is like SO IMPORTANT given the amount of YA with no disability. 

So I have to say, SJM does represent marginalized groups and she does it amazingly well. Hopefully in Book 6 of ToG and book 3 of ACOTAR we will see her extend this theme to queer characters and PoC. 

Fanfic: Blinded by the Light Pt. I

Blinded by the Light (Brian/Roger) (Freddie/John) Brian had never thought one innocent night out could have this much impact on both his and Roger’s life.

Alright dear people, finally here it is – the first part of the Maylor series I promised you! It’s taken me a while, mainly because I wanted to finish all three parts before I was going to start uploading them (because if I didn’t, I was afraid I would abandon the project halfway, let you all down and other horror scenarios D:) But as you can see, it’s here, all is finished, and I’m very excited to upload it! I’ve been working on this endlessly because I really wanted everything to be perfect, and I hate to brag, but I think I can fairly say that I’m pretty proud of what’s become of this series. It’s a bit of a sad story, especially the first part, but I promise it will get much better. Enjoy, darlings!

Notes and warnings: This fic is, as said before, a bit angsty. There is also some oral sex towards the end of the part, but this part does not evolve around sex (and the rest of the parts don’t either).

P.s. The usual request - if you are reading this, could you please like it/reblog it/send me an (anonymous) mail/leave a reaction/whatever you prefer to show a sign of your existence? You can unlike it after you’ve read it - I would just very much like to know how many people actually read this, just to know what I’m risking my academic career for!

‘Brian? Are you there?’

Roger’s soft, husky morning voice broke the silence in the bedroom, and Brian, who was standing in front of their wardrobe, peered over his shoulder to look at him while letting the question circulate in the blurred cloud that at the moment made up his thoughts. It was a question Brian had to listen to way too often lately, and he started to hate it more every time he heard it. How he dreaded that question, how powerless it made him feel, how it reminded him of that one terrible night that had put them in this situation, how that one terrible moment that had changed their lives forever. But of course, he didn’t want to bother Roger with his own sadness and helplessness, given that handling his own grief was a big enough task for Roger, so he answered him most calmly.

‘Yes, baby. Of course I am,’ he managed kindly, not knowing if he had to allow the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips to really shine through, or if he had to bite down his bottom lip in pain and frustration when he saw Roger clumsily throw the covers aside and prop himself up on his hands. Brian habitually reached out to find the light switch of the nightlight; only when he had switched it on, he remembered that it wouldn’t make a difference for Roger. Brian blinked against the tears numerous times, until he was sure they weren’t going to interrupt him while he would speak to his boyfriend, which was all he could hope for now.

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked with a lump in his throat after he had settled down next to Roger on the bed, tugging his fingers through Roger’s sweaty blond locks of hair.

‘I woke up a few times,’ Roger said, and Brian nodded, then changed this gesture into a compassionate spoken ‘I noticed, baby.’ Though Roger never said a word or turned to Brian when he woke up at night, not wanting to bother him, Brian could always tell exactly whether he was sleeping or not. Brian knew Roger didn’t want him to know that he fell out of sleep so often, but it was too obvious to the guitarist when Roger didn’t even bother closing his eyes while trying to slip into unconsciousness again. Way too often, it was Brian who carefully pressed his eyelids close when Roger simply forgot this part of trying to fall asleep in the darkness that surrounded him at all times.

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Serious thoughts (Jasper’s gem placement)

Find the other gems here.

I think Jasper’s gem placement could have several meanings? Jasper stones are associated with a heightened sense of smell. Heightened senses, smell in particular, are often associated with predators, and Jasper is an enforcer for Homeworld. Hunting down rogue gems and detaining them seems to be Jasper’s job- and obviously not all of them stand and fight the way the Crystal Gems did. There are many things about Jasper that call to mind a predator, particularly a large cat (Jasper’s eyes and even her prominent lashes, combined with her stripes, make her look distinctly like a tiger)

While Jasper shares some abilities with Amethyst, it’s also possible she has unique powers of her own, and one of them could be some kind of tracking ability. Literally being able to find and follow Gems by “scent” (though it’d actually be more like echolocation, using the natural way Gems react to each other to ‘ping’ them).

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So I did a thing.

Originally posted by xgifittomex

I wrote a Owen x Claire (aka Claire x Owen (aka Clawen)) fic. I’m officially trash and I don’t even care.

It’s the same scene that’s been done a thousand times. But once more isn’t gonna hurt, is it? Mwah ha ha.

Title: “Everything Has Changed”

Author: shipperwriter

Synopsis“I know you’re the anti-damsel-in-distress, but I’m here for you.” Claire asks Owen to stay at her apartment after the events on Isla Nublar “because I don’t want to be alone and you shouldn’t be”. And neither of them can sleep.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Literally, nothing.

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i worry a lot that people constantly jumping on gerard for everything he does will cause him to stop being vocal with his support and we will lose like one of the best allies we have,,,i respect and understand trans ppls anger, cause like im trans, but the way ppl went at him for this small mistake was gross. he used a gender neutral pronoun and later corrected himself there are so so many worse things one can do , and its obvious he is constantly trying to educate and improve himself, he even asked laura herself if they pronouns were okay. like he is just human, he will probably slip up sometimes in some area but he clearly tries so hard to be aware of important issues please do not put him on a pedestal that makes it impossible for him to learn,,