i have stories left to tell

“My heart is my own, loving you does not change that.” Their eyes flashed. “Do not presume you have the right to tell me what to do with it.”

“Oh, it’s not your heart I’m trying to appeal to or command - it’s whatever scant sense of rationality is left in your thick skull.” 

They glared at each other.

Milk and Honey // Rupi Kaur

Aries: “Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry”

Taurus: “Perhaps the saddest of all are those who live waiting for someone they’re not even sure exists”

Gemini: “I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you, I left because the longer I stayed the less I loved myself”

Cancer: “What is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives”

Leo: “I will never understand why you held me if you were afraid of warmth, you should have known I was a fire”

Virgo: “The world gives you so much pain and here you are making gold out of it”

Libra: “I am water, soft enough to offer life tough enough to drown it away”

Scorpio: “If you were born with the weakness to fall you were born with the strength to rise”

Sagittarius: “I do not want to have you to fill the empty parts of me, I want to be full on my own”

Capricorn: “We began with honesty, let us end in it too”

Aquarius: “Your body is a museum of natural disasters can you grasp how stunning that is”

Pisces: “You treat them as if they have a heart like yours but not everyone can be as soft and as tender as you”

I’ve wanted to talk for So Long about the portrayal of anxiety in YOI but I’ve been having so much trouble putting together what I want to say in the most effective manner. I kept trying to come at this in a more analytical fashion, but considering that this is such a personally important topic to me, I’m going to try a more emotional approach. Something I don’t normally do.

So really, to start off, I wanna say that I’m so damn thankful for the way Yuuri is written. Really, seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever had the ability to relate more to character; Yuuri is close to a mirror of my own experiences with anxiety and it’s so fantastic to have a model of development and growth for me and people like me. I found the portrayal to be frighteningly accurate, from types of thoughts, behaviors, mannerisms… I think the episode that stood out to me the most in terms of Yuuri’s anxiety was ep7, aka Yuuri’s on-screen panic attack episode. 

The first thing I noticed was this: 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found myself in that exact position. I bounce my legs when I panic, just like Yuuri is doing here. Head in his hands, breathing heavily, bouncing and jostling limbs. This isn’t the Mary-Sue cutesy portrayal of anxiety–this is a real anxiety disorder. It’s not pretty. It’s not easy. It can’t be fixed with a single word or a touch or a person. Quite frankly, it’s ugly and you lose control of your body. 

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I never pranked my parents again after the incident.

by reddit user Eigengraulogy

I was 11 years old when it happened.

As a kid, I knew that something wasn’t quite right with the events that unfolded at the time. Even though it was never brought up again under any circumstances by either one of my parents, it’s something that always stuck with me. I can’t say it’s a memory that I tried to suppress seeing as it was always there at the back of my mind, bothering me like an itch that wouldn’t go away unless properly scratched.

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“Not only are there no happy endings…There aren’t even any endings.”

Every time I read American Gods by Neil Gaiman, I find more things to adore about this novel. I read it this time while traveling across the United States, and I have to say, something about reading this book in transit just makes sense. It makes even more sense reading it while soaring over America itself, gazing down on fields and hills, a New Jersey import who lives in Chicago, went to LA a week or so ago, and just left Florida. There is something so intensely American about this novel, and it wows me every time. From the smaller mythic chapters telling folk tales and stories of the people who brought their gods to America, to the gods themselves and their characters, this novel always gets me. This was my third time reading this novel, and I’m going to dig deep to highlight new things that I had forgotten, so solid warning: Spoilers ahead.

I will never get over the way that Neil Gaiman melds together the idea of the gods and the land, and gives them both their own power and will. Something that wows me that I often forget about the standalone is now astoundingly diverse it is without being appropriative, and how Gaiman incorporates so many cultures, a diverse range of characters, as well as a huge amount of humor without it becoming problematic. I think this novel could be a guidebook for authors who want to know how to write diverse stories and mythos respectfully. I forgot about so many fantastic characters that Gaiman pours himself into, from Samantha Black Crow to side characters that brim with energy and character themselves, like Whiskey Jack’s son or Bilquis. I also never noticed before the two mentions of Mr. Nancy’s son that point to Anansi Boys. Not to mention the wealth of research and knowledge that goes into the bottomless well of background characters and visions leading up to the battle. 

One thing I gained a new appreciation for in this novel was the character of Shadow. He is big, and not dumb, and I remembered all that, but what I forgot is how nice he is. Shadow’s such a cinnamon roll of a character, and I forget that. He stands up for a waitress and believes in the good of people. At the Lakeside library book sale, he tries to find the book that’s least likely to be purchased, so that he can help the library out by buying it. He performs coin tricks for children. He is obligated to hold Odin’s vigil, but he never questions whether he should also hold Mad Sweeney’s. As Laura speaks with the cutting, too-open words of the already-dead, Shadow still refuses to tell her about her appearance or to not hold her hand, because he doesn’t want to hurt her still. When Shadow picks up bodies with the coroners, he carries them always in his arms. 

The scene between Shadow and Odin before his death is one of my absolute favorites (other favorite scenes include Samantha Black Crow’s protest kiss, the scene in which Shadow thinks snow into being, and Shadow’s long death scene). Odin recites to Shadow what he knows—the charms, in a long list. And it ends with that long scene where Shadow wonders what would have happened if he touched Odin’s hand, and wishes he had. And Odin’s twisting grift of the fiddle is so complicated and well done that even on the third re-read, I find myself forgetting about it until the moment Odin dies, and doubting myself on it until the moment Shadow says it out loud.

@neil-gaiman’s American Gods just gets better every time I read it, and I am cautiously thrilled and excited for the show coming out later this spring. 

“It doesn’t matter that you didn’t believe in us. We believed in you.”

Shortly after the overdose, Bob decided to tell Jack the story of why he really got put in the Stanley Cup as a baby.  It was Bob’s way of thanking the cup.

“After I won my first cup,” he told Jack, “I realized I’d achieved my dream, and I had married this amazing woman, but something still felt like it was missing.  I wanted to be a father.”  He told Jack how he and Alicia had tried to have a baby, but it just wasn’t happening.  As the months dragged on with more of the same, they started to get worried.  

“And even when you were worrying you’d never truly be happy you managed to win the cup again, yeah?  That’s the moral of the story?” Jack snapped.  Bob shook his head, reached out to run a hand over Jack’s back, like he could smooth down his son’s frayed nerves.  

“Non, non, non, that would be a terrible moral.  Actually my stats were worse that year than when I was a rookie.  But my team was incredible, and we made it to the cup again.  And here’s where the story gets good, you see, because I’d heard all kinds of wild legends through the league about ‘cup magic’ and how sometimes it would grant wishes”

“Or turn you into a fucking penguin,” Jack scoffed.

“Well I was playing for the Canadiens at the time, so I suppose there wasn’t much risk involved, but there was a whole lot of desperate hope.So on my cup day, after everyone else left, I sat down and had a chat with it,” he gestures to the table they’re sitting at.  “Right at this kitchen table.”

“Please tell me that’s the only part of this story that happened at this table,” Jack groaned.  Bob laughed.

This story, yes.”

“Papaaaa,”  Jack picked up his bowl of cereal and pointedly continued eating without letting his food touch the table.

“Oh for God’s sake, Jack, this table has been cleaned many times since, put your food down for a bit, I’m trying to have a moment with you here.”

“Alright, alright, fine.”  Jack obediently set the bowl aside and faced his father.

“As I was saying…” Bob cleared his throat.  “I talked to the cup.  I told it I didn’t care if I ever won it again.  All I wanted was a son.  If it would give me that, I promised, I wouldn’t ask to win so much as a faceoff for the rest of my life.  And I promised that I would love my son - that I would love you - unconditionally, more than anything in the world.”

“And you won a fuckton more awards anyway.”

“But,” Bob countered, “I didn’t win the cup again until after you were born when I was with the Pens.  And so when your mother brought you onto the ice to see me, I wanted us to put you in the cup, but it wasn’t supposed to pass along some kind of hockey magic and ensure the Zimmermann dynasty or whatever the fuck ESPN likes to say, alright?  We did it as a thank you.  We wanted the cup to see what a beautiful baby we had, and to feel how incredibly loved you were.”  Bob ran a hand over Jack’s newly-cropped hair, feeling the strands against his palm, almost as soft as when he used to sit next to Bob in his high chair smashing banana all over the tray.  “I kept my promise too,”  Bob said.  “I love you.  Unconditionally.  More than anything in the world.  And your mother and I just want to help you be happy, whatever that looks like.”  He smiled warmly at his son, letting all the pride he usually kept a lid on to keep from embarrassing Jack bubble up to the surface.  Jack looked down at his hands.

“How can you not be disappointed?  Look at me.”  Jack’s shoulders hunched in, shrinking him down, and Bob pressed his hand between Jack’s shoulder blades, rubbing circles in the way that always used to put him right to sleep as a child.

“I will always be proud of you, hockey or no.  Because you know what?”  Jack chanced a glance up at his father’s face and was held by his earnest expression.  “Winning the Stanley Cup isn’t even in my top hundred favorite memories anymore.  All of my best memories are with you and your mother.”  Jack didn’t say anything in response, and Bob was learning when to give him space to process, so he stood up, bending back down to kiss his son’s forehead as he snagged the now-soggy bowl of raisin bran from in front of him.

It took a few days for Bob to get a real response from Jack, and in the meantime he just left everything to percolate.  And then one night, Bob just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  His knee wasn’t quite hurting, but it was on that edge where it just didn’t feel settled, and Alicia had been snoring, and at the back of his head he could feel some kind of humming, like he could feel the tense air in Jack’s room.  He’d gotten himself all worked up mulling that last one over until he had to get out of bed.  He stood in front of Jack’s bedroom door, looking at the light peeking out from below the doorjamb for minutes, listening to the sounds of floorboards creaking occasionally, pages rustling, a keyboard clacking.  After he’d gotten enough of the sounds of Jack just existing on the other side of the door to calm his racing heart, he went to the living room.  

He settled into the couch with a box of crackers and a nature documentary when he heard footsteps creaking on the stairs.  At first, he was expecting Alicia coming to call him back to bed, but the footfalls were too loud for her.  Bob tried not to look surprised when Jack rounded the corner, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Animal Planet.  He held up the crackers in greeting.

“Joining your old man for a midnight snack, eh?”

“Oh.  Um, sure.”  Jack padded over to the couch and made himself comfortable next to Bob, pulling down the afghan from the back of the sofa.  They stare at the TV in silence for a long while before Jack speaks up again, quietly.  “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“So…what exactly was better than winning the cup?”

Pushing your knees forward in the Squat.

I’m sure most of you on here know how to squat, or have at least done it before. And I’m sure almost all of you have been told the same cue when squatting.

“Push your hips back”

While I wont say that is the wrong way to squat, I will say that it is an extremely inefficient way to squat. Inefficient meaning you’re dumping energy into less than optimal positions, that will take away from your ability to lift more weight and recruit more muscle engagement. 

Above is the way I see most people try to squat. Hips are pushed back, back is hyper extended to keep the chest up, and the knees are behind the toes. 

This is how most people should squat. Notice the knees PAST the toes, hips are sunk low, and the back is vertical and FLAT, not arched. 

Now I know most of you have probably always heard that the knees coming forward in the squat is bad because it puts too much pressure on your knee joint, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. The knees coming forward in the squat is only dangerous when the squat mechanics are off. 

Check out the picture below. 

On the left you have an extremely efficient squat position. Notice the bar high on the lifters back directly over the middle of foot (center of gravity) and the back flat and upright, keeping the hips close to the center of gravity. This will allow for maximal quad recruitment when coming out of the bottom position and it will also reduce strain on the back because the vertebra are stacked on top of each other.

On the right you will see the bar out in front of the center of gravity and much lower on the lifters back. The knees behind the toes which cause the hips to be further away from the center of gravity which creates a more horizontal spine. This can cause a lot of stress on the back to keep the bar/chest from falling forward further which would result in the lifter falling down. 

To me the answer is obvious, when it comes to efficiency and safety, get that back up, those hips low, and those knees forward. 

Just some fic recs...

I’ve read a lot of really good fic this year and I just thought the best of the best deserved some recognition.  I tried to weed out the super popular fics, but some still show up because I love them that much.  Also, the ships are numerous and varied.

Running on Air–eleventy7; Drarry
Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.
*I would murder people to protect this fic.  It’s beautifully written, well-plotted, original, and it reuses certain sentences, making them more poignant the later in the story they’re used.  Like, fuck me up*

the ghost of you–kissmesexybatman; Klance
When Keith goes missing without a trace, all his family and friends are able to do is move on with their lives. When he shows back up after a year, they have to convince him they still want him back.
*I may be slightly biased because the coolest person in the world wrote this, but let me tell you, it’s emotionally heartwrenching, wonderfully written, and gives you a happy ending without sacrificing the needs of the characters*

My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.–dawnstruck; Otayuri
Yuri grows up and grows older and grows into himself. Otabek helps. It just takes a while to get there.
*I’m demi and this fic described exactly what that experience has been like for me, as it features a demi!Yuri.  Beyond that, it was sweet and genuine and I adored it*

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You said your biggest fear was letting the people you care about down and I realized how lucky I am to have never worried about that. Because the people who care about me most are proud of me no matter how horribly I fail, and they always have been. Because I’ve made some mistakes and I’ve hated myself but they haven’t left my corner yet so I think they’re there to stay. And there’s nothing in the world that’s better than knowing some people are always there to stay. No matter what, you have people who are unconditionally proud of you when you don’t deserve it, rooting for you when you’re not rooting for yourself, and telling you it’s okay when you’re sure it’s not. That’s more than enough and more than any of us deserve.
Wipe it off of me-Jughead Jones

Pairing: Jughead x reader
Description: Archie and Veronica start talking about some of their sexual experiences, which sparks the readers interest, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her boyfriend. Basically Jughead is a little shit (prompt #7 requested)
Warnings: Sin, but not full sin, like, half sin. 50% sin. and I’m going to hell
——————————————————————–
It was obvious that Archie and Veronica weren’t virgins. It was totally ok, and nobody in our group of friends minded, at least half the school was having sex, which I guess was normal in this day and age, but it was still almost like, an elephant in the room, like, a baby elephant, but an elephant nonetheless. The conversation I had been dreading was eventually going to come up, and it did. I was hoping that maybe it wouldn’t be brought up so soon after the whole Archie and Miss Grundy incident, but of course, Kevin had to open his big, fat mouth.

“So, I just need to know, what was it like having sex with a teacher Arch?” Kevin leaned forward in his chair, looking at Archie expectantly. Archie tensed up and his hand stopped strumming his guitar that sat in his lap.

Kev! Oh my god” Betty smacked his arm, giving him a cross glare

“I mean, if we can’t talk about it, then we shouldn’t be doing it, right?” Kevin pointed out, looking around at us. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch I was sat on by my boyfriend, Jughead. We had been dating for 8 months now and hadn’t really discussed anything like this.

“I mean, Kevin has a point.” Veronica agreed, crossing her arms nonchalantly.” If you’re going to have sex you should be able to talk about it. It’s important to discuss it, make sure you’re doing it safely, especially at our age. The last thing we need is one of us getting pregnant.”

“Yeah, yeah, anyways what positions did she make you do?” Kevin turned his attention back to the boy and Betty yelped again.

“Uh, well, a lot of it was just missionary. She rode me a few times, we did maybe a couple different ones…” Archie trailed off.

“Did you guys fuck in her car?” I saw Jughead roll his eyes out of the corner of my eye as he typed away on his laptop.

“Uh, yeah, a couple times…” Archie’s face went red.

“Well, I for one have tried many different things, many different kinks, many different genders.” Veronica smirked at her last few words and Betty’s jaw practically fell to the floor.

“Oh, do tell” Kevin wore a shit eating grin on his face as he turned his attention to Ronnie.

“Dude, don’t you like dick? Archie asked him, an eyebrow raised

“Oh, Archiekins, just because I swing left doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the sexual stories provide by the right swingers.” Archie still looked confused and Kevin sighed in an irritated manner.
“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean straight sex repulses me.” Kevin huffed, explaining to Archie. “You may be pretty but you sure aren’t bright.”

Ronnie began to fill us in on her sexual experiences, and Jughead ignored the conversation, typing away on his laptop instead. I, however, gave my full attention to the stories Ronnie told, my heart racing as I began to think about a few of the scenarios with somebody else in mind.

After school, I went straight home, taking the stairs two at a time and opening my laptop. I began to look up some of the stuff Ronnie told the group about. I was impressed, disgusted, and horrified all at once.

“Hey, I know you said you were busy, but I brought Pop’s.” I slammed my laptop shut as quick as I could, turning in my chair to see Jughead with a take-out bag.

“Woah, what’s up?” Jughead set the food down on my nightstand, looking at me as I tried to look casual. My cheeks were as red as Archie’s hair, and I knew at any second I was going to get busted.

“Y/n, what’s on the computer?” Jughead raised an eyebrow. He leaned down so he was eye level with me, both hands resting on either side of my wheely chair.

“N-nothing.” I stammered, his face dangerously close to mine.

“Really? Because I saw how interested you looked while Veronica shared her “stories”, earlier. Care to explain?” Jughead leaned in closer, turning his head a bit as if he was getting ready to kiss me. Before I could process what was happening, Jughead pushed my chair all the way in to the corner of my room and had my laptop open, typing in my password.

“Asshole!” I screamed, jumping up from the chair and shoving him down on to my bed. It was too late though, he had already seen my computer screen.

Wow, y/n, this is a whole new side of you.” Jughead teased, a smirk on his lips as his hands rested on my hips. I whacked his chest with the palm of my hand before getting up and closing the tabs on my computer

“Honestly, if you wanted sex this bad you could have just told me.” Jughead sat up on my bed, a shit eating grin resting upon his lips.

“Lose that grin, Wednesday Addams.” I leaned against my desk, my arms crossed.

“Why don’t you come over here and wipe it off of me?” Jughead leaned back, an eyebrow raised in expectation. I blushed, my mouth opening but no words coming out.

Really, y/n? You’re going to make me do all the work/” Jughead stood from my bed, walking over to me and pressing his body to mine. He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. He wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifting me so they were now wrapped securely around his waist and stumbling backwards to the bed. My hands went to his air, knocking off his beanie and running my fingers through his black locks. His tongue slipped past my lips, his arms pulling me closer to his body.

Jughead’s lips left mine after a few moments of kissing, trailing down my cheek and jaw to my neck. He bit down gently on the spot below my ear, puckering his lips and sucking until a satisfying dark shade of purple was left. I let out a heavy breath, my hips bucking down against his involuntarily.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this; my mom could be home at any moment.” I panted.

“You’re probably right.” Jughead breathed, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Rain check?”

“Definitely.” I leaned down, kissing him again. Jughead leaned back on my bed, pulling me down with him.

“Y/n?” Jughead looked up at me, his fingers running through my hair. “You can talk to me about these kinds of things, you know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide them from me.” Jughead pressed a kiss to my cheek. After a few more minutes of cuddling, I got up, grabbing my laptop from my desk. I opened Netflix and put something on to watch as we cuddled in my bed, eating takeaway from Pop’s.



And I totally used that raincheck the next weekend.

okay but tbh lgbt etc people are more likely to come out in moving vehicles (i would know) so like… trans percy coming out to sally on one of the car rides to their special place, that beach where she met poseidon.

its fugliano’s shitty car and percy hates it, of course, but his mom is there and its so easy to forget all the bad things in their life when its just him and his mom. theyre talking, just catching up because hes been at school, and he says, suddenly, “mom, can you ask you something weird?” and she nods her consent.

percy asks “if i was a boy, what would you have named me?”

its a pretty standard question, lots of kids ask it, so she doesnt think anything of it. she thinks for a long time about it, going through the names she considered before the sex reveal, trying to decide, but then says “perseus” and he hears the name and he loves it so much. he asks her why and she explains, tells the story of perseus the hero, the tale of the hero that survived. when the story finishes, all thats left is the sound of the tires on the road, the wind rushing around them from speed. its a comfortable silence, mostly, but percy is fighting to find resolve and sally can kind of tell.

suddenly, he asks, in a voice so quiet she can barely hear him, “will you call me perseus?” and his voice still breaks and it surprises him more than it surprises sally somehow, who looks over with wide eyes before looking back at the road. she agrees, no matter what, but she asks why. he tries to explain, but he doesnt have the vocabulary beyond “because im a boy.” she agrees again, says yes, of course, anything for my baby boy, and then suddenly percy is crying and hard too.

percy’s tears startle a wet laugh out of her and her voice is thick when she says “oh baby no, no crying, we’re okay, i love you” and percy cant find the voice to tell her thats hes just so fuckin happy so he just smiles as big as he can, laughing too.

im just. really emotional rn

How to Tune into Your Needs

If you grew up emotionally neglected or abused, you may have developed the belief that your needs are not important and that you are selfish for having them. You may even automatically put others before yourself without thinking, as it has been so engrained in you. Here are some tips for how to tune into yourself, and begin putting your needs first:

1. Use your feelings as your guide. If you’re feeling angry, sad, frustrated, etc, ask yourself, “Why am I feeling this way?” You may not even be sure of what you’re feeling… maybe you can only pick up on feeling something “bad” or “uncomfortable.” Explore it. Find the roots. Honor your feelings. Because our feelings are indicators of our values and boundaries, and when they are being violated.

2. Recognize your self-doubt, if you have it. Many victims of abuse or neglect have become wired to believe they are “bad” or at fault for anything unpleasant or hurtful that happens. Doubt can become the fog between you and your needs. Using mindfulness, separate your self-doubt from who you are. You are not your self-doubt. You are worthy. You are good. You are enough. These are truths, but you have been brainwashed to believe otherwise.

3. Take time to build self-awareness into yourself and why you struggle with meeting your needs. Usually it is because of your childhood and how your parents raised you that have caused you to become that way–Mom called you selfish and shamed you. Dad neglected or left you. Explore your story, and give voice to the feelings that come up.

4. Make a practice into telling yourself frequently, “My needs are important,” and “I will honor my needs.” Everyone has needs. Everyone. While everyone else is advocating for theirs, it is up to you to advocate for yours. Repetition and practice will re-wire your brain from “My needs aren’t important” to “My needs ARE important and deserve to be heard.”

5. Practice tuning into yourself throughout the day. Ask yourself, how am I feeling right now? What do I need? Be patient with yourself, especially in the beginning. It may be difficult hearing yourself initially, but the more you tune in, the more you’ll be able to recognize your inner voice.

6. Make sure to have support! At times dealing with the feelings that come up may be overwhelming–like a beginner starting out on a 10-mile run. But take one step at a time. Having the support of a therapist or loved one will help you through the process. Remind yourself that you’re building a new skill from scratch. You can do it!

Let Me Sum Up

So… in the last few hours, we’ve had a busy week.

As rumored by anons and insiders and confirmed by Phoebe on IG, Louis was spotted at the airport (looking stunning I might add) headed for Jamaica with his “girlfriend” according to the lady that spotted him. No confirmation as to who the mystery gf is, but we can guess.

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There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it’s actually there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. Their friend followed after.

One returned.

One did not.

The story did not begin there though. It began long, long ago, in the tales and songs of ancestors long gone; passed from mother to daughter and father to son. They did not fade through time, starting anew in each beating heart of the family line.

They reached a young girl with olive skin and hair like raven’s wings. Her dark eyes would shine as her grandmother wove the tales by the fireside.

She spoke to the girl of a woman with fiery hair and burning eyes, who spoke with flames and held infernos between her palms. Perhaps that sparked the love in her for all things she should not, and she strove to make the embers dance, like the one with fire in her hands.

Her grandmother knew in her old, wise bones that this child needed the tales more than most. Their family had always been aware, trusting their intuition had never led them wrong.

So when the girl came to Elsewhere, (For where else could she have gone?) Everyone steered clear (The school gave up on roommates before very long.)

Perhaps it was because of her reputation of playing with fire, or perhaps it was simply fate, but her chemistry professor paired her with a boy who loved to play with ice. They became unlikely friends, she with her burning salts and he with his liquid nitrogen.

“Call me Pyrra.” she said.

“Frozone.” He grinned, white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.

He told her of his girlfriend back in Louisiana who was pregnant with his child: “It’s too soon to know the gender yet.” And she would just smile.

She told him of her grandparents and their small, simple home that stood alone on the reservation and of the wild horses that would thunder by.

They knew what everyone would say, how unwise it was to share so much about themselves, but they were chemistry majors—those rarely got taken.

The two were closer then blood and they both forgot one very important fact— being Taken isn’t the only way to Vanish.

It had been an accident. Frozone hadn’t been paying attention. He had forgotten to count the doors, as he stumbled to his history class after a long night in the labs. No one probably would have known if a fellow student hadn’t seen him stepping through the door—too late to stop his fate.

Pyrra was the first one told, the RA’s decided to wait till the end of the term before notifying his family. They knew it was a futile hope, but anything beat having to make that call.

Pyrra wouldn’t accept this though. She gathered up her craft, and armed herself with salts to burn. She dressed herself in her tribe’s garments and war paint on her face—there is power in being claimed—and set off for the history building when the moonless night was at its darkest.

The door gave way before her and she crossed into when; not where, her friend had gone. She travelled far until she found where the Little People were gathered round. They vanished as she drew near, but she was unshaken by this or fear.

“I have come to bargain for my brother of heart.”

“What will you give?” They whispered in reply.

“A story like none other.” She called bravely into the night.

“There is no story to match his fate, for his return we will need something great.”

Pyrra paused before standing straight.

“Then I will take his place.”

“Is this your choice?”

She thought of her grandparents, sitting at home, they had only gotten electricity a few years ago.

She thought of Frozone’s sisters, all so young and alone thriving off their brother’s hope to give them a better home, on the income of the degree the scholarship would to them all. She thought about his girlfriend, who worked two jobs by day, and attended a community college to get her art degree by night. With that her mind was made.

“It is.”

Frozone stumbled in, lost and confused as if it had only been an hour instead of a day. He caught onto what had happened more than quick enough.

“Pyrra, you can’t do this! Please! It’s my mistake to pay.”

“Call my grandmother and ask for my name, give it to your daughter and your debt shall be paid.”

That was all the time they had, before he was gone and she had stayed. The Little Folk drew near her now; intent on Their new pet, but she held up her hand, she wasn’t Theirs quite yet.

“I have another bargain to make.”

“What now?” They grumbled, discontent and bored.

“My story for my freedom, I chose to stay, but not to be yours.”

“Fine.” they hissed “But the bargain is this: you must keep us entertained till dawn or to us you will belong.”

What choice was there left for her to make? The sky was at it darkest—the hour before dawn. But how that hour stretched on and on!

She dared not tell her family’s tales, or sing to Them their songs, so she told them what she had, her science close at hand.

She told them how a star was born and how precious gems became; all the while between her hands she wove the tales with flame.

When that never nearing dawn finally broke upon the sky, They praised her skills, and kept their deals; blessing her all the while.

Fire-tongue they called her; Flame-speaker, They would say. They kissed her eyes and painted her lips, dressing her in flame.

She smiled and simply said, “That is not my name.”

For she had a new name now, one that no one could ever Take, now that she had given her old name away.

Frozone made it back and tried to keep his word. He called her grandmother who patiently greeted him and told him Pyrra’s name, only requesting that in return he send her things and bring his daughter by some day. She waved him off when he explained that the baby was still too small to tell, whether it was female or male.

Years passed and soon it was time to graduate. Everyone assumed that Pyrra’s grandparents came for Frozone. No one expected Pyrra to appear and collect her diploma as if she had been there all along. Then again, no one mentioned how her eyes were embers now or how her hair had turned from raven black to crimson—so she very well may have been.

         A few decades later a new student comes—a chemistry major that loves to play with fire. She wears a white smile; which is near blinding against her dark skin. She claims she came to prove that her father paid his debt. She won’t say anymore than that. But sometimes she would leave the dorm shortly before dawn on moonless nights with a string of fireworks in her hands. She would always return the next morning, humming ancient songs as she wrote an email to her father.

         During her time a new tale whispers its way into campus lore.

It’s breathed into the ears of distraught students—those with the courage to try and reclaim the Taken Ones are the only ones to hear the advice.

“Come to the edge of the woods on a moonless night, just before dawn and set off fireworks of every color—then wait.”

The ones who listen return with tales about a woman in smoldering garments, blazing red hair, and glowing embers for eyes who would test their resolve. To those who passed she would gift them with words or song, depending on their need, she might even gift them with her fire.

Regardless of what you get, it is always enough to get them back.

Except no one can remember what it was she gave them. They could never remember the tale itself, just that she gave them one; the songs she granted would dance just beyond memory’s grasp; the image of a mesmerizing flame leaving a ghostly impression inside their eyelids. There was only one thing anyone remembers her saying.

“My name is Story—”

There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it is there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. His friend followed after.

He returned.

She did not.

“—and I create myself.”

A/N: I know the Gentry come off a little strange in this. It’s mostly because Pyrra is Navajo and thus the stories she knows are of the Little People; but at Elsewhere, the Gentry are for the most part from Great Britain, Ireland and thereabouts. I tried to blend these two cultures. I’m not gunna lie, I didn’t do great. I haven’t done much with Navajo mythology in a long while. I feel it came off pretty shoddy in this. I’m not trying to offend (I’m part native American myself). Also, I love Chemistry but I suck at it which is why I didn’t go as into depth as I would have liked. (My grammar sucks too, so apologies there as well.)

[x]

I see your Poe Dameron admiring the hell out of Cassian Andor headcanons and love them, but raise you this: Poe telling Finn stories during his recovery about Bodhi Rook, a “nobody” Imperial cargo pilot who risked his life and left his probably relatively safe life to deliver a message that would change the tide of the rebellion and war against the Empire, a man who could have kept living his life none the wiser, but opened his eyes to the horror of the Empire and, even though he didn’t think he was brave enough, had a heart so big that he walked out on his own to brave the unknown and shape history. And Finn, who has struggled with his own fear and sense of self, realizes that he isn’t alone - that there was someone like him in the old Rebellion - and there is hope.

anonymous asked:

If you had control on ending snk, how would you end the story?

Well. I want Annie to get a fucking redeemption arc. Please god. Let her join the Eldians and be on the same team as Armin and Eren. 

But in general, like, a conclusion to the entire plot? 

The Marleyans and Eldians come to some kind of agreement where they stay on opposite sides of the world where they can live away from each other long enough to get over their generations of bitterness. 

They can’t settle their differences, fine, but I don’t want to see one side or the other get totally eliminated.

I want them to take a damn time out and try to share the damn world, and realistically, it would take a looong time to get over it. 

Christa lives a long and happy life as a queen and fucking, Isayama, give her a wife or so help me god….

Connie and Sasha are alive and well. They get married and work for the government, maybe in agriculture or management of food storage. 

Levi and Hanji are alive and they get married. They go on adventures together, even when they’re old. Hanji never loses that scientist’s spark and Levi would never leave his last remaining friend  and partner alone. 

Jean…well. I see him being some kind of politician or head in the military. But the military’s not fighting anymore, so he’s really in charge of helping people settle outside of the walls and adjust to the “Real” world. 

I see him getting married, but I don’t know if I see him getting married to Mikasa. He’s the jealous type. 

Mikasa, well.

I’d like to see her branch away from Eren and perhaps use her strength for other things. 

Since in this ending, the fighting is over, she’s now allowed to pursue other interests. 

She’s never cared about exploring, not as much as Eren and Armin. 

I see her…settling down somewhere, keeping to herself, maybe taking care of horses and animals on a farm. 

I don’t see her…chasing Eren and Armin.

Like I know she wants to “be by Eren’s side” but I feel like that’s only because it’s a dangerous world and she feels she needs to protect him. 

I feel like she would trust Eren’s safety with Armin.

Which brings me to my next and final dream snk ending.

Eren and Armin, if they can’t have a cure, go out on a last adventure together.

They know Eren will die.

Armin knows he’ll follow shortly after. 

But Armin wants to show Eren everything before he does.

They travel as far as they can in the time they have left, mapping lands and admiring the view and camping on all kinds of terrain.

They settle down when the time is near and Armin prepares for the end. 

And when Eren does die, he buries him out there, I imagine on a cliff overlooking the sea.

And Armin is alone now, but he’s still got a job to do. 

He writes the entire story, everything that had happened up until that point. 

He leaves it at Eren’s grave for someone to find.

He goes back home to Mikasa, tells her the news. They mourn together and Armin has to tell Mikasa that he doesn’t want her to be alone, to find other friends and family once he’s gone. 

Maybe Mikasa and Jean reconnect here, I don’t know.

I could see that, actually. Mikasa and Jean, old friends, reminiscing about the past and realizing that they’ve been through a lot together and they have more in common than they ever thought. 

Anyway.

When Armin dies, Mikasa has him cremated. 

She goes out, maybe with Jean, maybe with the entire surviving 104th squad, with Levi and Hange with them. 

They bring his ashes out to Eren’s grave and scatter them over the cliff and all of them pay their last respects. 

I don’t know if the book Armin wrote is still intact after years of weathering. 

But what remains of it is still there, near Eren’s grave, and Armin’s too. 

it’s the story of a boy who wanted to see the ocean. 

and the story of the friend who took his hand and lead him there. 

though the Guardians of the Whills book has an interesting line that might actually discount the whole “Baze left Chirrut/Jedha for a while” idea, i’d like to posit the theory that Baze got in some serious trouble with arms dealers and the Empire and had to lay low for a bit

so to protect Chirrut from their Well Known Association, they pretend to have the mother of all public screaming rows in the main square (Chirrut throws a pot and that’s how Baze gets his face scar) and they supposedly hate each other, Baze disappears etc etc

actually he’s just hiding out in some desert tunnels and Chirrut’s sending him food

later when he tells the story of their dramatic split Chirrut keeps exaggerating the length of time

“he left me for ten years! I was so alone”

“it was two months”

“thank the Force we had no children…”

“you threw a pot at my head”

richard siken sentence starters.

quotes are all taken from various poems out of richard siken’s poetry book crush.  feel free to change pronouns/etc if needed.

  • ❝  tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.  ❞
  • ❝  tell me we’ll never get used to it.  ❞
  • ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞
  • ❝  i swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth.  ❞
  • ❝  i want it back now, baby. i want it back.  ❞
  • ❝  i’m sorry. we know how it works. the world is no longer mysterious.  ❞
  • ❝  that’s a nice touch.  ❞
  • ❝  i like him and i want to be like him.  ❞
  • ❝  i’m sure you remember, i was on the phone with you, sweetheart.  ❞
  • ❝  history repeats itself.  ❞
  • ❝  there are many names in history, but none of them are ours.  ❞
  • ❝  you could drown in those eyes.  ❞
  • ❝  but damn if there isn’t anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.  ❞
  • ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞
  • ❝  i couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but i wore his jacket for the longest time.  ❞
  • ❝  you wanted happiness, i can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.  ❞
  • ❝  there is no way to make this story interesting.  ❞
  • ❝  i want to tell you this story without having to confess anything, without having to say that i ran out into the street to prove something.  ❞
  • ❝  tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more.  ❞
  • ❝  you will be alone always and then you will die.  ❞
  • ❝  i’m sorry i came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.  ❞
  • ❝  who am i? i’m just a writer. i write things down.  ❞
  • ❝  i take it back.  ❞
  • ❝  here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.  ❞
  • ❝  you still get to be the hero.  ❞
  • ❝  what more do you want?  ❞
  • ❝  love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like a religion. it’s terrifying.  ❞
  • ❝  no one will ever want to sleep with you.  ❞
  • ❝  you know that recently we have had our difficulties and there are many things i want to ask you.  ❞
  • ❝  you had not expected this.  ❞
  • ❝  walk a mile in my shoes.  ❞
  • ❝  a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he’s still left with the river.  ❞
  • ❝  you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore.  ❞
  • ❝  hush, my sweet. these tornadoes are for you.  ❞
  • ❝  that sounds overly valorous.  ❞
  • ❝  do you love yourself?  ❞
  • ❝  i don’t have to answer that.  ❞
  • ❝  you wanted more.  ❞
  • ❝  i had a dream about you.  ❞
  • ❝  there’s nowhere to go. there’s nowhere to go.  ❞
  • ❝  in these dreams it’s always you: the boy in the sweatshirt, the boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me from jumping off the bridge.  ❞
  • ❝  will you love me even more when i’m dead?  ❞
  • ❝  you didn’t show up. i kept waiting.  ❞
  • ❝  i swallowed crushed ice pretending it was glass and you’re dead.  ❞
  • ❝  i don’t really blame you for being dead but you can’t have your sweater back.  ❞
  • ❝  you can sleep now, you said. you can sleep now. you said that. i had a dream where you said that. thanks for saying that. you weren’t supposed to.  ❞
  • ❝  hello darling, welcome home.  ❞
  • ❝  please keep him safe.  ❞
  • ❝  i just don’t want to die anymore.  ❞
  • ❝  you want to die for love, you always have.  ❞
  • ❝  you didn’t think you’d feel this way.  ❞
  • ❝  you saved my life. i owe you, i owe you everything.  ❞
  • ❝  please, just for one night, will you lie down next to me, we can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up.  ❞
  • ❝  you’re all i ever wanted and worth dying for, too.  ❞
  • ❝  drive into that tree, drive off the embankment. ______, make something happen.  ❞
  • ❝  we are not dirty.  ❞
  • ❝  you keep singing along to that song i hate. stop singing.  ❞
  • ❝  here is the sink to wash away the blood.  ❞
  • ❝  this is not harmless. you are not breathing.  ❞
  • ❝  i will come back from the dead for you.  ❞
I’ll take what’s left of you

The wonderful orenjimaru (I put a link because it refuses to tag) drew a fabulous piece with Jack and Gabriel on Tumblr and Twitter

Which inspired me to write this:


Gabriel visited the one Angela called ‘Jack’ every time he was at the watchpoint.

It had taken her weeks to relent and let him inside, she thought his intentions malicious, but that was to be expected. A cancer was growing inside of Overwatch and it was Gabriel’s job to snuff it out. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t at the top of the list in ‘persons of interest’.

The first time he visited, it was for a routine check-up and the large, bubbling tube of green liquid caught his eye from the exam room. He had migrated to it like a bug to a light, booted footsteps heavy against Angela’s tile floor.

Jack’ was a sight to behold.

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