I am heavy with hungers,

irresolute. I have seen

many winters, yet have not

learned the lessons

they brought to my door -

in the ice cold

in the blue snow

in the death

of the animals,

in the blood.

All things touch me -

I flinch at thought.

Flinch once at the blood,

at my stone, pale expression.

I flinch, again, at your touch.

Nihilism no longer wears the dark, Wagnerian, Spenglerian, fuliginous colors of the end of the century. It no longer comes from a Weltanschauung of decadence nor from a metaphysical radicality born of the death of God and of all the consequences that must be taken from this death. Today’s nihilism is one of transparency, and it is in some sense more radical, more crucial than in its prior and historical forms, because this transparency, this irresolution is indissolubly that of the system, and that of all the theory that still pretends to analyze it. When God died, there was still Nietzsche to say so – the great nihilist before the Eternal and the cadaver of the Eternal. But before the simulated transparency of all things, before the simulacrum of the materialist or idealist realization of the world in hyperreality (God is not dead, he has become hyper-real), there is no longer a theoretical or critical God to recognize his own.
—  Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation


Everything seemed so fuzzy.

The last thing she could recall was being ambushed by two figures, which happened to be a witch and her demonic familiar. Why did they attack her? Where did they come from? Though such questions were important, they weren’t of any concern at the current moment. The opposing witch was dealt with, and now it was time to do the same with her familiar.

Dressed in her black attire, the woman crept across a thick branch before perching in a certain spot. The cuts upon her palms stung, as she gripped the wood. However, she barely paid attention to them, along with her other possible wounds. Strikingly orange eyes glared down at the victim figure below, the intent behind them not benign in the slightest. Was this even the right demon? Did it really matter?

Since she blended in with the darkness, Briar was sure she was hidden well. Whether he could feel her gaze or not was irrelevant. She would catch him regardless.

i relate a lot to my computer because when i listen to loud music a lot.. my computer gets really bad at responding and becomes really irresolute like it is really confused and tired and so am i


紅暈 | 红晕 (hóng yùn) - to blush, to flush red

鯁 | 鲠 (gěng) - fish bone, blunt, unyielding

如鯁在喉 | 如鲠在喉 (rú gěng zài hóu) - like having a fishbone caught in one’s throat (when there is criticism that one must express)

猶豫不決 | 犹豫不决 (yóu yù bù jué) - hesitate, remain undecided, be irresolute

出乎意料 (chū hū yì liào) - to be beyond expectations, unexpected

告別 | 告别 (gào bié) - to leave, to bid farewell to

拘束 (jū shù) - constrained, awkward, ill at ease, uncomfortable

耿耿於懷 | 耿耿于怀 (gěng gěng yú huái) - to take troubles to heart, brooding

納悶 | 纳闷 (nà mèn) - puzzled, bewildered

懷有敬意 | 怀有敬意 (huái yǒu jìng yì) - to have respect for someone 

出人頭地 | 出人头地 (chū rén tóu dì) - to stand out among one’s peers, to excel

奈何 (nài hé) - to deal with, to cope, to no avail; (used in rhetorical questions) what’s to be done, what else can I do

錯愕 | 错愕 (cuò'è) - startled, to astonish

Homecoming Part 3

A/N: Finally I made it to write part 3 to this! :) Sorry that it took a while. I hope you guys like it, I really loved writing those 3 parts! Thanks for the original request. Here you can find part 1 and part 2. Also, new requests are welcome. :)

Isaac doesn’t yet dare to smile as you walk towards him. But the relief shows immediately in his face, especially as Lydia starts the engine and makes a turn. Nevertheless, he’s still nervously biting his lower lip while he waits for you to reach him.

“You decided to stay”, he says, a thankful statement rather than a question.

You shrug, stopping in front of his tall figure and standing there irresolutely, clearing your throat because it’s suddenly a lot harder to speak.

“Yes, Lydia had some valid points. You should really thank her”, you tell him, as if you need to clarify that this isn’t thoroughly your choice or his credit.

“I will”, he mumbles.

You turn away from him, mainly to flee his gaze and take a few steps towards the blanket to observe what he prepared for this awkward date.

“You bought mangos”, you discover. A smile almost brushes your lips, caused by this little attentiveness, but you hold it back in the last minute. Still, a kind of warm feeling spreads in your body.

Isaac does the opposite. He allows for the smile to slip.

“Course. I haven’t forgotten that they’re your favourite.”

You don’t exactly know how to properly react to that, so you just don’t. Instead you sit down on the fluffy cloth, grab a junk of the exotic fruit and focus on the amazing view of Beacon Hills in the soft moonlight right in front of you. Isaac makes himself comfortable next to you but in careful safety distance. He doesn’t eat. Maybe he’s too excited for that.

The silence hovers between you for a while. You know that his time it’s your turn to break it. It just takes a while to sort out your feelings.

“I haven’t been here in forever”, you finally admit. It’s not what you really want to say but you still need to assemble your bravery. Isaac observes you very closely, obviously trying hard to figure out what you’re thinking or feeling.

“Why?”, he asks.

“Don’t know. It didn’t feel right”, you mutter, unconsciously playing with a blade of grass at your feet.

Then you hold your breath for a second and finally say it.

“Why did you leave me?”

He gets the difference in the question. Not why he left in general, but why he left you. A sad expression appears behind his blue eyes as you turn to look at him.

“Because you deserved better”, he confesses sincerely. You can tell the difference, you always know when he lies. “I had no direction. No plan for anything. Everybody died around me after I turned and my past haunted me, so I needed to find a new way. I was broken at that time, Y/N, and you don’t deserve someone like that, you deserve someone whole. Someone who knows the right path and has some perspective.”

That’s new to you. You’ve never even considered that to be the reason. But hadn’t he in fact been kind of lost? However…

“I could’ve helped you”, you remind him.

“I felt like…I needed to make this on my own.”

You nod slowly. At least that you can understand.

“And…you’ve never dated anybody…in France, I mean?”, you press on weakly. Weakly because admittedly you are a bit afraid of the answer.

Thankfully he shakes his head.

“No. Not that there weren’t any chances. But I didn’t want to. I always wanted to return to you.”

You’re not proud of it but you are definitely relieved. Secretly you’ve dreaded a beautiful French girl just waiting for him back there.

“What about you, Y/N?”

Oh. Time to stare at the beautiful sleeping city again to hide your blush.

“I’ve tried…I had a date with Brad Hagen and to be honest: I kissed him. I realized that I wasn’t ready. It felt awful and I never did it again, although the others encouraged me to.”

He swallows hard, battling to hide his frown. No wonder. He has always been the jealous kind. You never bothered because for you the thought of losing him was just as painful. Then you did.

“So…the kiss with Brad Hagen wasn’t as good as our first one?”, he asks you, suspiciously casually.

You scan him to figure out the reason for this sudden change in topic but his face is unreadable.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Do you remember our first date?”

Usually this memory is excruciatingly painful for you. Weirdly it’s different this time. It almost feels good as you think about the evening and the corners of your mouth twitch slightly. He doesn’t miss that.

“You mean as you dragged me here to have an extraordinary date and take a walk through this beautiful forest at night? How could I forget that?”

“You were so scared”, he smirks.

“Would’ve been typical for me to break my leg.”

“I would’ve prevented that.”

“You probably have”, you admit, remembering how he half carried you the whole time and how much you loved that.

That’s the moment when your mood turns. When the lightheaded conversation weighs in and suddenly the smile is gone and tears start to run down your cheeks. The desperation breaks it’s way through your self-protecting wall of indifference and you aren’t able to stop them.

“Wha…Y/N, are you crying?”, Isaac asks shocked.

You swipe the tears away unnerved but they just keep coming. Now even sobbing threatens to start. Great.

Isaac is frozen for a second until he moves automatically, crawling closer to comfort you. Before he really reaches you he stops shortly, checking if you are okay with this. You don’t object. You can’t fight against it anymore. You need him.

He softly puts his arms around your upper body and pulls you into a warm and tight embrace, resting his head on yours while you hide your face in his shirt, probably ruining it with your tears. It feels so good. So familiar and intimate.

“I am so sorry. I never wanted to make you cry. Never”, he mumbles, heart-broken at your sight.

“I know…it’s just…all breaking in. What I supressed this whole time”, you whisper.

Afterwards both of you keep quiet for a while. He strokes your back softly, drawing circles on it while you cling to him like a baby monkey. He’s the werewolf but right know you are the one in need of him as your anchor.

“Can you promise me that you won’t leave again?”, you ask him. You need to hear it. Probably over and over again in the next few months until you believe it.

“I promise”, he answers lovingly.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to trust you again…”, you admit. “But I love you. I love you so much, you stupid idiot.”

He smiles softly, raising your chin with his fingertip to have you on eye level. His look is intense. “I love you, too. Is it okay…if I kiss you?”

Your strength to resist is long gone, so you just nod before you close your eyes.

His lips touch yours, at first carefully, then more passionately. You awaited it to be like back in the old days, like the thousands of kisses you’ve already shared. But to your surprise it isn’t. This kiss is so different. There is a desperation and longing to it that you never felt before. Another kind of love. Not innocent and fresh anymore. However, it feels like a first kiss over all. And it feels awesome. It’s Isaac and you never believed that you’d ever feel his lips again, therefore you don’t want it to stop. Ever.

But to avoid suffocation you have to break away eventually. You are relieved nevertheless that he holds onto you. He displays that smile that you like so much, his blue eyes sparkle and his cheeks are reddened from the effort. For the first time you can return it.

“You know that I won’t let go of you for the rest of the night, right?”, you ask him.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let you anyway.”

“You have to tell me about Paris, though”, you mutter, scanning the small town once again.

He takes your hand in his and enjoys the view with you. “I will. And some day, I will show you.”

Gambling with a Goshawk

“The falconer and scientist Professor Tom Cade once described falconry as a kind of ‘high-intensity birdwatching.’ I thought it was a nice phrase, and an accurate one. But now I knew this was wrong. What I had just done was nothing like birdwatching. It was more like gambling, though the stakes were infinitely bloodier. At its heart was a willed loss of control. You pour your heart, your skill, your very soul, into a thing - into training a hawk, learning the form in racing or the numbers in cards - then relinquish control over it. That is the hook. Once the dice rolls, the horse runs, the hawk leaves the fist, you open yourself to luck and you cannot control the outcome. Yet everything you have done until that moment persuades you that you might be lucky. The hawk might catch her quarry, the cards might fall perfectly, the horse make it first past the post. That little space of irresolution is a strange place to be. You feel safe because you are entirely at the world’s mercy. It is a rush. You lose yourself in it. And so you run  towards those little shots of fate, where the world turns. That is the lure: that is why we lose ourselves… I had found my addiction on that day… It was as ruinous, in a way, as if I’d taken a needle and shot myself with heroin. I had taken flight to a place from which I didn’t want to ever return.

- Helen Macdonald, “H is for Hawk”

To live in the Great Way is neither easy nor difficult, but those with limited views are fearful and irresolute: the faster they hurry, the slower they go, and clinging cannot be limited: even to be attached to the idea of enlightenment is to go astray. Just let things be in their own way and there will be neither coming nor going. Obey the nature of things (your own nature), and you will walk freely and undisturbed.
—  Sengcan

Pawley’s Island Moon – Pawley’s Island, SC, December 16, 2013

I have observed that, for the most part, people are not who they say they are–

And they are afraid to say–to be–who they actually are.

And the discordance between who they say they are and who they are

Is the source of much grief, pain and suffering.

But, it is not a simple thing, dropping the pretense, and being who you are.

Thus, I recommend moving slowly, imperceptibly,

Yet, steadily and irresolutely,

Over the rest of your life,

Away from the act and toward the reality.

Live to be who you are.

Live to get your appearance aligned with your heart and soul,

So that who you say you are is who you are

And everyone can take you at your word,

And know your part of their world is firmly set on the foundation stone.

A little unedited drabble of the beginning of something quite twisted for @hannibalcreative‘s #EattheRare…


Beyond the two way mirror was the face of Will Graham’s dreams and nightmares – a choked scream given life, damp fingers scrabbling in the dark. The same wolfish face and scarred eyes that had only seemed real to him with a tender hand on the side of his face and a knife slow waltzing in his gut.

He still remembered the muted sound of blood slipping out of his body, like rain across Hannibal’s Italian leather shoes. Hannibal.

The man he saw now had the same face, but that was it. It wasn’t just the white blood spattered shirt he was missing, but the sneer, the haughty precision – it was all gone. Hidden in irresolution and patched tweed.

Will swallowed the knot building in his throat.

The man that Jack wanted him to see was every bit the harried professor with his patched jacket and wire frame glasses. And he was most assuredly not Hannibal Lecter.

Now that Will could concentrate, he could see his hair was darker, more youthful, and falling in his eyes in a way Hannibal would not abide. His suit was form fitting but undeniably shabby. To Will, he most resembled a harried Georgetown professor, not the BAU’s most wanted. His eyes were tear stained, his shoulders shaking.

The mere coldness of the BAU had damaged him.

Poor little wounded bird.

Will startled only when Jack came out of the interrogation room, his mouth pursed to a hard frown.

“He’s not our man. I know that now.”

Will took a breath, licked his dry lips.

“What did he say?”

“That he’s not Hannibal,” said Jack. “He’s a school teacher from Denmark, Will. Everything he said came back clean. And I believe him.”

Will let that sink in. “Then I hope you didn’t break him too bad.”

Jack gave him a sharp look. “He’ll do fine. This isn’t the first time he’s been accused of something he was innocent of. He has an interesting story. The resemblance though, it’s uncanny. How do you explain that?”

They looked into the two way mirror, this time together.

Lucas was still now, the long, lean bones of his shoulders slumped. His hands were clasped together as if in prayer. A surge of anger unraveled inside the void of Will’s stomach, that this stranger would wear Hannibal’s face but not wear his blood…

“They say everyone has a twin out there right?” Jack muttered beside him. “That man there must be Hannibal’s.”

Will frowned, staring into the dim mirror again.

“Let me go in,” he said. Once it was spoken, there was no way to take it back.

Jack tensed. “Will.”

He let his head bow slightly, widening his eyes a fraction before making a show of lowering them to the floor. “Please,” he said. “I need to see.”

Jack exhaled. He laced his fingers behind his back. “Fine. You get five minutes. Just remember, he’s on your watch now. You break it, you buy it.”

Oh, I intend to.

For the unified mind in accord with the Way all self-centered striving ceases. Doubts and irresolutions vanish and life in true faith is possible. With a single stroke we are freed from bondage; nothing clings to us and we hold nothing. All is empty, clear, self-illuminating, with no exertion of the mind’s power.
—  Sengcan