shift pattern

Kaneki’s Vulnerability

With the recent happenings in Tokyo Ghoul :re, I realized a parallel that stems back to the very beginning chapters of Tokyo Ghoul. That is, Ishida correlates Kaneki’s vulnerability – both uncomfortable and comfortable – with nudity.

The first instance we see of this uncomfortable vulnerability is with Rize.

Tokyo Ghoul – Chapter 1

Kaneki had no control over the situation he was placed in. The girl who made him feel happy just by looking at her turned out to be a sadistic Ghoul that tried to eat him. Dr. Kanou transplanted her kakuhou into him and transformed him into a One-Eyed Ghoul under the guise of a legitimate medical procedure. And Ishida portrayed this life spiraling out of control in an impactful manner: Kaneki was stripped naked.

Tokyo Ghoul – Chapter 16 

This image of Kaneki comes after Kureo Mado murdered Hinami Fueguchi’s mother, Ryouko, in cold blood. Kaneki laments because he wasn’t as strong as Touka, who would have arguably defended both Ryouka and Hinami against the Ghoul Investigators had she been in his position, nor was he able to do anything other than cover Hinami’s eyes and watch Ryouko be killed.

In this moment of vulnerability, we also see a shift in Kaneki’s thinking patterns. In his mind, Ghouls were painted as monsters driven by their need to consume human flesh and that they were deserving of death. A belief that was probably reinforced by the trauma he suffered at Rize’s hand. But when he saw Ryouka die, he didn’t feel relief, nor was it as simple as distantly acknowledging that some Ghoul had been killed. These were people he knew and had come to care for that were suffering, that he couldn’t help. And he miserable for being unable to protect them.

His nakedness only highlights this change. Kaneki has been forced to challenge his perception of the world, and he has to evolve, because he can no longer view the Ghouls’ world from the eyes of an ordinary human. He ceased being that after Dr. Kanou’s experimentation on him. And it’s torturous.

Tokyo Ghoul – Chapter 37

The next time we see Kaneki naked is when Shuu Tsukiyama invited him to the Ghoul Restaurant for dinner. Kaneki is shown to be uncomfortable in and skeptical of this situation because, for one, he’d already been suspicious of Tsukiyama’s motives since the beginning, and – as he himself said – he’s never showered at a restaurant before.

Kaneki’s suspicions are confirmed when it was revealed that Tsukiyama brought him to the restaurant with the intention of having him served as the main course of the evening.

Kaneki even drew parallels between the predicament he faced with Tsukiyama to the one he previously faced with Rize, even chastising himself for not learning anything from what happened with her and allowing himself to be deceived once again.

Tokyo Ghoul – Chapter 136

Kaneki was faced with the two monsters that both destroyed him, and gave him the strength he needed to survive: Rize and Yamori. In this scene, we witness the greatest extent of Kaneki’s mental instability in Tokyo Ghoul, as he battled the vivid and gruesome hallucinations that plagued him.

Once again, Kaneki has been stripped naked – a state that Ishida has used many times to convey his discomfort, his lack of control, his vulnerability. It showed how warped his mind has become from near-constant torment and stress, and these two, Rize and Yamori, are the catalysts.

In :re, though nudity is still utilized as a sign of Kaneki’s vulnerability, Ishida began employing a certain sense of comfort during these scenes that start with Hideyoshi Nagachika.

Tokyo Ghoul :re – Chapter 75

Before this scene, Kaneki has always either appeared alone and miserable, or overwhelmed by fear and assaulted. Here, Kaneki was ready to die, to “go out in style” like how he’d assumed Hide died.

Then a hallucination of Hide appears to him and demands that he put some clothes on because he did not want to see Kaneki naked. He didn’t want to see him hurt or vulnerable or suicidal. He wanted him to feel comfortable and safe, so Hide literally gave Kaneki the clothes off his back.

Hide even slumps down when they’re sitting down facing each other, purposely making himself lower than Kaneki, thus putting Kaneki in a position of power.

Just those actions alone, show what Kaneki has always viewed Hide as: his sense of security. Because even though his vision of Hide made sure he was covered, made sure he felt in control, Kaneki still let himself be vulnerable for him.

Finally, we have Kaneki’s love scene with Touka Kirishima. Like Hide, Touka is the only other person that Kaneki allows himself to become vulnerable for. Consenting to have sex with someone is a symbol of trust, an intimacy that comes in sharing in the blissful pleasure and pain of the act. Just as his hallucination of Hide clothed him to make sure he felt warm and safe, both Touka and Kaneki bared themselves for each other in a moment of heated surrender.

Tokyo Ghoul :re – Chapter 125

This is the first time we’ve seen Kaneki bare himself for anyone. He was in full control of his decisions and how vulnerable he wanted to feel with Touka, and – equally as important – he wanted to ensure this experience was pleasurable and comfortable for them both.

There are three situations that I have listed here that Kaneki winds up crying while he’s naked, and they are: 1) When he witnessed Ryouka’s death, 2) when he spoke with his hallucination of Hide, and 3) when he made love with Touka.

In each of these situations, Kaneki undergoes some form of metamorphosis. With Ryouka, he realizes he has to change his perception of the world. With Hide, he regains his will to live, no matter how unstylish it may be. With Touka, that he is loved intimately.


Feel free to point out anything I might have missed! Or if there’s anything that could be disputed. This is just an observation I made about Ken Kaneki thus far ^^

Just adding a bit of trivia/explanation for this picture!

Okay so in the tower there is a room below the bulb called the Window or Service Room, which is where a majority of the Keeper’s time was spent at night since the Lantern Room really only has enough room for the bulb and the small path to walk around it. In that room, there would be a desk for reading to help the Keeper stay awake at night, and a window for which they can see out to sea for ships. That room was very dark, and so the metal floor of the lantern room above had patterned crystals in the floor to allow light to shine through. During the day this would mean natural light, and at night it would mean the bulb. So the crystals in the floor also allowed the Keeper to maintain vigilance of the light while not being on that floor.

Ford is only apparent when the light is on, and thus when the light from the bulb shines through the crystals (in this case, patterned like the portal symbols) to the floor below. Since the floor is circular it made sense for it to be the Portal replacement for this AU.

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Neon Scribbles | Cerith Wyn Evans

Almost two kilometres of neon lighting shaped into sharp lines and sweeping forms create this installation by Welsh artist Cerith Wyn Evans, which is suspended in the Tate Britain’s Duveen Galleries.

Forms in Space… by Light (in Time) is a major new installation by Wyn Evans, created for the Tate Britain Commission and supported by auction house Sotheby’s. The lighting is structured in three parts, emerging from a single neon ring before developing into a collection of three discs.

The forms appear as scribbles and rough drawings, similar to “light writing” with a torch captured by a DSLR camera on a slow-shutter-speed setting.

Jutting out from these tangled marks are sharper and more purposeful shapes and symbols, framing the perimeter of the forms. These maze-like lines are intended to mimic physical and kinetic gestures, like footsteps and folding material.

Wyn Evans describes these three forms as “occulist witnesses”, referenced by artist Marcel Duchamp in his sculpture The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass) (1915-23), which was donated to the Tate’s collection in 1975.

When walking through the long Duveen Galleries, the suspended sculptures appear to move with the viewer as the patterns created shift with their changing perspective.

Between the bursts of curves, loops and jagged straight lines, the suggestion of kinetics in the light sculptures reflects the artist’s interest in choreology – the practice of translating movement into notational form. Wyn Evans also drew influence from the codified and precise movements of Japanese Noh theatre for Forms in Space.

what goes around comes around (a fic for the glorious 25th of may)

The first time Lu-Tze learned of the Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road was long before Sam Vimes got caught in a thunderstorm and was swept thirty years into the past. In fact, when Lu-Tze was young and light on his feet and had only just moved to Ankh-Morpork for the first time, he took a wrong turn and stumbled upon a narrative temporal phenomenon the likes of which he had never seen in his life.

He was picking up some groceries for Mrs. Cosmopolite, who was graciously allowing him lodging, because was it not written that What Goes Around Comes Around? He was also lost.

He tried asking random passerby for directions, but his attempts were all rebuffed with variants on “up yours, mister” and the slurs that were generally leveled at anyone who looked too foreign for their own good. So instead of turning onto the Pitts as she should have, he missed the intersection and continued straight ahead.

It was the 25th of May. Spring was battling valiantly against the smog and grime of the city, and contrary to all expectation the few shrubs that had survived were putting out green shoots.

Lu-Tze hitched up the bag of groceries and thought the sacred wisdom: My Joints Aren’t What They Used To Be. He was a bit young for that one, he reflected, but was not all wisdom valuable?

He turned onto Treacle Mine Road.

It was noon. Bright and sunny. The street was loud and busy with carts and animals and people, as you’d expect on any weekday. And yet as he walked forward, the sun dimmed. The air cooled. The hustle of the streets became muffled, farther away.

The scent of lilac filled in the air.

The hairs on his arms tingled like a storm was approaching.

He took a good look around, really looked rather than focusing on the unimportant surface bits, like the buildings and the people—and nearly choked on his own tongue.

This—this was—it was a disruption in the space-time continuum so extreme that it was a wonder anyone in the immediate vicinity was still alive. This was a rift so profound that rationally speaking, he should be standing in the equivalent of a smoking crater where a chunk of functional reality used to be.

There were no words to describe the wrongness of this place. You could say that the passage of time in this location was like a length of yarn which had been bundled into a ball and left unattended in a room full of eager-eyed kittens. (It would be blatantly incorrect, but you could definitely say that.)

“Ye gods,” said Lu-Tze, because some words always worked.

He ditched the groceries and started running.

He burst through the door of Mrs. Cosmopolite’s boarding house with a crash. The hostess jumped in surprise and nearly hit him over the head with the plate she was drying, but restrained herself, because that wasn’t Done. Instead she shouted, “Young man, just what do you think you’re doing?”

“No time!”

If he’d stopped to think properly he would have realized how stupid a statement that was, but he was busy racing up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed his emergency supply pack from under the bed and dashed out again.

There were images in his head that didn’t make sense—darkness and rain and a silver cigar case, gleaming on the cobbles, and lilacs blooming in the night, over and over again.

When he returned to Treacle Mine Road he knelt down in the middle of the street, right in the middle of traffic, and the carts moved smoothly around him without a blink, despite their relocation occasionally involved a minor rewriting of the conventional laws of physics. He barely noticed. He found a bare patch of dirt and got to work. He would be hard-pressed to construct a sophisticated detection mandala on such short notice, but he would damn well make do…

The air crackled with energy as he finished the last curve on the mandala. He dusted his hands and waited.

It began to turn.

The patterns shifted, then stilled.

He frowned. “No,” he said. “That can’t be right.  Historical imperative? But this is so obviously a narrative disruption. An unfinished story.”

A rift in time that didn’t exist, memories of events that never happened… it had to be a result of an incomplete narrative unable to achieve a single resolution. Something, somewhen, had gone wrong, and a major role had gone unfulfilled, and now the phenomenon was scrabbling for a solution.

“Must be incorrectly set up,” he muttered to himself. “I mean, this thing is telling me there should be a major temporal incident any moment now—”

Unfortunately, the young Lu-Tze had not yet learned some valuable wisdom. For is it not written that You Are So Sharp You’ll Cut Yourself?

There was a sound like an elastic band snapping, and the world turned sideways.

He stumbled upright once the universe had returned to something close to normal and scrambled to get his bearings. He was still in the present day, but another time was—how to describe it, how to describe it—layered on top, one moment falling over the other like snow. Fog and wind and darkness swirled in, obscuring the sky, wreathing around the figures in the courtyard before him.

The men were wearing Watch uniforms.

“Okay, lads,” said one of the men. He had an eyepatch and a battered breastplate, and a voice that echoed as if it was coming from very far away. Years ago, thought Lu-Tze. “What we’re going to do is keep the peace. That’s our job…”

If Lu-Tze concentrated, he could still feel the rush of wind from the passing street and hear the sound of the busy city. But here, in a much more real sense, he could see the watchmen shuffling anxiously as they listened to the sergeant-at-arms. He talked about duty and right and wrong, and then he drew a line in the sand, and then the men made their choice.

History struck a chord.

The world shifted.

A barricade climbed into the air, higher and higher, packed with furniture and upturned carts and spare wood, held up by desperate hope and bottomless fear, the rawest emotions of humanity. When sufficiently concentrate, those were capable of twisting time into knots so complex that only a master of the temporal would ever be able to undo them.

And why would they want to? So what if someone thought it was odd that time crawled by while they were under stress, or if it went by instantly during a fun afternoon? That was what made people human. 

That sound again, and the world changed again—

A battle was raging around him. Men in battered uniforms, not many, fighting for their lives, wearing the lilac…

…the man with the eyepatch leapt forward, sword a blur in his hands, hacking wildly…

…and across the street, untouched by the carnage, was a little old man in a robe. He was sweeping peacefully at a patch of dust, undisturbed by the blood and guts and destruction whirling around him. It was surreal.

The old man looked up and winked.

Time stood still.

(Well, it didn’t really stand still, but the true answer involved multivariable calculus and besides, it was a useful metaphor and at this moment in time Lu-Tze was not the type to spend valuable effort messing about with the sneaky kind of sums with letters in them.)

The old sweeper carefully plodded across the frozen tableau, ducking under an upraised sword and stepping around the body of a watchman who had not yet hit the ground.

Ah, so another monk was on the problem, then? The young time-traveler stood up straight and tried to act like this was an expected development.

“Hey, kid,” said the sweeper. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

* * *

Lu-Tze was convinced that this particular branch of the No Such Monastery did not exist in the present day, which made it quite worrying that it appeared to exist in both the past and the future.

He sipped his tea with yak butter and eyed the old sweeper suspiciously. He distrusted older authority figures on principle.

“So you spotted the incongruity, did you,” said the sweeper. “Historical imperative’s a tricky thing, isn’t it.”

“It’s not historical imperative. It’s narrative causality.”

The sweeper sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo. It’s both. The Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road… it didn’t take long for the city to forget, but the story still leaves echoes. It wants to be remembered.”

The young man frowned. “I kept having memories of things that never happened. Deja vu without the original vu.”

“Sounds pretty standard. Lilacs, right? You smelled the lilacs? That’s the anchor. On the Glorious 25th of May, the lilacs are in bloom. They will always be in bloom, forever and ever, for as long as time exists, and whenever the survivors see it, they’ll be brought back here. Even poor sods like you with receptive enough minds will be saddled with this piece of history.”

“But this doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t understand why a bunch of men would just get themselves killed like that just—just to be heroes.” Lu-Tze knew a dramatic last stand when he saw one.

“Yeah, see, that’s ‘cos you’re seventeen and I’m old and wise,” said the sweeper. “Why do we fix time? Is it because we want to be heroic? Is it because we have to? No, we do it because we could just let time curl in on itself and extinguish all the complicated bits like sentient life, but we decide to make fixing this mess our job.”

“But—alright, fine, but there’s still a gigantic rift in reality and I’m standing in it. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

What?”

“You heard me. There’s no reason to muck about with a story that’s looking to be told. This case is unusual, mostly ‘cause it’s a bit under-construction if you know what I mean, but yea, is it not written that There’s A First Time For Everything?”

The young time-traveler sat bolt upright. “You—you’re a follower of the Way? But none of the senior monks—it’s just a thing that I made up so—I mean—”

The sweeper shook his head sadly. “Hoo boy. I really am paying for how much of an idiot back then. I suppose What Goes Around Comes Around.”

The young history monk’s eyes widened, realization dawning. He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man interrupted him. “Now, this is slightly more complicated than a standard closed time loop, since you’re not here in any physical sense. So if I just…”

He slashed his hand through the air. The air began to sing with mounting tension, time itself groaning under the weight, and the world snapped back to the present.

The city streets bustled around him. Lu-Tze’s mouth was slack with shock. Had that really been…?

He looked down at the mandala he had scrawled in the dirt. The wind had scrubbed it out.

Overhead, the lilacs were in bloom.

I’m starting to realize I talk about weather near constantly in my lore posts, so I drafted up my HC of the approximate global weather patterns.

The Vortex basically has total control of the weather for west/northern Sornieth. The clockwise spin moves frigid air from the Southern Icefields into the Starfall Isles, Dragonhome, and the Scarred Wasteland, heating up as it goes.

The Viridian Labyrinth is far enough out that winds are relatively still, and takes more of its general weather from the greater ocean. The permanent and previous little sunlight in the Tangled Wood mean in theory it would be colder, but it actually sits right in the middle of a competing weather pattern that keeps it about as temperate as the Sunbeam Ruins.

The Shifting Expanse’s weather pattern are the ones that largely dictate what goes on in southern/eastern Sornieth. It’s variable, but I like to imagine the prevailing storm pattern is one that spins out from the Tempest Spire and pushes against the Vortex winds that would otherwise move south through the Ashfall Waste. This combined with the heat of the Great Furnace means that the Ashfall Waste is actually subject to fairly brutal ash storms. But the prevailing wind out of the Ashfall Waste actually merges into a fairly small but consistent weather pattern in the Sea of Thousand Currents, which causes the waters and the wind to have a primarily counter-clockwise flow. That current is a subsystem of the Vortex as well.

But in short, the heat from Ashfall follows the coast up into the Sunbeam Ruins and is the sole reason the Tangled Wood isn’t terribly different in average temperature from the Sunbeam Ruins. 

The weather from the greater ocean sometimes comes in and disrupts all this of course, but that’s how I think of it working in general.

And in the sea, there’s like 4 main maelstroms (the biggest of which I forgot to draw in whoops)

  • One in the sea between Fire, Wind, and Ice, just south of the Vortex.
  • A sister to the above, slightly further east in the sea between Fire, Lightning, and Ice.
  • One that forms in Meteora Sound (between Arcane and Earth) when the weather is right.
  • The biggest one in Windstar Bay, which frequently has chunks of the floes from Ice in it and is an actual demon to navigate by ship. (Also there’s a superstition that it’s not caused by the weather but something from the Greater Ocean that was irradiated and warped by Arcane energy and subsequently trapped by the Windsinger, Arcanist, and Icewarden when it tried to pass through the bay and get to the Sea of A Thousand Currents)

Idk I might do one that’s bigger and makes more sense later.

3

Double-slit experiment

The modern double-slit experiment is a demonstration that light and matter can display characteristics of both classically defined waves and particles; moreover, it displays the fundamentally probabilistic nature of quantum mechanical phenomena. A simpler form of the double-slit experiment was performed originally by Thomas Young in 1801 (well before quantum mechanics). He believed it demonstrated that the wave theory of light was correct and his experiment is sometimes referred to as Young’s experimentor Young’s slits. The experiment belongs to a general class of “double path” experiments, in which a wave is split into two separate waves that later combine into a single wave. Changes in the path lengths of both waves result in a phase shift, creating an interference pattern. Another version is the Mach–Zehnder interferometer, which splits the beam with a mirror. 

Watch the video:  Microscopic Universe 

No number of age-old stereotypes can erase the fact that, Appalachia, distinctive as it is, has never been a region that is lily white. History reveals that Appalachia has always had a racially and ethnically diverse population that has been significant and influential. Migration and mobility has shifted patterns of diversity within sub-regions and particular counties, but many areas recall traditions of inclusive collaboration unlikely to have taken hold outside the mountains. Indeed, while some areas today are largely white, the collective memory of a county may reveal a vastly different history.
—  Dr. Althea Webb, Berea College
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EOTW - The Boneless Bride in the River (2x16)

(I literally ran to PS when I saw this was the episode of the week because this came to my mind in that exact moment)

Such a small moment? So innocent? Why so important?

Most of us shipped them by this moment. We knew somehow they’d be endgame - even though probably we didn’t think we’d see so much of their beautiful journey to get to that point. But this moment gets me. So much. 

Their gravity towards each other. How there’s nothing between them, inside their bubble. And then something shifts, something disrupts that pattern. And she gives a step and he gives another in her direction. But it’s not his place to give it.

They’re chasing each other in the most beautiful way. They don’t say it out loud, they know there’s a line and they know they’re constantly on the verge of crossing it. I know Booth knew right from the beginning, but without knowing. He just kept chasing her, shifting towards her, until he was confronted with those feelings in his coma dream.  But until then? They’re partners. They have this job together. But he still follows her. Without thinking, even before feeling, like a magnet.

And this episode is majorly about Brennan’s heart. It’s beautiful, and I know you’ll talk about it. But I absolutely adore the glimpse they give us of a lost Booth, when their dynamic is altered, when their world isn’t shifting around each other. 

We see it best later (and especially in S6, when he’s the one in a serious relationship), but it’s so easy to see here how lost they are in each other already. How they want to chase each other forever, no boundaries. How they’re unconsciously fighting it, but still with no remedy. 

Because fate didn’t fool them, and they’re meant to be. For the next 30, 40, 50 years.

Artist of the Day

Bridget Riley

Ra (Inverted)
2009
Screenprint
53 3/8 × 44 ¾ in
135.6 × 113.7 cm

Bridget Riley is an abstract painter who came to prominence in the American Op Art movement of the 1960s, after her inclusion in the 1965 exhibition “The Responsive Eye” at The Museum of Modern Art. There, her black-and-white paintings—which created illusions of movement—were shown alongside works by Victor Vasarely, Richard Anuszkiewicz, Frank Stella, and Ellsworth Kelly, among others. In the late ‘60s, she introduced color into her work and went on to win the Prize for Painting at the 1968 Venice Biennale. Since then her work has unfolded through numerous groups and series that engage the viewers’ perception to induce simultaneously shifting patterns of forms and changing, optical mixtures of colors. Over the past decade, she has also made large, black-and-white murals that shape and articulate the environments they occupy. Her work is ultimately inspired by nature—“although in completely different terms,” she says, adding, “For me nature is not landscape, but the dynamism of visual forces—an event rather than an appearance.”
courtesy of artsy.net

Mega Arbok

Functional fangs grew from its hood, puncturing its skin. But due to its Mega Evolution, it no longer feels pain.

When one is poisoned by its bite, things appear to warp and shift in color. The pattern on its hood then seems much more frightening.

Type: Poison/Dark
Ability: Strong Jaw
Stats:
HP 60
ATK 145 (+50)
DEF 99 (+30)
SPA 35 (-30)
SPD 99 (+20)
SPE 90 (+10)
BST 528
New Moves: Psychic Fangs

Hissss. It learns almost all the biting moves so a Dark-type and Strong Jaw seems like a good idea.

Percy Jackson AU

Literally no one asked for this, but I’m currently drowning in my other obsession for Greek mythology and needed to purge this from my soul. I’m gonna mention @thatcrazyjalphfan though because we were talking about this au a little while ago!

•Ralph is a child of Athena
•Piggy is a child of Hephaestus
•Simon is a child of Demeter
•Jack is a child of Zeus
•Roger is a child of Ares
•Maurice is a child of Apollo
•Ralph and Jack are the MOST competitive demigods in the camp
•Jack, being the child of the ruler of all the gods, thinks of himself as the center of the universe
•The powers he has from being Zeus’ child only reinforce his obnoxious overconfidence; he can manipulate wind and create lighting from his fingertips
•Ralph is calm, collected, a little aloof, and his thoughts move at a million miles an hour
•He’s constantly fed up with Jack for thinking he’s the best in the camp, and uses his Athenian wisdom and cunningness to challenge him whenever he can
•Jack knows that above all else, Ralph HATES it when he flirts with him, so he makes sure to throw in a wink and a smirk whenever they spar together
•(Ralph actually loves this but shhh only Simon knows)
•Simon, being a child of Demeter, is in nature constantly
•He has a special connection with the earth and can make the ground bloom just by walking by
•He’s an oddly powerful child of Demeter though, and sometimes his emotions have caused accidental shifts in the pattern of the seasons (there was once a blizzard in mid-June)
•Piggy, child of Hephaestus, is one of Ralph’s most valuable partners in crime
•Ralph’s abstract intelligence combined with Piggy’s practicality make them a duo to be feared
•Although Piggy doesn’t normally condone violence, he hates Jack more and is constantly using his forging skills to upgrade Ralph’s weapons and armor so he can take Jack down in their next sparring practice or game of capture the flag
•Jack’s right hand man is an unusual son of Ares; Roger
•Roger is quieter than the other Ares children, but no less formidable by any means
•If anything, Roger is more terrifying than the other children of the war god
•Even the bravest demigods run the other way if they see Roger in the training grounds or on the capture the flag field
•He’s skilled in all weapons, and knows how to kill with barely anything if it comes down to it
•Maurice is close with Jack and Roger, but he juxtaposes with them in the sense that he’s much more light hearted, as he’s a son of Apollo
•Maurice has a gift for music (which Jack is begrudgingly jealous of) and is exceptional at the art of healing
•He’s also a master archer, and can take an opponent down before they even know that he’s there
•Maurice, Roger, Simon, and Piggy are constantly getting caught up in Ralph and Jack’s struggle for power, which frequently gets them all in trouble with Chiron
•However one day Maurice receives a prophecy directly from Apollo, which sends the six unlikely heroes on a journey where they’ll have to learn how to work together and combine their strengths
•The only thing more earth shaking than a fight between the sons of Zeus and Athena is an alliance between them
•Especially when the sons of Ares, Demeter, Hephaestus, and Apollo have their backs

anonymous asked:

13- falling asleep. Han and Leia- Leia is so tired and doesn't want to sleep but Han is like I'm going to make you fall asleep anyway.

13- falling asleep.

“Well? How do I look?” Leia asked, stepping up on the little platform and looking into the mirror. Han looked up from where he was seated on the little posh bench—the bench that Lando referred to as the boyfriend bench, the place where the men sat while women tried on pretty dresses.

“Exhausted,” he replied, giving her a wink and standing. This was their third dress shop and possibly her hundredth dress. Leia wasn’t very picky when it came to clothes, but her brother was getting married, and this dress had to be perfect. Before they went shopping, she’d worked a ten-hour day, and had put in four more just like it earlier in the week.

“Thanks for that,” she muttered, spinning to see the back of the dress again. “I don’t know. Eely said she could probably get that green one in my size…” Leia muttered to herself as he slipped his arms around her waist and perched his chin on her shoulder.

“I liked the green one,” Han offered.

“You liked the green one because it was two sizes too big and gaped in the front,” she countered, covering his arms with hers and leaning back into him, appreciating the added height the mirror platform gave her.

“I liked the color, too,” he defended playfully, pressing a kiss into her jaw. “You can go down first thing in the morning. It’s time we head home. I’m tired, and so are you.”

Leia agreed and changed back into her own clothes. It was only a short walk back to their apartment, and Han pulled Leia under his arm for a tight squeeze when the elevator doors slid closed behind them.

“I don’t think I’m relaxed enough to head for bed just yet,” Leia murmured into his side. “Maybe I’ll just see if I can get a few hours of work done and come to bed when I’m sleepier.”

“Nuh-uh, Sweetheart,” Han protested. “I got a fool-proof way to get wound up princesses to fall asleep,” he bragged, directing her out of the elevator and through their front door. “You go put your pajamas on and meet me on the couch.”

Five minutes later, Leia emerged from their bedroom wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, her hair braided over her shoulder. Han was waiting on the couch and passed her a glass of wine. Leia accepted it and sank into the plush couch beside him. He threw the big throw blanket over their laps and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His fingers slipped up and down her arm in a featherlight touch, raising goosebumps along the skin.

“You remember the night after that really bad mission, we finally made it back to the Falcon and after we took off, we both collapsed on the acceleration couch and we fell asleep on each other?” he asked quietly, murmuring into her hair.

“Mhm,” Leia replied, finishing her wine and setting the glass on the coffee table. She sat back into Han’s embrace again, and he shifted his touch slightly to her neck, tugging at the baby hairs that were too short to be caught into the braid.

“You ‘member that night on Endor? After everything?” he asked. She nodded. “We decided we were going to make love ‘til sunrise and we barely had our clothes off before we were both asleep?”

“Mhm,” she repeated, shifting against him until her head was in his lap. Han’s hands switched tactics once again, the hand near her belly moving to massage her hip and the hand by her head brushing over her temples, stroking the wispy hair against her forehead.

“You remember that next night, how we were stargazing and talking about how all the planets and all the stars were safe again?” Her eyes fluttered closed and Han smiled. “We brought the mattresses from the bunk room up on top of the Falcon, and the big comforter from our bed,” he rumbled in a low, calming voice. “We laid under our big blanket and all the stars all night? I remember playing with your hair until I could barely feel my fingers anymore.”

Leia’s fingers came across her belly to wind with the hand tracing her hipbone. She took a deep breath and her breathing pattern shifted and he knew from years of sleeping beside her that she was just about asleep.

Han’s fingers slipped down her cheek and neck to trace the collar of the shirt she was wearing. Her eyes opened—heavily, slowly, like they really wanted to stay closed.

“Can we go to bed?” she slurred sleepily. Han nodded and helped her to her feet. He’d tried, once, to carry Leia to bed…it hadn’t gone well. Once they were both standing, she leaned heavily into him, wrapping both arms around his waist and locking her fingers over his hip. They walked to the bedroom and Leia sleepily tumbled into bed, shoving covers and pillows into position. She didn’t lay down, though, as Han got undressed and brushed his teeth.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, flicking off the overhead light on his way to the bed.

“My pillow wasn’t here yet,” she complained, reaching a hand to him as he lifted the blanket. Her fingers slid across his chest and down his arm as he settled in beside her, and her head fell onto his chest. Han’s hands resumed his tender ministrations against her skin.

“Isn’t this better than staying up and staring at your datapad?” he asked.

“Mhm. Kiss me goodnight?” Leia whispered sleepily, stretching towards his mouth.

“Always, Sweetheart,” Han replied, meeting the kiss and snuggling her against his side.

“Thank you for curing my insomnia,” she yawned.

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“Fiber Optic Cactus Lamp: found this vintage 1980s fiber optic lamp at a local thrift store- and it still works! The fiber bundle is illuminated by a lamp in the base and the color shifting patterns are generated by a rotating color wheel in between the light source and the fiber optic bundle.”

BonesXReader insert: Cuddle Party

 Beta’d by @outside-the-government

Dr Leonard McCoy rolled his eyes as he read the messages coming through on his PADD thinking how the Captain’s newest ‘great idea’ was only going to end badly. Jim had lead a small away team on a diplomatic mission about a week before, one he had thankfully left the Dr out of, but he had come back brimming with new ideas for ‘boosting morale’ and ‘encouraging the crew to branch out and make other friends.’ Bones was reading his latest message and grumbled. A ‘Cuddle Party.’ Was Jim mad? There would be all kinds of problems stemming from this. Deciding he couldn’t let this go ahead because of the risks he left Med bay in search of his friend and Captain.

“Jim are you mad?” He asked falling into step beside the Captain as he headed to the Mess Hall.

“What’ve I done now Bones?” Kirk asked with his usual tone.

“These ‘cuddle parties’ are an incident waiting to happen.”

“Bones everything will be fine, they had them down on the planet, they explained the benefits I thought we could give it a try. It’s all purely based on consent, any crewman or woman not respecting another’s boundaries will be severely disciplined or worse if needs be.”

“Jim-”

“Look Bones, I guarantee it’ll be fine, maybe you should come by? See for yourself. Might do you some good,” Kirk gave Bones his signature smile and Bones rolled his eyes and joined his friend for lunch, ignoring his suggestion.

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i think the healthiest thing you can actively be doing to your soul is give it enough space to always be changing. do not box yourself in to a preconceived concept of identity just because it feels good for a period of time. allow yourself the ability to change as you take in new information, to evolve as you experience new things, and be patient with yourself. 

you need to understand that there is no true notion of identity. who we are is changing on a day-to-day basis, and the worst thing you can do is abuse your soul by forcing it to stay the same. be open to change and allow it to shift your patterns and habits.

don’t get yourself stuck just because it worked that way once. the healthiest thing in life is change. embrace it.

Cycle Eight--Week 1

[Ao3]

The bright blue leather of the book’s cover has faded over time, and the silver metalwork has tarnished, but the ink inside is still crisp and clear.

A (condensed, if I’m being honest) version of Lucretia’s journal from Cycle Eight.


Day 1

For the first time, we spend the night of our arrival still airborne.

Lup is eager to explore the land below us, a world covered in vast glowing forests of fungi. Even now, when the single sun is on the far side of the planet, it glows as though it were daytime (At least, if daytime were characterized by an ever-shifting pattern of neon hues). The air is filled with clouds of spores which diffuse the light, concealing the edges of individual mushrooms so the entire world looks like a great ocean of light.

Tomorrow we head for one of the dark spots we can make out on the horizon in search of a clear landing ground. Captain Davenport has ordered that no one is to leave the ship until we can verify that the environment is inhabitable. Thus far, we have had the good fortune to only visit worlds on which we can walk and breathe, but there is no guarantee that every set of Planes will be so hospitable.

Magnus offered to go down to the surface by himself. “It’s the quickest way to see if we can survive!” he said.

Taako scoffed. “Oh, right, check it out by dying, that’s a brilliant idea. Idiot.”

“Yeah, Maggie,” said Lup. “You only just got back! Is the company really that bad?”

He didn’t push the matter, but offered to man the helm for part of the night so Captain Davenport could get some sleep.

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