survive and flourish

kylux fic recs

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4








  • Bad Things by EllaBesmirched, 103k / Detective Ben Solo has never met a crime scene he can’t read like an open book. That is, until The General killings started.
  • a harmonious entity by brawlite, 17k wip / When Hux’s best friend Phasma goes missing, Hux travels to the mountains of rural Montana to investigate the mysterious cult, the First Order, that Hux believes to be behind her disappearance.
  • Empire State of Mind by TeamRedhead, 232k / With hope of a brighter future diminishing every day, Ben feels trapped. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks, and when he does, he knows he will never be able to recover on his own.
  • How Did We Get Here? (I Used to Know You So Well) by TeamRedhead, 31k wip / Kylo doesn’t dream anymore; everything he ever wanted is long gone, and he knows better than to hope. 
  • Observer Effect by ezlebe, 18k wip / Today isn’t about nanorobots, Dr. Hux. It’s about Ben Organa.
  • Base Fee by Ezlebe, 13k / Ren takes a deep breath, thumb hovering over the stark-white letters of his own damned address, and wonders how this could even be possible.
  • Because I Knew That You Would Be Alright by elfriniol, 28k / The flurry of emotion and action and violence that was Ben Solo intrigued him to no end, and not only as the fuel for sexual escapades. Ben was everything Hux in his prudence was not.


  • Ace of Spades by betts, 62k wip / Sometimes it feels like everything’s connected. Like with strings. And if I could just see the strings, I could pull them. I could make things do what I wanted. 
  • age of consent by substanceblack, 31k wip / Cue two socially alienated teens accepting each other’s company after a series of shared mishaps, and more making out than is probably healthy. 
  • i can see through you (see to the real you) by kyluxtrashcompactor, 18k wip / Hux is the outcast new student with a troubled past. He’s brilliant but refuses to conform, and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He’s everything Ben wants to be.




  • Getaway by hollycomb, 54k / Techie’s reactions to fresh air, sunlight and fish are mixed, and then Matt drops a bombshell that could shatter the comforts of their little world together permanently. / techienician + kylux 
in which Eliza Danvers fucks up the Sawyers

AKA, turns out Alex gets it from somewhere

Maggie never expected it to actually happen, but she’d thought about it sometimes, daydreamed about it. But even in her wildest dreams, in her wildest most vengeful daydreams of running into her parents again, it never happens like this.

She used to dream about seeing them in the crowd for her high school graduation, or her college graduation, or her academy graduation, or her ceremony when she made detective, and they’d sob with regret and shame and she’d be magnanimous but a little cold. Or she’d see them as she sauntered down the street, hand in hand with a gorgeous woman. Or she’d run into them back in Blue Springs, after she just bought the town with all the money she won in the lottery and painted every street in rainbow colors.

But as each occasion passed without word from her parents, without seeing her parents, without hearing that they missed her or regretted what they did to her, those types of dreams faded. Now she thinks less about them groveling and admitting their faults and begging her to forgive them and more about turning her nose up at them, fucking them up with her disinterest and casual disdain.

Hey, a girl can dream, right?

In her daydreams now she’s with Alex, and she looks great and happy, and Alex looks just as beautiful as ever, and, depending on her mood, she and Alex either make out while pointedly ignoring them, or Alex yells at them, or – and she’s never admitted this to anyone – sometimes Alex wails on them.

But she’s never had a daydream anything close to the way it actually turns out.

Because she and Alex are out in Midvale visiting Eliza, and Kara is there too but had to run off on Supergirl duties, so it’s just the three of them today. And they’ve just finished a delicious brunch at Eliza’s favorite restaurant and they’re walking along the beach, and Alex is holding Maggie’s hand and is gently keeping her thumb moving, swiping up and down Maggie’s skin at the cadence of their feet in the sand. And Alex and Eliza are nerding out about something that Maggie can’t possibly follow, and Maggie is just watching the love of her life and watching the ocean and listening to the waves and feeling the sand between her toes, wet and cool and firm, and feeling the sun on her face and listening to the birds, and she’s so perfectly content.

They’ve been passing other people walking the other way on the sand, and Eliza usually raises a hand or smiles in greeting, but Maggie hasn’t been paying attention. But they must be approaching a couple, and Maggie’s been looking out at the ocean or over at Alex, so she hasn’t seen the coming. So when a surprised voice from right in front of her says, “Magdalena?” her first reaction is startlement.

But her second is fear.

Deep, cold, powerful, abject fear.

Her third is disbelief.

Her fourth is fear again, harder and faster and more urgent.

It’s all she can do to grip Alex’s hand, her soft grip turning into a vice, holding herself up and holding herself together only through the connection of Alex’s skin on hers, Alex’s fingers up against hers.

“Mom?” The word slips out of her without her permission. It’s not how she wanted to open, with a painful gasp that’s as much a word as a whisper as a plea as a cry. She hates herself for how vulnerable she sounds, how young she sounds.

How vulnerable she feels. How young she feels.

But in one way it’s a good thing, because now Alex can identify the threat that’s in front of her, and she seems to grow in physical size as she turns her head away from Maggie, fury and protectiveness swelling her body. She doesn’t release her grip on Maggie’s hand – she, somehow, impossibly, tightens it – but she takes a step forward. She isn’t blocking Maggie from their sight, but she’s clearly standing between them.

She’s full on Agent Danvers now, and she doesn’t need her gun or her tactical vest, because when she spits, “You have some fucking nerve, speaking to her,” it’s so clearly a threat.

And she can so clearly follow through on it.

But Maggie isn’t sure her parents have even noticed Alex. Her mother is staring at her face, and her father is looking at their hands, still joined, his lip curling up in something that looks suspiciously like disgust.

“I see you haven’t changed,” he says, and it’s the first time Maggie’s heard his voice in over fifteen years, and it nearly shatters her.

Alex is raging, taking another shuffle forward, her bare feet doing nothing to temper how ready for a fight she looks. She points a finger at them, and her shoes are still hanging from her hand, but she’s still terrifying. “You don’t get to talk to her. Ever. She is fucking perfect and you don’t deserve the right to even look at her.”

Alex is shaking, and Maggie is genuinely concerned she’s going to get physical. Maggie drops her own shoes, using her free hand to pull on Alex’s arm, tugging her back a step, into herself, turning her to face Maggie. “Baby, it’s okay,” she says as softly as she can. “It doesn’t matter.”

Alex opens and closes her mouth, clearly at war with herself. She wants to throw down for Maggie, clearly, but she can see that Maggie doesn’t want her to, and she’s stuck.

Her desire to keep Maggie safe, to keep her out of danger, to wrap Maggie up in her arms and shield her from the world seems to be winning out. She drops her shoulders, just a centimeter, and Maggie can see her eyes starting to clear, just the smallest amount.

But before she’s completely disarmed, Maggie’s father opens his mouth again, his voice cold and hateful. “You continue to disgrace your family, walking around like that where anyone could see you.”

And Alex is whirling back around, but she’s still tethered to Maggie, so she’s not as quick as she’d usually be.

But Eliza isn’t tethered to anything, and Maggie had forgotten she was there, and Maggie has never thought of her as particularly combative or badass – tough, sure, with what she’s been through – but never aggressive.

But, it turns out, Alex may have gotten it from somewhere.

Because Eliza has stepped forward, and she’s made a noise that has turned everyone’s attention to her, and she’s pointing her finger at him, and her voice is commanding and sharp and furious. “You have no right to speak to my daughter that way.”

And everyone stops for a minute, and it seems like even the waves have stopped crashing. Maggie can hear her own heartbeat as that word settles.

Alex is frozen in place, still a half-step in front of Maggie, still gripping her hand. Maggie wonders if she’s going to charge in, but she seems to waiting, just like the rest of them.

It’s Maggie’s mother that breaks the silence. “Magdalena is our daughter,” she says. Her voice is soft but firm, and Maggie wonders if her mother still loves her.

But Eliza is not having it. Her finger is still pointed, but now it swivels to Maggie’s mother. “You gave up that privilege the day you abandoned her when she was a child.”

Maggie’s father gets aggressive right back. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

And Eliza laughs, actually out-loud laughs. It’s cold and angry and hard and scornful. “What don’t I understand? What’s it’s like when your child tells you that she’s gay?” She motions behind her, to where Alex is still standing, completely still, clinging to Maggie’s hand. “I love my Alexandra even more since she told me, since she brought us Maggie.”

He sneers at her. “This is a family matter.”

And Maggie hadn’t realized that Eliza had been holding anything back, but she must have been, because she shifts into another gear entirely.

She doesn’t take another step, she doesn’t move her body at all, but somehow she’s towering over him. The next words she says come out in a snarl, and they’re territorial and predatory as hell, and Maggie’s parents both take an involuntary step back.

“Maggie is mine,” Eliza snarls. “Mine, and Alexandra’s, and Kara’s. She belongs to our family.”

Maggie’s parents both sputter, and Maggie and Alex both seem to be holding their breath.

But Eliza isn’t even close to done. She speaks clearly and firmly, each word landing like a punch, leaving no room for argument or disbelief.

“Blood doesn’t make a family. Alexandra and I have known that since we adopted her sister when she was a teenager. Kara is just as much my daughter as Alex is, and Maggie belongs to us now. You don’t just get to claim her because of blood when you’re the ones who tried to destroy her. Maggie is perfect. She is brilliant and kind and that is despite you, not because of you. She’s a Danvers, she is my daughter, and you will never speak to a member of my family like that again, or so help you god, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Maggie’s parents stand, shell-shocked.

Eliza turns away from them, like they don’t even matter. “Come on, girls,” she says, suddenly back to being the sweet woman Maggie’s always known. “Let’s keep going.”

Alex looks at Maggie searchingly, clearly trying to see if Maggie wants to stay and talk with them. But Maggie just shakes her head a little bit.

What else could she possibly say?

Even in her wildest, most private dreams, she was just trying to prove to them that she’d survived and flourished on her own, without them. That they hadn’t crushed her into dust.

She never even imagined that she’d have a family to show them, that she’d be claimed not just by Alex or a faceless hot woman, but by a mother who loves her and chose her and wants her.

So the three of them pick up their shoes and set off down the sand, this time with Maggie sandwiched in the middle. And Alex still hasn’t let go of her hand and is walking as close to her as possible, hip to hip. And Eliza wraps her arm around Maggie’s waist and just holds onto her as they walk.

And, for the first time in over fifteen years, Maggie lets herself lean into a mother, and she rests her head on Eliza’s shoulder, and Eliza kisses her head softly.

“I love you, Maggie. I am so lucky to have you as a daughter.”

And Maggie just nestles a little closer to them both, safe inside of her family.

Tardigrades aka Water Bears

Here is one of the most alien lifeforms I’ve ever read about… that’s found right here on Earth. These are Tardigrades, or more commonly called ‘water bears’ or ‘moss piglets.’ These peculiar beings look like miniature gummy bears but are really microscopic animals that live in the water, are segmented, and have 8 legs. The name water bear comes from the way that they walk, which resembles that of a lumbering bear. The largest adults may reach lengths of around 1.5 millimetres, whereas the smallest may reach lengths below 0.1 mm. Typically you can find these guys on lichens or mosses, which is where their other name of ‘moss piglet’ stems from.

One of the most interesting aspects of the moss piglet, or water bear, is the ability it has to survive, and even flourish, in environments that we typically think of as uninhabitable. Some can survive temperatures of close to absolute zero (which is −459 °F, mind you); others can withstand temps as high as 304 °F. Not only that, they can take 1,000 times more radiation than other animals, and can go a DECADE without water! Insane!!!Oh, and last but not least, they can survive in space. So watch out, because water bears might take over the universe someday [soon].

And there’s nothing more fascinating than a girl who knows how to love, even after all the trauma ensued. She faced each day with a hope, a hope so deep in her soul that even the devil himself could not take it away from her. She danced with evils and laid with nightmares and survived and flourished and fought her way to the top of wherever she wanted to be. She is resilient in its finest form and she will be momentarily damaged, but she will never be broken.
—  From a Book I’ll Never Write #43

“After everything you’ve been through. I would have been proud of you for simply surviving, but you’ve flourished.“ - Draco Malfoy

Slytherin Head Boy aesthetic for @torestoreamends wonderful story 

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Head Boy 

Hamilton Star: Michelle Obama Gave Me ‘the Best Compliment I Have Ever Received’ (Time):

[…] I had anticipated that the First Lady might come, one day, when we made it to Broadway, but downtown—at the Public Theater? It wasn’t until after the show ended that they said, “Michelle Obama’s here!” At the time I shared a dressing room with Jasmine Cephas Jones and Reneé Elise Goldsberry, my Schuyler sisters. We hurriedly got out of costume to say hello. Giddy with excitement, we made our way to the greenroom. There she stood. So poised and beautiful. She said hello to each and every one of us. I will never forget what Mrs. Obama said, “This is the best piece of art that I’ve ever seen.” I was floored. She has seen so much art in her life. Coming from her, our First Lady, the modern-day Schuyler sister incarnate, and one of the most inspirational women of our time, it was the best compliment I have ever received.

Hamilton is, of course, closely tied to the Obamas because Lin first performed the opening number at a White House poetry jam. I didn’t know anything about Eliza when I first got the call about Hamilton. Tommy Kail, the director, asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. I knew what he was talking about because I’d seen the video of Lin performing it at the White House for Barack and Michelle Obama. I specifically remember a friend showing me that YouTube clip while I was a student in drama school. Cut to five or six years later when Tommy calls me and asks me to be a part of a December reading of Act II of what was then called “Hamilton Mixtape.” I did what most people do when they don’t know something, I googled Eliza. I saw that she was his wife but there wasn’t a lot more. I just chalked it up to me being a lazy researcher. I thought, Okay. I’ll do digging later. I’ll go and see what this project is and enjoy the experience. Hearing the music for the first time was incredible. It had such an instant cool factor. But it wasn’t until I got into the room with Lin, Alex, and Tommy (I would end up working with Andy a few months later) that I truly discovered what the “Hamilton Mixtape” really was. I thought: These artists and creators that I’m working with … this story … is going to change the world. And I get to be in this room. And it changed me, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

In December of 2013, the end of the play still hadn’t been written. It actually wasn’t until that workshop in January, a day before our presentation, that Lin gave me the last song. In the moment at the end of Hamilton when Eliza steps out and you see her, most people tell me they are so taken aback. “Oh my gosh! She’s the one who is telling us this story, like we’re learning this story because of her.” That was the way that I felt getting that last song. A moment of: Really? And you want me to finish the play? I mean I’d love to but …

Lin went on to explain that in the song you look and see everything that she did after Hamilton died. I was just as surprised and awestruck by the beauty of this woman’s legacy that not many people know about, and how beautiful this moment was that we’re giving her, a voice and a place in history for the first time. It’s huge.


When Eliza says, “I took myself out of the narrative,” in reference to guarding her privacy after Hamilton’s cheating is revealed, her situation feels stunningly contemporary. It took me a while to understand this particular moment in Eliza’s journey. In discovering how to play Eliza, I first asked myself, “What is the difference between the common woman then and the common woman now?” But that proved to be less useful. I was only separating myself from Eliza. So I started to ask the question, “What do all women, past and present have in common?” The answer: survival. Women have struggled a great deal, yes. But it has been their ability to overcome, the way women have chosen to deal with their struggles. Not only survive, but flourish through their achievements. The struggle is real, the struggle has always been real and will continue to be real. It’s just a matter of how you choose to find your way through whatever challenges you face. Eliza is empowered by taking herself out of the narrative. I think that’s why forgiveness is such a huge part of the play.

People seem confused when Eliza forgives Hamilton. I suppose it is because we have more options now. It’s easy to opt to avoid someone, avoid forgiveness, avoid conflict, or avoid complicated feelings, love and disgust, that coexist. But ultimately it doesn’t matter how many options we have; it is a miracle that we choose to survive.


In his last letter to Eliza, Hamilton calls her “the best of wives and the best of women.” If I’m trying to get into Hamilton’s brain, he was saying “best of wives” like “best of who you are to me” and “best of women,” meaning who you are to the world. The letter used to be in the show. I used to read it. I still remember every line:

This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.

If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.

The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.

Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.

Ever yours

I used to read it, and I don’t anymore. I think we cut it out for time’s sake, but the idea of the letter still lives. It’s chilling. It gives me chills.

I’m a total believer in the universe and the over soul. Somehow the energy that our Founding Mothers put into our history has lasted and has traversed centuries and found its way to me. Eventually, it will leave me and find its way to somebody else. It does feel like ages have passed by the end of the three-hour play so I definitely use that. Because Hamilton has had such a universal voice, it’s brought some of the most amazing women into my life. Women who are politicians, who are actors, who are writers, who are my family members that I respect so much, strangers—mothers and daughters who have lost their loved ones, all of these women, choosing to survive. And to be able to share it with them in this way, I feel like it’s paying homage to them, it’s paying homage to Eliza, and to all the other versions of Eliza that have existed throughout history and will exist for ages to come.

From “The Best Wives and Best of Women” by Phillipa Soo as published in The Meaning of Michelle edited by Veronica Chambers. 

read Phillipa’s full beautiful essay

anonymous asked:

Would you consider taking a prompt for Jyn/Cassian? Any number from 1-10 from your last prompt list? Completely up to you since I don't know if you have the muse for them ;)

7. Hand kiss

The story of Jyn’s life is etched into her hands.

The small, curved scar at the bottom of her left palm is from where she fell as she tried to climb up one of the rock faces on Lah’mu. She landed heavily on that hand, a stray, sharp piece of shale piercing the skin. “You need to be more careful, Stardust,” her father said as he gently bandaged it, but she just smiled sunnily up at him. Those were the days before she realised why her mother sometimes glanced at the skies overhead with shadowed eyes, when she thought the way her parents made her practice grabbing the always-ready satchel and running for the hidden shelter was a game. Before she understood that there was evil in the galaxy.

There’s a mole on her right wrist, just where it joins her hand, a small, inconspicuous brown spot. She stared at that mole as she waited in the shelter for someone to find her, feeling the quiet certainty settle in her that whoever it was it would not be her parents. They were gone. If she acknowledged that panic started to swell up inside her, so she focused on the mole on her wrist, trying to shrink the rest of the galaxy down to the size of that spot in her mind, too small for fears and anxieties she wasn’t quite old enough to understand to pierce.

Various callouses adorn her palms and fingers, relics of her training from Saw Garrera. You cannot wield a baton with force without the friction wearing away the skin, and her soft child’s hands had quickly hardened over to match the new sharp edges of her mind and soul. There’s a small line over one knuckle from the first time she punched someone and caught the edge of their tooth. She was twelve when Saw took her hands in his and looked down at them approvingly. “You have a fighter’s hands now, child.”

Numerous cuts and scrapes were collected over the years she was on her own, abandoned by the man that had shaped her hands so they were only fit for breaking, destroying. Most are faded now, but some marks remain.

A ragged scar on the back of her right hand is from Eadu. When the bombs started falling she threw her arm up to cover her head, and caught the edge of some flying piece of shrapnel. Looking at it brings back memories of her father in her arms, his eyes desperately holding hers as the breath left his body.

The scars from Scarif cover her arms more than her hands, but they’re close enough. Burn marks and the thin white lines of healed cuts that remind her how close she truly came to dying. They are also the only scars she is proud of, in an oddly fierce way. Because she got those scars, they retrieved the plans for the Death Star. Because she got those scars, countless lives were saved. Because she got those scars, the Rebel Alliance not only survived but is flourishing.

Perhaps flourishing isn’t quite the right word when they are currently based on a frozen wasteland of a planet. But it’s growing.

Hoth won’t leave any permanent marks on her hands, Jyn doesn’t think, although it’s difficult to believe when she can feel the cold in her very bones. She constantly flexes her hands and figures as she moves around the base, to stop them numbing up. If she doesn’t the cold makes them shake so badly she has trouble even doing up the buttons on her shirt.

Despite the iciness of the air, the atmosphere here seems more charged than on Yavin 4. On Yavin there was a sense of grimness, an aura of fighting because to give in was unthinkable than because they had any real hope for victory. Now, since the Death Star was destroyed, there’s a palpable belief that they are not fighting in vain. A difference can be made.

The idea of the Rebels winning, of a day when Empire will fall, still seems far flung to Jyn. Or maybe it’s more that she deliberately chooses not to think of it. Not out of any desire to remain realistic, or avoid false hope – rebellions are built on hope, after all – but because picturing a life in which she doesn’t have to fight terrifies her.

She doesn’t know what or who she is if she isn’t fighting. Her hands are proof of that. The scars that mark them are tales of destruction, of breaking and burning things to the ground. They are not the hands of a builder, of someone who can grow something good out of the ashes of war.

Those are the thoughts in her mind when Cassian finds her perched in an out-of-the-way alcove. He sits down beside her, the space snug enough that his thigh and side presses warmly against hers.

“Still cold?” he asks, nodding at her flexing hands.

“There hasn’t been a moment on this wretched planet when I haven’t been cold,” Jyn grumbles, but that only makes him smile.

She still isn’t quite sure of the moment when things shifted between them, but at some point the balance swung and even if she hasn’t said it out loud she knows she’s more than a little bit in love with him. He hasn’t said anything either, but the way he looks when their eyes meet makes her think he feels the same.

He reaches out now and takes her hands in his, gently pulling off her gloves and then his own so their skin brushes together. His hands are larger than hers, almost completely enveloping them, the fingers longer and more graceful, but the palms are as calloused and there are at least as many nicks and scars. There must be a story behind each one, and she thinks that one day she would like to hear them.

With infinite tenderness he brings her hands up to his mouth and presses his lips to the backs, the knuckles, the palms. Each light kiss sends warmth pulsing through them, and she can feel her cheeks heating up to match.

He, too, has a fighter’s hands, hardened by war and violence from childhood. But when he uses them like this, touches her with such care, they seem more like a healer’s hands, or perhaps a gardener’s. Precise, delicate, made for repairing and soothing.

It almost makes her believe her hands could be something similar.

Still holding her hands, he glances up, dark eyes sparkling. “Better?”

“Much.” Jyn smiles. “For now, anyway.”

He chuckles. “Well, if you get cold again, just let me know.”

The thought of the future – one in which there’s peace – frightens Jyn. But if she can have Cassian in it, she thinks she will find a way to cope.

“Didn’t I already tell you? I’m always cold.”                

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Head Boy

1.5k words, G rated

Scorpius’s seventh year letter from Hogwarts contains an unexpected piece of good news, and Draco has never been prouder. 

Beta’d by @abradystrix

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Blood's Perimeter - Gefionne - Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

As an illegitimate son, Hux was thrown into the First Order’s stormtrooper program as a child, in hopes that he would disappear, but he not only survives, he flourishes. When a mission goes wrong, he finds himself a target and crosses paths with Ben “Kylo” Solo, a smuggler, who is far more than he appears.

Surprise! A new story. This one is dedicated to my friend @littleststarfighter, who has given me so many gifts for my stories. I saw this AU of hers and just had to write it. Adventure and romance? Sign me right up! I hope you all enjoy it.

anonymous asked:

Right to the good parts Prompt #11 MinaSaku

lol, y’all always want angst with these two don’t ya?


Sakura pauses, turning back to look at him. In that small word he sounds like the Hokage she knows he will one day be, assertive, commanding, persuasive. When she looks at him though, he is still the man just shy of twenty, the one she’s learned to treasure in a way she never could his yet to be built monument.

“Sakura,” Minato says, stepping forward and bringing her into the cradle of his embrace. Sakura shuts her eyes against his warmth, trying to shield herself from him. “Stay. I need you here, by my side. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll do fine without me,” Sakura replies as she pulls away from him. She knows the future, despite the changes she’s wrought by being here. He will survive; no, he will flourish. And she will be there, in the background unnoticed, to make sure of it.

He catches one of her hands in his own and Sakura cannot help noticing the way it encompasses hers. “I want you here,” he says, eyes imploring. “I don’t want to go on without you. If you aren’t here, nothing else matters. I don’t care about accomplishments or prestige; I just want you.”

Sakura wavers and Minato goes in for the kill, cupping her face in his hands as he pulls her in for a searing kiss. Sakura’s thoughts scatter to the wind and, for a moment, she is blissfully, fully here. After an indeterminable amount of time, Minato pulls away slightly. “Stay,” he breathes.

Sakura leans forward, pressing her forehead to his. Her eyes slide shut as her defenses fall. “Alright.”

She misses his breathtaking grin. She does not, however, miss his breathtaking kiss.
Blood's Perimeter - Chapter 3 - Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

As an illegitimate son, Hux was thrown into the First Order’s stormtrooper program as a child, in hopes that he would disappear, but he not only survives, he flourishes. When a mission goes wrong, he finds himself a target and crosses paths with Ben “Kylo” Solo, a smuggler, who is far more than he appears.

Here we are back in Hux’s point of view as he discovers civilian life outside of the First Order. It’s new and different, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of it or of Kylo. They’re still feeling each other out and hiding a great deal of their pasts from each other as they move toward a future in each other’s company.

As always, this is a collab between me and @littleststarfighter, who came up with the AU. :)

An extraterrestrial visitor examining the differences among human societies would find those differences trivial compared to the similarities.

Our lives, our past and our future are tied to the sun, the moon and the stars. We humans have seen the atoms which constitute all of nature and the forces that sculpted this work and we, who embody the local eyes and ears and thoughts and feelings of the cosmos, have begun to wonder about our origins – star stuff contemplating the stars, organized collections of ten billion billion billion atoms, contemplating the evolution of nature, tracing that long path by which it arrived at consciousness here on the planet earth.

Our loyalties are to the species and to the planet. Our obligation to survive and flourish is owed not just to ourselves but also to that cosmos ancient and vast from which we spring.

We are one species. We are star stuff harvesting star light.

—  Carl Sagan (1934 – 1996)

Today we find ourselves in a precarious era. While many of the technological advancements we enjoy make our lives easier and more convenient, we have also sacrificed our relationship with many of the natural processes that must occur in order for us to not only survive, but to flourish. It could be argued that these advances have allowed us more time to enjoy life, since most of us no longer have to toil in forest and field to earn a day’s meal or a winter’s warmth, and we have free time to spend in any way that we choose. However studies repeatedly show that Western peoples are exceedingly unhappy with our existence and sense a great longing for something ‘else’, some unknown ‘other’ that cannot easily be articulated. A portion of our very souls has been lost, something that was at one time a tremendous part of our core being.

In many ways, the grasp that Christianity once held on the Western mind is sloughing off, but in its place we see the dispiriting materialism which has taken root, a profane humanist rationalism which negates all that cannot be scientifically or physically quantified. Our ability to view traditional folklore from an “insider’s perspective” has been grossly impeded, and myth even more so. We’ve placed limitations on our own abilities to truly imagine - to be awed completely and totally by the greater mysteries of our world. The results of this compromise are plain for all to see. In sacrificing this part of ourselves to the gods of an industrial age we have lost a once profound and intimate relationship we shared with the natural - and supernatural - world.

Cody Dickerson, The Language of the Corpse: The Power of the Cadaver in Germanic and Icelandic Sorcery

Earth is Space Australia

Ok, listen up: I heard this one weird idea (w/ no supporting evidence, but whatevs) that the human race was started by aliens planting a population of themselves and letting us run wild. Now, I’m not saying I agree with that, especially with so much contrary evidence, but it’s fun to think about. What if Earth really was Space Australia? Governments used to send criminals to Australia to die, but instead they survived. What if that was how humans arrived? Criminals in some interstellar alliance were sent to this so-called “Death World” as a method of passive execution, but we just got our shit together and said “Aight, imma live here now. I don’t need them.” And wE DID THE THING. WE SURVIVED EXECUTION. WE FLOURISHED IN THE FACE OF ALL THIS. WE WON. SCORE 1 FOR THE SPACE AUSTRALIANS, YEAH!

Flug’s new guardian




Flug had lived in the orphanage all his life.

He couldn’t remember his parents or where he had come from. The old, but well taken care of building served him as his home along with many other children. The two adults that ran the place were Jenny and Martin Filterworth. A couple who, by the rumours that circled the household, weren’t ever able to have children of their own, so they settled with taking care of kids who had no living relatives or were abandoned by their own kin.

Flug didn’t really know if his parents were alive or not. They had never told them his situation, but he had the darkest feeling that he was dumped at their front doorstep by his mysterious parents and left in the orphanage’s care as they ran off and out of his life.

Keep reading
Blood's Perimeter - Chapter 2 - Armitage Hux/Ben Solo|Kylo Ren Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

As an illegitimate son, Hux was thrown into the First Order’s stormtrooper program as a child, in hopes that he would disappear, but he not only survives, he flourishes. When a mission goes wrong, he finds himself a target and crosses paths with Ben “Kylo” Solo, a smuggler, who is far more than he appears.

This time we see Kylo’s POV as he figures out what to do with the stray stormtrooper he picked up in a moment of ill-advised charity in an planetside alley. Hux has a life debt to pay, and he’ll find a way to do it no matter what.

anonymous asked:

Why do you think Arthur and Eames have been such an enduring ship?

I think because people are attracted to ships that feature opposites. It’s fun to watch them butt heads and bicker before succumbing to their urges. And I can’t think of bigger opposites than Arthur and Eames. I mean, Christopher Nolan wrote the characters to represent the two hemispheres of the brain, so they’re literally meant to contradict but also balance. Eames, the creative impulsive and Arthur the rational organizer. They disagree constantly, but they also rely on each other to survive and flourish. 

We are comrades in love and heartbreak

So you lean on me, and I’ll lean on you

And together we’ll not only survive, but flourish, in this world of infinite possibilities

—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

A month ago, i re-started my herb babies after a neglectful attempt last year due to stress and depression. This year I am working twice as hard to make sure my herbs survive and flourish by giving them the extra love and attention they deserve. I feel they are doing their best and I am so proud of them! Thank you to all the lovely beings who have given me the motivation and advice to keep on being a good plant mom. 🌿🌱💜☘🍃